He beat at the arm with his other hand but nothing would move it. He saw the torch he had dropped was too far away to reach and screamed for help, yet the creatures now outside seemed unaware of what was happening. As he stood there struggling the whispering from below increased in intensity as it drew nearer and then from the darkness emerged the shades. Slowly, their misty forms blowing and fading in and out of existence in the chill breeze they formed a semicircle around him.
From the rock face emerged the rest of the creature that now held him with a steel-like grasp. It was larger than the other shades, at least seven feet high, and its eyes burned with yellow flame. It seemed indistinct somehow; out of focus. Yet it seemed darker than the others, as if the blackness of its presence was more real; more dangerous. The hand of the dark shadowy creature still grasped him tightly by the wrist, Paul’s skin almost burning as the chill fingers clutched him like iron.
“Thief.” whispered the figure, drawing an indistinct long dagger and pointing it at him. “Trespasser.” There was an excited murmuring from the gathered shades as they pressed closer towards him, and Paul could feel his flesh begin to chill as they began to crowd near him. “You will not leave us.” said the shade, and there was a feeling of amusement in its words.
“Let me go!” shouted Paul, not at all surprised at all to hear fear in his voice.
“Never!” said the shade and raised the dagger high into the air.
Paul braced himself and pulled violently at the hand that held him but it did not move at all. He threw his head back to scream but as he did so he saw a small indistinct shape fly in from outside, and approaching the shades it settled down onto a small stone ledge that ran around the cave wall. Paul blinked up and saw the dagger poised to strike, and then just above him, on the ledge, sat a large tawny owl, its large yellow eyes blinking brightly in the gloom of the cave.
It stared down at him and then made a loud hooting sound. There was an uneasy silence and then slowly the dagger was lowered as the owl hooted again. Slowly the figures began to fade and as they did so the owl hooted loudly one last time and then flew away from the ledge and then outside.
The last shade stood watching him, but then from the darkness came another shape; less distinct it was and it stared at him with deep red eyes. It was no more than an outline in the darkness, a separation of the darkness from the cave to the place that it stood, but as Paul looked at it his stomach rolled. He could not articulate just how wrong the shape felt. It was distinct from the other ghost like shapes, and Paul felt himself being watched; assessed, somehow.
“Is that you, master?” it said, sniffing at the air almost. Its voice was unspoken, yet filled Paul’s mind. It was deep and old. Very old. “I think not.” It continued, “I cannot see how it can be so. And yet…” and then it too began to slowly fade. All that was left were two yellow fanged eyes and then slowly they disappeared too.
“The Green Man will know you for the thief you are. Tell him we wait in the shadows but soon darkness will fall and we shall return.” Came a whisper in his mind and then he saw the hand that clasped him had faded too. He was free to leave.
He rubbed at his arm just above the wrist where the fingers had clasped him and the skin felt swollen, burnt almost even though the feeling had been one of ice, not fire. Slowly he limped across the cave just as the leader and several of the other creatures burst back through the entrance, scanning the darkness for him.
“I am here!” he shouted, limping across the cave and allowing himself to be supported by the surprisingly strong small creatures as he emerged into the sunlight.
Blinking in the bright light shining down from above he slowly registered the familiar faces of the creatures around him.
“I am okay.” he gasped, though he was not entirely sure what it was that had happened in the mine. “Give me a minute to get my breath and I will be okay.”
The leader nodded and they slowly crossed the scrubland outside the cave entrance, the sun warming Paul's skin but not yet quite reaching his burnt arm which felt both hot and cold at the same time. They moved quickly, keen to leave the horrors of the mine behind them and to put as much space between themselves and it as they possibly could. Paul staggered along as best he could, but he thought that perhaps he was in shock of some sort and several of the small creatures had to help him along as they made their way to a small hill that rose above the fields ahead of them.
The leader then shouted for them to stop and Paul sprawled to the ground, the other creatures equally falling about the hilltop to rest. Paul felt his arm throbbing but he lay propped up on his other arm gazing out across the hill.
From here the fields descended slowly; almost lazily towards the river that fell down to the falls to the north. The stretch of water was wide and meandered about the plains, cutting a path through the grass. It seemed to Paul that as it headed south it slowly lost some of its original fury and speed. The mountain to the west and south continued to dominate the skyline, and hills and fields ran as far south as far as the eye could see. From here Paul could see no sign of habitation at all. Nothing.
He dragged his attention away from the view as he saw Flip sit down beside him, the small cook smiling broadly and then looking off into the distance in the same direction that Paul had, taking in the view.
“It is beautiful I think.” Paul said, smiling and Flip smiled back at him.
“Yes.” said the cook, a broad grin forming on his face. “Good it is to see that the mushroom has taken hold already.”
Paul gasped. He could understand him!
“What the…” he began, but Flip just clapped him on the back.
“Who is it that knows the magic of mushrooms?” he smiled, and then pointing off into the distance, “You will need to eat another every day or we shall stop being able to understand each other again though. Though I rather suspect that you would like to be informed of our current situation I should imagine.” He smiled wistfully as if deciding what it was to say next.
