Feynard (28 page)

And the Unicorn drifted off to crop a tasty-looking tuft of grass. But he declared it Blighted, and moved on.

Kevin tried to create a tiny reading light, as Zephyr had shown him. “Pesky thing,” he muttered after a while, extinguishing it for the twentieth time.

“I’ll ask Zephyr for you,” said Alliathiune, ruffling his curls as she passed by unexpectedly.

Much later, the outlander fell asleep with a smile still fixed to his lips.

*  *  *  *

Dawn found the company hot on the trail leading to Elliadora’s Well. Neither Zephyr nor Alliathiune had been able to sleep because of the excitement, and their bickering soon roused the rest of the company. Presently, to the melodious accompaniment of a cheerful flock of lime-green parakeets, they were negotiating the steepest slopes yet, making for a ridge that Zephyr insisted was the Well itself. Here the Barlindran flung itself headlong over a series of rocky steps, which made the waters roar and foam in spectacular turbulence.

In the distance,
Kevin saw another river cascading down from the heights, which his limited knowledge of the local geography placed as the Rhiallandran. Somewhere, hidden from sight about that central massif, he assumed, must lie the headwaters of the other five major rivers of this region. But they stuck to the banks of the Barlindran River, and travelled for the most part in silence, even reverence. For some innate quality of their surroundings bespoke the ancient and the awesome, and the beauty of the soft, rolling Forest behind and the magnificent waterfalls before fair took one’s breath away. And soon, coming to the thousand-foot plume that marked the Barlindran’s tumultuous plunge from the Well’s heights, they crossed behind the flow by a natural pathway to a grassy meadow beyond, which lay between the two rivers like a bird nestled amongst branches. In the middle distance a perfect circle of seven majestic trees dominated the meadow. Deep-rooted they were in the sward, deep and primeval and strong, and the branches of their crowns stretched as if in praise to the heavens above.

Kevin craned his neck. Why, those trees were seven or eight hundred feet tall if they were an inch! It had to be magic. Seven they were, but about two-thirds of the way up their soaring height the
branches intertwined, giving rise to a single, almighty crown.

At this sight, Alliathiune knelt and kissed the grass. Tears ran down her nose and streaked her cheeks, but she gave them no heed. “We have arrived,” she said simply. “This is the Sacred
Grove of the Dryads, our most holy place. And these trees are the Elliarana, the very spirit of Elliadora herself, planted at the very dawn of the Forest. This is my dream come true.”

Laughing in childlike abandon, she began to dance upon the sward, her long hair rippling like blown silk with every joyous toss of her head and twirl of her body. Finally, chuckling and panting from breathlessness and elation, she collapsed in a heap amongst the snowdrops and wildflowers and giggled at the sky. Zephyr clucked disapprovingly under his breath,
clearly feeling that there was little time to waste on such frivolous behaviour when the fate of the Forest was at stake. Snatcher sat on the ground and picked a burr out from between his toes.

“Look, Zephyr,” said
Kevin, pointing. “Steps leading upwards–and an archway. Is that the way to the Well itself?”

“That, good outlander, is the fabled Arch of Driadorn,” said the Unicorn, in a bored monotone. “The chronicles tell of how blessed Elliadora, Firstborn of the Magi, came to Feynard in the wake of a great catastrophe–a devastating war of the Gods which blasted and poisoned the land so severely that no green thing would grow, nor bird would nest, nor animal burrow. Having planted and tended the seeds that would become the Forest, she did contrive to raise the waters of the seven rivers to nourish what she had planted
. And she built the arch to symbolise the perfection of harmony between the skies above and the land beneath, and to symbolically guard the entry to Elliadora’s Well itself. It is said that once upon a time the Dragons did guard this arch with their fiery breath and great magic, but those lighttimes long precede the ambit of mortal memory. Too, there is a legend amongst Dryads,” and the Unicorn lowered his voice so that Kevin alone could hear him, “that there beneath the Arch of Driadorn Elliadora lay with her lover Indomalion, and in the mingling of their seed gave naissance to the race of Dryads.”

“Indomalion of the secondary sun?”
Kevin whispered.

