Blind Man's Buff

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  Nathan nodded. Younger Willow sighed, saying, “As you know, my lord, not only did that rebellion fail, but many of the great powers of the time were locked away in the ice chamber. Six long years. It was a tragedy.”

  “But it is the changes in the ruling usurping Hazletts that I feel you should consider, my illustrious lord,” continued Hermes, waddling the length of the table and back again, upsetting a cup of llama milk into Younger Willow’s lap. “Previous Hazlett lords, magicians all of them, have been cruel, unjust and relentless. From the time of the false Ninester, they have grown worse for their dark magic has become more powerful. It is said that the thief and child assassin Deben, adopted as his true son by the Hazlett usurper Krillester, was in part a serpent. A descendant of other wizards, even more wicked than the Hazletts.”

  Nathan was fascinated, and jumped up, saying, “I think you’re right. I’ve seen it. Both Brewster and Wagster have long dark forked tongues like snakes. And they’re both really tall and skinny too. Of course, I’ve seen Wagster turn into a proper snake, and Clebbster can be a huge monster of a snake, looking as though he could swallow the world.” He paused, staring down at Hermes and at Younger willow, who was still sitting at the table. “And then of course, there’s Yaark. I’ve no idea what he is. Not a Hazlett. Maybe something worse.” Nathan flopped back into his chair. “And Yaark can turn into all sorts of horrible things.”

  “I believe this makes a difference to the future rebellion, my illustrious lord,” said Hermes, ignoring the spilt milk. “The Hazlett dynasty was always corrupt. But now it is no longer normal. First it was a tyranny. Now it is a joke.”

  “Not exactly funny,” glowered Younger Willow.

  “The trouble is,” sighed Nathan, “none of us really know anything about fighting.”

  Younger Willow cleared his throat, wiped the milk from his invisible lap, and leaned forwards. “Thanks to yourself and your friends, my lord, I have experienced the perils of war not so long ago, and the memory will never fade. I fought at the battle of Henry Tudor’s invasion against your King Richard, and although I have preferred not to speak of my experiences, they remain vivid.”

  “Of course,” Nathan smiled back at him across the table. “I almost forgot – no, no, not actually forgotten, of course. It’s just that the Battle of Bosworth, as they call it now in my time, seems so long ago.”

  “Only five months ago for those of us who fought there,” said the Epilog. “And you fought there yourself, my illustrious lord.”

  “Just on the edge of the battle,” admitted Nathan. “I hated it. I was frightened too. I’d never heard such noise. Far worse than thunder. I hit someone over the head and he hit me and I fell over. That’s all I remember.”

  “Being unseen,” said Younger Willow very quietly, “I had a huge advantage, but it was also a disadvantage since I could not wear armour. Only my own clothes kept me invisible. But when the two armies came together on that great field with the marshes behind, I was in the middle. First the arrows, like flights of furious eagles with their long points and tail feathers. Thousands of them cutting the clouds. Then the huge bombardment. Both sides had cannon fire, although it could not last long, or they both would have killed their own sides. But the explosions and the flaring bursts of fire, hurtling upwards with the smashed pieces of steel and people was terrible. I smelled death and burning and sweat and boggy marsh and dirt and hatred. Then the clash. Running, hurtling, throwing themselves together with swords and spears, axes and pikes. Such bloodshed. Such misery. Thousands shouting, others screaming. Horses on the battlefield and the thunder of their hooves. Snorting, neighing, falling, their riders crushed beneath their weight. I was sick, and could hardly stand. Then I knew I had to learn what one day I must do in my own country, so I also ran against the enemy, my sword catching the reflection of the cannon fire, and turning as red as the blood.”

  “Oh, please stop,” whispered Nathan. “How can anyone ever want to go to war?”

  “To protect his people,” answered Younger Willow, “as your King Richard did, and as you must do one day.”

  “The birds and animals,” said Hermes looking down at his feet, “are not so cruel. We fight no wars. I did have a scuffle,” he admitted, “with an older goose one day some years past. He disputed my right to be the chief Messenger of Clarr. But we simply pecked and hissed at each other, and eventually he ran away.”

