Gene Wolfe - The Knight

“May every Overcyn there be bless you for it, an’ her too.” The old woman was quiet awhile, lost in reminiscence.

“I got took, sir. The giants come looking for us, the way they does, sir, when the leaves turn an’ they don’t mind moving around. An’ they found me. Hymir did, sir, my master what was. So I had to—had to do what I could for him, an’ get it all over me often as not, an’—an’ Heimir got born, sir. My son that was. Only Master Hyndle’s run him off now, or he’d help me, I know.” She paused.

“He’s not what you’d call a good-looking boy, sir, an’ it’s me, his mother, what says it. Nor foxy neither, and didn’t talk ’til after he was bigger’n me. But his heart ... You’re a good-hearted man, sir. As good as ever I seen. But your heart’s no bigger’n my Heimir’s, sir. No woman’s never had no better son.”

“That’s good to know.”

“For me it is, sir. Ain’t you getting tired, sir? I could walk a ways, an’ you ride.”

“I’m fine.” The truth was that it felt good to stretch my legs, and I knew I owed the stallion a little rest.

“You’ve run quite a ways, an’ it’s a good ways more.”

“I close my mind.” I wanted to tell her, but it was not easy. “And I think about the sea, about the waves coming to a beach, wave after wave after wave, never stopping. Those waves turn into my steps.”

“I think I see, sir.” The old woman sounded like she did not.

“I float on them. It’s something somebody taught me, or maybe just told me about and let the sea teach me, not magic. The sea is in everybody. Most people never feel it.” Saying those things made me think of Garsecg, and I wondered all over again why Garsecg did not come to see me in Mythgarthr.

“It opened me up, it did, having my Heimir. So then we could if you take my meaning. Like a real wife should, sir, the regular way.”

“You and the Angrborn who had taken you, mother? This Hymir?”

“Yes, sir. Not that I wanted it, sir. Hurt dreadful every time. But he wanted it an’ what he said went in them days. So then I had my Hela, only she’s run off. Master shouldn’t touch her, her being his half-sister, only she’s ... Well, sir. You wouldn’t say it, sir. She’s got that big jaw they all have, sir. An’ the big eyes, you know. An’ cheeks like the horns on a calf, sir, if you take my meaning. Only good skin, sir, an’ yellow hair like I used to, too. That yellow hair’s why my master that was, that was her father, took me, sir. He told me that one time, so it was bad luck to me. Only if it’d been black or brown like most, probably he’d a’ kilt me.”

The hedgerow had ended, though the path had not, weaving its way among trees and underbrush bordering the river.

“There was times,” the old woman muttered, “when I wisht he had.”

“Is it your son Heimir we’re going to meet?”

“Oh, no, sir. I don’t know where he’s at, sir. It’s the man I told you about, him I was going to marry all that time ago. He’s got took now, sir, if you can believe it. Got took for fighting them like he did, with a white beard, if you can believe it. An’—an’ I hope your horse don’t fright him, sir. The noise a’ it, I mean.”

I smiled. “He clops along no louder than other horses, I hope, and somebody with guts enough to fight the Angrborn isn’t likely to be afraid of any horse. Besides, he’ll see you on his back, unless the moon—”

“Oh, no! He won’t, sir. He can’t, sir. It’s—it’s what makes him think, sir, deep down, you know ...”

The old woman sounded as if she were choking, and I glanced back at her. “Makes him think what?”

“That I’m like I was back then, sir. You—you’re young yet, sir.”

“I know, mother. Younger than you can guess.”

“An’just to have him think like he does, deep down ... Oh, I’ve told him, sir. I couldn’t lie about nothing like that. Only when he sees me inside a’ himself—an’ that’s the only way he can, sir ....”

“You’re young again. For him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sometimes I’d like to be young again myself, mother. Young outside as well as inside. I take it he’s blind?”

“Yes, sir. They blinds ’em, sir, mostly. The men I mean. Big as they are, they’re a-feared a’ our men.” The old woman’s pride kindled new warmth in her voice. “So they blinds ’em, an’ they blinded him, old as he was. He sees me, sir—”

Whining, Gylf had trotted out of the night.

I dropped the reins and laid a hand on Gylf’s warm, damp head. “You found someone.”

Although I could scarcely see Gylf’s nod, I felt it.

“Dangerous?”

A shake of the head.

“A blind man with a white beard?”

Gylf nodded again.

From the white stallion’s back, the old woman said, “Up there’s where we meet, sir. See that big tree up against the sky? It’s on top a’ a little hill, only we got to go through the ford, first.”

“We will,” I told her.

The ford proved shallow when we reached it, its gentle, quiet water scarcely knee deep. On the other bank, I dried my feet and legs as well as I could with a rag from my saddlebag, and pulled my stockings and boots back on.

“It’s deeper in the spring,” the old woman explained. “It’s the only place where you can cross, then. Will you help me down, sir?”

I rose. “On the War Way I saw a ford so deep we didn’t dare ride across it for fear we’d be swept away.” I took the old woman by the waist and lifted her down. “We had to hold each other’s stirrup straps and lead our horses, while the water boiled around us.”

“You couldn’t have got across, sir, in spring. Only the giants.”

I nodded.

“From here I’d better go ahead, sir. I’ll walk fast as I can, if you’ll follow me. You won’t leave me, will you? I want you to see him, sir, an’—an’ you an’ him talk.”

“I won’t,” I promised. “I need to speak to both of you about the road to Utgard.”

“You an’ your horse’ll have to go pretty slow or else get to where he is afore I do.”

I nodded as I watched her vanish into the night. Under my breath I said, “We’d better wait here for a minute or two, Gylf.”

“Yep.”

“Was there just the one old man?”

“Yep. Good man.” Gylf seemed to hesitate. “Let him pet me.”

“Was he strong?”

Gylf considered, “Not like you.”

Some distance off, a hoarse voice called. “Gerda? Gerda?”

“Close now,” Gylf muttered.

“Close enough for him to hear her footsteps, anyway. And for us to hear him.” I picked up the lame stallion’s reins.

“Hungry.”

“So am I,” I conceded. “Do you think they might find a little food for us? There ought to be tons in the house of one of the giants.”

“Yep.”

“Where is the house, anyway? Did you see it?”

“Other side of the hill.”

I tossed the reins onto the stallion’s neck and mounted. “There should be sheep and pigs and so forth, too. If worst comes to worst, we can steal one.” I touched the stallion’s sides with my spurs, and he set off at a limping trot.

“Got your bow?”

Bow and quiver were slung on the left side of my saddle; I held them up. “Why do you want to know?”

“They blind them,” Gylf said, and trotted ahead.

The hill was low and not at all steep. I stopped near the top to take a good look at the black bulk of a farmhouse a good way off that seemed, in the moonlight, too big and too plain.

“Over here, sir,” the old woman called. “Under the tree.”

“I know.” I dismounted and led the stallion over.