Beyond the Forest

by Kay L. Ling

  In a few minutes her prison guards returned, along with others. The entire group gathered in front of her cell and stared as if she were an exhibit in a zoo. After a couple minutes they walked away, jostling one other and whispering.

  What a crazy nightmare.

  As if cued by the word nightmare, she heard the click, click, click of nails on stone, and her eyes widened. The black wolfhound entered her cellblock. It scanned the room, padded toward her cell, and sat, staring at her through the bars.

  Chapter 13

  Lana took a steadying breath. There was no reason to panic. She was behind bars. How could the wolfhound hurt her? Besides, in the forest she had used a handful of gemstones to drive it away, and now she had the Challenger’s blade.

  The dog didn’t try to communicate. It merely sat and stared. She stared back. Was it trying to frighten her? Or was it waiting for her to say something? She had never initiated contact and she had always shut out its voice. Maybe she should try a different approach.

  She stood and drew the Challenger’s blade, and as soon as it began to glow, she felt bold enough to walk toward the cell door.

  The light immediately faded, and the blade went dark.

  She froze and looked at the traitorous knife. Wretched thing! How could it fail her when she needed it most? She clenched her teeth. Was she going to cower at the back of her cell, or was she going to face her nightmares? She started forward again. The gems in the hilt grew warm under her hand even though the blade was dark. So, the knife was doing something. Stopping within inches of the cell door, she demanded angrily, “Why do you torment me? What do you want?”

  I need your help, the wolfhound said distinctly in her head.

  The stern voice didn’t frighten her this time. The gems continued to feel warm to her touch and she tightened her grip on the knife hilt.

  Lana, please help me protect the gnomes’ world, and your own. I never meant to frighten you. I’m not evil. Your fear convicted me before I could convince you otherwise.

  “If you aren’t evil, why do you serve Sheamathan?”

  Sheamathan turned me into what I am today. This is not my true form. I don’t want to serve her. I’m as human as you are.

  She gave the dog a sidelong look. “The gnomes told me a legend. They said you used to be human. That doesn’t mean you’re not evil or that I should trust you. Maybe you were Sheamathan’s rival and she turned you into a dog to get rid of you. You could be just as evil as she is. How would I know?”

  The voice in her head responded sadly, There’s some truth to that. She did see me as a rival and wanted to get rid of me. The dog’s eyes dropped from Lana’s face to the knife in her hand. The knife is telling you I’m not evil. Look at the blade. It stopped glowing. It recognized immediately that I’m not evil and you’re not in danger.

  Her eyes widened in surprise. There was a connection between the blade’s light and the presence of danger or evil. In the basement, when she wasn’t in danger, its light had faded quickly. During her encounter with the pythanium, which hadn’t tried to harm her, the blade had glowed briefly. In Sheamathan’s presence, the blade had burned white hot. When surrounded by breghlin, it had glowed with a pale but constant light.

  “Assuming you’re right—the Challenger’s blade only glows in the presence of evil or danger—how did you know that?”’

  His answer blindsided her.

  I made the knife.

  A shiver ran through her as she leapt to an unthinkable conclusion. But it couldn’t be—it just couldn’t. He had created the knife, but that didn’t mean he was the Challenger. This dog could not be the Challenger.

  The wolfhound said, Yes, Lana, I was the Challenger, but she was far more powerful. I might have been her equal someday—if I’d had more time.

  Lana shook her head in dismay. “The gnomes are in trouble if you’re the Challenger.” It sounded harsh, but it was true. The gnomes would be devastated. How could she tell them that their champion was none other than Sheamathan’s wolfhound? “How can you help the gnomes or the Fair Lands when you’re like this? And how could I possibly help you?”

  You’re right. Like this, there’s nothing I can do. I have to regain my human form and confront Sheamathan again.

  She gave the dog a skeptical look. “Forgive me, but it looks like last time things didn’t go very well. The legend claims you’re a great hero who drove Sheamathan out of the Fair Lands. It doesn’t make much sense.”

