I’m supposed to do something now, Randall thought, much like the first time that he had drawn such power on a field of battle. But this time, he knew exactly what to do.
As the soldier sped away, Randall uttered a three-syllable word that he had only heard once before. He didn’t shout. He didn’t growl it out. He said it softly, lovingly, calling for the power within him to do his bidding.
“Grd’zx’kan,” Randall murmured. Still, no matter how gently it was spoken, the word ripped through his vocal cords, leaving them raw.
The power fled Randall like smoke on the breeze. It raced from him into the earth, into the sky, and into the fleeing soldier. They’re all connected, after all, Randall thought to himself, as everything around him abruptly seemed to resume its normal speed.
At that instant, the heavens were torn by a huge bolt of lightning that ripped from a cloudless sky. It raced downward, seeking the earth, and slamming into the soldier with a mighty thunderclap. Randall was thrown from his feet, landing on his back. Consciousness fled him, and he passed out, sure that he would never awaken.
Eventually, Randall did stir. After spending long moments regaining his senses, he slowly rolled over onto his side and wearily looked over at the soldier. The smell of burning flesh drifted to him on the wind. Only an unrecognizable, charred lump remained where the soldier and horse had been. Small fires crackled in the grass around the smoking remains.
He had lived! Looking around him, he had a hard time imagining that he was the cause of the carnage he saw. One soldier nearly decapitated, the other, burned beyond all recognition. He wasn’t a killer! He was only a kid! How could he have done all of that?
A fresh twinge of pain in his side caused a painful spasm of coughing. Randall’s vocal chords felt like they had been twisted and scraped raw. He tasted blood in his mouth, and when the coughing subsided, there were flecks of blood on the back of his hand. And with every cough, he could feel the crossbow bolt digging into his flesh.
Looking to his side, he saw that the crossbow bolt had only penetrated an inch, at most. His Buk-strengthened undershirt had saved him again, stopping the quarrel from dealing him a fatal wound. Still, he thought one of his ribs must be broken, and the small wound where the tip of the bolt had actually penetrated flesh needed to be cleaned and tended to. An inch-deep wound was still dangerous, and he could easily die of infection from it.
Looking around him once again, he remembered the words of the older soldier. More would be coming! And Randall had no idea how long he had lain unconscious on the grass. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours! Adrenaline drove some of the exhaustion from his mind, and spurred him to action.
He was still in danger, and he was about to put himself in greater danger yet. The plan forming in his mind was reckless, but it was the only choice he could think of in his haste. And so Randall scrambled to his feet and began limping as quickly as he could—directly toward Black Eel Marsh.
Chapter 8
Black Eel Marsh was aptly named. In the springtime, the snaky black predator choked the ponds and waterways of the marsh, providing nearby towns with a seasonal delicacy. Randall’s mother usually prepared eel several times each spring; it was easier to catch this time than at any other time of the year. Luckily, the eel wasn’t poisonous. Even so, it had two sets of extremely sharp teeth and would bite if provoked. It would be prudent for him to watch where he stepped.
Though the bog was home to the black eel, snakes, poisonous insects and other hazards, the real danger of the marsh was the bog-wight. Bog-wights had no natural predators in the marsh to check their population. They would eventually grow so numerous that food competition forced them to strike out from the marsh in packs, raiding livestock and waylaying travelers. Bog-wights were said to be cunning, surrounding their prey and attacking from the rear.
Though the militia did a thorough job every year culling the excess population, the marsh was too large and forbidding a place for the King’s men to completely eradicate the predator. Randall would have to be very careful.
As the spongy ground surrounding the marsh began giving way to increasing amounts of standing water, Randall, couldn’t decide if he should be relieved or not. There was no sign of pursuit from the road, but bit by bit, the open ground was being overtaken by the mangrove trees that made up the heart of the marsh. The root systems of these trees looped and jutted up from areas of standing water, creating a tangled maze of vegetation that was impossible to wade through easily. At least there would be no men on horseback overtaking him in this mess! They’d have to slog through the vegetation on foot, putting him on equal ground at least.
