Blind Man's Buff

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  “You are very kind,” it whispered. “And I thank you. There are few Sparkans who will help the wolves.”

  Poppy walked back. She had not expected such appreciative politeness from a monster. “Do you feel any better?” she asked. “I don’t think I was able to help very much.” She stuffed her hands in her own coat pockets, and then remembered she had two small pieces of golden fig which she had brought for lunch. She pulled them out and offered them. “They’re a bit squished,” she admitted, “but they seem to help with all sorts of things. Would you like one?” She paused, then sighed and added, “Or perhaps both. It’s not a whole fig, after all.”

  With a somewhat dramatic groan, the lava wolf sat up. The middle neck drooped, but the other necks reached forwards. “Well, lady, we’d be most grateful. Just a sip of juice can cure a cut foot, you know, and grow back a toenail.”

  Poppy held out one piece of the golden fig, and quickly the left neck reached out, teeth bared, to gobble it. But the middle neck gave it a swipe, saying, “I am the injured one here. You keep your jaws shut.” And it took the piece of oozing fruit in its teeth, bowed its head, licked its lips, and swallowed. A strange doggy smile swept over the face, and its big black eyes brightened. Poppy’s fingers trembled as it took the fig, but its teeth did not even touch her. So she held out the second piece.

  The other two heads looked hopeful, but once again the middle head took the fruit, swallowed it with considerable relish, and thanked Poppy. “What a charming human,” it said gently. “We meet so few here, which we have usually thought to be a benefit. But you, kind lady, have saved my life.”

  Poppy backed away again. She could see Peter and Wuz hurrying towards her from a distance. “I hope you’ll be alright,” she said. “But now I have to go.”

  “Go?” the wolf looked up, clearly disappointed. “I thought we might have a small and pleasant conversation.”

  Poppy was dubious. “My friends are coming to get me,” she said. “And one is a dragon. Do you get friendly with dragons?”

  The right-hand head squeaked slightly. “Depends on the dragon,” it said. “Some are sweet.”

  “And some are quite mean,” said the left-hand head.

  The middle head interrupted. “We are generally amicable neighbours,” it said. “But if you find me boring, young lady, I will not be offended if you wish to rush away.”

  Immediately feeling guilty, Poppy hesitated and smiled as Wuz skipped over, Peter rushing behind. It was Wuz who addressed the wolf. “Well now,” he said, “I believe this is Ro, Ron and Roon. Haven’t seen you for some time.”

  “Problems with the clan leader,” sighed the middle head, who appeared to be Roon. “Master Dialup is getting too big for his left and right. They argue constantly and his leadership is in doubt.”

  The dragon nodded. “I’ve sat on the Board of Directors a few times,” he sighed. “Personally I believe the Sparkan government is failing in many respects. You should stand for election yourself.”

  But Roon was unimpressed. “I’ve no wish to spend my life arguing. We already have problems. This delightful young human had just saved me from a highly infected wound on the mid-neck, made by one of the Sparkan constrictors. I had gone down to the lake to fish, when the beast bit me, bad tempered things, they are. No venom of course, but its bite is nasty, and then with the dirty lake water dripping down my face, the wound became infected. But this delightful young lady cured me with golden fig.”

  “She has a habit of curing big frightening animals,” grinned Peter to himself. “That’s how she met Gilden.”

  “I agree,” Wuz was saying, sitting beside the wolf. “I had always thought humans were horrible things, but these two are charming.”

  “Not all,” sighed the wolf’s left head. “My best friend Samsell, Sile and Seed was recently captured by some vile human male. He took her off down to Lashtang, and I fear he’s made a slave of her.”

  Wuz was shocked. “This isn’t good enough. Have you told the Director?”

  Roon nodded. “Master Depilupp was distinctly uninterested. I was shocked. He told me that we are over-populated anyway, and it’s a good idea to get rid of some.”

  “Humph,” grunted Wuz. “I think our lazy director needs replacing.”

