Her momentary fit eventually broke, and she took a shuddering breath. She tried to focus on a happy thought, and with her eyes shut, she imagined she was in her nestroom, her mother humming while stroking her fur, and she felt a little calmer. Barra wondered what her father would do, how he would handle the situation. She pictured him conserving his energy and maintaining his wits, so she tried to do the same. Thinking it over, the fungal-puppets could have harmed her already, but they hadn’t. Barra took some comfort from the thought, not much, but some.
Barra tested the ropes again. More relaxed this time, she experimented and decided they weren’t as tight as she’d first thought. The muscles that manipulated her fur for stealth tingled for her attention, and she rippled them. She felt the ropes—the texture, number of loops, and the kind of braid—through her fur. Shifting weight onto her shoulder, she lifted her arms a bit off the floor and found she could move the ropes a little. Her first attempts were clumsy, but she learned quickly, and soon she was able to cascade her fur in a concerted effort to lift and push the ropes around. Keeping her hands lax to provide slack, she began shifting the loops down over her wrists.
Barra was elated when the first loop fell to the tips of her claws. The entire rope loosened with it, too. No celebrations though. She had to be cautious. She had to be patient. The fungal-puppets were near, and they’d only tie her up again, tighter than before, if they suspected she was free. She pretended her hands were still bound and began working on her legs.
Meanwhile, she wriggled around trying to get a better view. She snuck a careful peek over her shoulder. Glowing sap seeped out from long gashes in the boughs. It seemed like the whole place was rotting from the inside out. Barra saw a dozen creatures: some standing, others kneeling, all facing away from her. She couldn’t understand what occupied their attention—they might have been sleeping. The floor between Barra and the host of fungal-puppets was open and flat, but with no clear exit through the Creeper-infested bramble walls.
There was a grunt beside her, barely audible. The grunt turned into a groan and a few of the standing creatures turned to look. Barra rolled back over to avoid drawing attention. The groaning sounded like Tory. She knew it was him a breath later when he tried to speak. His tongue sounded fat, like it was filling his mouth, so she couldn’t make out the words, but it was definitely him.
Barra stole a glance over her shoulder again, and noted that the creatures had lost interest. They were unbothered by Tory regaining consciousness, so she assumed he was tied up the same as she was. She figured she could get away with a whisper of her own, “Tory. Tory, hey, it’s me. Are you okay?”
“Why are…?” He was groggy, not quite remembering what had happened. “I can’t move my… What the!?” he started, frustrated and angry as he discovered he was tied up.
“Shhh! You’ll draw them over here!” Barra shushed him as quietly as she could. She kept her voice low, “These creepy things ambushed us, and brought us here. I’m not sure…”
“Tory? Barra, is that you?” Plicks called out weakly from the other side of Tory.
Discouraged, but not without a sense of humor, Tory said, “Not much of a rescue, huh? You okay?”
“I’m okay. Just scrapes and bruises. You both tied up, too?” Plicks asked, expecting the worst, but full of hope anyway.
Reunited, the three exchanged whispers for a bit, gathering what they could from each other. Barra kept a watch over her shoulder, expecting their captors to break up the conversation. Occasionally one would take a look, but that was all.
From what they could determine, Barra, Tory, and Plicks were lying down along the outer edge of a large, open platform similar to an Elder Dais. The platform was bounded by rigid and jagged nettles, and a tall, concave wall at the far side that created a kind of half-ceiling overhead. There were long twists of Creepervine as well, dangling down from above like disembodied tongues.
There was no obvious way to escape. Plicks could see the wall from his vantage, and described what might be an opening carved into it. It wasn’t obvious where it would lead. Even if it was a way out, many of the fungal-puppets were huddled there, blocking it. Barra worked her restraints loose while they talked, and was finally free. She wanted to tell her friends, but maybe the creatures were listening after all. She didn’t want to risk it.
Their conversation dwindled as each tried to suss a way out, and after a short time, Tory said, “I think I can break these ropes...” He tested them. “Mmm… maybe?” he added uncertainly. The ropes were sturdy, but he believed a swift pull with all his might could snap them.
