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And the moment in which I could have asked him how he could use the seed and not die of it was gone,
shouldered aside by his careful plans and precise details. For half an hour more he lectured me on details,
and then he sent me from the cabin, saying he had other preparations to make and that I should check on
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the horses and get what rest I could.
The horses were forward, in a makeshift rope enclosure on deck. Straw cushioned the deck from their
hooves and droppings. A sour faced mate was mending a bit of railing that Sooty had kicked loose in the
boarding. He didn't seem disposed to talk, and the horses were as calm and comfortable as could be
expected. I roved the deck briefly. We were on a tidy little craft, an inter-island trader wider than she
was deep. Her shallow draft let her go up rivers or right onto beaches without damage, but her passage
over deeper water left a lot to be desired. She sidled along, with here a dip and there a curtsy, like a
bundle-laden farm wife making her way through a crowded market. We seemed to be the sole cargo. A
deckhand gave me a couple of apples to share with the horses, but little talk. So after I had parceled out
the fruit, I settled myself near them on their straw and took Chade's advice about resting.
The winds were kind to us, and the captain took us in closer to the looming cliffs than I'd have thought
possible, but unloading the horses from the vessel was still an unpleasant task. All of Chade's lecturing
and warnings had not prepared me for the blackness of night on the water. The lanterns on the deck
seemed pathetic efforts, confusing me more with the shadows they threw than aiding me with their feeble
light. In the end, a deckhand rowed Chade to shore in the ship's dory. I went overboard with the
reluctant horses, for I knew Sooty would fight a lead rope and probably swamp the dory. I clung to
Sooty and encouraged her, trusting her common sense to take us toward the dim lantern on shore. I had
a long line on Chade's horse, for I didn't want his thrashing too close to us in the water. The sea was
cold, the night was black, and if I'd had any sense, I'd have wished myself elsewhere, but there is
something in a boy that takes the mundanely difficult and unpleasant and turns it into a personal challenge
and an adventure.
I came out of the water dripping, chilled, and completely exhilarated. I kept Sooty's reins and coaxed
Chade's horse in. By the time I had them both under control, Chade was beside me, lantern in hand,
laughing exultantly. The dory man was already away and pulling for the ship. Chade gave me my dry
things, but they did little good pulled on over my dripping clothes. Where's the path? I asked, my voice
shaking with my shivering.
Chade gave a derisive snort. Path? I had a quick look while you were pulling in my horse. It's no path,
it's no more than the course the water takes when it runs off down the cliffs. But it will have to do.
It was a little better than he had reported, but not much. It was narrow and steep and the gravel on it
was loose underfoot. Chade went before with the lantern. I followed, with the horses in tandem. At one
point Chade's bay acted up, tugging back, throwing me off balance and nearly driving Sooty to her knees
in her efforts to go in the other direction. My heart was in my mouth until we reached the top of the cliffs.
Then the night and the open hillside spread out before us under the sailing moon and the stars scattered
wide overhead, and the spirit of the challenge caught me up again. I suppose it could have been Chade's
attitude. The carris seed made his eyes wide and bright, even by lantern light, and his energy, unnatural
though it was, was infectious. Even the horses seemed affected, snorting and tossing their heads. Chade
and I laughed dementedly as we adjusted harness and then mounted. Chade glanced up to the stars and
then around the hillside that sloped down before us. With careless disdain he tossed our lantern to one
side.
Away! he announced to the night, and kicked the bay, who sprang forward. Sooty was not to be
outdone, and so I did as I had never dared before, galloping down unfamiliar terrain by night. It is a
wonder we did not all break our necks. But there it is; sometimes luck belongs to children and madmen.
That night I felt we were both.
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Chade led and I followed. That night I grasped another piece of the puzzle that Burrich had always been
to me. For there is a very strange peace in giving over your judgment to someone else, to saying to them,
You lead and I will follow, and I will trust entirely that you will not lead me to death or harm. That night,
as we pushed the horses hard, and Chade steered us solely by the night sky, I gave no thought to what
might befall us if we went astray from our bearing, or if a horse were injured by an unexpected slip. I felt
no sense of accountability for my actions. Suddenly everything was easy and clear. I simply did whatever
Chade told me to do, and trusted to him to have it turn out right. My spirit rode high on the crest of that
wave of faith, and sometime during the night it occurred to me: This was what Burrich had gotten from
Chivalry, and what he missed so badly.
We rode the entire night. Chade breathed the horses, but not as often as Burrich would have. And he
stopped more than once to scan the night sky and then the horizon to be sure our course was true. See
that hill there, against the stars? You can't see it too well, but I know it. By light, it's shaped like a butter
monger's cap. Keeffashaw, it's called. We keep it to the west of us. Let's go.
Another time he paused on a hilltop. I pulled in my horse beside his. Chade sat still, very tall and straight.
He could have been carved of stone. Then he lifted an arm and pointed. His hand shook slightly. See that
ravine down there? We've come a bit too far to the east. We'll have to correct as we go.
The ravine was invisible to me, a darker slash in the dimness of the starlit landscape. I wondered how he
could have known it was there. It was perhaps half an hour later that he gestured off to our left, where on
a rise of land a single light twinkled. Someone's up tonight in Woolcot, he observed. Probably the baker,
putting early morning rolls to rise. He half turned in his saddle and I felt more than saw his smile. I was
born less than a mile from here. Come, boy, let's ride. I don't like to think of raiders so close to Woolcot. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]