“If we lose him, it’ll be our hides for sure,” the fat one said.
“Then let’s be sure not to lose him,” the burly one replied.
Their faces were red and soiled and their shirts sweaty and wrinkled.
“I heard him here a minute ago,” the fat one whispered.
“Then he can’t have gone far.”
The burly guard nodded to his partner and the two split up. The burly guard made his way out onto the Ring Road and looked about. The fat guard stepped through the underbrush, slowly moving in Cyrus and Sarah’s direction. Cyrus pulled himself back behind the tree. He and Sarah would be caught for sure. Sarah put a hand on his shoulder, and he almost screamed. He looked back at her; his mind blank with fright. She pointed at herself and made a running motion with her fingers; then pointed at Cyrus and did the same in the opposite direction. She was planning on running off and leading the guards away so Cyrus could escape. No! She would be taking too big a risk. He heard the fat man shift behind the tree. He saw his meaty hand slide around the tree’s trunk. Cyrus grabbed a fist full of dirt and rose to his feet. Just as he saw the whites of the guard’s eyes peer around the trunk, Cyrus loosed the dirt into his fat mug.
“Ahhh!” the guard screamed, dropping his club and clawing at his face.
“What’s all that racket?” the burly guard shouted, from the road.
“It’s him. He’s thrown dirt in my eyes!”
Sarah stood up and began to move further into the woods. Cyrus grabbed her wrist. She pulled free and put a finger to her lips, then quickly ran into the forest. Cyrus heard the burly guard come crashing through the trees, towards his fallen comrade. If Cyrus ran across the Ring Road, towards the Dead Fence, the guards would hear or see him, and he would be caught. He began to crawl slowly away from the tree, through a bush and down into a roadside ditch.
“Where is he?” the burly guard asked, his voice full of rage.
“How am I supposed to know? He blinded me,” the fat guard whined.
Cyrus peered over the bank and through the bushes. He saw the burly guard come stalking around the tree. The man looked left; then right, then began to move in his direction. Cyrus readied himself to run as best he could. With the chipped and dinged ax, the man began to part the bushes above Cyrus’ head. Run, you idiot, he thought. But fear kept him frozen in place. The man’s sweating, dripping nose started to poke through the part in the brush. Cyrus bit back a scream.
“Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh!”
Cyrus panicked and grabbed his mouth, but quickly realized the cry did not come from his lips. It came from further in the forest. The burly guard turned and ran in the direction of the cry.
“What’s going on?” the fat guard shouted, stumbling blindly after his partner.
“I saw him, I saw him!” Cyrus heard Sarah say, just beyond the trees, “He shoved me over and ran that way!”
Cyrus held still, watching the woods and listening. Were the guards coming back? Was Sarah in trouble? He could not see or hear a thing. He stood listening for several moments. Then he began to make his way out of the ditch.
“Cyrus?” a voice whispered.
He turned and to his relief saw Sarah creeping out of the brush.
“Over here,” he answered back.
She slid down the bank and into the ditch.
“There’s no time. They’ll be back soon,” she said.
Cyrus took her by the hand and pulled her across the road. They raced through Hekswood Forest, splashing up mud and whipping past sharp branches. They arrived at a clearing and crouched beside a tree. There the vegetation stopped, and the Dead Fence’s dried and cracked earth began. Cyrus scanned the area for danger. The coast was clear. He looked to Sarah. She was afraid, wide-eyed and beautiful, with twigs in her hair and mud on her face.
“Cyrus, you have to go,” she said, “I know you didn’t do what the Mayor says, but they’ll never forgive you. You have to sail away and never come back. Go to Myrkur Island. You’ll be safe there.”
But Cyrus knew that that was not true. Myrkur was crumbling just like Virkelot. It would only be a matter of time before he found himself in a cold, wet grave. And there was the blue-eyed phantom to worry about as well.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Now we’re even,” she replied.
Cyrus looked into her eyes, unsure what to do or say next. Sarah dropped her gaze.
“You have to go, Cyrus.”
