The Various

by Steve Augarde

  A slight commotion in the dead white tree made her jump and look upwards. A little winged figure sat astride a high broken stump. He had dropped something – a stick – and the scowling eyes of the group flashed briefly in his direction, as the piece of wood clattered among the dead branches and fell to the ground with a slight thump. The stick was dark, and polished.

  (Poor Little-Marten. He had deliberately disobeyed Maglin by staying on his Perch – for he wouldn’t have missed this for the world – and now he had disgraced himself further by dropping one of the clavensticks. Later, no doubt, there would be trouble.)

  Midge continued to gaze in wonder at the small figure in the stark leafless tree, but then felt a pang of sympathy for him. She could see that he had done wrong, made a mistake of some sort. He was a little brown creature – brown bare feet, brown leggings, some sort of brown leather jerkin and thick brown curly hair. He had another polished stick, like the one that had fallen to the ground, tucked beneath his arm. In his hands he held a brown hat of some description, which he twisted in an agony of embarrassment. Only his face was red – bright red with humiliation. It would be a kindness to look away, Midge realized, and she turned her attention to the group once more.

  She focused on the Queen – an extraordinary being, who sat very properly, majestically, in a faded blue wicker chair, her grey hair scraped back into an untidy bun. The chair had handles at each end, and looked a bit like an open carriage without wheels. The near side had a very low middle section – so that its occupant could step in and out, presumably. The Queen held aloft a large black fan – far too big for her – and in her other hand, resting in her lap, she held a tangerine. No, Midge realized, not a tangerine, but an orangey-red ball – it looked like polished stone. Her stiff regal pose was made ridiculous by the details of her appearance – her heavy make-up had been applied very approximately, so that her face looked like a child’s painting that had gone badly wrong, and her off-white dress was purple-stained with what might have been Ribena – though that seemed unlikely. Some sort of fruit juice at any rate. Midge could not meet the imperious stare of the puffy little eyes, and the smudgy eyebrows, raised in query, without desperately wanting to laugh. This was all so . . . impossible. She could feel the beginnings of a kind of hysteria rising inside her. It became worse as she imagined the squat little occupant of the wicker chair trying to fly. She bit the inside of her cheeks, hard enough for it to hurt. Sometimes this worked.

  She stood uncertainly before the assembled company, having momentarily forgotten Pegs’ instructions – in fact she had ceased to be aware of Pegs altogether, so enthralled was she by what was happening. What was she supposed to do? She tried to stay calm. The suspicious eyes of the archers continued to gaze into hers. It was the warrior figures, she realized, who were dressed in black and white, or shades of grey. Their spears and arrows were not pointing at her directly, but they were obviously at the ready, and it occurred to her that she might actually be in some danger. Yet this made her want to laugh even more, the whole thing was just so fantastic. The tense silence was becoming unbearable.

  Then a stray sycamore seed caught her attention, as it twirled gently down from the trees, to land, unnoticed, upon the Queen’s head. It stayed there, perfectly positioned, a neat decoration for her grey bun. And that did it. The laughter that had been building up inside her spluttered forth, and she had a helpless attack – giggling and snorting so much that it startled the very pigeons in the trees. The bows of the archers were raised slightly as the company continued to stare at her, in silent outrage.

  Cease this laughter, maid. Lower me to the ground. Do not speak until you are addressed.

  Pegs sounded quite cross, and Midge did as she was told. She half-apologized, took a deep breath and knelt, rather awkwardly, on the warm grass in front of the group. Leaning forward, she gently allowed Pegs to slide from her shoulders to the ground, breathing out again as she did so. The horse lay, like an offering, or sacrifice, before the Queen in her blue wicker chair. Sitting back on her heels, Midge was now only a little taller than the gathered company.

  The Queen half turned and beckoned to a figure standing behind her, a drab and careworn little thing in a beige smock – a maid possibly – who drew closer and inclined her head.

  ‘Doolie, is this the missing animal?’ the Queen inquired. Her voice was high, and went up and down in a funny way, almost as though she were singing the words. Doolie glanced at Pegs.

