by Helen Gosney
“Oh, he’ll let you all right, so long as you tell him how handsome he is and how clever,” Rowan chuckled softly, “You’ll be surprised how gentle he is, Soot too, so long as you don’t try to ride them, or attack me or Rose if they’re anywhere near. I truly can’t imagine you’re going to.”
“No, I wasn’t planning on trying either of those so damned early in the morning,” Cris said with a grin.
Mica lowered his head and graciously accepted the peppermint that Rowan offered him; then he walked placidly beside Cris as he cooled off. He stood like a rock as he was rubbed down and Cris was indeed surprised at how easy the stallion was to handle. When he’d finished with Mica, he rejoined Rose in the doorway and watched Rowan put Soot through his paces. To his inexperienced eye, the black stallion was as graceful as the grey had been.
“I must be very slow, I think,” he said to Rose, “I’ve only just realised that this was what Rowan meant by ‘battle-trained’, wasn’t it? That was what Mica did to that creature yesterday...” as Soot reared and leapt forward.
Rose smiled at him.
“Well, yes... but there’s a bit more to battle training than this. You could blow a trumpet right beside Mica and Soot and they wouldn’t even blink; and they both respond to whistles or hand signals too, or just a word, whether or not Rowan’s actually riding them. Mind you, I’d never really seen Mica in action until yesterday... Of course I’ve seen him doing his training routines lots of times, but, well, I hadn’t realised what it all really means I suppose. I couldn’t believe how fierce he was and how quick.”
“I couldn’t believe how fierce he was either,” Cris admitted, thinking of the gore on the hooves of both horses yesterday, “But he’s so gentle now.”
“He is gentle, truly,” said Rowan as Soot stopped beside them, “But both he and Soot are trained to think for themselves too. Mica saw that thing yesterday and did something about it before I even realised it was there; Soot would have done the same if he’d seen it first... but they only react like that if there’s danger, otherwise they’re no different from... from Bess and Max.
Cris found that difficult to believe, but kept his thoughts to himself.
The remainder of the day seemed an anticlimax after such a start. The worst of the rain had gone, but every now and then a cold squally shower would strike the travellers, causing Rose to mutter darkly to herself as she pulled the hood of her cloak over her bright hair, and Bess to toss her head irritably. Cris and Rowan had a few private thoughts about it too.
The countryside was still undulating, and they saw many herds of cranu and the slower baarle, huge reddish coloured beasts with black stripes on their rumps and four curving horns on their brows. Once they saw a herd of wild horses led by a big bay stallion that watched them carefully. It whinnied a challenge as they passed, but Mica and Soot merely snorted and strode on with lordly indifference.
“I wonder why no people live around here? It seems to be fine country,” Rose said, looking around her.
It was fine country, perfectly suited to breeding horses or cattle. Rowan put the thought into the back of his mind for later consideration. But surely there must have been others who’d had the same thought.
“Aye, I’ve been thinking about that too,” he mused, “Perhaps there was a plague of some sort, a long time ago, or... well, I don’t know really, but it just seems strange that the land is so empty.”
“I think it’s a very long time since anyone lived in these parts, if they ever did... there are old ruins in the Dimlit Marsh, but I’ve never heard of any others,” said Cris thoughtfully. It did seem strange now that he thought about it.
“Speaking of the Marsh... how far did you say it was from Sunset Wash?” Rose asked idly.
“Two or three days, I think, but I’m not really sure,” Cris said. “Not more than three days I think,” he added after some more thought.
“So... today or tomorrow, then,” Rowan said.
**********
They didn’t come to the Marsh that day, but quite soon after setting out the next day they came over a steep rise to see the road stretching before them, running straight and true into the crystalline depths of a great lake. The lake glistened in the pale morning light, spreading almost as far as they could see in all directions.
“A lake...? But I thought it was supposed to be a marsh!” said Rose incredulously.
