Their little bows were obviously quite powerful, as not a single arrow could be found still pierced through any of the fruit lying on the ground. The boys gazed at the splattered remains in dismay. They so longed to stuff their faces with the delicious fruit; all the stress of the day was making them feel very hungry.
The party walked on and finally reached the end of the forest. They walked out across an open stretch of grass, still handling the weight of the two boys with ease.
‘Whah Whah!’ the Chief cried, turning to face his tribe. The boys were lowered to the ground with their arms firmly strapped next to their sides as the tribe stood in a circular formation. The Chief yelled a different command and the entire tribe dispersed, sitting in scattered groups to rest. Philip and Frank were left lying on their backs to stare at the shining blue moon.
‘What on earth are these creatures going to do with us?’ Philip whispered, tilting his head towards Frank with his face scrunched up in fear.
‘I have no idea Philip; these plant things are quite definitely up to no good. I would scalp the whole blinking tribe if I had the chance!’ Frank replied, raising his voice in anger.
‘Can’t we try and escape somehow Frank? Surely there must be a way?’
Frank turned his head and squinted in the direction of the scattered tribe members for a moment. Tilting his head back to Philip, he whispered loudly, ‘It’s impossible Philip! There are hundreds of them! Even if we loosen these vines and make a run for it, what about those deadly arrows they carry?’
Without saying a word, Philip gazed up at the sky in total dismay, watching as several shooting stars flashed past, leaving behind a shimmering trail of fading light.
‘Make a wish Frank!’ Philip exclaimed, focusing on one of the shooting stars.
‘A wish, how’s that going to help us if we’re dead? Don’t you get it, Philip? We’re dead!’
‘I know it sounds lame Frank, but what on earth other choice do we have?’
‘What do you mean “what on earth”? We’re not on earth, that’s exactly the problem!’
‘Just make a damned wish; at least it will give us a bit of hope!’
Frank lay silent, trying to calm his racing thoughts, and soon realized that a wish was all the hope they had.
‘You’re right my friend, what does it help to get upset anyway? It will change nothing.’
The boys lay with their eyes closed, and wished like they never had before. Although it was done in secret, I’m sure you have a pretty good idea what they were wishing for.
The Indian plants gathered in small groups, dividing the blue plums amongst themselves. The large tribe sat sucking on the fruit, drinking the liquid and discarding the pulp remains. Their little mouths were like an advanced root system, allowing them to absorb liquids through them into their thick stems. The plant chief sat surrounded by heaps of blue plums, sucking his fat stem out like a pig.
* * * * * * * *
After some time he stood up, wiping his bright blue lips on an arm, and signalled to a group of plants nearest Frank and Philip. Immediately they stood up and headed towards the boys, prepared with a long coil of fairly thick vine. The boys shrank back in fear as they approached, knowing very well that the plants were up to something evil. One of the vicious critters tossed the end of a vine over Frank’s tummy, while ten others forcefully rolled him over onto it. Grabbing the end of the vine, the tribe tied Frank tightly around the waist, leaving a long length of it to trail behind. Frank lay with his chin pressed to the ground, grunting in discomfort while they made a firm knot.
Philip looked to his left feeling hugely stressed while he watched the devil plants tie Frank. A couple of the large trees in the forest had long thick branches, which extended out over the large open grass area. They fumbled beneath Frank’s body, then slowly hoisted him above their heads and marched off with him in the direction of one of the large overhanging trees. Poor Frank was dropped nose first onto the grass under one of the extended branches, with eyes watering as he squirmed in pain.
‘Screw you, you useless bunch of plant misfits,’ he muttered, while softly rubbing his aching nose on the grass. One of the little Indian plants bounced up the large tree with ease, taking the free end of the vine attached to Frank along with him, loosely tied to his middle. In seconds he was standing directly above Frank on the thick extended branch, freeing the end of the vine from his waist. He quickly pulled the length of slack towards himself and tossed it over the thick branch, allowing it to drop to the ground on the other side. A crowd of green Indians clutched at the fallen length below, and slowly hoisted Frank up towards the branch. Surrounding groups cheered their comrades on, screaming their little lungs out as the team tugged at the vine with all their might.
