She moved and it mimicked her actions. She stepped to the side and it did too. She hunched her shoulders, and so did it. Then she thrust out her hand toward it in a gesture of friendship, and it hesitated for the first time, as if not understanding, before doing the same. Tamara grasped the outstretched hand and shook it, its rough skin and strong fingers closing around her own.
“My name is Tamara,” she said slowly, not certain if it could understand her.
The creature watched her closely. Dropping her hand, it backed up a pace and nodded as if she had just passed a test of sorts. It rubbed its brown eyes with its hairy hands. Staring hard at Tamara and squinching its eyes together it raised its eyebrows. It flared its big nostrils a couple of times and cocked its head first to the right and then to the left, and once more to the right. She wanted to laugh aloud, its behavior was almost comical to watch, but she didn’t want to insult it.
“And I’m Harlan Goodheart,” it said in a clear voice.
“You do understand!” she replied, surprised. She knew it wasn’t a monster.
“Why wouldn’t I? Do I look odd to you?” he asked, bewildered.
“Well, to be honest, Master Goodheart, you do not look like a hunter or a soldier. You look more like a….a….”
“A what?” he asked, confused.
“Now please don’t misunderstand me. I mean no insult to you by this, but you really look more like a…” she still hesitated.
He waited expectantly.
“Well, not like any person I’ve met before…”
“Like a beast, you mean?” Harlan replied.
“I suppose,” she replied. “But now I see you are as human as I am.”
“Hmmm,” he said in a sing song way. “As human as I am,” he repeated, seeming to like that description. Then his eyes narrowed and his mood changed. “I don’t come across too many people here anymore. Not in a while, not since the Darkening. The woods are rather quiet these days.” He looked past her into the trees. He had an accent she couldn’t place, neither northern nor southern, from nowhere around Parth. His features too were not like those of any town or city folk she knew, nor of any others who had visited the Tower as long as she could recall.
“The Darkening?” Tamara questioned. That word was unfamiliar to her.
“Can’t you see, woman? Look around. Where’s the light?” he asked, swinging his arm about. “The trees have scarcely any leaves, the sky is clear but the forest is bleak.”
He was right but she didn’t realize it until now. No foliage obstructed the sun from lighting the forest floor and yet it was shrouded in shadows and gloom.
“Well now that you mention it, I do see it. I assumed the treetops were very full, and they blocked the sunlight from getting through,” she replied, looking up into the sky.
“They’re thin. As thin as rails! Sparse. Straggly. Dying. It’s the Darkening,” he said again, searching around as if someone was listening. “Ah! Look at that!” Pointing to a spot near his foot, he dropped on all fours and scratched the surface with his long nails, like some kind of scrounging animal. She watched as he stood up and displayed a large nut he held between his thumb and pointer. “They’re delectable,” he said, cracking it between his fingers. “You want to taste it?” he offered.
“Thank you,” Tamara replied, reaching for a piece. She didn’t want to affront him by refusing his offer. Putting it into her mouth, she bit down upon the soft meat. “This is delightful.” The nut had a sweet, earthy taste to it that burst upon her tongue. Delicious.
Conrad returned to the area. He’d heard the conversation from a distance, thinking it sounded like Tamara was talking to herself, until he saw the silhouette of the animal standing in the shadows. From behind, it resembled a bear. Approaching with care, he snuck from tree to tree without exposing himself. When he drew closer he realized it wasn’t an animal at all, but something much more human-like, and it was speaking. He heard the conversation but remained hidden.
“Well hello!” Harlan said, whipping his torso around and facing the tree behind which Conrad concealed himself. “What took you so long to come back?” Surprised and embarrassed, Conrad stepped out from his hiding spot. “Would you like a taste?” Harlan asked, offering a piece of the nutmeat.
“No, thank you,” Conrad replied. Despite being unusual looking, the beast had no weapons in his hands or on his belt. “You’ve been watching us? Do you live here in this forest?” Conrad stepped forward.
“Oh yes,” he replied. His straggly hair hung around his shoulders and his beard mixed with it in such a manner it was impossible to distinguish where one began and the other ended. He smelled strongly of the earth.
