by Kate Forsyth
‘We have to,’ Lisandre said rather uncertainly. ‘It would take us a month to backtrack and find another pass through the mountains, you know that. We’ve come too far to turn back now.’
Pedrin nodded. It had taken them over a week to reach the pass, for the way was steep and all were tired from the exertions of their long journey. They had also had to take the time to forage for food, and to find a way to make torches that would burn for some length of time.
‘Well, let’s get it over with,’ the goatherd commanded. ‘You all heard what Sedgely said. Ghouls only eat corpses, and prefer rotting meat, so they will only try and kill us if they’re really hungry. They’re afraid of fire, so as long as we keep close together and keep our torches lit, we should be fine.’
‘Just bully,’ Mags said in a hollow voice.
Pedrin ignored her. ‘Durrik’s got his father’s bell, and we all know boo-bogeys will flee at the sound of a bell, which is why we have bell-criers at all. So he will go first, ringing the bell every step of the way. The girls can go in the middle, and Sedgely and I behind with the goats.’
He paused, half-expecting Mags to protest, but she said nothing. Pedrin knelt with his tinder and flint in his hand, chanting the prayer to Liah the Hearth-Keeper with more than usual fervour.
A spark kindled, leapt, dwindled, caught hold. Pedrin thrust the torches they had made into the heart of the fire until they began to flicker with a sullen flame.
‘They aren’t burning very well,’ Briony said nervously.
Pedrin blew on them, and the flame flared yellow for a mere instant, then sank again. ‘Lisandre, mebbe you’d better keep that night-light of yours close to hand, just in case,’ he said, his scowl growing deeper. ‘Briony, have you got a cat’s cradle woven?’
She nodded, patting her pocket.
With the flickering torches in their hands, they stood for a moment longer, then Pedrin gave Durrik a little shove with his hand. ‘Go on, cabbage-head. Ring your bell.’
Durrik took a deep breath, unswaddled his bell and swung it in his hand. A deep melodious tone rang out. He swung it with greater confidence, and slowly moved forward into the gorge. The girls followed close behind, holding their torches out like spears. Thundercloud shoved his way to the front, horns lowered, yellow eyes baleful, while Snowflake trotted close by Pedrin’s side, bleating rather piteously.
Sedgely shook his matted head. ‘You’re too old for this, you fool.’ He gripped his torch in his gnarled hand and followed the others into the shadowy gorge. Cold struck at them like a knife. There was a most unpleasant smell, which made Lisandre gag and almost drop her torch. She clamped one hand over her mouth and stumbled on, the smoke from her torch wavering wildly.
The ringing of the bell echoed all around, so that it sounded like a legion of bell-criers marched with them. Their step grew more confident, though it was hard to walk with the ground so rough and uneven, littered with rocks and dry sticks that snapped beneath their feet. Pedrin glanced down, wondering rather vaguely how there came to be so many sticks in the gorge when there were no trees. Vomit suddenly rose in his gullet. They were not sticks that broke beneath his bare feet, but bones, thousands of them, dry white bones piled high all about. He stopped abruptly, and Mags turned and hissed, ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Naught,’ Pedrin said, swallowing his gorge, and gingerly walking on. He could hardly bear the crunch of bones beneath his feet but to stop would be worse, and so on he floundered, the bare soles of his feet, as hard as the hooves of his goats, flinching at every step as if he trod on glass.
Their eyes had adjusted to the gloom, and they could see deep caves and ravines lining the steep cliffs. All were black as night and, as the six companions apprehensively passed by, a cold, fetid breath of air gusted out, making the flame of their torches flicker and almost snuff out.
It seemed to Pedrin that something moved in the corner of his eye. He turned his head abruptly, his pulse hammering, but saw nothing except a wavering shadow that could have come from their torches. Again and again his head jerked around, and he saw the others were glancing about as wildly. Lisandre gave a little panting sob.
‘I told them, I did, but no-one a-listens to Sedgely,’ the old man muttered behind them. ‘You’d think they’d have the sense to listen to the counsel of their elders, but nah, headstrong as always, that’s the youth of today.’
‘Shut up!’ Mags hissed. ‘Just shut up.’
‘May as well. You wouldn’t listen to me anyway.’
