by Ken Spargo
‘Don’t forget to wash under your arms,’ yelled Davidia.
The five letters that had fallen to the ground from the necklace each reflected back at him all the powers that an ancient Iglood possessed. Only a royal Iglood had a chain with them. Grunt possessed all of these powers. Had the Valley of Triplock found a new royal and future king?
‘It’s cold,’ he complained.
‘Don’t be a scaredy cat. The water likes you,’ encouraged Davidia. She was a wise young girl. The Wisp of Wischink who had escorted her in her mind this far, was pushing out of her mouth the intelligent words she was expressing. It was called development and growing up.
The running flow roared its welcome. Was it yelling at Grunt to come closer? Grunt stood mesmerised as the playful droplets danced over the rocks. This was his first wet experience. The downward force of the running flow held an enormously powerful weight which flattened anything beneath. As Grunt walked into the cascades, the middle parted so that he wasn’t hit with the full force it possessed. Suddenly, it knocked off an arm, then a leg, then another arm, a nose and an ear. He was being progressively dismantled. His skin pores all rushed off his body in haste to escape a thrashing. All that was left was a round plain small rotating ball in the middle of the cascades. The small group of onlookers were aghast at the seeming loss of their friend.
‘Can’t we save him?’ Davidia wailed.
‘It’s too late for him now,’ replied the king. ‘We must return to the palace and plan our defences.’ He began to walk away. Twit and Twirp chirped in agreement. Imagoodshot had more strong flighters to prepare. Only Davidia and Batbit watched helplessly at the diminution of their friend taking place.
‘Don’t cry, Davidia. They don’t need any more of your tears,’ said Batbit. He squealed a stifled sob.
‘Will we ever see him again?’
‘I don’t know.’
Sadness grew within them, but only for a moment.
Bang! Bang! A huge thunderclap struck the waterfall. Running flow sprayed everywhere. A brilliant, yellow light shone from the rocks covered by the running flow. The cascade became an enormous light show. Another thunderclap split the air. The yellow light contracted into a small, sun-like ball at the top of the waterfall. Twit and Twirp suddenly appeared at its edge with wingspans at full flapping capacity.
‘It’s your turn to kick it,’ said Twit.
‘Thank you,’ replied Twirp. ‘Manners are important, aren’t they?’
The two flapping birds positioned themselves for the vital kicking. Twirp carefully flew over the edge, extended his huge talon and gently kicked the yellow ball, sending it on its final journey. As soon as Twirp touched it, it materialised into a solid, yellow shard of light. Down it went into the cascades, piercing Grunt. The cascades opened up like an unravelling carpet roll. Grunt began to unfold. He grew and grew and grew. Davidia and Batbit stood with mouths agape, but with no word offerings. The king observed from a distance. The noise had attracted his attention. All was silent. Without warning, a huge, new life form emerged from behind the Waterfall of Wetness. What was it?
Grunt had metamorphosed completely to become the great ancient that was his destiny. He was tall, strong, better looking than his previous form and walked with a royal swagger. He called out to the king.
‘Dad.’
It was the treasured voice of his son, Ignatus, who had been lost for so long. The king came running to embrace his son.
‘Son.’
It was the most important word that he had spoken in the valley.
Davidia and Batbit couldn’t believe it. Grunt was someone else. They weren’t too sure how to handle the change. Davidia ran to hug her new friend.
‘Can I still call you Mr Grunt?’ she asked, staring at him with her melting, blue eyes.
Grunt knelt down to hug her. He whispered, ‘Yes, but only you.’
The king now felt confident that the valley would be saved with the return of his son.
‘Ignatus, there are things that you must learn. Igloo, take care of these two.’
The king and his son, Ignatus, were once again united as one. Any foe now had a considerable enemy.
‘How is it possible that the iced river is now running flow again?’ demanded Irridia of her followers. ‘Tell me, or you will be slit from your ugly face to your revolting smelly feet. Out with it.’
