Crik (28 page)

Falling back in shock, Jack knocked into the amazed Inara who sat behind him.

‘Isn’t it incredible,’ said Bill.

‘Of course I’m incredible, I’m me. The marvellous mouse trapped in a slab of metal. Look and stare at my lumpy behind, and wonder, will I ever be finished?’ said the mouse, twitching its nose.

‘Be patient or you’ll remain as you are,’ warned Huckney.

‘If you were quicker, I wouldn’t have reason to be impatient,’ said the mouse.

As the mouse complained, Huckney continued to groove hair, and shape muscle on the rodent’s body.

‘It’s alive, but it’s metal,’ said Jack.

‘So was Herm,’ pointed out Bill.

‘Careful, that tickles,’ said the mouse, as the blacksmith’s tool shaped its feet. Flexing its new toes the mouse said, ‘it’s good to stretch after being cooped up for so long.’

The smooth tin gave way to individual hair and limbs. With ease, Huckney brought the rest of the mouse into being. ‘Stop moving your legs or I’ll drop you,’ said Huckney.

‘Can you blame me for wanting to run? I’ve been sitting in your pocket for days already.’

‘If I didn’t pull you from the slag of tin you’d still be there now, so be quiet until I’ve done your tail.’

‘I don’t want a tail, it’ll catch on things,’ complained the mouse. ‘Why would I want a tail?’

‘The book shows you having a tail, so I will give you a tail,’ replied Huckney.

‘If the drawing had butterfly wings on my back you’d put those on me too, wouldn’t you?’ moaned the mouse.

‘I’ve never seen a real mouse,’ said Huckney. ‘So if the book tells me you had wings then you’d be flapping them by now.’

‘I’m grateful you haven’t given me a trunk instead of a nose then,’ replied the mouse, twisting in Huckney’s lap as the blacksmith put his hand into another pocket.

Watching the blacksmith talking with the argumentative mouse, turned Jack’s thoughts to home and all the Talents in the Village. The carpenter’s son Holst, who could hear the trees speak, and who eventually went mad from the screams the wood made as his father cut them with his saw. His mother told him of a girl who could fill an empty bucket with water by just looking at it. Grandpa Poulis had also mentioned the girl, and how after losing her baby she had flooded the Tristle River with her tears. How many demons were there? He wondered whether for every person there was a demon waiting to jump inside.

‘You’ve given me a gold tail!’ shouted the mouse, flicking the golden appendage around its round body. ‘I’m tin, not gold.’

‘I thought it would look nice,’ said Huckney.

Bill nodded in enthusiasm. ‘It does,’ he said. ‘Why just be ordinary when you can have a tail that glimmers in the morning sun? Instead of Tin Mouse, everyone will know you as Gold Tail. I know which one I’d prefer.’

Gold Tail closed one eye before addressing Bill. ‘That’s original,’ said the mouse. ‘Should I call you Spectacle Boy, or Chubby Boy? Are we all named after how we look?’

‘Well no,’ said Bill, taken aback by the mouse. ‘I thought it’d be a nice name.’

‘Oh, you do think before speaking then,’ said Gold Tail, now sitting on its haunches to shout up at Bill. ‘I guess being called Gold Tail is the best I’m going to get. If I left it to this buffoon,’ it pointed one tin paw up at Huckney, ‘I’d probably get stuck with everyone calling me Mouse.’

Huckney smiled. ‘I was thinking Grumpy would be a good fit.’

‘I’m not grumpy,’ said Gold Tail, ‘just observant.’ The mouse twitched its whiskers and turning its head toward the Hanging Tree said, ‘Being sharp-eyed I know when it’s time for me to leave. You’ve got some visitors, and I don’t want to be around when they arrive.’ Gold Tail climbed up Huckney’s arm and then down the blacksmith’s leg before running off. With a last flash of gold, the mouse disappeared.

In front of where Yang stood approached three figures. One crouched, walking toward them in a perpetual bow. The lead, a hulk of muscle, brushed the rough ground with its knuckles. Wisps of fabric, or perhaps smoke, followed; at its core burned a cold light.

