Feynard

by Marc Secchia

  “Faster!” Zephyr screamed. “Into the water!”

  Fangs rent the air near his hamstrings. Kevin could not believe that they did not tear him down, for the foremost wolves were now leaping stride for stride with the straining Unicorn, and must any second now spring at his throat and flanks and–disaster! For the Dryad, stretched to her utmost speed, tripped up on a hidden snag and fell with a cry, yet had sense enough to tuck in her head and roll over and over in a bid to preserve her momentum. The Unicorn skidded to a halt beside her and then lashed out with his hind legs, sending Black Wolves spinning away like so many lifeless rags. A swoop of his horn drove them back. Alliathiune had already scrambled to her feet–but was unable to put any pressure on her twisted ankle. Pain masked her face. She looked this way and that, but rescue had never been further away.

  Kevin’s heart sank. Was she about to be torn to pieces? But Zephyr, showing astonishing poise and imagination, snatched a mouthful of the Dryad’s garment between his powerful teeth and swung her up into the air, flicking his head dextrously so that she tumbled against his upper shoulder and became snared in the hawk’s harness, which she instinctively clutched with both small hands and thus employed to haul herself astride his back. Alliathiune clung there with a white-knuckled grip as the Unicorn reared, striking out with his forefeet and loosing a spray of some brief, incandescent fire.

  Kevin, gazing back all the while at this daring rescue attempt, was taken completely unawares as the X’gäthi pounded full-bore into Mistral Bog. Freezing, rank black muck sloughed over him, splattering him from head to foot. They sank at once to their knees in the thick ooze. Here the warriors had made a mistake, for the wolves simply leaped in and began wading towards them, rather than turning tail at the treacherous footing as had been expected. Too close to the bank to avoid the full press of bodies, the two X’gäthi holding Kevin simply dropped him and, whipping out their blades, stood guard over his quivering form.

  Black Wolves surrounded Zephyr. His coat was streaked with crimson. The Unicorn reared and kicked out again and again, his sharp hooves striking with devastating efficiency. Now too the Dryad gestured, bringing her own magic into play. For a moment she drove the wolves back, but all too quickly the lightning at her fingertips dried up and she slumped in her perch, spent, hanging on only by a supreme act of will. The wolves pressed in, leaping for Zephyr’s throat. His horn dipped, speared, flared, but there were simply too many. He was a white speck adrift in a seething press of bodies. Three X’gäthi cleaved their way through the black creatures in a concerted effort to reach the Unicorn, but even their endeavours were relentlessly reversed by the snarling mob. Too late! Kevin’s eyes closed to the horror.

  All through this latter period of the chase, Kevin had been dimly aware that there was something growing warm in his pocket. Now he hissed as it burned his skin. He instinctively reached down, if only to spare his flesh. How useless he had been, he was thinking. What an unnecessary way to die. How his friends and the matchless X’gäthi had fought! He wrenched at his damp trousers pocket. And what had he given in return? A slew of useless suggestions not even borne out in the doing. Just then, the wet cloth gave suddenly under his hand, which slithered at once right to the bottom of his pocket, and by some fluke passed right through the wide key-ring. It came to rest about his emaciated wrist.

  A soundless clap of thunder lifted Kevin off his feet and hurled him flat upon his back. Icy blackness closed over his face. Kevin saw stars and swallowed much swamp water, before he felt a resolute hand drag him up by the scruff of his shirt. He was blinded and stunned. What was going on? Strong hands tossed him upon a slight but rock-solid shoulder, but he coughed and vomited so violently that he could care about nothing else in the world but how wretched he felt. He feared his intestines were about to surge out of his mouth, so intense was the heaving.

  Some unbearable time later, when he discovered that his entrails had not been turned inside out after all, he began to feel somewhat better. Seeing as he was still alive–to his eternal surprise–he opened his eyes to see what had happened. A pair of slime-encrusted calves greeted him, plunging rhythmically into charcoal-black water at each laborious step. Kevin put his hands on the X’gäthi’s buttocks to prop himself up for a better view.

  There was an X’gäthi just behind him. “Lord High Wizard!” he exclaimed at once, bowing so low his sharp nose picked up a smattering of mud.

