CLOAK - Lost Son of the Crested Folk (The Wish trilogy)

by Russell Thomson

  Heavenly paused briefly at the edge of the woods, quickly scanning left and right before cautiously stepping clear of the forest edge and onto the open ground that flanked the road. All seemed quiet. On a clear day the sweeping curve in the road would have offered her an uninterrupted view in each direction but the mizzle, whilst hiding them from prying eyes also conspired against them as land and air merged to grey no more than a long stone throw away. As they approached the road the sparks around his new crest grew worse; a warning of approach, a sign of some hidden danger? Cloak shook his head and cursed himself silently for his foolish imaginings but as he stepped onto the rutted road, his knees gave way beneath him as a fierce jolt of icy pain racked his skull. The agony lasted no more than a heartbeat his free hand barely saving him from falling face first onto the muddy surface of the road. The wicked curse that escaped his mouth was out before he thought to stop it, the pair freezing instantly in their tracks, their ears and eyes keen, both mother and son holding their breath as their senses searched for any sound or sign of movement. Several slow silent seconds passed; the only sound reaching their ears that of the wind blowing through the branches, the only sign of movement, the soft swaying of the tree tops as they merged with the swirling clouds. Satisfied, Heavenly signalled Cloak to move on, the pair scanning left and right as they quickly crossed the wide apron on the far side of the road. As Cloak led the mules into cover, Heavenly returned to the roadway and carefully masked any signs of their passage. No words were spoken on her return, their shared look and stretched features speaking volumes........they were definitely being followed.

  They travelled in silence, leading the mules for several miles down narrow tracks slashed with deep gullies and up steep pathless hillsides dense with silver birch and bronze beech. Despite the difficult terrain their progress was fair and as the miles passed their anxiety waned. It was close to mid morning before the pair mounted up, their nervousness easing further as their pace increased. As his own apprehension eased Cloak’s mind returned once more on his many unanswered questions, one in particular chafing his mind as it continually surfaced again and again.

  ‘Mistress Mother...........did you know my mother and father?’

  Heavenly knew this question would arise, just as she knew what Cloak’s next question would be. ‘No Cloak, I’m sorry. I have no idea who they are. I was not told if they were living or had died. All I know is that your lines are royal but you are not of a descendant of the king, that your birth had been foretold many generations ago and that my role as your guardian mother was only a small part of a much greater plan put in place to ensure your safe upbringing.’

  Cloak listened carefully, aware that his question had only been half answered. ‘But why abandon me? Why not just raise me and protect me themselves?’

  ‘Perhaps because no matter how hard they tried they feared you would not live to see your own cresting. You have been well hidden, an anonymous boy in an outlying town far from the King’s Capital. I suspect that despite the king’s best efforts the Teller’s touch has stirred the mist and in doing so has drawn unwanted eyes to your cresting. Because of him, those who play the great game of houses now know of you and will seek you out for their own purpose.’ Truths hidden within lies.

  As the day progressed the low clouds lifted and the sky above brightened, patches of blue opening a path for the sun to beam down and warm the air. Around them the forest smelt strongly of leaf mould, the damp ground beneath their feet, wet, soft and silent, the only noise that of the stiffening wind that sent raindrops cascaded down from the budding canopy above. The route they now followed was easy under foot, the trees larger and further apart, more beech, oak and ash than cedar. Whilst the black brown remnants of last year’s fall hid any sign of a path Heavenly’s course never faltered, his guardian mother confidently navigating her way across the vast woodland.

  Shortly before midday Heavenly slowed, stopped and dismounted. Up ahead, a tumble of large boulders, one as big as an ox forced the trail to twist sharply around a dense grove of ancient thorn pines. Crooked over the closest rocks, the lower branches hung down like ancient clawed fingers, the tips appearing to grasp the edges of the great rocks as if ready to pluck them from the ground. As they approached, Cloak’s crest crackled, a sensation that lasted for only a few seconds and then was gone, the discomfort replaced with a nagging worry that plagued his senses.

