Part Two
“Are you sure this is the right way?” asked Parcifal who had taken point alongside Ned, Encelados firmly clasped on her back along with her shield, Erymanthos. Tiny slithers of starlight bounced off her glistening armor; the Holy Mountain engraved on Erymanthos shone fiery red. This far south in the world, the light of the starry sky was good enough for walking without hitting a tree.
“Father and I used to hunt boar around these parts. We’d find traces of the Woodkin here and there; tripped animal traps and hand-picked herbs,” replied Ned with certainty, his eyes wading through the darkness of the night warily.
Ned struck the others as a fairly common young man; not too short, not taller than Parcifal. He carried an old hunting crossbow strung along the belt at his waist. With his pitch black hair and light cloth garments, he gave the impression of some sort of romantic fool.
That image was enhanced by the small leather drum he carried around on his back; no-one had deemed a drum particularly able to deal damage when the need arose.
“How can you be sure it was elves?” asked Winceham slightly out of breath as he tried to keep pace with the rest, his satchel bobbing wildly. Ned’s reply was taciturn at best:
“I am.”
A somewhat uneasy silence followed. Lernea gracefully trod through the thick, lush brush as if this southern, exotic forest was her natural habitat. At length she too felt the need to ask Ned:
“These elves you speak of, what makes you so certain they’ll want to help?”
Ned paused in his stride, turned around and looked at Lernea with a grin that shone unnervingly even though the light of the stars was barely enough to see.
“Nothing!” he said loudly, his voice echoing faintly as it bounced off the surrounding hills. He resumed walking alongside Parcifal, his eyes glancing at everyone with obvious aggravation; apparently, he wasn’t in the mood for questions. The others exchanged doubtful looks, but knew that for the time being, questions would serve no purpose other than driving Ned slightly mad.
They had been slowly climbing Silkcrest Hill, no more than an hour’s reach from Hobb’s Bay to the west. The minute after they had finished burying Ned’s father, they had heard a rather rowdy crowd on the street, asking for them to come out and be hanged for the murders they had committed. Hobb seemed fairly adept at putting the blame on people and rousing the masses into an angry mob; Ned, Winceham and the Teletha sisters were wanted for murder, jaywalking and unlawful pillaging to boot. Without the need to talk it over, they fled Hobb’s bay through obscure alleys and deserted back streets onto the nearby woods.
Ned had come up with what was now effectively their grand plan, which wasn’t much as everyone had commented, but it was their best shot. Not to mention, as Winceham had put it, their only and perhaps their last one as well.
They’d seek out the secretive Woodkin elves that some said dwelt deep in the jungle where death lurked in many forms: quicksand, and poisoned plants made the jungle perilous to cross, while snakes, rockatoos, crocodiles and venom spiders tried to literally lived on reckless travelers.
Winceham made a gesture with his hands, stopped and bent over his knees; his face was a grimace, his lungs burning from the effort.
“Can’t feel me legs. We need to take a break,” he said in between deep, pained breaths.
“We can’t stop now, not until we’ve found them,” said Ned with a sense of urgency. He sounded annoyed, but there was tiredness in his tone as well. The sisters nodded and Parcifal unsheathed Encelados; she promptly buried it into the ground with ease. Lernea sat down on the ground and unclasped a bright, silver canteen from her belt. She brought it to her lips and drank, before offering it to Winceham who gladly downed a mouthful himself.
“What are you doing?” asked Ned in utter disbelief, even though it was plainly obvious they were taking a break.
“You can’t march all through the night without some rest, Ned. Not us, not you, and certainly not half-man there,” said Parcifal and pointed to Winceham with a scoff.
“Halfuin. Do I need to spell it out to you?”, Winceham retorted huffing and puffing copiously. He shot Parcifal a weary look and sat down himself with a growl of exertion. He shook his head and said somewhat bitterly:
“I should’ve ran when I had the chance.”
“You wouldn’t have gone that far now, would you?” said Lernea, her words not unkind but rather playful judging by the thin smile on her face. Her look became suddenly worried though when she noticed Ned had already wandered off westwards, without so much as a word, like a stubborn child would. Lernea gave Parcifal a stern look which her sister waved away. Parcifal shrugged, resting with her hands around Encelados hilt, the blade’s tip firmly dug in the ground.