The Indian plant in the tree slid down the tightened vine onto Franks back; then he leapt to the ground and joined the group of screaming devils. Frank could feel himself being hoisted upwards as the vine pulled tightly around his waist. Fortunately the strapped vine didn’t hurt him very much. He shook his head as he rose up into the air, half expecting to awake from a bad dream. The plants continued tugging and toiling at the vine until Frank was hoisted just below the thick branch, gently swaying from left to right like a slaughtered sheep. The Indian plants tied the end of the rope to the trunk of the tree, leaving the bewildered boy high and dry.
Philip had his head tilted back and watched his friend dangle from the tree in disbelief.
‘What the blazes are these wretched things up to?’ he muttered in disgust. The Chief commanded several groups towards the forest, pointing his arm assertively in all directions. Shortly afterwards they returned carrying pieces of dead branches and sticks gathered from the forest. The Indian plants headed straight towards Frank, placing the gathered wood directly beneath him. He looked down in absolute horror as loads of twigs and branches were piled on the ground beneath to form an enormous pile.
‘This can’t be true! Surely these barbaric green turds aren’t going to do what I think they are?’ Frank protested, spinning in circles with panic.
Philip’s heart was beating double time by then as he watched the pile of wood double in size. Right then his only wish was for the ground to open and swallow him up.
Shortly afterwards, Philip was also tied and hoisted up a tree, positioned in the closest overhanging branch next to Frank, which unfortunately was quite a fair way off. At least, a lot further than talking distance away.
‘Help, help!’ he screamed, wriggling his body in protest. The Indian plants handled Philip more forcefully, showing no concern for his frantic outcry. He calmed himself, realizing that his struggle was in vain. The two boys hung from the trees bitter with despair, and gazed at each other across the wide open clearing. When the little plants had finished placing a large pile of wood beneath Philip, they proceeded to make a pile of wood of their own, positioned more or less in the centre of the open field.
The entire tribe must have been collecting wood for over an hour, gathering a tremendous pile to make the king of bonfires.
* * * * * * * *
The Indian plant chief signalled to the tribe to stand in a circular formation. The plants gathered together, standing in complete silence while the Chief slowly approached the large central pile of wood. He knelt before it, bowing down to show respect to the fire. Immediately the entire tribe dropped to the ground with arms stretched forward.
‘Whih!’ he squeaked, looking over to his left. Immediately one of the Indian plants stepped out to the front, bowing down; he handed the Chief a block of wood with a thin sharp stick and returned to his position. The Chief placed the block of wood on the ground and began twisting the stick against it very rapidly. Shortly the block began to smoulder, and started releasing clouds of wispy white smoke. He grabbed a dry leaf from the pile and ignited it with the smouldering block. Then he leaned forward with the burning leaf and placed it carefully under a pile of sticks and leaves, igniting the edge of the enormous pile.
‘Whih Whih!’ he cried, and bowed down several times before the mighty god of fire. The entire tribe followed suit, showing the maximum respect to their blazing god. A few of the plant Indians jumped forward with dry leaves, snatching a flame from the fire, and hopped around the enormous pile, evenly setting it ablaze. Returning to their positions, the entire tribe remained in an attitude of silent respect as the flames billowed into a raging bonfire.
Frank and Philip watched the procession from afar, not clearly able to see what the Indian plants were doing.
‘Oh my goodness, it looks like fire!’ Frank exclaimed in fright, catching a glimpse of a small flame in the distance, his neck hair standing up on end.
Philip hung in silence with his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, not coping very well with the harshness of the situation. The fire soon erupted into an enormous bonfire, raging fiercely in the dark. The shimmering light of fear reflected brightly in Frank and Philip’s eyes.
