Elders of Eventyr

by Ellias Quinn

  “No.”

  “How far away are your buddies?” Dask said.

  The Skorgon gave them a shifty glance. “They will be here soon to ssslice your necks.” His laughter whistled around the enclosure.

  “Then we gotta leave,” Khelya said, alarmed. “What’ll we do with this guy?”

  Dask reached into one of the bags. “Gag him and drag him. Where’s the map?”

  Matil looked in another bag, pushing everything to the side. “Not here.”

  “Who used it last?” he said irritably.

  Khelya busied herself rolling up her blanket. “I might’ve—I dunno.”

  “Do you remember where you put it?”

  “I don’t even remember using it,” Khelya said.

  “Here it is!” Matil said. She pulled out the crinkled roll of parchment and held it aloft.

  The Skorgon sprang to his hobbled feet and leaped over her, snatching the map in two free fingers. Khelya climbed on a root and jumped after him, but he was already buzzing into the air so erratically that she couldn’t grab him. Dask whipped open his wings and hurtled up into the Skorgon’s midsection. They tumbled through the air far from the enclosure.

  Matil took up her dagger and dashed out once again, looking for Dask. He and his opponent rolled down the roots of another tree and onto the ground. The Skorgon grabbed his throat with one pair of bound hands. As Dask choked, flailed, and bashed him, the Skorgon shot the other pair of hands out to clamp down on Dask’s bandaged arm. Dask shut his eyes in pain, his mouth still open and gasping like a fish.

  Coldness fell over Matil. She pumped her legs faster. As soon as she got within reach, she wrapped her left arm around the Skorgon and sunk the dagger in sideways, just under his shell. Screeching, he let go of Dask, who gulped in air and followed up with a punch to the Skorgon’s jaw. Matil held on to the struggling Skorgon long enough to stab higher on his torso before he shook her off. But after that effort he could only crawl away and collapse. Matil sat up, breathing hard.

  Dask staggered past her. He kicked the Skorgon over, revealing a frozen expression and abdominal scales drenched with green blood. For a moment he waited to see if the Skorgon would move. All was still, so Dask took back their map. Matil shuddered as she realized that her dagger and right hand were also covered in the Skorgon’s blood. She wiped them on a blade of grass next to her. It had been weeks since they’d last fought Skorgon. Her ears lowered at the memory of fighting beside Nat…beside Amacht.

  They went back to the enclosure.

  “Typical,” Dask said loudly but hoarsely as they entered. “Let the little guys do the fight—Khel? Khel, what’s wrong?”

  The Obrigi was lying face down and now looked up. Soil stuck to her nose, already turning transparent like her skin. “You’re okay,” she said in relief. “Sorry I missed the fight.”

  “What happened?” Matil said. “Are you okay?”

  Khelya pushed herself up. “Yeah. Nothing hurts, anyway. Couldn’t see my idiot feet and tripped over a root.”

  “You have to fix that,” Dask said, beginning to roll up his blanket.

  She hit the ground with a faded fist. “I can’t! How many times do I have to tell you?”

  “Maybe…” Matil knelt next to her own blanket. “Maybe the Elders can put you back to normal.” She remembered how Khelya had solidified slightly next to the Wall. If Elders were real, Matil thought they might use the same kind of powerful magic she had felt at Eventyr’s border.

  “And that’s if they pay any attention to a dirt-walker like me.” But Khelya looked away with a dreamy smile.

  They packed up camp and led the beetles through the undergrowth, Khelya crouching beside them. The map indicated that they were close to Hasyl’s place. Here and there a Skorgon scout searched the forest. When one rustled a bush or flew overhead, the group froze. However, all soon became peaceful. It seemed that there were no more Skorgon around.

  “Wait,” Dask spoke at last. “Maybe Captain Crell’s grub club hasn’t made it any farther than we have. If I go on alone, I can bring the hermit back here quick, so he’s safe.”

  Matil and Khelya nodded. He burst upward in a rush of air and feathers and tore away through the forest with the velvet sound of beating wings. They didn’t wait for long. Dask returned, wiping sweat from his forehead.

  “Two of ‘em,” he panted. “There were two Skorgon outside the hermit’s house. I flew through the area, but didn’t see anyone else. I guess they’re keeping the hermit inside.”

