Ch. 7: The Sampo

Back to The Men in Brown

             The   boys   awaited   Root’s   arrival   the   next   day   with   some   impatience. Today   was   warmer,   but   rain   still   brooded   in   the   grey   soft   sky.

             “There   they   are!”   Charlene   exclaimed,   flouncing   down   the   stairs. “What’s   been   keeping   you   so   busy? Can   you   boys   come   and   play?”

             “We   had   homework.”   said   Chris.

             “And   we   wanted   to   catch   old   man   Root   so   we   can   ask   him   something.”   said   Stephen. “Don’t   you   have   school?”

             “C’mon,   it’s   a   whole   hour   till   the   bus. I   want   to   spy   on   the   Wizard!”

             “Are   you    crazy?!”   both   boys   exploded. “He’d,   like,   skin   you   alive!”

             “Or   turn me   into   a   toad?”   she   said   saucily. “I   just   want   to   know   where   he   lives. Mom   thinks   he’s   homeless.”

             “He   can’t   be.”   said   Chris. “He    scares   bears   away   from   his   chickens.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,   he’s   always   coming   down   this   hill   or   going   up    it. And   Julian   says   he   lives   around   here. She   won’t   tell   me   how   she   knows. We   can   just   go   up   the   street   and   see   if   we   spot   his   bike.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   boys   agreeing   to   this,   they   set   off   uphill. The   street   curved   steep   and   abrupt,   old   houses   standing   neatly   and   yet   oddly   beside   it,   as   if   sprouted   from   the   hill. They   rejected   the   fenced   yard—all   dogs   barking   and   no   chickens—as   well   as   the   house   with   the   pointed   yard   between   two   streets. They   passed   house   after   house,   but   none   of   them   looked   eccentric   enough   to   be   the   Wizard’s   dwelling.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Where   does   that   driveway   go?”   said   Charlene. A   regular   paved   drive   led   back   to   a   detached   house,   bordered   with   dark   spruce;   but   to   the   left   of   it,   grown   with   dandelions,   was   a   narrower   lumpy   drive   like   a   dirt   road. It   was   paved   with   a   sort   of   black   gravel.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   don’t   know. We   never   noticed   it   before.”   said   Chris.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Let’s   go   down   and   see.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “That’s   trespassing!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Just   a   little   way   in,   OK? Sheesh,   you   boys   are   wimps.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “We   are   not! We   just   don’t   want   to   get   arrested.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   drive   had   a   fringe   of   young   trees,   beech   and   a   mammoth   old   maple. Two   tall   white   birch   stood   like   gateposts   either   side   of   it. Nailed   to   one   was   a   rumpled   metal   sign   saying   very   plainly   NO   TRESPASSING.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   wish   it   was   Halloween,   then   we   could   just   come   down   and   trick-or-treat.”   said   Charlene.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “With   a   sign   like   that? What   if   they   have   dogs?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I’m   just   going   to   the   bend. I   want   to   see   if   there’s   anyone   even   living   here.”   said   Charlene   scornfully. With   trepidation   the   boys   tagged   along   behind   her. The   drive   made   a   sharp   left   around   a   grove   of   young   pines   and   entered   woods. It   was   very   leafy   and   green   and   beautiful. They   paused   at   the   bend. A   little   stream   tinkled   under   a   rough   bridge   of   wood   beams,   pale   granite   gravel   replacing   the   ground-up   asphalt. Birch   and   swamp   maple   arched   over   it   in   a   sort   of   aisle. Then   there   was   a   little   rise,   and   partly   hidden   by   branches,   masoned   walls   and   a   brown   door. And   leaning   against   a   tree   was   a   bike.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Ohmigosh,   it’s   his   bike.”   said   Charlene.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Let’s   get   out   of   here!”   urged   Stephen.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “That   didn’t   look   like   his   bike.”   said   Chris   as   they   raced   back   up   the   drive. “Wizard   has   a   basket. I   didn’t   see   a   basket.