Diana Wynne Jones’s Fantastical Journeys Collection

“I don’t care who you are,” said the king. “Didn’t anyone tell you I am under a geas not to see strangers on a Thursday?”

“Yes, but I’ve no patience with that nonsense,” Aunt Beck said. “What do you imagine will happen now you’ve set eyes on us?”

“How should I know?” the king said. He looked rather nervously up at the dark beams in the ceiling. “All I know is that the gods will be angry.”

Aunt Beck opened her mouth. Almost certainly she was going to say, “Nonsense!” But at that moment there was a tremendous CRASH somewhere outside. People began yelling and screaming out there; hens cackled, pigs squealed and donkeys brayed. Aunt Beck said, “Well I never!” instead.

King Colm, with his face as well as his belly wobbling, got up and hurried to a door near his chair. Shawn sped after him, crying out, “Father! Be careful!” and Aunt Beck strode after Shawn. Ogo and I looked at one another, dumped our bags, and raced after Aunt Beck.

We came out into quite a big farmyard sort of place. There were sheds and huts all around it, some of which seemed to be for people and some for pigs, hens or geese. One seemed to be a hay barn. In the middle of the farmyard was a smoking hole. Steam was rising from the mud around it. People – women, children and old men mostly – were backed against the huts, staring at the hole or – if they were very young – burying their faces in their mothers’ skirts and crying. Alarmed hens and indignant goats were running all over the place, while a squad of donkeys crowded into one corner and made the sort of dreadful noise only donkeys can make.

We all hurried to the hole. In fact, we were practically pushed there by all the men crowding out of the hall behind us, Ivar among them. It was a deepish hole. At the bottom of it lay a small black smoking stone.

Aunt Beck said, almost drowned out by the donkeys, “That’s a meteorite.”

“A fallen star!” the king cried out. “Sent by the gods to punish me!”

“Och, man, don’t talk rubbish!” said Aunt Beck. “If the gods aimed it, they missed you.”

“I tell you it’s my geas!” bawled the king. “My fate!”

I discovered Finn beside me looking down into the hole, interested. On his shoulder, the green bird was equally interested. It put its head this way, then that, to inspect the smoking stone, and the lines around its eyes looked wiser than ever. “A meteorite, a meteorite,” it muttered. Then it stood up tall on Finn’s shoulder. “The geas is broken!” it said.

Finn turned his head to look at it. “Are you sure of that?” he demanded.

“Sure of that,” the bird echoed.

“Good,” said Finn, and reached to tap the king’s shoulder. “Majesty,” he said loudly, “your geas is broken.”

King Colm turned and glared at the little monk. It was fairly plain to me that he had cherished that geas. “And what makes you say that?” he demanded.

“Green Greet says so,” Finn explained. “He is a messenger of the gods.”

The king stared at the bird. So did Aunt Beck. “That parrot?” she said.

“A messenger of the gods,” the parrot said to her.

“You’re just repeating what your owner says,” my aunt told it – and I confess I would have said the same. Except that no one else had said, “The geas is broken.”

“No I’m not,” said the bird. “It’s Thursday. The geas is broken. I’m sure of that. It’s Thursday.”

“A marvel, isn’t he?” Finn said, smiling all over his chubby face.

“Hm,” said my aunt. She turned to the king. “Well, Majesty, it looks as if your lazy Thursdays are at an end.”

“By your doing, woman,” the king said bitterly. “Why couldn’t that bird have just kept quiet?” He sighed, because everyone crowding the farmyard seemed to have heard the bird quite clearly. They were all smiling and thumping one another on the back and congratulating Shawn on his father’s delivery. “And why couldn’t you have kept the woman out?” the king said to his son. “That geas has been handed down, father to son, for hundreds of years. You’ll live to regret this.”

Shawn looked startled. “I’ve always thought the geas would go to one of my brothers,” he said. “Why me?”

“Because you failed to guard the gate of course,” the king said.

