Chapter Ten

In a little under two weeks Kira finished the first volume.  It took longer than she wished, because she was trying to follow Daffodil’s advice and so stinted herself.  She stopped taking the book outdoors with her and just read at home, hoping thus to appease Tom.  Indeed, he and the others did look cheerier when after the hay fever had cleared up she went outside burdened only with her crutch, and Kira had a pleasanter day than she had expected.

But two days later she caught Tom throwing clumps of grass at her window because she was staying in bed all morning.

Kira decided the best course of action was to finish the book first and deal with Tom later.  That way she would have nothing else on her mind and could be a little more coherent when she spoke to him.

And so Kira finished the Tale of the Ring, early on a Monday morning on the cusp of autumn.  For a full quarter of an hour afterwards she sat there, in her shift, letting the events sink in.  Just as Sandra said, the handwriting had changed, and the Ring-bearer had departed this land.  No wonder she had hardly heard of poor old Frodo before!  For some strange reason, her throat clenched at the thought.  But before she could reflect any more on the matter, her mother called her to breakfast.

It was a market day, of course, and so that meant plenty of freedom with her friends.  It also meant she would have to talk to Tom soon, and she needed to figure out a way to get the book back to Sandra.  Maybe that would stop all this madness.  But when Kira and her mother readied for town she found herself packing the book in its bag to take it with her.  Realising what she was doing, she decided that one day in town would do no harm.  She could not quit the book just yet.

All morning Kira kept an eye out for her friends while she assisted her mother at the stand, but she could not find them.  Finally, when Mother said she could go free at noon, she decided to set off without them and see if she could find them about town.  Kira rambled through all of the main market, but there was no sign of them.  Finally she crossed the Ash on the nearest bridge and decided to check in the other corners of town.  Of course she could not help it if she lingered by the dry goods sections.  She risked one prolonged glance at the interior of the fabric shop, feeling far too low to enter it.  She was planning on doing the same with the stationery shop, but as she looked in she saw, through a second, smaller window on the other side of the door an empty table with a sign hanging over it, saying “Reading Room.”  Now Kira’s curiosity was piqued.  And she had a book with her at the market, she why couldn’t she enter the shop?  She ran, as best as she could, back to her mother’s stand to pick up the bag, then back to the shop and entered it.

A small bell over the door tinkled as she opened it.  There was no one in the dimly lit shop except for herself and an elderly hobbit rummaging around in the back behind a counter.  She glanced at him to see if he had noticed her entry; when she saw no reaction, Kira walked over, as softly as she could manage, to the nook in the front of the shop where she had seen the sign.

Here, at least, there was light from the window.  She set her bag on the table and slid the book out, before thinking better of reading and deciding to have a look around first.  Next to the table was a shelf with a few scattered books on it, as well as a placard that read, “Do Not Remove From Store.”  Intrigued, she picked up a short, dog-eared volume and opened it to the title page.  Herblore of the Shire, as compiled by Meriadoc Brandybuck, it read.  She flipped through it, little surprised to see the large number of pages spent on the history and usage of pipeweed.  She wondered if any of the pages might have useful information for Mother.  There was also a book dedicated solely to genealogies, with a very strange colour system to help track each individual’s ties to different families.  Kira had to put that one back quickly; one minute spent perusing the Proudfoot line would turn into an hour without her noticing.

So Kira spent some time perusing the shelves that lined the rest of the store.  Oh, it was marvellous; she had never known that so many things were necessary or useful for writing!  There was so much paper, paper for writing letters, paper for drawing, paper for laying out plans.  One corner of the store had trays filled with pens, both wooden and quill.  Her fingers itched to try the feel of one in her hand, and she briefly wondered how much practice it would take to learn writing.  But one glance at the prices for paper and ink dashed any fancies Kira may have developed in that short time.

Again she looked and wondered at the stand containing the wide variety of inks for sale.  Most expensive was the gold ink, which she reached out to touch.  Was that real gold in there?  And how did they turn it into ink?

“Do you need help with that, Miss?” came a voice.

She turned around and saw the storeowner not two feet behind her.  “No,” she said, “I’m just looking, thanks.”

“All right, all right.  If you need anything, just shout.  Normally I’d stay and chat, but today I’m doing an Inventory of the shop.”

