Firestone Key

by Caroline Noe

  The thwarted render stuck a nose into the water, shuddered and fell back. Two fellow renders joined their comrade and howled, sniffing and snarling, but unwilling to enter the river. Sworder and three soldiers arrived at their side, out of breath.

  “Pilt. Go downriver,” Sworder ordered. “Pick up smell.”

  They headed down the bank.

  Harlin, meanwhile, scrambled to keep his head above water as the current drove him ever onwards. His head swivelled back and forth as he swirled, straining to keep his friends in his eyeline. Between the splashes and waves, he caught glimpses of Elaine, clinging to a tiring, wounded Drevel whilst fighting to keep both afloat. Harlin swept towards a bend in the river, where a flurry of fallen rocks teetered precariously on the bank. He grabbed hold of an exposed edge and hung on, shouting to Elaine.

  Elaine heard him call and saw where he was clinging. Increasing her grip on the wounded dog, she told him, “Swim, Drevel. The rocks.”

  Drevel whimpered and used all his remaining strength to struggle towards Harlin, fighting the draining pull of the current. Harlin half dragged himself onto a boulder and held out his good left hand, watching Elaine and Drevel sweep closer and closer. Almost pulling her shoulder from its socket with the strain, Elaine reached for Harlin’s hand. He fought to hold her while she used her other arm to lever Drevel up onto the rocks. The sodden, wounded dog crawled a little further and lay still, panting and bleeding. Harlin’s arm muscles flexed as Elaine scrambled up and over him onto the boulder.

  Elaine crawled over to Drevel. Gently stroking his head, she peered at the oozing bite. Where the render’s teeth had torn into his flesh, the tattered wound was bleeding and, at the very least, needed to be stitched.

  Harlin pulled and strained until he finally managed to haul his body clear of the water and slump on the edge of the boulder. Rotating, he stared at Elaine and Drevel.

  “He needs help,” Elaine told him, answering his silent question.

  Drevel barked softly, telling them he was alright, but neither of his friends believed it. The distant howl of renders made them all shiver.

  “Go back to Asher,” Harlin told Elaine. “Tell him, all for nought. She taked Key.”

  “Your mother,” Elaine stated, scowling at him. “Thanks for trusting me with that one.”

  “Thinked tothers would have telled ye. Now ye not trust me, like Elders. Maybes they rightly.”

  “Self-pity. Lovely.”

  “And ye telled me truly?” Harlin snapped. “Why she believe ye have Firestone?”

  “How should I know? I don’t even know what it is. I’m the one telling the truth here.”

  “If ye not have it, nor her, then who do?” Harlin mused, his mind spinning. How long had it been since his mother lost the Firestone? Could they have overthrown her power after all?

  “Does it matter who’s got it?” Elaine asked, breaking into his thoughts.

  “Matters. Who have Firestone controls Baal and able make more renders.” As though illustrating his point, a pursuing render howled. “Must go.”

  “Drevel can’t move,” Elaine pointed out, stroking the dog’s muzzle.

  “Must,” Harlin ordered, his voice hard. “Drevel get up. Think on Serena. What she want?”

  At the sound of that name, Drevel whimpered and heaved himself up to a seated position, just as Harlin stretched his deformed leg. The sudden change in weight distribution caused the boulder beneath them to roll, throwing Harlin into the river. The boulder rocked back, pinning Harlin’s leg beneath.

  The unearthly howl of renders echoed down the river and it was very much closer. A render crept into view, sniffing as it scanned the area, but was yet to locate the fugitives. Two renders joined their comrade and formed a trio, upstream. Sworder and soldiers couldn’t be far behind.

  Elaine threw herself into hiding on the other side of the boulder. Drevel lay flat and dangled his head over the boulder’s edge to watch Harlin as the prisoner heaved on his deformed leg, trying to free it from the boulder’s grip. The resulting wave of agony forced a groan from his throat.

  “What is it?” Elaine whispered, peeping around the edge of the boulder.

  “Me leg. Trapped under.”

  Elaine slid into the river, heaved in a breath and ducked underwater. Despite the current, she could easily spot that Harlin’s leg was caught at the foot and ankle. She yanked on his leg, trying to free it. Harlin bit down on his own fist to stifle his cries. Drevel watched the renders gradually working their way downriver and whimpered a warning. Elaine tried shoving the boulder at its base, but it barely moved. Aiming higher, she pushed again and felt it roll, just a little.

