Dark Waters of Hagwood

by Robin Jarvis

  Finnen reached up and gave the rope an experimental tug, but it held firm and merely slapped against the walls all the way upward.

  “Kerboo … ?” he said, looking to Kernella for encouragement.

  Kernella hardly heard him. It was like being inside a towering chimney, and she felt incredibly small.

  “What is this place?” she asked Meg.

  “This is the home of the bright circle,” came the unhelpful answer as Meg pointed to the light above.

  Kernella folded her arms impatiently. “So why are we here?” she demanded.

  Meg at her side took up the harp in her bony hands. “To give music to the sky,” she said. “There is a love up there, and Meg plays to it every morning. You will see. Meg will play, and it will reward her.”

  Kernella did not understand, but she thought she noticed a change in the light, as if something was moving far above them, momentarily blotting out the sky. She had no way of knowing that it was Bufus Doolan standing upon the rim of the well, peering down into the deep darkness.

  Probably just a cloud, she told herself.

  And then Meg began to play.

  The dirge of the sluglungs reverberated around the shaft and rose high on the cold airs. Finnen smiled, and he mumbled the words, sinking back into the water, immersing himself until only his upturned face was visible.

  The tune continued and Kernella shivered.

  At one point she imagined she heard a voice calling from above, but it must have been a trick of the weird echoes that bounced around the sheer, curving walls.

  Eventually Meg ceased playing, and the trembling notes continued to spiral upward until finally they waned and silence descended.

  “What happens now?” Kernella asked.

  “Beauty rains down,” came the whispered answer. “It is Meg’s reward.”

  A moment later Kernella saw that something was indeed fluttering down from above, something small and pale yellow in color.

  Meg stretched out her arms and caught it in her eager hands. “The love is not dead yet,” she said softly. “Not yet.”

  With a sad smile on her lips, she twirled the thing in her fingers and held it out for Kernella to see.

  It was a flower, a primrose. Kernella gave it a wary sniff with her hedgehog nose and was instantly reminded of her life in the woods of the upper world, and she felt more wretched and despairing than ever.

  “Now is time for sleeping,” Meg announced, putting the primrose in her lank hair. “We must return to the chamber of crystal and rest. You will tell Meg tales of your people, and Meg will speak of cave secrets and the nameless creatures that live in regions deeper even than this.”

  “But who dropped the flower down here?” Kernella asked. “Who is it up there?”

  Meg had already ducked under the archway and was returning to the boat.

  With a final confused and yearning look up at the circle of daylight high above, Kernella called to Finnen and they left the strange circular place behind.

  PEG-TOOTH MEG WAS ALREADY TAKING up the oar when they rejoined her. Hopping inside the boat, Kernella sat down, and at that moment her stomach gave a growl and she suddenly realized how hungry she was.

  Meg watched her pat her bristly tummy and, pushing the craft away from the ledge, said, “Little shobbler is rumbling. Meg will tell sluglungs to bring food.”

  “What sort of food?” Kernella asked uneasily.

  Meg grinned. “There is tasty moss, toadstools, and slimy black molds down in the shadows,” she said with a lick of her lips. “And sluglungs are very clever at diving for eels. Meg likes eels. Your friend will learn to catch them. Meg is sure he will be greedy for their slippery deliciousness.”

  Kernella shuddered at the thought of eating mold and wondered miserably if the eels were cooked, or would she be expected to eat them raw? Glancing over the side of the boat to catch a last glimpse of Finnen before they passed into the pitch darkness of the tunnel, her thoughts drifted across all her favorite foods. Mouthwatering wedges of her mother’s hazelnut cake, bramble-and-gooseberry pie, mushroom and chestnut pasties. She adored them all, but right at that moment, because she had worn the shape of a hedgehog for some time, she found herself longing for a nice, chewy snail.

  Startled, she shook herself and pulled a disgusted face. You had to be careful when you wergled. It was not wise to remain in any one shape for too long.

  Peg-tooth Meg did not notice, for they were approaching the jetty. Then, as the boat bumped against it, the tunnels were suddenly filled with shouts and yells.

