The Story of Sorrel

by Joseph R. Lallo

  #

  A full day had passed. Sorrel, the twins, and Losh had yet to see the sun again. The mountain was not a maze. There was no getting lost in it. The tunnels both natural and manufactured did little branching and were clearly marked with dwarf writing. One need only take the wrong turn a few times to realize which markings meant dead end and which implied an exit. But these were passages made by, and for, dwarves. Dwarves cared little for the surface. They delved ever deeper. Deserted tunnels curled deeper into the ground. Here and there the malthropes found food left by the workers who had abandoned this place. But none of the paths led to the surface. Clearly the place that Boviss had claimed as his own was the one place that the dwarves had intended to face the surface world.

  By now the group was weary. They were still heavily weighed down with their bits of stolen hoard. Sorrel once again wore the chain, a drop of blood having returned it to her neck. She coiled it about her body like a mountain climber’s rope to avoid tripping over its free end.

  Losh’s dull glow wavered and wobbled as they marched down a fresh tunnel. He blinked bleary, red-rimmed eyes and gazed at a wall. His little fingers jutted toward the gray stone, and he released a warbling trill that ended in a petite hiccup.

  “That’s a wall, Losh,” Reyna said.

  He flitted over and landed on Reyna’s head, hand still extended. “Out,” he said, once again punctuating it with a hiccup.

  “Maybe he needs more of this stuff,” Wren said, sloshing a dark purple glass bottle.

  Losh’s eyes lit up, and he darted toward the bottle, hands extended. Sorrel stopped him with a raised hand and took the bottle from her son.

  “He’s had enough for now, I think,” she said.

  “But it’s the only thing we found down here that he likes to eat!” Reyna said.

  “If fairies need to drink brandy to live, I know why they seem so foolish,” Sorrel said.

  “No fool,” Losh said, shaking his head and buzzing toward the wall again. “Out!”

  This time he was far more specific. His little finger indicated a narrow crack in the wall. Sorrel leaned toward it and sniffed.

  “There is… yes. There is fresh air.”

  She balled up some chain on her fist and knocked on the wall. The sound that echoed back was subtly different. There wasn’t much wall there.

  “Give the pick to me,” Sorrel instructed. “We’ll dig through this wall.”

  “I can do it, Mama!” Wren said. “I’m good with the pick.”

  He marched up to the wall and raised the tool. Before he could bring it down, the mountain trembled lightly around them. It had done so with great regularity during their journey. The relative softness of the trembling was the only real indication they had that they were getting farther away from the dragon as he raged.

  “Won’t he hear us?” Wren said. “Won’t he find us?”

  Sorrel thought for a moment. “Boviss cannot find us here. The place is too small. And here, smell. The air from outside? No strong smell of him. He does not know where to find us. And will we let him find us?”

  “No,” they replied in unison.

  “No, we will not.”

  The tunnel trembled again. Sorrel placed a hand on a shoulder of each of her children.

  “But if you are frightened, you wait until the mountain shakes. Dig then. If he smashes the mountain, he won’t hear us smash the mountain.”

  Now that there was a plan, Wren nodded and held his pick ready for the next rumble.

  “Mama?” Reyna said.

  “Yes, little one.”

  “Losh little!” Losh blurted.

  Sorrel glared at the drunken fairy, then looked back to her daughter. “What do you need to say?”

  “I was afraid of… do you remember the story you told us? Swift and the fastest prey?”

  She nodded. “Of course I remember it. And what is the lesson the story teaches you?”

  “If you can go to the place you know the prey will be, it doesn’t matter how fast the prey is, you will catch it,” both twins quoted.

  “That’s right.”

  “So why does Boviss stay here? Why doesn’t he go to the villages? I don’t want him to. I don’t want the people to get hurt. But you said he would take your escape out on them. And he must know we will head there.”

