by Helen Gosney
Rowan stopped to drink some water and collect his thoughts. He really should just get on with it and say what he needed to say, he decided.
“Cris saw the purple plants or whatever the hell they were… they trapped animals and… and stored them like a spider does her prey. And they screamed when I tried to cut a poor beast free. I could barely hear for days…” he shook his head at the memory of it.
“And then there was a place we came across one day… it was a couple of days’ travel from Gren in Falla. We were just going along, minding our own business and everything was fine as far as we could see. It’s nice country around there, rolling hills and scattered trees, lots of wildlife… anyway, there we were and suddenly the horses refused to go any further. There was nothing to see that might have worried them, the ground and the trees and everything else just looked exactly the same as what we’d been travelling through, but they all baulked. I couldn’t get them to go forward, no matter what I tried. And Mica and Soot knocked me over when I tried to go forward on foot. When I got up Mica grabbed my shirt and there was no way he was going to let me keep going.”
There’d been no point in trying to force the issue, Rowan knew. He simply couldn’t convince the horses they should stop their nonsense and keep going the way they’d been going quite contentedly all day and he knew if he couldn’t convince the horses, nobody could. Besides, he’d learnt to trust their instincts and maybe it wasn’t nonsense. He’d remounted and let the horses choose which way they’d go, wondering if they’d turn back the way they’d come. They’d retreated a little way, then turned to the left and cantered off again, much happier with their new course.
“So we went around it,” he said. “It took us nearly three days of travel to come to the end of whatever it was, and then the horses just set off in the original direction again. But they wouldn’t go into the part they’d already avoided. It was really strange. The trees and grass and everything looked fine, but there were no birds in there at all and we couldn’t see any animals either. When I looked for animal tracks… well, there were no recent ones coming out, the last ones were two or three weeks old, and nothing had gone in either. We could see plenty of tracks of creatures heading for the area, deer and rabbits and wild dogs and lizards and things but they all turned away at about the same place the horses wouldn’t go past. Even the ant trails turned away.”
It had been very strange and very disturbing. The horses had been edgy and unsettled all the time they’d been travelling around the area, and so had Rowan and Rose, but neither had actually seen or heard anything that seemed to be dangerous or threatening.
“It was a huge area, three days travel to the left of where we’d originally come across it, who knows how far to the right, and then nearly five days the other way. One evening we saw a big flight of bats flying over and they all veered away at the boundary that we couldn’t see. It was really… eerie. We never saw or heard anything in there, but… well, it was weird. We were glad when we got past it and the horses were too, even though we’d kept well back from it.” Rowan tried not to shiver, as he always did when he remembered this part of their journey. “I’ve got no idea what it was, and truly I don’t think I ever do want to know. It gave me the yips then and it still does now.”
He glanced at Rose, who was nodding fervent agreement and then he looked at Moss and Cris sitting quietly on the other side of the fire, their eyes wide and their faces very serious. He rubbed his hand over his face and shook his head to clear it a bit. He squeezed Rose’s hand and continued softly.
“There were just so many towns and villages we saw... Hatton-on-Mirk is ... was, I should say, a town built on stilts in the middle of a swamp. The water is deep in parts, deep channels between soggy bits of ground... it was famous for its eels. What was it Bimm Olafsen said? He couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to live in a marsh? I don’t know why anyone would want to either, but the people of Hatton-on-Mirk were happy enough, fishing for eels and whatever else they did there. Or at least they were until the night the water burned and trapped them all asleep in their homes in the middle of the swamp... it was still burning months later, but there was nothing else to see there... no houses on stilts, no people... a few burned skeletons of eels, but nothing else...” he paused again. He wished he hadn’t started this.
“In Scrape, there were people whose skin had become scaled, like a snake’s... but they were luckier than the children of Halcyon... ‘Halcyon’, Great cursed Mother!” he shook his head again and shuddered. “In Halcyon now, a child is ... is like an old man or woman by the time they are four or five years old, and they are dead of old age before they are six...” Rowan’s soft voice faltered and he stared into the fire again, gripping Rose’s hand tightly.