  It comes down to knowledge and power, bluffs and bargains. Each side thinking they have the advantage and hoping to double cross the other. The events of the last century have been a tragic tale of ignorance, greed and—I’ll admit it—blunders. He angled his head, and his eyes held such a sad look that she felt herself relax a little, but that didn’t mean she trusted him. It would take more than this brief explanation to win her trust. I’ve traveled between your world and Shadow for five generations and the story is still unfolding. Lana, you’ve met the gnomes and you have the Challenger’s blade. A few months ago, I didn’t think you’d ever get involved. Now, you’re finally speaking to me. His eyes shone with such fervent intensity she couldn’t look away. Help me. Help me end this tragic tale.

  “First the gnomes need my help. Now you need my help. I don’t know whether to feel flattered or annoyed.” When the wolfhound didn’t say anything, she said, “I’m not sure I’m up to it.”

  I’ve watched you for years. I know you. I know you’re capable.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Well, I know next to nothing about you. You say you want to protect my world and help the gnomes and I’m supposed to take your word for it. You say you’re not evil. Your proof? This knife didn’t glow.”

  The wolfhound shifted anxiously, glancing toward the passageway. Your guards will be back soon. I must go. There are hidden papers that describe my background and the history of the knife. I’ll tell you where to find them—if you’re willing to look.

  “I’ll look. I’ll read the papers. But that doesn’t mean I’m promising to help you.”

  Fair enough. Letters and documents were hidden generations ago in your family’s jewelry store, behind a panel in the office, in a hidden wall safe. The combination is 14-35-72. Remember those numbers. Your great-great-grandfather Elias helped me create the Challenger’s blade. Once you read about our experiences, I think you’ll pity both of us. My name is Jules DeLauretin.

  Lana stared witlessly. A hidden safe? At the store? Elias Grayson had helped the wolfhound make the knife? Just when she thought things couldn’t get any stranger. “Jules,” she repeated slowly, thinking back to the odd letter with the list of gemstones. “I recognize your name.” Slightly less wary of him now, she added, “I’ve already read one of your letters.”

  Voices and footsteps echoed down the corridor. Guards were coming. The wolfhound dipped his head respectfully, and then turned and padded from the room.

  Lana looked down at the knife in her hand as if seeing it for the first time. The mysterious gemstone list suddenly made sense.

  I will proceed according to your recommendations:

  Chalcedony, Malachite, Hematite, Aquamarine, Topaz, Sapphire, Jasper, and Sugalite.

  She had read the list many times, reflecting on the interesting choice of stones, but no matter how many times she had read it, the combination had always seemed strange. Turning the knife over in her hands, examining the hilt, she confirmed the presence of each stone on the list. So, it hadn’t been a piece of jewelry. Jules had been making this knife—a knife with special abilities.

  A mixture of these should produce the desired benefits. I shall let you assess whether this proves true upon its completion, as you have more experience than I do in this regard.

  Elias probably had more expertise in gem powers than Jules, so naturally Jules would value Elias’s opinion and turn to him for advice. How and why had Jules gotten mixed up with Sheamathan? The woodspirit was obviously far more powerful. No wonder things hadn’t gon
e well.

  And what about Elias? Had he come here and gotten into trouble? Why else would Jules expect her to pity both of them after reading the letters? Yes, it made sense. She dropped heavily onto her stone bed. Elias had gone away and never returned. She was willing to bet he had come to Shadow, and his fascinating adventure had turned into a nightmare. The letters and documents, written before his disappearance, might not prove her theory, but they might give hints. She could hardly wait to find the safe.

  She laid her head in her hands and sighed. Unfortunately, she had to escape from Sheamathan’s dungeon first.

  Chapter 14

  Lana woke slowly in a haze of pain and rolled onto her side, groaning at the painful kink in her neck. Her shoulders and back ached, and she realized with disgust that there was something prickly in her mouth. She opened her eyes a sliver, coughed, and spat out a piece of straw. Straw?

