Blue Hills (11 page)

A Visit FromThe Waterwizard Freshet Spill

Kar swept by me to the door and opened it. There stood a waterwizard, his red robe and cap sprinkled with silver moons and stars, his beard pale green, his skin greenest green, his eyes flash orange. Freshet Spill. I remembered. I recognized him. He looked me up and down from buckle shoes to pointy hat. He stroked his beard and stepped inside.

“It be then done as was foretold in Prophesy,” he said. “The Babba Ja Harick be gone for good and all to remain in the Blue Hills nook. She has sent ye to be the new Harick and to tend the tides of Prophesy. Enough said. It be done. Washed anew with a gleam. I observe that the blue crystal of Prophesy be in its proper place. Blue it glows. All be well. Enough done. What a geyser of relief, I tell ye, to all of us there gathered, grumbling and complaining, at the Well of Shells, what a geyser of relief, I repeat, it was when Runnel Burn cried out, ‘The beeketbird flies!' We looked. It flew. What then to do but commence a sea storm of mingling commotion, floating, flying, flinging spells and laughter. I took my part, full portion, and when we all ebbed, I was elected to visit ye here to make double certain that all was as it should be. I see that it be as it should, even better. Neatness was not a quality found with or near Babba Ja. Much more than enough said. I retreat now to take the news to the Well of Shells. Then shall we disperse, each of us to our own watery abode. I shall flow back -oh! -to Dragon's Deep Pool!”

His speech completed, Freshet Spill bowed to me a salute, turned and floated out the door and away up over the trees. Kar and I watched silently until he was a speck.

“All right, well then, there,” said Kar. “What should we do now? What first? Shall we make a list? I'll make a list. Find a ring to poof up some oat pages, Bek.”

As Kar rattled happily on, a question popped into my mind. I was the new Harick, true. I felt it so such strongly. The rings on my lavender fingers were mine. Mine! I had ‘em. But there was a question. Was I still the Chronicler?

“Bek, Bek, are you frozen? That's the first thing! I should have thought! We need fuzzletong berries! I'll fly and get some,” said Kar.

“No ... bead ... need. I'm not ... frozen. Just ... blinking ... thinking,” I told her.

“Oh, then,” continued Kar, “no worry. Should we fly to the hedge and introduce you? I'll glide in first and announce you. That'll flatten ‘em. I'll be the Gold Dragon. That's good, isn't it? Then we'll go to Fan Wa's Island to check on the Clock. Such! That's your job now, too! I'll be Queen Jebb bringing the new Harick for Clock inspection. That might even probably be the proper thing to do.”

While Kar babbled on and on, planning visits and grand entrances to every place we had ever seen on our earlier adventures, I continued to puzzle over the question. If I was Bekka Ja Harick, could I continue to be Bekka, the Chronicler of the Boad, All Fidd and Leee Combined? When Kar took a pause to breathe, I asked the question.

“Am I still the ... the Chronicler?”

She looked at me, tilting her head. She shrugged like we do. I shrugged in return. Was I still the Chronicler? This Gwer drollek story is the answer. I was. I am. And now soon I will put down my beeket quill pen here in my cottage in the Danken Wood. I gaze at my twenty-two rings. I know for the most part how to use ‘em now. All of ‘em. There is my crystal ball, perched on the table. Blue it glows. All is well.

THE END