by Ember Lane
Stormsurfer rowed until Frank indicated for him to slow, and they drew aside a protruding jetty. Merl craned his neck but saw no one attending it. Frank clambered up the side of the boat and looped a giant rope over a protruding post. He helped them all up one at a time onto the jetty’s planked wood. Desmelda rushed to firm ground, and Merl followed, coaxing Gloomy Joe along with him.
“While I love our little adventurers’ cabin, I just adore the feel of solid ground underfoot,” she said.
Merl scanned the new land, but it was just grass, long, rich green grass in every direction but behind them, and even then, the wide river just separated them from more. A small path led directly away from the jetty’s end, but soon vanished into the rippling blades. Frank marched to its end, halted, looked one way and the other, and then said: “This way.”
Merl swapped glances with Billy. They both shrugged and followed.
“Do you know which way you’re going?” Desmelda called.
Frank pointed straight ahead. “That way. Mind out for grasshoppers and err… other stuff.”
The fragrant land felt new. Merl couldn’t think of any other word that described it quite so perfectly. A light breeze blew across the plains. It infused him with energy. While he’d enjoyed the familiarity of the giant ship, this new land had livened all his senses. Frank headed slightly away from the river and inland, though the sight of the river was soon lost to the long grass. Even Stormsurfer’s boat vanished as the giant rowed back out to sea, although Merl could still hear his song. The grass was soon waist-high, and their path vanished the instant they passed. Frank waded through it like a boat through water. His step was sure, as if he was entirely certain of his direction, though Merl couldn’t fathom. Everything looked the same. Merl’s hand trailed on poor Gloomy Joe, who was nearly swallowed up by the grass.
Merl decided to get down to some serious thinking. He had to wrestle with his future, but as he set his mind to it, something niggled at his consciousness. It was faint, a disturbance of some kind—a rumble where a rumble shouldn’t be.
“Is that them?” Billy asked, as a scraping sound started up.
“Them?” Merl asked.
“Them grasshoppers that Frank wobbled on about. Is that them?”
“That’ll be them alright,” Frank said. “Just listen, if it starts getting close, we’ll have to run, but this is a mighty big place, we might pass through unnoticed.”
“Run?” Merl asked. “Why would we want to run away from grasshoppers?”
“Because if the snakes are on the prowl, the grasshoppers will swarm. Don’t worry, there’ll be a refuge along the way,” Frank told them.
Merl couldn’t help but think he was missing something—that, or Frank was being purposely cryptic. The strange grinding sound grew louder. It was like a thousand people were all rubbing dry sticks together and trying to mimic chirping. Merl looked over the tall grass to where it was coming from. Its green surface appeared to be rippling, like grass waves were rolling toward them.
Frank brought his hand up to shelter his eyes. His shoulders tensed. He glanced around. Then he turned to them, his eyes wide. “Run! Run for the shelter!”
“What shelter?” Desmelda shouted.
“With my little feet?” Mushroom grouched, but Frank had already sped off, hurtling through the grass and pulling himself along with a rapid swimming motion. Billy picked up his pace and began to plow through like the big lummox he was. The rolling wave of green began fragmenting. Merl blinked, not quite understanding what he was seeing.
“Are those—” he said as Desmelda rushed past him and Quaiyl pulled him along. “Gloomy!” Merl barked at Quaiyl, and then bent and hefted his dune dog up. He glanced over at the approaching avalanche.
A hundred yards away, racing toward them, a swarm of giant grasshoppers ripped up the horizon. They sprung into the air and landed with a brief thump, only for the next insect to leap over and then on and on in an endless roll of green. The insects were at least six feet long and three high, and there were hundreds of them. Merl stumbled after Quaiyl, Gloomy weighing him down. But his feet soon caught up with his body and he gathered speed, charging after the others, the dune dog no heavier than his armor. The sound of the approaching bugs became horrendous—a thunderous clicking sound with a strange, hissing undercurrent.
