by V M Jones
The riverbank was a stone’s throw away now. I closed my eyes and heaved … and all around me I felt rather than heard a running whoosh of flame as our last defence flared into life.
Together, Richard and I heaved the raft closer to the bank, our breath coming in agonised sobs, our eyes stinging with sweat. The raft with its paper-thin platform, its cargo of ravenous spiders, their scrabbling growing to a sizzling frenzy, and its last defence: a brave rectangle of flickering flame between us and the spiders, where we’d poured a thin barrier of fire-lighter what seemed like a century ago.
And suddenly we were there. The trees that had been tiny and far away were close enough to touch; I could see individual twigs and leaves and smell the rich, damp scent of earth. Then I felt ground under us — not the rough, harsh grating of wood on sand, but a squashy, squishing resistance. ‘Quick — jump!’ The raft bucked and jerked; I lost my balance totally and would have toppled headfirst into the water if I hadn’t still been hanging onto the rope like a lifeline. Then Rich was leaping for shore like a champion long-jumper, and I was after him with an armful of bags, landing face-first in the powdery sand of the riverbank … rolling over and over … pushing myself up on my elbow to look out onto the river at the burning remains of the raft.
I couldn’t believe we’d made it. There seemed impossibly little of it left, turning in a slow-motion circle like some kind of floating funeral pyre, a thin line of flame still stubbornly flickering, a wisp of blackish smoke swirling up towards the blue sky. The others were sprawled on the sand beside me: Weevil, Kenta, Rich, Gen … Jamie. From somewhere I summoned a wink and a grin. ‘Good job, Jamie.’ Jamie blushed an odd pinkish-green, then turned away and started to retch.
I pulled off my boot and my soaking sock and picked the spider off my ankle, fat and ruddy with my blood. A chunk of flesh the size of a pinhead came away in its pincers. I dropped it on the beach where it lay like a stranded whale, immobilised from gorging, its legs stiff and useless on either side of its grossly swollen belly.
Out of the water, the remains of the raft seemed to sigh softly as they tilted and sank forever beneath the sullen surface of the River Ravven.
‘Lucky we won’t be needing to come back this way, huh?’ said Rich with an attempt at a grin. I thought of the microcomputer safely stashed in my backpack … thought of the long way we’d come, and the unknown distance still to travel.
I picked up my boot and brought it down on the stranded spider with a satisfying splat. Then I heaved myself to my feet and held out a hand to Kenta.
‘Come on, guys. Don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough of this river to last me a lifetime.
Chattering Wood
On the other side of the river the ground rose steadily, then levelled out into a rolling plain that seemed to stretch on forever. The breeze rippled the blue-green grass, making the ground billow like the swells on the sea. At first the low autumn sun shone directly in our eyes; then gradually, as the long afternoon wore on, it sank to our left and disappeared behind the mountains. The moment it vanished, the temperature dropped like a stone. And so did our spirits.
‘Is that what I think it is — that dark splodge up ahead?’ groaned Jamie. I lifted my head and looked in the direction he was pointing. Sure enough, a dark shadow of trees spilled over the horizon.
‘Let’s stop here in the open for the night,’ said Jamie when we reached the outskirts of the wood in the fading light of dusk. ‘It’s dark in there, and it smells damp. I’m sick of sleeping in forests, worrying about what’s behind every tree and lurking under every bush.’
‘I don’t know, Jamie,’ said Gen thoughtfully. ‘I agree in a way — but we’ve been lucky so far. We’ve seen no one. Who’s to say it’ll stay that way? What if we’re fast asleep by the side of the track and a whole gang of King Karazeel’s heavies comes thundering past? I think we should play it safe: head on into the forest, light a fire, and take advantage of the shelter of the trees. Feel that wind — and what if it rains?’
She was right — the wind was freezing. The light breeze that had cooled our faces on the long walk had changed direction and sharpened into an icy blast, whipping over the plain behind us, freezing the backs of our necks and turning our hands to ice. It would be far more sheltered among the trees.
‘Look at the track, though,’ objected Richard. ‘It forks — see? The main track carries on straight into the forest, but there’s a branch going off to the left. Which is the right way, do you think?’
