by Ken Spargo
Ignatus was aware of the howling winds from above and knew it was show time at last with the winds of Evil that had dogged him throughout the valleys. Not one blow-hard wind had ever tried to be helpful. The Murmur headed straight toward Irridia. Ignatus wasn’t giving up just yet.
The Murmur swooped down and hovered over Irridia. His concentration was solely to lift her from the ground and dispense her forever for her failure to make him all powerful. She began to be sucked into the huge hole created. The sky began to close over. It still remained the unfriendly cool and moist climate all Irrids had known during their lifetime. The landscape was still a foreboding horror, an inkblot on a nice canvas. In the kerfuffle of battle with Irridia, all combat had ceased. Limp loppers hung loosely by the combatants’ side like washing hanging on a line. All eyes were focused on the howling event before them. The Irrids were leaderless and watched as their beloved leader was being caught in an updraft. They were powerless to act.
Ignatus cupped both knees with his hands and spun dizzily, creating another huge updraft which had everyone hanging onto their clothing. He was plucked off the ground as a speck of dust travels when disturbed, to form another footprint in the sky. Storm clouds celebrated the contest by hurling thunderous abuse and advice at Ignatus. Thunder and lightening lit the sky in a kaleidoscopic light display. The Murmur had engaged his mists and winds to destroy Ignatus instead of Irridia. He loved a battle. However, the powers of an ancient Iglood with the moral support of all ancients had no equal.
Ignatus fired his lazer frayzers as he rotated at high speed. The lightening bolts were diffused. The thunderclap argument was lost as he rose further into the atmosphere. The carpet blanket of cool, moist, lousy mist that had covered Irridon since the Great Split was slowly being dragged upwards, protesting at the rough treatment of banishment. Sunlight began to reappear and creep over the landscape once again. It felt that it had been banished too.
The Murmur, who had sent his evil mists to smother other valleys and rule land-based life forms, was now being sucked into a void. Ignatus opened his mouth wide enough to inhale all the clouds until none were to be seen. The Murmur had ceased to murmur. Ignatus had one almighty sneeze and just as Grunt and Davidia had dealt with the Evil Mist, he spat out the all-offending Murmur and his cohort mists, never to be seen again.
‘Gee, that felt good,’ he said to himself.
The Irrids, who had never seen the sun before, surrendered in fear. This allowed the transformed Irrids to hug and wrist-rub the balance of the hated fighting force.
Ignatus floated down like a deciduous tree leaf, fluttering on the wind, afraid to land to become leaf litter and compost. He landed delicately and exhausted after his epic battles. Total confusion reigned. The Irrids had lost the zest to lop off limbs. The sun beat down like a scolding teacher. Plants woke up and were teased into growth. Irridia lay lifeless on the ground.
‘This is wonderful,’ the trees chorused. ‘We can grow and leave our stuntedness behind.’
The running flow burped a few bubbles as it ran over rocks. In time, the flight life forms would also return.
‘Cease fighting,’ boomed Ignatus. ‘This land is free again.’
By that light’s end, the Irrid army had been converted into the path of goodness. Surprisingly, they regained their original life forms. Many recognised relatives that had been turned into Irrids, but had never known each other in that life form.
Grunt turned his attention to the still, beautiful life form of his mother. The Igloodool substance had returned her to goodness; however, her struggle with her reluctance to accept the change, had damaged her life functioning components. Her body was damaged beyond repair. A feint pulse filtered through her body. Ignatus sat down next to her. He was once again looking at an ancient Iglood. There was no badness left. He sat silently, allowing his body to shed his own wet matter.
All throughout the valley the landscape had a new feeling of growth. The domino effect of freedom rippled through the five valleys that Grunt (Ignatus), Davidia and Batbit had travelled through on their quest. They also became released from the evil demons that plagued each of them.
Batbit was now visible in the light. He zoomed about with a new freshness for flight.
‘Spread the message into Triplock that there are no further threats,’ said Ignatus.
