by Ember Lane
Merl took great breaths of fresh sea air. It was like they were on a nice morning stroll. That was, until they heard the chatter. Before Merl or Billy had made head or tail of it, the first spears rained down on them.
“Run!” Billy said, scrambling away and getting his feet all twisted up, then spinning end over end before collapsing and tumbling down the slope.
Merl cowered down instantly. Glancing around for some way to escape, he could see nothing obvious. He scrambled across the slope, crouching behind a small rock and holding his hands above his head, longing for a shield or anything to hide under. A spear whizzed by and nearly took his ear off before burying itself in the scrub behind him. Gathering all his courage, he reached out and grabbed it.
Staccato voices punched the air. Chopped, gruff, and barked orders sounded out.
“Merl!” Frank’s voice sounded distant, both shouted and whispered at the same time.
Merl dropped his cleaver and held the spear with both hands, expecting his attackers to flood over his little rock at any time. He poked its tip out, unable to stop it shaking. More spears fell around him. The rapid-fire orders came closer. Sweat drenched his brow and his teeth started chattering.
“Merl!” Frank was closer now, and for a small speck of time, not even half a tap, Merl thought he might be okay, but then a growling face appeared over the rock.
The angry figure raged. Shocks of gray hair surrounded a screwed-up, mauve-colored face—tough skin, like hide, wrinkled in slathering anger. Spittle sprayed from its white-fanged maw. Red eyes glowered. It raised a curved sword as it jumped atop Merl’s rock. Then it stopped, seemingly frozen with confusion. Blinded by fear, Merl stabbed out and skewered the little bastard, pulling at his spear then lifting it in the air before tossing the impaled body over his shoulder.
“Eh?” he thought aloud, but before he could comprehend what was happening, another was on him, then another and more. Hot pain lanced his side. A gash opened up in his shoulder. Merl’s mind began to swim as he was lost under a furry press of small bodies. He curled into a ball, whimpering and screaming as pain tore through him again and again.
Then he heard Billy roar, and Merl was jerked around. His attackers were plucked off him one by one by his best friend, who cried out, and that spurred Merl back into action.
“Billy!” he shouted, and shot upward, casting two little beasts off of him. He rose like a phoenix from the fires of his pain and grabbed his discarded cleaver. He chopped at the first, at the second, and at the third, but the little creatures had stopped fighting him, and had frozen like the first one had. Merl, however, was consumed with rage and screamed merry hell. He waded through the little bastards and closed on Billy.
“Grab, yank, slice,” he cried, slitting the first little bugger’s throat.
Back to back, him and Billy fought. But the beasts, though little, were many, and they swarmed toward the pair like bugger bees to pollen, stopping when they closed, hesitating and giving Merl a chance to strike. Red suddenly flashed around them, and vines entangled their feet to trip up the wee beasts. But the soil was thin and sandy, and Desmelda’s magic was only held by feeble roots. The things broke free and resumed their strange attack with renewed fury, then confusion, and then something that Merl couldn’t quite understand. It was like they wanted to kill him, right up until they got close.
A flash of emerald saw a dozen of them catch fire and run around screaming in obvious agony. Billy started working his scythe, but the weapon wasn’t really suited to the close combat the creatures had been pressed into. Merl gave him his hand ax, and Billy set to work with that. The strange battle continued.
Then Frank burst onto the scene, and he stood like a proud rock in a fast-running river. Scaramanza flashed in crimson-steel blurs, and the press of the beasties lessened. Desmelda poured her heals onto Merl and Billy, and Merl felt them tingle through his body like his blood was filling back up and his skin was weaving itself together.
Then Merl jumped up on a rock, standing above the melee of fighting creatures, and as one, the little beasts looked up at him, froze and then scattered.
“Feisty little bastards,” Billy gasped.
“Drexen welts,” Frank said. “Horrible creatures and very territorial. Their nest will be around here somewhere.” He handed Merl a water skin. “Take this, and we’ll rest up there so they can take their dead and wounded.” Frank stomped up the hill to a flat shelf of rock and sat on it. Merl soon sat beside him.
