Davidia and the Prince of Triplock

by Ken Spargo

  ‘Where would that river flow, if it was unfrozen?’ Grunt asked himself. He was planning something, but was confused about what it was. His body was growing stronger without enlarging and his mind became filled with visions he had never experienced before. He began tapping on its surface with one leg.

  ‘Stop that. It might shake me loose.’

  Grunt immediately stopped.

  ‘I don’t see anything,’ he said.

  ‘That’s because I’m invisible. You can stand on me, but can’t see me. I’m frozen.’

  ‘Are you the water or ice?’

  ‘Ice. I only form when I freeze. I’m an ice square camouflaged in the frozen water.’

  ‘Where does the river flow to?’

  ‘When flowing, we make it all the way to the Valley of Triplock. None of the water carriers, droplets or ice squares, ever want to return from there. There we can be drunk, washed in and provide life to growing things. Here, we are mostly frozen. The dull, moist atmosphere and that dreadful mist have kept us solid. There isn’t much fun here.’

  ‘How far is it and will it be safe?’

  ‘It will take one dark and one light. It is dangerous. Irrids are everywhere.’

  ‘Could I defeat an Irrid in battle?’

  ‘Run. It’s the only safe way. Remember, The Waterfall of Wetness must be passed through on the journey. It is the entry to the Valley of Triplock.’

  Grunt acknowledged the advice by running a warm hand over the ice square. It gave off a few melted drops of moisture. The ice square appreciated the gesture. It had been a long time since the river was free flowing and had experienced good things. The cold returned. Batbit was warming up. Davidia was deeply unhappy. The trio decided to follow the frozen river to The Valley of Triplock.

  ‘How far is it?’asked Davidia. She was surprised that she wasn’t frozen solid as she was only wearing a frock of thin fabric.

  Unbeknown to her, Grunt had planted a warmer in her hand when they flew across the trees. It was a protective film that would spread and cover her skin. Grunt was beginning to learn that he had some unusual abilities.

  ‘We must follow the frozen river. It may be our only escape. I have a feeling that there are no ejector stones here. My necklace isn’t reacting when I touch the last letter. Maybe there is a communication blockage by being in this place.’

  Visibility didn’t improve. The banks of the river were wet and slippery. Batbit was warm again and enjoying the ride. Being nocturnal, he actually slept, thinking it was light. They pressed on. Furtive eyes darted between each shadow that materialised, then faded, as they passed. It was eerie. Vegetation was stunted and suffered nutritional deprivation.

  The breeze that occasionally accompanied them felt like a spy had been sent to report on their movements. It came close enough to brush their bodies with a shiver. A hollow, echoing voice whispered, ‘lunch.’ It then vanished.

  It was a warning that the Irrids had been sniffing for them. If captured, then there would be no more adventures.

  The closer they walked toward the Waterfall of Wetness, the more erratic Grunt’s behaviour became. He would suddenly stop and run off into the trees. It was assumed that it wasn’t for a personal water stop. He would then reappear on the other side of the river. His eyes rolled in their sockets like roulette balls. They held fear, uncertainty and a glow that Davidia hadn’t seen before. When he returned all his fingers would be crossed. It might be a secret society handshake. Davidia watched stunned at the transformation of her friend with his idiotic behaviour. As quickly as it had occurred, Grunt would return to normalcy.

  ‘Are you alright, Mr Grunt?’ asked a concerned Davidia.

  ‘I do feel a little light-headed. It must be the cold.’

  Grunt had no explanation, but he knew his actions weren’t harmful.

  ‘Please don’t leave me alone.’

  ‘You are safe with me.’

  The two friends were becoming depressed with the boredom of the landscape. It was like a photo, encapsulated and frozen in time. It didn’t change.

  ‘Shush. I hear voices,’ said Grunt. Davidia noticed that his body tensed up like a spring. ‘Let’s become shadows and hide over there.’

  ‘I love hide and seek. At home, I played it with my brother, Dan. I’d hide and he couldn’t find me for hours. I never knew why he couldn’t find me. He had a playstation in his room and that was where he was when I couldn’t be found.’

