Through knee-high muck they lumbered, rejoicing every time they found a long, fallen log to walk on or a bit of high ground with soggy moss and fern-covered trails.
The companions passed a twenty-foot-long discarded snakeskin, and the chatter died down quickly. The sounds of the swamp were many; frog songs filled the air, as loud and constant as the buzz of insect legs being rubbed together. But aside from the frogs and bugs, there were the growls of swamp cats and the snapping jaws of mammoth crocodiles. Murland spied one as they passed a deep-looking tributary. The beast had something in its massive jaws and was spinning mercilessly, tearing and twisting the flesh with every violent rotation. Death cries were more common than he would have liked, and when they echoed through the still swamp, Murland’s skin crawled to think of the battle to the death that was taking place so close by. He felt the eyes of predators large and small as he followed the others, and more than once he was forced by fright to take to the foggy sky.
“Look, this is going to be good. Watch,” said Willow, stopping and putting a hand up to halt the others.
Murland landed and hurried over to the group, who were spying a glade through ten-feet-tall grass. There at the edge of the water was a deer twice the size of any Murland had ever seen.
“See them small bubbles there, ten feet from the shore?” Willow asked, pointing. “That there is a monster of a croc. Listen, once that croc attacks, we gotta rush out there and fight that deer away from the beast.”
“Are you mad?” said Brannon, and Sir Eldrick hushed him.
“No,” said Willow. “I’m hungry. And I’ve done this a hundred times. I’ll wrestle the beast into submission, then you three drag the deer away, Sir Eldrick, you need to put that fairy blade of yours right through the croc’s head.”
“Got it,” said Sir Eldrick.
“We’re actually going through with this?” said Brannon.
“Do we really have to kill the croc?” Gibrig asked, looking terribly concerned for the scaled beast.
“That beast is a born killer, don’t waste no tears on the croc,” said Willow. “You all ready? Look.”
The deer sniffed at the air and stood still, watching, waiting, black eyes looking at nothing and seeing everything. The crocodile didn’t move, and the water remained mirror-like.
One step forward.
The deer looked around, studied the water, and froze for two full minutes.
Another step forward.
The companions breathed slowly, steadily, not wanting to make a sound. The bubbles in the water stopped.
Another step forward.
The deer’s hoof was two feet away from the water. Head up, back straight, and eyes fixed, it took another step and bent to drink.
The water exploded in a terrific flash of action. The companions jumped, and Gibrig even yelped. The deer lurched backward with uncanny speed, but the crocodile was thusly gifted with agility, despite its squat appearance. The monster shot through the water and latched on to the deer’s neck before it could leap away. The crocodile’s full majesty erupted from the water for a fleeting moment, and Murland was frozen as he beheld the thirty-foot beast.
Willow gave a cry and erupted from the grass as the crocodile rolled and rolled, tearing the deer’s neck and slamming the body against the bank. It began to slink back into the water to barrel roll some more, when Willow suddenly leapt on its back.
“Get the meat!” said Sir Eldrick, shoving Murland and Brannon and snapping them out of it.
“Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy…” said Gibrig, dancing on his toes.
“Come on!” said Murland as he rushed over to the deer carcass.
Willow was laughing and growling with glee as she wrestled the giant reptile. Sir Eldrick had unsheathed his glowing fae blade, but couldn’t get a clear stab at it.
Murland, Brannon, and Gibrig dragged the torn deer carcass up on shore and watched in awe as Willow rode the crocodile, which thrashed and rolled and jerked wickedly, trying to dislodge the fat ogre. Willow’s knotted muscles bulged as she squeezed her arms tighter around its neck. Her legs were digging in as well, and the crocodile smartly took her to deeper water. The two of them disappeared below the water, and Sir Eldrick rushed out to waist-deep swamp, sword ready, eyes scanning the settling water.
“Willow?” said Gibrig breathlessly.
“Do something!” Brannon yelled to Sir Eldrick.
“Wait!” he said with a staying hand, and he scanned the water.