“I’ve traveled here many times, and I’ve never seen you in these woods. Have you lived here for long?” Conrad asked, unsettled by Harlan’s presence. No one lived in these woods as far as he knew.
“As long as I can remember,” Harlan replied. “I have seen you though. I never forget a face… or a smell,” he said, sniffing the air. “No offense intended,” his voice was between a growl and a grumble.
“None taken,” Tamara intervened, glancing at Conrad with a settling look.
Harlan seemed affable enough, but Conrad rested his hand on his knife hilt and watched. He walked to Tamara’s side and she squeezed his arm. Indulge me, her touch said.
“We’re on our way to Parth. I hope we haven’t disturbed you by going this way. Have we far to go still?” she asked.
Conrad scowled. She knew he could answer that question himself and she revealed their plans too willingly.
“It’s not so simple anymore. Not simple at all,” Harlan replied, his eyes clouding over, his face contorted. “I could show you the way around if you wish. But you won’t like it.”
“Around what?” Conrad asked. There was nothing in the woods they needed to walk around.
“The Darkening. You haven’t been listening, have you?” Harlan responded like a teacher annoyed with his student. “You cannot go through it.” He leaned in closer to Conrad. “It’s not passable,” he whispered as if someone might overhear him.
“What are you talking about? The Darkening?” Conrad frowned. He wondered what game this man-beast was playing with them. He stepped closer to Tamara and shielded her body with his own.
“The last time you were here things were different, not like they are now. How long ago was that? I don’t remember,” he scratched his head with the long nail of his index finger. “I can’t even forage where I wish. I can’t get to half of the places I used to go to and the nuts are harder and harder to find,” he said, concerned more with the nutmeats than anything else it seemed. “It’s not the same here. Not the same at all. No one comes to the woods anymore,” he paused, “except you two.”
“If you know so much of my comings and goings, why didn’t you approach me before?” Conrad asked. He didn’t trust him. He would have known if someone had tracked him when he entered the woods.
“There was no reason to. None at all, no sir. I don’t seek any friends and you weren’t my enemy, so why should I bother you? You harmed nothing here. And, you’ve no interest in the nuts!” he answered.
“So what’s changed? What stops you from going where you wish? And why are you talking to us now if you seek no friends?” Conrad asked.
“The Darkening,” Harlan answered again.
“What my friend really wants to know, Master Goodheart, is what kind of obstruction this change has created. What exactly is ‘the Darkening’?” Tamara intervened. “I know it must be frustrating for you to have to forego the hunt for those delicious edibles.” She’d realized right away what was important to him.
“I can still find them in other places,” he replied, and his eyes lit up. She understood. “But the best ones are impossible to get to now.”
“How difficult for you,” Tamara sympathized. “But tell me then, how is it the darkness prohibits you from entering those areas?”
“The Darkening yo
u mean. It’s evil, pure and simple! Nothing good about it. Nothing at all,” he said. His face looked different every time he mentioned it. Harlan bent beside her and whispered, “It gets me sick to go near it. Very sick. Days of sickness. It’s evil I tell you.”
“So you’ve crossed into the darkness before, but it upsets you physically?” Tamara tried to understand.
“The Darkening, woman! The Darkening. And I didn’t say I stepped into it! I said only that being close to it makes me sick. It’s dangerous to tread beyond the line! Haven’t I already told you that?” he said annoyed.
“Who so named it?” Conrad asked.
“It was always called that,” he replied, disinterested. Pulling another nut from his pocket, he split it open in his hand. Without asking, he handed a piece to Tamara. He popped another into his mouth and sighed as he chewed. “Would you like me to take you to where it began?”
Conrad frowned and stared at Tamara. She shouldn’t be eating these things, and he wished she weren’t so trusting.
“It has a starting point?” Tamara asked, surprised. She stood on her toes and pushed Harlan’s hair off his broad forehead. Is he simple? she thought. His eyes are so black, just like my… Startled by her touch, he stumbled away and swatted the air in front of him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she said, dropping her arms.
“Everything’s got a starting point, doesn’t it?” he stammered, flustered. His fingers went to his forehead and traced the line Tamara had touched.
