Samuel Blink and the Forbidden Forest (15 page)

While Professor Horatio Tanglewood was writing his life story, explaining the truth behind the Changemaker, his most loyal huldre—Grentul—was watching a caloosh fight. But unlike the other huldre guards, he found little thrill in the sight of blood-soaked feathers and thrashing, flightless wings.

Of course, he never admitted this to anyone else. He could only imagine the ridicule he would get from the others, especially Vjpp. After all, a love of caloosh fighting was meant to be what made you a true huldre. The guards always talked of the grace of each fight. The skill and tactics of their favorite birds. But all this was a cover for bloodlust, and their hunger for cruelty and death.

He watched Vjpp now standing on the other side of the caloosh pit. He was clapping and cheering as one of the three-headed birds collapsed to the floor.

“Vemp oda caloosh!”
Vjpp's eyes bulged with proud excitement as his favorite bird began pecking away at the other with all three of its beaks.

Grentul always found it strange how birds who were so peaceful when they were running free aboveground could become so violent toward one another after a few days of training underground. It wasn't that Grentul had any morals about such things. He didn't. It was just that he could find no pleasure in anything nowadays, not even violent sport. His only love was for the Changemaker. He was his life. His duty. As he was for all the huldre-folk. Protecting the forest from the Unchanged was the only thing that motivated him, and he liked to believe his sense of duty was greater than those of the other guards, even Vjpp.

He knew that one day the Changemaker would see the strength of his devotion, and reward him for it. It was this thought that prompted him to walk through the roaring crowd to the other side of the pit.

Once there, he leaned toward Vjpp.
“Ipp kensh,”
he told him, in an urgent whisper.

It is time.

The Snow Witch heard them first.

“They are coming,” she told Martha. “Show them no sign of fear, for fear is a gift to them and you owe them no gifts.”

The Tomtegubb and the two-headed troll woke up to the sound of Vjpp's laughter as he, along with Grentul and five other huldre guards, walked down the corridor toward them. They carried belts full of weapons and held flaming torches.

“This is it,” said Troll-the-Right. “The next time we'll sleep is when we're dead. Dead!…Our bodies turned into stone. Our spirits lost in the big black nothingness as though we'd never been born, as though we'd never known the simple pleasures of hurgleberry wine or rabbit casserole.”

“You hate rabbit casserole,” said Troll-the-Left. “And hurgleberry wine makes you sick.”

Troll-the-Right scowled and made a grumbling sound. “No, it doesn't. I was only sick last time because
you
drank too much.”

“I can't help it if we share the same stomach.”

“Well, we won't share the same anything soon enough. Look, they're coming for us first.”

Troll-the-Right was right. The huldre guards opened the cage and held out their swords.

“Don't do anything stupid,” Troll-the-Right warned Troll-the-Left.

As Troll-the-Left currently had the blade of Vjpp's sword tickling his neck, he decided for once to take Troll-the-Right's advice, and so the two-headed troll was escorted peacefully down the corridor.

Next was the Tomtegubb, who cheerfully thanked the guards for opening the cage door for him.

“I can't wait for some fresh air,” he told them, before humming his favorite section of “The Purple Trouser Song.”

Then they opened the Snow Witch's door. The Snow Witch looked confused.

“Why now?” she asked Grentul. “Why after all this time does he suddenly decide to sentence me to death, along with the others?”

She got no answer, or none she could understand, and so she walked out and said to Martha: “Remember. No fear, human child.”

Martha nodded, but fear couldn't help but rise up inside her as Vjpp unlocked her door and walked toward her. He sheathed his sword and crouched down, bringing the fire of the torch near her face, causing Martha to cower from its heat. Vjpp's free hand stroked her cheek, brushing back until one of his claws was pointed delicately on her skin. He licked his lips with his blue tongue, as if Martha was a delicious meal set before him.

There had never been a human in huldre prison before, and so Martha was a kind of exotic prize.

Vjpp whispered strange words into Martha's ear.
“Venn op cunneef.”

Then another huldre addressed him. It was Grentul, who seemed to be hurrying Vjpp along.

Martha was pulled out of the cell and down the corridor with Vjpp's grip unnecessarily tight around her arm. They went up a dark staircase and out into fresh night air, where four white stallions and a wagon awaited them.

The wagon held a large cage, which already contained the Snow Witch, the Tomtegubb and the two-headed troll by the time Martha was thrown inside.

One of the huldre guards—the eldest, judging from his wrinkled face and dry, tattered tail—climbed onto the wooden seat at the front of the wagon. He had a long whip, and used it to startle the horses into motion.

The other huldres walked by the sides of the cage, threatening their captives with torches if they got too close to the bars.

