Over the Darkened Landscape - By Derryl Murphy Page 0,21

a sip of her tea.

The ogre nodded, leering, perhaps at some misshapen memory of death and dismemberment, thought Jack. “Aye,” he said. “Caught three heifers while they was watering down . . .” He paused, sniffed at the air. “Wife, I smell something. Something here in this kitchen!” He broke into a broad, fierce grin, then bellowed out a poem in a voice so loud Jack thought his ears would bleed.

“Fee-fi-fo-faut!

I smell the blood of a Lunanaut!

Be he alive or be he dead,

I’ll grind his bones to make my bread!”

At this, Jack, who was leaning one hand on a slice of bread while he watched, quickly pulled his hand away. The ogre in the meantime began to tear about the kitchen, pulling out jars and looking behind anything that he felt could be a hiding place. His wife rushed after him, setting her teacup down off the table so that she could take his hands in hers.

“The only thing you smell, my dear, is scraps from the young boy you ate for supper last night. I took what was left and rendered the flesh and boiled the remaining bones so that you could have a nice soup with your meal later today.” She led him to the stove and opened the lid to a pot on the back, dipping in a ladle and pulling out a spoonful for him to check.

The ogre sniffed at the soup, then tasted it and nodded. “Mmph,” he grunted. “That’s excellent. Nicely captures the flavor of youth, don’t you think?”

The old woman nodded. “I thought you’d like it, my love. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll get you a bowl-full, perhaps a nice mug of warm ale as well?”

Her husband shuffled over to the table and sat at the chair Jack had occupied only a few moments before. He sniffed the air again and then scratched his head. “Sure smells fresh,” he said, but she put a bowl and mug in front of him, and he promptly dug in, eating and drinking everything in what seemed to be only seconds.

When he was done, he leaned back and patted his belly, then called out to the old woman; “Wife! Fetch me my golden harp!”

“Yes dear,” said the old woman, and disappeared from Jack’s field of view for a few seconds. She came back and set a plain wooden chest down on the table in front of her husband, then kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll be out back hanging the wash if you need me,” she said, glancing briefly at the breadbox.

“Aye,” said the ogre. Jack watched the creature wait until his wife left the kitchen, then pull a key from a leather pouch dangling from his belt. He used the key to open a brass padlock, and then opened the chest and reached in.

The harp was indeed golden, adorned in a fashion Jack had never seen before. Its strings shone with a luminosity unmatched by anything in Jack’s experience, and carvings and ornamentations marched along its exterior, each image and relief a separate and stunning work of art.

But the most amazing carving was that of a person, or rather, thought Jack, something like but not quite a person. It stood majestically at the tall end of the harp, image of a beautiful naked woman with long golden tresses, gold spun so fine it looked superior to real hair. It faced out, away from the strings, but three pairs of arms faced backwards, carved in place to look like they were there to pluck the strings.

The carved woman was completed by what looked to be a pair of wings that looked like they could reach high above the harp, although the ogre for some reason had them pinned together in two places with bulky wooden clips. The gold on the wings was so fine that Jack could see shimmering images beyond them, translucence like a distant mirage.

“Sing, harp!” barked the ogre.

With that cue, the harp’s arms moved, began to pluck the strings. Jack blinked in surprise, and then his jaw dropped when the carved woman opened her mouth and started to sing. The melody was gorgeous, the most beautiful thing Jack thought he had ever heard.

Even though Jack was sure he had turned the receiver right down, a torrent of voices from the choralis tore into his ear as the harp hit an especially powerful note. Finally, one voice broke in above the others, clearer now because Jack was holding his hand over his ear