by Dan McGirt
The wall stretched a hundred miles to the east and west, broken only by the shadowy cave-like opening from which the cold and black water of the Arbenflow issued forth. The river was a good eighty feet across at this point, but seemed like a tiny brook next to that vast expanse of vegetation. It was over five hundred miles north to the gray peaks of the Gaedian Range, and the Forest covered the whole way.
It had taken us two weeks to come this far. The river cutter was a twenty-five foot boat with a crew of eight tough, experienced, foolhardy men. The captain was Lufkin Starke, but names didn’t matter. We all expected to die in the Forest. It was the only reasonable expectation.
Our course took us down the Longwash to where it met the mighty Gan at the northern fringe of Carathan territory. Then it was a hard pull upstream to the Crownbolt, a wild and boisterous stream with high clay banks, filled with floating debris. It was barely navigable at places and the rowing was hard throughout. We had left it eight miles behind where it bent west to form the north boundary of Ganth and rowed our way up the slow-moving but treacherous Arbenflow, the black artery that flowed from the heart of the Incredibly Dark Forest.
It had been easy so far. The Orphalians didn’t bother us. We encountered no pirates. There was no sign of Isogoras or the Society, no problem with the dangerous river monsters that often attacked boats. It was as if fate had given us a respite from trouble, knowing we would get more than our share in the Forest.
“Last chance to bail out,” said Captain Starke. No one replied. He ordered the lanterns lit and we rowed into the mouth of the Forest. Cold, damp air oozed over us like the breath of a corpse. An even deeper chill gripped me, one which had nothing to do with the absence of sunlight. Hostility was in the very fabric of this place and I felt dangerously weak and vulnerable, having grown accustomed to the extra vitality the kiss of the sun goddess gave me. The sun wasn’t visible here and hadn’t been for centuries.
“It’s incredibly dark,” I observed softly. And it was silent. No birds. No insects. Only the splash of our oars. I feared to disturb that silence by speaking loudly.
“Hence the name,” whispered Merc.
The glow of the lanterns at bow and stern barely penetrated the gloom, illuminating only the water directly around the boat. We could distinguish no features on the shadowy banks, which hung over us like the hulking shoulders of a shrugging giant. The captain was steering blind and we progressed slowly. As we rounded a bend I got one last look at the doorway of sunshine leading to the outside world. Then the darkness was complete.
“How are we going to find the Hidden River? We can’t even see the one we’re on.”
“Well, it doesn’t look promising but if The Gods really want you to get there, they’ll give us some hints,” said Mercury. “I hope.”
“Do gods have any power here?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Look! All around us!”
“Eyes.”
Hundreds of eyes. Pairs of feral red pinpricks on both shores and high above, glaring at us with palpable hatred.
My skin crawled and my nape hairs stood stiff. I clutched tightly the haft of my new battle axe for comfort, my sweaty palms staining the wood.
“What do you think they are?”
“We’ll find out when they attack,” said Mercury.
“Do you think they will?”
“It’s only a matter of time.”
No attack came during the first hour, nor the second. The silent watchers merely watched and grew more numerous until the blackness around us resembled a hellish skyscape filled with demon stars. I had tensely squeezed my axe until my forearms were sore and stiff. We moved even more slowly now, two of the crew having left their oars to man the ack gun.
“What are they waiting for?”
“They’re trying to frighten us, keep us on edge,” said Merc.
“They’re doing a good job.” I tested my blade for the eighty-seventh time.
The boat ground to a sudden, scraping halt, pitching me forward against the rail.
“We’ve struck a sandbar,” said the captain. We all knew what that meant. We were immobile and now the attack we dreaded would come. The crew pushed hard at the oars, hoping to free the boat. It was no use. We were stuck fast. They abandoned the oars and took up their weapons.
“Can you move the boat with magic?”
“I’m trying. Something powerful is resisting me.” Merc shook his head. “Futile. Get ready.”
“I’ve been ready.”
