Into The Mist (Land of Elyon) (23 page)

In the Shadow of a Giant

There were a few times -- when I got very tired -- that I relinquished the wheel of the Warwick Beacon to Alistair on the way back to Mount Laythen, but I did most of the sailing and all of the navigating. It took seventeen days to find our way back over the Lonely Sea, plus another day to make our way up and around the mountain to the home of Sir Alistair Wakefield. The last bit of evening light sparkled on the lake as we finally arrived at the foot of the terrace. We were still on the ground - about to start up the stairway of tree stumps -- when a voice came from above.

"I was starting to wonder if you'd ever come back."

It was the unmistakable voice of Armon. He came slowly into view, leaning his huge shoulders and head over the terrace into the twilight. "Where have you three been hiding?"

"Alone, are we?" Alistair skipped the usual pleasantries of welcoming an old friend.

"They've gone to sleep," said Armon. "Three of them -- two boys and a girl."

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"How long have you been here?" asked Alistair. The three of us were making our way up the stairs now while Armon moved around on the terrace to keep us in view.

"Five days, I think. You know how this place is. It's hard to know for sure after a day or two."

We reached the top of the stairs, and Alistair nodded with some concern.

"And how long were you gone this time before you returned?"

"That I can tell you without worry of getting it wrong," answered Armon. "I've been away a little over two years."

I looked at Thomas and saw that his head was swimming just as mine was. We'd been living with Alistair for two years. It didn't seem possible at first, but thinking over all I'd learned and done, it seemed almost not long enough.

"Where were you?" asked Armon. Alistair moved over to the table by the terrace where we always sat together and everyone followed. It was a relief to slump into one of the chairs and look across at the shadowy mountain. The sun was down and little light remained.

"Showing them the Five Stone Pillars," said Alistair. He looked at me with great pride and something else -- some sort of deep longing. "We have ourselves a new captain, as I'd hoped."

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Armon set his gaze on me from above, pretending to look me over with some concern as to whether or not I was fit for the task.

"1 suppose you'll do," he said at length, but it was clear to everyone he was very pleased. Then he added, "You'll have more trouble keeping the children under control than making the trip. They're spirited, if you get my meaning."

Thomas, who had been quiet until then, broke in.

"Alistair, how many will fit on the Warwick Beacon?"

Alistair scratched the white hair on his forearm and considered the question. He had settled into his chair and had the look of someone content with his surroundings.

"I've never taken more than six at once, but I suppose it could hold a dozen or more if the need arose."

"Why do you want to know?" Armon asked, bending down on one knee and staring at my brother. "You've got something on your mind. I can tell such things."

I knew what Thomas was thinking, that keeping a promise he'd made was important to him.

"Would you be willing to make a slight detour on your way back to Castalia?" Thomas asked,

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returning Armon's gaze. "I think Roland will want to come -- so you might have to carry us both awhile."

"Where is it you'd like to go?" asked Armon. Thomas looked at Alistair briefly, then set his eyes on me. "Madame Vickers's House on the Hill."

There were some very brief introductions the next morning in which Thomas, Alistair, and I became acquainted with the three lost children. They were -- as Armon had said -- spirited. I was dumbfounded by the endless number of questions they posed -- When can we see our parents? Can we play in the lake? What's this? and Can I have that? and on and on and on. Then the three of them would go running off down the terrace chasing one another or playing at hide-and-seek.

"You must be gentle with them," Alistair said to me. "Endure their questions. You can give them a future at the Five Stone Pillars -- a good home -- but it won't include their parents, and this will hurt them."

And I was, from then on, always kind and gentle with the lost children. They were prone to crying at night and getting into mischief during the day, but these are stories for another time, for on the first night after our return from the sea, Armon

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took Thomas and me to a place from our past where we had a duty to fulfill.

We spent a good deal of the journey from Mount Laythen to Madame Vickers's House on the Hill telling Armon about the owner of the home, her son Finch, his two dogs, the wretched conditions, and all we'd had to endure. Armon, being a virtuous creature, walked through the night with great speed -- such was his enthusiasm to come face-to-face with this terrible woman and her loathsome son. It was just breaking dawn when we arrived, the three of us walking side by side with Armon in the middle. We crept up the side of the hill until the house was in view, and then we told Armon to remain hidden until we called for him. Both Thomas and I had a flair for the dramatic, and we weren't going to miss our chance to make the most of our circumstances.

We strode up the hill to the house and soon heard Max and the Mooch barking, which had the effect one might suppose: Everyone was quickly awakened. The first to show his face was Finch, who came bounding onto the front porch of the old house with a large wooden club in his hand. The first light of day seemed to stun him and set him back on his heels a little, and he put his arm up over his face with his free hand.

"Who's there?" he shouted, blinking furiously

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as he dropped his arm and spotted the two of us standing in the dirt. Children started flooding out the door past Finch. All the girls and boys who lived on the hill were soon on the porch, pointing and cheering and yelling our names. There were new children I didn't recognize and others who'd grown a little older in our absence. And something I wouldn't have expected had taken place while we were gone. Our leaving had become a thing of legend and late-night whispers, our return awaited and long hoped for. They'd taken Thomas at his word and expected us to come back for them -- it was only a matter of when. All of the children began streaming down the steps and onto the hill. Soon they were dancing around us, yelling out questions and greetings.

