by Ember Lane
Springing hard, he launched himself back to the ever-raging river’s surface, breaking free for another breath. He was swept past boulders, rocks, rapids, by white water driven to anger after sleeping in the lake, Merl reached for salvation but sank to his doom before he was free of the fierce, ever-changing current. He pulled his arms in, scrunched his legs into his chest, and hoped for the best, but that just made things worse, and he was bullied along by the river.
Then the water slowed, and Merl unraveled himself to search out the surface. Breaking free, he gulped the air. “Ho!”
Billy was a little ahead of him. The muckspreader glanced back, but then started swimming for the riverbank. He thrashed in the water, looking desperate and getting nowhere. “Swim for it, Merl!”
But Merl was still groggy. His head hurt, battered from countless rocks, and blood flooded his mouth. “What?” he called to Billy, but even as he did his legs were pulled toward his friend. “Where’s Frank?”
Billy was going backwards now, sucked away by the river. He gave up swimming and simply said one word. “Waterfall.”
“Oh crap,” cried Merl, and then began swimming for his dear life.
The current pulled him from salvation, and Merl turned. On either side of him, the riverbank vanished, its lining forest vanished, and in front of him the river disappeared too. Merl dropped. He dropped in a tumble of furious white. Glimpses of land flipped and turned. Merl’s scream was lost in the thunderous roar of the falling river, and then swallowed as his world became an echoing bubble. He plunged below the water, thumping onto its rocky bed before being sucked away once more. His limp body floated upward until he bobbed to the top of a burbling river.
For a moment, Merl decided he was dead. But in death, he was just as lucid as life. A set of moss-filled cracked stone steps led upward. To one side, a river cascaded down, borne of a great waterfall that appeared to descend from the sky. Merl climbed the steps, brushing aside the tumbles of weeds and ranging brambles that threatened to trip him up on his ascent. Beyond the scrub and river, he could see brown squares of barren land radiating away on flat terraces, but Merl wasn’t interested in these. He wanted to see what was at the top of the steps—what was by the big waterfall.
Merl took a breath when he was halfway up. He turned and looked around, but could see nothing, as if the hill was surrounded by thick fog, so he shrugged and continued up. As he ascended, the number of brown patches diminished until at the top just one sat by the waterfall. As he took the last step, a tinkling, like tiny bells, sounded out, and he looked and saw a woman approach him.
To Merl, she was the third-most-beautiful woman in the land. The first was, quite naturally, Portius, and the second was the mother he’d only imagined. But this fair maid was a solid third. She was exactly how Merl pictured a goddess, with a flowing golden gown clad to a slim yet powerful body. Her auburn hair cascaded like the waterfall, framing her flawless face, her deep, green eyes, and her aquiline nose. Her entire self glowed with a brightened aura that made each of her edges blurred. Merl wondered if he should remain standing, perhaps bow his head or maybe kneel. But the woman didn’t demand; instead, she cocked her head slightly and she let a small smile slip.
“Welcome, my—”
Those barely spoken words were ripped away from him as he was pulled from his dream. Yanked out of the precipice of discovery, Merl tried to claw his way back to unconsciousness, to hang on to his vision, but his efforts were thwarted as a familiar face beamed down.
“Merl! Merl!”
It was a voice he’d known all his life. “Billy?” Merl’s body convulsed, spewing from his nose and mouth as a gutful of water joined a lungful. He heaved a breath back and puked again. “Billy? Am I alive?”
“Yeah, Merl.” Billy beamed down. “You should see the fall. It was a big ‘un.”
“Frank?”
“Ain’t seen Frank. Well, that’s not exactly right. I saw him tumble over, and I think I saw him splash down, but I was kinda busy by then. Next time, as I was bobbin’ like an’ apple in a barrel. I’m sure I saw ‘im farther down river.”
Merl smiled up at Billy. “Sure is good t’see you, Billy Muckspreader. Sure is good t’see you.”