Jack recognised th
e
chieftain Raglor, First Fist of the Feylr Clan. Overlapping bronze plates crashed together as the Myrm marched up the hill. The clamour that reached them sounded like kettles hit with thousands of spoons. Only its powerful biceps lay free of the encumbering armour. An ornate helm, resembling a stag, complete with a rack of antlers, made the chieftain even more impressive. Raglor, and then Krimble, gave Yang a wide berth. Raglor grunted when he passed the shadow, and turned to keep Yang in sight. Kyla, drifting behind the pair, no longer shone, her ghostly appearance had grown dull and grey, like ash falling from a dirty chimney. At her approach, Yang shrank to Jack’s side, coming to a halt to face the morning sun.

‘Kyla’s full of anger,’ cautioned Huckney, ‘be careful what you say. The least thing will cause her insult.’

Wiping his misted glasses, Bill said, ‘We know, we’ve already met her. We’d be rotting from the highest branch of the Hanging Tree, if it weren’t for Justice.’

Huckney nodded.

Inara gritted her teeth. ‘I could make Krimble eat his own hand.’

‘You would only upset the Ghost Walker,’ said Jack.

‘I think you should give it a try.’ Bill’s hands balled into fists.

‘It seems Krimble has found himself a circle of friends, best not antagonise them until we know what they want,’ said Jack. Inara gave him an ever-suffering look. Perhaps she was joking, but he didn’t want to take that chance.

The Ghost Walker arrested Jack’s attention. Flowers would wilt with her passing, his tremulous thought sighed. His mother would call Kyla a handsome woman, not pretty, but not unattractive. If her hard lined mouth softened, and her brow relaxed, she would be someone who would engender trust and comfort. Recognising what could have been, unsettled and saddened him. Had she lived, would she have had a family? Perhaps her grandson would now be his friend. Imagining a life without Bill brought sharp anxiety to his quickening pulse. A possibility if the village had known about Grandma Poulis’s secret. Would Mr Gasthem have led the village to the Hanging Tree to see her swing from the hangman’s noose? Mr Dash, the grave keeper, would then bury her in an unmarked grave with the other Ghost Walkers. Rushing into his mind came a vision too horrid to hold back. Grandma Poulis’s rotted body peeking through the rain washed mud, watching him from blind white eyes. He tried to turn from what his mind conjured, but instead it tightened its focus. ‘Look what you’ve done to my rosebush,’ she screamed. Her clawing fingers churned the black stems and crushed the petals of her flowers into mush as she lifted herself from the rosebush that now served as her grave.

‘Yin, are you okay?’

‘I’m fine,’ said Jack, grateful Bill couldn’t share his nightmarish vision.

Raglor stood close enough to block out the sun, and for its musty odour to reach them. In the Myrm’s wake came Krimble. The zombie had decayed further, he now showed more bone than skin, and the tendons standing out on his neck were like frayed rope about to snap.

‘I have come for the seeds,’ Kyla said, coming to a stop. She looked at Huckney with expectation.

‘Justice wanted five silver Oaks and seven gold Maple trees for the Mere of Ashes.’ Huckney delved into his pouch.

The Ghost Walker frowned, withholding more of her light. ‘She wants them to grow faster. The trees you gave a few months back are still only saplings.’

The blacksmith produced five silver acorns and golden twin-winged maple seeds. ‘The soil is poor, and trees take time to grow. I’ve also created ten River Birches. They’ll grow quicker than the bigger trees and the copper leaves will bring the lake to life.’

‘Justice didn’t ask for River Birches,’ snapped Kyla. ‘Nor did she request Willow seeds when I came here last. We’re making our Wold, and you’ll do as we command. Your father listened to us. It would be wise for you to follow his example.’

Huckney’s jaw hardened, until his muscle revealed itself as a ball through his cheek. ‘Although a great blacksmith, my father could not create an entire wood by himself. Your precious Hanging Tree took him months to create. A solitary Oak or Redwood would keep him working for days at a time. With my seeds, I am sowing the Wold with shrubs and towering giants that don’t rust like the first trees my father created. Here take them,’ he pushed the hand holding the nuts and seeds toward the Ghost Walker.