  Surfacing, she told Harlin, “I’ll try to rock it. Get ready.”

  Harlin grabbed for her, gripping the shift. “No time. Go. Take Drevel downriver.”

  “No way I’m leaving you,” Elaine told him, prising loose his grip.

  Harlin swallowed a mouthful of swirling water and choked. Render ears immediately picked up the sound and located their prey with a howl of triumph. Down the riverbank they leapt, heading straight for the trio, Sworder and soldiers following in their wake. Drevel slid down onto a lower part of the rock, next to Elaine.

  “Go now,” Harlin insisted.

  Refusing to listen, Elaine pushed the boulder and felt it rock an inch or two. With the renders almost on them, Harlin reached out to grab hold of Elaine, but only managed to find her hair.

  “Ow. You’re kidding me,” she hollered.

  “Leave.”

  “Get off my hair.”

  Using all her weight, she heaved on the boulder, setting up a rocking motion. The movement grew bigger with each sway, punctuated by Harlin’s groans. A render appeared overhead, on top of the boulder. As its jaws opened wide, Drevel reared up and bit down hard on its nose. The render howled and fell back, adding the last bit of momentum that the rocking needed.

  The boulder cleared Harlin’s foot and ankle, enabling him to yank himself free, but throwing him straight back into the current. His limbs flailed as he flowed past Elaine. She grabbed Drevel by the scruff of the neck with one hand and the passing Harlin’s shift collar with the other and pushed out into mid flow. Lying on her back, she gripped both Harlin and Drevel to her chest as they swept downriver.

  All three renders snapped and howled, but could only watch as the trio sailed away. A panting Sworder arrived at the boulder to witness his three fugitives escaping, again. He stamped his foot in anger. Unfortunately, for him, this action only caused the unstable rock to roll, dumping him straight into the river. Three renders and the soldiers watched him float by.

  “Where he going?” asked one.

  * * *

  Gwyneth’s first loyalty was to Myrrdinus and her emotions were telling her to follow him, even unto doom; however, she was also the daughter of Asher and Melith and blessed with a logical mind. Fighting the desire to run through the forest and fling herself into his arms, Gwyneth contemplated the most likely way to mount a successful rescue. She came to the inevitable conclusion that she would need help and, to obtain it, must return to her father and the Elders. Lamenting the loss of both Myrrdinus and the Key, she slowly emerged from her hiding place, sodden earth and leaves sticking to her already filthy frame.

  Creeping into the makeshift camp, she found Myrrdinus’s abandoned pack, resting against a tree. Gwyneth rifled through it, hoping to find the Key part, but the search proved fruitless.

  She whispered, “Frog? Be here?”

  “Rivet.”

  A pair of bulbous eyes popped open from the camouflage of a mud puddle. Gwyneth bent down, picked up the dripping Frog and placed her on her shoulder. A huge blob of mud slid down Frog’s back and plopped onto Gwyneth. The recipient made no comment. Myrrdinus was in trouble and nothing else mattered. Frog kicked the mud away and sat, in silent misery.

  “Going to me father for help,” announced Gwyneth.

  “Rivet,” agreed Frog.

  * *
*

  The raging river current had slowed to a gentle flow as it passed through the lower regions of the forest, enabling Elaine to swim backstroke using just her legs. This was fortunate as her arms were busy supporting the straining Harlin and the dead weight of a wounded Drevel. She peered down at the ailing canine. His eyes were closed.

  “Drevel,” she prompted, suddenly afraid that she had lost him to the icy water.

  His eyes struggled open at the sound of her voice and he managed a weak whimper.

  “Need out,” Harlin spluttered, his teeth chattering. “Must rest and get warm.”

  “The renders?” Elaine asked, scanning the river bank for any sign of their pursuers.

  “Be risking,” Harlin told her. “Ye tired. Not able keep holding us both.”