  They stole onward with their hands on Dewdrop’s and Olnar’s heads. Past a spectacularly fat tree and under a bush of star-shaped flowers, they stopped. Matil lifted her head to see through the leaves.

  As Mr. Korsen had described, the hermit’s home was a huge, twisted log, nestled in earth and tufts of grass. Dull lacquer covered its age-pitted bark. The end of the log closest to the group was filled with interlocking stones. Between the log and the group was a circular brown hut, wide and dominated by a pointed roof made of dry grass. Two Skorgon stood by the hut’s door. Matil and Dask tied the beetles to a thick dandelion stem.

  “So we take the bugs out,” Dask said. “Easy.”

  Matil touched the handle of her dagger. “It was hard enough fighting just one earlier. I think these are stronger than the ones we fought in Valdingfal.”

  “Okay, we’ll need a distraction while you and I sneak up.”

  She nodded. “Khelya can be the distraction.”

  “They’d see her and shout. Anyone inside would hear.” He ran his eyes over the scene before them. “Maybe she can throw something to get them away from the hut.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” Khelya said abruptly. She paused and then shook her head. “Feels strange saying that…maybe you guys are rubbin’ off on me. Anyway, let’s say I sit here in the bush and let one of the beetles out by its reins, with a pack or two on top to look suspicious. The Skorgon would come over to see. There.” For a moment she thought about it, and then her matter-of-fact air slipped away. “Nah, it’s- it’s too simple. Any more ideas?”

  “Well…” Dask looked at Matil. “Khel’s idea could work.”

  “Let’s use it,” Matil said.

  Khelya gave them a surprised look.

  They soon set up Dewdrop, the more compliant of the two beetles, with some packs on her shell. Matil took her place to Khelya’s left while Dask went to her right. The shadow beneath the leaves was enough to surround Matil comfortably, allowing her to fade. She turned her dagger in a reverse grip and breathed out to slow her pounding heart. At the feeling of the dagger’s hilt in her hand and at the tension of uncertainty, her state of mind changed. It grew detached and prepared, searching for advantages in her surroundings. She stepped to the side, onto higher ground. Just like Etsel had taught her.

  “Now, Khel,” came a whisper from where Dask was faded.

  Khelya slackened Dewdrop’s reins and tapped the beetle out of the bush with the butt of her Eletsol spear. It took a bit for Dewdrop to get far enough out that the Skorgon noticed. One Skorgon pushed the other’s lower shoulder – most Skorgon seemed to have four arms – and then they both approached the beetle with lowered spears. Khelya gently drew Dewdrop back toward the bush until the two Skorgon were close.

  The one near Dask was tall and pale, with feathery antennae. White fur covered his head and otherwise bare chest. The other one, of short stature with a round, bald head, bulging eyes, and pointy mandibles, crept around Dewdrop into Matil’s range. Besides the worn brown tunic and pants he wore, he resembled a black ant. Dask’s target looked like a moth. At first Matil had been relieved that the smaller one went in her direction, but now she felt uneasy.

  She didn’t have time to think about her feeling. Just then, Dask stepped out of the shadows, clamped his hand over the moth Skorgon’s mouth, and stabbed him in the side. The
Skorgon clawed at Dask with his four hands. Dask pulled out the blade and stabbed his neck, green blood staining the white fur on his chest. The moth Skorgon’s arms grew weak, and then he fell to the ground, lifeless.

  Just as the ant Skorgon was turning to look at his partner, Matil grabbed him and went for the stomach. Her knife cut through his tunic, but slid across his tough skin. Before she could stab again with more force, he moved all four of his arms and twisted out of her grip with shocking strength.

  He began a scratchy yell. “Shalakad bleyaaa—”

  Dask tackled him to the ground, and they grappled with each other. The Skorgon soon threw Dask off. Wings flapping, Dask hurtled into the dirt a few steps away. The Skorgon’s spear fell nearby. Khelya got to her knees to help Dask up while Matil grabbed one of the ant Skorgon’s arms. She pulled herself toward him, using the extra momentum to sink her blade into one of his upper armpits. He hissed, lashed out with a lower arm, and smacked her in the gut. Her legs buckled. She choked and collapsed.