Kira did not particularly wish to be bothered while she looked around, so she refrained from asking what exactly an Inventory was and simply thanked the hobbit for his courtesy.

“I’ll be in the back if you need me,” he said.  “And don’t break anything.”

Kira turned to the sides of the shop, where she found sealing wax in sticks and pellets.  There were also one or two brass spoons for melting it over a flame.  And far in the back where the pastes, leathers, and other materials for binding!  Was this where people like the Fairbairns went to make books?

Satisfied by her perusal, Kira returned to the book.  Now that her mind was off it she could look at what was ahead much better.  She flipped to the second of the volumes, written in a hand that was very difficult to read after the script she had grown accustomed to.  She turned past the title page to the first of Bilbo’s translations.  “Ai-nu-lin-da-le,” she mouthed, tasting the strange word.  “The Music of the Ainur.  What’s an Ainur, I wonder?”  She scanned the first few pages and turned back, quite daunted by the style of writing.  Surely this wasn’t written by the same fellow that had penned lines about elves tugging on the beards of dwarves?  Perplexed, she flipped back to the more familiar writing.  That settled it; she was returning the book to Westmarch the next chance she got, by post if necessary, and she would inform Tom of her decision once she saw him.

She glanced back at the page she had opened to, and was surprised to see Sam’s handwriting instead of Frodo’s.  It returned her to her morning’s reverie instantly.  The more she thought about it, the more she was unsure how much of the shakiness in the writing was from inexperience and how much was from emotion.  “And you will read things out of the Red Book, and keep alive the memory of the age that is gone, so that people will remember the Great Danger and so love their beloved land all the more.”

Kira looked around the empty shop, fully stocked in every item necessary for the exchange of words and knowledge, and she realised that before she learned to read, all she had known about the Third Age was that it was not now.  “Why didn’t he?” she said to herself.  “Why didn’t he let everyone know?  Why did I have to get shut up so far away from home to find out?  And why doesn’t anyone else know?  Why do I have to give this up to make my friends happy?”  And she recalled how desperately Sandra had wanted her to take the book, to learn and understand as she did because no one else her age came to the library anymore.  A tear dropped on the page.  Kira hastily blotted it up, but the greater part of a letter had smeared.  She closed the book and left the store, suppressing waves of guilt.

She wandered through the market, not wanting to see her friends just yet but not wanting to go back to Mother either.  What could have happened, that Sam would not fulfil his master’s final request?

Whump!  She walked straight into someone’s back as she was crossing one of the bridges.  The hapless individual turned around.  “Hey, watch where you’re goi—what are you doing here?”

“Tom?”

“Obviously.”

Kira looked around and saw Daffodil and Roly, seated against the bridge’s rails for lunch.  “I’ve been looking all over for you!  Why didn’t you tell me where you were?”

Daffodil looked into her lap.  “Sorry,” said Roly.

After a few seconds of introspection, Tom answered her.  “I guess I thought you had better things to do,” he said with a conspicuous glance at her book.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Tom.  I have to eat sometime, and I’d never let a book get in the way of good food.  Or good friends.”

He snorted.

“Tom,” said Daffodil.

“Look, Tom, I’m sorry I can’t spend all my time on your schemes.  I’m not built for that.  I can’t see why, when I have to rest, I’m not allowed to do something I like.”

“So you have to rest when you stay inside all day?”

“Yes!  You know I’ve never done that unless Mother’s made me!”

“But you didn’t complain when she did, did you?”

Kira had no response for this.

“Did you?”

Tears blurring her vision, she turned around and ran away.

In the evening she decided that maybe the elvish legends weren’t such a bad thing after all.

*  *  *

The next day Daffodil came over and gave apology for Tom’s behaviour, but when Kira learned that Tom had not asked her to do so she would not accept it.

“That doesn’t mean he won’t be sorry later,” Daffodil added.  “I’m sure he’s just concerned about you reading too much.”

“In which case he had better say so himself.”

“Kira, you know he’s not going to do that.  He’s a lad, as stubborn as they come.”

“Well, then, I shall have to be just as stubborn.”

“Kira!” hissed Daffodil.

“What?”

“That would lead to war!”

“And I don’t care if it does.  I shan’t be seeing him anymore, if I can help it.”