“He’s strong-willed, I’ll give him that,” she said as she looked at Ned’s figure growing smaller in the growing distance.
“Well, he’s bound to get lost or do something stupid. Or both. You should talk some sense into him,” said Lernea with a worried frown.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the diplomat in the family?” said Parcifal with a raised eyebrow and a mocking smile.
“By Skrala, sister! You can be so pigheaded!” replied Lernea and swiftly set after Ned on her own.
Winceham stretched. Some faint popping and crackling sounds were heard; he let out a sigh and fiddled with his satchel. After a while he was holding a small leather pouch and a small, delicate pipe in his hands. Those items seemed to instantly attract Parcifal’s attention.
“What’s that?” she asked bluntly, cocking her head sideways as if trying to peek.
“What does it look like to you?” said Winceham without affording her even a glance, too busy filling his pipe.
“Some sort of pipe, perhaps?” inquired Parcifal with carefully measured uncertainty.
“I’m surprised someone imparted with such a high level of intelligence would be so levelheaded as to ask men of lesser caliber like my person such paltry questions for the mere sake of conversation,” said Winceham and lit his pipe, drawing in the smoke deeply. A smile of pure joy formed on his face and he laid himself flat on the ground, little wisps of smoke twirling intensely wherever starlight poured through as they wafted upwards around his head.
Parcifal turned her head around to venture a look towards her sister and Ned. Her eyes searched for them intently but she could barely make their shadows further up the hill, shrouded by the tall grass. They seemed to have stopped and they were probably talking by the way she saw her sister flailing her hands about her. She then asked Winceham with a rather peculiar voice, as if she was concerned someone might overhear them:
“Could I . . . Could I have a whiff of that?”
Winceham sat upright slowly and opened his eyes languidly; they were red-shot, covered in a slightly glazed sheen. He looked all-too serene and calm, his face adorned with a lopsided smile that verged on drooling. He simply passed Parcifal the pipe and nodded as if his head weighed a ton, his eyes half-open as if about to yawn and fall asleep to never wake up again.
Parcifal leaned toward Winceham and took the proffered pipe in one hand. She took a drag and held it before closing her eyes, her lip curling in a slight grin. She then blew out the smoke in the shape of small circles, before handing back the pipe. She straightened her back and stood watchful as ever Encelados always clasped in her hands, her gaze and indeed her whole face standing out in the night, prouder and brighter than before. It was a stark contrast to the way Winceham looked, which resembled someone who had just woken up from a really rough night that involved all sorts of debauchery and a lynch mob.
“Thanks,” she said and added: “I’d appreciate the discretion.”
“Hey.. What?” asked Winceham as he looked back and forth between Parcifal and the pipe with an expression of amazed wonder as if something miraculously extraordinary had happened right in front of his eyes.
And then he thought he saw a pair of trembling flames behind a nearby bush.
He blinked and saw the flames flicker wildly, before vanishing swiftly with a harrowing speed.
“What in all blazes? I must be having a bad trip,” said Winceham mostly to himself and put out his pipe. Parcifal overheard him and commented:
“It’s not that rough of a trail. When my sister and I had to go through the trails of Jordenfall though.. That was rough, I’ll tell you that. Sheer cliffs, hundreds of feet high, slippery ice every step of the way and bone-deep cold that made your teeth hurt just by breathing.” Her face was cringing but her voice carried a bitter sweetness. It was the voice of someone who reminisced better times. Winceham eyed her with a worried look, his brow furrowed.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Not feeling lightheaded, sleepy, giggly, silly, weird in many different ways?” he asked her with genuine interest. She took a moment to think, shook her head and replied earnestly:
“No.. Couldn’t be better. Top notch.”
Winceham was looking at her puzzled beyond understanding when his eyes bulged up with sudden terror. He saw the trembling flames from before, trailing orange light in their wake. They were attached to the head of furry white bunny where its eye sockets should be; the hopped about, not further than a few feet away.
Winceham’s jaw dropped and he looked at his pipe before staring at the bunny mesmerized. The bunny paused as if it knew, stared back at Winceham and smiled unnervingly before hopping out of view and into a burrowing hole.