He looked to his feet, feeling a familiar sense of rejection.
“Thanks again.”
He paused a moment, his pointed ears burning, then turned towards the Dead Fence. He began to make his way across the cracked earth.
“Wait,” Sarah said.
Cyrus stopped and looked back. She came over and stood in front of him. She had the strangest glint in her eyes as if she was about to cry. She reached up and touched his blackened brow. Cyrus looked away, ashamed. Sarah seized him and hugged him hard, pressing her head to his chest. Cyrus froze like a petrified tree. Then slowly he raised his arms and hugged her back.
“Take care of yourself and be safe,” she said.
Cyrus did not want this moment to end. He smelled her hair and held the light warmth of her body.
“I will.”
He heard voices off in the bushes. The two separated as if caught in some unthinkable act. Sarah looked to Cyrus.
“Run!”
Then she sped off into the woods, away from the nearing cries. Cyrus searched the tree line. Nothing. With a charging jump, he began to climb the ten-foot-high fence.
“There he is!” the burly guard shouted.
By the sounds of the racket, there were several men on his trail. An ax struck the fence to Cyrus’ left. The blade hit the wood like stone and fell to the earth. Cyrus clambered to the top of the wall. Several rocks passed near his head, hitting trees and bushes far beyond. Cyrus looked back. Eight or nine men broke into the clearing, furious and armed. One heaved a pitchfork. Another threw a sharpened stick. Cyrus half jumped, half fell off the fence, landing on the forbidden side of the forest. The projectiles hit the top of the wall and came clattering to the ground around him.
“Run back to your Sea Witch, traitor!” one man yelled.
“She’ll do worse than hang you,” another shouted.
The men hit the fence like wild beasts, yelling curses and poking sticks through knotholes in the pickets. Cyrus scurried away from the wall on all fours. What if one of the men grew bold and followed him over? Cyrus rose to his feet and began to sprint for the shoreline. He had to find Edward.
Chapter 15
SUPPLIES
CYRUS CRASHED THROUGH THE WOODS as if on fire, leaping over poisonous creepers and dashing through puddles of mud. He cleared the forest and rushed down the seaside path, heading for Edward’s tree.
“Over here,” a familiar voice shouted.
The fuzzy spider was dangling from a grey leafed bush. Cyrus made his way over.
“The Mayor’s ordered my death,” he said, his breath labored, “They’re trying to kill me. I have to escape.”
“What do you mean?” Edward asked.
Cyrus’ senses were electric.
“He says I’m a traitor and wants me executed. My only chance is to take the boat and run.”
Edward seemed anxious.
“Well, I’m coming with you.”
“You don’t understand,” Cyrus said, “I can’t stay here, and with the cave-ins and that creature, Myrkur’s not safe either. I have to sail away, find somewhere else to live; a new island, a new home. I have to leave this place and never come back.”
“But you can’t do it yourself,” Edward said, “You don’t know north from your nose. You’ll get lost the minute you lose sight of land.”
Edward was right. The little spider did seem to have an uncanny sixth sense when it came to direction.
“There’s no guarantee we’ll even make it through the night,” Cyrus replied.
<
br /> “But if I stay, I’m guaranteed to drown with this place. With the two of us together, at least we stand a chance.”
Cyrus felt tears well up in his eyes and the weight on his shoulders grew lighter.
“We better hurry,” he said, picking Edward up and putting him in his shirt pocket.
Twenty minutes later the two runaways were adrift. Cyrus paddled through the shore break and searched the tree line for danger. It seemed that no one had dared cross the Dead Fence in pursuit. Were the old legends true? Was there truly some ancient evil beyond the wall? His stomach twisted. He did not share his apprehension with Edward.
The grey sky grew dim with the coming evening, and the sea foamed and chopped amidst the rising tide.
“We’re going to need food and water,” Cyrus said, shivering in his wet denim.
“And some warm clothes,” Edward added, “You’re going to freeze.”
The small spider began to crawl out of Cyrus’ pocket and up his shirt.
“What should we do?” Cyrus asked, picking Edward off his shoulder and placing him on the mast.
