Nessa was hauled to her feet and gave Caroc an accusing stare—she was still angry with him.
“Maybe just a little bit of butter,” Thok called out as his meal left the tent.
Caroc was taken outside to the village centre, a muddy square whose main attraction was a giant cooking pot, and locked in a wooden cage. He studied the surrounding huts. In one of them Nessa was being butchered, and it was his fault.
Young toadoks wandered over and started using Caroc as a practice target for their blowpipes.
The children soon tired of their game and drifted away. The darts weren’t poisoned, and Caroc found his muscle control return to him.
A fire was set under the large pot. The children came back with buckets filled with water from the nearby river. Fistfuls of herbs and baskets of orange banyan roots were tossed in too.
As the brew began to bubble and froth, toadoks, attracted by the smell, emerged from the huts and gathered around the pot. Last to make her appearance was the main ingredient. She didn’t arrive in a basket or bucket but on her own feet. She carried her meat with pride to the pot.
Caroc whimpered when he spotted her. A wet, red horror. He wouldn’t have known it was his sweet Nessa except for her large emerald eyes. They’d skinned her alive and were making her walk to the pot. Over one toadok’s shoulder was slung her birthday suit.
A tentative toe at first tested the water only to be jerked back. The water was much too hot. This wasn’t a warm bath. The toadoks didn’t take kindly to their rebellious meat and pushed her into the water. The pot tottered, dangerously close to toppling.
Nessa came up gasping and thrashing.
Caroc wanted to shout out to her that she was right and he should have listened, but the muscles in his throat were still semi-paralysed and the only sound that came out was a strangled cry.
Nessa tried to scramble out of the pot, but an army of apprentice chefs prised her fingers off the scalding iron lip and pushed her back into the steaming water. She trod water and cried until her body could take no more. Slowly, she sank into the stewy depths only to re-emerge bobbling up and down with chunks of banyan root.
When she was tender, the toadoks pulled the meat from her bones, heaped a portion in a bucket-sized bowl, and splashed it with buttery, parsley sauce for the chief.
The rest of Nessa was served to the tribe. A bowl, steaming as if Nessa was trying to ascend to the heavens, was left beside his cage to taunt him until a greedy child ran off with it.
Caroc closed his eyes to the horror. The slurping sounds of the toadoks devouring the stew, and the images of Nessa walking to the pot replayed over and over in his mind. He grabbed his head and crushed his fingers against his skull to try to smash the flashbacks. He had to escape. He couldn’t take this anymore—to die as Nessa had would be unendurable.
Caroc started to gnaw on the hard wood with his teeth. Pierced by splinters, his tongue swelled to the thickness of an eel. Early in the morning, when the sun rose oblivious to the horrors the moon had presided over, he chewed his way through the second bar and squeezed through. He spared a final look for the stew pot lying on its side, a pool of fat glistening in the mud, and Nessa’s bones lying cracked, the marrow sucked out, before disappearing into the forest.
Blodwen led Goron an hour downstream to an ancient willow tree near the water’s edge. Beneath its leafy canopy, on a bed of moss as soft as any mattress, they made love. “Will you stay here with me always and be my lover?” Blodwen asked as hot and weary they slipped into the murky waters of the river.
“Always.” All he needed was Blodwen and his axe, and he knew he would be happy. Wichsault be damned. Morwen and her curses be damned, and that cowardly ranger be damned.
After they had bathed, Goron complained of his hunger. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday evening. She left him to doze in the shade of the willow while she foraged for wild berries.
Goron’s stomach rumbled. He was too ravenous to sleep, and berries would do little to satisfy his hunger. He wandered down to the river in search of the ugly, bulbous fish he’d had for dinner the night before. Instead, he found fat, silver fish sunning themselves in the shallows on the riverbanks.
He grabbed at one, but the fish changed from a silver stone to a shooting arrow. They all teased him the same way—couldn’t they see how hungry he was? He tried to cleave some with his axe, but all he did was dull the blade on the river rocks.
