Chapter the 16th
Scott slouched down on the hard sofa in the visitor's waiting room and stared into space. He felt as if he had already read every back issue of People Magazine ever printed and he wanted never to see another issue in his life. Across the room, an anxious middle-aged woman was crocheting to pass the time.
"Still keeping your vigil, Scott?"
It was Father Clement again. Scott nodded. The priest came over and sat down next to him.
"Any change in your friend?" Father Clement asked.
"No. He's been quiet, staring into space for a long time. Dr. Rosskill isn't sure how conscious he is."
Father Clement sighed.
"It must be hard, not knowing if he will snap out of it."
“Yea.”
“You might want to go off for a while and do something else, then come back again."
“There’s nothing else I want to do," Scott replied.
"Bored with life?"
"Most of the time."
"Well, sometimes it's hard to find a purpose that keeps you going, no matter what."
"Mhm."
Scott braced himself for a lecture about coming to church more often, but the lecture never came. Instead, Father Clement fiddled with one of the copies of People Magazine, although he showed no interest in it. Then something caused him to raise his eyebrows.
"Scott?"
"Yea."
“There seems to be a letter here for you.”
"What letter?"
"This."
Father Clement handed Scott a sealed envelope with his name written on it in what he recognized as Amarilla's handwriting. Scott carefully opened the envelope and read:
Dear Scott,
Thank you for your letter to Michael. Your information is very helpful. Michael cannot answer you right now because of the turn recent events have taken. Don't worry about him if you can help it. I think he will be all right at the end. At least I hope so. Michael will never forgive me if I’m wrong about that.
I want to tell you something we know about Dornal. For quite some time, Dornal has been feuding with the king, since the king does not appreciate music, and this lack of appreciation is hard on a royal harpist. In retribution for this lack of appreciation and for a crowning insult, Dornal composed and sang a satire against the king. That means he sang a curse and it came true. That is to say, the cursing song includes a snowstorm, a wild golden boar, and golden serpents..
Do what you can to calm Dornal. Appreciating his music will help. Stick with him patiently, and we shall have another party here in Carelin.
Your friend,
Amarilla
"News from home?" asked Father Clement.
"Yea."
A nurse stepped into the waiting room.
"Scott Simpson?"
"Yes?"
"Dr. Rosskill asked me to take you to the patient's room. He's stirring again."
------------------
For quite some time, Michael was as motionless as a piece of wood.
“Big deal,” Michael thought to himself. “I am a piece of wood.”
“I wonder if I’m inside the boar’s head,” Michael suggested to himself, “or somewhere else inside the frame. Or, I suppose I could be inside a broken string, just a worthless broken string dangling in mid-air.”
Michael took a step downward. That was a strange feeling because there was no space for movement in any direction. It was something like trying to walk on the bottom of the ocean with insurmountable water pressure against him.
“I wonder where I could be going inside a harp or inside a broken harp string,” said Michael to himself.
"So, the harp caught you after all?"
If Michael could have stiffened, he would have. He recognized the voice. It was Will, the strange creature who had led him astray once and then tried to do it a second time.
“Yea, it got me,” said Michael.
Michael was not really talking; his throat was too stuffed with wood for that. But somehow he felt the vibrations of his vocal chords when he responded to Will.
"Want me to lend you a hand?” asked Will. “I can pull you out easy."
“What’s the catch?” asked Michael.
“The only catch is that you’re free from the harp that has you imprisoned.”
A few notes from a broken melody reached Michael’s ears. Each note vibrated deep in his bones as if his bones were the instrument itself.
“I’ll think about it,” said Michael..
"Come on,” Will urged, “you don't want to be a hunk of wood and strings the rest of your life, do you? Just say the word and I’ll have you out in no time. There’s nothing to it."
Nothing to it. There was nothing to it. Nothing to it. The words echoed through the harp, but the melody it was playing rejected those words.
"Come on,” said Will, “you'll be your own man. Nobody will carry you about and play whatever tune comes to their mind. You can call your own tune in life. That’s what you want, isn’t it?"
“There’s no tune to call when there’s nothing to it,” said Michael.
“That dragon said he would come with you,” Will reminded Michael.