“Did you see that?” he exclaimed as he got up on his feet and poked Parcifal in the arm repeatedly. She was instantly energized; she drew Encelados out of the ground and swung it around her wrist expertly, poised to strike unerringly.
“Enemies? Where? I see no-one! Are they using trickery or magic?” she cried and swung her sword randomly through the air.
“The bunny! Didn’t you see the bunny with the flaming eyes?” asked Winceham with an unsteady voice and pulled out a stiletto from his belt. The blade was dull, thin and long like a spike. It had been quite some time since it had been last used.
“A bunny?” asked Parcifal with sudden coldness in her voice as she lowered Encelados and frowned, pouting her lips.
“A rabbit, a hare, a tiny white fluffy thing that hops around all the time! Didn’t you see it?”
“Are you feeling ill?” she asked and looked at Winceham sideways.
“Could be, could be. But you’re feeling fine, right?” he asked with expectation, twirling the stiletto in his hand nervously.
“Invincible, really,” said Parcifal with a grin.
“Great, that’s great. I’m not having a bad trip, it’s just that something actually weird is going on,” said Winceham and sighed. He collected his thoughts for a moment before trying to convince Parcifal that a strange rabbit with flaming eyes was in the vicinity. He felt that stressing the flaming eyes bit was essential since normal rabbits when mixed with fire can’t hop, at least not when roasting on a spit.
“Parcifal, look. It might seem strange but there’s a bunny with its eyes on fire hopping around us. I think it saw us. We must be very careful, stay still and keep our voices down. I can’t stress enough that it’s eyes are on fire and it’s not dead yet,” said Winceham as he scanned the area around them inch by inch, expecting to catch a glimpse of the strange rabbit. Parcifal eyed the man with a sudden sorrow and shook her head, feeling sorry for him.
“Poor Mr. Abbermouth, I hadn’t realised you’ve turned senile until now,” she said regretfully, her voice genuinely sad.
“I’m not senile! And I’m not that old! Is it that hard to believe I saw a bunny with flaming eyes?”
Then as if out of nowhere a robed, hooded and masked man sprang from a nearby bush behind Parcifal and leaned respectfully towards her ear. The man waved his hands and fingers in an elaborate gesture and whispered to her in a thin, gentle voice:
“There is no bunny.”
Winceham was stunned into silence. He was thinking that perhaps he should point out that there was a strange man right behind Parcifal whispering to her ear, but decided to wait until she acknowledged that herself, just to make sure he wasn’t imagining things.
“Who are you?” asked Parcifal as she turned around to face the stranger with Encelados readied in her hand. She appeared calm, yet mindful of the stranger who seemed to be unarmed.
No answer came. Instead the man simply stood there, frozen like a statue, his hands clasped together as if in prayer. His eyes remained closed and he hardly seemed to breathe.
“Will you not answer me, stranger?” Parcifal demanded of him.
“Maybe he’s right, maybe there is no bunny,” muttered Winceham when he suddenly saw the same white bunny as before break through the ground from behind Parcifal. It stood there with it’s eyes locked directly onto Winceham’s gaze. Its nose twitched and Winceham saw the flames flash wildly for a moment, right before an intense feeling of chillness crept up his spine and made the hairs on his head stand. Then he saw the rabbit grin at him mischievously, dig back in and disappear from sight.
Winceham was pointing to the ground in stunned silence, with eyes wide open and his arm trembling when Parcifal said to the silent stranger:
“I am Parcifal Teletha, scion of Phedra Teletha and Helios of the Teletha family of Nomos, princess successor and adjutant to the Throne, in exile. Now that my lineage is made known, speak of yours or insult and anger me at your peril.”
Her tone was noble yet carried determined menace. It was easy for someone to see she meant every word by her thunderous stare. The man opened his right eye, peeked at her momentarily, and then closed it and simply stood there just like before, as if choosing to ignore her.
“The bunny. It was right behind you Parcifal, I swear.” said Winceham.
