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

by Russell Thomson

  Cloak was now impatient to hear more. ‘Well, keep going, tell me, what the secret was?’

  ‘Don’t be so impolite and impatient young Cloak, it’s not a secret as such, it means nothing to anyone bar me and my travelling companion. It’s not as if can use it as a means of defence.’

  Cloak interrupted again, engrossed with the old man’s tale. ‘You mean you could appear, grab an enemy off his horse, travel to a far place and leave them there collapsed in a heap of writhing agony?’ said Cloak with some relish.

  ‘Theatrically put,’ said Needle, ‘and I’ll not say that I have not been tempted, ………. but no, that’s never happened. Anyway, stop interrupting or, it will be dark by the time I finish. The secret lay in co-ordination. Three things; touch, breathing and heart beat. You have to be touching skin to skin, you have to breathe together and your hearts have to beat in time. Succeed in only one from three and you risk dying. Succeed in getting the first two and you will arrive in pain and spend several minutes curled up in a ball and thirty cleaning up the mess. If you get your heart beats to marry and you breath together, you’ll arrive hot, giddy and with a swirling belly. But, if you get all three together, you arrive as alive and and healthy as you left.

  Smoke might look younger than me but he has had more experience of majic than I, years of honing his talent, of using flows. Smoke knew about the importance of holding your breath and when to breathe in and out so we used that as a starting point. Sometimes we breathed out and travelled, sometimes we filled our lungs and held our breath and travelled, we even tried one holding in and one breathing out. Touch came next. I can look back and laugh but once we even walked naked, pressed as close to each other as newlyweds. Thankfully, holding hands proved to be sufficient. The heart beat part came last but in all honesty it was a lucky guess. However, keeping your heart beating slowly when you practice walking into an empty room is one thing, a walk into a far off keep is quite another and coming home, pursued by archers with your heart thumping in your chest, then, you too would happily accept the wicked pain brought on by an unsynchronised wish walk.

  Needle signalled the end of his story with a stiff bow. ‘So young Cloak, that is why you and I travel east and east again across the grain plains to Thankless Bastion.’

  Cloak interrupted without apology. ‘Master Cliff, if we are travelling east will we pass near to Delta Crossing? If we do we could take a broad barge upriver to the freight port of Plains. Perhaps if we asked my guardian father for help, he is a loyal king’s man, and he’s a high talent sword? He could protect us if Master Silverfly does not return.’

  ‘And just what do we tell him?’ said Needle, his tone starchy ‘That his wife has been kidnapped and taken we know not where by a brigand, and his son is being hunted down by the foes of the king? I’m sorry son, I cannot make that promise. You must see by now that too many others wish you captured or perhaps in desperation want you dead. We have no idea who spies for who or who is loyal to who.’ Cloak tried hard to hide his disappointment but his face spoke for him, a look of pain that forced Needle to mellow his tone. ‘Cloak, if, and only if you stay silent on the issue,’ he said ‘and, if we are successful and I regain my talent, then, we may return to Delta Crossing. Travel will be less of a chore and evading danger will not be an issue for us. After that, all we have to do arrange to meet with the king. Simple as pie, yes?’

  ‘And what about Master Smoke?’ enquired Cloak. ‘What if he has been captured and put to the question?’

  Needle pulled absently at his crest. ‘Believe me when I say that capture and torture are not an issue. There is no prison cell I know that can hold that man. But, whilst I’ve tried hard to put my worry about his whereabouts to the back of my mind, I’ll admit it plagues me.’

  The pair rode on in silence, stopping only briefly to feed and water the mules. As the beast tired they dismounted and walked, determined as ever to stretch the distance between themselves and the troop that followed. As dusk approached, they reached the first clump of trees, stunted oaks and silver birches replacing the twisted pines. The woods thickened quickly and before another mile was out the black canopy of the forest loomed over them.

  ‘If I were pursing us,’ said Needle ‘I would not stop at dusk. The sky is clear and the moon is out and if it were me, I’d take advantage of the easy trail and press on across the open ground until I reached the forest edge where we now stand. Unfortunately for us that means we’ll to have to press on.’ When Needle produced the vial of froggy snot from his pocket Cloak gave him a lemon sour look. ‘Hopefully this will be the last time, now be a good boy and stick out your tongue.’

