Jungledrop

by Abi Elphinstone

  Fox took a deep breath. ‘So somehow we’ve got to save the world. And all we own is a doubleskin mirror and a fablespoon.’

  The sloth nodded. Heckle did the same.

  ‘I feel like I should have a sword or something,’ Fox said. ‘Or at the very least some kneepads or a gumshield.’ She looked at the sloth. ‘How are we going to do this, Fibber? We need to find Shadowfall, but we don’t have a clue where to start…’

  The sloth stared at Fox with shining eyes and she couldn’t help feeling that he was trying to tell her something. Thankfully, Heckle stepped in at exactly the right moment.

  ‘Fibber is thinking that you should press on north, further into the Bonelands, because the flickertug map seemed to suggest the Forever Fern was in that direction. And that you should stay alert for Morg’s Midnights, but offer kindness, rather than stamping, to any creatures you might meet who are on Jungledrop’s side.’ There was a pause. ‘Fibber also thinks you should let Heckle perch on your shoulder from time to time when she gets tired of flying.’

  The sloth raised a sceptical eyebrow as if to say there might have been some elaborating on the parrot’s part.

  Fox managed a weak smile. ‘You can perch on me whenever you’re tired, Heckle.’

  The parrot ruffled her feathers in delight and Fox scooped Fibber’s drawings into her satchel with the phoenix tear, the mirror and the fablespoon. Then she yanked off her tie and tossed it into the tunnel – she hadn’t been altogether convinced it had really worked with the feather tunic anyway. She crawled towards the entrance of the tunnel and tried to think clearly. She was no longer a businesswoman, but she was a woman with a purpose nonetheless. So she would have to try, for the sake of the world and everyone in it, not to mess this up.

  Mist hung about the trees outside, low and thick and brooding. And there was a strange hissing noise not so far away that made the hairs on Fox’s arms prickle. But when she strained her ears to listen again, the forest seemed unnaturally quiet. She turned to see that Heckle had hopped after her, but Fibber was – unsurprisingly – moving at the pace of a sloth, and a pygmy one at that. Slowly. So slowly, it was hard to tell if he was moving at all.

  Fox hesitated for a moment before picking the sloth up. She’d never really held hands with or hugged her brother, or anyone for that matter, before. But she knew that if she didn’t help Fibber now there would be no way he’d keep up. And so, carefully, shyly, Fox lifted the little sloth in her arms. He looked up at Fox hopefully and she had to fight everything inside her to stop bursting into tears again. Having her heart out in the open and trying to be kind meant that the slightest thing seemed to set her off.

  She scooped her brother onto her back and Fibber wrapped his furry arms round her neck, his small, clawed paws closing in a knot under her chin. Fox smiled at the brush of fur against her skin; it wasn’t exactly a hug, but it felt as warm and as safe as she imagined hugs might feel.

  And, though Fox had made a number of mistakes out in Jungledrop, she knew she’d got one thing right as she stepped out into the mist. She’d teamed up with her brother. And she hoped that having a sibling on her side, or on her back as was the case now, could make the difference between winning and losing in a forest full of dark magic.

  Fox walked deeper into the Bonelands, picking a path through the withered trees and rotten plants while Heckle flew on a few metres ahead. So thick was the mist that now and again Fox wondered whether the parrot had flown off completely, but she always reappeared in the end, a jolt of colour against the gloom. Eventually, the mist thickened so much that Fox couldn’t even see the ground beneath her feet. She felt the sloth tighten his paws round her neck.

  ‘Heckle,’ Fox whispered. ‘Where are you?’

  The reply that came was not a squawk but a hiss. A long, rasping hiss that needled its way through the mist.

  Fox leapt back. The hiss came again. It was close. So close it seemed to scratch the insides of her ear and, at the sound of it, Fox scuttled sideways which, it turned out, was exactly what the hissing creatures wanted.

  The ground beneath Fox’s feet fell away and she shot downwards with a scream. The only reason she didn’t fall any further was because she managed to grab two fistfuls of weeds, but now she was dangling above a large, soily pit. She clung to the weeds on the rim and the sloth clung to her for all he was worth.

