Ruth Nichols > Quotes

“In my world,” she whispered, “we tell a story about a man who was swallowed by a whale.”
“I do not envy him!”
― Ruth Nichols, The Marrow of the World

“Philip gazed at her in astonished relief. But Kyril answered, “You have chosen wisely. When I first learned of the two who had appeared in the wilderness, how little I hoped of either of you--a child of the witch Morgan and a boy, her adoptive cousin--a stranger not even of our stock! I too have grown in wisdom, for your courage has taught me much. No guest departs from us without a gift. Now I will give you mine. Philip, hold out your hands.”
Philip extended them. Kyril’s fingers closed around his wrists, and he felt a cool burning sensation, like a bracelet of white fire. When Kyril released his wrists, they bore his mark, as though his hands had burned them.
Then it was Linda’s turn. When it was done, Philip said: “What is the meaning of this gift?”
“The lifetime that lies before you will reveal it; yet I will tell you a little. I have set my mark on you. Because of it, you will never be wholly severed from us, and in a time of great need it may be we shall meet again. Even if that never comes to pass, you will always see more deeply than others. Visions hidden from them will be revealed to you. And that is both a sorrow and a blessing.”
He glanced toward the window where ghostly flakes were drifting out of the darkness into the candlelight. “And now you must sleep, for it is late.”
“Yes.” Philip stifled a yawn. “I feel very tired suddenly. Perhaps it’s all the decisions we’ve had to make.”
“I should like to sleep now, too,” said Linda, “if you will give us leave to go.”
“You have my leave.” Kyril laid his hands upon their heads. “And my blessing. Good night, my children.”
― Ruth Nichols, The Marrow of the World

“When Linda looked into King Kyril’s face, Philip saw her amazement and a brief, sudden joy. But at once she mastered it, or it died. “My lord, I come before you as a prisoner.”
“What is this, Linda?” he demanded gently.
“She said to me ‘Witches and witch-children--he spares none.”
“Then she lied, as she lied about so many things. Come, rise, and sit beside me. You are weary.”
But Linda remained on her knees before him. “I will not accept your mercy! I belong to no world now. Kill me, I beg you, for I have no wish to live.” Her voice was ragged with strain; she had forced her last strength to this demand.
Kyril took her hands in a firm, gentle grip and drew her to her feet. “Your anguish speaks, and the self-hatred you have learned in these long weeks of doubt. Now, Linda, let me set your mind at rest. You are more human than you know.”
Her fierceness had given way to a pitiful bewilderment. “But the spring--the demon--!”
Kyril nodded. “Powers you have, for your mother was indeed Morgan the Enchantress. But if you return to the world that has become your own, these powers will ebb, leaving you little more than ordinary mortals’. You can choose to let them go.”
He took her face between his hands, and as once before, Philip saw her tension ease gradually into peace. “I confess that I doubted too. That was why, in your journey through the wilderness, I made certain you would find me. I needed to see Morgan’s child, to discover how much of her mother’s power she had inherited. You came, but you were closed against me. Yet one night something happened, and I found the answer I was seeking.”
Down her cheek his finger traced the path of the single tear she had shed when he questioned her about her home. “I saw you cry. And, Linda, there was one thing Ygerna never told you. Try as she may, a true witch cannot weep.”
― Ruth Nichols, The Marrow of the World

“It’s different,” said Linda. “It’s not what we saw before! And they wouldn’t use the same trick twice--not if they truly wanted to catch us. I think we should go toward it and seek help. We can’t go in. Philip needs medicine; he needs sleep!”
“Be careful, Linda! To light a lantern in these parts and let it shine out for all to see, a man must be either wicked or foolish or so powerful he need not fear the guests the lamp may bring him.”
“Of your three choices, let us hope the last proves true! If it leads us into danger, then blame me.”
“That would give me small comfort,” remarked Herne.”
― Ruth Nichols, The Marrow of the World

“But a day came when the sky was a haze of snow-clouds, and all the beauty of autumn had gone by. As evening drew on, Kyril summoned the cousins to his private chamber. Philip found him seated by the window. The first stars of snow had just fallen on the ledge outside.
Philip bowed low. ‘”My lord, Linda means no disrespect, but she begged me to tell you that she promised to dance with Thawn. She cannot come until her promise is fulfilled.”
Kyril laughed. “Most proper! But I do not honor her too highly, for no doubt she enjoys paying such a debt. This is well, for I wished to speak to you alone. Sit down.”
Philip took the stool beside him. Kyril’s smile faded; his face was serious as he gazed down at his young guest. “But I think you know what I will say.”
“You mean to send us home.”
Kyril nodded. “Ygerna made a pact; it is for me now to fulfill it. But even if I offered it to you, Philip, would you choose to stay?”
Philip shook his head. “No, my lord. The strangest and most wonderful adventures of my life have happened here, but this is not my home.”
“And what of Linda?”
For a long moment there was silence. At last Philip stirred and looked up at Kyril’s face. Very quietly he replied, “You were right when you said that the thought of rescuing her sustained me. And at that time I didn’t care whether she wanted to come back with me or not, because I was certain I knew what was best. Now…” He stopped and then with an effort continued. “I can’t imagine being without her; I can’t imagine what my uncle and aunt would say. But I know I cannot force her to return. She must make her own decision.”
“I rejoice,” said Kyril gently, “that you have grown in wisdom. For no human being can possess another, Philip: not even out of love.”
The door opened, and Linda stood on the threshold. She made Kyril a deep curtsey; her cheeks were flushed from dancing. He smiled and held out his hand. “Welcome, Linda! Are you discharged of all your debts?”
“Yes, my lord!” She laughed and, running toward him, kissed the outstretched hand. “Why did you summon us?”
“The time has come to speak of your return.”
Philip looked at her. “I’ve decided to go back, Linda.”
Kyril said, “For Philip, the good sorrow of leave-taking is unmixed with doubt. He knows what he must do. But for you, Linda, the decision may not be so easy. Therefore, I ask you once again: which of the two worlds is your home?”
“Here I was born,” said Linda softly, “and here I discovered what I truly am. I am grateful for that knowledge; perhaps a time will come when I can remember it without pain. But I don’t belong here.” She drew a deep, uncertain breath. “I’ve tried to persuade myself, but I can’t. As a baby I might have died but for the love Philip’s family has shown me. I belong with them. If he goes, I will go with him.”
― Ruth Nichols, The Marrow of the World