The drexen appeared all over, but now they ignored the party of four apart from furtive glances and hushed whispers.
“Won’t they just attack us again?” Merl asked.
Desmelda sat. “No, no they won’t, nor will they ever again. The drexen are territorial, but they aren’t stupid. They tried to defend their lands and failed. As far as they’re concerned, we’ve a right of passage now, as they can’t beat us. It saves them wasting more lives. Plus, they seemed afraid of Merl.”
Merl watched in wonder as the drexen collected their wounded and carried them back to unseen burrows. They rolled the dead down the slope or tossed them into the sea below. Merl took a long slug on his water bottle.
“Got a lot to learn, Billy.”
“We sure have, Merl.”
13
They rested up, and Frank lectured Billy and Merl about stomping off. Billy lectured Frank about getting into a foul mood about nothing, and then Frank lectured Billy about what was nothing and what wasn’t.
Apparently, a giant knowing about the Power of Construction was a big deal. According to Frank, giants had lived for as long as the land. They were walking history books, and if he could try some more information from between the giant’s ears, then it could mean the difference between getting slaughtered and victory.
Billy pointed out that if Frank concentrated on the quest and retrieved the staff, then he’d have the whole voyage to Quintz to question the giant. Frank had tried to argue with him, but Billy’s logic, for possibly the first and only time in his life, was flawless.
“Let’s get at it, then,” Frank said, suddenly eager.
“Hang on,” said Billy, proud as punch that he’d bested the Wizard of Quintz.
“What?” Frank asked.
“Well,” said Billy, lowering his voice and drawing them all in. “It’s my understanding…”
“Yes?” they all said.
“That Desmelda made some biscuits with that wheat I harvested. I think we should all have one.”
They all snapped away from Billy, and Billy laughed like a drain. As they set off up the slope, Billy munched on his biscuit.
The slope narrowed and rose until it was perhaps no more than a hundred yards across. They carried on crisscrossing it, since it was just too treacherous to climb straight up. Eventually, they turned for the last time, and walked along the slope’s base.
“Odd lookin’ rocks,” Billy muttered, reaching down and picking up a rock that resembled a human thigh bone. “Looks like a leg bone,” he said, and immediately threw it away like it was poisonous. And it was exactly the same as the blood and guts on the town’s walls, once they’d seen one bone, loads became apparent.
“There’s hundreds of dead’uns piled up,” Merl said, craning his neck up at the now ginormous rockface. “Why would you want to be jumpin’ off there?”
Frank cleared his throat. “You wouldn’t. Folk’s tales used to tell of a Lord called Harrison, and this was his domain. If I remember rightly, he used to march his prisoners up to the top of the mountain and throw ‘em off.”
“And you’re only just tellin’ us now for what reason?” Desmelda asked.
Frank shrugged. “Thought it was just that, a tale. Didn’t think it was real. Besides, they coulda landed in the sea.”
“How’d we get t’the top?” Billy asked, craning his head up.
“I’m guessing there’s a tunnel somewhere, or a path around the cliff.” Frank stopped and scanned along the cliff face.
> “Is it a good time to mention I’m not great with drops?” Desmelda said.
Merl thought she looked a little green.
“You mean heights?” Frank asked.
Desmelda leaned against the rock face. “Heights I’m fine with. It’s definitely the thought of dropping off them I hate.”
Merl grabbed her free hand. “I’ll help you,” he told her. “Same way you just helped me against them little buggers down there.” And then he remembered something the giant had told him. “There’s a tunnel, according to Stormsurfer.”
Frank scowled at him. Merl wasn’t sure he liked today’s Frank. He was definitely much grouchier than yesterday’s.
Desmelda grunted but let go of the cliff, and they carried on traversing the slope; when they’d nearly ran out of cliff, the tunnel presented itself. It was about six feet round and looked like it had had chunks bitten out of it rather than been hewn by quarrymen. It was both steep and treacherous, and just a small circle of sunlight a few hundred yards away told of its distant end.
