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hah0.'
Thom raised the bottle to his lips and, after a moment's hesitation, drank
from it. Immediately he tasted the elf-made medicine he tried to take the
bottle away, but Rigwit would not allow it. The little man pushed against the
bottle's flat bottom until half of the green liquid was gone.
'Swallow,' he ordered Thom, whose cheeks were filled with the concoction.
Thom gulped it down and pulled a face. It tasted foul.
"What's it made from?' he asked, staring disgustedly at the remainder of the
medicine left in the bottle.
You really don't want to know.'
Rigwit had not used these precise words in his reply, but this was the
interpretation in Thom's mind.
Sometimes, especially at the beginning, talking with the elf was like watching
a badly dubbed Italian movie; the words were not quite in synch with the
movement of the mouth. At least Jennet could actually speak the language of
humans.
'How long do I have to keep taking the stuff?' he asked resentfully.
'One month of your time. No more than that.'
Well, that's something to look forward to.'
Rigwit chuckled. "You be on your way now. Jennet will be getting impatient.
There's something important she has to tell you.'
You're not coming along?'
'It's about time I got down to some serious housework. The place has become a
pigsty with all that's been going on. Mind you, certain goblins of my
acquaintance enjoy living in real pigsties. One other thing before you go ...'
He popped inside again and reappeared brandishing a rusty and
weathered-looking horseshoe that was half his present size.
'Iron,' he told Thom unnecessarily. 'I want you to keep this on your doorstep
from now on.'
Thom regarded him quizzically.
'Iron before the threshold prevents witches from passing through.'
'I could have done with it a week ago. It would have kept Nell Quick out.'
'It was too late for that - she'd already been inside Little Bracken long
before you arrived home. Once a witch has gained entry, the spell doesn't work
any more.'
'I guess that's handy to know, although I don't expect
any more trouble from witches, or wiccans, whatever you call them.'
Wiccans. You never know, Thom, m'boy, you never can tell. Be prepared, has
always been my motto, a saying that has been stolen by your Boy Scouts, I
believe.'
Thom chuckled. 'I don't think Baden-Powell knew it belonged to you.'
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Rigwit chuckled with him, then, abruptly: 'Now shoo! Jennet's waiting.' His
pointed face turned grave.
'And Thom...'
 Yeah?'
'Please. Be prepared.'
Thom made his way across the clearing to the edge of the woods, puzzled by the
elf's concern. He paused by the first trees and looked back towards the
cottage, with its walls and turret of warm red stone. Rigwit was no longer on
the doorstep.
Everything looked fresh and sparkling after the fierce storm of the night
before, although small branches and leaves were strewn across the clearing,
torn loose by the winds. Jewels glittered in the grass and the tree leaves,
dewdrops not yet absorbed by the sun; flowers abounded, reds, yellows, blues -
especially blues for, to his right and crossing the track that led to the
river and Castle Bracken, the bluebells flourished, a vibrant carpet of
near-impossible beauty. Soon they would be gone, for they bloomed only a few
weeks at a time, and he would miss them. But there were other flora to catch
his eye, wild flowers and plants that lifted the heart and made the spirit
sing.
He took one last look at the tranquil scene - the sandstone cottage with its
stunted but nevertheless proud tower, the broken stone path with dazzling
flowers on either side leading up to it, the verdant clearing itself and the
trees
behind the building, their shades of green too numerous to take account of,
and the clear blue skies where birds playfully wheeled and dived above it all.
Thom filled his lungs with fresh air, the purest anyone could wish to breathe
and, for a moment, lost in the gentle splendour around him, he forgot Rigwit's
last words of advice. He felt satisfied, content even.
Maybe it was because of the contrast between the past few days and the
present, the lull after the storm
(quite literally in this case), but Thom felt at peace, a feeling that had
eluded him for many long years.
Since Bethan's death, in fact.
He turned and entered the forest's cool shade. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]