The first attack came from the water. Three tall and scaly humanoid monsters with long knobby arms, thick chests, and cavernous, fang-filled mouths rose up beside the boat and tried to clamber aboard.
“River trolls!” shouted one of the crew.
I leaped at the nearest troll and severed a great, grasping hand with a single blow. Thick gray ichor oozed from the stump of its wrist, but the monster seemed unfazed and continued to pull itself onto the boat with its other hand. I chopped that arm off at the elbow and the troll fell back into the water with a splash. Its severed limb lifelessly continued to clutch the railing.
The ack crew pumped quarrels into the chest of the second troll, but though the shafts sunk deeply into its flesh, it was undisturbed and made it aboard. With talons hard as iron, it ripped open a soldier’s torso. Another loosed an arrow into the monster’s mouth. That staggered it, and two men were able to knock it off balance, back into the dark water.
Mercury pelted the third troll with levitated sand, beating it back into the water and incidentally loosening the grip of the sandbar on our hull.
The trolls disappeared beneath the surface. A moment later they snapped off the submerged ends of the oars and wrenched the rudder away with a resounding crack. Now they were pounding on the underside of the cutter, every blow making the deck shake. They were going to sink us.
That was when our troubles really began. Unseen attackers in the canopy above hurled rocks, limbs, and other heavy objects down upon us. Captain Starke was killed by a log that crushed his skull. At the same time, a great chorus of gibbering cries rose up from the river banks, which were here only fifty yards apart, to be followed by massive volleys of little wooden arrows. Poisoned, of course.
Mercury raised a protective umbrella of mystic energy to protect us from the missiles, but was too late to save the crew. They had become grotesque pincushions stuck full of arrows and strewn bloodily across the deck.
“For some reason it doesn’t surprise me that we’re the only ones left,” said Mercury.
“What do we do now?”
“Head for shore.” Animated by Merc’s magic, the boat limped toward the left bank, but the trolls had done their work well and we were taking in water fast. Twenty feet from the shore, Merc and I were perched on the very tip of the bow, our feet dragging in the water and the still burning lantern swinging crazily above us, dripping hot oil on our heads. The least injured troll pursued us, but I discouraged it by lopping off its ugly head when it got too close. That threw me off balance and I nearly slid into the water, but Merc caught me.
“Can you make it in from here and still hold on to your axe?”
“I think so.”
“Do it.” I swam for the bank while he retrieved a white ball from beneath his soggy cloak and tossed it high into the air. The flare burst into brilliant white light, letting me see my surroundings clearly for the first time.
The high river banks were pocked with holes and gouged through by huge gnarled roots. The great trees were too wide for twenty men with outstretched arms to encircle and almost devoid of branches at the lower levels, instead being crusted with a wide variety of lichens and fungi. The forest floor was carpeted with mushrooms, some taller than a man, and weird gray mosses. A great canopy of intertwined branches formed a black net high above us.
Our attackers, screeching in terror as they fled the light, were revealed as goblins. These are short, shaggy, nocturnal folk, knee-high to
a tall man, with pointed ears and saucer eyes. Their food of choice is fried potatoes, but they will settle for the flesh of men. Hundreds of them now scampered away through the mushrooms. Leaves rustled above as those attackers also withdrew.
We scrambled up the embankment and crouched warily amid the mushrooms. Merc put the protective umbrella back under his cloak. “We’re in a bit of a fix,” he said.
“You don’t say.”
“The flare spooked the goblins, but they’ll be back as soon as it’s out—along with every other unfriendly for ten miles around. I’ve only got a limited supply, so we need to develop some other options quickly.”
Already the glow was dimming. “How far do you suppose we are from our goal?”
“A couple hundred miles, at least.”
“I think coming in here with but one boat was just an elaborate form of suicide. We need an army.”
“It wouldn’t make any difference. Here one man or a thousand men have the same chance of survival. Next to none. And it doesn’t matter how far you plan to travel. One spot is as potentially deadly as another.”