Murland watched the pool as well, hoping to see air bubbles, ripples, anything. But the water became still, as though the king crocodile had taken her into the abyss, never to be seen again.
Suddenly Willow broke the surface of the water. Blood gushed up in her wake, and she disappeared once more below. The water bubbled and boiled, erupting with thick green and dull red and spreading out in a circle around the disturbance. The water settled once more. Sir Eldrick waited with sword drawn back. The companions on the bank held their breath.
Slowly, the crocodile’s head surfaced.
Sir Eldrick moved to strike, but then saw the dagger embedded between the beast’s eyes. Willow came up with a gasp and tugged her kill up to the shore.
Gibrig gave a cheer. Brannon breathed a sigh of relief. Sir Eldrick chuckled, and Murland was speechless.
Willow flopped the dead crocodile down on the mossy bank and spread her thick arms and arched her back, giving out a long, terrible, primal scream that echoed through the swamp and silenced the creatures within.
Murland stared at Willow, awed by her terrible majesty. Her skin was covered in the blood of her adversary, and her eyes were wide, bright, and full of life. In that moment, she looked every part the champion that she was supposed to be.
“I am the queen of the swamp!” Willow bellowed, her words carrying more authority than the cries of the cats that had been lurking just out of view all day.
The sounds of the swamp returned slowly, as though every creature had carefully returned to what they were doing or changed course to avoid the newest addition to the swamp.
“Well done, Willow,” said Sir Eldrick, sheathing his fae blade.
Willow smiled and pulled the croc up next to the deer. She looked north, where the knotted roots of a clump of trees created a kind of platform on top of a massive round boulder at the edge of the still pool of swamp water. “There, we can have a fire and get to work skinning the kill,” she said, dragging the crocodile with her.
Murland and Brannon glanced at each other, speechlessly, and pulled the deer along with the help of Sir Eldrick and Gibrig.
The giant deer was skinned and quartered. Sir Eldrick laid the hide out to dry and hung the meat over the fire that Murland and Gibrig had built. The sun, a hazy smudge of yellow in the white, misty sky, began to set as they all settled in to eat.
The venison was delicious, and Murland found that his appetite was insatiable. The day of trudging through the mire had taken its toll, and his legs, back, and even his shoulders hurt. The others must have been worse off, as Murland had flown with Packy half the time.
“You try the croc?” Willow asked Brannon, who was munching on a root that he had grown in the dim light before sunset.
“I’m not that hungry,” said Brannon. “Thanks though…” he added, smiling.
Willow grinned back at him and tossed Murland a long white piece of crocodile meat.
“Thanks,” he said, trying it. It tasted just like chicken—chicken that had been dragged through swamp water.
“I’m going to make us all some knee-high gator boots. My father calls them shit-kickers, but they are more like mud-kickers,” said Willow.
“You’ve come through for us again, Willow,” said Sir Eldrick. “You are indeed the queen of the swamp.
“The croc is really good,” said Gibrig, who seemed to have gotten over his apprehension and his sorrow over the deaths of the two animals.
“The only thing we need to worry about is fresh water,” said
Murland, glancing at the dark swamp water. “Unless it rains, we are going to be hard up before we know it.”
“Nothing wrong with swamp water,” said Willow, raising a tankard and drinking it down.
Sir Eldrick shook his head and gave a laugh. “I believe that your constitution is stronger than ours, my good ogre. For we cannot drink that water.”
“Boil it if you want, but it’s fine,” she said.
Brannon looked like he might get sick at the thought of drinking the swamp water, boiled or not. “Murland, can’t you use a spell to draw water out of the air or ground or something?”
“I could try. Yes, I think I remember seeing something like that.”
“I would imagine such spells would be basic survival learning,” said Sir Eldrick.
“Well, yes and no,” said Murland. “I never was able to grow any wizard leaf, so I never progressed past the second-years.”
“Bah, chin up, Murland,” said Gibrig. “I think you can do it.”
“Thanks. I’ll see what I can find in the book.”
