by Ken Spargo
A small container was brought out and Grunt tipped the tears into it. A small pond developed in the bottom of it. Davidia stopped crying.
‘There, I told you,’ she said, sniffling a little. ‘That really hurt, Batbit.’
The small bat sat sullenly; however, his instinctive reaction might save the valleys.
The king admired the fantastic ability of Davidia to leak. With all his fabled powers, he did not have the ability to create pure, wet matter.
‘This moisture must be saved. In the next light, we will call the great archer Imagoodshot to prepare for us. That is enough for this dark. At next light, we travel to the Waterfall of Wetness. An important task lies there. Igloo, see that they have comfortable quarters. May the next light shine on your eyes.’
‘Do you have anything to eat?’ asked a ravenous Davidia. ‘I don’t want grass, insects, goo or other small life forms.’ The pained expression on her face relayed the message well and clear.
‘Igloo, take them to the open gapper inhalation room. There they will find a range of items that they might enjoy.’
They entered a large room containing a solitary, bare, large table.
‘Please sit,’ said Igloo.
‘There’s nothing here. We can’t eat fresh air,’ complained Davidia.
‘Place your face on the table, close your eyes for a moment, dream of food and then open them.’
Davidia wasn’t convinced. She was too tired to disagree. She did as she was told.
‘This is ridiculous. I might fall asleep.’
She opened her eyes and there on the table sat a bowl of what looked like various types of fruit. Davidia’s small hand grabbed the first item, which disappeared at her touch. She tried again. Same result. Her frustration grew like an air bubble, ready to explode.
‘Where is the food? It runs away each time I touch it.’
‘It’s fast food,’ said Igloo smiling.
‘Mr Grunt. Are you eating anything?’
‘I’m already full,’ he replied.
‘Batbit, what have you eaten?’
‘The most delicious, chubby elongator that I’ve had the pleasure to swallow. Mrs Batbit would be so jealous. We don’t eat gourmet insects at home.’
‘Where’s mine? I don’t see anything.’
‘It’s right in front of you. Remember; turn your head the other way.’
Davidia finally did the reverse and saw a round, red object. Her hand brushed it lightly. It was solid. She picked it up carefully. It didn’t try to escape.
‘What’s this called? It looks like an apple.’
‘That’s a Rotunderer.’
Davidia planted her set of small chompers on the Rotunderer and enjoyed an edible experience. It was quickly eaten.
‘Have a drink of Tremature to accompany all that chewing.’ Igloo was good with the advice.
Davidia enjoyed her first burp in the valleys and rested well that dark.
That dark, in the Valley of Irridon, agitation grew throughout. Her feminine intuition told Irridia that the next light was fraught with danger. Her attempts at controlling all valleys had been upset by those strange life forms that had outwitted her evil at every turn. Even in her valley, right under her evil nose, they had escaped via the Path of Slip. She didn’t believe that she had seen the last of whatever they were. She ordered her Irrididominator force to prepare for a mass incursion during the next light. The snarling, nasty, smelling Irrids snorted grossly at the thrill of a lopping. No one would go hungry in the next light. The valley didn’t sleep that dark. Irridia had no idea in what form an attack would manifest itself, but she was prepared to battle to the finish. She thought that her kingly ex-partner would rue the day that he interfered with her child and denied her what she perceived to be her rightful leadership honour. That dark, Irridia visited the Murmer in the Cave of Murm with her senior nasties. The battle plan was under foot. The magical powers of evil would feast this dark.
The next light came early, shining brightly and teasing the valley inhabitants awake. King Iglandus was waiting for the arrival of his great archer, Imagoodshot, whom he had summoned to the palace. Grunt, Davidia and Batbit sat on the stone seats with the king too. Grunt had retained his necklace, which had provided great interest the previous dark, and kept incessantly fiddling with it.
A loud horn sounded the arrival of Imagoodshot.
‘He’s got bows and arrows,’ said Davidia. ‘What is he going to do with them?’
‘The king will explain,’ replied Grunt. ‘They are enormous, aren’t they?’