“Fantastic,” Desmelda said, but started climbing up it nonetheless.
Merl scrambled up beside her, determined to help her if she started struggling. It was hard toil. The rocks were sharp, roughhewn by the folks who’d carved the way and hardly blunted by time, but when they emerged from its end, it was worth every ounce of effort.
Unless you were Desmelda.
She shied away from the sheer drop on the seaward side and leaned against the towering rock on the other. Merl, on the other hand, reveled in the new power the height of the craggy mountain path gave him. He puffed his chest out and spread his gaze across the sea like some powerful God would from their perch atop a cloud. He marveled at the rise and fall of the sea, at the irregular patchwork of its color—which Frank explained was sand and seaweed. Merl was in awe of the force of the sea’s swell crashing and smashing against the tumbled rock at the mountain’s base. It was the greatest thing he had ever seen, if you discounted a thousand other that had amazed him of late.
His new world.
Their way up was no more than a rocky shelf that twisted and turned like someone waking up from a long sleep. Apparently, its edge was the very type of drop that scared Desmelda’s knees to a wobble, and its other side kept trying to nudge them off by poking out unexpectedly. No one spoke. Hard breaths and scraping rock broke the silence that pervaded between them. Screeching gulls became mere background noise that announced their progress to any creature that might lie in wait. They forged on. Merl counted time by the wash of the waves crashing against the rocks below.
The path turned around the back of the mountain and ended in a brief set of steps. Desmelda clambered up them like they were her salvation, and at their top was the plateau of grassland at their top that clearly provided her with immense relief. She dropped to it and clung to its reed grass like a long-lost lover. Merl stood by her. His role as her protector was set in his mind, even more so when he stared up at the slope that faced them. Surprisingly, the lower half was dotted with knots of trees, and a curling path of white rock threaded its way up. The slope then steepened before plateauing again, like the mountain had hunched over to glare at Harrison’s Reach.
“I reckon we’re about halfway,” Merl consoled Desmelda, who then looked up at him as if he was her greatest enemy.
“What?” she growled. “Halfway? What do you mean, halfway? Look at me. I’m soaked through—that’s fearing-sweat that is. Halfway? What kind of silly bugger took on this quest?”
Merl backed away from the witch.
“Think she’s a bit grouchy like Frank was,” Merl told Billy.
“Aye, she don’t like drops. Strange thing not t’like if you ask me, like. A couple of times diving off the fall on Three Face Mountain an’ she’d cure that. Why don’t you take a water canteen over an’ tell her about it?”
“Think it’d help?”
Billy nodded. “’Course. If she knows this drop is next to nothin’, then she’ll relax, won’t she?”
Merl thought it was worth a go, and grabbed a canteen from Frank, taking it over. He told Desmelda all about the waterfall that dropped off Three Face Mountain and fell into a lake that looked the size of a bucket, and he told her about how they’d spent all summer jumping off it, plummeting down the rock face.
“I hope that helps,” Merl said, sitting back and smiling.
Desmelda had said nothing at first, but then she’d said plenty. She used the type of words that Fred the Quarryman’s men had often used. It was a barrage of abuse that Merl never thought would end, but it eventually did when Desmelda stomped off up the trail still screaming.
“Billy Muckspreader!” Merl growled, stomping over to his friend, who was howling with laughter.
“Yer as green as week-old sprouts, Merl Sheepherder.”
“Frank, tell him t’go an’ explain to her!” Merl screamed, his fists primed and ready, but Frank seemed curiously relaxed.
“Don’t think I will. She’s finally powering up the slope. Reckon we’d best start up or she’ll make the top before we’re good n’ ready.”
Frank set off after Desmelda. His grouchy mood appeared to have vanished. Billy raced ahead of him, putting a safe distance between him and Merl. Harrumphing, Merl took a slug from his water canteen and set off.
