He lay still and slept again and did not wake until dark.  Then he went to the cows and drank his fill of milk, then returned to the hay and slept again until just before dawn.  He hurried quickly away to make back to the river.

He reached the river well before dawn and found a hive of fishermen's hovels, all dark and quiet but for a dog barking here or there. The river was slowly moving in the moonlight, and the boy sat and watched it, himself slowing down for the first time in weeks and feeling how alone and uncertain was his prospect. He contemplated then whether he should travel back upriver.

His friends would be in that general direction, but his chances of finding them were slim, but what else did he have to guide him, but his curiousity and wanderlust, which had been snuffed at the town at the river's mouth.

Just then he saw a raft coming down river. A man was standing at the helm with a long pole. He saw Beryloam and hailed him. Beryloam waved. The man tilted his head back to the clouds and whooped as he passed, and Beryloam felt a rekindling of his interest in the world.

Up river or down, he thought. Cross, he decided, but he had seen no ford.

He got up and kept on his way up river.

His eyes fastened on a little painter tied up to a tree and his brow wrinkled in the moonlight. Hardly thinking, he got up and went and untied it and climbed in and pushed off, and the river carried him down. What would he do when he got to the sea again? The boat had an oar. He drifted and waited and came again to the sea just as the sun was cresting the horizon.

This time he let the river wash him out to the surf, unsure what he would do. The sea was calm enough, so he grabbed the oar and rowed, heading with the angle of the surf to the south and west, glad there were fewer dwellings to be seen that way.

He thought to row that way until there was no sign of any people before trying land again, but the surf eventually nudged him gently to the sand and he abandoned the little boat and skipped out. There were a few shanties, and some folk starting their kettles on the fire, but not much and he hurried back to the trees over the dunes.

A young girl saw him and waved. She seemed maybe nice and he considered hailing her, but when he started to look her way what he saw was a little hag in the making. Wretched people these still. Exceptions very rare, he thought, thinking of this master, and he hurried on and disappeared in the growth and skirted the paths and kept peering out until there were no more dwellings nor any sign of folk, then he ran back out on the sand and to the surf and kept going.

Soon he came to another creek and he bathed and drank and lay back in the climbing sun with his eyes closed. He thought he should probably head back inland and north soon, so as to stay near Merysom and the others, but he was having a hard time planning.

He was startled by a small voice from across the water: 'He's no wisherwasher...'

It was a little girly looking thing.  'What's it want around here?' she or it said.

He rose rather than bolted, steeling himself.  'No, just a traveler, he said.

'Whither and whyfor?' she or it wanted to know.

'Down coast to seek fortune.'

'Fortune's here maybe...'

'How so, or where?'

'For this is pleased at that.'

The boy was nonplussed a moment. 'Have you any food to share?' he asked.

It nodded. 'We have trees you know.'

'Show me?' said the boy

It or she nodded again smiling ridiculously, he thought, and rose up and beckoned him to follow up creek.

There were indeed banana trees, though the boy did not know to call them so. He sat then with the little girly thing and they munched banana after banana, making a small heap of the peels and smiling at each other. Abruptly the many birds took raucous flight, and the girly thing jumped up in obvious distress. 'Oh no!' she said, then composed herself and stood erect, arms at sides. 'Attention!' she hissed at Beryloam out of the side of her mouth. He screwed up his face wondering--

Then a great stomping was coming in hurry, and he sprang up and back just as a big belligerent bullish looking big toothed black and white demon thing burst through the tattered banana trees and bellowed 'Who's yous eating my nananananana!'

The girlish imp blurted, staring straight ahead, 'This was just so hungry, sir sir!'

The demon turned on Beryloam, breathing or panting, eyes alternately bulging and narrowing. 'Whosone here?' it spat, taking a step at him.

Beryloam maintained readiness without giving, said, 'This is one who fears not that but if the trees belong to you amends will be made!'

The thing narrowed its eyes completely, and its lips quivered.

'Nananananana for me or who I say,' it said in a voice unsure if it should be sugary or sharp.

'Then please take this in recompense,' said the boy, fishing the handkerchief Waldorf had given him from his pocket and bowing first then tossing it flutteringly to the demon. 'And I'll be on my way, good day.'

The demon thing snatched it and sniffed it and gibbering something--but the boy was already leaving and did not look back. It would not follow.

But as he followed the creek back to the beach he heard a great smack and a squeal of pain. He stopped and shut his eyes. The girly thing was whimpering and pleading incoherently, the other was bawling. In a moment he decided and turned and hurriedly scampered back, readying his magic arrow spell. He maneuvered the demon into view through the trees and cried out, 'I would go, but you misuse that kind one that sat and shared fruit with me, and I will show you to stop.' He cast the arrow, knowing it would not slay the thing but stun and wound and startle it, and it did. Then he cast a little charm upon it, and it stood stock still mouth slack drooling eyes glassed.

'Are you ok?' he said turning to the girly thing.

She nodded.

'What shall we do with him?'

She appeared about to say something but suddenly looked very confused.

'I will not slay him,' said the boy proudly, 'for his misdeed was not so grave. 'Will you follow me freely down the beach?"