Parcifal turned and shot Winceham an angry look. She added with exasperation:
“I don’t care about your delusions! What manner of person is this man who refuses to talk, as if I’m not even here?” she said pointing at the man with Encelados’ tip. Winceham had no other option but try to sound convincing yelling at the top of his lungs:
“I’m not delusional! It dug its way up right behind you barely a moment before!”
“Oh, grow up!” said Parcifal dejectedly. Winceham couldn’t help but explode:
“I’m a hundred and thirty two years old, this is as grown as I’ll ever be!”
And then they heard Lernea’s voice in commanding, boisterous tones:
“By Skrala, stay your loud mouths!”
Winceham and Parcifal turned and looked at Lernea with red, flustered faces from all the shouting and yelling. She threw them a scolding stare but what caught her eye was the strange man and the fact he was looking straight at her. She was confused for a moment. When she stared back at him with all the nobility she could muster under the circumstances, she asked him:
“Pray you, stranger, state your name and business lest we consider you unkind towards our persons.”
The silent figure was shocked into motion, taking a sudden step away from everyone else, his arms extended in a purely defensive gesture.
“You can see me? Impossible!” he said to Lernea, stressing the last word as if the absurdness contained was certain.
Lernea and Parcifal exchanged a quick look. Parcifal nodded affirmatively while Lernea replied with an indifferent shrug. Winceham said then visibly irritated:
“They can see you alright! It’s that monster of a rabbit they think I’m making up!”
“I beg your pardon! Bo is not a monster!” said the robed man insulted, instantly letting go off his prohibitions concerning the fact he was completely visible to everyone involved. He took off his mask and hood as well, revealing long fair and silver dreadlocks of hair, and a pair of pointy ears that stood effortlessly upright. He protested:
“Bo is very kind and completely harmless. Not a monster at all. I demand you take that back!” said the stranger with the flair of someone who isn’t really used to demanding things of people.
“It’s eyes spout flames!” shouted Winceham, being extravagantly descriptive, making weird hand gestures and bulging his eyes to make his point.
“That’s just a condition!” cried the stranger with a surprised look of feeling suddenly outmatched and unfairly accused.
“Is it now?” exclaimed Winceham flailing his hands about him, laughing in spite of himself in disbelief.
“You haven’t answered us, stranger,” demanded Parcifal, a hint of aggression in her tone.
“Yes, who are you? And how come your hair is that fair and weird-looking at the same time?” added Lernea with an inquiring furrow of her brow.
“Shut up!”
Ned’s roaring shout attracted everyone’s stare. He cleared his throat and said with an inspiring voice, the voice of a true leader:
“The clock’s ticking. Stop mucking about with nonsense. The people we’re going up against are extremely dangerous. Our lives are in mortal peril. Always keep that in mind.”
Everyone remained silent; Parcifal smiled thinly and nodded, while Lernea added:
“Ned’s right. I for one, agree.”
Winceham suggested mildly:
“What about the rabbit?”
“Bo? He’s always around, I wouldn’t worry about him. Say, what brings you around these parts?” said the stranger with the pointy ears and strange hair with an awkward smile.
“You’re Woodkin, aren’t you?” asked Ned. The stranger gasped; he was once more shocked into silence for a moment before managing to stutter slightly:
“How... How do you know that?” he said with a tremor in his voice.
Winceham cut in abruptly:
“The pointy ears, the fair, weird hair. The silly hood and mask. That’s just like you people.”
The stranger shot an off-beat glance at Winceham and managed to sound actually hurt:
“What do you mean, ‘you people’?”
“We even know the bunny by name, but not yours. My patience is spent!” said Parcifal and raised Encelados threateningly. Ned lowered her arm and said:
“Calm down now. What is your name, woodkin?”
The woodkin looked at the sword’s blade respectfully and then addressed Ned with a slight bow:
“My name is Hanultheofodor Trypthwifidyr.”
Ned seemed to cringe at the thought of uttering the name fully, so he simply offered his hand and smile thinly but reassuringly. The woodkin obliged him somewhat awkwardly after noticing that everyone had their eyes fixed on him. As he shook hands with Ned, Lernea told him:
“Take us to your leader!”
It would have sounded commanding and perhaps a little intimidating, if Parcifal hadn’t been petting the white bunny with the flaming eyes with giggly excitement.
Party of Five Page 2