‘There are no survivors. They all disappeared into the Valley of Triplock. It is said that two giant birds, five times larger than any of us, landed on the ice, cracking its surface and the running flow began.’
‘What! Those two, slow moving elephants of the air got the better of my followers? They aren’t bright enough to have a thought between them. Summon the army. We march at the next light to the Valley of Triplock. They are weak and we are strong. I will have my rightful place as ruler. Remember, the best loppings are the heads. King Iglandus, enjoy your last breaths. At the next light it will be a permanent dark for you all.’ Irridia laughed insanely. Jealousy had suffocated her goodness and The Murmur had sucked dry any leftovers. Hate ruled the Valley of Irridon. Would change be thrust upon them?
‘Sir, the Irrids are forming for an attack above the Waterfall of Wetness. There are too many of them. We are all doomed,’ reported a frightened scout.
‘Dad, send Batbit to assess their strength. He was a bat commander in the cave we lived in. He’s a fight specialist,’ said Ignatus.
‘Can I trust him?’
‘You have my word of honour.’
‘Send for the bat.’
Shortly, Batbit arrived for his orders. The king explained his mission.
‘I’ll need a full stomach if I am to succeed. You don’t have any elongaters here, do you?’
A few moments later, three large, wriggly elongators were delivered. Batbit eyed them hungrily. He was about to chomp hard on them, when one of them spoke.
‘Haven’t we met before in the trees? I remember your tiny, spiky teeth. You don’t eat friends, do you?’
Batbit dropped his intended meal in fright and it slithered safely away with its friends.
‘I’ll go anyway.’
The king explained to Ignatus the position he now held in the Igloodian community. He was to be its new leader. The king took Ignatus to a private part of the palace banned to everyone except royalty. There he practiced his new special powers such as invisibility, changing life form patterns using his indomitable strength and the skills of combat. However, the emotional side of his power was the most special and powerful of all. He was advised how to use it most effectively.
‘It is surprising the effect kindness has on anything. Apply it liberally. A hug is for free. Those special glands on your wrists hold the key to our victory. They operate by rubbing your wrists against the wrist of an Irrid. It must be transmitted during a hugging session. Be subtle. If caught during the transmission, you might be lopped. The Irrids have lacked kindness from their emotional diet. Feed it to them and you may be surprised. You can transform into their life form and hug them by surprise. Once you have achieved your individual task that Irrid then becomes instantly paralysed as the process reconverts them to goodness and they leave their unsavoury past behind. They in turn can then perform the same task as you, but only once. We want the good returned to them, not the destruction of their existence. Once Batbit has returned, you must enter during this light, not the next one, and infiltrate into Irridon through the Waterfall of Wetness.’
Iglandus began redeeming his full set of memories one at a time. Would they hold any dangers and sadness for him that he should face? Did he have a mother and, if so, where was she? Now that he knew he was an ancient Iglood, real meaning had been restored to his existence. The change meant he was a something. He no longer required the necklace to feed visions and thoughts into his mind. Soon his memory would be fully restored.
The journey into Irridon would be fraught with unparalleled dangers. He felt that his new powers were more than capable
of making a difference. This effort would seem to be the longest light and dark he would ever experience. This was the one journey he had to make alone. A leader must lead by example.
It was time to leave.
‘Mr Grunt, be careful,’ called Davidia. ‘Miss Percival wants to meet you when you return,’ she pouted. ‘Why can’t I go with you?’
‘It’s too dangerous for one so young and small. Stay here with the king and Igloo. I will be away one, maybe two, lights and one dark. Batbit, you come with me.’
Ignatus and Batbit headed toward the Waterfall of Wetness.
‘What’s with the new power trip?’ asked Batbit, stunned that the giant he walked next to was once his timid, fellow cave dweller.
‘I feel that this is my time. I finally know who and what I am. We have to save all the valleys and return them to good and harmony.’
‘These Irridions won’t let us near them. I’m too small to hug.’
