The Incredible Journey of Pete McGee (10 page)

‘It doesn't taste very good, does it?' queried Santora. Pete was caught between being polite and being honest. He shook his head. Santora smiled.

‘Well, it's not meant to. Taste isn't always the important thing. Sometimes what's best for you tastes the worst. Need I mention brussels sprouts? Eat up then, go on, it'll be all you need for the whole day.'

Pete ate the food slowly at first, but after a little bit the taste grew on him and he cleaned his bowl out. They set off soon after, walking in silence. As much as Pete wanted to hear more tales of Santora's life, his mind had already moved forward to the Plains of Obon, wondering whether he would find King Cyril and Marloynne there. Santora seemed perfectly happy to walk in silence, apart from a story or a question now and then. The sun was high in the sky when Santora called a halt. Pete shook his head back into focus and looked around. They stood on the edge of what looked like a desert. All Pete could see was bare, dry land that seemed to stretch on endlessly. The ground was a coarse red and Pete could taste the dust in the air.

‘Well here they are, the Plains of Obon. It seems that your friend has just arrived as well.' Santora pointed. Pete looked over to see King Cyril the Needs-a-Bath and his men preparing to enter the plains. Pete turned to Santora.

‘Thank you, Santora. Thank you for your help. I don't know why you helped me, but your kindness will never be forgotten.'

Santora smiled, a warmth in the smile Pete hadn't seen before.

‘I saw you, I saw you needed help and I was happy to provide it. We may never meet again, and that doesn't matter, for we have met now. Now go, and may luck be with you, young Sir.'

Santora offered his hand and Pete shook it, his bones almost crushed in the leathery grip of the smaller man. Thankfully Santora released his grip quickly, nodded to Pete in farewell, and headed off to only he knew where.

Pete looked over at the King's party. He knew instinctively what he must do. He must do what they least expected, and what he least wanted to do.

So he walked over to where the men were standing and, without so much as a glance, he walked straight past them and onto the plains. As soon as Pete set foot on the dusty earth he immediately sensed a change. Heat radiated off the red earth, making his eyes water, and there was danger in the air. Pete didn't know what was on the plains, but he knew that things weren't going to get any easier.

‘Boy!'

A voice cut into Pete's thoughts and, still walking, he turned to see a man running towards him. Behind, still on the edge of the plains, was the King's party. The whole group was looking in Pete's direction. As the man got closer, Pete realised it was the funny looking rat man who had grabbed his arm at their last meeting.

‘Boy! Wait! We must talk.'

Pete shut his eyes and came to a halt, letting out a long, slow breath. This time things were on his terms. He waited for the man to catch up.

‘I did not think you would make it this far, boy. I am impressed.'

Faydon's glance went straight to the dagger Sir Loinsteak had given Pete. His eyes were shifty, flitting around, taking in everything.

‘My name is Faydon and I am advisor to the King. I apologise for our earlier meeting. It was not a good time for you to interfere. But now I will repay you for my actions. Listen to me boy. To cross the Plains of Obon is a brave but stupid thing to do in a group, let alone by yourself. Join us. Join us and we shall work together. Once we reach the other side it is every man for himself.'

Pete was deeply suspicious, and once again noticed Faydon's eyes flit to the dagger. Pete smiled.

‘Why would you want me to join you? I'm a stupid boy who is trying to ruin your plans, remember? I would just be more trouble to you, and you know I shall try to free Marloynne.'

Faydon nodded solemnly, stroking his wispy excuse for a beard.

‘I do know this. However, sometimes it is better to have those who are against you within your sights, so as to keep them under control. You will not be able to free your friend whilst I am around. The magic I wield is more than you can overcome, and I shall not be leaving his side while you are with us.'

‘How do I know you won't just try to kill me while I sleep?'

Faydon laughed. It was a hissy sound, his two front teeth jutting out over his bottom lip.

‘Boy, I would not bother wasting my time. There are creatures enough for us to worry about. If I simply wanted you dead I would let you cross the plains on your own.'

Pete turned away, thinking hard. He had no reason to trust anything this little rat-man said, but he also knew that sometimes safety in numbers was a good option. Whatever plans Faydon had for him, it seemed he should take the risk and trust his instincts to get him by. If nothing else, it would be a chance to try to make contact with the sooky la-la he now knew was Marloynne. He turned back to Faydon and nodded.

‘Okay. I will join you. But if I suspect anything, I will leave you, and then you will be on your own.'

Faydon smiled at the young man's bravado. He almost laughed out loud, but controlled himself and simply smiled.

‘Very good. Wait here boy, I will tell our King you will be joining us.'

He spun around on his heel and walked back towards the royal party. Pete lay his pack on the ground then sat on it, watching Faydon move away from him. He couldn't help but feel he may have made a deal with the wrong man.

