Beyond the Cherry Tree

by Joe O'Brien

  Danthenum had knelt here many times before, but it was Bortwig and Mad Argil’s first time in the palace. The elf and the dunger seemed nervous. Bortwig too knelt, but the dunger just stood and stared.

  ‘Why are we waiting here?’ complained Mad Argil.

  Danthenum scowled at the dunger. ‘Tame your tongue, filthy dunger. The council will summon us when they wish. Don’t speak when we are called in.’

  Mad Argil grumbled a faint reply, then swiftly sealed his lips on catching a second scowl from Danthenum.

  The knight spoke of what to expect once they were called in to see the council, ‘There will be three nobles – the one sitting in the centre will be the high noble. This is the one that you should address with the great news of the return of Borlamon’s heir, Bortwig, but not before kneeling before all three.’

  ‘I shall tell them to prepare for a great ceremony,’ smiled Bortwig. ‘Habilon will once again have a king!’

  ‘Not before the fury and evil of Krudon rage upon our kingdom,’ warned Danthenum. ‘Do not forget, there is great darkness to come before the light of peace can once again shine upon our people.’

  Bortwig nodded in agreement with the knight, while once again the dunger grumbled with dissatisfaction of having to keep quiet.

  Finally, a small, unremarkable door to the side of the main hall opened and a head peeped around, followed by a hand that waved at them, just a little, to capture their attention. They were ushered through the door and down a long corridor to an oval-shaped room.

  The oval room was small. Bortwig had expected more, but Danthenum had told him that this room was once King Borlamon’s ‘Room of Thought’. It was where he would go alone to reflect on kings of the past and their great victories on the battle fields. In the centre of the room was a single chair, which sat empty beneath the domed rooftop. This is where Borlamon would sit, looking up toward the skies of Habilon. Opposite this chair sat two of the three high nobles of the high council.

  Danthenum knelt before them, then nodded a greeting to a fellow knight; the knight was standing in shadow, yet Danthenum knew of his presence. It was to be expected. The High Council was always closely guarded even when there was no apparent threat. Bortwig ordered Mad Argil to stay in the background, well out of sight. Dungers were not a common sight in the palace. The elf then knelt beside Danthenum.

  Isbius and Sirg remained still and silent, staring down at the knight and the tree elf. Danthenum knew not to address them. It was not time. The High Council were, at present, incomplete and would not enter any form of debate without the third of their order. Thericus finally entered the room. He slowly shuffled over to his chair, his long, silken gown trailing behind. He sat between Isbius and Sirg, his chair slightly further back and elevated.

  ‘What brings the council to the oval room in the darkest of the night?’ Thericus growled down to Danthenum.

  Danthenum stood up, and then bowed his head three times, the last bow intended for Thericus.

  ‘My lord, I am accompanied by the tree elf—’

  He was sharply interrupted by Sirg, ‘We can see that, knight. Answer the question.’

  ‘Yes, my lord, of course. We bring news, my lords. Great news that requires your urgent attention. He has returned, my lords,’ smiled the knight.

  ‘Joshua!’ said Isbius.

  ‘Yes, my lord! The prince has returned.’

  Thericus looked right to Isbius and left to Sirg, then he looked long and hard down at Bortwig who had remained kneeling and silent before them.

  ‘Is this true, Bortwig, tree elf?’

  Bortwig raised his head and stood up.

  ‘It is, Lord Thericus.’

  ‘Then, where is he?’

  Bortwig and Danthenum spoke together; Danthenum nodded to Bortwig to continue.

  ‘He is with the wizard.’

  Sirg began to laugh. Isbius instantly joined him, but Thericus did not laugh at the elf’s answer.

  ‘Wilzorf is dead,’ laughed Isbius. ‘How dare you disgrace yourself with such foolishness.’

  ‘Quiet!’ shouted Thericus. ‘You’ve seen Wilzorf alive?’ asked Thericus, his brow rising in anticipation of Bortwig’s answer.

  ‘The wizard is alive, Lord Thericus. He is alive and with the prince,’ insisted Bortwig.

  Thericus continued his questions. ‘If the wizard Wilzorf is alive, as you say, then where is he? And, more to the point, where has he been for the past twelve years?’

