Crik (27 page)

The crackle of wood burning broke the silence of the night. Fiery embers scattered by the wind drifted close, before disappearing in a blink. He had not seen the creature since they had left their own fire. The feeling that it had left the fireside to stalk them, crept into his mind, making him jump at every touch of wind, and at Bill’s every movement. Wanting desperately to retreat to where Inara slept slowed his pace, leaving Bill to take the lead.

‘Try to use your demon to take control of it,’ whispered Jack.

Bill showed no sign that he had heard him. Instead, his friend stepped closer, to where the flames highlighted him in red and wavering yellow. Still, the winged beast refused to show itself. This is madness, what did they hope would happen by confronting this thing here tonight? The question plagued Jack’s mind, when a sharp retort of struck metal shivered through the air. A shower of rising sparks lit the night to the right of them. The fleeting light failed to illuminate the winged demon.

Bill stepped back. ‘I don’t think this is such a good idea.’

‘You think?’ said Jack, punching Bill in the arm. ‘We could die out here. This isn’t our back garden. This is the Red Wood, and everything in it wants us dead.’

Another clash of metal, followed by a flash of light muted the pair. For a brief moment, they saw a hunched figure, with an upraised hand holding a devastating club.

‘I’ve seen enough,’ whispered Jack, pulling away from the intruding light.

‘Me too,’ agreed Bill, following him.

‘Strange, two come out into the cold to seek the truth, and turn aside when they should be a sleuth.’

‘Oh no,’ whispered Bill.

‘It’s no fun to turn around and run. Come back into the light, it’ll be fun.’

Also recognising the voice of the squirrel set Jack’s spirits plummeting. Any more shocks and he wondered whether his heart would drop into his belly. Turning back, he spied the small metal squirrel sitting on a log before the fire. The squirrel had a paw raised, waving at them in a slow arc.

‘I thought we were shot of him when we answered his riddle,’ said Bill.

There was no riddle here, the squirrel by calling out to them left no doubt in Jack’s mind, the winged demon knew they were here. Leaving now would only show how frightened of it they were. Trudging forward he and Bill moved into the light, where Yang appeared. He couldn’t deny the appearance of his shadow lifted his flagging courage.

‘Don’t go doing anything rash, I don’t want to get into deeper trouble.’

Bill looked shocked. ‘Of course I’m not going to do anything stupid. I’m wetting my pants here.’

‘Not you.’ He pointed at Yang stretching toward the fire. ‘Don’t go grabbing anything, or making rude gestures. This is serious; I want to leave as soon as we can.’

Jack did not know whether the demon inside listened to him or not. For now, Yang enjoyed the life giving light.

‘Friends lost and friends found, it’s all the same to my beaten crown. Copper and tin make my skin. Flick me and you’ll hear me ding!’

‘Silence Herm, your incessant yammering is giving me a headache.’

The squirrel regarded the far side of the clearing where the dry heavy voice originated. ‘Your hammering has nothing to do with the state of your head, or your mood then,’ retorted the squirrel.

An angry sounding hiss, and a sudden flare of orange, answered the squirrel.

The boys stopped. What is that thing, wondered Jack. Did it breathe fire as well? What horror awaited them on the far side of the fire? White billowing smoke drifted up to the sky; a dragon he thought.

Now they were here Bill lagged behind Jack. The heat of the flames did nothing to warm Jack as he passed the squirrel. He saw the demon sat on a three-legged stool; he had his toes planted on the ground so the soles of his feet were facing them. A dirty leather jacket hung on his back, and hard as Jack looked, he could not see the demon’s wings. An unruly mop of shaggy hair framed its bent head as it worked over something in its lap.

‘Sorry to come to your fire,’ said Jack. ‘The Myrms brought us here, and we saw you…’

The head, wreathed in rising steam, twitched to the right. ‘We were all brought here. All apart from Herm. Though I guess, he’s here because of me.’

‘Dink, dink, do you think,’ said Herm, jumping down from his perch to scamper over to sit beside the stool.

‘Quiet Herm, as always you get over excited. Rest your paws, and your wagging tongue for a few minutes, or I’ll douse your head in a bucket of water.’

Herm ran up a jagged metal sculpture, his bronze paws clinking as he went.

‘My companion can be a little troublesome,’ said the seated figure. ‘I’m Huckney.’

When Jack saw an old man, not a gruesome monster, sat before him, he almost collapsed in relief. This was no demon set to guard them. Grey eyebrows, grown unruly and thick, cascaded over crystal blue eyes.

‘Where’re your wings?’ asked Bill. ‘We saw them on you not ten minutes ago.’

Jack wanted to hit Bill over the head. He shot an agitated glance back to his friend.

‘Wings?’ replied Huckney, perplexed. ‘Why’d you think I’ve got wings?’

