Davidia and the Prince of Triplock

by Ken Spargo

‘I hope I don’t get lost or caught.’

  Batbit flew upwards. His sonar was on full alert. He had to fly low because of poor visibility. His sonar kept bouncing off weird and wonderful objects, some stationary and some moving. He went crazy with confusion. He wondered what this place was. Trees wiggled. Water froze then unfroze, as if teasing a pair of dipping toes. The land changed colour, but only in shades of grey. Life forms wandered about on strained nerve ends. His ears picked up the noise of agitated voices. He was fearful of any encounter. Where were Grunt and Davidia? Had they been swallowed? The misty conditions misdirected and interfered with his sonar. He flew in circles for a while and took refuge in the fork of a struggling tree.

  ‘Be careful. Your sharp, spiky feet, hurt,’ said a wiggling tree branch.

  Batbit almost fell out of the fork with shock.

  ‘I religiously have my nails manicured by Mrs Batbit. They aren’t that sharp, are they?’

  ‘Just don’t press too hard.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘A Wiggler. My branches move continuously. It’s a technique developed to keep my sap moving, otherwise I would freeze still.’

  ‘Where am I? What is this place?’

  ‘If I tell you, nothing must know from where the leaking source came. I don’t want to be limbless.’

  Batbit nodded. If he wasn’t unbalanced just yet, he was well on the way.

  ‘I promise and cross all my toes.’

  ‘A dangerous, evil force lives here in the Valley of Irridon. It grows like a poisonous fungus. It lurks everywhere. I could be part of it too.’

  ‘How will I know what’s dangerous?’

  ‘You won’t.’

  ‘Why are you telling me?’

  ‘I want to grow. Being stunted and not reaching my full blooming potential is tedious. I’m tired of being small. I want to be tall. One day the sun will be allowed to visit. Beware of the Irrids.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘You’ll know. This chat is sapping my energy.’

  The wiggling tree branch went silent. Batbit sat alone. Was the mist staring at him? Brrr, he shook. His highly tuned ears heard the sound of voices. He thought that it must be Davidia and Grunt. He flew in the direction of the sound. To his surprise, it was a group of local inhabitants honing their fighting skills.

  ‘Lop off an arm,’ yelled one participant.

  ‘You can do better than that. Take out a leg,’ yelled another.

  ‘This is how it’s done,’ commanded a large life form.

  Batbit watched the war game practice with keen interest. Strange looking weapons, which appeared to be alive, were swished, thrust, jabbed, stabbed and whirled with relish. The wielders of death and disfiguration were life forms Batbit had never seen before. They were as tall as Grunt, wore half masks, covering either one side of their head or horizontally across the head. Coloured eyes sparkled with each game thrust. The torso was stooped slightly as if self-esteem had been drained from them. The command life form stood perpendicular. It was an imposing figure. The other life forms cowered in its presence. Their outer covering was wrinkled like a corrugated road. One foot was huge with three toes, whilst the other was small with six toes. They lacked the fluidity of streamlined movement. They ran occasionally, suddenly stopped as if stunned, then walked sideways for a few steps, turned around and darted behind any solid or living structure. Their weapons were gripped tightly in razor-sharp claws, which could disembowel an adversary with one well-placed strike. Gruesome games were afoot. Their only weakness occurred when meeting a new challenging life form. That moment of indecision was time enough for an opponent to strike first or take an advantage. Emotion would be their undoing, not losing a contested battle. They were an unloved, fighting machine, which did the bidding of the leader, whoever it was.

  ‘Are you hiding?’ asked a small weed that Batbit stood next to. It was the same height as Batbit.

  ‘I’m resting,’ he replied.

  ‘I think you are hiding. I would.’

  ‘From what?’ Batbit had to learn about those shadow-dancing life forms.

  ‘Those dancers that you have seen.’

  ‘Are they a dance troupe preparing for a show?’

  ‘Life form capturers actually. There are many more than before.’

  ‘What are they? They are strange life forms.’

  ‘No stranger than whatever you are,’ said the weed.

  ‘How do you know all of this?’