  Elaine didn’t argue. She had been exhausted, muscles screaming, for some time, but had refused to allow her injured friends to see it. She kicked for the bank, towing man and dog into shallow water, whereupon Harlin and Elaine used whatever miniscule amounts of strength they had left to carry Drevel up the bank to dry ground. They were placing the wounded hound carefully onto grass when Harlin’s deformed leg gave way and he collapsed, twisting to avoid landing on Drevel. As he lay on his back, fists clenched against the agony, Elaine appeared in his eyeline, silhouetted against the sky.

  “Harlin?”

  “Be rightly,” he lied, noting the concern and fear in her eyes. “Need rest. Be fine.”

  Elaine leaned close to Drevel and stroked his sodden head. “Drevel?”

  The dog tried to whimper, but could not summon the strength.

  “I don’t know what to do for either of you,” Elaine admitted, her voice trembling.

  “Get back to Asher at cabin,” Harlin told her. “Sew up that wound.”

  “And you?”

  “Time. Rest. Bucket of ale.”

  Elaine shivered. “Cold. How far are we from the cabin?”

  “Too far for carrying him. Ye go, follow river. Bring help.”

  “I’m not going,”

  Harlin slowly turned on his side, grunting with the pain; he needed to look in her eyes. “Drevel not dying. Been tough man and tougher dog. Not dying til finding out what happened to his love, Serena.”

  Drevel delivered a tiny yap of agreement.

  “Serena?” Elaine asked, intrigued, despite her condition.

  “Most beautily of all,” Harlin mused. “Not seen since me father died, ten year ago… Elaine, come here.”

  Elaine didn’t move. “You going to hit me again?” It was a weak joke.

  “Never hurt ye again,” he told her, in all sincerity. “Come. Please.”

  Elaine shuffled, moving close enough for him to touch her hand.

  “Not yer job save us,” he told her, his voice low and husky with emotion. “Be mine… and not doing for too long.”

  “Don’t start that again. And I’m not going.”

  Harlin slid his fingers into hers. “Listen to me…” he began, when ‘bonk’, a nut flew out of a tree and bounced off his skull. “Must be kidding me.”

  A sniggering squeak made Harlin and Elaine peer up. Grey Squirrel was waving from a branch, above. Despite her emotional and physical exhaustion, Elaine laughed out loud.

  * * *

  Back at the cabin, the waiting Elders had been thoroughly entertaining themselves with utterly fruitless debate, principally whether Harlin would return and what they would do if he did. Having long since given up listening to them, Asher and Bert were sat, side by side, on a log, concentrating on worrying for the younger generation.

  “Getting well sickly with waiting for tothers,” Bert moaned.

  “Aye,” agreed Asher.

  “Never waiting for tothers in past.”

  “No.”

  “Remember when tothers waited on us?”

  “Aye.”

  “Still had leg then.”

  “Still moaned, even then.”

  Bert stared at Asher. Both laughed, but the humour soon faded back into a worried silence. It was breached by a squeak. Both men looked at each other, then up into the trees, just as Grey Squirrel came flying off a branch and landed on Bert’s lap.

  “Pilt. What ye want?”

  Grey Squirrel leapt up and down, pointing.

  “Want us go somewhere?” Asher asked.

  Still on Bert’s lap, Squirrel hunkered down on all fours, wagged his brush and delivered a squeaky bark.

  “Er, Drevel?” Bert offered.

  Grey Squirrel grabbed his side and staggered.

  “Drevel be wounded?” Asher asked.

  Grey Squirrel nodded vigorously and pointed.

  “Be needing horse,” Clipper’s father interjected, having been loitering near the cabin. “Fetch Evening.” Clipper duly scooted off into the trees.

  Bert nodded towards the cabin and its arguing Elders. “We telling them?”

  “No. Not do nought, anyway,” Asher correctly surmised.

  “Rightly.”

  Bert and Asher rose from the log as one, veteran soldiers going into battle. This manoeuvre dropped Grey Squirrel on his head. Squeak.

  * * *

  The wounded Queen returned to the temple where her priesthood endeavoured to carry out a healing. They had been only partially successful in the absence of Gergan. The triumphant High Priest, renders in tow, had slimed his way back a little while later, imagining all the accolades he would receive once the Queen had been told of his retrieval of the Key part and the capture of the rebel.

