by Pile, Duncan
Baard carried two bodies over on his own – one under each arm – and dumped them on the ground, starting a pile. Gaspi and Taurnil dropped their corpse on top and made their way back to the gully to get another one. It took three trips to clear the ground of bodies.
“What were those things?” Gaspi asked when they were finished.
“Gaaks,” Voltan answered. “Nasty creatures with a liking for human flesh, but they don’t usually stray below the mountains. This tribe was a long way from home.”
“What were they doing here?” Taurnil asked.
“I don’t know,” Voltan answered. “They shouldn’t be down here in the lowlands, that’s for sure, but I think we found out what drove the villagers out. Their presence may be a coincidence, but it could also indicate something more sinister. From now on, we’ll establish a watch every night – two hour shifts. I was hoping to put that off until we at least got into the foothills, but apparently we are already well outside the protection of civilised lands.” He looked around at the group. “Get some sleep. I’ll take first watch, but I need someone to take over in two hours, and someone else to take over after that.”
“I’ll do it,” Sabu said.
“And I,” Talmo said.
“Good,” Voltan responded. “Someone put out the fire will you? We don’t want any more of those things wandering in. Sabu, I’ll wake you in two hours. Everyone else, go back to sleep.” Baard heaped dirt onto the fire until it was out, and climbed under his blanket.
Voltan waited till the giant was lying down again before banishing the globe light. Gaspi’s eyes widened in the sudden darkness, seeing nothing but the after image of the magical light, flashing in his darkened vision every time he blinked. Eventually the impression of the globe light faded, and Gaspi’s eyes readjusted to the night. He had a thousand questions, but the adrenaline of battle had taken its toll, and it wasn’t long before he fell asleep.
…
The next morning, they broke camp and trudged on towards the foothills of the Broken Ranges. The previous night’s battle had changed the mood of the group, and they rode with a wary eye on the undergrowth, looking for signs of further enemies. Gaspi and Taurnil rode up alongside Baard.
“What’s on yer mind lads?” Baard asked.
“We were wondering about those Gaaks. You ever see one of those before?” Taurnil asked.
“’Course I ’ave,” Baard responded. “Anyone who’s bin up North ’as seen a Gaak.”
“What do you think they were doing so far from the mountains?”
“Who knows?” Baard responded, screwing up his face in thought. “Could be anything, but I’ll tell yer this much - little monsters run from big monsters, and they run from even bigger ones. Whatever chased them Gaaks out o’ the Ranges will be worse than they are. Yer may as well know from the start - there’s nothin’ good waitin’ fer us up North.”
“Don’t be so cheerful Baard,” Taurnil responded.
“No use gildin’ the lily,” Baard responded, and the three of them fell into silence, eyeing the dark spaces between the shrubbery as they rode.
…
Later that afternoon they reached a lake. It was only a few hundred meters across, but it stretched several miles both east and west, like a long thin ribbon. The trail they were following stopped at a small pier at the water’s edge. When they looked over to the far shore, they could see another pier extending out over the water, and beyond that the trail started up again, leading into the hills. Twenty yards from shore, the prow of a boat protruded from the water. Whether by accident or by design, the ferry that would have taken them to the other side had been well and truly sunk.
“Crap,” Baard said, scratching his beard vigorously. “What do we do now?”
“Gasp can you freeze this whole lake?” Taurnil asked.
“No,” Voltan interjected. “We were forced to use magic last night to protect ourselves, but we won’t be doing so again unless in the direst emergency.”
“I don’t think I could do it anyway,” Gaspi said. “The lake’s huge, and it’s the kind of spell you’d have to commit to. If I didn’t have the power to finish it, I’d die.”
“We could fish the boat out and mend it?” Baard suggested.
“Any carpenters in the group?” Voltan asked. No-one responded. “Looks like we have to go around then.” Baard grunted and fell silent. Voltan peered intently up and down the length of the lake. “We’ll go round the east side. It looks less rocky.” He dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and started off in that direction.