The only thing for it was to make a spear. He cut a limb, nearly as hard as iron, from a ruinwood tree and set about whittling it into the desired shape with his axe. The axe was a cumbersome tool, and it took him three attempts before he was satisfied. It was late afternoon when he trudged back through the columns of trees to the river.
The fish were still there teasing him with their stone-like stillness. Goron grinned. Didn’t they know that he was the best shot in the guards with a spear? Three were skewered before the news spread, and the fish sought a safer spot to sun themselves. He gutted them in the river and returned to the willow.
Nibbling the moss where he’d made love only hours before with Blodwen, was a doe. She looked up as Goron approached but didn’t judge him a threat, despite the axe and the spear, and resumed her meal.
Fish and venison...it would be a feast. Goron’s stomach growled at the thought. A loud grumble that made the deer’s ears twitch in alarm.
Goron inched closer and made hushing sounds to soothe the animal, arms outstretched to show he meant no harm. The doe soon lost interest in him and again returned her attention to the moss.
At ten feet Goron decided he was close enough and took aim.
The spear thudded into the deer’s chest, where it vibrated like an arrow that had struck a tree trunk. The doe’s chestnut brown eyes rolled back in agony and terror. Taking no chances, Goron leapt upon it, his weight forcing it to its knees. One crank of the deer’s slender neck, and the animal’s agony ended.
Goron might be living in the forest naked with only an axe, but he wasn’t going to eat his meat and fish raw. Ruinwood was hard to cut and smelled like burning rocks when it was used for firewood. Willow wood, on the other hand, cut easily and gave off a sweet, marshy scent when it burned.
The ancient tree didn’t take long to fell, but he was no woodsman, and it toppled toward the water. Midway the gnarled branches clawed at the air until the trunk splintered from its roots and the old willow splashed into the river it had watched over for centuries. Goron sat on the ringed stump and looked at the knotted boughs as they slowly submerged. No mind, he didn’t need much wood.
As the willow fell, a cry resounded from deep in the forest. The long, mournful sound grew to a piteous wail that rose above the howling of the wind through the trees.
Goron shrugged it off and gutted the doe, flinging its entrails into the river to entice the fish back. They accepted the gift and churned up the water in their feeding frenzy.
The doe’s meat was lean and tender. It would make a delicious meal. He wrapped the fish in the giant leaves of a swamp plant and placed them on the edge of the fire to cook gradually. The deer he skewered with a spit and suspended over the flames. Goron slowly turned the meat. The juices dripped onto the blazing logs, then sputtered into the drifts of fragrant smoke. The skin began to brown and crisp, seared by the flames.
The aroma of cooking meat and fish filled the night air. Blodwen hadn’t returned and Goron could wait no longer. He’d wolfed down the haunches and two of the fish and was tearing the last of the meat from a front leg when Blodwen silently appeared. She stood by the fire and stared down at the roast deer.
Disappointingly she hadn’t brought the promised fruit. He fancied something sweet after so much flesh. “Where are the berries?” His body was smeared with meat juices. He’d have to bathe again before they made love and retired for the night.
Blodwen didn’t reply. She turned her back on the fire. Her s
hapely buttocks became golden in the firelight—there could be no greater treasure in all the world. Goron’s loins began to stiffen—the bath would have to wait.
She wandered over to the willow tree and traced her finger along the wounds Goron had wrought on the trunk as he severed it. Her finger came away streaked with sticky sap.
“Mm,” Goron said flinging a leg bone into the trees, “you have got to try this meat. It’s so tender it just melts in your mouth. Darndest thing, it was from a young doe, practically let me butcher it.” He stood up and wiped the meat juice from his chin with the back of his forearm then stretched his back with a series of pops and cracks.
“If you don’t fancy the meat, I saved a fish for you.” He gestured with his hand to the leafy package he’d pulled away from the fire. “I’ll catch some more tomorrow and maybe another deer if I’m lucky.”
Blodwen returned to the fire and squatted at its edge. She looked tired, her head was lowered and her shoulders sagged. When she looked up at Goron there were tears streaming down her cheeks.
“The deer was my friend. She felt safe by the tree. No one would dare hurt her there.”