“Myrkur Island,” Edward said, skittering up the crow’s nest, “Old Jim has lots of stuff in that place.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
Cyrus’ heart sunk further.
They arrived at the southern tip of the island and moored the boat at the edge of the seaside cave. The land seemed to have withered since their last visit, for the trees appeared bone-like and bare.
They climbed up into the eye socket of the massive skull. Cyrus felt as if he was seeing the caverns for the first time. He studied the arching and somber forms. The twin pools in the fossilized rock reminded him of the blue-eyed phantom. There was no time to waste.
“Ready?” he asked Edward, who was crouched on his shoulder.
The frightened spider nodded, his two eyes wide. Cyrus lit the lantern with a shaky hand, then crept into old Jim OddFoot’s dwelling. He peered about the room for danger. Nothing had been shifted since their first visit. He made his way towards the skeleton on the bed.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he whispered.
“You have no choice,” Edward replied, “Be quick.”
Steadying his nerves, Cyrus pulled the sealskin boots off the skeleton’s feet. He knocked the dust out. The air became musty and stale. Coughing, he kicked off his wet, tattered shoes, held his breath, and pulled on the black boots. To his surprise, they were fleecy, warm and felt tailor fit. Finally, some luck, he thought. Next, he pulled a leather belt and sheathed knife from the dead man’s waist. The dagger was a little longer than Cyrus’ hand and its fang-shaped blade sharp as broken glass. He buckled the belt low around his hips. The weight of the knife made him feel larger somehow.
On a coat rack, near the entrance, he found a fleece-lined leather jacket and cap, and a wool scarf. The clothing was a few sizes too big but warmed him to the core.
“Cyrus, over there,” Edward said, pointing two legs towards the bookshelf.
“Holy Sea Zombie.”
Cyrus moved towards the shelf and gathered up a bow and quiver of arrows. The belly and back of the weapon were crafted from dunkel wood, and the grip was bound with leather. Cyrus pulled the string. It was coarse and felt of tough hemp.
“No Cyrus. The water skin and blanket.”
Cyrus swung the quiver and bow over his shoulder and collected a wool blanket and empty water skin from the bookshelf. But where would they find fresh water?
“Do you feel that?” Edward gasped.
The little spider curled into a ball and rolled into Cyrus’ shirt pocket. Cyrus paused. What was it he was supposed to feel? Then it happened. A strange vibration moved up from his feet into his teeth. The hum grew into a grumbling roar.
“A cave-in!” Edward shouted.
Cyrus clutched his gear and sped towards the door. Dust and stone rained down from spreading cracks in the ceiling. The oil paintings started to fall from the walls. Books and other objects crashed to the ground around Cyrus’ feet. From behind him came what sounded like giant rock biting through massive stone.
“Jump!” Edward screamed.
Cyrus leaped through the door and crashed to the earth. A splintering boom echoed throughout the caves. Dust and stone fragments enveloped the would-be victims. Cyrus coughed and wheezed and peered into his pocket to make sure Edward was safe.
“I’m okay?” the small spider said, “You?”
“I think so,” Cyrus answered, looking back through the haze of bone dust.
A large portion of Jim’s roof had collapsed, blocking the entrance to his lair.
“Let’s get out of here before the rest of it caves in,” Cyrus whispered.
With his hand on the sheath of the knife, he slipped from the cave, tossed their gear into the boat and pushed off from the eroding fossil.
“Cyrus,” Edward said, his voice shaky.
Cyrus looked into his pocket. His best friend peaked out, quivering with fear. Cyrus scanned the area. Then he saw the cause of Edward’s concern. There were wet, webbed handprints on the boat’s mast and hull. The blue-eyed phantom.
Chapter 16
FOGGY SEAS
“NEVER MIND THAT,” Cyrus said, “Let’s just get out of here.”
He paddled hard and fast away from the island, repeatedly peering over his shoulders. His back ached with worry and dread. He kept imagining the thing from Jim’s journal springing aboard their boat.
