Into the Light- Lost in Translation

by Michael White

  As he did so he gazed into the night and across the fields he saw a small blue light bobbing through the air, heading in the general direction of the camp. As he stood watching it, it came nearer and nearer until Paul could clearly make out that it was almost football sized and hovering a good three feet or so off the ground. Lazy blue sparks and tendrils of azure light flickered about the sphere, giving it the impression that it was in flux and flow. It drew nearer, and when it was no more than perhaps ten feet away from where `Paul stood it suddenly stopped, as if it had only just noticed that Paul was there.

  The air was suddenly full of the sound of wind chimes, just as it had been on the previous occasions on which he had seen the sphere.

  “Who are you?” whispered a voice that seemed to come from within the orb. There was venom in the words, a malignancy that made Paul move back a step. The sphere moved forward too however, maintaining its equidistance with him.

  “Why do you want to know?” whispered Paul, afraid to wake the camp. The sphere stopped moving altogether, focused on him now, and the wind chimes faded to nothing.

  “Why are you here?” spat the voice and Paul moved backwards again, the sphere moving forwards with him.

  “I don’t even know where “here” is!” shouted Paul, “I am lost!”

  The sphere rippled, and in its centre there opened a large blue eye, blinking and almost glaring at him. Paul felt that the gaze from the sphere was dangerous; compelling even, and he turned to run. As he did so the sphere suddenly burst into life and shot forward towards him racing across the grass.

  Looking over his shoulder Paul saw the sphere approach the camp rapidly. It would soon reach him! The sphere increased in speed almost to the extent that it was now almost a blue streak of light screaming into the night. Paul shouted and spun to protect himself as the sphere reached the perimeter of the camp.

  There was a sudden loud sound almost like that of a bell being struck as the sphere reached the edge of the camp and in a flash of bright blue flames the sphere vanished! Gasping, Paul edged forward, staring around the fields for any sign of the blue sphere at all. Nothing. He looked up and in the night, far across the plain he saw a bright blue flash suddenly appear on the horizon and then just as quickly as it appeared; vanished.

  Beside him one of the Groblettes appeared, gazing out into the night, and then another.

  Paul saw both the captain and Ybarro approach, also peering out into the dark.

  “Grun!” shouted Beezle, naming the Groblette standing beside him peering out into the darkness, “What was that?”

  “Probably a rabbit captain.” said the small warrior, “No harm done though.” Beezle simply nodded and walked away once again.

  “Make sure the camp is secure and then retire.” she called over her shoulder.

  “Captain.” said the Groblette, setting out to pace the perimeter of the camp, carefully examining each white stone as he went.

  Paul considered mentioning the sphere but he was tired and it seemed to be gone now. Wearily he made his way back to where he had been sleeping, yawning as he went. Already

  the camp was settling down again, and silence was returning.

  “What was that?” asked Flip from the darkness as Paul settled back down to sleep.

  “A rabbit apparently.” said Paul, feeling guilty at not telling the cook what he had actually seen. Yet perhaps he had been dreaming? It seemed a coincidence that it had happened before though, and the voice was still in his mind. It was a dark thing; curious yet also demanding. He found it difficult to get back to sleep once again.

  “Ah, a rabbit.” said Flip eventually, sleep obviously overcoming him.

  “What are the white stones?” Paul asked curiously.

  “Just a defence.” Yawned the Groblette, turning over. Paul smiled at the obvious hint that the conversation was over. He was surprised therefore when the cook continued, “you must never cross them Paul.” he warned, “Stay within the circle. That’s the trick.”

  “I will.” said Paul, staring once more at the stars winking and glimmering across the sky, “I will.”

  Chapter Ten

  Further South

  Morning broke and Paul found himself helping to extinguish the campfire after breakfast had been taken. At first the Groblettes seemed to be talking in an alien tongue again, but Flip soon appeared and Paul chewed on another mushroom that the cook produced from within a pouch on his belt and soon after he could understand the creatures again. He knew the cook was right. The biscuits were definitely beginning to become a little repetitive yet still he managed to eat it all.

  The usual ritual of lifting the strange camp perimeter stones was continuing as he made his way back having seen the fire was out to where he had slept. He knew it was time to take stock of his belongings, for the days were long and the march south often found him sweating profusely in the clothes he was wearing. His old wind cheater was by now torn and battered and so he removed that and stashed it beneath a bush. In the pockets of the garment were the things he knew he would not need, like his mobile phone. He had occasionally looked at in vain to see if it had a signal, and several days ago the battery on it had died altogether. Added to this when he had fallen on encountering the strange orb, the screen had smashed, and so he knew that it was useless. It seemed stupid to continue to carry it around with him as he realised that it would never work again, and so he abandoned it. His waterproof leggings were equally torn and scorched at the bottom so he left them behind too, His walking boots however he kept, despite the fact that the soles seemed to be partially burnt from the explosion in the lighthouse he knew they were still sturdy enough to assist on the march they were undergoing.