‘Shut up, shut up, shut up!’
Sedgely shut up.
The gorge narrowed until the sky overhead was a mere thin line of blue. It felt as if the walls were closing in on them. Lisandre had her arm up over her mouth, trying not to gag as the smell of rotting meat grew more pervasive. The children clustered as close together as they could get, Durrik ringing the heavy bell gamely, though his arm was beginning to ache. Suddenly he tripped and fell. The bell flew from his hand and clanged to the ground, rolling away, jangling dolefully. Durrik looked up, straight into the gaping eyes and toothy grin of an enormous skull. He screamed and flinched away, only to scream louder as he saw hundreds of pale, skinny shapes swarming out from the caves.
‘Ghouls!’ he screamed. Desperately he scrabbled for his bell, clambering over piles of bones to reach it. Lisandre screamed too, and waved her torch wildly as the ghouls flowed down towards them. They were tall, emaciated creatures, all bone and withered skin, with huge black staring eyes and mouths filled with row upon row of needle-sharp teeth. They moved with unnatural speed and agility, swinging along on all fours like an animal one moment, standing up on their hind feet and gesturing with their bony hands the next.
‘Don’t let them touch you!’ Sedgely cried. ‘They freeze your blood with their touch. Keep them off with the torches. They hate fire!’
‘Durrik, get that bell!’ Pedrin shouted.
Durrik reached the bell, seized it with both hands and rang it with all his might. The ghouls shrieked, their hands to their ears, many fleeing back into the caves. Those nearby cowered down, howling. Pedrin waved his smouldering torch so it burst into flame once more. ‘Come on!’ he cried.
They scurried forward, having to climb over piles of broken skeletons. There were skulls of all sizes and shapes, some huge and horned, others small and delicate, like a baby’s. The goats bounded forward with their usual nimbleness, but Pedrin found he had to use his spare hand to keep his balance on the constantly shifting mass of bones and skulls. He heaved himself to the top of the pile, putting down his hand to help Lisandre, who had fallen behind. She stretched to grasp it, but stumbled and fell with a shriek, sliding down in a great avalanche of bones. Her torch spun out of her hand and was extinguished. Lisandre landed in a heap at the bottom, screaming as a ghoul rose up right in front of her, grinning evilly, its white, skeletal fingers reaching out for her.
Pedrin dropped his torch, grabbed his slingshot and seized a tiny round skull from the ground. Quick as thought, he spun the slingshot over his head and flung the skull straight at the ghoul. It slammed into its forehead and knocked it down, and Lisandre was able to scramble back up the incline, sobbing with fear.
Their torches were scorched right down to their handles, the flames mere flickers of colour within the ashes. ‘How much further?’ Pedrin panted.
Sedgely shrugged. ‘How would I know? I’ve never been foolish enough to travel this way before. It could be miles.’
‘Miles?’ Mags groaned. ‘Me torch is almost out!’
‘My arm is aching,’ Durrik panted. ‘Not sure I can—’
‘Give it to me,’ Pedrin demanded. He snatched the bell and rang with renewed vigour, so that the ghouls drew back again, shrieking. ‘We’d . . . better . . . run!’ Pedrin panted. The others needed no persuading. They all ran down the gorge as fast as they could, smoke trailing from their dead torches. Mags glanced at hers, then flung it at a ghoul that was braving the bell to try and reach her wit
h its bitter-cold fingers. It ducked and she was able to run on. Sedgely and Briony also cast their burnt-out torches away, scrambling over the bones and stones as fast as they could.
Then Pedrin tripped and fell, hitting the ground so hard he could not breathe for a moment, red stars bursting in his vision. Although he clung to the bell still, he did not have the strength to lift it. Immediately the ghouls swept down upon them again. A strange sort of wailing filled the air. Mags screamed and cowered down, and Briony desperately threw a cat’s cradle net at the ghouls closest to them. About six fell down in a tangle but there were hundreds more, and Briony had no time to weave another net.
Lisandre seized her night-light in both hands and thrust it towards a ghoul, silver light blossoming within the diamond’s heart. It lanced into the ghoul’s eyes like a sword and it howled and cowered back. She spun on her foot, the ray of light sweeping the shadowy gully. All the ghouls recoiled, hiding their sensitive eyes with their long, bony hands. Pedrin managed to sit up, tolling the bell once again. Pressed shoulder to shoulder, the clanging bell on one side and the blazing sphere of light on the other, the six managed to run down the last length of the gully and out into sunshine at the other end.
