by J H G Foss
‘Remember you are a druid, sweetie,’ cajoled Roztov. ‘You’ve already battled dragons. You can...’
‘Yes yes, all right,’ she snapped at him. ‘This is more than just my usual tormish fear of big things. I’ve got such a strong feeling of... well, like we are tangled up in something bigger than we can comprehend. That we have been led here. No. Been herded, that’s a better word. Like we are being herded towards this place, for some awful purpose... by some dreadful ancient... Can’t you feel it?’
‘I can’t feel anything Meg, I’m numb all over. We need to get moving,’ said Roztov. He was no stranger to Meggelaine’s superstitions, visions and augurs and did not set much store by them.
‘Just wait,’ she insisted, holding up her hands. ‘Just wait a minute.’
Roztov was about to speak, but Ghene turned around and addressed them all.
‘Everyone get undercover, here come a flight of whites.’
No one had to be told twice, as they leapt into the bushes and lay flat. Only Ghene poked his head up to get a look at what was going on.
‘Six... seven... eight. Heading west. All white. As big as Broddor told us Mordran was.’
He watched for a while longer. Everyone tried to breathe as quietly as they could, irrational as that was, since the dragons were hundreds of yards overhead. The minutes stretched out for almost an hour until finally Ghene spoke again.
‘I think we can carry on now.’
They all stood up and brushed the dirt and leaves from their clothes.
Meggelaine, who was looking around, yelped, ‘Where is Ophess?’
‘She’s not with you?’ asked Roztov.
Ghene glanced around then looked at the forest floor. His expert eye followed her trail out of the area.
‘She’s gone.’
***
She wondered how long it would be before they realised they had lost her. Presumably at some point Meg would realise, have one of her panics and then get them all searching for her. Probably Ghene would find her and bring her back, or Roztov would come along and give her a telling off then drag her back to the group. No, he wouldn’t tell her off, he didn’t do that sort of thing. He’d just be dismissive of her, which was worse.
Well, she'd just enjoy the idea of them all being in a panic for a while longer. Served them right.
Too busy thinking about and talking about their own problems. Just because she had been quiet for a while didn't mean that she had turned invisible or that she'd forgotten that they had all promised that they would find her father.
She decided she hated them all, even Meg. It had all been a pack of lies, about finding him, to keep her quiet. She realised that now.
The forest opened up onto a path and she followed it, walking quickly, oblivious to the danger she was in. Imagine how angry they would be if she went in and they had to come and get her, she thought. It did occur to her that it might be dangerous, but the druids had said that the one they had called Mordran had been nice enough. As long as you didn't attack them like that stupid dwarf did then you'd probably be fine.
Viewed from where she was, the Spire was a cliff face, a wall of rock that ascended dizzyingly into the clouds, a near vertical wall of featureless stone.
From looking at it through the branches, she had expected it to enter the ground just like the roots of a pine tree, straight down into the earth. In her head she had pictured it like the harbour wall back at Tullis, which had a set of steps on it that lead to a solitary door. She had always thought that door odd, placed as it was in a wall as high as a house and as long as ten ships. She had asked her father once what was behind the door, but he had laughed and told her obvious lies.
The Spire was a mountain though, and further away than she had thought. She kept on thinking that the entrance, this harbour wall door, was going to be around the next bend, but the next bend led to another length of the path. And this path she was on, it was so inviting, she wanted to see what was around the next corner, then the next and then the next. There was no snow here; the forest was very pleasant, not too cold at all. She could even see what looked like fireflies flitting around in the deeper parts of the wood away from the path. It was magical, but in a good way. Her father had once taken her to his home town on Borland and down to this forest that he had said was full of fairies. She had seen lots of fireflies their and had been entranced by them, believing every word her father had said about them. She realised, older and wiser now, that he had been spinning stories, made up on the spot about fairy kings and princesses. They had just been fireflies.
The path didn't lead directly to the base of the spire as she had envisioned, but curved around and down, deeper into the trees. With no better plan, she kept following it until it came to a wooden door set into the base of a featureless rock wall. She was astounded, as it did look a lot like the door on the harbour wall of Tullis. The only difference being it was smaller, as if made for a child, and rounded at the top. She approached the door then looked up, but could not see beyond the trees, then looked back along the path. Still no sign of the druids coming to get her.
The door was hardly even five feet tall, a man would have had to bend down to get through it, but it was just the right height for her. It was also slightly open and for a second she thought she heard voices.
Holding her breath she pushed the door inwards and looked inside. She saw a long stone corridor that ended in another door. It was closed, but there was light coming from underneath it and she could faintly hear talking, high pitched voices that sounded a little bit like the way Meg talked.
Could there be fressles here? She tip toed along the corridor to the other door and then pressed her ear to it. The chatter continued, it sounded like there were four or five voices. Every so often one or more would laugh, a high pitched string of cackling squeaks. Whoever they were, they sounded like a jolly lot.