It was impossible to tell. I’d have given anything for a helpful signpost saying ‘Shakesh — 5 kilometres’, but there was nothing — no arrow or marker of any sort — to show which way we should take. ‘The left-hand fork skirts round the forest, towards the mountains,’ murmured Gen. ‘Almost as if it was avoiding it for some reason. An alternative route, maybe — ending up in the same place?’
‘But why would anyone want to go the long way round?’ asked Rich. ‘Far as I’m concerned, there’s only one right way, and that’s the most direct one.’
‘We head into the forest then, I guess,’ I said reluctantly. There was something about it I didn’t like. It seemed odd to have one path going through it, and another going round. If it had been up to me, I’d have willingly walked twice the distance to avoid entering the shadows of those trees.
‘Are we stopping here for the night?’ Weevil limped up, dragging Kenta’s sleeping bag in the dirt behind him. His slippers must have fallen to pieces somewhere along the way; his feet were bare, dirty, and obviously so sore he could hardly hobble.
‘What do you mean, we?’ I said gruffly. ‘We’re going into the forest to set up camp. You can do what you like.’ Kenta gave me a look that made me feel a bit uncomfortable, but I pretended not to notice.
We tramped on down the main track in silence, the dark walls of the trees closing in on all sides. The leaves above us whispered and sighed. A far-off chittering buzz ebbed and swelled through the trees. ‘Almost like the sound a computer makes,’ Kenta murmured. ‘Bees, maybe, or a flock of birds settling down for the night.’ As the darkness gathered, the sound dwindled and died. It was almost too dark to see … but at least the wind had finally dropped.
‘What do you reckon? This as good a place as any?’ We didn’t even bother to answer Richard; just followed him twenty metres or so off the track and flopped down gratefully on the damp, mossy bank of a shallow stream. ‘What if Weevil can’t find us, tucked away here?’ asked Kenta worriedly.
‘No such luck,’ I growled. ‘Here he comes.’ His pale shape was winding its way through the trees towards us.
‘I wonder if we should move further from the stream,’ said Kenta. ‘I’m sure I remember it being a talking one. Who drinks of me shall be a … what was it now …’
Richard ambled over to the stream and bent down, his ear close to the water. ‘Well, if it is talking, it’s whispering. I can’t hear a thing.’
‘We’re safe enough if we don’t drink any water. I’m not moving anywhere,’ groaned Jamie. ‘Not ever again. My legs are one big ache, and I’ve got blisters. I’m going to sit right here till I die of old age.’
‘Well, I’m not.’ Gen heaved herself to her feet. ‘I’m going to look for wood. No wood — no fire — no Kung Fu Oriental Noodles, Jamie. And no warmth or light, either. Up you get!’
Grumbling, Jamie struggled up and joined the rest of us in the hunt for dry wood. It wasn’t easy to find. A dank chill was rising from the forest floor, and lacy grey lichen grew on many of the fallen branches, which were heavy and crumbling with damp. When at last we had a fire built and set a flame to it, the wood smoked sullenly and refused to light.
We squatted round the little tepee of sticks in gloomy silence, willing the flame to catch and wishing we’d saved a drop of the fire-lighting fluid. Weevil sat under a nearby tree, picking sulkily at his blisters. ‘He hasn’t even fetched a single twig,’ whispered Jamie loudly, ‘but I bet he’ll be first in line for t
he noodles. I reckon you’re right about him, Adam …’
‘There won’t be any noodles for anyone unless we can get this fire lit,’ Gen pointed out.
‘I know!’ said Richard suddenly. ‘How about we tear a couple of strips off the edge of the map? Just to get it going. The paper’s real old and dry as a bone — it’ll burn like blazes!’
‘Are you crazy, Rich?’ I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
‘Adam’s right,’ said Jamie reluctantly. ‘You shouldn’t burn magic maps, even ones covered in splodge.’ He gazed at the noodle packet longingly. ‘Although … maybe just a teensy strip, off the black part. It’s getting so dark — and I’m starving!’
It was dark — almost too dark to see the black stain and the lines on the map when Jamie opened it out. Almost … but not quite. ‘Hang on a sec,’ said Gen suddenly, just as Rich was about to make the first careful tear. ‘Look at the dark bit — the black patch. Kenta, pass your torch.’
