Dark Waters of Hagwood

by Robin Jarvis

  Gamaliel had covered his ears with the thick wool of his snookulhood and squeezed his eyes shut, but as he tried to blot out all thought of the mysterious fiend of the pond, a sudden, hideous realization engulfed him.

  “Kernella …” he breathed. “Where’s Kernella?”

  CHAPTER 4 *

  INTO THE DARK WATERS

  THE MOMENT THE SINGING commenced, all other thoughts had melted from Kernella’s mind, and, slowly, she turned toward the pool. The music was meant for her alone, inviting and enticing her on. She could understand every gentle, lilting word, and a great smile widened across her face. The rapturous sound filled her ears, and the girl’s heart thumped when she heard her name woven into the song. Someone out there loved her, needed her, could not endure without her. For a plain werling child whose dreams were continually brought down to earth by her inelegant, stubby reflection, it was exquisite yet unbearable to listen to, and a miserable cry caught in her throat as she rushed forward.

  When the light crackled into existence, tears streamed down Kernella’s cheeks. Every instant she was separated from that unearthly delight was an agony to her young simple spirit, and she blundered through the dark, utterly possessed.

  A little way to the left in the yard she heard a shrill voice gabbling in fright then thought she caught Finnen’s voice crying in surprise. But those noises were ugly and repulsive compared to the serene beauty that emanated from that dancing glow ahead, and, gazing into its frail beams, she even forgot who Finnen was.

  Through the grass she hastened, and the reeds cast forbidding bars of shadow over her. On, the song invited, luring her forward until the grass gave way to soft mud beneath her feet and she was enveloped in a rejoicing fantasy.

  Sobbing with happiness, the werling pushed by the last of the waterside plants, and the full glare of the pink-and-blue flame fell upon her upturned face.

  The large pool of Moonfire Farm stretched before her. Rings of gentle ripples were spreading from the center where a curious twisting branch jutted from the surface, and suspended from the topmost twig was a small round lantern. Within its tiny chamber the sumptuous light winked and flared, bathing Kernella in a cold, spectral pallor.

  Enthralled, the girl looked around for the one who had drawn her here. Where was the singer of this divine music? Where was the one who had pledged and promised so much?

  The water’s edge was deserted, but the singing continued. It was everywhere, and the light flickered in time with the secret words that were meant for only her.

  “Show me,” Kernella wanted to cry, but she only mouthed the words.

  “Here,” the song summoned. “Come into the water, dearer than daughter, I wait for you and long for you. Come be with me, you honey, my lovely.”

  The girl nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll be with you.” And she stepped into the water, insensible to its icy touch. The bleak light filled her eyes as surely as the sound swelled in her ears, and she splashed feverishly to her waist then began to swim out to the center.

  Behind her, on the bank, something was shouting her name, but Kernella paid it no heed. She was going to be happy, and that was all that mattered. The flickering light sparked and shone across the pool, turning each droplet of water into a fiery jewel, and she gurgled with laughter. To her the lantern was a hallowed thing of unknown magic, and she was wholly in its power. She could not see that it was in truth a knot of bone and gristle that throbbed with a deathly glare, and the branch it dangled from was actually a tortured growth of horn and flesh in which tiny mouths were opening and closing, creating a single harmonious, chanting voice.

  Faster she swam, and the radiance grew ever more intense, until at last she was almost within reach. Then the trap was sprung.

  Without warning the blue flame blazed a hellish red, turning the pond to blood. At once, the visions of hope and enchantment were torn from Kernella’s eyes. The music became a hideous cacophony of squeals and screeches, then the water began to boil and seethe around her as great bubbles of foul, reeking air exploded on all sides. Up the infernal lantern rose, high into the empty darkness, and the nightmarish head from which it grew came surging from the deeps.

  Screaming in terror, the girl floundered helplessly, and the candle sprite erupted before her.

  As a monster of slime and stinking weed it reared, bursting to the surface—bellowing a deafening roar. It was a huge repugnant creation, a baneful aberration of the deep drowned places of the world, a scourge to torment the weak and unwary. Beneath the lantern’s enticing lure, many silver eyes peppered its revolting, unwieldy head, and its true wide mouth gaped like that of a shark, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth. This foul horror that had dragged the farmer to his death reached out for Kernella’s small, terrified form with barbed, webbed claws, and there was nothing she could do to save herself.

