The Finding

by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  Phrym’s rumbling whicker pulled Jahrra from her reverie. Up ahead, the towering trees of the Wreing Florenn were beginning to swallow the Danu Creek. Jahrra felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t realized how far they had traveled. They came around one more bend of the shadowed stream and saw the entire school standing on the edge of the forest like a funeral procession. Jahrra thought she was going to faint. She spotted Gieaun and Scede off to the side on their own horses and she timidly led Phrym over to them.

  “Am I late?” she whispered harshly, her mouth strangely dry. “I thought I left early enough.”

  “No, you’re early, but they all got here even earlier,” Scede said tensely, looking how Jahrra felt.

  Jahrra gritted her teeth and fought the sudden waves of nausea. “I guess we’d better get this over with then.”

  She took a deep breath and led Phrym over to where Eydeth and Ellysian stood. Gieaun and Scede looked on in horror, their nerves slowly melting into pools of fear.

  Jahrra addressed the twins, “Alright, what are the conditions, how far do I have to go in?”

  She was no longer whispering, and she could hear her own voice trembling.

  Eydeth reveled in her dread awhile before answering with a twisted smile, “You’ll have to go all the way to the Belloughs, at the very end of the swamp, where the witch lives. Bring back some evidence that you’ve made it that far or else we won’t believe you.”

  There was an audible gasp at the mention of the word Belloughs, but Jahrra forced herself to ignore it. The Belloughs was the worst part of the swamp. Going all the way to the Belloughs would be like diving into the middle of Lake Ossar where the lake monster supposedly slept as opposed to simply wading on the shore. Jahrra pushed the daunting comparison out of her mind and instead focused her attention on Eydeth’s continued ridiculous suggestions.

  “How could I possibly prove that!” she snipped, forgetting her fear for the time being.

  “Oh, I don’t know, bring back something that belongs to the witch.”

  Ellysian and a few of their friends snickered and Jahrra flushed with sudden anger. That boy is so evil! He knows I can’t bring back any proof!

  “Very well,” she finally answered, straight-faced and unsmiling, “but if I do, I want something in return.”

  If she had to prove she made it to the Belloughs, then she wasn’t going to do it for free. Something that looked like surprise flashed across Eydeth’s face, and Jahrra felt her spirits lift just a little. He hadn’t expected her to counter with her own demands.

  “If I come back with evidence,” Jahrra continued coolly, “then I want you, your sister, and all of your friends to stay away from Lake Ossar. Forever.”

  Jahrra sat up rigidly in the saddle and held her head up as high as she could. A mixture of annoyance, anger and defeat churned behind Eydeth’s cruel eyes. He was obviously fighting the desire to deny Jahrra what she wanted, but he was also deciding whether he should sacrifice one small advantage for her in order to ensure she would still go through with his dare.

  Finally, after what seemed like hours, he spoke, “That mud hole? No problem! If you come back with believable evidence of the hag, then you and your Nesnan-loving friends can have that puddle all to yourselves.”

  Eydeth crossed his arms and smirked, trying to hide the fact that he was annoyed his enemy might be getting something out of this. Jahrra smiled widely and glanced over at Gieaun and Scede, both looking somewhat cheerful for the first time that morning.

  “You’ve got a deal.” Jahrra nodded to the twins and trailed her eyes over the rest of the crowd, reassuring herself that they had heard the bargain. She pulled Phrym’s reins around and guided him towards the tiny path that eventually led into the heart of the Black Swamp. Gieaun and Scede followed suit on Bhun and Aimhe, Scede looking three shades of grey and Gieaun looking like a wilted flower.

  “Hold on, what’s this?” Eydeth said suddenly in feigned amusement. “An entourage?”

  Jahrra turned around on Phrym, bracing herself for what she knew she was going to hear.

  “You go alone, Nesnan. No buddies to help you out, or our deal about the pond is off.”

  Eydeth and his sister crossed their arms firmly, glaring even more contemptibly than before.