Taurnil glanced at Gaspi and shrugged. Skirting the lake would add a day to the journey, but it didn’t look like they had much of a choice. Pulling on his horse’s reins, he dug his heels into its flanks and the beast lurched into motion. Gaspi swayed in the saddle, falling into the steady traveller’s gait they had established. There was no point rushing, even if you had to take a long detour you’d much rather avoid. The faster you went, the more things went wrong; you got all kinds of sores from the chafing, items fell out of packs, the horses got tired and needed to stop and rest more frequently. No, it was better just to set a steady pace and stick with it, even if you were feeling impatient. Besides, they’d left the trail behind, and the ground was rocky enough to warrant extra caution. If they were careless, a horse could turn its hoof on a stone and be lamed. Then they’d have no choice but to kill the beast and someone would be travelling on foot!
They made steady progress through the afternoon, and by the time the light began to fade they were approaching the end of the lake. Flies buzzed noisily around their heads, as well as those of the horses, who flicked their tails and blinked their large, liquid eyes to fend them off.
“We’ll make camp soon,” Voltan called back down the line. “Over there,” he said, indicating a dense thicket of trees growing at the end of the lake. It certainly looked like a good camp; sheltered from the weather and safe from prying eyes.
As they drew near Voltan suddenly pulled on his horse’s reins and flung up a hand. He slid silently from the saddle and urged them to do the same. “There’s smoke coming from those trees,” he whispered.
“We’ll scout it out,” Zlekic said, indicating his twin with a wave of his hand.
“Okay,” Voltan responded. “If there’s any danger, don’t go in. Just come back and report.”
“Understood,” Zlekic said. He and Zaric removed their bows and arrows, hanging them on the pommels of their saddles, and paced silently towards the thicket. Zlekic went left and went Zaric right, circling the thicket and disappearing behind the mass of trees. Minutes later they returned, maintaining their silent progress through the rocky terrain.
“You won’t believe this but there’s a house in there,” Zlekic said in an undertone.
“A house?” Voltan asked, raising an eyebrow.
“More like a glorified shack,” Zaric said. “The bushes are so dense you can only just make it out, but that smoke’s coming from the chimney.”
“Whoever lives there clearly doesn’t like company,” Voltan said.
“Like a hermit?” Taurnil asked.
“Yes, a hermit,” Voltan answered. “Someone who has a good reason to stay away from other people. We’ll have to be careful.”
“Heath is a hermit,” Gaspi said. “They aren’t all bad.”
“True, but we aren’t going to take any risks,” Voltan said. “We need to bed down somewhere for the night, and even if we don’t stay in the thicket, we ought to make ourselves known. We don’t want anyone to assume we’re enemies and attack us in our sleep. Agreed?” The group murmured their assent. “I’ll go alone,” Voltan said. He turned and walked openly towards the thicket, making no attempt to keep quiet.
“HO!” he called, when he was within twenty paces of the trees. He stopped and waited, standing with his hands hanging by his side, but there was no response. “HELLO!” he called again. A loud creaking sound came from within the trees, followed by the
crackle of disturbed undergrowth as someone made their way through the thicket.
Voltan remained as he was, hands dangling by his sides in a non-threatening manner. The foliage at the edge of the thicket twitched, and a man’s head emerged from among the dense branches.
“Help you?” he asked, craning his neck around to look at the rest of the party. Gaspi almost laughed out loud at the strange sight of a disembodied head sticking out from the thicket. The man was filthy, with black hair so matted and tangled it made Gaspi’s scalp itch just to look at it.
“We mean you no harm,” Voltan said, extending open palms towards the hermit. “We’re travelling through and need a place to make stop for the night. We’ll be camping nearby, so we’re stopping by as a courtesy to let you know we are no danger to you.”
The hermit raised a dirt-smeared eyebrow. “Want to camp in the thicket?” he asked.