  ‘I see it every day. The moisture sits on my blades and I weary of carrying it. It falls off when I am stood on by those dancers. I have often been trimmed by a slashing blade. They strike at everything. It takes ages to regrow.’

  ‘If they capture me, what would be my fate?’

  ‘Amusement by torture, then destroyed. It’s said that the Irrids have no feelings.’

  ‘Do any other life forms live here besides the Irrids?’

  ‘Possibly, but they don’t last long. You won’t last long here, either. They can smell your body odours.’

  ‘Even without passing wind?’

  The ground rumbled with foot traffic movement. The weed went limp. Batbit flew once again into a tree, just in time to see a snarling group of blade-wielding slashers rush to the exact spot where he had been hiding. Their flared nostrils were sniffing the ground vigorously.

  ‘There’s an intruder. Let’s gut him.’ An insidious laughter echoed throughout the stunted trees as they hunted in earnest for Batbit.

  Time stood still. Batbit waited fearfully, hoping he wouldn’t be discovered. The Irrids scampered off in another direction. It wasn’t safe to be alone. Batbit experienced the feelings of being lost. Where were Grunt and Davidia? He thought that he hadn’t travelled too far away to lose all contact. All the flying had made him thirsty. He saw a trickle of water lead to a pond. He flew down and landed at the water’s edge.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked a water droplet.

  Batbit scanned his surroundings to check that no attacks of anything were nearby.

  ‘I’m going to have a drink,’ replied Batbit. ‘Flying is thirsty work.’

  ‘Go somewhere else. It’s not safe here.’

  ‘Whose speaking to me? I can’t see you.’

  ‘Look into the water.’

  There was a pool of water droplets bubbling to the surface. They each took it in turn upon bursting on the surface to warn Batbit. His reflection gave cause to some amusement.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I drink here?’

  ‘The water is impure. It has been poisoned. We have been trying to clean ourselves, but so far it has been hopeless.’

  ‘Why don’t you trickle elsewhere or be absorbed by the soil?’

  ‘We are landlocked and the soil is impervious. Recycling is our only relief.’

  ‘Do the Irrids drink here?’

  At the mere mention of the name, the water began to freeze over. In moments, an ice slick confronted Batbit. He thought that this was bordering on ridiculous. A dank, damp landscape that freezes had him tossed. Where to now? he thought. He couldn’t ice-skate or take a drink.

  ‘There it is,’ yelled a blood-thirsty, screaming group of Irrids who had sniffed out Batbit. Savage, menacing thrusts were aimed at him. He screeched in fright as he took flight. The Irrids stopped dead in their tracks upon hearing the scream. They looked at each other confused.

  ‘What did that?’ asked the leader.

  Silence meant that no one knew.

  ‘There may be another evil in the valley. It is only big enough for one, us. Nothing will stand in our way, understood?’

  The snorting, snivelling group all nodded assent.

  ‘Batbit has been gone a while,’ said Grunt, worried that his friend may have encountered trouble.

  ‘It must be difficult to see in this mist. Perhaps he flew into something,’ said Davidia, toying with her long tresses.

  ‘There’s something familiar about this valley,’ said Grunt, wondering what it was. />
  The ground sent feeble tremors through the soles of his feet. They tingled. It was a living thing providing knowledge of where he was, but he couldn’t make any sense of it. There was a language connection with an ancient tongue that he couldn’t translate.

  ‘Davidia, I may have been here before, a long time ago. My body is acting strangely. My sense of smell has improved and I agree that Batbit should spend less time in your armpit.’ A smile fanned out over his face. ‘There is a sense of belonging here, strange as it may seem.’

  ‘Maybe you played here as a small Igloid? My mum never let me play in our neighbour’s house, which was believed to be haunted. Maybe you have a haunted place here?’

  Grunt thought for a moment. He dismissed the notion. It was too fanciful to believe that he had been in such a dreadful place when young. He thought that if he had, he certainly would have remembered it. The curse of goodness that he had to uphold dismissed his memories to a forgotten pile of thoughts. Now a few of the rascals could be making a come-back. The unknown might provide a scare from his past.

