In any case, it is best to steer clear of a Hurlorn’s approach and give the creature plenty of room, or risk being lashed at, or worse, trampled upon. But when Hurlorns are still, as they nearly always are, their roots twist deep into the living soil. And at the base of the trunk, they tend to curl up in such a manner as to give the impression of toes on giant feet – a fitting signature for trees that stroll through the woodlands. If you happen to come across roots that appear to be two very large feet at the base of a very large tree, you may have just stumbled on a dormant Hurlorn.
Chapter XV
Who’s who
In the grey shades of early morning, the apparitions that haunted the grove in the night stood tall and silent. So proper in their place and so lasting in their presence, the advance of the hardwoods had seemed more the fabric of dreams than the substance of reality.
I stood and stretched at the very crest of the Wild Elderkins’ sacred hill, and through the trees glimpsed a pale magenta light ascending over wooded hills and beneath blue-grey clouds. To the southwest, fog had settled in the low-lying areas, punctured by the sharp skeletons of suffocated pine and spruce trees.
“Good morning,” I said to the Hurlorn sentinels in the grove. None responded. None were like Janhurl, or maybe they were still sleeping.
Holly was the next to wake up, groggy. She looked to the dead fire pit and then to me. Her auburn hair was tousled, and the smile of acknowledgment she flashed my way was soon conquered by a long-faced yawn. Fyorn was nowhere to be seen. Kabor slept soundly, but twitched violently every now and again. The other fire – the wraith fire – had been dug out and the foul ashes removed.
“What’s for breakfast?” said Holly.
I replied in my best snobbish accent – Fort Abandon elite. “I have acquired a taste for vermin and blind fish of late. Allow me to serve you.”
Holly graced me with a full view of her wide, flat tongue. She moaned and made an awful face before burying her head deep into a stuffed hood posing as a pillow. The Flipside girl sighed heavily, and then spoke into her pillow. “Where’s Bobbin when you need him?”
Tagged with the responsibility to provide, I rummaged through Fyorn’s pack and found more dried meat, some dried fruit and, yes, several rather large chunks of taffy – bone dry and hard as a rock. Anyone who knew Fyorn at all also knew that he had to have sweets on him somewhere, at all times.
After we consumed a fair portion of the meat and it was time to help ourselves to the taffy, Fyorn stepped into the clearing. He was sooty and sweaty, carrying a small shovel and a large, empty sack. It was no mystery what he’d been up to. Nor was it any mystery to him what we were up to. His sudden entrance had caught us off guard and with our hands in the cookie jar, so to speak. He grinned as I shattered a chunk of taffy between two rocks and divided the pieces as equally as I could, four ways.
“Would you like my axe?” he said.
I shook my head. “Not after last night,” I replied.
Kabor awoke and sat up. A shimmering line of drivel ran down from the corner of his mouth, which he promptly wiped with his sleeve.
“How about a bite?” I asked him, showing him the candy morsels.
Kabor made a sick face and shook his head. Holly was quick to claim his portions. The Stout thirsted greatly though, and downed the contents of a watering can that the woodsman had set beside him in the night.
Fyorn took his bits before Holly got to them. “We’ll see rain by evening,” he said, and then proceeded to recite his plans for the day. “Once we rendezvous with Bobbin and Gariff, you should all head for Webfoot together. Stay at the trapper’s cabin if…” He glanced at Kabor. “…stay there if the going is slow. Holly knows where the key is. Lock up when you leave.”
“I have big concerns about Harrow,” he continued, “so I’ll be veering off to the Hidden City to report what I have seen and heard, and to seek council on recent events. I’ll let them know everything that’s been happening, if they don’t already know more than I do.”
The woodsman fixed his eyes on Kabor and then me. “Harrow will have to answer for incarcerating the two of you,” he said.
Fyorn paused and looked to each of us in turn, inviting questions. It was too early for questions though.
“Good, now that’s settled. Time for a real breakfast,” he said. “We have a big day ahead. Holly, you’re in charge.” He was teasing her, but she didn’t seem to catch on.
