by Mark Bowsher
The lights became brighter. There were curious shapes up ahead. Krish could see one of them turning gently in the distance. As he came closer he was faced with two of the strangest creatures he had ever seen. The first was long and white, dotted with suckers, with a slight bulge in the middle, and its shape reminded Krish, in a bizarre way, of a white flute stuck through the middle of a tennis ball. The second was like a many-pointed star of rippling tentacles with a similar bulge to the first at its centre. A green translucent membrane separated the tentacles. The light changed seamlessly from green to orange and then blue before returning to green.
As he moved forward the star creature’s tentacles extended. The tennis ball-like bulges on each creature completely detached themselves from the rest of their bodies and formed a separate, tightly packed, protective ball. The ball drifted to the rear of the rest of their bodies. The flute section of the first creature attached to the second, somehow pushed its abdomen inside the latter, which lengthened its tentacles farther. The tentacles began to rotate with increased intensity in his direction. It was as if a multicoloured fan was very slowing attacking him. Krish slipped past them quickly and the spinning stopped shortly afterwards. The two creatures soon re-formed and seemed not to be bothered by him any more.
He passed more of these creatures, who seemed keener to show they could defend themselves than to do any actual defending. Another creature looked like a rubbery blue bag that kept turning itself inside out to reveal a sucker on the end of a long stalk, before returning to its blue side. Across the floor scuttled small, semi-transparent crustaceans, the size and shape of twenty-pence pieces, their tiny organs just visible through their thin shells, protuberances from their heads scanning the floor for sustenance.
They were the most perplexing beings Krish had ever come across but at least they didn’t seem too hostile. And in a bizarre way he was glad of the company. They were no substitute for Balthrir’s cutting remarks though. He’d do anything for her to be there to make fun of him right now.
He ventured forward. Something was shimmering ahead of him. The cave opened out into a large spherical chamber. The walls were like metal covered in dents, a sheen of colour glimmering in the stone. Pale greens and blues and pinks. And set into the rock, all around, were hundreds and hundreds of oysters.
But this was not the most blissful sight on offer in that vibrant chamber. At the roof of the cave, in the very centre, was a wide shaft from which dim sunlight was pouring, filling the cavern with a tranquil glow that was causing the splendid walls to glisten. Krish allowed relief to overwhelm him for a moment. He had no idea how there could be sunlight when presumably he was still in the centre of the Night Ocean, but he didn’t question it. Not right now anyway.
Another crack. He heard it this time. Was it the oysters? One must have moved. He looked about but each one lay there motionless. After some consideration he went for a plump-looking oyster in the lower section of the cavern. On closer inspection these oysters were rougher yet brighter than the ones he’d found on the seabed. He imagined that adjusting to a life in the caves had changed them somewhat. He carefully ran his hand along the top of the shell, just as Balthrir had taught him, and the oyster tensed up, closing its mouth. He stroked it several times and it reacted by opening and closing a number of times in a vague attempt to protect itself. Krish managed to jam its mouth open with the bar. He saw the pearl within. He pulled the pearl with both hands and it came away with little resistance. The pearl was smooth and beautiful, like mist frozen in time at the centre of the shining black globe. But it was a little too heavy to admire for too long. He lowered the pearl, which was almost the size of a football, down to the floor of the cave. He removed the bar and the oyster snapped shut, masking the sound of another crack.
Krish placed the pearl in the bag Balthrir had given him and put the bag on his back. It was going to be a long journey to the surface. He was tired. His eyes were heavy. In fact everything about him felt heavy. He straightened up, ready to make his ascent. He might not have noticed the minuscule piece of debris float down from his waist but it was sharp. It brushed past his little finger and the object caught his eye.
It was a shard of glass.
His eyes darted to the globe that contained the parrel stone. How had he not noticed? The sunlight had smothered what remained of the blue flame. It had almost gone out; a grain of dust at its centre was where the parrel stone had once been, the glass itself covered in cracks. He had minutes if he was lucky.