“That’s right, he did say that, didn’t he?”
“Then where is he?”
“He’s right at my side,” Michael answered, surprised that he believed what he said.
But as soon as he had said those words, Will’s fluttering presence was gone and Michael felt the solid presence of the dragon lumbering along at his side.
“Thank you for believing my promise,” said the dragon.
“You’re welcome,” said a bemused Michael.
“Now, can you take another step downward?” asked the dragon. “We’re almost there.”
“Where?”
“You’ll see.”
With little hesitation, Michael took the step that felt so stationary when he was just a piece of wood. There was nothing to it—there was nothing to step on! A fierce wet wind struck Michael and blew him back and forth in mid-air where he swung with nothing to hold him up and no place to put his feet.
“I don’t see!” Michael cried.
“Do you hear anything?” asked the dragon.
As he swung back and forth like a hanged man on the gallows, Michael thought he heard high-pitched voices singing snatches of song.
“Yea, I hear something.”
“Follow the voices.”
Michael felt too helpless to follow anything, but his now supple, dangling body twisted in the direction of the singing until a pair of hands grabbed hold of him as if he were a rope.
“Hey! Ho! Holiday!” cried the boy as he pulled Michael down.
Suddenly Michael’s eyes were opened and he could see but wished he couldn’t. For what he saw was a boy clinging to him as he swung over a dark precipice where only a few golden flickers relieved the bottomless gloom.
“Hold sssssteady,” Michael found himself advising the boy, his throat suddenly freed up.
-----------
As soon as the wind grabbed Amarilla’s letter to Scott out of her fingers, the door slammed shut of its own accord with only a small amount of snow getting in to Engelbert’s house this time. Amarilla returned to the harp that rested on the table and stroked the boar’s head at its top. Although she shivered at the thought of going back outside in the storm, this time with no dragon to pull her on a sleigh, Amarilla put on her boots and winter coat.
“Why don’t you and Frown Face the Harp stay here where it’s warm?” asked Engelbert, his face still buried in his large book.
“I was trying to land in the royal courtyard when Michael chose not to cooperate,” Amarilla answered. “Now, thanks to him, I have to get there the hard way.”
“There’s an easier way than that,” said Engelbert. “Just open the cupboard and go down the stairs. That way will be hard enough.”
“I’m much obliged to you,” Amarilla replied.
Once she was dressed for the weather, Amarilla pulled the cupboard towards her. One of the dishes on the top shelf fell and broke on the floor. What the cupboard had opened on to was a narrow staircase winding down the trunk of the tree where Engelbert lived. Amarilla stooped down to pick up the pieces of plate.
“That’s all right. Leave it to me,” said Engelbert. “You’ve got enough fixing to do already.”
“Thanks to Michael,” Amarilla grumbled.
“I suggest you be thankful he entered the harp at all,” said Engelbert. “Just think where you would be if he hadn’t.”
“I’d rather not think about that,” said Amarilla. “Good-bye and many thanks for your hospitality.”
Engelbert did not reply. Amarilla picked up the harp and then carefully made her way down the stairs. As soon as she was well clear of the door, it slammed shut behind her, leaving her in almost total darkness. Only a few pinpricks of gold relieved the darkness and they did not give her any light to see by.
“You must be having an interesting journey yourself, Michael” said Amarilla as she inched her way down further, step by step.
But then the step below that was not there. Desperately, Amarilla reached for a banister or a piece of wall. What she latched on to was a root that swung her through the darkness like a rope right in the teeth of the wind and the stinging snow. She solidified her hold on the swinging root by bringing her legs together. When she wrapped her other arm more tightly around the harp, she realized that it was flecked with gold.
“Hold sssssteady,” the rope advised her.
“Thanks for the advice,” Amarilla muttered.
During her flight through the air, Amarilla saw, high above her, the faint glow of a crinkly star that seemed to guide her journey. Street lights blurred by the snow appeared. Seeing snow banks below her, Amarilla decided she was meant to land there, so she let go and plopped into the snow. The root swung away from her and as it passed under a street light, a golden serpent’s head looked back at her with round black eyes before disappearing in the dark beyond.