‘Leave that to me. When I was Grunt, I was so large and rotund I couldn’t physically hug anything. Nothing appealed to me. Now it’s a race of nasty, smelly, snorting loppers who care for nothing but destruction that I must embrace. Ugh! Their perspective needs tweaking. I only have one nasal sniffer now; what a beauty.’
Ignatus breathed in heavily. All sense particles were immediately identified.
‘I can even smell those Irrids from Irridon. Wait for me at the top of the waterfall.’
Batbit flew upwards and out of sight. Ignatus walked into the waterfall. Running flow sprayed everywhere as he disappeared. Soap hadn’t been invented yet.
‘Get out of my way, you dirty mongrel, or you’ll walk one legged,’ threatened an Irrid.
‘You piece of rubbish. I’ll send you back to oblivion if you don’t give me that sitting space,’ snarled another.
‘That’s my rock. I’ll crack your shell if you don’t back off.’
‘I’ll toss you into the running flow if you don’t obey orders,’ yelled out a leader.
‘You stink. I thought it was a passing phase, but no, it lingers with you. Keep away from me.’
‘You’re just as bad, you road-mapped weasel.’
‘Come any closer and you’ll breathe from a flat face.’
‘Your stoop might be permanent if you don’t perform in the next light.’
‘It’s your fault we’re stuck here in this morass of detritus from Irridon. I want to lop something.’
‘Nothing would miss your ugly head. I might lop it off myself if you keep your open gapper, gapping.’
‘You and what army, you exaggerator?’
‘That’s my food. Drop it or I’ll prong you.’
‘I’m in charge of you ragged lot, so stop the whining or I’ll plug you with my fist.’
‘He’s a yeller. All sound, but no grunt. The only thing he hurts is his vocal chords.’
‘Where’s Irridia? She should be here. Shirked it again, has she, when a real battle is about to start?’
‘She’ll lop you for disobedience, you crazy lopper.’
The restless Irrids often fought and argued amongst themselves prior to a conflict. It sharpened their senses. The Irrid army was at the confluence of a full-scale confrontation. Their thought communicators were all cross-wired for conflict.
Irridia was sitting quietly with The Murmur in the Cave of Murm, contemplating their next move.
‘The Valley of Triplock is the prize for all of us,’ said The Murmur. ‘We must wipe out all of its inhabitants as the path to evil for them would be too difficult to live with. We would always be under threat if that sickly goodness returned to them. Irridication or should we say, complete eradication, is the solution? Do you agree?’
Irridia had been planning for this moment for a long time. No ex-husband or king would “rain on her parade”, once they entered the Valley of Triplock. It would be her personal pleasure to lop the king and his fellow Igloods. She knew the danger of their powers; however, with her superior number of stupid, selfish Irrids, who obeyed her every command without question, they would sacrifice themselves unquestionably to overrun the Igloods. She could smell victory if it actually had a smell. The two evil minds were inseparable. There was no barrier left to her success. Ignatus hadn’t hit her radar just yet. What’s another Iglood? Just an extra lopping.
‘There should be no Iglood standing after the battle. It will soon all be mine.’
‘It will be all ours,’ The Murmur reminded her. His cold, wet tail agitatedly flicked with his response.
As Ignatus climbed up the Waterfall of Wetness, he noticed his body gradually change shape. After just discovering what he was, he had to undergo another, but this time, hideous transformation. It was enough to make him join a circus as a freak act. By the time he had reached the top of the waterfall, his body was now that of an unsavoury, hate-filled Irrid. Batbit stared in disbelief. Ignatus appeared to have become one of the enemies. Where had his friend gone? Ignatus emerged with a sourpuss face, acting like he was an evil Irrid. However, underneath his new outer shell he oozed goodness.
‘The king explained to me what I am capable of achieving with my new powers. Transformation into any life form is high on the list, but can only be achieved whilst there is running flow through the Waterfall of Wetness. Igloods are peace-loving life forms who try not to exterminate opposition life forms for any reason. It’s hard to believe they are a non-combat life form. However, they are called diffusers and endeavour to reduce all conflict to a minimum amount of pain and destruction. Sometimes when that action is impossible, casualties occur,’ explained Ignatus. ‘Now do you understand why my appearance has physically changed?’