Krish hastened in the direction of the shaft but the weight of the pearl was pulling him down. He fought and fought against the drag, trying not to paddle with too much ferocity and waste the little energy he had left. His wounds stung as his legs beat the water. He began to make his way up the shaft. The power of the parrel stone was fading and he felt the pressure close in on him while at the same time it lessened from the ascent, a dizzying effect coursing through his body. The faint glow of the stone faded to nothing. The light from above was getting brighter. The circular shaft was narrowing.
Krish’s hands gripped the side of the shaft and he was surprised not to feel stone. It was soft and dark, reddish-brown in colour. Fragments of the shaft walls floating above him looked like the shredded duck his Dad would get from the Chinese takeaway. It was wood softened by years in the water. He must be inside a hollowed-out tree.
His legs were enveloped with pain. They beat the water as he guided himself up, his hands struggling to grip the mush of wood lining the shaft above him. His hand caught hold of a solid section of wood. He heaved himself upwards and collided with the side of the tree. Crunch. He was dragged down with ferocious force. The bag’s strap cut into his shoulder as if it contained something the weight of a cannonball. He looked to his side. The glass holding what was left of the parrel stone had been completely crushed as he’d crashed against the wood. The stone itself was gone, floated off somewhere. Everything had returned to its normal weight.
Krish clawed and clawed at the mushy wood. He was being dragged down and down, farther and farther. He was near the chamber of oysters once more. The pain in his legs, the weight tearing into his shoulder, shredded wood embedding itself under his nails. He’d never have the strength to get out. Could he reach the distress stone in his bag? Both hands were occupied with trying to prevent himself falling back into the chamber. Down and down he was dragged, his wounds stinging, his breath short and his very bones feeling heavier than ever.
Krish stretched out his right leg and pushed with his foot against the shaft of wood on one side and against the opposite side with his left hand. Both pushed through the mush to the solid wood behind. He was sliding a little but he was stable. Krish’s nerves steadied. He was calm (just about). He placed his left foot on the other side of the shaft to his right. It slipped. Calm, calm. You’ve already got the pearl. You can do this… Tentatively he reached out with his left foot, prodded the wall and found a solid spot. Then he did the same with his right hand. He moved his left hand up a touch, then his right foot, followed by his left foot, then he’d start over. Slowly, very slowly, he inched his way up the shaft. The chamber below was gradually shrinking from view. Breathing was becoming very difficult. Every breath now was short. Was that spell waning too? Slowly, slowly, slowly, come on, you can do it, come on, come on, come on—
Then in an instant the water disappeared and he found himself gasping for breath as his soaking body was chilled with stale, freezing air. He took a moment to regain his breath and then he looked up in delight. The rest of the shaft was nice and dry. Not too many footholds but he’d manage a lot more easily from now on.
Krish gripped the coarse, dry wood above the water level. He crawled up through the tree. The wood was covered in holes – bite marks, he guessed. Some creature must have gnawed its way through the inside of the tree, feasting on the soft interior and hollowing it out in the process. He gritted his teeth as he climbed. The weight of the pearl pressed against his back and no m
atter how hard he tried to support the great bulk with the help of his feet, his outstretched arms were still bearing the brunt of his burden.
Minutes after envisioning himself climbing out of the top of the tallest tree overlooking the whole of Betsarhldeth, and contemplating jumping into the sea of branches below while hoping for the best, Krish’s fingers went to grip the wood and his arm shot out of a large hole in the trunk. Krish gazed through the hole. He was maybe only ten metres off the ground and there were plenty of thick branches to climb down on. He considered for a short time carrying the pearl on his back the whole way down but he’d had enough of the stupid thing. It was solid as a rock so it would survive the fall intact and the bag would prevent it from getting scratched. He hoped, at least.
He dropped the pearl onto the forest floor and climbed out into the dark woods. In minutes he’d reached the ground – barely noticing all the scratches he was sustaining from twigs as he scraped past them – and was looking around for any sign of Balthrir.