With no warning, the talking abruptly stopped. She took her ear from the door and stood back. A moment later it opened and she saw two strange beings looking up at her.
They were shorter than Meg, but not by much, they had wide black eyes, like mice, and pointed ears. They wore clothes, but had large shimmering wings on their backs, transparent like a bee’s.
One cooed at her. The other hissed, pulling back its lips to reveal little sharp teeth. She could see that the room beyond was like a small kitchen or something and that there were two more of these creatures sat at a table. They had apparently been playing a card game.
Before she could recover her senses, one of the grabbed her hand and yanked her inside, while the other locked the door and pocketed the key.
Chapter 11
Inside the Spire
Ophess panicked, banged on the door, rattled the handle and tugged it as hard as she could. When that was of no use she went after the creature that she thought had the key. They were unnaturally fast and easily avoided her.
‘Stop laughing at me!’ she yelled at them as they cackled and fluttered around the room.
She chased one round the table and then cornered it at the hearth. Laughing it flew up the chimney, where she could then hear it spluttering, coughing and giggling. She hesitated, not wanting to get close to the fire, but then it shot out of the chimney again in a cloud of soot that hit her right in the face.
‘Oh you horrible..!’ she coughed. ‘You wretched things!’
As she stood and coughed, trying to wipe the soot and tears from her face, one of the females handed her a clean wet cloth. She snatched it and cleaned her face with it.
The female cooed at her and motioned her to sit at the small table.
‘Oh, what’s the point?’ snarled Ophess, but she sat down. The female brought her a cup of tea from the stove.
These beings looked a bit like fressles, she supposed, except for the wings and sharp teeth. Her father was from Borland, but she had been raised in Tullis, one of the busiest ports of Nillamandor, so she’d seen a lot of strange people. She remembered once,
down at the docks, she’d seen cages with little creatures in them, a bit like these things that were tormenting her now. The sailors had called them pixies. They’d been no more than two feet tall and had had the same gossamer wings. She’d been too young to ask where they had come from or where they were being taken too, but she still remembered it clearly.
She sipped the tea from the small cup. It was sweet. ‘You lot are pixies then? Pixies? No?’
She giggled. She felt like a giant in this room. The chair was so small her knees were right up at her chest. She couldn’t fit under the table. The two female pixies cooed and soothed her.
‘You live here then? No dragons?’
She laughed inexplicably, suddenly finding it funny that such small people lived in such a big mountain. This room was very warm from the fireplace, she realised, and the tea was making her sleepy. She put her empty cup down and rested her elbows on her knees. She then rested her chin in her hands and shut her eyes. Just for a moment.
She woke up to find that the fire had gone out and that the room was empty. She yawned and stretched. She felt like she’d been asleep for hours. Where had the pixies gone?
She tried the door she had come in by. It was locked. Looking around she saw that there was another small door in the opposite wall and that it was ajar. She walked over and opened it, to reveal a short corridor that led to some steps.
Sure that the druids would come to get her soon anyway, she walked over to the steps and looked up them. They went up quite far then turned. She started to climb, but found the steps awkwardly small.
‘Why do they need steps at all if they can fly?’ she said to herself.
Eventually the stairs ended in another narrow, low ceilinged corridor. There were no windows and she was starting to feel claustrophobic. She felt like a rat lodged in a drain.
There was nothing else for it though, each time she came to another door and went through it, it mysteriously locked behind her. She passed along more corridors and laboriously climbed more of the irritatingly narrow stairs.
After climbing for what felt like hours, and after several breaks to get her breath back she came to yet another small wooden door. It was slightly open so she pushed it enough to get out. This time, instead of another small corridor there was a pillar in front of her and with some relief she found she was now in a very high-ceilinged, wide and airy hall.
The floor was made of polished marble, there were stained glass windows on the opposite wall letting light in, but colouring it pale blue. She couldn’t tell if the floor was blue, or if it just looked that way because of the light. She walked softly into the middle of the hall and looked along it in both directions. There was a set of double doors not far from her so she decided to head towards them. She remembered that her father had once taken her to the temple of Blimaron in Oban and this place reminded her of that. There were no priests though, or supplicants come to get their boils cured or whatever reason they had for being there, this place was deserted.
Ophess never thought for a moment that her father could be dead; it was far too bad a thing for her to comprehend. Much easier to blame the druids and think that they were lying to her, saying they were looking for him when they were doing no such thing. He was probably still lost somewhere. Or maybe, because he was really clever, he had already found a boat and was searching the coast looking for her. He must be somewhere! All she knew was that he loved her more than anything. Why else did he buy her so many presents and always take her on his voyages? If there were any just gods in the world she would be reunited with him soon. He was the only one that understood her, that could talk to her properly. Without him she had nothing, was nothing. She shuddered and put such thoughts from her mind.
There seemed to be no one here at all and it seemed strange that such a big place was deserted. The hall she was walking along led to a wide sweeping stair case. This time the steps came up to nearly he waist and she had to clamber up each one. Was there nothing in this place built to a human scale?
