Crik (40 page)

The first thin
g
to annoy Jack was having the demon with them. The second was that the demon seemed fond of him. The bouncing cat, with its snake-like hair, had refused to leave his side since departing the falls. The cat’s exuberance left him cold and sick. He wished the demon would aggravate someone else. Irritating him almost as much as the demon’s affection was the smile fixed on Inara’s lips. Sat atop Black she towered over him, with Bill taking up the rear. Cruel black teeth extended from the demon’s quivering lips. One bite from those powerful jaws would snap his bones as easily as a stick would break rhubarb.

The mountain rising above the trees made their direction easy, though the bracken they fought through was hell-bent on trying to stop them from reaching it. Jack beat the brush aside with a long stick, clearing the worst obstacles from his path. Roping vines and twisted reeds ensnared his feet at every step. To combat the underbrush, he noticed the demon constantly changed the cat’s paws into different shapes. Stilted legs picked through nests of thorns. Tackling low hanging branches, the demon transformed its legs into crab-like claws that scrambled under such obstruction. He was almost glad that Bill had a harder time picking his way through the woods than he did.

‘I haven’t seen any sign of the Giant passing through here,’ said Inara.

‘Good,’ replied Jack. ‘We know which way we have to go. Hopefully,’ he added, ‘the Giant struck off somewhere else.’

‘Unless he returned to the falls to find the Narmacil, and is now following our footsteps,’ said Bill.

Great, something else to worry about. ‘We’ll get through the trees soon,’ said Jack, pulling his foot from a muddy puddle.

Trudging on for a further hour, Jack constantly cast his eyes back, afraid that he would spy the Giant lumbering up behind them. Again, he cursed Bill for planting the idea into his head.

‘I’m exhausted,’ said Bill.

‘There weren’t any tracks marked on the map this close to the falls,’ said Inara. ‘I’m afraid we’ll have to battle through until we reach the lake.’

Jack had forgotten about the large body of water he had seen from atop the Hedge Wall. The Giant had drawn it, making the lake appear as a moth splashed on the rock just above the falls. He would worry how they would get across the lake when they reached its shore.

‘How’re we going to cross the lake?’ asked Bill.

Wonderful, thought Jack. His friend struggled through the mud behind him. ‘We’ve got difficulties already, without thinking ahead to anymore.’

‘You can’t swim Yin,’ said Bill. ‘I suppose Black can carry us across, one at a time.’

Inara shook her head. ‘We aren’t talking about a small pond. Black doesn’t have the strength to carry us across. Jack’s right, we can’t worry about every obstacle ahead of us, we must focus on where we are.’

‘If you say so,’ said Bill. ‘Only, we haven’t got any tools to make a boat.’

‘Bill,’ cried Jack and Inara together.

The demon beside Jack began to bubble and shrink before his eyes.

‘What’s it doing,’ said Jack, taking a step from the demon.

Looking at the Narmacil from atop Black, Inara said, ‘It’s changing shape.’

‘Into what?’ wondered Jack.

The demon shrank to the height of Jack’s knee. Its mane disappeared, as did the cat’s large fangs and razor sharp claws. The demon’s hind legs grew powerful; with a low joint bending the leg back in on itself. Small bristles appeared along the length of the legs. Overlapping plates along its elongated body reminded Jack of the Myrm’s armour. Golden eyes watched from an alien head; two short antennae struck out from its brow.

‘What is it?’ said Jack. He didn’t try to disguise his disgust at the form the demon chose. ‘Do you think its preparing to attack?’

‘Don’t be silly; if the Narmacil wanted to attack us, why change from the cat?’ said Inara.

‘Look at its square head,’ said Bill, moving in closer. ‘It’s weird.’

Rubbing its hind legs together, the Narmacil emitted a rasping sound.

‘It’s calling out to the Giant,’ cried Jack.

Twitching, the Narmacil leapt high into the sky. It bounded again, to disappear into a hedge with blue leaves. They waited in stunned silence, and then they heard the Narmacil rub its legs together from within the bush.

‘It’s a grasshopper,’ said Bill, clapping his hands.

Around them, they heard a sea of singing, crackling from within the tall grass. The grasshoppers hidden around them, answered the demon, reinforcing Bill’s recognition of its chosen form.

‘I think Yang wants to play with his new friend,’ said Inara. Yang taking the form of a giant ant scurried into the brush after the Narmacil. ‘It’s good to see him happy.’

Jack knew Inara was attempting to goad him into arguing with her. It seemed she wanted to defend the demons at every turn. Let her, it wouldn’t be too long now until this whole adventure came to an end. A duck broke from hiding with a flap of its wings, breaking his train of thought. The demon leaped after the duck, chasing it with Yang in tow.

‘Those two are like children,’ said Inara, watching the grasshopper and the ant. ‘They like to play all the time.’

‘Well their play is making a racket,’ said Jack. ‘It’s not only the Wood Giant we have to worry about. This is a dangerous place. We escaped a pack of wolves once already; I don’t fancy trying it a second time. What if they wake a bear,’ he added, seeing Yang crash into a tree.