  A dramatic muttering swept the crowd as Jahrra looked nervously around, not quite sure what to do. I should’ve known he wouldn’t want them coming with me! she thought miserably. She looked at Scede, dread building in her eyes, but he just stared back, a look of helplessness on his own face. Gieaun appeared to be paler than a ghost and seemed to be beyond speech.

  “Jahrra!” she finally managed to whisper hoarsely. “You can still tell them no!”

  Jahrra turned away and took a deep breath. She knew that if she wanted to win this battle, to win back her favorite place in the whole world, she would have to do this alone.

  She released the air in her lungs and with eyes still closed she said, “I’ll go alone.”

  The crowd gasped, obviously shocked at her decision. Eydeth and Ellysian had expected her to back out, but she wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. She opened her eyes and looked at her friends one last time. Scede looked frightened, but encouraging at the same time and his sister was cowering next to him, on the verge of tears.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. But don’t you dare go and get Hroombra until the afternoon if I don’t come back, alright?”

  Gieaun and Scede reluctantly swore they’d give their friend plenty of time to complete her task. Jahrra hugged them both from Phrym’s back and then turned and led him in the direction of the swamp once more.

  “If any of you are expecting me to die today, you’re wasting your time. I’ll go to the Belloughs, but I don’t plan on staying,” she boldly shot behind her, guiding Phrym into a canter just before disappearing over the small rise in land that eventually dropped into the swamp.

  After she crested the low hill, Jahrra let out a long sigh and slouched in the saddle. Her bones felt like rubber and her skin like jelly. No point in looking brave now, no one is around to see, she thought as her mouth became parched again.

  Phrym walked tediously along the narrow trail stretching in front of them, his hooves making a sucking sound in the black, sticky mud. A sense of dread filled the air and the surrounding woods were oddly silent, the only noise, other than Phrym’s feet of course, were his puffs of discomfiture. The air smelled woody, metallic and stale and it reminded Jahrra of the scent of blood. She shivered and tried hard not to imagine stumbling upon a massacre wrought by some horrific beast.

  Despite her fear, however, Jahrra encouraged Phrym deeper into the darkening wood. Soon the tall, bright eucalyptus trees were replaced by black, crouching oaks and the first signs of the dark bog crept into view. The scent of putrid water filled the air, and Jahrra’s restless mind unwillingly dredged up everything she had ever heard about the Black Swamp. At that moment her memory was recalling an excerpt from one of Hroombra’s books:

  The Black Swamp, as it is so called by the many elfin tribes that inhabit Oescienne, is a stretch of wetlands nestled between the two small rows of hillocks within the Wreing Florenn.

  The swamp gets its name from the blackish mud that makes up its belly, not to mention the dreary and dank atmosphere it exudes from the knotty, sick looking ancient black oaks that guard its boundaries.

  Not many a soul ventures into the Black Swamp and only a few brave its borders to collect the coveted mushrooms and rare herbs that grow within its dark interior. It is also said that the best mistletoe grows in the canopies of the black oaks there, but even fewer people venture in deep enough to collect it.

  The dreary environment and unpleasant surroundings are not the only reason people avoid the swamp. According to local legend, many fearsome and mysterious creatures are said to live there, and in the past many children have gone missing.

  Something splashed into the dank water only a few feet from
the trail, stirring the cool, heavy mist that engulfed the landscape. Jahrra yelped and instinctively pulled on Phrym’s reins, the disturbing thoughts resonating in her head quickly drowned out by the sound of her pounding heart. Phrym quickened his pace and made a few discontented noises of nervousness, but as Jahrra shakily coaxed him back to a slower pace, she noticed that the sound had been caused by a turtle taking cover under the water.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, laughing nervously as she released it. She reached down and patted Phrym.

  “It’s alright boy. It was only a turtle.”

  Phrym nickered and snorted, seeming satisfied with Jahrra’s explanation. She encouraged him onward, and soon they were moving at a steady pace once again.