After the giant stairs she followed another, even wider hall along to a set of tall double doors. They led into a chamber as big as the inside of a temple, but lighter and uncluttered. There was a single huge table in the middle of it.
The table was taller than her, so she enjoyed the sensation of walking under it to cross the room. Open doors, each as tall as a ships mast, lead to another set of big stone steps that spiralled up to the next floor. There was no one around at all, not even any of those little pixie things. Was it only them that lived here? Maybe there were no dragons at all in this place. And yet, having seen their clothes and their small rooms, she had a feeling that the pixies were servants.
Serving who though?
This hall was as wide as the main street in Tullis and had closed doors on either side of it. They were far too big for her to open so she walked down the middle of the hall to a big set of double doors that stood slightly open.
There was no way the pixies could have built this. She felt like a fressle in the lands of men, everything was far too big. There were carvings in the marble doors and frescos on the walls of dragons. This place was built to their scale, it had to be for them, but where were they?
A gust of wind, that seemed to come from nowhere, blew her hat off, so she picked it up and put it in her pocket. She rubbed her short hair as she wondered how high up she was now. None of the windows were low enough for her to look out of though.
The doors were wide enough open for her to enter the next room. It was another large chamber, with a table and two things that looked like beds or sofas, if a sofa had been built for an elephant.
There was a set of windows that went all the way to the floor at the far end of the chamber, that looked out over a balcony. They were shut and the handles were far too big and high up for her to reach.
As she stood and looked at them, the windows seemed to open by themselves, the handles both going down at the same time. The doors then slowly swung inwards, enough to let in a gentle breeze from outside. The sailor in her wondered at the craftsmanship in those huge wrought iron and glass doors that they were so perfectly balanced that even a puff of air could move them. Each of them must have weighed a ton, yet they opened smoothly and silently.
Cautiously she walked through the windows and out onto the balcony. It was carved out of the rock of the Spire and had no guard rail. A gentle wind blew across it.
She edged as close as she dared to the side and took in the majestic view of the coast. She could see across the forest and out to sea and beyond the sea she could see the wall of fog that ringed the island. She gazed out over the water, having more than half expected to see her father in a ship, waving up at her. There was nothing out on the water though, not even gulls. After a while the cold winter wind made her shiver, so she turned to go back in.
She walked back into the room and shrugged. What now? Probably if she waited long enough a little bird would fly in through the doors, then whatever druid it was would turn into a whatever, she’d jump on its back and they’d fly her back again. She may as well climb onto one of those elephant sofas and have a nap. Once she was up, she lay back on the soft leather upholstery. She turned her head and looked around, what a strange piece of furniture this was, big enough for a giant and weirdly deep, like a huge elevated dog basket. A breeze blew in from outside and she glanced round, thinking she’d seen something out of the corner of her eye. Had it been a pixie?
She hoped down again, and crossed to the inner doors. Strange that they were now shut. When it had been the little doors closing behind her, she had assumed it had been those tricky pixies. Had a pixie now closed these massive portals? She didn’t think so; it would have taken about twenty of them with ropes.
She reached up, standing on tiptoes, and tried the handles but she couldn’t move them.
‘Oh, for...’
She stamped her foot then looked around defiantly. There was no one to scream at, so she went back to the sofa and climb
ed onto it again.
‘Well it doesn’t matter,’ she said to herself. ‘I’ve seen all there is to see anyway. I’ll just wait for one of those stupid druids to turn up. Then I’ll scream and scream at them until they promise that everyone concentrates on finding father from now on.’
She settled back on the sofa and stared up at the ceiling. There was a sort of geometric swirling pattern up there. She passed the time by tracing it with her eyes.
***
Meggelaine was beside herself with anxiety.
‘Oh, this is all my fault! I should have been watching her. She’d been so quiet lately though, and I was so bound up in my own fears. Oh dear! She could have gone an hour ago and I’d not have noticed. I’ll go after her right now, which way did she go Ghene?’
‘Now now,’ said Roztov making downward gestures with his hands as Meggelaine’s voice grew more and more shrill. ‘You’re not attuned for tearing around in the forest. You’re attuned for healing.’
‘Well, you are set up for battle,’ she retorted.
‘It has to be me that goes after her,’ put in Ghene as he studied the earth around them. ‘I’m the one attuned for scouting.’
‘Why not me?’ grunted Broddor. ‘I’ve the one with the dragon proof armour and the all-seeing helmet.’
‘Overruled,’ said Roztov quickly. ‘You just want to go looking for Mordran. Plus, you’re a maniac.’
‘I don’t care about whose attuned or whatever magic they have, it should be me,’ cried Meggelaine again. ‘I was too busy peeing my pants and trying to burrow into the ground while those dragons went over that I forgot about poor Ophess and now she's gone and its all my fault!’
‘You are too distraught, sweetie,’ soothed Roztov.