Power of Three. Diana Wynne Jones

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СКАЧАТЬ do it by accident,” he said.

      Ceri seemed to think this was perfectly good advice. “Yes. But I don’t know what I did,” he said dolefully.

      Gair could not tell him that. All he could say was, “Well, try and remember what you did. Go on. Think.”

      “All right.” Ceri sat beside Gair on the sill, with his knees drawn up beside his ears and his hands between his feet, and thought until Gair was bored. At last he said doubtfully, “I think I sort of pointed a piece of the inside of my head at them.”

      “Then try and do it again now,” said Gair.

      “What on? I’m not supposed to use you,” said Ceri.

      Gair had worn the windowsill smooth. There was nothing there Ceri could use. Gair looked out at the bees – but you did not meddle with bees for a number of good reasons – and thought over the things in his pockets. He had nothing in them that he was willing to let Ceri spoil. He could think of only one thing that might do. “Here you are.” He took the gold collar off his neck, careful to keep hold of either end so that it would not start turning to black ore again, and held it out towards Ceri. “Try and break this in two.” Ceri looked awed by Gair’s daring. “Go on,” said Gair. “Plain collars are easy to mend, if you can’t.”

      “All right.” Ceri clasped his arms round his knees and stared at Gair’s collar. Nothing happened. Gair was just about to give up and put the collar back on again, when Ceri’s eyes widened. Gair found his hands moving apart from one another, each holding half of the collar. “I did it!” said Ceri. Both of them burst out laughing.

      “Now mend it,” said Gair.

      “Ooh!” said Ceri. “Suppose I can’t?”

      “I’ll get into trouble. Not you. Go on. Try.”

      Gair held out the two halves. Ceri tried. The effect was immediate, but unexpected. The collar leapt together, dragging Gair’s hands with it. One piece slid on top of the other and, the next second, Gair was holding one half of a collar twice as thick. He was forced to laugh again at the frantic bewilderment on Ceri’s face.

      “Oh dear!” said Ceri.

      “Try again,” said Gair. “We’ll both get into trouble if it stays like this.”

      Ceri knelt up and tried earnestly. The collar grew between Gair’s hands, and grew, and went on growing, until Gair was holding both ends of a gold wire. The wire tied itself into a bow. The bow compressed into a little gold bar. It took Ceri half an hour to work Gair’s collar back to its proper shape, and by that time they were both weak with laughing. Gair put the collar back on.

      “Use something else next time,” he said.

      Ceri went away and fetched some marbles. Then, for the next three days, while, from among the houses below came the monotonous chanting of the words which would eventually take the Thought off Ondo and Fandi, Ceri sat on Gair’s windowsill and exercised his Gift. He chopped marbles in two, turned them egg-shaped and rolled them this way and that. Gair grew heartily bored and longed to have his windowsill to himself again. But he saw Ceri felt safest there. He thought Gair was wise enough to protect him from the consequences of his new Gift. Gair felt a fraud, but he had not the heart to turn Ceri out.

      Gest saw Ceri sitting up there and began to feel that both his sons were turning out peculiar. “I think they’d both better come on the next hunt,” he told Adara. Adara agreed, thinking it would help Ceri to forget about his latest Gift.

      Ondo and Fandi were themselves again on the third day. Orban arrived with an escort to take them home again, and they left. Kasta gave Ceri – and Gair too – very baleful looks before she went. She was convinced Gair had egged Ceri on.

      That same evening, Ceri put his marbles in his pocket, smiled happily and told Gair he knew how to manage Thoughts now. Gair was relieved. But the peace he was looking forward to was shattered when Gest told him he and Ceri were coming on the hunt.

      Gair enjoyed hunting, these days, but Ceri loathed it. So far, Ayna and Gair had prevented Gest finding out. Gest would have been furious to find any son of his did not love to hunt. Gair’s heart sank, because he would be responsible for Ceri. They would be out two days too, for the great midsummer Feast of the Sun was near and had to be provided for. Ayna had been consulted and she had said there would be deer again, in the north-east of the Moor. Gair thought he would be lucky to get Ceri all that way without some kind of trouble.

      There was every kind of trouble. Ceri made every possible mistake and contrived to get left behind whenever he could. He hated every minute, and said so. By dawn on the second day, Gair was thinking that it was rather to his credit that he had only hit Ceri nine times in all: six times when he richly deserved it, and three times to stop him complaining in Gest’s hearing. They trailed through a rushy meadow hung with mist. The coming dawn made the grass as white as the mist and the chill struck through to their bones. They were behind as usual. Ceri was wailing that he needed a rest or he would die, and Gair, knowing everyone else was in the next meadow already, took Ceri’s arm and dragged him along.

      There was a pool of water in their way, edged with stiff rushes. Because of the whiteness of everything, Gair did not see it until he was in it. They splashed round one end of it and Ceri complained bitterly that his feet were wet now.

      A dark shape about the size of Gair loomed at them through the mist. Ceri’s whine stopped in a squeak. Gair jumped. But the shape was only a red stag, about to make off across the meadow.

      “Quick!” Gair shouted to Ceri. In great excitement, he levelled his spear and ran through the whiteness to head the stag off. “Quick! Or I’ll hit you again.”

      “That’ll be ten times. And I’m cold,” Ceri said sullenly. But, when Gair glanced back to see, he found Ceri had stopped using his spear as a walking stick and was pointing it in the general direction of the stag. If Ceri stood firm – a thing not altogether to be relied on – they could pin the stag between them.

      Gair circled quickly beside the pool, trying to drive the stag towards Ceri. But the beast circled with him, keeping its horns lowered. It seemed they had found a crafty one. Gair could not see it very well in the swirling whiteness, but it looked larger than he had thought. Some trick of the mist and the dawn light made its head look higher than his own. The antlers looked wicked. Gair advanced behind his spear, wondering why he felt so cold. And the stag grew again, until it towered over him.

      “Gair!” said Ceri, in a squeaky voice of real terror. “Gair, that’s standing water!”

      So it was, Gair realised. He had made poor work of looking after Ceri. He thrust at the stag with all his strength, but the spearhead met nothing. The huge antlered shape wavered and swirled into mist, darker and greyer than the white mist around. There was a blast of cold air. Gair backed hurriedly round the pool towards Ceri, water squirting in sheets from under his feet, until they stood shoulder to shoulder. There they watched in fascinated horror the grey mist harden into a tall, tall shape covered in dim silvery scales like armour, a pointed head solidify, a pale face with queer yellow eyes, a round shield and a sharp, bent scimitar. Gair could have kicked himself. He had been told often enough that Dorig were shape-shifters. But he had had no idea they looked so dangerous. He hoped it would not notice how both their spearpoints were juddering.

      It came towards them in a wafting, gliding way that had both of them sick with terror. СКАЧАТЬ