  ‘Our visitors might be more dangerous than a game. Be quiet.’

  They squinted through the mist. Four shadows flitted between the trees. Were they playing hide and seek? The only life forms were the Irrids. It might be a scouting party trying to locate them. They watched carefully.

  ‘Where have they gone? I sniffed them to this place.’

  ‘Is your sniffer clear of clogging?’

  ‘I cleaned it out before with my toes.’

  ‘Where is them?’

  ‘I want to lop off an arm.’

  ‘I want to lop off a leg. Then we’ll see if they can run in a circle.’

  ‘Sniff harder all of you. I can’t see them.’

  Four sets of snorting, flaring nostrils faced upwards, sideways and downwards, in all directions, trying to catch a whiff of any body odours. The cold, moist atmosphere often clogged up their sniffers and, with all their snorting, offensive particles were often exhaled. It didn’t pay to greet them with a hug.

  ‘That ice is frozen. Ya can’t get a good sniff on that.’

  Their weapons were ready for battle as the hunt for body smells continued. Both Grunt and Davidia realised that passing wind at this point, even though there was a strong urge, was too dangerous. There would be no humour accompanying the delivery.

  ‘What’s that bad smell?’

  ‘Was it you?’

  ‘No. It was you.’

  ‘It was all of us. We all stink. We’ve been sniffing each other. Get away. I don’t want those nostrils near any part of me. Go and locate those life forms.’

  Just as they were about to move on, Grunt revealed himself like a fool from his hiding place. He hadn’t been sniffed out, but an urge within him had forced the issue.

  The four Irrids stumbled in fright. They hadn’t seen such an odd looking life form, who was stranger looking than themselves.

  ‘I mean you no harm,’ Grunt said calmly.

  ‘We do. Off with whatever you can get.’

  The four scampering Irrids with their weapons raised, charged Grunt.

  He stood there defiant like an Easter Island statue. Davidia woke up Batbit, who peered out in fear.

  ‘I saw them earlier. It’s over. Shut your eyes,’ he said.

  A transformation came over Grunt. Two of his five legs began to twist and turn like a corkscrew. They disappeared into his body and then in a flash, quicker than a wink, out came two huge, chubby, club-like legs. He waved them about his body, ready to bat his attackers. The fingers on all his hands became stretched, with each fingernail turning into an ice pick with four razor sharp edges. Grunt didn’t want to kill anyone; he had no argument with any attacking life form.

  The four Irrids, having seen the horror life form transform before them, slowed down their approach. The leading Irrid swung his razor-sharp weapon with the force of a hurricane at Grunt. A chubby, club leg took the full force of the blow. It had no effect. Grunt then kicked him in the unmentionables. He slashed his hands across his legs leaving a series of bleeding scars.

  ‘Who’s next?’ he calmly asked.

  The second Irrid came from behind. Grunt spun into invisibility and then at the moment the Irrid swung his weapon, Grunt’s twirling legs kicked and clubbed him senseless. It would end up with nothing more than a bad headache and bruises to brag about.

  ‘Do you want more?’ he goaded.

  The brainless, trained Irrids knew nothing but attack. The final two teamed up with one on each side of Grunt. They ran at him at full express. He suddenly withdrew all his pr
otruding bits into his body and rolled out of harm’s way. Only two Irrids would return from the skirmish. The two injured Irrids were left to consider their good fortune.

  ‘Mr Grunt. That was horrible,’ said Davidia, crying. She hadn’t actually seen anything. Her eyes were tightly shut.

  ‘I meant them no harm. They must have been programmed to fight.’

  The two injured Irrids fled. The two left behind dissolved into dust, but before doing so, a glimpse of who they really were appeared as a vision. It then faded.

  ‘It’s not safe here. We must continue following the frozen river.’

  ‘I’m not flying anymore in case it’s my last flight,’ said Batbit. However, he now sat on Davidia’s shoulder, using his senses to warn of any pending danger. Grunt was on high alert.

  ‘How do we tell if it’s a dark or a light? The weather here so far has been uniformly monotonous, so we won’t know how long a dark or a light is. There must be a way of knowing; otherwise we could end up on a never-ending journey. I wonder what the indicators would be that we are nearing the Waterfall of Wetness. Any ideas?’