There was no sound for a time but the crackling of the fire and the noise of the wind whistling around the building.
“How terrible... all those poor people... and the children...” Cris said at last, in a low, shocked voice. The memory of the horrible purple thing was bad enough, but…
Moss said nothing, but his kind heart was touched and his eyes were bright with tears.
“Rose... my friends... I haven’t told you these things to upset you... of course you know that... but I must make you understand that when - if - we climb the Stairway... if we do find the Gods up there... or whatever it is we might find up there, they’ll think no more of killing us than they would of killing an ant that crossed their path... And I don’t want you to think that there is some sort of... of shame or dishonour in staying here if you wish to... in fact I think ‘tis probably very wise to do just that...” Rowan finally stumbled to a halt.
Again there was silence for a time.
“What wilt thou do after thou hast climbed the stairs and told the Gods what thou thinkest of them?” Moss asked gently.
Rowan looked at him blankly.
“I don’t know... I haven’t thought that far ahead...” he admitted, a little shamefaced, “It seemed so important for me to come here... I... I just had to... to try and... but I suppose I never really believed that I’d find the way... and then... then when we did... now that we’re here... I don’t know... my mind just slides away from thinking about ‘afterwards’... I’m just letting it take care of itself for the moment... does that worry you, Moss?” To his own ears it sounded completely daft. Pa was right, he thought. You really have gone daft with all this, Rowan. Moss seemed not to be too worried though. How odd.
“No... I think it is the only sensible thing to do where the Gods are concerned,” the troll replied thoughtfully, “But I have nothing to go back to now... so almost anything that happens to me must be an improvement on that.”
“Aye... that’s how I look at it too.’ Ah, it seemed the poor troll was daft too.
Rose and Cris had said nothing during this conversation, but of course they’d heard it all, and now they both nodded solemnly as Rowan looked at them, his bright hazel eyes questioning. Surely they couldn’t have all gone daft, could they?
Cris sat a little straighter and said firmly, “You told me in Gnash that I could come with you as far as I wished... I don’t think I’ve gone quite far enough yet.”
Rose looked around at them all.
“If any of you think you’re going to leave me behind now, you must think again,” she said fiercely. She’d come this far with her brother and she wasn’t about to let him go on alone. He’d said what he had to, but it hadn’t been easy for him and she knew that it would have reawakened other, worse, memories that were never far away as well. No, she couldn’t and wouldn’t leave him now.
Rowan smiled sadly and gently squeezed Rose’s hand. Yes, they were all daft, not just him. But daft or not, he was pleased they hadn’t decided to go home tomorrow.
“Then tomorrow we must all look for ‘a tunnel for the stairway’... whatever that might be...” he said thoughtfully.
“There could be mountain trolls around here... they would know of any tunnels,”
said Moss after a little hard thought, “And if there are mountain trolls, I will find them for thee... if they do not find us first.”
**********
29. “They are twins, you know...”
The next morning was cold and grey, the lowering clouds threatening and the wind strong. The travellers bundled themselves up warmly and began to search for the tunnel that they hoped would somehow take them up to the stairway. Rowan and Cris took one side of the valley, and Rose and Moss the other, and they agreed to meet again at noon. They’d started their search near the sheer wall below the stairway and searched the huge flagged plaza but found nothing there. Now both parties were moving back along the valley. The walls of the valley were steep and rocky, but they were able to scramble some of the way up them and the remainder was climbable, if rather difficult.
“Bugger me! That damned wind is cold... it’s what we call a ‘lazy wind’ in Gnash,” Cris grumbled as he tried to pull his cloak more snugly around himself. He muttered one of the many useful phrases he’d learned from Rowan, but he didn’t have a great deal of success with his cloak.
