After a very long and terrifying time, it stopped with a shattering bump. The darkness, which was complete, closed off any understanding of where she had landed, but at once she heard the voices she longed for, and called back, arms out, searching for the people who called.
“My love,” said Bayldon’s voice, “I believe you’re hurt.”
And Messina’s voice. “I am, I’m afraid, my dear. I’ve broken one wrist, and on the other hand, I think my thumb. I landed badly, you see, and had no time to use the magic first.”
“And to get us out of here now?” Bayldon asked.
“I have tried,” Messina’s voice was low, tired, quiet, and almost ashamed. “But I can’t use my hands. That means yet again, I can’t use my magic. Almost none at all. This keeps happening to me and I hate it.”
“But Poppy - ?”
“I’m here,” Poppy yelled. “I can’t see, but I’m sure I’ll find you if I walk around a bit.”
“This way, dearest,” her father called, and stretched out his own arms, making himself easier to find. They almost fell into each other’s embrace.
The uneven hole through which they had all fallen was still partially open, but it led to more darkness and let in no light. Poppy, however, was able to lead her parents to the large four-poster bed, complete with blankets, quilts and pillows, on which she had slid and travelled. It was soft and comfortable, and Messina was able to lie down and rest her hands, while Poppy sat next to Bayldon and they all talked.
“I can rip this sheet and bandage your wrist and thumb,” Bayldon insisted. “That won’t cure it, but might make it comfortable enough for you to do enough magic to get us all out of here. If not, then take Poppy and the two of you get home and leave me here. Someone can come and dig me out later.”
Sighing, Messina said, “I don’t think I shall be able to do any magic at all for an hour at least. Try those bandages. That will help.” With hands and teeth and a good deal of determination, Bayldon pulled off the linen pillow slip from one feather pillow, and ripped it into long strips. Then, trying desperately to see what he was doing, he bandaged Messina’s broken wrist, and the broken top knuckle on her thumb on her other hand. Once done, and tied tightly, she was able to relax. “That does help,” she told him. “The pain is easing a little. Give me time, and I shall start the magic. Or at least – I shall try.”
She lay back down and Bayldon leaned against another pillow next to her. “I assume we must be in the dungeons,” he said. “But they opened onto the back lawns and the lake. Nothing seems to open here.”
“I’ve been to the dungeons,” Poppy told him. “This is deeper down, It’s more like the foundations. I don’t think it’s a proper room at all. It’s down in the earth under everything/”
“What a charming thought,” said Messina. “Trapped in a place that leads nowhere.”
“Well, I’m not sure,” Poppy answered. “I’ll try and walk all around and see if there’s a door or a way out or at least any proper walls.”
She hopped up and began, very slowly and carefully, each foot feeling the floor before she moved forwards, hands touching whatever she could, feeling for walls and openings. For some time she said nothing and Messina closed her eyes in silence, trying to ignore the pain. Then suddenly Poppy said, “There is an opening. But it’s all strange. The walls are all wobbly and sandy and as if some kid built them with a bucket and spade. There’s tiny holes in all the walls, and they feel gritty and flaky. But here’s a real opening and I think it’s a tunnel.”
“No point in walking up strange tunnels to possible dangers,” Bayldon said. “We should wait for your mother’s magic to return.”
Messina’s voice seemed fainter than before. “It may take a long time, my dear. I feel horribly weak.”
“Lie out on the bed on your back,” Bayldon told her, “and raise your arms over your head that way. It’ll surely be easier. See if that works.”
But it did not, and Messina sounded as though she might either faint or cry. “Nothing,” she whispered. “What a failure. I can’t even send a message to my mother or Zakmeister, though I’ve tried calling them both over and over again in my mind. I think, I really think I need to stay very quiet and wait.”
“Bother,” said Poppy.
“That’s a shocking thing to say,” her father scolded her. “You should have sympathy for your poor mother.”
“Oh, I do – I do,” Poppy assured him. “I was saying bother about myself. That they all have some magic except me.”