  Heavenly knew well that any tracker of talent could have pick up their trail and followed them easily. A footprint could be masked, a branch carefully repositioned but a scent in the air was different matter. High crest trackers were rare and highly valued, men and women much sought after by merchants travelling to distant lands, sea captains plying uncertain waters and the covert militia who hunted on behalf of the king. Although she had said nothing more to Cloak, her senses told her they were being tracked, silently stalked by someone whose presence would likely only be revealed after you felt the prick of their stun dart on your neck.

  The sun was at its zenith, the appointed time was upon them. Approaching the wizened grove the trail split and split again as it weaved between the large mossy rocks scattered in their path. The route Heavenly chose was rough under foot but wide enough to allow the passage of the mules. On the far side the main path re-entered the forest but to Cloak’s surprise his guardian mother ignored the route west and continued on the boulder strewn path, returning to the point where they first encountered it. Cloak made to speak but was abruptly silenced as the pair circled for a second and then a third time before finally stopping next to the large ox sized rock that lay pressed in close to the ugly thorn trees. Handing her reins to Cloak, Heavenly reached into her pannier and offered each of the beasts a small handful of nap nuts. Their anxiety calmed by the potent nuts, Heavenly hooded and muzzled the beasts as best she could before striding back towards the black green grove of trees.

  Climbing atop the large mossy rock that lay half pressed into the crooked trees, Heavenly knelt. Removing a short blade from her belt she nicked the end of her small finger drawing an impossibly scarlet bead of blood. Reaching forward and careful not to touch the tree she dripped the ruddy pearl into a small depression in the rock, sitting back in silence as a bony branch reached out and dipped a crooked barb into the blood. At first the blooded branch only quivered but slowly to his surprise the finger like twigs retracted out of sight deep into the dark green wall behind. Heavenly glanced down to where Cloak stood and gave him a reassuring nod. Climbing down, his guardian mother bowed to the great stone, pressing her forehead against its rough surface. Her chant was foreign and sounded like no language Cloak had heard before, her low guttural drawl more akin to a retching of spit than words. As Cloak listened, the arrhythmic cadence became clearer, this was not a prayer, this was not even an incantation to god this was a dark chant, this was old majic.

  Kragha prugh qa orgha

  Kreeaq’a Kreeaq’a tr’kra.

  Kragha prugh qa orgha

  Q’tsch ga orgha

  As soon as Heavenly stopped, a black silence filled the air. Cloak had not been aware of it before now but with the passing of each second the chatter of the birds and the creaking of the forest abated as if the land itself had been gagged and blindfolded. Fascinated and horrified, Cloak watched enthralled as the bony branches of the lower boughs, dead leafless, brittle and grey, began to spring, flex and draw back until finally after some seconds, a black maw had opened up, an opening blacker than a death pit, taller than a man on horseback and as wide as two laden mules.

  ‘You first Cloak, there will be plenty of room for you and the mule but be careful, the thorns are unforgiving. Stay silent, if the maw hears you the thorns will find you. If they touch flesh they will impale it and draw all life from you. The opening grows no bigger than you see. As you step forward it will close behind you and open in front, lead the animal through as quickly as you can and don’t come back. When you reach the midden in the middle wait for me, I’ll open the tho
rn wall again and follow.’ Seeing the look of shock and horror on his face, Heavenly smiled reassuringly and patted his shoulder. ‘You must trust me, go on, you’ll be safe…….’

  Cloak turned his head and peered inwards but could see no further than a handful of paces before the blackness engulfed all the light, the thorny passage looking more like the mouth of a fanged whale than any safe passage he had ever seen. With the mule leathers in hand he hesitated just short of the opening as a sudden shiver swept over him.

  ‘Don’t be scared Cloak,’ Heavenly whispered reassuringly. ‘This place will keep us safe and will help save our lives. Go now, I feel our pursuer is close, hurry, time now flies.’

