by Logan Joss
Mèlli leaned in close and whispered, ‘The trees.’
Trevor gasped and jumped up off the tree stump, remembering the stories. ‘What do you mean, the trees?’
‘Don’t you feel it?’ Mèlli said. ‘You’re not really tired, it’s them. This is what they do. They drain all your determination, your willpower, until you haven’t got the energy to carry on. And then they’ve got you.’
‘Oh, what does it matter anyway? Stay here. Keep moving. We’re going to die anyway.’ Trevor slumped back down onto the tree root.
Mèlli grabbed his arm and tried to pull him up. ‘This isn’t you, Trevor. Please, come on!’
Trevor tried to shake off Mèlli’s grip but he couldn’t, so he stood up and pushed him with all his strength, sending him flying to the ground.
Mèlli looked up, shocked and scared. But the shock turned quickly to terror as he watched a long root rise up from the ground behind Trevor and wind itself like a tentacle around his legs, pulling him to the ground and dragging him off into the forest. He scrambled to his feet. ‘Trevor!’ he screamed, but he was gone.
As he gazed forlornly after his friend, he felt something grab him around his ankles and pull his legs out from beneath him.
Mèlli awoke to find himself hanging by his ankles in a clearing. Here the trees were much larger; their broad trunks formed an unbroken wall around the perimeter and their upper branches entwined, creating a vaulted roof. The clearing was pervaded by a faint green glow and a high pitched humming sound, like the shrill buzz of láelin fairy wings, but, Mèlli suspected, with a far less benevolent origin. Instinctively, he grasped his chest and felt the comforting form of the pouch still there beneath his jacket.
He looked around. There were people hanging as he was all around the edge of the clearing, suspended upside down from creepers attached to the roof. He was relieved to see that Trevor hung from the adjacent branch and he reached out to try and wake him. Stretching his arm out as far as possible, he could only just manage to touch the edge of Trevor’s tunic as it hung bunched up around his shoulders. He needed to get closer. Doubling himself up and then releasing gave him enough momentum to start swinging his body towards his friend. On the second swing, he managed to grab enough of Trevor’s clothing to get a firm grip and pull him nearer. He gave him a good shake but to no avail, so holding tight to his arm with one hand, he gave him a quick tap on the cheek. Still nothing. Finally, in frustration, he slapped him sharply and Trevor jolted awake with a gasp.
‘What…what…where?’ he muttered groggily.
‘It’s okay, Trevor,’ Mèlli said, still holding his arm.
Coming to his senses, Trevor saw that they were hanging upside down high in the air and grabbed hold of Mèlli with fright. ‘How did we get here?’ he asked, with a look of terror.
‘Don’t you remember?’
‘No. We were walking in the forest and then…I can’t remember anything else.’
Mèlli realized that Trevor had no recollection of his outburst and thought it would be pointless and unkind to remind him.
‘Well…the trees caught us,’ he said simply.
Trevor surveyed his surroundings as he processed this information, only then noticing all the other victims. ‘What is this place?’ He shuddered, clutching Mèlli even closer.
‘The last place we’ll ever see if we don’t get—’
Mèlli’s words were cut off as the humming sound became louder, rising in pitch until it was so intense that it hurt their ears.
They watched as two captives, still hanging unconscious from their vines, were drawn into the center of the clearing and lowered slowly, stopping just short of the ground. The humming stopped. There was a hush as the clearing held its breath, the men hanging inert, swaying gently in the ominous silence. Then a bone-splintering crack. All at once, the center of the clearing became a black, viscous liquid, heaving and roiling angrily.
Where the men hung, long sinuous shapes started to slither beneath the surface. Concentric ripples appeared, spreading and coalescing like a myriad of malevolent raindrops, until, with a vile squelch, a tentacle pierced the surface, darting upwards towards its prey. It plunged into the stomach of its first victim, penetrating through to his back and curling around his body, warm blood pouring down into the soil. With a violent thrust, it pulled him into the abyss.