She must be one of those vegetarians, Goron decided. There had been some at the castle who protested outside the butchery on occasion. He met her gaze and squared his shoulders. No one was going to tell him what to eat. In his view, men needed meat with every meal, or they wouldn’t have the strength to swing their axes.
Goron picked a piece of gristle out of his teeth and flicked it away. “Your friend was delicious.” He jutted out his chin and pulled the last leg off the deer with a pop. All this talking had rekindled his appetite, and he crammed as much of the meat into his mouth as he could.
“Her name was Iia. She was a forest nymph.
“Funny looking forest nymph.” Goron glanced at the leg turning it over in his hand. “Looks like a deer to me.”
“How can I make you understand? Maybe if I show you her true form, how I see her.” Goron ripped off another strip of meat and forced it into his mouth.
Blodwen’s lips moved soundlessly. The meat on the spit began to glow with a faint green light and, to Goron’s alarm, so too did the joint of meat in his hand.
The carcass on the spit began to change shape to become the torso of a woman, skin burnt golden brown. The joint of meat transformed into an arm—hand still attached—flesh picked to the bone. Goron let a wad of masticated forest nymph fall from his mouth.
His stomach lurched violently like a boat in a storm.
“She was over two hundred years old. She didn’t deserve to die like this.” Blodwen moved through the flames to the carcass and caressed it, oblivious to the heat.
Goron didn’t want to hear he’d just eaten an old woman. Bile rose to the back of his throat. He suddenly felt very dizzy and pitched off his log onto his hands and knees. His stomach did a summersault. The mountain of meat had had enough of this mistreatment and decided it wanted to escape.
A tidal wave of vomit gushed out of him, splashing in the fire with a hiss and sending up a foul-smelling steam cloud. “By Murdus,” Goron groaned and rolled onto his back into the cool, soothing moss.
Blodwen continued. “There are much older nymphs that come here. Marvark, an owl, often sits in my boughs. He is over six hundred years old. There is Lucas, a black bear, who came down from the mountains four hundred years ago. I remember the day like it was yesterday. And there is Osha, a fox, who…”
“Wait! Back up, the owl used to sit in your branches and four hundred years ago you met a bear from the mountains?”
“The willow tree you cut down. We are one. I am Blodwen, the Green Lady, Goddess of the Forest. I’ve been here since the mountains were young, drinking deep from its rivers, and watching over my children.”
“You’re a forest goddess?” He glanced at the mound of meat steaming on the verge of the fire and felt another wave of nausea.
“I am.”
Goron thought the firelight was playing tricks upon him. Blodwen appeared translucent, a shimmer of fading light.
I’ve always loved men and taken thousands as my lovers. I’ve admired their courage and pride, but most of all I’ve admired their lust. I was warned they would bring ruin to the forest, but I did not believe something I loved so much, something that was part of nature, could bring harm.” Blodwen threw her head back and laughed. Goron could hear the wind in her throat and the rustle of the trees. “I see now I was wrong.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know about the tree or the deer. I…I don’t think I’ll be able to eat meat again, not after tonight. His eyes went to the corpse still smouldering above the fire. “I’ll stay by your side and eat berries and leaves and whatever else you people eat. I’ll never harm another living thing.”
“You don’t understand.” Blodwen moved from the fire back to the tree, walking its long trunk to where it dipped into the river. Goron rose unsteadily to his feet and followed. It wasn’t a trick of the firelight, Blodwen was fading. He could see the water, shimmering in the moonlight, shining through her.
“When a lifetree dies, the goddess it gave birth to dies with it.” She sat down on the dying trunk and trailed her feet in the water. The water rippled as if a gentle breeze were blowing over it.
It was that damn curse again. Morwen had a lot to answer for. Blodwen’s death and the murder of that innocent forest nymph were on her, not him. “Is there anything I can do, plant one of the tree’s seeds and regrow you. I’ll water you every day and wait, I promise.”
“No,” she was completely translucent now. A vague outline against the moon-soaked river.