The tall grass whipped back and forth across Merl’s face. Mushroom bounded by his side as they all chased down the mysterious refuge. Merl powered through the snagging grass, buoyed by the new strength of his legs. The grasshoppers closed in a relentless wave, the first ones leaping across the trail behind him, ripping up the grass into a green cloud. Merl launched himself into a dive right as the tumbling swarm of insects bore down on him. Quaiyl shoved him. Frank grabbed him, and Merl swerved in midair, pushing Gloomy forward, and then covering his head. They were both pulled down and into a hole as the thunderous ripple of green chitin blotted out the blue sky and rolled over the top of them in a cloud of severed grass and billowing dust. Frank forced them farther into the hole, and then yanked Quaiyl in. He made to grab Mushroom, but a scythe-like, pale green leg, sliced through the fungus and bowled him over and away.
“No!” Merl cried and surged forward, but Billy held him back.
“Use your magic now!” Frank screamed at Desmelda. “Plug the bloody hole.”
“But they’re passing over.”
“It’s not them I’m worried about. It’s what they’re running away from!” Frank shouted.
Desmelda summoned her magic. Vines sprouted from the mud, growing, intertwining, covering the hole’s entrance. Merl called out for Mushroom, desperately screamed his name, but Frank turned and shushed him while Desmelda finished weaving the vine plug.
“If he survived, he should be okay,” Frank whispered. “Whatever’s chasing the bugs ain’t likely to be eating fungus any time soon.”
Desmelda finished her spell. “Tell me, and no more secrets,” she hissed. “Just what the hell is likely to be—”
The thunder of the grasshoppers faded, followed soon by hissing, slapping, slithering, sliding sounds, but far louder than it should have been, and far heavier.
“If the grasshoppers are six feet long…” Merl started to say but didn’t bother completing the thought.
A huge, forked, flicking tongue appeared beyond the patchwork of vines. It was swiftly followed by a green-scaled head. A golden eye was embedded within the scales like a jewel set in a jade pendant. Its black iris was shaped like an archer’s slit, and it stared right down into the hole. Merl slunk back in its shadows, crawling away, hiding from the huge snake’s gaze. He bumped into Billy, who grumbled and shoved his elbows out.
Desmelda magicked the softest of lights and illuminated a small cavern, which was much the same size and shape as Frank’s mud hut. Frank crawled down into it, his finger resting on his lips. Merl nodded his understanding. The hissing and slithering continued.
“It can smell us,” Frank whispered. “It’s tasting the air with its tongue.”
Desmelda huffed. “Hold the light, Frank. I take it your wizarding is accomplished enough for that simple task.”
Frank held his tongue until he’d swallowed his retort, then sighed inwardly. “What are you gonna do?”
“Persuade the snake it’s got the wrong burrow,” she replied, then tapped her temple and crawled back up the tunnel.
Her chants rang out and sounded like a soft murmur against a backdrop of hissing and slithering.
“Do you think Mushroom will be okay?” Merl whispered to Frank, stroking and holding Gloomy Joe like he couldn’t let him go.
“He’s been quite resilient so far,” Frank replied softly. “He’ll have a better chance than any of us would have.”
Desmelda reversed back into the small chamber. “It’s gone, at least for now. Give it a half dozen turns and I’ll go check the coast is clear.”
“Not the only thing needs to be checked, bet you a pound to a pile Merl’s pants
ar—”
“Billy!” Desmelda snapped.
Merl glared at Billy, but the corners of his lips were twitching. He slunk back against the hole’s mud wall. He hated the refuge, and so far, he hated the Land of Orion. “Why’s everything so big?” Merl asked the question that was probably on everyone’s lips.
Frank shrugged. “I assumed you would have heard the stories. Everything in Orion is big. Isn’t it common knowledge?”
He received three blank stares and continued.
“Orion is a land of monsters, of terrible beasts and dire challenges. Imagine your quests in the Firthing Forest, then double, triple the size of the challenges and of the beasts.” Frank was clearly lost in nostalgia, almost breathless, his words held wonder. “The Lords used to love it here. They hunted the monsters down and received great prizes for their kills, but only the most experienced were allowed to come. New Lords were barred from the place. At first, I thought it because of some hierarchy thing, but later found out that they couldn’t actually see the land—that some fog shrouded Orion in mystery to the newer and younger lords.”
