THE BLUE MEN’S COMBS

The magician called Machlinn once fell asleep, becalmed by the Grey Cairn on the Great Road. And would not wake, and not wake and by no means awaken.
‘I know how to waken him’, said his hawk that always stood on his right shoulder.
"Go to the Blue Men of the Deeps and win from them the Combs Of Cleansing. Draw the combs
through his thin hair and he will wake."
"Let us go quickly," said Machlinn’s student the Bear.
The men and women of the place that had come flocking to see the terrible sight of Machlinn snoring set up a howl at this, that one of those who led should be deep drowned in sleep, and the other and more precious by far to them propose to leave them to the merciless dragons that swarmed everywhere. The people said they would run away and leave all behind if they were left leaderless.
"Stay and care for these piteous ones," said the crophaired lass who tended Machlinn’s place.
"Give me Bran to go with me and help find the blue men, and I will return with the combs."
"I see that I must stay and you must go. Travel safely and return soon," said the Bear.
"I will do my best."
The lass and dog went running west and wester over the land fast as foot could carry them till they came to Land's Edge. The lass pulled two long hairs from Bran's coat, and cast them up into the sky, where they flew up and out to be the two curblines of an arcing bridge of many colours. The lass and the dog climbed up on the bridge out over the water that was calm and still,

the wind set fast asleep and not a curl upon the deep.
Bran leant over and down, and he spied far out at sea
that there were waves of grey and brown where never a wave should be,
and he murmured low in his throat and the lass turned round to view
where the grey brown waves were churning, stirred up by arms of blue.
Over the bridge the two ran fast, over the inward isles,
over the bays and the banks and the braes and the bens and the glens and the kyles.
When they stood over the foam-grey flood, over the wild tide race,
they saw the mischief grinning bright on many a blue man's face,
they saw a boat waist deep in brine, the sailors caught in shock
as the blue men laughed to heel the sail and gripped the keel in a lock.
Look up above," the girl cried loud. "Higher than that, see me!"
She tore a piece from the rainbow bridge and hurled it into the sea.
The blue men paused at their harrying as the sea boiled yellow and red,
the boatmen gathered their wild sails in and fast for home they sped.
Another piece came hurtling down in the midst of the blue men there,
and they howled and yelled and scowled and spelled and waved their fists in the air
as the colours ran and spread and spanned the sea and calmed it down,
and they saw that the spoilers of their fun were a crophaired girl and a hound.
Orange and green and indigo, the pieces showered again,
the blue men gnashed their pointed teeth and clawed at the skies in vain.
At last they reached in their blue black hair
for the heavy combs that lay hidden there
and they hurled them hard at the skyheld pair
who caught them fast and firm and fair,
and ran away across the air,
back to a shoreline bleak and bare,

and the girl gripped hard on the two long hairs and pulled them out of the many coloured bridge that went fading away into cloud while far out in the deeps the blue men were crying for their lost gold and silver combs.
"I know of these combs," said the girl to Bran, as she sat counting them over and found them to
be seven of gold and seven of silver.
"The dwarves made them, and they put many a strong spell into them, but at the last they forgot what the spells were and bartered the combs for corals and pearls of the ocean bed. Now they would give anything to receive them back again."
She took one of the silver combs and dragged it through her hair, and the skin of her face and her hand and her body that was raw and rough and mottled and flaked was healed, and was milk while and down soft. She took one of the gold combs and dragged it through her hair, and her dull brown short cropped hair turned ash white and so glistened that the sun peeped out of the clouds to see who competed with her in glory.
"Now is my name again White Owl."
When they had run back to the townlet the Bear cradled Bran in his arms in welcome, but all his
looks were for White Owl.
"You are welcome back, fairest of ladies."
"So you like me now?"
"I liked you when I chose you."
"You chose me because your Scinfaxi horse told you to."
"Think you that I would do as any horse tells me? Even a horse like Scinfaxi? Think you I cannot see below a rough surface when needed?"
White Owl smiled, and took the combs in to where Machlinn slumbered. The two she had used were now drained of power. She drew a silver comb through the left side of his head hair, and he mumbled in his sleep. She applied a comb of gold to the right side of his head. He shook his head and his eyelids fluttered. One more comb of silver, and he bounced awake.
"Thank you, my lady," he said, taking the combs from her. He weighed them in his hand, and tossed the five emptied of strength into a pot.
"Those will be of some use at some time."
And they were.