Holly opened her mouth in protest. Her jaw moved, but she said nothing. She was a great server, but never claimed to be a cook. It seemed she would let it pass, until her voice rang out. “Just because I work in a tavern doesn’t mean I know how to cook,” she said.
“You must have learned something,” teased Fyorn.
“Ya, like who’s cheap and who’s not, who’ll try to cop a feel, who tries to pick a fight, and who’ll stand up for you. Then there’s who talks about their wife all the time, who cheats, who works hard all day, who tries to pick you up, who likes to have fun and who likes to drown their sorrows and forget. That’s what I learned: who’s who.”
My uncle shook his head and grimaced. “Knowing who’s who is important,” he said.
Holly’s eyes went wide with enthusiasm. “MMM… but it’s fun though too,” she said, “like on special occasions when everyone’s happy. And out-of-towners are amazed when they order a big meal and I remember every little detail without writing anything down. Offerings are good sometimes.”
She continued on and on about the Flipside and her patrons, delving into lively accounts of events and incidents. While she spoke, Fyorn began tidying up the campsite and packing his belongings. When he came to the cooking gear, Holly interrupted his progress.
“You’re not putting that away, are you? What about breakfast?” she said.
Fyorn smiled thinly. “Of course not,” he said. “Just getting to it.” I could see he was drawn, but my uncle was nothing if not a good host. To Holly’s delight, he stoked the fire, got his cooking gear together, and put his pan over the heat. I threw some fresh wood underneath.
The woodsman sent me off to a cold storage space that he maintained, down the hill in a glen. I found it easily enough, set beneath rocks deeply shaded by tall pines. Winter ice, doped with pine needles, had persisted through spring and probably would into early summer. Under the rocks and the blocks of ice, I pulled out a few black sausages spiced with garlic that he had stowed away, and fresh crow eggs as well. It suffices to say my uncle whipped us up a quick and satisfying breakfast.
My shrunken stomach was already satisfied going in, so I found myself nibbling at the fixings for the sheer pleasure of it. He also started a pot of tea of some unknown variety, tearing apart small, spiky leaves and dropping them into boiling water. The tea came out pleasantly weak, and sipping it imparted a tightening sensation that soothed the throat. Kabor, in his first gesture of non-grumpiness that day, made his appreciation of the beverage known to all.
As we ate, I filled in more details about my travel underground. Fyorn listened intently while he busied himself. Every so often, he halted what he was doing to focus in on a topic. Holly was just as enamored by my tales as she had been the previous night. Once again, I omitted the part about the leviathan. In particular, Fyorn seemed quite interested in the strange race of underground dwellers I encountered.
“…and one of the Glooms, named Nekenezitter, can see. He led us out.” I told him.
“Gropers,” Fyorn stated matter-of-factly. “They’re called Gropers, not Glooms.”
“Actually, they call themselves the Il’kinik,” I said.
“Il’kinik?” he repeated. “I never heard that before.”
“But, Gropers sounds about right,” I said. “The oddest people I’ve ever met. They do more than work the mines though.” I went through my pack and pulled out one of the smooth, glassy tablets I had found. “Under the tower, I saw some working on these.”
While being led to my cell, I had glimpsed tablets of the
sort that I found in the Hanging City, this time through an open doorway in the Catacombs. They were laid out on a long, metal table along with other… interesting items. A man was in the room as well, richly dressed, and the constant chirring of Gloom chatter spilled into the hallway. For a brief moment, I observed how the Glooms handled the tablets and other gadgets with gliding hands and deft fingers. And the way they seemed to study what they held had me wondering if somehow they could “see” better than we could, at least in some ways.
Fyorn stopped what he was doing for a quick glance at the tablet. He held it up to the light, and grimaced. “Harrow will have to answer for this as well. Sorry Nud, but I need to hang on to it.”
“Keep it,” I said. I nearly volunteered the other one that I had stashed away, but thought better of it. Fyorn wrapped the tablet in cloth and carefully packed it away.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Kabor, who had dozed off sometime during the discussion, was startled awake.