‘We saw you walking, and saw them as you passed the fire,’ said Bill.

Huckney tilted his head back and barked out a laugh. ‘You mistook those shards of metal,’ he pointed to two curved iron sheets, ‘for wings. I’m no more a demon than you, or your cautious friend.’

We already have plenty of demons with us, thought Jack. He noticed a smith’s hammer held in Huckney’s hand, not the deadly cudgel he had presumed the old man held. ‘You’re a blacksmith.’

‘The only one in the Wold, which makes me the best, I guess,’ said Huckney. ‘At least since my father passed away. Most of the trees and metal scrub you’ve seen through the Wold came from my father. For decades, this place rang to the sound of his hammer. He made the domes and the spinnerets that cluster the basin floor. I’ve carried on; the steel trees surrounding the lake are mine.’

‘Not forgetting me,’ said Herm, wrapping a knuckle against his metal head.

‘You wouldn’t let me forget you,’ Huckney sighed.

‘Why would you want to?’ queried the squirrel.

Ignoring the squirrel’s quick fire question Huckney laid down his hammer, before throwing a satchel of water to Jack. ‘You’ll find the Myrms won’t give you much to drink. So enjoy it while you can. I saw them bringing you to the clearing; I wanted to introduce myself then, only I thought it wiser to wait until you had rested. Besides, I believe the time for introductions is best done during the day. I’m less frightening in the morning.’ He laughed.

Savouring the water, Jack kept one eye on his shadow, who had taken a renewed interest in the metal rodent, and the other on the old man. The man had a kindly face, one that engendered a quick trust. Still, perhaps the way Huckney had kept his distance from them, or the work he performed for the Myrms, kept him on guard.

‘You say you and your father made everything in the Wold,’ said Bill. ‘From the trees, to the copper grass, that cuts into my shoes. Yet the Red Wood is huge, how could you outfit this entire place? It’d be impossible.’

The man wore a weary grin. ‘In the morning I’ll show you what I can do. In the meantime, go back to your beds. You best get all the rest you can. The Ladies won’t like you leaving your fire.’ He leaned in close. ‘Bad things happen to those who don’t play by their rules. Be careful lads.’

Colour seeped bac
k
into the sky. First only a faint blush on the horizon, mixing with the dark blue of the pre-dawn. It didn’t take long for the sunrise to burn off the last wisps of cloud. Jack sat watching the dawn in mute wonder. Strange, he thought, how he and his mother shared the same sky. The village of Crik seemed to belong to a different planet; a place of warmth and colour, where soft vegetation met gentle streams, unlike the harsh browns and jagged metal besieging him on all sides. Propping himself up on the crook of his arm, he gave silent thanks that Farmer Vine did not visit him again. Lying to him once had been bad enough.

With his legs crossed and his arms folded over his chest sat Yang. The shadow didn’t share Jack’s appreciation of the new day, instead Yang studied him. He turned away from his shadow.

‘How long have you been there?’ he asked, keeping Yang in the corner of his eye. ‘Haven’t you got anything better to do than to watch me sleep?’

Yang shook his head.

His demon’s intense scrutiny took all the warmth from the morning, leaving a cold lump in the pit of his stomach, where he knew the creature resided. His hand strayed to his belly. He felt skin and the muscle beneath, nothing else, no furtive shift of an arm or leg, nor the rounded crown of the demon’s head. Pushing his fingers into his flesh, he explored, waiting for some clue as to where the demon now sat. Yang, sitting in front of him, wasn’t the demon, just a manifestation of it. When Grandpa Poulis turned into a boy, the face he showed wasn’t that of his demon.

‘Why are you in here?’ he asked. ‘Why’d you pick me? Did the Giant bring you as well?’ He had so many questions. Where did they come from? Bill’s demon hatched from an egg, had something laid that egg? If so, what could lay such an egg? A monstrous hag perhaps, with folds of fat hanging from her bloated body. He no longer doubted that such a creature could live amongst the trees of Crik Wood. He knew that within its dark confines his shadow grinned at him.

Inara still slept beside him. He could hear her grinding her teeth in her sleep, and he had little doubt that in her dreams she never escaped the Marsh House. An urge to touch the hair covering her dark eyes swept through him, he leant in close, only to stop when she flinched in her sleep. Shying back, he wondered what dark memory she relived. Suddenly he realised that he had never asked her parents’ names. Not having to ponder why he hadn’t, he withdrew farther from the girl. He lived with his guilt, as surely as he lived with the knowledge of the demon inside of him. Knowing his desire to get rid of the demon, outweighed his guilt, making each stronger.

