Before they could continue their conversation, two dogs suddenly appeared from behind a tree. One stood in front of Oland, the other in front of Delphi.
“Don’t move.” Benjamin Evolent stood opposite them, holding a staff in his hand. He had taken off his beekeeper’s hat. It had disguised how small his head really was, and how slim his neck. It was clear that underneath the protective clothes, he was a slight man, nothing like his older brother, Malcolm. Benjamin was short, with thinning fair hair combed flat, and damp with the heat. Skinny red veins covered his broad cheekbones. His eyes reflected the turmoil of the strange world he had created.
“Who are you, you fools?” he said. “Get inside! Get inside!” He pointed to a long, narrow stone building behind him.
“No!” said Oland. “We’re not going anywhere with you!”
“You’re in danger out here!” said Benjamin. “How did you get in here? What are you doing?”
“Your brother kidnapped us,” said Oland.
“What?” said Benjamin. “Please, come inside. I don’t want to harm you. You have to believe me.”
Beside them, the leaves of a towering plant started to rustle with great force. Without another word, they all ran for the laboratory. Benjamin slammed the door shut behind them.
“Now, why would my brother want to kidnap you?” said Benjamin. “Who are you?”
“I don’t know why,” said Oland. “But it’s the second time he’s tried.”
Benjamin frowned. “What happened in Decresian – the kidnappings, the experiments, the buried bodies – that was the work of my brother. All I wanted to do was good. I wanted to create beautiful creatures, the brightest humans, the best athletes.” He gestured wildly with his arms, drawing their attention to a huge curved skeleton that hung across the wall.
“You worked with your brother,” said Delphi. “You knew what you were doing was wrong.”
“Not at first,” said Benjamin. “He is the superior doctor, the superior scientist. And, when I did realise what he was doing, it was too late. I was already tainted and I would be forever linked to his foul deeds. As is clear again from what you have just said.”
“What has happened in these woods?” said Oland.
Benjamin Evolent grabbed a leather-bound book from a table beside him and clutched it to his chest. He began to tap on it, his fingertips working faster and faster.
From the cabinet behind him, a small white rabbit jumped out and stood at Delphi’s feet, raising its two front paws, rubbing its nose. As Delphi crouched down to stroke its fur, Benjamin Evolent raised the huge book he had in his hand and struck the rabbit, throwing it towards the door. Delphi cried out.
“What have you done?” shouted Oland.
Benjamin’s eyes were filled with an extraordinary panic. The doctor responsible for whatever creatures roamed the woods looked more terrified than Oland and Delphi. “That wasn’t a rabbit,” he said. “That wasn’t a rabbit.” His hands were shaking. He ran to the door, opened it and kicked the small creature out into the woods.
“It was a rabbit!” said Delphi. “You are insane!”
“It was a rabbidile,” said Benjamin. “And it could have killed us all.”
“Killed us?” said Delphi. “What’s a rabbidile?”
Benjamin sprang towards her. He pushed his face into hers and hissed: “Nothing is what it seems here – nothing!”
Before Delphi could reply, Benjamin Evolent turned and ran out of the door. “Nothing!” he shouted again. “You will never truly know what hides inside the creatures of The Shadowed Woods!”
“These are not The Shadowed Woods,” shouted Oland. “I’ve seen the map of Envar, this is Valle da Cossima. You don’t own these woods!”
“No,” said Benjamin. “I don’t!” He looked around in fright. Then he started to run through the trees. “The creatures do. The creatures own these woods.”
Oland and Delphi were stunned. Slowly, they made their way out of the door and walked over to where the rabbit’s body lay slumped against a tree. Oland crouched down and reached out his hand.
“Stop touching dead things,” said Delphi. She handed him a stick.
Oland used it to turn the body over.
“That is clearly a rabbit,” said Delphi.
Oland glanced down at it. “Wait,” he said. “There’s something in its mouth.” He took the stick and slowly prised the rabbit’s jaws open. The first thing they saw was the chewed rattle of a rattlesnake.
