The Wanderer's Tale

by David Bilsborough

  It assaulted the boy’s every sense, and he gagged in nausea. Even the fresh, clean daylight that had the misfortune to fall into this den of disease was corrupted into something perverted and evil by these gases.

  Then to Gapp’s horror and revulsion, he saw a huge, quivering tongue, glistening with blood and mucus, rise out of the eye of the whirlpool. He understood then that the entire pool was itself a creature.

  As he stared through his fogged lenses at this unholy manifestation of utter grossness, he beheld great long tentacles break through the scummy surface to wave menacingly – searchingly – in the air. These extrusions were covered in hideously bristling filaments of virulent yellow and purple, and each terminated in what looked like . . . no, it could not be! . . . a living, man-like head!

  Gapp’s gut heaved uncontrollably. Each head was comprised of lumps of festering matter which had begun to distort and run together until they loosely formed the image of a face. Some had distinctly human-like features, others were more like the other races that must have worked these mines over the long years. But each one bore an expression of such tormented agony that it was as if they were dissolving and reforming eternally in the very vats of hell.

  The paralysed boy’s knees suddenly buckled, and he had to lean heavily against the wall to keep himself from collapsing forwards into the seething chamber.

  My . . . final test, he realized in a fog of hysteria, the final obstacle in my path! . . . If I can get past this one, nothing else can stop me any longer. I’ll be free of these abysmal tunnels . . .

  But he reckoned without the Stalker.

  Gapp backed up a little and wrenched the tinderbox from his pouch; using one of the tattered old drapes of sacking that hung sadly in the entrance to the chamber, he wasted not a second in striking flames, and was surprised when it blazed up as though it had been steeped in oil. The venomous gases in this place did have a use after all. But as the cavern was suddenly illuminated by the flare, Gapp heard a terrible hiss from right behind him. He span around in shock – only to find himself face to face with the real final test.

  In the sudden glare of the burning drape, the half-blinded Gapp now found himself facing a new atrocity, whose nodule-encrusted head split wide open in a grin of the most ghastly, hell-disgorged malevolence. To think that this must have been following him through the dark tunnels all along . . .

  Instinct took action where his thoughts could not lead. He hurled the burning drape over the creature’s head, then kicked viciously deep into the yielding softness of its belly, before springing back into the pool cavern.

  Instantly an ear-splitting howl of inhuman rage and agony followed him, but he hardly even noticed it. Along the crumbling ledge he scurried, oblivious to all but that shaft of daylight ahead of him. He did not even notice the seething mass of tentacles and filaments that erupted from the pool and surged towards him.

  One of the pseudo-heads shot across like a lizard’s tongue and knocked him hard against the wall. But it neither slowed his determined progress nor dislodged him from the ledge. It only succeeded in leaving upon his tunic a squelchy scum that stank of putrefied oysters.

  That beam of sunlight, so beautiful to Gapp’s eyes, was mere yards away when he suddenly felt the agony of ten long talons thrusting into his back. He shrieked loudly and pitched forward onto the rim of the ledge, only narrowly avoiding a fall into the living slime below.

  With the full weight of the troglodyte horror now pinning him to the floor, Gapp was powerless to protect himself. Bony knees dug painfully into his back, and he heaved in desperation. Just above him the monster seethed in fury, and began trying to throttle its helpless victim. It was only the distraction of trying to spit away the last remaining tatters of burning cloth from its burnt lips that prevented the Stalker from bringing its teeth to bear. Even so, Gapp knew with awful certainty that it was only a matter of seconds before the life was squeezed out of him.

  His vision clouded, and his mind began to slip away.

  All of a sudden there was a horrible cry, and he was free of the weight that bore down on him. In dumbfounded shock he twisted round, looked up, and through a red haze saw what had befallen.

  The Stalker had been lifted into the air where it screamed and flailed about helplessly, in the coils of numerous tentacles. Still writhing, it was dragged over and down towards the palpitating tongue in the middle of the pool.