‘Give them to the Myrm,’ said Kyla.

Standing so close to one another, Jack saw with surprise that Huckney’s wiry muscles and dominant height overshadowed the more heavily muscled Myrm chieftain. The delicately carved acorns and the other seeds had every detail Jack would expect to see on a real acorn littering the floor of Crik Wood. They tinkled as Huckney dropped them into Raglor’s gauntlet.

‘We know about your gift.’ Kyla addressed Inara. ‘It is an extraordinary Talent. Though I feel your friend, doesn’t appreciate it as much as he once did.’

‘I’m no friend of the bitch,’ said Krimble.

‘Your rotted tongue hasn’t improved your manners,’ observed Bill.

‘Nor my tolerance of you boy,’ said Krimble, glowering.

‘Enough of your petty squabbles,’ said Kyla. ‘Each of you has abilities that will serve us well. As long as you prove yourself useful, Justice will not allow me to show you the view from the topmost branch of the Hanging Tree.’

‘What use is my ability to you?’ asked Inara. ‘I can only control one dead thing at a time. And I will not relinquish my hold over Krimble.’

Krimble cackled. ‘You forget I can talk to your Narmacil,’ he said. ‘It tells me things. I told you when you were my guest that you were wasting your Talent. Still you believe you have limitations, that you have everything figured out.’ The grey gums of the zombie showed as it grinned. ‘I would have served you so much better than this cripple. Boy,’ his hate filled gaze swept to Jack, ‘you still believe you just have a shadow. A scheming conniving shadow, which double crosses those who only wanted to help. You know nothing of what it, you, are capable of.’

For now, Yang remained fixed, like every other shadow obeying the rules laid down by the sun. Always suspicious of his shadow, Jack kept one eye on Yang. Experience had taught him that Yang rarely stayed quiet for long. Kyla would end up disappointed if she wanted to control Yang through him. He tried for years to stop Yang from doing things that got him into trouble. The demon controlled his shadow; he didn’t have a hand in Yang’s actions. Krimble’s implication, that Yang had more surprises, confused and scared him. What else was the demon capable of?

‘Krimble has agreed to talk to your Narmacils, to help them become stronger,’ said Kyla. ‘By accepting his tutelage you will grow, and possibly prove your worth.’ Her sneer left no doubt about her own misgivings.

Inara spat. ‘He doesn’t want to help you. Krimble only wants to control our Narmacils for his own end. If you let him speak to them, that will happen. I’ve seen him lie and seduce the Children of the Wood. He will corrupt them, make them bend to his will until they become as wicked as he is.’

Colour first blossomed across the Ghost Walker’s grey lips, and then spread a strong amber glow. ‘I don’t care what he is, or wants.’ Colour swept down her body burning away the shroud she wore into a dress of light. ‘Obey and you won’t see how the Wold looks from atop the Great Tree. You will remain here with the blacksmith and share his fruit. Disobey, or fight Krimble, and you will answer to me.’ Her colour at once disappeared, transforming the floating dress back into dirty smoke. ‘The choice is that simple. Allow Krimble to die and you will all follow him.’ An expression of pure hatred flitted across her features.

When she turned to the Hanging Tree, Jack expelled the breath he had held since her final threat. Raglor, clutching the precious seeds to his chest, followed her, leaving the group staring at Krimble.

‘Shall we start?’ said Krimble.

‘You’re lucky Inara doesn’t make you impale yourself on a rusted spike,’ said Bill, shifting his glasses, more out of anger than need. ‘She could have you do it.’

Krimble shook his head. ‘No she couldn’t. Not unless she wants you and your friend to suffer at Kyla’s hand. I’m quite safe from her petty torments.’ Darkness showed behind the zombie’s cracked lips. ‘Besides, she knows she lacks my imagination. Do you recall my dear,’ he said to Inara, ‘how I punished poor Mr Thunnel for trying to escape?’

