by M. L. Rayner
“Same old crap. How many times we heard that one?” Bran's expression could be read easily through the dying light. He was clearly not impressed.
“Still gives me the shakes,” said Marcus, smirking and again raising his head back to the stars.
“Me, too,” Jack whispered, the sound muffled through the gap of his tightly clenched knees.
“What about you, Jack?” asked Marcus.
“Yeah, you got anything for us, Special Jack?” Bran teased, repeatedly poking harshly at the poor boy’s ribs.
Jack said nothing, showing no willingness to give in to Bran’s playful, yet persistent, bullying.
“Looks like he’s not as stupid as you look,” Marcus laughed.
“Whatever!” Bran stood and made his way over to the tent without a word, no longer wanting to be considered a fool. Marcus and Jack soon followed, confident the shallow flames would stay confined within the stone circle. The three wrapped up warm within the tent, and although there was little room, tiredness clouded their mind too much to care. Bran’s eyes calmly began to close, when Jack began his ghostly tale.
*
Bran sat upright once the story came to a close. “What the hell? I told you he was a psychopath!” forgetting for a second that Jack lay crushed beside him.
It wasn’t a common occurrence that Bran would show vulnerability. Hardly ever, really. But when it did occur, the opportunity was much too precious for Marcus to neglect.
“Got to you, did it? Piss your pants, did you?”
Both Jack and Marcus burst into uncontrollable laughter at Bran’s expense. His hateful expression stabbed the eyes of his tormentors through the dark before he wrapped the hood of the sleeping bag firmly around his head.
“No!” Bran shrieked before putting his head back to the lumpy ground.
The laughter gradually ran to its end, and as minutes went by, the sound of heavy breathing was heard coming from Marcus and Jack. Bran tried his best to give in to sleep. But the story last told rambled around his restless mind and denied any thoughts of rest.
Amongst the Mists
Chapter Six
T hat morning they awoke prematurely. The unexpected chill of the early hours had disturbed their sleep and covered the tent in a sheet of glistening moisture. As the tent pegs were pulled, sunlight peeked over the far-off hills. Warmth washed over their faces and revitalised their senses. Another long day of adventure was ahead, and they planned the route like a team, kneeling on the ground with the map laid out in front of them.
The hard mounds around the hill's base made their journey harder than they anticipated. The descending track was far too narrow to allow them to cycle abreast, leaving them no option but to ride single file.
Once the ground levelled, fast flowing water was heard below hidden cliffs. With their hearts now encouraged they rode on, determined to reach the famous flow of Claymore River.
Shortly, white water could be seen from the high banks as they stood along the rocky sides. The river of Claymore was exceedingly well known for its length, stretching over one hundred and fifty miles until feeding into the Northern Sea. They needed to cross at some point, but it was far too risky to swim. There was a guaranteed risk of being dragged farther downstream like a ragdoll, probably to your death. A bridge stood twenty miles yonder. It was boldly indicated on the map.
Hopefully it still stands, thought Marcus, mentally crossing his fingers.
The bridge would lead them to the edge of the Sleathton estate and take them to the last leg of their journey before the real adventure truly began.
“So, we just follow the flow then?” asked Bran casually. The day’s objective was turning out to be rather pleasing to him indeed.
“Yup…” replied Marcus. “Though we need to set up camp by nightfall, so the sooner we get to the bridge the better.
“We could make a raft,” suggested Jack quickly, though rather wishing he hadn’t.
“That’s a great idea, you ‘tard,” replied Bran, not even taking the time to look Jack in the eye. “I’ll ride along with Marcus, and you can meet us with the bikes and gear at the bridge. Sound good?”
“Give him a break, Bran. He was only trying to help.”
“It was only an… an idea,” stuttered Jack.
