Chains of Gaia

by James Fahy

  He turned back to face his friends, resolved. Karya and Woad were looking at him with expectant concern. He realised, to his surprise, that they had both been waiting for him to make a decision.

  In all their time together, especially in the Netherworlde, Robin had always felt like the clueless one, dragged along and protected. He’d never once thought of himself as a leader.

  “Well?” Karya said. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Robin replied with determination. “I’m going to pick up my socks and underpants.”

  The girl and the faun exchanged looks of subtle concern.

  SCOURGE’S WAKE

  It was perhaps a testament to the strength of their friendship, or maybe it was simply that they didn’t know what Robin was talking about and assumed it to be a common mortal-world saying, but neither Karya or Woad had questioned him.

  They would travel onward to the dryads' haven, they would hear what the guardians of the great forest had to say about this Shard-monster, and they would take things from there.

  They marched for the remainder of the afternoon, covering a great distance within the soft shade of the wood. The forest became deeper and wilder the further into its heart they delved. The autumnal trees became bigger still, the great roots a latticework over deep valleys filled with leaves like rivers of rust. Pollen hung in the air, drifting silently, countless tiny spirits, and above and around them came frequent reminders of the wild and untamed land through which they travelled. Birds, flushed from the deep undergrowth at their passing, scuttled into the air in bright clouds of complaining noise, disappearing into the tumultuous air above them. The canopy itself was a patchwork of autumnal grandeur. Blazing maple oranges, reds as dark and rusty as old blood, yellows rich as sunlight through honey, all vying for their eyes' attention, constantly changing, a shivering skin.

  Robin saw wild rabbits, pale and long eared, much larger than any he’d seen back home, with bright red eyes like drops of blood. Other small, scurrying creatures, with twitching noses and long, sinuous tails, disappeared into hollow trees and bushes as the hiking company approached, climbing hills or following deep ravines along which cool clear streams cut a path.

  Karya slapped the back of Robin's hand at one point. He had stopped to observe a particularly large snail which clung to a gnarled tree trunk. It was enormous, the size of a house cat, and its spiralling shell was mossy green shot with iridescent blues like the wings of a dragonfly. Robin had been about to do what any boy coming across a curious thing in the wilderness would have done, and poke it.

  “What was that for?” he asked, pulling his hand back.

  “Unless you want to spend the next few hours hallucinating vividly and gibbering nonsense about being one with the universe, before later succumbing to a toxin and dying in a pile of leaves, foaming at the mouth …” she said sternly. “Don’t … touch … the veil-snails.”

  Robin shook his smarting hand a little, looking at the pretty snail with concern as she walked off again.

  “In fact, don’t touch anything,” she said without looking back. “And definitely don’t eat any berries or seeds. I’m not coming back here in a hundred years to wake you up with true love’s kiss or anything ridiculous like that.”

  Robin was reminded on several occasions that the Netherworlde was a place most alien to him. Certain indigenous things he recognised by sight. There by the base of a tree grew a cluster of snapping foxgloves, growling softly at them as they passed and shaking their petals defensively. Over here was a cluster of Needyberry, which he remembered being told never to touch, unless he planned to spend the rest of his life touching it.

  He even thought he recognised a large patch of Mobatom mushrooms, growing in long grass in a small clear space between several trees.

  But there were many things, poisonous snails aside, which were utterly new to him.

  Woad pointed out a cluster of red ivy clinging to a tree, which he explained was commonly known as burning-spite. Leaning close, he made a face, sticking his tongue out and screwing his eyes up. To Robin’s surprise and delight, the crimson leaves shuddered and rolled together, forming themselves into a passable caricature of the faun’s impish face. They mimicked his expression, sticking out a red papery tongue of leaves and returning the raspberry in a dry rattle.