‘I don’t suppose he would give me a free ride on one of them,’ said Batbit, now fully confident of any fast ride.
‘My faithful warrior, your special services are needed immediately.’
‘Greetings, Your Highness,’ said Imagoodshot, bowing to the king. ‘What is your request?’
‘Two flighters to be shot over the Waterfall of Wetness into the valley of Irridon with each flighter carrying one of these two containers of pure, wet matter. They are to land on the frozen river and be dispersed. If I am correct, the Waterfall of Wetness will then recommence its running flow. I cannot stress the importance of this task. The valley depends upon its success.’
Imagoodshot was a very tall Iglood with the strength of ten of them. His muscles bulged from his arm, as if there was no room left for anymore. He wondered what the three odd life forms sitting there had to do with anything.
‘At your service, sir. I will meet you at the Waterfall of Wetness shortly. I must prepare two of my best flighters to successfully carry out your request.’
Imagoodshot left. The king motioned to the others to follow him. It was strange that he didn’t have any bodyguards with him as they walked to the Waterfall of Wetness. Grunt thought he was either brave or very foolish. Remember that an Iglood had the power of invisibility. At the location, the two large, feathered life forms, Twit and Twirp, flew down to greet the king, who whispered something to them. A wild shriek erupted as they flew off at a fantastic speed over the waterfall and into the deadly Valley of Irridon.
‘Will they return?’ asked Grunt.
‘One can never be sure if anything will return from there,’ replied the king.
‘Then they are doomed.’
Davidia began to sob again at the realisation that the two lovely, feathered life forms might never be seen again. Frantic efforts were made to save her tears in case the extras were needed. The invisible Igloods all carried a small container in which to catch the drops.
‘How can you be so cruel?’ she continued, sobbing. A few of her teardrops fell to the ground. Miraculously, tiny ponds formed from the fallen teardrops. They all stood amazed and thought that the small life form must be very powerful.
Imagoodshot strode along the riverbed. He held an almighty propulsor and two equally impressive flighters in his hands. The precious pure, wet matter was securely attached within a shatterable point that would disintegrate upon impact, but only with a hard surface.
‘They are known as bows and arrows in my world,’ said Davidia. ‘My brother Dan and I often played Cowboys and Indians and that’s what the Indians had. He was always the Indian so he could fire the arrows at me. They sometimes hurt and I would cry. He grew up, so we don’t play that any more. Besides, Miss Percival was tired of bandaging my wounds. I actually told mum about him.’
‘Prepare for flight,’ said the king.
Imagoodshot lay down his tools in the riverbed. From out of nowhere, two assistant Igloods appeared out of a deep hole into which the propulsor was firmly placed. This was to give added strength to the tension power of the propulsor. Chattering voices, waving arms, pointing fingers, sighs and eye-level management all culminated in the precise location for the propulsor to be placed for the flight path the flighters would take. The intention was that they would hit the iced river. This had never been tried before. Would it succeed? All was in readiness.
‘Shoot,’ commanded the king.
The propulsor was drawn back taut, the flighter was wavering with a nervous movement and at the precise coordinates of pull and angle – ping, Imagoodshot let go and the flighter disappeared over the waterfall high into the unknown. He repeated it with the second flighter, but made some minor adjustments. It too, flew on its one-way journey. Only time would tell if they had been successful. The Valley of Triplock was now in limbo. The wait had begun.
‘We must move out of the riverbed for safety.’
‘What if it fails?’ Grunt wanted to know.
The king sighed uncomfortably. Only he knew how close the Irrids were to invading his valley. By the time this best kept secret was disclosed, the king hoped he would have an answer to the invasion. He didn’t. This was his last hope of saving his valley.
Irridia felt the weakness of Triplock. It was almost time.
'I don’t like the feel of his place,’ said Twit. ‘It’s dark, wet and ever so cold. Nothing could be happy here, could it?’
‘This is my first visit in years. There’s probably no politeness here. My, how it has changed,’ replied Twirp.
‘Where are we supposed to fly to?’ Visibility was very poor and the mist discoloured everything to be a uniform grey. Landmarks would be hard to locate and recognise.