  Shrieking, she felt the iron grip fasten around her, and the huge head came thundering down. Kernella closed her eyes. The cold water crashed over her head, and she was wrenched beneath the surface. With a final triumphant roar, the candle sprite claimed her and took the girl deep into the drowning dark.

  “KERNELLA!” THE OTHER WERLINGS SHOUTED. “Kernella!”

  Yelling her name, they had raced from the yard, but Gamaliel had never been a fast runner and quickly fell behind, cursing his plump, lumbering legs. Yoori Mattock was a good distance in front already, and Finnen had shot into the shadows like a stone from a catapult.

  To their dismay, they had seen Kernella’s caped figure silhouetted among the reeds against that cold gleam and, in despair, witnessed her enter the pond.

  “Come back!” Finnen called, flinging himself through the grass. “Kernella! No!”

  But the girl did not listen, and Finnen blundered to a halt, aghast as the distorted spectacle of the candle sprite burst from the water. Sickened, he saw the large, malignant apparition glisten in the gory light shining from its repulsive lantern then crash back below the surface, taking the werling girl with it.

  “NO!” he cried, stumbling into the mud at the water’s edge.

  The pond churned and spat stagnant founts into the air as foaming waves went rolling to the shore. Down into the cold depths the hellish light dimmed, and Finnen stared at the dwindling beams, not knowing what to do.

  Around him the reeds rustled, and the first of the frothing waves crashed against his middle. The boy blundered back and put a hand to his forehead. “She’s gone,” he exclaimed, unable to believe what he had seen. “It got her, it got her.”

  A barrage of chaotic thoughts careered across his desperate mind. What could he do? What hope was there? If only he could transform into a fish, he would go after them, but then what? What use was he against so large and vicious a demon?

  “I can’t turn into anything anyway,” he reproached himself bitterly as the crimson glow faded in the deep and darkness closed about the pond once more. “I can’t wergle at all without chewing wood from the Silent Grove. I’m the one who’s useless. I can’t do anything for you, Kernella—I’m so sorry, so sorry.”

  Shame and guilt burned within him, and he twisted his face in pain until an idea flashed into his mind and he knew there was one thing he just might be able do after all.

  “Thimbleglaive!” he cried in a powerful voice, remembering how the Wandering Smith had commanded the enchanted knife.

  At his side the Pucca’s blade jerked into life, trembling as it waited for instruction. Relieved and overjoyed that the magic worked for him, Finnen grasped the hilt urgently and fumbled for a rhyme. Then he shouted. “Fly out, go and seek, follow the candle sprite to the deep.”

  Immediately, the knife tugged itself free of his belt and lifted Finnen into the air where it spun around, glinting in the night. Then, in a sweeping curve, Thimbleglaive went rocketing down into the center­ of the pond, taking the boy with it. With a tremendous splash, both of them disappeared.

  Charging into the mud, Yoori Mattock came huffing up just in tim
e to see the boy’s heels vanish. The elder shook his head forlornly.

  “Beeches take us!” he panted. “This is an evil night. What compelled the lad? It was too late—the girl must be drowned or eaten.”

  But Yoori was not one to stand by and mourn—if there were a chance he could bring Finnen back, then he would have to act at once. Opening his wergle pouch, he pulled out a small earthenware pot and smeared some of its greasy contents on the back of his hand. Concentrating with all his strength, he recalled days spent swimming in the Lonely Mere, where he learned the watercraft of those that dive and dart beneath the water. Closing his eyes, he gave the green ointment a great sniff and kicked back with his legs. Jumping high, his cloak and clothes slipped from his wergling form and a wrinkled yellow frog with white whiskers landed in the pond.

  When Gamaliel arrived, all he could see were the ripples marring that sinister surface. Out of breath, it took him several moments before he could call. “Kernella … ? Finnen … ? Mr. Mattock?”

