As they went, Braten heard the beautiful sound of cheeping, chirping birds; it made him feel a bit more at ease. To Peter, it sounded very different indeed. To him, they were not cheeps or chirps, but words. He didn’t know that what he was hearing were birds.
“By Jeurat, you’ve got a big arse,” said one of the small creatures, which sounded like a man’s voice.
“Well, it could be worse dear. I could be like you and look like an arse,” said what sounded like a woman.
“And just what is that supposed to mean,” said the male bird.
“Well, when I met you I wasn’t getting any younger in age or looks -”
“Yeah, you can say that again. And guess what, love? You look even worse, if that’s possible.”
“My mother always said you were an idiot. She was right. I was just too stupid to see it,” said the female bird angrily.
“Okay, you’re stupid. I can agree to that.”
“You know, if not for the kids, I would’ve left long before this.”
“I always knew those damn kids would be the end of me.”
“Hold up,” said Peter as he put up his hand in a gesture for the other boy to stop, as the birds kept at it.
“What is it, Drago?”
“Can’t you hear them?”
“Oh, yeah, the birds. They sound beautiful, don’t you think?”
“I think whatever it is your hearing definitely isn’t what I’m hearing,” said Peter.
“Why, what do you hear?” asked Braten, very curiously.
Peter looked up into the tree as though trying to find the creatures with his enhanced eyes. “Forget it; it’s hardly important.”
So Braten continued to stumble though the woodland, tripping over the thick yellow tree roots that stuck out though the blue and purple leaves. He almost shouted to Peter when he thought he saw one of the roots move. Though only a small whimper was coming from his mouth, fear had taken hold of his body, and he couldn’t move.
“What’s wrong?” asked Peter.
“That tree root,” said the frightened boy, pointing at the offending piece of tree.
“What about the tree root?”
“I think it moved,” replied Braten.
“It moved? Is that all?”
“What do you mean, is that all?”
“Well, its moving is nothing compared to what it’s saying about you,” said Peter.
“How can you say that as if this is just an ordinary everyday thing?” said Braten, now more distressed. “Hey wait, are you trying to tell me that the trees are talking?”
“Are you kidding? That is all they’ve done since we got here,” said Peter. “And since we heated up that rock, they haven’t shut up. But don’t worry. They won’t hurt you.”
“Did they tell you that?” asked Braten, gesturing to the nearest tree with a swift move of his head.
“No, but I’m sure that if they wanted to kill us, they’d have done it while we slept. I mean, what’s the point of waiting until we got up?” said Peter.
“There’s something to think about.”
“Would you come on? They’re not going to hurt us.”
“Fine,” said Braten, taking a step forward as slowly as was humanly possible.
Peter could hear more voices just beyond the trees in front of them. “Come on,” he said to Braten. He was eager to see what lay ahead.
“I’m coming,” said the other boy as he quickened his pace. Peter went on without him.
The voices became louder as they reached a clearing about only twenty meters in.
“I was right,” said Braten sounding excited. “It is Gnomes.”
The Gnomes were like tiny red people who were just about to go into battle. They weren’t wearing any armor, just funny little blue and purple clothes that looked as though they were once leaves. Peter was even more surprised to see their tiny weapons: swords, knives, bows and quivers of arrows.
“Yeah, but what are those other things?” Peter asked his friend. He was referring to the creatures opposite the Gnomes. They were small, grey, gangly creatures; they were in their birthday suits, which to them was really their every day suits. They were also very thin, a lot thinner than their enemies. Their eyes were almost pinpricks in their heads, though their mouths were the opposite, for they were way too big for their heads. Their arms looked too short, their legs too long, and they had no weapons that could be seen with the naked eye.
“I don’t know,” said Braten, “but the trees might.”
“I don’t know if they can hear what I’m saying.”
“Try it.”
“Fine, I’ll try it,” said Peter. He turned to the nearest tree and started to talk in the strangest way his friend had ever heard. Keep in mind, though, that Braten had only heard two languages in his life, one being the common language of his home. The other was the language of Gnomes.
To Peter, it was as if he were still talking in the English language. He was at it for what must have been five minutes.
“So what did it say?” asked Braten when it seemed he was finished.
“It said that we’ve stumbled into the last battle in a war between the forest Gnomes and the Gre-Imps,” Peter replied hastily.
“Gre-Imps, is that what they are?”
“You know about them?”
“Yeah, well, not really. My dad told me about them, but I had no idea what they looked like. He isn’t really good at describing things,” said Braten.
“Well, the tree said the war began two years ago when the Gnomes found that the petals of some type of flower had changed from red/blue to pink and blamed the Imps for it,” said Peter with a wry smile on his lips.
“Is that it, a bunch of stupid flowers? That’s what started the war?”
“Not just that, according to Mr. Tree, here,” said Peter, patting the tree bark lightly. “It said that the Imps didn’t deny it, and in fact claimed that this part of the forest as well as their own belonged to them and not the Gnomes.”
“Wow, so that’s it? That’s what started the war?” said Braten.
“No, that’s not all,” said Peter, as he was getting into the story. Braten had pulled himself closer so not to miss a word.