“I imagine everything does, Master Goodheart,” Tamara agreed. She looked at Conrad, waiting for him to agree also. “We would like to see where it began. Is it different there than anywhere else?”
“See for yourself,” Harlan replied. “It’s not far. You would have found it yourselves if you just kept going.” Bending down low, he parted the dry leaves with his fingers, raked the surface with his ragged nails and once again retrieved a nut. Harlan smiled sheepishly at them both. “I can’t resist them! Come. Follow me,” he gestured with a raised hand while popping the nut into his mouth.
They walked behind him through the trees. Conrad tugged at her sleeve, but she ignored his concerns. Everything they passed seemed normal despite the absence of any bright light. The air smelled sweet and musty, the birds chirped and the animals scurried about at their approach as if they were in any stretch of forest in any land. The square-trunked cetus trees grew in abundance here, and their unnatural looking branches reached to the sky, like countless arms bent upward at the elbows. A slight wind swept the surface in intermittent gusts, rustling the leaves and drawing Harlan’s eyes covetously to the newly uncovered ground. Tamara noticed the look in them, the gleam each time a stretch of earth was revealed. He stopped and scrounged along the forest floor like an eager child, before moving on. When he found something, he grinned with content. If he came up empty handed, the look of disappointment on his face was almost heartbreaking.
“Do any of the great trees reside here?” Tamara asked after they’d wandered for a while.
“No. These woods are not so blessed,” he replied.
“Did one ever?” Conrad questioned him. Had a Lalas died in these woods?
“Ever? I suspect not. There’s no evidence of one. Aside from the nuts, this forest is very ordinary. Very. If not for them, I would have moved on myself, a long time ago,” he answered. “Look! Up there! That’s where it began,” he pointed to a hedge of brownish vegetation.
Holding the branches aside, Harlan created an opening in the tree wall for Tamara and Conrad to pass through. She bowed her head, trying to put him at ease with a smile, but he only stared ahead unaware, his eyes gleaming. She pushed by him with her arm in front of her face so she wouldn’t get scratched by the bush. Standing up, she dropped her hands to her sides.
“May the First help us all!” she gasped.
Chapter Nineteen
Maringar opened his eyes, then closed them just as fast. The pain in his head was intense, pounding at the back of his brain, and the piercing light only enhanced it. He raised his arm and blocked the sun from his face before opening his eyes again. His arm was stiff and sore, difficult to move, but he could lift it at least. He tried to shift his weight, but his legs wouldn’t move and he couldn’t use them to gain the leverage he needed. Looking down across his body through the glaring sun, he saw they were wedged under a large log that lay over him just above his knees.
Numb. He couldn’t wiggle his toes and his legs felt very heavy. Water! I remember water. Surging. Hitting me. Yes. Lost my breath. Swallowed it. Must have washed up here after, he thought. Beolan? Where? Where is he? He could barely turn his head from side to side. Remember. Yes! Saw him cross. Saw him reach other side before… Which side am I on? He shuddered. It was coming back to him. Trolls! Where are they? he thought.
Agghhh! his mind screamed. Hurts. But I can feel them. A little. Can feel my legs. Thank the First! Can’t be too bad.
He forced himself to a half-sitting position, but couldn’t manage to stay up with nothing to support his back. Flexing the muscles in his thighs and calves, he tried to shift his weight beneath the log, to move it off of him, but he couldn’t even budge it. Staring at the piece of wood that lay sprawled across him, he realized it would take more than his strength alone to get free. He was trapped under the narrower portion of a very stout tree trunk that the rushing water must have uprooted. Maringar flopped onto the wet ground, glaring straight up at the sky, panting. His head was killing him and his body was sore everywhere.
The rain had just about stopped although the sky remained gloomy and overcast.
Streaks of bright sunlight managed to pierce the dome of clouds that rose over him, blinding him with their intensity. His whole body was drenched and he felt the leather stuck to his skin. As mightily as he hated being in water, he hated being wet almost as much. Even his beard was tangled and damp. But his arms were free. Reaching to his side, he felt his axe still attached to his belt, thank the First for little things. The red leather scabbard on his other side was empty though, and his favorite dagger must have fallen loose and gotten carried away by the flood.