The second man, now conscious, had witnessed the gruesome fate of his friend and screamed and writhed in a desperate attempt to escape. Fueled by his terror, the ground bubbled and thrashed, licking at the stench of fear that dripped from him. Finally, another tentacle burst upwards.
Trevor turned away, hiding his eyes from the terror that he knew would follow, but Mèlli, frozen in horror and choked-up with grief, could not tear his eyes away. It was not until the second pair of victims were drawn inexorably to their deaths that the realization hit. They must escape. Or die.
‘Trevor, we need to get out of here.’
Trevor didn’t respond. He just hung limply, his hands pressed against his eyes.
‘Come on, Trevor, we need to go. Now!’ Mèlli grabbed Trevor and turned him around to face him. ‘Look at me, Trevor. Look at me. We’re getting out of here. Just do what I do.’
Mèlli let go of Trevor and reached upwards, straining hard until he had grasped the vine where it attached to his ankles. He tugged at the knot to try and release himself, but it wouldn’t loosen so he started to climb hand over hand up the vine. He glanced back to check on Trevor and saw that he was still struggling to pull himself upright. Unable to help, Mèlli continued climbing. Meanwhile, the screams of despair and the slurping sounds of flesh being devoured filled the clearing.
Mèlli reached the roof, squeezed himself through a gap and collapsed, gasping, onto the mesh of branches. Between the leaves, he could see Trevor slowly climbing the vine, but he still had a long way to go. Urgently, Mèlli tried again to untie the knot around his ankles but, as he pulled at it with his fingertips, he felt it slither even more tightly around him. It occurred to him then that this thing was alive, and if he wounded it enough, it might release its hold on his legs. He grabbed hold of a piece of the vine and pulled it apart with all his strength to try and break it, but it was too strong. So he bent it in half and twisted it. Splits appeared along its length, but it wasn’t weakened enough to break. Thinking quickly, he unbuttoned his jacket, reached into his pouch and pulled out a small pocket knife. He held it taut with one hand while he sawed at it as vigorously as he could. One by one, he heard the fibers fray until the whole vine broke and the end that bound his ankles loosened. He kicked it off with satisfaction and turned his attention back to Trevor, who was nearing the top of the rope.
‘Come on Trevor, you’re nearly there,’ he shouted in triumph. ‘Just a little further.’
Mèlli jumped up as he felt the severed end of the vine creeping across his legs. He grabbed it and threw it as hard as he could, his heart pounding in his chest.
Trevor was nearly at the top now, almost within reach. Mèlli reached his arm down to help, but out of the corner of his eye he saw the vine snaking back over the roof towards him.
‘Come on Trevor, quick. I can almost reach you.’
The vine was heading towards Mèlli’s feet.
Exhausted, Trevor looked up at him with a sheepish grin.
Mèlli felt the vine curling around his ankles and he thrashed his legs to shake it off, all the time reaching for Trevor.
Their fingertips touched. Mèlli saw the jubilation on Trevor’s face change to an expression of sheer terror. He watched, frozen in disbelief, his arm still outstretched, as Trevor fell.
‘No!’ Mèlli cried.
His eyes locked onto Trevor’s as he felt himself being lifted. He saw the roof of branches wither and recede into the trunks, revealing the clearing below. But Trevor was gone.
Mèlli was lifted higher and higher above the trees. He watched, with tears in his eyes, until the clearing vanished into the distance.
23
Somúlùs’ Stand
THE MOMENT THAT all of rus had been dreading had arrived. King Somúlùs was sitting in his parlor when the alarm sounded. At first, he did not react, but then the stark realization hit him like a blow to the stomach. He stood up slowly and leaned against his desk, taking some deep breaths to calm his nerves. He picked up his sword and sheathed it carefully, then tucked his helmet under his arm and made his way solemnly to the parade ground. As he reached the outer door, he paused, inhaled sharply through his nose and drew himself up before stepping outside with an air of confidence.
In the command yurt in the parade ground, two captains stood looking at a map, whilst Frèuitùs leaned over a seated figure. As Somúlùs approached, he could see it was a small boy, who looked exhausted and was sipping water from a tankard between gasps.
