by M Norton
[Back to Top]
Chapter 9 - The Moat
Krys squeezed his hands around the climbing vines. The thorns dug deep into his palms. Blood trickled down the woody stalks and his arms. He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the pain, and concentrated on his tight grip.
“Krys!” Peter’s cry came from above. “Krys!”
“Krys, where are you?” Navashay yelled.
Barely summoning the energy, Krys opened his mouth and forced a reply. “I’m down here.” His throaty voice was little more than a whisper. He hung his head to his chest. His pounding heart hammered in his ears.
His hands burned and his arms ached. He grimaced, knowing he dared not let go. Perspiration poured down his face and into his eyes, stinging them. Fear mixed with the pain.
He looked to one side, then the other. The expanse of thorn-covered brambles and thick vines stretched as far as he could see in both directions. Searing pain traveled down his arms with every movement. He drew a breath through clenched teeth and yelped in agony, wanting to let go. His head swam. He closed his eyes, and tried to control his ragged breaths. His nausea increased.
“Grab the rope,” Peter’s yell came from above again.
Krys forced his eyes open. A rope dangled to the side. Wincing with pain, he reached out with his left hand. He stretched his fingers, but was unable to grasp the rope. “I can’t reach it,” he gasped.
The rope swung closer to him. He wrapped a bloody hand around the life-line. His raw wounds stung as they contacted the rough material. He hung, suspended between thorny vine and rope, unable to urge his right hand to let go.
“Come on, Krys. You’ve got to take it with both hands.” Peter’s face peered over the edge of the earthen wall above Krys.
He forced himself to abandon the vine and he clung to the rope tightly with both hands. His muscles seemed like they might tear apart. He felt the rope being pulled from above. He pedaled his legs in midair and moved hand over hand, helping as much as he could find energy to. He bit his lip as pain tore through every limb.
At the top, he collapsed on the ground and looked up at Peter. His friend’s face was pallid with fear. Krys couldn’t put into words the compassion he felt for his best friend at this moment in time. He would never be able to repay him.
Navashay dropped to her knees next to Krys and opened her satchel.
“What did I fall into?” he whispered.
“I think it was the castle moat,” Navashay said as she dug in her bag.
“I thought about levitating you.” Peter drew in a labored breath. “But there was no way of knowing how deep the pit was below you.” He paused for a moment. “I couldn’t risk dropping you into those long thorns at the bottom if I miscalculated.”
Krys stared straight above him. “You got me out. And that’s all that matters.” He turned and gave Peter a weak smile.
Navashay pulled bunches of herbs and small, corked clay bottles from her pack. “Essence of hallerthorn, jonulberry rind, simperspane, naldee hair,” she muttered as she made a poultice.
Feeling safe on solid ground, and the pain beginning to dull somewhat, Krys watched Navashay’s movements with keen interest, impressed with her healing knowledge.
“Why don’t I just use a healing charm?” Peter asked.
Navashay shook her head and continued to mix the ingredients. “This will work better. Sometimes it’s preferable not to use magic spells by themselves.” She rubbed the concoction over Krys’ deep gashes. “This is one of those times.” She closed her eyes and passed a hand over his wounds, whispering, “Qualum corbast racknim.” In moments, the wounds stopped bleeding and began to mend. She wiped his skin clean with a piece of what looked like rabbit fur and returned all her supplies to the satchel.
Krys inspected his hands and arms. They revealed only minor scars and he felt no pain.
Peter smiled. “It’s going to be useful having a healer with us.”
A touch of red crept into Navashay’s cheeks and she smiled.
Krys dropped his head back to the ground and rested for a few more minutes. Then, with help from Peter, he stood. The three walked to the edge of the moat and peered into its depths. Thick brambles lined the bottom.
“It’s completely dried up,” Krys said.
“After two centuries, I’m not surprised,” Peter said.
“But except for the plant growth, nothing else should have changed in the forest.” Krys scratched his head and furrowed his brow.