Better to lose the dagger, he reasoned. Stretching his hand, he removed his axe from its thong and laid it across his chest. Every motion hurt. Gripping the handle hard, the weight of it still comforted him. Where are they, miserable trolls? Dead? Drowned? Can defend myself now. Maybe. Feel like a trapped animal, he worried. Beolan? Where are you? Did you make it?
He tried to determine his location, but the underbrush was too tall for him to see beyond and he couldn’t raise himself up enough to look over it. So much debris lay everywhere, carried by the rushing water no doubt, and the terrain was altered considerably. Nothing looked familiar.
Crash! The noise reverberated against the bushes. What’s that? His hand clenched the handle of his axe and he winced at the sudden movement. Can’t see anything. Where? Remaining still, he focused in the direction from which he thought it came. Footsteps. Something’s coming. The wet earth pounded. Whatever it was didn’t care much about stealth.
Bloody mess, he thought as his heart beat faster in anticipation. He tried to move his legs out from under the log, squirming and twisting as noiselessly as he could, but they were stuck fast in the muddy earth, pushed down by the fallen tree and he couldn’t work them free. The noise grew louder and louder, and he waited for the bushes to part and his enemy to reveal itself. Don’t move. Dead! Play dead. Dumb trolls. Fool it maybe. Wait for it to get close then…
He saw it. A single mountain troll emerged from behind the wall of shrubs and stood stock still about twenty feet from where he lay trapped. Water dripped off of its sheepskin hide, and ugly bruises covered it in a number of obvious places. It held its hairy left arm tight to its side at an impossible angle, but its other hand carried a massive war hammer, poised and ready. Sniffing the air in snorts and gasps, Maringar knew it tracked him here. Though its vision was weak, its sense of smell was acute.
The big troll spotted the dwarf, stopped in its tracks and surveyed the situation. Walking in a wide circle around Maringar, it assessed his condition. It stood at least seven feet tall, and its hammer alone was four feet long. Dragging its left foot behind, it grimaced in visible pain with each step it took.
It’s injured. Bloody. Fresh blood. Good, he thought. Limping too. Must be weak. Got to trick it, make it think I’m dead. Lure it in close. Strike before it kills me.
He debated taunting it in his mind, but discarded that idea. The troll already knew he was trapped, by the looks of things, trapped or dead, and he didn’t want to precipitate a reaction. He held his axe close to his body.
The troll leaned toward him, to smell the air again, but it took care not to get too close. Bending down, it picked up a rock and tossed it at Maringar. A test. Just a test. It fell short of hitting him, and he didn’t move a muscle. It picked up a larger stone and threw it, but with more accuracy this time. It struck Maringar square in the chest, and though he cringed inwardly at the impact, he made no outward movement at all. Walking halfway around him, the troll stood behind Maringar’s head. Maringar tried to look backward so he could see what the beast was doing, expecting a boulder to fall upon his face at any moment, but he couldn’t twist himself around enough. There was no point concealing any longer that he was alive and trapped beneath the wood. If he was going to die, he wanted to do it with his eyes open.
The troll, dumb as he was, recognized the dwarf’s dire circumstances and grew more certain. Maringar heard him laughing, though it sounded more like an ululating growl. Then the beast began teasing him. A large handful of soil hit him in the face while the troll chuckled, and Maringar choked as it landed in his mouth. The soil blinded him and his eyes burned, while the beast laughed louder and harder. The troll stepped forward, emboldened by Maringar’s lack of response to the taunts. As Maringar tried to brush the dirt from his eyes with the back of his left hand, the troll reached out with his hammer and jabbed him on the shoulder. Maringar heard the laughter again, only this time it lasted a lot longer, rolling from his throat like a deranged grumble. He was enjoying this very much, toying with a captive dwarf. Despite its own injuries, to have Maringar helpless and unable to strike back, lying before it, was more than it could have ever dreamed of, and Maringar knew it. His humiliation muffled his hurt.
The Revenge of the Elves Page 17