“One and the same. Beneath the arch, legend has it, is the only place in all the Forest, and indeed all Feynard, where a Dryad may mate with mortal man.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. How do they … reproduce?”

Zephyr shook his mane soberly. “
Another Dryad secret, good Kevin. Many are their secrets! I do wonder if this tale of the Arch of Driadorn is merely another myth.”

“The Well itself was the pinnacle of Elliadora’s creative work, and also the place where she spilled her life in defence of the Hills. For in those
lighttimes, mighty were the gods that dwelled in the cold places between the stars, and foremost amongst their brethren was Kruall, also called Kruall the Covetous. Kruall was half-brother to Elliadora, but was born with none of the graces that marked his siblings. He was surpassingly beautiful to look upon, but ugly and twisted inside. Whatever they had, he lusted after, and whatever was precious to them he craved more than life itself. Scheming and whining and conniving marked his younger years, and he enjoyed nothing more than to spoil the plans and pleasures of his siblings and half-siblings. Thus it was that when he laid his greedy eyes upon the flowering splendour of Driadorn and remembered how he had incited its wizards to war, Kruall was moved to a furious rage. He swept down upon the Hills in the full panoply of his majestic wrath. Striking the land a dreadful blow, he opened the Küshar Ravine, broke the back of the
Yalkê-na-Têk
ridge, and spilled Mistral Bog into what had before been the lush lowlands of
Tanmêra-Loymê
. From there he came to the Well, where he fought with Elliadora a mighty and dreadful battle, which grievously wounded them both. As Kruall retreated to lick his wounds, Elliadora was borne by the Dryads to that place where now stands the Sacred Grove, and there in the arms of Indomalion, her beloved, she did perish. It is said that in the instant of death, her spirit infused those seven trees. The Dryads say you can hear her still, if you stand in the centre of the Grove.”

Kevin
sighed. “It’s a tragic tale. But, what happened to Indomalion and Kruall?”

“Indomalion,” said he, “did pursue Kruall to the edge of the Rhiallandran River, where he slew him like a wretched dog and cast him into the waters to be devoured by the fish that swim and the crabs that scuttle. Though many were the
lighttimes Indomalion lived upon the Hills, and mighty were the works of love and justice wrought by his right hand, yet always did Indomalion return to this place to grieve for his lost love. They say also that the flowers on this meadow are the tears of Indomalion scattered in the seasons of his grief.”

Akê-Akê gave a derisive snort. “One would expect such a tale of the Dryads.”

“What sort of tale?” Alliathiune inquired, in dangerously honeyed tones.

“I was telling
Kevin the tale of Elliadora and Indomalion,” said Zephyr, spotting trouble at once. “We should move on, while this lighttime is yet young.”

And
Alliathiune and Akê-Akê flew into an argument.

Sna
tcher rolled his eyes at Kevin, and ushered him away with a heavy paw laid upon his shoulder. “Mark not their heated words,” said he. “When so much hot air passes between these folk, they forget what has been said not a turn later.”

Kevin
smiled wanly, grateful for the Lurk’s understanding. “I just hate arguments,” he said. “Father used to shout when he got drunk. And the shouting always led to a beating. It twists me up inside–even now.”

“You’ve
nought to fear from our companions,” said Snatcher, giving them a backward glance. “Even our allegedly primitive Faun has become remarkably tame around you.”

“If you say so, Snatcher.”

“Come, we shall be first to the Well.”

They passed between the pillars of that perfect white arch–constructed of marble and magic, the Lurk told him–and set boots and paws respectively to the hewn-stone steps. The sounds of argument faded behind them. Soon,
Kevin was able to peek fearfully down at the Sacred Grove, which from his modest elevation revealed a white circle in the precise centre of the heptagon formed by the trees, and when he pointed it out, the Lurk explained that its origin was lost in the mists of time, but that the Dryads had once placed upon it their tribute to Elliadora. There were two places where the magic of the Forest was most concentrated, he added–the waters of Elliadora’s Well itself, and down there between the trees of the Grove. As Kevin peeked again, keeping his hands and back firmly against bare rock and willing down a sudden lurch of vertigo, he saw Zephyr, Akê-Akê and Alliathiune following with several of the X’gäthi in tow, and two of their number standing guard in the shadows of the Arch of Driadorn. From halfway up, they appeared as tiny insects, save the distinctive Unicorn. Consternation showed in their movements and pointing–did they perceive some danger? He was about to warn Snatcher, when his mouth dropped open. Zephyr was
levitating
his group up the side of the mountain!