  “I saw your king killed,” continued Younger Willow very softly. “He mounted a great charge and came galloping down the field towards the place where the Tudor invader was standing protected by his body-guard. Henry Tudor did not fight, but reaching him meant crashing through forty men holding pikes all around him. The king’s charge, with a hundred of his knights or more on horseback, was so strong, he smashed through that guard, and was almost at the point of killing Tudor, when a great lord came galloping up from the opposite direction. I don’t know his name, but a troop of men ran after, yelling and flashing knives and axes. Your king was dragged from his horse, pulled backwards into marshy ground, his helmet ripped off, and then there was a great heap of soldiers on top of him. I saw no more. I couldn’t look.”

  “It was the traitor Stanley. I met him,” whispered Nathan. “He’s related to Henry Tudor and he thought he’d get more power and riches under the rule of his own relative.”

  “I will tell you this,” said Younger Willow. “I never want to fight another war. That noise haunts my dreams. Your English king gave his life for his people. And to rid our country of the Hazletts and their cruelty, I will do the same if I have to.”

  “But there are always traitors, like Stanley,” said Nathan. “And Braxton. Braxton’s brother is a loyal friend and a great warrior. But Braxton is a cruel traitor.”

  “Then we must start planning,” said Hermes sitting down again with a plop. “And this time, after so many failures, we must win.”

  “I still own my sword from that battle,” said Younger Willow. “I keep it sharpened, just in case. But now let us talk of something more pleasant.”

  “Oh dear,” sighed Nathan. “I just hope your people will find Poppy and Peter safe and well. But I’m so worried, and that’s not pleasant at all.”

  The search party did not return until extremely late that night. They had found no one.

  “We split in two after dark,” explained Elder Pine. “The smaller party have remained out in the forest, and will sleep there until first light. Tomorrow my party will head in a different direction.”

  Nathan was almost distraught. “But your people know the forest,” he mumbled. “You said you’d find her easily.”

  “We will,” said the Epilog firmly, “tomorrow, my lord.” And he thumped off to his own underground home.

  Having thought about hand to hand fighting almost all day, and what it felt like to have a face glaring at you just as far away as your nose, as he tried to kill you and you were supposed to kill him, Nathan was not in a mood to sleep. He tossed the night through, imagined every disaster he had ever heard of, and finally drew out the Knife of Clarr.

  “You cannot let her be harmed,” he said, gazing at the shimmering blade shining at him from the darkness. “And Peter too, of course. You have to rescue them both. Tell me. Promise me.”

  Then above the knife, up in the ceiling beams, Nathan saw the two Lashtang moons rising. One huge silver moon was perfectly round and shone like a full moon did in England over the roof of his house. But below this, much smaller, was the pink moon, also perfectly round, and its light was rosy and even brighter.

  The house was below ground and there were no windows, so Nathan knew this was a message from the knife. He lay in the Epilog bed, and stared up. The two moons began to converge so that the silver moon half covered the pink moon before it slid away. Nathan had been told that when this happened, which was rare, it was a very good sign. He gripped the handle of the knife and continued to stare. And then, quite suddenly, as if she was sitting on the moons, he saw Pop
py. She was laughing, and beside her was Peter. He was laughing too. Between them sat a dog of some kind, very large, but its head was in a food bowl so it was hard to see clearly. Poppy leaned over and kissed one of its ears. Peter was patting its neck. There was a red sky behind them, and it was alight with moons and stars, gleaming from the crimson clouds.

  And then, quite suddenly, it all blinked out. The vision had gone.

  Nathan smiled, tucked his knife back under the pillow, turned over and fell fast asleep.

  “I know they’re fine,” he told Younger Willow the next morning. “Scrambled eggs again, please?”

  Madam Willow called from the kitchen, “Coming up any minute, my lord. Clearly you are feeling better.”