Randall was hoping that they wouldn’t pursue him at all. Hopefully, they would just assume the bog-wights would take care of their problem for them.
And they just might, after all, Randall was forced to admit to himself. Early spring was usually when the first news of bog-wight attacks began trickling into Geldorn.
By mid-afternoon, Randall was deep within the marsh. Though ghost stories and songs always described the marsh as “eerily quiet”, in truth the area was teeming with noise. Randall would have preferred the quiet. The marsh was crowded with animal life: frogs, birds, snakes, insects, fish and lizards were all around him, croaking, buzzing, rustling leaves and splashing water. As he bolted through the marsh, every new sound caused him to jump in fear, jerking his head around to find the source. Most of the time, he never even saw what had caused the racket. He was convinced that every rustle, thud, or snap of a tree limb was caused by pursuing soldiers—or, even worse, bog-wights.
Eventually, worn down by anxiety, Randall stopped at a fallen tree to rest and eat a long-overdue lunch. He cut himself a large wedge of cheese and decided to eat another apple while they were still fresh. After a few bites, he began to relax. He was pretty sure that he wasn’t being followed. It was impossible to travel silently through the marsh, especially if one intended to cover ground quickly; he should have heard any signs of pursuit long before it reached him.
Randall had been splashing through the marsh rather noisily, and his haphazard flight had been spooking the wildlife around him into adding to the clamor. Now that he had settled down, he realized that the marsh actually was “eerily quiet”. Once you got used to the steady thrum of marsh wildlife, the soft din faded into the background. Any break in that monotonous undercurrent of noise would stand out like a sore thumb. It was almost as if the steady hum of marsh life made it seem quieter, if that were possible.
As Randall listened to the constant rhythm of the marsh frogs and insects around him, he let his mind wander. Now that he had been forced into the marsh, he really had no plan on how to get to Paranol. And now that he had been forced to kill—Randall choked back a sob at the memory—the militia knew which way he’d been heading. Paranol was probably not even the safest option any longer.
After a few minutes of silent musing, Randall realized that he felt something tugging weakly at the apple that he’d let dangle from his hand, neglected. Looking down, he was jolted out of his reverie by the sight of an enormous brown rodent pulling on the apple!
“Ugh!” Randall cried, as he instinctively yanked his hand away.
Randall’s sudden motion flung the creature over backward, but it somersaulted in the air and landed dexterously on the log beside him. That was when he realized it wasn’t a rodent at all. In fact, it almost looked like a little man crouching down on all fours!
It was only a few inches tall, but it had long spindly limbs attached to a thicker brown torso. The thing’s fingers were very long and dexterous, and its wrinkled, leathery skin was loosely stretched over a wiry frame. Its most striking feature, however, was the creature’s very human-like visage, with large, expressive eyes that spoke of intelligence. Though it seemed to lack any of the features that would let Randall determine the creature’s sex, in Randall’s mind, it was obviously a tiny little man.
The creature stood on two legs, half-
crouched, watching intently as if assessing Randall’s next move. After a few long seconds, its eyes darted down to the apple in Randall’s hand, before quickly darting back up to meet his eyes. It crept forward a couple of half-steps, still crouched and wary, and then held its long-fingered hands toward the apple, longingly. Randall found the behavior incredibly endearing.
“Aww, aren’t you cute! Are you hungry?” he asked while breaking off a tiny piece of the apple.
Leaning forward, he placed it on the broken tree trunk between them. The tiny creature studied the apple piece warily for several seconds, its eyes darting back and forth from the little snack to Randall and back again. Finally, it seemed to make a decision and rushed toward it, snatching the morsel up from the log. It skittered backward to its original position and quickly devoured the small tidbit in fast, tiny bites with its needle-sharp teeth. It looked back at Randall, and held its hands back out, insistently.
