by Bryan Davis
Lauren caught up and walked next to him. The blade’s point dug an inch-deep trench that raised tiny plumes of dust. The breeze kicked up the gritty powder and swirled it, as if creating a slowly spinning tornado around the two newcomers to this realm.
The tremor continued, neither strengthening nor weakening. The vibrations made the scales on her back tingle, and whispers brushed by her ears.
“Help us.”
“Save us.”
“Water. We need water.”
Lauren swiveled her head. No one was around. “Did you hear something, Sir Barlow?”
“Just the wind.” He glanced at her. “What did you hear?”
“Voices. Thirsty people begging for water. But I can’t see anyone.”
“Mysteries abound in strange worlds.” Sir Barlow marched on, still scratching a line on the ground. “Trees indicate a water source. Perhaps we can locate it, and then we’ll try to find the thirsty souls who are crying out.”
When they neared the stand, Sir Barlow stopped at the edge of a swath of lush grass that ran parallel to the tree line. The tremor stopped. He stared into the forest and whispered, “Do you hear anything now?”
Lauren peered between the trees. Fibrous vines hung from intertwined branches, some joining trees together to draw elongated arcs here and there, though nothing moved at all, as if the breeze were unable to affect anything beyond the grass line.
From somewhere in the forest, the sound of running water filtered through, like a shallow river spilling over rocks. “Water.” She pointed at a narrow gap in the trees. “That way.”
“We need a marker.” Sir Barlow strode to the closest tree and hacked off a three-foot-long branch with his sword. Several large black birds leaped from the branches and flew to nearby trees.
“Crows?” Lauren asked.
“Ravens. It seems that this forest is filled with them.” Sir Barlow pushed the branch vertically into the turf. “We will look for this when we come back.”
The tremor returned with a violent shake. Sir Barlow teetered, but as the vibrations settled again, he regained his balance. “I am not one to shake in my boots, but we had better be on our way. As I mentioned before, I think it will be night soon.”
They walked together through the gap and followed a barely visible trail. Vines and branches brushed against their arms and legs from both sides. With each touch, the tingle in Lauren’s scales spiked. Above, the fluttering of wings increased. The ravens likely watched their every move. As the sky grew dimmer with approaching twilight, the ravens blended in with their surroundings and seemed to become invisible.
Soon, river sounds heightened, and new voices flooded the air.
“Water awaits. Refreshment. Life.”
“No. Beware. It is death.”
“The trees bear witness that the water is good. Drink your fill.”
“The trees are dead where they stand. See for yourselves.”
Lauren studied one of the trees as she passed by. With lush green leaves, sturdy limbs, and thick bark, it seemed perfectly healthy. “Sir Barlow, do these trees look healthy to you?”
“Strange that you should ask that.” He stopped, hacked off the end of a low branch, and inserted a finger into the stub that remained. “Hollow. Just like the one I cut off earlier.”
Lauren pushed against the trunk. It leaned, ripping up the surface roots. More ravens lifted into the air and migrated to other trees. “It wouldn’t take much to knock the whole forest down.”
“True, Miss. It is a house of cards.”
She touched her ear. “I heard more voices. One told me that the water is life, and another said the water is death. Considering these trees, I think death is more likely.”
“A fair deduction, though it takes more than water to nourish a tree.” Sir Barlow gestured with a hand. “I hear the river now. We shall soon see for ourselves.”
He hurried on, hacking freely at limbs and vines. Lauren followed and matched his brisk pace. They curved left, then right, then left again before breaking into a glade where they stopped at the forest’s edge.
Several steps ahead and to the left, a stream perhaps ten feet wide ran to the right, poured over a head-high ledge, and tumbled into a circular pond about a hundred feet across. Although the running water appeared to be clear, dark scum covered the surface of the pond, and mucky-looking sludge bordered the entire circle. Bones lay strewn near the pond’s edge, including several human skulls.
“Poisoned, I think.” Sir Barlow inhaled through his nose. “And a foul odor hangs in the air. The pollutants in the water likely contain some kind of sewage.”