  Kevin froze. “Uh–who, me?”

  “High Wizard!” He grinned, displaying a jaw packed with pointed black teeth. Kevin had not noticed that before.

  “Wizard?”

  “High Wizard kill many Black Wolves!”

  “I’m afraid, old chap, that I really don’t understand a word.”

  “Ah, the good outlander returns!”

  Kevin lifted his eyes to see Zephyr, in as sorry a state as ever he had been, plodding along an arm’s length to his right. Alliathiune was still perched atop his back, fast asleep by all appearances. What the …? Oh … oh, holy maggot infestations! Now he remembered the chase, Zephyr’s courageous stand, and being blasted backward into the mud.

  They must be someplace within Mistral Bog. There was nothing but malodorous sludge all around him. His face felt damp. How would the X’gäthi navigate their way through this mess?

  “No magic, my grandsire’s cloven hooves!” snorted the Unicorn, drawing his attention again. “Good Kevin, were it not for the fact that you single-handedly blew away several hundred Black Wolves in a wave of blue flame–without so much as singeing my coat or mussing Alliathiune’s hair–I would brand you the very worst sort of fabulist and charlatan!”

  “I-I d-did?”

  “A mightier act of wizardry I have never–”

  “Hold on,” Kevin protested weakly, feeling slightly seasick as he bounced up and down on the X’gäthi’s back. “I don’t do magic, honestly. I don’t even know what happened back there–all I remember is putting my hand in my pocket, then something like a giant hand swatted me backwards and I swallowed half of Mistral Bog–”

  “Forsooth. Your wizardry bespeaks mastery of the highest order.”

  “Mighty High Wizard!” agreed his X’gäthi bearer.

  Kevin groaned. “For goodness sake, Zephyr, I’m no wizard.”

  “Your dissembling is contemptible!” Zephyr’s lip curled. “Fie, what manner of craven heart skulks beneath that frail ribcage I cannot conceive, but the evidence of my senses is clear and incontrovertible.”

  “That’s so unfair.”

  “We shall speak anon,” the Unicorn said, with such menace in his tone that Kevin’s jaw sagged open.

  “Mighty High Wizard,” whispered an X’gäthi.

  “You stay out of it,” he muttered crossly, closing his eyes in despair. Heavens, what trouble had he created for himself this time?

  * * * *

  Toward evening, which in Mistral Bog was signified by the gloom gradually closing in until it became too dark to see one’s hand before one’s face, the Unicorn called a halt to their endless trek through the swamp in a place where a small, reed-tufted knoll rose above the freezing waters like a pustule upon mottled skin. But it was more than welcome. Even the X’gäthi warriors sighed in relief.

  No path had they found that did not lead deeper into the treacherous bogs.

  They had tried three times to turn back, only to find the Black Wolves patrolling the edge of Mistral Bog.

  Shortly, the X’gäthi had conjured a tiny, sheltered fire from equipment in their packs, and the travellers huddled round to partake of its meagre heat. Counting faces, Kevin was reassured to learn that no more warriors had been lost. Thanks to his alleged wizardry, he thought resentfully, touching the lump in his pocket. When would he learn to look before sticking his hand into strange places? What on earth had possessed him? Kevin Albert Jenkins had no magic, and only a sketchy understanding gleaned from that baffling tome. Lord flipping high poxy wizard indeed! In another time and place it might even
have been risible.

  Nothing terrified him more than the thought that they might rely on him to do it again.

  He rubbed his stomach. Having been carried all day slung over an X’gäthi shoulder like a sack of potatoes, he was feeling rather tender. Perhaps tomorrow he might try a few hundred yards under his own steam–anything to avoid further bouncing up and down whilst having mud kicked into his face! A fit of coughing doubled him up. Drat. Now it began. Having swallowed all that swamp water earlier, he was bound to get ill and perish. That would show them!

  Zephyr wafted a flask of Aïssändraught over to him, using his magic. “Drink a sip only,” he cautioned. “It’ll help clear your lungs of what you haven’t yet expelled. I’m sure these swamp waters would be unkind to your constitution. Then give Alliathiune a drop.”