  Gapp’s instinct for escape resumed. He found himself flying further along the narrow ledge, spinning around a corner and haring as fast as he could up the shaft. He did not even slow down when he was blinded by the dazzling light of day. A thrashing rending and useless screeching echoed up the tunnel behind him.

  Back within the mucus-chamber, there was a loud belching sound, a sinister bubbling, a protracted hiss, then silence. The mines were still once more.

  TEN

  In the Wake of a Snake

  IN THIS WAY DID Gapp Radnar finally deliver himself from the corridors of the Underworld, and emerge once again into the bedazzlement and warmth of the world above.

  His native Aescalandian was entirely inadequate in giving voice to the medley of ecstatic emotions that surged through him during the next hour or so. The blessed sunlight upon his face was alone enough to make him weep, but the resinous perfume of the huge deodars – those colossal behemoths that spanned the gap between earth and heaven – and the spongy cushion of old needles and leaves beneath his feet, not to mention the exultant chorus of birdsong all around, nor the insane palette of living colour everywhere he looked, all simply made him want to sprint through the trees like a lunatic, leap high in the air and cavort for the sheer joy of being alive.

  A tidal wave of relief steadily flooded through him. It felt as though he had fought his way out of the steely Keep of Hell and back into the Land of the Living above. Still not fully able to believe his sudden liberation, never before had he felt such exuberance tingling through every nerve from his toenails to his teeth. He simply ran and ran like a hunted deer, caring nothing for the direction he was headed in, just enjoying the gift of life to its fullest.

  For the next hour, the forest rang with the echoing whoops of the lone madman as he crashed through the undergrowth and disappeared into the depths of Fron-Wudu.

  Of course it did not take long before his hunger, fever and exhaustion finally caught up with him. One minute he was leaping over fallen tree trunks and bounding through the ferns, the next his legs simply gave way beneath him and he collapsed onto the ground. He had not eaten for three days, had drunk only what foul floor-lickings he could stomach, and in this severely debilitated state his fever had regained a firm hold over him. Within minutes he was unconscious, sprawled face down upon the leafy forest floor.

  About an hour later, he awoke with an abrupt start, and found that he could not see a thing. His first thought was that he must have slept right through until nightfall. But he soon realized, with mounting confusion, that this could not be the case, for he could hear the song of a hundred birds in the trees above him and feel the warm sun on his face. It could only be early evening at the latest.

  ‘Ah,’ he said to himself rather stupidly, ‘I’ve gone blind . . .’

  He lurched up out of his bed of bracken and staggered to his feet, but his legs would not support him. Immediately he crashed to the ground again in a crumpled heap, and bleated in alarm.

  The first oh-so-familiar mangle-turns of panic began to twist his insides. He realized only now just how starving and feverish he was. He had to eat and drink immediately, and must find some way of sheltering himself before nightfall. If he permitted himself to slacken his self-control for even a moment, he might drift off into a sleep from which he would never awaken.

  Maybe if he managed to find some stream water and some leaves or berries, perhaps even some edible fungus, then that might just be enough for the present. Then he would be safe to sleep, which might assuage his sickness. It might even give his eyes a chance to re
cover.

  ‘Yes, that’s it! Whoever heard of anyone going permanently blind just from hunger?’ he laughed almost hysterically. After all, he knew of several mage-priests who regularly fasted for a month or more. This had to be just a passing symptom of his current physical state. All he needed to do was to forage for food . . .

  But how could he do that, when he was blind? How could he possibly even begin to find food when he was like this? Foraging was not one of the skills regularly taught to esquires. His only practice at it had been during their trek through the Rainflats, and he had not then met with much success. Now he was blind, he would have to crawl about on hands and knees and sniff out his food like an animal!

  Where were his companions now that he needed them? Above all, where was Master Wintus?

  Were they all dead? Was he truly alone here in the Wild?

