Children of Swan:The Land of Taron, Vol 1: (A Space Fantasy Adventure)

by Coral Walker

  Edging closer, Teilo grasped her leg by the ankle and plopped it down in his lap.

  “It’s a shu, much smaller than an ordinary arrow. It travels far but doesn’t give as serious an injury as an arrow, unless it’s poisoned.”

  “Is it?”

  “Not this one.”

  Breathing out a sigh Brianna let her shoulders droop.

  There was a funny look on Teilo’s face, and without warning he caught the corner of her skirt and gave it a good yank, tearing a strip of cloth from the fringe.

  “What are you doing?” cried Brianna, sitting up.

  “I’m going to pull the shu out. I need a strip of cloth, but you see …” he looked down at his tunic and said apologetically, “I couldn’t possibly tear it from mine.” His tunic was filthy and in shreds from the fights and the fall.

  Carefully he placed the strip of cloth under her calf. At the touch of his hand, Brianna moaned.

  “I haven’t done anything yet.” He grinned again. “Look behind you.”

  Brianna giggled, knowing it was a trick but did as she was expected. There was a quick stinging sensation, and when she turned back, the shu was gone.

  “Keep still,” Teilo ordered and started winding the cloth around her leg.

  “Did it hurt?” he said without lifting his head. Bending forward, he moved his hands dexterously, if not a little unsteadily.

  “A little,” she answered, feeling a surge of warmth spreading inside her.

  Finally, he tied a knot. “That will do.”

  She was about to withdraw her leg, but he held it firm to signal her to wait. Before her eyes, his face became distorted — his cheeks bulged, and his tongue rolled around inside.

  She stared, not sure what to think.

  Then he put his fingers into his mouth, reminding her of a cave dweller picking his teeth after a meal. He fished something small out of his mouth and placed it on his open hand — a small nail-shaped rod, with a trace of blood on the sharp end. He held up his hand to show her, and his lips widened into a triumphant grin as he saw how puzzled she looked.

  Leaning back into a flatter position, he held her leg over his chest and started poking at the lock on the shackle with the rod. It was hard to watch as he fiddled with the locks one after the other, stopping now and then to tremble from the pain that seemed to be periodic and growing steadily in intensity. When the last click was heard, he collapsed backwards into the silence of the shadows.

  His lapse into silence frightened her. Scurrying over, she reached the dark lump and felt hastily for his hand. The hand was as cold as the stone on which it lay. To her horror, she failed to detect any pulse. A voice grew strong in her head.

  He will die!

  The night was claiming its victory, marking its vast territory with deep darkness and battling the last streaks of dim light from the setting sun. The woods, the cliff and the rocks surrendered as they took the form of dark silhouettes resembling fiery beasts with horns and sinister ghosts with no heads.

  She curled up, burying her head in her arms, feeling timid and powerless. She was scared, exhausted and felt like crying. She didn’t even try to stop her tears. No need to hide, there was no one here who would care.

  She turned her head in the cradle of her arms. There, against the grey darkness, the contour of Teilo’s soft profile was tinged with a sheen of soft orange. He looked warm and alive. His profile was almost childlike, but he had treated her as a grown-up would treat a child.

  He will die!

  There was the voice again. A flash of anger shot through her. She sat up, shaking. The cliff caught her attention, and she gazed at it, sizing it up and tracing and gauging its jagged contour. Sucking in a mouthful of air, she made up her mind.

  +++

  The cliff wasn’t as bad as she had thought, and soon she was more than halfway up it. When she came to a narrow plateau where she could stand evenly, she felt grateful, as if aided by an invisible helping hand. It wasn’t until she glanced up that her far-too-brief good mood took a precipitous drop, and she exhaled with a low whistle. The smooth surface of the cliff stretched almost vertically above her.

  An overhanging rock rubbed against her shoulder. It was large, and extended above her and out of sight. She leant outwards, almost dangerously, to trace its rugged outline. The rock was wide at the bottom and then slimmed down gradually as it sloped upwards towards the top of the cliff.

