Power of Three (29 page)

“Said he wouldn't attack
you
.”

“Yes,” said Gest. “Someone we know being too clever by half. Where's Gair? I don't understand where Gair's got to.”

“He's hiding behind a Giant somewhere, I bet,” said Ondo.

Ayna and Ceri explained that Gair had gone with Gerald to the halls of the Dorig, taking the collar with him. “And Gair has Sight Unasked, Father. He knew there was a curse on it.”

Gest got to his feet, looking thoroughly alarmed. “I know that!” he said tetchily. “He warned me. Why didn't you stop him going? It's the worst thing he could have done.”

Ondo, who had not a word to say, had to content himself with looking superior. Orban said, “It never does any good to talk to Dorig. The only good Dorig are dead ones. But I always did think the boy was odd, Gest.”

“
Oh be quiet!
” Gest bellowed, rounding on Orban. “None of this would have happened if you hadn't murdered the King of the Dorig's brother!”

There were shocked, angry murmurs from most of the Otmounders.

“For the sake of a collar with a curse on it,” said Gest.

The murmurs died away as everyone saw the curious yellow color of Orban's face. “Who told you that?” he said. “Adara swore—”

“Adara kept her word. The King told me himself,” said Gest. “Pack, everyone. Strike camp and leave the catch here.” He whipped up his own blanket and folded it. “Hurry. We must get to Garholt.”

“That's right,” Orban said, making an unconvincing effort to be natural. “Let's kill all the damn Dorig we can!”

“Oh no, we will not!” said Gest. “Unless you
want
Kasta's throat cut, of course.” Everyone was now feverishly folding blankets and strapping up bags. Gest called out so that they should all hear, “If any one of you raises a hand against a Dorig, I shall say words he will feel even beyond the grave. Now move. You can pack properly as you go.”

Aunt Mary sat in her kitchen and read Gerald's note for the fourth time. The house felt emptier and quieter than she had known it for years. Gerald probably out for lunch, those three strange little children departed without warning and her brother still cavorting all over the Moor with that Mr. Claybury when they must know it was lunchtime. How thoughtless everyone was! Aunt Mary did not believe for an instant that those three children would come back to thank her, as Gerald's note said. And to add to her annoyance, that gross, fat child Brenda was hanging about the house, crunching around in the gravel and breathing like a sheep wth asthma. Why couldn't she go home?

Brenda, at that moment, put her head round the back door. “Is Gerald back yet, Miss Masterfield?”

“No he is not!
Will
you go home!” snapped Aunt Mary. “Dear,” she added, not to sound unkind.

Brenda, without a word, shut the back door again. At the same moment, someone knocked at the front door. Sighing, Aunt Mary got up and answered it.

The thinnest child Aunt Mary had ever seen stood on the doorstep in a pool of water. It was wearing an odd kind of frogman's suit. Aunt Mary could not tell whether it was a girl or a boy—you so seldom could these days, she thought—but she nevertheless looked the child searchingly in the face in hopes of a clue. It was horribly pale, and the eyes that met hers were a deep amber yellow—just like a
goat's
, thought Aunt Mary. “Good God!” she told it weakly.

“Could I speak to Brenda, please?” the strange child asked anxiously. It had a peculiar lisping voice.

“Brenda doesn't live here,” said Aunt Mary. “Dear.”

The child looked so cast down that Aunt Mary was almost glad when Brenda burst round the side of the house like a stampeding carthorse, shouting, “Halla! What's the matter? Where's Gerald?”

Aunt Mary was not the most sensitive of Giantesses, but something in the manner of both girls made her pause in the middle of shutting the front door and ask, “Is something wrong?”

The strange girl looked at her blankly. “Oh no. I've just come to ask Brenda something.” And Brenda, with her mouth stretched into a long, false smile, added, “Nothing's wrong at all.”

Aunt Mary shut the front door, slightly uneasy. Then, because she was not the kind of Giantess to whom things happen, she went to bed with a headache, wondering why the house felt so peaceful for once.

Outside, Brenda took Halla's slippery elbow and towed her over the bridge and out onto the gravel, where they would not be overheard. “What
is
it, Halla?”