She shone the torch on the map, and we all saw what she had seen. The edge of the black area had moved. Before, it had begun just above Arakesh. Now, we could clearly see where the woods to the north of the city ended … the River Ravven and the ford … the fork in the track on the edge of this forest … even its name: Chattering Wood. But north of the forest’s outskirts the map was the same as it had ever been: black and featureless.
‘There you go!’ said Jamie triumphantly. ‘The stain’s shrinking! Soon it’ll all be gone and the map’ll be as good as new!’
‘Hmmm,’ murmured Kenta. ‘As good as new… why does that worry me?’
‘OK, OK, we know it’s not new,’ said Jamie defensively. ‘We’ve been through all that before. I must have taken it from the Used barrel. But you shouldn’t —’
‘The new maps were cheaper than the used ones,’ Kenta was thinking aloud, her eyes dark and intense with concentration. ‘That isn’t logical. Why should they be?’
‘Maybe someone switched the signs round,’ suggested Richard, ‘as a joke — or to try and get a new map cheap.’
‘No.’ There was an undercurrent of excitement in Kenta’s voice. ‘The used maps were ten gelden, and the new ones only five. Why would a used thing be worth more than a new one? It doesn’t make sense. Unless …’
We all watched her, waiting. But she shook her head, frustrated.
‘Unless it somehow gained value by being used,’ said Gen slowly.
‘That’s dumb. How could it?’ scowled Richard.
‘I’ve got it!’ Jamie’s eyes shone in the torchlight. ‘Think where we are, guys!’ He grinned round at our blank faces. ‘In Karazan, right? And what is Karazan?’
‘I dunno — a country? A world?’ hazarded Rich.
‘Yeah — but what else?’
‘It’s a computer game …’ I said slowly, remembering. Remembering selecting ‘New Game’ on the PC that long-ago afternoon at Cameron’s house, and my let-down feeling when the opening screen had been black, empty and featureless. Remembering Cam explaining it to me: It moves when you move … the map reveals itself as you travel though it. It’s called … shroud.
‘That’s why used maps cost more!’ Jamie was babbling excitedly. ‘Because part of the map’s been revealed already, by whoever’s travelled there! I bet the new maps were just plain black! And the black stuff retreats as whoever’s bought it …’
‘… or nicked it!’
‘… travels along! So wherever we go, the black stuff will disappear from that part of the map — and eventually, the map will be perfect!’ he finished triumphantly.
‘And that makes sense of something else too,’ said Kenta slowly. ‘Do you remember what Kai said … about shroud? Beyond the shroud …’
‘Yeah!’ Jamie jumped up. ‘Right, Kenta — that’s what the black stuff’s called in computer games! I was scared to even think what Hob meant before! It sounded real creepy, ’cos shrouds are like … well, to do with dead people. They’re those long white gowns you wrap dead bodies in, like ghosts wear. They —’
‘OK, Jamie, we get the point,’ said Gen impatiently. ‘It’s not that kind of shroud Hob meant. He meant we had to travel past the existing limits of our map — beyond the shroud — to get to Shakesh.’
‘It’s a pretty back-to-front way for a map to work if you ask me — but I don’t suppose anyone’s keen to burn it now, just the same,’ said Rich. ‘So I guess we’d better start hunting for dry kindling.’
I joined the others on the search, listening to their excited chatter as they wound through the dark tree trunks in the gathering gloom. I searched, and said nothing. There was something the others had forgotten …
None of us had known Jamie had taken a map … not until later that night, by the campfire. If we hadn’t known, neither had Hob. And even if he had, he couldn’t possibly have known what part of the map was still covered by the shroud.
And if he hadn’t known, then what had he meant by beyond the shroud?
‘Who drinks of me …’
‘Adam! Adam — help! Quick!’
Richard’s yell hit me in the face like a bucket of ice water. I jerked bolt upright, my heart twisting in a sickening somersault. ‘Huh? What —’
‘Hurry! Before it’s too late!’