“Meaning we’re just as likely to reach Greenleaf as we are to escape the Forest alive if we turn back now, so we may as well push on.”
“Precisely. Look, at least you’re safe from bounty hunters here.”
“But what about them?”
The flare had nearly burned out, but it wasn’t the goblins which threatened us now. They had yielded to a troop of ogres. Fifteen feet tall and dressed in furs, they had dingy yellow skin and were armed with huge spiked cudgels. I counted seven. They snorted and drooled as they came. I held my axe at ready.
“Remember how tough Yezgar was?” asked Merc.
“Vividly.”
“He was only half ogre.”
“This axe won’t do us much good, will it? Magic?” We broke into a slow jog away from the ogres.
“Anything useful on those jokers would have Isogoras on us within the hour. And I’m sure he’ll bring help this time.”
By now we were in a full sprint, whisking through the parasitic undergrowth along the river bank. I thought about diving into the water to escape, but abandoned the notion when I saw the school of river sharks gathering to fight the trolls for the bodies of our companions. Then the flare winked completely out and we could see nothing. We heard the pounding of our feet and the snorting of the long-striding ogres as they lumbered after us.
We heard a heavy thunk, followed rapidly by six more thunks. We heard no more lumbering or snorting. We stopped running.
“They suddenly decided to try stealth?” I suggested.
“An ogre doesn’t know the meaning of the word. Let’s have a look.”
He sent up another flare and we saw all seven ogres sprawled on the ground, their bodies oddly contorted. A single black arrow protruded from each one’s back.
“What kind of archer could hit seven moving targets in the dark?” I asked.
We walked back to examine the nearest corpse. Merc withdrew the arrow and sniffed the point. “Swangrave. Extracted only from the glands of the Poison Black Swans of Lake Asheron. It kills within seconds of entering the blood.”
“But who?”
Merc held up the arrow. “See the crescent symbol on the shaft?”
“BlackMoon.”
“I forgot about him when I said you were safe from bounty hunters. For him, a trip through the Forest is like a stroll in the park. He probably vacations here.”
I looked around nervously for a sign of the hunter’s location. I saw nothing but tree trunks, moss, and mushrooms.
“Don’t bother,” said Merc. “He’s only seen when he wants to be seen. Obviously he doesn’t want to kill you yet or you’d be dead.”
“What can we do?”
“Hope he doesn’t change his mind. If you think of anything better, keep it to yourself. Remember, he can hear every word we say, no matter how softly spoken. But as long as he’s guarding our back, we may as well get going.”
“Your plan is still to go up the Arbenflow until we find the Hidden River, assuming it’s not too well hidden and we don’t get killed along the way?”
“That’s the only choice we have.”
“Not so, two-legger mammal-manling!” The cheerful unhuman voice called down to us from above. We looked up and saw almost fifty glowing green spiders as big as ponies descending on phosphorescent green web strands. The one that had spoken was directly above us. I readied my axe, but Merc restrained me. The spider touched ground before us, its companions landing all around to form a protective circle. They gave the whole area an eerie, ghostly light.
“The sharpstick you’ll not need,” said the spider. “I come in peace!”
“That’s a relief, considering you have us outnumbered.”
“So we do.” The spider lifted its forelegs and made an almost human flourish. “The being you’re seeing is Luggogosh Longlimberly, King of the Lugs! Lug is shortspeak for you. To say Luminous Green Spiders makes your mandibles ache, should it not? And I may be called Luggo, also for your convenience. You four-limbs are Jason Cosmo and friend, or I’m mistaken.”
“I’m Jason Cosmo. This is the wizard Mercury Boltblaster.”
“Welcome, welcome! This is good. It is you I come to fetch—and you too, wizard. I am sent by the Keeper of the Greenleaf Shrine.”
“I thought you lugs were extinct,” said Mercury.
“Sadly almost so. In great numbers were we slaughtered by murdering two-legger manlings that our body portions might be fashioned for the making of glow-in-the-dark toys to be put in boxes of breakfast cereal. Dwindled greatly, my folk retreated to this tree-place.”