“Do you think there are bears?” whispered Linda, glancing at the black shore and jagged trees.
“Perhaps,” said Philip. If it frightened her, he thought fiercely, so much the better.”
― Ruth Nichols, The Marrow of the World

“So the Mer-People despoiled her palace when the fear of her no longer kept them from it? Well, they are a cowardly folk, and that we have always known.”
― Ruth Nichols, The Marrow of the World

“Philip stirred. The bed beneath him felt hard as stone; his body was cramped from lying on it.
Then his eyes opened. The bed was stone, for he and Linda were lying on the rock shelf above the beach. Beside him, he saw her sleeping form, still covered by the space-blanket. In the half-light he could make out the rowboat drawn up on the shingle. He was wearing his jeans and sweater; above them the sky glowed rose and apricot with dawn.
“Linda!” The involuntary loudness of his cry echoed out across the water. From the farthest margin of the lake a loon’s voice answered, then another and another, until four plangent, trembling voices took up their chorus among the silence of the hills.
She stirred. “Philip, I’ve had the strangest dream.”
“Not a dream!” But everything disproved his words and turned them into illusions, into lies: the cabin that rose, solid and shuttered, on the opposite head of land; the gray mist coiling over the water; the smell of juniper, pungent in the dawn chill.
They pushed back the plastic blanket and stood up, looking dazedly around them. Linda gave a long, soft sigh. “We’re home,” she said.
Still Philip could not accept the evidence of eyes and ears and hands. He sat down and bowed his head. “He didn’t even give us the chance to say good-by.”
“Yes, he did, Philip.” He heard strength and gentleness in Linda’s voice, from which all sharpness had disappeared. “But we didn’t understand.”
“No. It’s hard, though.” Philip turned so that she would not see his face. A tear slid down onto the sleeve of his sweater. He wiped it away and stopped, arrested, staring. As he looked, his despair changed slowly to a still, triumphant joy.
For circling his wrists, faint and indelible as an ancient scar, he saw the mark of Kyril’s hands.”
― Ruth Nichols, The Marrow of the World

“Something has happened, Philip.” In Linda’s whisper he heard a tension of delight, of exultation. “There is no lake, no cabin. When we wake in the morning we’ll find it entirely different.”
The certainty in her words made him shudder, half with anger. Throwing off the blanket, he sat up. “When we wake in the morning, we’ll find ourselves in bed. This is a dream, and a bloody nightmare at that.”
She gave a shrill, stifled giggle. “There! Is that a dream?”
Philip swore: she had leaned forward and pinched his arm.”
― Ruth Nichols, The Marrow of the World

“What would you have of us?”
“My lord, we seek the Marrow and come prepared to buy it.”
There was a murmur of amazement and uneasiness. Barkhan silenced it with a gesture. “Who seeks the Marrow, Mistress? It is the fate of all men to die.”
“Some there are, my lord, who cannot resign themselves to death. But you know well that no man has sent us.” Linda’s voice was carefully respectful, despite the arrogance of her words.
Barkhan shifted, and his broad hand gripped the arm of his chair. “You wish to obtain how much?”
“Only a little: as much as may fill this box.” And Linda held up the carven sandalwood box that Ygerna had placed in her saddlebag on the day they set out toward Lake Evaine.
Barkhan gave a short, hard snort of laughter. “Just so much as may restore a witch’s life! Oh, yes, we hear the news in these parts, for all you may think we spend our lives burrowing like moles beneath the ground. But the sorceress had some hidden in her chamber. Have you searched among the ruins?”
“Yes, Lord Barkhan. It was gone.”
He gave a scornful smile. “So the Mer-People despoiled her palace when the fear of her no longer kept them from it? Well, they are a cowardly folk, and that we have always known.”
“My lord!” interrupted Helve. “We must not give them what they ask--no matter what they offer us in payment.”
“Why not, Helve?”
“The Marrow is a great gift: the greatest, perhaps, the dwarfs can give to mortal men, though for all the harm it has done, I wish it were buried and forgotten. And it has never yet been used except for evil.”
Barkhan turned again to Linda. “What would you bribe us with?”
― Ruth Nichols, The Marrow of the World