by RyFT Brand
it, it would lay there like…like a rock. And the closer I got to backlash, the more nauseous it would make me, but I felt nothing. “Did you remove the stone?”
“No,” Fenrisis answered quietly and kept wary eyes on Truvinn. “I don’t know what it is you swallowed, nor can I remove it as it has some type of curse about it. Besides, even if I could remove it, and did, I’d be executed the moment it touched my hand. All sorcery is forbidden here by Manamana’s decree.”
“So why don’t I feel it?”
Fenrisis let out a heavy sigh, like I was an impertinent child asking nagging questions. He answered in quick, impatient syllables. “I made you swallow a thorny platerpillar.”
My head slid back and I set a hand to my neck. “Is that why my throat is sore?”
“That and all the screaming.”
“So a thorny platerpillar is what exactly?”
An aquatic, flat beaked caterpillar with webbed feet, a flat tail, and quills—they’re the larva of the duckbill porcufly. They have the distinctive trait of neutralizing sorcery.” I thought he was done speaking, but he added, “And they taste horrible.”
We walked along in silence for some time. Truvinn kept a good distance ahead. My brain was awash with thoughts, possibilities, and potential. Maybe this wacky caterpillar was the answer; maybe I could use it to keep the stone form backlashing, permanently.
“So, this platerpillar, will it stop all kinds of sorcery, curses and all?”
“No, and don’t go getting any ideas. Even if you spent the rest of your pathetic life searching this forest, you’d never find another one. Even if you did, you could not use it, only those of true blood can handle them.”
I let that sink in a minute, then sought clarification. “So by no, you mean it won’t stop a curse.”
Fenrisis stopped walking and I overshot him. I scurried back as, for the first time ever, an elf had something to say that I actually wanted to hear.
He crossed his arms and more threw the words at me than spoke them, “No, it will not stop a curse, only the sorcerer who created the curse, or one that knows the exact composition of the curse when it was cast, can do that. The worm crawling around in your belly is neutralizing the object’s symptoms, nothing more. Whatever conditions that exist about it are still in play. Now in the future, if you have any future, I suggest you think long and hard before swallowing magical objects just because your friends are doing it,” he said and hen walked away grumbling to himself, “These juvenile species will never learn.”
Wow, I’d just been told off by a pointy-eared twerp that lives in a tree house. Receiving a shove from one of the warriors, I followed after Fenrisis. I’d have to thank him for the respite from the stone’s wrath, not that it would save him from the serious ass kicking that was headed his way, if this plan work out. I glanced at the countdown timer strapped to my wrist. Five hours to backlash. I had to get things moving faster.
Straight off, this entire plan hinged on me receiving backup from the last group of beings to give anyone backup, especially me. Secondly, I was walking into Feitshire, one of the most magical places on all of Mirth. It had, in the days before the inter-dimensional conjoining of the planets, been a vast barrens of pine, a place already steeped in magic and magical beings. When the forest elves were cast out of the great Mirthen cities, they settled here and sent open invitations to any and all beings of the magical variety. Needless to say, the land absorbed all that gathering magic and the whole forest was ripe with it. All that free floating magic was playing havoc with my shadow sight. I had good reason to be worried. Not for me, I’d died before, that journey held no fear for me. But DJ, of all people, she’d always been there for me. She was brave, and dedicated, and a little foolish, but she didn’t deserve captivity. All I wanted was to free her before I died. And hey, if I got to strike a little revenge through the process, all the better.
As we moved deeper in the scrubby pine trees gave way to wide-bladed grasses that, despite their rough, serrated edges, were as soft as silk. Butterflies the size of robins flittered about gigantic flowers whose perfume scents fragranced the air. Meter-long salamanders with pink and red poke-a-dotted bodies slid into the cedar swamp waters that bordered Feitshire.
We followed a narrow, winding path through the magic infested forest. Truvinn took three long strides toward a dense pack of ferns and cattails. He reached up, took a branch in hand, and, like a curtain, appeared to swing the forest itself aside. These were the gates of Forestdeep, a city grown from the forest itself.