While Holly and I cleaned up and Fyorn reorganized his pack so everything would fit neatly, I went over the bit about Taeglin’s plans for the bog, as told by Nekenezitter. Fyorn seemed irked at the mention of the Harrowian. Then he spilled his taffy. It scattered into the fire pit.
“Taeglin is like a spoiled child,” he said, clearly agitated. “Everyone knows that officially, he is the rightful King of Harrow, but he seldom acts the part and few respect his rule while the First King still lingers beyond death. Taeglin shuns all responsibility, but will not hesitate to take what he wants, when he wants it. It is difficult to believe that he came from the same stock as his proud forefather, Taradin.”
Holly pieced together the puzzle rolling around in her head. “Taradin is the First King – the one who led the First Men away from the shores of Fortune Bay?”
Fyorn responded with an iffy nod. “That man died a great hero long ago. Unfortunately, he should have stayed that way. Taradin would have been far better off without all those abominations he surrounds himself with – wraiths included.”
Kabor tried to drink from his empty watering can. The woodsman tossed him a skin from his pack, which the Stout accepted with a long swig.
My uncle continued. “In Taeglin’s stead, the city master runs everything, while he spends his days hidden away in that impenetrable tower of his.”
I knew from experience the trouble that Taeglin had caused, routinely overstepping the boundaries of his official jurisdiction to force his will on the surrounding territories. Fort Abandon tended to fall in line. The Trilands that included Webfoot, Proudfoot and the Bearded Hills resisted, but in reality, all three districts were subject to his every whim unless Gan took issue. The Outlands and the Scarsands are lawless lands, powerless to resist any incursion and not capable of organized defiance. Only the might of the Elderkin steadied the balance of power in the region.
I had my own thoughts about Taeglin’s interest in the bog. “I think he wants something the Jhinyari left behind from the battle long ago, or maybe he knows about the stones—”
Holly interjected, “They’re not his! He can’t just take them. That’s our claim! Our bog!”
“No one said he was taking our claim,” I said.
“That is something we will have to discuss,” said Fyorn. He went back to packing, but severing eye contact was not enough to stop Holly from arguing her point. Not for a minute.
Chapter XVI
Strange attractor
I only noticed there had been a breeze when it vanished. An eerie stillness took its place as I stood next to the Rune Stone. And such a fine rain fell not a drop of it could be seen, but it tingled on the surface of my skin. A lone puff of wind sent a large elm leaf up the hill to circle around me. Something in the hush and the agitated movement of the leaf set me on guard. Fyorn and Holly, still carrying on a spirited conversation about what is right versus what rights are, abruptly went silent. Fyorn looked to the treetops.
I heard the heavy gust before it came bearing down on us – branches snapped and leaves flapped violently. Above the trees, debris swirled about. The rogue cushion of air that had frolicked in our midst suddenly was overwhelmed and the leaf whisked away, out of sight. I lifted my arm to shield myself from the onset of high winds. Dirt, leaves and small twigs blasted past.
The gust of wind did not last long, and when it subsided, the strangest sensation came over me… to go back to Harrow, a compulsion really. Perhaps that was my first whisper. Or maybe it was my second, or maybe it was nothing but a gust of wind that triggered a feeling. I could not be sure.
“But why?” I said to the blowing wind. There was no response.
My uncle’s creased and scrinching brow mapped out a concerned look. He glared at me squarely, suspicion in his eyes. “Why what?” he said.
I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just shrugged, climbed on top of the monument and found a dry enough spot to sit. I watched as the Hurlorns redefined the grove, backing away into their ordered rows. In so doing, they opened up the sky to us, grey and foreboding. Fyorn decided not to pursue the matter of my question any further. He went to check Kabor’s wounds, and then exited the grove on some minor mission, perhaps to seek out a healing herb or fresh water.
A break in the clouds above released a sliver of morning sunshine into the clearing. I closed my eyes for a moment’s solace, soaking up the elusive rays. I knew it wouldn’t last long. For a few precious minutes, I put aside the Dim Sea and the demands of the leviathan. I put aside wraiths, Glooms, and whispers. Instead, I found myself thinking of home, and Paplov. It was short-lived though. Holly came to join me. She sat an arm’s length away – an arm’s length too far in my mind.
