The three friends had climbed out of River’s Edge by passing over the southern Dovenar Wall. They walked toward Pelonthal, along a dirt path that followed the province’s wall to the west. It wasn’t long before they were again dry from the day’s sun and heat.
After several long hot days, they had made it past Solann Ridge. The temperatures had begun to lower and the foliage was much more pleasing to the Nums. Lightly wooded areas along soft grassy hills and meadows greeted the travelers.
Grewen could tell the Nums enjoyed this climate much more than the dry heat of the desert. “Welcome to the edge of the Mythical Forest,” he announced. “Home of the Myth’Unday.”
“There’s another Altered Creature clan?” Thorik asked.
“Not exactly. Myth’Undays were created by the Great Oracle to bring a playfulness to our lands, as well as to entertain her. Instead of being an alteration of other animals and creatures, they were created from the energy that exists in the forest.”
Avanda’s curiosity kicked in and questioned the giant before Thorik had the chance. “What do they look like?”
“I’m sorry to say that you most likely will never find out.”
“Why not,” she replied.
“Because they may not wish to be seen,” Grewen continued. “They would rather play with you.”
“How can they play with me if I can’t see them?”
Grewen smiled. “Have you ever walked through the woods and heard noises like someone else is there, but they are not. Or have you seen movement out of the corner of your eye but it stops before you can focus on the area?”
Avanda nodded her head. “Yes.”
“That would be them. They live in most forests, but this region is their home. The Floral Faeries, Brush Brownies, Leaf Pixies, as well as the rest of the inquisitive Myth’Unday species, all originated from this forest.
Thorik listened to the tale. “Sounds much better than living corpses.” He smiled at his young student. “Avanda, if we are lucky, maybe you’ll get to see one.”
Grewen cleared his throat and shook his head to Thorik. “I don’t think you want to meet any Myth’Unday.”
Thorik was confused. “Why not?”
“Many have gone into the timberland to see or catch a Myth’Unday, and most never returned. The few that have were changed for life; always looking over their shoulder and afraid of their own shadow.” Grewen searched for moment in the trees. “No, I wish not to see any Myth’Unday during our travels.”
As darkness approached, they stopped just off to the side of the road by a small spring to stay the night. A canopy of light green leaves overhead acted as a blanket to keep the warmth in the campsite.
“Grewen, are we going to be safe here from the Myth’Unday?” asked Avanda in a timid voice.
Grewen waved her over to him as he lay on his side. “Come over here, little one. I won’t let anyone harm you.”
Avanda came over to him and cuddled up against his chest. He covered her with a blanket before placing his hand just above her to keep her warmth in and any night dew out.
Thorik lay down and relaxed near the spring. “How much farther until Pelonthal?”
“We have less than a day’s walk to get there. Once we enter, the River-Green Road follows the inside of Pelonthal’s Dovenar Wall from River’s Edge all the way to Greensbrook.”
“Shouldn’t we be walking all night to make sure they don’t get ahead of us?” Thorik asked.
“No. Remember, they will have to go all the way around River’s Edge, through Eastland, before traveling all the way back to Pelonthal. They will have to pass us on this road to pass us at all.”
“Why wouldn’t they take a boat or ferry across?”
“Apparently some legendary folklore seems to scare them away from crossing over River’s Edge.” Grewen winked at Avanda.
She smiled and closed her tired eyes.
Thorik rested his head in his palms as he visualized the map of the landscape. “Aren’t we going the wrong way? Shouldn’t we be heading toward Eastland to free Brimmelle when they leave the Dovenar Wall’s gates?”
“Eastland has been the center-point of conflict between men and Unday for many centuries,” Grewen answered. “I’m not getting any closer to that province than I have to.”
Grewen stretched his neck and looked down to make sure Avanda was comfortable. “Trust me, Thorik. We’re headed the right way. Now get some sleep.”
Thorik looked up at the stars between the trees for a bit, thinking of the events along his travels. Thoughts of Emilen crept back into his head and he began missing her. How he wished she was with him snuggling up under the blanket. For a moment he thought he could smell her scent and feel her touch. Holding onto these feelings he soon drifted into a deep sleep as he dreamed about his memories of her.
Thorik woke up from a dream about Emilen arguing with him back at the crater along the King’s River. Blinking himself awake, he could see that Grewen was wrapped up with glowing threads that danced in various colors. Glistening sparkles appeared, floating in every direction.
Thorik adjusted his eyes to see hundreds of little shiny dots flying around them. He lay on his back and looked about at several small beings playing and frolicking around the campsite. Singing songs and dancing to their own light and airy music, they tried to wake Grewen by teasing his feet and face as he laid in his constraints. Neither seemed to faze him.
