Crik (19 page)

‘Nothing for you to be sorry about, lad,’ Llast said, leaning back on a crooked arm. ‘If it weren’t for you lot, the Marsh Man would still be out there laying his traps. I thought about trying to find the marsh house again; looks like you saved me the bother.’

‘You said your nose kept you safe,’ said Inara, rubbing her bandages from habit. ‘What did you mean by that?’

‘I’ve got a nose for trouble, and for keeping out of its way.’ Llast scratched his ear, pulling it down to his cheek. ‘I told you my son’s Talent. Well, I suppose my nose is mine. I know when something isn’t right, and I get outta of its way. Pity no one paid any attention to my grumbles, but I have been told that I grumble a lot.’

‘We wouldn’t have guessed,’ said Bill.

‘Watch it lad. You don’t have my nose, so you should be more careful where you stick yours. A fast mouth will get you into trouble faster than a purse of gold will buy you a girl at a whorehouse.’

Inara said, ‘Bill isn’t very tactful.’

‘Hey!’

Jack placed a quietening hand on his friend’s shoulder.

‘It’s alright Yin,’ said Bill, shrugging Jack off. ‘People forget that without me we’d all be dead.’

Jack ground his teeth to stop an immediate retort. If it weren’t for Bill, he’d be home reading a comic or setting up a battleground on his floor. Yang, perhaps feeling his frustration, stretched out toward Bill in the guise of a wolf. Bill’s obsession with getting a wolf had started this whole affair. Had his demon read his thoughts, was that why Yang had changed form? Or did his shadow just react, recreating the alluded to wolves? Either way it didn’t matter, it was now his fault they were here – his obsession that took them deeper into the wood.

‘You said you could help us,’ said Inara, ignoring Bill’s crossed arms. ‘We have to go through the Wold.’

Knowing Inara looked at him, focused Jack’s attention on Llast.

‘Why?’

‘We need to see a woman called Knell, who lives beyond the Wold,’ answered Jack.

‘Have you heard of her?’ asked Inara.

‘Or a place called The Scorn Scar?’ added Bill.

‘Nothing could be so important as to risk entering the Wold,’ replied Llast. ‘The best advice I can offer is to turn back. I will take you to my home, where I have honey cakes, and nuts by the dozen. I’ll even provide a little rum,’ he said, poking the empty water skin with his toe.

‘Have you heard of her?’ Jack insisted.

‘Can’t say that I ‘ave lad. Crik Wood is larger than any one person can know entirely, so my not knowing shouldn’t come as a surprise. The parts of it that I do know are enough to keep me awake at night. And my nightmares start at the Thorn Hedge.’ He pointed to the west. ‘You’ll see it in the morning. The hedge reaches into the sky, keeping the Red Forest hidden from Elysium.’

‘How’d we get around the hedge?’ asked Inara.

‘You don’t,’ said Llast, ‘the Blackthorn Tunnel burrows through it. A haunted place, so keep your wits about you when you enter.’ Snatching up a discarded shoe, he withdrew a flute from its heel. ‘As you enter blow on this,’ he said, handing the instrument to Jack. ‘It keeps the Vestai from swarming. It’s not much, but it’s the best I can do.’

Jack looked down at the odd flute with its uneven sized holes and an amber reed filling the hollow. Raising it to his lips, he gave a tentative blow. The low-pitched note that escaped made his head hum.

‘Place your finger on the largest hole and the upraised square at the end of the Syll,’ instructed Llast.

Pressing down on the square with his small finger and, covering the large hole while he blew, created a strange sound, both high and low, and melodic and jarring. Allowing the flute to drop, Jack tasted a harsh tang on his tongue, not unlike the taste of lemons, which left his mouth a little numb.

Llast grinned. ‘Doesn’t taste nice, does it,’ he said. ‘Why’d you think I wear ‘em on my feet?’

‘And the Myrms, how do we get past them?’ asked Bill.

‘No idea,’ said Llast. ‘I’ve never wanted to go to the Red Forest, and my nose has kept me safe when they’ve ventured forth from behind the hedge. You should turn back; the Red Forest isn’t a place for travellers, ‘specially when one of those travellers can’t walk.’

‘I don’t need to walk,’ responded Inara, moving her hands back from her ruined limbs. ‘Black carries me where I need to go.’

