beneath his feet. Eri, bent double over an open chest in the corner, was mumbling oaths in ancient Welsh. The boys recognized some of the words, and Petrello couldn’t help grinning at his brother.
“So, young princes, have you come to help us tidy our muddle?” Llyr was placing shells in a row on his table. He liked things to be well-ordered. Every crystal, every bone, stone, seed, shell, and fungus had its place.
“Are you still searching for the Seeing Crystal?” Tolly asked.
“I am not,” said Llyr, “but Grandfather won’t give up. He thinks a squirrel or a magpie might have moved it.”
“Or one of those black kittens on a rat hunt,” muttered Eri. He stood up, rubbing his back.
“The king needs you,” Petrello said, and he quickly told the wizards what had happened to Gunfrid.
“Shivering stars,” said Eri. “Take the heather, Llyr. Quick now.”
“I know what to do, Grandfather.” Llyr gathered up several sprigs of heather and thrust them into a bag. Four iron bowls followed the heather. Then Llyr’s eyes searched the table, his fingers touching the stones and the shells. Nodding to himself, he picked up several tiny bones and put them in the bag. “Ready,” he said, striding to the door. But all at once, he turned and hurried back to the table. “Hoof fungus,” he said, and tossed a handful of curled fungi into the bag.
Petrello and Tolly sped down the stairway with Llyr almost treading on their flying jackets. They ran across the courtyard, through the crowd of bewildered knights and restless horses, and past the grooms and stable boys. The guard outside the Meeting Hall let them in without a murmur.
The king and Amadis were standing on either side of the eagle helmet. Gunfrid’s pale chin and bloodless lips could be seen poking out beneath the nosepiece.
Llyr stared at the small chalk-white chin. He touched the thin lips with the back of his hand and looked at the king.
“My cloak is not enough.” King Timoken looked distraught.
Llyr merely nodded. He took the four bowls from his bag and handed two each to Petrello and Tolly. “One on the sill, one by the fireplace, one at the door, one at his feet. So the spell cannot be corrupted from outside.”
Tolly ran to the door and then the window. Petrello took one of his bowls and placed it by the fire. The other he put very carefully on the table a few inches from Gunfrid’s small feet. While the boys were busy, Llyr took out the sprigs of heather and laid them on the cloak that covered Gunfrid’s body. He broke them up and divided them into four small piles, ordering the boys to place a pile in each bowl. He did the same with the tiny bones, then he went to each bowl and crumbled the hoof fungus on top of the heather and bones. When all this was done, Llyr looked at the king and asked, “Will you light them for us, Sire?”
Without a word, the king moved to the door. He bent down and with one finger touched the contents of the bowl. The heather took light. It smoldered and glowed. The king went to the other three bowls and repeated the action. Soon, the contents of all four bowls was smoking and crackling. A pungent, earthy smell began to fill the room.
“Tell the knights to stand down,” the king told Amadis. “I cannot leave the castle until this poor boy is well again.” He sat in his heavy oak chair, with its ornately carved back, and leaned his arms on the table, close to the boy’s head.
While Amadis went to speak to the knights, Petrello and Tolly hovered by the table, unsure what to do.
“You had better go to your lessons, boys,” said their father. “There’s nothing to be done here until your friend revives.”
When the boys left the room, their father had begun to murmur in the language of his African kingdom. And in the background, very low and quiet, came a chant from Llyr, the music in his throat so gentle it could have been drawn from the breath of trees.
“I don’t want to go to the
“So, young princes, have you come to help us tidy our muddle?” Llyr was placing shells in a row on his table. He liked things to be well-ordered. Every crystal, every bone, stone, seed, shell, and fungus had its place.
“Are you still searching for the Seeing Crystal?” Tolly asked.
“I am not,” said Llyr, “but Grandfather won’t give up. He thinks a squirrel or a magpie might have moved it.”
“Or one of those black kittens on a rat hunt,” muttered Eri. He stood up, rubbing his back.
“The king needs you,” Petrello said, and he quickly told the wizards what had happened to Gunfrid.
“Shivering stars,” said Eri. “Take the heather, Llyr. Quick now.”
“I know what to do, Grandfather.” Llyr gathered up several sprigs of heather and thrust them into a bag. Four iron bowls followed the heather. Then Llyr’s eyes searched the table, his fingers touching the stones and the shells. Nodding to himself, he picked up several tiny bones and put them in the bag. “Ready,” he said, striding to the door. But all at once, he turned and hurried back to the table. “Hoof fungus,” he said, and tossed a handful of curled fungi into the bag.
Petrello and Tolly sped down the stairway with Llyr almost treading on their flying jackets. They ran across the courtyard, through the crowd of bewildered knights and restless horses, and past the grooms and stable boys. The guard outside the Meeting Hall let them in without a murmur.
The king and Amadis were standing on either side of the eagle helmet. Gunfrid’s pale chin and bloodless lips could be seen poking out beneath the nosepiece.
Llyr stared at the small chalk-white chin. He touched the thin lips with the back of his hand and looked at the king.
“My cloak is not enough.” King Timoken looked distraught.
Llyr merely nodded. He took the four bowls from his bag and handed two each to Petrello and Tolly. “One on the sill, one by the fireplace, one at the door, one at his feet. So the spell cannot be corrupted from outside.”
Tolly ran to the door and then the window. Petrello took one of his bowls and placed it by the fire. The other he put very carefully on the table a few inches from Gunfrid’s small feet. While the boys were busy, Llyr took out the sprigs of heather and laid them on the cloak that covered Gunfrid’s body. He broke them up and divided them into four small piles, ordering the boys to place a pile in each bowl. He did the same with the tiny bones, then he went to each bowl and crumbled the hoof fungus on top of the heather and bones. When all this was done, Llyr looked at the king and asked, “Will you light them for us, Sire?”
Without a word, the king moved to the door. He bent down and with one finger touched the contents of the bowl. The heather took light. It smoldered and glowed. The king went to the other three bowls and repeated the action. Soon, the contents of all four bowls was smoking and crackling. A pungent, earthy smell began to fill the room.
“Tell the knights to stand down,” the king told Amadis. “I cannot leave the castle until this poor boy is well again.” He sat in his heavy oak chair, with its ornately carved back, and leaned his arms on the table, close to the boy’s head.
While Amadis went to speak to the knights, Petrello and Tolly hovered by the table, unsure what to do.
“You had better go to your lessons, boys,” said their father. “There’s nothing to be done here until your friend revives.”
When the boys left the room, their father had begun to murmur in the language of his African kingdom. And in the background, very low and quiet, came a chant from Llyr, the music in his throat so gentle it could have been drawn from the breath of trees.
“I don’t want to go to the
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