A sap-thick voice growled through the air. “What have you brought me?” it asked. The voice was as deep and slimy as the scars all around them.
The tall, winged creature that had visited Barra earlier stood up and walked toward her again. The creature’s eyes were forlorn and distant, and though it stared at her, it seemed not to see her at all. Standing near Barra, the creature turned toward the voice, and spoke without emotion, “Three survivors from above, Argus.” The winged creature’s voice was higher and silkier than Barra expected.
“Survivors? It’s been so very long…” the voice said with an odd cadence, the pauses as long as the words. The owner of the voice hid behind the huddled fungal-puppets and none of the bups could make him out. He might have been there all along or just arrived, there was no way to know for sure. “Is that a Kolalabat?” he asked hungrily, followed by a sound like he was sniffing the air.
The bups were afraid to answer.
Several moments passed, and then the unseen thing laughed. What started as a chuckle soon developed into a heavy bass that seemed to crush the platform as it rolled over it. When the laughter ended, the thing sighed. He growled something to his fungal-puppets that none of the bups could understand, and the minions began bustling around again. They shambled toward the captives. Barra twisted around and counted at least a dozen, their vines slithering sadly with each step.
“Let me go!” Plicks screamed. One of the creatures grabbed him by the trusses and began dragging him away.
Barra rolled over, dug in, and steadied herself, giving up her ruse. The fetid minions were staggered at the far end of the platform. A tall, lithe figure stood near the wall, or really, writhed within the wall like a body entombed in sap. Around him was a thick membrane of rippling, dark ooze. There were hollow voids where his eyes should have been, and he was naked, soot-colored, and furless. His toothless maw gaped, saliva dripping down from his chin.
Six fungal-puppets were closing on Tory, and Barra dashed between, thrashing her tail. The minions watched her, but kept moving toward the tied up Rugosic. The hideous, eyeless creature partially emerged from the wall, his body shifting in the ooze. The dark membrane wrinkled and stretched. He leaned out, and Barra could feel him see her with his empty sockets.
She yelled to Tory, “Break those ropes! Let’s go!”
He wrestled with the restraints, but they only grew tighter. “I… I can’t!” He yelled back through gritted teeth, his circulation to his hands cut off.
Barra bounded over to him and slashed at the braided vines. She didn’t cut clean through them, but they shriveled and opened up anyway. Wrenching his arms, Tory tried again, and the ropes snapped, spraying green fluid from the broken ends. Hands freed, Tory went to work on the ropes around his ankles. The creatures watched, stunned. Barra bolted to the fungal-puppet holding Plicks, leapt onto its back, and then began hacking furiously at it. Sweeping arcs, bright and jagged cuts, carved the creature’s layers of fungus. The gashes didn’t seem to cause the creature any pain, but with its vine-like tendons severed, Plicks fell in a heap at the monster’s feet. The creature began bucking and jerking violently, trying to throw Barra from its back.
Ripping the last of the ties from his ankles, Tory hurried over to Plicks. The stunned minions began to move, but not fast enough to interrupt Tory.
He freed Plicks and then the fungal-puppets were on top of them. Plicks scrambled around the grasping creatures, Tory dodged. They weren’t captives, but with nowhere to go Tory didn’t think that would last. “Barra!” he howled, “We have to get out of here!”
Barra needed to get clear of the wild monster that was still tossing her around. She wrapped her tail around the oozing beast and squeezed hard. Its flailing arms were cinched to its sides. The fungal-puppet lost its balance and lurched. Barra jumped away as it fell to the floor. Airborne, she twisted around and put her feet first, blind to where she was landing. In a frightening prescient flash, she saw herself face to face with the repulsive eyeless monster, and an instant later the flash became reality. Barra crashed into the monster and extended her claws deep into its flesh. His skin was like Umberwood bark, his breath like rotting wood. Clinging to his chest, Barra peered into his vacant sockets. A spark pricked up and down the length of her spine. Her fur hummed.
