The Book Without Words_ A Fable of Medieval Magic - Avi [25]
“‘Brother Wilfrid,’said Thorston, ‘I was once told I had green eyes.’
“I darted a look at him. When I saw that his eyes were indeed green, I became alarmed and closed the book.
“But he had become excited. ‘Brother Wilfrid; he said, ‘can the book’s magic tell me how to live forever?’
“I stood up. ‘I must go,’I said.
“Thorston restrained me. ‘Please,’he pleaded, ‘my desire is never to die. Teach me how to read and use the book.’
“’No,’I said, pulling free, ‘it’s not for such as you and I.’ But I held out my hand. ‘Be my friend and companion. If something happens to me, you could bring the book to our bishop. You would be blessed.’
“‘But, Brother Wilfrid, if we used the book’s magic, we—’
“‘Didn’t you hear me?’I said. ‘It must not be used. I must get it to safety. Thank you for your assistance. Godspeed; I said, ‘and a blessed death.’I started off.
“Abruptly, Thorston threw his tunic over my head, smothering me. He struck, too. As I fell, he tore the Book Without Words from my grasp, took back his tunic, and ran off through the forest.
“I lay dying on the thick forest floor, the stench of goat in my nostrils. ‘Saint Elfleda,’I cried, ‘help me retrieve the book.’
“And so,” concluded the monk, “she has.”
17
“Is all of that true?” whispered an astonished Sybil. “All of it?”
“By Saint Elfleda, it is.”
“And have you been searching for Thorston all these years?”
“Beyond all else, it’s the book I seek.”
“Is the book truly so valuable?”
“It contains all the evil magic of Northumbria. Whereas it can only be used in these Northumbrian precincts, its magic gives what is desired, even as the desire consumes the magician.”
“Why do you want it, then?”
“Since such evil can never be entirely destroyed, it must be kept from those who might misuse it.”
“Why are green eyes so important?”
“As I told you the old religion held it to be the color of life. And if one wishes to live forever—as Thorston does—the means can be found there, but only in these Northumbrian precincts.”
“But I told you, Thorston is dead.”
“Are you sure? He was determined to live forever.”
“Is it so wrong to want to live?”
“Wrong for him to reclaim his life by taking yours.”
“What do you mean?” cried Sybil.
Wilfrid sighed. “It’s the stones. They will renew his life. To make them he had to take the very breath of your life. When he uses the stones, he will live, but you won’t.”
“But I told you, he’s dead!” cried Sybil.
Wilfrid shook his head. “Beware the book’s magic. No doubt he chose you because of your age. If you would keep him dead, and thereby save yourself, bring the book and the stones to me.”
“Tell me how he uses those stones.”
“I beg you, just bring the book and the stones to me.” The monk stretched out his trembling hands toward Sybil, hands little more than sinew and bones. As Sybil looked at Wilfrid, his face appeared to be as much a skeleton as a living face—as if he too hovered between life and death. Gripped by sudden terror, she fled back to the house.
18
Sybil, unable to free herself of thoughts about what the ancient monk had said—“When he uses the stones, he will live, but you won’t”—made a cabbage soup on the brazier and served it to the others. The people ate with wooden spoons. Odo dipped his beak into a bowl.
“Some say that spring will never come this year,” said Damian as he slurped his food.
“Perhaps time has frozen,” said Odo.
“My father,” said Alfric, “used to say that time is like an oxcart wheel—that it has no end or beginning, but only rolls.”
“But,” added Damian with a laugh, “the cart it lugs has nothing but muck.”
“You are a vulgar boy,” said Odo.
“Better boy than bird,” Damian retorted. “We haven’t found anything, have we?” he said.
The stones, Sybil thought to herself, but she said nothing.
“We’re not finished looking,” said Odo. “But even,” he went on, “if it does not seem like gold, I know Master’s test for it.”
“As long as it looks like gold,” said Damian with a grin, “I don’t care.”
Odo nodded. “A sniff of gold makes all noses sneeze,” he said.
It was Alfric who,