He dashed off like a ten-force gale, feeling released and reinvigorated. Over the Waterfall of Wetness he flew. Imagoodshot raised his propulsor and flighter for skewered bat.
‘Don’t shoot, it’s me,’ called Batbit. ‘It’s over. Ignatus has saved the valley.’
‘Irridia. What of Irridia?’ King Iglandus wanted to know.
‘She’s lost,’ replied Batbit. ‘She is with Ignatus right now. You had better hurry, this light might not last long for her.’
Sadness spread over the king’s face.
‘Oh, well, maybe it’s for the better.’ He wasn’t convinced though.
The king and the Igloods advanced into Irridon. They also hadn’t set eyes upon the valley since the Great Split. Its secession from Triplock was over. The two valleys could now be rejoined as one.
At the sight of Ignatus and Irridia sitting together, the king rushed over.
‘How is she?’ he asked.
‘I fear the stress was too much for her,’ replied Grunt.
‘Isn’t she beautiful?’
A soft murmur emanated from Irridia. Her body moved slightly. The king leaned down closely. She opened one eye just long enough to recognise the king. Irridia’s face smiled like an angel. A finger moved for a final touch and with a last, gasping effort, burped goodbye. Her life forces had left her. The king was mortified as he felt the loss of her passing. The past was much stronger than the present,
‘Is Mr Grunt, er, Mr Ignatus, safe?’ Davidia wanted to know. ‘Miss Percival wants to know too.’
‘Yes.’
‘Miss Davidia, would you like to fly over the Waterfall of Wetness? You can climb up on my back,’ said Twirp.
Davidia climbed aboard and snuggled tightly into the flying, feathered blanket. The views were breathtaking. She was thrilled with the ride. No hot air balloon could perform this well. Up and over the Waterfall of Wetness they zoomed.
‘Mum and dad haven’t taken me in an aeroplane yet, but this is much better,’ said Davidia, enjoying the rush of fresh breeze against her cool cheeks, which were separated by a grin. The landscape below was dotted with many life forms that could look forward to a different, positive future.
Batbit followed.
‘There’s Mr Grunt,’ Davidia yelled excitedly.
Twirp landed carefully. Davidia jumped down and ran to Ignatus and they shared an emotional hug.
‘I’m glad you’re safe. We heard lots of strange noises and didn’t know where anyone was. Did you have an argument with your mum? My mum and dad never let me argue. It was “be seen and not heard.” Sometimes I talked,’ she giggled.
Ignatus looked down at his tiny friend, in the frayed, yellow dress. Like Davidia, it had not lost any of its brightness. He reflected briefly on their short time together and the adventures and smiled with the knowledge of the ancients at how helpful she had been. She was a true friend. Nearby, he noticed a small, tired, black item hanging upside down on a tree branch. It was an exhausted Batbit, who hadn’t the strength left for a shriek. Ignatus walked over and picked him up. Nothing was said. They each looked at the other and nodded.
‘My destiny has now been shown to me. I know who, what and where I am. Let’s all return to the Valley of Triplock. My work here has been done.’
‘Is that your mum?’ Davidia continued, ‘She’s asleep.’
‘Yes,’ was all Ignatus could respond with.
Ignatus now had a new responsibility and his time as the round ball known as Grunt was definitely over.
‘Where do you think she is?’ Ignatus asked his father.
‘In a better place, son, in a better place.’
‘What do you think, Davidia, are you staying with us?’
Ignatus turned around just in time to see Twirp and Davidia fly overhead. He waved as they became a speck in the sky.
The lands of Triplock, and what was once Irridon, flourished under the rule of Ignatus. Batbit rejoined Mrs Batbit and they feasted on the fattest, thickest and juiciest of insects and ceased squabbling over the best cave roof-hanging spots.
Who left the window open? It’s cold outside.