Amarilla worked her way tp her feet and made sure the harp was no worse than it was before. She found herself standing in a strange street in the middle of the night. Most of the houselights were off but just up ahead was a house with its porch light on. Two stone lions stared at her but they did not move or attack her. Not knowing what else to do, Amarilla plowed through the snow up to the house and knocked on the door.
-----------------
“Hey! Ho! Holiday!” cried a boy swinging above the snow-drenched garden on a rope.
He let go and landed in the tangle of threads not far from Kevin. To Kevin’s astonishment, the rope was a golden serpent with round black eyes.
“Find the others!” the boy yelled at the serpent as he thrust the rope away from him.
Kevin recognized the boy as Edmund. He desperately tried to greet the boy but, to his frustration, his words still only came out in a high-pitched bark. Edmund screamed and backed away, but the wall enclosing the garden had him cornered.
“You again!” Edmund exclaimed. “Please don’t eat me! Mr. Spitzenbergen will tie you up in a harp if you do!”
“He already is a harp,” said the youth, “and he’s already tied up in it. He had it coming to him”
Now that the youth had called Edmund’s attention to it, Kevin’s helpless state was quite apparent, the more so as Kevin strained at his bonds but obviously could not extricate himself. Edmund looked back and forth from Kevin and the youth.
“You don’t look exactly free of the harp yourself,” said Edmund, “if it really is a harp your tied up in.”
“HOW DARE YOU DOUBT MY WORD?” yelled the youth.
Edmund flinched and pressed himself against the wall as if the youth himself was a fierce animal poised to attack him. As if a response to the youth’s outburst, a strong gust of wind slammed the garden with another wet blanket of snow. In spite of his coat of fur, Kevin was glad to have his end of the shawl wrapped about him.
“Well I—I don’t doubt your word, but I—I doubt your—your knowing what you see. You see—I know this golden boar isn’t a harp because—well because—“
“Out with it!”
“Because—well I was talking to a boy—a strange boy—no offense!” Edmund added with a wary look at Kevin, “I don’t mean strange—weird—I mean strange like I never saw you before—and well—this boy threatened me with that—that knitting needle that’s all entangled with you—and then I saw with my own eyes—“
“I said: Out with it!”
“I’m getting there. I saw with my own eyes—really—I saw this boy turn into this little golden boar and I ran away from him but—he caught up with me.”
“That boy did not turn into a golden boar,” the youth insisted, “he turned into the carving on the harp of Bard Feronal the Moderately Great,”
“But that can’t be right,” Edmund insisted timidly.
“HOW DARE YOU PRECLUDE THE POSSIBILITY OF MY BEING RIGHT!” yelled the insolent youth.
“Well—I—I’m sorry but—I was looking for the—the lost notes with the rest of the choir,” Edmund stammered.
“What lost notes?”
“The notes that got torn out of Dornal’s harp when he sang a satire against King Perezvon the XXVI.”
“Did you say King Perezvon the Twenty-Sixth?” asked the youth. “And did you say Dornal’s harp?”
“Yea. You know—the king—King Perezvon the XXVI. And the royal harpist Dornal.”
“No, the king is King Perezvon the Twenty-fifth. King Perezvon the Twenty-Sixth will reign when my father experiences the demise for which I have been hoping all my life.”
“Hey! Ho! Holiday!” yelled a tall boy with a cracked voice as he swung over the garden wall on his rope and landed beside Edmund.
“Nigel!” cried Edmund.
“I knew that serpent would find you,” said Nigel.
“I knew that serpent would find you,” said Edmund.
“Master Nigel,” said the royal prince imperiously.
“Yes, Sir,” Nigel replied with a salute. “It is wintry here, Sir.”
“‘Your majesty,’ will do. And yes, a sudden snow storm in March has attacked the royal garden.”
“He says he isn’t King Perezvon XXVI yet,” said Edmund. “I guess that makes him the Crown Prince.”
“Master Nigel,” the crown prince interrupted, “will you please tell this insolent boy that the boar tied up in these harp strings is part of the frame of the royal harp?”
Nigel took a close look at Kevin, who decided not to bark or cry out.
“Actually, the boar could be the frame of Dornal’s Harp, but it could also be the copy of Dornal’s Harp in the illuminated painting by Kevin the Weaver-Maker.”