‘The king said, follow the grey-streaked light just above us for fifty-seven flaps and we should land on a tall tree which pierces the clouds. Down there, we couldn’t fly safely. It would be too dangerous. Look, there it is.’
Twit and Twirp were the flying scouts of the king and loyal to their last feather. They were sent as forward reconnaissance and to wait for the signs of the two speeding flighters. They were each to follow a flighter on its path into the mist and ensure that the pure, wet matter was successfully dispersed at all costs, even if it meant the loss of all their feathers, a lopping and no return.
‘How long must we wait here? We can’t see the ground from here.’
‘Shush,’ whispered Twirp. ‘Keep that beak of yours closed for a moment. Can you hear that snorting?’
Twit tilted his head to one side. It detected the sounds of a huge number of snorters.
‘They must all have a case of bad breath with that nasal activity, mustn’t they?’
‘I don’t think they appreciate good manners in this valley.’
‘Quiet. Listen. I hear a hissing sound. It’s a flighter. Be ready. Look, there it is. Go. Follow it down,’ ordered Twirp.
‘Why should I go first? You’re senior to me. You should go,’ whined Twit, a taxidermist’s dream.
‘I haven’t got time to argue.’
Twirp chased the flighter down through the layers of mist into an uncertain future. As he got closer to the ground, the coldness intensified and his flapping rhythm increased. Another sound grew louder also. It wasn’t the cold that sent shivers through his spine. It was the sinister snorters, revelling in the chances of a lopping. The flighter sped through the mist, heading straight for the iced river. Suddenly, an unexpected gust of wind blew it slightly off course and it landed on the edge of the river a few metres short of a band of Irrids. The clattering noise attracted their attention. The flighter hadn’t broken the small container of pure, wet matter and so it was there for all to see. Twirp halted his descent and took refuge in a small tree just above the Irridion eyeline.
‘Who threw this long twig?’ An Irrid leader screamed. Their IQ might be equal to what can be found at the bottom of a fish bowl, but when it came to loud language, nothing could compete. The louder they yelled the higher up the idiot chain of command they were. Everyone robotically shook their heads. ‘Who’s pulling my tree stump?’ He yelled louder. Again, a unanimous shaking of the heads. The leader went over to inspect the lost tree twig. ‘This tree has grown perfectly straight. Do we have any trees in Irridon this straight?’
‘It fell from the clouds. It must be a sign of good fortune. Maybe Irridia sent it as a “thank you” message.’
The leader wasn’t sure who said that and didn’t quite believe its content. To add to the confusion, Twirp had landed on a thin branch of a tree and it cracked under his weight. Bang! He landed on the ground. He let out a piercing, painful shriek. High above the mist, Twit heard the call. Just as he did, the second flighter hissed by and gave chase. It too went down deep into the mist and with all the warm air generated by all the snorting activity, a small warm, upward air current pushed the flighter off course and it also landed next to the iced river. However, Twit was in a downward spiral and he landed with a thump. The two large helpless, or so they gave the impression of, birds clumsily stood on their claws fussing over their feathers.
‘I don’t think they’re damaged. Such feathered refinery wouldn’t be appreciated here,’ said Twirp.
‘Don’t fuss so. My feathers are as fine as yours,’ replied a vain Twit. The two ego-driven birds were more concerned over their appearances than the immediate danger that they faced. The Irrids approached.
‘Leader. A second straight twig has landed. There must be a forest of straight trees somewhere, all wanting to visit our valley.’
‘We’ll find that forest after we’ve dealt with these two feathery things. How did you get here?’
‘We flew.’
Twirp was the brighter bird and gave the excuse that something fired a straight twig at them, trying to shoot them down and in the panic to escape, they landed in Irridon by mistake. The Irrids were itching for a good lopping and the best item to lop off was their heads. They were the easiest item to attack.