Murland spent the better part of the night memorizing a spell he found to collect water from the air, which he figured would be easy enough in this humid climate. He finally lay down to sleep as Sir Eldrick was switching shifts with Willow. The mists had receded considerably, and a few stars could be seen through the canopy of drooping willows overhead.
He spied half of a constellation that he knew, and a small, mirthless laugh escaped him, for it was the constellation of the dragon.
Chapter 17
Great Turtle
Murland woke with a start from a dream of fairy dust and treats. The boulder beneath him began to rumble, then shake, and then rise from the swamp floor. Sir Eldrick gave a warning cry and came running from the grassy area to the west.
“Earthquake!” Brannon cried, grabbing onto a knotted root.
“It is no earthquake, and that is no boulder!” said Sir Eldrick as he came skidding to a stop and looked up at them wide-eyed.
Murland slid off the boulder along with Willow and Brannon, and they all stared at what they found poking out of the bottom.
“That is one giant turtle,” said Brannon.
“Great Turtle,” said Willow with reverie.
Indeed, the boulder was no boulder, but the shell of a very old and very wise-looking ginormous turtle.
The beak-nosed gray-and-green creature eyed the companions as his head slowly extended out from the safety of his massive shell. His two large brown eyes looked tired and old, yet incapable of fear.
“It’s, it’s…it’s the Great Turtle. The creator of all things,” said Willow, falling to her knees in the mud.
Murland and Sir Eldrick shared a glance. The turtle was huge, at least fifty feet across, and Murland had no opinions either way on the existence of other people’s gods.
The turtle ignored them and focused, foggy-eyed, on some faraway place to the east. It raised a thick, blunt-clawed foot and took a single step before settling back down again, shaking the leaves of the trees growing from its giant shell.
Willow was beside herself with excitement. “The Great Turtle takes one step every day. No more, no less. He travels across the world, and when he reaches the end and falls off the edge, time will cease, and the final judgment will be made.”
“Yes, of course, in the afterlife we will be judged by a big fat turtle,” said Brannon, yawning.
“Great Turtle,” said Willow, ignoring the elf and kneeling before her god. “You know everything that has occurred, all that might have occurred, and all that will. Please, share your eternal wisdom with a humble follower.”
The turtle regarded her as though he had just noticed that she was there. The head reared back slowly as those large brown eyes focused on her. A deep hum vibrated the ground, and the turtle blinked lazily. When he spoke, his words were slow, precise, and came in a voice deeper and stronger than any of them would have guessed. “Willow Muckmuck. What would you ask of me?”
Brannon stared, mouth agape. “It talks?”
“And it knows her name,” said Murland.
“I am on a quest with my friends,” said Willow, voice shaking. “We are headed to Bad Mountain to do battle with the dreaded Drak’Noir. Will we succeed?”
Brannon and Sir Eldrick glanced at each other.
The giant turtle thought about this for a moment and looked to the companions, lingering on Sir Eldrick and Brannon long enough to make them uncomfortable.
“Perhaps, you will succeed,” he said at length, and Willow was overjoyed, but then: “perhaps not. For even if you fail, you succeed, and if you succeed, you will fail.”
“Please, Great Turtle, what does that mean?”
“It means what it means, nothing more, nothing less.”
“What do you see, Oh Great One? What future awaits us?”
“I see betrayal, secrets, and lies,” said the turtle, again eyeing Brannon and Sir Eldrick. “Watch for dangers ahead, and knives behind.” And with that, his head began to recede.
“But…I don’t understand.”
“I have spoken, now I must rest.”
“Thank you, Great Turtle,” said Willow, kowtowing before her god. “I dream of the day that I can be judged by you, and I spend each day striving to gain your approval!”
The turtle offered her a slow nod, and his head retracted back into his shell, which slowly settled back down to the ground.
Willow rose to her feet and hugged the large shell, crying into the moss and thanking her god repeatedly.
