“We’ll have to find a river or something before we leave,” he said to Folgoo.
Folgoo nodded, too weary to answer; the morning’s adventure had been tiring. They began to move in the direction the bird had run, picking off bits of feathers as they went. They had walked for some time when Yarg spotted something a bit unusual in the shadow of a grouping of trees. He nudged Folgoo, lifted his finger to his lips to indicate the need for silence, then pointed to it.
Folgoo nodded his head to Yarg, telling him that he understood. They crept closer, as quietly as they could. From their new vantage, they could see a large nest made of bits of twigs and grass and twine loosely woven together.
Yarg stepped up to the nest and looked around, as if half-expecting the bird to jump out at them. When nothing happened, he lifted one big foot and slowly stepped inside. He had just lowered his other foot and Folgoo reached the edge of the nest when two nets dropped down, covering them completely. They yelped in surprise. They struggled to get out from under the nets, but only succeeded in tangling themselves in the sturdy rope.
Yarg roared with frustration, but Folgoo was too busy untangling himself to get as bent out of shape as Yarg was. Yarg continued to yell as he set his strong fingernails to work on the net that covered him. He tore at it until it was nothing but bits of rope lying on the floor, and then he proceeded to shred Folgoo’s net as well.
“What Do You Want?” Yarg yelled to the mountain.
“I Want You To Go Away!” the voice yelled in return.
Yarg crossed his arms across his chest and roared as loudly as he could, “then you’d better come and talk to me, because i’m not going away until you do!”
Silence echoed across the mountain.
George watched them from his vantage point just a bit further up. His little traps had worked wonders, he had thought, just as they always did. But these two weren’t leaving like all the others had. George twitched his beak as he thought about what he should do now. Seeing no other choice, he decided to go down and talk to his unwanted visitors.
Stealthily he made his way down to them, keeping to the shadows, creeping steadily closer. When he was concealed behind a large bush no more than a few metres away, but still able to see them through its branches, he stuck out his wing, stretching out the tip to get their attention without exposing himself in case they wanted to harm him. Yarg and Folgoo noticed the end of a big grey wing appearing from behind the bush in front of them.
When Yarg would have stepped toward him, the bird raised his outstretched wing and said, “Stop right there. Tell me what you want.”
Yarg raised his big hands, palms outward, “You can come out, you know, we won’t hurt you. We only want to talk.
The big bird emerged from behind the bushes and regarded them suspiciously.
“Are you George?” Yarg asked in a voice he tried to make as friendly as possible.
The bird snorted, “Of course I’m George. This is George’s Mountain, isn’t it?”
Ignoring the sarcasm, Yarg said, “I am Yarg, King of the Trolls. I’m not here to cause you any harm. I’m on a quest to find Faith’s Courage.”
George took a step backwards. “What makes you think that I’ve got Faith’s Courage?” he asked.
“A witch told me,” Yarg replied.
“What do you want with it?” the bird asked.
“I need it to save a fairy’s life,” Yarg told him.
“That’s really not my problem,” the bird willfully responded.
Yarg tilted his head to one side. “If you won’t give it to me, maybe there is something you would be interested in trading for it,” he ventured.
George considered him for a long moment, then asked, “Do you know what Faith’s Courage is?”
Yarg and Folgoo shook their heads.
George nodded his head once, as if he already knew that would be their answer. “Follow me,” he said and took off with a wobbling gait up the mountain.
This time he did not follow a marked path, and it was only by sheer force of will that Folgoo and Yarg were able to keep up with him at all. They ran, past trees and bushes and small mountain animals, crunching flowers and grass as they went, until they were just below the top of the mountain. At that point George pushed through a small gap in the rock face that was almost entirely hidden by creeping plants trailing from a ledge above.
Anxious not to lose sight of the bird, Yarg quickly pushed through the gap and Folgoo followed close behind. The gap led into a sizable cave. The pair stopped and looked around.
The sound of rushing water drew Yarg’s attention. Water was flowing down the interior wall of the cave to their left. Intrigued, he realised that it filled a small pond before sinking through a hole in the floor a little further into the cave. His gaze travelled onward to the left back corner where he could see an assortment of old bits of rope and odd bits and pieces. The back right corner housed a nest layered in several different kinds of lush grass. His careful inventory of the cave was interrupted by the centaur, whose longing gaze was fixed on the pond.
“May I?” he asked George politely, although he’d already started moving toward the pond as his hand began to pick again at the feathers sticking to his gooey body.
George nodded his head. Yarg stared at George, finally having the time to take a good look at his reluctant host.
Small wings protruded from a large, pear-shaped body that almost covered two stumpy yellow legs. Yarg could see four toes: three of them facing the front, the fourth pointing behind. Each toe had a thick black claw that Yarg thought looked to be newly-sharpened. The bird was covered in mostly short, fluffy grey feathers, although its wings and tail did have a few longer feathers in them. His face, when Yarg’s inspection reached it, seemed a bit odd. Yarg could not quite work out what was wrong, until finally he realised it was because it was bare of any feathering. Pale crinkly skin surrounded eyes that were wide and glowing yellow, and a big beak with a hooked and pointed end.
