Plain of the Fourteen Pillars - Book 1

by T K Foster

If night had fallen Billy didn’t see it, and for how long they had slept Billy didn’t know. Either way, he was so refreshed that when he awoke he jumped up and ran down the steps to see if the grass was real enough to roll around on.

  In his flight he disturbed Cetra and she too sat up. Seeing Billy sprawled over the sand a few feet from the base of the steps, she called out to him.

  “Do you remember that it is not real?”

  “It feels real,” he yelled back.

  “You are rolling around in sand.”

  “I am rolling around in beautiful soft green grass.”

  If it wasn’t real, who knew what he may have been rolling around in? He decided to believe it was grass.

  “We should go now Billy.”

  He got to his feet and ran back up the steps to Cetra.

  “I’m hungry,” he declared.

  “I am hungry too. That is why we should go now.”

  “Ok. Which way is out?”

  She closed her eyes and spun round on her girl toes, lifting her arm as she did so. When she landed again her finger was pointing at the ornate wooden door they had entered by.

  Billy grunted. Was nothing in this place simple? He grabbed Cetra’s hand and led the way.

  Cetra squealed with delight at the scene which unfolded before them when Billy pushed the door open. Beyond their position was a marketplace, all abuzz with the sights and sounds prevalent to that of a marketplace. They saw mongering of all shapes and sizes. From the top there were posts, ropes, rooves and ramparts fully adorned with coloured banners, all of which displayed at random various and odd symbols pertaining to, it appeared, the large and wild variety of produce on offer. Below these fluttering decorations were the stall ceilings; most were draped with materials of sorts, others were painted with clever designs; the least were left bare and wooden, some polished and some rustic. Things hung everywhere, many of these were familiar to Billy, and many were not familiar; yet nothing could interest him more than the smells of food. Such smells as those he immediately darted for the moment he stepped through the doorway came to him from everywhere, smells of fresh fruit, herbs and vegetables; the meaty aromas of warm, recently butchered beast and game; and some pulpy gross thing that closely resembled a big fat lizard hanging from a hook. There were the smells of frying, roasting, broiling and barbecuing, most tantalizing to the senses, few sickening to his nose. The first thing he tasted was a large, sickly sweet pastry- looking thing that reminded him of baklava; by its texture though it could have been made from sand. Perhaps it was.

  It was a good thing that Cetra was open to Billy’s appetite. She moved along with him, taking care of business, recommending this and that, and advising against others, suggesting they might see him spurting nasty fluids from every opening in his body for several days.

  As he wandered through the market with Cetra holding his hand as they went, Billy glanced about at the odd shapes and sizes of everybody around him. Some were like Cetra in appearance, animated and exaggerated. There were also a lot that looked human, but they had what Billy might describe as deformities on their faces, heads, shoulders, arms or.... well.... everywhere.

  There were also those that simply looked as though someone had let a child loose with a couple of mix ‘n’ match books to create as many funny combinations of people and animals as they could possibly imagine.

  Billy considered the idea that he may have simply fallen into one big masquerade party, but the big, ugly skinned lizard hanging in the shop front told him otherwise.

  In the mean time he felt a bump on his side and a gruff, childlike voice say to him, “Hey mister, what’s in the box?”

  Billy stopped and looked down. Two feet below his eye level was a creature with a face not unlike that of a pig, only a little flatter maybe. Its eyes were very close and strangely of different sizes, and a slight dribble of clear mucus oozed from its left nostril. It was chubby like a toddler and with arms hanging down its hands stuck out at the sides grasping air. If there were pockets in its pants it would not have been able to put its hands in them because of its chubbiness.

  Billy considered the question. He was taken by surprise but figured it would be harmless to humour the kid. Given this was a kid.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Briar. Now can I see what’s in the box?”

  Billy grinned. The kid was rudely persistent, which Billy was ok with; he knew what it was like to be an inquisitive kid, excited at the prospect of seeing something new and mysterious.

