“Why don’t we get a drink?” I suggested in order to dodge the question. “My grandmother always says that the mind works best when fully hydrated.”
“Actually,” said Grahndel, “dragnors don’t drink a great deal. Liquids just don’t really tend to agree with us... as you may already have noticed. I could really do with something to eat though, I’m starving.”
“Yes, well I’m afraid I don’t carry a regular supply of bat dung around with me, but I trust you won’t mind if Ophelia and myself slake our thirst briefly.”
Whilst I had not lied about the importance of proper hydration, I suspected that it was perhaps over-optimistic to imagine that a quick swig from my water bottle would truly enable the brainwave that would enable us to locate a genie, who was seemingly the all-time hide-and-seek champion of the alundri world, in an epic forest. Nevertheless I reached into my rucksack for the water.
“Grahndel!” I moaned, holding the pierced and now empty bottle before me.
“What?” he asked. “What did I do? You don’t know that was me!”
“Well you’re the only one who was in there. And you’re the only one who has two big, spiky tails, and you are the only one who came out of the bag soaking wet.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Sorry. Still, it’s a relief in a way, I mean I never normally sweat that much, I was worried I might be coming down with a cold or something.”
“Oh, well that’s a wait off my mind, then. Now I can die of thirst, happy in the knowledge that you aren’t going to end up with a nasty case of the sniffles. Thank goodness for that.”
“It’s okay,” said Ophelia. “Nobody needs to die, I know where we can find water, not too far from here.”
“Then, please, lead the way before I murder that little bogey-muncher.”
***
It turned out that when Ophelia had said that the water was ‘not too far’ away, she had meant it, and had in fact been referring to a stream that was so near by that we could hear it running at almost the instant we had begun on our journey towards it. In hindsight, this was a very lucky thing indeed, because, with the immensely slow Ophelia leading the way, we would surely have died of dehydration before reaching any but the most immediate of water supplies.
The stream was both narrow and shallow, but, nevertheless, the water travelled through it at a great speed as it eagerly continued on its journey toward the river. And to a thirsty young boy, it looked irresistibly good. So much so that, upon seeing it, I instantly pushed my way past my two companions and began greedily lapping at the water’s edge.
“Yeeuughh!”
Allow me to reassure you, dear reader, whilst the idea of being at one with nature and drinking from a stream may seem romantic when read in fairytales and viewed in olde-worlde films, the reality is quite different. In the modern, corporeal world, stream water tastes dirty and metallic, a fact which, when properly considered without the use of rose-tinted spectacles, should come as no surprise, given that most streams today are full of dirt and discarded drinks cans. After a few greedy gulps I promptly spat the foul-tasting liquid back into the stream from whence it had come.
“Are you okay, Charlie?” Ophelia asked, looking concerned.
“Yes, I’m fine thank you. Just went down the wrong hole, that’s all,” I lied, not wanting to hurt her feelings. But she continued to watch me and so, smiling, I took another gulp of the almost-certainly-disease-ridden water and swallowed it down, waiting until she resumed her own drinking before allowing the scowl of unpleasantness to cross my face.
“So what’s phase two of the plan?” Ophelia enquired once her thirst had been quenched.
“Well...” I hesitated, knowing that I was out of options and that I was going to have to admit that there was no plan, but remaining desperately unwilling to do so. Fortunately though, my confession was once more delayed, this time by the distant yells of an angry demon.
“Oi!” came the voice from over the other side of the stream. “Oi, wake up!”
I returned Ophelia to her place in my shirt pocket and crossed the stream. On rounding a tall patch of brambles I was confronted with the bizarre sight of the livid Grahndel yelling up into the branches of a nearby sycamore.
“What on earth are you doing?” I enquired.
“I won’t be ignored,” he said to me before turning his head back toward the tree tops and yelling; “Hey you, I know you can hear me. Just poop would you? You know you want to! Just a little bit of poop, what difference does it make to you? Come on, do it. I know you can hear me.”
“Maybe he’s already been?” I asked, trying not to laugh.
“Right, that’s it,” the dragnor said, picking up a small pebble from the forest floor. “I’ve had enough. I’m hungry, I’m miserable, and don’t like being ignored.” And with that, he hurled the pebble toward the sleeping bat with surprising force for someone with such short arms.
The startled bat made a terrible hissing sound as it plummeted from its perch having been awoken by the unprovoked missile attack. When it had fallen half way to the floor though, it managed to instinctively gather itself and begin to fly as fast as it was able away from the tree – without pooping.
“Hey you, come back here!” Grahndel yelled, before tearing off in pursuit of the bat in a sudden flash of lightning quick speed that was at least a hundred times faster than his normal walk.
Indeed, his new-found speed, combined with his far superior dexterity over an awkward terrain ridden with roots and brambles and stinging nettles meant that Grahndel progressed through this part of the woods decidedly quicker than I could manage in spite of my vastly larger footsteps, so much so that I quickly lost sight of him.