  Cloak had to haul hard on the leathers and strap the mule’s flank as reluctantly the blinkered beast crossed the dark threshold and into the thorny cave. Cloak shook with fear, his own dread growing worse as the opening behind began to close. With his exit now blocked and with no other option Cloak pressed forward into the black. The darkness within the thorn pine tunnel was un-natural, a blackness so profound that even Cloak’s good night vision could not penetrate the midnight shadow. His own body was near invisible to him and the mule’s reins held in his outstretched hand disappeared into a black lake of nothingness but with the entrance to the maw now closed, Cloak knew his only route was forward. Probing the dark ahead with his whippy birch stick Cloak had advanced only five short paces before he felt the mule resist, slow and then stop, lowering its haunches and digging its hooves into the hard earth floor. With time against him and with his mother guardian’s warnings still fresh in his mind Cloak hauled hard on the reins but blinded by the dark and struggling to control his own fears the leathers slipped free from his sweating hands and disappeared into the darkness. With the mule‘s stubborn resistance suddenly gone Cloak stumbled forwards into the blackness and with no light to aid him, he had barely extended a protective arm before his wrists jarred painfully against the invisible earth. Cloak remained on his hands and knees, waiting for the pain to subside, biting down hard and clenching his teeth to stifle his desire to cry out.

  Terrified and disorientated, his body coated in a cold sweat, Cloak wished and wished again for the blackening majic to disperse, wished for sight of the sun, for a glowing lamp or even a candle to safely see him through the wall of blood lusting thorns. Caught by surprise, Cloak yelped as a spike of abrasive energy ran up from the earth and into his skull. In less than the blink of an eye the points of his part formed crest suddenly ignited, a detonation like silent thunder causing his new spines to flush white hot. As light filled the maw Cloak gawped in shock as the inky blackness of the thorny cave was replaced miraculously by a waxy light that seemed to pulse in time with his shallow breathing.

  His stumble and his blind fear had lasted no more than a dozen heartbeats but during that short time he was aghast to see how close the deadly wall of hideous thorns now lay. Pushing his pain aside Cloak rose from his knees and snatching up the loose reins, slap the loose ends against the mule’s flank. The snap of the leathers brought a shuffle of hooves and the half pace forward, a further sharp crack a further step, freeing them from imminent danger. Four more paces on, tiny chinks of welcome sunlight broke through the boughs in front, Cloak urging the mule ever onwards to where the bright sunshine quickly drowned out the enchanted light.

  Shaking his head in disbelief, Cloak hauled the hesitant beast onwards. The glade beyond the thorn wall was free of trees and tall grasses the circular clearing some twenty five or so paces wide. At its centre stood a small hillock surrounded by a luscious swale rich with glossy green grass. The steep sided mound reminded Cloak of a barrow, the slopes speckled with smooth white rocks like giant pearls. Protected by the unforgiving thorn pines the carpet of grass looked perfect, unspoilt; no damaged swords of grass, no meadow flowers, no game trails and no signs of grazing by wood-hares. Releasing the old mule to graze, Cloak turned to watch as the inner wall of slow moving spines and thorns covered the space where the maw had been, masking the opening with a black green curtain of brittle leaves. As the last branch folded back into place all signs of the maw disappeared. If it had not been for the fresh trail Cloak had just left on the perfect grassy canvas he knew he would be hard pressed to locate the black mouth again.

  Settling himself down at the foot of the hillock Cloak stared hard at the wall of trees, his eyes searching for the first sign of movement that would reveal his mother guardian’s approach. Minutes passed, his growing anxiety robbing him of his patience. Rising, Cloak first paced anxiously around the central hillock before ascending the central hill in an attempt to scan the tree tops.

  ---

  Out beyond the thorny wall, Heavenly meticulously covered the tracks that lead from the circular path up to the edge of the thorn pine grove. Never in her life had she thought she would have to seek shelter in a Troll’s midden but never ever had so much been at stake. Calming her mule she listened intently to the silence of the woods around her; probing the pathways with her senses, tasting the air for the faintest of odours, planting her feet wide on the bare earth to better discern a distant footfall. But she had doubts.