  And how far had he gone? Which direction had he gone in? What was going to . . . ?

  His mind stalled. He was as doomed now as he had been in the mines.

  . . . The mines! He suddenly thought of them again, and it seemed to him that the mouth of the tunnel he had fled from earlier was now racing towards him over the forest, turning the trees black as it came on, and was bearing down upon him like a hungry leviathan, about to engulf him in its lightless deeps yet again!

  No, he was not in the mines any more. He would never be in the mines again. No matter how bad things might be, they could never be as awful as that. They were the worst time, the ultimate test. They had been his training ground, his apprenticeship, his tutorial for whatever now lay ahead. In just a few days they had taught him more about survival than could an entire term spent at Wintus Hall. And now, at least, he was back in his own world again.

  Gapp grew calmer. He inhaled deeply, as was his habit now, breathed in the humid air heavy with resin and the creamy yet sour fragrances of unknown woodland flowers. He noticed also smells that told him it had rained recently, and these brought back to him vague snatches of his early childhood, memories that he had up till now completely forgotten. His thumping heart quieted, for these were good smells.

  He then concentrated on the warmth of the late summer sun upon his skin, the softness of the bracken underfoot and the leaves that caressed his face, the occasional whisper of air and the soothing noises of the forest in the evening.

  Now that was something he could not have experienced in the dankness of the mines. This was a good place he had come to, wherever it was, and for that he could never cease to be grateful.

  The panic receded, and finally disappeared.

  Gapp was surprised at himself. That had been easy.

  ‘Now for some dinner,’ he muttered, and shakily but determinedly set off on his hands and knees to find sustenance.

  His first priority was water. This did not prove as difficult as he had expected, for after the rain there was no shortage of wet leaves to lick. This did little other than whet his thirst, but it was a start. Later on, he found a tiny pool of rainwater at the bottom of a natural recess in a fallen tree trunk. It tasted of woodlice and peat, and had fragments of decaying wood in it, but it was just about potable. This was adequate to moisten his swollen lips and tongue, though they stung considerably for the next few minutes.

  A while later, his expanded hearing picked up the musical sound of sweet, trickling water. There was a stream nearby!

  Hastily he crawled towards it, pausing frequently to listen and get his bearings. He might have got up and walked had he thought about it, but in his state this did not even occur to him. Soon his nettle-stung and thorn-scratched hands felt the cool, blissful rush of water flowing over them, and the fine sandy grit of the stream-bed beneath them. It was only the meagrest of rillets, but to the diminishing boy it was as good as a river. He pressed his lips slowly to the water’s surface and drank deeply.

  Eventually he was sated. He had been careful not to gulp too greedily; a mouthful here, followed by a long pause, then a mouthful there, and so on. In spite of his febrile condition, he was well aware of the dangers of drinking too speedily after a long period of dehydration.

  Task number one completed, he thought with quiet self-esteem. Next, food . . .

  He wasted no time in retracing his trail through the trodden-down undergrowth to the fallen tree-bole he had drunk from earlier. When he finally bumped into it, head first, he began carefully running his fingers over it. He had a beginner’s knowledge of the feel and the smell of the many varieties of edible fungi. (For that, he had Wodeman to thank, bless his pagan heart!) And there were numerous little grubs and insects lurking deep within the rotten wood that provided easy pickings.

  He did not need to pace himself on the food, as he had done with the water, for each tiny morsel had to be worked hard for: and by the time he was satisfied that there was no more to be found, he could smell and feel that it had got dark.

  Though the pickings of food had left him feeling rather sick and shaky, it had undoubtably reduced the worst of his hunger. He pulled up several handfuls of fern and made a comfortable mattress for himself beneath the partial shelter of the tree-bole. It was not much, but compared with the stony floors of the mines it was heavenly. For he could now feel life all around him.

  He inhaled the scented air of the forest in the early night, and only then knew just how exhausted he was.