“Hafny,” Halla said wretchedly. “I've got him here. I daren't tell his mother, let alone Father. So you
have
to help me.” Puzzled and alarmed, Brenda watched Halla rip open her silvery jacket and take out a furry thing. She held it out toward Brenda in both long white hands. “Look.” It was something the shape of a ferret. But, if it had eyes, they were tight shut, and it did not have either ears or legs. Brenda found it repellent. She shuddered.

“That's never Hafny!”

“Yes it is.” There were tears in Halla's yellow eyes. “I was there when he did it. It's called
morgery
, but I've never seen it happen before. You're supposed to stop people before they do it. And I didn't. I thought he was just making a silly fuss, going on about being a traitor and saying he'd let Gair and Gerald down.”

“He wasn't a traitor,” Brenda said. “Was he?”

“That's what I said,” said Halla. “But he was told Father called him one. Then they shut Gair and Gerald up and burned their hair—”

Brenda squawked. She made Halla jump, but the ferret-thing did not move. “Burned their
hair
!”

“They cut it off first,” Halla explained impatiently. “It's what they do to dedicate sacrifices.”

“
Sacrifices!
” squealed Brenda.

Halla saw Brenda was upset. “They won't feel it,” she said. “And they're the first there have been for years, so it's quite an honor. And it's an honor to hang up to the Sun afterward.”

Brenda knew Halla meant to be kind, but she could have smacked her all the same. “When are they going to do it—this sacrifice?” she demanded.

Halla shrugged. Brenda's hand almost went out to clout her. “It's nothing to do with me,” said Halla. “The Feast of the Sun, maybe sooner. I don't know. But you
must
help me! Don't you understand, I unhooded to you! You've got to help me get Hafny back before Father finds out!”

She held the furry thing out to Brenda again. She was crying. Brenda simply could not credit that anyone could worry about a thing like that when two people were going to be killed. On the other hand, the shapeless furry creature did look pathetic, lying limply across Halla's palms—and Hafny seemed to have got that way because he, at least, minded about Gerald and Gair.

“How
do
you get them back?” Brenda asked gruffly.

“I don't know,” said Halla. “I know you have to do it soon, or he'll die.”

Making three of them, Brenda thought. “Well, I don't know if you don't. How could I?”

“But you could take him to Adara for me, couldn't you?” Halla said eagerly.

“Adara? You mean Gair's mother!”

Halla nodded. “Everyone says she's famous for healing. Here.” She pushed the furry thing into Brenda's hands.

Brenda recoiled. But Hafny's queer form did not feel nearly as unpleasant as it looked. It was as soft and warm and piteous as a sick rabbit. Brenda had half a mind to suggest to Halla that Adara might not feel like healing a Dorig if the Dorig were going to kill Gair. But Halla was probably too stupid to see that. And Brenda was fairly sure that Adara was the kind of person who would try to cure Hafny simply because he needed it. So all she said was, “Why can't
you
take him?”

Halla thought Brenda stupid, too. “Because Garholt is full of our people, of course! Father will find out I didn't stop Hafny and—tell them anything you like, but don't say I gave him to you.”

“All right,” said Brenda.

“Thanks.” Halla smiled brilliantly—she might be stupid, but she was very pretty, too, Brenda thought wistfully—and slipped away into the moat almost without a ripple.

Brenda was left holding a warm furry something. She glanced at the house, wondering if she ought to tell Aunt Mary, and decided against it almost at once. If Mr. Masterfield had been there, he might have done something, but Aunt Mary was no good. Brenda clutched the furry shape to her chest and set off at a heavy trot to her own house beyond Gerald's wood. Gair's people were the only ones who could help. Besides, she very much wanted to see Adara on her own account.

She lumbered through the wood and along the track to Lower Farm as gently as she could. Every second she held the helpless Hafny she was more sorry for him. She could almost feel how miserable he was. He had hoped for great things.

In the farmyard, her mother's bicycle, large and old, with string laced over the back mudguard, was leaning against the wall. It had a basket, which would do beautifully for Hafny. Brenda popped him into it and hurried into the house for a cushion to make him comfortable. For once in her life, the smell of Sunday lunch meant nothing to her.