A dark, cold, mist beckoned Davidia to come out and play. It rattled the window-pane with small twigs and swirling debris. The window swung back and forth trying to wear down its hinges. Cold air rushed in like an unwanted gate crasher. The attic had a frosty feel to it. Davidia was sound asleep in the odd shaped chair. Her yellow, cotton dress hung softly on her. The wind was performing at its optimum nastiness. Miss Percival just stared into space. The cold wouldn’t affect her.
It was too much for the poor suffering window. One hinge gave way. Bang! The window slammed into the house. Davidia awoke with fright.
‘Who’s there?’ she said, trying to sit straight. ‘Where am I?
I must have fallen asleep. What’s that wind doing?’
Davidia had slept for one hour whilst the outside winds howled, creating miserable road conditions and an unpleasant day for anyone to enjoy. She looked hard at the window and wondered whether she had been near it. She stood up and walked toward the banging window. It still seemed unhinged and couldn’t be shut.
‘It’s too cold out there,’ said Davidia to herself. ‘I’m playing inside today. Miss Percival, what would you like me to read to you? I won’t read those two lettered books; they send you to sleep.’
‘Davidia,’ called Dan. ‘I hope you haven’t opened the window up there.’
Dan could hear the banging sound.
‘No, I haven’t. They are all closed,’ she fibbed. She tried to shut it, but it was obstinate in its damaged condition. She tied the inside latch to the windowsill lock holder with the pink ribbon from the box she had opened earlier.
‘There, that will do it. I hope it stays shut otherwise …,’ her thoughts trailed off.
‘Mum and dad will be home shortly,’ Dan called out.
The attic became very quiet. Davidia had another look at the two books left neatly next to the odd shaped chair. She lent over and picked up one, then the other. They behaved exactly like two ordinary little reader books should. She smoothed her hands over them. Their touch was soft. Nothing unusual happened.
‘I wonder,’ she said out loud. The walls echoed back, ‘we do too.’
Davidia dropped both books in surprise. The attic certainly felt like it was a magical place.
‘Miss Percival. You sit there and I will read you a story from one of the other books from that pile.’ Soon the room was very quiet except for the sound of a small voice reading to Miss Percival.
‘Davidia, Davidia,’ she heard her father call out. She grabbed Miss Percival and ran quickly downstairs to greet him. The attic door slammed shut behind her. The doorknob twisted tight so that the next person who wanted entrance had to ask permission from it.
Many years passed. Davidia now had two children of her own. Petra, who was twelve, and Steven, who was fourteen. They were both growing so quickly that time seemed to swallow their existence. Are they really that age? Where did all that time go? When I was Petra’s age I had that magical place to enjoy with Miss Percival. Would it still be there? Davidia became restless knowing that her childhood experiences were innocent, fun and many years ago. The old attic in the parents’ home held a magical feeling for her and before her children reached the age of disinterest – and that’s what daggy parents do – she wanted them to experience a little of her childhood. The children were on the verge of a magical goodbye to their impressionable youth as they prepared to battle teenage years with their “I know all” attitude.
She yearned to see the family home one more time. Her parents had sold the house whilst she was at school and had moved elsewhere. The house held her childhood experiences of long ago, but her memories had moved with her.
‘Children. Would you like to go on an adventure?’
‘Down to the mall, mum?’ Petra enquired.
‘Great. We can buy that new video game. It’s Mongo Juice The Mincer,’ answered an excitable Steven.
‘That’s not quite what I had envisaged. I want to visit my old home and show you both where I lived as a child.’
‘Boring.’
‘I’ll do you a deal. You come and humour me with a visit and we’ll do both those things you mentioned.’ Bribery, a tool within a parent’s armoury of encouragement for getting their own way, still had an effect. It was a win for everyone. Petra and Steven slumped their shoulders. Their faces of enthusiasm looked as if they had been put through a strainer.
‘If we have to, we have to,’ replied Petra, not quite at the level of excitement expected.
‘Right then. Tomorrow it is.’