  The mountain shook again. Wren pounced on the opportunity to drive the head of the pick into the stone. The mystic tool devoured the wall. He managed only three swings, but they each punched a fist-size hole in the stone. The last of them punched fully through to a tunnel on the other side that brought with it a puff of undeniably fresh air.

  “Out!” Losh crowed. He flitted up and out of the hole, leaving the malthropes in darkness save for the jagged glow through his tiny escape route. He poked his head back in. “Follow!” he insisted.

  “Drunk fairies aren’t very bright,” Reyna observed.

  “Losh bright!” the fairy countered.

  To illustrate his point he flared his glow until it stung their eyes. Sorrel irritably snatched him from the hole and stuffed him into one of Reyna’s pockets, where he jingled against the stolen gold stowed there.

  “Stay there until the hole is big enough for all of us,” Sorrel instructed.

  The fairy buzzed his wings in a bid for freedom, but his booze-addled brain gently suggested maybe napping in a cozy pocket wasn’t the worst thing in the world at the moment. He cuddled low and dulled his glow to a soft glimmer.

  With the interruption over, she looked to Reyna. “You want to know why Boviss doesn’t attack the city now?” Sorrel said.

  “Yes. We may have tricked him, but someone doesn’t live as long and grow as big as him without being wise.”

  “When one grows as big and as strong and as old as him, sometimes one gets too wise. Sometimes someone knows too much about how good they are. They start to need to be big and strong, and need to be wise. And for Boviss, there is something more. He needs to know that others know he is big and strong and wise.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You were with the Fennecs, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “And they talk about Boviss the way they talk about a god. They fear him. They praise him. All that.”

  “Yes.”

  “I was with Boviss. He needs fear and praise.”

  “So he’ll never destroy the village?”

  “I did not say that,” Sorrel said.

  Another tremble sent Wren’s pick into the wall. When he was through, the hole was just large enough for the twins, but it would take another few swings to widen it for Sorrel.

  “Then what do you mean?” Reyna asked.

  “He will do bad things to the village. Maybe he will kill most. Maybe he will kill all of them and find a new village. But he won’t do it while we breathe. We are the ones who escaped him. We are proof he is not perfect.”

  “But he knows we’ll go to the village. He can go there and wait for us. He can tell them to turn us over.”

  “No. Because then the village will know we escaped. He will not let the village know he is weak at all.”

  “But that means… he’s going to scour the mountain, the forest, the desert. He’ll follow us no matter where we go.”

  “Yes.”

  Both Wren and Reyna tried to put on a brave face, but the fear was bone deep and it showed. Sorrel crouched and hugged them close.

  “You remember the stories, yes?”

  “Yes,” they answered.

  “And you remember the game. How you lost when you lost. How you won when you won, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “And we got away from Boviss once, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “So he is smart, but we are smarter. He is faster. He is stronger. But we are sneakier. We are sly. No one can run away like we can. No one can hide like we do. No one can smell the wind and watch the shadows like we can. Boviss can follow all he likes. He will not find us. And when we get
to the other malthropes? Well… I don’t know what we will do. But we will find a way to make them as smart as we are. We will find a way to make them see what Boviss really is. And then? An army of malthropes as clever as you and me?” She shook her head. “Nothing, not even a dragon is as mighty as that. So we get our people. All of them. We show them. And together, we hunt the dragon.”

  #

  A lifetime. So often, one thinks of a lifetime as a very, very long time. Ideally, it is, but it need not be. Reyna and Wren each had a lifetime of training in the art of predators and prey. Sorrel had years more training than they did, but still just a lifetime. And now, those three lifetimes of knowledge, practice, and experience were being put to the test. If they’d learned their past lessons well, there was just a chance that for each of them, a lifetime would be a very long time indeed. But at the moment, the lifetime was beginning to feel terribly short.

