THE ENCHANTED SLEEPER
In a valley shaded with rhododendrons, close to the snow line,
where a stream milky with meltwater splashed and where doves and
linnets flew among the immense pines, lay a cave, half, hidden by
the crag above and the stiff heavy leaves that clustered
below.
The woods were full of sound: the stream between the rocks, the
wind among the needles of the pine branches, the chitter of insects
and the cries of small arboreal mammals, as well as the birdsong;
and from time to time a stronger gust of wind would make one of the
branches of a cedar or a fir move against another and groan like a
cello.
It was a place of brilliant sunlight, never undappled. Shafts of
lemon-gold brilliance lanced down to the forest floor between bars
and pools of brown-green shade; and the light was never still,
never constant, because drifting mist would often float among the
treetops, filtering all the sunlight to a pearly sheen and brushing
every pine cone with moisture that glistened when the mist lifted.
Sometimes the wetness in the clouds condensed into tiny drops half
mist and half rain, which floated downward rather than fell, making
a soft rustling patter among the millions of needles.
There was a narrow path beside the stream, which led from a
village-little more than a cluster of herdsmen''s dwellings - at
the foot of the valley to a half-ruined shrine near the glacier at
its head, a place where faded silken flags streamed out in the
Perpetual winds from the high mountains, and offerings of barley
cakes and dried tea were placed by pious villagers. An odd effect
of the light, the ice, and the vapor enveloped the head of the
valley in perpetual rainbows.
The cave lay some way above the path. Many years before, a holy man
had lived there, meditating and fasting and praying, and the place
was venerated for the sake of his memory. It was thirty feet or so
deep, with a dry floor: an ideal den for a bear or a wolf, but the
only creatures living in it for years had been birds and
bats.
But the form that was crouching inside the entrance, his black eyes
watching this way and that, his sharp ears pricked, was neither
bird nor bat. The sunlight lay heavy and rich on his lustrous
golden fur, and his monkey hands turned a pine cone this way and
that, snapping off the scales with sharp fingers and scratching out
the sweet nuts.
Behind him, just beyond the point where the sunlight reached, Mrs.
Coulter was heating some water in a small pan over a naphtha stove.
Her daemon uttered a warning murmur and Mrs. Coulter looked
up.
Coming along the forest path was a young village girl. Mrs. Coulter
knew who she was: Ama had been bringing her food for some days now.
Mrs. Coulter had let it be known when she first arrived that she
was a holy woman engaged in meditation and prayer, and under a vow
never to speak to a man. Ama was the only person whose visits she
accepted.
This time, though, the girl wasn''t alone. Her father was with her,
and while Ama climbed up to the cave, he waited a little way
off.
Ama came to the cave entrance and bowed.
"My father sends me with prayers for your goodwill," she
said.
"Greetings, child," said Mrs. Coulter.
The girl was carrying a bundle wrapped in faded cotton, which she
laid at Mrs. Coulter''s feet. Then she held out a little bunch of
flowers, a dozen or so anemones bound with a cotton thread, and
began to speak in a rapid, nervous voice. Mrs. Coulter understood
some of the language of these mountain people, but it would never
do to let them know how much. So she smiled and motioned to the
girl to close her lips and to watch their two daemons. The golden
monkey was holding out his little black hand, and Ama''s butterfly
daemon was fluttering closer and closer until he settled on a horny
forefinger.
The monkey brought him slowly to his ear, and Mrs. Coulter felt a
tiny stream of understanding flow into her mind, clarifying the
girl''s words. The villagers were happy for a holy woman, such as
herself, to take refuge in the cave, but it was rumored ''that she
had a companion with her who was in some way dangerous and
powerful.
It was that which made the villagers afraid. Was this other Steing
Mrs. Coulter''s master, or her servant? Did she mean harm? Why was
she there in the first place? Were they going to stay long? Ama
conveyed these questions with a thousand misgivings.
A novel answer occurred to Mrs. Coulter as the daemon''s
understanding filtered into hers. She could tell the truth. Not all
of it, naturally, but some. She felt a little quiver of laughter at
the idea, but kept it out of her voice as she explained:
"Yes, there is someone else with me. But there is nothing to be
afraid of. She is my daughter, and she is under a spell that made
her fall asleep. We have come here to hide from the enchanter who
put the spell on her, while I try to cure her and keep her from
harm. Come and see her, if you like."
Ama was half-soothed by Mrs. Coulter''s soft voice, and half afraid
still; and the talk of enchanters and spells added to the awe she
felt. But the golden monkey was holding her daemon so gently, and
she was curious, besides, so she followed Mrs. Coulter into the
cave.
Her father, on the path below, took a step forward, and his crow
daemon raised her wings once or twice, but he stayed where he
was.
Mrs. Coulter lit a candle, because the light was fading rapidly,
and led Ama to the back of the cave. Ama''s eyes glittered widely
in the gloom, and her hands were moving together in a repetitive
gesture of finger on thumb, finger on thumb, to ward off danger by
confusing the evil spirits.
"You see?" said Mrs. Coulter. "She can do no harm. There''s nothing
to be afraid of."
From the Hardcover edition.
1. Dust, Dark Matter, and Sraf are three different names for the
same material. How do these names reflect the different worlds they
come from? What attitudes and feelings does each society have about
this material?
2. Why do you think the subtle knife breaks when Will thinks of
his mother? When the knife breaks, do you think Mrs. Coulter is
aware of her influence on Will? Are there any connections between
Mrs. Coulter and Will''s mother?
3. In each book of the His Dark Materials trilogy, a
special device (such as the alethiometer, the subtle knife, or the
amber spyglass) is introduced in connection with the pursuit of
Dust. What are the different properties of each instrument? How
does each instrument reflect the personality of the person that
uses it (i.e., Lyra, Will, and Dr. Malone)?
4. When asked to mend the subtle knife, Iorek is hesitant:
"Sometimes a tool may have other uses that you don''t know.
Sometimes in doing what you intend you also do what the knife
intends, without knowing." What do you think the knife''s
intentions are? Based on these intentions, who do you think created
the knife and for what purpose?
5. By the end of The Amber Spyglass, what similiarites
can you see between Lyra and Mrs. Coulter? How is Lyra''s
storytelling different from Mrs. Coulter''s lying?
6. In The Amber Spyglass, Mrs. Coulter goes through a
dramatic transformation as her maternal feelings for Lyra break
through to the surface. What is the catalyst for this change?