Absence_Mist and Shadow

by J. B. Forsyth

  The vines took her down through a column of humid air – two pulling and one lowering. She was much bigger than the prey they usually snatched from the branches and the hollow trunk barely accommodated her. She jammed her boots against the sides, but the brittle lining simply crumbled, giving up a splintery dust that fell about her face; making her cough and splutter on what little air she was able to gasp through her strangled throat. Sharp splinters ripped her clothes and hundreds of unhoused wood beetles crawled over her exposed flesh in a desperate attempt to find new homes. Blood rushed to her head and lights flashed behind her screwed up eyes. Panic and terror consumed her and with every jolt of progress she gave up a silent scream, expecting to be shredded against the tree’s sharp lining or swallowed by whatever waited in the darkness below.

  But she wasn’t alone in her peril.

  The shadow hadn’t guided her safely through the jungle only to hide away while she was being torn apart. It rose within her, channelling her panic into rage and speaking words her terrified mind was primed to obey. Go down there and kill it! Go down there and kill it before it tears you apart! She shot out of her body and down the rest of the trunk, drawing up in a huge cavern beneath the tree’s root system. The space was lit by a rotating funnel of mist that spiralled down from the ceiling and soaked into a huge gelatinous mass. A network of vines ran out of it in all directions; some slack and some taut, but all running into cracks in the cavern wall or disappearing into the ring of root systems that covered the ceiling. This was the leecher beneath the clearing and it wobbled and swayed with the movement of its myriad vines. And as she took in this eerie underworld the vine gripping her neck yanked again, its resulting vibration distinguishing it from the others.

  She flew at the leecher and hammered it with her fists. Her blows raged through the Membrane with the same power that had launched a toruck into the air, but all she achieved now was a series of ripples that ran across its gelatinous flank. The shadow realised how futile such an assault was and pushed her forwards, through the spiralling mist and into the leecher’s vast body. All at once she was imbued with the full composite of its sensation: its wobbling flesh, the slimy suction that fixed it to the floor and the movement of the many vines that ran through its body. She could feel the way they were arranged in the jungle – spiralling up trees, hanging in loops and snaking through the dirt. Through millions of hair like sensors, she could feel worms wriggling in the soil and insects scurrying across bark. She felt the sudden bowing of branches that signalled the alighting of birds and could differentiate these movements from those caused by the stirrings of the breeze. She could feel the flowers on its vines and realised she had seen them before. They were the ones with the hooded orange petals that had craned their stems to look at her – the ones she imagined throttling her to death. Their black stamens were embedded with primitive light sensors that were now her eyes, relaying low resolution images of the jungle to her from hundreds of different angles – a confusing kaleidoscope that suddenly focused into one coherent view. The leecher was so deeply connected to its surroundings it was like she had taken possession of the jungle itself, and nothing moved within a mile radius she wasn’t aware of.

  She felt no resistance to her possession. The leecher lacked the faculties to detect such an invasion and its basic functions ran on regardless. She could feel the prey in its vines making steady progress through the jungle and down hollow trunks. From their shapes and sizes, she could tell most were rabbits and squirrels; or whatever grotesque equivalents passed for such things this side of the mountains. She identified her limp body as the largest amongst them and it was now exiting the bottom of the tree and angling into the cavern. She felt a split in the leecher’s side and got a sense it was some form of mouth, opening to receive her. And with just seconds to spare she took control of the vine, lowering her body to the cavern floor and releasing it.

  But she wasn’t finished yet.

  She needed to make sure the leecher couldn’t grab her again and she had to make it pay. She was still blazing with rage and it was being fuelled and poisoned by every wisp of mist that soaked into her; turning it into a hateful vengeance that demanded discharge.

  She gripped the jungle and pulled hard. The vines tightened and the leecher’s insides were drawn in a hundred different directions. The net force lifted its body and it was only the slug like suction of its underbelly that kept it from detaching from the cavern floor. She pulled harder and felt something go: a single vine ripping out of the leecher’s body with a wet spurt. Encouraged, she followed up with several vicious clenches that resulted in a satisfying series of snapping vines and internal tears. Some vines whipped across the cavern floor and some bowstringed, cutting through the leecher like cheese wire and causing it to emit a gaseous hiss she hoped was a scream. Above ground the jungle thrashed as though it were being exercised by a vicious wind. Branches bent and bowed - snapping and splintering where the force upon them was too great. And she would have gone on until she had torn every last vine out of the leecher, but something within its sensation caught her attention.

  Footsteps…

  …Two pairs.

  …Heavy animals with a bipedal gait.

  She relaxed and turned the orange flower heads towards them. The image she received was blurry, but there was no mistaking the four armed figures that were edging through the mist.

  Karkus and Argol!

  Only then did she imagine the kind of havoc she was causing above ground. If the torucks were here; then they must have been close when the mist came. And they were walking it because they thought the disturbance had something to do with her. Her anger turned cold, sharpening to an icicle she could have thrown at them. Karkus had cut her finger off and now it was his turn to pay. She felt the shadow’s dismay as it read her intention. It had saved her from becoming the subterranean horror’s next meal and it wanted her back in the torucks’ possession. But she was in control now and she pushed it down as easily as swallowing a yawn.

