Enchanted Pilgrimage by Clifford D. Simak Read Free Book Online

had been edged and roofed over by the trees and here there were no trees.
    Something made a harsh sound to one side and above him and he rolled his head slowly and saw the red-winged blackbird swaying on a cattail, its claws clutching desperately to maintain its balance. It spread its wings and flirted its tail and squawked at him, glaring at him out of beady eyes.
    Feet came shuffling toward him and he lifted his head a few inches and saw the little woman, short and dumpy, in the checkered dress—like a well-proportioned dwarf and human, but with a furry face.
    She came and stood above him. He let his head back on the pillow and stared up at her.
    â€œI have soup for you,” she said. “Now that you are awake, I have soup for you.”
    â€œMadam,” he said, “I do not know …”
    â€œI am Mrs. Drood,” she said, “and when I bring you soup you must be sure to eat it. You have lost much strength.”
    â€œWhere am I?”
    â€œYou are on a raft in the middle of the marsh. Here you are safe. No one can reach you here. You are with the People of the Marsh. You know the People of the Marsh?”
    â€œI have heard of you,” said Cornwall. “I remember there were wolves …”
    â€œGib, he saved you from the wolves. He had this brand new ax, you see. He got it from the gnomes.”
    â€œGib is here?”
    â€œNo, Gib has gone to get the clams, to make clam chowder for you. Now I get duck soup. You will eat duck soup? Chunks of meat in it.”
    She went shuffling off.
    Cornwall raised himself on his right elbow and saw that his left arm was in a sling. He struggled to a sitting position and lifted his hand up to his head. His fingers encountered bandages.
    It was coming back to him, in bits and pieces, and in a little while, he knew, he would have it all.
    He stared out across the marsh. From the position of the sun he gathered that it was midmorning. The marsh stretched far away, with clumps of stunted trees growing here and there—perhaps trees rooted on islands. Far off, a cloud of birds exploded from the grass and reeds, went volleying up into the sky, wheeled with military precision, and floated back to rest again.
    A boat came around a bend and cruised down the channel toward the raft. A grizzled marsh-man sat in the stern. With a twist of his paddle he brought the boat alongside the raft.
    â€œI am Drood,” he said to Cornwall. “You look perkier than you did last night.”
    â€œI am feeling fine,” said Cornwall.
    â€œYou got a hard crack on the skull,” said Drood. “Scalp laid open. And that arm of yours had a gash in it clear down to the bone.”
    He got out of the boat and tied it to the raft, came lumbering over to where Cornwall sat, and squatted down to face him.
    â€œGuess you were lucky, though,” he said. “All the others dead. We went over this morning and searched the woods. Looks like no one got away. Bandits, I suppose. Must have come a far piece, though. One time there were bandits lurking in these hills, but they cleared out. They ain’t been here for years. What kind of stuff you carrying?”
    Cornwall shook his head. “I’m not sure. Trade goods of all sorts, I think. Mostly cloth, I guess. I wasn’t a member of the train. I was just along with them.”
    Mrs. Drood came shuffling from behind the hut, carrying a bowl.
    â€œHere is Ma,” said Drood. “Has some soup for you. Eat all you can. You need it.”
    She handed him a spoon and held the bowl for him. “You go ahead,” she said. “With only one arm, you can’t hang onto the bowl.”
    The soup was hot and tasty and once he had the first spoonful, he found that he was ravenous. He tried to remember when he had had his last meal and his memory failed him.
    â€œIt surely does one’s heart good,” said Drood, “to watch someone spoon in victuals that way.”
    Cornwall