  And then the hissing sounded again.

  Fox forced herself to glance down, then immediately wished she hadn’t. Beneath her the pit was full of vipers. And there were so many of them they wove in and out of each other, all patterned scales and flickering tongues, like a heap of slithering chains. But what sent a rush of fear right through Fox was the realisation that the snakes were, one by one, raising their heads and their black fangs were getting closer and closer to her feet.

  Fox tried to haul herself out of the pit, but the weeds she clung to were wet and rotten and, every time she gained a few centimetres, a handful would snap off and she’d have to reach for another clump to stop herself tumbling into the pit.

  ‘Heckle!’ she gasped. ‘I need your help! Where are you?!’

  But the parrot was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the bird had gone so far ahead she hadn’t even heard Fox scream.

  Fox scrabbled for a firmer hold as the snake tongues got nearer still, but no matter how hard she tried to pull herself out she just couldn’t. The hissing grew louder and panic seized Fox’s body so that all she could do was cling on, her eyes bulging with fear. And, had it not been for the little sloth hugging her tight, she might well have given up then and let herself fall to her doom. But she clung on, even when the first of the vipers raked at the skin of her ankle with its fang.

  Fox cried out. Not from pain but from the deadening sensation that was now spreading through her leg. The snake’s fangs were coated in poison, that much was clear, and it was a poison that seemed to be turning her foot to – Fox glanced down – stone!

  It was then that Heckle came to the rescue. She had heard Fox scream when she fell and she had heard her scream again when the first of the vipers attacked. She had been gaining height, climbing up through the sky as high as she dared, to lend her ambush speed and force, so that when she did, finally, come hurtling down from the canopy, she was a fury of talons and feathers.

  The parrot squawked and screeched as she batted at the snakes with her wings, tore at their scales with her talons and pecked as hard as she could with her beak. Thankfully, whatever curse the viper’s poison had laid on Fox’s leg hadn’t had time to set in for good because, as she looked down, she saw it was returning to normal, no longer stone but skin. And having Heckle come to her rescue spurred Fox on to try to haul herself out of the pit again.

  She pulled with renewed strength, buoyed by the knowledge that the jungle’s most emotionally intrusive parrot was battling for her, as if she actually mattered and was worth fighting for.

  Fox yanked herself free of the pit and ran blindly on. Heckle followed. The parrot was missing several feathers, but she was alive and free from the vipers. And, with the sloth still clinging to Fox’s back, the three of them tore through the forest, away from the pit, as fast as they could. Fox didn’t even stop when she felt a paw pinching her cheek.

  ‘Ouch,’ Fox panted as she leapt over a fallen tree and ran on. ‘What did you do that for, Fibber?’

  It was Heckle who replied. ‘Fibber is trying to remind you to thank Heckle for her marvellous rescue back there.’

  Fox bit her lip. There was so much to remember when saving the world: staying alive, running fast, thanking others for saving you.

  ‘Thank you, Heckle,’ Fox panted. ‘You really were magnificent in that pit. Iggy would have been so proud.’

  Fox wasn’t familiar with expressing gratitude, but surprisingly saying thank you had actually felt quite nice and not at all like a weakness as she’d thought it might. And, had she not been running for her life, she wondered whether this might have been an opportunity fo
r a high five or perhaps a handshake or even a hug? She’d have to remember that next time someone charged in and saved her life.

  Heckle seemed thrilled at the praise, though, and she twirled in delight before flying on ahead. Fox hurried through the undergrowth, deeper into the Bonelands, and, though it was a bit cumbersome running with a sloth and a satchel on her back, she was glad of her brother’s presence. It made the quest a little less lonely and frightening.

  The snakes didn’t follow them, as Fox had feared, but she heard them send their hiss out into the mist. It coiled round her before moving on and she realised that there were words in the sound and they were intended for someone else entirely:

  ‘We send this hiss out to our queen

  To tell her just what we have seen.

  A Faraway girl is in our home:

  It’s time now, Morg; time to roam.’

  Fox put her hands over her ears and ran on through the trees. ‘They’re telling Morg to come after me, aren’t they?’

