Fess posed a question. "How long have they been rolling?"
Geoffrey retorted, "What made them start?"
Gregory's eyes lost focus again. "The hill slopes up toward the east. Belike there are soft rocks down here that split, and shoot their offspring up—and those that cannot fly past the ridge above come tumbling back down here."
A loud crack sounded. They looked up in surprise, and saw two rocks flying toward the top of the hill.
"Why," said Cordelia, "that was a rock that lodged in a cranny, until it was time for it to split!"
Rod nodded. "And thus they do eventually get up to the top; it's just that some of them probably go up that hill and come back down several times, before they're finally lucky enough to lodge against an outcrop that will hold them."
"But every time they start again," Gwen called, "they do so by splitting. Nay, of course there are so many here!"
"An excellent resolution," Fess carolled. "Really, Rod, your whole family fills me with pride! Though of course I cannot take any credit for Lady…"
"Wait a minute." Rod frowned. "That rock that mashed my toe wasn't so soft." ,
They all studied the rocks, struck by the notion.
Then Fess said, "Could it be that the long tumble back down the hill hardens them?"
"Of course!" Gregory cried. "As they roll, they compress!"
"And as they compress, they harden." Magnus nodded. "Yet how large they are!"
"They have been long here," Cordelia said. "Mayhap they swell as they wait."
"Or mayhap," said Gregory, " 'tis simply that we near the stones' source."
Rod had another question. "But why does becoming hard make their music so much more strident?"
Everybody was silent, trying to puzzle it out.
Finally, Fess said, "We have noticed constant mutation in the music, as though some force were ever striving to create some new form. But such evolution must surely be cultural, not physical."
"I take it you mean 'cultural' in the broadest sense." Rod scowled. "Look, can we move on, please? I'm getting a headache."
"Poor Papa!" Cordelia sympathized. "And surely we will lose the skycraft if we tarry longer."
"Aye. Away!" Gwen called. She banked toward the west, the boys swooping to follow her.
Or at least two of them did. "Magnus!" Rod called. "Snap out of it!"
Magnus looked up, startled. "What, Papa?" He looked around and saw his mother and younger brothers drifting away. "Oh, aye! Forgive my distraction!" Then he drove off after them—but his feet were still tapping the air, in time to the music of the hard rocks..
Someone else was still hovering about.
"Daughter," Rod intoned.
Cordelia looked up from the intricate routine she was trying to work out, involving the front end of the broomstick moving in circles while the bristles went up and down—and all, Rod could have sworn, in time to two different sets of beats coming from the same music. His daughter finally focused on his face, looked startled, glanced quickly around, then gave a little cry and peeled off after her mother.
Rod heaved a sigh and sailed off after her. "You coming, Fess?" he called out. "Fess!"
"Here, Rod. I had my audio amplification turned down. Yes, I am following along on the ground."
"That's reassuring, anyway." Rod glanced back at the hillside with trepidation. "So by the time any rock gets over that ridge, all those trips down the hillside have turned it hard."
"That is true, Rod."
"And that means that after a while, all the rocks east of here will be hard, too."
Fess was silent for a moment, then said, "I think not, Rod. There are already many soft rocks in the lands we have passed through, and they are multiplying. There is room for both types of rock in the East."
"I hope you're right." Rod lofted higher, hoping the music would become fainter. It did, but not much. He sailed on west, with only one glance back at the hillside where the rolling stones developed into hard rock.
Chapter Eighteen
The children were beginning to stumble with weariness as the sun set, and Rod was about to call a halt if Gwen didn't; the metal blimp would just have to get away. But as the dusk gathered, the blimp slowed and stopped.
Gwen halted, eyes still fixed on its swollen form. "Doth it sleep?"
"It would seem so," Rod said slowly. "If it throws out a mooring line…"
An anchor swung down from the blimp and snagged in the top of a tree. Rod relaxed, nodding. "It's set for the night. Collapse, kids. I'll find the raw materials." As the youngsters sank down, he touched Gwen's hand. "You could rest a little, too."
"I thank thee." She smiled up at him. "Yet I'm not so tired as I might be."
"You're a wonder—it's been a long hike."
"I, too, could last some while longer, Papa."
Rod looked up at Magnus and decided they could both benefit from the lad's proving how tireless he was. "Okay— you go bag a couple of rabbits."
Magnus smiled, turning away and taking out his sling. "Will squirrels do?"
"Oh, no!" An unfamiliar voice called out. "Get back, get back!" They looked up, startled. A young man in glittering garments was coming out of the wood, manic energy in every step. "No, no!" he cried. "Be nice, be nice!"
Cordelia reached up to catch Gwen's hand. "Mama—his face!"
Gwen looked, then gasped. "Even so, daughter! Doth he mock?"
"He must," Cordelia said.
Geoffrey frowned. "What ails thee?"
"Why," said Cordelia, "that young man doth—for thus will Prince Alain look when he is grown."
Geoffrey swung back to stare, amazed. " Tis even so!" He leaped to his feet, sword flickering out. "Avaunt thee, pretender!"
"Avaunt!" the mimic mocked. "Get back, get back! Who gives orders? What a fool!"
Rod's eyes narrowed. "Watch your tongue!"
"Oh, great man!" The mimic held up his hands in mock horror. "Oh, shall I bow? No—thou shalt bow, to thy prince!"
"The true prince is only half thine age," Gwen snapped, "and thy mockery hath little of amusement in it."
"A joke, a joke! The lady doth smoke!"
"Nay, but thou shalt, if thou wardest not thy tongue." Magnus stepped forward. "Shall I slay rabbits as thou slayest humor?"
"A slayer, a butcher!" the man screamed. "Murdering thief! Get back! Get back!" He leaped at Magnus, foot lashing out in a kick.
Magnus ducked easily, but the mock prince slapped him as he went by, catching Magnus a sharp blow on the cheek. The young warlock's face reddened; he lashed out with his empty sling.
"A weapon!" the mock prince cried. "I have one, too!" He yanked off his doublet and hurled it at Magnus, who slapped it away and stepped in to swing at the man—but he caught a boot square in the eye. He howled in anger, ducked the next boot, and came up swinging—to catch the youth's hose right in his face. The mock prince hooted with delight and slashed another kick—but Magnus caught the foot, twisted, and shoved. The mock prince hopped backward with a howl and fell, but did a backward somersault and rose, hurling his singlet at Magnus and catching at his loincloth.
Cordelia stared, not believing what she was seeing—only for a split second, though, before her mother clapped a hand over her eyes.
But the mock prince had only pulled a knife out of his loincloth, and that was his undoing. He slashed at Magnus, who caught the wrist, whirled, and cracked the young man's arm backward across his knee, locking the mock prince's elbow in the crook of his own arm. The imposter howled, eyes bulging, and the knife dropped from his fingers.
"Wait, hold it right there!" Rod called. "He's in the ideal bargaining position!"