Sir Eldrick gave her a few minutes to offer her respects as the others got their things from the top of the shell. When they were ready to head out, Willow sniffled and kissed the shell, and reluctantly left the Great Turtle behind.
“I feel so blessed,” said Willow. “Not since the prophet Cypress Miremire has anyone from Fire Swamp spoken to the Great Turtle.”
“But what did all that mean?” said Murland, still puzzling over the riddles. “Even if we succeed we fail, and even if we fail we succeed. And what was that other part? Watch for danger ahead, and knives—”
“They are the ramblings of an ancient and senile turtle,” said Brannon dismissively.
“Take it back!” Willow suddenly screamed as she turned around, glaring at Brannon.
“Yeah, sure,” said Brannon, and he moved to go around her.
Willow grabbed him by the front of his robe and lifted him two feet off the ground. “That is the Great Turtle you are talking about. Take it back!”
“Best do as she says, Brannon,” said Sir Eldrick.
“Alright, queen’s sake. I’m sorry. I take it back. Now put me down!”
Willow dropped him, and he had to grab ahold of Sir Eldrick to balance himself. Sir Eldrick offered him a scowl and righted him firmly.
“Wait,” said Murland, looking around. “Where’s Gib?”
Everyone glanced around. It seemed that in all the hubbub, they had completely forgotten about Gibrig.
“He had the last lookout shift,” said Sir Eldrick, scanning the perimeter. “Spread out, search the area—he could be in danger.”
“Come on, Packy,” said Murland, and he leapt into the air. He began to come back down, but the backpack spread its wings and brought him above the trees. Everyone below started calling Gibrig’s name, and Murland did as well, searching the area for the blue cloak that the dwarf had been wearing. After ten minutes of circling the area with no sign of Gibrig, Murland began to worry. The swamp was teaming with predators, anything from a panther to a snake might have snatched him in the night.
Stay calm, Murland. He probably just fell asleep somewhere.
He tried to calm himself, tried to think positively, but he had a sick feeling that he would never see Gibrig again.
“Over here!” Brannon cried out, and Murland jerked his head in the direction.
“To Brannon, Packy. Go!”
The backpack suddenly dove north, swooping down through the
tangled vines, and landed Murland right next to Brannon.
“By the gods, he is dead,” Brannon was mumbling and walking in nervous circles, unable to look at Gibrig for more than a heartbeat.
Murland looked, and he gasped. Gibrig was tangled up with a huge anaconda, and only an arm, a leg, and a brown crop of hair showed through the spiraled scales.
“Gib!” Murland cried and ran over to him, unsheathing his short sword as he went.
The snake’s head was on top of the pile, and Murland froze five feet from it. His heart leapt, however, when he saw the dagger sticking out of the serpent’s left eye, and the blood trailing from its mouth down the brown-green scales. Murland took no chances with the beast, and swiftly chopped into the neck. His blade only went halfway through, but the snake did not move, and it was enough to convince him that it was dead.
He started untangling the snake and yelled to Brannon for help. But the elf just stood there, shaking his head. Willow broke through the tall grass, panting, and rushed over to Murland.
“Oh no,” she said, unwinding the snake from her friend with shaky hands. “Oh no,” she said again.
Gibrig’s face came into view, and it was white and lifeless. Yellowish foam had gathered and crusted around the dwarf’s mouth, and his ears were bleeding.
“Is he dead?” Sir Eldrick asked, suddenly appearing from the west.
Willow pulled Gibrig’s body away from the snake and laid him down in the ferns. She listened to his heart and checked his eyes. “No, he ain’t dead,” she said at length.
Murland let out a pent-up explosion of breath, and Brannon began to cry with joy.
“He’s been bitten,” said Willow, pointing out the gash on Gibrig’s right forearm. She got up and broke off one of the snake’s fangs and touched her finger to the tip. She tasted it and swiftly spit it out. “Just as I suspected. This is a dream weaver. Its venom is said to put its victims on the edge of death’s door.”
Beyond the Wide Wall: Humorous Fantasy (Epic Fallacy Book 2) Page 12