“The creatures may be frozen,” said Navashay. “But they’re still alive. The water isn’t. Nature must have taken its course and the water drained away or—”
Peter pointed across the moat, cutting Navashay off. “The castle!”
Krys looked up the tall, dark outer wall, almost invisible behind the thick vegetation that clung to it. “We found Ravenwood Castle. We actually found it!”
Vines snaked through the voids between the huge stone blocks and over their surfaces, their bright scarlet blooms dotted the foliage with contrasting color.
“Look how tall the wall is.” Navashay inclined her head and pointed.
“I never imagined it would be this big.” Krys could barely control his excitement. He and Navashay exchanged smiles.
Navashay’s gaze dropped down the wall. “But look at the brambles over there.”
“At least they don’t look as thick as the ones on this side.” Krys unconsciously rubbed his upper arm where a thorn had impaled him. “We need to get over there.” He scanned the wall again and sighed. Thirty feet from their objective might as well have been three hundred with thick forest lining their side of the moat and sharp brambles the other, not to mention the wide moat itself.
Peter blew out a breath. “I hope Raven is worth it.”
“He is,” Krys and Navashay said at the same time.
“Since there seems no way to cross here,” Krys said, wiping sweat from his brow. “We better start walking.” He looked left and right at the moat stretching away from them. “There has to be a bridge around here somewhere, even if we have to go all the way around to the main drawbridge.” He got his bearings and pointed north. “I say we go this way.”
“Sounds as good as any direction.” Peter took the lead. “Let’s go.”
For the better part of an hour, they hacked their way through the thick underbrush. A large tree close to the edge of the moat came into view. One of the branches jutted out thirty or forty feet above them and was almost parallel with the ground, angling directly toward the castle’s outer wall.
“That looks good.” Peter looked up as he walked among the sharp protrusions along the edge of the moat. He squinted as his gaze traveled across the branch high above. “It doesn’t reach all the way across the moat.” He kicked thick vines from around his feet and looked across the branch again. “But we should be able to tie on to the branch, there.” He pointed at a section of the branch over the center of the moat. “We can use it as a pivot point and swing the rest of the way across on ropes.”
“Swing? Across that?” Krys pointed to the moat filled with deadly thorns. “You’re crazy!”
“I’m with Krys on this one,” Navashay said.
“We won’t come anywhere near those brambles,” Peter said.
“I don’t know, Peter.” Krys looked at the moat again. “What happened to looking for a bridge to cross?”
“We don’t know where we are on this wall. What if there’s a bridge behind us? We might have gone the wrong way,” Peter said. “We may not find a better place to cross.” He grabbed Krys’ arm and led him toward the massive trunk.
Krys shook off Peter’s hand. “I really don’t like this idea.”
Peter spun Krys around to face him. “I know it’s not the best solution.” He extended his hand, indicating the branch. “But we have a chance to cross here.” He dropped his hand. “You’ve led us really well so far. I just think we can’t pass up an opportunity to get across the moat when it presen
ts itself.” His eyebrows rose. “We may not get another chance.”
“Maybe, but, we could find something better just around the next bend.” Krys pointed toward the north.
“Or at the front gate,” said Navashay.
“We won’t know if the draw bridge is down, though, until we get there,” Peter said.
Krys caught Navashay’s gaze. She shrugged and he knew she had no better answer.
“Why don’t we at least see if there’s a better place to cross,” Krys said.
Peter shook his head. “And if there isn’t, then we’ll have to come back.” He looked to the sky then back at Krys. “I’m not spending the night in this forest.” He pointed to the tree. “Like it or not, that’s our best chance right now.”
“Fine!” Krys turned on his heel, angry there were no better options. “We’ll do it your way.” He strode to the large tree.
Near the trunk, Peter allowed his pack and food sack to slip from his shoulder. He looked at his collection of snacks and sighed.
