The Beginning Woods

by Malcolm McNeill

  “We add ingredients to the potion.

  “We invent the good, we invent the bad.

  “And we mix it in.

  “We create compounds, not elements. Mixtures, not essences. We are making a potion, and what is a potion except something that bubbles and boils—a brew that is partially alive? That life, that bubbling and boiling, is what we seek to maintain. But the only way for the bubbling to take place is to introduce ingredients that antagonize each other.

  “Hence the good.

  “Hence the bad.

  “That is our sole responsibility. We know who we are and we know what we must do. We are fortunate it is so clear. There are those for whom the answer is more difficult to make out.”

  Her eyes were expressionless as she looked at Max. He stiffened—he already sensed what she was about to say.

  “A boy Appears, and the Woods and the World are brought together. To untangle them, the process that caused the Appearance must be understood, and if possible, reversed. The boy planned to enter Eisteddfod and confront a Dragon to learn his story. This confrontation must still take place.

  “The boy must find out who he is, and where he came from.

  “The boy must be brought before the Dragon Hunter.”

  THE TRUTH AND THE TOOTH

  Are you still scared?

  A little. Actually… I’m more annoyed.

  You did it back then though! I mean, the Dragon didn’t have any fire left, but you weren’t to know that. It’ll be easier next time.

  That’s why I’m annoyed. There’s a next time. I did it once. Now I have to do it again.

  The first time is the hardest time!

  I’m not so sure.

  Why not?

  It was all so sudden. It just happened. Now I have to find a Dragon and make it angry. Maybe I’ll be OK in the fire. But OK if it tries to bite me in half? Or rolls over me? I don’t think the ‘prophecy’ said anything about being squashed. How am I even going to find one? There aren’t any Dragon Hunters left.

  There’s this one.

  He’s no use. Weren’t you listening?

  Just because I’m inside you doesn’t mean I’m permanently focussed on every tiny detail of your life.

  He can’t help. He’s too badly injured.

  What about Boris? Can he go with you?

  I hope so! I’ll ask him when he gets back from Paris.

  We’re in Paris.

  I mean Paris in the World. He’s gone back to do some nosing around. Anyway, it’s still me that has to stand in the fire.

  You don’t believe what the Soul Searcher saw, do you?

  I don’t know. But I was thinking about that. The Soul Searchers look inside people, right?

  Yes. That’s what Porterholse said, at least.

  So can’t you have a rummage around in there? See if you can find something about it too?

  I don’t know, Max. I don’t think it works like that. Everything in here is… actually I don’t know how to describe it. Messy.

  Messy? How am I messy?

  Don’t get all offended. I’ll see what I can find.

  OK. Thanks.

  “Max! This is it. We’re here.”

  He blinked and focussed outwards. “Sorry Mrs Jeffers, I was… thinking about something.”

  “This isn’t the time for dreaming. You need to listen to this man. He’s the last Dragon Hunter we’ve got left.”

  Max glanced apprehensively at the large wooden door Mrs Jeffers was opening. Behind it was a dying man. He’d never seen a dying man before.

  “You’re not coming in with me?”

  “No. He insisted on meeting you alone.”

  “Alone? Why?”

  “He’s a Dragon Hunter,” Mrs Jeffers said. “They don’t like large groups.”

  “Three is a large group?”

  “Just quit stalling and get in there. I’ll wait for you outside, in the main courtyard. Come down when you’re done.”

  “OK.”

  “In you go then.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, and gave him a little shove. The door closed at his back.

  You are SUCH a scaredy-cat.

  I’m going in, I’m going!

  Yes. An inch at a time.

  Aren’t you supposed to be busy with something?

  For a moment he stood still, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom.

  They were high up in a tower of the Trocadéro, and it was night-time. Globes of Old Light, shining dimly, hung from the ceiling like moons. A gowned attendant was stooped over a table nearby, washing her fingers in a bowl. Without looking round, she shook free the water drops and dried her hands on a towel, then quietly left by another door.

  A tapestry on the wall.