‘Stop looking at me,’ he said, exacerbated with his shadow. Yang’s immobility held the same sense of scrutiny he got when he studied his own reflection in a mirror. ‘You’re not with me in my dreams anymore,’ he said, not bothering to hide his grin. ‘I’m winning aren’t I? You know, once we leave the Wold, you won’t be able to hide anymore.’

Yang, shaking his head, got to his feet. Sweeping out his arm, he pointed to where the Myrms delivered them to the Ghost Walkers. Extending farther, the shadowed arm indicated the metal branches of the Hanging Tree that towered over smaller constructs.

Did his shadow threaten that only death would separate them? He recalled discovering how the Giant had smashed its way into Mr Hasseltope’s tomb; and then the strange drawings scrawled on its walls. Three drawings, one of a boy standing alone, a second revealed a demon and the terror-struck boy, the last showed a man with the demon perched on his shoulder. Should a fourth sketch exist, showing the body of an old man and the demon leaving the corpse to find a new host? Was that the only way he would be free of Yang?

‘Your shadow worries about the Hanging Tree.’

Turning to the gruff voice Jack looked up into Huckney’s kind face.

‘I didn’t notice your approach,’ said Jack.

‘He misses a lot.’ Bill, shifting his glasses, spoke to Huckney. ‘I bet he didn’t even notice that I wasn’t here when he woke up.’

In truth, Jack had not noticed his friend’s absence, but he refused to admit that. ‘Where have you been?’ he asked.

Bill smiled. ‘Huckney showed me what he can do. It’s amazing.’

Kneeling down Huckney took fruit from a bag he had slung over his shoulder. He laid down red and green apples, a couple of plums, an orange, and a few pears. Finally, he retrieved a sack full of water, which he passed to Jack.

Taking the offered drink Jack brought the bottle to his parched mouth. ‘Where did these come from?’ he asked, looking around at the barren wilderness around him.

‘The Ladies allowed me to keep my father’s garden. I grow my food there, and the rust which rains down across the rest of the Wold doesn’t contaminate the water,’ answered Huckney. ‘You should eat; build up your strength before the Ladies come for you.’

Reaching across, Huckney rested a huge hand on Inara’s shoulder, waking her in an instant.

Inara had barely opened her eyes before demanding Huckney’s name.

After the introduction Bill laughed. ‘Tell them what you can do.’

‘It’s easier to show,’ replied the big man.

Stretching, Inara sat up. ‘I feel as though I’ve stepped into a play that’s halfway through. You all seem to be fast friends, and all I know is your name is Huckney.’

Believing he was the only one who heard the suspicion coating Inara’s words Jack watched her closely. Being older than either he or Bill, and knowing more of the world than them gave Inara some authority amongst their group. The blacksmith seemed pleasant enough. Perhaps Inara distrusted all men after Krimble.

‘I met your friends by my fire last night,’ said Huckney. ‘They thought at first that I was a demon with huge sweeping wings.’ He tilted back his head and laughed. The laugh being both warm and infectious spread to both Jack and Bill. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said wiping away his tears. ‘I’ve been alone so long, and to be mistaken for a creature after all that time is quite amusing.’

‘It seems,’ remarked Inara, biting off each word, ‘all we meet are monsters. The Myrms are mindless brutes controlled by ghosts of dead women. Others only look human so they can manipulate us.’ Her accusatory glance at Jack stopped his giggles. Slow hurt played over his face, like a reflection of crows on a cold window. Unable to bear that look, she added, ‘I do mean Krimble.’ Her tone, which had softened to a patter, now hardened. Her distrust was a bitter taste on her tongue she had to spit out. ‘Who’s to say he’s,’ she pointed a finger at Huckney, ‘isn’t just as bad as Krimble. At least the Myrms look like monsters.’

Raising his hands, Huckney said, ‘I don’t intend on hurting any of you. We’re here all together. This is my home, that doesn’t mean I belong here. Take an apple and enjoy the morning air.’

‘The air is noxious,’ said Inara, ‘as is everything in the Wold. At least the bugs haven’t followed us to this wretched glade.’

‘Give him a break Inara,’ said Bill, adjusting his glasses. ‘You can trust Huckney. If it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t have anything to eat for breakfast. He told us that the Myrms kidnapped him and his dad and brought them to the Red Wood a long time ago.’

Picking an apple, Inara first looked at the fruit then tossed it at Jack. ‘This fruit could be a trick, like Krimble’s honeyed tea. If you trust him,’ she said to Jack, ‘if you believe the Myrms kidnapped him, take a bite.’

The apple that Jack clutched invited him to sink his teeth into its bright red skin. The water slacked his thirst, but his stomach still groaned for food.

‘Eat it Yin,’ said Bill. ‘I’ve had two already.’

‘I won’t be fooled again,’ said Inara.