  Woad, however, soon grew tired of chaperoning the Scion, and eventually abandoned the rest of the party stoically stamping through the crunching undergrowth, taking instead to the branches high above them, where he kept pace like a happy blue monkey, gleefully pursuing the dark, black-furred squirrels of the Netherworlde from tree to tree. His whoops and shouts, and the loud and chittering complaints of the harassed wildlife were the loudest thing around them in the hushed endlessness of the forest.

  It occurred to Robin, as his legs grew tired and his clothes matted to his back with sweat, that they were following a mysterious and unknown creature deep into a forest where no outsider ever went, or at least, never returned from. There was no path to follow back. They had not even followed a straight line. Should their guide decide to abandon them or worse, he doubted even Karya could find their way back out again from this tremendous expanse.

  He didn’t worry too much about it though. He was too exhausted to care by this point. It wasn’t as though they really had any choice in the matter. Even if he’d had a trail of breadcrumbs to leave behind them, they probably would have been eaten by hallucinogenic snails, and at least he hadn’t seen any giant spiders lurking around in the darkness of the woods, wrapping up dwarves by the baker's dozen…yet.

  Thankfully, as the light in the forest began finally to dwindle, and the shadows between the trees grew richer and fuller, their guide stopped ahead of them, standing between two trees at the lip of a steep rise they had been climbing for some time.

  “We will go no further here tonight,” he told them. “The sun sets. It’s not safe to move about the forest in the dark. Not with the scourge at large.”

  “How do we even know it’s in this area of the forest, though?” Woad asked, swinging down out of the treetops. “I mean, it’s a big place, the beastie might be nowhere near here. It could be any …”

  The faun's words trailed off, and as Robin and Karya joined Splinterstem at the top of the hill, they saw why. Before them, the next valley was a wasteland. A great swathe of trees had been blasted to the ground, ancient timbers shattered to matchsticks and burnt to stumps and ash. It was a shock, to see this great empty swathe of grey and black after so much lush golden forest. The area was dead and destroyed, as burnt and levelled as if a comet had thudded into the earth, obliterating all life.

  “What was this?” Robin asked quietly, scanning the large area of destruction. Beyond it, where the valley rose up again, the golden trees continued as always, but between here and there, there was nothing but grey shrivelled death. It looked like a battlefield. “A forest fire?”

  The dryad shook his head. “No," he replied, sadness in his voice. He looked to Karya. “Great one, this is the work of the scourge.”

  “This whole area?” Karya said, her eyes roaming over the ghostly blight on the forest. “It’s completely decimated.”

  “The creature,” their guide said, slowly, keeping his voice even with some effort. “It … feeds. On the life of the forest. I have seen it with my own eyes. It takes the essence of the land into itself, like a sponge.” His faceted insect eyes narrowed. “It grows in strength and size, and leaves nothing behind but ash.”

  He looked down at Karya. “You must stop it.” Karya glanced at Robin.

  He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the vista of destruction. He hadn’t really given a great deal of thought to what this monster was. He knew it was something infused with the Shard of Earth, a wild thing on a rampage, and he supposed he had formed some kind of blurry image in his mind, something between a troll and a wild boar or something.

  Looking at the extent of the devastation before h
im now, this scar on the forest, it occurred to him for the first time that this could be something much much worse.

  “You’ve seen it, you say?” he said, trying to keep his voice as light as possible. “What would you say it looks like?”

  The dryad seemed to consider this for a long while, peering down with infinitely sad eyes at the destruction of the valley before them. In this area of felled trees, for the first time all day, they could clearly see the sky, open above them. Twilight was falling fast, the first bright stars of the blinking into view like diamonds on velvet.

  “Like a serpent,” Splinterstem said eventually, in his deep voice. “A great and terrible serpent of the earth, with many teeth.”

  Robin swallowed hard. “Ah,” he said.

  *

  They camped there for the night, hidden in the trees on the lip of the blasted area of forest. The dryad seemed strangely intent on playing the good host to his odd guests, and by placing his hand on the earth where they set their camp, he had caused great cushions of thick and springy green moss to bloom out of the grassy ground, upon which Robin and the others fell, exhausted and grateful. It was the most comfortable they had been since leaving Erlking.