“Apparently, the Imps attacked one of the small outposts of the Gnomes and killed some of their people.”
“Wow, really?”
“Well, that’s what the tree told me,” said Peter nodding.
“Wow, I have a feeling this is going to be good,” said Braten excitedly.
“Hope so,” said Peter.
However, they would not get to see it, for just before the battle was about to begin, Braten pulled a small twig off of a tree root in front of him, forgetting about the talking trees. There was a great, horrifying moan out of the tree next to him, and suddenly all eyes were on them.
“What are you doing?” Peter spat at him.
But before an answer could be heard or even given, the Gre-Imps, seeing their way out of this battle, all shouted. “IT WAS THEM! THEY MUST HAVE BEEN THE ONES THAT CHANGED THE COLOR OF YOUR RAWTUOTS! THEY TOOK OUR CHILDREN AND THEATENED TO KILL EVERY ONE OF THEM IF WE DIDN’T ATTACK YOUR PEOPLE!”
Not giving any argument to this, the boys ran back the way they came.
“SEE! SEE!” shouted the Imp King. “IT WAS THEM! WHY WOULD INNOCENTS RUN?”
The Gnomes, who not only believed their advisories but were also thinking the exact same thing, gave chase. No less than ten thousand Forest Gnomes trampled through the woodlands after the two boys.” Peter, who was running just behind Braten, wished that he could catch up. Suddenly, his legs started to run faster and faster and even faster. He shot passed his friend and proceeded to run on, through no choice of his own. For when he tried to stop, he found that his legs would not respond. This meant he made it back to camp first, on account of his super speed, and had then undone Braten’s spell and proceeded to throw the pillows and blankets back into his chest.
Braten had a harder time in getting
away, as the Gnomes were no longer just chasing hi. Now their reserve troops were in front of him, running straight for the young Wizard. As they jumped at him, he kicked them away, as they couldn’t really jump that high. But it didn’t matter. They were slowing him down, which meant their friends were getting closer to the boy with every kick. Just as he thought he was caught, some of the roots of the trees around him came out of the ground and swatted the small creatures away. As he picked up speed, he could have sworn that one of the roots saluted him, and although he felt grateful, he still could not wait to get out of that place and away from that land altogether.
It did not take Braten long to find his way back to the clearing. Only when he did, he went on without stopping, for he knew that Peter was faster and would catch up with hardly any afford. He learned that as they started their getaway. All he could see of his friend was his back getting further and further away, and in truth he was right, as not long after he had passed the campsite, Peter was on his way again, though as fast as he even was, he was still not fast enough. As soon as he had buggered off, the Gnomes were there right on his tail, literally, for in all the excitement, his tail had given yet again another appearance as he ran at full speed thinking he had escaped the wrath of the normally peaceful Forest Gnomes. Their archers quickly ran arrows onto the strings of their long bows (well they were long to them), and not waiting for any order, let them fly.
Most of the tiny shafts completely missed, hit his wooden chest, or clattered off of Peter’s Dragon-scaled tail. But one hit right on his left butt cheek, which instantaneously and dramatically slowed his running but surprisingly didn’t stop him.
When they had got only half a mile from the clearing and were quite convinced that the Gnomes were no longer following, the two boys rested. When Peter had finally caught up, that is.
“What happened to you?” asked Braten.
“Oh, nothing, really. I just got an arrow in the ass,” replied Peter, who was more than a little frustrated.
Braten closed his eyes as to stop himself from laughing, but it didn’t work, and he burst into fits of laughter. “It looks like just,” he paused for a second or two, “a Little Pain in the Arse,” he said in between.
“Ha, ha, very funny.”
“Oh, come on. You know that if it were me instead of you, you’d be killing yourself laughing,” said Braten.
“Yeah, but that’s different. That’s me.” Peter gave what looked like a tiny smile, which was all he could give at the time. “God, I hope it’s not poisoned.”
Braten’s mouth fell open; the thought had never even crossed his mind.
“What are we going to do if it is? I mean, how do we know?” he said genuinely concerned.
“I don’t know how to tell if it is poisoned, but if so, you’ll have to suck it out.”
“I don’t think so.” Braten took a step back.
“If you don’t, I might die,” said Peter.
“Sorry to tell you this mate, but you might die.”
Peter let out howling laugh.
“It’s okay. It’s not poisoned. I can tell,” said Peter.
“How can you tell?”
“I don’t know. I just know it’s not poisoned.”
“Thank the gods for that,” said Braten.
“Well, it’s nice to know who your friends are.”
“Sorry, but I’ll never suck anyone’s arse.”
At that they laughed again.
“So can you help me take this thing out?” asked Peter still clearly distressed.
Chapter Ninteen
Peter and the Wolf
Peter and Braten found that the arrow was so small and so far in that in the end Peter had to use his powers to get it out. Just like with the knife when he faced the Lores, Peter imagined the arrow in his hand, and his arse lit up with a blue light, and when he looked, the offending shaft was there staring right back at him. “Good, now I can sit down,” he said, relived by the thought. But when he tried, he winced and realized that the wound had not healed properly.