“Only see one immediate problem, Merl.”
“What’s ’at, Billy?”
“Frank’s done an’ got all our food in that fancy ring o’ his.”
“Is that all you think about?”
Billy looked at the bright blue sky. “Pretty much.”
Merl sat up. “That’s a pretty big river.”
“Sure is. We need to think about our stuff. What have we all got? I’ll go first. I got nothin’. Your turn.”
“A sword and that’s that.”
“You lead tha’ way, then.” Billy pulled Merl up. “Coz that’s thick with nettles n’ stuff, and I ain’t ploddin’ my way through it.”
Merl knelt by the river and took a long drink. “He’s got the water bottles too.”
“So, downstream?”
“Nothing but filthy goblins back the other way.”
“What if we can’t find Frank?”
“Then we gotta find Quintz.” Merl drew his sword.
“But it’s the size of an ant’s toe.”
“That it might be, but a toe belongs to a foot, and a foot belongs to a leg.”
Billy laughed. “And the leg belongs to an ant. We’ve just gotta find an ant, Merl, and then we’ve found Quintz.”
9
They came across a path, just in the nick of time. Merl’s was exhausted from hacking through the undergrowth. Swinging a sword was hard. It was even harder when it wasn’t through soft zombay flesh.
“This ain’t no animal trail,” Billy hissed.
“Dirty goblin trail?”
“Frank reckoned they jus’ stomp through tha’ forest though.”
“Frank did. Anyhow, I can’t cut us a path no more. Do you think we should’a waited for Frank?” Merl trudged along the mud trail. His shoulders were slumped, and his lips turned down. “We’re never gonna find Quintz, not even if it’s the size of a fire dragon.”
As he said it, Billy dove into the undergrowth. Merl followed fast, squirming himself around to be beside Billy.
“What is it?” Merl hissed.
“Up there!” Billy pointed.
Merl rubbed his eyes. The trail split, a little like a slingshot, or a Y, dependent on if you were learning letters or not. A peasant stood at the junction. It wasn’t his age that Merl noticed first, although he looked as old as the hills. Nor was it his long white beard, or his scarlet jerkin that stood out. It was something else entirely.
“Do you see it?” Merl asked Billy.
“It? I see him, not it. What’s it?”
“The bright yellow thing above his head,” Merl hissed, pointing.
“Is it one of them words? Because if it is one of them, you know full well that I can’t see them.” Billy squeezed his eyes, nonetheless. “Nope, only thing I see is his daft, pointed hat. What d’you see?”
“I see a sheepherder’s crook with a dot underneath it, and it’s yellow or gold, and afore you ask, not a blinkin’ clue what letter it is.”
“But it’s somethin’,” Billy said, jumping back out on to the road and then marching up to the man.
Merl scrambled out. “Hang on! You can’t jus’ ask him.”
“Watch me,” Billy growled. “Hey, mister, what’s that word over your head?”
“Billy, don’t!” Merl rushed between them. “I’m sorry,” he said to the man. “Take no notice of him. We just—”
Merl and Billy took a step back. The man’s eyes bulged. A great grin spread across his face. “I don’t believe it. After all this time!” He cleared his throat. “Hang on. Give me a moment. Right. Here we go.” He steadied himself, smoothing his beard and straightening his pointed hat. “Greetings, traveler. My name is Aloysius T Guide. Do you have a question for me?”
Merl scratched his head.
“Have we, Billy?”
“I suppose we could ask if he’s seen Frank.”
“Good one.” Merl approached the man. “Have you seen Frank?”
It was then Aloysius’ turn to scratch his head. He glanced around as if looking to see if he was being watched. He straightened.
“Greetings, traveler, do you have a question for me?”
Billy and Merl withdrew a few paces. “We just answered that,” Billy whispered.
“Maybe he’s a bit… You know…”
“A bit what, Merl?”
“You know… Two buckets short of a water wheel,” Merl hissed.
Billy snorted. “Say, Aloysius, have you seen Frank?”
