by Paul Stewart
‘YES!’ he shouted.
In front of him stood a group of three gyle goblins. They turned round and stared at him dully.
‘All right?’ said Twig cheerfully.
‘Do we look all right?’ said one.
‘Our Grossmother did try to poison us,’ said another.
‘So we did punish her,’ said the third.
The first one looked down at his dirty bare feet miserably. ‘But we did act too hastily,’ he said.
The others nodded. ‘Who will feed us now? Who will protect us from the gloamglozer?’ they said.
Suddenly, all three of them burst into tears. ‘We need her,’ they wailed in unison.
Twig stared back at the dirty gyle goblins in their filthy rags and snorted. ‘You need to think for yourselves,’ he said.
‘But we're tired and hungry,’ the goblins whined.
Twig stared back at them angrily. ‘So…’ He paused. He was about to say ‘so what?’, as the three unhelpful goblins had said to him before. But he was not a gyle goblin. ‘So am I,’ he said simply. ‘So am I.’
And with that he turned away from the gyle goblin colony, crossed the courtyard and marched back into the surrounding Deepwoods.
· CHAPTER EIGHT ·
THE BANDERBEAR
Twig undid the toggles of his fleecy jacket as he walked on. The wind had changed direction and there was an autumnal feel to the air. The weather was as unpredictable as everything else in the treacherous Deepwoods.
All round him, the forest was dripping as a recent fall of snow rapidly melted from the canopy above. Still hot, Twig stopped, closed his eyes and turned his face upwards. The icy water splashed onto his face. It was cool and refreshing.
Suddenly, something large and heavy struck Twig's head – BOOF – so hard that he was knocked to the ground. He lay still, not daring to look. What had hit him? The gloamglozer? Could the fearsome creature really exist? If it did, it was no use cowering. Twig opened his eyes, jumped to his feet and drew his knife.
‘Where are you?’ he screamed. ‘Show yourself!’
Nothing appeared. Nothing at all. And the only sound to be heard was the steady ‘drip drip drip’ from the trees. Then came the second BOOF. Twig spun round. A huge pillow of snow, which must have slipped from the branches overhead, had completely flattened a combbush.
Twig put his hand up. There was snow in his hair. There was snow all around him. He started to laugh. ‘Snow,’ he said. ‘That's all it is. Just snow.’
The dripping increased as Twig continued on his way. Like heavy rain it was, pouring down below. Twig was soon wet through and, as he trudged deeper into the Deepwoods, the ground became more and more boggy. Every step became an effort – an effort made all the worse by hunger.
‘With the slaughterers,’ he muttered. ‘That was the last time I had a proper meal. And Sky knows how long ago that was.’
Twig looked up. The sun was bright and even down on the diamond-dappled forest floor he could feel its ripening warmth. Fragile twists of mist were coiling up from the soggy soil. And as the hammelhornskin dried out, Twig himself began to steam.
His hunger was impossible to ignore. It squirmed and gnawed inside his stomach. It growled impatiently. ‘I know, I know,’ said Twig. ‘And as soon as I find something, you can have it. The trouble is, what?’
When he came to a tree heavy with a deep, dark purple harvest, he stopped. Some of the round, plump pieces of fruit were so ripe they had split their skins and were dripping golden juice. Twig licked his lips. The fruit looked so juicily sweet, so succulently delicious. He reached up and clasped one.
It was soft to the touch and came away from its stalk with a slurp. Twig turned it over in his hand. He polished it on his furry waistcoat. Slowly, he brought it to his mouth and…
‘No!’ he said. ‘I dare not.’ And he hurled the fruit away. His stomach gurgled angrily. ‘You'll have to wait,’ Twig snapped, and marched grimly on, muttering under his breath about how stupid he'd been even to consider . eating something unknown. For although many of the fruits and berries in the Deepwoods were sweet and nourishing, many more were deadly.
A single drop of juice from the rosy heartapple, for instance, was enough to kill you on the spot. And death was far from the only danger. There was fruit which could blind you, fruit which could explode inside you, fruit which could leave you paralysed. There was one, the scrapewort berry, which brought you out in a warty blue rash that never disappeared. And there was another, the pipsap, which shrank those who ate it – the more you ate, the smaller you became. Those unfortunates who had too many disappeared altogether.
