The Book Without Words_ A Fable of Medieval Magic - Avi [46]
7
Odo looked across the room at Thorston. He was as Sybil had seen him, but even younger, no more than thirteen. His hair was unruly, body slim and muscular. His green eyes were bright with anger.
“Didn’t you hear me?” demanded Thorston. “Where is the girl?”
“She’s … gone.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know,” said the bird, determined to say as little as possible so as to give Sybil the time she needed to find Brother Wilfrid.
Thorston remained seated on his bed, trying to untangle his thoughts. “She had no right to go without my permission,” he said at last, as much to himself as the bird. Agitated, he flexed his fingers so that his knuckles cracked. Then he sprang up and strode to the window and looked out. The night’s dank fog had risen from the river. It was seeping over the courtyard, reducing the soldier’s lamp light to hazy, yellow smears. The soldiers—more ghostlike than corporeal—were asleep or on guard about the gallows. The dangling noose hung limply in the thick air like a hunting snare.
Odo, watching his master, shifted uneasily on the book pile and fluttered his wings. He wondered when Thorston would notice that the Book Without Words—and the stone—were gone.
“There are more soldiers than before,” said Thorston. “And the gallows seems to be in readiness.”
“It’s the town reeve, Master. Don’t you recall? You gave him gold. No doubt it whet his appetite for more.”
Thorston laughed. “It’s only false gold—as he’ll learn soon enough.”
“Which means he’ll become even more furious than he is,” said Odo. “More determined to hang you.”
“He won’t find me.”
“Are you going somewhere?”
“He’ll be looking for someone who doesn’t exist. I look very different now,” said Thorston. “Hardly more than a boy. That girl’s age.” He grinned. “He won’t notice me. Being a child is the best disguise.”
The thought seemed to remind him: he walked to the back room, only to return. “That boy—the one with green eyes—he’s gone. Did he go with the girl?”
“I … think so.”
Thorston considered for a moment. “It doesn’t
Matter,” he finally said. “She’ll not survive for long. No more than you.”
Uneasy, Odo shifted about. “Why?” he asked.
“When I fully regain my life with that final stone, you’ll both lose yours.”
“And all my loyalty to you,” said Odo, “was it for naught?”
“Loyalty!” scoffed Thorston. “What has that to do with anything? Living is my life. Have you any idea how difficult it has been to preserve myself for this moment? To avoid accidents, illness, and violence. Think how hard it is to keep oneself from death!”
“To what purpose, Master?” said Odo.
“To begin my whole life again,” said Thorston. “I’ve outwitted death.”
“Ah, Master,” said the bird with a shake of his head, “what good was that life, if, by avoiding death, you didn’t live?”
“Don’t preach to me,” said a scowling Thorston. He ran back to the window and looked out. “How did the girl and the boy get away?” he demanded. “They couldn’t have gotten past those soldiers.”
The raven said nothing.
“Tell me,” cried Thorston, turning and pointing right at Odo in the same fashion he had pointed at Damian. “Or I shall turn you—”
“The back entrance,” cried Odo in alarm.
“The walled one?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Not possible!”
“Look for yourself.”
Thorston hurried down the steps and examined the wall. Finding it solid he ran back up and said, “You’re lying. There’s no hole there.”
Stung, Odo said, “I learned some of your magic, Master. Enough to allow them to escape. I made a hole in the wall.”
“Knave! But then, she doesn’t matter,” he said. “She’s only a servant. A nothing. Anyway, she’ll die soon, like you. But I’ve a good mind to first turn you back to what you once were.”
Odo leaned forward. “What was I?”
Thorston shrugged. “What difference does it make?”
“Then why did you make me a raven?”
“Because black feathers are part of the formula for making the life stones—by which I’ll live—and you’ll die.” Suddenly, Thorston halted. His hand went to his hip purse. He felt it. “The stone!” he cried. “Where is it?”
Odo, his head cocked,