Aloysius scratched his head again. He looked around, and then crept over to them. After he craned his head out, his wide eyes darted from side to side. “Look,” he said softly. “You’re not asking right.”
“Well, tell us the right question, then,” Merl hissed.
“I… I can’t… I’m not allowed to. I’ve gotta keep repeatin’ tha same words over and over until you get it right. Hold on, I’ll give you a clue, but if anyone asks…” He nodded subtly towards the junction in the path. “Just ask what any normal person would ask. It’s quite easy.” Aloysius scrambled back into position.
Billy and Merl approached him.
“Greetings, traveler, do you have a question for me?”
“Greetings,” said Billy. “Have you seen Frank?”
Aloysius turned a bright shade of red. “That’s not the right question!”
“Well, that’s the question we want an answer to.”
“Look, it’s simple,” said Aloysius. He pointed down one path and then the other. “What more can I say other than to ask the bloody question for you?!”
“Can we try again?” Merl asked. “Only I think I’ve got it now.”
“Fine.” Aloysius cleared his throat. “Greetings, traveler, do you have a question for me?”
“Where do the paths go?” Merl asked.
Aloysius leaned in. “Good enough. It’s actually ‘What lies at the ends of the paths.’ but I haven’t got all day.” He straightened and his face became impassive. “One path leads to the elfen village of Timotholight. The other leads to the Witch of Falling Glen and has a great quest with bountiful loot beyond your wildest dreams. The other leads to a tavern with ale, food, and a bed for the night. Which do you choose, traveler?”
Billy and Merl withdrew a few yards, whispering furiously. “Got it,” said Merl. He approached Aloysius. “Which way’s the tavern?”
Aloysius scratched his head again. “I was told you’d always choose the other option. I have a whole load more to say for that one than this.”
“What have you got to say for the tavern one?” Billy asked.
“That way.” Aloysius pointed to the left fork. “Are you sure you don’t want the quest? There’s loads of good stuff, and you get to kill a real, live witch and free the land of a terrible scourge.”
Billy and Merl consulted with each other. They both nodded. “Nope, definitely the tavern.”
“Fine.”
“Are you coming with us?”
“Nope, I’m supposed to stay till after dusk. Mind you, I doubt anyone else will be along. You’re the first.”
“Your first?” Billy asked.
“The first. My dad stood here, my grandad stood here, his dad before that. We’ve been at it for generations, and no one’s ever asked us a single question. Feel quite chuffed, to be honest. If you fancy the quest later, just pop back and I’ll tell you which way.”
“Won’t it be that way?” Billy pointed to the right.
Aloysius looked crestfallen.
“We’ll ask, anyway,” Merl added.
Aloysius brightened. “You’ll come back?”
“Sure.”
Billy and Merl set off down the path toward the tavern. Aloysius shouted a few goodbyes as if he didn’t want to be left alone, but the thought of food and a warm bed now consumed Merl’s thoughts.
“We’re coming back?” Billy asked.
“Not bloody likely,” Merl replied. “Witches are bad news, everyone knows that.”
Billy let out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank Andula for that. Ale, food, and a bed to stay in.”
They marched down the trail with a spring in their step and a smile on their faces. Before long, the smell of boiling broth and the chatter of excited children filled the forest. The very first dwelling came into view. A stockade held up a circular thatched roof that rose to a central point.
“That a real-live elf?” Billy asked. “Looks kinda see-through, like I’d imagine a ghost would. Has he got anything over his head?”
“Yeah,” Merl replied, a little downhearted as he’d kind of hoped he’d seen the last of them. “But it’s different.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a straight line with a dot under it. Another letter that Frank ne’er taught me, and yer right, he is a bit whispy. Perhaps its all part of the mystical stuff.”
“Pfft,” said Billy. “Mystical-pistical. Elfs are elfs, long white hair, pale as a zombay’s milky eyes, and as slight as a mop handle.”