The eyeless thing’s chest heaved and rumbled, a low growl issued forth, so low that it rattled Barra’s bones. Unable to suppress the instinct, Barra bared her teeth, pointed incisors flashing with wet, her eyes filled with fury. She snarled and swept her tail beneath her in neat, menacing flicks.
Saliva rolled out over his parting lips, and he said, “You are mine.”
Barra snapped her teeth and slashed at his face. She leapt from him, and flipped mid-air to hit the floor on all fours. Her ankle throbbed with adrenaline-dampened pain, and she ran, looking for her friends through a mess of dangling and reaching limbs.
“Over here!” Tory was at the edge of the concave wall with Plicks.
Barra raced around one fungal-puppet and between the rotten legs of another.
“Come on!” Plicks hollered, and unfurled his scruffs.
On the other side of the wall was an open area, branch-free into the visible distance. They were on the ledge of a ravine. Barra thought she’d done enough falling for a lifetime, but she didn’t have a better idea. Plicks climbed up onto Tory like a backpack. Barra held onto Tory’s waist and they jumped.
16. Circling the Dream
The bups sailed through the air on warm drafts that blew up from the Root like giant gentle exhales. They were rising and falling at will, far from the reach of the rotting monsters. They were safe, but it couldn’t last. Plicks couldn’t float them forever.
Barra scanned the rootscape, worried that the eyeless thing would find them no matter where they touched down. Her forearm throbbed in time with the memory of his words, “You are mine.” Over and over again in her mind, the words repeated, until the muscle beneath the cut ached to the bone. She squeezed her eyes against the pain, and tried not to think about how far they were away from home.
“Over there!” Tory shouted. His eyes were least capable of seeing through the darkness, but he wasn’t as distracted as the other two. He pointed to a large area isolated from the rest of the Root by a roughly circular ridge. The ridge was an incomplete wall of bound boughs around a relatively level floor. As they floated over the cirque, Tory thought the bowl-shaped rootmass was well-insulated, the broken sections of ridge stuffed full of dangerous nettles. The whole cirque was washed with dim, diffuse light and Tory thought the flora within looked healthy opposed to everything else they’d seen.
Plicks glided them in closer, and they saw the old bindings that held the shape of the ridge together, and the sprays of metal threads where they hadn’t. Many rings had passed since anyone or anything had cared for the construction, and Plicks took it as a good sign. He’d met enough inhabitants of the Root. He picked a large pad of moss and made his approach.
Barra jumped free even before Tory’s feet touched down. She began prowling around, suspicious. Still perched on the Rugosic’s shoulders, Plicks began gathering up his scruffs. Tory didn’t seem to mind.
“Whaddya think?” Tory asked Barra in a hushed voice.
Barra was inspecting a group of flowers and plants. Sniffing at it guardedly, she said, “I’m not sure. This garden seems tended, doesn’t it? Like someone’s been here?”
Tory walked over to stand beside her. Plicks gathered his scruffs and hopped down to take a look for himself.
“Maybe…” Tory didn’t want to admit that he agreed. “Maybe not. Either way, I can’t picture one of those, those things living here.”
Barra nodded. She purged her nostrils, and found her sense of smell returning. Sniffing around, she said, “Yeah. I think we’re safe enough for now—”
Plicks interjected, his voice cracking, “Safe enough?” He paused. “What were those things?!”
“I don’t know,” Tory said. “I didn’t get a great look at any of them.” Feeling the back of his head, he winced. “I’ll say this: I’m glad they’re slow, because they’re strong. What was that thing in the wall? It wasn’t like the others. What did it say to you?” he asked Barra.
“I couldn’t understand him,” she lied. She turned away, hiding her wounded arm. “He just gurgled at me, that sick stuff pouring out of his mouth. He didn’t have any eyes! Did you see that? But it was like he was staring right at me!” She shivered at the memory.