  His only answer was the movement of the reeds, and even that sounded like conspiring whispers. Feeling completely alone and afraid, he uttered a dismal cry. “They’ve all gone!” he blurted. “That fiend’s had ’em all. Oh, Gammy, you’re next.”

  Trying not to think what had befallen his sister and the others, he began to back away fearfully in case the candle sprite suddenly came clawing for him.

  “No one will ever know what happened to us,” he muttered. He thought of his parents and, doubting that he would ever see his mother’s smile again, struggled to keep back the tears.

  A sudden loud plop! broke the menacing calm.

  “It’s comin’ back!” he shrieked.

  Trying to escape, his large feet slithered in the mud, and the clumsy werling fell headlong into sludge.

  “Too deep!” a yellow frog announced as it gulped down air and swam toward the bank. “Can’t find the bottom, too far down. Tried but couldn’t make it.”

  Covered from head to foot in mud, Gamaliel pulled himself from the mire while Yoori came hopping from the water, shaking the frog shape away.

  “Don’t understand it,” the elder said, his teeth chattering as he dried himself with his cloak and climbed back into his clothes. “Why should a pool such as that be so murderously deep? It’s not natural. Down and down I went into the freezing murk till my senses screamed, but there was nothing. At the lowest point I could reach there were not even any weeds growing, so how much farther the abyss stretches I have no idea. It is a hideous, fearsome place.”

  “But Kernella and Finnen?” Gamaliel asked.

  Yoori wiped a handful of mud from the boy’s face and looked at him grimly. “They’re gone, lad,” he said.

  Gamaliel stared past him to glare at the somber pond then pulled away angrily. “Can’t be,” he protested, barging through the reeds and returning up the bank. “I’ll not believe they’re dead. It’s not true.”

  “Tumpin,” Yoori called. “Where are you going? There’s nothing anyone can do.”

  But the boy was not listening. If he acknowledged the elder’s judgment, then it would be as if he had abandoned Finnen and his sister completely. He was determined to discover more about the candle sprite, and there was only one creature who could tell him that.

  “Where has he taken them?” he demanded, marching back into the barn where Grimditch was cowering amid the straw. “Where are they?”

  The barn bogle’s deranged eyes danced over the werling’s mud-caked appearance, and he buried his head in his hands.

  “Go away!” he pleaded. “Me not to blame; me tried to help.”

  “Tell me!” Gamaliel shouted, more fiercely than he had ever sounded in his young life.

  Grimditch ground his teeth and rocked unhappily. “To cavey places,” he answered. “Lots of grots and passages deep beneath wild forest; very troubly and not safe for no one. Candle sprite dwells in dark cavern under roots of tallest trees—that’s where he drags them, that’s where he champs them.”

  Hearing this, Gamaliel felt faint, but Yoori’s stern voice called out from the entrance. “Have you ever been in those caves?”

  The barn bogle pulled at his knotted beard and mumbled unwillingly. “Maybe, maybe me went there once, maybe me didn’t. Maybe me crawled in there long ago, before me found this comfy barn with its drafts an’ loud squeakers.”

  “Then there could be another way to the candle sprite’s cavern?” Gamaliel cried hopefully.

  Grimditch hissed and began picking bits of straw from his rags.

  “Is there another way in?” Yoori repeated.

  “Me not know,” the barn bogle grumbled, swiveling his eyes in all directions except toward the werlings.

  Gamaliel had no time for the bogle’s evasions. “Liar!” he snapped. “You know there’s a way. Take me there right now!”

  “No no no no no no,” Grimditch squawked, slapping the sides of his hairy head in alarm. “Me not leave here, me not go there. Not go to mouth in forest an’ get swallowed by ground. Not again, not me, never! Me no likey dripping dark. Sloppery slithers squirm in there. The slime swiggers—the shivery ones! Sluglung folk!”

  Yoori put his hand on Gamaliel’s shoulder. “Are you certain you want to do this?” he asked gravely.

  The boy nodded.

  “Even though we are almost certain to find only horror at the end of this journey and, finding that horror, we may never return?”

  “I can’t believe Kernella and Finnen are dead,” Gamaliel replied firmly. “I must find them and do what I can. I just can’t go home without trying.”

