Silver and Gold

Silver and Gold by Emma Bull Moon Very Thin sat on the raised hearth—the only place in the center room out of the way—with her chin on her knuckles. She would have liked to be doing something more, but the things she thought of were futile, and most were undignified. She watched Alder Owl crisscross the slate floor and pop in and out of the stillroom and the pantry and the laundry. Alder Owl's hands were full of things on every crossing: clean clothes, a cheese, dried yellow dock and feverfew, a tinderbox, a wool mantle. She was frowning faintly all over her round pink face, and Moon knew that she was reviewing lists in her head. “You can't pack all that,” said Moon. “You couldn't,” said Alder Owl. “But I've had fifty years more practice. Now remember to cure the squash before you bring them in, or there'll be nothing to eat all winter but onions. And if the squirrels nest in the thatch again, there's a charm—” “You told me,” Moon sighed. She shifted a little to let the fire roast a slightly different part of her back. “If I forget it, I can look it up. It's awfully silly for you to set out now. We could have snow next week.” “If we did, then I'd walk through it. But we won't. Not for another month.” Alder Owl wrapped three little stoneware jars in flannel and tucked them in her wicker pack. Moon opened her mouth, and the thing she'd been busy not saying for three days hopped out. “He's been missing since before Midsummer. Why do you have to go now? Why do you have to go at all?” At that, Alder Owl straightened up and regarded her sternly. “I have responsibilities. You ought to know that.” “But why should they have anything to do with him?” “He is the prince of the Kingdom of Hark End.” Moon stood up. She was taller than Alder Owl, but under that fierce gaze she felt rather stubby. She scowled to hide it. “And we live in Hark End. Hundreds—thousands of people do. A lot of them are even witches. They haven't all gone tramping off like a pack of questing youngest sons.” Alder Owl had a great many wrinkles, which deepened all over her face when she was about to smile. They deepened now. “First, youngest sons have never been known to quest in packs. Second, all the witches worth their salt and stone have tried to find him, in whatever way suits them best. All of them but me. I held back because I wanted to be sure you could manage without me.” Moon Very Thin stood still for a moment, taking that in. Then she sat back down with a thump and laced her fingers around her knees. “Oh,” she said, halfway between a gasp and a laugh. “Unfair, unfair. To get at me through my pride!” “Yes, my weed, and there's such a lot of it. I have to go, you know. Don't make it harder for me.” “I wish I could do something to help,” said Moon after a moment. “I expect you to do all your work around here, and all of mine besides. Isn't that enough?” Alder Owl smoothed the flap down over the pack and snugged the drawstring tight. “You know it's not. Couldn't I go with you?” Alder Owl pulled a stool from under the table with her foot and sat on it, her hands over her knees. “When I travel in my spirit,” she said, “to ask a favor of Grandmother, you can't go with me.”

About the Author: Emma Bull is an Endicott Contributor. Please visit Emma's page for more information on the author and her work. Copyright © 2004 by Emma Bull. This story may not be reproduced in any form without the author's express written permission. The illustrations above are by Arthur Rackham.