  Heavy curtains with satin folds.

  Max studied all this as long as possible, trying to look at IT last—the bed at the far end of the room, where the dying Dragon Hunter lay. He was propped up in a sitting position, one arm in a sling, his legs little more than a bony ripple beneath the sheet. Slowly, Max moved towards him. Once he’d looked at the Dragon Hunter’s face, he couldn’t look away. It gleamed where ointment had been applied to his burns. A bandage covered his eyes, but when Max sat in the chair by the bed, the Dragon Hunter turned his head towards him.

  “So,” he said in a soft whisper. “It’s YOU!” And he began to chuckle quietly.

  What does he mean by that?

  Don’t ask me. And stop eavesdropping!

  “You’re the one… who started the Vanishings,” the Dragon Hunter went on, his voice little more than a dry rustle. “Come on. Tell me. How’d you do it?”

  Max bent closer. Even in the slight whisper, the Dragon Hunter’s American accent was unmistakable.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

  “You sure you want to be a Dragon Hunter? Sounds more like you ought to be a Wizard or a goddamn Witch, making up stuff like that.”

  Max wondered if Mrs Jeffers had explained things properly to the old man.

  “I don’t want to be a Dragon Hunter,” he said. “I just want to find out who I am. They think they can untangle the Woods and the World if I do. And then the Vanishings will stop.”

  “Who’s going to gather stories, if you don’t?” The old man frowned, wincing as it cracked his reddened skin. “When something comes along, that nobody else can do—and believe me, that doesn’t happen every day—when that happens, it’s a defining moment in life. Yes, let’s call it that. A defining moment. You should—ackhack—grab it. With both hands.”

  He coughed and had to stop a moment. His free hand twisted the bedsheets in pain.

  “Listen kid. I don’t have time to do any persuading here. Maybe I can leave that to the Dragon Fire. If you’re not going to carry on our work, that’s your call. But if you are, you’ll need to know a few trade secrets. Things you wouldn’t normally know, seeing as you’re not even an Apprentice. Some I’ll tell you now, so you can go meet your Lizard. The rest I’ll tell you when you return. And you got to return, if you survive. Understand?”

  “What do you mean, if I survive?” Max asked quickly. “They said I would be safe!”

  “No, kid. There’s no defence against the Dragon Fire.”

  “The Soul Searcher… He saw…”

  “They told me that,” the Dragon Hunter said. “They’re not trying to trick you. They believe it’s true. Trust me, it isn’t.”

  “But—”

  “Kid, nobody gets a free pass in front of a Dragon. You stand in the fire, you take the same risk as anyone else. Whatever the Soul Searcher saw, it didn’t have nothing to do with Dragons. You just got to be brave.”

  “But… it must hurt!”

  “Yes it hurts. It hurts like billy-o.”

  “How did you survive?”

  “I don’t know… nobody knows. I was just like you. I ran away too. From home. We all do. All the Hunters. We’re all—ackhack—children from the World. Just
kids on the run.” He coughed again, his breath tearing in his chest. “Like me, my real name’s Joseph Markovitch, I’m from New York. My old man was a construction worker, he was Polish, he had a hand building most of the old city, and my mom was a lot of things, she did whatever she could, but she ran off with some guy when I was only a kid, because my Dad, he had big hands, all day they pounded away, and they didn’t stop pounding when they got home. That’s why I came here, to the Woods. I don’t even remember how I crossed over. It must’ve been through Central Park, I was always mooching around there. A whole lot of stuff I’ve forgotten, but listen… I still remember what that old Dragon had to say about ME.”

  He reached out and without even feeling around he grabbed Max’s wrist. Max gasped—the old man’s grip was solid as a rock. He was pulled forwards off the chair so fast he almost fell across the bed.

  “When that fire hits you, it hits you like a freight train. It rips you up and scatters you to the Winds. You’ll never be the same. You’ll stand there holding onto your toothpick, and sooner or later that Lizard of yours will quit his bucking and rolling and puke up that fire of his the way you want him to. And then—ackhack—then you’ll see… then you’ll find out… who you really are… and it’ll be worse than your worst nightmare by God and all that’s Holy it will.”