  The mucus worked surprisingly fast, where a few minutes before he had been staring down a narrow path into total blackness, now, all ahead was lit, the black of night turned to shades of grey on grey.

  ‘Master Needle,’ said Cloak, his voice barely a whisper. ‘It’s one thing to walk across a bare valley at night, it’s quite another to traverse a strange forest. It’s not so much the risk of losing the trail, our snot sight will help us there, it’s the risk of attracting unwanted eyes, a pack of night hunting mutts or spitting tree gnomes not to mention just the risk of bad fortune. We have the blessing of night sight but what of the mules, what if one of them steps into a scrape and breaks a leg?’

  Needle led his mule forward. ‘I wish we had a choice boy, God and King, I really wish we had a choice.’

  TWENTY: Jump Off

  With a stick in hand to whip away any errant spider webs, the old wish walker and newly crested boy walked on in silence, the only sound the soft clop of their mules hooves as they kicked aside the shallow leaf litter that carpeted the ground. The pair made good time, slowed only by their cautious fording of several tumbling streams. The path they took divided, converged and divided again several times before finally turning sharply west. Half a mile on a narrow gully cut across their path, its steep slippery sides causing the already truculent mules to dig in their heels, progressing only after a few sharp licks from a whippy stick. The climb up the far side proved even more taxing, the ground crumbling away beneath their feet as they scrambled up the slope. Back on level ground, the path once again ran parallel to the meandering course of the Holdfast River, the travellers walking on for a further league before stopping to rest at a fork in the path, one route turning south east away following the left bank, the other clearly cutting southwards across the broad flow of the Holdfast and disappearing into a break in the far forest wall.

  Unsaddling the mules Cloak loosely tethered them to a running line between two trees and left the beasts to quietly graze the lush riverbank. Whilst the frog mucus still coursed through their veins, Needle and Cloak decided to rest until dawn. They had ridden the mules for over several hours and walked with them for a further ten, and whilst they had stopped regularly, their brief halts did little to refresh the mules.

  Dosing until dawn the travellers rose at dawn The river flowed past in silence, a silver swirling ribbon cutting a broad swath through the forest. Needle stood for some time staring at the crossing, the old wish walker frowning as he slowly shook his head.

  ‘The river has risen overnight’

  ‘Can we still cross safely?’

  Needle hesitated momentarily before answering ‘I think so. The river is some thirty paces wide maybe more, it’s difficult to tell in the early grey light. The flow is powerful but even, no large swirls or eddies and the bottom looks like it’s mainly shingle. As the banks are not steep I would estimate the middle is no more than belly high to a mule……………I suspect this might look more like a fording point during the low water of midsummer but at this level of flow we’ll have to cross with great caution. A bit more weight in our bellies might help stop us from slipping away on the current,’ said Needle patting at his midriff. ‘So we’ll eat a hearty breakfast then load the mules................’

  ‘Why not just press on now?’ said Cloak anxiously. ‘I feel fine and I’m not that
hungry.’

  ‘The potion we took makes us feel awake and full of energy but it suppresses thirst and hunger, so while we’re under its influence, we have to look after ourselves, if we neglect to do so then when it wears off, we’ll be weak as babies. We have made good time so far and can afford to invest in some time to eat. The forest is not vast, Smoke said it extended for no more than eight leagues, by my judgement we’ve travelled just under four. All going well, we should be through the forest and be in sight of the canal by late afternoon.’

  The pair ate in silence, Cloak impatiently wolfing down his breakfast whilst Needle ate at a more leisurely pace. Bare legged, their packs secured as high as possible on the mules’ backs, the pair mounted up. Needle led off, urging his mules cautiously forward, the beast hesitating before stepping forward into the flow. Cloak watched as the river deepened quickly, the cool flow rising rapidly to the mule’s belly, the ice cold water soon pressing hard against his bare leg. As they approached mid stream Needle’s mule hesitated. Its nostrils flaring, its eyes wide with terror, the mule tried to turn in the flow. Caught by surprise Needle shortened his reins and fought hard for control whilst behind him, Cloak too found his own mule also backing away.

  From the far bank, a deep gravelly voice rumbled across the river, the power of the words seeming to stir the leaves on the trees.