“Kira, the reason I came over here was so that this wouldn’t happen.”

“Then why don’t you go over to Tom and talk to him as well?”

“You know he won’t listen!  Kira, for all our sakes, will you please give this up?  You can finish your story first if you want, but after that, return that stupid book and don’t read again till winter.”

“I have finished the story,” said Kira.

Daffodil spluttered as she realised that her next words were rendered utterly useless.  “Then… then why haven’t you done anything?”

Kira sighed.  “I was going to.  I was going to say I was sorry for all my neglect, and tell all of you that I was finished with the story, and that I would return the book as soon as I could, but your precious Tom had to step in.  He wasn’t going to listen to me, Daffy—what did he say, ‘what are you doing here,’ as if it weren’t right for me even to sit with you?  Why didn’t you come and see me at market?”

Daffodil hung her head.  “He thought it would be a good idea.  We were going to talk to you in a few days, to see if you missed us.”

“Of course I missed you!  I was looking all over town for you!  Why do you think that just because I read I don’t care about you anymore?”

“I don’t think that!  Tom might, but—”

“Then don’t go along with his plans!”

“Are you still returning the book?”

“No, I don’t think so.  I know when I’m not wanted, so I may as well have something to do on my own.  And you can tell Tom I said that, too.”

“Kira, please!”

“What else would you have me do?”

“I don’t know!  Talk to him.”

“I already tried that, Daffy.”

“You can try again.”

“Do you think he’ll listen this time?”

Daffodil thought slowly about this.  “No.  He doesn’t understand you.”

Kira nodded.  “And so the best thing I can do is avoid him before he tries anything more drastic.  Daffy, I have no objection to you or Roly, though I do wish you two would stop taking Tom’s side all the time.  But I’d rather not see Tom, unless he actually comes to me and intends to understand.”

“Kira, I can’t believe you’re doing this.  Don’t you think this will only make Tom more desperate?”

“Actually, I believe he’ll try and avoid me, too.  I suppose he thinks he’s the one in need of an apology.”

“Probably.  But I’d hate to see what happens when he realizes he won’t be getting one.  I don’t think Tom will avoid you anymore, then.”

*  *  *

Perhaps Daffodil was right, but if so, Tom must have been expecting an apology for two months.  For the first half of October she dreaded what would happen when Kira and Tom met again, but there was no meeting.  Instead she had to divide her time as best she could between the two, which was difficult because Tom tried his best to monopolize her company and Kira tried her best to stay indoors.  Finally Daffodil gave up and let them each have their way.

Yet her dread was unfounded; when she, Tom, and Roly ran into Kira at the market both of them were curt in their greetings and their replies.  She greatly wanted Kira to stay and talk with all of them, but Kira claimed that she was only running some errands for her mother and could not stay long.  Daffodil did not like the tension.

Kira, on the other hand, started the legends Bilbo had translated and found them not quite as boring as she had expected, though they were incredibly dry.  She, too, had initially shared Daffodil’s fears, but at last it appeared that Tom wanted trouble no more than she did.  But she still did her best to stay away from him, even though this meant remaining inside most of the time.  So October melted away into November, and November was melting, and Kira thought that if everything went well, she could read most, if not all, of the tales over the winter.  Then, when spring came around, she would try to reconcile herself with Tom, who she hoped would come to terms over the winter with the fact that she was a reader.

But it was not to be.

*  *  *

The day it happened, Kira got a twinge in her foot—a reminder of winter’s approach.  It was now late November, and as soon as the snows came down, she would be stuck inside.

This was all very fine in Kira’s eyes—she wouldn’t have to worry about avoiding Tom and could just read—but she wanted to spend her last days of freedom out of doors.  She cut across the field to the Burrowses’, but her friends were not there.  Likely they were somewhere with Tom—perhaps at the old oak.  Kira went back inside, got her book, came out again, and began to read under a neighbouring tree.

After a while, she grew tired; reading all that dry elvish stuff was fascinating but one could only handle so much at a time.  She considered going home for a bite of food and then maybe a nap, but eventually settled on napping right there instead.  It was such a lovely day out, after all, and it had been some time since she had last slept outside.  She laid the book under her head and dropped into slumber.