“And me, my dear.”
“Even Sam, a little bit,” Poppy moaned. “Nat has more and more, especially with the knife. But me – nothing.”
“I have an idea,” Bayldon said suddenly. “This bed is on wheels. That’s how you used it as a slide. I can push your mother, and we can see where that tunnel leads to. It might just mean freedom.”
Messina was asleep. It was a sleep of pain and almost a faint, but it was an escape for her, and would keep the pain away. So Poppy nodded, then realised her father couldn’t see her, and said, “Oh yes please. Let’s try. There must be a way out somewhere.”
Smoothly and without any noise, Poppy and Bayldon began to push the great bed towards the opening to the tunnel, and Messina lay quietly, lost in unconsciousness.
But there was still nothing to see.
Poppy felt sick. Her mother had been hurt before, especially when bitten by the spider right here at Bymion, but usually she was the strong one, and the one who cured everyone else. Now her magic was needed, and yet here she lay, badly injured and there was no one to cure her. Poppy felt so horribly useless. She was going to be like her poor lovable father – the only other one in the family without a shred of magic power.
She allowed herself one little smile, for if only her mother hadn’t been so badly hurt, this would seem like a game – pushing this great big bed into the dark.
Then another thought came to her, and the smile disappeared at once. Clebbster was in bed injured as well and at the same time. The leaders of both sides were out of the game. What sort of game was that?
And then there was no more time for miserable thoughts, as strange and unpleasant sounds began to invade the darkness. There was a shuffling and a tiny repetitious sound of small movements. The smell was not pleasant, but it was faint. The wheels on the legs of the bed began to stick, making the bed swerve. Messina tried to sit up.
A faint blue light, no stronger than a guttering candle, sprang from the bed. Messina said faintly, “I’m sorry, this is the best I can do. But at least it shows I can make a little magic. Can you see anything now?”
“Indeed, and well done,” Bayldon said, peering around. He reached out to touch something, then quickly pulled his hand back. “It’s like a mountain of sand or grit or dirt. And there are thousands of tiny creatures. One bit my finger and it stings. These things appear to live here.”
“Spiders?” asked Messina with a shiver.
“I think they’re ants,” said Poppy, who was tapping the pile of grit with her covered foot.
“I know exactly,” Bayldon said suddenly. “Termites. This is a termite mound, with termites that bite. They must have come here years ago when the palace first fell into ruin, and now they’ve built their own palace.”
“It’s huge,” gasped Poppy, exploring the sandy mountain before them. It rose high into the darkness beyond their sight, and stretched in every direction. Entrances and tiny tunnels led from the outside, too narrow for even a human finger to poke inside, and yet the endless activity within the mountain could be heard. The termites themselves, like pale grey ants, were so busy, they seemed unaware of anything else. But then Poppy squeaked, turned around three times trying to scratch her back, and then yelled, “They’re on my back. They’re crawling up my sleeves. I’ve been bitten twice. No, three, no hundreds of times.”
“Me too, they’re all over me,” Bayldon stamped both feet, trying to dislodge them, and the termite mound trembled.<
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Messina had once again fallen silent, and the faint blue light faded, blinked, and disappeared. Poppy called, “Let’s get away. Mum? Dad?” but got neither answer nor any other sound. Abruptly she felt herself falling. And then she felt absolutely nothing at all.
With no idea how much time had passed, Poppy opened her eyes, but once again the black lightless warmth was all she could see. But this time she could feel, and she felt the presence of two bodies, one on either side of her. But they all lay still in a row, and Poppy whispered, “Mum? Dad? Is that you?”
The large weight to her left answered her in a murmur. “Yes dearest. This is your father. Are you alright? Have you been hurt?”
Poppy had not been hurt, but she could neither move nor even wriggle her fingers. It seemed as though her entire body was paralysed. But then, as she became more aware, she realised that she was bound and tied all over except her head, in a web of thin sticky cords. They wound around her so many times, it was as if she was a butterfly in a chrysalis, trapped, immovable, and awaiting its wings. But this was worse than any cocoon, for however much she tried to wriggle and push, she could not break out of it.