  If only she could get onto the rock …

  The thought of climbing the overhang sounded crazy. Two arms lengths, that’s how far the bottom of the rock overhung. She would be dangling with no footholds for a while, and any slip or crumbling rock meant only one thing — death after a long drop.

  She scanned the surface of the rock, as cool-headed as she could manage, looking for cracks and ledges suitable for handholds.

  She leapt, hands stretching for a high ledge — the obvious one in the dimming light. Her fingers gripped it but immediately started slipping. Fear took over her all of a sudden. Blood surged into her head as she fought for the grip and swung her body to get a foothold at the same time.

  Some rocks came loose, rolled past her and crashed onto the rugged ground below.

  Their fall was long and smooth. By the sound of it, nothing obstructed their path on the way down. A swift peek between her dangling feet made her shiver — the place she had chosen from below as the best route up, wasn’t the best place to fall.

  She hung on, hands stiffening from the difficult grip, unsure whether she would be able to make it. She had done a lot of rock climbing before, but only indoors. She had got to the level where she was allowed to make difficult climbs — the ones where you move like a spider with your back almost facing down. On a rock-climbing wall, you can always trust a handhold to be near where you need it. But here, the only one she could see, apart from a narrow crack inches away, was a crevice high above to her left, too far to swing to unless she could get a foothold.

  Getting a foothold wasn’t easy as the rock below her waist curved away from her. She caught sight of a rock, jutting out at the level of her chest half a yard away, and tried to swing one of her legs to it. It was a brave move, and her hands almost slipped as she swung. Her foot missed the rock by a finger’s breadth. Without delay she switched her hands, moved rapidly to the crack above to gain a higher position, and swung her leg again.

  The moment her foot caught the protruding rock, the rock she had hastily grabbed as a handhold cracked and started to come loose.

  With all her strength, she sprang up to the deep crevice high above. For a split second, she was physically holding nothing. The next instant her body hit the rough surface, scattering a few rocks and stones. Her hands, already bleeding from earlier grips, clutched the crevice for dear life.

  For a while, as the sound of falling stones echoed in the empty darkness, she trembled and gasped, her heart beating furiously, taking in the thought that she was still alive.

  It sank in only later how lucky she had been, and still shaking, she laughed. She was no longer dangling dangerously but lying with her torso on the sloping surface of the rock. She pulled herself up one more time, and the rest of the climbing couldn’t have been easier. In a short while, she found herself at the top of the cliff.

  +++

  The joy, if there was any, was brief.

  The smell of smoke coming to her against the wind alarmed her. At the foot of the slope, over the hedges and trees, a dark smoky cloud had gathered.

  She broke into a run, and stopped at an old fruit tree by the edge of the thick, drifting cloud. In the eerie silence, her breath sounded harsh and unsettling.

  The gate was yards away. She trembled as she glanced at it — from that gate, armed men had chased her like hunters.

  The wind, bored with blowing from one direction, was now shifting, churning the cloud and making it roll like a furious beast.

  She edged the few yards down to the gate and found herself staring at the front w
all of the cottage that towered over the sprawling and smouldering ruins of the cottage like a triumphant fighter among scattered corpses. In the middle of the wall, the arched door stood shut, looking as solemn as a soldier, with its dark lock of formidable size.

  Behind that door was where the doctor was hanged. She could almost see it now. It made no sense that while many parts of the house were burned almost to the ground, she still believed the doctor could have survived behind that door.

  But she carried on nevertheless, shoving the door hard with her shoulder. The door hardly shook, frustrating her — she hadn’t expected a sturdy door, but a weak one that had barely survived the fire.

  She searched for a tool and took a boulder from behind a pot. Sparks scattered with each blow, but the door stood firm. Losing patience, she threw away the stone and paced around for a new tool. Thinking to lever the lock open with a metal bar, she sharpened her eyes to look for one. A loud creaking sound alarmed her. She turned and jumped at the sight of the door that had stood so stubbornly, crashing down. It smashed to the ground with a heavy thud, just an inch away from her foot.