Merl scratched Gloomy’s head. “Did you know the Lords?” It sounded like an age since any had ruled the land, but he knew it couldn’t be that long.
Frank lofted an eyebrow. He let the light in his hand grow. “Me? No. Well, not really. I fought for Tintagel when Tintagel was just a shadow of what it once was in Arthur’s heyday. Without the Lords behind us, much of our prowess faded. It was like they shared some of their power with us—like they directed our valor. We fought on, but one by one, we were picked off.”
“Until?”
Frank cast his head down. “Until Malingar Cross. I left after that.”
The Butcher of Malingar Cross. Merl remembered the proclamation as clearly now as when it had been trumpeted in Erreden. He wanted to ask. He wanted to understand, but it was clear Frank wasn’t ready to spill yet. Merl wondered if he ever would be.
“Help!” Mushroom’s wavering voice filtered down the tunnel.
“Mushroom!” Merl shouted as he scrambled up, instantly forgetting about any lords.
He peered through Desmelda’s vines to see a truly battered Mushroom laying in the long grass. His cap was ruined and limp, and his stalk was bruised and bent.
“Desmelda!” Merl hissed. “Clear the thorns.”
“But the snake—”
Merl equipped his wakizashi and stared at her, but her lips set into a thin line as she turned his blade with her finger.
“Very well, but only because you’ll cut us all to ribbons.” She curled her hands about like she was unravelling a ball of yarn, and the vine plug vanished. Merl jumped out of the hole and tugged at Mushroom, sliding the bruised and battered fungus in. Quaiyl reached around to ease Merl out of the way and pulled Mushroom into the belly of the hole.
“What happened?” Billy asked, somewhat stupidly.
“What happened?” Mushroom croaked. “What bloody happened? I’ll tell you what happened. I was abandoned by my friends, scythed down by a rampant enemy, and bundled over and over like I was a leaf in a storm. Just as all was lost, I plunged my fangs in one of the green bastard’s underbellies and anchored myself in place. Then I sucked for dear life. To my utter surprise, grasshopper guts turned out to be rather tasty.”
“But what about all the others?” Merl asked.
“Luckily, the dead’un’s empty shell folded around me and protected me from the rest of the trampling maelstrom of hopping buggers. Then, then, when it all went quiet, just like a calm in before a storm, I crawled back here, here, to my companions who abandoned me.” Mushroom burped, and the foul stench of grasshopper ichor filled the chamber.
Mushroom’s cap was truly split and shredded this time. He had a scar right across his fledgling face, and one of his stumpy arms had been severed flat. He looked deflated, apart from a little pot belly, which was presumably full of grasshopper guts.
“Are you okay?” Merl asked, suddenly feeling guilty about being tucked away safely while the swarm of grasshoppers had trampled poor Mushroom.
“I’d be lyin’ if I said I wasn’t a little… jumpy,” Mushroom whimpered.
“What kind of place is this?” Desmelda asked, then appeared to swallow her own question.
Frank seemed renewed. Probably glad to be back home, Merl mused, as they waited for him to reply, and the Wizard of Quintz grinned deviously when he finally did.
“It’s exactly what it seems to be It’s a refuge. Orion’s a simple place, if you understand it. Just about everything can kill you and will kill you if you let it. You always look for signs, and you look for faint trails. There are no actual paths or roads because monsters would just lie in wait. Everything is hidden. The only truly safe refuges are within designated villages and towns, and those are hidden too.”
“So this place?” Merl asked.
“It’s a sign, a marker, and a refuge. The jetty was another marker, and the mountain peaks are each one. A straight line will always see you en route to a refuge. From here, we can now pick our next refuge, hopefully going south, because that’s the way to Quintz. And if you get lost, you summon a fairy.”
Merl skipped a breath. Desmelda chuckled. Billy guffawed. “Summon a fairy, like?”
