Does King Oak always win over the winter?
The snow stopped crunching. They stopped in front of the hill. Hom nodded wrapping himself deeper in his plaid scarf,
Always. And this year, I was chosen to be the King Oak.
Pagey whistled in admiration. Ancient duel of two kings, Oak and Holly, was an important amusement in the village. In the summer, Holly won and pulled the outgoing year, in the winter the victory went to King Oak and symbolized the revival of the sun. Two guys flaunted in straw and green branches usually clobber each other struggling to amuse those gathered around the campfire but the winner was still pre-ritual.
Last summer, Charlie, a millers son, a bowlegged shortie was appointed on the role of King Holly, and he was so frantic about his victory that his friends made their jaws hurt with disgust.
So now Pagey was relaxed,
Good news. Good luck! Get this clumsy idiot properly.
Hom frantically stared at his friend,
Arent you going to the fire?
I promised my Vita
Promised my Vita! At these words, vomit came up to Homs mouth.
A girl from the outsiders tribe? I dont want excuses!
Junior spread his arms out,
I cant, Hom. I promised.
Got it, the young Kelly sharply nodded. So thats whom youre trading me for.
Im not trading you for anyone!
A whistle of a locomotive, shrill and loud, like the death-cry of a Banshee3 from the marshes sounded far away across the river. Hom instantly perked up.
Whats the matter with you? Pagey looked at him anxiously.
Dont think thats the sound is so promising?
But Pagey didnt know what he was after.
Hom, its just a train whistle. Sounds like a Banshee augural death to someone if you ask me.
Hom seemed confused more than ever. Feeling uncomfortable to unnerve his friend, even more, Pagey gently placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled,
Do you like the sound of a locomotive?
But the fair-haired King Oak did not find it necessary to answer this ridiculous question, and they climbed the hill in silence for the rest of the way to the apiary.
* * *
Having smoked at least three cigarettes, the boatman finally made his way to the druids estate. Having given his heavy coat to the butler and wheedled a cup of hot chocolate, he went without any delay to the study room of the lord of the local lands.
The boatman entered the room without knocking and greeted the druid,
Sir! Fitzy!
To do such a thing seemed unthinkable to the villagers. They were afraid of the druid, their lord and mentor, and they were careful not to approach the estate if not necessary, and they would never dream of getting into the druids study without an invitation and some rules of decency.
The druid, however, seemed to be glad of this simplicity,
Good evening, my friend! You look really cold beside the water. Ill order Milly now to serve tea. The druid reached for the bell-rope to call for servants.
No need, I already asked for the chocolate! the boatman smiled.
The corners of his lips were dark red, weather-beaten in the cold. He started pacing along the wall, which nautical charts of various sizes and data were hanging on.
Miss the sea? the druid asked. River is not enough for you?