  Instantly a maelstrom of hot smoke engulfed her.

  21

  The Doctor

  She coughed, eyes tearing. Through the smouldering ruins, she saw a man lying face down on the floor. She hurried towards him, coughing as she ran. In the thick smoke she couldn’t tell whether he was alive. Nevertheless, she grabbed hold of him and struggled to drag him towards the doorway.

  As she did so, she caught sight of an upside-down bowl and an opened box lying on its side. Half of its contents were scattered on the ground. The bowl must have been full of water before it fell to the ground and soaked the box, which explained why the box and its contents had survived the fire. The box looked like a medicine chest, containing an assortment of needles, knives, and odd-shaped bottles.

  Now the wind was picking up, and the fire raged and crackled louder. She hastened. The flames licked at her ankles as she hauled the man over the threshold.

  A safe distance away from the burning house, she stopped and turned the body of the man over onto his back. Unprepared, she let out a cry at the sight of a blue-skinned, grey-bearded old man with half his face and body charred.

  His throat was gurgling, and his intact arm twitched a little — he was still alive.

  The stricken man filled her momentarily with pity, but remembering the box, she sprang to her feet and plunged back into the fire. Encouraged by the wind, the fire crackled friskily. With her eyes blinded by the smoke and flames, she groped with her hands until she felt the box. She grasped it without thinking and moaned loudly as it scorched her fingers.

  Hurriedly she scrabbled on the floor, gathering anything her hands chanced upon into the box. The fire was hissing around her and one of the wooden columns that were holding up the remains of the roof creaked ominously.

  Tossing one more item into the box, she broke into a run, clutching the box to her chest. The doorframe was now ablaze. She leapt through it, at the same time feeling a surge of heat singeing her back. The column toppled behind her.

  She dashed straight to a small pond behind the hedge and jumped into it. The fire had burned through her skirt and scorched her skin. The fish stirred, and one leapt out of the pond. The sight of the fish with its long silver tail filled her briefly with delight. Gently she caught the floundering creature and put it back into the pond.

  When she stepped out dripping from the pond, she hesitated, wondering whether she should take a handful of water with her. A few steps away, the old man lay with his charred side facing her. His blistered lips helped her to make up her mind. She trod back to him, water seeping through her scooped palms, and with painstaking care, she dripped the water into the old man’s mouth.

  His surviving eye was alternating between half-open and fully-closed, as if he were flickering in and out of consciousness, or, perhaps between life and death. He still held his hands together, as if they were tied. Shaking uncontrollably, they stretched out towards her face.

  “Tee ... ra ... na,” the old man’s voice croaked.

  Looking uneasily at the reaching hands, Brianna was baffled.

  The hands halted and the shaking became violent and intense, as if some limit had been reached.

  The last streak of light on the horizon was fading away. She fidgeted, feeling trapped. The shaking hands, suspended in the air, waited.

  What did he want? Anxious to get it over with, she touched the shaking hands in a gesture meant to comfort him. At the touch of her hands, the old man jolted all of a sudden, seizing her by her hands and hauled her towards him with surprising force. Utterly shocked, she found herself pulled forward and the man’s half burned beard was right before her eyes.

  In awe, she saw that the gaunt face of the old man was enlivened by a strange vigour and his only working eye opened fully. His gaze, piercing and profound, transfixed her. As if in a dream she watched his hand approach with one finger pointing at her forehead, and at the touch of his fingertip she seemed to see bright stripes of light spinning and dancing soulfully.

  “Tee ... an ... na,” he muttered as a rasping cry uttered from his throat.

  A dark shadow slashed through the dancing lights, shattering and destroying them. She sprang up, astonished.

  By her knees, the old man was a lifeless statue with his arms sticking up into the air. The vigour that had revived him a moment ago had vanished without a trace.

  Had he called her “Tyanna”? Why did he prod her forehead like that? For a while, she stood there staring in confusion at the man, and watched with pity as he breathed his last.