Kira was roused with a nudge and a “Wake up, sleepy.”  She opened her eyes to see Daffodil bending over her.  “Are you ready to get cooped up for the winter already?”

“Don’t remind me,” Kira groaned.  “I think my body’s ready for it, much as I’m not.  Why’d you wake me up?”

“Roly and Tom are larking off on one of their schemes.  I thought I’d see what you were up to.”  Daffodil pulled Kira up and handed her her crutch from the ground.

“Not much; I was just spending some time outside before it snows.  My foot’s hurting a lot again, so I think it’ll be soon.  So, what’s their plan this time?”

“Er… some sort of practical joke, I think.”  Daffodil peeked back and led Kira off towards her house.  “Tom said he thought you’d object, by the by.  First time he’s mentioned you in a while.”

Kira sighed.  “I just don’t know what I’m going to do with him.  I was thinking I should try to talk to him again in the spring.  Has he softened up at all?”

Daffodil shook her head.  “You should try and talk with him anyway, though.  It may just get worse over the winter, and I’d hate to see you shut away on bad terms with him.”

“I highly doubt that’ll ruin my winter.  I’m only concerned about it because I miss you and Roly—and maybe Tom, too, but only if he isn’t as nasty as he’s been.”

“Nasty?  I wouldn’t go that far.  He does care about you, Kira, and he would be talking to you still if it weren’t for that book.”

“The book!”  Kira turned around.  “I was sleeping on it—I forgot—”  She looked at the tree in the meadow.  The Red Book was not there.  “Where did it go?”  Her jaw dropped as she whirled back around to face Daffodil.  Her face was white.  “So that was the scheme, was it?  Steal the most valuable thing in the Shire and see how Kira reacts?”

Daffodil took a step back.  “It’s not the most valuable thing in the Shire,” she said, slowly.  “It’s just an old book.  You should know that sitting around reading isn’t going to get you anywhere, and it certainly isn’t going to help your friendships.”

“But—you don’t just take it to try to fix that!  Are you mad?”

“Kira, I don’t care what happens to that book.  I just want everything to go back to the way it was.  If you would just go over to talk to Tom, maybe—”

“You don’t care what happens to it?  It’s not just any book, Daffodil.  It’s the original.  The original Travellers’ Tales, the thing we got all our stories from.  The Travellers wrote in it.  Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“No…”

“And if the things in there hadn’t happened, we wouldn’t be here!  We wouldn’t even have been born, and who knows what would have happened to those before us!  The Shire would be a dead land.  Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“You really do believe them, don’t you?” said Daffodil.

Kira ignored her.  “And you led me away from the book that recorded all those things just so Tom could take it and use it for whatever horrid plan he has, didn’t you?”

Daffodil said nothing.

“Where are they?  What are they going to do to it?”

“They’re… they’re at the oak tree.  By the canal.  I don’t know what they’re going to do.”

Kira turned in the direction of the canal and started to run, but after a few steps she stopped and looked back.  “I can’t believe that they would—that you would do something like this, Daffodil.  I thought you were my friends!”

She ran away, over towards the old oak, not stopping once to rest.

*  *  *

When she reached the old spot at the canal, she was exhausted, but Kira didn’t care.  Daffodil had been right—there was Tom, and there was Roly.  And there, in Tom’s hand, was the Book.

“If this is your idea of a joke, Tom,” she said, “it isn’t very funny.”

“Yes,” said Tom, “and abandoning us for rubbish like this isn’t very funny, either.”

“When have I ever abandoned you?”

“Oh, only the past couple of months.  And then the whole summer before that, though maybe I should call that desertion instead.”

“If this is about me avoiding you, Tom, I was only doing that because you were being rude.  And besides, you avoided me first.”

“You think this is about me?  I could care less about me!  Kira, this is about you!”

“What?”

“Kira, this isn’t—this is dangerous stuff.”  He waved the book at her as if it were not the most valuable thing in the Shire.  “And I don’t mean, trying-pipeweed-for-the-first-time dangerous!  Do you know what happens to people that read?  They start getting notions in their heads.  And do you know what happens to folk that get notions in their heads?  They go off to have adventures, and most of them are never heard of again!  You’re hurting yourself and you don’t know it.”