‘Much too dangerous,’ Twig said to himself. ‘I'll just have to hang on till I come to a tree I do recognize.’
Yet, as Twig continued through the Deepwoods, of all the countless different types of tree he saw, there wasn't a single one that looked familiar.
‘This is what comes of growing up with woodtrolls,’ he sighed wearily.
Since they never strayed from the path, the woodtrolls relied on others to provide them with fruit from the Deepwoods. They were barterers, not foragers. Now, more than ever before, Twig wished this were not the case.
Trying hard to ignore his stomach's protests, Twig tramped on. His body felt heavy but his head was oddly light. Mouth-watering fragrances wafted towards him from the fruit trees, while the fruits themselves seemed to glow enticingly. For hunger is a curious creature. It dulls the brain, but heightens the senses. And when a twig cracked, far away in front of him, Twig heard it as though it had broken right beside him.
He stopped dead and peered ahead. Someone or something was there. Twig advanced, taking care not to tread on any of the brittle twigs himself. Closer he went, darting from tree to tree. He heard something moan close by and crouched down out of sight. Then, heart chugging, he edged slowly forwards, peered nervously round – and found himself face to face with a huge and hairy mountain of a beast.
It was rubbing the side of its furry face gently with one massive clawed paw. When their eyes met, the creature threw back its head, bared its teeth and howled at the sky.
‘Aaaargh!’ Twig screamed, and scrambled back behind the tree. Shaking with fear, he heard the splinter and crack of snapping branches as the beast lumbered off, crashing its way through the undergrowth. All at once the noise stopped, and the air filled with a plaintive yodel. The next instant, from far away, a second voice yodelled in reply.
‘Banderbears!’ said Twig.
He'd heard them often enough before, but this was the first Twig had seen. It was even bigger than he'd imagined.
Although prodigiously large and strong, the banderbear is a timid creature. Its large doleful eyes are said to see the world larger than it really is.
Twig peeked round the tree again. The banderbear had gone. A trail of crushed vegetation led back into the forest. ‘That's one path I won't be taking,’ he said. ‘I…’
He froze to the spot. The banderbear had not gone. It was standing there, not ten paces away. With its pale green fur, it was almost perfectly camouflaged. ‘Wuh!’ it groaned softly and raised a giant paw to its cheek. ‘Wuu-uh?’
The creature was truly massive, at least twice as tall as Twig himself, and built like a vast pyramid. It had tree-trunk legs, and arms so long its knuckles grazed the ground. The four claws at the end of each limb were all as long as Twig's forearms, as were the two tusks that curved up from its jutting lower jaw. Only its ears – delicate winglike objects, constantly on the flutter – did not look as though they had been hewn from rock.
The banderbear fixed Twig with its sad eyes. ‘Wuu-uh?’ it groaned again.
It was in pain, that much was clear. Despite its size, it looked oddly vulnerable. Twig knew it must need his help. He took a step forwards. The banderbear did the same. Twig smiled. ‘What's the matter?’ he said.
The banderbear opened its mouth wide and prodded around clumsily inside with a single claw. ‘Uh-uuh.’
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Twig swallowed nervously. ‘Let me see,’ he said.
The banderbear came closer. It moved by placing both forepaws on the ground and swinging its hind legs forwards. As it approached, Twig was surprised to see grey-green moss growing in its fur. It was this that made the banderbear appear green.
‘Wuh,’ it grunted as it stopped in front of the boy. It opened its mouth and Twig was struck by a blast of putrid warm air. He winced and turned his face away. ‘WUH!’ the banderbear grunted impatiently.
Twig looked up. ‘I … I can't reach that high,’ he explained. ‘Even on tiptoes. You'll have to lie down,’ he said and pointed at the ground.
The banderbear nodded its enormous head and lay at Twig's feet. And, as Twig looked down into its huge and sorrowful eyes, he saw something unexpected quivering there in the dark green depths. It was fear.
‘Open wide,’ Twig said softly, and he opened his own mouth to show what he meant. The banderbear followed suit. Twig found himself staring into the creature's cavernous mouth, over the rows of savage teeth and down the gaping tunnel of its throat. Then he saw it, at the back of the mouth on the left; a tooth so rotten it had turned from yellow to black.