“Grahndel, wait!” I yelled in vain as Ophelia and I continued in our pursuit. But we received no answer, for the hungry dragnor no longer cared about anything but his own belly. Indeed, were it not for the trail of trodden down ferns and tiny hoof-prints, we surely would have lost him altogether. But then the terrain became clearer, and grassier, and the trail we had been following disappeared. Trying not to panic I continued in a straight line, hoping that the bat and its hungry, purple pursuer had done the same. After ten minutes however, I was ready to give up.
“We should have caught him by now,” I said.
“Maybe he went a different way?” Ophelia pondered.
“But which?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe we should wait for him back at the stream, he might go back there once he’s eaten.”
I was far from sure that this would be the case but, for lack of a better idea, we turned back the way we had come. Then, after just a few steps, a voice echoed through the trees to our left.
“Guys!”
It was Grahndel, he was sitting atop the widest oak tree I had ever seen. I could only imagine how tall it must once have stood, but its growth had long since been stunted by a tremendous storm, for the majority of its length lay beside it, covered in moss and Ivy.
“Guys,” the dragnor repeated. “I think you should come and have a look at this.”
Chapter 23
“This had better be worth it, Grahndel,” I threatened as I struggled to climb the immensely thick trunk of what remained of the once mighty oak. Indeed, despite the fact that the larger half of the tree lay broken on the forest floor, it was still quite a climb to reach the top of what remained – especially given that the old oak was far too large for the usual tactic of wrapping ones legs around the trunk and scooching up, and had instead to be negotiated as if it were a cliff face, holding tight to each branch or foothold until one could locate the next. By the time I reached the top I was exhausted, but this exhaustion was quickly forgotten when I saw what it was the dragnor had insisted we see.
“What on earth!?!” I exclaimed.
“I told you it was worth it,” said the smug little demon.
>
To my surprise and disbelief, aside from a thick outer layer of trunk on which we now stood, the entire tree was hollow. What was unbelievable though, was that this was clearly not some random act of nature, but the purposeful design of a human (or, more likely, alundri) hand. This fact was rendered undeniable by two things;
Firstly, the platform on which we now stood was part of a deliberately remaining outer layer, carefully calculated to leave the tree with enough support so as not to collapse in on itself under its own weight.
Secondly, and far more astoundingly, in the centre of the hollowed out tree was a spiral staircase, intricately carved and adorned with various, painstakingly crafted gargoyles, leading down into the darkness as far as the eye could see.
“The bat went down there – without pooping I might add, selfish little slug-licker!”
“Where do you think it leads?” asked Ophelia, her eyes never leaving the abyss before her.
“There’s only one way to find out,” I said, trying to sound confident as I placed my foot on the first step.
“Wait a minute!” yelled a suddenly panicked Grahndel. “What are you doing? Where are you going? You don’t know what’s down there!”
“He’s right, Charlie,” Ophelia agreed, fluttering out of my pocket and in front of my face in order to make her point. “It could be dangerous. Shouldn’t we just stick to the plan?”
Ah yes, the famous plan I thought to myself. The plan I had been on the verge of admitting was non-existent, thereby destroying the both hope of my companions and their faith in me, before the arrival of the constipated bat. Perhaps it was luck. Perhaps it was fate. Whatever it was, we had been presented with the opportunity to take action once again. Okay, it may well have turned out to be action that lead to our cruel and painful deaths, but it was action all the same. And at that moment, with time fast ticking away until something terrible definitely would happen, walking down some steps seemed to be a more than acceptable risk.
“Plans change,” I said simply, trying to sound like a confident movie tough guy as I began descending the narrow, twisting stairs, an image which was instantly destroyed as I slipped, almost toppling to my doom before catching myself at the last second. Both Grahndel and Ophelia looked at me with condescension.
“Perhaps this might help,” ventured Ophelia, pulling from her bag what appeared to be a tiny ball of pure light, before flying past me down the staircase.
Small enough to sit comfortably in her miniscule palm (and apparently cool enough not to cremate it) the mysterious orb gave off a remarkable amount of light and made our journey down the treacherous, twisting stairs a great deal more negotiable. Even with this however, there were several occasions when either Grahndel or I came close to plunging off the railingless staircase and into the darkness that ran through their centre, ending in who-knew-what.
“How much further can it be?” I said, speaking more to myself than asking a genuine question. We had been making our descent for some time, far longer than it should have taken to reach the bottom of the tree - we were clearly quite deep underground by now, and there was still no sign of an end to our journey.
“It can’t be long now,” Ophelia responded, trying to sound reassuring.
“How do you know?” replied the somewhat less optimistic dragnor. “For all you know these stairs could just go on and on forever.”
“Nothing lasts forever, stupid!” she snapped. The bickering had begun again.
“Well, alright,” said the dragnor, “not forever then, but still a really, really, really, really, really long time. These stairs could keep twisting and turning, down and down, until, eventually, it comes out in another oak tree in another forest on the exact opposite side of the world.”