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   think   so?”   said   Charlene. “Aw   man. And   here   I   was   thinking   we’d   found   him!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Root   would   probably   ask   you   why   you   want   to   find   him.”   grinned   Chris.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What   do   you   mean,   why! Because   he’s   weird,   and   fascinating,   and   I   want   to   know.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yeah,   then   Root   would   probably   draw   all   sorts   of   deep   answers   you   never   knew   existed,   out   of   that   remark.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “This tutor   of   yours   sounds   as   crazy   as   the   Wizard.”   she   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Crazy   or   weird,   make   up   your   mind.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   said   that   before.”   Charlene   commented.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,   so   what,   I   can   repeat   myself   occasionally.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             They   were   at   the   last   steep   before   their   yard. Chris   was   glancing   around   rather   apprehensively. Charlene   skipped   ahead   impatiently.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   see   you   two   don’t   know   how   to   read!”   a   voice   from   the   hedge   made   them   jump.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Root   had   been   sitting   on   one   of   the   wooden   chairs   scattered   around   the   small   yard   inside   the   hedge. His   strange   serious   eyes   stared   at   them   accusingly.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Um…what   do   you mean?”   said   Stephen.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Holy   sh--! You   scared the   cra(b)   out   of   me!”   exclaimed   Charlene.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Your   pants   remain   remarkably   clean.”   said   Mr. Root   coldly. “And   you   are   of   course   correct,   Christopher,   that   I   would   ask   that   question. I   would   however   ask   even   farther. Why   is   it   that   you   are   so   intrigued   by   the   man   known   as   Nuncle   Jimmy?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Holy   cow,   did   you   have   us   like   bugged   or   something?!”   shouted   Charlene.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Root   looked   over   the   hedge. “You   were   scarcely   one   hundred   and   twenty   feet   away. Even   one   of   duller   hearing   than   I   could   have   overheard   you   loudmouths. Do   you   really   think   that   because   you   do   not   notice   the   world   around   you   when   you   talk,   that   it   cannot   hear   you? Are   you   possessed   of   the   power   of   Forest? Perhaps   it   is   a   result   of   gabbing   on   your   cell   phone   at   the   top   of   your   lungs,   that   you   ignore   environment. Now   perhaps   you   could   answer   my   question.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Um…I   don’t   know. I   mean,   he’s   mysterious. And   handsome. And   I   just   like   spying.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Do   you   know   what   usually   happens   to   spies?”   said   Root   grimly. “Look   at   the   crows. Cawing,   carrying   tales,   feeding   on   carrion:   roadkill   hunters. Spies   are   professional   betrayers. Their   livelihood   is   betrayal. It   matters   not   which   side   they   serve. Do   not   be   misled   by   the   romance   novels. They   are   traitors. And   like   all   traitors,   if   caught   they   are   hung.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You…you   don’t   mean…”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Root   stuck   his   face   right   into   hers. “It’s   dangerous   to   snoop,   catface.”   he   snarled,   so   harshly   she   gave   back   a   few   steps. “Your   nose   might   be   bitten. Do   you   stick   your   hands   into   dark   crevices? If   you   do   you   might   get   stung. Leave   others   alone—and   they’ll   leave   you   alone. Now   get   out. If   I   ever   catch   you   snooping   on   the   Wizard   not   only   will   I   tell   your   parents,   I’ll   have   you   arrested   for   stalking. You   think   they   can’t   jug   juveniles   on   that? Think   again.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   headed   inside. “It’s   time   for   school,   boys.