Lynne Banks - The Farthest Away Mountain

“Could I borrow your handkerchief, madam?”

Without speaking, Dakin took it out of the pocket of her apron and gingerly held it out to him as if expecting him to bite her. He reached up his tiny hand and, holding the handkerchief by one corner with most of it on the ground, he wiped her tear off his face and carefully dried his beard.

“Thank you,” he said politely. “I’m quite tarnished enough,” he added. “Moisture doesn’t do brass any good, you know.” He sounded a little bit severe about it.

Dakin went down on her knees beside him, staring at him, quite unable to believe it.

“Would you mind explaining,” she said shakily, “how you come to be alive?”

“Certainly,” replied the little figure. “Only would you please pick me up? I’m getting a bit tired of shouting.”

Cautiously she laid her hand palm upwards on the moss beside him and he stepped briskly onto it, holding onto her thumb to steady himself as she got carefully to her feet. She looked at him in bewilderment. Of course, it was darkish and difficult to be sure, but he seemed just the same – that is, he hadn’t turned into a flesh-and-blood little man. He was still heavy for his size, and he still seemed to be made of brass. Only now he was definitely and undoubtedly alive. He was rubbing at his sleeves to try to get the tarnish off them, and gradually the metal was becoming brighter.

“That’s better!” said the troll.

“We did our best,” said Dakin, “but we couldn’t get into the cracks.”

“Quite. Quite,” said the troll. “I’ll soon have it all off. Now we must talk. By the way, where are you going?”

“To the farthest-away mountain,” said Dakin.

The little man was so startled he had to grab her thumb with both hands to save himself from toppling to the ground.

“You don’t mean – not to the – f-f-f-farthest-away mountain?” he whispered in a trembling voice.

“Why not?” asked Dakin.

“But you can’t! No one’s ever been there! It’s inhabited by gargoyles—”

“Gargoyles?” cried Dakin excitedly.

“Yes. And ogres and monsters and witches and—”

“If no one’s ever been there, how do you know?” asked Dakin.

The troll clapped his hands to his mouth, as if he had said too much.

“Well, I… I don’t really know… that is, I’ve heard —” he stammered.

“You’ve been there! You have !” cried Dakin.

“Well—”

“ Haven’t you?”

“Well, as a matter of fact – I have. In fact I used to live there. Once. Years and years and years ago. And I don’t want to go back!” he added. “So you’d better go straight home like a sensible girl, and put me back on the mantlepiece where it’s safe.”

“I’ve got to go to the farthest-away mountain,” said Dakin. “It called to me.”

“What!” The little troll sat down suddenly in the palm of her hand. He looked up and clasped his knotty little hands together as if pleading with her. “It didn’t – by any chance – nod to you, too, did it?”

“Yes, it did – this morning,” said Dakin.

“Then you’re done for. Poor little girl. Done for,” whispered the troll, shaking his head sadly. A brass tear rolled down the side of his nose. Then he stood up again sharply. “Well,” he said, straightening his pointed hat, “I must be getting along.” He walked briskly to the edge of her hand and would have stepped off into empty air if she hadn’t grabbed him.

“Wait!” she cried, holding him while he struggled and kicked. “Stop! You can’t leave me here alone! Where are you going?”

“Anywhere!” he said. “Anywhere but where you’re going. Let me go this minute!”

“But you’ll get lost in the wood!” Dakin said. “I don’t know myself which direction leads towards home. And you were in the knapsack, so you can’t know either.”

The troll stopped struggling and looked at her.

“I can find the way out of the wood,” he said. “Or I could find the way up the farthest-away mountain. If I wanted to. Which I don’t. If the mountain’s called you, and nodded to you, well you have to go. I understand that. So I’ll show you which way to walk, and I’ll walk in the opposite direction. I wouldn’t go there again, not for a million golden pine-cones.”

With a sinking heart, Dakin put the little man gently down onto the ground and picked up her knapsack.

“All right, then,” she said. “I’ll go on alone. Which way is it?”

The little man pointed. “That way,” he said. “And if you want to keep straight, watch how the pine needles lie. Walk along them, never across. Oh—” He stopped, and dug in a hidden pocket of his jacket. “You’d better take this. You’ll never get past Drackamag without it.” He held something up to her. When she took it, it turned out to be what looked like a tiny blue bead.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It’s to suck,” the troll explained. “When you hear Drackamag roaring up ahead, put it in your mouth. Suck. Don’t chew.” He started to turn away, but again stopped. “One more thing,” he said. “Mark you, I wouldn’t give a bee sting for your chances of getting through alive, but there’s no reason to go without knowing anything. You must bathe in the Lithy Pool. That’s very important. With all your clothes on.” He paused. “I don’t know the password any more,” he said sadly. “It used to be ‘dragon’s fin’, but it might be almost anything now. Perhaps someone will tell you on the way. There used to be Old Croak – but he’s probably dead long ago. Oh dear.” Another brass tear sparkled among the mosses. “Goodbye.” He turned away very quickly and ran off as fast as his short legs would carry him.

If Dakin had felt lonely and frightened before, she felt five times as bad now that her only friend had deserted her. But he had given her some help, and she supposed she couldn’t blame him for not wanting to come if it was as bad as he said.

She trudged on through the silent trees, her eyes on the ground to watch the way the pine needles lay. They pointed her direction like arrow-heads. The absolute quiet was like a heavy blanket over her head. She tried to sing, but her voice just came out in a little bleat.

And all the time, her heart was full of fears.

What – or who – was Drackamag? If he – or it – was as terrible as he sounded, what good was sucking a little blue sweet going to do against him? What was the Lithy Pool, and why should she have to bathe in it with all her clothes on? Who would ask her for the password, and what would happen to her when she didn’t know it? And who was Old Croak? He sounded as if he might be helpful – if he were still alive. It would be good to feel she had at least one friend ahead of her.

While she was thinking about all this, and following the pine needles, she suddenly noticed that there were little dapples of light on them. She looked up, and to her delight discovered that the trees were thinning.

She had reached the other side of the wood!

Through the last of the rough trunks, she could see a sunny meadow, speckled with flowers. In the middle of it was a little log cabin and beyond that the farthest-away mountain stood up against the sky, looking not far away any more but very near. She laughed aloud and began to run.

Just as she passed the last tree, she felt a sudden tug, and the next moment her hair came tumbling down her back. She stopped and looked back. Her bobbled stocking-cap was caught on a branch, high, high up.

She stood under the last tree, staring above her at the cap.

“But how could it have got up there?” she thought. “I can’t possibly reach it!” It was as if one of the high branches had reached down and snatched the cap off her head as she passed. She thought of climbing up to get it, but the tree was smooth all the way up.