  Her crest gave her little aid, her skull still numb and her gift for weapons muted. She had trained on her own for years only recently sparring with her husband but not sufficient to remove all the rust. Her reactions were slow, her muscles were soft and her six senses dulled, nevertheless, she was sure that danger was now close. How any tracker could have gained two days in four was irrelevant, for now the boy was safe inside the midden and soon she would join him, their pack mules carrying enough food and water to last them half a moon or more, plenty of time for the king’s bondsmen to arrive and deal with any threat.

  Waiting patiently for Cloak to journey through the wall, Heavenly new she might have little time to chant the blood-summons and reopen the maw. A bead of sweat tickled her neck, enough of a sign to tell her she was being spied on from the trees. With time running out, Heavenly climbed the rocky plinth and squeezing another bead of blood from her finger, let it drip into the stone dish. As the crooked thorn tasted the blood she barked the dark chant one more time.

  Kragha prugh qa orgha

  Kreeaq’a Kreeaq’a tr’kra.

  Kragha prugh qa orgha

  Q’tsch ga orgha

  As the maw opened slowly before her another bead of sweat sprang from her neck and ran down her spine, the vital signal causing her to instinctively duck down as first one then a second barbed star ricocheted off of the rock beside her. With short sword to hand Heavenly dragged the mule forward, pushing her muted senses to the limit as she searched the forest for the life force of the hunter. Although she could not see him she found him, hidden, his heart beat slow, his breathing slower, composed and confident. Just one, but talented, very talented, perhaps too good for her dulled crown.

  ---

  In the centre of the midden, Cloak knelt on the grass and pulled absently at the stalks, tossing some of the broken pieces to the wind and reaching out for more. Raising a long stock of grass to his mouth, Cloak’s hand froze.............his fingers were green and mere inches his lips, the blade of grass held in his hand oozed spots of emerald sap. Blood grass. Jumping to his feet Cloak’s only thoughts were, god no, please no. Wiping his hands briskly on his breeches Cloak dashed down the hill towards the mule and grabbing the reins, hauled the beasts head out of the poisonous grass. Too late, the green blood of the grass had done its work, the mule’s bane already spreading swiftly through its body.

  The first violent buck of the mule’s head caught Cloak of guard, knocking him flat to the ground, bruising his ribs and winding him. As the mule raced off Cloak instinctively released the reins, the lad rising quickly to chase the beast as it galloped to the far side of the hillock. With the laden mule only partly blinkered, Cloak tried hard to find a blind spot. Closing in with each step, following the mule around and around the swale until finally, scant feet away from the mule’s tail it stopped, snorte
d angrily, and turned faced him. Through the narrow gap between its blinkers Cloak could see the mule’s wild eyes, eyes as vivid green as the poisonous sap the mule had consumed. With tiny bubbles of limy green spit dripping from its jaw the mule charged. Caught flat footed, Cloak had barely time to turn and run before he was butted down. Winded but un-trammelled he scrambled for the safety of the hillock as the bucking and snorting beast rampaged around the outer edge of the swale. Shaking its head and kicking out again and again with its rear legs, the belt holding the panniers worked loose, the trailing strap flapping wildly, cracking and snapping loudly like a flaxen snake. Mindless and wild on blood grass sap and desperate to be free of its burdens, the mule bucked and twisted. Retreating to the rise Cloak watched as the thorn pines swayed towards the raving mule, the hedge sending out long snaring twigs and snagging thorns. When finally one, and then another unyielding gaff snagged the trailing strap the beast jerked to a sudden halt, its feet slipping from beneath it, throwing the mule heavily and awkwardly to the ground.

  ---

  Bridle to hand and using the mule to shield her from sight Heavenly urged the beast beyond the closing maw. A dart flew past the mules shoulder, the second striking the leather pannier before a third imbedded itself in the mules shoulder. Gambling that the drug would fell a man but would only slow a mule, Heavenly left the tiny oozing barb to do its work. As she moved deeper into the dark tunnel more darts flew, low shots ricocheting off the hard earth in a vain attempt to catch a heel or calf but all bouncing clear, the needle sharp barbs disappearing into the black wood.