  ‘They don’t exist here,’ said a soft, lilted sound.

  ‘What doesn’t exist?’ asked Davidia.

  ‘Ideas. Nothing can possess one. They aren’t allowed. They are too dangerous in anything’s possession.’

  Grunt, Davidia and Batbit searched the area for the source of the sound. They stood at the edge of the frozen river. Nothing moved.

  ‘Will they hurt someone who has one?’ asked Davidia. At home she was often told not to have such bright ideas, as no one would understand them. She ignored that advice and kept producing as many as she could. At school they were very useful.

  ‘They will be discovered. Nobody can be brighter than the leader of the Irrids. If any idea is found with one of them, then that’s the last one that they would remember. There would be no more of it.’

  ‘But we have new ones all the time,’ replied Davidia. ‘We can’t stop them because that is how we think.’

  ‘If you have too many it’s too confusing.’

  ‘Who are we talking to?’

  ‘I’m known as Clod. My family are scattered everywhere. I’m on the ground in that big lump of dirt that you are looking at. We whisper. My relatives have been sending signals, but not ideas, so we remain undiscovered as a communication highway.’

  ‘Everything seems to want to help us,’ said Grunt, marvelling at the ability of the landscape to react positively to them by communication.

  ‘We have no other activity or purpose other than to sit motionless and clog together. Once we were tilled and toiled over, grew food, were jabbed with tools and underground life forms lived amongst us, but now we have no use. We are no longer required.’

  ‘You should grow crops and trees and things,’ said Davidia. ‘At home we had a vegetable garden with all types of edible plants. Mum occasionally growled at me as I often dug up the wrong one to eat.’

  ‘That’s not possible here. Nothing grows.’

  ‘How does anything eat?’

  ‘It is stolen from other nearby valleys. My relatives signal the results, as they are often left barren afterwards. We clods of dirt no longer receive the respect in this valley of being a productive organism. We all wish to be useful once again.’

  ‘Is there any way we can help you?’ asked Grunt.

  ‘The badness in the valley must be removed. Only then do we have any hope of becoming nutritious again for plant life to thrive.’

  ‘This isn’t a happy place, is it?’ said Davidia surrounded by gloom.

  ‘We wish it wasn’t so. Once it was different,’ the voice began to fade.

  ‘Do you know where the Waterfall of Wetness is? How far is it in time that we’ll understand?’

  The clod had used its last nutritious elements to speak to them. It was now drained of any goodness. The soil had hardened under foot.

  ‘Keep moving,’ ordered Grunt. ‘We will find this waterfall.’

  ‘There wasn’t any chance to retaliate properly. We were ambushed by a dozen strange life forms, none the valley has seen before,’ explained a wounded Irrid.

  ‘Is this how you repay me, by being beaten in battle? You are one of my finest nasties and now there are only you two left. Summon the elite Irridicators at once. I fear we have a problem. Get out of my sight. A dozen you say, mmm.’

  Irridia knew her battlers weren’t the cleverest of fighters, but they were loyal. All their ideas had been extracted from their minds so they only followed her directions. She was the ideas leader.

  ‘Irridia, the Irridicators are here,’ said a lowly Irrid, who was nasty, but hadn’t been battle-hardened.

  ‘There is an intrusion of immense danger to our land. You must rid these pests from my, I mean, our, lands. Extermination is what I want.’ A fist thundered into the palm of another hand with such force the burnt skin squealed in pain.

  ‘Do you want a trophy from them?’

  ‘Their feet, so they can’t walk anywhere. There is trouble here. I feel the danger is the most fearful. I will stamp out any challenge to my authority. Take Irritron with you. You will not fail with it. Go.’

  The Irridicators left, snivelling amongst themselves. They were twelve strong, expert swordsmen and athletic strongmen, who acted unemotionally. Irritron was a tracker, gifted with the art of being able to follow any life form over any surface. Its nostrils were twice the size of a normal Irrid and more highly sensitive. Fear was one trait he easily sniffed out. A few snorts and he was clean to go. They returned to the last encounter where the “dozen” dangerous life forms had ambushed the finest four.

