by Michael Kerr
“Come on, Tommy” Sam said. “Let’s go and find the others. We have to get away from here.”
Tommy stormed off into the trees, and the others followed on behind, but kept their distance. Sam and Ben knew that when their friend was sulking or in a bad mood, it was best to leave him be until he cheered up in his own time.
They walked a long way, and finished what drinking water they had. All around them in the swamp were the sounds of clicks and plops as molluscs and crustaceans blew bubbles in mud holes, snapped their claws and pincers together, and closed their shells. Mosquitoes whined through the air and stabbed their skin, and the trail became so narrow that they had to squeeze through the dense tree trunks. Every few feet, one of them would slip and lose their footing on slick roots, sometimes cutting their hands and slicing their legs on the shell-encrusted bark of the mangroves. The smell of rot hung in air, and the leafy branches above them were so thick that there was not the slightest breath of a breeze to relieve the almost unbearable heat.
The swamp was alive with a multitude of small creatures. Snails slithered slowly over the mud, and brightly coloured crabs sprinted across it, searching for food with their pincers, constantly on the lookout for danger with eyes that were at the ends of long stalks.
Much to their relief, the path eventually widened out again, and ahead of them in a clearing they spotted the band of fairies.
Sam rushed up to Fig and handed him the crown. He took it, but did not immediately show his great relief at what was almost a miracle, that would save all fairykind from certain extinction.
“Gorf?” He asked.
“We’ve lost him,” Sam said.
Fig frowned. “How in Allworlds could you lose someone as big as Gorf?”
Sam started to sob again. “After Gorf was captured, Ganzo had him taken to the arena to fight. Zoot says that there is no way that he could survive.”
“The horgs have a lot to answer for,” Fig said, staring past Sam to where Zoot was standing. “They cause much suffering wherever they go. We despise violence, but I wish that we could somehow destroy the Black Tower and every horg on it.”
As Fig spoke, the crown began to shudder in his hands. It did not glow or shimmer or change colour. It looked to be nothing more than the same dull cone of horn. And yet Fig felt its power invigorate him. He felt stronger, and could feel his clipped wings growing and becoming whole again. All the fairies felt the same. They were touched by the magic within it, and knew that its safe return had saved them from becoming nonexistent.
“You have ensured our survival,” Fig said, looking from Sam to Ben to Tommy. “Thanking you does not seem enough. And yet I can think of no way to reward you.”
“Knowing that you’ll be okay now is reward enough, Fig,” Ben said. “If you and the others can fly again, then you should get back to wherever King Ambrose is as soon as possible.”
“The others can fly back to the forest,” Speedy said. “I shall travel with you.”
“And so shall I,” Fig said. “We shall finish this adventure together, the same as we did the last time. But why is this horg still with you? How can you trust him?”
“It’s a long story,” Ben said. “Without Zoot’s help we couldn’t have recovered the crown. He is now an enemy of his own kind. He could have given us up to them, but chose to stick with us.”
Fig was uncomfortable in Zoot’s company, but reminded himself that in every society of every life form, there were both good and bad individuals. He would do his best to overlook the fact that Zoot looked like every other bloodthirsty horg that he had ever set eyes on. If Sam and the others trusted him, then he would do the same, until or unless the horg did something to make him change his mind.
“The Dark One has arrived at the horg fortress” Sam said. “When he finds out that you and the other fairies have escaped, and that the crown is gone, he’ll search for us.”
“More reason why we should stay with you,” Speedy said. “We will be able to evade him by changing all our shapes into anything we choose.”
Fig approached a fairy by the name of Redwing, entrusted him with the crown and told him to lead the others home, flying low and fast by night, taking shelter by day, and keeping ever vigilant for danger.
Shortly after dusk, Redwing and all but Fig and Speedy flew off, to cross the swamp and go around the edge of the Mountains of Fire, where they would come to the Lava Beds and then their own land.