“It is... it is supposed to be a marsh. Dimlit Marsh, it’s called, but...” Cris floundered, trying to think if they’d taken a wrong turning somewhere. Of course they hadn’t. There’d simply been no other roads leading from the one they were on. The whole area they’d traversed had been oddly empty of any signs of habitation, either ruins or roads, apart from the waystations.
“I think Dimlit Marsh has become Dimlit Mere...” Rowan said slowly, standing in his stirrups for a better view. “Look, follow the line of the road there. Gods, the water is clear. See, there’s a bridge... and...”
From where they were, it was like looking into the depths of a great crystal. Under the water the road ran onto a wide stone bridge, then continued on and on; other roads ran here and there; other bridges, some seemingly intact, others obviously fallen; drowned trees and bushes... and near the centre, but still clearly visible, a huge paved plaza surrounded by the tumbled ruins of an ancient city.
“It’s almost... you can almost reach out and touch it... the water is so clear,” Cris said, fascinated by the sight.
“I think we’re here at just the right time of day, too. The light is just right,” Rowan mused, half to himself, “I think we’ll be able to get around it and pick up the road on the other side with no trouble.”
Rose reached over and hit him, much to his surprise.
“Sometimes, Rowan, I wonder,” she said tartly, “Trust you to think of getting around it before we’ve even looked at it properly. It’s beautiful.”
She wasn’t usually so impatient with him, but really… would it be such a bad thing to take a few minutes to look at this wondrous drowned city? They still had the whole day before them.
“Aye... I’m sorry, Rose, you’re right... ‘tis beautiful,” Rowan said softly, “Sometimes I think I’ve lost my sense of... of what is beautiful and what should be enjoyed just for itself.” He turned away a little, so that she might not see the sadness in his eyes.
They stayed there for a while, resting their horses and thinking their thoughts.
“Come on then, lads!” said Rose finally, with a smile for them both. Her irritation with Rowan had gone as quickly as it had come. “I hate to say it, but Rowan is right. We should be looking for the best way around this, beautiful as it is... right or left, do you think?”
“Right!” said the ‘lads’ together, with a grin.
It took them several days to make their way around the lake. The edges were marshy and treacherous, and they had to make a much wider detour than they’d expected. Even from the level of the shoreline they could still see the drowned bridges and ruined buildings in the clear water, and at night the whole lake was eerily lit from within by millions of tiny glowing creatures that swam in the depths.
They crossed the remains of several old roads and tracks leading into the lake as they made their careful way around, but none of them could be mistaken for the one they sought, narrow and rutted and overgrown as they were.
At last they found it again, wide, paved, and still in quite good condition, the Road of the Gods leading purposefully away from the lake.
**********
21. “‘Tis a lot of somethings dead.”
A few days later they came to the top of yet another hill and stopped for a rest. A great vista opened up before them: a wide shallow valley with scattered clumps of trees and a narrow river tumbling through it. Towering above the trees was something much higher.
“What do you think that is, Rose? It looks like a… oh, I don’t know, a great big plant of some sort, perhaps,” Rowan said, knowing that Rose knew mor
e than he did about plants.
She peered at it carefully. A huge purplish thing, it didn’t look like a tree really but it was too far away to see clearly.
“I don’t know either, it’s a strange looking thing. I’ll have a good look at it when we get over there, it looks like it’s not too far from the road,” she said, puzzled.
“There’s more of them too. See, over there?” Cris pointed further down the valley to where there were indeed a few more of them, whatever they were.
“Aye, so there are. Ah well, I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,” Rowan said.
The wind changed and a horrid smell wafted up to them. Rowan stopped abruptly. His sense of smell was unreliable since his nose had been broken, but he knew only too well what that stench was. He fought against sudden nausea and his memories of Messton as he looked around quickly to find the source. Cris glanced at him and was shocked to see that his face was chalky white as it hadn’t been since they’d left Gnash.
“What’s wrong, Rowan? Oh! Bugger me! What’s that horrible…?” Cris cried.
Rowan looked at him bleakly.
“’Tis something dead, Cris. ‘Tis a lot of somethings dead,” he said slowly.