“Well, not quite a fairy, more a wisp. They’re tiny silver creatures that will lead you if you’re lost. And you don’t actually summon them either. They seek you out, and then you can find a hide, and you can…”
“Hide?” Merl completed.
“I have a question.” Desmelda’s voice sounded a little frigid.
Frank hesitated before saying, “Go on.”
“If you knew all of this, why didn’t you tell us on the ship?”
He inclined his head, a smirk growing on his lips. “I would have thought the Witches of Wormloe Tump would be conversant with all The Lands of the Crescent Moon and their goings on, but perhaps they aren’t. Perhaps they are like new Lords that weren’t able to see the land?”
Desmelda drummed her fingers on her chin. She pursed her lips. “I was asking for the others. Of course we can see it.”
“Sure?” Frank coaxed.
She drummed them some more. “Positive.”
Frank grinned. “Alright.”
“What else do they need to know about Orion?” Desmelda asked offhandedly, snapping her fan open and wafting away the heavy stench of bug guts.
“Well,” Frank said, “I would say they should probably know about the great relics that litter Orion and how they made the Lords brave these lands in pursuit of the powerful artifacts hidden within them, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I think I would, Frank.”
“Would you care to, then?” Frank asked.
They were staring at each other now. A long, unblinking stare. Both seemed to be amused by the exchange.
“No, Frank, I believe you have more experience of this place than me.”
Frank thumped the mud floor. “In other words, I know more than you.”
Desmelda’s grin dropped and she narrowed her eyes. A brief silence fell before she answered. “In this instance, I concede that you do.”
“Fine. So, Merl, Billy, the salient points. If you get lost, we get split up, anything, then you stand dead still, no matter what—well, not if you’re about to get eaten, but you understand. You stand dead still and then a wisp will come. Then it will dart away. You must follow its silvery trail. It will take you to a refuge. When you get there, the wisp will demand payment.”
“And that is?” Desmelda asked, and then covered her mouth quickly. “Tell them what they have to do.”
“You have to tell it how nice it is. You have to kiss its ass.”
“That it?” Merl asked.
“’Bout the sum of that. They’re simple creatures that appear to have a vested interest in seeing us survive and the monsters die. Always remember, each refuge was fashioned by the old Lords and is designed to protect against the local monsters. Take t
his place, for instance—too small for a giant snake to get into and deep enough that it won’t crumble when a herd of grasshoppers thump over. Another refuge might be a log cabin up a tree. That’ll protect you against anything that can’t climb. Then there’s stone cairns with crawl-through doors. They’ll keep the big cats away. Most things keep the spider’s back, but you have to watch out for poison blasts.”
“It sounds…” Merl began, but decided he didn’t have a word to quite explain how he felt.
“Terrifying,” Billy added. “It all sounds bloody terrifying. Why in Andula’s name would you want to build a wizard’s city here?”
“Ah,” Frank said. “That’s the relics, that is. There’s relics everywhere. There’s follies, dungeons, and caverns. Where there are those, there are powerful artifacts and treasures, the like you couldn’t imagine, hidden, waiting to be discovered. The wizards coveted them. They used them to enhance their powers. But not all artifacts are good. Some wizards were twisted through their power. They left Quintz, seeking more and more relics—dire artifacts and talismans woven with evil. Alas, they probably side with Daemon Mercer now.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said Billy, “but you said treasure, right?”
“Yup.”
“And we can go find it once we’ve found Quintz?”
“If you’ve a mind, Billy, if you’ve a mind. But remember, the most important thing in the world would be defeating Daemon Mercer,” Frank answered.
“Although the two might go hand in hand,” Desmelda pointed out.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” Mushroom belched again. “Yup, I’m definitely gonna be sick.”
“Oh my, by Andula’s blessings that’s bloody foul.” Desmelda made a break for the refuge’s exit.
Merl scrambled out after her, back into the intense heat. He scanned around for signs of giant snakes and grasshoppers but saw only long pasture and blue skies. Frank sheltered his eyes from the pounding sun as he looked south, pointing his finger in the direction of a distant peak.