  ‘I believe ’tis, my Lady,’ she replied.

  The Queen gave the winged horse a dubious look. ‘That’s not a goat,’ she said – to the astonishment and delight of Midge, who had to drop her eyes in an attempt to hide her amusement. She found herself staring at the feet of the royal personage, but then had to fight even harder to control herself. Her upper lip began to quiver once more.

  A warrior figure, armed with a spear, stepped forward decisively – taking control of the situation. He addressed the Queen – although he never took his dark eyes off Midge.

  ‘If I may speak, my Lady,’ he said. His voice had a harsh rasp to it, and his fierce gaze immediately dispelled any further attacks of giggling. He looked tough – close-cropped hair, iron grey, a silver leather waistcoat over an otherwise bare torso, and knee-length britches of a black and grey striped material. Pin-striped? Yes – but how weird. And yet that was it, thought Midge, their clothing was familiar. Or rather, many of the materials from which they were made were familiar. She glanced quickly around. Here and there were odd bits of evidence to confirm her growing realization that the Ickri were dressed in clothing which must have originated in the outside world. A pair of britches in what looked like old deckchair canvas, a frayed jerkin that might once have been the leg of a pair of faded black jeans, a belt from a towelling bath-robe, a knitted pixie-hat in a shiny acrylic grey wool that had probably been worn by a baby long before it had come into the possession of its current owner – a pixie for all she knew.

  Certainly there was evidence of the homemade – jerkins of silvery-grey fur, squirrel perhaps, rabbit-skin boots, and some curious black-and-white caps made from magpie feathers, these last being worn by the three stooping Elders – but there was no doubt that odds and ends of human clothing had also found their way into the forest, somehow, and had been cut up and adapted to the purpose of this astonishing little tribe. And there was no mistaking the origin of the tiny pink rubber boots worn by the Queen, for Midge had once possessed just such a pair herself when she was at playschool, and remembered how proud she had been of their shiny newness. These were even smaller than hers had been, though they were still too big for the Queen. They looked old and very worn – but the Little Pony logo was still just visible. Midge tried not to look at them.

  The tough-looking fellow in the silver waistcoat (what had that been originally?) glanced upwards into the trees that encircled the clearing – a deliberate and purposeful look, as though he were issuing a silent command. His spear was decorated with feathers, again black and white, tied in bunches along its length. It may have been ceremonial, although the metal tip – fashioned from an old carving knife perhaps – looked dangerous enough.

  Pegs had now raised himself up on to his chest and was lying directly in front of where Midge knelt, his head turned towards the assembled company. The warrior approached to within three or four feet of where the horse lay. The sun glinted momentarily on the tip of his spear – a warning flash, a reminder of its purpose. He continued to hold Midge in his steady gaze, but his words were for Pegs.

  ‘A welcome return,’ he said, allowing the butt of his spear to rest on the ground, ‘though in a manner so unforeseen that I might be dreaming. I, and all those about me. What be you dreaming of, Pegs, to bring the Gorji within our midst? You are ailing, so we learn. Did you lose your wits along with your wings?’

  I am ailing, Maglin, it is true. And without the kindness of this maid, there would have been no return, welcome or otherwise, for me. The news that
she bears would not then have reached you until it was too late. As to my wits, you shall judge. And all here shall judge. Help me to my feet, maid, then remain as you are.

  Midge shuffled forward and put her hands under the horse’s belly, helping to support the weakened animal as it struggled to a standing position. She stayed kneeling, hunched over a little, her shoulder now being about level with the horse’s back. Her hand strayed, comfortingly, to the base of Pegs’ damaged wing, and she allowed it to gently rest there as he continued.

  When I flew from this place, five nights ago, I made way across the dark wetlands as was intended. I saw the lighted Gorji settlement far below me, and beat on till at last I gained the Far Woods beyond – much exhausted, for I have never flown a distance greater than the length of the clearings of the Royal Forest. I was in great need of rest, but I dare not lay me down for fear of what might befall me in the darkness. Pegs paused for a moment, as if gathering the strength to continue. I can scarce recount the loneliness of that night – nor the terrors of the following day. If we had hoped that the Far Woods might provide us with the means of our further existence, then we must abandon such hopes forthwith. Pegs paused again and Midge felt the creature’s body shudder slightly beneath her touch.