“Tom, I’m not getting any ‘notions’ in my head, whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

“My foot you aren’t!  You want me to believe that the fact that you can read has absolutely nothing to do with you staring off into the sky or consorting with Brandybucks or even Dwarves?”

“Look, Tom, will you give me the book, or do I have to take it from you?”

“You’re not getting it, Kira.  Not until you explain yourself.”

“What is there to explain?”

Tom gave her a dirty look.

“What is there to explain?”

The dirty look persisted, until Tom saw that Kira was truly distressed.  He sighed.  “Why do you like reading more than you like us?”

“Wherever did you get that idea, Tom?  I like both; I just can’t do everything at once.”

“And just what is it that you’ve been reading?”

“Travellers’ Tales.  The original Travellers’ Tales.”

“Do you believe them?”

Kira opened her mouth for the customary retort, but found she could not answer his question.  “Does it matter if I do or not?”

“Does it matter?  If all this stuff”—here he waved the book again—“is just someone’s idea of a great tale, then it’s just queer.  If it’s real, then that means there are all sorts of adventures to be had Outside, and so hundreds of stupid hobbits leave the Shire, thinking they’ll return whenever they’ve accomplished their great deeds.  But almost no one does.”

Kira felt her temper rising hot within her.  “You know what?  Maybe all those folk left not to return.  Maybe they left to get away from people like you.  And you know what else?  With the way you’re going on, I wish I could leave myself!”

“What?” said Roly.

Kira paused, stunned at what had just come out of her mouth.  “Of course,” she added, more quietly, “being what I am, I can’t.”

“And that’s a good thing,” said Tom, also levelling his voice.  “If you really do want to leave, you shouldn’t ever get this back.”  He hefted the book in the air.  “But I’ll be nice to you.  I’ll give it to you, if you can convince me that you don’t believe the stuff in here happened.”

“And how do I do that?”

“Just look me in the eye, and say you don’t believe it.  That’s all you have to do.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

Kira looked at him square in the eyes, but she could not bring herself to say the words.  It was so simple—just a short sentence and she could get the book back.  Surely there was some part in her that was sensible enough to do that.  She had told many people before, even when in the midst of reading, that she didn’t believe it.  How hard could it be to say that now?

Finally she sagged over on her stick, her energy sapped, and said faintly, “I can’t.”

Evidently Tom had not expected this response, as it took him half a minute and several facial contortions to say anything.  “You can’t?  You actually believe in all that—elves and quests and mad things like that?  I don’t believe you, Kira.”

Kira took a few deep breaths, forcing strength back into herself, and said, “Yes, I do believe in all that.  And if you refuse to look beyond the borders of the Shire, that’s your own problem.  But I won’t let you keep others from getting the chance to.”  Quickly she rushed at him, knocking him from behind the knees with her crutch, and he fell over.  The book flew out of his hands onto the ground.  “Don’t let her get it!” yelled Tom.  Kira lunged on top of the book, hugging it close to her, swearing never to let it out of her sight again; when Roly brought his full weight upon her right foot.

Kira screamed.  Tom, recovering himself, snatched the book from her limp grasp.  Kira could do nothing.  She lay there on the ground, shuddering, weeping as if there were no hope.  “Just give it back to me…”

Roly came over to Kira, fear in his eyes, and he touched her on the shoulder.  “I’m so sorry—I didn’t realise it hurt that much!  I didn’t know or I shouldn’t have done it…”

Daffodil came running over the rise behind them, hearing Kira’s cry.  “What happened?”

“I stepped on Kira’s foot,” said Roly.

“Not… not the right one?”

Roly’s look confirmed her fears.  She ran to Kira and sat her up, putting her arms around her.  “I’m sorry,” she said.  “I’m really sorry.”

Roly faced Tom, who still had the book in his hands.  “Give it back to her, Tom.  She’s suffered enough for it already.”

Tom shook his head.  “Don’t you see what’s going to happen to her if we give it back?  She’s going to read it all winter, and then she’ll be even more distant next year, and the year after that, until we finally lose her.  It’s already bad enough for her, with her foot and all, but she wants to leave the Shire.  Can you imagine what’d happen to her then?  We—you, me, Daffy—the three of us have to look after her.”

“Just give her what she wants, Tom.  We’ll worry about next year when it comes, and we can do all the looking-after we want then.”