Then a voice of authority bellowed a painful, long-winded command.
‘Whoh! Whah! Whoh! Whah! – Whah! Whah! Whoh!’
The tribe immediately stood upright from their pose of worship, screaming a weird blood-curdling chant, and proceeded to dance and jump in circles around the raging fire. Each circular formation of screaming plants moved in opposite directions to each other, creating a spiral of wicked movement in worship of the eternal god of fire.
The blue moon shone brightly, lighting up the starry sky, and projected a sinister clarity over the tribal gathering. They continued with their wicked circular dance, looking spectacular with their brightly coloured petals and clever tribal motion under the bright moonlight and blazing fire surrounding them. I must say this really was a sight to see; the boys would have surely appreciated the spectacular dance a lot more if the circumstances had been different.
They swayed from their trees in despair, finding the wicked dance far from entertaining, knowing very well that their time was near. Philip looked up at the bright moonlit sky, hoping and praying for a large rain cloud to form.
‘Please rain, please rain, pleeeeease,’ he begged, with tears of hopelessness splashing from his freckled cheeks.
It was useless; other than a few scattered streaks of cloud there was absolutely no sign of any rain.
‘Come on, you useless bunch of greenhouse rejects! I’ll trash the lot of you on that big fire of yours and incinerate you like garden refuse!’ Frank lashed out, swaying in violent circles, his face bright red with rage. Unfortunately, Frank’s feeble protest was only giving him a terrible headache and forcing the vine to twist tighter around his waist. Frank calmed himself, taking deep breaths as he swayed to a standstill.
‘What’s the use of struggling, now this blasted vine is cutting into my side?’ Frank complained, feeling completely helpless.
Philip stared at the pile of wood below with tear-stained cheeks.
‘Well, if it’s not going to rain, I’ll soak these logs myself,’ he mumbled, with a desperate idea popping into his head. Clutching at his very last hope, he began sucking viciously at the base of his mouth, and filled it with as much saliva as he could possibly hold. After a good long suck his cheeks were bulging with spit. Now he was ready to drop the bomb. There was no way that these green cannibals were going to roast him alive!
Phat! Philip launched a large ball of spit onto the wood below, believing for a moment that he could wet it sufficiently to prevent the fire from taking.
Three mouthfuls later, his cheeks were throbbing and only his shirt was damp. Philip realized how feeble his idea was and gave it up as a bad joke. He would need at least a bath full of spit to make any significant difference.
The tribal dance continued for quite some time and the enormous bonfire gradually died down into a large bed of hot coals. The dance seemed to go on for an eternity, and the boys were feeling quite sick staring across at the pagan tribe, waiting for the inevitable.
* * * * * * * *
‘Why don’t you kill us and get it over with, green devils?’ Frank shouted in disgust. No sooner had he spoken, when two bright coals were seen in the distance, bobbing across the field towards them like a pair of deadly fireflies. Two of the little plants were carrying long sticks glowing brightly with fiery tips. The fire holders led the way as the entire tribe followed behind, in four straight lines. The four long lines separated; two followed the one flame leader and the other two followed the other leader. One group marched towards Philip and the other one towards Frank.
‘Oh shucks, here they come!’ Frank screamed, wriggling on the vine in fear. ‘We are doomed!’
Philip stared across at the approaching tribe in horror, with the hairs on his neck standing up on end.
‘Chimzen! Where are you Chimzen?’ he cried, wondering what had happened to his beloved friend.
The tribal chief leader stood in the open field, a short distance away from the boys, somewhere in between the two large overhanging trees. The fire holders positioned themselves in front of the prepared wood piled neatly below the boys. The two rows of Indian plants positioned themselves in two neat circles around the prepared wood, waiting patiently for their leader to give the command.
Frank and Philip stared down at the devilish group, not quite able to accept the reality.
