Skip: An Epic Science Fiction Fantasy Adventure Series (Book 2)

by Perrin Briar

  Richard laughed. It had a complete lack of mirth.

  “You always have a line, don’t you, Stump?” he said. “Well, this time there is no escape. Hand over the girl. I already know I’m going to capture you, Stump. I’ve seen it.”

  “Maybe what you saw was a dream.”

  “No, it was real.”

  “Did you capture me here?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t escape and then we recaptured you.”

  Jera knocked on the tree trunk once again, her hand quivering with fear. Richard gestured to a man with a scar running down one side of his face. He had his pistol held in a gloved hand that did not move a hair’s width.

  “Markus here isn’t much to look at, I admit,” Richard said, “but he’s the best shot in the kingdom. He could shoot the legs off a gnat at a hundred yards.”

  “That’s a trick I’d like to see,” Elian said.

  “Drop your trousers, and we’ll see a similar demonstration. I have my men. What do you have to protect you?”

  Puca leapt from Jera’s shoulder and became a goat.

  “Meh!” he said.

  His front leg dug at the earth. The dogs strained at their leashes, a frothy white substance dripping from their snarling mouths.

  “Is this your defence?” Richard said. “A goat? Fine. Loose the dogs.”

  “Wait!” Elian said. “Aren’t you worried I’ll cut her throat?”

  Richard smiled.

  “No,” he said. “Because even you’re not that stupid. You know how much pain and suffering I can put you through should you do something so drastic.”

  Elian lowered the knife from Jera’s neck and changed his grip on the knife. He eyed the dogs. Puca mehed. The ravens continued to peck at the tree. Jera’s eyes widened, and she knocked a tune on the wood.

  Richard released the dogs. The dog master did likewise, as did the other two men.

  A wall of gnashing teeth ran toward them. The hollow in the ground beneath their feet shook. The dogs slid to a stop and whined, backing away with their tails between their legs. The hollow opened up, revealing darkness below. A few pebbles fell into the hole, but no sound came up signifying they had reached the bottom. A smile curled Elian’s lips.

  “It might be a bottomless pit,” he said, “but it’s better than being at your mercy.”

  “Shoot him!” Richard said.

  The man with the scar pulled the trigger. The hollow opened wide, and Elian and Jera fell through it like an actor through a trap door. The bullet chipped away a piece of the willow tree. The trapdoor snapped shut.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The messenger was dressed in a black uniform with a thick layer of dust up to the knees. He handed the immaculate envelope to Gregory, who took it and studied the stamped insignia. It was a flower pressed in purple wax.

  Gregory turned to his desk and sat down. The chair creaked under his weight. He slipped his thumb beneath the fold and broke the seal. His hands shook. He took a deep breath and let it out between his teeth. He unfolded the letter. As he read, his hand gripped the letter tight, and the blood drained from his face. He felt his heart try to leap out of his chest. A cold sweat broke across his entire body.

  He got up, crossed the room, threw the door open and marched down the corridor. Constables stopped to salute him as he passed. He knocked the police station’s front door open, causing it to smack hard into the wall behind it. Gregory marched down the street, crossed the road and ran down the steps to the dock. He pushed on the door to the warehouse. They buckled inward, but didn’t open.

  “Who is it?” a voice called through the door.

  “It’s Gregory Ascar. Let me in, you fool!”

  Gregory heard the low click of a lock being opened, and then the rattle of a chain on the metal struts on either side of the door. The doors opened. A strip of light revealed a short man with sharp features, like he’d been carved out of rock. He wore a rumpled woollen suit.

  “Shut the door, Herbert,” Gregory said.

  Herbert did. The warehouse was packed full of stacked crates.

  “Where are the men?” Gregory said.

  “Out to lunch.”

  Gregory leaned against a tall stack of crates.

  “Have you heard the news?” Gregory said.

  Herbert had an identical-looking letter in his hand.

  “Mine just arrived too,” he said.

  Gregory ran a hand through his hair.

  “Our entire crop, lost,” he said. “What are we going to do?”

  “Are you sure it was destroyed?”

  “That’s what the letter said.”