Krys glanced at the sack, then at Peter. “You haven’t eaten anything for hours. You sick or something?” He noticed Navashay’s quizzical look. “It won’t be long before you understand.”
He took one step toward the massive tree. The ground under his foot shifted. The individual grains of sand and dirt seemed to dissolve, leaving a surface unable to sustain his weight. His foot disappeared into the loose material. “Help!”
“What the—“ Krys heard Peter yell at the same time a small squeal from Navashay reached him. He jerked his head around toward his friends. They, too, were sinking into the ground.
He tried to shift his weight to his rear foot, still on solid ground, but he had already sunk to his knee into a quickly deepening pit. The sand around the hole funneled downward, dragging Krys with it. He grabbed for the rim, but his hands found only crumbling soil that fell and disappeared into a swirling mass.
Krys peered over the rim, only to see his friends sinking into their own traps and quickly vanishing from sight.
His heart raced as he sank deeper. Digging his fingers into the dirt walls did nothing to stop him. He felt the flush of panic as it shot up his body and pounded in his ears.
In moments, he stopped sinking. He gazed upward. The pit extended at least an arm’s length above his head. He tried to jump and grab the rim, but the ground beneath his feet shifted and wouldn’t support his weight for such a maneuver.
A slight movement on the edge of the hole caught his attention.
Vines and roots danced around and began growing downward toward him. Somewhere inside him, Krys knew he wouldn’t be able to use them to climb out.
In seconds, they entwined him. He heard the muffled cries of his friends and struggled again. A shadow darkened his pit. His heart pounded as he dared to look up. The two lizardmen stood over him, yellowish saliva dripping from jagged teeth. Renewed panic spread like poison through Krys.
“Give ussss the journal,” one reptilian creature said, holding out a contorted hand.
Krys thrashed. The vines tightened. He was trapped like a rabbit in a snare. “Well,” Krys said as he struggled further. “Looks like the joke’s on you. I can’t even move.” He knew it was a mistake the moment the words left his mouth.
“Eassssily sssssolved,” said the creature. Its hideous smile made it look even more dangerous. It raised a scaly hand and Krys began to lift from the pit, elevated by the vines.
I had to open my big mouth! Krys struggled more, to no avail.
The reptile cocked its hand and pointed at a vine, conducting it with jerky hand movements. The tip of the plant snaked its way to the pouch tied to Krys’ belt.
Krys tried to loosen a hand to knock it away, but the twisting vines refused to release him.
Obeying the swirling motion of the lizardman’s hand, the woody stem widened the tied opening and cork-screwed into the pouch. It buried itself deep inside, twisting and turning. The creature pulled its hand back, and the creeping plant retreated. In its coils it held the journal, the key dangled from the curly tip.
The creature held the key up. “This is a nicccce bonussss. I’m ssssure it will be usssseful in ssssome way.”
“No!” Krys struggled harder to free himself. He wanted to grab at the stolen items but the vine’s vice-like grip squeezed him tighter. “Give them back!”
“What’s wrong, Krys?” Peter’s voice came from far away.
“They have the journal and the key,” Krys yelled back.
“W-Who has them?” yelled Navashay.
“The lizardmen,” Krys answered.
“Oh, no!” said Peter.
“Lizardmen?” Navashay’s voice was close to a whisper. “What lizardmen?”
Krys strained. The vines constricted even more, cutting into his wrists and threatening to squeeze the very air from his chest. “You can’t have them,” he wheezed, struggling to draw in more air.
“Little boy,” the lizardman sneered, “it sssseemsssss they’re already mine. You have no need of them now.” The vines placed the journal and the key into the lizard’s hand. The other reptile tried to snatch the key. The first creature swiped a claw across the other’s face and emitted a frightful roar. The second lizard retreated, holding its scaled hand over the wound that dripped fresh green blood that splashed in the dirt on the edge of the hole and ran down the wall into Krys’ pit.
The first lizard waved his hand down.