They went down the hill very carefully, but there was nothing to see that might alarm them. The horses were unsettled, but they kept going well enough. Rowan knew they’d simply refuse to move if they became too worried. What sensible creatures they are, he thought. Rose reached across and touched Rowan’s arm.
“Rowan, there’s a beast in trouble down here somewhere…” she murmured anxiously.
“Aye, love. I can hear it, poor creature. Don’t worry, we’ll find it,” he said as he looked about him again.
“What do you think it is?” Cris had never heard anything like the mournful sobbing cry that echoed faintly to them.
The twins shook their heads. It didn’t sound like anything they knew either.
“Sounds a bit like a wolf,” Rowan said slowly, “’Tisn’t though, I don’t think.”
They crossed the little river and there on the other side was the strange plant they’d seen from the ridge. Multiple scaly looking purplish-grey trunks with a total girth greater than the outstretched arms of five or six men reared up; the leaves were wide dark, hairy things and crowning the lot were huge trumpet shaped purple flowers that exuded an overpoweringly sickly sweet smell. It was well over one hundred feet high. Rose stared at it in fascination and dismounted so she could have a closer look in spite of the smell.
“Don’t, Rose!” Rowan said suddenly, “Don’t go near it. Look.”
She followed his pointing finger and saw that there were several things hanging among the leaves like ripe fruit. Suddenly the disgusting stench was almost unbearable. She gasped in horror as she realised that they were dead animals, tightly wrapped in leaves and tendrils.
“Bloody Hells! What is this thing…?” she said, appalled.
“I don’t know, but ‘tis where our beastie is, I think,” Rowan said as he swung down from Mica’s back. “Stay here, I’ll see if I can find it.”
“Be careful, Rowan,” Rose and Cris said together.
“Aye, don’t worry. I will be…”
Mica and Soot fussed and fidgeted, but they accepted Rowan’s command to stay where they were. He headed to the side of the tree where the miserable whimpering and howling seemed to come from.
Tangled in several barbed tendrils a few feet off the ground an odd creature stared at him. It was as big as a wolf and definitely doglike, but it wasn’t a wolf and it wasn’t a worral. Its shaggy grey fur was streaked with blood and it howled piteously as it struggled to escape.
“Hush, little beastie, hush. How did you get caught up like that?” Rowan said softly as he walked a little closer. Something moved in the depths of the plant and he jumped backwards as a long whiplike thing flashed at his face. Rose screamed as he somersaulted to his feet.
“Gods almighty! Are you all right, Rowan?” Cris called. He’d almost gone with Rowan, but he was very glad that he hadn’t. He knew he’d have been caught.
“Aye, it missed me. I’m all right,” Rowan replied, staring at several long violet tendrils that waved around menacingly a couple of feet in front of him. Glistening, sticky looking sap dripped from them, and they were armed with fiercely hooked barbs.
He hastily stepped back a bit more, then picked up a rock and lobbed it at the tendrils. They caught it easily, wrapping themselves around it in a sticky, spiny ball as they contracted slowly back towards the centre of the plant. He threw a few more rocks, studying the tendrils’ action carefully, and then he stepped forward again, ready for the thing this time. As more tendrils flashed towards him he swung his sabre at them, the razor sharp g’Hakken blade slicing through them with no trouble at all.
A terrible scream shrilled out, so high pitched that it was only just audible, and Rowan recoiled in pain, his hands over his ears. More tendrils darted towards him, but he was safely out of their reach as the dreadful noise went on and on. Finally it gradually faded.
“Beldar’s bloody breeks! Are you both all right?” he said shakily, surprised to find himself on his knees. His head was still ringing and one of his ears was bleeding; he couldn’t really hear Rose’s reply, but she’d been a good way back so he thought she and Cris would be all right. They certainly looked a lot better than he felt.
“I’m fine, Rose,” he added quickly, knowing what she’d say even if he couldn’t hear it. “Just don’t come any closer, love.”