‘Sky above!’ Twig exclaimed. ‘No wonder you're in pain.’
‘Wuh wuh, wh-uuuh!’ the banderbear groaned and tugged his hand repeatedly away from its mouth.
‘You want me to pull it out?’ said Twig.
The banderbear nodded, and a large tear rolled down from the corner of each eye.
‘Be brave,’ Twig whispered. ‘I'll try not to hurt.’
He knelt down, rolled up his sleeves and took a closer look at the inside of the banderbear's mouth. The tooth, though dwarfed by the two huge tusks, was still the size of a small mustard pot. It was nestling in gum so red and swollen, it looked ready to burst. Twig reached gingerly in and clasped the rotten tooth.
The banderbear immediately flinched and turned sharply away. One razor-sharp tusk scraped across Twig's arm, drawing blood. ‘Yow! Don't do that!’ he shouted. ‘If you want me to help you, you must keep perfectly still. Got that?’
‘Wuh-wuh!’ the banderbear mumbled.
Twig tried again. This time, although its huge eyes narrowed with pain, the banderbear did not move as Twig grasped the tooth.
‘Tug and twist,’ he instructed himself as he tightened his grip on the pitted tooth. He braced himself ready. ‘Three. Two. One. NOW!’ he yelled.
Twig tugged and twisted. He tugged so hard he toppled backwards, wrenching the tooth round as he did so. It juddered and rasped as the roots were torn from the gum. Blood and pus spurted out. Twig crashed down to the ground. In his hands was the tooth.
The banderbear leaped up, eyes flashing furiously. It bared its teeth, it beat its chest, it shattered the silence of the Deepwoods with a deafening roar. Then, overcome with a terrible rage, it began tearing wildly at the surrounding forest. Bushes were uprooted, trees knocked down.
Twig stared in horror. The pain must have driven the creature crazy. He struggled to his feet and tried to slip away before the beast could turn its fury on him…
But he was already too late. The banderbear had caught sight of him out of the corner of its eye. It swung round. It tossed aside an uprooted sapling. ‘WUH!’ it bellowed and bounded towards him, all wild eyes and glinting teeth.
‘No,’ Twig whispered, terrified that he was about to be torn limb from limb.
The next instant the banderbear was upon him. He felt its massive arms wrapping themselves around his body and smelled the musty odour of mossy fur as he was crushed against the creature's belly.
And there the two of them remained. Boy and banderbear, hugging each other gratefully in the dappled light of the Deepwoods afternoon.
‘Wuh-wuh,’ said the banderbear at last, and loosed its arms. It pointed inside its mouth and scratched its head questioningly.
‘Your tooth?’ said Twig. ‘I've got it here,’ and he held it out to the banderbear on the palm of his hand.
Delicately for one so immense, the banderbear took the tooth and wiped it on its fur. Then it held it up to the light so that Twig could see the hole which had been eaten right the way through. ‘Wuh,’ it said, and touched the amulets around Twig's neck. It handed the tooth back.
‘You want me to wear it round my neck?’ said Twig.
‘Wuh,’ said the banderbear. ‘Wuh-wuh.’
‘For good luck,’ said Twig.
The banderbear nodded. And when Twig had slipped it onto the thong with Spelda's lucky charms it nodded again, satisfied.
Twig smiled. ‘Feel better now?’ he said.
The banderbear nodded solemnly. Then it touched its chest and extended its arm towards Twig.
‘Is there something you can do for me in return?’ said Twig. ‘Not half! I'm starving,’ he said. ‘Food, food,’ he added, and patted his stomach.
The banderbear looked puzzled. ‘Wuh!’ it grunted, and swung its arm round in a wide arc.
‘But I don't know what's safe to eat,’ Twig explained. ‘Good? Bad?’ he said, pointing to different fruits.
The banderbear beckoned, and led him across to a tall bell-shaped tree with pale green leaves and bright red fruit, so ripe it was dripping. Twig licked his lips greedily. The banderbear reached up, plucked a single piece of fruit in its claws and held it out for Twig.
‘Wuh,’ it grunted insistently, and patted its own stomach. The fruit was good; Twig should eat.