  Beneath his leggings his denims were in good condition he was glad to see, and equally his patched checked shirt was up to the job too. Feeling considerably lightened, not just with his clothes but also with the fact that he was leaving some of his belongings behind, he strode back to the camp to see what Flip was up to. Before he could do so however he saw the broad shape of Grun approach him, a look of concern on the Groblettes face.

  “Master Paul. “began the Groblette as he reached him, “The incident in the night with the… rabbit?” Paul noticed that Grun’s voice seemed to indicate that the fact that there had been a rabbit at all was at best in doubt.

  “Yes. Apparently so.” said Paul, smiling,

  “Must have been a ruddy big rabbit, that’s for sure.” said the Groblette, scratching his head, “One of the stones was misplaced a little. Unlikely a rabbit could do that.”

  Paul considered the possibility of mentioning the blue orb but for some reason he could not quite reconcile he decided to play dumb. He thought that perhaps at best nobody would believe him about what he had seen, and that the rabbit seemed a pretty safe alternative.

  “Well I didn’t really see what happened as such,” he said. “It was all over and done with by the time I got there.”

  “But the captain said you were already…” began Grun but then his voice faded away to nothing, the look on Paul’s face seeming to give the impression that this was his version of events and that he would be sticking to it no matter what.

  “Just a rabbit, I was told.” and Paul smiled as Grun nodded and muttering to himself made his way back to the line that was just forming on the edge of the camp.

  Soon they were underway again, the usual brisk pace of the march soon reached.

  As they marched Paul rolled up his sleeve and took the time to examine his arm where the creature in the mines had touched him. The swelling of the arm was still a little red, but on the inside of his fore arm he saw that the mark the creature’s fingers had left had finally settled into a small round shape, resembling oddly that of a skull. He prodded at it gently and winced. It was still very sore to the touch! He rolled his sleeve back down and looked in the direction in which they were marching.

  They first made their way across the plains to the ford across the river and then c
ontinued south. For the next few days their progress was fast and soon the repetition of the march settled into an easy rhythm. The biscuits continued to be passed around at both breakfast and noon, and they were by now becoming something to dread rather than look forward to. Paul observed the usual routine of the camp; the fires and hunting and of course the perimeter of white stones being set out in a wide circle around the camp every night, but by now it was usual and he did not think anything of it other than that it was but another part of their routine.

  On the morning of the fourth day however when he awoke Paul was not surprised to find that once again he could not understand the speech of the Groblettes at all. Each day he had to take another mushroom and he was concerned that Flip had only a finite amount of the strange magical fungus.

  “A saran nag fie?” asked Flip as Paul stared at him in confusion.

  “I cannot understand you!” shouted Paul, “It is the same every day!” Flip however seemed to know instinctively how to fix what was wrong and reaching into a pouch at his belt he produced one of the mushrooms from the mine, giving it to Paul who ate it quickly. Having overcome the dry, cheesy taste of the fungus this time he was surprised to find that the effect was almost instantaneous.

  “That’s better.” said Paul, recognising the words from the ever familiar Groblettes about him.

  “They wear off every day so far.” said Flip, smiling, “So it will be until your body manages to retain enough of whatever it is that makes them work.”

  “I see.” said Paul. “I can understand you again now.”

  “Good.” said Flip, “Much quicker working this time too, I see.” And shortly after they were marching in a line once again.

  Paul dropped his pace a little and walked alongside Flip now instead of in a line. The repetition of the march was beginning to play on him somewhat; not because he was tired or all the walking was too much; it was more that he did not understand the distances between anywhere and so find it hard to visualise exactly where he was at any given time.

  The plains stretched out before them to the south, the western mountain range now having vanished far off into the distance. A new range of equally high mountains now began to draw nearer off to the east, but they were still a long way away; a mere smudge on the horizon. Yet every day they drew just a little bit nearer. The number of trees were almost certainly beginning to increase. From small copses and glades, he had seen much further to the north, now long lines of them seemed almost to follow the road south.

  “More mountains.” said Paul as they marched along and Flip looked at them carefully on the horizon.

  “The Eastern Steppes, yes.” he said, “Quite a way away. We will lose them altogether once we head west. The range runs all the way south to the Steel Keep and then further south beyond that.” Paul stared dreamily at the mountains far away.

  “When I was small I used to dream of climbing the next set of mountains from wherever I was.” smiled Flip, “yet I knew if I did then beyond that, perhaps even out of sight, there would be more.”

  “Always another path to explore.” sighed Paul.

  “Or mountain to climb.” chuckled Flip, “I imagine once you set your feet to that road you would find it very, very difficult to stop.”

  “I agree.” nodded Paul, “Yet there is something challenging or adventurous about that. As if you could go on forever, I suppose.”

  “It is the way of it.” said Flip, staring at the horizon. “There is the possibility you may never know exactly where you would turn up. he finished, smiling cautiously. Paul simply nodded.

  Paul was not sure if their pace had increased or not, but upon making camp that night and after eating he found himself drifting off very quickly to sleep. He was pleased to reflect the next morning that his sleep had not been disrupted at all, and that the blue orb seemed not to have put in another of its nocturnal appearances. After more biscuits they were off again and the day’s march continued. Once again Paul fell in line with Flip, the small cook bobbing along the road, striding as fast as he could.