  Bortwig did not like or have any respect for Thericus’ interrogations and disbeliefs. He was here to bring great news to the council: Borlamon’s heir had returned and with him, so too had hope. The elf stepped forward. The knight in shadow drew his sword, but Thericus raised his hand in disapproval.

  ‘I am not here to entertain Lord Isbius or Lord Sirg. I bring you great news, and you laugh at me!’

  ‘Careful, elf,’ frowned Sirg.

  Bortwig kept his eyes fixed upon Thericus.

  ‘Twelve long years you have sat in your chairs while Habilon trembled with fear of Krudon and his evils. If Borlamon had not fallen, there would be no High Council. The heir to the throne has returned, Lord Thericus, and you will give up your noble chair and kneel before your king with humility and gratitude for his return.’

  ‘How dare you!’ raged Sirg. ‘We will have your tongue cut out.’

  ‘Enough, Sirg!’ ordered Thericus. ‘The council does not need or want Norlif as an enemy.’

  Thericus knew that if Bortwig was telling the truth, and Borlamon’s heir had returned and the wizard Wilzorf was alive, then he had better show some form of allegiance to his king if he was to remain a noble.

  ‘Do not judge the High Council, tree elf, with such ease, for you have been tucked away in your cosy, safe room in the Great Tree while we have at least tried to pick up the pieces after Krudon took our king and queen from us.’

  Bortwig eased his stance. He would at least listen to Thericus’ argument.

  ‘The wizard Wilzorf took the king’s sword before he disappeared. How are we to trust him, elf? How can we be sure that Wilzorf has not joined forces with his brother?’

  Rage came over Bortwig. ‘Do not speak of Wilzorf with such contempt, Lord Thericus. He is good and good only!’

  ‘Then why did he take Borlamon’s sword?’ snarled Sirg.

  ‘The wizard Wilzorf magically changed the sword’s appearance and gave it to the general to take beyond the Great Tree and hide, along with Joshua, until the he came of age. The sword is safe and has by now been returned to where it belongs – the hand of our new king.’

  ‘Even if this is true, you must at least understand that it is wise – expected – of the council to doubt the existence of the wizard Wilzorf. If he did not fall at the hand of his evil brother’s army, in the great battle, twelve years past, then why has he not returned?’

  Bortwig thought first before he would answer.

  Danthenum spoke up. ‘My lord, I too believed that the wizard was dead, but is it not possible that maybe he remained in hiding until Joshua returned to us? If only to let Krudon believe that he was dead all of these years? If so my lord, would this not prove to the council and the people of Habilon that the wizard Wilzorf is devoted to our king?’

  Bortwig nodded to Danthenum with a hint of gratification. Thericus stewed over Danthenum’s words, then he turned to Isbius and Sirg, gesturing them closer for quiet discussion, before returning his eyes to the knight and the elf.

  ‘What do you advise, elf?’ asked Thericus.

  ‘Your king needs the full support of the council,’ answered Bortwig. ‘I have no doubt that he will go to Mount Valdosyr to save the princess. But, first, I’m sure he will try and retrieve the orb from the clutches of Krudon’s dragolytes on Mount Erzkrin.’

  ‘But our prince is what, thirteen? He is to do all of this and with no upbringing in the ways of Habilon. How is this possible? I worry for his life as I worry for the life of our princess, not long taken fro
m us!’ said Thericus.

  ‘I have travelled with our prince, my lord and watched him carefully. He has great bravery – Borlamon’s blood rushes through his body, just as it does in Zera,’ answered Bortwig with passion.

  ‘I believe our king will meet all adversary with all of Habilon’s good and strength in every beat of his brave heart. Will you believe, my lord? This I put to you. Will you believe in your king – our king, the king of all that is good in Habilon?’

  Thericus thought again in silence, then whispered to Isbius on his right and the same to Sirg on his left. After more thought, he gestured a hand signal toward the knight.

  The knight stepped out of the shadows and stood beside Danthenum.

  ‘You will gather an army and travel to Mount Valdosyr by horse,’ instructed Thericus. ‘If the elf is right, then your king will need you.’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ nodded the knight before looking toward Danthenum. ‘Will you join us?’

  Danthenum looked down at Bortwig before answering.

