Diana Wynne Jones’s Fantastical Journeys Collection

“He’s playing the harp, Auntie,” I said. “I think he’s singing too.”

You could just hear the music through the sound of the waterfall. And it was the strangest thing. As the song went on, the sun came out and made the trees green-gold. The falls shone silver-white with rainbows around the water, and the rocks glowed with colours.

“Have I got this right?” Ogo asked. “Is he singing the place more beautiful?”

“I think he is,” Finn said, puffing rather. The path was steep. “I have heard many wonders of the bards of Gallis.”

I had heard wonders too. People in Skarr always said that there was no magic like the magic of the bards of Gallis. They could sing anything to happen, they said – though I remembered my father laughing when I asked him about it and saying that he wished it was true. Some of it must have been, I thought, as we toiled around another corner and lost sight of the gorge and the bard.

“He is a bard,” I said. “They always wear blue.”

As I spoke, we came to a stone building and a gate across the path. Green Greet gave another squawk and landed on the gate, which seemed to alarm the man guarding it, who put up one thick arm to shield his face.

Ivar was standing angrily on our side of the gate. “He won’t let me through!” he said to me. “He says I’m a foreigner. Make him see sense, Aileen.”

“And he had no reason to insult me!” the guard said, backing away from Green Greet, but holding the gate shut as he went. He was a tall man and thickset with it. He wore official-looking grey clothes and a sword. “I’m only doing my duty. I could see at once the young gentleman was not a native of Gallis, wearing plaids and all, as he is—”

“I told you. I’m a prince from Skarr,” Ivar said. He was a little mollified by being called a young gentleman, but still angry.

“—and it is as much as my place here is worth to let him through – to let any of you through – before Owen the priest has examined you,” the guard said, as if Ivar had not spoken. “I can see you’re all foreigners. I have rung the bell and Owen will no doubt be out presently. He’s busy blessing the other travellers from the ferry.”

“So we wait, do we?” Ivar snarled.

“In patience,” the guard agreed. “Will one of you please remove the bird? I am not sure it is godly.”

“Godly!” exclaimed Finn. “Nothing could be more godly than Green Greet! I begin to see that Moe was quite right not to wish to come to Gallis!”

“And which of you is Moe?” asked the guard.

“The donkey,” Finn explained. “This donkey protested every yard of the voyage—”

“Are you trying to insult me too?” the guard said, glowering.

“No, no!” Finn protested hastily. “I am a monk and a man of peace.”

“Then move the bird,” said the guard.

I found my spirits sinking steadily. I had forgotten the other thing my father always said of Gallis. I remember him praising the beauty of Gallis and its lovely climate often and often, until I asked him why, if Gallis was that wonderful, he had chosen to come away to Skarr. His reply was always, “Because, Aileen, a person can do nothing in Gallis without the permission of a priest.” I began to fear that our journey had come to a stop.

I watched Finn coax Green Greet on to his shoulder and we waited for the priest.

Eventually, the Holy Owen strode pompously up to the gate in a swirl of grey robes. I could see he was worse than the Priest of Kilcannon. He had rather a fat face decorated with a moustache even larger than the guard’s. It must have got in the way when he ate. He folded his hands into the sleeves of his robe and leant on the gate.

“Well, well,” he said. “What have we here? Five foreigners and their livestock.”

Livestock! I thought. At that moment, I felt Plug-Ugly press invisibly against my legs. It made me feel much better.

“Green Greet,” Finn said, as indignant as I had ever known him, “is not livestock, holy sir. He is the Great Bird of—”

“And you are?” Holy Owen said, cutting across him contemptuously.

“I am Finn,” Finn said, “a monk of the Order of the Goddess from Bernica and we are on a holy mission—”

“And you, madam?” Holy Owen said, cutting across poor Finn again. He looked up at Aunt Beck, sitting in the cart. “Are you in charge of this holy mission?”

Aunt Beck simply sat and said nothing.

Holy Owen waited for her to speak and when she did not even look at him he narrowed his eyes at her. “Dumb, eh?” he said. “Then who is in charge?”

“I am,” I said, before Ivar could open his mouth.

Holy Owen looked at me incredulously. I wished I was not so small. “Indeed?” he said. “And who may you be?”

I said, “My name is Aileen and I am a Wise Woman of Skarr.”

Holy Owen began to look downright derisive. “She is!” Finn and Ogo said together, and Finn went on, “The Great Lady herself declared Aileen to be fully initiate.”

“Hm,” said Holy Owen. He went quickly on to Ivar. “And you?”

Ivar, not unnaturally, began proudly, “I am a prince of Skarr. My father—”

“Another foreigner,” Holy Owen said dismissively. “You, great tall lad. Are you from Skarr or Bernica?”

“Neither,” Ogo said, almost as proudly as Ivar. “I’m from Logra.”

“Logra!” exclaimed Holy Owen. “How did you get here?”

“I was left behind on Skarr when the barrier was raised,” Ogo explained.

Holy Owen frowned at Ogo disbelievingly.

“It’s true,” I said. “He was quite small then.”

Ivar said, “Yes, it’s true. He’s here as my servant.”

“Fitting,” Holy Owen said and pulled at his huge moustache, considering us. “And the lady in the cart?”

“She is my Aunt Beck,” I said, “and she is also a Wise Woman of Skarr.” I had a moment when I seriously wondered whether to say that Aunt Beck was in a holy trance, but thought better of it. Instead, I said, “She suffered a stroke in Bernica. We were told that a holy healer of Gallis might be able to help her.”

Holy Owen went “Hm” again and continued to stare up at Aunt Beck and pull his moustache. “Miracles have been granted,” he said. “But there is a problem. You are all five foreigners to Gallis.”

Ivar, Ogo and Finn all spoke at once. “But this is ridiculous! People come from Bernica to be healed all the time. What are your healers for?”

And Green Greet echoed them. “Healers. Ridiculous.”

I felt Plug-Ugly push against my legs. I said loudly, “Excuse me, holy sir, but this is not so. My father was born in Gallis. He is a bard.”

Holy Owen let go of his moustache and looked sharply at me. “A small man, I suppose. What is his name?”