  Meg climbed out on to the rickety planks, and, intensely curious, Kernella hauled herself after.

  The uproar was growing closer. Sluglung voices were raised in anger, but there was another voice in that uproar, and the hedgehog’s mouth fell open when she recognized it.

  Into the main tunnel a crowd of guards came bustling. Their clammy, clinging hands were gripped around the arms of a new prisoner, and he was struggling for all he was worth.

  “Take your squelchy paws off me!” he bawled.

  Finnen crawled from the water, and his toadlike face clouded over. His large eyes grew dim as his muddled mind searched the sealed memories. He too knew the owner of that voice, and he stared questioningly as the guards approached.

  “Can’t be,” Kernella murmured in wonderment. “How … ?”

  Peg-tooth Meg clapped her hands, and the sluglungs brought their captive to her.

  “Megboo!” they gibbered as they dumped him at her feet. “Us brungum other not us. Mulluk umkak.”

  Meg peered at the small figure sprawled on his face before her. He raised his head, and a wild, vengeful light flashed in his green eyes.

  “Let me go!” he cried.

  Finnen shuffled forward and stooped over him.

  “Gamboo,” he said softly.

  Kernella rushed over and helped the prisoner stand.

  “Gamaliel Tumpin!” she snapped crossly. “What do you think you’re doing down here?”

  CHAPTER 17 *

  THE FINDING OF HARKUL

  PEG-TOOTH MEG GURGLED WITH LAUGHTER.

  “Another little shobbler!” she exclaimed. “Meg must see him change—at once, at once!”

  Gamaliel was too delighted at finding his sister alive and well to take any notice of the strange ugly woman before him. At that moment all he could do was yell with joy, and he threw his arms around the hedgehog’s shoulders and hugged her tightly. The prickles jabbed and spiked him, but he was so happy he never felt a thing.

  “I knew I’d find you!” he yelled. “I knew you weren’t eaten by that pond monster! I just knew it!”

  Kernella laughed in spite of herself. Her brother always infuriated her, but it was wonderful to see him again.

  Since entering the cave behind the Crone’s Maw, Gamaliel had blundered about in the blind dark until, to his surprise, he stumbled across a passageway lit by snail lamps. Expecting it to lead to the lair of the candle sprite, he had continued warily, only to be ambushed by the same group of sluglungs that had captured Finnen and his sister.

  “Where is Finnen?” he asked her. “Is he safe as well?”

  Kernella pulled away, and her mouth twisted up and down as she tried to find a way of explaining what had happened.

  “Where is he?” Gamaliel repeated fearfully. “He … he did make it, didn’t he? The candle sprite didn’t kill him, did it?”

  His sister shook her hedgehog head. “No,” she told him. “Finnen slew it. He was so very brave. He … he is here.”

  “Where?” Gamaliel cried, whirling around and trying to see past Peg-tooth Meg’s large hunched frame.

  Kernella turned her bristly face to the sluglung who was standing close by.

  Her brother followed her gaze and scowled. “That thing’s wearing his clothes!” he exclaimed. “What’s going on? Where is Finnen?”

  “That is Finnen,” Kernella said unhappily. “He drank the dark waters and changed into … into th
at.”

  Gamaliel stared at Finnen incredulously. “No,” he breathed. “It can’t be true. So that’s what Grimditch meant. That’s why he was so afraid.”

  The sluglung blinked back at him and smiled stupidly, but before Gamaliel could say or do anything else, Peg-tooth Meg slapped the ground for attention and leaned forward, bringing her great pallid face close to his.

  “Him must change!” she ordered once more. “Meg must see him shobble or he too will be made to drink and be as the other.”

  “Shobble and mooty!” the guards demanded, banging their spears up and down and rattling their rusty swords in their scabbards.

  “What do they mean?” Gamaliel asked his sister. “What’s going on?”

  The hedgehog turned to Meg.

  “This is Gamaliel, my little brother,” she told her hastily.

  “Brother?” Meg murmured, and she glanced wistfully into the boat where the harp still lay. “To have a brother is a blissful gift.”