‘There’re always what ifs, with you,’ said Inara. ‘Let them play. We’ve been dragging ourselves through the woods for hours. We daren’t speak, in case we stir some unknown thing from cover. Well I’ve had enough. Bill,’ she said, turning around to see Bill tripping over a looping vine, ‘why don’t you tell us one of your grandfather’s tales. It will cheer me up.’

‘A story, here, now?’ said Bill.

‘Why not,’ said Inara. ‘It may lift our mood.’

‘I’ll give it a go,’ said Bill. ‘Though I’m not the storyteller my grandfather is.’

‘Just tell the story,’ said Inara, her patience exhausted.

‘Okay,’ said Bill. ‘Here goes.

‘There was a boy, all skinny and fair,

Not like the other boys, who always gave him a glare.

For the hunters and sportsman, would often swear,

What use was the boy with the mop of fair hair?

There was a bear, big and strong,

Who would often do wrong.

He wore his winter’s coat, grown grizzled and long,

Back in his cave he slept where he belonged.

Hunters and sportsmen teased the boy, all skinny and fair.

He couldn’t run fast, against them he hadn’t a prayer.

He gleaned, from what he could read,

How best to win a measure of their esteem.

Everybody is scared of the big, mean bear,

Not our boy, who slipped away without a care.

With whistle and sling he only carried,

To the cave, to see the big, mean bear.

The bear’s snores made the cave rumble,

From without it seemed the rock would crumble.

In crept the boy, taking care where he tread,

and then the cave echoed to his whistle instead.

A terrible roar,

Magnificent and raw,

Awoke with the terrible bear.

A boy entering his cave was rare.

The bear sought to scare,

With his terrible, stare.

For the boy with the fair hair,

Didn’t belong in the bear’s lair.

With a scamper and jump,

The skinny, fair boy fled,

To the village he led,

The terrible mean bear.

The huntsmen hid,

The sportsmen fled,

From the terrible bear,

The young fair boy led.

From his book,

The young fair-haired boy read,

The bear had a soft head,

He smiled, for this he had read.

He swung, overhead,

A fistful of stone,

Which when sped,

Struck the bear on his soft head.

With a moan and groan,

the big mean bear,

All ten feet tall,

Fell with a stone imbedded in his head.

With the bear put abed,

The huntsman and sportsmen, filled with dread,

Weary of the boy, all skinny and fair,

And what he had read.

‘Told you, it wasn’t any good,’ said Bill, looking embarrassed.

‘I thought I knew all your grandfather’s tales and poems,’ said Jack. ‘I never heard that one.’

Bill, looking even more uncomfortable, said, ‘It’s not one of my grandfather’s. I made it up. I’ve done some more, and I’m afraid they’re all just as bad.’

‘I thought it was fantastic,’ said Inara. ‘Brain over brawn, every time.’

Inara’s smile was so infectious the two boys joined her. Jack was enjoying the feel of the smile on his lips; he couldn’t recall the last time he had something to smile about, when a cry from beyond the hedge cut his mood short.

‘The demon attacked someone,’ said Jack.

‘The cry came from over there,’ said Inara, pointing toward a bush that stood away from the Narmacil and Yang. ‘Whatever made it, sounded human.’

‘It could be a trap,’ said Jack. ‘Laying bait, the same as a hunter would do to get his kill.’ He strained to hear anymore sound from beyond the line of bushes. He thought he heard a muffled cry. The wind rattled the leaves on the bush, making it look for a moment as though someone, or something, fought their way through. Yang headed toward the plant, curious as ever to see what lay beyond the green screen.

‘I don’t want my shadow to stir up anymore trouble,’ said Jack, moving toward the hedge himself. ‘I think we’d best see what made that cry, someone could be hurt.’

Without another word, the trio moved forward, with Inara, having dismounted Black, using her arms to pull herself across the uneven ground. Mud sucked at their knees, and the grass tickled their faces. Each one listened for any sound. A creak, as though from tortured wood, intruded the hushed silence as they approached. The groan of wood repeated, as Jack, with a wavering hand, pulled the covering foliage aside to see a wagon resting on the shore of a large lake.

Flaking paint covered the four wheels of the wagon; one wheel had a thin coat of yellow, another red, the third blue, and the fourth wheel had a faded layer of green paint, with long strips missing to reveal the cracked wood beneath. All four colours covered the wagon. Two round windows peered out from its side like two holes cut into a scary mask.

A wiry man, wearing what would have once been a bright shirt, yet was now as faded as the wagon wheels, whittled away at a wood figure in his lap. Working quickly he shaped a small figurine of a girl; her upraised arms locked in a dance pose. The small knife, the man held between forefinger and thumb, cut the cheeks and carved a smile on the face of the little figure. Before the man stood a woman, with thick black hair tied into braids. She wore a yellow skirt, with a red sash around her waist, and a second scarf, draped over her arms.

‘Ajenda,’ said the wiry man. ‘I have made you this figurine, to give to your daughter.’

‘Jess is our daughter,’ said Ajenda, looking to the wagon with an arched eye. ‘You may not like having one. Perhaps you’re still feeling the sting of me giving birth to a girl, and not the boy you so desperately wanted.’

Yang pointed, and the three cowering within the cover of the foliage saw a young girl with a tear streaked face cowering under the wagon.

‘It’s not the disappointment of having a daughter that troubles me,’ said the man, finishing the wooden figure by separating the fingers on the upraised hands.