The campsite — the whole forest — was alive with sound: a chittering, jabbering din that made me clamp my hands over my ears. I struggled to my feet, stumbling over my sleeping bag, floppy and stupid with sleep, and stared wildly round. Rich was dancing round the clearing, a stick in his hand, shaking his fist at the trees above us. ‘Bring it back, you little suckers! That’s our stuff!’
‘What — who —’
‘I was on watch,’ Rich growled, then looked sheepish. ‘But I must have dozed off for a second. Next thing I knew, they were all around me!’ He pointed up into the trees. It was still almost dark — that translucent, misty greyness just before dawn. Wide awake now, I focused on the canopy above us. The branches were rocking and swinging with movement, raucous with jibbering, chattering calls. ‘Monkeys?’ I croaked.
‘Not monkeys — chatterbots.’ Kenta spoke quietly beside me. ‘I remember now. That was what the talking stream said: Who drinks of me shall be a chatterbot. In the game, they were cute little furry things — if you caught one, it could give you a wish.’
I thought of Q’s special nickname for Hannah: Chatterbot. Had he called Hannah after the chatterbots, or the chatterbots after her? Whichever way round it was, gentle, bumbling Q would never have invented monkeys like these. Their voices were harsh and strident, their razor-sharp teeth bared aggressively, and their eyes glowed like red-hot coals.
‘Like Q said, it looks like these ones have done a bit of evolving — downhill. I wouldn’t call these guys cuddly or cute,’ said Richard grimly; ‘never mind the fact that they’ve ransacked our backpacks and made off with all our food!’
The five of us sat in a dismal huddle and watched the chatterbots swing through the trees, capering and chattering and flashing their bright blue bums at us as they ripped open our packets of dehydrated food, sweets, chocolate and dried fruit and guzzled the contents. They must have launched their raid on our campsite in absolute silence, with the planned precision of a military operation, and then burst into a triumphant clamour once it was finally done.
Nothing was left.
They stuffed handfuls of food into their gaping mouths, chittering delightedly to each other, grinning so widely the food fell out in a hail to land on the forest floor. They flung handfuls of rice at each other … they sprinkled dried noodles on one another’s heads like confetti. They shoved raisins into each other’s ears and up their own noses. Two adolescent chatterbots chased each other, teeth bared, the front one swinging by his tail from branch to branch, a jumbo pink marshmallow in each wrinkled fist.
At last, despite ourselves, we started to grin at their antics, then to laugh. ‘Look at that one! He’s pulled empty soup packets onto his feet, like boots!’
‘There’s a baby, look — smaller than my hand! Hanging onto the fur on his mum’s stomach —’
‘That one’s twisted a toffee into the ruff round his face! Serves him right!’
Gen was suddenly serious again. ‘They’re really mean — look. The big one just snapped at that poor little one. I’ve been watching — they all keep turning on him and chasing him away. He’s got something, I think — something shiny, and the mean one wants it. Look — he’s chasing him again. Oh — he dropped it! Wait — I’ll get it!’ She darted into the undergrowth, flapping her hands at the chatterbots: ‘Shoo! Shove off! Haven’t you got enough, you greedy things?’
‘Careful, Gen — they’re vicious — look at those teeth!’
The chatterbot that had been doing the chasing swung by one hand from the branch above Gen, jibbering angrily. The other one — the one that had dropped the shiny thing — skulked a safe distance away, baring his teeth in a cringing grin of submission.
Beside me, Jamie sighed sadly as a gentle shower of chocolate peanuts pattered to the ground around us.
Gen emerged from the bushes, holding something up triumphantly. ‘Got it! It’s not ours, but isn’t it cool? Some kind of a flute — silver, with a pattern on the side …’
Far above us, high in the forest canopy, the outcast chatterbot stared down at us with brown button eyes … and stretched his monkey mouth into a smile that looked almost human.
It was as if, in that instant, the forest fell utterly silent.
I looked round at the others. They were staring up at the chatterbot with eyes like saucers. It was Kenta who whispered the words that were in all our minds: ‘Where’s Weevil?’
‘It can’t be … can it?’ asked Richard in a low voice.
I gulped. Gen gazed round wildly, as if hoping Weevil might leap out from behind a tree yelling ‘Surprise!’ Kenta fixed me with a sorrowful look. ‘Oh, Adam,’ she said, ‘how could you?’