  ‘Turn back wrinkled far traveller, you must not cross.’

  From the shadows of the far bank, Shiver Cauldron detached himself from the darkness. His mottled skin of greys and olive greens had rendered him invisible but his scent was clearly not so easy to mask, a noxious odour the mules had clearly detected even though the massive Troll stood slightly downwind. Struck with terror, Cloak turned to flee, retreating to the water’s edge before Needle roared at him to halt.

  ‘Hold fast boy, this malevolent Troll is known to me,’ cried the old wish walker forcibly. ‘What do you want Troll? Are you here to hold us, hinder us or just stink the air with your presence?’

  Shiver Cauldron ignored Needle, turning instead to address Cloak as he stood in shock on the far bank. ‘Kin of my brother dog and old dog king, you must go east, you must take the other path.’

  Needle eased his reins slightly freeing his mule to step back into shallower water, the beast still clearly fearful of the Troll. ‘Why? Why should we trust you Troll? You laid a glamour on Master Smoke and I the last time we met, you deceived us and delayed us. Why should we believe what you say this time?’

  The Troll pointed upstream. ‘As we speak, the green bitch who tracks you floats down the river on a bed of trees. Her pack of dogs left their possessions on the trail at the boulder wall and ran ahead. At the forest edge they felled the slimmest trees and bound them together to form a bed for her to float on. She and her close guard have travelled under the light of the moon. They now approach in silence.’

  ‘You mean she formed a raft?’ said Cloak.

  ‘Yes pup kin,’ replied Shiver Cauldron, ‘a raft.’

  ‘Kin?’ mocked Needle. ‘Well, well, you grant the boy some respect. Allow me then to introduce you both. Cloak, this is Shiver Cauldron, a Troll of the Black Stain Pack who bide far to the North of the Blue Cut, a wish walker and if we are to believe him, an ally of the Lord of the Northern Lands. Shiver Cauldron, let me introduce Cloak, my charge and, for now, my ward.’

  ‘Young pup,’ said Shiver with an almost unperceivable nod of recognition, ‘she who follows you has you on a leash. It is masked with earth and hidden to your eye but it is there none the less.’

  Cloak and Needle dismounted, securing their mounts some yards upstream before returning to the ford. Shiver waded effortlessly across.

  ‘Hold a moment Troll. Why do I sense you try to misdirect us? If we go eastwards along yonder trail, who knows where we will end up, one thing is for sure it does not lead us into safety, only mile after mile of forest trails. At least if we reach Red Clay Basin we can travel in any number of directions and have a better chance of outdistancing the witch who follows us.

  Shiver Cauldron stepped closer to the bank. ‘Nevertheless, you will not cross,’ he boomed.

  ‘I have no way of knowing if you are telling the truth, but I have the distinct feeling that you are here to tamper with the lad’s fate and that leaves me feeling at odds’. Needle rubbed his crown, pulling on the long spine over his left eye. Why east, neither the boy nor I are trackers or hunters, if we attempt to hide up in the woods we would just starve. We have no weapons and I suspect that if we met a one armed vagrant with a three legged dog he could likely cut my purse and my throat without much risk. We are pursued by talents Troll and running is for now our only weapon.’

  ‘I can remove the majic thread,’ said Shiver as he took another step closer and halted. ‘When I do, the bitch at the other end will feel the agony of the loss, she will fail, she will weep and she will curse and spit. You will benefit from this and take pleasure in this no doubt? Once I do this, you turn east.’

  ‘Why are you offering to help us rather than eat us Troll?’ asked Cloak

  Shiver Cauldron looked down on the boy, a quizzical expression on his face. ‘It is my gift to you and my masters will.......I am your shadow familiar.’

  Not understanding, Cloak frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘I am not permitted to say,’ replied the giant Troll briskly.

  ‘Do you know my parents?’ blurted Cloak.

  Shiver Cauldron shook his head slowly. ‘No pup, I never met them.’

  ‘Even I recognise that is only half an answer?’ responded Cloak.

  Shiver Cauldron grunted. ‘That is because it was only half a question.’

  ‘Troll, do you know who my parents were, their names, their station?’