  The hole Wren had widened for them led to an air shaft. A tricky climb brought them to the surface, much to the relief of their fairy friend. From there, things became far more harrowing. The shaft led to a stretch of mountain at the very fringe of the forest. It offered barely a hint of cover from the beast who sought them. High above them, their former captor and new hunter stalked over the face of the mountain. He was distant, but his sheer enormity made him quite visible. The sight of him crawling along the sheer cliffs of the mountain, sniffing and licking at the stone in search of his prey, awakened ancient fears deep in their minds. And there was something far worse. Just as the malthropes had had a lifetime of learning to hunt and hide, so too did Boviss have a lifetime of predatory experience. And for him, that lifetime was longer than lesser creatures could imagine. That time brought more than expertise, more than skill. It brought a kind of second sight, an instinct that defied understanding. As their eyes fell upon him, even half a mountain away, he seemed to feel their gaze. His eyes shifted toward them. His wings spread.

  The longest days in the lives of the malthropes began with that moment. Losh stayed with them, teasing the wind into shapes that concealed their scent. Each step was careful and measured. Not a hint of a footprint was left to be found or followed. For the first time, Wren and Reyna were playing the game with their mother. Not just a simple demonstration, but a very real, life-or-death game of hiding and retreating. They learned more in those days of pursuit than in the previous year. And it was barely enough. Whenever they thought they’d lost Boviss, a cold shadow would sweep over them. Seldom did an hour pass that they didn’t smell his scent on the breeze. At times, he was near enough for his breath to rustle the leaves of the trees around them.

  Then the moment came. As though the fleeing malthropes had stepped past some invisible line etched into the forest floor, the dragon wheeled back toward his mountain.

  “Where is he going?” Wren whispered, eyes wide and fingers tight about the handle of his stolen pick.

  “Is he hungry, maybe? Or tired?” Reyna offered.

  Sorrel watched the dragon go. Her mind churned. “This other village. The village of Reds. It is near, isn’t it?” Sorrel said.

  The twins gazed at the forest. They sampled the air for something other than the dragon’s scent for the first time in ages.

  “It is still far. But we are heading in the right direction. Another day at the speed we’ve been going and we will reach it,” Reyna said.

  “And how far if we were able to run?” Sorrel asked.

  “A few hours? Maybe less,” Wren judged.

  “Close enough that villagers might encounter him,” Sorrel said. “They will have seen him already. But much farther and they might encounter him. I think he wants to avoid that. Too many questions. Too close to admitting weakness.”

  “But he’s followed us this far,” Reyna said. “He knows that we’re bound to reach the village now.”

  Sorrel nodded. “Now is the dangerous time.”

  “Now is the dangerous time?” Wren said, visibly trembling. “But the last few days—”

  “The last few days we were being hunted by a hunter after his prey. Nothing new about that. He would do what a hunter would do. But now he knows there is nothing he can do. If he hunts farther, the malthropes will wonder why he has come to them. If he doesn’t, we will reach his people and they learn the truth. We cannot know what he will do now. Maybe nothing? Maybe he will burn the forest to the ground.”

  “S-so what do we do?” Reyna asked.

  Sorrel shook her head. “Nothing changes. We go to the village. We do as we planned. But we keep our eyes open. We perk our ears. … And I head south.”

  “But the village of the Reds is so close!” Reyna said.

  She turned to her daughter. “I know. And that’s why I must go south. You go to the forest village.”

  “But you should come with us!”

  “Why? Because it is close? Will we be safe there?”

  The twins shook their heads.

  “We won’t be safe anywhere. Not from Boviss,” Wren said.

  “Boviss turned away. For now, Boviss thinks we will go to the village of the Reds. He thinks we will all go there. And when is it good to go where our hunters think we are going?”

  “Never,” they answered in unison.

  “So I will go south,” Sorrel said. “It will give him another trail. It will give us another chance.”

  “Across the open desert?” Wren asked.

  “Do you even know the way?” Reyna asked.

  “I spent time there. I was taken there. I can find the way. And now is the best time, while Boviss thinks he knows where we are and has turned his eyes away.” She turned to the flitting fairy. “Will you help me?”