  Things would be worse the longer she was down, so she hurriedly struggled to get up. When she’d regained her senses, she saw Khelya rush the Skorgon with her Eletsol spear, but the Skorgon sidestepped and tore the spear from her hands, sending it hurtling over Matil. Khelya yelled in shock as she stumbled. The Skorgon grabbed her by the leg and then pulled her along, finally letting go with a mighty heave. Though he was a third of her height, his throw sent her scraping across the ground. Now Matil was afraid to go near him. Dask circled at a distance, too, flying between the bush branches. Khelya grunted as she got back up.

  The Skorgon grimaced around his mandibles and spewed at them what sounded like the vilest curses in his language. He was loud, but his battle cry must have already alerted whoever was in the house. Matil cleared her mind and watched the Skorgon more closely. From the way he stood and fought, she could tell that he put more strength than was necessary into each movement. Not each attack, but each movement. Once he made up his mind to focus and do something, he would do it.

  “You’d better not be talking about my mother,” Dask called down. “If you are, this fight’ll turn as ugly as your mother!”

  The Skorgon doubled his stream of chatter.

  “Yeah, that’s right, your—” Dask cut himself off and dove at the Skorgon. His speed allowed him to drive his knife into the Skorgon’s belly. Again he was flung away.

  Matil sprinted in from the side and slashed the vulnerable crook of the Skorgon’s lower arm. His rattling roars of pain carried around them. Before he could turn all the way, Matil went for an arm on the opposite side, causing him to change directions. But she switched back and sliced the crook of the arm above the first one. The Skorgon swayed and reached for her. She darted beneath his two good arms to twist and pull out Dask’s knife. Green blood quickly stained the Skorgon’s tunic. He fell.

  Khelya stomped over with her spear and thrust it downward. When his struggling ended, she pulled out the spear and stepped away with a cringe. Dask picked himself up off the ground. The three of them looked toward the hermit’s house, but apparently it was far enough that no one inside had heard.

  “You two okay?” Dask said.

  Matil nodded, catching her breath, and handed him his knife.

  “Didja see ‘im pick me up?” Khelya said incredulously. “He’s smaller than Matil!”

  “Sorry about that.” Dask wiped his blade on a leaf by his shoulder. “I should have seen it coming. Skorgon are like different kinds of bugs. That one looked like an ant and, whaddaya know, he was kind of strong.”

  They tied Dewdrop next to Olnar.

  “I’ll check it out first,” Dask whispered.

  Matil and Khelya waited under cover, neither one moving their eyes from the hut as Dask entered. They stayed that way in tense stillness, listening for any noise.

  A short time later, he walked out wearing a bleak expression. “No one’s there,” he said.

  “We’re- we’re too late?” Khelya said.

  He pressed his lips together and nodded.

  Chapter 15

  Workshop in the Woods

  Matil looked between Khelya and Dask, her ears lowering. Then she ran to the hut’s door and flung it open.

  “Matil?” Dask said.

  Beyond the door, the dirt floor descended into the ground at a steep angle, forming a spacious tunnel. Furrows scored the dirt, like something had been dragged through it. Khelya and Dask came up behind her.

  “They turned the place upside-down,” he said. “We might as well start making a backup plan.”

  Khelya narrowed her eyes. “I’ll find ‘im.”

  “I already checked the forest around here, Khel. No trace.”

  She turned and bolted away, her long legs carrying her straight across the clearing.

  Dask stared after her. “What is it with you ladies?”

  “If Hasyl knew the secret,” Matil said, “wouldn’t he keep a…a record of it?”

  “I’m telling ya, it’s bad. If there was anything, the Skorgon probably got it.”

  Her heart fluttered, nearing panic as she saw their hope disappearing with the hermit. “Let’s look anyway.”

  He shrugged and Matil stepped down the tunnel. It led them deeper in an underground path, where rooms led off from the tunnel through earthen archways. She stopped at the first one. It was a storeroom. Chopped roots and other edible plants covered the floor, large wooden containers and a stack of carrots had fallen over, and the air was thick with herbal scents. Dried earthworms spilled out of one tall container. Matil looked in the other rooms briefly. They were also storage, all in a state of chaos.