‘You worship fire hey! That’s exactly where you are going when you die, treacherous creatures, you are going to hell!’ Frank screamed, kicking his legs forward like a small child having a tantrum. The little plants stood dead still like robots programmed for destruction, not taking the slightest bit of notice. Philip swayed from the branch in silence, wishing the nightmare was over. Gazing at the cruel tribe below, his heart thumped rapidly, fearfully waiting for his painful end.
‘Whih! Whah! Whih!’ the plant chief cried with authority, commanding the fire holders to light the wood. They immediately placed the burning sticks beneath the stack, and ignited the twigs and leaves below. Within seconds, flames rose from the huge pile and spread rapidly over the dry wood like a scorching monster of death. Once again the Chief gave the command and the tribe bowed quietly before the mighty god of fire.
‘No ways, this can’t be happening, I must be dreaming,’ Frank moaned, shaking his head in disbelief, and wriggling about frantically like a worm on a hook. The boys were high up in the trees and could already feel the fire gently warming their legs. If only they hadn’t listened to Chimzen, they might still have been monkeys, but at least they would have been live monkeys.
‘Whih! Whah! Wheh!’ the plant chief screamed, commanding the tribe to their feet. Once again the pagan tribe danced in a circular motion around the fire, weaving in and out through each other, and screaming at the top of their voices. The panic-stricken boys gazed down at the wicked dance, lifting their legs in horror as the flames leaped up around them.
Chapter 14
Chimzen was strapped high up in the oak tree, battling to move as the vicious coils of creeper tightly bound his chest and face. He struggled to inhale through his nostrils as they were almost concealed by a coil of vine covering his mouth. His chest was bound tightly by several powerful looped creepers which only allowed his lungs limited movement to inhale. He tried to calm himself to prevent suffocation from desperate panting, and allow his restricted lungs to slowly draw fresh air in through his semi-covered nostrils. It was hard to believe that these killer plants were the ones actually supplying him with oxygen, and now they were the ones depriving him of it as well.
His hands were strapped firmly at his sides, allowing his fingers a bit of free movement. ‘If only I could speak, I would be out of this mess in seconds,’ he thought, feeling terribly frustrated. The creeper forced his head hard against the tree, cutting into his face and tightly sealing his lips. He fumbled at his side for a long while, desperately in search of the opening to his pocket. It was useless, he just couldn’t find it; his hands were bound too tightly and he couldn’t reach down low enough with his eager fingertips. ‘Bl
ast these vines! This is ridiculous! How am I supposed to escape from this mess?’
Once again he forced his fingers down, only this time he clutched his garment and gathered it into bunches. He tugged carefully at the folds of materials, searching desperately for an opening. ‘Where the blazes is my pocket?’ Perspiration poured from his face in torrents as he released his crumpled robe in frustration, panting heavily through his nostrils with no success in finding it.
* * * * * * * *
In the meantime, down below at the base of the tree, a large group of about fifty thraxten cactus leeches were slowly crawling up the crusty trunk, thirsty for the wizard’s blood. The thraxten leech was a nasty little critter. Its name gave a pretty good description of its appearance and nature. It was roughly the size of a tennis ball, only shaped more like a slug. It had a hard dark green body designed for perfect camouflage, with a row of long sharp cactus spikes running down its length. The leech had a soft spongy sticky base, very much like a common garden snail, used to transport it. It not only used its sticky base to aid movement but for sucking and feeding as well. Usually only eating vegetation, it would coil up into a ball and roll over a nice juicy apple or plum, spiking it full of holes, and extracting the juice with ease. Today was a special treat for the thraxten cactus leeches; they were going to feast on the blood of a wizard.
Completely unaware of the approaching cactus vampires, Chimzen groped at his robe once again, searching futilely for his missing pocket. The beastly group of bloodsuckers were nearing the top of the tree by now, sliding up for an early breakfast.
He tugged at the material, this time pulling it out from behind. Once again he carefully bunched the silky folds together, and reeled the garment in as far as his restricted fingers would allow. He slowly slipped them in between the folds of cloth, and fumbled for a few long moments in silent anguish.
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