Twig took the fruit and bit into it. It was more than good. It was delicious! Sweet, succulent and with a hint of woodginger. When it was gone, he turned to the banderbear and patted his stomach again. ‘More,’ he said.
‘Wuh,’ grinned the banderbear.
*
They made an odd couple – the furry mountain and the stick boy – and occasionally Twig would ask himself why the banderbear stuck round. After all, it was so big and strong, and knew so much about the secrets of the Deepwoods that it didn't need Twig.
Maybe it, too, had felt lonely. Maybe it was grateful to him for pulling out the aching tooth. Or maybe it was simply that the banderbear liked him. Twig hoped so. Certainly he liked the banderbear – he liked him more than anyone he had ever known. More than Taghair. More than Gristle. More even than Hoddergruff, when the two had still been friends. How far away and long ago his life with the woodtrolls seemed.
Twig realized that by now cousin Snetterbark must have sent word that he hadn't arrived. What must they be thinking? He knew what Tuntum's gruff response would be. ‘Strayed from the path,’ he could hear his father saying. ‘Always knew he would. He was never a woodtroll. His mother was too soft on him.’
Twig sighed. Poor Spelda. He could see her face, wet with tears. ‘I told him,’ she would weep. ‘I told him to stay on the path. We loved him like one of our own.’
But Twig wasn't truly one of theirs. He didn't belong – not with the woodtrolls, nor with the slaughterers and certainly not in the sticky honeycombs of the gyle goblin colony.
Perhaps this is where he belonged, with the lonely old banderbear in the endless Deepwoods, wandering from meal to meal, sleeping in the soft, safe, secret places that only banderbears know. Always on the move, never staying in one place for long, and never following a path.
Sometimes, when the moon rose above the ironwood pines, the banderbear would stop and sniff the air, its small ears fluttering and its eyes half closed. Then it would take a deep breath and let out a forlorn yodelling call into the night air.
From far, far away, there would come a reply: another solitary banderbear calling back across the vastness of the Deepwoods. Perhaps one day they would stumble across each other. Perhaps not. That was the sorrow in their song. It was a sorrow Twig understood.
‘Banderbear?’ he said, one sweltering afternoon.
‘Wuh?’ the banderbear replied, and Twig felt a giant paw on his shoulder, powerful yet gentle.
‘Why do we never meet the banderbears you call to at n
ight?’ he asked.
The banderbear shrugged. That was simply the way it was. It reached up and picked a green star-shaped fruit from a tree. It prodded it, sniffed it – and growled.
‘No good?’ said Twig.
The banderbear shook its head, split the fruit open with a claw and let it drop to the ground. Twig looked round.
‘What about them?’ he said, pointing up to a small round yellow fruit dangling far above his head.
The banderbear stretched up and pulled off a bunch. Sniffing all the while, it turned the fruit over and over in its massive paws. Then it gently removed an individual fruit from the bunch, nicked the skin with its claw and sniffed again. Finally, it touched the bead of syrup against the tip of its long black tongue and smacked its lips. ‘Wuh-wuh,’ it said at last, and handed the whole bunch over.
‘Wonderful,’ Twig slurped. How lucky he was to have the banderbear to show him what he could and couldn't eat. He pointed to himself, then to the banderbear. ‘Friends,’ he said.
The banderbear pointed to himself, and then to Twig. ‘Wuh,’ he said.
Twig smiled. High above him but low in the sky, the sun sank, and the light in the forest turned from lemon yellow to a rich golden glow, that poured through the leaves like warm syrup. He yawned. ‘I'm tired,’ he said.
‘Wuh?’ said the banderbear.
Twig pressed his hands together and rested the side of his head against them. ‘Sleep,’ he said.
The banderbear nodded. ‘Wuh. Wuh-wuh,’ it said.
As they set off, Twig smiled to himself. When they had first met, the banderbear's snoring had kept him awake. Now, he would have found it hard to fall asleep without the comforting rumble beside him.
They continued walking, with Twig following the path that the banderbear made through the dense undergrowth. Passing a spiky blue-green bush, Twig reached out absentmindedly and picked a couple of the pearly white berries that grew in clusters at the base of each spike. He popped one of them into his mouth.
‘Are we nearly there?’ he asked.