That night, Davidia trawled through her childhood thoughts about the unpleasant looking Grunt and the valleys where they almost met their doom. That adventure had been relived many times when she was asleep. She often dreamed of a repeat, but it was never the same.
Next morning, the car became cantankerous and refused to start. Steven was a budding mechanic and immediately noticed the problem.
‘Mum. That’s the front door key you have placed in the ignition.’
Davidia wasn’t fully concentrating. The day had a nervous edge to it. After a change of keys and muffled laughter, they were in motion. The drive was a quiet affair, with each person filled with the “adventure” ahead of them. Petra and Steven had tuned out with their Ipods stuck in their ears. Davidia was slightly apprehensive, but didn’t know why.
It was a bleak day as she drove down her old street. She stopped the car short of the driveway and could see the silhouette of the old house in the distance. The attic still dominated the front facade. A miserable mist hung about like a bad smell, reducing driving visibility to a dangerous level.
‘Where’s the dream home, mum?’ chorused two youthful voices.
‘It’s further down the street.’
‘Why have we stopped here?’ asked a curious Petra.
‘I don’t know. It’s hard to see.’
‘Is that where Nan and Pa lived too?’ they asked, ‘and Uncle Dan.’
‘Yes. We all lived there.’
‘Cool.’
The house hadn’t changed in appearance except for the bubbled paintwork, entangled garden and the attic, which was its dominating feature. It seemed to be pleading for restoration. Davidia had obtained the key from the local real estate agent. He thought that she was a prospective buyer and gave her the usual diatribe about “location, location and location”. Davidia didn’t wise him up because his spiel was so well scripted, it was a shame to waste it, so she listened to the attributes some copywriter had penned about her old home. The house was actually due for demolition to make way for a condominium, a modern term for large terraces of flats. Perhaps he thought Davidia was a developer. The street held strange emotional feelings for her.
‘It looks like a dump,’ said Petra.
Steven, who didn’t like anything untidy, piped up. ‘You didn’t live there, did you mum?’
‘As a little girl, I loved playing in the attic. It was my favourite place, my secret hideaway and my special place with Miss Percival.’
‘Miss Percival is in her special place now, mum, my bedroom,’ said Petra, who shared her space with her many dolls.
The car stopped. The engine choked, hoping it wasn’t turned off. The street felt creepy.
‘Come on,’ she encouraged.
The concerned look on the two children’s faces needed removal and replacement by a smile.
‘When we go inside, I will take you to my special place.’
They both beamed with expectation, wondering where that was.
‘It’s filthy in here,’ said Steven. ‘Who’d want to play in this mess?’
A group of spiders observed their movements. They didn’t mind a messy home.
They went up the old stairs to the attic door. Funnily enough, as Davidia took hold of the doorknob it didn’t speak. Had she expected it to?
‘Are you going to let me in?’ she said out loud. The children wondered who she was talking to.
‘Are you alright, mum? We heard you speak to something.’
‘It’s nerves, that’s all.’
She turned and tugged at the ungrateful doorknob until it gave way.
‘You didn’t trick me this time.’
Inside the attic, she found that it hadn’t changed any. The window suddenly rattled with swirling debris. Davidia jumped in shock at the sound. Her heart rate tried desperately to cause a panic. Who was trying to take her outside?
‘What was that, mum?’ Steven had heard a sound.
‘Imagination. For a moment, I thought I was somewhere else.’
There, open on the table at the final page, was an old, dog-eared storybook with the letter P. Nearby was another book with the letter S. She took a closer look and wondered who she was looking at. There was a little girl and a strange looking creature. They seemed familiar. A black dot in the corner brought a smile to her face. It wasn’t a dirt speck, was it? Then she remembered a small flying creature. In the corner was the odd-shaped chair covered in years of dust. She cleared a space on the floor at the foot of the chair and suddenly realised how important her children were. Had she been doomed forever to live in Triplock, she would never have experienced the pleasure of motherhood. Why did she feel so strongly that her adventure was “real”? Her body tingled with the cold.