Looking from Inara’s blunt stare, to Bill’s incredulous face, Jack brought the apple to his mouth. What reason had Huckney with wanting to kill them. If he wanted them dead, he had the strength to kill them. Huckney’s hammer would make a fine weapon. Inara’s suspicion of him left Huckney looking haggard. The man’s loneliness seeped into the wind at that moment, crushing Jack’s resolve.

The juice exploded into Jack’s mouth. It tasted wonderful, and to have something to finally crunch between his teeth brought a smile to his lips. Before he had time to swallow the morsel of fruit, Yang reappeared. His shadow had drifted behind Huckney, and growing big peered over the head of the large man. The apple stuck in Jack’s throat, making him cough and gasp for air.

‘You poisoned him,’ accused Inara, reaching out for Jack’s flailing arm.

‘He’s turning as red as the apple,’ said Bill, standing still.

With his windpipe blocked, Jack fought for air. Clutching at his neck, he raked his fingertips across his skin. Crazed, he looked around for help, but all he saw was the world grown dark. Did Yang come for him? Was his shadow going to be his death shroud? His stomach clenched. Knowing he was about to die, the demon sought to escape. The Narmacil wrapped itself around his abdomen, pulling his muscles tight. Yang warned him death would be the only way he would be free. The pain in his stomach climbed higher, settling in under his ribs. The apple clogging his airway drifted to the back of his mind as he felt the demon rising up his body. He gave a jerk and the apple shot from his mouth. Gasping, he sucked in the morning air, letting it fill his lungs. Coughing weakly, he felt the pressure the demon had exerted ease.

‘That’s it boy, breath in. The apple is on the ground now, your throat is clear.’

Jack, recognising Huckney’s voice twisted around to see the blacksmith behind him. Looking down he gasped as Huckney’s arms began to loosen their embrace.

‘You tried to kill him.’

‘I saved the boy’s life.’

Only half listening to Inara’s and Huckney’s exchange Jack looked for Yang. His shadow, having drifted from where it had resided, now stood far off looking toward to the Hanging Tree. Jack had felt certain the tightening bands around his body were the struggles from the demon within him.

‘Look.’ Huckney marched over to where Jack had dropped the apple. ‘If this apple were poison, would I take a bite?’ Sinking his teeth into the red fruit, he chewed and swallowed. ‘Your talk of poison scared him half to death. No wonder he choked.’

‘Thanks for helping him,’ Inara said, grudgingly.

‘Don’t be so quick to judge,’ said Huckney. ‘There’re those here that lay down too much judgement already.’

Looking embarrassed, Bill stepped forward to pat Jack’s shoulder. ‘You ok now Yin?’

‘Don’t call me that,’ said Jack throwing off Bill’s arm.

Bill shrugged. ‘Now that we all know you aren’t trying to kill us, how about you show them what you can do Huckney?’

Huckney wore woollen green trousers with many deep pockets. He put a hand into one of them and withdrew a small lump of tin. The smooth round metal sat in his palm like a river tossed pebble. From another pocket, the blacksmith retrieved a book, which had a small hammer wedged between its pages.

‘He can read, I didn’t expect that,’ said Inara, chewing her lip.

‘This book hasn’t got any words,’ said the blacksmith. He opened the book to the page the hammer bookmarked. Tipping the leather bound cover; he showed them all an exquisite pencilled drawing of a field mouse. Every drawn hair leapt from the page. It would be easy to imagine the tiny ears listening to them from the sheaf of paper.

‘My apologies, your Narmacil is an artist,’ carried on Inara, pushing herself forward to study the drawing.

‘I suppose that’s true,’ replied Huckney.

Setting the drawing down, Huckney took his hammer and started working the lump of tin. Jack watched in amazement as the blacksmith’s large calloused hands moved around the metal with practiced ease. The tap of the hammer on the metal tickled his ears. Gradually the round tin began to flatten. It no longer appeared like a pebble, it now resembled a slipper. Again, the hammer went to work, denting the metal like a master baker kneading dough into a loaf of bread.

Bill, watching even more eagerly than Jack and Inara, clapped his hands. ‘Look he’s working on the head now. I can see it taking shape.’

Jack had to agree. Deft touches transformed the metal in swift stages. With a hard to follow rapidness, from the tin emerged the head of a mouse. The back end of the tool curved down to a point. Spinning the hammer around Huckney used the fine tip of the instrument to start laying on the detail. First, he tackled the hair on the head of the rodent, carving individual strands as shown in the drawing. Before forming the eyes, he tapered the end of the metal so that it resembled the nose and whiskers on the fluttering page. Once done with the round eyes Huckney carved out the mouth. After pulling the lips back from two large incisors, the mouse, coming to life, snapped the air in irritation. ‘Hurry up and finish me,’ it cried.