“Now you’re just being silly!” chided the princess.
“I’m the one who’s being silly?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m not the one who suggested walking down the stairs to the unknown just because I didn’t have another plan.”
“What?” said Ophelia.
“You heard me, there was no plan, was there, Charlie?”
“Er, well...”
“It’s not true. Tell him, Charlie. Tell him how wrong he is,” Ophelia demanded, a tearful uncertainty about her words.
“Well...You see...”
“See! I told you,” Grahndel declared proudly.
“Just shut up and let...”
“AAAARRRRGGGHH!!!”
THUD!
In turning around to berate the dragnor, Ophelia had swung her little magical lantern a little too close to his head and, in ducking to avoid it, the little demon had lost his footing on the narrow step and been plunged down into the darkness.
“GRAHNDEL!” I yelled. No response.
“Oh my, what have I done?” cried the princess.
“GRAHNDEL!”
Louder this time. Still nothing.
“I’ve killed him. I’m a murderer!”
“GRAHNDEL!”
Nothing.
And then, after the longest of silences, six words of salvation emerged quietly from the darkness;
“I think I found the bottom.”
Chapter 24
We hurried down the remaining stairs as fast as we dared, hoping against hope that our friend had not been too badly injured, hopes that faded with each additional step as it became apparent just how far he had fallen.
On nearing the bottom there was a great improvement in illumination, an improvement which we soon discovered was provided by two flaming torches which adorned the walls of the chamber at the base of the stairs. Lying in their flickering shadows was a twisted and broken dragnor.
“Are you okay?” asked Ophelia as the two of us rushed over to the crumpled heap that was our companion.
“Do I look okay?” he asked, his voice weak.
He did not look okay - far from it in fact. His leg was unnaturally bent into the most painful looking of positions so that his left foot almost touched his left knee. His right arm looked as though the bone had simply shattered from the elbow downwards and was now only held together only by skin and tendons. More concerning than any of these things however, was the stream of electric blue blood that pooled around an unseen wound on the back of the small beast’s head. There was no way around it, Grahndel was dying.
“Stand back,” I said to Ophelia, rolling up my shirt sleeves.
“Are you going to be able to save him?” she asked, tearfully. “It looks really bad.”
“I’m going to try,” I said. And then, turning to the dragnor, I warned; “I’ve never been on the receiving end of this before, so it might hurt a little I’m afraid.”
“I don’t think a little more pain is going to make a whole lot of diff...” the dragnor’s eyes rolled back into his head as he passed out before he could finish his sarcastic response. I checked for a pulse; he was still breathing – just. I knew I would have to act quickly.
I lay my hands on Grahndel, one on his head, the other on the injured leg, and tried to remember how it was I had made this work on the squirrel.
How long ago that wounded rodent seemed at that moment. So long that part of me questioned whether it had really happened. Could I really hold the power to heal the sick? It just seemed too ridiculous to imagine.
You can’t think that way, you need to concentrate! I told myself angrily. Now how did I make this work last time?
“Hurry, Charlie, hurry!” panicked the little fairy.
Needless to say her cries did nothing to ease the pressure I was feeling. It did, however, do much to increase my feeling of rage. I remember thinking to myself why don’t you take over if you think you could do any better! I found myself becoming increasingly annoyed with Ophelia for her begging and her weeping, although, at the same time, I knew deep down that I was rea
lly only annoyed with myself for my own failure.
And then it happened.
Just as the frustration at my inability to help my friend set in, I felt the tingling beginning in my spine once again. I could feel it moving up my back, down my arms, and through to my fingers just as I had done before – only this time the whole thing happened much more gradually, and this, combined with the familiar yet inexplicable aroma of cherry-blossom, made me feel unexpectedly nauseous.
Then came the jolt. Exactly the same as before. The last thing I am able to recall is a spark of light over the dragnor’s dying body, closely followed by a falling sensation. The next thing I remember is waking up on the dry dirt floor, almost choking on the dirty stream water which was being poured into my mouth.
I sat up coughing and spitting out clumps of mud.
“He’s alive!” cheered the tiny princess.
“Are you okay?” asked the dragnor before profusely and repeatedly thanking me for saving his life.
“I’m fine,” I reassured him groggily, slowly allowing my eyes to adjust to the dingy light so that I might take in my surroundings.
We were surrounded on all sides by a small, circular chamber, the walls of which appeared to be formed from clay. Its only adornments were two flaming torches and the staircase that twisted into eternity above us. Other than that, the room was empty.
That can’t be right I thought to myself. Why would somebody go to all the trouble of carving an intricate wooden staircase that lead to an empty room?
The simple answer was that they wouldn’t; a fact Grahndel promptly demonstrated.
“Charlie, come over here and look at this.”
There, hidden under the stairs, in the most poorly lit part of the room, was a door. It was no wonder I hadn’t noticed it in my initial, groggy surveillance, for it was crafted of very dark wood and was completely camouflaged within the shadow of the staircase.
Aurelius and I Page 17