He was in luck. The wizard had a fire going (he’d seen the light fading in the tree trunk and he could feel the cold of night settling on the woods) so he followed the plume of smoke.
‘Blimey!’ Balthrir sat up. ‘That was quick!’ Krish felt as if he’d been gone for weeks.
CHAPTER 20
MANY-RULED SPLAT
Krish felt a calming tingle spread through his body as Balthrir pressed a handful of red moss, which she assured him had an antiseptic quality, against the wounds on his leg prior to dressing them.
‘You don’t know a spell for this?’ Krish asked, wincing a little.
‘Don’t know a spell for everything, mate,’ said Balthrir.
‘So really, how do you know so many spells?’
She shrugged. ‘Just… yer know? Too much time on my hands as a kid, I guess.’ Krish detected that this wasn’t the only reason but he didn’t press her again. ‘Yer said some hollowed-out old tree leads to a chamber full of oysters?’
‘Er… yeah,’ he confirmed.
‘Hilarious! Could ’ave saved ourselves a lot of bother!’ It didn’t seem that funny to Krish, who’d almost died several times down there. ‘So come on then, tell us more about these creatures? Sound weird!’
‘Yeah,’ said Krish. ‘Really weird. I… don’t even know how to describe them…’
Balthrir stared at him with a playful little smile on her face. ‘Krish, let’s face it, mate: yer not the most articulate o’ bozos at the best of times, are yer?’
Krish chuckled and found himself really enjoying looking into Balthrir’s beautiful dark brown eyes. He couldn’t keep looking at her – he felt somewhat awkward. He blinked.
*
… shaking in the cold air … droplets of water flying from their
coats … muzzles to the ground … find the scent …
*
When he opened his eyes again Balthrir was no longer smiling.
‘Where are they?’ she asked.
‘I… think they’re out of the water,’ he said.
Balthrir nodded.
‘Come on.’
They began to pack. Krish lifted the enormous pearl, which had lost much of its vibrancy in the dismal light of the forest, from his pack and examined it for a moment before wringing out the sodden bag. The distress stone fell out. He looked it over for a moment. He was glad he’d never had to use it but he was even gladder he’d had it with him. With that in his pack he’d felt that Balthrir was never too far away.
Krish re-packed his bag and they prepared to move out.
*
Life without the mule was considerably more difficult than before. Krish and Balthrir managed to ditch a lot of the items he had been carrying but still they were overloaded with bags and flasks of water. Balthrir had no spell to make clean drinking water from the Night Ocean (‘What, filter microbes and all that? Separate all that tiny little stuff from the water? Do me a favour!’). They’d had to boil the water and it showed no signs of cooling any time soon. The scalding liquid left their throats hoarse and their mouths practically dry. They drank infrequently.
Krish begged to stop and eat but Balthrir insisted that they must leave Betsarhldeth before daybreak. Krish complained that he was famished and Balthrir tossed him half an old turnip-like root vegetable as they headed towards the faint glimmer of moonlight in the distance.
They reached the edge of the woods at dawn, and shortly after, Balthrir gave in to Krish’s whinging and allowed them to rest. She started a fire, igniting it with a beam of sunlight cut from the air with the Salvean blade, boiled some halfire and Krish gobbled down the steaming-hot fruit in seconds. He then ate the rest of the odd vegetable and, yawning with lethargy, one hand on his full belly, he…
‘Oi!’ Balthrir kicked his foot to wake him up. ‘None of that, young man! Yer gettin’ too used to blottin’ those guys out! Where are they?’
Krish had seen the Vulrein. He was too tired to fear them right now. Like so much over the past few… weeks, maybe even months, he supposed. His days in Ilir were indistinguishable from each other in his current state.
‘Thhhh… thhhh… a’ the edge of the forest…’ he mumbled as he failed to hold back an enormous yawn.
‘The edge of the forest!’ Balthrir was already up, smothering the fire and packing. ‘Come on!’