“What could the source be? The water flowing in looks clean.”
“Perhaps an upwelling at the bottom. Or rotting plant material. Or maybe someone comes here to dump refuse. In any case, it is strange that more than one human has partaken of the dirty water. If I were to come here in search of a drink and noticed skulls and bones, I would go elsewhere.”
“Maybe they all drank at the same time.”
“No, Miss. Trust me on this. The skulls differ greatly in age. If you wish, I can provide details on how to detect the amount of time a skull has been exposed to air.”
“That’s all right.” An odd sound drifted into Lauren’s ears—something squishing. She looked toward the right of the pond where the sound seemed to originate. A small hole opened at the top of a mound. Dark sludge spewed out, like a mouth vomiting sewage. The sludge rolled down a slope toward the pond and slid into the water. After the mouth erupted three more times, it closed to a barely detectable slit.
Lauren glanced from the clear stream to the sludge entry point and back again—clean water and filthy excrement entering the pond from opposite sides. Why would anyone create such an oasis? It seemed to defeat its own purpose.
Sir Barlow slid his sword into its scabbard. “Well, Miss, that is one mystery solved.”
“But it creates even more mysteries.” Lauren locked her stare on the incoming water. “The voices said the water is life. They must have been talking about the clear stream. We could take some to a parched area, pour it over some grass, and see what happens.”
“We have no pail, but we do have a way to carry water. So in the interest of solving this puzzle before dark …” Sir Barlow untied the cloak from his waist. “Stay here, please.” He walked up a rise to where the clean water toppled over the ridge and dipped the cloak into the stream. When he pulled it out, he let it drip freely. “This should be enough.”
When he returned, he handed the cloak to Lauren and withdrew his sword again. “Shall we go to the parched area?”
Lauren held the cloak aloft and again stared at the pond. “Any idea why it doesn’t overflow its banks? I don’t see any outlets.”
“Perhaps there are channels beneath the surface. If the soil is porous, water can create such outlets.” Sir Barlow plunged his sword into the dirt at their feet. It penetrated easily up to the hilt. “See? Quite porous.” Reddish water bubbled up from the cut. “Interesting. I am beginning to think that the land itself is—”
A vicious quake shook the ground. Sir Barlow dropped to his knees, and Lauren fell to her chest next to the sword. The ground tilted, making Sir Barlow slide toward the pond, which now swirled like a whirlpool.
Lauren grabbed the hilt of the still-upright sword. She extended her legs down the slope and shouted, “Grab my feet!”
Sir Barlow thrust out a hand and caught hold of her ankle. “Don’t risk your life for me, Miss!”
“I’m already dead!” She clung to the hilt, but the blade sliced through the soft soil. Something screamed. The ground bucked and tossed. She tightened her grip and looked back. “Pull, Sir Barlow! I can’t hold on much longer!”
“I am aware of your predicament.” He peered at the swirling mass of dark water. “And that’s why I must do what I must do.” He let go and slid into the whirlpool.
The sudden rel
ease sent Lauren surging forward. Bracing against the undulating slope, she let go of the hilt, pushed to her knees, and spun toward the pond. Sir Barlow’s hand stayed visible for a brief second before disappearing in the rapid spin.
“Sir Barlow!”
Only the rush of water replied. The ground straightened, alleviating the gravitational pull. The spin in the whirlpool slowed until barely a ripple disturbed the surface.
Lauren climbed to her feet and staggered to the edge, sidestepping a skull and a pile of bones. “Sir Barlow! Where are you?” She dashed back and forth and searched the water for any sign of movement. The murky water hid everything except a slow stirring of the floating scum.
“Sir Barlow!” she shouted again as she stepped into a shallow section. Her foot plunged into the muck. She fell to her bottom and tried to scramble back, but the fetid sludge held fast. Grabbing her leg with one hand, she pulled while scooting backwards. With every heave, she grunted, and her foot slid out an inch. Finally, it broke free to the sound of suction and a pop.