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   seriously   think   she’s   gonna   listen?”   said   Chris   skeptically   when   they   were   inside.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “That   is   up   to   her.”   said   Root. “If   she   pries   into   the   business   of   the   Men   in   Brown,   she   may   well   find   herself   caught   between   them…and   that   for   which   they   were   called.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   what   is   that?”   whispered   Chris. “Why   were   you   called?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “To   hunt   the   Nine   Lords   of   the   Night.”   answered   Root.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Somehow   the   very   sound   of   that   name   sent   a   weird,   alien   chill   into   both   of   them. Neither   felt   inclined   to   ask   any   further.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Um,   we   had   something   to   ask   you.”   said   Steve.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Root   lifted   an   invitatory   eyebrow.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “These   dreams   Chris   has. These   Sleeper   guys. Like,   how   many   are   there? And   why   are   they   all   sleeping?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Cause   I   saw   some   more   last   night.”   said   Chris.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Root   glanced   down   the   apartment   to   Mom’s   closed   door:   she   could   be   heard   bumping   around   and   getting   ready. “Later.”   he   muttered. “That’s   Brown   business. Now!”   he   said   in   a   louder   voice. “You   two   had   breakfast,   I   hope?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yes,   ages   ago,   and   we’re   hungry   again.”   said   Chris.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Starve   till   lunch.”   said   Root   crushingly. Mom   came   out   while   he   was   setting   up   papers   and   they   talked   about   the   homework   and   the   boys’   weak   spots   until   it   was   time   for   her   to   leave. She   kissed   both   the   boys   and   got   in   her   car,   and   drove   off.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   kinda   wish   she   didn’t   have   to   work.”   said   Stephen.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “So   do   I,”   said   Root,   “for   it   is   not   right   that   the   homekeeper   should   play   the   homemaker   and   go   out   to   win   the   bread;   but   such   are   the   evil   times   in   which   we   live. And   it’s   not   like   I   can   just   sing   up   money   from   the   ground.”   he   added,   with   another   of   his   dry   smiles.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Um,   about   the   sleepers…”   said   Chris. “Why   are   they   sleeping?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “There   is   only   one   way   for   a   mortal   to   live   over   great   spans   of   time.”   said   Root. “His   biological   life   must   be   suspended   or   sidestepped. The   fruit   of   the   Tree   of   Life   which   Enoch   and   Elias   eat   every   hundred   years   undoes   their   bodies’   aging,   restoring   vigour   and   youth:   but   they   are   old,   immeasurably   old,   and   their   very   hearts   are   weary. The   other   way   is   to   stop   growth,   and   also   decay:   an   enchanted   sleep,   a   suspension   of   animation. By   one   way   and   another,   by   spell   or   treachery,   curse   or   vallfarnda,   from   every   age   a   hero   lies   asleep,   waiting   for   the   great   battle. And   in   other   places,   too,   they   wait:   across   the   fearsome   Rainbow   in   the   grim   halls   of   Vallhalla,   where   the   ghosts   of   the   Norse   heros,   harvested   with   care,   endure   their   wait,   the   wait   their   purgation,   for   the   last   onset   of   the   giants. Now   they   are   awakening.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “How   many   are   there?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “There   are   exactly   thirty   such   legends   of   Sleeping   Heros.”   Root   answered. “In   addition   there   are   two   legends   of   mountains   that   are   actually   prone   giants   cast   into   slumber,   and   held   as   sacred   by   the   Indians:   the   Sleeping   Mountain   of   the   Utes,   and   the   Prone   Man   of   Connecticut,   called   simply   Sleeping   Giant. You   will   not   see   them   rise,   unless   you   have   the   misfortune   to   still   be   living   when   the   Lord   of   the   Darkness   walks   up   from   the   South   to   take   the   Gates   of   the   North.