Zoot led the others ever deeper into the swamp. It was his type of place. He caught a snake and ate it as he strode through the mangroves, and offered to catch more for the others, but was told not to bother.
Speedy was nervous. He was on the lookout for monkey-eating eagles, and kept as far away from the dark water as possible, positive that similar creatures to whatever had snatched Squill were gliding unseen beneath the surface.
As fingers of sunlight poked through the gaps in leaves and speckled the ground, Ben suggested that they rest for a awhile next to a lagoon that appeared to be fresh water. Tommy knelt at the edge, ladled out a little water with his hand, and sampled a drop.
“It tastes good,” he said, and guzzled a few handfuls of the cool water, that was being pumped into the lagoon from an underground spring.
They all splashed their faces and drank their fill. Sam wanted to go for a swim, but was put off by Speedy reminding her of what had become of Squill.
As they sat in a circle, lost in their own thoughts, Sam saw a small blue bird alight on a thin branch that overhung the edge of the lagoon. And as she watched it preen its feathers, a stream of water shot up from the surface like the jet from a powerful water pistol. The bird was knocked off its perch, and as it beat its wings and tried to fly up and away from danger, a silver head appeared from the lagoon and snapped it out of the air.
“Did you see that?” Sam said to the others.
“I did,” Tommy said. “It looked like a barracuda.”
Speedy asked, “What’s a barracuda?”
“A fish that can grow to about six feet long and has teeth like stainless steel nails. And this one could be a big, bad cousin of the archer fish, which squirts water at insects on leaves to knock them off.”
“Is there anything you don’t read about, Tommy?” Ben asked.
“No, Ben. I’m a walking encyclopaedia. I know a little bit about lots of different stuff.”
“Do you know much about winged insects as long as your hand with yellow and black stripes, and a stinger like a hypodermic needle?”
“No. It sounds like some kind of giant wasp or hornet. Why’re you asking?”
“Because one has just landed on your shoulder.”
Tommy jumped up, shook himself, and ran round in circles. The others laughed.
“I suppose you think that’s funny,” Tommy said when he realised that Ben had made it up.
Just for a minute or two they all forgot about the danger they were still in, and of losing Gorf. Sometimes laughter is the best weapon against all forms of adversity.
Even as the first volley of arrows flew towards him, Gorf was diving to the ground and rolling. He came to a hard stop up against a wall, next to what appeared to be a metal grate set into the straw-covered flagstone floor. It had a rusty ring at its centre, and without a second’s hesitation he grasped the ring with both hands and pulled up. The grate popped out of the hole it plugged, and he held it upright on its edge as a shield as the bolts from crossbows pinged against it and flew off. He heard the gate at the end of the room creak open, and knew that within a few seconds the horgs would be upon him.
Looking down into the hole, Gorf could see nothing. It was a dark shaft. But he had no choice. He slipped over the rim, let go of the metal cover and dropped into the unknown.
“Follow him,” a captain shouted to the first soldiers to reach the opening that led down into the city’s drainage system.
One at a time, four of the horgs slid down the pipe that led into the network of underground sewer
s. The drain that Gorf had dropped into was used to allow the water out of the giant cage, when the now dead giant panther’s keepers had swilled it out.
He sped feet first, whizzing down faster and faster through the dark tube, keeping his arms tucked in, not knowing where he would end up. Sam, Ben and Tommy would have loved it. It was the ultimate thrill ride. Though not knowing what was at the end of it was a little worrying.
The shaft became less steep and almost levelled out as Gorf flew out the other end and dropped into a channel full of smelly, knee-deep water. Had there been any light, Gorf would have seen a brickwork tunnel leading away in both directions. He stood up and groped about with outstretched arms. There was a ledge. He climbed up onto it, found a curved wall, and began walking. A few seconds later he heard four splashes behind him, and knew that he was being pursued. He stood still and listened. He could hear the horgs talking as their voices travelled towards him, echoing off the walls.