  He let go, fell back and again his whole body contorted in a fit of coughing, his legs twisting under the sheets.

  “But you’ve… you’ve got to—ackhack—you’ve got to see it through. The Dragon Hunters have to keep going. We have to keep yanking those stories out the flames. The World needs them, more than you think. And I’ll show you when you’re ready, when you’re done with your task, what the Storybooks really do, what they’re for. Because it’s got to be you. You got to take over. You’re the next one, the last Dragon Hunter, the one that puts us all back on our feet—and maybe you’ll stop the Vanishings too. Wouldn’t that be something? Listen to me now.”

  Max bent closer. The old man’s voice was barely audible.

  “First thing’s first: you got to find yourself a Lizard. And you got to do it quick. Dragons, see, they’re ancient, they’re from the earliest days of the Woods, before even the Dabbling Days. That’s why they’re so precious—there’s a fixed number of them. None are born. And none die, except if they’re killed. What they do is migrate, back to where they spawned, to Ethiopia, the Danakil Depression, the hottest damn place in the Woods, where life got started. They bury themselves. The force of life… the heat… it’s still there, in the ground. It rejuvenates them. Their migration begins the last Full Moon before the winter solstice. That’s seven days from now. After that they’ll all be gone. And it’ll be too late.”

  “Why? What’s going to happen?”

  “This machine they found in that Dragon’s mouth. Someone’s out there putting these things in the Dragons. Nobody here can do that, they don’t have the know-how. It’s someone from the World, and he must be… trying to destroy the Woods.”

  “Destroy the Woods?”

  “He’s going about it right, that’s for sure. It’s like… he knows us. Knows Dragons. And this New Light. That must be him. He’s behind it all. It’s all part of the same… the same plan. Whatever he’s doing, he’s already started!”

  He gripped Max’s arm again and his lips compressed into a hard line. “You’ll find this Tinker at Gilead, that’s where to look for him. And when you find the Tinker—you’ll find a Dragon!”

  “And what then?”

  “Then you get your story. You find out who you are. How you Appeared. You untangle the Woods and the World! And—ackhack—stop the Tinker!”

  Max stared at him. “Stop the Tinker?” he whispered.

  “I’ve got something for him,” the Dragon Hunter said then. Opening his mouth as wide as possible, he reached in and took hold of one of his teeth. Saliva ran down his chin. He began to work the tooth around, rotating it slowly—it was rotting and dark.

  He pulled sharply.

  The saliva ran pink.

  He dropped the blackened tooth on the blanket, and rolled it about to dry it. Then held it out between finger and thumb.

  “This here’s for the Tinker. He’s so interested in teeth he can have one of mine. Go on, take it!”

  Max took the tooth, and put it at once into his pocket. “You want me to give it to the Tinker?”

  “Don’t call it a giving. Put it in his food. Mix it in with his soup. Stuff it in his bread, the way you give a dog a pill.”

  “But why?”

  “Why? Because he killed my friends. Because I’m too old to get him myself. That’s why.”

  “I can’t do this,” Max whispered. “It’s—”

  “You got to do it, kid. You got to! It won’t kill him, don’t worry about that. It’ll lodge in his throat and he’ll fall asleep. And then he’ll dream. He’ll have dreams you don’t want to know about. You do that for me, you get me my revenge. Then come back to me, and I’ll tell you the rest of what you need to know. But you got to do it quick. Seven days before the Dragons leave. Seven days, I reckon, before I leave too. Remember, I’m a World One just like you. When we go, we go for good, no hanging around in graveyards for us. So listen, you go fast. Don’t you spend time wondering about Whys or Hows. Come back before the Full Moon. Tell me the Tinker’s dreaming. Tell me what your Lizard had to say. Then I’ll tell you about the Books and the Light—and I’ll know I’m not the last of the Dragon Hunters.”

  What exactly are the Vanishings?

  Some say they are death.