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   what?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “North   of   here   by   two   miles.”   answered   Root. “But   that’s   not   your   story. Those   mountains   were   both   giants,   but   very   different   beings. One   was   the   oldest   of   all   Bards,   who   sang   to   the   very   Unbegotten   themselves   in   the   morning   of   the   world:   but   being   a   Singer   he   loved   the   world   and   the   growing   things,   and   found   himself   thus   at   odds   with   his   kinsmen,   and   sang   his   songs   less,   until   at   last   he   laid   himself   to   sleep   and   slowly   turned   into   stone. They   say   that   Väinämöinen   himself   spoke   to   him   once,   when   he   had   not   been   rooted   long   and   flesh   still   pulsed   beneath   the   rocky   skin:   but   that   is   another   story. That   is   one   of   the   giants,   the   ancient   Wipunen,   laid   in   slumber   by   the   malice   of   the   queen   of   death,   Tuonela. The   other—is   the   Moon   himself.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">                         “Huh?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “But   that   is   another   story,   and   in   any   case   I   am   supposed   to   be   reviewing   your   week’s   lessons   with   you,   so   we   can   see   if   anything   sunk   through   those   skulls   of   yours.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Both   boys   groaned   dismally.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Now,”   he   said,   when   they   had   gotten   through   several   of   the   tests   and   lunch   was   near   at   hand,   “you   said,   Chris,   that   you   had   another   dream.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Several.”   said   Chris. “Weird   ones. I   was   looking   down   at   this   bright   white-lit   town,   I   think   it   must   have   been   German   cause   it   felt   like   it,   and   there   was   a   broad   deep   river,   and   the   river   was   spanned   by   a   great   squat   bridge. Square   sloped   thick   buttresses   parted   the   river   between   each   solid   round   arch. Three   of   the   stones   were   loose:   the   cement   had   long   since   decayed   around   them,   but   a   crust   of   moss   had   kept   the   sand   from   washing   away. I   watched   in   growing   tension   as   a   mason   bee   pushed   out   sand   to   make   a   nest,   and   suddenly   all   three   stones   fell   in   the   river. The   earth   shook. Out   of   the   earth   burst   a   king,   earth   crumbling   in   hair   and   crown   and   falling   from   him   when   he   walked. The   stones   have   fallen   from   Gonslar   bridge,   he   said   in   a   mighty   voice. ''Now   Henry   the   Fowler   walks   among   men. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Then   there   was   a   cave,   and   it   had   once   been   full   of   moss   but   the   moss   was   eaten   to   the   roots   and   the   walls   were   brown   and   bare. A   horse,   white   with   black   splotches,   was   facing   a   patch   of   wall   where   a   single   clump   of   moss   still   grew. The   horse’s   jaws   moved   like   a   snail’s   and   its’   eyes   were   shut. Nearby   sat   a   monstrous   man   asleep,   a   huge   black   mustache   over   a   fierce   and   awful   face,   a   cloak   of   wolfskins   round   his   shoulders,   a   cap   of   wolf-head   on   his   hair. A   giant   mace   leaned   against   him,   it   had   those   long   funny ridges   on   the   head—“

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Flanges.”   said   Root. “Was   there   a   sabre   sticking   in   the   rock?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yeah,   but   it   had   been   thrust   in   pointing   up,   I   guess,   because   gravity   had   pulled it   nearly   out   and   it   was   pretty   much   dangling   by   its’   tip. The   horse’s   jaws   moved   slowly,   so   slowly,   to   compass   and   tear   loose   the   last   bit   of   moss. Many   minutes   later   it   began   to   chew. Half   an   hour   later   it   swallowed. With   a   clang   the   great   sabre   landed   on   the   ground. And   the   man’s   eyes   opened.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “That   sounds   like   Marko   Kraljevic,   also   named   Mrnjavcevic.”   