  Losh crossed his arms and considered the question. “Losh like Reyna and Wren. Reyna and Wren like Mama.”

  “Sorrel,” she said.

  “Reyna and Wren say Mama.” Losh nodded once. “Losh help Mama.”

  “But… but we just saved you…” Wren said to Sorrel.

  “We don’t want to split up again. Not so soon,” Reyna said.

  “A dragon took me away and I survived. This? This is nothing.”

  “But what do we do?” Wren asked.

  “You go to the forest village. You persuade them to meet somewhere both sides know. The place of the offering. I will do the same.”

  “But how will we do that?” Wren asked.

  “You are clever. You do not need me to do your thinking. But get them there. One week from today. I will do the same.”

  “But—” Reyna objected.

  “No but. You came from there to here. You came from here to Boviss. You escaped the Fennecs, you escaped the Reds, and you helped me to escape the dragon. You can do this.”

  “But the Fennecs will—” Wren said.

  “The Fennecs will shake hands with the Reds. We will make sure.”

  “But what if you fail? And what if we fail?” Reyna asked.

  “Then we all die. And they die too, probably. So we will not fail.” She pulled them close and gave each a loving lick on their head. “You are ready,” she said. “And you are my clever little ones. You can do this. Now go.”

  The twins looked up to her. They paused only long enough to give her a tight hug. And then, with a few bounding leaps, they were gone. Silent, invisible. Sorrel’s lips curled into a grin.

  “Make your mother proud.” She looked up to Losh. “You know the way back to the Fennecs, yes?”

  “Yes. But Losh not lead—”

  “You have rules. I don’t care. If we do this right, Boviss will not hurt any malthrope ever again. If we do not, he will do terrible things to all malthropes.”

  Losh scratched his head. “I lead then.”

  Sorrel nodded and dashed to the south. Losh huffed.

  “Things get hard for Losh fast…”

  Chapter 13

  Without the dragon breathing down their necks, and with little reason to move stealthily, Reyna and Wren covered the remaining distance to the forest villa
ge in no time at all. When they’d left this place, they’d been pursued by the Reds. Along the way, they’d expected to encounter them again. No malthrope worth its salt would have given up on the search so quickly. But there’d been no one. Not until they came upon the subtle signs of the village itself did they even catch the scent of their own kind.

  Wren eyed the simple roads and gardens. All were seemingly abandoned.

  “Where is everyone?” Wren asked.

  “Would you be out and about if a dragon was flying around all the time?” Reyna asked.

  He glared at her. “That just answers why they aren’t here, not where they went.”

  “So we follow our noses.” Reyna sniffed. “There are so many, and they must be near.”

  They crept, noses low to the ground, through what appeared to be an entirely empty town. The scent was certainly strong, and getting stronger. The paths were fresh, and numerous. They showed uncharacteristic carelessness, leading quite directly toward a single point with little regard for how easily they would be followed.

  The many trails converged on a single tree. It was enormous, older by far than any of the others in the village and the surrounding forest. The towering, ancient tree stood atop a large hill at the center of the village. As they drew near, they discovered that heavy stone doors had been set into the slope of the hill. The doors were surrounded by scattered soil, as though they’d been hastily opened and shut quite recently.

  Wren’s ears twitched as he stared down at the door. “Do you hear them?” he asked quietly.

  “They’re there. They’re underground.” Reyna searched the door for some means to open it, but there was nothing obvious. “We really are good at hiding.”

  “We don’t have time for hiding,” Wren said. He kicked at the door and demanded, “Hello! Let us in! We have to talk!”

  Startled chatters echoed from behind the door. A moment later, some scratching suggested the people within were shifting about. Then there came a familiar voice.

  “Wren? Reyna?” called Hask.

  “Yes! Come out, we need to talk.”

  “No! Boviss is out! He is prowling. He hasn’t done it for years. It is an ill omen. You brought this upon us.”