Rowan laughed. “I haven’t heard that for years. But you’re right, it certainly does go right through you, rather than around.” He didn’t like cold windy weather himself, but having lived in the forests of Sian and the mountains of Wirran for most of his life he was more or less used to it. His cloak turned the wind rather better than the one Cris had too.
“This tunnel could be anywhere, couldn’t it? There’s no reason why it should even be down here in the valley, where it’d be easy to find,” Cris said morosely, “We might have to climb up there...” he looked up at the steep rock above them. Gods, he hoped not. That slope really was very steep and dangerous in parts, only suitable for mountain goats.
“Mmm... as you say, it could be anywhere. It might start in one of the buildings for all we know...” Rowan said thoughtfully.
They looked at each other and laughed, their good humour restored as they headed off to the nearest waystation to search there, out of the biting wind. There was little to find in any of the first group of buildings, though they made a careful search; after a time they moved down the road to the next waystation.
“Rose and Moss seem to have had the same idea as us,” Rowan remarked idly.
“Hmm? Oh, yes, there they are. Well, who could blame them... even with Moss to shelter behind, it’d still be pretty miserable... oh, dammit! That’s all we needed!” Cris pulled his cloak a bit more tightly around him again, wishing not for the first time that it had a hood like Rowan’s cloak did, as a sudden flurry of sleety rain struck at them.
Fortunately, they weren’t too far from shelter and they ran for it. Both men were fast and light on their feet as they sped over the grass towards the waystation and there wasn’t much between them when something caught Rowan’s attention. He hesitated, and then followed Cris into the nearest building.
“Cris, did you see anything just then?” he asked quickly.
“What? No... no, I was too busy running and looking where I was putting my feet. Why?” Cris replied, shaking his cloak vigorously.
“Wait a moment... don’t make any noise. I think I saw something...” Rowan said, going back silently to stand on one side of the doorway. He looked out carefully, but apart from the driving rain and sleet there was nothing to be seen. He turned back to Cris.
“I thought I saw something in the stables, but I’m not sure. It was just a glimpse, a shape or shadow or … well, I don’t know really,” he said quietly, “I’m going to go and have a look... will you wait here? There’s no sense in both of us getting wet, when it was probably nothing.”
“But...” Cris began, then he realised that there’d be little that he could do in any case, and Rowan was well able to protect himself. “Yes, fine, I’ll stay here where it’s nice and dry... but call me if you need to be rescued from a beastie or anything!” he added.
Rowan grinned at him, slipped off his cloak, and disappeared through the doorway. Cris lost sight of him for a few seconds and was surprised as always at Rowan’s silent speed as he suddenly appeared beside the doorway of the stable, dagger in hand. He looked intent and very business-like as he peered carefully around its edge and slipped inside. He obviously wasn’t a man to mess about if he truly thought there might be real danger to his friends or himself. Several minutes dragged by. Cris was becoming concerned and he had almost decided to go over to the stable himself when he heard Rowan’s call.
“Cris... Cris... can you come over here please? And bring my cloak too, if you would.”
Cris quickly bundled Rowan’s cloak under his own and splashed off through the rain. He wondered whether Rowan had found something or not, and wondered also what he’d be able to do if there was a situation that his friend had been unable to handle. After all, Cris wasn’t the warrior here; he could look after himself, but nowhere near as well as Rowan could.
It was so dark inside the stable that he could see nothing.
“Over here, Cris... but carefully. Don’t frighten them... do you by any chance speak Trollish?”
“Er... no… not so’s you’d notice... it’s very hard on the throat. I can say ‘Good day, Madam, do you need any mice or rats caught today?’ but that’s about it,” Cris replied as his eyes adjusted to the gloom and he carefully made his way over to where Rowan was sitting on his heels, dagger resheathed at his hip.
“Umm, no... I don’t think that will help us much. I can speak it a bit, but it seems to be a different dialect... or maybe it’s my accent,” Rowan said as Cris stopped beside him. “Let me introduce Varla and Venn to you...” he added.