  Some root vegetables with pink skin were scattered by the pond. The old man must have been washing them before the attack. An empty sack was left on a boulder near the pond. Brianna took it and cut the top part of the sack into strips using a knife she found in the box. The remaining sack was big enough to carry the box and a couple of the vegetables, and the strips were handy for a shoulder strap. Taking up the bulging handmade shoulder bag, she took her leave.

  Perhaps “Tyanna” was only a slip of the tongue, and prodding her forehead was a blessing. She wondered again, giving the old man a final glimpse. Her heart quivered. A blessing from a dead doctor —her first gift in this strange world.

  +++

  When she got back down the cliff, it was completely dark.

  “Teilo,” she called in a whisper, fumbling her way.

  The darkness made her uneasy as if there were countless dangers lurking in the shadows. It reminded her of a picture book Dad used to read to her, and that she now enjoyed reading to Bo. When the campfire was put out, dozens of staring eyes appeared in the darkness. It turned out they were harmless rabbits, but since then she had known she would never like the darkness, especially the kind of darkness that you have to face alone.

  A hissing and spitting sound alarmed her, and when a twig hit her face unexpectedly, her uneasiness swelled up like a balloon about to burst.

  When her breath became even again, she crouched down and felt the ground with her hands and fingers — pieces of wood, segments of cold chains. Then she met head-on the cold craggy wall.

  “Teilo,” she called again, quivering — a wild beast might have taken him.

  A voice came from above. “Shhh ... I am here,”

  “Hold my hand,” it spoke again.

  Led by the voice, she groped in the dark to find his outstretched hand and grasped it. Soon she was sitting safely on a thick branch of the tree.

  “I thought you were down there.”

  “Do you want me to be a feast for wild dogs? There are swarms of them out hunting in the dark.”

  As if to prove his point, a lone mournful howl rent the silence, eliciting a chorus of similar howls that blared out from the gloomy shapes she couldn’t name. With rustles here and pants there, the woods came alive.

  “What did you get?”

  “A medicine box,” she declared, h
ands scrabbling in the dark to undo the knot.

  “And these.” She placed a vegetable into his hand and frowned at the touch — his hand was burning hot.

  “Are you OK?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re burning.”

  “I’m fine,” he said calmly. “We Rioneans don’t die easily. Give me the box.”

  There was the sound of metal hitting the box and then a cutting noise.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making a light.”

  “How?”

  “Give me your hand.”

  A wet thing was placed into her palm. It was a slice of the vegetable he had just cut.

  “Stretch it out,” he said.

  Holding her wrist gently, he guided her arm outwards into the dark open air.

  Blue shimmering specks appeared in the air, so subtle that she hadn’t noticed them before. Drawn by the sweet scent of the vegetable, they gathered rapidly. In a short while, her hand glowed softly like a night-light.

  “Whoa ...” she gasped, her eyes widening.

  Teilo was making another one, and this time he poked a hole in the middle, put a string through it and hung it from a branch.

  Soon the space around them was filled with the soft blue light. The trees and the rocks gleamed under the light like a winter wonderland under flickering Christmas lights. She smiled and almost saw herself again on a reindeer ride with Bo, who shrilled with laughter each time a swirl of bubbles blew onto them.

  “Have one?” he stuffed a large chunk of the vegetable into her palm. To show her how to eat it, he threw one into his mouth and munched loudly.

  The vegetable was juicy with a slightly sugary taste but smelled distinctly sweet.

  Still munching, he cut a stick from a thick twig. Putting the knife back, he fumbled in the box for more things — a bottle, a needle and some thread. He laid them neatly on his lap. Directly under a hanging light, he poked the end of the thread through the small eye of the needle.

  He shifted backwards to adopt a half-lying position against the tree trunk and gripped the stick between his clenched teeth. Bending his neck at a sharp angle, he scrutinised the wound, messy and sticky, covered by a layer of fabric and broken leaves. With a flick of his wrist, he peeled the layer off. Red blood seeped out, and he breathed noisily between his clenched teeth.