  “I mean, do you trust the people growing it? Do you think they might try to distribute it themselves?”

  Gregory thought for a moment.

  “No,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because we have their children as hostages. It’s not like you think. The families agreed to it.”

  Herbert nodded, and then shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t care if they hadn’t agreed.

  “We have no more Gap,” Gregory said.

  “What do you mean?” Herbert said, sweeping his arm over the contents of the warehouse. “We have all this.”

  “I mean after the wedding, after we send all these ships off to all the cities of the world. What happens when the cities want more but I don’t have more to give? They’ll get over their addiction before we can flood the market. This is a catastrophe! We’re finished!”

  “Not necessarily,” Herbert said.

  “You have an idea?”

  “Perhaps. Did you know I worked in a tavern once? It’s true. I had just left home and arrived in the Capital to make something of myself. I needed money to pay rent so I worked behind the bar. I remember it was coming up to Thanksgiving, celebrating the day the savage creatures helped our ancestors in our hour of need.”

  “Is this going anywhere?” Gregory said, folding his arms.

  “Keep listening, and you’ll find out. As you know, each year there’s a big party in all of the cities. And each year the pubs and taverns were asked to provide food and drink. This was a welcome boon for the tavern I worked at because it had been a particularly slow year, but this was the chance to make up for any losses we might have incurred.

  “But when I went down into the cellar, there were only five barrels left. The landlord hadn’t had enough money to buy in the amount he needed, and now it looked like the tavern world go under. When I spoke to the landlord, he said not to worry. He put on his apron and went down into the cellar. Two hours later he had ten barrels. When I asked him how he’d done it, he said it was simple. He said, ‘I let the alcohol have babies.’”

  Gregory smiled.

  “He watered it down,” he said.

  Herbert’s eyes shone.

  “Precisely,” he said, “using carefully chosen chemicals so most of the clientele couldn’t tell.”

  Gregory put his hand on a crate.

  “So, we’ll water it down,” he said. “But how?”

  “You leave that to me,” Herbert said. “Of course, you’ll be doubling your income, so it’s only fair if my fee also doubles.”

  “Fine. But it must be ready by Saturday, by the day of the wedding ceremony.”

  “It will.”

  “Good,” Gregory said. “This is to be reported to no one. No one. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gregory got up and headed for the door. He stopped and turned.

  “And your landlord,” he said. “He got away with it?”

  “Scott free.”

  “Excellent.”

  Gregory let the door bang shut behind him. Herbert put on his apron and lifted the lip of a crate. Inside it, stacked up in neat blocks, were packs of purple powder. He slammed the top closed.

  “Scott free. After he served ten years in prison.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The force pushed Elian back, th
e wind messing with his hair. He landed on something soft, rolled, and then slid down a hard polished surface that wound around in circles like a corkscrew, deeper and deeper into the earth. Tree roots dangled overhead, snagging Elian’s arms. A fine spray of dirt patted his face. He laid back and let himself get taken into the belly of the earth.

  Between his feet the darkness gave way to a faint throbbing blue-white light. The slide levelled off and became flat, but he was still travelling fast. Jera’s back loomed out of the darkness. Elian opened his mouth to let out a warning, but he was too late. He crashed into her, knocking her onto the dirt floor.

  “Sorry,” Elian said. “That was some ride, huh? Let’s do it again.”

  Jera gave him a flat stare. Then her nose wrinkled. The air smelled musty and earthy like freshly tilled soil. The light came from worms that lay in the open soil of the walls and roof, which were interwoven with a thick net of thin roots, as if they were responsible for holding back the earth.

  “Where are we?” Jera said. “In a recess in the earth somewhere?”

  “The walls are perfectly flat,” Elian said, feeling along them, but finding no way out, “and that slide didn’t come out of nowhere. Someone must have built this place.”

  “How are we going to get out of here?”

  “We could try to climb up the slide.”

  “You climb up. Drop me a rope when you reach the top. This is great. We’re stuck and we’re going to starve to death.”

  “At least we’ve got Puca to eat. We’ll have to make him turn into a goat first though. More meat that way.”