  Nathan, nodding, sat at the table with the first big smile in several days. “Poppy and Peter are fine. Having their own adventure. I saw them. I’ve no idea where they are, but they’re safe and happy. They seem to have found a pet puppy to add to all the animals we have already. So I’m free to go with you to Peganda, Younger Willow, and get this whole thing started.”

  Watching scrambled egg disappear in large mouthfuls from plate into empty air, made Nathan want to laugh, but he resisted the temptation and ate his own eggs with relish. “I am ready to speak to the villagers,” said Younger Willow between mouthfuls. “But of course, most are away searching the forest for Poppy and Peter. But I can leave Elder Birch with your instructions to gather the other Epilogs once they return. That way we can set off with twenty or so men, and then later a hundred or more can follow.”

  “I don’t want to start a battle yet,” said Nathan. “I think fifteen or twenty is enough. I want to move into the city and start searching out Braxton, the Hazletts, and any other traitors. And to see what the other side is up to. Then we can make our own plans, and eventually go to the cottage where the empress and other warriors are in conference.”

  Younger Willow jumped up from the table. “Indeed yes, my illustrious lord. First the stealth and espionage. And then the war.”

  “It’s the empress who decides the war,” Nathan said. “But let’s start our own part first. And I have an idea. If we walk from here on the outskirts of the forest all the way down to Peganda, it will take a week. But on the coast half way down is the ruined castle where people say Yaark lives. Hermes could carry me to the castle, though of course all in secret. But once I’ve explored everything I need to see, then I’ll set off for Peganda, and send Hermes back here with a message. By then your people will be free to follow you, and start your own espionage within the city. I shall meet you there as soon as possible.”

  Highly enthusiastic, Younger Willow approved the idea, and for the first hour he helped Nathan prepare for the journey. Hermes groomed his feathers, and tried a little buttered toast himself.

  Then Nathan wrapped his arms around Hermes’ neck, put his head down to keep the wind out of his eyes, and felt the warmth of the feathers at his back. They left the huge dark shadows of the forest, until only a few scattered trees dotted the land below. The chill melted just a little but the wind still gusted with frost, and the ocean beyond the craggy coastline was wild with great black waves crashing against the rock.

  A small fishing village was built back from the beach, avoiding the winter rage of the seas, and the fishing boats were tied to the wharf, unwilling to face such wild weather.

  Past the fishing village they flew on, but some hours of the biting cold in their faces, Hermes said, his voice more high pitched than usual, “My illustrious lord, the ancient Castle of Fibillank is just a little further head, on the shores of the Eastern Ocean. “

  “Your speed of flight is glorious,” grinned Nathan. “It would have taken days if I’d walked.”

  Hermes replied, “I am not just a placid goose for Christmas dinner, you know. I am the Messenger of Clarr, and my magic flows through my veins. And I shall help investigate this castle with you, my illustrious lord.”

  Nathan interrupted. “Is the castle ruined?”

  “Part, my lord. And parts stand safe and tall. But it is a house of demons.”

  “I’ve no intention of going in,” Nathan mumbled. “Yaark could kill us in seconds. But I want to understand what it’s like and plan to besiege it once the proper rebellion starts.”

  “Then,” said Hermes, circling down and ready to land, “I shall bring you to ground at some distance, for we have no wish to risk Yaark seeing us. But, my illustrious lord, I must point out that we cannot be sure if the creature Yaark lives here or not, and if he does it cannot be always. He travels afar.”

  “I will scout around,” said Nathan, “and see what I can discover.”

  “And I shall fly over,” added Hermes.

  Nathan was not sure what he wanted to do, but within minutes he was standing on his own two feet, staring out at the jagged horizon, where a jumble of dark stone towers stood on the cliffs, staring out at the Eastern Ocean of Ho.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Peter scrambled up. He had singed his knees, and his smart crimson Lashtang trousers, already torn from the forest, now had two small burnt holes. Poppy, with a gasp, said, “Everything’s burning. Where are we?”

  From the skies came a sudden roar which grew louder and stronger, until the vibrations rocked the land, the water and the mountains. Everything shook as the grumble turned to roar, and the roar turned to thunder.