“Nor did I know you could talk.”
“Of course we talk! Among ourselves with clicking clatter-clatter. But the Keeper now gives me human speech and promises it all to my people when I convey Jason Cosmo safely to him. Time wastes! You must come!”
“Tell us of the Keeper,” said Merc.
“Meet him yourself and I need not tell. Now, Jason Cosmo, ride upon my back. You, Boltblaster wizard, Gokollogriklik will transport. Make the haste! We’ve far to go.”
Luggo bent low and I climbed onto his furry green back. Merc mounted another spider, which scuttled forward at a chittering command from its king. The army of spiders then rose as one, racing up their weblines with quickness and grace. It was almost as bad as flying. Having no strap to keep me from falling, I held tightly to Luggo’s spidery skin. It didn’t seem to bother him. I worried that BlackMoon would pick me off with an arrow, but the bounty hunter had evidently decided to bide his time and wait for more favorable conditions. Within seconds, we had reached the canopy level and were headed north across a highway of branches and vines.
* * *
17
It took three days to reach the fabled Shrine of Greenleaf, at least according to King Luggo. I couldn’t distinguish between night and day in the gloom of the Forest, but the spider insisted the darkness was slightly less intense during the day. I saw only the green luminescence of our escorts. Luggo wouldn’t take us to the forest roof where the sun shined, saying lugs found its glare unpleasant.
At my suggestion, the spiders spun sticky silk belts to hold Merc and me in place, allowing us to sleep as we rode. Not that it’s easy to sleep while gummed to the back of a glowing green spider scuttling through the canopy of the Incredibly Dark Forest. A spider’s gait is utterly unlike that of a horse, the only mount I was used to. I particularly disliked those parts of the trip spent in vertical travel. I’d have preferred another magic carpet ride.
Still, none of the dangerous denizens of the Forest molested us on our journey, not wishing to battle the lugs in force. We reached our destination safely. The lugs deposited us at the edge of a small clearing lit by a warm shaft of welcome sunlight, then withdrew to the comfortable shadows to watch.
The clearing was no more than a neatly clipped lawn surrounding a white wooden gazebo. At this point t
he Arbenflow was little more than a large creek that widened into a placid pool beside the clearing. Its shining surface reflected the sun and the clouds like a liquid mirror. No other river, not even a trickling stream, was in evidence. If the Hidden River was here, it was still well hidden.
“Luggo! Are you sure this is the place?”
“Yes, two-leg Cosmo,” called the spider. “Greenleaf, Shrine of. This is the place you are seeking.”
“So where’s the Keeper?”
“I do not know. I just got here like you.”
“Hello!” I shouted. No reply.
“It’s not very impressive,” said Mercury, sniffing the air. “The paint is still fresh.”
We approached the structure and Merc touched the rail, getting wet paint on his fingers. The ground near the gazebo was littered with sawdust, wood chips, and nails.
“This is not the most ancient of shrines,” I observed.
Mercury stepped into the gazebo, tested the floor, looked up at the ceiling—and stood transfixed.
“What is it, Merc?”
“Excuse me,” he said to the ceiling. “I’ll get him.” He looked at me, bemused. “It’s for you.”
“What’s for me?”
He stepped out onto the ground. “Just stand in the middle and look up.”
I did as he suggested, but instead of the rafters supporting the latticed roof, I saw the dome of a lemon sky and dozens of huge human faces peering down at me as if I was a cricket in a jar. Young and old, male and female, they radiated power—glorious, majestic, infinite power. Divine power.
“Jason Cosmo, welcome to the Gazebo of The Gods,” said one face, that of a man who wore a storm cloud like a hat. His voice was as the thunder that shatters mountains and I took him to be Great Whoosh, Emperor of the Winds. “We’ve been expecting you.”
I glanced at Merc. Normal. Around us the trees, grass, pool. All normal. Eyes back to the ceiling. The clustered gods were still there.