  “You’re horrible!” Jera said, holding Puca tight.

  Puca hissed at Elian as if he understood.

  “Puca, turn into a goat,” Elian said. “Can you understand me? A goat.”

  Elian made his face long, held his hands up on his head to impersonate having long ears, and hopped around the room.

  Then the walls began to shake. The dirt ran down the sides and onto the floor. There was a ripping, tearing sound as the roots snapped and the earth began to fill the room.

  “Get back!” Elian said. “The walls are caving in!”

  The earth fell forward, but did not hit the floor. Then a thick bundle of roots emerged from the wall. First one, then two, then four. The roots fell to the floor and lay in a pile. The dust settled, and the wall was back to its normal shape.

  “I think it’s stopped,” Elian said.

  Then the pile of roots on the floor moved, jittering on the spot. One column on either side pushed themselves up, extending up. Then two larger columns materialised, thrusting themselves up into a standing position. The other roots formed themselves, drawing tight like a corset. It was a humanoid shape, eight feet tall, five feet wide at the shoulders. The roots in its face cracked open, forming black holes; two where its eyes should be, one larger where its mouth was. The mouth pressed together and pulled up at either end.

  “HELLO THERE!” it said in a booming voice that sounded like wind blowing through trees.

  “Uh, hello,” Elian said.

  The figure lurched forward, his hand extended. Elian started back.

  “NICE TO MEET YOU!” it said.

  His hand stayed extended, offered to Elian, who stared at it. Elian looked up at the face, and then took the hand and shook it. The creature’s smile grew wider. Then it extended its hand toward Jera, who shied away. The thing didn’t seem to notice her discomfort, and stood there with its hand out, unblinking. Jera shook its proffered hand. The thing’s grin stretched ear to ear now. The rootman bent down in an elaborate bow.

  “LET ME INTRODUCE MYSELF,” he said, “BEFORE YOU PUT ME ON THE SHELF.”

  It looked at them with an air of expectation.

  “MY NAME IS WOOOO-UND,” he made the sound of wind blowing dry leaves across a rock, “BUT YOU MAY CALL ME WIND. NOW, TELL ME MY GOOD FELLOW, AND MY BEAUTIFUL DOVE, HOW DID YOU MANAGE TO OPEN THE HOLLOW WAY UP ABOVE?”

  Elian and Jera shared a look. Elian nodded toward the creature as if to say, “You explain.”

  “The ravens,” Jera said timidly. “They were tapping a tune. I realised the rhyme was referring to them.”

  “OH! YOU ARE A CLEVER GIRL!” Wind said. “BUT PLEASE, COME, LET YOUR LIPS UNFURL. REPLY WITH A RHYME, ALL IN GOOD TIME.”

  Jera thought for a moment.

  “Uh… T’was the ravens I heard tapping out a tune,” she said. “Once I knew it, I knew how to come on… down?” She pronounced ‘down’ as ‘doon’.

  “YOU ARE PRETTY, I ADMIT, BUT YOU LACK THE POET’S WIT. I AM A POET! AND YES, I KNOW IT! THERE IS NOTHING MORE FINE, THAN A POET WHOSE WORDS SHINE!”

  “Your words are sublime,” Elian said. “We figured out your clue just fine.”

  Jera stared at Elian with shock.

  “A-HA! A FELLOW POET, I SEE!” Wind said. “STANDING RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. FINALLY SOMEONE WITH WHICH TO CONVERSE, NOT JUST ME!”

  “Pardon my frown,” Elian said. “But all this rhyming’s making me need to lie down.”

  “A WORD MASTER! A RHYME CRAFTER! BUT A BETTER RHYMER THAN YOU, YOU NEED LOOK NO FURTHER!”

  Elian sighed.

  “Very good,” he said.

  The rootman poet looked at him with expectation. Elian sighed again.

  “But you’re made out of wood,” he said. “At rhyming? How can you be so good? I don’t believe that you could.”