  The room came into focus—a dingy, low-ceilinged stone cubicle with iron bars. The events of the previous day rushed back as she examined her surroundings by the light of flickering torches outside her cell. No, this wasn’t a bad dream. This was real. Way too real.

  How had she managed to sleep on a stone slab in this dreadful place? And how had she blocked out this stench? She grimaced at the pungent odor of sewage and smoke. By now her hair and clothes probably reeked of it. In a day or two she’d smell as bad as the breghlin.

  Last night she’d been excited to find an iron grate covering an air vent in her ceiling, but the vent was useless. It might let out smoke, but it let in very little air. And it was too small to crawl into, so even if she could get the bolted grate off, she couldn’t escape through it.

  Deep, guttural voices, talking and laughing loudly, echoed in the passageway outside the cellblock. Hopefully the guards would stay there. She needed a few minutes alone. With a groan, she sat and swung her legs over the side of the stone slab. Never again would she complain about her cheap mattress, she promised herself as she rubbed the back of her neck. Or her boring, beige apartment. She’d give her right arm to be there now. But it was a world away. Literally.

  Brushing dust and straw from her face, she walked to the cell door and looked out. Good. No guards. She grabbed a handful of straw from her “bed,” and made use of the sewer grate in the floor. Just as she was walking away, a group of guards entered the cellblock. She faced them calmly.

  “Look, she’s awake,” one said. His thick lips spread in a malicious smile as he studied her. She studied him in return, and he wouldn’t have liked her assessment. Repulsive was the best word to describe him. Barrel-chested and bow-legged, he looked awkward and out of proportion. Pockmarks riddled his low, sloping brow and crooked, bulbous nose. It wouldn’t surprise her if lice infested his matted black hair and beard. And then, of course, there was his stench.

  As he clomped to her cell door, the others gathered behind him, staring at her with obvious curiosity. To prove she wasn’t afraid, she walked up to meet them, but she wasn’t crazy—she stayed a few feet from the door.

  The bow-legged breghlin, apparently in charge, bowed with a sarcastic smile that revealed blunt, yellowed teeth. “Good day. Pleased t’have ya with us.”

  The breghlin all dissolved into harsh laughter, jostling one another and winking. Clearly she would never live down yesterday’s, ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance’ comment. She felt her face flush.

  “My name is R,” the leader said when it had quieted down. “Since you’ll be here a long time, I’ll introduce ya to the group.”

  More jostling and snickering. The brute turned to his companions and indicated each in turn. “This here is L, and this is D. And this is W, G, and F.”

  As if on cue, the whole group chorused, “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” and burst into laughter again.

  Lana ignored their mockery. Let them have their fun. When the laughter died down she asked calmly, “Don’t you have names?”

  The leader squinted his eyes and frowned in confusion. “Whassa matter? Dontcha got ears?”

  One of the others cut in, “Maybe somebody cracked ‘er over the head yesterday.”

  The leader shoved his hideous face closer to the bars. She held her ground, resisting the urge to back away. “Crack on the head. Yeah, that might be it,” he agreed.

  She smiled. “No. You don’t understand. Those aren’t names. Those are just letters.”

  “What’re letters?” one breghlin asked. The others shrugged.

  “She calls us that. That’s all that matters.” He stepped back and the others crowded closer for a better look.

  Lana tried not to wrinkle her nose at their odor or show her disgust. While planning her escape, it would be best to get on their good side. Pasting on a polite smile she explained, “Letters are a part of names. Like, my name is Lana. The first letter is L. L is not a name.”

  “Is too,” growled L, looking offended.

  It was hard to keep a straight face. She tried a different approach. “Well, I don’t think it’s fair you only have letters for names. You deserve proper names, don’t you think?”

  Two breghlin glanced at each other and nodded. The leader looked dubious and said darkly, “Seems if She calls us by these whatcha call—letter things—it oughta be OK.”

  “I could give you very nice real names. Using your letters,” she told them. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

  The leader scowled. “Errr, I dunno.”