  At the end of the tunnel was another door, hanging open so that a shaft of faint light spilled out. The dirt was especially churned up there, and deep lines marred the wood door, as if a large animal had clawed it. Warding off dread, Matil pushed the door open. Just through the doorway was a wood plank floor spattered with dark red blood.

  She tore her eyes from the floor and looked around. She and Dask stood on the threshold of a great room with a high ceiling all the way up to the top of the log, where sections of the log had been cut out to let in rays of daylight from the outside. Flaps of bark were propped up in lean-to fashion over the cutouts, attached to a system of ropes and poles that would allow someone on the ground floor to pull them closed and push them open. To Matil’s right, the room ended in the wall of stones she had seen outside sealing shut the end of the log. A fireplace in the wall yawned out of a pile of stones that appeared to have fallen into place and frozen together. To Matil’s left, large ramps made from woven twigs gave access to three stories of rooms. It was an airy and well-cared-for place – except for the destruction waged throughout.

  Clouds of dust threw a haze over the house and tickled Matil’s nose. Two roomy wicker chairs faced the hearth, but they lay sideways with caning snapped, their dark blue cushions torn apart beside them, and all of it covered in soot disgorged from the fireplace. A low table was cracked in two, half of it butted up against the wall. Separating the fireplace area from the rest of the house was part of a hefty tree branch that rested on the floor, its sub-branches mere knots on its smooth surface. Ten thick candles of various colors studded the upper side at the height of Matil’s head. The larger portion of the room on the left was nearly inaccessible, covered in a storm of abused books and smashed-up frameworks of metal and wood. Gears and pipes cluttered the ground, along with some more complete mechanisms, such as numerous clocks. There were hooks all over the walls where things had hung before someone had strewn them across the floor. In the center of the hooks was a clear wall space where Hasyl had painted some numbers.

  Matil and Dask stepped farther in.

  Dask picked up a metal knob from the floor. “From the looks of it, this guy’s a tinker,” he said, inspecting the piece. “Tinkers are nutty, but they’re usually
all right.”

  At the loud scrape of a foot, Matil whirled around.

  It was Khelya entering the room, her transparent face wet with sweat. She tugged off her brown headband and gazed at the mess. “They wrecked up his home somethin’ awful,” she said heavily.

  “Look where you’re standing,” Dask said.

  Khelya looked down, squeaking when she noticed the blood splotches. She took a big stride away from them.

  He set the knob down on a table. “They wrecked up more than just the house.”

  “Thiffen,” she said. “Oh, thiffen.”

  Matil breathed slowly to calm herself. “There has to be a way.”

  “Any ideas?” Dask said.

  “Nothing specific,” she said. “Hasyl might have hidden the information in case something like this happened. It’s about the Elders. There has to be something.”

  “Yeah,” Khelya said. “It’s too important.”

  “Oh, so he might have made a backup plan?” Dask leaned against the candle branch. “Backup plans are nice. In fact, they’re so nice that I made one for us.”

  “You don’t think he left anything behind?” Matil said, losing confidence again.

  He thought for a moment. “I guess I could see a tinker hiding something in a secret cupboard, or putting a false bottom in a drawer. My gang hired ‘em sometimes to squirrel away big money merchandise so the guards wouldn’t find anything in a raid.”

  Matil’s spirits lifted at his words. “Let’s look around, then.”

  She began to pick through the intricate mechanisms on the floor. Whether large or tiny, the pieces were carved with precise, artistic details; symbols flowed into faces, which flowed into forms, and again into symbols. In one corner she found interlocking gears stuck to a board, though some empty pins showed that a few gears had popped off. Enough of it remained to fascinate Matil. In the center, the largest gear showed a man with his hand held out, toward the right side. The surrounding, smaller gears each portrayed something different, like a mouse, an ant, or a flower. Each of these had its own adjacent gears with more images. Matil carefully turned the center gear with her finger and the man slid into place beside one of the other images, appearing to pet a mouse’s nose. The gear below it, the ant, touched a leaf with its antennae. As Matil kept turning, the man met the ant, and the mouse above them nuzzled a baby mouse before sniffing at a strawberry on another gear. All of the gears moved as one to create new scenes.