  ‘Now what do we do?’ asked Davidia, feeling quite sad that Batbit may have encountered trouble.

  ‘I have a feeling,’ replied Grunt, who was thinking so heavily his brains almost fell out of his body. ‘We need to move quickly.’

  ‘We can’t see anything much and this mist is so cool, my bones are stiffening.’

  ‘We don’t need sight in the ordinary sense, but we do need to see. Follow me.’

  They didn’t know where Batbit was, so they headed off into the direction where they had last seen him fly.

  ‘He could be injured. Miss Percival would save him.’

  ‘He’s safe for the moment, but we might not be. There’s strange shadowy movements occurring in my mind and I think they come from here. Can you hear any running water?’

  ‘Water doesn’t run anywhere, it flows,’ said Davidia, commenting on a well-known and accepted saying.

  ‘Listen.’

  They stopped still. Only the sounds of the forest could be heard.

  ‘You can’t stop here,’ said a miniature tree fern.

  ‘Who said that?’ asked Grunt.

  ‘I did. Down here, in the ground.’

  There, at their feet was a group of miniature tree ferns with drooping fronds. Moisture had fastened itself to the small fronds weighing them down.

  ‘Have you seen a small bat fly past here?’ asked Grunt.

  ‘What’s a bat?’

  ‘A small flying animal or life form.’

  ‘A life form, or we think it was, flew past here. In the mist it could be anything. Shadows are everywhere. It’s hard to tell what anything is anymore.’

  ‘Why is the valley so wet, misty and dull?’

  The tree fronds seemed to sag further.

  ‘An evil force lives in the valley. It’s dark all the time. No warmth exists anywhere. We look forward to the day the sun returns to the valley. Nothing grows much. All of the forest waits to decay and compost. There are no other challenges like producing green leaves, tall trunks and homes for small life forms. It’s lonely here. We all miss the past.’

  ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘The Irrids moved in. Be careful. They are deadly dangerous.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘You are a life form with feelings. The Irrids don’t have any. We can tell.’

  Grunt held the necklace in one hand. It was emitting small pulses of energy. Each time the word Irrid was mentioned the impulses stammered. A meaning was being sent to him. He thought that it must be a warning of some sort. A short, sharp, pain ran through his fingers.

  ‘Is there a river or creek near here?’

  ‘There used to be a flowing river on the other side of those trees. It doesn’t flow well any more. We think it’s ill.’

  Before any further communication could take place, a rush of wind whistled through the fronds. Grunt watched as the miniature tree fronds fell to the ground. The infertile soil had finally exhausted their ability to survive. Their stumps looked like hives on the ground. Davidia had been very quiet. She had walked slowly toward the trees.

  ‘Get away from us. You feel like trouble,’ said some leaf litter.

  ‘Is someone there? Do you need any help?’ asked Davidia. She had no idea what she was talking to. It seemed that the vegetation loved a chat because nothing new happened to liven up their usual routine.

  ‘Don’t walk on us. It’s hard enough to lie flat.’

  Davidia bent over to pick up the leaf litter and like any child was going to toss it around in play.

  ‘Don’t touch us,’ yelled a tightly knit clump.

  Davidia jumped in surprise.

  ‘Mum and dad always said that when you talk to anyone, it should be face to face unless you do it by telephone. So, who am I talking to?’

  ‘Us. You almost picked us up. We’re too tired to move. We’ve been here so long. If anything touches us, we’ll disintegrate and lose our physical shape.’

  ‘Oh. I shan’t touch you then, but where are you? It’s so dark here.’

  ‘We’re leaf litter.’

  Davidia realised that she had almost stood on them.

  ‘Why are you so unhappy? I only wanted to play.’

  ‘Our nutritional levels are very low. We have enough difficulty composting for the good health of the trees, that if you threw us anywhere we couldn’t get back to assist them to survive. It’s so wet and uncomfortable down here.’

  ‘Can I help?’

  ‘No. Go quickly. The ground is trembling in fear. The Irrids are nearby.’

  The forest floor went quiet.

  A snorting, snivelling sound headed her way. Grunt heard it also. Danger, danger, flashed through his body. The necklace began to glow.