  They ate a supper of cold meats and cheese, all vocally blessing Hestia to the heavens for her diligent packing, especially as Splinterstem forbade any fires to be lit.

  All were too tired to talk of much, and as night fell, and the darkness under the trees began to glow with a thousand yellow fireflies, Robin drifted into an uneasy slumber.

  HERE BE …

  Robin stumbled through the snowfield. Icy winds lashed at his face, throwing blisteringly cold ice crystals against his frozen cheeks. The white powder tipped over the top of his winter boots, tumbling inside. It was almost as high as his knees as he pushed through it, hugging himself for warmth and desperately trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

  Above him on the heartless and empty plain, stretching in white nothingness all around, the chill blackness of the night sky was dressed in billowing skirts of green and yellow light, a majestic borealis, curtains of light roaring above the wind.

  I’m going to die out here, he thought to himself with perfect clarity, teeth chattering. I’m never going to make it.

  Ahead of him, through the foggy curtain of the heavy snow, there was the shadow of a figure. Robin made his way slowly and painfully toward it, the icy gales lashing at his back with every labouring step.

  The blurry figure in the snowstorm slowly resolved into a girl, standing with her arms folded, her long hair whipped away to one side.

  “Nice night for it,” she said cheerfully as he approached. If she felt the cold at all, she didn’t show it. She was wearing a black top and jeans. The dark t-shirt whipped and cracked around her waist in the winds. She glanced around. “Really though? This is what you think of me?” She shook her head. “Shame on you. Come on, Blondie, I have a better place to play.”

  She grabbed his hand and pulled him forward as she turned and strode off through the snow. The lights faded in the sky above, the borealis winking out, and the world was plunged into total darkness. The wind died altogether.

  “You know it’s going to eat you alive, don’t you?” Peryl said, in an unconcerned way, as though she were discussing the weather.

  “The darkness?” Robin blinked, stumbling forward, still gripping her hand. Her fingers were icy, but the cold around him had disappeared altogether. Instead of snow powder around his boots, there was the rustle now of dry leaves.

  “No, dummy,” she laughed. “Although, that doesn’t hurt as much as you would think … trust me. It’s actually quite painless that. At the time anyway. Like drinking treacle.”

  In the darkness, he sensed her shake her purple head. “No, the hurt comes later with that one.”

  There was a faint golden glow ahead. It was in fact growing all around them.

  “I didn’t mean the darkness, although that’s a distinct possibility, unless you get your act together of course. I meant the drake.” She stopped in front of him suddenly. “That might hurt more of course. Not a clean business.”

  Robin blinked and stared around in confusion. There was enough light to see by now. They were indoors, in some kind of a golden corridor. The walls and floor were lined with odd, geometric patterns, and they seemed slightly translucent, as though carved from amber.

  “I’m dreaming again, aren’t I?” he said, noting that although there was enough light to see by now, she hadn’t released his hand. It didn’t feel as cold either, although whether her hand was becoming warmer, or his cooler, he couldn’t readily tell.

  “Either you are or I am,” she replied. “Who knows? It’s bugging me too, to be honest. But I thought while we have a moment's peace together, you ought to be prepared at least.”

  “Prepared to be eaten?” He wondered idly how one went about such a thing. “What’s that humming?” Robin asked. There was indeed a low and persistent drone all around them. It sounded sleepy.

  “Oh, I’m the queen bee these days,” she replied cheekily, as though this were deliciously scandalous gossip. “Haven’t you heard? Out with the old green-haired misery and in with the new?” She stopped walking and turned to face him, her purple hair falling messily over one eye. Peryl was smirking. “Power changes hands, you know. I watched him fall as I rose. It was delicious.”

  “I don’t like it here,” he decided. “This feels like a bad place. There’s no air. No light either. Not real light. What did you want to tell me?”