“Why don’t you join your friend?” George asked, “You can’t be any more comfortable than he is.” He stepped into his nest and settled himself in the centre.
Yarg walked over to where Folgoo was washing and bent down to do the same. He threw a question at George, “What kind of bird are you? I’ve never seen one like you before.”
George chuckled. “And you never will again,” he assured Yarg, as he stretched to make himself more comfortable in his nest.
When he noticed that Yarg looked confused by his flippant answer, he said, “I’m a dodo, the last of my kind actually.”
“How did you come to be here then?”
“Why are you so interested?”
“I’ve never met anyone like you before,” Yarg answered simply, standing up when he’d washed himself as best he could.
“A thousand years ago, when I became the last of my kind, the dragons rescued me from the mortal realm. I’ve been alone here ever since.”
“Alone?” queried Folgoo.
“Just me and my squishy thing,” George affirmed.
“Look, George—may I call you George?” began Yarg, bringing the conversation back to business. “I really need Faith’s Courage to save a fairy. Is there anything you might consider trading for it, or anything I could do for you?”
George shook his head.
“I asked you before if you knew what Faith’s Courage was? Why Nemesis gave it to me?”
Yarg watched him warily.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Faith’s Courage is a feather. A very special feather. When Nemesis handed it to me, he said: ‘George, you had the courage to stand out, and the courage to be you.’ Oh, there were more words, but those were the really special ones. This feather contains the essence of my bravery, my ability to face difficulty and danger.
And now you want me to give it to you? Nope, sorry, I can’t do that. It’s the last thing I have from that time.”
“What did you do for him to say that?” asked Yarg.
George looked at him, then answered slowly, as if recalling a painful memory.
“I am the last of the dodos, and I alone survived what happened to us in the mortal realm.”
“What happened?” asked Yarg.
“The humans hunted us. They killed and ate us. They took our skins and our feathers and wore them on their heads as hats. When the dragons realised what was going on, they came to rescue us. But time is different in the immortal realms. By the time they crossed into the mortal realm, there was just me left. Nemesis told me I’d been brave to last as long as I did.”
Yarg hung his head, stunned that such cruelty could exist. Understanding how important the feather must be to the last dodo, he realised there really was nothing he could say to convince George to give it up, but he tried again to explain his need.
“George,” he said softly, “I must have the feather. Nemesis sent me on a quest to gather some tokens in order to save a fairy’s life …”
George looked at him with a glimmer of interest. “Nemesis sent you?” he queried.
Yarg nodded and George looked at Folgoo for further confirmation. The centaur nodded his head also.
Yarg rubbed his hand across his face. He tried again. “Yes, Nemesis sent me to get the feather. I have to save Kaylin, and to do that I need Faith’s Courage. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do in return? Nothing I can trade?” he asked.
George twittered his beak. “Can you give me my family back?”
Yarg frowned at him. “No.”
George’s eyes welled up.
“Well then, we can’t do business. I think it’s time for you to leave,” said George, sitting up, tucking his toes underneath him.
Yarg looked at him strangely. “Maybe not,” he said. “I can’t give you back your family, but would a family do?”
George tilted his head to one side. “I’ve been alone a long time,” he whispered. “Yes, a family would do.”
Yarg grinned. “I can give you a family in exchange for the feather.”
George’s yellow eyes grew wide and round in amazement. “You can?” he asked, not able to hide his excitement.
“I can,” Yarg confirmed.
George sat forward. “When?” he asked.
“Give me the feather and I’ll go and get your new family now,” said Yarg, stretching his hand out towards George.
George shook his head. “No. No way! Family first … then the feather.”
Yarg’s hand paused in mid-air.
He looked questioningly at Folgoo and then stood up. Looking down at George, he said, “Okay. Wait here.”
He moved past the nest and pushed through the overhanging plants out of the cave and into the sunlight.
Turning to face Folgoo who had just emerged behind him, he said with a grin, “Now I know what we’re going to do with the Nuffins.”
Moving together as if they had been doing this forever, Folgoo and Yarg stepped into the swirling silver wave. Within the space of a blink they were once again at the Immortal Markets. The midday sun was overhead and the werewolves in their human form stood beside their posts, waiting and watching as usual.
Yarg and Folgoo entered the markets and headed straight towards the garden. Yarg spotted Urdelyn standing behind her table or goods. He lifted a hand in greeting, but kept walking. Urdelyn waved back, a big smile on her face as if she knew what was happening.
Yarg and Folgoo walked to the gardens. The Nuffins were there, all huddled together, looking absolutely miserable. Gurt was the first one to spot them. His eyes lit up. He moved faster than Yarg could have imagined and flung his small body straight at the troll. Yarg just had time to open his arms before the little Nuffin hit him around the knees. Tiny arms tried to wrap themselves around him. He wobbled as the rest of the Nuffins followed suit. Before he knew it, he was covered in Nuffins.
“Missed you, did they?” Folgoo laughed.