  ‘Mr Grunt, your necklace is almost as bright as my dress. It’s signalling something.’

  Grunt felt a pain. His mind unravelled a nasty vision and all his eyes opened wide, as if stunned by flash bulbs.

  ‘Davidia, give me your hand,’ demanded Grunt in a state of high excitement. Danger had unleashed a curious defence mechanism he didn’t know he possessed. As soon as he took hold of Davidia’s hand, they both instantly flew upwards and over the trees, landing on a frozen river.

  ‘How did you do that?’ asked Davidia. ‘It was cool.’

  ‘I’m not sure, but this strange land has an unusual effect on me. Did you hear that?’

  ‘Hear what?’

  ‘The sound of breathing from a life form.’

  ‘I can’t hear anything. Is your imagination turned on?’

  ‘It’s coming from over there, across the frozen river.’

  They both carefully avoided slipping on the ice and made it safely across.

  ‘Up in that tree, I hear it.’

  It was too dark for Davidia to see anything except shadows.

  ‘Shush.’

  They both listened. Grunt had higher sensitive hearing capabilities. He also had more ears. Sure enough, small puffs of moisture were emitted into the atmosphere in short, nervous, irregular bursts. It was Batbit in hiding. His fear had immobilised him.

  ‘There aren’t any other life forms around, so it must be Batbit.’

  ‘Batbit,’ yelled Davidia in her high-pitched, female voice. Her vibrations resonated in the trees.

  Batbit shook with fear. He had been discovered. Where were his friends? The cold had numbed his reaction to anything. Was it real? Was he doomed to freeze to death? His tiny head struggled for a view. The sight of a huge, grotesque, rotund, bowling ball was the best antidote to slipping away. He groaned when he saw Grunt.

  ‘Up here,’ he moaned.

  ‘Batbit, is that you?’

  ‘Yes,’ he struggled to reply. His warm blood was turning to ice just like the river below had.

  ‘He’s over here.’

  Grunt located Batbit, suffering from dehydration and slight hypothermia.

  ‘They
were fierce and strange. They tried to sniff me out,’ said Batbit, rambling somewhat.

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘The Irrids. I saw them practicing arm lopping and leg severing. They were vicious. I fought them by myself. They are bigger than the trees. Are there any insects here, I’m hungry?’ Batbit was mentally disorientated and his focus was splattered like random graffiti.

  ‘Davidia, place him in his favourite armpit where he will be warm. We missed you, our little friend.’ Grunt carefully picked up the fragile ice cube – he felt like one – and passed him to Davidia.

  ‘Miss Percival and I will look after you.’

  The dull landscape seemed to trigger everyone’s imagination.

  ‘Did you feel the movement in the airwaves? There’s an unpleasantness about to infest our valley. We must defy the threat and not succumb to its evil. I fear that it all may be lost. The Irrids’ power trebles each series of darks and lights and before long they will be powerful enough to challenge us. It will be a time of deep regret. Our valley of happiness may disappear forever. We must defend it as best we can. How will we be able to save our valley?’

  King Iglandus was the wise ruler of the Valley of Triplock, the valley next to the evil Valley of Irridon. He knew dark forces were planning against his rule. Evil seemed to grow more quickly than good. Under his rule, Triplock had flourished. After many darks and lights, he was now an ancient ruler, past his best “use by” date for a physical clash. He had grown so old and without further reproduction of his life form, had no one to pass his mantel onto.

  Many eons ago, he had a new life form called Ignatus, the apple, pear and every other fruit of his eyes, but after a bitter emotional dispute with his wife, Ignatus’ mother, Ignatus was kidnapped. He was hideously transformed and banished, never to return, but Iglandus held special powers and he somehow transported with the banished Ignatus a means of communicating with the past and a passage back home. However, these days, he had given up any hope of ever seeing the return of the banished one. He looked over the valley from his hilltop home and reflected how beautiful and peaceful it was.

  His army of defenders were highly skilled. Any defence of their homeland would be at great sacrifice. His mood saddened as he thought of what could have been.