Struggling once more, Krys sank back into the pit. “No!” Krys screamed and wiggled within his bonds more forcefully. Exhausted, he collapsed against the twining perennials. But they tightened even more. He tried to draw a sufficient breath but was unable to.
A small stem snaked itself around Krys’ neck, tightening with every coil it made. “I thought you wanted me—a-alive,” he choked out.
No answer came.
[Back to Top]
Chapter 10 - Lizards and Fairies
Moments from being choked to death by the sinister vines, Krys gasped for even a small bit of air. His thoughts swam in waves of odd images.
He concentrated on the sounds of the receding lizardmen. Twigs crunched and leaves rustled, the sounds becoming softer and further away. The creatures had gone.
“Come back here,” Krys forced the words out. “Face me—” He sucked in a partial breath. “Like a man!” He swallowed. “Oh, that’s right,” he rasped. “You aren’t a man. You’re a—” How do you insult a lizard? “You’re a dried up piece of dragon dung!” He strained against the vines again, choking.
From beyond his pit, he heard Peter’s muted voice. “Hey Krys. You don’t sound so good.”
Exhausted, Krys let his head fall back against the vines again and closed his eyes. Peter’s alive! Thank the Creator! He felt light-headed and drowsy. The silence of the forest rang in his ears. “Run away like the cowards you are.” His voice trailed at the end. He drew in a small amount of air and spoke with as loud a voice as he could muster, “Peter?”
“What?”
“Can you move your hands?” Krys choked on his dry throat.
“What?” Peter asked again.
“Can you—move—your hands?”
He heard silence for a few moments. “No. Can you?”
“I can—barely breathe,” Krys answered. “Navashay?”
No answer came. He strained to pull himself to the rim of the pit again. The vines pulled him deeper into the hole. “Navashay!” he forced his voice louder.
A moment later, he saw her face appear above him.
“Hi,” she said with a smile. “Wow. You don’t look so well.”
“Help me—please,” Krys whispered, his panic rising faster as the seconds ticked by.
Navashay lay on her belly, reached down into the pit, and grabbed the end of the twisting vine, unfurling it from around Krys’ neck.
“Thanks.” Krys sucked air in greedily.
Navashay smiled. “Any time.” She looked over her shoulder. “Peter, I�
��ll be there in a minute.”
“Hurry. These vines are tight,” Peter yelled back.
After a few moments, Krys could breathe again and the pressure on his chest had eased. “Can you free my—wait a minute; how did you get free?”
“I know all kinds of things about plants,” she said as she reached for more of the vegetation. With her dagger, she cut at the creeping plant that bound Krys’ arms. “I knew there must be something I could do to these blasted vines.” She groaned as she struggled to cut a large one that held Krys’ arm. “I spoke the magic name for a plant that’s similar to its nature, and slowly took control from it, weakening it until I could break free.” She cut through another stubborn stem. “When I freed one of my hands, I pulled my dagger and cut the rest of them away—definitely faster than magic in this case.”
“Are you a druid?” Krys asked the question that had been gnawing at him since Peter got trapped in the moss right after they left the barrier.
“No, I don’t have that kind of magic.” She cut several more vines. “I’m a healer. I just have a vast knowledge of plants.”
She soon freed Krys’ hand. He pulled out his knife and finished cutting himself out of the tangle. “Go help Peter,” he told her. “I’m okay now.”
Navashay pushed herself from the pit and disappeared from view.
Krys cut the rest of his bonds, then crawled out of the trap. He stumbled toward where Navashay lay on her belly by another hole and helped her hack away at Peter’s restraints. In minutes, they pulled Peter out.
“Now what do we do?” Krys smeared the perspiration across his brow with the back of his dirty hand. “We’ve got to get that journal back.”
“And the key,” Peter said.
Krys whipped his head around, trying to take in the entire forest with one glance. “We need to go after them,” he said. “Trouble is—” He looked around again. “I haven’t a clue which direction they went.”