“Are they really so bad?”

“Worse!” Mr. Blewit hunched his shoulders as though warding off a chill. “Youwon’t be able to see it. Mud men never do. It’s the glamour,you see. Makes everything look wonderful, but it’s all lies.”

“Then why, since you hate elves so much, do you live next door to them?” demanded Jack. “You despise them. They steal your children. The Bugaboo said there’s not a family here who hasn’t lost one or two little ones. It seems to me that if you lived next door to a pack of hungry wolves, you’d either kill them or move out.”

The hobgoblins looked away and several of them shuffled their feet. Jack thought they looked shifty. Or guilty. It was difficult to tell in the dim light. Finally the Nemesis cleared his throat. “We have been weak,” he admitted. “First we were drawn to elf music and then as time passed—or rather did notpass—we experienced immortality. Oh, I know!” He waved away Mr. Blewit’s objections. “Our motives were pure. Who wants to see one’s parents grow old and die? But we made an evil bargain.”

“Then why not go the whole hog, move to Elfland and be done with it,” said Pega, brushing mushroom spores off her dress.

“And live with those liars?” Mr. Blewit cried.

“Looks to me like you’ve done a good job of lying to yourselves without anyone’s help,” she retorted.

“No,” the Nemesis said slowly. “Blewit is right. The power of Elfland to deceive is dire. Its influence radiates over the entire Land of the Silver Apples, but it is strongest at its core. Here, at least, we have not turned away entirely from the world. We still feel joy and sorrow, but Elfland is hollow. It is a living death.”

“Bedbugs! You don’t half try to scare folks,” said Pega.

“Let’s get moving,” said the Nemesis. The shadows that lurked at the edge of the light now closed in. Jack braced himself for more unpleasantness, but the hobgoblins merely urged him along. There were more of them than he had realized. They came out of the dark and crowded behind the humans. Jack felt their long fingers fluttering at his back.

It was possible to see only a few steps ahead in the glow of the two will-o’-the-wisps. Pillars loomed up and fell behind. The heavy odor of crushed toadstools rose from beneath their feet, and an unseen river flowed somewhere to the right.

Presently, the land broke off at the edge of a lake, with only a transparent shelf of crystal extending over its dark depths. Jack suddenly became aware of the hobgoblins’ intentions. “You’re going to drown us in the whirlpool!” he cried.

“As usual, you accuse us of your failings,” said the Nemesis. “This is the way into Elfland. Don’t pull those long faces at me! You asked for it and now you’re going to get it.”

“We’re even returning your weapons,” said Mr. Blewit. He unwrapped a bundle and presented Thorgil with her knife and Jack with his staff. Jack was delighted to hold the smooth, dark wood in his hands again. He eagerly sought the life force but felt only the faintest echo of it.

“Thorgil, what do you sense in the rune of protection?” he asked.

The shield maiden put her hand to her neck and frowned. “Nothing—no, that’s not true. There’s something. It’s like a chick trying to break out of an egg.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Jack said. “Something is blocking the life force here.” He gazed at the dark water with dislike. The feeble glow of the will-o’-the-wisps had little power to light it.

“Enough of this nitter-natter,” growled the Nemesis. “We must conclude our business before the Bugaboo wakes up. Toadflax and Beetle Grub! Awaken the whirlpool!”

Two burly hobgoblins ran out on the crystal shelf and jumped up and down, making it emit a clashing noise that swelled until it seemed the very cavern would collapse. The whirlpool formed instantly, yawning like a grotesque mouth. The hobgoblins ran back, and before Jack could react, they tore Pega from his side and threw her in. “You monsters!” Jack shouted. Pega’s screams faded swiftly as she was sucked into the maelstrom. He didn’t think. He only knew he had to save her. He threw himself after her.

The water foamed around him, and he had just a glimpse of the shore before he fell into darkness. He swirled around with his back in the water and his face to the black nothingnessat the center. He could breathe. He did this automatically. But the deadness enveloping him was appalling. He wanted to die, to do anything to escape. He could do nothing. Round and round he went until his senses reeled and all thought fled.

For a long time Jack was carried along. Gradually, the whirling motion slowed until he moved no more swiftly than an autumn leaf wafting down from a tree. At last the motion stopped, and he dropped onto a grassy meadow.

“Oh, Jack!” wept Pega, flinging herself onto him. “Are we dead? I sure hope this is Heaven.”

Jack stared up into a starry sky made luminous by a full moon. There was no sign of the whirlpool, no sign of anything above him except a summer night. Trees lifted silvery branches at the edge of the meadow, and a nightingale sang not far away. He smelled flowers, marvelous flowers sweeter than newly opened roses. A breeze brought him the cooler odor of mint.

“No mushrooms,” Jack murmured.

“What? I hadn’t noticed.” Pega sat up and breathed deeply. “You’re right! There’s not the tiniest smidgen of mushroom. It’s wonderful!”

Jack continued to stare up at the sky. It was filled with a thousand winking, blinking stars. Some were blue-white or yellow. Others gleamed red and apple green. All were brighter than the stars of Middle Earth, but perhaps that was because this place was so perfect.

Perfect. That was the quality that hovered over this world. No flaw dimmed its perfection, no misshapen branch in the trees or harsh note in the nightingale’s voice. No unpleasant odors floated on the breeze. The grass was soft and thick—not wet as grass usually was in the middle of the night, but misted with enough coolness to be delightful.

“It might be Heaven,” Jack said. A thump made him sit up.

“By Balder’s backside, that was foul!” swore Thorgil.

It can’t be Heaven,Jack thought with a twinge of disappointment. Thorgil wouldn’t be here.“Thorgil?” he called.

She came immediately to his side. “Seen any enemies?”

“No. Just look at this place,” Jack said. The shield maiden turned to observe the silvery trees, the meadow, and the stars. A fold of earth not far away concealed a stream. Its light chatter was etched on the night air. Slowly, gracefully, a flock of deer emerged from under the trees and walked toward them. Their skins, unnaturally bright under the moon, were flecked with white, and their delicate hooves stepped noiselessly. Even Thorgil was struck dumb by their beauty.

The deer passed by and went down into the folded earth. Jack heard their feet splash in the water.

“At least we won’t starve,” said the shield maiden.

“Oh, Thorgil, haven’t you learned anything?” said Jack. “You can’t hunt until you know it’s allowed.”

They all fell silent then. It was enough to lie under the stars and to watch the great moon—surely larger than in Middle Earth—ride the air.

Jack tried to go over all that had happened since they had left the village. They had traveled to St. Filian’s Well and on to Din Guardi. There was the Hedge and a tunnel. Something bad had happened in the tunnel, but he couldn’t quite remember what. And then they were in a forest. Thorgil appeared, or had she been there all along? Jack dimly recalled a cave full of mushrooms with—who hadbeen living in that cave?

It was fading now. It didn’t matter, really. This was such a beautiful place, who would want anything else?