*
They followed the foaming waters throughout the bright early morning in silence. The sound of the roaring rapids was too dominating to hear each other’s playful calls. The descent was so pleasant they could not resist the temptation to race the falling river. As they sped down the path, their handlebars rattled uncontrollably, and their wheels appeared to hover just above the ground. They noticed the waves starting to calm; the river's course slowed to a brisk but steady flow.
It had been an enjoyable morning and a memory that would remain in their minds when they recalled their youth. Wildlife emerged from their hidden homes, causing the boys’ eyes to wander from the path ahead. The cheerful call of fluttering birds sang in harmony as they swooped overhead. Wild animals, curious about the commotion, happily sprang out onto the path from patches of tall thick grass. It was another day of warm, clammy weather, but that didn’t seem to bother the trio much. With each sudden drop of the river, the fall of water would send a light spray flaring into the air, providing a satisfying sensation as they rode on through the walls of cooling mist.
Crashing his bike to the ground around midday, Bran insisted they rest for lunch. It didn’t take much persuasion for Marcus and Jack to join him; their bellies had been crying out for food for a while now.
They sat next to the soft flow of the river, gradually regaining their strength. Morale was certainly high, and teasing banter harmlessly circled the group. Once they ate their fill, Marcus sneakily took to the edge of the river and cast out a fishing line that he had put together himself. His design was flawless, and his technique, although rusty, gave Bran and Jack the impression what he was doing was right. But regardless of countless tries, he couldn’t entice even one fish to bite.
“Give it a try later,” suggested Bran, now getting rather tired and, in all truth, bored by watching his friend’s continual failures.
Marcus reeled in the empty line, disappointed with himself after having made the rod from scratch.
“You’ll get one later. Besides, what would you have done with one now?” encouraged Bran while watching his friend stomp across the bank.
“I dunno,” said Marcus, shrugging off the conversation and stubbornly collapsing the equipment back in his bag.
For the first time (and last) Jack continued to lead the way. Bran wasn’t confident with the idea, and by the look of it, neither was Jack. The boy had no clear sense of direction, and he continued to stray from the path, only to look back for approval.
“Keep your frickin’ head straight! What’s wrong with you!” shouted Bran, annoyed. “You’re all over the place!”
“The water will have you if you fall in, Jack. Just keep heading straight!” yelled out Marcus.
Bran rolled his eyes, never quite understanding Marcus’s patient manner towards what Bran considered stupidity and a personality that could never learn.
Soon, the river began to bend, curving around the hilly mounds as though trying to challenge their riding skill. The ride was demanding enough, and they decided to cut through the higher ground. As long as the river was in sight, the day’s target could not escape them. Jack eventually drifted to the back and seemed rather pleased by it. He was a follower, certainly not a leader.
The sound of grinding brakes trailed along the dusty ground as Jack came to a stop.
“What is it now?” asked Bran, wanting nothing more than to crack on and leave the bumbling idiot behind him. Marcus trailed back and pulled up alongside Jack, also curious about the sudden reason for delay.
“Look!” Jack whispered harshly beneath his breath.
The other two flashed a concerned glance at one another before panning over to where Jack's interest rested and
his shaking finger pointed.
They, too, froze solidly in place. Like a curtain of fog, clouds began to slide apart in the distance. Past the waves of endless fields, giant shadowed mountains reached up to the sky through a foggy ceiling, their peaks fading from view.
“That’s it!” Marcus shouted in excitement.
“How the hell do you know?” Bran questioned. “It just looks hazy from here.”
“That’s gotta be it, Bran,” replied Marcus. “The river leads right to it.”
There was something Jack couldn’t quite put his finger on about what lay ahead. They had come so far from home and the vast landscape was strange and frightening. The grey shaded mountains stood dominantly in their surroundings, intimidating his vulnerable stature as he gazed upon its greatness.
“Come on, Jack,” Marcus yelled. Both he and Bran were already some yards ahead.
But Jack did not budge, his eyes unable to prise away from the darkened shadow of far-off rock. He was sure he heard breathing: shallow, earthly breathing that was not his own.