“Want to see?” she said, dangling her pendant in front of my eyes, the one she had found that disastrous day on the Mire Trail back when we had crossed paths with the miserable hags. I took it. She explained everything.
“It’s brighter now than ever before,” said Holly, almost apologetically. Initially, she had told me the spark was “tiny” compared to mine.
“You’re right,” I said, letting the stone spin at the end of the chain as it dangled and dazzled in the sunlight. “It’s a lot like mine, except the color, of course, and the grey rock mixed in. Mer would know for sure if it’s the same stuff.”
“Fyorn says the markings are from Harrow,” she said.
I unsheathed my stone and removed it from my neck. It was brighter than usual too, and the familiar red luminescence glowed forth. The look and feel of the green portion of Holly’s stone was the same as mine, except hers showed more fracture planes on the inside and was a different shape. Mine was more round than oblong, and the chipped facets less regular in size and shape. The spark in Holly’s was more constant than what I had become accustomed to, fading in and out in a slow course. I noticed mine now displayed the same constancy.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Kabor’s quizzical, sideways look as he eyed us from where he was resting. A light rain began to fall again, this time with the sun still out. Holly and I slid off the monument. Placing the green piece into Holly’s small, cupped hand, I gazed into her green eyes and smiled. They were bright in the sunlit drizzle, and flecked with molten gold.
“Stay right there,” I said, and made her wait until a cloud blocked the sun. It wasn’t long. “Now back away – slowly, and hold your stone in front where I can see it.” As I suspected, the sparks in the two stones grew dimmer and out of synch the farther she went.
“Now walk towards me,” I said. And as she approached, the lights brightened and the flickers synchronized.
“The creek—” she started, eyes dancing.
I nodded. “There might be more. And now we know how to find them.”
“Closer,” I said. She advanced a cautious step. We were face to face. I set my stone against hers. Holly’s eyes went wide as the two lights became one, shining bright and yellow and steady. In that moment, I felt that I touched her mind, her thoughts. Abruptly, she pulled away a
nd broke eye contact, looking to the ground. Holly put on her necklace and swept her hair so that it draped over the chain.
When she looked up, a mischievous smile came across her face. “Try to find me,” she said. Playfully, Holly reversed her cloak and donned the camouflaged pattern, minus the hood. Her body shimmered like a blur as she dashed into the surrounding woods, blending into the scenery.
She pulled the hood over her head. “Find me!” she called again, wholly translucent. I closed my eyes for ten counts, and then scanned the woods with a narrow, red beam. I caused the light to flash when I found her.
“That’s cheating,” she called, completely hidden.
“You have to learn to throw your voice too,” Kabor called out to Holly from under his tree.
I put the stone away and she tried again. That time I couldn’t find her. But after another few minutes of the game, I got better at figuring out where Holly was, especially if she kept sneaking about.
“You need to be really quiet too,” I said.
“I am quiet,” she replied.
Fyorn happened by and took note of the Flipside girl’s antics on his way through the grove. He carried a bundle of sturdy sticks in his arms. Holly, gregarious as always, abandoned the game with a “humph” and took the opportunity to grab his attention. She flipped back her hood, and, as he walked on, spoke more to his broad shoulders and the back of his head than anything else.
“How do the Elderkin become undying?” she probed.
The woodsman stopped and looked over his shoulder, eyes smiling. He grinned widely and then winked at Holly. “Just like everyone else,” he said, “and it all starts with the twinkle in a lady’s eye.”
I chuckled.
Holly smirked, rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Mine aren’t twinkling,” she said. There was a long, easy silence, during which Fyorn strode over to Kabor and began sorting through the sticks that he had gathered, gauging the size of each one against Kabor’s build. Holly trailed behind him like an expectant puppy, practicing quiet steps.
SPARX Incarnation: Order of the Undying (SPARX Series I Book 2) Page 14