“Wow, you were hungry!” Randall laughed, overjoyed to have found something interesting to take his mind off of his predicament. In that pose, the little creature reminded him of nothing so much as a small child begging for scraps in the kitchen while dinner was being prepared.
Laughing at the mental imagery, he bit off a larger piece of the apple, and put it down on the log, again between himself and the little creature. This piece was a bit too large for it to easily haul away, and after several moments of trying, the little man gave up and began nibbling on the apple piece where it lay, while eyeing Randall warily between bites. It chirped angrily and skittered back away from the piece when Randall plopped back down on the log and began eating the rest of his apple, but after waiting a few moments to ensure that he was not moving closer, it crept back toward the irresistible morsel and began devouring it hungrily.
Randall finished the last of the cheese he had cut, and looking over at his new friend, saw that it was nearly finished with the piece of apple he had laid out for it. It was eating much more slowly now, and would take a few bites, and then look back up at Randall, as if to be sure that the giant wasn’t making a move toward him. When it saw that Randall had finished eating, it looked back down at its own remaining scrap of apple. Then it surprised Randall completely by picking up the apple bit and holding it out to him!
“For me?” Randall asked, astonished. “How considerate!”
When he reached down to take the apple piece, the creature dropped the apple into Randall’s open palm, and then quickly scampered up Randall’s arm!
“Hey!” Randall cried, startled, shaking his arm to rid himself of the thing.
The little man made its way up Randall’s tunic, as Randall danced around trying to dislodge the tiny invader. Eventually it settled on a spot on Randall’s shoulder, and as Randall reached up to brush it off, he realized the little imp was purring. Looking down, he saw the creature had hooked its long fingers around the hem of Randall’s stiffened undershirt and had its eyes closed. It even looked like it had half a smile on its tiny face! It opened one eye, and snuggled closer to Randall’s neck, purring all the while.
“Hey, I guess you’re ready for your afternoon nap after such a feast!” Randall chortled, feeling his face break into a smile of its own. “I suppose it won’t do any harm to let you come along. It’d be nice to have a friend.”
Randall gathered up his belongings, and began walking further into the marsh, feeling quite a bit calmer than he had felt before lunch. The presence of the little man-imp purring on his shoulder soothed Randall considerably. The fact that he had some food in his stomach probably didn’t hurt either.
He resumed his walk at a much more relaxed pace. Now that he wasn’t racing pell-mell through the marsh, he noticed that he wasn’t disturbing the inhabitants nearly as much, and the splashes and other startling noises that had so rattled him earlier were fewer and far between now. The marsh noises almost seemed peaceful and pleasant, once he got used to the constant sound of frogs and insects calling out to each other.
Randall spent the next few nights trudging through the marsh by day, and sleeping in the driest spots he could find by night. During meal times, he shared his apples with his newfound companion. The little pixie would stand at Randall’s feet and chitter excitedly until given a piece of apple, which it would devour with great gusto.
Randall’s largest complaint was an assortment of bug bites that left him scratching constantly. The bog-wights won’t have to kill me, he thought glumly after pulling up the leg of his trousers and inspecting a fresh welt rising up on the skin. If I stay here much longer, these mosquitoes are going to suck me dry!
Randall’s new companion seemed immune to the onslaught of blood-sucking insects that seemed to thrive in the marsh. He never saw the little pixie scratching or slapping at bites. In fact, it was the insects that had cause to worry. Once, as a pesky dragonfly buzzed near Randall’s face, the little man’s hand darted out in a flash, snatching up the insect and shoving it into his tiny mouth. The imp chattered with contentment as he noisily snacked on the bug right next to Randall’s ear. Ugh!
Luckily, Erliand’s healing talisman kept the bites from becoming more than a minor irritant. Soon, the bites would stop itching, and within an hour, the welt would be gone entirely. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about developing festering open sores from mindlessly scratching at the bites all day. Were anyone following him, they wouldn’t be so fortunate.
On his third day in the marsh, Randall noticed that his undershirt had finally reverted back to its original cloth consistency, with a ragged hole where the rune had been marked. After slipping the shirt off, he realized that his chest and ribs had healed completely, too.