  Heckle fluttered level with her, but didn’t say anything, and Fox didn’t bat her away. Both the girl and the parrot knew that Morg would be after them soon and they had to stick together at all costs.

  Fox kept running, but the doubts were spinning inside her now. She didn’t have a plan – not a proper one anyway – so what hope did she and her companions have of finding the Forever Fern? She remembered Goldpaw’s words back in Doodler’s Haven with dismay: ‘Don’t get lost, don’t get tricked and be careful what you eat.’ She’d already been careless about what she’d given Fibber to eat and now it was becoming dreadfully clear that she was getting very lost indeed. The mist curled through the trees in great bands of white, masking the way ahead and behind and around her. Fox felt almost dizzy. How long had she been running and had she made any progress at all?

  ‘We could be going in circles for all I know!’ Fox cried out to Heckle.

  The sloth nuzzled into her neck, as if to urge his sister on, and Fox kept running because the alternative – waiting for Morg and her Midnights to come and finish them off – didn’t bear thinking about. The mist thinned a little and Fox found that she could see the lie of the land a bit better now. She was on a path of sorts, which led through an avenue of bare-branched trees that loomed over her like the bars of a cage. And nailed to the trunks of these trees were gilt-framed mirrors.

  Fox jumped at the reflection she saw in the one she was hastening past. It showed her face, her fear unable to hide itself, only Fox was older in the mirror. Much older. Her skin was grey and sagging, her back hunched and her hair straggly and grey. Fox grabbed her plait and pulled it forward. She breathed a sigh of relief to see that it was still thick and red. The mirrors were lying, obviously goading passers-by into thinking they’d been lost in the mist for years and years. Fox shuddered and hurried on past the last of the mirrors.

  There were stones around the trunks of the trees now and they rose up out of the soil in rigid grey blocks. Fox peered closer. The stones were rectangular with words carved upon them.

  ‘Gravestones,’ she murmured.

  Heckle swooped down onto Fox’s shoulder and shivered. ‘Heckle does not think it wise to read the inscriptions on the unhappy ending plants.’

  But Fox couldn’t tear her eyes away because there, in front of her, was a gravestone that bore her name:

  In unloving memory of

  Fox Petty-Squabble.

  Who died, on this day

  – chewed apart by gloombeetles –

  utterly unloved and alone and useless.

  Fox whimpered. ‘Even the plants know I’m good for nothing and are predicting I’ll die rather than find the Forever Fern.’ Then she gasped, and the sloth around her neck stiffened, as they spotted the gravestone next to hers:

  RIP,

  Fibber Petty-Squabble.

  Who died, on this day

  – munched by a Midnight –

  and stuck, in the underworld, as a sloth for all eternity.

  Fox reached up a hand to clutch the sloth’s paw. ‘They think I’ve no hope of changing you back into a boy!’ she cried.

  Heckle tutted. ‘Heckle knows never to trust dark magic or to take it personally.’

  But when they passed the next gravestone –

  Unlovingly remembered

  parrot called Heckle.

  Who died, on this day

  – savaged by a witchcroc –

  having failed his best friend, Iggy, who remained lost for ever.

  – the parrot dissolved into a gibbering wreck. ‘Dying without finding Iggy?!’ she wailed. ‘Oh, just the thought of it breaks my feathery heart!’

  Fox quickened her pace, despite her own anxiety, to prevent Heckle losing it altogether. They carried on through the trees, and Fox tried not to dwell on the fact that instead of buds or leaves dangling from the branches there were now tiny, clinking skulls. She looked down at her feet, to steady her nerves, which was when she noticed that the path was about to fork. She craned her neck to see that a little way ahead the path split again, then doubled back on itself. She scoured the trees and saw that there were dozens of paths all leading off in different directions. This was a maze of options and she no longer had any idea which path was the right one.

  Heckle, still perched on Fox’s shoulder, twisted her head closer to the sloth. ‘Please think a little louder, Fibber. It might help us.’