She nodded. Still crying, looking back and forth from the boy to the monster.

The boy bowed to the demon and said, 'No harm done more than was done,' and smiled at the little girly (she was shorter than he). He said, 'I'm going that way, come on if you like.'

She nodded again and followed him.

As they walked she attempted conversation a few times, awkwardly, and the boy wondered at the wisdom of inviting her. Her name he gathered was Meshameshywe or something like it. They walked until sundown and found another creek, and she said 'Maybe there are sweets in there,' indicating the trees upstream again. She looked uncertain. 'Let's go see,' said the boy and she smiled and followed. There were a couple of mango trees this time, not a whole grove like before, but they sat again and supped stickily and smilingly then washed in the creek and went back close to the surf to sleep in the open. He heard Meshameshy humming or singing quietly, and then she might have started crying, but he had been with her all day and knew better than to take her too seriously.

He slept easily, but rose before dawn and hurried on without her. The monster would not leave the bananas to come this far, and she would be as fine as could be on her own.

When he came to the next creek he splashed upstream and into the wood and kept going, in case the little girly thing decided in its own stubborn way to pursue him.

He kept going until he came to a lovely splashing waterfall and he dove in the pool there and swam with the little golden and silver fishes. Something caught his eye among the rocks on the bottom. He swam down and brushed away the muck and found a golden goblet. He grasped it and swam up and washed off the grime and held it sparkling in the sun. 'Oh glory,' he said, 'What luck,' and he quaffed from it.

'Oy! what's that! Cried something from above in the trees or at the top of the waterfall. The boy looked but he could see no one.

'Gimme gold!' Cried a reddish monkey looking ding batty thing that sprang from the top of the waterfall and landed with a splash in the water and came swimming his way.

The boy back paddled and climbed then sprang out of the water and onto the grass and backed among the trees just as the thing climbed out and shook water everywhere from itself.

'Oo you thinkin you can be can't get away from me!' it cried coming for him.

'Finders keepers' said the boy, 'loser be a weeper! And he cast the same charm he had employed against the black and white imp of a demon up shore. He completed just before the hairy red mad eyed thing was on him, and it stopped and shook and gibbered. The spell appeared to only partially effect it. The boy ran into the growth.

He heard it coming after him, but did not fear that it would follow far. Such little local place demons were want to stay close to their haunts. Only this one kept coming. Ok said the boy, not a local place demon then. He couldn't keep this up. He could tell it was more tireless than himself. But it was not much bigger than himself. He ran until he came to a little gully with stones and sticks and he sprang just over it and crouched and began casting a magic dart. He finished the spell just as the mad little fellow appeared and he scorched it head on. A whiff of smoke went up and it yowled and he could smell burnt fur, but it was not over hurt. It stood looking at him now, lips quivering as if uncertain. Its eyes narrowed. 'You--!' it said, crying in frustration and it limped away.

The boy followed the gully back to the beach and sat staring at the waves. Little demons hereabouts, relatively harmless enough, but ... there didn't seem to be anywhere he could take his leisure without being harassed or attacked, and if he weren't on his toes a little monster like that could be deadly.

He stared out to sea wondering how it would be out there if he had a sail boat. I could go back down the beach and steal one from one of the docks, he thought, but he was not a thief by nature and let perish the thought.

Then he figured he could build one if he could find a sail or something to use as a sail. I'll keep my eyes open, he said.

He got up and walked down the strand, stooping and marveling at the seashells now and then. He had only read about such things before, and seen fossilized ones of course in the mountains. His master had explained how those mountains had been at the bottom of the sea so long ago the years couldn't even be counted.

He selected the best and loveliest shells to keep and kept walking. He felt something watching him and looked up to see a tall scary looking black figure approaching, walking along the surf like himself, but erect and looking neither left nor right nor down.

Oh boy, he thought. Don't run to the trees, don't swim (he knew how to swim, there was an alpine lake not far from the valley), don't turn around just ... the thing picked up its pace. Its face was white. It was either a strange looking woman or a very thin effeminate man. Ok, he thought-run or swim! He turned, trying to look natural, and walked briskly up towards the trees. The thing bolted for him, taking long strides. It was horrible! He screamed in spite of himself and ran as fast he could to the trees. Glancing back, it was gaining! Long strides. There was something unholy about it and the boy almost lost his nerve completely, but his training held him together barely and he was in the trees and dodging through them, thinking his smallness and agility would keep him ahead if it tried to pursue, but fearing it might not. He did not pause to find out. He couldn't hear or see if it was coming behind him, but he kept running. Whatever that was, he thought, it was unafraid, and somehow he figured his petty spells might not avail. He kept running until he felt he couldn't run much further, then he figured what he would do. He looked for a tall tree that could be quickly climbed, and he leapt and grabbed a branch and started climbing, almost too exhausted. He got well off the forest floor before he looked back and down but he saw nothing. He stopped on the branch he was on and bowed his head panting like mad, glancing to see that it still was not coming. He had planned on using what his master had called his 'last resort' spell--one that would leave him helpless debilitated for days if it worked. He had never used it before, but once in learning. Its effect was impossible to predict--it could be nothing at all, or it might summon a djinn or a whirlwind, or a passer by even to your aid. It might summon a storm if the weather were amenable. It might make one vomit if one had swallowed poison. It was to be cast in a dire emergency when nothing else would do, and one's own feelings and thoughts of desperation and stored up fortune would guide the outcome. He had thought to climb high and cast it. In all likelihood nothing would have happened. It was still but a small spell and could only draw preexisting energies into play. He would have had to hope that a giant bird or some such were nearby and happened to be in a helpful mood, or that a large branch was weak and might fall on the thing, or that ...