They did not stop running till the slope of the hill led them all the way down to the lake’s edge and they could run no further. They bent over, hands on their knees, trying desperately to get breath into their starving lungs. At last they were able to straighten, and look about them, though their breath was still harsh in their throats.
The Evenlinn was a great lake which stretched along the floor of a valley, surrounded on all four sides by tall peaks, some so high they were dusted with snow. The lake was surrounded by forest, many of the great trees beginning to flame with autumn colour. In the centre of the lake was an island which rose into a steep pinnacle. In the red light of the sunset, they could see a tower poking out of the trees that clustered close about the base of the pinnacle.
As the sun sank behind the mountains, the light quickly faded. Above the far horizon they saw the round curve of the moon, just a few days past its prime. Even though all were exhausted, it was decided, with no argument at all, that they should cross the lake at once and spend the night within the shelter of the island’s trees. No-one wanted to spend the night with the gaping maw of the Gorge of Ghouls behind them. In the morning, when they were well-rested and recovered from their ordeal, they could seek the counsel of the mysterious Erlrune.
‘What we need is a raft,’ Pedrin said. ‘Though we have naught to lash the logs together. If only I’d thought to bring me hammer and some nails!’
‘Well, we’ve got plenty of nails,’ Durrik said with his familiar, puckish grin. ‘Not that they’re much use t’us.’
Pedrin looked at him suspiciously. ‘What do you mean?’
Durrik waggled his fingers and toes. ‘Twenty nails each, we’ve got, but not much good for nailing wood together.’
It took Pedrin a while to work out the pun, he was so focused on solving the problem at hand. When he did, however, he flushed with mortification. ‘Would you stop your tomfoolery!’ he snapped. ‘If you haven’t got aught constructive to add, don’t open your mouth!’
Durrik grinned and exchanged a quick twinkle with Mags, who had also picked up Pedrin’s unintentional pun. The goatherd was oblivious, however, wondering aloud whether it was possible for Briony to spin them some rope to tie some logs together into a raft.
‘I have very little thread left,’ Briony said unhappily. Pedrin knew she was reluctant to kill any more of her precious silkworms but thought their immediate need was urgent enough to warrant the sacrifice. He was just opening his mouth to say so when Sedgely said, rather diffidently, ‘No need for a raft, young feller. I can swim the lake.’
Incredulously Pedrin looked at the wide expanse of water, all lilac and silver now with the coming of evening, then back at the old, stooped man. ‘Well, mebbe you can, but I don’t know that the girls could.’
‘If you can swim it, I can too,’ Mags fired up.
Pedrin looked back at the glimmering stretch of water and slowly his ears turned red. ‘I don’t think I could swim that far either,’ he admitted.
‘No need for you young ones to swim that far,’ Sedgely said. ‘You can all ride on me back.’
This time all the children turned to stare at him, eyebrows raised. All except Briony.
‘Didn’t you a-realise Sedgely’s a river-roan?’ she asked in true surprise.
‘Sedgely? A river-roan?’ a chorus of voices cried.
‘But river-roans are like horses,’ Pedrin said stupidly.
‘Sometimes,’ Sedgely said. ‘Other times not.’
Lisandre looked at him suspiciously. ‘Do river-roans not seek to trick one into mounting upon their back so they can gallop into the water and drown one?’
‘Sometimes,’ Sedgely replied placidly. ‘Other times not.’
She frowned and thrust out her jaw, scraping the sand with one foot.
‘If you wish to be a-crossing the lake, you must be a-trusting me,’ the old man said gently. ‘’Tis your choice, of course. Mebbe you could make a raft in the morning, and get across all right and tight. If the lake-lorelei do not drown you, or the ghouls freeze your blood in the night.’
‘’Tis a-getting late,’ Mags said belligerently. ‘I say we trust him.’
‘Of course we must trust him,’ Briony cried. ‘Hasn’t he brought us this far? If he wanted to drown us, he could’ve tried the first night we camped by his pool.’