Chapter Six
Nathan first, then John, slid the rainbow as if it was a playground, and landed with a thump back in Sharr Forest, feeling delighted with themselves. Laksta, Hexaconda and Laccyjon climbed a little slower, for although they had each turned into human shape, their very long legs made sliding difficult.
They all landed in a heap together, and clambered up, looking around in curiosity and delight.
“Is this where our ancestors lived?” Laksta asked. “What a beautiful place.”
“And beautiful fruit,” said Hexaconda, reaching up and gently pulling a ripe golden fig from the tree overhead. Pulling off another fig for her daughter, she grinned, dripping golden juice. “Here in the shade, it’s cooler than Sparkan. I love the feel of the breeze between the leaves. But will it be cold at night? Can we soak in hot water, lulling us into sweet dreams?”
“First of all,” Nathan said, “we have to talk to Soar.”
The great oak had heard them, and the top of his branches peered over the rainbow glade, leaves peeping between the two golden fig trees. “The grand Lady Quoster,” he greeted her, deep voiced. “At last we can welcome you back to your original home, and the place where your glorious ancestors were our friends and allies.” The oak bowed with a rustle of leaves, and Hexaconda bowed low in return. Her green hair shone like leaves in summer, and her eyes reflected the pale sunshine.
“Will you come,” asked a golden fig tree, “and stay amongst us? This has always been our dream, to return to the old times when all the world was sweet and at peace, and the trees lived amongst the Quosters and the Quosters lived amongst the trees.”
Laksta stepped forwards and bowed to the golden fig. “We are too young to remember the good times,” she said. “But we will gladly live amongst you again if it becomes possible. But if we become too cold, we die, and I fear this forest in winter will not bring us the heat we desire. I believe the hot lakes on Sparkan give us life, even though there is little food.”
“We’ve promised to bring back the river and the ponds and the hot springs,” said Nathan. “My grandmother has promised, and what she promises she always does. Her daughter and my mother is the Empress. We only have to conquer the Hazletts and take back our throne.”
“And how long will that take?” sniffed a weeping willow. “The wizards are too strong.”
“But we’ve been gathering friends and allies for years,” said Nathan.
“And they ain’t got many,” insisted John. “Folks don’t like them.”
“But Clebbster has hidden allies,” Hexaconda sighed. “Many men of Peganda secretly support Clebbster, because they’ve been bribed, or frightened to go against him, or think he’s too strong to fail and they want to support the winning side. Then many of my cousins and companions in the lakes, even though we are all Quosters, believe he is their great master. I once believed that myself when he first started coming to Sparkan to bathe and soak in the scalding water with us. He was a magnificent snake, and so large that no one could fight him. He said he had brought the Quosters to power, and he was a Quoster himself. Some of our people loved and admired him for that. Many still do.”
“He certainly turns into a magnificent serpent when he wishes,” said Laksta. “But he is cruel and wicked. Only a few of the Quosters are like that. Most of us simply wish to be left alone to doze in the heat.”
“Some of the meteors support him,” whispered Hexaconda. “Although I don’t think many of them admit it.”
Nathan was shocked. “I never knew there were so many,” he said. “But I still think we have a lot more. Most of Sparkan, lots in medieval England and some of Italy, all the people of the plains here and almost all of Peganda and the villages, all the Epilogs, and now – best of all – the forest.”
“It sounds most encouraging,” Soar said, waving his branches. “But we cannot trust a creature like that. We must be sure before we declare ourselves.”
“I reckon you’s too slow at all the stuff you finks about,” John said, a little impatient. “’Cos you lives thousands o’ years, you does it all slow and mighty cautious. I reckon we do it now and do it quick.”
“First,” Hexaconda smiled, “we won’t talk about war, we talk about friendship. I want to understand exactly what it would be like for all of us if we came back to live in the forest. And I’d be most interested to hear why you want us. Most people, we find, don’t want us at all. They hate us.”