  “I–er, well, she’s sleeping.”

  “Wake her up.” Zephyr’s eyes were unreadable in the dim firelight, but his tone was imperative. Plucking the flask from mid-air, Kevin shifted over to where the Dryad slumbered against the Unicorn’s flank. “Gently, mind.”

  “I didn’t know horses slept on the ground,” he said, unstopping the flask.

  “You will determine, good outlander, that there is a world of difference between a mere horse, and a Unicorn. Shall I regale you with a few words on the subject?”

  ‘Few’ was not in the Unicorn’s vocabulary when it came to speech-making, Kevin had discovered. “Blimey,” he said. “Sorry. Wake up, Alliathiune.”

  “Nudge her.”

  “With my hand?”

  “No, with a ten-foot pole.” But his sarcasm only sounded harsh. Zephyr subsided with a small harrumph, and added, “By the Well Driadorn holds sacred, it has been a tough lighttime for all of us. Minister to our companion, o mighty wizard.”

  As nothing stood to be gained by further argument about the matter of his ‘wizardry’, Kevin hesitantly touched Alliathiune’s shoulder. She made a soft noise–not half as daunting when she was asleep, he thought. From this close he observed now that the leafy patterns continued, albeit faintly, beneath the skin of her cheeks and neck and must run also to … goodness! His gaze jumped guiltily. Zephyr’s teeth had rent a sizeable hole in her garment when he had plucked her from amongst the terrible wolves, exposing the soft skin of her right flank. He quickly shrugged off his own cloak and spread it over her shoulders, which action caused her eyes to flutter open in surprise.

  “Oh, it’s you, good outlander.”

  “Aïssändraught,” said he, offering the flask. “Zephyr’s orders.”

  Her tiny hand snaked out from beneath the enveloping cloak and relieved him of the flask. She sipped cautiously, and then snuggled down with a contented sigh. “It’s sweet of you to offer me your cloak.”

  “Uh … your clothing … uh, fiddlesticks,” said the new wizard, with great erudition.

  “Our downfall was assured, but for your brave actions. I misjudged you.”

  Kevin bit his tongue and stared off into the distance. “Why does everyone think I’m brave? And good? I was so terrified I–well.” Soiled his trousers, which thankfully had not mattered since his soaking in Mistral Bog’s rank waters. “I’m afraid, my dear girl, that I have made a terrible mistake in this whole venture. What if Elliadora’s Well is not the right place? I was afraid I had somehow unwittingly brought those Black Wolves upon us.”

  “Oh, those poor wolves!” Alliathiune sniffled, wiping her nose.

  He nearly had to pick his jaw up from the marshy ground. “What? Poor wolves? Poor, sweet little wolfie nearly tore our collective heads off back there! And killed how many X’gäthi? What’s the matter with you?”

  “Dryads hate killing.”

  “But you killed them, too–I was watching. Before I drank half of Mistral Bog.”

  “I don’t appreciate your judgmental tone, good outlander,” she returned, an edge creeping into her voice. “These primitive backwoods creatures you think we are, are more than capable of holding a nuanced worldview. I see greater imperatives in the world than the law of tooth and claw; that I must do what needs to be done to save our Forest, even though it grieves my soul and the essence of who I am. How does allowing the Black Wolves to sup on our entrails serve the myriad creatures of Driadorn, and the Forest itself? You killed hundreds. How does that sit in your conscience?”

  “I feel sick. I suppose I was tired of feeling useless and terrified you, and Zephyr, and the others would die. However, I do take your point.” Kevin stared moodily into the darkness. “I’m exhausted. How will I ever see this journey through to its end?”

  “Are you not a wizard?”

  “For the ruddy sixteenth time, you are as persistent as these insufferable mosquitoes!” Kevin slapped his neck.

  “Grimflies,” Alliathiune corrected. “You resisted Mylliandawn.”

  “Unknowingly.”

  “And the Black Wolves–”

  “An accident, I assure you. Heavens above! I know it sounds improbable, Alliathiune!”

  She reached out and prodded his ribs.

  Kevin jumped, spluttering, “Don’t. You have to believe me. Earth–my world–doesn’t have any magic. None that I know of, anyway.”