“Rabbits don’t eat snakes,” said Delphi.
But then they realised what a rabbidile was. As Oland pushed up more with the stick, the rabbit’s mouth opened wider and wider and its head bent back until it touched its spine… revealing oversized teeth and muscular, gaping jaws, like a miniature crocodile. It was only when it snapped that they realised the rabbidile was still alive.
Oland and Delphi ran.
“Benjamin Evolent was right,” said Oland when they stopped. “Nowhere is safe here.”
“We won’t know what creatures we’ll meet and what strange hybrids they might be,” said Delphi. “And Malben is out there. Malben is all alone.”
“At least he got away from the Evolents,” said Oland. “Don’t worry about him, Delphi. He’s fast, and he’ll be able to fly through the trees.”
Delphi nodded. “I hope so.”
“Surely Benjamin Evolent knows what each animal is,” said Oland. “He’s the one who carried out the experiments.”
Delphi shook her head. “I don’t think he does. Why did he look so terrified?”
They looked at each other as they both realised the same thing.
“Someone released his hybrid animals into the woods,” said Oland.
Delphi nodded.
“And after that,” said Oland, “they bred…”
LAND AND DELPHI RAN, PLUNGING THROUGH THE undergrowth, reluctant to even pause for breath. They knew now that the woods were filled with beasts of all kinds, but they had no way of knowing what they would stumble across. The only thing that finally stopped them was a terrible stench, like the smell of rotten eggs. As they sucked in huge breaths of air, they began to choke on it.
A marsh appeared before them, stretching as far as they could see.
“It’s the smell of the marsh,” said Oland.
“It’s terrible,” said Delphi, holding her nose.
“Don’t bother,” said Oland, “it’s best to get used to it.”
At different points in the greenish water, lights glowed then faded.
“Oland!” said Delphi. “Willow! ‘You will find someone by willow.’ That’s what the scryer said. She meant will-o’-the-wisps. Then she said ‘lamplights’.” Delphi pointed across the water.
They looked around and both noticed a long narrow jetty that stretched out into the marsh. It sloped upward, and at the end, perched high on green wooden stilts, was a tall, narrow, windowless shack, painted in red and green. A twisted strand of smoke rose from a red chimney in the roof.
“Look!” said Delphi, pointing to the back of the house, where a line of brightly coloured flags blew in the rising wind.
Oland turned to Delphi. “I don’t believe it,” he said.
Delphi smiled. “The heraldist!” She paused. “You were right.”
“The scryer was right…” said Oland.
Delphi laughed.
They went to where the jetty started. It was so narrow that they had to walk one after the other.
“I’ll go first,” said Oland. He turned to Delphi. “Are you sure you want to do this?” He glanced at the water. “Maybe you should stay on dry land.”
Delphi was shaking her head. “No. I’m not going to stay here alone.”
As they stepped on to the jetty, the green water began to glow in front of them. Something slithered out of the water and crossed the jetty, slipping into the water at the other side. Oland went rigid. He turned to Delphi. She lost her footing on the slime.
He grabbed her by
the elbow and steadied her.
“Delphi,” said Oland, taking her by the shoulders, holding them tight and staring into her eyes. “Have you ever seen a lamprey?”
“No,” said Delphi.
“It’s like an eel,” said Oland. “They’re here, in the marsh. If you see one, don’t look at it.”
“Why?” said Delphi.
“Because – and this is no lie – they are one of the most hideous creatures you will ever see. Willow. Lamplights. That’s what the scryer meant. A lamprey with the glow of a will-o’-the-wisp.”
Delphi shuddered.
“They may not come near us,” said Oland. “I’m just telling you not to look at them.”
“But… what do they do?” said Delphi.
Oland shook his head. “Don’t ask.”