  “But,” suggested Poppy, “as long as this other lava wolf isn’t hurt, perhaps you could start another population down in Lashtang. As it happens, we humans and our friends are hoping to get rid of the wicked Hazletts, who usurped the throne ages ago. You could help.”

  “An army of dragons and lava wolves?” considered Roon. “I’ve no objection to that. The blue rabbits might come along, I suppose, but I doubt it. And the wooshabouts would be no use at all.”

  “Snakes?”

  “Too greedy and untrustworthy.”

  Peter sat down, stretched out his legs, and smiled wide. “We have to get back home. To Lashtang first. Then we can look for your friend Seed and get the ladder to bring her back to you. Then you can rally the troops. What I mean is, see who wants to join us in the rebellion.”

  “It won’t just be a rebellion,” said Poppy. “With lava wolves and dragons, and Epilogs and lots of humans too, this will be a real battle.”

  “I’m in,” said Wuz. “Then we can come back as warriors and get rid of Master Depilupp. After all, change is good, since life gets a little repetitious here sometimes.”

  “And I’m in too, and will rouse my fellow wolves,” said Roon. “Now, what we need is a song?”

  Wuz got excited. “This young human can play real music,” he said, waving one paw madly at Peter.

  Obligingly Peter unstrapped his lute from his back, and smiled into the orange glow and at the two new highly unusual friends and their four faces. He began to play. He strummed slowly at first, plucking the strings without melody. And then his fingers slid to the deep notes of his own creation which Wuz had loved so much.

  Immediately Wuz started to sing, and then realising what the music was for, Ron, Ro and Roon joined in with enthusiastic relish. Clearly the words were known to everyone of Sparkan. Now even Poppy could join the song, and remember the words she had heard before.

  “The land of our birth is dying,

  But breathes as yet undead.

  The blown ashes float sighing,

  But the blood of our wounds boils red.

  The land that we love

  Holds the life that we love,

  But the land that we love is dying.

  The land that we love

  Holds the life that we love,

  But our brothers die, crying.”

  The wolf wiped all six eyes. He sniffed as he asked, “But if we join you in a Lashtang war, how do you want me?”

  Neither Poppy nor Peter was quite sure what he meant. Poppy said, “I think that should be up to you. I will certainly send a message when the war begins.”

  “No, no,” said the wolf. “I mean as I am now, or as a man. I’m not saying I’d be human of course, but as a lava man I fight very well. But of course, I can’t speak.”

  “Sorry. What?” Poppy was entirely confused.

  “It seems she doesn’t know,” said Wuz. “Honestly, these humans are taught nothing about Sparkan. So I should explain that the lava wolves are three headed dogs, and alternatively can turn to a human shape. But the human figure is mute, whereas the dog figure is somewhat talkative, three times over.”

  “Anything else?” asked Poppy, amazed.

  Roon shook his head, and so did Ro and Ron. Then all six eyes blinked, and as they closed the lids, so the eyeballs rolled, as if looking backwards inside the socket. And then, with a misty shiver, the dog shape appeared to melt, and a strong young man grew out from the fog, growing in clarity as the mist faded back. He stood there, bare chested, the muscles of his arms and chest very prominent and gleaming. The face, heavy jawed, was a little pug nosed and there seemed to be rather too many teeth in the mouth. But it was certainly a man in nothing but tight brown leath
er trousers, barefoot, with a head full of big black curls which flopped over his forehead, and big black eyes.

  He grinned and pointed to himself, but could not speak. Then with another six blinks the mist came back, and Ron, Ro and Roon once more sat at Poppy’s side, waving a paw and wagging one agile tail.

  “Wonderful,” breathed Poppy, excited. “This will frighten the Hazletts.”

  “I doubt it,” sighed Wuz. “Clebbster, the greatest Hazlett of all time, comes here often. He rarely communicates except to hiss as he slithers into the Serpent Lake. We know he can also change, but we have never seen him do it except once.”