“Though I wouldn’t worry too much about what Beezle says. We are a long ways off from the Keel, and that’s for sure.”
“Beezle?” asked Paul.
“Aye the captain of the Axe.”
“The Axe was the ship.”
“Yes. And a fine ship she was.” Flip waved an arm about the rest of the group who Paul now noticed seemed to be listening intently. “We are her crew. Luckily every one of us managed to make our way off the Axe when she sank. There is always that, I am thinking. Neptune looks after her own, and that’s the truth. Land locked now though we all are now for sure.” He gazed off into the distance. “Aye a fine ship she was at that, too.”
“The one I sunk?” asked Paul guiltily.
“That’s the one.” said Flip.
“Because I accidentally blew up the lighthouse.”
“Accidentally makes glad tidings for the ear, Paul. Though yes, that’s the lighthouse to which I am referring. It did indeed seem to be in a bit of a bad way when I last clapped my eyes upon it.”
There was small silence as Paul sat gazing over the plains of grass to the river winding its way north.
“The lighthouse belongs to the Keel too.” he sighed, finally.
“Who is the Keel?” asked Paul and it looked as if Flip was going to sigh again.
“Well now. Who indeed?” Flip looked as if he was looking for the right words. “He is our leader if you like, the head of our people.”
“Like a king?” Flip laughed out loud at this.
“Oh no, master Pool. Not like a king in anyways! He just owns all the things really. The fields, the land…”
“Ships… lighthouses…” Flip nodded.
“Those too.”
“Does he perhaps take kindly to the loss of his possessions then?” asked Paul tentatively.
“Not at all.” frowned Flip, “Not in any way at all I am afraid.”
“Ah.” said Paul, “sounds like a king to me to be honest.”
/> “Well when it comes to the things he owns then perhaps the Keel can be a little lordly. I am sure that there is a reasonable explanation to you burning down the lighthouse and sinking our ship though.
“Well it was just an accident really.” Winced Paul, rubbing his arm just above the wrist. It felt cold and clammy, but was warm to the touch.
“If I were you I would think up a better explanation than that.” said Flip.
“Even if it is the truth?”
“Even if it is the truth, Pool.” repeated the small cook, opening his hands palm out to Paul.
There was an uneasy silence as the cook sat staring at Paul as if getting him to reconsider his explanation. Finally, the cook sighed and rising, tapped Paul in a friendly way upon his shoulder.
“Especially if it is the truth, Master Pool.” he smiled and went to join the other creatures who looked as if they were considering whether to set out on the road again.
Chapter Eight
Many Tales
They did not travel far. The harrowing descent into the mine seemed to have unsettled the group; drained them of the will to march further, and so at least an hour earlier than usual they stopped in the middle of a large open field and began to make camp. Paul listened to the creatures chopping wood and hunting for food, though their conversation seemed to be almost non-existent. Previously they would be talking fast and furiously in the strange language that they used, but now they were muted, almost reluctant to talk. Or so it seemed to him.
Shortly after the hunters had returned with a brace of rabbits apiece the two creatures began to place the white stones in a circle around the camp as per usual, and after that the wood was being chopped and a fire prepared.
During the short journey from the mine Paul therefore kept himself to himself and the march passed quickly. Now however he was itching to talk to anyone who would listen. He had many questions to ask and now he was able to finally ask them!
The fire was lit, the cooking commenced and all of the creatures gathered about the fire as the sun descended and night fell. From nearby an owl hooted almost softly, and Paul remembered that he had yet another question to ask as well. He rubbed at his right arm, pulling his sleeve up to look at where the ghostly hand had captured him. There were definite finger marks along his skin, which looked pale but swollen, and as he looked at them they seemed round, almost skull-like. Touching it with his other hand however revealed that it may very well feel cold, but it was in fact burning hotly, unlike the rest of his arm.
Paul sat idly rubbing his arm, noticing for the first time that his chin was itching. He rubbed his face. He had not shaved for days and already a beard was starting to form about his face. Yet he paid it little heed for he had far too many questions to ask that were much more important than the hair growing on his chin.
“So who are you?” asked Paul and the small cook smiled at him, the other creatures leaning in to listen. The fire crackled and popped as the flames took hold, earthy, dark wood smoke rising high into the air and disappearing into the night.
“I am a cook, Master Pool.” smiled Flip, his large white teeth contrasting markedly with his dark green skin, “Flip the cook. That’s me.” Paul thought about this for a moment. He could not decide whether Flip was being deliberately obscure and playing games with him, or whether it was the way that the creature was interpreting his question.
Paul looked at the band of creatures gathered about the flame. In some respects, he had grown used to their company during the last few days, in other ways he most definitely had not. He examined the thick looking what may have been leather armour, the black metal swords, and especially the green skin, large ears and wide yellow eyes. From the other side of the fire he could hear an axe being put to good use to cut more firewood for the fire, the chopping sound echoing out away from the bright campfire and into the still, star studded night.
“Are you goblins?” he asked quietly, and silence fell across the camp.
From the other side of the camp fire the axe stopped sounding out, its chopping noise ceasing almost instantly. If he was dreaming than in his dream these were most definitely goblins. In a hallucinogenic way it kind of made sense; as did the mushroom perhaps. They could hardly be anything else after all. Could they?