  At sunrise, or soon after, the woods were filled with such a noise that I scarce held on to my wits. Such a beating and hammering there was – seemingly all around me – and such a din of Gorji voices that I believed the world to be gone mad. I thought to hide myself amongst the thickets and brambles – yet from these very thickets came great quantities of birds, I never saw their like, flapping and running, in terror also of the fearful noise. I fled likewise, not knowing what else I should do, even to the very edges of the woods, and all the while the Gorji came crashing on. But now, from beyond the confine of the trees, came loud cracks and explosions, so that all was an even greater confusion. The birds left the woods, and took to their wings, but I durst not. I durst not stay and I durst not break for open ground – or sky – though the very hordes of giants were nigh upon me. I was certain then that my death was near.

  The clearing was silent as Pegs rested yet again. His breathing was fast and shallow, and it was clear that the memory of his experience was a torture to him. Midge looked at the little assembly before her, as they stared wide-eyed – at Pegs now, not at her – and noticed that the Queen had begun to fan herself. Her mouth was open and her whitened face was shiny with perspiration. The warrior in the silver waistcoat – Maglin? – scratched his grey stubble and shifted his stance slightly, but said nothing.

  In dark despair, continued Pegs, I found a desperate refuge – a great tunnel, surrounded by fresh earth near the edge of the wood. I reckoned it to be the lair of some beast from its stink, but cared little, nor gave a thought to what might await me there. I crawled within and hid me from the raving world above – hearing the boots and sticks and hounds of the Gorji as they passed over my head. On they came, and more – crashing and thrashing as though they would beat the trees to flinders. None here can know, and I hope will never know, that terror. And yet they may – for it is of such things, and worse, that this chi’ would tell.

  ‘Was she among them then, that day?’ said the grey-headed warrior, looking at Midge. ‘And did she find you there?’

  No, Maglin. My tale is not over. When at last the woods grew quiet again, I thought to rest a little and recover my senses – but then I was aware that deep in the tunnel some beast was astir. Scrapings and shuffling I heard, and knew that I was not alone in that noisome place. I had no wish to escape the Gorji only to face the jaws of a brock, and so I crept from the ground once more and hid me in the woods till sun-wane. A worse day I never spent – in great fear and with little rest. There is no relief from our plight to be found in the Far Woods. I speak plainly, and as one who has seen it to be so.

  When it grew dark once more, at moon-wax, I stood at the edge of the trees and looked out across the wetlands. I knew not whether I had the strength to return to the Royal Forest, yet I would not stay a moment longer. I launched from the hillside therefore, and made way as best I might towards the dark shape of our own horizon – yet was greatly wearied, even as I passed over the Gorji settlement. With all my effort I beat onward, but found that I could not gain the forest without pause. I fell from the sky and came down upon a byre that stood on the near hillside, making a great clatter on the ridges of rot-metal with which it was clad. This landing proved treacherous and I slipped headlong, falling through it as a stone through ice, and down into I knew not what – a thicket of spears it seemed, which pierced and smote me till I was entangled and broken. I felt great pain, and thought I did revolve upon a wheel that rolled red among the havens of Elysse. Then blackness came upon me, and upon the world entire.

  Midge felt a lump in her throat, and the group of little figures before her became blurred as her eyes welled up with tears. The memory of her struggle with the barn door came back to her. It had occurred to her on several occasions to ask how Pegs came to be trapped behind a locked door, but the opportunity seemed not to have arisen. So he had fallen through the roof. One of the galvanized sheets must have partially given way and then sprung back more or less into place. He would have landed on one of those spiky wheels, which had obviously turned beneath his weight and so pinned him to the ground. It was a wonder she had found him alive after all he had been through. How brave he had been.

  She sniffed and rubbed her forearm across her eyes, bringing the world back into focus once more. Pegs turned to look at her, and spoke now as if to her alone.