  Some say they are mass abductions by the CIA.

  I believe they are the last echo of music in the cathedral. A diminuendo. A slowly walked journey to nowhere.

  DOCTOR BORIS PESHKOV

  Reflections on the Vanishings

  1

  THE MRS JEFFERSES

  When Max found his way outside Mrs Jeffers was sitting with the Dark Man on a stone bench at the far side of the courtyard, where steps led down into the boulevards of Paris.

  He drew back into an alcove.

  He was surprised to see Boris back from the World so soon. Still with his lantern, he was hurriedly explaining something to Mrs Jeffers, who was staring at him in bewilderment. Max had never seen the Dark Man so agitated.

  Why are you spying on your friends?

  I’m not spying.

  You’re crouching in the shadows in a shadowy corner. That’s what spies do.

  Listen to me a second.

  Why should I? You never listen to me.

  What? I do so!

  You do not. You’re not interested in me. You’re only interested in yourself.

  Like how?

  You only care about Hot Air Balloons and dreams and things. Gravestones aren’t meant to get distracted by dreams. They’re meant to be all solid and grey and not go charging off all over the place.

  Make up your mind. Am I a gravestone or a Knight?

  That’s another thing. What kind of Knight is scared of Dragons? Knights are supposed to be brave.

  Queens are supposed to be kind.

  No, they’re supposed to be cold as ice so the Knight suffers as much as possible and then at the last second she melts and the Knight takes control.

  When’s the last second going to come?

  At the very, very end. Really it will be the absolute end.

  Before or after he gets burnt alive?

  See, you ARE scared!

  I’m not scared, I’m just taking the safe option.

  What safe option? What do you mean?

  Didn’t you hear him? The Soul Searcher thing is just a big mistake.

  So wait. You’re not going to face the Dragon?

  No, I’m NOT going to Gilead. I’m NOT facing the Dragon. I’m NOT tracking down a Tinker and messing with his crazy, metalmouth Dragons! I’m going to the Ocean instead.

  You’re NOT!

  I’m going to the Panthalassa Ocean and I’m going to find my
Forever Parents and I need help. You said you would help and I’m asking you to help.

  You’re going to the SEASIDE are you CRAZY? What are you going to do? PADDLE and BUILD SANDCASTLES?

  It’s better than getting buried under three tonnes of burning SAWDUST! It’s not going to work. You heard the Dragon Hunter. Nobody gets a free pass. I thought I had a free pass! What happened to my free pass?!

  Max—

  No! I’m going to follow my dreams. And my dreams tell me my Forever Parents are connected to the Panthalassa Ocean. So that’s where I’m going!

  I don’t understand this “Forever Parents” thing. What does it mean? Where did you get it from?

  They’re my real parents. The ones I dreamt about.

  But that’s what I don’t understand. How can DREAM parents be REAL parents? Weren’t the Mulgans your real parents?

  No. They weren’t. They were pretend. They hated me and I hated them. OK?

  Everyone has Scorpions and Minotaurs, you know. A Scorpion or two—that’s completely normal. It doesn’t mean they weren’t your parents. I mean, obviously it’s best if the Scorpions don’t outnumber the Butterflies. That would be bad. But—

  How your parents were at Gilead, for five minutes, that’s how mine were ALL THE TIME. For YEARS. Imagine what that would be like. I’m glad they’ve Vanished.

  You’re GLAD they Vanished?

  Yes.

  You’re actually glad? As in happy glad?

  Yes! And THEY probably are TOO!

  But he suddenly wondered at what he had just said.

  He was glad the Mulgans had Vanished. He’d never said that before. He’d never even thought it, at least not with those exact words.

  Once, he’d watched a TV documentary about the Vanishings. The presenter had been interviewing someone whose brother had Vanished. They were in the man’s living room, and as the man talked about his brother and said how much he missed him, he kept glancing down to his left. At the end of the interview the man stood up to show the presenter around his house, and the camera zoomed out momentarily to reveal what had been distracting him: a slice of Victoria sponge on the coffee table.