Bending his knees, Thorik pushed his body up with his arms only to find a miniature girl sitting on his left knee with two red oak leaves for wings. She was no bigger than his finger as her reddish glowing body shined bright like a flame.
“What kind of game is this?” Thorik asked, still half asleep.
“A game? What a brilliant idea. Let’s play a game!” The male voice had responded from the natural spring behind Thorik. “What kind of game do you like to play?”
Thorik rotated his body toward the small pond, scaring the winged girl away. The water had a slight blue glow about it that brightened the underside of the tree coverings. It also illuminated the grass and rocks that lined its shores.
A large frog was sitting upright on one of the rocks, holding a fishing pole whose line sank deep under the water. An acorn shell fit firmly on his head as a hat and around his neck he wore a blue ribbon fashioned like a scarf. He looked very dapper and strangely normal.
Thorik leaned forward and squinted to see if his eyes and ears would work better at less of a distance. Surely he was seeing things.
One of the frog’s legs dangled over the rock’s edge while the other was bent, allowing for his foot to be flat against the top. “It’s a wonderful natural dock. I bet you wish you had brought your fishing gear.”
Thorik was confused. He wasn’t sure what bothered him more, the idea of a knee-high frog talking to him or what he had to say. Everything was oddly familiar and yet barely understandable. Blinking his eyes to wake himself up did no good.
“Mr. Theodore J. Hempton, at your service.” The frog tipped his hat with his free hand. “And who might you be, my lad?”
Thorik leaned back to a normal sitting position while watching in amazement at the talking frog. It seemed awkward not to reply, even if he didn’t fully believe his own eyes.
“Sec Thorik Dain of Farbank,” he responded, still confused at the possibility of the conversation.
“Well of course you are. That sounds like a ripe good name for such a lad as yourself.” The end of Theodore’s fishing pole began to tug down a few times. Gripping the rod with both hands he backed up on the rock to pull his catch out of the water. “So, do you like a taste of the unknown in your games?”
“What?” Thorik replied.
“Your games,” he continued. The fishing line pulled hard causing Mr. Hempton to fly forward and land very close to the end of the rock before stopping himself. He didn’t allow his fishing to interrupt the conversation. “Do you like livin’ a little on the edge? Peeking
in the neighbor’s windows, if you know what I mean?”
“No, of course not,” Thorik replied offensively.
Mr. Hempton pulled back his foot-long fishing rod as it bowed in a strained arch. “No, No, obviously not. Right you are. Who would?” The line in the water thrashed about before heading out toward the center of the natural spring pond. “But don’t you ever wonder what it would be like to lose your restrictions and inhibitions and just do what feels right?”
“Sure, I suppose.”
“Good, now we’re getting somewhere.” He continued to struggle with his footing as the line kept pulling. “What would you say to a little game?”
Thorik looked over at Grewen who continued to have movement confinements placed on him and now even over his mouth. Avanda was secure under his arm, but for how long? “Tell them to let my friends go first.”
“Heaven’s no. That would spoil the game. They are the prize, you know.”
“What?”
“Well, you must have a prize at the end of a game, otherwise it’s not worth playing, I always say.” Mr. Hempton pulled back on the line with all his might but struggled to make any headway. “Be a good lad, and hold onto the pole for me while I grab a net.”
“I’m not helping you.”
“Come on, be a sport. Grab the line, we’ll play a game, and then we’ll be off with you. Simple as that, no harm done.” Mr. Hempton suddenly fell forward from the pull on the line and grabbed hold of the sides of the rock with his back feet as his body hung over the edge.
Instinctively Thorik grabbed the rod to help out. “What kind of game is this?”
“It’s called Hang On.”
“Hang on? Never heard of it. How do you play?”
“You hang on.” Mr. Hempton’s smile made Thorik’s heart sink.
Thorik was instantly pulled from the grassy shore into the shallow pond only to find himself deep underwater still holding onto the short fishing pole. Looking around, he felt the current taking him away deeper into the water. He was no longer in the natural spring near Mr. Hempton, but instead he was in a moving river.
Afraid to let go of the rod, he held on for dear life as he descended into the water’s depths. Holding his breath the best he could, he saw one, and then several, flesh deprived bodies in his route. Memories of the undead within River’s Edge flashed through him mind as the fishing rod line pulled Thorik toward the center of a crowd of partially skinned skeletons, who had suddenly realized that he was drawing near.
Thorik knew that if he let go now, they would easily overtake him. His only other option was to hope the speed of his moving catch, at the other end of the fishing line, continued or sped up. Perhaps he could just race his way past them before they got hold of him.