A fierce silence fell, broken only by the sound of what may very well have been Flip tutting. The thought came to Paul fuelled by the somewhat irritated expressions on the faces of most of the Groblettes that perhaps he had made a bit of a faux pas.
“No, Master Pool. We are not goblins. Even if some of the largers call us so. Usually if they mock us.” From across the fire Paul heard the definite sound of an axe being buried angrily in what could only have been a log of wood. Flip pointed to his own chest. “Groblettes.” he said, smiling. The cook appeared to be the only person moving around the campfire at all. “Groblettes. Not goblins.” The cook smiled again. “Not that we want to be considered goblinist. Do we lads?” he said, an edge of warning entering his voice. He looked around everyone gathered about the fire. “Do we lads?” he repeated, only more firmly. There were several grunts of what could only be described as hesitant agreement from the other creatures and Paul almost sighed a breath of relief.
“We shall make introductions.” said Flip, standing and pulling at Paul to follow him which he slowly did. The cook began to move around the camp. “Beezle - the captain you know already, and I am Flip of course; the cook.” Paul looked at Beezle who was glaring at him darkly. Flip hardly seemed to notice at all. “Throg and Grun here are officers of the axe.”
“The Axe as in the ship.” said Paul as if stating a fact, and the cook nodded as the two swarthy Groblettes nodded up to Paul from where they were lying on the ground. he recognised both of them from when he had been captured and winced also at the memory of the sunken cutter.
“Sparr and Ybarro here are keepers of the stones.” Paul looked at the cook blankly. “They are attuned to the way of the land.” he smiled, moving on to the next Groblettes as if he knew that Paul knew what he meant by this, though Paul was thinking that the exact opposite was actually true. “Trip and Wahid are arms men for the Keel. Soldiers if you will.” Paul weaved at the Groblettes though the Groblette called Wahid shot Paul a quick look of distrust that made Paul move quickly on. Paul knew that this was the Groblette who had attacked him when they had first caught him, and the creature seemed to have an ongoing dislike of him for some reason that Paul could not ascertain. “Trevlik and Brith here are sailors of the wide sea, and Wavebrite was our navigator, though also the keeper of maps.” Paul waved at these also and received a wide grin from Wavebrite who was the only Groblette in the camp who actually looked like he was enjoying himself.
“To the problem of goblins though.” said Flip, introductions and circuit of the camp complete. “Our history is much more than that.”
“Okay.” said Paul, nodding as the cook continued.
“It is said Paul that when the creator made the world he worked day and night to create Groblettes. Those he made during the day took on the attributes of the trees and the grass, the earth, sun and water.” He waved his hand about the creatures gathered nodding about the fire. “Those of us who were created during the day were therefore green skinned, filled with the spirit of the land from which we were made. Thus we are green by nature and by creation too.”
“I see.” said Paul, and the cook continued.
“Yet the creator did not cease his work during the day. On he toiled, careless of the cycle of day and night that he had created but mere days before. No. He continued, and the Groblettes he made in the darkness of the night took on the darkness and the light of the stars and moon. Those were still coloured green of skin but their eyes took on the silver of the stars. They walked in the dark places of the lands and the night. These he named the Groblette-Ru.”
“You are all green.” smiled Paul.
“We are all Groblette-Ra; Groblettes of the day literally.”
&nb
sp; “No night Groblettes here then?” asked Paul sarcastically, and he heard from behind him one of the Groblettes spitting venomously into the fire.
“No, Paul. The Groblettes-Ru and the Groblettes-Ra are not shall we say comrades. We try to keep our distance from each other.”
“And the largers?” Flip looked confused. “You said the largers mock you.”
“Ah yes. The largers. Well you are a larger, master Pool.”
“You mean taller.” gasped Paul.
“Yes.”
“So there are other people here who look just like me.”
“Well not exactly like you.” smiled Flip, “That would be strange after all. But yes, of the same type if you will.”
Paul smiled. There were people here! Humans! Suddenly his heart raced. Yet he was soon interrupted.
“Come now master cook!” came a voice from across the fire and the leader stood up and approached Paul.
“You cannot keep this larger all to yourself. We have business with him, as you well know.” Paul noticed that as the captain approached he pulled a small scrap of paper from his belt and stood before him almost formally, clearing his throat. Paul found himself furiously trying to remember the captain's name. Finally, it popped into his head just as it looked as if the captain was about to speak.
“Captain Beezle.” said Paul, standing and extending his hand out in greeting. There was a sudden rush of movement and two of the creatures appeared almost from nowhere, standing alongside the captain, long dark swords drawn, one hovering very near to Paul’s throat, the other his heart.
“Gleek.” said Paul awkwardly, not daring to move a muscle. The captain however was if anything irritated by the two creatures coming to his defence. Pushing the two swords down angrily and turning to face the two creatures who had leapt to help the creature snorted angrily.
“Put down your swords!” said the captain angrily, and then smiled, turning to Paul once again. “I mean to say - look at him, hardly a mighty warrior we have here now do we?”
Into the Light- Lost in Translation Page 9
