Free The Tale of Oriel by Cynthia Voigt Page B

to.”
    Griff reached out his hand and took the beryl. The stone was as long as his thumb, and twice as thick.
    â€œThis is the last beryl.”
    â€œThey said,” Griff said, “that as long as there remained one of the Great Damall’s beryls, the island would be safe from harm.”
    That wasn’t the response he expected, or wanted. “They also said,” he reminded Griff, “that the Great Damall would rise from the sea, his sword in his hand and Death himself at his shoulder, if danger threatened the island. What of that? They also said there were nine stones given to the Great Damall, each one as large as a man’s fist. But I know better. I read what the Great Damall wrote: There was a Prince from a distant Kingdom, in the northern lands, who bought the giant from the Great Damall. The Great Damall had saved the giant from drowning in the sea, and the price the Prince paid was three beryls. The Great Damall wrote down what the Prince told him. This giant had been stolen from the Kingdom by pirates; the Prince disguised himself as a beggar and followed after. When the Prince saw how well the Great Damall treated the giant, he revealed himself, and offered the three beryls. Two bought the island. This is the last of them.” He didn’t believe all the Great Damall wrote, but that last he did believe. The giant, the Prince, the distant Kingdom, the Great Damall wearing honor like a cloak—those he might doubt; but the beryl he could touch.
    â€œI take Oriel for my name,” he said. “Shall I?”
    â€œFor what reason?”
    â€œIsn’t it reason enough to see the name carved here? And beryl with it? Isn’t it reason enough that I must have a name?” He gave himself the name, silently speaking it, Oriel. “Can you name me?”
    â€œYes,” Griff said. At the waiting silence, he looked up. “Oriel,” Griff said. “I can name you that. Oriel.”
    At each saying, the name fitted him more closely. “Name me again,” he said.
    â€œOriel,” Griff said. “Did you bring the Great Damall’s treasure with you then, Oriel?”
    â€œI did. Not all, though. I left some gold pieces, and silver. For the well-being of those who stay behind.”
    â€œNow what will happen there?”
    â€œI named an heir.”
    â€œNikol?”
    â€œIf I hadn’t named him . . .”
    Griff remained silent for a long time. His fingers turned the beryl over, and back, and over again. “There’s something—” he held it up before his eyes—“Look, Oriel, isn’t there something carved?” He returned the stone.
    â€œA bird?” Oriel tilted the stone so the sun shone onto it. “This looks like a beak, head, and the wings outstretched— Tomorrow we leave this place, Griff, and when we have paper we’ll see what there is to see. But who would carve into such a stone?”
    Griff didn’t know.
    â€œAnd why?” Even Oriel, who had read the Great Damall’s book over and over, couldn’t guess.
    The day passed slowly, until afternoon faded into evening. Darkness crossed the sea, slowly, approaching. Oriel was hungry and restless. Beside him, Griff was probably just as hungry although neither spoke of it.
    The stars came out, faint as distant sails, then clearer. Griff went back to the shelter of the boat to sleep. Oriel remained at the shore, with the sound of little waves for company. In a while the moon would rise up into the black sky. On such a clear night, the moon’s light would be so bright it would cast shadows.
    They might, Oriel’s restless mind thought, set sail on such a night.
    But nobody sailed at night. Night sailing was dark and dangerous. Besides, were Nikol to search for them, he’d never look at this stony, eastward-facing cove, at the back of this uninhabitable island. He wouldn’t care enough to search. Except—
    For