Gasping for breath, she sat with her arms wrapped around her knees and again scanned the area. As before, the incoming stream poured into the pond with no apparent outlet. Could the whirlpool have pulled Sir Barlow into a tunnel or some other kind of escape route, one of those channels he mentioned? Maybe he swam to safety at an outlet pool, and the dizzying spin disoriented him. And maybe she could guide him with her voice.
“Sir Barlow,” she called, trying to keep her tone steady and confident. “I’m here. Where are you?”
“The waters of death have claimed him.” The voice seemed to come from the air. “You should have heeded my warning.”
She looked around. No sign of anyone, though with dusk arriving, it wouldn’t be hard to hide. A gurgle sounded. The mouth opened and spat a ball of sludge that rolled slowly to the water.
Lauren directed her voice upward. “Heeded your warning? I heard opposite messages.”
“Of course you did, though they were both truthful.”
A second disgorging of dark muck erupted from the mouth.
She frowned. It seemed insane arguing with the wind. “That’s nonsense. Two opposite messages can’t both be true.”
“By human logic, perhaps.”
When a third vomiting episode ensued, Lauren narrowed her eyes as she watched the mouth. The pattern was becoming clear—ridiculous words before a surge of fecal matter. “It’s not logical to talk to a human with any other kind of logic.” She rose to her feet and backed away from the pond. “Listen. I’m not here to get into an argument. Just tell me how to help Sir Barlow.”
“Remove the cursed weapon from my flesh, and I will consider your request.”
Lauren looked back at the sword where the blade was still buried in the ground. She hurried to it, grasped the hilt, and pulled it out.
The ground shivered for an instant before settling. The voice returned. “Tree branches are painful enough, but a sword is torture.”
She crouched at the wound and squeezed the bleeding soil together until it sealed. As she rose, the odor again assaulted her nose, the stench of urine and feces. She brushed her hand on her pants. “Does that feel better?”
“You do not care about my well-being. You ask in order to gain my favor.”
“That’s not true. I wasn’t thinking that at all.”
“Yet you do want to gain my favor.”
“Well … yes. But I would’ve removed the sword anyway.” Lauren glanced again at the pond. “I need to know where the whirlpool took my friend.”
“Your friend is a man who stabbed me with his sword.”
“He had no idea that the stab would inflict pain. In our world the soil has no feelings.”
“Now you are speaking nonsense. There is no such world.”
The mouth spewed another round of sludge.
Lauren walked toward the mouth. “On the contrary, in our world making holes in the soil is beneficial for aeration and plant growth.”
“Plants are blood-sucking parasites. They all need to die.”
More sludge erupted, now unceasing as the conversation continued.
“Without plants, erosion would—” She shook her head hard. “I don’t have time to argue about this! I need to know where my friend is!”
“He is dead. Buried in the pond of purity. Never to return to life.”
“The pond of purity?” Lauren bit her lip. Of course the pond wasn’t pure, but arguing that point wouldn’t help the situation. “How can you be sure? Maybe the whirlpool—”
“He is alive. Somewhere.”
Lauren arrived at the mouth and drilled a stare at the spewing hole. “Wait a minute. You just said he’s dead. Now you’re saying he’s alive. Which is true?”
“He is dead.” After a short pause, the voice returned. “He is alive.”
“Argh!” Lauren kicked a stray fragment of sludge. “Don’t jerk me around! This is a matter of life and death!”
“That is exactly what I am saying.”
“But you’re contradicting yourself! Is he alive or dead?”
“Whichever you care to believe.”
Lauren clenched a fist. “I can’t make something true by believing it! It’s either true or not true! My believing it makes no difference at all.”
The voice sighed. “You are right. Of course you are right.”
“Good. Finally.” She relaxed her muscles. “Now tell me. Is my friend alive or—”
“And you are also wrong.”