  Peter and Poppy were interested. “And how did he look?”

  “Like a bent old haggard man-creature,” said Roon. “Very ugly and very old. Not big and strong like me. But strong in dark magic.”

  They had expected something more unusual. “Just an old man?” asked Peter.

  “Two arms, two legs and one head?” asked Poppy.

  “Oh yes. Skinny. Dark hair. Green eyes. But he has a special finger,” said Wuz, speaking softly, as if not wanting anyone else to hear. On his left hand he has a middle finger which is twice as long, with a fingernail four times as long, and it is as deep purple as a fallen mulberry. And that wretched finger can move worlds.”

  “So what does he do with it when he’s a snake with no fingers at all?” Poppy demanded.

  And Ron, Ro, Roon and Wuz all shook their heads. “Then he wouldn’t be able to play the lute,” said Peter, and with a shake of his own head, began to wander off. “I’m going to the fig tree,” he called back. “Maybe that’s where the rainbow goes. It was near another fig tree down in the forest.”

  He followed the stream, which turned into a river, doubled back on itself twice, and spread into six small lakes on its route. There were fish, tiny golden fish with pretty wispy fins, but far too small to eat, complained Wuz. Before the river swelled, the stream was shallow and so were two of the lakes. Poppy walked along the pebbled bed, barefoot and easing her sore toes. She found it most refreshing but was careful not to stand on any darting fish. She pointed down as the stream deepened, catching a sudden reflected shine where the vivid flashing sky caught the water.

  “Look,” she said, “it’s like a tiny rainbow right here.”

  “Not big enough to climb,” said Peter.

  “Is that what you call a rainbow?” demanded Wuz, staring down, ears twitching. “We don’t call that a rainbow. We call it a Mystic Arch. When you said you were looking for the rainbow, I thought you were talking about a bow and arrows, with rain like arrows.”

  “If this is what you want,” said Roon, “then we can take you to the seat of the Mystic Arc.

  Poppy stopped, looking around, and climbed back onto the bank. She almost said she didn’t want to go home at all, and she’d much sooner stay with Wuz and Roon, Ron and Ro on Sparkan. But she knew this would be wrong, and she missed Granny and Nathan and the others. So she kept quiet and followed Wuz who was running ahead in little hops, with his wings flapping, half open.

  They came again to the tree of golden figs.

  It stood so near the edge of the island, that clearly some of its fruit hung over into the sky. It was vast. Its branches spread, bent out and down, and reached high. Every branch swept into other branches, with divisions and twiggy outcrops. It seemed almost like an island itself. The wolf bounded forwards with delight and all three heads snapped up a fig, then sat, and began to slurp and suck, with the juice staining their lips bright yellow.

  Wuz lifted a paw and pointed. “It takes a little courage to go far over the edge,” he said with a warning shake of the head. “But the Mystic Arch that you call a rainbow, starts within the hanging roots of the fig tree. If you lie down, hang on to the tree, and lean over, you will see it.”

  Having decided she’d need fig juice both for courage and agility, Poppy was quickly eating, but Peter lay down flat on the ground beneath the huge shade of the tree, and peered right over the edge.

  “That’s really daunting,” he gasped as he sat up again and swivelled away from the dangerous drop. “I could see the colours of the rainbow, but Lashtang is so far down, it looks like a peanut.”

  Roon chuckled. “Big enough for all your adventures, young human. But if you fell, there’d be no more adventures at all.”

  Wiping golden juice from her chin, Poppy breathed deep, sat under the fig tree, and peered over the island’s edge. “I think I can do it,” she said. “But I want to say a proper goodbye first. You’re wonderful friends, both of you. I mean, all four of you.” She smiled. “Roon, are you one wolf, or three wolves?”

  Roon bent his head. “We are one, but we are also three. I am central, and I lead. But Ro is gentle and sweet natured, while Ron likes to give advice.”