“I can’t see a thing,” one said.
“Neither can he,” said another.
“We don’t know that. Maybe he can,” said a third.
“We’ll have to split up. Two of us will go left, the other two, right.”
Gorf moved on. With the gurgling sound of water running along the channel, he knew that he would not be heard. He also knew that only two horgs were following him.
After walking for what seemed a long time, the wall ended. All Gorf’s fingers met was thin air. He stopped. He had reached an opening. Another tunnel led off, and so he turned into it and saw a very small pinpoint of light in the distance. Moving towards it, the circle of brightness slowly but surely became bigger. He smiled to himself. It looked as if he might find a way out.
As daylight filtered into the tunnel, Gorf quickened his step. He no longer had to feel his way. He could see the channel in front of him, so began to run, even though he knew that the splashes his big feet made would be heard. Behind him, he could hear the horgs panting as they also increased speed. He was sure that they would be able to see his dark shape silhouetted against the light up ahead. He tensed his muscles, and zigzagged from side to side, expecting his pursuers to stop and fire their crossbows, but they just kept running, trying to close the gap, probably hoping to catch up with him and take him prisoner.
Reaching the end of the tunnel, he stopped at a circular opening. Below him was a vertical drop down the outside of the fortress wall to the moat. And he could see large, blurry shapes swimming under the brown, murky surface.
The two horgs reached the end of the tunnel and looked down. Gorf was nowhere to be seen.
“Did he jump?” one asked.
The other shook his head. “There are no ripples in the moat. The water is like a mirror,” he answered. “There is no sign of him having landed in it.”
Gorf had found finger holds in the gaps between the stone blocks of the wall, and was hanging to the side of the opening. He swung back into the tunnel at the sound of the voices, taking the two soldiers completely by surprise and knocking them down. He grasped the nearest one to him by the throat and threw him back, out into mid air, snatching a dagger from the horg’s belt as the lizard man cried out in surprise. The second sprang to his feet, lowered his head and charged at Gorf, who did no more than jump to the side and watch the horg run into space, his legs still pedalling as he dropped like a stone.
Gorf tucked the dagger in his tunic, then retraced his steps back along the tunnel for several yards, stopped and turned. His plan was to run as fast as he could, and to leap out as far as possible. He sprinted to the opening, sprang forward, and his combined weight and speed took him soaring away from the wall as he dropped. Wind milling his arms as he hurtled down, he hit the water like stone and sank into the moat’s depths, before bobbing back up like a cork. He began to swim, using his thick arms in a powerful crawl stroke that soon took him to the far side of the moat.
Behind him, the two horgs were being eaten alive. The large shapes that Gorf had seen were circling the flailing, screaming soldiers, darting in to rip chunks out of them, until the churning, muddy water was stained green with reptilian blood.
Gorf clutched roots and clumps of grass and clawed-dragged-hauled and heaved himself up the steep bank, drawing his legs out of the moat in the nick of time as a large pair of jaws broke the surface beneath him and snapped at the space were a second before his feet had been. He jumped up and ran, across open ground to the trees, with arrows raining down from the fortress, thudding into the hard earth all around him.
Ahead of him, Gorf saw whole trees uprooting themselves from the ground and flying through the air, arcing upwards to slam into the walls. One large trunk scored a direct hit on a line of horgs that were manning the battlements, knocking them backwards into the courtyard behind them.
“Is that you, Juno?” Gorf asked as he entered the edge of the forest.
“Who else do you know that can make himself invisible?” Juno’s voice said from the air above him.
“Did the others make it back?” Gorf asked.
“Yes. The fairies are free, and your friends have the crown. They have all headed down the mountain by a secret route. Climb on my back and I shall take you to it.”
Juno became partly visible for the briefest moment, and Gorf leaped onto his back and hung onto the thick fur as Juno raced off through the trees.