  ‘I will search for him with the elf. His journey to Erzkrin will meet him with many dangers. Even with the wizard by his side, the dragolytes will be a force too great to defeat, I fear.’

  Bortwig agreed.

  Then, before all agreed it, a howl came from the darkness near the back of the room.

  Mad Argil!

  ‘I will march to Valdosyr. No horse required. Just point me in the right direction and I will destroy anything that gets in my way.’

  ‘Who is that?’ asked Thericus.

  Mad Argil stepped into light, smiling with one hand raised and the other scratching his rear end. Before Thericus had an opportunity to voice his contempt, Bortwig and Danthenum bowed farewell and ushered the dunger out the door.

  Thericus turned his attention to the knight.

  ‘Gather your army with no delay. How long before you reach Valdosyr?’

  ‘We should reach the foot of the mountain tomorrow at high sun, my lord. The climb will depend on what evil greets us when we get there.’

  ‘On behalf of the people and our absent king, travel with speed and honour.’

  The orders of the High Council rose from their seats and watched as he left the room; an army had to be assembled and horses saddled for the journey to Valdosyr.

  Chapter 19

  Slygar

  Josh had slept through the thick of the darkest hours. As Habilon welcomed another sunrise, he opened his eyes to see the distant summit of Mount Erzkrin up ahead.

  ‘Not too far, my lord,’ spoke Eusyphia softly. She held the boy close to her underside firmly and protectively, yet still with a sense of tenderness and affection.

  ‘Habilon is beautiful,’ said Josh. ‘When I awake from sleep, I expect not to be here, as if it were all a dream.’

  Eusyphia, for the first time in their company, allowed herself to laugh, just a little.

  ‘It is very real, my lord, as real as the sun is rising behind that cloud that taints the perfect morning sky.’

  ‘Did you know my parents?’ asked Josh.

  ‘I was a child, my lord, when your mother and father fell by the evil hand of Krudon and his army, but I have fond memories of the good in Habilon when they were alive. Our land was always tainted with some form of evil, but your father and his forefathers always protected us.’

  Josh felt comfort in Eusyphia’s kind words, and he longed to hear more of his heritage.

  ‘Tell me about my sister, Zera? You’ve met her?’

  ‘I’m afraid I have never had the privilege, my lord, but I have seen her when I have watched in hiding. And I have heard our people tell many great stories of her bravery and beauty and …’ Eusyphia laughed.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ smiled Josh.

  ‘Forgive me, my lord, but I believe the princess is quite feisty, almost a tomboy, when she is in sword training with royal knights.’

  Josh tried to visualise his sister: she was brave, and was trained in sword fighting by royal knights.

  I can’t wait to meet her! thought Josh. My sister – I must save her!

  As Eusyphia flew further north, she noticed that, strangely, the cloud was not moving eastwards with the wind.

  It was flying south, towards them.

  She dipped her head down and descended. She did not want to fly through this black cloud that moved with such conspicuous flight. But it appeared that as she descended, the cloud descended too.

  ‘Hold on tight, my lord. I fear we have trouble heading our way.’

  As the cloud grew closer, Josh could hear a faint noise. The noise grew louder and louder. It was a deafening, piercing noise that penetrated the very back of his eardrums. It was almost unbearable.

  Eusyphia was flying toward a cloud of bats.

  What are bats doing out during daylight? thought Josh.

  Eusyphia pointed her head upwards and ascended, but the bats followed her movement. She moved swiftly to her right, then back to her left and dropped her altitude.

  There was no avoiding collision. The bats were heading straight for them, no matter what their direction.

  ‘They’re heading straight for us!’ cried Josh, taking his sword in his right hand.

  Eusyphia closed her eyes as the bats screeched toward her, fluttering past her wings, and clattering off the crown of her head. Josh swished and swiped his sword, slicing through wings, but there were too many of them. Then, with a terrifying cry, the bats dispersed on command. Eusyphia quickly opened her eyes. She knew the sound of the terror that ordered the bats away.

  Orzena and Serula were flying toward them on their cats. The bats had veiled their attack well.

  Eusyphia dove, ducking between the two cats with the narrowest of margins.

  ‘Get the boy!’ screeched Orzena. ‘Kill him!’