Faydon smiled to himself as he walked away from Pete. He hadn't noticed it earlier, due to his frustration, but the presence of magic had radiated from the boy when he walked past them onto the plains. As soon as Faydon saw the dagger the boy owned, the presence had a source. The dagger was powerful and Faydon wanted it. His power was weakening, and had been for some time. While he could still practise basic spells, such as the brainwashing of Marloynne, any stronger forms of magic seemed beyond him. It was a natural consequence of previous magic used, his power draining with each spell. Still, about to cross the Plains of Obon and face the greatest danger of the journey so far, Faydon was confident he had the power to survive. The boy and his dagger would be good insurance however. He approached King Cyril the Bored-and-Ready-to-Move-On and explained that the journey would continue immediately, and that the boy would be travelling with them. King Cyril the Trusting-to-the-Point-of-Stupidity nodded and called his men into action.

usk spread over the Plains of Obon. The sun was setting over the horizon, a blazing red that even in the half-light of dusk made the dusty earth glow. The small group had travelled far, but to travel far by day through the plains was to travel closer to danger.

For it was at night that danger woke, in the form of the Mantrils. Borne of a magic long forgotten, the Mantrils were predators of the worst kind. It wasn't necessary for Mantrils to kill to survive, for they needed to eat but once a year. Yet still they would kill. They would do so because they were evil, because it brought them an unsurpassed pleasure.

There was a time when Mantrils ran free in the towns, creating havoc, murdering as they pleased. After a warlock's family had been destroyed by the Mantrils, he exacted revenge by banishing them to the Plains of Obon. Although there were no physical boundaries, if a Mantril were to set foot outside the plains they would, well, explode. Being quite intelligent creatures, it didn't take more than three or four exploding Mantrils for the rest to realise that the Plains were to be their home. It also became obvious soon enough that travellers crossing the plains were either:

(a) extremely brave

(b) extremely lost

(c) extremely impatient and needing to take the quickest route even at the risk of their lives

(d) extremely stupid, or

(e) at least two of the above.

Now, while you should generally guess (c) in multiple choice exams if you don't know the answer, in this case (e) was usually correct. (King Cyril the Stupid-and-Impatient is an (e) answer, two out of the four. I'll let you decide which two). In the end, though, it didn't really matter what the reason for travelling across the plains at night was because the Mantrils always got their kill.

So what was it about the Mantrils that made them so fearsome? Well, as mentioned already, they were quite intelligent. They were also fast, fearless, ferocious, fanatical, fatigue-free, frantic and flatulent. Supremely confident in their ability, the Mantrils would give their chosen prey a warning. They enjoyed making the chase more challenging, gaining little pleasure from a simple slaughter. A fierce battle was what they lived for. Of course, if an easy kill was all they could get, they would take it.

Oh yeah. One more thing. Mantrils were invisible.

Pete McGee laid down his pack and used it as a pillow. He stretched out to his full length. He had plenty of room as he had been ordered to stay clear of the main group, so had selected a patch of ground not too far from the others and set up there. The sun had set, and as darkness descended over the plains Pete could just make out the group only a few metres away. The ground he lay on was quite firm, but anything would have seemed comfortable to Pete's tired body. They had travelled far and, while King Cyril the Travel-in-Comfort and his men had ridden their horses, Pete had walked. The heat was oppressive, and Pete had taken off his jacket and hung it over his head. He found what shade he could by walking in the shadows of the horses, but it gave only a little relief. He dared not complain though, fearing that the first sound from him would see him alone once more. The best thing had been that he had not needed to eat for the whole day, thanks to Santora's breakfast. Pete wondered how long it would be before he needed to eat again. His thoughts moved ahead to the rest of the journey. It would be another day before the group would be free of the Plains of Obon. From there it was a mere two days' walk to where the Wilderene Flower grew. Pete knew that he would have to act soon if he were to get Marloynne prepared to escape from the King before they reached the flower. The main problem was that Marloynne seemed perfectly happy as he was, and chances for Pete to talk to him were zero, as Marloynne was constantly watched by Faydon.

A short, sharp whistle interrupted his thoughts. Sitting up abruptly, Pete saw that the rest of the group were also sitting, peering into the darkness. Another whistle, a little louder, a little closer. Yet another, this time from a different direction.

Murmurs passed between the men in the group, and then a shout rang out.

‘MANTRILS!'

Pete McGee leapt to his feet and ran to the group, his dagger drawn. All of the men had risen, looking around for the source of the whistles, yelling at each other to stay calm. Faydon cried out a command, but the whistles continued. He repeated his command, his voice now tinged with fear. The whistling grew in volume. Faydon's magic was weaker than he had assumed. It had no effect other than exciting the Mantrils. The chief advisor retreated behind King Cyril the Human-Shield, his heart pounding, his power at its lowest ebb. One of the men ran screaming from the group, but had taken barely ten steps when he fell as if shot, cackles of glee merging with cries of pain.

The remainder of the company stood back-to-back in a circle, facing outwards, searching for an attacker they couldn't see. Suddenly, the man on Pete's left was wrenched from the group and a searing pain shot down Pete's leg. He cried out as much from the shock as the pain. The group split then, panic setting in. Weapons were dropped to the ground, any thoughts of calm gone as men ran wildly in all directions. Pete ran blindly, his pack left behind, until he ran head-first into an invisible wall and was knocked to the ground. The screams in the distance seemed to fade as the cackles grew around the young man. His arm whipped up as if of its own accord, and a cackle ended with a grunt. A huge weight fell onto Pete. With a flash of blue light the Mantril appeared, before disappearing into death. The dagger had found its target. Pete had stared into the face of the Mantril as it died, seeing the evil in its eyes, the slime and sweat on its face. He didn't ever want to see one again. If he was to survive though, he knew he had no choice.