The Cellar Beneath the Cellar (Bell Mountain) by Lee Duigon Read Free Book Online Page B

what he said.
    “Well, Ryons, I know nothing of these things, but if you’re afraid to speak of them, we won’t,” he said. “Do you think I might have a drink of water? And after that, we can talk of anything you please. I think we might as well be friends. Don’t you?”
    Ryons frowned, and went to fetch some water.
     

CHAPTER 8
Budric the Bluejay
    How green it is!” Ellayne said, when they emerged from the wooded skirts of the mountain and saw the rolling plains.
    True, Jack thought. On their way out from Ninneburky, the plains were a dreary grayish-yellow. Had they really been up on the mountain that long, or was spring just coming on fast?
    “I’ve never seen it so lush,” Martis said. “As if the world were going to go out in one last blaze of glory. But let’s not get into a theological discussion! The important thing is to get to Lintum Forest in a hurry. I think we’ll be marching straight across the main invasion route.”
    Jack wondered how the Heathen came to be heathen, and why they so often made war on Obann. That went back a long, long way—all the way back to Scripture days.
    “You say you know about the Heathen, Martis,” he said. “What are they like? Why are they so fierce? Why do they make war on us?”
    “They’re like us, Jack—just people. Some live in cities. Others roam about and live in tents. There are many different nations. The only thing they have in common is, they’re not us. They don’t worship our God, and they don’t hold allegiance to the Temple. And they attack us because we are richer than they are and we have things that they want.”
    “But our God is God, isn’t He?” Jack said. “Ashrof says their gods are just make-believe gods. They must be very silly people, to worship make-believe gods.”
    “They don’t think they’re make-believe,” Martis said.
    “Tell us about them,” said Ellayne. “It’s dull, just walking on and on all day.”
    “I couldn’t possibly tell you about all the Heathen gods. There must be tens of thousands of them,” Martis said. “The people who gave me Dulayl”—his horse—“worship horses and the moon. And because their country is an arid land, they also worship rain and springs.
    “There’s one nation that has a different god for each day of the year. The Abnaks say their gods live inside the trunks of trees. Many of the nations make idols out of wood or stone or brass and worship them as gods. And I’ve heard of a people far out beyond the Great Lakes who say their god is a gigantic disembodied head at the bottom of Lake Sarmeen who dreams perpetually; and the people are his dreams. If the head ever wakes up, they’ll all cease to exist. So their priests have to sing lullabies to it day and night, all year round.”
    Jack laughed. “How could anyone believe a thing like that!”
    “They would say the same about us,” Martis answered.
     

     
    With the children riding Dulayl and Martis leading him, it took them three days to cross the plain and reach the fringe of Lintum Forest. Several times they passed families on foot or with ox-drawn wagons, fleeing the mountains.
    “We all know there’s going to be a big war,” said a grey-bearded man whose wife and three spinster daughters rode in a wagon. “We don’t want to be around when those murdering Heathen come across the mountains. They’re already lifting scalps, burning people out of their homes. Cusset Abnaks are the worst—but then they always were.”
    These people were making for the river, hopefully to find refuge in a walled town before it was too late. The lean, long-nosed daughters only fidgeted, but the plump wife had some choice words for Martis.
    “Now is no time to be traipsing around with small children,” she said, “and here is not the place for it! What can you be thinking of?”
    “We’ll be safe in Lintum Forest.”
    “Hah! You’ll find more robbers than honest folk in Lintum Forest.” And she might have had even more to