“Tell me, Oland, so that, if I need to, I can…”
“Delphi – they look like snakes. That’s all you need to know. If one comes near you, kick it away. It cannot do you any damage unless it’s extremely close to you. It can’t strike out and bite. It moves swiftly, but not aggressively. But… just don’t look at it.”
“I don’t think I can do this.” Delphi’s legs were shaking. “I want to leave. Now.”
“We can’t,” said Oland. “Not yet. But, as soon as we get the Crest of Sabian, we will…”
Delphi nodded, sending tears spilling down her face. Oland reached out a hand towards her, but quickly pulled back.
“You can do this,” he said. “I know you can.” He paused. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” said Delphi. “Yes. Go.”
Oland moved ahead. Every now and then, the water glowed to their left and right.
“What will you do with the crest when you get it?” said Delphi.
“I don’t know,” said Oland. “I’m hoping something in the design will tell me something… or lead me to something… or someone. All I was told about it was: ‘depth and height, from blue to white, what’s left behind is yours to find’.”
Oland quickened his step. “We’re nearly there,” he said. He kept the fear from his voice; they were crossing a marsh, the deadest of water, yet it seemed to be moving and the level was rising. And a fog rose with it. Oland moved faster.
The heraldist’s house was close; Oland could see that they would reach the lower of two walkways, spaced thirty feet apart, separated by a ladder. A second ladder stretched up to the house. Oland reached the end of the jetty.
“There!” he said.
He turned around to Delphi. For seconds that seemed endless, he watched as she stood frozen in the strange glow of the greenish light. Her fear had blinded her to the fog as it crawled slowly across the surface. But, as she looked up, Oland could see the panic in her eyes. He knew that the jetty in front of her was being swallowed up by the fog. A wispy strand of it floated across her legs.
As it disappeared, Oland could see a lamprey wrapping itself around Delphi’s boot.
LAND BENT DOUBLE, CLUTCHING AT HIS STOMACH, releasing a terrifying moan.
“Oland,” screamed Delphi. “What’s wrong with you?”
As he fell to the ground, disappearing into the rising fog, he heard Delphi scream, “I’m coming, Oland, I’m coming.”
She ran, ignoring the fog, the water, the glowing lampreys. In one final jump, she was kneeling at Oland’s side, dragging him up from the ground where he had collapsed.
“Oland,” she said. “What happened? Are you all right?”
He opened his eyes. His face was flooded with relief. “Delphi… you’re alive.” He glanced at her boot. The lamprey was gone.
“Yes,” said Delphi. “Yes. Are you in pain? Do you feel unwell?”
Oland slowly sat up. “No,” he said. “No. But are you all right?”
Delphi looked at him. The fear in her eyes tore at him. He could see that she was trying to be strong, but that some of the fire in her had died.
“What happened?” said Delphi.
“I… I…” said Oland. “I don’t know.”
From under Delphi’s cape, the lamprey slid. Oland froze. As a child, he had seen the most intricately detailed watercolour of a lamprey, and it was burned into his mind. If it opened its mouth in front of Delphi, Oland had no doubt she would be so terrified, she would jump, and then she would fall into the water.
The lamprey disappeared; Delphi’s oilskins were so stiff and heavy, she didn’t feel it move under her armpit. But soon, from over her shoulder, by the choppy ends of her coal-black hair, the coal-black lamprey reappeared. Then it opened its mouth. Bile rose in Oland’s throat. Once a lamprey’s mouth opened, all that was visible was the lining – the colour of pale human flesh. There was no bony jaw, because it had no bones. Instead, there was a pale, fleshy circle, and inside it were concentric circles of pointed teeth with a dark chasm at the centre. Oland knew that lampreys clamped on to their prey and ate their way through the surface until they reached fluids and slowly sucked them away. Once they attached, they were impossible to remove. And one was ready to feed, inches from Delphi’s face.
Delphi was talking and Oland had no idea what she was saying; he knew he couldn’t do or say anything or the lamprey would be directly in her face if she turned. He had no idea how he would get it away. But the weight of it had begun to settle on to Delphi’s body and, slowly, she became aware of it and, slowly, she turned around. The lamprey was right in front of her, its mouth open.