said   Root. “He   has   drunk   the   eagles’-water   and   cannot   be   harmed,   and   his   strength   is   without   match. The   horse   is   named   Sarac,   and   can   understand   the   speech   of   men,   and   leaps   for   fifty   feet. If   he   has   woken   by   himself,   without   Wayham   King   nearby,   we   may   be   hearing   some   very   interesting   reports   in   the   news.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “There   was   one   more   dream.”   said   Chris. “It   was   a   construction   scene:   men   were   digging   a   new   drain   somewhere. An   ancient   city   lay   around,   spoiled   by   the   skyscrapers   rising   around   and   out   of   it. In   front   of   me   was   a   square-built   gate   in   the   old   walls,   square   towers   and   a   broad   Byzantine   arch. And   Wayham   King,   with   the   Seven   Sleepers   and   no   one   else,   walked   past   me. It   will   be   here,    said   Wayham. ''Art   sure   that   this   is   that   fabled   fort,   that   rose   north   of   the   Pelargir   I   knew? ''   Amandil   asked   him.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “That   would   be   the   Golden   Gate,   in   modern   Istanbul.”   said   Root. “Along   the   inlet   connecting   the   Black   Sea   with   the   Mediterranean. For   the   Bosporus   creek   is   all   remaining   of   the   drowned   river,   great   Anduin;   and   there   upon   the   ruins   of   Tirith   stands   Byzantium,   Constantinople,   Istanbul. The   same   name   kept   through   dislocations:   Minas   Tirith,   corrupted,   renamed,   yet   still   the   same.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   mean   from   the   Lord   of   the   Rings??”   both   boys   yelped.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Say   it   fast:   Minas   Tirith,   Byzantium,   Constant’nople,   Istanbul. You   see? An   old   name   corrupted. Tolkien   hit   upon   it   by   instinct. But   go   on.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,”   said   Chris,   “the   workmen   hit   something   and   stopped   digging. There   was   a   lot   of   shouting. Then   they   heaved   up   by   the   shovel-bucket   a   life-size   statue   of   gold   marble. It   was   a   king   recumbent,   a   folded   cloth   clasped   to   his   breast. The   foreman   was   saying   they   were   rich   and   this   antique   must   be   worth   a   fortune,   when   Wayham   cleared   his   throat. The   workers   were   yelling,   ‘Who   are   you,   and   what’s   the   idea   with   the   funny   costume?’   and   Wayham   said,   ‘Constantine   XI,   last   emperor   of   Byzantium   before   the   Saracen   came,   the   King   commands   you   to   render   your charge!’   And   the   statue   turned   into   flesh,   and   sat   up,   robed   in   purple,   looking   confused. He   knelt   to   Wayham   and   bent   his   head   to   touch   the   ground.    I   render   up   the   last   treasure   of   the   ancient   city,   he   said.''   I   swore   as   the   Saracen   poured   in   I   would   not   lay   it   down   until   I   laid   it   at   the   feet   of   the   last   King. And   I   felt   stone   flow   up   through   me.” ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   the   cloth…what   was   it?”   Root   asked. He   seemed   anxious,   even   tense.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “It   was…a   banner.”   said   Chris   slowly. “Wayham   unfurled   it. It   was   black,   but   in   the   brightest   and   purest   silver   I’ve   ever   seen   a   crown   was   wrought   on   it,   and   gems   that   glowed   like   stars   were   sewn   in   an   arch   above   it,   and   underneath   was   a   pure   white   tree.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “That   was   it.”   nodded   Root. “The   standard   of   the   King. Tell   me,   did   he   furl   it,   or   did   he   brandish   it?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “He   furled   it,   pretty   quickly.”   said   Chris. “I   could   just   barely   see   what   was   on   it   as   he   was   folding   it   around   its’   pole.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Then   we   have   a   little   time   yet.”   murmered   Root. “If   the   last   end   was   on   us,   he   would   have   brandished   it,   and   his   army   issued   to   battle.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “To   battle   who?”   said   Chris. “The   police?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “No.”   said   Root. “The   ones   who   come   out   of   the   Caves   of   the   Forgotten.