“What’s going on? Usually I’d be healed by now,” he said to Braten, who looked deep in thought.
“The Gnomes,” he said after a minute or two.
“What about the Gnomes?”
“They use enchanted arrows specifically designed for magical creatures and people to stop any type of magic from healing their wounds too quickly,” said Braten proudly. “My dad told me that.”
“Great, what other brilliant things can happen to me in this dazzling, amazing, fantastic, extraordinary, crappy world,” ranted Peter.
“So do you want to do? Just wait till morning or what?”
“Why? What’ll happen in the morning that’ll fix my ass?” Peter retorted, suddenly feeling extremely upset after all that had happened to him.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, the affects of the Gnome’s arrows should only last about twenty four hours or so,” said Braten.
“No, we should try to put as much distance as possible between us and those head cases with the small arrows,” said the young King, answering his friend’s question.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right?”
“I’ll be fine. My butt cheek isn’t exactly a fatal area,” said Peter, sounding a little more contented than before.
“So which way do you think we should go now?” said Braten.
“Why are you asking me? You’re the guide here,” replied Peter.
“What are you talking about? I’ve never been this far before in my life. To tell you the truth, my dad never took me farther then the first forest we passed, and so far, we’ve already past four.”
“So what you’re telling me is that you’re not a guide,” said Peter.
“Where in the hell did you get that idea?”
“Your dad he told me that you were the best guide there was.”
“Why would he say that? I couldn’t find the west road out of town if I tried,” said Braten. “But wait. He did give us a map. I put in my pack.”
The chest opened and spat out a long folded piece of parchment. Peter caught it and said, “Thanks,” to the chest and opened the map.
“There’s nothing on it,” he said as he turned it over to the back and again to the front.
Braten shrugged.
“If you’ll do less yapping to your friend and tell me where you would like to go, you might get there a little sooner,” said a distinguished voice.
Peter dropped the parchment and spun round, but there was no one there.
“Down here,” said the voice.
They looked down at the supposed map. There was now a face that seemed to be formed from thin lines of blue ink. It was moving around a little, but it could not leave its pigskin prison.
Peter knelt down to have a closer look.
“Would you lift me up please? This dirt road isn’t good for me, you know,” said the map.
Using his index finger and thumb, Peter slowly and carefully lifted it off of the ground.
“Now, where is it you wish to go?” asked the face on the parchment.
“Cayer-Huld. It’s the Wiz -”
“Yes, yes, I know where the city is.”
The map told them which road to take and told them that in exactly four miles they would reach a crossroads, and it was then that they would need to consult it again. They were soon off again. A mile was all Peter could bear with his injury before he had to stop. However, there seemed to be a ray of hope for them yet. A few hundred yards from where they quitted their hike, there was a small cottage with what they thought was a light in the windows. They headed straight for the very small house. As they got closer, they saw that it was very small, indeed. There was a washing line strung between the left side of the house and a wooden post that was sticking out of the ground. The house itself had a thatched roof and one thin chimney. The walls were merely smooth rounded rocks of the type you would see on a cobbled street, only larger, and were piled neatly and bonded with a white s
ubstance, which neither boy recognized. There were two windows at either side of the cottage, small and round, with what looked like lead running through them, making shapes of diamonds. And in most of the diamonds, the glass was colored red, blue, yellow, green and clear. When they reached the entrance, the door opened before they could knock.
“Come on in, dearies,” said an elderly woman’s rough voice from within.
“Hi, we’re sorry to disturb you, but we were out on the road and saw the light in your window. We were wondering if maybe you might be able to let us stay for a little while,” said Braten. “You see, my friend’s wounded and he needs some rest.”
“That’s fine, dearie,” said the woman. She was older than she sounded, hunched over, with light grey hair and wearing a black skirt with a black shirt, and over her shoulders was draped with a beige shawl. Her legs could barely support her body as she moved toward them.
“You’re hurt?” she said to Peter.
“I’ll be fine. I just need rest, if you don’t mind,” he replied.
“Not at all, dearie. Sit and I’ll fix you both a hot cup of theuat. You like theuat, don’t you?” said the old lady.
“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it,” answered Peter.
“I like it. I practically grew up on the stuff, but I haven’t had it for years,” said Braten delightedly.
“Good, then if you’ll both take a seat, I’ll get you each a cup.”
“You don’t have a couple of cushions by any chance?” Peter asked the woman.
“Yes, in there,” she pointed at a ripped and tattered curtain to their left.
Braten took two of the flat cushions out and passed them to his friend.
Peter set them down on the armchair, which didn’t look very comfortable to him. It wasn’t, even with the pillows. Peter winced as he tried to set his butt down, and when he finally did it, he noticed something quite disturbing. The low candles that once brought light to the room were gone, along with most of the furniture, which wasn’t much to begin with. In the fire place there were only ashes where there was once a modestly warm fire. The boy looked up and was shocked to see that the roof was also gone, and the old woman had gone as well. Where she once stood, there was a taller dark figure in black robes.
The Second Prophecy (Part 1 of the Dragdani Prophecies) Page 31