  Kernella stared at the rocky ceiling. “Says you,” she mumbled.

  “But now he must renounce his above life!” Meg snapped sternly. “This you know.”

  “What’s she on about?” Gamaliel asked. “And who is she?”

  “Just do as she says,” his sister told him. “Wergle into something. No one’s allowed to stay the same down here—it’s the law.”

  “Stupid sort of law,” he said defiantly. “I’ve been through too much this past night to play silly games. I won’t do it!”

  The guards began to burble impatiently behind him.

  “You must!” Kernella insisted. “If you don’t, they’ll force you to be like them, and you won’t even remember who you are. Look at poor Finnen!”

  “Shobble and mooty!” the sluglungs chanted.

  Reluctantly, Gamaliel opened his wergle pouch and took out an untidy bundle of fur.

  “I haven’t done this since the day the thorn ogres attacked,” he said, “and you know what happened then.”

  The hedgehog rolled her eyes. “That really won’t matter here,” she replied.

  And so Gamaliel Tumpin tried to concentrate. He was not a confident wergler; in fact, he had only ever changed his form once and on that occasion had become a bizarre hotchpotch of creatures. At the time that had saved him, but it was still highly embarrassing.

  Gripping the bundle of fur tightly in his hand, he scrunched up his face as he forced himself to think of the small animals that lived in the woodland of his home. Then, concentrating so hard that his face turned a fierce scarlet, he pushed the fur up to his nose and gave an almighty sniff.

  The effect was instant and startling.

  Gamaliel was seized by tremendous forces of transformation. His small, plump figure was plucked off the ground, flung against the wall, then jerked backward, into the guards who wailed in fright and backed away, flapping their wobbly arms. Then he was yanked into the air by an invisible power, spun around five times, hurled head over heels, and finally flung to the floor with a heavy bump, landing in a crumpled ball.

  “Show off,” Kernella tutted in disgust.

  Peg-tooth Meg shrieked with delight and peered keenly as the werling uncurled himself and groaned.

  Gamaliel’s messy wergle pouch, combined with the poison of Frighty Aggie that coursed through his veins, had done its work once more.

  The face that he lifted from the rumpled folds of his jerkin was a ludicrous mishmash of animals. A blackbird chick’s wide beak had replaced his nose and mouth and the tiny eyes that looked blearily upon his sister were those of a mole. Feathers and fur covered his cheeks in equal measure, and the pointed ears of a squirrel drooped wearily through his snookulhood.

  Groggily he picked himself up and rubbed his forehead with the delicate mouse’s paws that his hands had become.

  “I feel sick,” he said queasily.

  Meg was grunting and cooing with pleasure.

  “Luscious change!” she congratulated. “Never has Meg seen such a wild difference. Your skill is greater than any Meg has seen. You are most welcome here!”

  “Well, I think it looks stupid,” Kernella sniffed. “It’s just so wrong in every way.”

  But the sluglungs who had captured him were jabbering with excitement, and their eyes goggled at her brother in marveling admiration. Finnen was just as thrilled as the rest of them and joined in their babbling chatter, hopping up and down and clapping his hands enthusiastically.

  “Can I change back now?” Gamaliel grumbled. “I really hate this.”

  Meg’s laughter ceased, and she tapped him on the head with one of her large fingers.

  “Never,” she told him. “In that guise you will stay. Meg is pleased. Your old shape you must forget. Your life is here now, among us, in the ravishing pits of the world. You shall keep Meg amused with your funny changings.”

  “But we can’t stay here!” he cried. “You can’t keep us prisoners!”

  Meg smiled at him. “This is no gaol or dungeon,” she said, displaying her eight green teeth. “This is your home, your refuge—the safe world of your new life, the paradise of the quiet deep—away from all perils that torment the lands above. Many are the hidden wonders that await you. Such secrets are buried beneath and around us; you cannot guess at the marvels the under country conceals. Some are sleeping, others are waiting. In the still silence Meg can hear them. She knows the rumors that whisper between the stones. You too will come to know and love it down here.”