“Sounds about right.”
The elf, who was leaning against the hut staring at them, straightened and walked over to them. “Not a bad summation, but you missed out one really important thing. We have a very keen sense of hearing. Mop handle? I think that a little harsh. Welcome, however, to Timotholight, a village of predominately elfen heritage, although we do have many a race staying. My name is Mystix. Can I help you with anything? Are you fleeing The Sickness?”
“Zombay ‘fected? Na! We was fleeing dirty goblins. Has a man named Frank happened this way?”
“No, but all trails in the forest lead to Aloysius, so if your friend entered it, he’ll either end up here or go to fight the witch and never be seen again.”
“Frank wouldn’t be daft enough to fight the witch on ‘is own,” Billy said.
“Although the witch wouldn’t stand a chance,” Merl pointed out.
“This Frank sounds like a great warrior,” the elf said.
“Well,” Merl replied. “He’s mostly a wizard nowadays, or so he says, but he used to be a warrior, but we think it’s the other way ‘round. I think. What’s your name again?”
“Where’s the tavern?” Billy asked.
Mystix laughed. “The tavern is over there. To be honest, I’m not sure that wizard and warrior make the best mix. From what I’ve seen, wizards are rather unreliable, and warriors need to be the opposite.”
Mystix had long white hair, drawn behind in a ponytail. His cheeks were as sharp as his eyes and nose, and his lips were as thin as a lake’s reflection. He wore green, and Billy was right: it looked as if he was there and wasn’t at the same time. As Mystix led them toward the tavern, more of the villagers came into view. The elves looked much the same as each other. The women were slightly softer of face and larger of chest—barely—but there the difference seemed to end. Of other races, Merl only saw a couple of humans and a maybe a leprechaun and a skidvart.
The tavern itself was pleasantly empty, and they secured a table with ease. Billy still had some coppers from robbing the soldiers, and Merl suspected he’d emptied a few dead zombays’ pockets along the way. That was enough for rooms, food, and ales for the night. There was even a stream outside for washing.
“First things first,” said Billy. “Let’s get some grub.”
Mystix came over and handed them two ales. “Tell me, how is it out there?”
Merl was about to answer when Billy jumped in.
“The zombays have won the day. They have the land ‘bout sewed up, no doubt ‘bout it, like. Jus’ when we thought things couldn’t get worse, the goblins came and fired all tha’ farmsteads and killed all tha’ humans left over.”
“All dead,” said Mystix, and the elf sighed. “The bastard goblins will be bolder now.”
“Tha’s w
here you’re wrong,” Billy said, all puffed and proud. “Because we—tell him, Merl.”
“We killed the goblin chieftain,” Merl said. “The three of us.”
“Which one?” Mystix leaned in, quieting his voice. “Because there’s more than one goblin tribe, and there’s more than one chieftain.”
“Tha one by the little lake jus’ up from tha waterfall,” Billy said, a little less puffed up than before.
“Bodrogor Headcleaver. You did well to best him. But there are others who will come, and by killing one leader, you have left the way clear for a viler goblin to join forces and form a formidable army.”
“We have?” Merl asked.
Mystix nodded. “That you have.”
“Broth up!” the elfen innkeeper shouted.
Billy was out of his chair quicker than a bolt fired from a crossbow. He returned with two broths and a smile as wide as his face. “We can’t let the dirty goblins kill everything and put it to the torch. Not with the zombays an’ all.”
Mystix shook his head. “There are only two races that overstretch their bounds. The first is yours, but we wouldn’t wish this sickness on you. The second is the goblin, and that beast should be driven to the very ends of the land and cleansed for all of time.”
“Don’t like ‘em much, then,” said Merl, blowing on a spoon filled with hot broth.
“Ain’t much about them to like,” Billy affirmed. “Dirty little bastards go stabby stabby on any bastard without rhyme or reason, like. So, Mystix, you elves going to teach them filthy beasts a lesson an’ wipe them out?”