  Choking air rushed through Josh’s lungs as Eusyphia pushed herself to fly faster than she ever could have imagined.

  It still wasn’t enough. The powerful wings of the witches’ cats thrashed loudly behind her. She could feel her wings being pulled back as Serula pointed her damning fingers toward her, cursing her with poisonous words.

  She spiralled and plummeted toward the ground.

  Serula’s cat stretched out its daggered paws, trying to grasp Josh from Eusyphia’s weak body. However, Eusyphia held on tight to the boy. Every time the cat swiped at him she sent her body into another spin, pulling Josh away from danger, until, finally, her wings regained some strength and she pulled out of the dive, swooping upwards.

  But there was Orzena, flying straight toward her. Her cat’s jaws wide open, razor-sharp, pointed teeth lunging to strike its fatal blow.

  ‘Turn!’ shouted Josh as he pulled his right arm back, his sword glistening in morning sun.

  Eusyphia heard her king’s command, and with instinctive trust, she twisted her body away to the left. Josh swung his sword across the witch’s cat, severing its lower jaw from its head.

  Orzena dove from the cat and clung to Eusyphia’s legs. She dug her nails in deep, sending agonising bolts of evil shock through Eusyphia’s body.

  The witch slowly climbed toward Josh.

  ‘You’re going to die!’ laughed Orzena.

  ‘Cut the leg!’ cried Eusyphia.

  ‘What?’ Josh couldn’t believe what Eusyphia asked him to do.

  ‘Do it now! I have three others.’

  Josh looked down, as Orzena plucked her nails from Eusyphia’s leg and stretched out her hand.

  Without further delay. SWISH!

  The leg was gone and Orzena with it.

  ‘No!’ screeched Serula as she looked down at Orzena’s body draped over a tree. Its broken, pointed branch stuck out of her chest.

  Eusyphia had blacked out from the shock of her amputation and Josh found himself once again hanging onto her for his life as she fell from the sky. They clattered through trees, which slowed their fall. They crashed through the thick brushwood beneath and landed in a pile of soft leaf-mulch. The mulch
camouflaged a large hole in the ground.

  As Eusyphia and Josh slid down a tunnel deep beneath the ground, Serula and her cat searched for their bodies. Finally she came across the hole. Serula saw Eusyphia’s blood at the entrance of the hole.

  ‘Come!’ she beckoned to the cat. ‘Take me to Krudon’s castle. I will tell him the boy is dead.’

  The cat snarled.

  ‘Don’t question me! If he is not dead now, he will be soon. There is no escaping Slygar’s Pit.’

  The cat flapped its wings and Serula screeched with laughter as they disappeared beyond the trees. They headed north-east to bring the good news to Krudon.

  Josh pulled on Eusyphia’s hands, freeing himself from her grasp. She began to regain consciousness as the light from above shone far down to the bottom of the tunnel. Josh knelt over her and tucked his left hand gently behind her head, helping her to sit upright. The blood was no longer pouring from her wound.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked Josh.

  Eusyphia smiled. ‘Fear not, my lord. Being cursed with the body of a swamp moth has its benefits. I tend to heal very quickly!’

  Josh helped her to her feet, as she stood tall on her remaining three legs, her head punctured through a blanket of webs that lined the ceiling of the pit.

  ‘We’ll have to try and climb back up, my lord,’ suggested Eusyphia.

  Josh did not answer Eusyphia. He stepped back from her about three paces, fear masking his face.

  Eusyphia slowly turned around to see hundreds of small, spiny, spider-like creatures the size of Josh’s hand clinging to the ceiling above her head. They moved along the ceiling, blocking the entrance of the tunnel they had fallen down. The light disappeared. They were in darkness.

  ‘Spinners!’ whispered Eusyphia. ‘Run, my lord!’

  Josh did not hesitate or question Eusyphia’s cry. He turned and ran through the darkness.

  He could hear a lot of noise from behind him as Eusyphia struggled with the spinners. Then the spinners began to follow him. They scurried along the pit’s ceiling, dropping onto his shoulders and crawling all over his body. Josh pulled at them, smashing their spiny warm bodies against the walls. The spinners increased their numbers. They were on the ground and the walls now.