Yarg was busy trying to calm the chattering Nuffins. “Could you help here?” he asked in a tone of mild irritation.
Folgoo moved closer and gently untangled one Nuffin from behind Yarg’s head. One by one the Nuffins were removed until finally they were all standing in front of Yarg.
“So, do you want to tell me what that was all about?” he asked.
Gurt grinned at him. “We’s so happy that you’re back,” he said simply.
Yarg grinned in response. “Not only am I back, but I’ve found you a new home.”
At once the Nuffins started jumping up and down, all talking at once, their voices growing louder and louder in excitement. When it looked as if they would jump on him again, Yarg held up his hands to ward them off.
He waited for them to quieten, then said, “I’ve found you a home on George’s Mountain with George the dodo. He’s a jolly fellow with a wicked sense of humour. You guys should get along like a house on fire.”
“Oooo, tell us all about it,” one of the smaller Nuffins squealed.
Yarg laughed at their excitement. “Why don’t I take you there instead?” he asked.
The Nuffins made quite a lot of noise as they left the markets. Only when Yarg had them lined up holding hands beyond the boundary did they begin to settle down.
Yarg took some coins from his bag and held them towards Folgoo. “Ah, Folgoo, I almost forgot. Would you mind taking this to the Manager’s Office? Tell her that it’s payment for the door.”
Folgoo shot a questioning look at him, but Yarg just held out the coins, his face the picture of innocence. Shrugging, Folgoo took the money and headed back into the markets.
Yarg breathed a sigh of relief, then turned his attention to the Nuffins. Locking eyes with each one in turn, he reminded them about holding on tightly to each other.
Folgoo soon returned. He cast Yarg a glare that showed the troll that his little ruse with the Market Manager had not gone unnoticed, then took them all into the silver wave.
George’s pacing had almost made a new path outside his little hidey hole when they popped into the space before him. His eyes went wide in astonishment at the sight of all the little Nuffins.
The Nuffins had handled the journey much better this time and Yarg had only to help the smallest to its feet. This done, Yarg introduced Gurt to George, and then Gurt took over and introduced the rest of his band.
George looked at Yarg. “You’ve brought me a family,” he whispered, tears moistening his eyes, then turned back to the Nuffins almost as if he had expected them to have disappeared.
He held out a feather finely wrought in gold. “Here is Faith’s Courage,” he said.
Yarg stared at it for a moment before taking it reverently in his hands. “Thank you,” he said as he opened his bag and carefully put the feather into it.
Showing no trace of shyness now, the Nuffins were all clustered around George, asking questions about his mountain, their small hands stroking his wing-feathers. A small Nuffin moved to tuck itself under George’s wing.
George looked at Yarg and Folgoo, “I … uh … I’m never going to forget this,” he stammered, but Yarg just smiled.
“It’s all right, George. I hope that you’ll be very happy together.”
Folgoo put his hand on Yarg’s shoulder. “Ask him if he knows where to find The Essence of Innocence,” he asked softly, but George heard even so. His eyes lifted and his beak fell open. “No small tasks for you, right?” he whispered. Before Yarg could ask what George meant, George continued, “It’s in the Silklands. Litchen the Unicorn holds innocence in his palm.”
Yarg called Gurt over from his place by George’s side and said, “Folgoo and I have to go now,
Gurt, but you’ll be fine here. George will look after you.”
George took a step back, giving his visitors and the Nuffins privacy to say their goodbyes. Folgoo looked at Yarg, who was showing some embarrassment at the open display of emotion from the Nuffins. He knew that although Yarg might gruffly deny it, the troll had developed a fondness for his little friends.
Yarg and Folgoo set off to the bottom of the mountain. They turned back once. The warming sight of the large bird surrounded by his new family met their eyes. They smiled at each other.
“So, about these Silklands,” Yarg said.
8
Silklands
The scene before them was a vision to behold—with the exception of the Valley Mystic, Yarg had never seen a more beautiful sight.
They stood in a vale beside a gently flowing brook. The crystal water, tripping over pebbles it had rounded over great ages, whispered as it passed, but although Yarg strained to understand, its message remained just beyond his grasp. Slender willows dripping feathery fronds bordered the stream, and further back from its banks, woodlands of trees of greater stature stood sentinel. A silvery, silken-spun substance coated the trees and plants and spread across the ground around them. Sunlight shimmered off it, reflecting back an almost pure whiteness.
“It looks so wispy, like thousands of tiny spider webs. I almost don’t want to step on it for fear of spoiling it,” whispered Yarg.
He reached out to touch the silvery web that draped a nearby tree. As he brought his hand closer, a wave of something he could not identify washed over him. He shivered. He felt a yearning for something long gone, something …
His search to capture the feeling was interrupted when Folgoo touched him on the shoulder. “Let’s go find Litchen,” the centaur said.
Yarg shook his head to clear away the sensation and started off after his friend. As they moved, a group of tiny butterflies appeared before them, swirling gracefully in the air as if dancing for their guests. Vibrant against the shining glow, they were every colour of the rainbow, with iridescent patterns on their tiny wings.
Nemesis and the Troll King Page 9