“Oggup flimp!”
they kept shouting.
“Oggup flimp! Oggup flimp!”

Martha sat cross-legged in the middle of the cage floor. The Tomtegubb sat next to her, humming happy tunes.

The Snow Witch placed herself down close to the front of the cage, away from everyone else. A gentle wind blew her white hair over her face, and she made no effort to pull it back.

Martha looked beyond her, past the wagon driver, at the four white horses in front. She could see, in the torch light, the thin scars on their backs, and she flinched every time she heard the whip.

Behind her, she could hear the two troll heads talking in gentle voices for a change.

“Are you scared?” Troll-the-Left asked.

“Yes,” said Troll-the-Right. “I'm as scared as a rabbit.”

“Me too,” said Troll-the-Left, almost to his own surprise. “Me too.”

Martha closed her eyes, and tried to imagine herself in her mum's arms. She remembered her warmth. Her smell. The little kiss she always planted on the top of Martha's head. A kiss-plant.

It was still there.

The love she used to feel passed from her mother. It would have taken more than a falling log to crush that. And she could still feel it now. The love from all those hugs, wrapped around her like a warm blanket, telling her everything was going to be all right. Telling her that even in the cruellest moments of life, love could never die.

Night fell quickly in the forest. Or rather, it
rose
.

As Samuel and Ibsen walked down the slope, it seemed as though they were heading down like divers into a lake, as if the night was something they could drown in. And with the darkness came the fear.

By day, the forest had been scary, but in the dark it was absolutely terrifying. Every crack of a twig or hoot of an owl caused Samuel to turn around and look for approaching trolls or other scary creatures. Every tree trunk slid out of the darkness as if to surprise him. Even the three-quarter moon seemed to be gasping in horror as it stared down at the boy and the dog below, walking in such a dangerous place after dark.

At least in daylight, Samuel had been able to see if creatures had a shadow or not. Now, in the dark, it was impossible to tell the good from the bad.

He looked at the ground, and could make out three-toed footprints.
Trolls.
He kept walking, and tried not to think too much about what would happen if he bumped into a troll. After all, the book had said trolls have no weakness at all, and the book would surely be right, as it was right about the Truth Pixie and all the other creatures.

(But of course, Samuel didn't know yet that you shouldn't believe
everything
you read in books.)

Fortunately, Samuel's instinct to walk down the hill had been correct. They came to a wide road with wagon tracks pressed into the earth and Samuel was certain it was the one the Truth Pixie had talked about. The one that would lead to the Changemaker.

“Here it is,” Samuel said, feeling he needed to say something. “Here's the road.”

He turned right along the road, and kept walking, and noticed Ibsen was beginning to get very tired. The dog's body seemed to be falling asleep as they walked. His tail drooped. His tongue hung out of the side of his mouth like a piece of ham. His paws grew heavier and heavier.

Samuel too was finding it hard.

“Stay awake,” he kept telling himself.

But it was difficult. His eyelids had become heavy weights that could only stay open with the greatest of effort. And his pixie sandals were beginning to rub uncomfortably against his aching feet.

Well, maybe it wouldn't hurt if I had a nap,
he thought.

After all, it's probably safer to stay still in the dark than to move around. And if they had a little sleep, they would wake up feeling more refreshed and alert and would therefore have a better chance of finding Martha. With that thought in mind, he looked for a suitable hiding place where he could lay himself down.

He led Ibsen off the road and headed in among some pine trees. If they found one with a wide enough trunk, they would be able to lie down behind it and stay safely out of view.

So he walked over to the largest trunk he could find and lay down, holding the book to his chest like a hot water bottle. Ibsen curled up by his side and dozed off in seconds. Samuel found it more difficult. First he rested his head against the trunk, but it made the most hard and painful of pillows. Staring up at the night sky—a giant dot-to-dot drawing of glowing stars—he knew he wasn't going to fall asleep here.

Next he lowered his head and placed it on the ground, but the earth was hard too. And awkward, from all the pine needles. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but it was as much use as trying to catch up with a rainbow. Every time he seemed to get nearer, it slipped farther away.

He was exhausted, but too uncomfortable. And he kept thinking of something his dad had said after Samuel's first day of secondary school:

Happiness is everywhere, son, you just have to know where to look for it.

His dad had been wrong. Where was the happiness in this forest? There was nothing but fear and cruelty and loneliness. And pine needles.

This is no good. I'll never fall asleep lying here.

He stood up and brushed away the pine needles from his cheek. Everywhere he looked, it was the same. Hard trees and hard ground. It was as if the whole forest had been designed to stop him from sleeping.

He walked away from Ibsen, in a kind of daze between sleep and wakefulness, forgetting he was in the most dangerous part of the forest. Then, when he was just about to try the ground once again, he tripped over something. Or, more precisely,
onto
something.