  “But I don’t want to get used to it!” Gamaliel shouted. “My home is in the Tumpin Oak, and all our people are at war with the High Lady. I can’t stay down here and do nothing while She seeks to destroy everything.”

  Meg turned away from him. She retrieved the harp from the boat, and the movement caused the strings to fill the air with a mournful thrumming.

  “You cannot leave,” she said over her shoulder in a matter-of-fact tone. “Meg will never let you go. In truth, it is folly and madness to wish to return to that evil region above. Only deceit and betrayal thrive up there. The One who sits upon the throne of the Hollow Hill holds no sway here. You will be safe with Meg, here in the beguiling gloom, for years without ending.”

  “I won’t!” Gamaliel raged, and even Kernella was taken aback by the anger in his voice. “I won’t hide down here while everyone else is facing death and danger! I’d rather die up there than live like a cringing worm with you.”

  He stamped his foot, and in that moment he realized his feet had changed into those of a young rabbit and had popped out of his shoes, which were now too small for him.

  Peg-tooth Meg raked her fingers though her long dripping hair.

  “There is only one path out of the velvet darkness,” she told him. “But the way you came is always guarded. My sentries will not let you pass them, and, if you attempt it, then you will be forced to drink the dark waters and those foolish urges will be cured forever. Meg will speak no more of such madnesses. Meg likes her new little friends and will see no harm ever comes to them.”

  Gamaliel glared at her but knew it was no use trying to argue.

  “All right,” he uttered thickly. “I’ll stay.”

  Meg clapped her hands in jubilation. “Then we are all together in the deep, united in the dark! Meg is pleased. She will go command a feast to be prepared. How the eels will writhe across the floor—such a slippery spectacle it shall be! Stay here. Follow Meg in a little while, and you will see a banquet that you will never forget. How surprised you will be. Then we will dine like royal folk and talk till sleep devours us.”

  With the harp tucked under her arm, she hastened along the ledge and disappeared into one of the passageways, cackling as she went.

  “Megboo …” the guards called after her with yearning eyes and adoring grins on their glistening faces. The Finnen sluglung copied them, much to Kernella’s annoyance.

  Then the guards began stomping back the way they had come, and she had to call after Finnen to stop him following
them.

  “No,” she said bossily. “Don’t go.”

  Finnen halted, turned around, and blinked at her uncertainly.

  “You stay here with us,” she instructed.

  Nodding obediently, he came trotting back.

  Kernella folded her small hedgehog arms. “If we let him out of our sight, we might never find him again,” she warned her brother. “I’ve seen these creatures gloop into one another. If Finnen does that, there’s no knowing what it’ll do to him.”

  “We have to change him back,” Gamaliel said in a determined voice.

  His sister huffed and scowled at him. “How do you think we’ll manage that?” she snorted. “And, even if we did, it’d be no use. That big, loopy old toadface would only make him shobble right back again—then she’d do the same to us as well. Did I just say shobble? I’m picking up the language very quickly.”

  “What are these dark waters?” her brother interrupted.

  Kernella waved a hand down the tunnel. “There’s a huge cave up some steps over there,” she said. “They made Finnen drink horrid black water that drips through the ceiling into a big cauldron.”

  But she was talking to empty air, for Gamaliel was already hopping along the ledge on his rabbit legs, carrying a shoe in each mouse paw.

  “Hey!” she cried. “Going there won’t help you. You might as well get used to this. Oh, you annoying Tumpin! Wait for me!”

  Kernella scurried after him, then remembered Finnen, came scuttling back and urged him to accompany them.

  IN THE CHAMBER OF THE dark waters, Gamaliel looked around in amazement. He had never dreamed that such a vast space could exist below the forest of Hagwood. It was like looking into an immense lake of night. But there was no time to marvel and wonder. Hurriedly, he ran over the bridge made from rusted metal and tangled roots, then halted beside the cauldron.

  “Water drips into the pot from up above,” Kernella said from the safety of the cliff edge. “And that’s what they make you drink. It’s very powerful magic. Finnen changed straightaway.”

  “But how does it work?” Gamaliel asked, squinting up at the craggy rocks high overhead.