‘He’s dead, you can’t harm him anymore.’

‘Quite right,’ agreed Krimble. ‘It’s a story to make these young lads leave their breakfast though isn’t it? Let’s just say it’s incredibly hard to run without your toes.’

‘You made him eat them.’ Inara’s eyes were pools of tar.

Krimble smiled. ‘It was his choice.’

‘You starved him for days, and then brought his toes back to him on a plate.’

‘Smothered in gravy.’

‘How’re you going to train us?’ asked Bill, shuffling his feet.

‘I’m not training you,’ said Krimble with a sneer. ‘Your Narmacils are what’s important. Your selfishness has locked them away for too long.’ Smiling at Inara, he said, ‘The Children of the Wood need their teacher. Kyla recognised my intentions, and though motivated by greed, at least she can see that I only wish to help the poor Narmacils. Now let’s begin.’

The zombie walked closer to where Inara sat on the rough ground. ‘There’s something you may not be aware of my dear,’ he said. ‘The Wold is one huge graveyard. The Myrms not only destroyed the trees, they destroyed the homes of thousands of animals. Badgers could no longer use the roots of the trees to shelter from the rain and sleet. Worms died as the metal replacing the roots poisoned the ground. Without the worms, the birds fell hungry from the sky. The fox and wolf held prisoner behind the Hedge Wall lay down and starved like poor Mr Thunnel. They all rot beneath our feet. Your Narmacil can sense them. Not two feet in front of you lays a stag buried under the red dirt. Reach out and touch the ground girl.’

‘I’m not going to listen to you,’ said Inara. ‘I didn’t do what you wanted in the Marsh House, and this new prison will be no different.’

‘Then you risk the lives of your new friends,’ said Krimble. ‘Or do you think the blacksmith will help you?’

Huckney, stepping forward, snatched Krimble’s rotted shoulders and lifted him from the ground. ‘The Ladies need me,’ he said. ‘You can’t threaten me. I could crush your body and use my hammer to powder your bones.’

Krimble laughed. ‘You are a powerful man. I know you can easily do what you say, but think. Were you to do that, could you then protect the children? Kyla would order the Myrms to grind them all into paste. If you could stand up to her, you would’ve escaped the Red Wood a long time ago. And your father would now be alive, and not just a pile of bones feeding your apple tree.’

‘The Ladies are fickle, and their affection dies fast,’ said Huckney, bringing Krimble closer to his face. ‘When they tire of your stench, I’ll be here, waiting to carry on this conversation. Be careful how you treat the children, if I hear anything I don’t like, I’ll be back with my hammer.’ He dropped Krimble.

Jack watched as the blacksmith stomped away. All they needed was for the wolves to turn up and the old gang would be complete.

‘Now that the lummox has gone we can carry on,’ said Krimble, climbing to his feet. ‘The stag is before you, reach out and touch it, it won’t bite.’

‘What do you mean reach out and touch it?’

‘Not you girl,’ Krimble told Inara. ‘I speak to one more important than you. Feel the contours of the bones. Remnants of sinew and flesh wrapping its frame still have life. Listen to its last moments. The stag is trying to tell you its story, to let you know it’s here for you.’

‘Do you feel anything Inara?’ asked Bill.

The girl turned to him. ‘It’s strange; I know there’s something in the ground. It’s like a muffled drum, or the lapping of water at the shore of a lake. Whatever I’m sensing it’s not just in front of me, it’s beating at my back as well as my sides. I’ve never felt anything like this.’

She looked scared. Jack could see her pulse fluttering in her neck. Whatever Krimble attempted was working. A desire to go to her, and put his hand on her shoulder overcame him. He didn’t. Before she could accept his help, she needed to understand what happened within her.

‘Focus, I know all this is new to you,’ said Krimble. ‘If you came to me when I asked, I would’ve revealed your potential a long time ago. Listen to the beating of the Stag’s decayed heart. You can still hear it if you are quiet enough. There, it’s faint and can still falter and stop if you don’t get a hold of it. Don’t let it go. Demand it to get stronger. You are its master.’