  ‘I do, but I am not permitted to say,’ replied the giant Troll. ‘The old dog king and prince friend dog have forbidden me. We must make haste. The witch bitch approaches and your stink overwhelms me,’ said Shiver contorting his face. ‘I will raze the thread now…………’

  ‘His stink Troll, that’s rich, you smell like year old cheese and maggoty meat.’

  Shiver ignored the old wish walker. ‘Now or never, you choose pup?’

  Cloak’s mind raced, the lad suddenly recalling the Teller’s scribbled note. ‘When you meet him, ask the ice warrior if he can see beyond your veil’. Cloak stared up at the one eyed Troll, was he the ice warrior?

  ‘One more question, please…………are you able to see beyond my veil?’

  Cloak’s question clearly caught both Needle and the giant Troll by surprise. ‘I am commanded to be your shadow familiar.’

  Cloak turned to look at Needle. ‘……..and what does that mean?’

  ‘It means ‘yes’ I think. It means he can see ahead of you, beyond the veil but sufficient only to warn you of imminent danger. Is that right Troll?’ Shiver Cauldron stood stock still, his face blank, his lips sealed.

  ‘Master Needle,’ said Cloak, his tone assertive. ‘I think it’s time for Shiver Cauldron to remove the thread and then we’ll be on our way. East.’

  ‘A moment Cloak,’ said Needle, ‘I have seen threads pulled before. I witnessed a grown man sent into a coma when a simple green tendril was plucked from his skin. Does this risk the boy’s life Troll?’

  Shiver Cauldron gave a dismissive grunt and stepped onto the river bank. ‘This is not a hornet’s sting to be plucked from the hide far traveller. If I were to do that it would leave the barb behind. This is majic. It has to be plucked with majic. It is not painless but it will not kill.’ As Shiver Cauldron loomed over him, Cloak felt his bowels turn liquid. The Troll’s rank breath and his overpowering body odour made Cloak hold his breath, the stink so powerful he could taste it.

  ‘It has bonded with your sole,’ said Shiver

  ‘My soul?’

  Shiver shook his head. ‘Pup kin………………your lack of sense is a concern. Clearly the old fart walker has not tutored you in majic. The bottom of your foot, the majic is atta
ched to the bottom of your foot, your ‘sole, not your life ‘soul’. Your life soul is the preserve of your spirit, only the core majics can trap a spirit and small people cannot lure such majic from the earth. Take of your boot,’ Shiver pointed towards Cloak’s right foot, ‘now lie back and lift your paw.’

  Cloak complied. With the edge of his antler blade Shiver Cauldron drew blood from the back of his left hand, smearing his own life force down a line of glyphs on his right wrist. The glyphs glowed, first silver then pure snow, blanching his palm and his fingers. The single thread of majic that radiated from the Trolls first finger writhed like a snake, the tip searching the air as if seeking the scent of the masked green thread. Cloak had never witnessed majic before, not real majic and certainly not old majic. He had witnessed displays of talents beyond what he thought possible of mortal man or woman; displays of speed, of healing and of high art. The majic was invisible, but he had no doubt it was there. However, as for the colour these talents drew from the earth, it could as easily have been nothing more pale yellow or a watery blue. White majic. God and King, he was witnessing a Troll wielding white majic, who would ever have thought it possible.

  His initial fear of the giant Troll had gone, replaced now by a burning curiosity. Cloak felt nothing as Shiver Cauldron burnt away the earthy brown cover from the invisible chord, his own white thread exposing a lime green strand of majic thinner than a hair. As if alive, the snow white tendril writhed and twisted, grasping the exposed green hair. Like an ivy vine the white strand wrapped itself around and around and around the green, binding the two majics together. All was now ready.

  ---

  Less than a league upstream the silver waters of the Holdfast river flowed by, long deep pools with high undercut bank and broad shallow riffles where the canopy opened up to reveal a clear sky. Holly Moss and Ash Fret made good time as they propelled the little craft silently down the river. Although the raft had been hastily made, it was stable and sat comfortably above the surface of the water. Lady Star Light Willow sat cross legged near the front of the raft, awake, her eyes shut, her mind in silent prayer. She smiled inwardly, sensing the shortening of her thread, knowing that the old man and the boy now lay only a few miles ahead.