Blue Hills by Steve Shilstone Read Free Book Online Page B

Karro, my own old Karro of Thorns, my best friend from forever.
    â€œOh,” she cooed,” I’ll never shift to anything so such ridiculous as that silly bird again. But it was funny, wasn’t it, Bek?”
    â€œOh … funny. I liked the blue … plume,” I offered.
    â€œI didn’t,” said Kar, and she studied me closely. “Are you my old Bek, or the other?”
    Before I could decide, Jo Bree rose into the air between us and began to pulse all the colors of the rainbow. We waited, not shocked, but relieved. The Carven Flute would sing. Jo Bree would sing us a path to follow. Without a delay of any worrisome length, the Flute sang in its quavering, calming voice:
    â€œProphesied pale purple witchlet
Returned to the home she forgot
One has been sent here to find her
For magic, success must be bought
First A and E, then I, O and U
The tiers of the snaves must be climbed
Riddle and nonsense, babble and bargain
The nook to be found must be rhymed.”
    The Carven Flute dropped into my hand and faded to flush yellow pink. Kar and I exchanged fuddled looks there in the late afternoon. Such was so.

Chapter Twenty
    The Snaves of Annek
    â€œWhat does it mean, Bek?” asked Kar.
    â€œIt means what it wants to … mean … when … folded … over,” I stated firmly, much to my own surprise and fuddlement. “If the trays are … tilted, the food … falls … on the … floor. I mean to say that A and E and I and O and U are symbols … used … to write the language … from … down the … Well. They are … for me … alone … to understand.”
    â€œAll right, strange Bek, tell me so such about snaves,” said Kar, regarding me with narrowed eyes and a steady frown.
    â€œOnce upon a time … Gwer drollek … the oceans were … marmalade,” I spouted, throwing myself deeper into fuddlement. “Wait … Hutters can’t … swim in the … oatfields. I mean to say that I … know nothing … of … snaves.”
    Kar walked over to me, forced me to sit down, made me settle. She paced in a circle around me. I was glad of it. Such was so. The Blue Hill gently moved, sliding back, and then forth. Why did the words sent from my brain change when spilled from my lips? Such I asked myself. And yet, the muddle I spoke had cleared somewhat near the end of the spew. Yoss, I thought. Why ‘yoss’ and not‘yes’? Why ‘yoss’ as like says the Babba Ja Harick? My chin cupped in my hand, I gazed silently at Kar in the gathering night.
    â€œWe are here to find the witch,” she began, talking more to herself than to me. “We are here to bring magic back to our lands and seas. My friend Bekka is maddened, but even so such, she is the key. The waterwizards so said. Should I shift to Dragon and carry her all and over on a search of these Blue Hills?”
    The answer to her question came not from me, but from the top of the drifting Blue Hill. There, of a sudden, a shaft of silver blue light streamed straight up into the night. At the base of the shaft, a red tentacle writhed into view. It pointed at us and beckoned with its tip. Kar was a statue frozen. I, surged with confidence, sprang to my feet.
    â€œKar, we have to wrestle … under the table,” I announced.
    I grabbed her by the elbow and marched her quickly up the slope. The tentacle slipped out of sight before we reached the summit. I hurried. The shaft was thinning. An entrance! An entrance to below! A hole in the ground. Perfect circle. Was the hill hollow like near Dragon’s Deep Pool? The shaft was thinning, the entrance closing. I ran, pulling Kar. I pushed her in. I dove, sliding through. The snap crack closing sound of the entrance echoed above us. Where were we?
    Kar and I found ourselves piled in a jumble on a silver blue level platform, a landing so such at the top of a flight of