  “I believe you,” laughed the Dryad, clearly lying through her strong white teeth. “Tell me of Earth, good Kevin. What’s it like? What manner of people lived in your realm? What did you eat? Tell me everything.”

  Kevin began haltingly, but soon found his stride as he discovered in Alliathiune an eager and patient audience–and her attention was subtly flattering. Before long he had progressed from a description of Scotland to the ways and rhythms of life at Pitterdown Manor, and thence to a more personal digression on his impressions of Feynard. For he accepted it now, as far as the boundaries of his convictions would extend, that nothing in his experience so far could convince him that he was yet somewhere on Earth, or dreaming.

  But he was not about to open that sack any time soon.

  “I miss that life in some ways,” he said, at length. “Who knows where this journey will take us, Alliathiune, or what dangers we may yet face? At Pitterdown Manor there were no expectations of me, save that I should remain alive by taking my medications, and therefore not embarrass the family by an untimely demise. I had my books and the Library, and I always knew what the daily routine held for me. Life was comfortable and predictable. I could have lived another thirty years like that if the medicine allowed. I was perfectly content. Was I?” Kevin paused to consider this fresh perspective. How tiny his world had been! “I’m not sure, Alliathiune. I’m not sure of anything anymore. I just don’t want to shatter your hopes and fail you and your Forest, as I surely will. You picked the wrong person in your dreams, you know. You couldn’t have picked worse.”

  Her only reply was a tiny snore. Kevin smiled in bittersweet melancholy. “Bored you to sleep, have I? A most taxing day, I’ll grant. You don’t want to listen to my tedious ramblings anyway, nor hear about the life I’ve led.” He regarded her with boldness unthinkable save for her slumber. “An enchanting Dryad of the Forest of Driadorn. I thought Dryads were supposed to be shy and reticent woodland creatures. Ha! Why slap me? And curse me? And summon me? Sheer desperation, methinks. What would you say, Alliathiune, to years of maltreatment at the hands of an alcoholic father? Or a brother who beat me with a cricket bat to an inch of my life? What if I showed you the scars from when he kicked me into the fireplace? Or the cigarette burns on my thigh? I know you’ve marked my ruined ear–I’ve seen you staring at it. That’s the story of my life. A more pathetic and futile existence I cannot imagine. You have no idea the number of times I wished to die, yet was unable to summon the courage to take my own life. And now there is a cause. A Forest to save; a battle to win. I’m terrified, Alliathiune. I’m no wizard. I’m hardly Human, a nobody, and a coward through and through.”

  Boldly, he reached out to tuck the cloak up to her rather definite chin. “Heaven help me, even if I knew what happened today, could
I ever find the nerve to do it again? This is one journey we’ll live to regret. I only pray I won’t drag you all down with me.” His limbs were numb from the kneeling. Kevin pushed himself upright with a groan. “Sleep well, little one, and let us hope that tomorrow dawns a brighter day.”

  A flick of white ears made his glance fall on Zephyr. But the Unicorn appeared to be asleep.

  He should do the same.

  Chapter 8: Unexpected Aid

  The following dawn did not so much break as ooze down from leaden skies. A steady drizzle had soaked them during the night, and though the X’gäthi took no notice, Kevin felt he would never be warm again.

  Breakfast was a sombre affair, cheered only by a hot X’gäthi brew called skue, a fruit tea. Zephyr, apparently recovered from the travails of the previous lighttime, ministered to their various wounds and bruises with his healing magic and other medications. He removed Kevin’s splint, examined the leg with his horn-magic, and declared himself satisfied and Zinfandir an incomparable genius.

  Kevin told Zephyr he was worse than a strutting peacock. The Unicorn immediately puffed out his chest at this ‘great compliment.’ Hopeless!

  Alliathiune, enveloped in Kevin’s cloak, meantime made necessary repairs to her apparel with a fine bone needle and thread. He had not marked her as the sewing sort, and spent some minutes studying her frown of concentration and the deft movements of her small fingers. He never knew what to expect from her. At the very least she could remove some of the leaves and bits of twigs from her hair. She was so untidy and lacking the basics of personal hygiene!