‘But you look exactly like them,’ Babit said, looking worried. ‘How will I be able to tell the difference?’
‘Scent. By scent only. I don’t possess a putrid smell. Take a whiff.’
Batbit hesitatingly sniffed Ignatus. ‘Not bad, it’s certainly an acceptable aroma.’
‘That’s the bait. I’m hoping to be sniffed. No Irrid will be able to resist the curiosity of a new, sweet-scented smell. When they approach me, I will subtly hug and do a wrist-rub without them noticing it. The hug is a shock mechanism that they cannot handle at all. It is their weak spot. They will in time return to goodness again.’
‘You won’t have time to hug a whole army. It’s an impossible task,’ said a doubting Batbit.
‘Ah! However, there is a secret effect. Once they have performed their one hug and wrist-rub during the next dark and light, they will return to their original life form they were before conversion. Also, they will fight the evil Irrids who persist on continuing that path, if necessary. It’s like growing an own army of mine. The two major antagonists that I must locate and destroy are the Murmur and Irridia. I’m told that they are relentless in their evil pursuit, much like litigious divorcees. We must begin at once. Fly nearby and remain out of sight. It always seems to be cold here.’
Ignatus was aware that his chances of success might be compared with pushing a jumbo jet uphill with a toothpick. Unfavourable odds existed in any two-horse race. He sniffed the air with his new, beaut, snort sniffer. He humourously thought to himself, smellus, nastus, irrustus, as he inhaled the most offensive odours wafting on the air. Behind a few rocks nearby, a group of Irrids were enjoying lopping practice on the remnants of a tree stump. It groaned with each slash. Ignatus jumped out like a jack-in-a-box from behind some rocks, startling the dimwitted Irrids. Would he pass as a real Irrid? Would he be discovered and lopped from ear to ear? He felt he was bullet proof in his almost perfect disguise. Would they be attracted to his sweet smell and could it cause his downfall? He cautiously approached them. Grunt could communicate by thoughts with them. He possessed their similar telepathic airwaves.
‘Hello there. Can I join in?’ he asked. ‘I want to lop something.’
The small group scattered in fright like confetti in a wind gust at the sudden intrusion. They were skittish because of the impending fight
with Triplock.
‘Who are you?’ One of the Irrids spoke. ‘We haven’t seen you before.’
‘Let me lop a leg, I need the practice. He’ll have to hop after that,’ sneered another.
‘I’ve recently arrived from North Irridon ready to fight and toil for the greater bad.’
‘Let’s see your moves first. Wait a minute. What’s that sickly, sweet smell. You don’t sniff right.’
Ignatus knew this was a risk, but he had to prove if he could genuinely infiltrate them. His next answer might be the catalyst for his doom.
‘Up north, we consume a special sap from the stunted Irritree where it grows in abundance. It sometimes changes our odour. Not all wind passes at the same odour capacity or density.’
‘I haven’t heard of it.’
‘You wouldn’t know about it unless you were from there. In times of conflict it becomes noticeable when all Irrids join together.’
‘Where’s the rest of your mob?’
‘They arrive at the next light to finally irridicate Triplock.’
They all snorted a form of laughter.
‘Swing your lopper and I’ll show you my skills.’
‘This is to your death, you impostor. No Irrid in my experience has ever smelt that good.’
‘I’m as nasty an Irrid as you are. I’ll prove it to you.’
Ignatus took one powerful swipe. His opponent’s lopper fell useless to the ground. He feigned a trip and fell on top of the crumpled Irrid. He had it pinned to the ground as it writhed in defiance. It bit, scratched and kicked, but Ignatus overpowered it. Quickly, he wrist-rubbed it and stood up beating his chest with the sickly look of success, slobbering from his bottom lip. A saliva pool instantly formed. It was the victory dribble. The defeated Irrid finally stood up. It felt light-headed as goodness began to seep through its body. It attained the same sweet smell as Ignatus.