No wonder Erliand had said people would kill for this thing! Randall thought, admiring the talisman in wonder. His injuries would normally have taken a few months to heal. Instead, it had taken only days, even with all of his exertions.
Randall’s food stores ran out that morning. He laughed around a bite of his last bit of journey bread as the little pixie rummaged through his travel sack, looking for food.
“Fresh out of apples, little man,” Randall informed the creature as he noisily chewed the tough hardtack bread. “Probably won’t be getting any more any time soon, either. Hardtack is all we have left.”
The pixie scrambled out of the bag, backward, and turned to look at Randall quizzically. Randall held out a bit of his journey bread out to his little friend, but after daintily touching it with its tongue, the creature snorted and shook its head as if clearing it from tasting something foul.
“Hah! You think my bread’s disgusting, but you’ll eat a bug? No accounting for taste,” Randall laughed.
The little creature chattered angrily as Randall popped the last small bite into his mouth. “And now we’re completely out of food, I’m afraid,” Randall informed the creature apologetically. “I suppose it’s time to hunt some more up.”
The little imp tilted its head to the side, almost as if it could understand what Randall was saying. Then it raised its face into the breeze, sniffing the air experimentally. In a flash, it turned to dash off into the underbrush. Randall barely had time try cry out “Wait!” before the creature was gone.
“Fair weather friend,” Randall grumped.
Randall was surprised at how dejected he was at the little pixie’s departure, but he had to face the facts. Whatever it was, the little sprite was a wild creature, and not a pet. It made sense that it would only stick around so long as Randall had a ready supply of apples that he was willing to share. Still, the creature was the only friendly contact he’d had in days. And now, with it gone, he had no one to help keep his mind off of his troubles.
He sat in silence long after the meal was finished, hoping the little creature would return. When it was evident that it wasn’t coming back, he began packing up his camp and preparing to resume his travels. He had just gotten his journey sack slung across his shoulders when he heard a high-pitched chittering at his feet. He looked down to se
e that his little friend had returned!
“You came back!” Randall cried out, overjoyed to see his friend. “And what’s that you have?”
Randall looked more closely at the little creature at his feet. It seemed to be carrying something small and black. Noticing Randall’s interest, the pixie held out the little treasure, as if it meant to share with him.
“A blackberry! Well I’ll be! I thought it was too early in the season for berries. Thanks little guy!” Randall exclaimed excitedly as he reached for the treat, only to be surprised when the creature snatched the treat out of Randall’s grasp and scampered backwards a few feet.
“Stingy devil,” Randall laughed. “If you don’t want me to have it, that’s fine. I’m just glad to have you back!”
But the little brown creature extended the treat again, waiting patiently, as if hoping to share it with Randall. But when he stepped forward to reach for it, the creature once again scampered away skittishly. After clambering out of arms reach, it once again held the little berry aloft toward him. After a couple of failed attempts at accepting the offered berry, Randall began to realize that the little pixie was leading him in the same direction every time it scampered away.
“Oh, I get it!” he said, giggling as enlightenment hit him. “You want me to follow you! Well, lead the way!”
The words were barely out of Randall’s mouth when the sprite dropped the berry, spun, and quickly scampered off. Randall raced to keep up, though the creature had a significant advantage; it ran and hopped gracefully through the underbrush as Randall splashed clumsily after it. Occasionally the little man would stop and look back over its shoulder as if to ensure he was following it. Each time Randall caught up with the imp, it would resume its madcap rush through the marsh.
They must have traveled a mile before it showed any signs of slowing down. Randall found himself in a marshy meadow, with large areas of more-or-less solid ground. His new friend dashed off to a clump of blackberry vines thick with ripe berries. There it plopped itself down, picked one of the scrumptious morsels, and began eating. Randall sat down nearby, wary of the thorny vines, and began plucking the dark, juicy berries and tossing them in his mouth.
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