Delphi’s eyes went black. She stared at it, as if she were more disgusted that it had dared to choose her as a victim than the fact that it was grotesque. It began to glow, its light reflected in the blackness of her eyes. Delphi’s hand shot out with alarming speed. She grabbed the lamprey and, holding it at arm’s length, squeezed it briefly then dropped it into the marsh.
She and Oland looked at each other. Delphi smiled.
Oland laughed. “I worried for no reason.”
“You collapsed on purpose, didn’t you?” said Delphi, suddenly serious. “You collapsed on purpose, so that I would rush to the other side.”
“Would it be such a terrible thing if I had?” said Oland.
Delphi paused. “No,” she said. She smiled. “Thank you.”
Oland forced a smile – what he had just told her was a lie. But it was far better than telling her the truth. He had imagined Delphi disappearing underwater and it was a terrifying sight.
From the platform above they heard a deep hum that reverberated down through the timber. As it continued, the lampreys began to fall from the stilts into the water. Delphi and Oland climbed to the highest walkway, where a red ladder reached up to the house. A pale, bald man who looked to be in his sixties was leaning out over the gate.
“Goodness,” he shouted over the wind. “Come up, come up. My guardian lamplights were doing what they do best… but I never imagined such young people would find their way into these woods. You must have got the fright of your lives.”
He reached out his hand and helped Delphi the last of the way. Oland followed. Up close, the man’s face, like the wooden shingles of the house, looked tired and weather-beaten.
“We have a baleful sky, pirouetting winds…” he said.
Oland thought again of The Great Rains. He had no sense of when they would come, nothing to tell him how much time he had left.
“Anyway, welcome, welcome,” said the man. “Tell me who you are.”
“My name is Oland Born. And this is my companion, Delphi.”
“Well, hello, Oland and companion Delphi.”
“Are you the heraldist?” said Oland.
“I absolutely am. My name is Quintus. Do come in.”
Oland and Delphi looked at each other and smiled. Finally, they would uncover the mystery of the Crest of Sabian.
UINTUS THE HERALDIST’S LOVE OF COLOUR WAS NOT just reserved for his crests; fine horizontal stripes of pale-to-deep shades of yellow, red, green, purple, gold, silver and bronze ran from his shoulders down to his wrists.
He led them into a long narrow room, bursting with more colours than Oland or Delphi had ever seen. The ceiling was neatly covered with hundreds of flags. Across three walls were hundreds of crests, all perfectly aligned. They were emblazoned with birds and animals, roses and swords and daggers. The fourth wall was unexpectedly made entirely of glass; every day, the inspirational colours of the woods were laid out before him like a palette.
“Everything is so beautiful!” said Delphi. “And so tidy!”
Quintus laughed. “Ah, but not in there,” he said, pointing through a narrow doorway. Delphi and Oland went into the small room, where papers towered in crooked stacks, and books and ornaments and pots and pans were in haphazard collections on the floor, on shelves, on boxes and crates. There was a glass case mounted on the wall that held a row of dusters of different sizes.
“I rummage in there, and I create in here,” said Quintus.
Oland and Delphi came back into the main room, but could hear the rattle of cups from a third room at the end.
“How on earth did you find me?” called Quintus.
“Oland worked it all out,” said Delphi. “He thought about where cloth was made and dyed, why people no longer did that, how Villius Ren now owns these woods so that no one dared work with colours… except for one man. The Scryer of Gort told us more…”
“You have been on quite the adventure,” said Quintus. He carried out a tray with three cups on it and a tall blue jug.
“Cinderberry,” he said, about to hand them a cup.
Oland flashed back to the smell from the intruder’s bandages on the night he came out from the throne room. “I can’t,” he said. “I’m sorry…”
Curse of Kings (The Trials of Oland Born, Book 1) Page 13