‘I don’t know this Black. No matter how you get to the Wold you’ll find it far harder leaving than you did entering.’

‘We’re going,’ said Jack.

Llast reached for his shoes, and with much tugging, he placed them on his feet. ‘In that case I’ll say goodbye. As I told ya, my nose keeps me away from trouble, and its tingling for me to go.’ Picking up his lamp, he shooed away the night. He turned to leave. ‘My cakes are delicious.’

Jack smiled. ‘I’m sure they are, but we’ve got a long way to go before we can return home.’

Moving slowly, Llast said, ‘Why don’t kids ever listen? First the kids of my own people got us mixed up with the Marsh Man, and now, despite my warning, you’re going to the Wold.’

‘Sorry Llast,’ said Inara.

‘You’ll be sorry you didn’t listening to me. If you come back this way,’ said Llast, looking over his shoulder, ‘make sure you bring some rum with you.’

‘We will,’ promised Inara, raising her hand to the retreating man.

‘Goodbye,’ said Llast. His one remaining flute played as he trudged back over the field, until eventually even the light from his lantern disappeared.

They all awoke fro
m
an unsettled slumber in the pre-dawn. High above them a thin layer of cloud obscured a scattering of stars. At their feet lay the returned wolves, and three dead skunks. They think of us as their pups, mused Jack. After setting a fire, they enjoyed a breakfast of half-charred meat. By the time the wolves roused themselves, the group were licking the fat from their fingers and eyeing a dark line on the horizon.

‘I’m surprised we missed seeing it yesterday,’ said Bill.

No one answered; the Thorn Hedge cast a heavy pall over the morning feast.

As the morning neared afternoon the featureless sketch grew more distinct, taking shape into a monstrous wall of twig, thorn, and looping vines. The land, which had undulated over gentle hills and slopes, now stretched out before the Thorn Hedge in an unspoilt plain, where only isolated clumps of long grass took root.

The faint raucous caws of birds welcomed them to the end of their trek across Elysium. Inara, sensing the mood of the group, hugged Black.

The impossibly huge hedge threw down its shadow across half the plain, expanding its influence much as a haunted castle broods over a small town. Dotted, like cancer through the hedge, grew black flowers with red stems. The thorns, giving the hedge its name, were over three inches in length and dagger sharp. These barbs grew no more than a few inches apart, making the hedge impenetrable to all but the smallest creature.

Silver ran ahead and, stopping shy of the hedge, pulled back her lips and growled at a deep furrow skirting the edge of the plain.

‘What’s got her tail in a twist?’ said Bill.

Unwilling to speculate, Jack remained closed mouthed as they approached the she-wolf. Close to the hedge Silver appeared ghostlike, reminding him of Grandma Poulis as she had looked as she passed him on that long ago night. Not trusting himself to keep his fears in check, he turned from the pale wolf, trying to take his mind off all things supernatural. Instead, the hedge, now filling his sights, increased his trepidation. Had the Lindre erected the Thorn Hedge? It didn’t seem possible that it had grown here by itself. Leaning back, he tried to see the top of the hedge, only he now stood too close to judge where the thorns stopped and the sky began. He felt like one of Mr Gasthem’s bugs. At least with the wall blocking the sun Yang only appeared as a diffused shade, and was easy to ignore.

Stepping closer, they came to a gaping ditch running the length of the hedge. The trench dwindled in the distance, as a pencil line across green paper. It was two metres wide, and uniform down the line. Dark water ebbed at its bottom, lapping strings of blue beads. The water caressed the stones, like a potter’s hands moulding clay.

‘What’s with the pearls?’ asked Bill, as the toes of his boots touched the lip of the trench. ‘They couldn’t have gotten down there by mistake, someone placed them there.’

‘Perhaps Llast, or his people had something to do with them,’ said Inara, peering over Black’s shaggy head.

‘Whatever they are, Silver doesn’t like ‘em, so we’d best leave ‘em alone,’ said Jack. ‘Let’s try and find the tunnel Llast told us about. The quicker we do the more light we’ll have.’

All three looked up at the clouds; painting the sky an ashen grey. Little warmth came from the dim sun, dampening their mood as they began to navigate their way along the Thorn Hedge. They kept a metre from the trench.