  “And my advice today,” Ron interrupted, “is to talk to all the other wolves, the rabbits and the dragons too, and throw Master Depilupp into the lake while we discuss joining the Lashtang rebellion.”

  Both arms around Wuz’s neck, Poppy kissed the top of his head, and then moved on to do the same with Ro, Roon and Ron. “I shall miss you. But I’ll be back to see you soon.”

  “Remember my tune, when you sing your song,” said Peter, “and we’ll sing it when we march into battle together.”

  As Peter leaned over to touch the arch of the rainbow, he paused, staring into the depths of the island from its coastal fringe where sand and shrubs mixed in a narrow stripe with loose pebbles and the first great roots of the fig tree. Then over the edge was the thick wedge of soil and other roots, holding the island together. But a thousand roots hung down, waving in the great winds and disappearing down into the clouds.

  But one thing Peter saw surprised him. Beneath the fig tree was a black tunnel winding into the island’s base. It would surely be dangerous to reach, but there was a trail of slime entering there, and then continuing on into the shadows.

  But Poppy called, “Pete, grab the rainbow before it’s too late,” and Peter grabbed. It felt cool and beautiful, and one after the other both of them slid down, as though on a fairground ride, waving and calling cheerfully behind them.

  But they were not quite as happy when they finally landed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The chains closed in, tightening around the tower as though to squeeze it. Light went out as the black iron wrapped over and over.

  Hermes folded his wings and bowed his head, saying, “My illustrious lord, we are trapped. I cannot fly through such chains and there is no opening.” It had doubled, tripled and formed a huge canopy that left no space even to see the sky.

  With one arm around Hermes’ neck, Nathan sat and thought. Through the massive links he could feel the ice chill of the wind, and heard it whistling and howling as it rattled the chains. He couldn’t even stand up anymore, for the chains were right over his head and hated the feeling of being trapped, wondered who it was who had done it. He had seen Wagster, but so deeply asleep that he couldn’t believe he had noticed a thing. But the castle itself might have been set to capture anyone who entered, for the whispers had threatened him as he came near, and Hermes had simply been flying above when he was forced to fall.

  Taking out the Knife of Clarr, he held it up. At first there was no light, but then it blazed with its own silver flame. Nathan said, “How do we escape from here? You must help, for this is both the Lord of Clarr and the Messenger of Clarr.”

  The light shimmered, fading a little and then returning. Nathan waited. Then Hermes said, “My illustrious lord, you said you saw something strange. May I ask what it was?”

  Nathan described the one narrow chamber where Wagster seemed to sleep almost comatose, with a slug on his forehead and a tiny blue star flickering above. “And the stairs went on and on without any other rooms,” he said, “even though it’s a huge tower.” And then suddenly Nathan had an idea. “Well, we can’t fly off from here,” he said. “And the tiny windows are chained in, and I’ll bet th
e door is too. But there must be another way out and other rooms. There’s nothing to stop us going back down the steps. Let’s see what we can find.”

  Hermes stood, slapped both feet on the stone, and followed Nathan to the trap door, which had been left open. It was a bit of a scramble to climb down, but with a kick and swing of both legs Nathan landed safely, and with a flap of both wings, Hermes did the same. They had made a little noise, and being worried in case they had awoken ghosts, monsters or Wagster, Nathan peeped into the one room leading off the landing. But there was no movement there, and the Hazlett twin lay as he had before, with the tiny star fluttering over his head.

  Nathan and Hermes began to creep down the winding stone stairs. This time Hermes led, but as Nathan followed, he felt creeping fingers at the back of his neck and gulped, whirling around. There was nothing there. But the stairs began to whine and creak, and Nathan shivered. He said, “But these steps are stone, not wood. So how can they creak?”

  “With Yaark and Wagster,” muttered Hermes, “anything can happen.”

  There were no other doors leading off from the staircase, and although Nathan tapped and peered at every shadow, he could find no other way out. Then he heard the patter of footsteps behind him and once again whirled around. Yet the shadows were empty and no one was there.