Something soft. Like a large furry pillow. Or stomach.

“My berries!”

The creature Samuel had fallen on was clearly startled to be woken up from its berry-related dream.

Samuel panicked.

“I'm sorry,” he said, reaching for the book that had slid down the other side of the creature's belly. “I'm sorry…I was just…I was looking for…”

“Somewhere to sleep?”

“Yes.”

“You can sleep here,” said the creature, with a yawn. “You can sleep on my belly. I'm sure it must be the comfiest thing around here.”

Samuel couldn't see the creature's face very well. It was just dark fur leaning against a darker trunk. But his voice was warm and welcoming and sounded rather like a drink of hot chocolate (if a drink of hot chocolate had a voice).

“I think I might…find my own place to sleep.” Samuel didn't know what to do. If he ran straight away, the creature might chase him. But if he stayed still…

“Berries,” said the creature, who already seemed halfway back to its dream.

Samuel turned himself on his side, so his right cheek was against the soft fur. The creature was right. Their surely couldn't be anything comfier than its belly around here.

So warm.

So soft.

The gentle rise and fall of the creature's breathing had a hypnotic effect. And the smell of his fur seemed to be the smell of sleep itself, as if it sweated dreams the way people sweat off their food.

“Don't sleep,” Samuel said to himself, knowing that the creature could be dangerous. Knowing it might have no shadow. Knowing he should go back to Ibsen. “Don't…sleep.”

However, tiredness was winning the battle, tugging down his eyelids and switching off the lights in his mind.

But before his eyes closed fully, he looked at the open book on the ground beside him. The moonlit page read:

Samuel gulped. His body was now wide awake with fear. The fear intensified as one of the Slemp's giant paws fell across the top of the boy's pounding chest.

Pressing the paw away from him, Samuel slowly raised his head off the furry stomach.

“More berries,” mumbled the Slemp as Samuel lowered the paw back down.

Samuel stood up. Started walking. Stopped.

The book. You idiot, you forgot the book.

He tiptoed back, picked the book up, his hands trembling with fear.

The Slemp growled, as Samuel was disturbing its sleep. The growl was so deep it seemed to come from the very center of the earth, and there was nothing hot chocolatey about the Slemp now.

In the space of a second, the Slemp sat up and snapped its wide jaws in the direction of Samuel's head. The Slemp's sharp teeth were in time to catch a few strands of Samuel's hair, but nothing else. Samuel had pulled back just in time, and was now running at Olympic speed away from the deadly creature. He turned around and saw that the Slemp was back asleep, and felt relieved. The feeling didn't last. A moment later he heard something.

At first it sounded like heavy rain, but then he recognized it from the night before. It was the sound of horses on the road. Heading his way.

Having ran closer toward the noise, Samuel now hid behind a tree that was near enough to the road for him to peep out and get a clear view. Already, in the distance, he could see them.

Flaming torches, like those he saw when the huldres caught the Tomtegubb. He waited until the flaming torches were close enough to help Samuel see the rest of them.

Four white horses, lined two by two, pulling a wagon. The wagon held some kind of cage, and there were huldres marching by the sides, carrying the torches. They had swords too, and other unidentifiable weapons attached to their belts.

When one of the huldres on the near side turned around to scan the trees, Samuel could see the creature's unblinking, wide-apart eyes.

He shot back behind the trunk. Then dared himself to look again a second later. Inside the flame-lit cage, he saw a woman with long white hair in a long white tunic with skin so pale it seemed to shine in the dark.

There was a round, barrel-shaped creature who was singing a faint song. Samuel recognized the Tomtegubb instantly as the one he and his aunt had seen leave the forest. Then at the other end of the cage he saw a large creature with two bearded heads.

A troll,
thought Samuel with a shudder.
A real-life troll. Just like the one in the painting at Old Tor's shop.

But it was the sight of the fourth prisoner, however, that really shocked Samuel.

This prisoner wasn't a witch, or a troll, but something far more familiar.

A ten-year-old girl, in a navy-blue dress, sitting down on the floor, with crossed legs and a face that didn't look happy or sad or anything at all.

He said her name in a gasp.

“Martha.”

He felt a total and complete joy surge through him.

She's alive. Alive!

“I'll save you.” He whispered the promise. “I'll get you back.”

He walked down the slope and waved his arms. Martha couldn't see him, so he walked a few steps closer and tried again.

Later he would realize that he should have waited, then followed at a safe distance behind. But that was later, and this was now.

A guard turned around. The same guard who had scanned the trees before. This time Samuel was spotted. Orders were shouted in a strange language, then two of the guards jumped down from the wagon and began to race up the hill toward him.