The Ragwitch. Garth Nix

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       3. Awqinn / The Spire

      AFTER THE MAY Dancer dumped him on the edge of the forest, Paul spent an uncomfortable few hours trying to sleep in a leaf-filled hollow, but he kept waking at the slightest noise, so he spent the remainder of the night awake and listening. Fortunately, dawn came before too long, promising something better than a cold hollow frequented by ants.

      In the bright new sunlight, Paul saw that the lands ahead were clear and obviously populated. Green fields stretched as far as he could see, gently climbing over small hills, or around the occasional small wood or copse–each full of trees quite different from those in the dark, crowded forest.

      The forest lay quite high on the hill behind him, so Paul went straight down, delighting in the ability to run free of vines and clinging roots. Every now and then, a rough stone wall barred his progress–proof that these pleasant green hills were inhabited.

      Then, as if further proof were needed, Paul spotted a flock of sheep and, more importantly, a shepherd. Eagerly, he ran towards them–before suddenly faltering. What if the shepherd were another creature, like the May Dancers, or possibly something worse? Paul quickly turned back to the nearest stone wall and hid near where the shepherd and his flock should pass.

      As they drew closer, his fear lessened. The shepherd wore a rough wool cloak, but the hood was pushed well back, revealing the cheerful, straggly-bearded face of an old man, who was whistling between his two front teeth–a pleasant tune, that sounded a little like Greensleeves.

      Paul needed no more, so he stood up and said, “Hello!”

      The shepherd looked up and stopped whistling. He looked dumbfounded by Paul’s sudden appearance and made no move to speak–or indeed, to do anything.

      “Hello,” said Paul, giving him a small wave. This seemed to puzzle the shepherd even more. He looked over his shoulder once, then looked past Paul, up to the forest, before answering, and his hand fell to the cudgel thrust through his belt.

      “Hello,” said the shepherd warily. “What are you doing up here?”

      “Nothing,” replied Paul. “I just came down–out of the forest…”

      “The forest!” interrupted the shepherd, quickly making a strange sign with thumb and forefinger against his head. “What were you doing in the forest? You didn’t upset the May Dancers?”

      “No…” said Paul hesitantly, somewhat taken aback by the old man’s vehemence. “I don’t think so. They let me go. One of them even carried me out of the forest–he dropped me just up there, at the top of the hill.”

      The shepherd appeared quite relieved at this and Paul noticed that he was no longer fingering the thick wooden cudgel at his side.

      “That is well. The May Dancers are strange folk, best left undisturbed by the likes of us. Which village are you from, lad–and where did you get your strange garments?”

      “I’m not from any village,” Paul said, wishing that he was from somewhere nearby. He fingered the dirty hem of his Tshirt and added, “And these are my normal clothes.”

      “Not from any village?” the shepherd asked, backing off and making the sign with his thumb and forefinger again. “Carried here by the May Dancers…”

      He began to back off still further, so Paul tried to put him at ease. “I’m only a boy–I was just looking for my sister. It’s hard to explain…but I’d never even heard of the May Dancers before last night. Honest!”

      “Just a boy,” repeated the shepherd, as if trying to convince himself this was true. “You’re not…a creature from the north?”

      “No. I’m a normal boy. It’s just that strange things have been happening…” Paul looked back over his shoulder, up at the brooding forest. Suddenly, the full enormity of it all became too much. He was alone in a strange world populated by strange creatures and suspicious old men, and worst of all, there was no Julia to tell him what to do. Unable to help it, he sat down on the stone wall and began to cry, brushing away the tears with the back of a dirty hand.

      “Here, then,” said the shepherd, somewhat surprised. “I meant no harm. Some strange folk sometimes cross near the forest–some of them might even take the shape of a young lad. But tears are beyond that sort…I think.” The shepherd looked at his flock for a second, and then at the sky, where the sun was just climbing up to its morning brilliance. “You’d best come with me, now. We’ll start back down to the village. The sheep’ll just have to eat as best they can on the way.”

      Paul looked up and, taking a deep breath, said (almost steadily), “Thank you. I’m sorry to make your sheep go hungry.”

      “Nay, lad,” said the shepherd. “I’ve a bit of fodder for them at home, and they’ll be up here tomorrow for a week. Here–you go over there and we’ll have ’em turned around before they knows it.”

      On the way down to the village, the shepherd told Paul that his name was Malgar, commonly known as Malgar the Shepherd, as there were two other (unrelated) Malgars in the village of Awginn-on-Awgaer.

      Paul СКАЧАТЬ