“That’s very good of you,” Voltan responded. “Yes we would, with gratitude.” Gaspi smirked to himself. He’d never heard Voltan try and be diplomatic before, but he’d handled the hermit fairly well. He hadn’t even had to ask if they could stay in the thicket. The hermit had offered!
The hermit’s head bobbed twice. “There’s an opening round the other side,” he said, and as quickly as that, his head disappeared back within the branches. Voltan looked at the group and shrugged. He walked back over and took the reins of his horse.
“It looks like we have a campsite,” he said.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Sabu asked.
“We need to make camp,” Voltan said. “He seems harmless enough, but if he turns nasty, there are nine of us and one of him. It’s not as if we’re helpless is it?”
“I suppose not,” Sabu said with a twisted smile. “Still, we should maintain a watch just in case.”
“Absolutely,” Voltan responded. He glanced up at the setting sun. “Come on. Let’s get in there before we lose the light.” He led his horse across the rocky ground and around the edge of the thicket until he came to the opening. It was heavily overgrown with weeds and unruly branches. “Baard, Sabu, can you go in first and hold back the branches so we can lead the horses through?”
“Sure,” Baard answered, echoed by Sabu. They handed the reins of their hoses to Zlekic and Zaric and went through the narrow opening.
Even with Baard and Sabu’s help, leading the horses into the thicket was hard work. The overhanging branches made them nervous, and at several points one horse or another dug its heels in and whickered uncertainly. It took a great deal of patience and persuasion, but they finally got all the horses through, and found themselves in a large clearing within the thicket.
It was noticeably darker inside the thicket than it had been outside. Hemmed in on all sides by the overgrown tangle of foliage and covered by a thick canopy of interlocking branches, the clearing was shrouded in perpetual murk. Gaspi suspected it wouldn’t even brighten up on the very sunniest of days.
The hermit’s dwelling stood in the centre of the clearing. It was constructed from a hodgepodge of materials, some natural and some man-made, and all of them were covered in a thick carpet of moss. The doorway had clearly been taken from another building, frame and all, and had been shoved up against an opening in one of the walls and tied on with lengths of dirty rope. White smoke curled from a broken pipe on the roof and filtered up through the branches overhead, dispersing it and making it hard to spot from a distance. Gaspi could see that the hermit had made an attempt at cultivation, but he’d never seen a sorrier looking row of turnips in his life. They were wilted and grey, and less than half the size they ought to be. What was that growing in the next row? Whatever they were, they were too rotten to identify, blackened lumps of vegetative matter decaying in the wet soil.
The door to the shack creaked open on protesting hinges and the hermit came scurrying out, pushing the door shut behind him. He was even filthier than Gaspi had first thought. Ragged clothing clung to his lumpy frame like a second skin, ingrained with ancient dirt. He couldn’t have had a wash in years! He was a couple of inches under average height, but he was broad, with heavy shoulders and long, ape-like arms. He had a weak chin, a prominent, rounded forehead, and heavily lidded eyes that darted from face to face.
“You can make your camp out here,” he said, indicating the part of the clearing they were standing in. “Make a fire if you like, but just stay clear of my house. Understood?”
“Understood,” Voltan said.
With a loud grunt, the hermit turned his back on them, pulled open the door and went back into his shack.
“He’s not exactly friendly,” Taurnil said quietly.
Voltan shrugged. “He doesn’t have to be friendly. He just needs to let us camp here.”
“Do we really have to stay?” Gaspi asked, keeping his voice deliberately low. “It isn’t just the hermit. The whole place stinks!” he said, eyeing the plot of rotten vegetables, mouldering in beds of dark, fetid soil.
“Does it?” Baard said, sniffing the air curiously.
“It’s too late now,” Voltan responded. “It’ll be dark soon, and we’d have to spend time getting the horses out again. So let’s just make the best of it okay?”
“Okay,” Gaspi grumbled. Voltan was right, but he hated being in this horrible place. It was the very opposite of Heath’s clearing – in place of life and growth there was nothing but mould and decay.