He got to his feet carefully and looked at the poor creature caught in the tendrils. It was still whimpering softly and he could see that both of its ears were bleeding heavily and its flesh was badly torn in several places, could see too that it was hopelessly entangled. He looked into its huge, pain filled eyes for a moment.
“I’m so sorry, little beastie,” Rowan said softly, “I truly think there’s only one way I can help you now.”
He hurried back to Mica and grabbed his bow, then turned and shot the trapped beast cleanly in the heart.
They’d almost left the valley behind them before anyone spoke.
“Rowan, what was that… that thing? Was it truly a plant…?” Cris asked slowly.
Rowan turned to him. His undamaged ear had almost stopped ringing at last and he could hear a little from that side. The other ear wasn’t bleeding now, but all he could hear in it was the awful shrieking of the purple thing.
“I don’t know, Cris,” he said quietly, “I’m not sure I want to know.”
**********
22. “The Catspaw River”
They followed the road as before, through an open forest of the familiar oak, ash and firewheel mixed with a few evergreen cedars and turpentines. There were even a few eucalypts here and there, the first they’d seen since leaving Sunset Wash, but to their relief they’d seen no more of the horrible purple plants. Rowan’s hearing in the undamaged ear returned to its normal acuteness over a couple of days, but the ear that had bled took nearly three weeks to recover fully; luckily the others had been far enough away that they weren’t so badly affected.
Every so often they’d have a rest day for the horses and themselves. The rest days always refreshed them, even if the horses seemed to be the only ones who actually got much of a rest. Rowan would ride the stallions in their battle-training routines if the ground was suitable and then he and Cris would go hunting. Cris hadn’t had much experience with hunting, but his knowledge of traps and snares stood him in good stead; between that and Rowan’s lethal accuracy with a bow, they had no trouble supplementing their supplies with rabbits and small deer and the plump green and white pigeons that watched their progress through the trees. While the men were hunting, Rose would happily forage for fruit, herbs, tubers and fungi; forest-born-and-bred as she was, she knew what tasted best and more importantly, what was safe to eat.
Cris couldn’t believe how silently the twins could move through the forest. To his own ears, Cris
sounded like a wounded baarle crashing through the undergrowth, though he’d always thought himself to be reasonably light-footed. Of course, in Gnash, there hadn’t been great piles of leaves and twigs and undergrowth or fallen branches to contend with, to say nothing of the uneven and treacherous footing. All the same, he hoped his ears were just being over-sensitive.
“Don’t fret, Cris, ‘tis just practice, like everything else,” Rowan said with a shrug as Cris apologised again for his noisiness. “Rose and I spent all our youth in the forest, and I’d go out with the town’s hunters. They’d clip you on the ear if you were too noisy and if you couldn’t move quietly enough to catch something for supper, you went hungry. ‘Twas a great incentive not to crash about too much; eventually it just becomes second nature.”
One afternoon, Rowan was preparing some of the pigeons for their evening meal. He seemed to be finding something funny about the process.
“What are you doing over there, Rowan?” Rose called to him from the centre of their little camp. The waystation they’d found the day before was very tumbledown and the weather was fine, so their camp was in a small clearing just off the road. “Surely plucking and gutting pigeons isn’t as funny as all that?”
“No, not really. I’m just thinking I’m glad these aren’t cockatoos, Rose! I forgot to bring a brick with us!” he replied.
The twins grinned at each other and burst out laughing.
Cris had no idea what they were talking about. Before he could open his mouth to ask, and thus show his complete ignorance on the subject of cockatoos, Rowan noticed his confusion and said with a chuckle, “Sorry. I don’t think you have them around here. I haven’t seen any, or heard them. Cockatoos, I mean, not bricks. They’re big parrots, very big birds really. The ones I was thinking of are white with yellow crests, but they also come in black with red or yellow bits, and gorgeous pale pink ones too. There are other smaller ones as well. You can tame them and teach them to speak if you get a very young one straight from the nest. Some of them can imitate anything. They’re noisy creatures though, and destructive too, but they’re wonderful, clever birds that are full of fun and have a lot of character to them.” He grinned at Rose.