“We will lead you to our meeting place,” Soar said, and very slowly picking up his roots, he began to march through the lines of trees, and once he had passed most turned and followed him. It was a slow march, but eventually they all arrived at the glade.
Crowding around, the trees pushed down their roots, making a great open circle of grass and wild daisies and baby mushrooms. In the middle stood Nathan and John, Hexaconda, Laksta and Laccyjon, smiling hopefully. It was some time before sufficient trees, in particular the seniors, had collected, and then Soar began to speak.
“We miss the old days,” he said. “We want evenings when we talk to our Quoster friends, and they climb into our boughs and nest there for the night. We want their warmth curled around our trunks, and the songs we used to sing together. We want hot bubbling springs that used to leap in the glades, and the River Sharr which brought us all fresh water for our roots and our friends. We want good natured travellers coming and going up and down the rainbow, and smiling as they leave through our rich dark shade. And we want the birds which used to come in their thousands when we had water. The birds and the Quosters would help collect our dead leaves, and clear away damp undergrowth. We want our happy lives back, and not be frightened any longer of rough men coming to chop us down, break our branches, and set terrible fires at our roots.”
The immense cheering and clapping of the trees drowned out everything else. “Well said,” and “I agree,” were the main calls, and trees clapping branches was a very noisy affair. Smiling and waiting, Nathan and John stood still in the centre of the glade, but Laksta, Hexaconda and Laccyjon walked around the edges, very pleased to meet each individual tree and begin to learn their names.
John saw the tiger first. The flash of black and brilliant orange stripes was just visible between the trees. “Look,” John pointed. “Tis Gilden? Or tis Yaark?”
Everybody spun around to look. At first they saw only shadows but then, pace by pace, the huge animal strode from between the darker trees at the back of the gathering. He stood facing John and Nathan, then raked the ground with one clawed paw.
Immediately behind him came another. Smaller, she was white-furred, looking as beautiful as though covered in snow. She stood close to the first one, just a step behind, her golden eyes wide. Within three heartbeats there came another, another female, but golden furred. She joined her sister. Another male, almost as h
uge as the first, loped from between the trees, and also stood facing Nathan.
Lastly walked the largest tiger of all, his head held proud and his fur as vivid as the sunshine. He bowed his head to Nathan and spoke. “I have come to pledge allegiance,” he said. “I am Gilden, but you do not know my friends here. They do not speak much of your language, but as one of their kind, we can talk together. The two males are Vargen and Dassend. They are great fighters and loyal friends. The female is Eris. She is a loving mother and a mighty fighter. Lastly there is the white female, Atta, much loved by all. We are a dying race, although there are others living in the hills and mountains. But Trakken, my friend even mightier than myself, has been lost.” Gilden looked around at the trees, then turned back to Nathan. “He has been taken by Yaark. You have seen him. But Yaark still holds him captive within.”
“Yes, we met him,” answered Nathan. “And he spoke to us.”
“But as Yaark, not as Trakken,” Gilden said. “All my friends can speak, but it is so long since they have ever talked to a human, they find it difficult to remember the words.”
Smiling, excited, at the other tigers, John said, “Wow. Tis great. But how does we get rid o’ Yaark from yer friend?”
“He must find the strength to throw the incubus out from his mind, as I did,” Gilden said, and the other tigers nodded. “No one else can do this for him, although some may try to explain to him what he should do, and inspire his efforts. He once wished very deeply to pair for life with Atta, the most beautiful tiger in our hills. But now she avoids him, for it is hard to know when he carried Yaark within him, or not. So then he wished to pair with Ralgia, who loves him but it is not fair to her for Yaark is evil, and must be banished. I am ashamed that I ever permitted him entrance in my mind, but he was so secretive and so clever at first, I did not understand what was happening to me. Then, once he was in, there was nothing I could do to throw him out. Not until I learned a greater strength, as Trakken must.”
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