Kevin
’s face turned crimson with chagrin. Even the Lurk blinked several times, startled by the Unicorn’s unexpected display of power. Then, what could only be a mischievous grin split his gnarled face from ear to ear.

“Come,” said he, reaching out to the Human. “If our stuck-in-the-mud friend wants to show off, then we’ll give him what he wants. How’s about a race?”

“How does one–oh, my goodness …” This was as the Lurk lifted him off the ground. “Oh dear! Snatcher, are you sure …
heeeeeeelp!
” His cry echoed amongst the crags as the great thews of Snatcher’s thighs twanged, springing him into action like a champion sprinter surging out of the blocks, every fibre and muscle focussed on the outmost output of power to accelerate his body up the mountain path. Once in his early years, Kevin remembered riding a fast elevator in an office tower somewhere in London. They had been visiting Father at his place of work–a surprise that earned Mother a black eye that same evening. But oh–he didn’t know which was worse, the sickness or the exhilaration of wind rushing in his hair. He closed his eyes and hung on for dear life, profoundly grateful for having skipped breakfast.

The straining Unicorn came closer and closer, fairly whizzing up the side of the mountain as he wove the magic of his horn about his party. There was a moment when he thought Zephyr might catch up, but he flagged right near the end and slipped back a yard or two. Thus it was, tumbling over the brink of the Well next to the Barlindran River, that the company crashed together into an unseen barrier and fell down in a tangled heap on the shores of a vast lake.

“Ooh,” groaned Kevin, extracting his elbow from Akê-Akê’s midriff. “What happened?”

“Get off, you fat oaf!” cried Alliathiune, taking exception to the fact that he was sitting on her thigh.

Kevin began to scramble to his feet, dusting off his trousers with annoyed slaps of his hands.

“B
y the Hills, what is that thing?” Zephyr brayed.

The depth of horror in his voice was sufficient to still any further horseplay. Quickly, the party untangled their respective limbs and stared across the water.

Elliadora’s Well was a lake on a mountaintop, Kevin saw, a crater lake in the bowl of a massive, mile-wide ancient volcano–that was the best comparison he could make. Around the rim, which in places jutted to heights of a hundred feet or more above the placid surface, was a regular succession of notches that must release the waters of the seven great rivers of Driadorn from this single, vast reservoir. What almighty springs must feed the lake from beneath he could but imagine. But it was fifty yards to their left that all attention was drawn. For there, standing upon a slab of rock projecting over the crystal-clear waters, was a machine.

From their reaction
s, he deduced that the Forest-dwellers knew nothing of technology. Akê-Akê immediately fell to disputing its possible origins with Zephyr. Alliathiune looked lost. Snatcher looked on silently, taking in the scene.

Kevin
saw a robot of metallic, humanoid construction. Silvery parts glinted in the morning sunshine. The twin arms worked tirelessly, each dipping a metal bucket into mid-air and then tipping its filthy contents into the waters of Elliadora’s Well. Kevin rubbed his eyes. He could see a foul, oily stain spreading from the site of the robot’s efforts. Why, that smell–he knew that smell! It burned his nostrils, making his eyes water and his sinuses hurt. It was then that the memories burst into life in his mind. What had eluded him before, became staggeringly obvious. He clapped one hand over his mouth in horror, and his heartbeat stumbled in his chest.

It
was sewage. Raw, caustic waste, the very worst an industrialised nation could produce. Growing up in the back streets of Liverpool, close to the canal, he was more than familiar with the smell of effluent. He had been plastered with it countless times and twice fished out of the canal because of the pranks of Brian’s friends. Small wonder that the Forest was being poisoned if raw feculence was being dumped into its river system! And from the oils shimmering on the Well’s surface, he wondered what other toxins or corrosives were present in that filthy mix.