The Islands of Chaldea by Diana Wynne Jones

Author:Diana Wynne Jones [Diana Wynne Jones]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2014-01-30T05:00:00+00:00

Gallis is very beautiful. The blue peaks and sunlit rifts full of trees assured us of this, but, when the ferry swung into a glassy bay under the nearest blue peak, none of us could really attend to the scenery. Or perhaps Aunt Beck could, jolted this way and that as she sat in the cart we all tugged and pushed. Moe did not want to get off the boat. It was exasperating.

“Typical donkey,” Ivar growled. “Shall I twist her tail?”

“No!” Ogo and I said together.

“She’s a Bernica donkey,” I said. “She knows Gallis is a foreign country.”

“Well, if you two want to be soft, slushy idiots, I’m not helping you any more,” Ivar said, and he went marching away down the gangplank. We could see him striding ahead up the rocky way that curved around the great mountain. Ogo and I exchanged looks. Both of us were hot and angry by then.

“Peace!” said Finn – which irritated me almost as much. “Let Green Greet guide Moe.”

He shoved the bird off Moe’s back quite unceremoniously. Green Greet, after an indignant squawk, flapped up ahead of Moe. He left a green feather which Ogo picked up and put in his belt for luck. And Moe took off after Green Greet in a rush. Aunt Beck swayed about in the cart as it rattled down the gangplank, and we trotted after.

There was no real jetty, just a shelf of rock with a couple of bollards on it that the ferry tied up to. Everyone had gone streaming up the rocky path, so we followed, uphill and around the mountain. It reminded me of Skarr. Most of our bays are like this, except where the towns are. The difference was that Gallis was almost violently beautiful. The path led through a mighty gorge overhung with splendid trees, where a great white waterfall dashed down the cliffs to the left. On a ledge beside the waterfall we saw the distant figure of a man in blue clothes.

“What’s he doing up there? It’s not safe!” Aunt Beck said.

“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.

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