  “Only that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar, superhero of the Arcania," she said, her violet eyes roaming his. “Watch out for lies. Words are honeyed, but it isn’t just bees that hide a sting. You’re going to have to see past things, to the truth. I’m giving you a fighting chance, that’s all.”

  Robin was so confused. “Penny, you're not making even a little bit of sense. Where are we?”

  “The Hive, of course!” she whispered gleefully, as though they were naughty children sneaking into the cinema. “But don’t tell anyone. I don’t know you’re coming yet, the other me, I mean. And I won’t be pleased to see you when you get here, that’s for sure.”

  “You’re not pleased to see me?” Robin replied awkwardly.

  She gave him a weary look, one eyebrow raised. “Well, there’s me … and then there’s me. And you know exactly what I mean by that, don’t even pretend you don’t.”

  Robin had no reply for this. A small part of him realised that he was talking so quietly in this dream deliberately … so as not to wake up the Puck. This made perfect sense, as dreams do at the time.

  “I may have put the peppercorn of darkness in that happy-clappy rainbow soul of yours,” she said. “But you threw the toaster in my bathwater, so you can’t blame this mind-meld entirely on me.”

  “Why warn me?” Robin asked her.

  “You really have no idea how clueless you are if you don’t know why. That’s the problem with you white-hats.” She regarded him curiously. “You always assume everyone is as well-meaning and as dashed jolly decent as you are. It’s a stupid and dangerous way to live. It’s going to get you killed.”

  “I know what I’m dealing with,” Robin said, strangely determined not to look weak in front of her. “I can handle the monster. I can defeat the scourge.”

  She clucked her tongue and let go of his hand, dropping it suddenly.

  “Yeah yeah, I’m sure you can, Conan. Just don’t get stuck in its throat.” She tossed her purple hair. “You haven’t even figured out what it is yet.”

  The amber light around them was suddenly fading fast, and the cold was returning.

  “What is it then?” he asked. She was slipping away into shadows. It felt as though he was passing out. Can you fall asleep in a dream? he wondered absently to himself.

  “It’s a dragon, dummy,” she said with wicked relish. “A flightless dragon of the forest. I saw it born. I know its secret. And you sir, are no
knight.”

  THE BROKEN HEART OF THE FOREST

  Robin’s eyes shot open, and immediately squeezed shut again. Bright sunlight was stabbing down from between the treetops above him, dappled and shimmering. Disoriented, he realised with a jolt that he was moving. It felt like he was cradled in a bower of branches, a stiff hammock, and the canopy overhead was sliding by, strobing what looked like noon-time sun in and out of shadows.

  “Whathebloodyhell!” he rasped, the words all tumbling out of his mouth in surprise and, wincingly, rather more high pitched than he’d intended.

  Coming around more clearly, he realised that he was being carried, like a small doll in the long arms of their dryad guide. Splinterstem’s long, surefooted steps a rocking rhythm that was almost lulling. The large, oddly green-tinted darkness of the dryad's face looked down at him inquisitively. Robin could see himself reflected hundreds of times over in the faceted, emerald eyes.

  “Pinky! You’re awake!” came Woad’s carefree voice from somewhere below them. “It’s about time, lazybones!”

  They were walking through a deep, wooded gully, the floor in this part of the forest naked of any fallen leaves. Instead, a carpet of soft thick moss, dotted here and there with clusters of tiny bright red and yellow flowers, like splashes of paint, passed beneath them. Karya was beside Woad, and she glanced up with a smirk.

  “I second that,” she said. “Talk about sleeping like the dead. We couldn’t wake you for a hatful of gold this morning. Would have been worried you were dead if it hadn’t been for the snoring. Sounded like someone cutting down trees in the forest.”

  “And the drool,” Woad added helpfully, his scampering feet kicking up small clouds of pollen from the springy, mossy floor, their motes shimmering in the sunbeams. “Dead boys don’t drool.” He made a thoughtful face. “As far as I know, anyway.” He elbowed Karya. “Hey boss, that’s a good name for a band, right?”