“Thanks for the lift, Juno,” Gorf said as he slid down to the ground near the edge of the high plateau.
“You’re welcome, Gorf,” Juno said, becoming completely visible. “The trail that the others took is between those rocks. I hope that you all make it safely back to wherever it is you came from.”
Gorf patted Juno on the flank. Then, with a good-bye wave, he headed off, impatient to once more be with his friends.
― CHAPTER SIXTEEN ―
SWAMP THING
Zoot got to his feet and stretched. “Time we got a move on,” he said. “There’s still a long way to go. And if the Dark One gives chase, then I don’t think for a moment that your fairy magic would help us against his terrible power, should he find us.”
They moved off in single file, pushing through the leaves and creepers and branches as the trail once more narrowed around them.
To either side, through gaps in the foliage, they could see mudflats on which great numbers of long-legged birds hunted for the crabs and molluscs that tried to hide below the surface from the sharp beaks that dug down to winkle them out.
It was almost dark again when they stopped to rest. Fig, Speedy and Zoot were not tired, but the others were exhausted. The wet heat had drained their strength. They sat on the trunks of trees that had fallen down and were covered in a thick green covering of damp moss.
It was Tommy who first saw movement from the corner of his eye. He stared at the place he thought he had seen something move, but could only see a mangrove tree as tall as a giraffe. He took a deep breath and decided that he was just being jumpy. After all they had been through, he was always looking for trouble, and expecting the worst to happen. He watched a large red bird with yellow legs stick its curved beak into the mud and pull out an enormous blue crab that snapped its pincers together in an attempt to fight off the bird. He had always been a nature lover, but had started to think that it was all about everything eating everything else. The food chain. That was what it was called. All life was made up of predators and prey. He had stopped watching nature programmes on the telly, because they always showed animals being hunted and killed. He knew that every creature had to eat. But it seemed somehow wrong to him that animals which only ate grass and leaves should be torn to bits by carnivores. His mother had told him that it was natural, but he’d said to her, ‘Try telling that to a zebra or an antelope when a lion has just jumped on its back and is about to clamp its jaws around its neck’. It was all very confusing. He was just very pleased that he had not been born as some prey food animal that spent its whole life being chased by something that had it on its menu.
>
There it was again. Another movement from almost behind him. Tommy looked but couldn’t see anything, apart from the tree. It seemed to be bigger. But that was daft. It couldn’t have grown so noticeably in just a couple of minutes. And trees didn’t move. But that might not be true, Tommy thought. What about the trees in the Living Forest, where Fig had taken them to see the big redwood, Sempiternal, to ask directions to the Lake of Life. Sempiternal had even been able to speak to them. Thing was, in Weirdworld anything could happen. It was like being stuck in some fantasy adventure movie, or a horror version of a Florida theme park. And more recently, the cacti they had encountered had even chased them.
Tommy jumped to his feet. “That tree moved!” he shouted, pointing at it. “It was twice as far away from us when we stopped here.”
“I think that this heat is beginning to melt your brains,” Ben said. “You’re seeing things.”
Sam frowned. Imagination or not, she also thought that the tree had been farther away from them. And as they all stared at it, the dozen or so thick roots that arced out from halfway up the mangrove quivered, then moved like legs, making loud sucking sounds as they lifted out of the mud. The tree took another few paces forward and stopped again.
A slushy voice that reminded Ben of how his granddad sounded when he wasn’t wearing his false teeth said, “What are you doing in my swamp?”
“We didn’t see a sign saying that anyone owned this dump,” Tommy said.
“That’s right,” Sam said. “We didn’t know that it was your property.”
“Being ignorant of a fact is no excuse. Your being here where you shouldn’t be is your fault, not mine.”
“We don’t intend to stay here,” Fig said. “We are just passing through, on our way home.”
“You are trespassing, and must pay a toll to continue through my swamp.”
“What would a tree charge for our safe passage out of this mire?” Speedy asked.