  “How far is it to the Inn now?” asked Paul an hour later; talk of the weather and how well they were doing having long since been forgotten.

  “Five ways crossing?” asked Flip.

  “The Last Oak Inn you said.”

  “Indeed.” replied the cook, “The Inn is at the junction of several roads, as should most good inns be I would have thought.” chuckled Flip, “This particular one stands at the junction of five roads’ which ensures not just a goodly trading post but also a particularly thirsty clientele.”

  “Do we stay there then?” asked Paul and Flip nodded.

  “Just long enough to renew our supplies and to get some rest. I would say two nights at the most. Beezle is keen to deliver our cargo to the Keel.”

  “Me?” laughed Paul and a dark cloud almost seemed to fall across the Groblette’s face.

  “Indeed.”

  “So where do the five roads that meet at the inn lead then?” asked Paul, trying desperately to change the subject. He did not want to spend too much time reflecting on what exactly it was he was going to tell the Keel about his destruction of both the ship and the lighthouse. For some odd reason the word, “wanton” followed very quickly by “gratuitous” and “devastating” seemed to pop into his mind every time that he thought about it, and not necessarily always in that order.

  “Well.” said Flip, counting off on his fingers, “There is the road from the north upon which we are travelling of course. That road also continues further south to Sulodien.”

  “The Steel Keep?”

  “Yes. Then there is the road that leads west through the Black Root forest and eventually Anchor Bay.

  “Your home.”

  “That it is, said Flip, a twinkle suddenly coming into his eyes, “And mightily glad I shall be to see it.” he sighed, “mightily glad.”

  “The other two roads?” enquired Paul.

  “Well there is another path that heads southwest around Black Root Forest. That way is much longer but it avoids entering the forest itself. It reaches up across the coast as it heads northwest and eventually joins where the direct road through Black Root Forest leaves the woods behind. That is the road that we shall take.”

  “The longest route?” frowned Paul.

  “Indeed it is.” said the cook, “but also the safest.” Flip saw the look of confusion on Paul’s face.

  “Why not just take the quickest route if Beezle is so keen to deliver me to the Keel?” asked Paul. Flip sighed as they marched along, looking out to the horizon again.

  “The forest is very old, Paul. It is said that creatures live there that none have seen for many a year. Untamed serpents and worse. Travellers quite frequently enter the woods and are never seen again. Not a single trace of them.”

  “Well I imagine most forests are a little shall we say… spooky... overnight. I can’t see why a forest can be any worse than anywhere else.”

  “Not this forest, Paul. It is many thousands of years old. In certain places the trees are so dense that it is like travelling in the dark even when the sun is at its full height. Plus, the path that leads through it twists and turns. A direct route through the woods would be some one hundred miles give or take a small amount. Yet with the meandering forest path it is much longer a journey.”

  “And I imagine that simply making your own way and not using the path is not a good idea?”

  “Not at all.” gasped Flip, “most definitely not.”

  “Have you ever travelled through there then?” asked Paul and Flip’s face fell as if he was remembering.

  “I have, yes” he said eventually, “Though this was many years ago and I would not want to do it again.” There was silence for a few minutes as the path south continued to find its way under their feet before Flip spoke again, a solemn note in his voice, “No. I would not want to do it again at all.”

  The rest of the day continued in silence, as if Paul had intruded upo
n something that Flip did not want to either remember or to talk about.

  The next day however after camp was broken and the march commenced again, the Groblette seemed much more talkative.

  “When we talked about five ways crossing yesterday Paul we did not really finish, what with talk of Black Root forest and all. There is another road.”

  “I had lost count.” laughed Paul.

  “Well the final road heads northeast to the furthermost areas of the coast. There lies the home of the Groblette-Ru.”

  “Ah.” said Paul, “You said they look like yourselves in all respects, green skin and what have you, but apart from that they have silver eyes. Unlike yourselves obviously.”

  “Yes. Identical in all respects apart from eye colour. It is a fundamental difference too. The skin colour is quite unimportant. After all, I am not quite the same shade of green as say captain Beezle now, am I?”

  Paul gazed up to the head of the line where the captain, cigar rolling casually around the corner of her mouth was setting the pace south. Paul was forced to concede that yes; she did seem to be a slightly darker shade of green than Flip.

  “Indeed.” he said, turning his attention back to the cook striding alongside him.

  “The Groblette-Ru are darker of intent, of purpose. They are quick to anger and short of temper. I fear that where they have taken as their homeland has something to do with it, for the fifth road leads to a place known as Stanegarth Wild. A dangerous and unyielding place it is too.”

  “It certainly sounds it.” laughed Paul.

  “Yes. It is said in olden days that the tower of Stanegarth Wild was home to a dark force whose strange and dangerous experiments tainted the land itself. Very little grows there. The ground is like ash, and the hills are troubled by deep sink holes and pools of poisonous gas.”