Plicks unloaded his thoughts, “What’s going on down here, anyway? Everything is dead and empty, and covered with black ooze! And we were just tied up by a bunch of… of puppet things that probably wanted to kill us and serve us up as dinner for their eyeless master! I just wanna go home!”
“Hey, you’re okay! We’re okay,” Tory said. “We got away from those things! Barra annihilated one! Did you see that? And now, we know we can outrun them, and we’ll be able to avoid them by their smell. Right, Barra?”
Barra was distracted, but managed to say, “I can pick them out. No problem.”
“So,” Tory concluded, “let’s just catch our breath for a bit.” Smiling, he hit Plicks in the shoulder. “That’s twice you saved us!”
“Ow,” Plicks stumbled a bit, winced and rubbed his shoulder. Grimacing he added, “You’re welcome?” The punch hadn’t really hurt much. But it snapped him out of his hysterics a bit. He added, “Thanks again… for coming for me.”
“You’d have done the same,” Tory said.
Barra nodded, but then her stomach growled at her, changing the subject. She was eager to explore the cirque. She moved away from the boys. “There must be something to eat around here.”
Tory didn’t want to be separated again, and Plicks felt the same way. They nervously closed the gap between themselves and Barra, and stayed close as they joined the hunt. The cirque was even larger than it had seemed from above, and their search was slow. They still hadn’t found food when Tory noticed something through a cluster of nettles that filled in one of the gaps in the wall.
“What is it?” Barra asked, worried.
“Not sure. Just curious,” Tory said, reaching into the mess of twisted branches. His voice straining, he added, “Looks like… uh, you know. Those festival flowers…”
Plicks filled in the blank, “Hanging blood lilies.”
Barra knew the flowers well. Her mother grew them in long strands for the New Ring festival. She thought about the sweet nectars and exotic fruits, the singing and dancing, and visiting with family and friends she only saw once every 312 buckles. She feared for the first time that they might not get back to the Loft. She had to shake the thought from her mind before she could focus again on what they were doing.
“Can’t quite…” Tory was still reaching, his tongue hanging out between his sharp incisors.
“Here.” Barra stepped up. “There’s a trick to it if they’re really blood lilies.”
Tory stepped aside and Barra got in close to take a look. The spherical bulbs were about the diameter of one of her hands. Each comprised of dark blue-green petals folded together tightly. They didn’t look exactly like the blood lilies that Barra knew, but they were similar.
; She ran her tail skillfully through the nettles. Examining the closest bulb, she closed her eyes to concentrate on the texture. Then she found the spot, a soft dimple in the shell, and she tapped it smartly.
Nothing happened.
Barra tapped the bulb again, and then she said, “Well, they might not be…” but before she could finish her sentence, the bulb popped open. The blue-green petals of the shell peeled back, and hundreds of thin orange and red tubes unfurled from inside. Every tube lit up, so that the flower resembled a floating ball of fire.
Going down the strand in both directions, the bulbs peeled open, fireballs appearing haphazardly through the brush. Each blood lily illuminated its own small sphere in the damp air, and Barra, Tory, and Plicks felt a connection to the Root for the first time.
Plicks was the first to speak. “They’re beautiful.”
Barra enjoyed the lilies briefly before her smile faded. The lights might attract unwanted attention, especially if the eyeless thing’s minions were looking for them. Probably a mistake to have woken the lilies, but Barra tried not to dwell on it. No need to worry the boys about something that couldn’t be undone. The lights wouldn’t go out again for hours. “Yeah, they are nice,” she said, trying to keep a positive tone.
Even without food, Barra’s stomach had grown tired and so had she. She said, “I think we need to rest. I can’t search anymore. Should we take turns keeping watch? Just to be safe?”
Tory said, “Yeah, I’ll take the first.”
Barra shook her head and started to argue, but Tory was insistent. Something in his eyes told Barra that he understood about the risk of the blood lilies. He raised his eyebrows and said for Plicks’ benefit, “There’s no way anything can sneak up on us with all those lilies burnin’.” He winked at the fearful Kolalabat.
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