‘What news, Frèuitùs?’ Somúlùs asked.
‘The west, sire. They’re coming in from the west.’
‘But…’ Somúlùs looked at Frèuitùs, aghast, but the consul just shook his head.
‘It’s worse than we feared, sire. A fleet at least two thousand strong was spotted over the forest of Daknat’òr, just after dawn.’
‘And his army?’
‘Nothing yet, sire. Just the fleet.’
‘We should concentrate our defenses on the western wall, sire,’ one of the captains interjected.
‘No,’ Somúlùs pondered for a moment, while the others glanced at each other in confusion.
‘But sire.’
‘Nirikö still assumes he has the element of surprise. Our fortifications are weakest on the south side. That is where his attack will come from.’
‘I will have my men reinforce the south wall battlements immediately,’ the captain said.
Somúlùs dismissed him to carry out his orders. ‘Nirikö is patient,’ he said as he paced up and down. ‘His attack will come with nightfall. Arriving at dawn was no accident; he meant to be seen. That way, when his offensive begins, our men will be exhausted and filled with panic. We may be outgunned, but the element of surprise is now with us and we will use it to the best of our advantage.’ He stopped pacing and looked around the room. ‘Has anyone seen Ormostrious?’
‘No sire. I will locate him momentarily, but what about the boy?’ Frèuitùs asked.
For the first time, the king’s attention turned to the young messenger who sat patiently on the chair. His worn clothes hung from his bony frame like tattered rags and his pale skin was hidden beneath a mask of grime. Cut and bruised, his bare feet bled onto the floor; he had not stopped running once between his watch post and the palace gate. Despite this, the small waif of a child was beaming enthusiastically at his king, with bright eyes.
King Somúlùs knelt down and gently clasped his hand. ‘My boy, you have done your kingdom a great service.’ He looked up at Frèuitùs. ‘Have this boy’s injuries seen to and then make sure he is fed and clothed. He will be evacuated to the Southern Forest. His duty is done.’ The king looked back at the boy and smiled. Frèuitùs helped him from his chair and led him away.
As they reached the entrance, Ormostrious strode past them into the tent. The small boy craned his neck to gaze up in wonderment at the tall figure.
‘Good morning, Ormostrious. The king was—’ Frèuitùs began.
‘Yes, Yes,’ Ormostrious said, taking in Frèuitùs and the wounded messenger boy with a single glance.
‘Ah, Ormostrious, I had just asked Frèuitùs to find you,’ Somúlùs said as Ormostrious placed a handful of flare casings down on the table.
‘No need,’ he said. ‘I was just finishing making some samples of my new potions when I heard the alarm.’
‘Flares?’ said the remaining captain. ‘What good will they do against a fleet of two thousand of Nirikö’s galleons?’
‘I had expected to give a full demonstration of their potency,’ said Ormostrious, turning his back on the captain and addressing Somúlùs, ‘but with Nirikö on the horizon that would risk showing our hand.’
Somúlùs picked up one of the flares and examined it; the captain snorted with derision.
‘And what would the demonstration have shown us?’ the king asked carefully.
‘I have made two potions. The one in your hand is for defense. Once the fleet is sighted, it can be fired into the air and will create a blanket of thick smoke that will hide your targets from Nirikö.’
‘And them from us,’ the captain said with a superior shake of his head.
‘But your men on the ground will be able to see through the smoke as if it is not there,’ Ormostrious said.
Somúlùs gave Ormostrious a beaming smile. ‘How on Ëlamár did you manage that?’ He turned to the captain. ‘This will give your men a much-needed advantage.’
The captain remained silent, his cheeks reddening.
‘But it is with the attack potion that I feel I have really excelled.’ Ormostrious picked up a different flare casing from the table. ‘I combined several lesser potions to create one which is quite unique. This can be fitted easily to the shaft of an arrow and fired directly upwards, whereupon it will burst into a swarm of blazing darts, which will seek out the vessels and engulf them in orbs of fire. Each arrow will have the ability to destroy multiple enemy galleons.’
