Part 10 (1/2)

Wilfrid sighed. ”It's the stones. They will renew his life. To make them he had to take the very breath of your your life. When he uses the stones, he will live, but you won't.” 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, in his small pensive voice, said, ”Mistress, what shall we do when Master Bashcroft returns tomorrow?”

”G.o.d's mercy,” said the girl, her attention brought back to the others. ”I forgot about him. I shall put my mind to it.”

Alfric's question dampened the mood. For the rest of the meal, no one spoke. They finished eating.

”Forgive me,” said Alfric with a yawn. ”I've not slept indoors for so long, the closeness makes me sleepy.”

”You can sleep where you like,” said Sybil.

”I'll rest on the floor,” said the boy, and he went off to a corner.

”As for me,” said Damian, ”since your master sleeps elsewhere, I'll take his bed.” He went to it and lay down.

Odo sat where the skull used to be, on the pile of books.

Sybil retreated to her straw pallet in the back room. After pulling the thin blanket up to her chin, she stared up at the darkness. She thought of the monk's tale, that Master had stolen the Book Without Words from him. If it had been stolen, was it not proper to return it to its rightful owner? Besides, its empty pages were useless to them. But there were the stones, which seemed to be important. Finally-reluctantly-Sybil made herself consider the monk's warning: that when Thorston regained his life, she would lose hers. It made no sense: Master was was dead; and she, after a fas.h.i.+on, lived. dead; and she, after a fas.h.i.+on, lived.

More than that: with Thorston dead, she was free. True, the notion of being unattached to anyone made her uneasy. Even so, there was something pleasing about it. Except-what should she do do with her life? Something, she told herself. I must do with her life? Something, she told herself. I must do something. something.

The sound of soft scratches coming down the hallway reached her ears. In a moment, Odo peered into her face.

”Sybil,” said the raven, his voice a croaked whisper. ”I wish to acknowledge I've spoken ill of you too often. I've been unkind. My only excuse is that a sharp master makes for a dull servant. Will you forgive me?”

”I'm trying.”

”And will there be no secrets between us?” said the bird.

”I'm weary with secrets,” said Sybil. ”Let me sleep.”

”As G.o.d is my witness,” said Odo, ”once I fly again, I'll leave you. You'll not be bothered by me again.”

Sybil, wondering what would she do without Odo, felt pain. But afraid the bird would mock her if she confessed such soft thoughts, she said nothing.

”You have no heart,” said Odo, and he hopped away.

As the raven pattered down the hallway, Sybil's thoughts concentrated on the stones. She wished the monk had told her how they were to be used. She also wished she had not fled so quickly from him. She hoped he would return.

As Sybil drifted off to sleep, she wondered if it had been wrong to tell Odo where she'd put the stones. I must trust him, she told herself I must. He's my only friend.

19.

”Unfeeling girl,” Odo muttered as he retreated to the front room. ”Why should I care or trust her?” He reached the top of the steps, paused, and looked toward the back room. Seeing and hearing nothing, he hopped softly down the steps. Upon reaching the ground-floor level he went to the closed trapdoor, stood before it, and extended one claw. ”Risan ... risan,” ”Risan ... risan,” he whispered. he whispered.

The heavy door trembled as it struggled to rise.

”Risan ... risan,” the bird repeated, somewhat louder. the bird repeated, somewhat louder.

The door quivered anew, strained to open, but failed and settled back.