“Which way should we head,” he asked, once he felt they were far enough from shore.
“I say south,” Edward replied.
The two set a southerly course into the dwindling afternoon. In the distance, the sky flickered with lightning and rain.
“I think it’s going to pass us by,” Edward said.
As they voyaged into uncharted waters, Cyrus felt more and more helpless. Where were they going to find food and water? What if they could not find land? Day became night, and the sea grew calm.
Cyrus slowly began to process the events leading up to his escape. Niels, Cyrus’ brother, and only true family was gone, and it was all because Cyrus had not been strong enough to save him. Cyrus’ lone crime had been wanting to flee his stepmother and live in peace. He had told Niels about the journal and together they had tried to warn the mayor. But Hoblkalf would not listen. Instead, he used threats and lies in an attempt to further his own selfish schemes. When the mayor’s plan failed and caused the cave-in, he had shifted blame to Cyrus. The villagers cheered for Cyrus’ death, never much liking him in the first place. But Sarah did not blame him. She had saved his life. She even seemed to care for him. Still, Cyrus had been forced to escape the hangman’s noose. That is what he got for trying to help others. He would never make that mistake ever again.
The moon slipped behind a curtain of cloud. Cyrus’ eyes grew heavy with exhaustion. He shifted to the floor of the boat and huddled under the wool blanket. Edward curled like a tiny mouse within the warm collar of Cyrus’ fleece jacket. Cyrus drifted between the sleeping world and the real. Stifled tears grew frigid on his thick eyelashes. When finally, he slumbered, he dreamt of drowning turtles and foggy seas.
THE BLUE-EYED CREATURE that clung to the hull of their craft dreamt of far more sinister things.
Chapter 17
RORROH
CYRUS AWOKE TO THE SOUND of a tolling bell. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked about. It was still night. The air was thick with a green fog that smelled of some sort of burning weed. Maybe seaweed, he thought. Cyrus’ throat tightened. He began to cough.
“Edward, you awake?”
“I don’t feel good,” the spider said, coughing.
Cyrus searched his clothing and found his best friend balled up in his shirt pocket.
“Hold on; I’ll try to get us out of here?” Cyrus said, gently petting Edward’s back.
The ringing of the bell grew nearer. Cyrus worried they might collide with its source. Clumsily, he l
it the lantern and held it to the sky. At first, he saw nothing. Then out of the haze loomed a sailing ship. The boat was fifty times larger than their craft, and instead of two sails, it had over ten. The sheets hung ragged and stained from three towering masts.
The craft was on a collision course. Cyrus grabbed an oar to paddle clear. Dizzy from the smoke, he let the pole slip through his fingers. The ship coasted into their boat and skirted it aside like driftwood. Alongside the oily vessel, a mesh of rope hung from the top deck.
“Ssseize it,” a distant voice whispered.
Possessed by an overpowering urge, Cyrus reached out and grabbed the thick net. What just happened, he wondered, staring at his gripping hand. The deck boards groaned from above. A hooded silhouette peered over the edge. Cyrus held the lantern high. The light reflected off two dark eyes beneath the soiled hood.
“Ssssss…”
The stranger seemed to taste the air.
“A child, how sssweet,” said a high-pitched voice.
Cyrus heard phlegm rattle in the creature’s windpipe, but not whether it was man or woman. He felt he should flee, but his thoughts swam within the cozy, green mist.
“You must be deathly cold, my dear. Come aboard and join me for ssssome hot tea.”
With a crooked, bony hand, the creature waved Cyrus up into the boat.
“Don’t,” Edward gasped, from within his shirt.
Cyrus fought the urge to climb the mesh ladder.
“No, um, thank you for your kind offer, but we must be on our way.”
He shook his head and tried to clear the fog. A waterfall of green smoke drifted down from within the stranger’s cloak.
“Breathe…” it whispered.
Suddenly desperate for air, Cyrus drew the fumes into his lungs and began to cough. Edward sneezed violently inside Cyrus’ pocket. Cyrus’ vision grew murky and his senses blurred.
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