  “BRAVO! BELLISIMO!” Wind said, clapping his huge branch-like hands together. “IT IS I WHO WROTE THAT RHYME. AND JUDGING BY THE REVERBERATIONS, YOU FIGURED IT OUT JUST IN TIME. NOW, BEFORE WE BEGIN DELIBERATIONS, LET ME SHOW YOU TO YOUR ACCOMMODATIONS.”

  Wind put his root hand to a wall. The roots unfurled and threaded themselves into the soil. The roots in the wall pulled back the earth like a curtain, forming a tunnel. They walked through it.

  “ALL LIFE IS CONNECTED,” Wind said. “YOU ONLY NEED THE KEY TO ACCESS IT.”

  “Do you think he’ll ever stop with the rhyming?” Jera said out the corner of her mouth.

  “Why?” Elian said. “I quite like it.”

  The tunnel opened up into a huge cavernous space. An indoor waterfall raged down from a hole in the roof. Elian felt the refreshing spray hit his face.

  Around them were hundreds of Wind-like rootmen, each one a different shape and size, but all consisted of roots. Some had large heads and stubby arms. Others walked on their hands. Others had four legs and were shaped like a horse, but with a man’s torso and head. Their heads turned and watched Elian and Jera as they walked through the room.

  “Where are you taking us?” Jera said.

  “THERE IS SOMEONE WHO DOES SO WISH TO MEET YOU,” Wind said.

  “Elian Stump!” a craggy voice said.

  A small bent figure hobbled away from a large rootman he had been conversing with. He slapped Elian on the back and stared at him with affection with his single eye.

  “And Jera Wythnos!” he said, extending both hands to shake hers. “I’m surprised to see you both together. And alive! You remember me, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” Jera said. “You’re Grandfather Time.”

  Grandfather Time grinned toothlessly.

  “One of many name affectations,” he said.

  “What are you doing here?” Jera said.

  “For that, what say we go to my room and have a cup of tea?”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Grandfather Time made a small fire and put a pot of water over it.

  “They don’t like fires much down here,” he said. “For obvious reasons. One spark, and their whole civilisation goes up with it! I normally follow their rules, but I make an exception when it comes to tea.”

  The room was a duplicate of the one Jera and Elian had arrived in, except this one had a tunnel they could enter and exit by. There was a mattress stuffed with straw in one corner with a collection of books beside it. The walls were bare of features.

  “You’ll have to sit on the floor,
I’m afraid,” Grandfather Time said. “As creatures who never sit, the Tangents don’t have much use for chairs.”

  Grandfather Time went to a wall and pulled out a few roots. A moment after the roots were taken, the roots around it shook and regrew. He went to a small bowl of water and began to wash them.

  “What exactly are they?” Jera said.

  “They are creatures of the soil. Tree roots make up their entire being. They can manipulate nature in startling ways.”

  “What do they do here?” Elian said.

  “They maintain the soil and the trees. Every tree and plant in the world is maintained by them. They provide the soil with nutrients which in turn feeds the plants. Without them our farmers would have nothing to farm, our lumberjacks would have nothing to lumberjack, and our lungs would have nothing to, uh, breathe. They come from all races and backgrounds, but down here they are equal.”

  The water boiled. Grandfather Time kicked dirt over the fire, stifling it, and poured it into three cups. He added the roots and handed a cup to Elian and Jera.

  “Root tea,” he said. “It’s very healthy.”

  Jera sipped the tea. It tasted a little bitter, but it wasn’t too bad.

  “You’re probably more interested in why we’re all here, aren’t you?” Grandfather Time said. “Well, I came here in your stead to try and convince the Tangents to let us have the final replacement clock piece.”

  “Convince them?” Jera said. “Why do they need convincing?”

  “Because theirs is a race where everything is discussed, and not always on topic. They are called the Tangents. And perhaps you can guess why they’re called that. They cannot focus on one topic, often going off on one tangent within another tangent, within another. The young ones aren’t so bad, but the old ones… They always eventually get back to what they were talking about in the first place, but it can take hours for them to focus. That’s why I’ve been living here like a mole for the past month.”

  “What did they say?” Elian said. “Will they give it to us?”

  “They’re making their decision now. The result should come out at any moment. But I’m quietly optimistic.”