  Myrrdinus, hands bound, knelt in the altar room, surrounded by priests and a few soldiers, all of whom waited whilst Gergan climbed the spiral staircase to the Queen’s quarters. He found her lying on her bed, favouring the bite area.

  “How be yer Majesty?” Gergan began, turning the Key part over and over in his sweaty hands.

  The Harpy was in no mood for conversation. “Did you get it?” she snarled.

  Gergan swiftly handed her the Key part; he knew that tone of voice. “Finded rebel near well, as ye sayed,” he told her. “He be in altar room. Ye want see him?”

  The Harpy couldn’t have been less interested in the rebel. “No. Send him to the castle. Another morsel for Baal.”

  She peered down at the Key. This part was similar, but different, to the part already taken from Harlin. Curious as to how they would react after all these years, she slowly brought them closer together. They attracted each other with a powerful magnetism, almost jumping from her grasp and interlocking within her hands. She felt a sudden shock wave sweep through her body and mind: the power of magic draining away.

  Terrified, she threw the Key parts, still interlocked, back at Gergan. He juggled, but held on to them, feeling nothing but confusion. Clearly his Queen was afraid, but of what?

  “Hide them somewhere safe,” she told him, laying back on her bed, exhausted. “Only wake me when Sworder brings me Elaine.”

  Gergan sailed through the altar room, armed with the interlocked Key, pausing only to order Myrrdinus transported to Baal’s cage at the castle. Soldiers duly dragged the young man away. Now alone, Gergan made his way to a dark room with plain stone walls. In the centre sat a large metal cage with close set bars, full of slithering, hissing snakes. Coiled tightly in the farthest corner, keeping to herself, lay a fat, green Melith Snake, her eyes partially open, watching Gergan. Pleased with himself, he opened a door in the cage and threw the Key inside. No-one would dare to put their hand in there. Once he had left to prepare another round of coiffuring, Melith Snake slithered onto the Key, re-coiled and smiled.

  * * *

  Camouflaged by leaves and branches, Elaine and Harlin lay either side of Drevel, endeavouring to keep him warm. In the silence, their eyes had found each other with timid glances until their gaze finally interlocked. As their proximity edged closer and closer, fingers intertwined over the rise and fall of their friend’s breathing. Elaine stroked Drevel’s head, but his eyes remained closed.

  �
�We shouldn’t have moved him.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  “No choice. Renders hunting for us by river,” Harlin reminded her, trying to assuage his own conscience. “Help coming soon.”

  Elaine’s vision blurred and her head spun, despite lying down. She screwed up her eyes as a defence against the vertigo driven nausea.

  “What? Happening again?”

  “Don’t know. Feel strange,” Elaine told him. In truth, she was scared. These attacks were growing more frequent and severe and, this time, she could hear voices echoing inside her own skull, voices from another place, another time.

  Harlin sensed that Elaine was moving away from him, so he grasped her hand. “Elaine? Stay with me.”

  As she clung to his grip, the voices faded away and her sight cleared. She peered into Harlin’s eyes, confused and shaking.

  “What happened?” he asked her.

  “I don’t know…” she replied, truthfully. “But I think...”

  The approaching sound of horse’s hooves interrupted the thought as, simultaneously, a man’s voice floated through the trees.

  “Must be here, somewhere.”

  Harlin heaved himself to his feet in front of Elaine and Drevel, empty handed.

  “You’ve no way to defend us,” Elaine pointed out, clinging to his good left hand.

  Drevel awoke, as though sensing the peril, and struggled to rise. Elaine stroked his ear and shook her head, finger to her lips. Silence and subterfuge was their only friend; none of the trio was in any state to defend them.

  A tiny squeak was followed by a low chattering, emanating from nearby trees.

  “Squirrel?” Elaine ventured. “Here. We’re here.”

  A nut bounced off Harlin’s forehead with an audible ‘boing’. The recipient was undecided whether to rejoice or frown, so he settled for alternating between the two.

  Bert appeared through the trees. “Over here.”

  Evening ambled into view, ridden by Clipper, his father ever present at his side. Asher brought up the rear of the rescue party.

  Relieved and more than a little emotional, Harlin exercised some ill-advised tongue in cheek humour. “What ye all doing here? We only need horse. Now we have three cripples, a dying dog and a fainting woman.”