The Book Without Words_ A Fable of Medieval Magic - Avi [22]
Sybil, though irritated the boy was giving her orders, climbed into the grave.
“Don’t step on him!” cried Odo.
Trying to keep from gagging, Sybil aligned Thorston’s body so that he lay reasonably straight.
“Now what?” said Damian when Sybil had hauled herself out.
“He must be covered by earth,” said Odo.
“Shall I speak what was said over my parents’ grave?” asked Alfric.
“It would be kind,” said Sybil.
Alfric took a deep breath and then said, “Rest in peace.”
There was a moment of awkward silence. “Surely,” cried Damian, “there was more said.”
“That’s all the priest spoke,” said Alfric.
“Never mind,” said Sybil, feeling ill. “We must finish.” With Alfric’s help, she started to shovel dirt over the body. As she did, she began to cry. Odo bobbed his head with grief. Alfric wept, too.
“Why are you crying?” Damian asked Alfric.
“I’m thinking of my parents.”
“Being without parents hardly makes you special,” said Damian. “I’m an orphan, too.”
“As am I,” said Sybil through a sob. “And Odo.”
“Live long enough,” said Odo, “and all become orphans.”
Damian looked around. “It’s a mercy your sermons are short,” he said.
“My father,” said Alfric, “was wont to say, ‘The shorter the sermon, the longer the truth.'”
Sybil stepped back and wiped her hands on her frock.
“Are we finished?” said Damian.
“Yes,” whispered Sybil, without strength to speak louder.
“Then I want my reward,” said Damian. “And I want it now. Or I shall immediately go to the reeve. I’m sure he will be pleased to know what you’ve done.”
12
“Go up to the room,” said Sybil, “and wait. I need to talk to Odo.” Alfric went. Damian did not.
“Why can’t you speak with me here?” he said.
“Just go!” Sybil cried.
Damian, seeing the fierceness of Sybil’s face, climbed the ladder without further protest.
As soon as they were alone, a nervous Odo said, “What did you wish to say?”
“Even with their green eyes,” Sybil whispered, “the boys can make nothing of that book. What are we to do?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Odo.
“I wish,” said Sybil, looking the bird in the eyes, “I could trust you more.”
“You can.”
“Then tell me about Master. If I knew more about him, I might understand more about the gold. Odo, what kind of man was he?”
“What does it matter? Dead men do few deeds.”
“How long were you with him?”
The bird hung his head. “I’m not sure.”
“How can that be?”
Odo nodded a few time before saying, “Sybil, the truth is, I suspect I was something else before I was a raven.”
“What do you mean?” said Sybil.
“I believe Master transformed me from something else.”
“Was he a sorcerer, then?”
“Of a kind. And in transforming me, he also took my memory.”
“Could he truly have done all that?”
“All his magic came from the book.”
“Then have you no idea what you were?”
“I’d like to think I was a human,” said the raven. “But, for all I know I could have been a … cabbage. Or a goat. Master always liked goats.”
“But why would he want you to be a raven?”
“I suspect it has something to do with the making of gold. At least, he promised me half the gold he made if I would stay with him and let him use my feathers. I even allowed him to clip my wings—my foolish way of assuring him I wouldn’t fly away. Sybil, he told me there was a man in York who could restore my wings so I could fly again. Of course, it would take gold; but I supposed I’d have a great deal.”
“Odo, is flying all you seek?”
The raven dropped down a rung closer to the girl. “Sybil, look at me. I’m an old, useless bird. Unable to fly, I’m bound to this wretched earth. I talk only to you, an impoverished peasant girl. What a pair. I cannot fly—you are ignorant. Have you no desires?”
“You always say I’m nothing,” said Sybil. “Perhaps it’s true. But all the same, I want to live, though I can’t say for what purpose. Perhaps being alive is enough. Odo, it was you who convinced me Master’s gold-making secret could make a difference in my life. Now all we have are those stones. I put them in the chest.”
“I suspected as much,” said the bird. “I wish I knew their importance. But I