"Get back in the basement! All of you!" screamed Finch. He was waving the club over his head when suddenly Madame Vickers appeared behind him, pushed him out of the way, and stood motionless, her hands on her hips. I wouldn't mention it were it not such a sight, but to see her in the morning was something to behold. Her hair stood like a wild cone of lightning on top of her head, and her face was pinched in a profoundly mean expression, as though waking her from sleep was an offense punishable by the most painful kind of torture. From within that horridly pinched expression arose two bulging,

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angry eyeballs that seemed altogether too big for the face to which they were attached. Oddly, she'd either taken the time to put her boots on before coming out onto the porch, or she'd never taken them off when going to bed the night before. Either way, she stood before us in a rage, a nightshirt dancing at her knees, the ghastly boots in full view rising up her shins.

"You children get in the basement this instant, or there will be no breakfast!" She was cold and calculated in her words, and the group that had formed around us lost its nerve and began to disperse in her direction.

"We promised we would come back for you if we could," said Thomas. He had his eyes trained firmly on Jonezy, the new boy that had arrived at the House on the Hill on the very day we'd left. He was older now - everyone was - and it was strange to think that we hadn't aged so much as they had in our absence.

No breakfast!" howled Madame Vickers. She walked three steps forward to the edge of the porch and Finch came up next to her, smiling and tapping the wooden club into the palm of his hand. She leaned out over the steps of the porch and screamed, "Get back to the basement!"

"NO!" yelled Thomas. The defiance and courage in Thomas's voice set Madame Vickers back for an

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instant, but then she turned to Finch, tore the club from his hand, and marched down the steps toward us in those awful boots that were made for kicking.

"Thomas," I said, "maybe now would be the right time to call Armon. She's really angry."

The crowd of youngsters scattered in every direction and Finch ran around the side of the house yelling over his shoulder that he was going to get the dogs. I was beginning to wonder if Thomas had gone frozen at the sight of those black boots and that dreadful face about to descend on him. And then he said that magical word, and the scene before me was transformed.

"Armon!"

He yelled it not with dignity and grace, but more like a war cry, like the cry of a young man about to charge into battle and carry the day. It was magnificent!

"What are you babbling about now, boy?" said Madame Vickers. She stood over Thomas and reached the club over her head, ready to strike my brother to the ground. Max and the Mooch were rounding the corner with Finch close behind; he was laughing wickedly at the idea of so much violence about to occur.

A shadow came over Madame Vickers's face, and I was reminded once more just how big Armon was. He was coming up the hill behind us, his huge

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strides pounding the garbage on the path into oblivion, and he had come into full view. There wasn't a closed mouth among us -- everyone stared, slack-jawed and mystified by the coming fury of such a magnificent being. All at once he had his arm out over our heads and took the club from Madame Vickers's bony fingers. She released it without complaint, and Armon pushed me and Thomas gently aside.

It is very hard to describe how someone so mean -- someone who had held such power over us - could fall so far so fast. Madame Vickers was so small and frail standing in the shadow of Armon, I felt truly sorry for her in that brief moment before he spoke. Max and the Mooch had run back behind the house, but Finch remained, backpedaling toward the porch.

"You," said Armon. His voice was not loud, but big like a mountain. He was pointing at Finch. "Come stand here by your mother."

I had a feeling then that Finch couldn't do it, that he would run away and hide, and so I felt I should try to help, if only a very little. "He won't hurt you," I advised, "if you do as he says. But Finch -- you can't escape him. He'll find you."

Finch blubbered as he came, and I don't think to this day I've ever seen anyone quite so afraid. It

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took a while, but finally he arrived beside Madame Vickers, wiping his nose with his shirtsleeve, unable to look up.

"No more children for you," said Armon, and Madame Vickers jumped as though Armon had clapped his hands in front of her face. The power of his voice was almost more than she could bear. There was a fierce wind in it, as though he was very angry and could barely contain himself. He clenched his huge fists, and they made a grinding, popping sound.

"We'll take all the children," he went on. "And this place will be no more."

Armon put one huge hand on Madame Vickers's shoulder and the other on Finch's. Then he commanded them both to look at him. "I'll be back this way again," he warned. "You would do well not to attempt to fool me."

And then he released them. The moment he did, Madame Vickers and Finch ran off, hitched up the one horse and cart, and rode off down the hill of garbage with Max and the Mooch yelping and running behind.

"We found a better place for you," Thomas told the other boys and girls. "I've seen it with my own eyes." The crowd was in something of a state of shock, unsure what to think of Armon and all that

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had just occurred. But then Armon got down on his knees and smiled at the group of eleven lost children standing amidst the garbage.

"Thomas is right," said Armon. "There's a better place for you -- a place you can call home, where no one will take advantage of you again."

They still seemed afraid and wouldn't come near him, so I walked right up to Armon and punched him as hard as I could in the knee. Armon knew just what to do, for he had been winning over lost children of a different sort for a very long time. He toppled over as if my little fist had been too much for him, and as he lay on the ground I dug through his pockets and found a brightly colored candy.

"What do we have here?" I said sternly, unwrapping the treat and popping it in my mouth.

The children shuffled forward slowly, and then Armon put a candy in his own mouth and smiled so big and so silly and made the most outrageous
mmmmmmmmm
sound you can imagine. The children came to him then -- they ran to him, dove at him, tackled him, rolling around in the dirt trying to get the candy from his pockets and all the while he smiled and hummed
mmmmmmmmmmmmmm
.

Thomas and I stood there laughing, and then we looked back over our shoulders, watching the dusty