Staring up at Cris were two very small trolls, their beautiful green eyes wide in their homely faces. They looked to be a bit shorter than he was himself, but naturally they were more heavily built. They were huddled together in the corner; both were very wet indeed, with their thick dark hair plastered to their skulls and water dripping from their leather tunics and trousers. One of them looked as if he - she? - had been crying, and they were clutching each other’s hands tightly.
Rowan said something to them in the strange tongue that sounded as if he was chewing rocks, and then he took his cloak and wrapped it around the little waifs. They gazed back at him and one of them - Venn? Varla? - answered him in a soft deep whisper. Rowan nodded and looked up at Cris.
“Poor little ones... they’ve wandered too far, looking for something; mushberries, I think. No… no, that can’t be right. Well, it doesn’t really matter anyway, whatever it was. Varla slipped and hurt her knee, and then they got caught in the rain and soaked, when they shouldn’t have been out,” he said quietly. “And now here we are to frighten them a bit more.”
“Why don’t I go and find Moss? He’ll be able to help, surely,” Cris said.
“Aye, of course he will. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that myself. I’ll stay here with them, if you don’t mind going. Moss and Rose will probably still be in that last waystation on the other side, I think.”
A short time later, Moss hurried into the stable with Cris and Rose behind him. Rowan had somehow managed to start a tiny fire, and he and the little trolls were sitting around it munching dried fruit and some of the walnuts from Moss’s valley. Varla - or was it Venn? - was holding Rowan’s left hand, carefully inspecting his gold and silver ring, fascinated by the difference between his long slim fingers and her own grubby little six-fingered paws. The second little troll – surely the male? - was equally interested in the scars and maimed little finger on Rowan’s other hand and the fact he could still break walnuts with that hand in spite of it all was intriguing too. Both little ones looked much happier than before and their faces brightened further when they saw Moss’s broad figure appear through the rain. Both of them chattered at him in their deep voices, and he smiled at them and answered their questions as best he could. Finally he turned to the others.
“Well, though hast done a good thing here, Rowan,”
he said with a grin, “This is Varla and Venn, as thou hast found out for thyself... Well, Aventurine in truth, but what a mouthful, no wonder it has been shortened a little. I had forgotten thou canst speak Trollish. Anyway, their clan of mountain trolls lives near the balcony we came by yesterday.”
“We saw nothing up there,” Rose said.
“No... but I am sure they will have seen us. They would probably have come to greet us already except for this cursed rain,” Moss stood up and flapped his wolfskin cloak vigorously, and then he tucked it around the little trolls.
“They are twins, you know...” Moss said something in Trollish and the little ones stared at Rose and Rowan in wonder, then giggled together.
“Well, they said they were looking for mushberries,” he continued, “But I suspect it was an excuse for them to come and have a good look at us before their elders did. Ah, yes... I must have a look at this knee of Varla’s, too.”
He carefully inspected the little she-troll’s knee. It was bruised and swollen and there was a nasty gash that had bled quite a lot.
“No wonder the poor little thing was crying,” Cris said softly.
“Moss, can we take them back to our waystation so that I can wash it and bandage it before we take them back to their home?” Rose asked anxiously. She felt sorry for the two little waifs and wanted to do the best she could for them.
Moss carefully explained Rose’s idea to Varla and Venn. They dithered a little before deciding that perhaps it might be all right for them to go with Moss and his friends just this once. After all, a Bridge troll wouldn’t let them come to any harm.
***********
Moss carried both little trolls to the waystation that they considered ‘theirs’, and Rose attended to Varla’s knee while Cris and Rowan found some dry clothing for the youngsters to wear. They had to roll their borrowed trousers up a little, but the rest of the spare bits and pieces fitted surprisingly well, if a little snugly around the body. The little trolls soon lost some of their shyness, and each happily devoured two bowls of stew and a handful of snarlfruit.