  “Oh, come on, R,” chimed in the most hideous of the lot. “What’s the harm? Let’s have some fun.”

  “Yeah,” two of the others groused, “We never have no fun.”

  “Oh, all right,” R grumbled. “So, get on with it.”

  Lana motioned L forward and he approached the bars. His eyes widened and his protruding lips parted in anticipation. Summoning her most ceremonious tone, she pronounced, “You, oh L, shall I name Larry!” Then she bowed, trying not to smirk at the thought of naming this repellent creature Larry. Larry tried the name once aloud and stepped back, smiling to himself.

  D came next without her summoning him. He grinned self-consciously and stared at the floor while she thought.

  “Yes,” she said after a moment. “I think the name would suit you nicely.” D looked up expectantly and smiled broadly, showing one blackened tooth and several empty spaces between yellowed stumps.

  “Your name,” she said, pausing for effect, “shall be Danny.” He practiced his new name silently, mouthing it over and over. She shooed him away. Somehow, these ridiculous names made the breghlin seem less frightening.

  W, the breghlin who had urged R to let her give them new names, stepped up to her cell. She pretended to be deep in thought. It wouldn’t do to come by their names too easily. “Hmm, a name for W,” she mused aloud. “Let me see.” W happened to be the most grotesque of the bunch. His entire face was pitted and scarred. He had no beard. A cut along his jawline had healed badly, leaving a pink bulge of scar tissue, like a worm attached to his face. His nose was nearly twice as large as the others.’ Skin hung from his chin in a cascade of folds. By comparison, the other breghlin were almost attractive. W stared at her eagerly, brushing absently at his dirty uniform as if trying to look more presentable.

  “You, W, shall henceforth be called Wally!” she proclaimed with a satisfied smile.

  Finally warming to the naming process, the others nodded their approval and chanted, “Wally, Wally, Wally!” D gave him a friendly crack in the ribs. “Hey, Wally, pleased to make your acquaintance!” The group dissolved into hoots of laughter until R finally threw up his hands and barked, “Quiet! Enough of this nonsense!”

  “No way, R,” said F irritably. “They got a name an’ I’m gettin’ one too.”

  “You got a name,” R said with an angry scowl.

  “Naw,” F protested. “That’s just a letter. I want a real name, like they got.”

  R started to say something, but F shouldered his way past him. “Me next.”

  Lana stu
died him. “After looking at you and giving the matter careful thought, there is no doubt what your name should be,” she said solemnly. If she ever got out of here alive, this would be a story to tell the gnomes. “Your name,” she said, with a dramatic flourish of her hand, “Shall be Ferdinand!”

  A chorus of “Ahhhhs” rose from the group.

  The next breghlin was G. A smile tugged at Lana’s lips as a name flashed through her mind. Oh why not! They’ll never know the difference. “To you, G, I give the name, Grace.” Lana nodded solemnly at Grace who nodded back. “Grace,” said Grace.

  “Grace,” chorused the others.

  What could she come up with as an encore after that? She had named them all, except R. He still looked none too enthused. She motioned him forward but he didn’t budge. Fidgeting nervously, he wet his lips.

  “Surely you, the leader of this group, don’t want to be the only one without a name,” she said reproachfully.

  “I dunno. Maybe She wouldn’t like it.”

  “Who’s gonna tell her?” Grace asked.

  R shrugged.

  “Step forward. Receive your name,” Lana commanded, giving him an encouraging smile.

  Reluctantly, R edged toward the cell door. His shoulders sagged and his lower lip stuck out in a moody pout. What did you name a barrel-chested, bow-legged breghlin with a pockmarked forehead and crooked, bulbous nose? Her mind raced. She had to come up with a name before he became any more self-conscious. A word, rather than a name, popped into her head. Before she could stop herself, she blurted, “You, oh R, do I name Regurgitate!” She was sure they’d never heard that word; it had more than three syllables. Their eyes widened and their mouths dropped open at the splendor of the magnificent name.