Thankfully, both small containers were still intact. Twirp edged closer to one of the flighters and took a firm grip on one of them with one huge claw. His pointy talon was poised to crack open the container. Twit had seen Twirp’s action and mimicked it. The two clumsy birds were now surrounded by danger. They edged backwards onto the ice. The river was frozen solid. They suddenly realised that it was impossible to escape. Their fate was almost sealed. Maybe a plea for leniency would save them.
‘Please, sir,’ pleaded Twirp, ‘We don’t mean any harm. We’re lost and want to go home.’
‘Go where?’
‘To the Valley of Triplock.’
‘The what?’
‘The Valley of Triplock.’
‘That’s an insane request. We’re going there, but you aren’t. Off with their heads.’
Twit and Twirp stood back to back with wings outstretched. This gave the illusion they were three times their normal size. It was just enough time to crush the wet matter containers onto the ice and spill the contents. At first, nothing happened. The Irrids by now were all on the frozen river.
‘It’s over. Dinner will be served,’ yelled the leader, waving his lopper in its favourite strike position.
Before he could strike a fatal blow, his foot sank into the ice and he was trapped. This halted the Irrids’ advances toward Twit’s and Twirp’s possible last outing. A rumbling noise grew from under the ice. Another Irrid’s foot sank, then another and so on. Not one of them could move. However, underneath, the ice was melting and the running flow had begun. Davidia’s tears had freed the iced river and it started to flow once more.
The Irrids screamed in fear. They had a hatred of water. It would wash away their smell. Suddenly, the top layer turned into running flow and they were all washed down the Path of Slip in a raging torrent. Twit and Twirp floated safely back into the Valley of Triplock and were ejected out through the Waterfall of Wetness.
The Irrids that were also washed down were captured by the Igloods and caged so they couldn’t escape. The leader was incensed that two, dopey, feathered life forms had outsmarted him. There would be no more IQ schooling for him. Irridia would lop them for failure, if they ever returned.
‘Hello there,’ said Twit. ‘This is my first time in running flow. What fun.’
‘He landed on the ground, sir, so that may have unbalanced him,’ said Twirp.
The two large birds made it to dry ground and flapp
ed vigorously to release any clinging wetness. They bowed to the king.
‘Thank you, my loyal friends. The running flow that has begun will once again nourish the valley. I can’t thank you enough for your efforts. Davidia, it seems you are a powerful life form, which has surprised all of us. Imagoodshot prepare the archers for a firing, so that when the time comes, we are prepared to defend our valley to the last life form.’
The king knew that, even with their fabled powers, it might not be enough to defend the valley. If they were overrun, no life form would survive. The Irrids would decimate every form of goodness. The black heart that Irridia possessed needed a colour change. Once it was a bright yellow, but revenge had darkened it with evil. He wondered how his three odd visitors would play their part in saving the valley. Hope was not encouraged at the sight of a young girl playing with some pebbles, a small, black bat foraging amongst the rocks playing hide and seek with any insect and the out-of-shape Grunt, protruding everywhere with arms, legs and noses, pretending he was a powerful guardian. The king thought that Grunt may have been a guardian, but by the look of him doubted if his powers were strong. He thought that this team of misfits had no hope of succeeding against Irridon. Oh, how his aching heart would like to believe that Grunt really was his son. His physical form didn’t quite fit with what he believed his son should look like.
‘Mr Grunt, you need a bath. Phew! I can smell you from where I’m standing,’ said Davidia. Young girls didn’t perspire nearly as bad as larger life forms did. ‘Mum made me take a bath every night whether I was dirty or not. Miss Percival wasn’t allowed to because she was a doll. She always smelt nice. Go on, you need it.’
Grunt grumbled to himself. The Waterfall of Wetness was of great significance to his memory without him receiving any explanation as to why.
‘Stand back. I might be messy. It has been a while.’
Grunt walked toward the waterfall. Its clean, running flow cascaded from above as a message of goodwill. In its waters was the life-changing power source of Igloodian strength. The king had almost forgotten its value. The necklace around Grunt’s neck began to disintegrate one letter at a time, the closer he went. Soon it was a small insignificant chain any jewellery shop would sell to its customers and tell them it was a valuable item. He turned around to his expectant audience.