  Peter flung himself head down, his hands over his ears, while Poppy sat up, staring around.

  “It’s a volcano,” she said. “Look.”

  “Mountains explode?”

  “Volcanos do.”

  Blocking the whole horizon was a mountain that soared into the clouds. Its sides were rough and streaked in slides of molten lava, rock fall, and burning black soot. Its peak was flat, wide and open and from this glowed small flames, sudden sparks, shooting scarlet stars, and the awful noises of the destruction within.

  “Wow,” muttered Poppy. “Thank goodness it’s not a full scale eruption.”

  “It’s bad enough,” said Peter, straightening up again. “Look what we’re sitting on. Just a bit of rock.”

  “Rock floating on a lake. A boiling lake.”

  “We can’t be.”

  But they were. A large slab of jagged stone, caught in the current, had been swept from the mountain into the surrounding lake, and here it floated and turned, swirled and finally, pulling free, travelled on into the bubble and froth of the lake.

  As the slab turned, Peter hung on. “Don’t put your fingers in the water,” Poppy yelled. “It’s absolutely boiling. You’d burn your fingers and never be able to play that glorious lute again.”

  The waters of the lake bubbled, seethed and steamed like pottage in a cauldron. Abruptly, at a small distance, it hurtled upwards into a rumbling fountain, burning hot and full of red and scalded pebbles from below.

  “This must be the floating island. You know – Sparkan. We’ve got to get out of here,” Peter shouted. “It’s too dangerous. Back in the forest I was frozen. It was all snow and ice. Now it’s roasting.”

  He stood, and as the stone slab floated past another, he jumped. Poppy followed. The second stone wobbled as they landed, changing direction. Now they were heading directly for the volcano.

  “Jump again,” Poppy said. “But don’t try anything too far away. If you fell in the water you’d be drowned.”

  “I’d be burned alive first.”

  The entire sky above them was a brilliant, smoking orange, as vivid as a field of marigolds or a blazing fire in the hearth. Streaked with black cloud, it glared down on them, swallowing the sparks and spits of the flames in the mouth of the volcano.

  “So what now?” Poppy demanded. There was a tiny croaking gulp, but she said no more.

  Peter was staring down into the water. “There’s something in there,” he said, cringing back. “Things with long tails. Lizards. Or fish. I don’t like the look of them.” He turned for an answer, and to see what Poppy was doing, since s
he had not answered him, and found himself staring into space. Poppy had disappeared. “Help,” he screeched. “Where are you? Poppy? Did you fall in the water? Are you dead?”

  He peered downwards, and risked poking one finger into the water. But with a yelp, he snatched it away again, scalded and sore. The water was a furnace and he wondered how fish or lizards or anything else could stay alive in it. But he saw the splash of tails and the darting shadows of creatures deep within. Then he looked around, and finally looked up. He saw her at once.

  Way above in the scarlet and orange clouds flew a bat-winged creature, and hanging, kicking and twisting, from its talons, was a figure disappearing into the distance. At first, terrified, Peter thought it must be Yaark who had Poppy, but he quickly realised that the bird-thing was too small. Yaark came always as imposingly huge. Now Poppy struggled in the claws of a creature smaller than herself except for its tail and wings.

  Screaming and fighting, Poppy tried to escape until most unexpectedly, she heard a voice.

  “If I drop you,” said the small gruff voice, “then either you’ll fall into the mouth of the volcano, and that would be bye bye little girl. Or you’d fall into the lake. And guess what that would mean. Bye, bye, bye.”

  Poppy stopped struggling. “I’m not a little girl,” she said crossly, “and my name is Poppy. And if you don’t want to drop me or kill me, why did you grab me away from my friend. Do you think I’d make a good dinner or something? I promise, I wouldn’t.”

  “How dee’do,” said the thing. “My name is Wuz.”

  “I wish you’d put me down, Wuz,” gulped Poppy as they flew over the top of the mountain and the flames blew up with a flooding heat. “This is – most – uncomfortable.”