  As they journeyed deeper into the swamp, Jahrra tried hard to be positive and not think about what might be watching her from the thick brush beyond the trail. She especially tried not to think about the legendary witch that may or may not live in the Belloughs, but the chilly woods conjured up memories of campfire ghost stories that kept the fear fresh.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and tried desperately to repeat the words of meditation that Viornen had taught her, but all she could hear was Kaihmen’s voice echoing in her head, “The witch came from the far east, fleeing from the Crimson King. It is said that she double-crossed the evil king and is now hiding out in fear of him . . .”

  Jahrra shuddered. The idea of someone double-crossing the Crimson King terrified her; he sounded bad enough as it was without being angry. I’m just being paranoid, she told herself, there’s no one in this swamp except maybe some frogs and leeches. But no matter how hard she tried, Jahrra couldn’t get her mind off of the terror that had settled inside of her like heavy silt settling in a riverbed. Her hands were clammy and she could feel sweat trickling down her back, despite the cold.

  Phrym nickered lightly, and Jahrra pulled him to a stop, hoping to recover her bearings and calm her mind. They’d been walking for about a half hour, and so far Jahrra hadn’t seen anything to make her feel so nervous. She blinked and looked around at the surrounding scenery to distract herself. The swamp was tangled with a variety of plants ranging from tiny, almost luminescent toadstools of multiple colors, to the giant, dominating oaks that choked out everything else but the dark poison ivy that wrapped tightly around their trunks. The moss that hung from the twisting branches looked like thick, matted hair and was a dark, dry olive color.

  Jahrra pulled her eyes from the thick canopy and glanced down at the path she and Phrym were following. The black tendril of soil stretched thinly above the bank of the wetlands before disappearing into the obscure, thick fog in the immediate distance. After several minutes, Jahrra took a deep breath and decided it was time to move on.

  Regardless of the quiet atmosphere and the fact that nothing horrible had happened after an hour of walking, Jahrra still couldn’t settle down. Phrym jerked back his head at the screech of a bird followed by a vigorous flapping of wings, and Jahrra had to take a few breaths to calm her racing heart. This was the first thing she’d heard since entering the swamp besides Phrym’s horsey comments and the retreating turtle.

  Phrym came to a stop once again and Jahrra took a few more deep breaths, the taste of the cool, mossy air calming her nerves a bit. The fog was thicker now; a result, Jahrra thought, of some dark, evil magic brewing in the hidden corners of the Belloughs. They had to be close now, she could feel it.

  Jahrra shuddered and swallowed thickly. The Belloughs of the Black Swamp. Her stomach took another plunge at the very thought of the name.

  “Phrym, you have to make sure I stay focused,” she whispered nervously down to her strangely calm semequin.

  Phrym merely turned his ears back towards her and kept on walking carefully past the brown ferns and oily green liverworts. A few minutes later the trail began to decline into the chill air of the belly of the swamp. The atmosphere not only grew colder and mistier, but darker as well, as if a premature twilight had begun to set in. It’s only because of the cover of the oaks; they’re growing closer together here, Jahrra told herself, trying really hard not to let the heavy atmosphere smother her.

  A loud, sudden CRACK cut through the silence when Phrym stepped on a dead branch.

  “Whoa!” Jahrra shouted, her entire body tensing out of instinct.

  Phrym tossed his head and started to canter.

  “Stop Phrym, slow down!” Jahrra pleaded as she pulled back on the reins which were easily slipping through her sweaty palms. She was trying hard not to panic and give in to her raw nerves as the cool air caressed her hot face. Phrym slowed after a few dozen yards and Jahrra slumped limply up against his strong neck.

  “It’s alright, Phrym, you only spooked yourself!” she breathed nervously, a little more loudly than she ought to.

  She scratched his neck once more and his nervous snorting gradually calmed. But Phrym wasn’t paying attention to her. He was standing stark still; his ears cocked forward, his stance tense. Jahrra froze. She was afraid to look up, but she forced herself to. She hadn’t noticed the tall hills closing in on either side of them. She suddenly felt like a panicked insect rushing into a funnel spider’s trap.

  Jahrra blinked through Phrym’s tangled mane, her blood freezing as she recognized the scene before her. The parallel rows of hills met up not too far ahead, forming the unmistakable crook of the Belloughs. She had made it, and she was still alive and in one piece.