  A faint smile tugged the corners of Yoori’s mouth. He could tell that there was no dissuading him, and he admired the boy’s courage.

  “Very well,” he addressed the barn bogle. “Shall I wergle into an adder and puncture your sorry skin with enough bite marks so that we could use your hide to strain boiled chestnuts? Or will you be a brave beast and guide us to this opening in the forest?”

  Grimditch uttered a desolate groan and hung his head in misery. Then in a timid whisper he said, “No scare me. Me lead, you follow. But you no like that grotsy place, worse grislies dwell ’neath sod an’ soil. Candle sprite not only terror down there in the deep holes. Drink not the dark water.”

  “There’s a noble bogle,” Yoori praised him. “You have saved us once this night; let us be in your debt a second time.”

  Reluctantly, Grimditch left his beloved barn, mewling piteous farewells to the rats whom he despised yet could not survive without. The werlings followed him, and, with his mournful voice gibbering before them, they headed for the vast shadowy expanse of the forest.

  Glancing back at the dense, black silhouettes of Moonfire Farm, Gamaliel vowed that he would either rescue Kernella and Finnen or avenge them. And with that he passed between the outlying trees and entered the baneful heart of Hagwood.

  CHAPTER 5 *

  GYPSY MAGIC

  SEATED BEFORE A GREAT GATHERING of werlings, Nanna Zingara eyed her timid audience and scrunched up her face to smile at them. The hairs on her nose and chin brushed together, and she chuckled with pleasure.

  Liffidia and Tollychook had called everyone from their trees and burrows, although many took a lot of persuading. Nobody trusted any creature larger than a rabbit, and none of them had ever seen a human before, dwarflike or not, so they were extremely wary of the startling gypsy who loomed over them.

  Nanna Zingara had been very patient, settling herself down against the bole of an elm where she waited with good humor and her pipe. Gradually she saw small figures appearing high in the surrounding branches as disgruntled and apprehensive families descended. The open space in front of her slowly crowded with cautious werlings, and she welcomed each of them in turn with a friendly word, a wink, a wave, or a jangle of the bracelets adorning her wrists.

  Even Finnen’s grandmother was brought from the Lufkin family hole, carried in a wicker chair, and the old lady peered at the colorful traveler k
eenly.

  Dragging his heels, Bufus Doolan joined Liffidia and Tollychook and eyed the gypsy with a suspicious leer as he knelt beside them.

  “Where’d you find that goblin’s aunty?” he hissed to Liffidia.

  The girl tried to ignore him. Since the death of his twin brother, Bufus had kept to himself and out of trouble. She hoped that he was not about to make up for lost time.

  “Cracked as a thrush egg what’s fell out the nest,” he sneered, wrinkling his upturned nose at the dwarf’s strange appearance and the smell of her burning tobacco.

  Liffidia threw him an angry look, and the boy snickered.

  Wondering where their children had got to, Figgle and Tidubelle Tumpin attended the assembly with reluctance.

  “They’ll turn up soon enough,” Figgle assured his wife, sounding more concerned and less convinced than he had intended. “You know what our Kernella’s like.”

  “But she and Gamaliel never go anywhere together,” Tidubelle said. “I’m worried for them, Tumpin—it’s getting dark.”

  Figgle gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and they stared at the enclosing trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of their children returning.

  “Come home,” Tidubelle murmured in a fretful whisper.

  The Tumpin children were not the only ones missing. At the forefront of the gathering, the elders of the council were impatiently waiting for Yoori Mattock to join them, and they sent word to those sentries still on duty to see if they had news of his whereabouts.

  “We shall have to commence without him,” sniffed the aged and imperious Diffi Maffin, leaning upon her stick.

  The others concurred. Irvinn Goilok raised a hand to hush the crowd’s excited muttering, then he bowed before Nanna Zingara and introduced his fellow councillors.

  Benwin Ortle and Niffer Muglitt nodded with all solemnity, and the gypsy touched her forehead with her fingertips in return, took the pipe from her mouth, then came to the point at once.

  “You are in dire danger,” she warned them. “My young fox-befriender has told me of your peril. You have angered the Queen of Faerie and She is going to destroy you.”