  Seconds later, he was fast asleep.

  Gapp awoke with a start. He raised himself up sharply, only to crack his head painfully against the overturned tree trunk. Instinctively he stifled a cry, and lowered his splitting head carefully back to the ground. He then stared out into the night. Something had awoken him.

  He stared for several minutes, hardly daring to breathe. The frigid early-dawn air made him shiver almost uncontrollably. He was sure there was something out there; he could almost smell it. But he could not hear or see anything that might presage danger. The only sounds were the muted songs of the early birds echoing throughout the stillness of the forest, whilst all he could see were the numerous dew-heavy cobwebs hung out on the bushes like little silver fishing nets, and the grey-green mist that entwined itself about the black silhouetted trunks of –

  He could see again! Pel’s Ribs, he could see! For a moment all his fears vanished. He could see again! His sight may be a little fuzzy and his eyes sore, even in this dim light, but at least he was no longer blind. He could hardly believe it. He blessed any gods that might happen to be listening at this early hour, and chuckled. He could see!

  Luck was definitely with him on this wonderful new day!

  But he soon got over this most pleasant early morning surprise, and remembered just why it was that he was peering out into the twilit forest. Something out there had caused a sound. Something furtive? Gapp had the impression that, whatever it was, it was a long way off still. In fact, he had felt it rather than heard it.

  Instinct again, he chided himself. It’s getting so’s i can hardly keep it quiet any more.

  So he listened long and listened hard, but heard nothing else except the tiny, furtive sounds of the forest’s awakening.

  Perhaps it had not come from ‘out there’ at all, he mused, but instead from within his mind. Maybe to do with that vague sense of unease, that vestigial anxiety that still clung to the inside of his head.

  Muttering wearily to himself, he decided to snatch a few more hours of sleep. He pulled the fronds of fern back around himself and settled down in the warmth of his nest. It was still night out there, and he shivered.

  Just then, a pack of huge, slavering hounds burst into the clearing and bounded straight towards him.

  The ten animals came to a halt just feet away from him and growled menacingly. Their teeth were huge and white, their coats sleek and black, and the muscles rippled beneath their skin. They all stood at least three and a half feet high at the shoulder, with eyes like cold slits of yellow-green chrysoprase. The whole pack stood so close that Gapp could feel and smell their fishy breath upon his face, but none m
ade any move to advance further. They just stood there ringing him in against the tree trunk. Squeezing himself painfully against the knobbled bark until he could retreat no further, Gapp stared out at ten panting red tongues.

  Then, without warning, they ceased snarling, and settled back upon their haunches, all except one. Gapp frowned at the way they had all acted in perfect unison, as if on command, yet he had heard no voice.

  The biggest of the pack, however, a hairy monstrosity in silver-flecked brown, still crouched upon all fours and continued to snarl as it fixed its yellow-green eyes upon the quaking boy.

  ‘Shlepp!’ came a sudden gruff command from the edge of the clearing, and this last hound grudgingly lowered its rear quarters to the ground. Gapp heard the swift approach of heavy feet, and peered out of his shelter to see who the newcomer might be.

  After his ordeal underground Gapp believed himself to be inured to surprises, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of the creature that strode into the clearing now. From behind the semicircle of waiting hounds stepped the tallest figure the boy had ever encountered. He quailed at its approach, wondering whether he was seeing it wrong from a distorted angle. It would even tower over the ogre of the Blue Mountains.

  At least twelve feet tall, but of basically human appearance, it was so skinny it appeared like a collection of long sticks joined together loosely. Despite that, this lanky figure looked as tough as ironwood, with massive leverage in those elongated arms. Long blood-red hair, entwined with ivy-like tendrils, was tied back from its domed forehead and trailed in a horsetail behind. Around its neck was a torc of twisted green stems that looked as if still living, and its weathered skin was of a pale, creamy yellow, except where a blue-black stubble covered the lower jaw.