Somúlùs clapped his hands with delight as he felt a renewed hope lift the shadow of gloom which had filled his heart.
‘The only problem is,’ Ormostrious continued, ‘these are the only ones that are ready. There are a hundred boxes of unused flares in the old wine cellar. The potions are ready but I will need some help to modify the flare casings.’
‘Splendid,’ Somúlùs said and turned to the captain. ‘Have your men fetch the flares. Ormostrious will instruct you on how he wants this done.’
The captain looked aggrieved and started to protest, but was dismissed by the king without another word.
The late evening brought with it a warm breeze from the south, which trickled through the empty streets of rus and over the palace walls. It crept between the darkened battlements and into the deserted parade ground, gently stirring the fabric of the dormant command yurt. Concealed high in a watchtower, two guards played a game of shö by the dimmed light of a firestone lantern. Between hands, one of the men kept a watchful eye over the southern skyline through his spyglass. He saw something glimmer on the horizon but absentmindedly turned back to his cards, before the implications of what he had seen drew his eye back to the spyglass. He watched as the single light split into two and then four and then many as it took on the unmistakable outline of a fleet in battle formation. His cards fell from his hand as he looked aghast at his companion, who reached up in alarm to sound the warning bell. Before he had a chance to ring it, his arm was seized. The first man shook his head solemnly, opened a hatch in the floor and descended the long ladder to the courtyard below. He crossed it swiftly and disappeared through a door into the palace.
In silence, the courtyards and battlements began to fill with shadowy figures. All at once, the flare casings filled with Ormostrious’ defense potion were hurled high into the air, where they burst open and thick inky-black smoke oozed out like fog covering an invisible ceiling, blocking out the stars. It spread out, creating a blanket of darkness that covered the palace, shrouding it from its enemy. Once it had settled, it faded, revealing the stars in the night sky once more. The shadowy figures returned to the sanctuary of the buildings.
Suddenly a flood of light engulfed the palace beneath the blanket of fog as every firestone lantern within its grounds was lit, revealing the already manned battlements. Men came out to line the walls and fill the courtyards and the parade ground, each armed with a bow and a pail of arrows fitted with one of Ormostrious’ weapons.
The vast armada was now visible as it encroached on the city from over the Southern Forest. The firesilk sails were ablaze with light from spot-lanterns on the decks, highlighting the hideous symbol of Nirikö—the impaled d
ragon.
‘Make ready.’ A commander gave the order for the archers to ready their bows.
‘How do we know if this smoke shield is working if we can’t even see it?’ one soldier asked.
‘I guess we’re about to find out,’ another said.
The first galleons had now reached the Great Library.
‘Aim.’
One nervous soldier released his arrow before the order had been given, sending it high into the air. As it fell back towards the ground it burst open and many tiny glowing green darts shot out towards the fleet, streaking towards their targets with great speed.
‘Fire!’
A rain of arrows filled the air, their thin shafts silhouetted like dashes of shadow against the twilight sky. They seemed to hang for a moment, motionless, before erupting with the synchronous crackle of lightning. Released from their captivity, the dense cluster of glowing darts spread out in all directions as they homed in on their targets—the hulls of the enemy vessels. No sooner had they attached, than an orb of green light engulfed each galleon, incinerating it in a blaze of fire and illuminating the city below with a ghostly light. For a heartbeat, the eyes of the astonished soldiers reflected the dying orbs as they dissipated into blackness. The charred remains of the vessels and their crew drifted down, coating the city beneath with a grey snow.
Their hearts pounding in their chests, the runian soldiers had no time to celebrate nor to dwell on the cost of their victory, for another wave of galleons relentlessly approached. The order to make ready and fire was given again, and this time the men were more prepared. Their arrows flew as one, high into the sky and swiftly found their targets. As before, the devastation was complete. Not one enemy vessel had a chance to return fire, as they were burnt from the skies in an instant. The assault continued into the night as wave after wave of galleons, each one greater than the last, met with the same fate as their comrades before them.