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   ones   from   my   first   dream.”   whispered   Chris. “Those??”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “They   are   stirring.”   said   Root   grimly. “The   last   battle   will   not   be   fought   in   one   place,   nor   on   one   level. Many   threats   will   come   against   us   from   many   sides:   and   just   as   the   Men   in   Brown   were   gathered   here   for   the   threat   of   the   Night,   so   the   Sleeping   Kings   are   being   gathered   to   gainsay   the   Forgotten   Host.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “When   is   King   Arthur   going   to   come   into   this?”   said   Stephen   carelessly. “He’s   supposed   to   return,   too,   you   know.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Arthur   died.”   said   Root. “They   found   his   bones. He   cannot   come   back,   unless   he   comes   back   from   the   dead. But   many   of   the   sleepers   you   have   seen   have   not   been   living   ones.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             When   literature   class   finally   arrived,   the   boys   said,   “Tell   us   more   of   Väinämöinen.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “There   was   an   artifact   of   great   power   associated   with   him.”   Root   said. “The   Sampo. An   enchanted   grinder,   whose   rainbow   lid   rolled   endlessly   around   and   round   its’   rim,   like   those   rides   at   the   carnival,   how   are   they   called,   Tilt-a-whirls? From   one   side   it   ground   salt. From   another   it   ground   grain. From   the   third   side   it   shed   gold   in   shining   drops. Yet   it   perished,   shattered   underneath   the   sea,   in   the   great   wars   it   caused. This   is   how   it   came   to   be   made.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Väinämöinen   took   Aino’s   body   out   to   be   laid   within   the   sea. “Son   of   Air   and   son of   Water,   my   bride   now   receive   as   daughter! Take,   O   Father,   my   bride’s   body,   give   to   her   a   fitting   resting.”   But   even   as   he   cast   the   dead   maid   into   the   sea,   from   farthest   Northland,   cold   and   cheerless,   grim   Poyohla,   an   ancient   witch   espied   the   wizard. She   puzzled   how   to   call   him   thither,   until   at   last   she   sent   a   storm-wind   so   powerful   it   tossed   Väinämöinen   here   and   there,   seven   days   upon   waves   swimming. The   son   of   Water   could   not   be   drowned,   but   hurt   and   battered   he   was   sorely. Cast   at   last   on   Louhi’s   coast,   the   witch   she   gave   to   him   warm   welcome. “I   am   Louhi,   Pohyola’s   mistress.”   she   greeted   him. She   cured   his   many   minor   bruises,   cuts   and   woundings   from   the   water. Then   knowing   of   his   new   bereavement,   she   promised   one   of   her   own   daughters   if   the   wizard   could   conjure   up   the   mighty   Sampo   all   the   Northland   knew   of. It   had   never   yet   been   made,   though   the   possibility   of   it   was   well   known   among   the   singers,   of   all   who   knew   the   songs   of   power. But   Väinämöinen,   old   and   steadfast,   knew   he   had   not   the   skill   needed. ‘Cannot   forge   for   thee   the   Sampo,   cannot   win   the   bride   of   beauty.’   But   his   brother   Ilmarinen,   smith   most   mighty,   from   whose   forges   came   the   crystal   vaults   of   heaven,   he   could   doubtless   build   the   Sampo.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “ ‘Bring   him,   then,   to   build   the   Sampo,   or   at   least   tell   of   the   prize.’   Louhi   bade   him. ‘Else   wilt   not   speed   ye   to   your   homeland.’   But   steadfast   ancient   Väinämöinen   looked   with   grim   brows   on   his   hostess. Felt   in   her   an   evil   power;   felt   in   her   the   songs   of   Hiisi. ‘Do   not   need   thy   aid   in   going,   who   am   son   of   air   and   water. Can   sing   up   a   steed   of   magic,   me   to   ride   upon   the   billows. I   have   passed   into   Tuoni,   have   eluded   nets   of   copper,   nets   that   trap   all   of   the   living,   nets   that   draw   to   thence   the   dying.”   And   Louhi   smiled   falsely   on   him:   ‘What   kept   thee   in   the   bitter   water,   thou   the   son   of   Airhome’s   daughter? Many   such   storms   roam   these   waters. Cannot   tell   when   meet   another.’   