His heart stopped. There it was, creeping silently through the underbrush, dodging neither left nor right. Not hurrying but coming. Oh no, said the boy. It looked up and saw him. It did not smile, but its face changed, and it did speed up now. Oh no, the boy started to say again, but caught himself, closed his eyes and breathed and readied himself for the casting. He shunted any such thought as 'here goes', and instead cleared his mind and cast it as he had been taught, and with the last motion he slumped and almost fell from the tree. He did not look down to see the thing climbing. He knew it was. Silently. He heard a buzzing and it grew louder. This is it, he thought. Then there they were--a cloud of bees streaming from a bole of the tree he was in! What fortune! He thought, seeing them stream for the thing. They swarmed it and buzzed horribly and stung it. The thing flailed silently. It started back down then stopped then fell, flailing every which way to get free, but they stayed with it, swarming. It wheeled this way and that, as if it would not leave, but at last it made a sound like a branch snapping and then moved quickly away, swarmed yet by bees.

The boys face was wet with tears and he only hoped he would not fall from the tree when he collapsed into sleep as he soon must. As for whether the thing would come back, somehow he knew the bees would stay true. The nature of magic, he thought, or of things generally, and ... aren't all things magic?' was his last thought before he slept, and he did not fall but woke partially later that night in a cool breeze and smiled before drifting back to sleep.

He woke again late the next morning and though still exhausted knew he must eat. He spied out a nearby fruit tree and climbed down carefully and woozily went there and caught up some low growing mangoes and hungrily peeled and ate them then all sticky he fell directly to sleep again under the tree. Master will be proud and interested to know how the bees happened to be...

He didn't wake again until the next day, something was licking his sticky face and panting on him. It was friendly whatever it was. Somehow this did not surprise him, again just the way of things. Danger was everywhere, but there were patterns to things. It was a wild pig, and it had tusks. Dangerous, noted the boy, but it was only sniffing him. He patted it, and it started but then came back. Oh no! There it was! The thing was standing right there behind the pig looking down at him. Its face bore no expression. The pig turned and snarled and the boy unfroze. He scrabbled back and cast a magic dart though unhopeful of its effect. The pig made a charge as the dart smote the thing, and it unfazed  lashed at the pig. The pig attacked its legs. Soundlessly the thing fought back lashing at it and flailing. The boy wanted to help the pig. He pushed himself up and grabbed up a long fallen branch and snapped off the end and jabbed over the pig. The thing looked like it would scream but no sound came out. The boy became angry then. He wanted this thing dead. It was wrong that it should be there still. He looked around quickly and grabbed up another stick of the right thickness, and snapped it in twain against the trunk and in such a way that the half he held was left sharp on the end. Then he came behind the pig, and without looking it in the face he coldly jabbed the sharp end as hard as he might into the things middle and it struck home and the thing tried to lash at him but he fell back and it couldn't reach, and it fell and the pig rushed in and gored it squealing and it ceased to move. The pig came back and nuzzled the boy where he sat. it was wounded and the boy patted it, crying. 'Brave thing,' he said. 'I can help heal you, but I have to recover first...don't wander away.' The boy fell off again.

When he woke the pig was lying by him panting. Flies buzzed on her wounds. The boy was parched, but he got up and picked a mango and peeled it and ate and sucked the juice through his teeth; then picked another and another doing the same. He picked another and peeled it and held it down to the pig's mouth. She half-rose and gnawed it and he patted her and knelt and worked upon her wounds what little mending spell he had reserves for. It wasn't much, but she stirred, and her ears picked up. 'Good girl,' he said. He picked more mangoes for her.

'can you take us to water?' he queried.

the pig got slowly up and limped along a little game path, and the boy followed, and they came to a little rill winding through the ferns and moss, and they knelt and drank, and the boy washed himself, and then the pig's wounds. She was hurt very badly.

'I need more rest before I can help more,' he said, 'but stay near....' He patted her and fell off again on the grassy bank.

When he woke he did not see her, but then rose and there she was lying with her head by the water.

She lived, yet was panting. He pressed her wounds and again ministered such small mendings as he knew. She breathed easier, and he fell to drink then collapsed and slept again.

When he roused he did not see her.

Then he saw her standing in the water, still bleeding. He called her and she came and he acted again to mend her with his little spells. She seemed to perk up finally, and he sat and watched her. She dipped in the water. Beryloam dipped to drink. To his surprise when he rose the pig's face met his in a nuzzle. 'You were so brave,' he said. 'I shall never forget. Do you know what is upstream?'

Upon the casting of a little spell the pig told him all she knew.