‘Why would I want to drown you?’ Sedgely said, taking off his coat of willow twigs and dropping it on the ground. ‘I like young things about me. Oh, I know you’re rash and hasty and a-lacking in respect, but an old horse like me needs a bit of livening up. And there’s no doubt you’re all as innocent as the day you were born, and a-needing someone with a steady head about you.’
‘Of course we do,’ Briony said, giving his scrawny arm a little pat. ‘So, please, can we ride on your back?’
‘Surely we couldn’t all fit?’ Durrik said. ‘There’s five of us.’
‘Five skinny little things like you? Of course you’ll fit,’ Sedgely said. ‘Me back is broad.’
‘What about Thundercloud and Snowflake?’ Pedrin said unhappily. ‘Goats hate water, and aren’t very good swimmers. They’d stand with all four hooves on a pebble rather than step in a puddle. There’s no way they could swim that far, even if I could coax them into the water.’
‘We will have to leave them,’ Lisandre said.
‘I can’t leave them! They’d be eaten by a hobhenky or summat. ’Tis much too dangerous.’
‘We have to,’ Lisandre said. ‘What other choice do we have?’
Pedrin looked obstinate. ‘We have to build a raft or summat. I can’t be a-leaving them here. Snowflake will pine for me.’
‘They’ll be fine,’ Briony said reassuringly. ‘Thundercloud will look after Snowflake—and it’ll only be for a day or so.’
‘But you don’t understand,’ Pedrin said desperately. ‘I can’t be a-leaving them. Snowflake needs to be milked, it hurts her if she’s not milked. And they’ve never been away from me before, except for the month I had to work in the glass factory, and then Snowflake almost lost her milk, a-fretting for me. I can’t be a-leaving her.’
Pedrin knew everyone could hear the catch of tears in his voice but he did not care. He had to make them understand. He had raised Snowflake from a newborn kid with long, trembling legs who had bounded everywhere behind him, and had slept in his arms at night. She had been born in the weeks after his father’s death. The birth had been long and difficult, the doe greatly distressed by Mortemer’s absence, and Pedrin not knowing what to do to help her, being only eight.
When Snowflake was finally born, she was not breathing and the doe, panting heavily and covered in blood, had died soon after. Pedrin, bewildered by so much death, had keened over the dead kid, rocking her back and forth, rubbin
g her reddened body with frantic hands, soaking her coat with his tears, until at last she struggled weakly and bleated. It had been a miracle. Pedrin had suckled her with warmed goat’s milk strengthened with herbs, waking six or seven times every night to feed her, and had kept her warm with his own blanket, and carried her when she was too weary to walk. He could not be leaving her alone in the Perilous Forest, with grogoyles roosting and gibgoblins stalking.
‘We don’t have the time to be a-building a raft for a couple of goats!’ Mags said. ‘Look how dark ’tis already.’
The sun had slid down behind the mountains and stars were beginning to twinkle in the great expanse of purplish-dark sky. The wind rattled the pine trees, smelling of snow. Briony gave a little shiver and dragged the blanket close about her shoulders. An eerie singing sound rose through the dusk, so sweet and ethereal that all turned to listen, staring through the gloaming.
‘That’s the lake-lorelei you can hear,’ Sedgely said, straightening abruptly. ‘I’d be a-stuffing your ears if I were you—and fast!’
‘’Tis so beautiful,’ Durrik said softly. ‘It reminds me . . .’ He fell silent, though a look of longing was on his face. He took a few eager steps forward, staring out at the moon-glimmered lake, his face transfigured by a yearning sadness.
‘I’d be a-stuffing your ears,’ Sedgely urged, taking hold of Mags’s arm to prevent her following. ‘Candle wax is best.’
‘It sounds so far away,’ Mags said dreamily. ‘Yet somehow . . .’ She took another step towards the water, dragging against Sedgely’s hand.
Pedrin was gazing out at the lake, his face screwed up in concentration. ‘Surely it can’t be . . .’ he whispered. Suddenly his face was transformed by joy.
‘Pa!’ he cried.
He ran forward eagerly. Snowflake bounded in front of him, bleating urgently, but he pushed her away, not even seeing her. Again she leapt in front of him, butting him with her hard little head so that he stumbled and fell to his hands and knees.