  Surrogate Arms

  The torucks waited for the dogapes to cannibalise their dead then faced off with them until they skulked away. But sensing a ruse they remained at the tree until they were sure they weren’t circling around. It was the returning birds that gave them the greatest confidence and as soon as the evening chorus began again they started after the witch. Karkus assumed they would catch up with her quickly - that they would soon find her mixed up with one of the innumerable hazards that populated the deep jungle. But as they followed her spoor ever further he was forced to rethink. Somehow the witch had run right through some of the most dangerous parts of the jungle; in one place weaving through a patch of grass traps and in another jumping a razor snare they almost got caught in. It was an incredible achievement and in the end he put it down to witchcraft. But her tracks were easy enough to follow and all signs indicated that they were gaining on her.

  About a mile into their pursuit they came to a place where she had stopped; presumably to catch her breath. He grinned as he stared into the darkening jungle, knowing she was beginning to tire. But his grin disappeared when a familiar glow appeared in the east, marking the arrival of the mist. In just a few seconds the witch’s tracks would be covered and they would be forced to terminate their pursuit until dawn. He spat into the mist as it broke around him and cursed, gripping the hilt of his dagger hard enough to ripple the cords of his forearm. So close. He set his feet, thinking things might have been different if he’d provoked the dogapes into another fight and killed them all.

  But the waiting didn’t last very long. Only a few minutes into their vigil the jungle exploded into life a hundred yards ahead of them – the branches of a dozen trees bowing and flapping as if they were being shaken by an invisible hand. And such was the violence some of the branches began snapping off and falling to the ground. They drew swords and braced, expecting something to charge at them from the direction of the disturbance. But nothing did. The trees continued their tantru
m and there wasn’t anything in the maddening mix of mist and shadow to suggest a cause.

  ‘Could be the witch,’ said Argol.

  It was exactly what Karkus was thinking. They were close and there was a good chance she was involved with, or even the cause of what was happening. ‘Better take a look, it’s not far.’

  They crept forward, feeling beneath the mist with their boots and swords. Halfway there the trees suddenly relaxed and the foliage sprang upwards and settled. Nearby, a patch of orange flowers twisted on their stems. They’d had front row seats for the disturbance and it was like they were scowling at them for spoiling the show. Karkus ignored them and scanned the jungle; his eyes glinting green with reflected mist light. Where the centre of the disturbance had been, the jungle canopy was thinner and only a web of bare branches screened the star speckled night. Mist glow climbed the trees in pulses, but revealed nothing of interest. It didn’t mean there wasn’t anything hiding there though. He had spent enough time in the jungle to know he couldn’t trust his eyes. Seconds ran into minutes and a pregnant silence cored his ears out.

  Finally, he waved Argol close. ‘What do you reckon?’

  ‘Whatever it was; it’s got wind of us.’

  Karkus thought hard. There was something waiting up ahead and there was a high probability it was the witch. He thought about the way she lifted Rox off his feet and launched him through the air. She had real power and he would be a fool not to respect it. He could no longer use her body as leverage and if she came at them in spirit form, they were finished… But the dangers of the deep jungle were all around and she would be a fool to leave her body to its mercy. ‘If she’s mixed up with something, this might be our best chance to snatch her.’

  They crept forward, sweeping their swords through the mist like blind men with canes. When they reached the trees they separated and began to climb. Karkus’s thick fingers found easy purchase on the deeply fissured bark and he made good progress; his back and arms rippling with the effort. At the height of mist glow he looked like a monstrous insect - another abomination in a wilderness replete with them.

  He climbed onto a wide branch and scanned the shadows. But there was no sign of the witch or any clues as to the origin of the disturbance. He climbed to another branch a little higher up and further around – one with a deep nook between two thick knots. The perfect place for a girl to hide. From there he saw a clearing where a huge leecher was sucking down an enormous swirl of mist. The black eye at its centre glared up – daring him to jump in.

  He walked back along the branch and scanned the adjacent tree for Argol, meaning to alert him to the leecher’s presence. He clapped eyes on him in a pulse of mist light and saw he wasn’t alone. There was a vine rising behind him, like a cobra making ready to strike. He brought his hands to his mouth and mimicked the call of the Quollo bird, but his warning was too late. As his two tone signal cut the silence the vine whipped Argol across his back and neck. He didn’t see what happened next because the vines on his tree suddenly came to life, the shadows around him shifting chaotically with their movement.

  He started down at once, taking no time to make sense of it. In the jungle, hesitation was the second biggest killer after curiosity and lightning reflexes were often the only difference between life and death. But he was too slow. As he jumped to the lower branch one of his boots was swiped by a vine. He fell forwards and struck the branch with his chest; folding over it like a sack of corn and emitting a ragged blast of air. For a few seconds he was totally incapacitated and all he could do was grip the branch and gasp. Black creepers were reaching for him from all directions and there was a twelve foot fall into the mist. He took another breath and slid off, landing in a crouch and springing up awkwardly, his swords appearing in a graceless flurry. The jungle clenched and buried vines bowstringed out of the mist, spraying dirt and forming a three dimensional web around him. He stomped forward, hacking at the vines as others threaded through the web and flogged his shoulders. Argol thudded into the mist a few feet away. He was set upon by a tangle of vines that pulled him to a rotten tree stump. They yanked several times in quick succession and the stump collapsed, swallowing him whole.