Several bony fingers grabbed at his arms and legs while he advanced past the first group, only to find his hooked fish had stopped running from him. The fishing line went limp. Groups of full and partial corpses surrounded him as he looked about for his options. Above him, he spotted the light of the sun and a way to escape. Without any hesitation, he began his swim to the surface in an attempt to reach it before the dead caught up with him.
The half-flesh bodies effortlessly moved their way toward him as he closed in on the surface. The water began to clear and the sun’s warmth could be felt through the top of the water.
Just as his left hand breached the surface his other hand was tugged down by the fishing rod. His air wouldn’t last much longer. The only chance available to get away from the swimming dead was to let go of the rod and swim to shore. It was the only logical decision, but it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t within the rules of the game. It had been called ‘hang on’ for a purpose and he wasn’t going to jeopardize Grewen’s and Avanda’s life by messing this up.
It was only moments before the bony fingers grabbed his ankles and then his legs. He held onto the little rod with all of his might as one of the skeletons bit into the back of his right hand.
Thorik’s underwater scream came out as a large bubble of valuable air that he needed, and he watched it float up and burst onto the surface as the dead pulled him down. He continued to fight them off but there were too many of them, and it was difficult to do as he held onto the fishing pole whose line was now tangled around and through his attackers.
As he was about to give up from lack of oxygen, the fishing line went tight snapping several boned bodies and launching Thorik in a new direction. He reached over with his left hand to hold onto the rod just as it started to slip out from his right.
The water drove hard against his face as he raced against time before he nearly passed out, and then it stopped. The line went limp again and he looked up to see a green light from above. With a few small strokes of one arm he reached the surface and gasped for air.
He breathed heavily for a few minutes, trying to regain control of himself. Thorik eventually realized he was in a large granite room with one door on the far side. In the center of the wall on his side of the room was a fountain that sprayed water into a small shallow stone pool. Numerous vats of burning oil displayed a green flame as the wall and floor carvings began to come to life. Spiders, bees, panthers and other creatures pulled away from their stagnant hibernation and started moving toward the pool where Thorik sat.
Holding the tiny fishing pole in one hand, he made a dash for the far door as heavy water-soaked clothes weighed him down, making it difficult to run for the doorway. Rays of soft blue light peeked out from underneath the closed door.
Halfway across, his path was blocked by a white crystal Brandercat. “I only have one chance at this. I can’t stop,” he told himself. Leaping up and rolled over the back of the cat, he landed on his feet and continued running toward the door, which opened for him under its own power. A column of blue moonlight beamed into the room, washing out a section of the room’s green light.
Black marble bees began to swarm around him, stinging him violently. He slowed as he tried to protect himself from them. Swatting at the ones near his face, he looked about to see what else in the room was coming his way. While doing so, the door began to close again.
Larger creatures broke themselves free of the walls, slowly making their way toward Thorik, while the smaller ones quickly attacked. Spiders of ruby crystals lowered themselves from the ceiling, while granite beetles ran up under his pant legs.
“NO!” Thorik shouted in defiance. Turning sharply back toward the doorway, he focused on his destination and ignored the pain that the animated attackers were inflicting upon him. Charging for the door he accepted every bite and sting along the way. It was the price for freedom, and he was willing to pay it.
The door began to open again as he approached its archway with new strength and attitude in his shoulders. The room exited over the center of a small pond within a lightly crowded forest. Mr. Hempton waited patiently for Thorik to arrive.
Numb to the ongoing attack, Thorik reached the doorway and entered the moonlight. The stone animals that entered the light with him began to petrify and harden. The rest of the creatures stopped their approach at the edge of the blue moonlight. At last, he was free.
The fishing line went tight.
Thorik grabbed the pole with both hands and looked back at the line as it led to the fountain on the far end of the room. It began to pull him out from the archway, back into the green light. He turned to see Mr. Hampton, who was waiting for Thorik’s reaction.
“Not this time.” Thorik’s voice gave him an aggressive posture. Leaning toward the pond, he pulled on the string. It was a struggle, as he lost his footing only once. But this time he was in control. Pulling hand over hand, the fishing line coiled near his feet.
“What are you?” he asked, as the line stopped. It was stuck. “Oh, no you don’t. I’ve come too far to not finally catch you.”
Pulling with all his might, the line finally gave way, knocking Thorik onto his back, landing on the ledge of the doorway before it dropped off to the s
mall pond below. Quickly reeling up the loose line, he stood back up.
He squinted to see what type of fish he was dragging across the floor, past the idle stone creatures. But the string was no longer tight as he coiled. Either he had lost his catch or it was moving toward him.
Jumping out from over the top of the animated statues, a thrasher roared as it attacked the Num with his snapping jaw and clawed hands. The fishing line was wrapped onto the primate’s hand as it landed on Thorik, knocking him backward, through the doorway and into the natural spring below.
Fate of Thorik Page 35