‘Wonder if anyone back at the village knows about this,’ said Bill. ‘It must be hundreds of years old. Something this large, and this old can’t have gone unnoticed.’ He tugged at his glasses, smudging the lenses with a careless finger. ‘I’m sure one of my grandfather’s tales mentioned a great wall. Do you remember the story Yin?’

Looking into his friend’s pale moon face, Jack read a silent plea written behind the glasses, a need to connect this place with home. Grandpa Poulis often told stories up by the Hanging Tree – set the mood, he said. Most told of haunted places amongst the woods. A deserted witches’ cabin, clustered with cobwebs and dust bunnies the size of small dogs. Trapped in each of the cabin’s windows, frozen in time, were the faces of all the evil witch’s young victims. His favourite spoke of a hollow where a gang of cutthroats set up camp, only to run away screaming when during the night dark shapes poked them awake. He recalled a dark figure holding a machete watching them flee from atop a bank, his blade glinting in the full moon. The one Bill spoke of didn’t have any ghosts, only a wall so huge it darkened the world. A girl told her lover that if he scaled the wall she would marry him, and he would have her farm with its prized horses. Using antlers as climbing axes, the man scaled all the way to the top, once there he saw the world spread out before him. Looking down he saw the girl’s farm, and being so small he cast his sights to the other side of the wall where he noticed bigger farms and larger towns. Forgetting the girl, he climbed down to find these bigger places, only to discover when he arrived that he was smaller and less important than everyone else. His clothes were dirty, whereas the townspeople’s were rich and lavish; his speech sounded garbled, while theirs sang out. Returning to the wall, he found his antlers worn and useless. Unable to climb the steep surface, he shouted, and through the wall, the girl, hearing him, called back: ‘Why didn’t you return to me when you reached the top of the wall?’ she asked. ‘I wished to see more of this side. They have large farms, and their horses are sleek and powerful,’ he replied. A lingering silence passed, eventually the girl cried out, ‘I know there’re richer lands and quicker horses behind the wall, but I am on this side. I sent you to the top of the wall to see what your heart wanted, and it is not me. You only yearned for my farm, to ride its fields on my animals. I will only marry one who loves me.’ She fell silent, and no matter how loud the boy shouted she never replied to him again.

‘I remember,’ said Jack, trying to imagine climbing to the top of the Thorn Hedge. He would see the whole world, Crik Village to one side, with the Scorn Scar on the other.

‘You got the Syll safe Jack?’

In answer, Jack waved the instrument at Inara. ‘I’m keeping it inside my shirt until we reach the tunnel.’

‘It’s our only defence against the Vestai,’ she reminded him.

‘Yin knows that,’ said Bill. ‘You do remember that...’ He stared at the flute, pondering the power within the instrument.

‘Damn Bill, of course I know how important it is. I still have the taste of lemons in my mouth. Now will you both relax, I know what I have to do.’

The trench stopped the snaking roots of the hedge clean. Scanning the earthen divide Jack saw no growing vegetation, only hard soil and rough stones. Jagged leaves littered the floor, blown across the rent by the ceaseless wind. The crisp carpet crunched underfoot. Now and then, a dark petal from one of the flowers stood in their path, which the group skirted around, afraid to touch the foul flower.

‘Do you think we’re headed in the right direction?’ asked Bill. ‘The hedge goes just as far that way.’ He pointed back the way they had come.

‘We’ve come this far, we may as well continue walking this way,’ replied Jack.

‘Ok, but if your wrong, just remember I told you.’

‘I doubt you’d let me forget.’

An impression of something watching them from the cover of the hedge intruded on the group. The wolves kept a wary eye to the left. Krimble, taking his position at the rear, looked into the glooming depths with a crinkled smile.

Jack spotted a protrusion in the hedge. It jutted forward only slightly, but after the straight line they had followed, it called out for attention.

Inara spotted the anomaly too, and brought Black to a sudden halt. ‘Is that the tunnel?’

‘The hedge comes out far enough to cross the divide.’