  Now the entire jungle was reaching for Karkus. The vines came from all angles, whipping and tripping, coiling around his limbs and trying to pin him to the ground. But he kept his head, wielding his blades with precision; severing thick creepers and forging a steady passage through the web.

  Deep below ground Della worked her surrogate arms. Karkus was getting away! He was the one who cut her finger off and the one she wanted the most. But he was hacking through her vines and she could feel her elaborate trap falling away. She stretched out as he slipped beyond reach, straining so hard the leecher lost its grip on the cavern floor. It peeled away like a leech and for a time could only quiver in the air. But she knew her chance had passed when his footsteps faded beyond perception.

  Della was furious.

  The mist was funnelling into her, fuelling her poisonous rage. She squeezed the toruck in the tree stump, trying to pulp him. But he was wedged in a narrow hollow and the vines snapped, sending her berserk. She pulled and pulled until the leecher’s body split into a hundred parts and the cavern was splattered with its foul blood. And without the leecher’s hunger to draw it, the mist above ground stopped funnelling and all that remained in the cavern drifted down, forming a thin blanket on the floor. Her infusion of poison came to an end and so did her rage. She left the leecher’s lifeless body and swept into her own, pushing herself up and staggering across the gore splattered floor. She found a root system and climbed up, squeezing out through a rotten opening when she reached ground level. She tried to stand, but feeling sick and dizzy she fell back instead, banging her head against the tree and falling unconscious into the mist.

  Old Friends and Bad Deeds

  Slumped in the fog Della dreamt…

  She was sitting on the grass in front of the hideaway. Sunlight baked her shoulders and caught in her eyelashes like golden threads. Her uncle was behind her on the stoop, fixing his boots and improvising a song about the mouse who chewed a hole in them. Nearby, perhaps taken by the tune, a tree sparrow began a cheerful accompaniment; chirping notes that were like sugar on the air.

  She looked into the woods and was surprised to see dozens of her old friends walking through the trees or engaged in various activities; all seemingly unaware of one another’s presence. Amongst them was Rayle Oakley; riding his white horse up a narrow trail. When he saw her he stopped in a bar of sunlight and raised his hat, offering her the crooked smile she had once fallen for. As she smiled back she noticed Jobby Morrit. He was crouched by a tree with his back turned. She saw the hammer and chisel in his hands and realised he was carving another one of his trademark faces. She screwed her eyes up, trying to make out whose face it was. Most of Jobby’s carvings had landed him in trouble. He liked to carve village folk, but he had an eye for imperfections and a talent for accentuating them. He leaned back to get some new perspective and she saw it was her face; captured in a fit of laughter. He was working on her eyes now, rubbing blue dye in with his fingers.

  She turned to see Aarron Hibble, kicking through fallen leaves. He had outgrown his shirt and britches and she could see at least two inches of creamy skin below his sleeves and above his boots. His extreme height had inspired his tormentors to nickname him The Monster of Maidenwell. For the two years she lived on his lane they were each other’s best and only friend – a relationship that earned her the nickname The Monster’s Crippled Frog; later shortened to The Crogg. Aarron’s stature reflected a size of heart and depth of character she hoped someone else had come to love after she moved on. He walked with his head down now; in the characteristic hunch he adopted to make himself shorter, but made him look old and sad. She shouted his name and he straightened up, offering her a shy smile and a wave.

  She looked around at her other friends, some of whom had lived lives separated by centuries, bu
t were gathered now under the same sun. Her eyes settled on Dondalie Flack. She was squatting at the foot of an ash tree, dressed in a blue frock topped off with a pink knitted hat. She was holding her hand out, offering a pile of nuts to three glassy eyed squirrels that were sitting on a branch above her. The bravest ran down and went to her in a rolling run. It drew up on its hind legs, snatched a nut from her palm and scattered the rest before darting back up the tree on little claws. Della smiled as she recalled the tea parties Dondalie set out for her cats, the big old shire horse she kept in her scullery and the knitted knapsacks she used to carry her favourite animals around. She was wearing one now and there was a ferret’s head sticking out. It was looking up at the tree, eyeing the squirrels with great interest.

  Now she saw little Annie and it was like the sun was rising in her heart. Annie was picking flowers to make perfume; her golden hair glowing like a halo. Her cheeks were flushed and her bowed legs were strong and chunky. Annie was bright and healthy - untouched by the cough that would eventually kill her. With a proud smile she raised a tiny fist, showing off a bouquet of little pink and white flowers. She lost her balance and fell onto her behind, blessing the air with a yurp of laughter. Della laughed back. She was in the deepest place of her heart, surrounded by the people who set it alight.