Krish practically sleepwalked his way through the rocks that littered the road to the Pale Hunting Grounds. There they would search for a FireHawk. The world was dim as he allowed his eyes to narrow, his eyelashes darkening the sight of the rough ground ahead. He swayed absent-mindedly from side to side, Balthrir’s hand on his shoulder steering him back to the path from time to time. Balthrir attempted a spell which stung his eyes, forcing them to open up wide, but the agitation this caused the exhausted Krish was too much for the young wizard to put up with.
‘Stop it!’ she said. ‘Stop scratchin’ ’em! STOP IT!’
Krish’s eyes ached as he tried to blink but the spell stopped his eyelids from moving far.
‘J-just let me blink!’ he pleaded. ‘Just quickly! Please, Balthrir!’
Her voice was softer for a moment or two. ‘Just quickly.’ Out of the corner of his stinging eye he could make out her staff slowly making circles in the air. ‘Sorry, mate. It’s not m’best spell. Not one yer get much call for.’
His eyelids felt light once more and he held them shut for a few luxurious moments…
*
… hastening forward… the scent filled their
nostrils … sand in their paws …
*
The sight of them hardly even made him jump any more. The Vulrein had sped up the moment he’d closed his eyes. Balthrir was right: he must try and keep them open for as long as he could, despite sand blowing into them every few minutes.
The ground was a fine powder of pale sand with a hint of metallic blue. It was surprisingly hard to pass through, almost like wading through custard. Balthrir said that the sand here had some curious electromagnetic charge that bound the grains together and would hopefully confuse the Vulrein. Krish had a nasty feeling that his continuous blinking was doing a fine job of counteracting this but after some time he noticed that those foul dogs were beginning to lag behind.
Balthrir refused to let them stop even for food now. They ate straight out of their satchels or she’d pick some dried black weeds from the ground, shake off the dust and hand Krish a few to chew on. It was dry and tasteless and minutes after swallowing it he felt like he’d never eaten it at all.
Several hours passed and Balthrir consented to let them have a rest for a few minutes. Something had captured her interest.
‘Used to travel a lot as a kid.’ She was digging up a dead-looking bush by the root. ‘Mum and Dad wanderin’ the four corners, tryin’ to get work wherever they could. Yer learn the tricks o’ stayin’ alive out in these parts.’
‘Balthrir…’
‘Uh-huh?’ She pulled up a large, bulbous root.
<
br /> ‘Some of the stuff in my pack… do we need it all?’
‘Like what?’ She had peeled off a large section of the exterior of the root and was now cutting the interior into shreds using her knife.
‘Well, there’s your itching powder. I mean, do we need that?’
‘I invented that – works bloody well!’
‘Or-or the clock-confuser—’
‘Is awesome – leave it!’
‘Is it really that useful?’
‘It’s genius! There’s only one of ’em and if I can sell it—’
‘But it’s massive! Takes up half my pack!’
‘Ditch the distress stone.’ She’d collected quite pile of shredded root in an open skin by now.
‘But the distress stone is really useful! And tiny! How does it work anyway?’
‘Close yer palm round the little bugger, concentrate on bein’ distressed and FOOOUUUNNG!’
‘What? It explodes in your face?!’
‘I’ll explode in yer face in a minute, yer little twerp! ’Ere, try some of this.’
Balthrir offered Krish a modest handful of moist shredded root.
‘What do I…’ said Krish.
‘Like this…’ Balthrir demonstrated; she held the shredded root in her fist above her head, opened her mouth and squeezed. Faintly yellow liquid poured out of her clenched fist and into her mouth. Krish tried it. It was earthy and rather sour but cool and refreshing nonetheless. He was surprised how much water the root had retained. Balthrir discarded the root shavings in her fist and tied up the skin which held the rest of the shredded root.
‘That’ll keep us goin’ until we can find fresh water on the other side o’ the hunting grounds,’ said Balthrir. ‘We can ditch one of the water jars. That should ’elp. And it doesn’t explode in yer face! The flare’s magical; might dazzle yer a bit but yer won’t feel anything. What it produces is pure light. Flies up into the sky to let people know where you are.’
