The Book Without Words_ A Fable of Medieval Magic - Avi [47]
“Did the girl take it?”
“I don’t know.”
Thorston moved toward the bird, only to stop and wheel about. “And the Book Without Words! Did she take that too?”
“You just said she doesn’t matter. But perhaps she’s no longer a nothing.”
“Where did she go?”
“And how could I know. I don’t even know what I am.”
Thorston jumped for him. With a frantic fluttering of his wings, Odo leaped and managed to get away from Thorston’s grasp by landing on the worktable. Thorston pursued him, but the bird scrambled to the window, then back to the bed. Thorston tried to corner him. With a great leap, Odo tried to get past, only to be snatched out of the air by Thorston. The bird struggled frantically.
“If I don’t have the Time stone,” cried Thorston, his hands about Odo’s neck, “I’ll die. But you’ll die now if you don’t tell me where she went.” He began to twist.
“She’s… . taking them back to Brother Wilfrid,” the raven croaked.
“Brother Wilfrid!” cried Thorston, so surprised, he released the bird.
“The one from whom you stole the book,” said Odo, hopping frantically away.
“How can that be?” cried a dumbfounded Thorston.
“He’s found you. And Sybil is taking him what’s his.”
“When did she go?”
“How would I know, Master?” said Odo, making sure he kept his distance. “I’m hut a fool.”
For a moment, Thorston stared at the bird. “I shall not die!” he shouted, and rushed down the steps. Odo followed. When Thorston came to the wall he made quick, twisting motions with his hands. The stones tumbled out, bringing back the hole.
Odo, looking on, croaked, “I’m glad she’s giving those things to the monk.”
Thorston turned to glare at the bird … and pointed at him.
“Master!” croaked the bird. “Don’t!” But all the same, he fell dead.
Thorston, not even looking at the fallen bird, squirmed through the hole. Once beyond the house he looked first one way, then another, before running along the pathway in the same direction Sybil had taken.
8
“There,” said Sybil to Alfric. “The town wall is broken down. We should be able to get back into town easily enough.”
It was exactly what Sybil had hoped for: a section of the old city wall had fallen down, the stones crumbled outward in a heap. With the incline not very steep, it took only a little effort to clamber to the wall’s jagged crown. A short jump brought them back into town.
They peered into the darkness. The night’s thick, damp fog had moved in, making it hard to see. “Is Brother Wilfrid near?” asked Alfric.
“I’m not sure where he is,” said Sybil, adjusting her grip on the Book Without Words. “Or we, for that matter. Stay close. We’ll go on until I find something recognizable. Perhaps Brother Wilfrid will find us first.”
As she led the way along the narrow, winding streets, the mist thickened, wrapping about them like damp cobwebs. Their footfalls were muffled. Buildings loomed on either side and, in the thick air, appeared ready to collapse on their heads. Occasionally smudges of light could be observed behind shuttered windows. From the city center, the cathedral bells pealed dismally, as if announcing death.
“Mistress,” cried Alfric. “Look there!”
Sybil strained to see. A figure—garbed in pale white from head to foot—emerged from the fog. It floated just above the ground, undulating in the miasmic air.
“Is that the monk?” whispered Alfric.
“I don’t believe so,” Sybil replied, her voice equally soft.
“Who … is it then?”
“I think it’s Saint Elfleda.”
The glowing figure lifted an arm—as if beckoning.
“She wants us to follow,” said Sybil.
They followed the white figure as it floated in and out of the mist. At times it seemed as if she were gone for good. Then they waited. She reappeared soon enough—always beckoning. Sybil and Alfric kept on. But abruptly the figure vanished.
Sybil squinted through the fog. A structure, more blur than bulk, loomed before them. “There’s something,” she said.
They drew closer.
“It’s a church and cemetery,” said Alfric.
Sybil stopped and gazed at the cemetery. She recognized it as the place where Brother Wilfrid had taken