It’s just the wind, he thought. As he remained entranced, he began to believe it wasn't he who watched the mountain but the mountain that watched him.
*
Their pedalling quickened dramatically, and within only a few hours the mountain ahead appeared three times larger than when first seen. Its darkened shade had faded and now revealed itself clothed in lively shades of green and brown with trees standing like troops guarding its surface. The Claymore River had lost its relentless pattern of curves and bends, staying almost completely straight. The water’s flow again quickened, as though it were enticing them to journey forward more urgently. Marcus looked up. He still couldn't believe they would really arrive at Sleathton as he'd planned. The feeling of excitement motivated him to push his legs harder.
They hurriedly wove their bikes around the pine trees that were haphazardly dotted around them. Soon they would leave open fields behind them and enter a land where they would be surrounded by trees that would block the view of the mountains.
“Stick to the path,” shouted Marcus. He tried his best to keep the others in order, though both of them continued to drift off course and further into the jumble of dense woodland. The Claymore River now swerved in and out of the trees like a serpent twisting its way through the undergrowth. Occasionally the sunlight burst through in blinding rays, and although the path beneath the branches was dim and sheltered, beads of sweat fell freely from the boys' brows. The path disappeared under their wheels without warning, though none had come to notice. Their attention was too focused on the challenging ground that lay ahead. Bran overtook the lead so quickly that no one would have imagined how exhaustion caused his limbs to shake.
“Get back here,” Marcus warned, now riding faster after his wandering friend. The trees ahead split for a moment, providing the opportunity for him to make up the lost ground. The decision to chase was worth it. And now that the clearing had passed, the view of Bran’s thrashing legs quickly left the corner of his eye. His thighs pushed and pushed, harder and harder, until Bran was no longer beside him, and only the sound of his friends’ natter was heard from behind. He turned his head back to see, but his attention was drawn elsewhere, past the blur of trees. What… he thought, unable to find words. His eyes strained to see what he had nearly missed
“Marcus!” The panicking roar of both Bran and Jack echoed from his pedalled tracks.
Marcus did not have the time to acknowledge. For now, all he saw was blackness.
Amongst the Mists
Chapter Seven
M arcus lay sprawled like a stringless puppet. Alone in a ditch covered in foliage and soil. Bran carelessly jumped from his ride, the bike crashing against a fallen log.
“Marcus?” Bran yelled, slumping down to his friend’s side and shaking him vigorously by the shoulders. “Speak! Come on, speak!” He had already accepted that his plea was bound to be ignored. He leaned down, placed his ear to his friend’s lips, and waited.
“I... I can’t… I can’t hear him breathing.” His voice sounded helpless and fearful in the current situation. All the while he tried to raise the lifeless body.
He turned back. Jack was still sitting over the red bar of his bicycle, clenching his fists so tightly the tips of his fingers were a ghostly white.
“Go get help, you pratt!” Bran screamed the order and caused Jack to startle and lose his balance. He regained his feet instantly like a duck taking to water while still watching the two pitiful figures on the ground.
“Go… now!”
Jack hesitated a moment longer, not knowing which direction to choose. He started to sprint through the woodland, his legs already pounding from a full day’s ride. It occurred to him that if he found help, or if help found him, he might not be able to find his way back.
“Marcus!” Bran screeched again, becoming so frustrated that he actually considered punching his friend in the face. Instead, he looked around.
Water, he thought. His eyes zoomed in on the canteen that had been thrown across the dirt.
He had attended a short classroom session of health and safety only the previous school year. The lesson wasn’t at all remarkable, but he recalled a scenario where cold water was used to revive someone who might be in a state of shock. Holding the canteen firmly against his chest, Bran scuffled back to where Marcus lay crumpled on the ground. He emptied the entire contents over Marcus’s face causing him to wake in fright, gasping for air.
