Free Sister Emily's Lightship by Jane Yolen Page A

he bent down and, gathering up a handful of black water in his hand, he splashed it against his face. Where it touched the scar, the water turned roughly aside. So then Ho ch’ok did throw himself down, but not to weep. And when his face touched the water, the water rushed away from his sun scar and in this way he was able to walk upon dry land.
    Soon he came to the farthest side and there he stopped, for ahead, in the feeble light, he could see three diverging paths. Guarding the paths was a giant vulture, the curved knife of its beak snapping at the shadows. At its feet were the bones of false princes who had gone before.
    â€œOh, my brother, Qich Mam,” said the young prince, “may I use the weapon you have given me well.” He took out the finger which had been kept in a pouch around his neck and held it in his right hand. There it grew and grew until it was a great spear as strong as muscle, as sharp as bone.
    When the vulture saw the spear, it laughed, a sound like death itself, and the bones at its feet rose up and assembled themselves into a cage whose door gaped wide. Then the vulture sucked in a great breath which pulled Ho ch’ok forward until he was all but in the cage.
    But the young prince took his spear and flung it at the vulture. It pierced the great bird’s breast, but not very deep. With a snap of its curved knife of a beak, the vulture snapped the spear in two.
    â€œOh, my brother,” Ho ch’ok cried, “what am I to do?”
    The vulture leaned down and picked up the young prince by the back of his cape and shook him from side to side. But Ho ch’ok, like his brother, knew the trick of the little finger. Still, he did not break that one off, but instead broke the second finger, the one with which a man points to his eye to show that he understands. The finger grew into a spear even greater and sharper than the one Ho ch’ok had had before. With one mighty thrust, he pierced the vulture’s breast exactly where the first had gone, thus sending the piece of Qich Mam’s spear straight into the monster’s heart.
    Then Ho ch’ok gathered up the vulture’s bones and locked tight the bone cage. Next he looked at the three paths, hoping to find a sign pointing the way.
    The left path was rocky and narrow and there was barely room for a man to pass. The right path was smooth and wide, and an army could walk between. But the path in the middle was as dark and hidden as a secret.
    Wrapping his cloak tightly around him, and trusting to the light of his heart, the young prince Ho ch’ok chose the secret path because the unknown way always holds the deepest rewards. And it was this path that led him safely to the garden of delights where all true princes live forever.
    And if you, my children, can unriddle this tale, at the end of your days you may live in that garden as well.

The Sleep of Trees
“Never invoke the gods unless you really want them to appear. It annoys them very much.”
    â€”C HESTERTON
    I T HAD BEEN A long winter. Arrhiza had counted every line and blister on the inside of the bark. Even the terrible binding power of the heartwood rings could not contain her longings.
    She desperately wanted spring to come so she could dance free, once again, of her tree. At night she looked up and through the spiky winter branches counted the shadows of early birds crossing the moon. She listened to the mewling of buds making their slow, painful passage to the light. She felt the sap veins pulse sluggishly around her. All the signs were there, spring was coming, spring was near, yet still there was no spring.
    She knew that one morning, without warning, the rings would loosen and she would burst through the bark into her glade. It had happened every year of her life. But the painful wait, as winter slouched towards its dismal close, was becoming harder and harder to bear.
    When Arrhiza had been younger, she had always slept the peaceful,