And   he   knew   what   she   was   saying,   knew   as   well   his   power’s   limits. Not   yet   could   he   strive   against   her,   until   many   songs   had   gathered,   Picked   them   from   the   berry-bushes,   plucked   them   off   the   slender   birch-twigs,   rolled   the   songs   up   into   bundles,   forged   a   music-harp   much   stronger. So   perforce   he   sent   word   from   her,   to   bring   to   him   his   own   brother.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Root,   who   had   fallen   into   a   chant   once   again,   resumed   a   normal   voice. “Ilmarinen   came   in   power,   girt   with   armour   of   great   magic,   girt   with   bow   and   girt   with   weapons,   to   break   free   his   mighty   brother. But   Louhi,   ever   crafty,   had   her daughters   come   to   greet   him. Confused,   bewildered,   his   heart   captured,   the   smith   agreed   in   daze   to   build   her,   to   forge   her   the   mighty   Sampo,   if   he   could   have   hand   of   daughter. He   built   a   forge   and   Louhi   brought   him   every   ingredient   that   he   asked   for. When   the   ingredients   were   blended,   when   was   heated   magic   fire,   Ilmarinen   worked   the   bellows,   blending   words   along   with   fire. But   the   Sampo   did   not   form. First   emerged   a   magic   crossbow,   filled   with   malice:   he   it   shattered. Then   it   formed   a   magic   plow,   full   malicious:   he   it   shattered. Cannot   work   the   bellows   harder,   cannot   sing   him   any   greater. So   he   lashed   to   them   the   Gales,   chained   the   Wind   to   work   the   bellows. While   it   blows   the   great   smith   singeth,   sings   him   mightier   than   ever. In   the   coals   the   Sampo   rises,   gleaming,   flashing   many   colors. Louhi   quickly   took   the   Sampo,   buried   it   behind   nine   locks. Ilmarinen   asked for   her   daughter. But   the   maid,   who   was   witch-hearted,   daughter   to   a   heartless   mother,   now   the   blacksmith   she   refuses,   denies   the   hero   her   hand   promised. Said   he   unto   Väinämöinen,   ‘Louhi   she   now   holds   the   Sampo,   I   have   not   the   Bride   of   Beauty.’”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             Root   fell   silent.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Yay,   no   mushy   stuff.”   applauded   Stephen.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “That   was   so   mean.”   said   Christopher. “The   girl   promised,   and   then   she   breaks   it. They   didn’t   let   her   get   away   with   it,   did   they?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “No.”   said   Root. “Thence   arose   the   great   wars   of   the   Sampo. The   three   heros,   Lemminkainen   sung   back   from   death   by   tears   of   mother,   Ilmarinen   and   Väinämöinen,   strove   to   recapture   the   Sampo. They   were   successful,   for   Väinämöinen   had   forged   him   his   enchanted   harp   of   power,   the   kantele,   from   the   jawbones   of   a   pike:   his   songs   now   were   trebled   in   force. But   as   they   sailed   home   they   had   to   duel   Louhi   herself   in   the   form   of   a   bird,   and   the   Sampo   was   destroyed. Louhi   determined   to   exterminate   them,   so   she   stole   the   Sun   from   out   of   the   sky   and   stole   the   Fire   from   the   northland:   you   could   strike   and   strike   and   blow   and   blow,   and   no   spark   would   appear   nor   kindling   catch. So   Väinämöinen   hunted   the   Fire   and   found   him,   and   broke   seven   of   the   nine   locks   that   hid   the   Sun. Alone   he   could   not   break   the   rest:   so   all   three   sung   against   Louhi,   and   Ilmarinen   began   to   forge,   to   forge   so   powerfully   the   entire   earth   shuddered,   and   Louhi   in   great   fear   freed   the   Sun. Now. We   still   have   some   lessons   to   learn. Do   you   want   to   learn   to   write   Kalevala   poetry?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Could   we? Awesome!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “Is   it   hard?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">             “If   you   have   the   music   stuck   in   your   head,   words   will   compress   and   flow   to   fit   it. I   don’t   expect   you   to   master   it,   but   we   can   at   least   try.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">

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