As Brenda dashed out again with the cushion, her mother shouted, “Brenda! Your dinner's ready.”

Brenda stopped in the middle of the yard to roll her eyes at the sky. Parents! The high sun dazzled her, and she noticed, just above the trees, the white disk of the moon, too. “Do me good to slim!” Brenda bawled as she ran to the bicycle.

As soon as Hafny was safely bedded on the cushion, Brenda set off, pedaling for dear life, up the lane and along the road through the village. Ceri had talked of a wood. Brenda assumed he had meant the one near Garholt, which you could reach from the road beyond the village. While she got herself and Hafny there, she talked to Hafny between puffs and wheezes, trying to comfort them both. “You shouldn't get like this, Hafny. You don't want to believe that about traitors. You didn't join our side, did you? That's what they do—traitors. Oh, this hill! But it was lucky I didn't go down in the moat. I was a coward not to, I know that. But just think if I had! Cheer up, Hafny. Those Lymen'll do something, I know they will, if we get there quick.”

There was no kind of response from Hafny. Perhaps the queer form he was in could neither hear nor feel. Brenda had to give up talking on the hill beyond the village. It was very steep. But she puffed her way up it in the end. There was the wood. With any luck, she would find Ayna and Ceri in a few minutes. She was leaning the bicycle against the bank, when a Landrover came grinding round the corner, going toward the village.

Oh bother! thought Brenda. Mr. Masterfield and Mr. Claybury going home for their dinners. Now I'll have to stop and tell them.

She waved. The Landrover stopped, and Mr. Masterfield rather grudgingly leaned out. “What is it? A puncture?”

“No,” panted Brenda. “Something awful's gone and happened to Gerald. Only I can't stop now. I'll tell you later.” She lifted Hafny carefully off his cushion and hurried into the wood.

“What's happened? Where
is
Gerald?” Mr. Masterfield shouted after her.

“The Dories got him!” Brenda shrieked over her shoulder. Birds flew clapping out of trees at the din. She ran, looking anxiously about for any sign of Ayna and Ceri. Though how I should expect to see them when I never have before, I can't think! she thought. “Ayna! Ceri!”

There was no answer, only more frantic birds. Three minutes later, she was at the other end of the wood, with the Moor spread into gray-green distance below. There was no trace of any Lymen, but Garholt humped into the green view fifty yards to the left.

“Then I'd better see to you first,” Brenda said to Hafny, and surged toward the mound. When she reached it, it seemed easier on Hafny to go down it sitting. Brenda arrived at the foot of it with a rush, a slither and a squelch. A shimmer of movement in front of the mound abruptly stopped. There was sudden complete silence. Brenda stared at the last place where she had seen movement. It seemed daft, but it did look as if there might be a person standing against the nearest bush. “Ceri?” Brenda said doubtfully.

Half the bush came to life, and Ceri scudded toward her. “Brenda! What's gone wrong?”

“Ceri!” said Ayna's voice. Then she, too, hurried toward Brenda from the other side of the bush. “What is it?”

“They took Gerald and Gair for human sacrifices!” Brenda said.

“What?” someone else said sharply.

Upon that, the whole space in front of Garholt sprang to life. Brenda was bewildered, and more than a little alarmed, to find herself surrounded by warlike men and girls. These people were not smooth and skinny like the Dorig. Their hair was shaggy. They had bright, bold, determined faces. Most of the men had beards. They wore sheepskin and Moor-colored tweeds, and all of them carried knives and spears of some metal that did not seem to be iron. Though none of them was more than a few inches taller than Brenda herself, she had no doubt that even the boys of Ceri's size could make short work of her if they chose. Lymen gathered together were formidable. Dozens of bright eyes looked at her—eyes blue, gray or greenish, all of them more almond-shaped than Brenda was used to. To Brenda's confusion, at least eight of them wore golden collars of one sort or another, so that it was impossible to tell which one was Gair's father. When someone said, “How do you know that?” Brenda hugged Hafny protectively and replied to the whole band.