Spurred by Bill’s observation, Jack took the lead, taking long strides as he went. Silver kept pace; Bill hung back with Inara. The protrusion rose as high as a church spire. Foliage receded at its apex, like an old man’s hairline, revealing white gleaming wood. Jack saw the mouth of the tunnel. Its square cut maw was more appropriate for a castle’s entrance. Studying the straight lines, he expected to see a drawbridge barring his way. Twenty horses could gallop through in a line and never touch the tunnel walls. He stopped, his mouth suddenly tasting of cotton. Sprinkled across the grass were hundreds of the same blue pearls that littered the trench. The hair on the back of Silver’s neck rose in stiff lines.

Approaching Jack, Inara spoke, ‘What’re we going to do?’

‘There won’t be another entrance,’ said Bill. His hand strayed to his belly. ‘Llast only mentioned one tunnel.’

Burning tears stung Jack’s eyes. Faced with first crossing the line of pearls and then entering the dark belly of the hedge forced him to concede how selfish his motives were in bringing his friends here. They were all weary from the trek across Elysium, and there was no easy way back. Fingering the Syll, he said, ‘Wait here, I’ll enter. When I wave, come in after me.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Bill, reaching out to grab Jack’s arm.

Pulling back, Jack shook his head. ‘I’m the only one who wants to go through the Wold. I should go.’ He gave Bill a tired grin. ‘I’ll be fine, just follow when I say.’

Without waiting, Jack hurried forward. He noticed Yang’s weak outline trying to hang back, clawing at the grass, raking the soil with his shadow fingers. He felt the pull of his shadow, slowing his steps. Determined, he gritted his teeth and placed a foot over the thin pearl line. Searing pain lanced up from his belly. Crying out he gripped his abdomen, and, with horror, felt the Narmacil twisting against his fingertips. It writhed in agony. Realising, whoever dropped the blue stones meant to hurt the demon, did not deaden his own pain. Yang changed into a hundred different shapes, birds, beasts, and trees. Some were a myriad of forms, twisted things that thrashed the air. Each movement the Narmacil made within his stomach awoke fresh agony in Jack. Gripping himself, he stumbled beyond the line of pearls. Falling to the ground, he felt the demon thrash for a moment or two before quietening down. With ragged breath, he remained face down on the grass.

‘Yin!’

Too weak to respond, Jack drew in a shuddering breath. Nothing moved inside, and for a time he wondered if the stones had killed the Narmacil. Opening his eyes, he saw his shadow sprawled beneath him, unmoving. His breath hurried; was Yang gone? He pressed his hand against the floor and noticed the dark patch beneath him begin to move away from the pearls. He watched as with each agonised inch Yang pulled himself closer to the tunnel. Painful tears spilled from Jack’s eyes. With shaking shoulders, he got to his feet. He hated himself for sentencing his friends on this dangerous course. If he could turn aside from his quest, though a part of his mind spoke closer to the truth, his obsession, he would in a heartbeat. Only, he conceded, he could not do that, not even to save them from the imminent pain, or the danger that would surely follow. More than the pain passed on from the injured Narmacil, he felt guilt, twist through him like arthritis.

‘Come,’ he said, with a laboured wave. ‘The pain only lasts for a second. It’s the demon the stones hurt.’ He could not meet their eyes.

‘I don’t want to harm it,’ said Inara, her cheeks pinched and waxy in the dying light.

Jack shook his head. ‘The pain only lasts for a moment. Look, Yang is fine.’ He pointed to his moving shadow.

‘Yang looks hurt,’ said Bill, pushing up his glasses.

His shadow looked better than he had a few seconds ago; already its movements were surer. ‘He’s fine, it didn’t kill him.’

‘You sound disappointed,’ said Inara.

Instead of answering her, Jack knelt down to pick up the Syll. He gripped the instrument so hard his knuckles turned white. ‘Are you coming?’

Bill jumped up onto Black behind Inara. ‘I’ll have him run us through,’ he said, holding onto Inara’s shoulder. ‘It’ll be quick, so they won’t feel too much pain.’

Inara, tight lipped and gripping her stomach, gave a stiff nod.

With his eyes boring into Jack’s, Bill made Black bound forward. The great wolf rushed the blue line and crossed with a long jump.

Immediately the pair cried out and tumbled from the wolf. Jack rushed forward to Bill who squirmed on the ground. Inara shook beside him, her blonde hair picking up the wet soil. Taking Bill’s hand, Jack said, ‘It’ll pass. The pain is only momen…’