  Fox waited on the path and Heckle waited on her shoulder. Then the parrot said: ‘Fibber can’t help us with a way out of this maze, but he wants you to remember all the people who believe in you, Fox. My dear Iggy, Goldpaw, Doogie Herbalsneeze – not to mention Fibber himself and Jungledrop’s most impressive parrot. So have faith in yourself and choose a path.’

  Fox thought back to meeting Iggy, of how full of hope and excitement he’d been when he’d met Fox and Fibber on their arrival in Jungledrop. She thought of Goldpaw’s message through the fireflies saying that she and Brightfur believed in her. She thought of Doogie telling her she’d find the Forever Fern in the end. She thought of the way her brother had shown her he wasn’t going to leave her by putting his paw on her knee in the bramble tunnel and the way the parrot had saved her from the vipers. And she felt just a tiny bit braver than she had done before.

  Fox blew out through her lips, then she took the path she hoped would lead north. But the further down it they went, the more the mist thickened and the more her doubts grew.

  ‘I think we’re going south again!’ Fox cried. ‘It’s impossible to know which way is north!’

  She stopped dead in her tracks. There was a noise close by. A frantic, fluttering sound followed by short, sharp clinks. Fox tucked herself behind a tree, then she and Heckle peered out. Fox frowned. Hanging down into the screen of mist, from the branches of a rotten tree, were dozens of cages, each one the size of a shoebox. The bars of these cages were small and incredibly close together. They had to be because the prisoners inside were butterflies. Hundreds of glass-winged creatures who seemed to be desperately trying to break free.

  Fox watched them beating their wings against the bars of the cages, again and again, unable to get out.

  ‘Heckle has seen glasswing butterflies in the past on their migrations through Jungledrop, but never before has she seen them trapped by dark magic.’ She lowered her voice. ‘It is a sin in this kingdom to imprison winged things.’

  The butterflies flung themselves again and again at the bars.

  ‘Perhaps this is what Morg’s Midnights do to creatures who stray into the Bonelands,’ Fox whispered. ‘Trap them before taking them to wherever Morg is hiding so that she can somehow steal their magic…’

  Fox knew that she needed to press on with her quest, but something deep inside made her hesitate. Something that wouldn’t have stirred within her at all had the wall around her heart not come crashing down earlier that day.

  ‘We need to free the butterflies,’ Fox said to Heckle and Fibber.

  Despite the
ir fear, the parrot and the sloth nodded.

  Fox was terrified, too. All she really wanted to do was find another bramble tunnel and hide. But the butterflies needed her help and being on this quest, Fibber had specifically said, meant working with Jungledrop’s creatures.

  She tiptoed out from behind the tree and although it was a fiddly task, and her fingers were shaking with fear, she pushed back the little bolts that secured the doors until one by one the butterflies flitted out into the open. Their glass wings were magnificent, like slivers of moonlight against the gloom, but the creatures didn’t disappear on being released. Instead, they massed round Fox and she felt a gentle ripple of air against her skin as they beat their wings. Then the butterflies flew, all together, in the same direction over one specific path.

  At first Fox assumed they must be heading back towards Fool’s Leap, but when they kept stopping and turning, as if they were checking to see whether Fox was following, she wondered if the butterflies were actually showing her a way through this misty maze. Did they know, as the boglet and the swiftwing had done, that Fox and her companions were on a mission and needed all the help they could muster to nudge them closer to the Forever Fern?

  She ran, almost giddily, after the butterflies with Heckle, trying not to resent the increasing weight of the sloth and the satchel on her back. After all, it was her fault she was carrying a sloth in the first place… The butterflies turned this way and that, gliding over fallen trees and swooping under hanging creepers, until eventually the mist was all but gone and Fox found herself at the edge of a very large swamp.

  The water was grey and mirror-still now the rain had stopped. Fox looked up. The sky above her was shrouded with clouds so that everything seemed to be in black and white even though it could only have been midday. But being in the open once more made her feel as if she could breathe again. She turned her eyes back to the swamp. It was oval in shape and so large Fox couldn’t see where it ended on either side of her, but ahead, on the far bank, the forest seemed to rise up into tree-covered mountains.