Marcus looked around as he tried to steady his breathing. He was confused, and his memory was blurry.
“What the hell did you do that for?” croaked Marcus, wrapping his arms around himself to stop the shivers. “I thought I was drowning.”
“Lucky for you, you ain’t. Although you weren’t far off.” Bran pointed to the racing river only a metre or two from where they knelt.
“What happened?” Marcus asked, trying his best to recall the events. “I remember,” he continued, slurring his words. “I saw something... then… the lights went out.” He thought some more before Bran broke the silence.
“Didn’t you hear us shouting? We yelled pretty loud. Jack was almost in hysterics.”
“No… Well… I heard a noise… But it was faint and sort of distorted. Was that you? Why… what happened?”
Bran stood over him with eyebrows raised, now wondering if Marcus hit his head even harder than it seemed.
“Oh, forget it,” Marcus sighed. “We need to get moving and make it to the bridge.”
“Make it to the bridge? Make it to the bridge!” Bran repeated with sourness. “You bloody well hit the bridge!”
Marcus hadn’t noticed, but the sturdy object which he was currently using as a pillow was drystone, the very edge of that bridge. He twisted around, sending a spasm jolting up his back and causing the bruise developing on his forehead to pound. Bran was right, Marcus thought as he looked up from the ditch. From his position on the ground, the dusty red stones appeared to tower above him.
“Well… that came out of nowhere,” he said, brushing the dirt from his soil covered knees.
“No. It didn’t, Marcus. We saw it as far back as the clearing. Why the hell do you think I fell back?”
Marcus paused, feeling rather foolish but summoning up the words to justify the incident.
“Look, I just didn’t see it. OK?”
“You’re telling me,” said Bran, a hint of amusement now penetrating his words. “You headbutted the frickin’ wall!”
“Can we just go?” Marcus questioned in a somewhat embarrassed tone, trying his best to change the subject.
“Fine! But if you’re going to act like a complete retard for the rest of the way, we’re gonna have to find you a helmet.”
Marcus attempted to raise himself but soon realised he could not. He bellowed in agony, the pain in his back too intense for him to move, let alone stand.
“You OK? I’m done playing nurse with you for the moment.”
Marcus ignored the remark, far more concerned about the pain in his back. He was trying to rub out the constant ache when he noticed there was someone absent.
“Where’s Jack?” he asked with a frown.
“Ah, shit!
“Where is he, Bran?”
“I swear, if I haven’t gotta look after one special case, I’ve gotta look after two.
Bran ran over to his bike, jerking it up from the dirt.
“I sent him for help. The moron’s probably gone looking for it up a tree!”
“Go find him,” said Marcus, his face still scowling from the tormenting pain that stabbed his lower sides.
“I will. Just… Just don’t move. Last thing I need is for you to go wandering off, too.”
“Does it look like I’m going anywhere?” Marcus spat out through clenched teeth. “Go… now!”
“There’ll be no need for that.”
A deep, humble voice boomed past a line of trees. Their heads turned to see a figure almost camouflaged against the backdrop of the forest. A man walked swiftly towards them, stopping just short of the tip of Marcus’s toes.
“It right that you boys got into a spot of bother?” the man asked, his sunburned face partially protected by a very full and untamed gingery grey beard.
None of them spoke. They were too focused on trying to determine who this man was and how he appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Jack appeared a few steps behind, looking relieved to see Marcus awake and talking.
“Young Jack here tells me one of you’ve had an accident,” the man said. “Quite shook up was this young fellow when he bumped into me. Even implied you may be… well, you know, on the other side.”
Bran and Marcus looked at each other with uncertainty, both hoping the other would speak first.
“However, I can see that’s not the case, thank goodness,” the man continued, never once indicating he had physically exerted himself.
“The name is Degg, Gregory Degg, if you so wish to be formal about it. I run the lodging house about half a mile north. Good job your friend bumped into me when he did, I was just about to head on home.