“I fail to see,” Aunt Beck said, “why inheriting a non-existent curse would bother anyone. Majesty, we—”

“Oh, be quiet, woman!” ordered the king. “Who knows what trouble will fill the hole where my geas was, every Thursday. You’ve brought bad luck to my family. What do I need to do to make you go away?”

Aunt Beck looked decidedly taken aback. Finn said placatingly, “Majesty, they are from the High King of Chaldea who has sent them on a mission to Bernica.”

The king said testily, “No doubt he wanted to get rid of her too. All right, all right. Come back into the hall, woman, and tell me why you’ve been sent to shake up Bernica. Does he want me to wage war on Gallis or what?”

I could see Aunt Beck was seething with rage at being treated so disrespectfully. As we all trooped indoors again after the king, she was muttering, “I call this downright ungrateful! For two pins I’d put the geas back. And I’d make it every day of the week!”

But, by the time he was in his chair again and we were all standing in front of him, she had a grip on herself. She explained, perfectly politely, how we had been sent to rescue the High King’s son and – possibly – to destroy the barrier too.

King Colm said, “Woman, it’s all one to me if you choose to attempt the impossible. What do you expect me to do about it?”

“To give us your aid, out of the royal goodness of your heart, Majesty,” Aunt Beck replied. “If you could set us on our way by providing a donkey and cart, and maybe some food and a little money, I—”

“Money!” exclaimed the king. “Didn’t the High King even give you funds for this mission of yours?”

I thought, Oh dear, he’s stingy as well as eccentric!

Aunt Beck drew herself up proudly and said, as if the admission was being dragged out of her, “We were given a purse, Majesty, but it proved to be full of stones.”

King Colm seemed astounded. A shocked murmur ran round the hall behind us. “But it is the duty of any king,” he said, “to show generosity at all times. Very well, you shall have money. And I can probably spare you a cart and a donkey. Is there anything else?”

“One thing,” admitted my aunt. “According to the prophecy, we must have with us one man from each of the islands. Have you a man from Bernica you might spare to go with us?”

I had forgotten that we needed this person. For a moment, I was very excited, hoping the king would give us Shawn. He was so good-looking. And indeed the king’s eyes did move towards his son. Then Finn piped up. He gave a little cough and announced, “Majesty, I am that man. There is no need for you to deprive yourself of anyone. I and Green Greet have already decided to go with these good people on their mission.”

“Speak for yourself, speak for yourself,” muttered the parrot.

The king gave a great relieved laugh. “Splendid!” he said. “They will have the gods with them then. Go with my blessing, Finn Fitzfinn. And be careful,” he added to my aunt, “that this monk doesn’t eat and drink you out of all my money.”

So that was that. Half an hour later, we drove out of the king’s back gate in a neat little cart, with Aunt Beck driving a neat little donkey with a black line all around her like a tidemark. The people who hitched the donkey to the cart didn’t seem to think she had a name, so I called her Moe. I don’t know why, except that it suited her. There was food in the cart and jars of ale and, as she drove, my aunt kept smugly patting the fat purse on her belt.

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The way was very level and green, first through more of the little fields and then through wide-open boglands. Moe trotted cheerfully on, pulling the rattling little cart, while we took turns to ride. There was only room for two of us beside the person driving. I don’t think Moe could have pulled all five of us anyway. She certainly couldn’t when we came to the hills. There, everyone except Aunt Beck had to walk.

But, while we were on the levels, Aunt Beck was very talkative. She had a long discussion about religion with Finn, while Ogo sat looking glum and mystified and Green Greet kept saying, “Mind your own business! Mind your own business!” until, Ogo said later, he wanted to wring the bird’s neck.

When it was Ivar’s turn and mine to ride, Ogo went striding ahead to cool off and Aunt Beck said to Ivar, “You were mighty slow coming out of the hall when the meteorite fell. What kept you?”

Ivar shrugged. “It sounded dangerous out there.”

“It was. Someone could have been injured,” Aunt Beck said. “You could have helped them.”

“Someone in my position,” Ivar said, “being a king’s son and all, has to be careful. I could have been killed! I don’t think Bernica’s gods take much care of people.”