  ‘Put your sniffer on that,’ directed the head Irridicator.

  Irritron sniffed inquisitively and spat in disgust.

  ‘These smells are highly offensive, the worst I have ever inhaled. There is mortal danger amongst them.’

  With the sniffer tracker Irritron in pursuit, the skittish, elite Irridicators followed like trained seals, often also sounding like their barks.

  ‘This Waterfall of Wetness might be a myth, Mr Grunt,’ said a highly sceptical young girl, not knowing where she was going. She wanted a shower with clean, hot, running water cascading over her and the softest, mild, bubbly soap to deep cleanse her pores. Instead, she had to contend with a miserable walk in a cold, mist-riddled, depressive landscape with no end in sight. It was what bad dreams were made of, or at the least the beginnings of them – her eyes flashed open, her body sprung off the bed like a tensioned spring and hugged the ceiling in a flat embrace; then she awoke – Davidia shuddered at the thought.

  ‘We have to believe that the land life forms have directed us correctly. It would be almost impossible to track through this land in this mist. It isn’t my favourite “what to do” pastime either,’ replied Grunt, eyes peeled for any shadow-hoppers.

  The frozen river began to dip downwards, refusing to release any of its icy components. The ground was still frozen solid, which made for slippery footholds. There were occasional patches of green growth clinging to a few paltry rocks on the last vestiges of their survival. The atmosphere hadn’t improved. There were fewer trees here to hide any shadow-hoppers. If any attempt to attack was made, they would see the outlines of the antagonists much clearer. It gave some hope, but not much. Grunt toyed with his necklace again, especially the letter T, the final letter of the message.

  He began to hum to himself. His body had a jaunty gait about it. The letter T clearly had a positive effect on him. Perhaps the Valley of Triplock was a happier place. He would soon find out. Batbit moved nervously on Davidia’s shoulder.

  ‘Your nails are digging into me,’ said Davidia, as Batbit tensed up.

  ‘There is evil lurking behind us,’ he said. He flapped his wings in preparation for a quick getaway.

  ‘Mr Grunt, Batbit is restless.’

  ‘I sense something also. We might not make it to the Waterfall of Wetness.’

  It
was deathly quiet. They moved away from the river a short distance and rested. Their exhausted bodies had battled the light and now it was the dark that disturbed them. They sat down on a set of rocks covered in a flimsy, green mat of growth.

  ‘Are these ejector stones?’ asked Davidia. Before her question could be answered, a calm, whispering voice sprung up.

  ‘We hold the secrets to the Waterfall of Wetness. There is a safer, short route to pass through. Only the bravest or stupidest of life forms have ever attempted the Path of Slip. If you don’t damage us, we can help you.’

  ‘How do you know anything about what we are doing?’

  ‘Clod and his brothers have sent a message: the salvation of Irridon rests with these weird life forms. There are no other life forms here except the Irrids, so our guess is it must be you. None of you look like you could save anything much. There isn’t a warrior amongst you.’

  ‘But we are full of ideas though. We have lots of those,’ replied Davidia.

  The sparse, green mat almost shrivelled into a ball on the hearing of the word ideas.

  ‘They might be too dangerous to handle, having so many.’

  ‘The more the merrier. This is how we live. Ideas are problem solvers. Where are you?’

  ‘You are sitting on us. We are the last gasp of growth before the valley ends. The Valley of Triplock is nearby. Remember, the Path of Slip is the way out.’

  ‘Where is it?’ asked Grunt, seeing that he would have to lead the small expedition.

  ‘Find a slippery surface amongst the rocks. You will know.’

  ‘How can we thank you?’

  ‘Turn the river into running flow again.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Use one of those many ideas you brag about. A problem shared is a solution halved, a problem solved is an achievement and a problem unsolved is a disaster. You have to select whatever works for you.’

  ‘If we escape, who shall we thank?’

  ‘Your father.’

  The moss fell silent. It had become exhausted with the exchanges of sound by sacrificing its nutritional value to pass on details about the path to freedom.