Daffodil meanwhile had helped Kira to stand again.  “Are you sure you can walk?”

“I’m—I’m fine, Daffodil.  Just a little unsteady.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.  I just want the book.”

“Give it to her, Tom,” Daffodil said.

“No!  She doesn’t deserve it.  She doesn’t need it.”

“I do, too,” said Kira through tears.

Tom hesitated, seeing himself outnumbered.  “Fine, then.  If it means that much to you, go and get it!”  He tossed it up into the tree’s branches.  It landed on a branch overhanging the water, and rested there precariously.  Then he ran away.

Kira, Daffodil, and Roly stared at the book.  Kira looked at each of her friends with a mute plea.  Roly sighed and shook his head.  “If you expect me to go after that thing, Kira, you’re mad.”  He turned and walked away.

“Daffodil?” said Kira.

“You know I’m afraid of heights, Kira,” she said.  “And water.  I’d help if I could, but…  I’m sorry, Kira.  There’s nothing I can do.”  And Daffodil left.

For a long time Kira stood there, looking at her unattainable goal.  She was too afraid to leave it and go for help, too afraid to go after it, and too afraid to let it sit there, waiting for a stray breeze to sweep it into the water.  Who in Michel Delving would be brave enough to face the perils of tree and canal for something as trivial as a book?  The Mayor?  Perhaps—she knew he could read—but going all the way into town to get him would take precious time, and she didn’t even know if he would care enough to help.  No, Kira was alone, and there was only once choice left her.  She had to climb.

Kira forced herself to breathe normally and rubbed some dirt into her palms to keep them from slipping with sweat.  She moved as close to the river as she safely could, set her crutch down, and leaned against the tree.  Slowly she placed one hand on a limb that bent towards her, then the other, and pulled herself up, facing the trunk.  The book was several branches to the right of her, almost a quarter of the way around, and a good deal higher up.  Don’t look down, she thought.  Just don’t look down.  She set her left foot on the branch and stood, leaning against the tree’s rough bark.  With trembling hands she reached for the next branch.  She caught it, and held on strong.  Then she rested for a minute, heart hammering so hard she could hear nothing else.  Don’t look down.  But when the wind fluttered the book’s pages, she knew she had to go on.  Kira hauled herself onto the next branch.  The river was now flowing beneath her—she could hear it under her shaking foot.  There was no turning back now; one more branch and she would be directly underneath the book.  Don’t look down.

This branch was farther over than the previous one.  She stood up again, hugging the tree with her left hand and reaching out with the right.  She grabbed the branch and began to edge her left hand over to it, when her foot slipped and she fell forward, dangling over the river with one hand.

Kira looked down.  The water seemed farther away than it had when she was on the ground.  One slip of the hand and…  She screwed her eyes shut and told herself not to think about it.  After her mind was cleared she opened her eyes again.

Her whole body was trembling now, and her hand was sliding down the branch.  I can’t give up on this! she thought.  Not now!  Slowly, with all the strength she could muster, she pulled herself up and caught the branch with her left hand.  She was facing outward, now, across the canal.  With an effort, she lifted herself up again and swung her body over, clinging to the branch as if it was the only thing between her and certain death.

Kira was now thoroughly wearied, yet she knew she had to keep going.  She looked up.  There was the book, a few feet overhead.  If she could just balance long enough on the branch, she could reach up and get it.  Then she could work her way back to land and drop the book to safety.  She formed in her mind the image of Sam and Frodo, crawling up the Mountain in a task far more grave and far more hopeless, and slowly she stopped shaking.  She was calm.  She could do this.

Kira manoeuvred herself so that she was squatting on the branch.  Slowly, carefully, she stood up on one foot, reaching above for the branch where the book lay.  She knew she could not use it too much; tug too hard and the book would come crashing down.  She just let it help keep her balance.  There.  She was up.  The book lay a few feet away on the branch.  She slid her foot, heel to toe, down towards it, letting her hands be her guide.  Now it was only a few inches.  If she reached far enough…  Her fingers brushed the pages.  Just a little farther…

For a moment she grasped the Red Book of Westmarch again, in that final endeavour.  But then it fell—out of her fingers, out of her reach, out of the tree.  And Kira fell after it, down, down, into the icy river below.