“I’ll get you back!” he shouted at Billy, though he had to admit, the witch from Falling Glen was indeed racing up the slope.
Merl trudged after her. While it was steep, he was a mountain man, and steep meant nothing to him now that he was back in his stride. He walked its slope easily, soon amongst the trees. The path, he decided, was no path at all, but a stone-filled rainwater run-off. A shiver ran down his spine. The trees pressed in on the slope. A purple flash caught the corner of his eye. Another darted from tree to tree. Merl hurried forward, catching up to Frank.
“Do you see?”
“Aye, I see ‘em.”
“You sure they won’t attack?” Merl asked, tugging on Frank’s sleeve.
“Drexens?” Frank shrugged. “If it’s the same tribe protecting the same burrows, we should be fine. Different tribe, though, an’ we’ll be buggered. Keep your eye out, Merl, just keep your eye out. We wanna try and remain fresh for whatever waits for us at the top.”
“Somethin’ bothering you about it?”
“The quest?” Frank shielded his eyes with the flat of his hand as he looked up the slope. “Aye, I’m wondering why the giant didn’t get the bloody staff himself.”
“Said he’d tried.”
“He’d tried?” Frank stopped dead in his tracks. “But if he can’t do it, what hope is there for us? Did hordes of dread beasts beat him back? Was he bested by spells from an age long gone? Did he trigger traps set by dungeon masters of old?”
“Told me he didn’t fit,” Merl replied. “Didn’t fit in the tunnel.”
Frank grunted. “Oh,” he said, before carrying on. “Well, that’s all right, then.”
Desmelda vanished over the top of the mountain’s hump. Billy, Frank, and Merl all hurried to catch up, but there was no doubt about it, the witch had the winds of fear billowing her sails to bulging. When they crested the mountain’s hump, they found her sitting at the bottom of a long flight of stone steps. They were all both pleasantly surprised and amazed in equal measure.
“Don’t gawp. I might have gotten up here, but I’ve got no idea how I’m going to get down. One thing I do know, the giant must have been being economical with the truth. This isn’t any ordinary set of steps. Plus, there seems to be some ruins at the top.”
Merl’s gaze swept up the steps. They were old, and in many ways much like the steps he had seen in his dreams—cracked and crazed—but weren’t filled with moss, and nor were there any brown patches or plateaus, or a waterfall cascading from the sky, but there was something up the top. Quite what, though, he couldn’t make out.
“Whatever it is,” Billy said, “it musta been a helluva job t’get it
all the way up there.”
Merl had to agree with the double-crossing bastard, who he hadn’t quite forgiven and thought he should be much angrier with than he was. “Looks like lumps of stone,” he said, and it did. From their lowly vantage point, they could see a huge stone slab standing like a fat pillar, with another line of stone sitting atop it.
“Exactly what did Stormsurfer say, again?” Frank asked.
“He said that once we get to the top, there’s a set of steps that lead down into the cliff’s guts, and there we’ll find a staff planted into the rock. It’s called the Staff of Morrison White, and he needs us to retrieve it. That’s about it.”
Desmelda sighed. “Well, we aren’t at the top yet, so we might as well get it over and done with. I hope the boat’s worth it—we likely could have rowed halfway there by now.”
Frank scoffed, as if he knew that the witch’s words were just plain foolish. “I think we should all get in our formation. Merl and I saw a number of drexen welts gathering below. We might not have seen the last of them yet. Billy first, me second, Merl, then Desmelda. You okay with that?”
“I’ll be fine,” Desmelda said. “Let’s just get this done so I can get my boots back on low ground as fast as soon as possible.”
Merl kept his mouth shut. Unlike the others, his heart was racing. It was the steps. They didn’t just remind him of the steps in his dreams. They were the same. Each crack looked familiar, as if the exact same step had been duplicated and placed at his foot. He could tell what the next one looked like without opening his eyes. Merl had no idea what it meant, but he did know it meant something. Most of all, it meant his dream was real. That the place with the waterfall was real. That the brown patches were real.