I followed Truvinn to the massive eastern white pine tree that formed the outer wall of the castle. As we passed though the gap in its huge roots two guards stationed there glared at me and tightened the grips on their pole arms.
“Afternoon, fellas,” I called with a wave.
They responded with sneers.
Truvinn led me straight to the throne room; his guards followed us inside and formed a line across the vine-bordered doorway.
I walked up to the super-sized elf sitting in the throne grown from a single tree, grown solely for the purpose of supporting his massive elfin ass. It was said that Mananama was the oldest elf on Mirth, he certainly was the fattest. In fact every other elf I’d ever encountered had something like less than five percent body fat, so I had no idea what had happened to their king; McDonalds had been out of business for over a century.
His great gargantuaness looked like he’d been poured into the oddly shaped trunk; portions of him seemed to be spilling out between the branches that cradled him like wooden fingers. One of Mananama’s thick elbows rested on a branch roughly formed into an armrest, his pancake shaped face rested against his fist. I hoped that he was wearing shorts, but all the layers of flesh made it impossible to be certain. The only thing missing was his ever present smile and laughter.
I guess I’d stood staring too long because Truvinn jabbed me with his elbow hard enough to send me stumbling closer to his king.
Mananama stared out to empty space—looked like he was sulking. Maybe he’d just run out of Twinkies. He didn’t insult me, didn’t degrade me, and didn’t break into jolly laughter; otherwise the throne room looked like business as usual. Armed guards were positioned around the huge, forested room. Elves in silkworm sewn gowns traversed the room, some carried trays of fruits and green, leafy vegetables, others played music on various wood-instruments. A group of elven children were seated on the woven pine-needle carpet playing some kind of game.
I cleared my throat. Then I cleared it louder. Then I took a twig from the floor, held it tight in two fingers as I bent the tip back, and let it fly. A couple of the females gasped when it whacked their king in the side of his voluminous head. He didn’t move, but he spoke at last, “We sees you there, Monster Collector. But we don’t see any heads, so why have you come?” his voice bellowed from somewhere deep in the abyss of his chest and his accent was frightfully thick, but I managed to catch the gist.
“What, no smart remark followed by raucous laughter?” I asked.
His chins departed his fist and his head snapped around, sending waves across his fleshy jowls. He glared at me with ash colored eyes. “We have no sense of humor this day, girl, and things to think upon. Give us heads or give us peace.”
I really wanted to pry into whatever was bugging the king wood elf, but I doubted he was in the mood for sharing.
“I have a head, probably not the one you’re hoping for, but I have information that should interest all of you.”
“Where’s this head at then, human?” Truvinn asked, jabbing the padded armor plate on my back with the tip of his sword.
“We can speaks for ourselves,” Mananama snapped at Truvinn, then glared down at me. “Now answer his bloody question, human.”
“The head’s in my flycraft, but it won’t tell you anything. This head, however,” I said pointing at my own, “can tell you lots.”
“So,” Mananama said drawing out vowel sound, “Give it to us.”
I’d never seen this jerk so wound up. I had to make this tidbit sound better then it was and take as possibly long as I could giving it to him. “I will, but I want to see DJ first, I want to know that she’s alright.”
Truvinn stalked forward and raised the blade of his sword. “None but the king may make demands here, girl, and you are even lower than the cobwebs in the lavatories.”
“Truvinn!” Mananama bellowed, and man that elf could yell. “We can speaks for our own selves. Fall back in line!”
Truvinn glared at me and I could see the tip of his sword quivering with the anger that flowed though him. With a huff he strode away.
“Fetch the girl,” Mananama said to the room. A female elf who’d been arranging some odd looking fruit on a living table made of tightly interwoven shrubs walked gracefully to the back of the room where the children had been playing the game. She tapped an elf sitting with its back to me on the shoulder and said something. The ‘elf’ leapt to her feet and spun around. It was DJ, dressed in a long, white robe with gilded trim. She had flowers woven in her black hair. Her round face lit up and she ran toward me. “Jazz, you’re here!”
Nearly to me and wondering if she were going to knock me over with her enthusiasm, two elf warriors stepped away from the wall and crossed their spears, bringing DJ to an abrupt halt. Her ivory colored