He sat down beside her and put his arm around her. His arm fell down to his side, she had no physical presence now.
“Live and love,” she said.
“I can’t, I’m cursed.” But she didn’t hear. Blodwen was gone.
Caroc never heard the toadoks. He felt a prick on his neck and slapped at the offending insect. His hand struck the feathered end of a dart, and he shouted a warning. The three of them rapidly turned into pin cushions as the air bristled with the pointed barbs.
Szat fell from Morwen’s shoulder and thudded to the ground.
Morwen sank to her knees. Her mouth worked soundlessly trying to cast one last spell to save them. The staff dropped from her limp fingers as she slumped onto the grass, and her lips ceased to move.
Caroc swayed on his weakening legs. He scanned the surrounding forest, desperate to see the enemy, but there were only the trees and an eerie silence. His fingers, now numb, released the arrow. It sailed harmlessly into the primal gloom. Too feeble to support his weight any longer, Caroc’s legs buckled, and he sagged to the ground.
He lay on his back and stared up at the trunks of the ruinwood trees that pointed to the heavens. Puffs of clouds floated above forming abstract patterns. The toadoks crept from the woods, no doubt cautious after their failed attack on Wichsault.
They squabbled over who would have the honour of delivering their guests to the chief. With that decided, they began the process of swallowing their prisoners—a longer process for the lean but six-foot-tall Caroc. The belly was full of partially digested fish, and the stench was pungent. He wondered if it was the same toadok as previously. If he had known he’d be back, he would have scratched ‘Caroc was here.’
Goron realized there would be no escaping his curse, no love in a faraway land. The curse had followed him deep into the wilds. His destiny was never to enjoy the ‘company of women’ again, nor, it seemed, meat. The very thought of eating flesh made him gag. What had he become?
He had to find the source of the blight destroying Wichsault. By finishing the quest, he had a chance that all would be returned to normality. As Wichsault’s saviour, he reasoned, it would be his right to make the odd demand, like having Morwen lift her curse.
Boosted by his reckoning,
he ran back to the campsite where only a day before he’d abandoned his companions. It was deserted—he wasn’t surprised. They’d left his pack, ransacked as if by wild beasts. Food packets were torn and strewn around the campsite along with a few personal sundries. The only items untouched were the apples he’d picked from the orchard near the cemetery and some dried fruit. The ashes of the fire were cold. They must have woken, found him missing, said their blessings, and hurried off.
He had no idea what to do. Should he charge off through the forest, naked and vulnerable, to search for his companions, or should he go back to Wichsault, defeated?
He scowled at the thought of returning a failure. Standing there unclothed, he would have to admit to trading his companions and the fate of the castle and its inhabitants for a day of passion with a goddess whom he incidentally killed. He’d be a laughingstock, at least until the castle crumpled to dust, and he’d be blamed for that too.
Torn with indecision, Goron paced the river’s edge until he spotted his clothes and armour hanging on the tree branch where he’d left them. He waded out and retrieved them. It appeared his mind had been made up for him. He’d try to find Morwen and Caroc. And if he found them, he certainly wouldn’t be telling them the truth.
Goron was no tracker, but he knew Caroc was following the river to the toadoks’ camp. He’d do the same. He stuffed the few remaining items back in his pack and set off.
The journey back to the toadoks’ village took longer than Caroc had expected. His transport suffered several cases of severe indigestion, and Caroc was vomited up only to be reswallowed. The third time he was relieved, whatever the outcome might be, to be regurgitated at the chief’s feet. He’d grown fatter since Caroc last saw him. His diet wasn’t working for him. He was seated on a ruinwood chair polished to a black gloss; his chin rested on his gigantic, swollen belly.
The chieftess was at his side. She’d dressed for the occasion in a white, stained linen dress, stolen from a farm or the castle, instead of her usual drab flax attire. In addition to the yellow stains, the garment was threadbare and displayed all the assets that had secured her spot at the chief’s side. She was heavily made up. The cosmetics had been applied with doubtful finesse, as if she had dragged an artist’s palette across her leathery skin.
Dark Rot Page 9