  Briar clasped his hands together and gaped intently as Billy lifted the lid on the box. When he saw what was inside he stood in awe. “Cooooool,” he drooled, “It’s an orange thingy. I like orange thingies. Can I have one of those?” His stubby finger pointed at a clip of pellets.

  “I can’t give you any of this,” Billy told him, “It’s really dangerous. It could blow your hand off if you weren’t careful.”

  “Really?” Briar said horrified.

  “If I were you Briar, I’d forget I ever saw it. Ok lad.”

  “Ok mister.”

  Then the creature waddled off.

  Funny, chubby, young pig-faced Briar.

  Meanwhile Cetra was smiling at him. She was always smiling at him. Billy bet she had even smiled through the ordeal of losing all her hands and feet. She smiles when she walks that funny sideways walk, which is most of the time. She smiles when she skips, when she hops and runs, which is again most of the time. She smiles when she eats. She smiles when she burps. Cetra just smiles. If she had a sign name for the deaf it would be a “C” followed by a big, cheesy grin.

  During his thoughts she had led him to a particular stall at which she told him, “I did want to bring you here to meet someone.”

  The stall was full of odd things, brick-a-brac to some, treasures no doubt to others. Behind the stall was a young, dark haired fellow, though older than Billy, he looked refreshingly.... human.

  “This is Barret.” Cetra introduced them; they shook hands and greeted one another.

  “Irish?” Billy guessed.

  Barret nodded. “North England?” he then ventured his own guess at Billy’s roots.

  It had all suddenly become very exciting for the two strangers.

  Unfortunately there was a clamour a short way across the marketplace and Billy felt himself dragged by the collar over the stall and pushed through a back door, which was only half his height, into a dark alley. He quickly realised that both Barret and Cetra were with him and attempted to protest, but felt a warm hand clasp gently over his mouth.

  “Humps,” Barret said.

  Even now Billy could see Cetra smiling in the shadows. She removed her hand from his mouth and shushed him with a long, slender finger against her lips.

  “We should get out of here,” Barret continued, speaking directly to Cetra.

  Cetra agreed. She grabbed Billy’s hand and guided him along the alleyway which ran between adjacent stalls. Dappled light blurred his vision. Barret led the way.

  Outside in the marketplace three large Humps were bullying their way through the stalls, pushing and shoving, grunting and groaning, doing all the things that Humps ultimately do best.

  Now, Humps are curious creatures. They are tall most of the time, bulky, and regarded as pretty darn stupid. Billy may have considered them an odd mixture between an ogre and a troll, given he’d seen them at all, which he hadn’t been given the opportunity. They do not wear clothes, which could prove embarrassing and gross to the onlooker if seen bending over, crouching or sitting down on a stool. No one is particularly afraid of a Hump; they are simply and barbarically annoying, a nuisance to the public, and a scourge upon the land. They live in caves and eat anything, from a grain of sand to an entire house.

  There was once a tall tale told of a particularly large Hump who had been so angry that he went about making four of his comrades angry too. They grunted their way through a mountain, eating rocks as they went, and when they broke out of th
e other side they came across a house in their path. They demolished the house and ate every piece of it; they even ate the owner of the house who had, at the time, still been inside playing a rather nice game of checkers with himself. How much of the story had been exaggerated over time was unknown, but the moral still remained the same.... don’t mess with a Hump.

  As for the three who decided that this day would be a good day for rampaging through a marketplace, they had a simple mission.... but nobody cared about that. There had never been, throughout all of known history, any venture of anyone being even remotely interested in what a Hump has to say or do. Hence the reason why these shameless creatures have never acquired the ability to communicate outside of their own collective.... nobody cared.

  Also, not because each one of their individual names was unimportant, uninteresting, or just unintended to be known, but if anyone could understand what they were, no one would be bothered to remember them anyway, simply because they just didn’t care.

  For the sake of clarity though, there were three Humps, from biggest to smallest, as the Biggest Hump is generally ranked first, they shall be known as Hump1, Hump2 and Hump3.

  CHAPTER SEVEN