“Good,” Voltan said. “Now go collect some firewood and give it to Talmo.” They collected the wood in silence, and then waited while the meal was prepared. No-one seemed to feel like talking, so they cooked and ate without any of their usual banter. Even the twins were quiet. When the meal was over, they performed their chores, rolled into their blankets, and went straight to sleep, leaving Baard to keep watch.
Nine
Gaspi strained against the ropes that tied him even as his captor bent down to pull them even tighter. The hooded man’s features blurred and ran into one before his eyes, refusing to resolve into anything recognisable. The featureless face swivelled towards him, and for the briefest moment Gaspi glimpsed a pair of sullen red eyes, gleaming with dark intent.
Fear shot up Gaspi’s spine and he screamed helplessly into the gag. The hooded man reached down to his hip and drew out a dagger, its blackened blade as smoky and insubstantial as his face. Gaspi tried to focus on it, but looking at it played tricks with his eyes and he was overcome by a wave of intense nausea. The fell blade lowered until its point was level with Gaspi’s right eye. Gaspi turned his head aside and struggled against his bonds, but to no avail. He couldn’t break free of the ropes any more than he could remember how he got there. In a quiet corner of his mind he recognised that none of this made any sense. Who was this man, and why was he trying to kill him?
I’m dreaming! Gaspi realised, a truth so clear and simple it cut right through his befuddled state. He shook his head violently, trying to awaken from the disturbing dream. He was teetering on the brink of wakefulness, but the dream had a hold on him and wouldn’t let him go. The hooded man leaned in and grabbed him by the chin, holding his head in place while he pushed the point of the dark blade towards Gaspi’s eyeball.
WAKE UP! He screamed to himself, and the dream was shattered.
…
Gaspi’s eyes flew open. It was still night-time and it was almost pitch black within the enclosure of the thicket. Keen to shake off the remnants of his disturbing dream, he sat up. Or at least he tried to, but he couldn’t move a muscle! He felt a surge of panic, more visceral than any emotion he’d felt in the dream. What was going on? Why couldn’t he move? He tried again and again without success. His heart started racing, his muscles flooded with adrenaline, but it made no difference. He was helpless.
A twig snapped nearby and Gaspi instantly stopped trying to move. He listened intently, trying to identify the source of the noise. For long moments there was silence, but then someone grunted. Then came the sound of heavy, shuffling footsteps,
and if he wasn’t mistaken, they were coming in his direction. He tried to move again, but it was no good. The footsteps were getting nearer. Panicked, he closed his eyes and kept his breathing steady.
The footsteps crunched through the dirt and twigs and came to a stop. A reek of rancid sweat drifted into his nostrils. He risked opening his eyes a crack. It was the hermit, crouching down right next to him, but he wasn’t bending over Gaspi – he was bending over Taurnil!
The hermit stood up. “Fortunate,” he called. There was no response. “FORTUNATE,” he roared, clearly unconcerned about waking anyone up. Gaspi wished he could turn his head. Were the others all trapped as helplessly as he was?
A loud creaking sound cut through the night, and the sound of much lighter footsteps came pattering across the ground. Gaspi kept his eyes narrowed as the footsteps approached. Within moments, another shadow loomed over Gaspi, but this one was much smaller than the hermit. A boy! Gaspi thought, but he couldn’t make out any of his features in the darkness.
“Where were you?” the hermit growled, grabbing the boy by his hair and yanking his head downwards, twisting his neck viciously to one side.
“I’m sorry Baas!” the boy cried. “I was sleeping.”
“Sleeping?” the hermit accused, twisting the boy’s neck around until Gaspi was sure it was going to snap. “I’ll see to you later,” he added, releasing the boy’s hair and pushing his head away. “Now help me get them inside. Grab this one’s feet.” Fortunate circled Taurnil’s body, bet down, and came up holding Taurnil’s ankles. He was clearly struggling with them, and though the hermit had Taurnil by the wrists, Fortunate couldn’t lift him off the ground. He let go, and Taurnil’s feet landed in the dirt with a thump.