  Days and nights I lay in a swoon, pinned down by some cruel device and ever in pain, bleeding – dying, I knew. Then came this maid, a Gorji chi’, and in my despair I called out, reckless, hoping that it might be Spindra. Great kindness she has shown me – and much cunning, for I was held to the ground by an immense Gorji contraption which I judge would take many giants to lift, yet this she achieved alone, with a child’s hand. And by that hand did I live, and did mend, and was returned to my home. She is my saviour, and I name her as such, though she call herself . . . Midge. She has all my gratitude and trust – yet not for this reason did I bring her to the forest this day. Maid, rise now and tell, if you will, what is to befall this place, and let all hear of their coming fate.

  This caught Midge by surprise and it took a few seconds for her to gather her wits. She rose uncertainly to her feet, wiping her hands on her dungarees – but then reached out once more for Pegs, seeking reassurance, and buried her fingers in the long silvery mane at the nape of his neck. They stood closely together, facing the Counsel, as she searched for the right words.

  ‘This place,’ she began, ‘the forest, belongs to my uncle.’

  The little people flinched at the unaccustomed loudness of her voice, and the broad faces stared up at her, wary, unsettled. The warrior with the spear had taken a step backwards – not through fear or intimidation, but simply to lessen the angle required to look up at her. The silence grew. She tried again.

  ‘The Royal Forest is in the charge of one of my . . . tribe. A man. A . . . Gorji? It belongs to him, and he can do what he likes with it.’ Her voice was too loud. Everything about her was too big, and too loud. She spoke again, softly and gently.

  ‘All land belongs to someone. This forest, your home, belongs to him. He’s my mother’s brother. He doesn’t want it anymore. So he’s going to let someone else have it. Those people will get rid of it. They will chop down all the trees, and they will build houses – dwellings – here instead. And roads. You won’t be able to live here anymore.’ Midge looked down at Pegs. ‘I don’t know how to say it, Pegs. I don’t know how to explain.’

  ‘Your meaning is plain enough. You are here – the Gorji are here – at last. We knew this day would have to come.’ It was Ardel, the Naiad Elder, who spoke – and his voice was bitter. The aged and stooped little figure drew his brown cloak around him as he raised his willow staff and pointed it angrily
at Midge. ‘You are here. No more need be said.’

  ‘Well, it’s not me,’ Midge began indignantly. ‘I’m not the one who’s doing this to you . . .’ But Pegs nudged his shoulder against her knee and she stopped talking.

  ‘How long?’ said Maglin. ‘What time do we have?’

  Perhaps one moon, Pegs spoke again. The maid cannot name the time of their coming. But it will not be long, Maglin. Come they will. And if she is mistaken, or if the hand of her kinsman may be stayed awhile – what of it? Ardel is right – though his anger be misdirected – the day will surely come. All lands are Gorji lands. They are here, and so this is no place for us. Our time here is nearly over.

  ‘That may be so,’ said Ardel. ‘Yet I will not say that you have acted wisely in this, Pegs. You could have brought us this news yourself. And yet you brought her. There was no need for the Gorji maid to enter the forest, but you have thrust her upon us without warning.’

  Do you not yet see? Were it not for the maid, if she had not healed me – aye and carried me back here – then I could not have returned. And all the Gorji would have been upon us without warning. The forest would be crushed, and we along with it. Now we have had warning, thanks to this chi’, and she may help us further – for whatever plans are laid it is clear we shall need assistance and knowledge from the outside world. Let this maid be our ally then, if she will, for I believe that it was meant to be so and that she was sent to us not by chance entire.

  Ardel spoke again. ‘Is this your advice? That this – Gorji – should act as go-between? That she should petition her kinsmen in our cause? Or be privy to our own strategies – and be so entrusted? It is by no means clear to the Counsel, or indeed to the Queen . . .’ here Ardel bowed briefly towards Ba-Betts, who looked vaguely startled at the mention of her name, ‘ . . . whether we should even permit this intruder to leave the forest, let alone act as emissary . . .’