  Well, here goes.

  Jahrra drew on every ounce of courage she possessed as she gently led Phrym down into the Belloughs of the Black Swamp.

  -

  Chapter Twenty-One -

  The Witch of the Wreing

  Phrym released a small snort, his breath steaming in the chill air, letting Jahrra know in his own way that he was beginning to have second thoughts about this venture. Jahrra ignored him and surveyed the surrounding scenery, her senses on high alert. She squinted through the dense, gray mist, her heart thudding erratically when she realized the dark blotches against the base of the hills were caves.

  Jahrra tightened her fingers around Phrym’s reins, her knuckles growing white from the pressure, and tried to stop her mind from imagining what might live in those dark caverns. The cavern entrances themselves made her think of gaping, black mouths crying out in pain, and the ropes of moss clinging and streaming from their edges like the bedraggled beards of men long dead. The very thought sent chills down her spine, and she knew if a witch did live in this dank swamp, she would most definitely reside here.

  Jahrra took a deep breath, inhaling the unpleasant scents of sulfur, stale dampness and old ashes. It was eerily quiet here, even more so than the stretch of swamp they had already passed. Nevertheless, Jahrra thought that if she strained her ears enough she might hear the strange whispering of a magical language or the black words of a terrible spell.

  After surveying nervously for several minutes, Jahrra looked down at Phrym, trying to gauge his judgment. The semequin must have found the place safe enough after all, for he continued to look straight ahead, almost in curiosity. Strange, she thought, how can he be so calm while I’m ready to turn and bolt?

  Terrified but unwilling to give up after coming this far, Jahrra grudgingly eased Phrym forward, her heart rate steadily rising until it pounded in her ears. The pair delicately wove their way around gnarled tree roots and through tangles of vegetation, coming to a stop when they reached the point where the land flattened out and became dry.

  From this new vantage point Jahrra was able to see the Belloughs a little more clearly. There was life here, and not just the grim, depressed life she’d come to expect in a place without regular sunlight or fertile soil, but life that had been coaxed and pampered into existence.

  Jahrra stopped Phrym and gazed around in wonder at the sight before her. There were strange plants that she’d never seen before, not even in Hroombra’s books on botany: leafy plants with crinkled, bruise-purple foliage and woody plant
s with alien-like flowers. Jahrra was dumbfounded at this discovery. Of all the things she expected to find here, she had not expected to find a garden.

  Jahrra continued to brush her eyes over the well-tended rows of plants, gasping when her eyes fell upon a huge colony of mushrooms. These were even more intriguing than the rest of the plants growing hodgepodge around the caves, and Jahrra soon forgot her overwhelming trepidation.

  Fungi of all shapes and sizes, colors and patterns dotted the dark section of earth like the diverse buildings of a tiny city. There were mushrooms that appeared to be as tall as Phrym, some so tiny that hundreds of them together looked like a small blotch of blue or red or yellow paint spilled upon the ground. Jahrra noted red mushrooms with white spots and brown mushrooms with yellow stalks. There were even mushrooms that were covered in what appeared to be tiny taste buds, and others that looked like umbrellas turned inside out. She even spotted some of the incandescent toadstools she’d seen at the swamp’s entrance.

  Jahrra climbed down from Phrym and led him over to the edge of the strange garden. She stalked, wide-eyed, towards the mushroom patch, blocking out all other sights, sounds, smells and sensations. She dropped Phrym’s reins as if in a daze and squatted down to get a closer look at the glowing toadstools. She reached out her hand to touch one of the more peculiar large mushrooms, a pale, creamy green thing that had short, nubby branches and tiny hair-like appendages all over it, when the silence was abruptly broken.

  “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

  Jahrra screamed and fell awkwardly to the ground at the sound of the unfamiliar, crackling voice. Phrym panicked and backed up nervously, snorting and whinnying aggressively. He would’ve bolted, but Jahrra was on the ground in a vulnerable position and he wouldn’t leave her. Jahrra quickly righted herself, putting her hands behind her to prop herself up. While still sitting in the soft, damp soil, she stared up at a much disheveled, very old woman.