Alistair said. He thought of just wiping the blade across the old man’s neck, but who knew what Ogg would do then? A poetry fan. Just his luck.
“But boss,” Ogg said. “One minute by fire for old man. And a poem for Ogg.”
Alistair stared at the beast. Maybe he could kill them both. But then who would carry the bag the rest of the way?
He sighed.
“One minute,” he said, massaging his temples.
The old man stepped up to the fire, rubbing his hands together.
“A poetry fan, huh?” he said to Ogg. “Wouldn’t have guessed.”
“Everyone think Ogg stupid because Ogg speak monosyllabically,” Ogg said. “But it just the way Ogg’s parents taught him.”
“Well then, a poem for the intelligent Ogg.”
He cleared his throat.
They say poetry is music with words,
But what happens when the music fades?
The rhymes don’t rhyme, and the meter’s all changed,
And the poet finds he has nothing to say.
So friends, gather ‘round the fire and see.
These are dark days indeed. Yes, dark days indeed.
But don’t lose all hope, the answer is near.
It’s right over here; we may soon all hear.
Ogg clapped his hands, but Alistair scowled.
“That was the worst poem I have ever heard,” he said. “It barely even rhymed.”
“Ogg understand,” Ogg said. “Ogg get it.”
The old man tipped his cap and winked at Ogg.
“It was a pleasure, friends. A real pleasure. I’ll be on my way then.”
Alistair watched as the old man faded into the woods. He sat on the ground while Ogg continued staring off in the distance.
“Ogg meet real poet,” he said.
“Those last lines, said Alistair. “It’s right over here…was he just messing with me? Did he know something? I should have killed him.”
Ogg looked down at Alistair and smiled.
“No, boss. We may soon all hear.”
10
Kristoffer stood at the edge of the fence separating Greenwood from the vast, unknown forest. He had been near the fence before, but never with the intention of going through it. The thought terrified him.
To call the fence mearly a fence would be an understatement. It was a towering structure, built by Greenwood’s founders out of the soaring trees just outside the community it protected.
Although crossing the fence was not forbidden in Greenwood, few ever considered it. What more could anyone want than what Greenwood had to offer? And those who had ventured beyond Greenwood’s gate reported back of the terrible magic of the woods. It was no place for a child, and Kristoffer knew he was not much more than a child. A child with no idea of what he was doing.
Kristoffer looked up and down the giant trunks that made up the fence, and settled on a small door near the base. The door was usually guarded by a volunteer from the community, but the volunteer, like the rest of Greenwood, had been driven mad.
Well, thought Kristoffer. Here goes nothing.
The door creaked open, as a door that seldom opens is wont to do, and Kristoffer stepped through it. The door slammed behind him. Kristoffer felt more alone than he ever had in all of his life. He had been lonely before, he realized, but never alone. There was a difference.
The air grew colder with each step, darker, as if the brightness of life he had once known was being erased from his memory. Or maybe it was just the blocking of the sun from the trees.
Where to go? The note had mentioned something about the muses three. Kristoffer had heard of muses before, usually when it came to writing or playing music. Maybe that was a good place to start.
Perhaps he should call on the muses. But how?
Kristoffer opened his bag and fished around for ideas. He felt the wooden flute Elder Heckle had given him for good luck. It may be too early in the journey for good luck, Kristoffer thought, but then again, it might be a good place to start.
Kristoffer took out the flute and held it. It clearly wasn’t much more than an early whittling attempt, but as Kristoffer eyed its shape, he knew he could get something out of it.
He took a deep breath.
“Muses, whoever or whatever or wherever you are, I could use some help getting started here. The note told me to seek you out, so here I am. And here’s a tune.”
Kristoffer blew into the end of the flute. He moved his fingers over the rough holes Elder Heckle had carved into it, and he quickly found the right combinations. It was as though he were a professional whittled wooden flute player, if such a thing existed.
As the music played, Kristoffer felt the entire forest paying attention to him. It was as if the trees were listening, the rocks had ears, and the wind meandering around him was carrying his music to throughout the whole forest. In fact, it was.
Kristoffer sat down on a rock and waited. He didn’t know if the muses would find him, but he knew he couldn’t find them by just randomly walking through the woods. He would wait and see.
It did not take long.
Leaves rustled and voices mumbled in the distance. They were women’s voices, and Kristoffer could hear them getting closer.
“Do you remember hearing more beautiful music?”
“Of course I do, but how can it be?
“Yes, how can it be?”
“Oh yes, we shall see.”
Kristoffer sat, completely unprepared for what he was about to encounter, as the muses came forward out of the darkness of the deep woods. He felt a chill run up his spine as they circled around him. They were clearly sisters, but each had a distinct beauty about her. And something else. Something slightly frightening, or maybe just exhilarating. Kristoffer couldn’t quite put his finger on what that something was.
They were blonde, brunette, and redheaded, and as they whirled around him, Kristoffer became lost in the mystery of the moment. Their words snapped him back into focus.
“Did you play that?” the blonde said, smiling at Kristoffer in a way no woman had ever smiled at him before.
“Why Aiode, how rude to ask the boy a question without first introducing ourselves,” the brunette said. “How very rude indeed.”
“Rude shmood, Mneme,” Aiode, said. “I want to know.”
The redhead chimed in. “Well Aiode, if you were playing attention, you would see the boy is holding a wooden flute. Yes, rude. Not shmood.”
She stared at Kristoffer, and he felt her eyes burning into him.
“Melete, you and Mneme are always such buzzkills,” Aiode said. “But very well.”
With that, the three muses stop circling Kristoffer, curtseyed, and said together:
We, we are the muses three.
Melete, Mneme, and Aiode.
We sing and dance and always play
We invite all to seize the day
With creativity
And majesty
And tea.
“I remember