Kevin was so excited that this boy would think of his painting that he yipped with excitement.
“HOW DARE YOU QUESTION THE CROWN PRINCE?”
“I think the boar himself agrees with me,” said Nigel.
“What does a golden boar know?” scoffed the young man.
“Nigel,” said Edmund, “I saw a boy just now and he—he turned into this boar—so he can’t be the harp frame—but I guess the boy could be Kevin the Weaver Maker.”
As Edmund said those words, a weight fell from Kevin’s jaw.
“Yes!” he cried. “I’m Kevin! Really!”
And although his arms were still bound by the golden threads, for the moment, he was just glad to have his arms back at all. But as he cried out with his new-found voice, there was still a high-pitched bark to be heard near by. The diminutive golden boar was still caught in the threads itself.
“Now who or what is the golden boar now?” asked Nigel in a thoughtful tone of voice.
-----------
The frightful second of the jump in the dark ended with Karen and the children bouncing on what felt like a bed of coils. Karen found her shawl entangled in the coils, while Roger and Samantha managed to roll themselves away from it.
"Well," said Roger. "That was fun. I'd like to do that again now that I know what to expect when I land."
"The candle went out," said Samantha.
"So I see," said Roger.
"Too bad we didn't think to borrow some miner's lights from the dwarves," Samantha remarked.
“We can't think of everything," said Roger cheerfully. "Come on!"
It was not clear where Roger could lead his companions, but he moved among the coils as if he had a purpose in mind.
"May the strings of your harp break and wrap themselves around you and choke you!" cried a boy.
"Recognize that voice?" Roger whispered.
"Yes," Samantha hissed, "it's the invader."
"This way," Roger whispered.
Up ahead, there was a dim light. Roger pawed his way in that direction into a cave underneath the coils and cleared a way for the others to follow him.
"May the strings of your harp break and wrap themselves around you and choke you!" the boy cried again.
Roger followed the voice and soon enough, the three children came to a small clearing. There, they found a young man, dressed in green, tied to one of the jungle gym connecting bars with several gold coils. Only they weren’t just coils, they were serpents who turned their heads up to look at the new arrivals with round black eyes. The invader Prince Perezvon was gone.
"May the golden threads engulf you and choke you!" cried the young man, "May the wild boar chase you to the end of the world and then off the world’s edge!"
"It's Dornal!" Roger exclaimed in a whisper. "We're inside of Dornal and Dornal's tied up inside of himself!"
Karen recognized the young man as the harpist she and Michael had helped after he was hit by a car in Milton.
"Now we know how the blizzard started, all right," Roger whispered.
"How do we put a stop to it?" Samantha asked.
"Not so simple," Roger replied. "It depends on Dornal. And on us.”
"Let's untie him," whispered Samantha.
"May the golden threads engulf you and choke you!" cried the young man, "May the wild boar chase you to the end of the world and then off the world’s edge!"
That stopped Samantha in her tracks.
“He's raving pretty bad,” Karen cautioned the girl. “We don't want to startle him, or he might go off the deep end."
"Good point," said Roger.
“I’ve never seen a king like you!” cried the young man.
"He doesn't know what he's saying," said Karen. "He was the same way when Michael and I found him in Milton."
"Then we'll have to tell him what he's really saying, so he can unsay it," said Roger. “Let’s approach him together, carefully.”
Samantha took one baby step forward in Dornal's direction. Karen and Roger did the same. Then they each took another, slightly larger baby step.
"Who goes there?" Dornal roared.
"A friend," Samantha answered.
"What kind of friend?" asked Dornal.
"A friend who wants a song from you," Roger replied.
"How can I sing when the strings of my harp are broken by your cutting eyes and knife-shaped mouth?"
Samantha retreated into Roger's arms, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Samantha, he didn't really bite your head off," Roger whispered to her.
"He tried to," Samantha replied through her tears.
“I think we have to try something else,” Karen suggested.
“I think you’re right,” said Roger. “Dornal doesn’t seem ready to be untied just yet.”
“Does that mean we have to talk him into untying himself?” Samantha suggested.
“Something like that,” said Roger.