Lauren rolled her eyes. “All right. I’m done with you. I’m going to search for him without your help.” Still clutching the sword, she stalked to the pond’s edge and walked around the perimeter, but no clues appeared in the growing darkness—no footprints and no holes that might lead to a tunnel or cavern beneath the surface.
She stopped and listened. Although the waterfall dominated the soundscape, other noises filtered in, first crackling, then hissing in the cadence of language, like a radio station broadcasting from a great distance. With no other clues to guide the way to Sir Barlow, a thorough search seemed to be the only option, but what if she became lost when night’s darkness fully arrived? Shouldn’t she solve the puzzle first, just in case?
She scanned the area once more. This pond seemed to be the opposite of a life reservoir—dark, polluted, smelly, and deadly. The ground provided enough moisture to make the trees grow on the outside, but they were hollow and rotten on the inside, another apparent opposite. And, of course, the bones of humans lay around as if punctuating the proof of the poison.
This world displayed conflicting messages—images that belied reality, beauty that disguised ruin. Even the voice seemed deceived by the masks. How could anyone think this pond was one of purity?
“Purity,” she whispered. The word raised a memory, something Abaddon said in his lair. Like Bonnie who allowed me to melt her flesh rather than speak a lie about her purity, so Lauren must welcome her own flames of refinement.
A lie about her purity—a claim that she wasn’t pure when she really was. Lauren focused on the pond. The voice had spoken a lie about the pond’s purity, claiming it was pure when it really wasn’t—another bizarre opposite, especially since the claim was spoken by the source of the sludge that poisoned the pure water. With a puzzle of opposites, maybe the best way to solve it would be to separate them to see what would happen.
Sword in hand, Lauren hurried back to where the cloak lay. Sir Barlow had wanted to collect water to test it on some parched ground. She picked up the cloak, now dirty and merely damp. Maybe it would be a good idea to saturate it again.
After leaving the sword there, she carried the cloak to the stream well back from the waterfall and dipped it into the current. As dirt flowed away over a pebbly bed, she lifted a handful of water—hot, but not scalding. No odor. Crystal clear. And that raised a new question. Why would people drink from an obviously polluted pond when they could ea
sily come to the source of the clean water?
She lifted her hand to her mouth and took a tiny sip. It carried a slightly sweet taste, as if someone had added a drop of honey. She slurped the rest. It flowed down her throat like warm cream. After drinking several more handfuls, she lifted the saturated cloak and tied it around her waist. Some of the water squeezed out and dripped down her pants, but it couldn’t be helped.
She hurried to the sword and picked it up. Now feeling refreshed and invigorated, she looked once again at the mouth, the source of the poison. That orifice brought death to anyone who sought relief from thirst. It had to be stopped.
Yet she also had to keep searching for Sir Barlow. Both options seemed hopeless. How could she conduct a twilight search in a strange world for someone who disappeared without a trace? How could she alter the landscape to halt a polluting influence that had obviously been around for many years? And both options were urgent. Life and death hung in the balance.
She blew out a heavy sigh. Making a choice seemed impossible as well, but standing around and vacillating had to be the worst option of all.
With a tight grip on the sword’s hilt, she marched to the mouth’s mound. She rammed the blade into the mouth and sliced a gouge leading away from the pond and into a grassy area. Something screamed. The ground bucked. Lauren dropped to her knees and, tensing every muscle, continued cutting, sawing, and slicing as she shuffled backwards.
Sludge erupted from the mouth and flowed down her trench. Some spilled over into the grass. The blades instantly withered. When she reached a level area, she jerked the sword out. The ground settled. A final eruption of sludge poured forth and oozed into the lower elevation, drying as it spread out.
She rose and hurried back to the pond. As clear water poured in from the stream, the dark residue on the edges shrank. At this rate it wouldn’t take long for the stream to cleanse every speck of sludge, and maybe as it cleared, any outlet channels beneath the surface might become visible.
The scum floating on top shriveled and vanished, and the water clarified, beginning at the top. As the cloudiness in the pool sank, something suspended in the water came into view. It looked like a gray patch of carpet with a lot of fibers missing.