The Book Without Words_ A Fable of Medieval Magic - Avi [27]
She went to the foot of Thorston’s bed, knelt, and opened the chest. A sweet, springlike smell wafted up. As she held the chest lid up with one hand, with the other, she moved aside the bolt of cloth under which she had hidden the stones. She gasped. The three stones were glowing. But even as Sybil gazed at them, she thought she heard the sound of someone stirring across the room. In haste, she covered the stones, lowered the lid, and crept back to her room.
On her pallet she kept thinking about the stones. That there was something magical about them, she had no doubt. The monk said they restored life. But how? She resolved to speak to the monk and ask him for an explanation.
21
In the front room, Alfric, his head full of worry, had not been able to sleep. The death and burial of Master Thorston made him think upon his parents and their death. It brought tears to his eyes.
He also thought about Sybil. He was touched by her sympathy. How long it had been since anyone had been kind to him! The last thing he wanted was to return to Bashcroft. The boy prayed she would let him stay with her.
Even as Alfric had the thought, he saw her enter the room and look about. Feigning sleep, he closed his eyes partway and watched her pull aside the leather curtain from the front window. When moonlight filled the room, he shut his eyes and waited until he heard her go back down the hallway.
Once she had gone, he propped himself up on an elbow and peered about. It occurred to him that Sybil might let him stay if he could do something she wanted, something that would make her desirous of keeping him. Something like—the reading of that book: if he could find a way to read it, she might look with favor upon him.
Seeing that Damian was asleep and snoring on the alchemist’s bed, and that the raven had his head tucked under a wing, Alfric went to the table where the Book Without Words lay.
Illuminated by moonlight, its stiff, yellow parchment pages seemed to have their own glow. Gingerly, Alfric touched one sheet. The scraped parchment made his fingertips tingle. One by one, he turned over the leaves. Each page appeared the same—blank. Or did it?
Bending closer, he scrutinized them hard, wanting with all his desire to see something. As he concentrated, faint lines began to appear—lines he was sure had not been there before. They were indistinct squiggles—but they were there. He stared harder. The lines became clearer. They became words. Alfric’s heart began to pound.
Alarmed, Alfric backed away. The chill air made him shiver. He must be careful. Without question there was magic here. But he didn’t want to antagonize the girl. Perhaps he was doing something wrong. He went down the hallway toward her room.
“Mistress?” he called to Sybil. She opened her eyes.
“Are you awake?” Alfric whispered.
“Yes.”
“I can’t sleep. And I’m cold. May I stay close to you?”
“Of course.”
The boy crept close to her. She was thin but warm. “May God bless you,” he said in a choked voice. “You are the kindest lady in the world.”
As Sybil drew the frail boy close, she realized something: Odo had apologized to her. The monk had said he needed her. The boy had blessed her. In all her life no one had ever said or done any of those things. Here, in one day, were all three. Was that not a kind of magic?
22
From his perch on the books, Odo had watched Alfric examine the Book Without Words, then move into the back room. As soon as the boy had gone, the raven fluttered over to the book and gazed at it. He saw nothing. Agitated, he hopped over to the chest at the foot of
Thorston’s bed. After making sure no one was watching, he lifted a claw and said, “Risan … risan.” When the chest lid opened, he hopped upon its edge and peered inside. The sweet smell rose up. He was just about to jump into the chest when he heard a loud bang. The sound came from the ground level. Alarmed, the raven leaped out of the chest