The Knight

I had been trying to decide whether it was a woman or a man; but the voice could have been either one, and there were tones in it that did not sound like a real person at all. I said, “Yes, we could really use wood like that. Please show me where it is.”

“It’s not much farther than you could roll a ball.” The soft voice had gotten fretful, like a tired little kid. “Do you think we could dry ourselves in front of the fire?”

I said, “Sure. I’m going to put my boots on, but I’ll leave my armor and clothes here. Is that okay?”

He did not say anything, so I said, “Listen, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, but could you maybe let me in on what you and Gylf were talking about back there?”

“He doesn’t like me.”

I was pulling on my boots. That is never much fun, but now my feet were wet and so were they, and it was flat mean. When I got the left one on, I said, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“How do you feel? About me, I mean.” It was a purling, puling, mewling sort of a voice, and sometimes it reminded me of seagulls.

I did not like it much, but I had the feeling I would get used to it pretty soon. Besides, it was going to show me that wood, so I said, “Really friendly. If you’re right and this kind of tree you’re talking about will burn for us, hey, I’ll be your friend for as long as you want me.”

“Do you mean it?” It was a little closer now.

“Absolutely.” I was getting my other boot on.

“You were kind to the witch, but I’m not dead.”

“I didn’t know she was dead ’til afterward,” I said. “I didn’t know she was a witch, either. Gylf and I thought she was still alive, because of the path.”

“Oh, she got up and went out sometimes.”

That shook me, and he saw it. He laughed. It was not a nice laugh, and was not like any other laugh I ever heard in my life.

When I stood up, he said, “It’s called pitch pine. Did you mean that? About being friends? You’ll have to whittle some shavings first. I never promised you wouldn’t have to do that, you know.”

“No problem.”

“About being friends,” he asked, “was that serious?”

“You bet,” I said. “You and me are pals for life.”

“Well, I need a new owner, and a knight might be nice, but you’ve got that big bow. Did the string get wet?”

“The string’s in my pouch here.” I picked it up and showed him. “It’s probably still pretty dry, but I’m not about to take it out to see.”

“You wouldn’t like me.”

I said, “I do like you. Honest.”

“To eat. Possibly you hate us. Many men do, and your dog does.”

I tried then to think of something I really hated. When I had been where they kept the ropes on the ship I had hated the rats, but after a while it came to me that it was crazy. They were just animals. I tried to kill them, sure, because once or twice they bit me when I was asleep. But there was no point in hating them, and I quit. Finally I said, “I try not to hate anything, even rats.”

“I am not a rat.”

“I never said you were.”

The limbs of a bush over to my right trembled a little, spilling a few drops of water. When I saw that, I figured he was pretty small. In a way, that was right. But it was wrong too.

I said, “Are you invisible?”

“Only at night. Follow me.”

“I can’t see you.”

“Follow my voice.”

I did the best I could, leaving the glade where I hoped to build a fire and tramping though the wet forest. I felt like I was going to freeze solid. “Over here.”

That was the first time I saw him (except it was really the second). There had been something black on a fallen log, but it was gone before I got a good look.

“Right here. See the little tree?”

I said, “I think so.”

“Break a twig and smell it. Remember the smell. The sap will get on your hands and make them sticky.”

The little knife I had carved my bow with was in the pouch with my bowstring. After I had broken a twig like he said, I got it out and cut off eight or nine branches.

“See how the sap runs wherever the tree is hurt?”

“Sure,” I said. “Will it burn?”

“Yes, it will. So will the needles.”

I carried everything back to where I had left my sword belt and so on, and whittled away at the branches until I had a big pile of shaving and pine needles, with everything soggy with sap. By the time I finished, my knife was black. So were my hands.

“I don’t like it either,” his soft voice told me, “but it’s a nice color.”

“The sap color you mean. It only looks black because dirt sticks to it.” I was rubbing my hands with wet leaves, which hardly helped at all.

“Black is the boldest color and the best. The most dramatic.”

I said, “Okay, if this stuff burns good I’ll love it no matter what color it is.” I quit rubbing and got out my flint and firesteel. The first good shower of sparks got me a hissing, popping yellow flame.

“See?”

“I sure do.” I was picking up dead wood to throw on my fire. “You know, you’re a really nice cat.”

“You saw me?”

“Yeah, when you ran up into the loft. That was you.”

“You don’t hate us? Many men do.” The cat popped up out of some wild-flowers on the other side of the glade. It was awfully small for a person, and it was a darned big cat, maybe the biggest I ever saw.

“I like you,” I said. “I’d like to pet you. I mean, when I get my hands clean.”

“You could lick them, couldn’t you?” The cat did not seem very sure about that but was willing to try it on me. “My name’s Mani, by the way.”

“I’m Sir Able of the High Heart,” I said. “Pleased to meet you, Mani.”

By the time I had a good big fire going, Mani was rubbing up against my legs.

Chapter 47. Good Master Crol

“Rabbits. Best I could do.” Gylf dropped them near my head. “But I found it.” I sat up, rubbing my eyes. “You found the War Way?”

“Yep.”

“That’s wonderful!”

Gylf grunted and lay down. I could tell he was tired. “People, too.” I was cutting off the head and paws of the biggest rabbit so I could skin it.

“Nice people?”

“Tried to tie me up.”

“I see. Were they woodcutters or something?”

He took his time with that one. Finally he said, “Don’t know.” I was busy pulling off the skin.

“Cook for me?”

“Sure. The whole rabbit if you want it. You caught it, after all.”

From a limb about ten feet up, Mani said, “You might pass that head, if there’s no call for it down there.”

Gylf growled.

I picked the head up by the ears and tossed it into the leaves where Mani could grab it. “Mani’s our friend,” I told Gylf.

He just shook his head.

“I think you’d better get over this business of not talking while he’s around. It’s not like he’s a man or a woman or even one of the Aelf. He’s an animal like you, and he’s heard you already. In fact, you talked to him when I wasn’t there.”

“Right.”

“Thanks.” I rubbed his ears. “You’re the best dog in the world, you know that? You’re my best friend, too.”

From up on the limb, Mani said, “Do you know some Aelf? That sounded like it.”

“Yes, and when we met I thought you might be one. But there was a little sunshine while we were building the fire, and you didn’t dodge it.”

“I’m a cat,” Mani explained.

Gylf curled his lip.

“I get it. Gylf, how about if you tell me what you and Mani were talking about when I came into the cottage? Is it something I ought to know?”

He shook his head until his ears flapped. “Nope!”

“Are you ashamed of what you said? We all say stuff when we’re mad that we’re ashamed of afterward.”

He was quiet.

“We say it,” I said, “but it takes a big dog to admit it.” I felt kind of silly then, but to tell you the truth I would a lot sooner talk to animals than to most people.

“He’s ashamed of having spoken to me,” Mani explained, “exactly as I am ashamed of having spoken to a dog. You will recall the meat you left in front of our fire.”