Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound 7
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rope which he then rolled up at his side. “It never hurts to be prepared.”
Shad walked up to him during the process and was amazed at the bit of magic. “How did you do that?” he asked in wonder.
“It’s an old trick I learned at summer camp,” Pound answered with dry humor as he stood back up and wrapped the rope over his arm and shoulder. “Ready?”
“I’ve been ready. I’ve just been waiting for you,” Shad answered as he kicked a rock in frustration and stomped off ahead. Down the ledge they went, and they followed the trail ahead until they came to the first tree in the dead forest. Stopping for a moment, Pound held up his hand for quiet. He listened intently as a hissing clamor, comparable to the rush of air escaping from a leaky tire, permeated the surroundings and hovered over the wind.
“What is that?” Pound whispered. First to the right and then to the left, Shad was listening to it as well, and his head changed direction with each interval of sound.
“I can’t get a bead on it. First the hissing is over here and then it’s over there. I’m not at all sure where it’s coming from or what’s causing it,” Shad said as he turned his head to listen. “It’s starting to get late though, so we had best keep moving,” he remarked as he ignored the sounds and kept moving down the trail deeper into the dead wood. Pound reluctantly followed the little man through the maze of rotten trees, and he kept his eyes peeled for any suspicious movements. Through the canopy of bare limbs, the bright star in the sky set behind the mesa, and he stood motionless, waiting for the unknown to reveal itself. With the last twinkle of daylight breaking through the tree tops, Pound thought that he saw a limb move high up in one of the trees.
“Shad, I don’t pretend to know much about this world, but I don’t trust this forest,” he said as the darkness of night descended upon the dead wood and surrounded them in a smothering haze. There was no denying the oppressive sense of foreboding that tightened like a noose about them, and it bothered Pound that he felt this awkward in the friendly confines of a forest. He was at one with most levels of plant life, and the fact that he felt uneasy among trees was a significant admission of doubt. He had learned from his mistakes in the past, and Pound knew that the hesitation he felt should not go unheeded. “What do you know of it?” he pressed the dwarf.
“I don’t know what happened to the forest. My father never told me. The last time that I traveled through here was many years ago, and it was quiet then,” Shad explained. “There were no hisses to be heard,” he added as he cleaned off a nearby log with his hands and sat down on it to rest. “If I could make an estimation, I would say that something killed the trees off long ago, but not for food, or the trees would likely have been eaten.
“I should be asking you,” he continued as he turned and looked up at Pound with an inquisitive eye. “I saw what you did to those men at the graveyard, how you caged them up with the trees limbs. It seems to me that you should be able to read the evidence and tell me what happened here without my help.” The dwarf crossed his legs and with one foot tapping anxiously on the ground, Shad stared at Pound and waited for a reply. Pound thought it through before he answered, and he was still not convinced that he should trust Shad any more than he trusted the dead wood that surrounded them.
“But Shad does have a point,” he reasoned with himself as he walked up to one of the trees and placed his hand on the bare wood. “Maybe I should try, maybe the dead tree will speak to me,” he supposed as his fingers settled into the grooves of the dry outer sap wood. Concentrating on the cell walls that lined the outside of the tree, he spoke to the wood, and no words of ease came back. All that he could feel was the dryness and dehydration that had taken up residence within the tree’s outer rings. Continuing to push deeper, he sensed the mental tendrils of thought pierce through the outer shell to the inner heart wood of the elder tree. Three hundred years he counted through one ring after another until he reached the pith. And there lay the dark and evil poison that had spread through to the limbs. Morbid thoughts of death and rot pulsed through his nerves, up his arm, and into his mind, overtaking any joy or happiness inside, and Pound was forced to let go of his manual connection with the wicked tree. As he released the thoughts and pulled back his consciousness from the putrid heart wood of the rotten trunk, Pound found that he could not let go of the bare skin of the tree. Black tendrils of rot had crept up his fingers to his wrist, and his hand was held in place by the parasitic wood. This was a new and terrifying experience, and since this had never happened to him before, Pound panicked for an instant, placing his foot against the trunk of the tree to gain leverage. With the added strength of his leg, Pound managed to loosen the grip on his hand, and with a quick jerk, his hand flew backward in an arc that ended with his back striking the ground. That was when he realized that the foot used to gain leverage was still attached to the tree. Shad remained calmly seated on the log and watched Pound’s struggle against the dead wood with no apparent interest. After wrestling against the rotten tree for longer than necessary, Pound looked at Shad for help.
“You got me into this,” he barked at the little man who seemed completely unconcerned. “The least that you could do is help get me out.”
“Maybe this adventure isn’t for you,” Shad replied as he stood to his feet. He then walked over to the tree and placed his hand on the bare wood just above Pound’s foot. Then he mumbled something below his breath as his hand began to glow red with heat. Pound pulled with all of his might, and the wood finally released his foot with a start. Pound’s knee then smacked his lower jaw in the process.
“Thanks . . . I guess,” said Pound as he rubbed his jaw in an effort to bring the feeling back into it. “You might be right though. I would be better off going through the front door if the rest of this journey finishes like it started.” He rolled over onto his feet and backed away from the dead tree only to run into another one. Luckily, that tree made no effort to latch onto him, but the hissing started up once again. This time the strange sound became so loud that he could not hear Shad’s reply, though he could tell by the expression on his face that the little man was also surprised by the return of the unexpected noise in the dark forest. The chatter became so loud that neither man could stand to listen to it without placing their hands over their ears. Pound ran over and bent down close to the little man’s ear.
“We should leave here! Quick!” Pound yelled into his ear. “I don’t know how, but this place will be the death of us if we stay,” he explained. “This reminds me of the seventeen-year cicadas back home, but by the volume of the noise they’re making, they have to be much larger.” Shad nodded his agreement and pointed into the dark ahead.
“That way!” Shad yelled over the noise and motioned with his hand, but Pound could not see the trail ahead in the dark. Then Shad broke off a dead limb and held his finger to it for a second. With a burst, a tiny green flame shot out of his fingertip, and he lit the end of the stick with the flame to make a small torch.
“How did you do that!” asked Pound with a look of surprise.
“It’s an old trick I learned from a friend,” Shad answered. Before Pound could ask any further questions, he noticed that several large animals scattered from the light to the fringes of the trail ahead.
“Please don’t let the light burn out,” Pound yelled and then handed another thick limb to Shad. “Can you light this one, too?” he asked, and Shad again produced a flame at his fingertips to ignite the limb. Pound then turned around with the torch only to see even more animals scurrying away into the dark, and this time he caught a better glimpse of the creatures that pursued them. “I must be mistaken,” he thought to himself, and Pound used his free hand to rub his eyes clear before focusing again in the dark. To his dismay, the image stayed the same. They would not sleep in the forest that night because they were being stalked by what appeared to be giant hissing cockroaches.
Back to back they paced down the ne
ver-ending trail that night, and the creatures dared not enter into the light too closely. Shad led the way, and Pound, who was focused intently on the shadows behind, brought up the rear. When a torch burned out, Shad had another one ready, and together they continued along the dark trail into the night. Then they rounded a bend in the way, and there in the middle of the trail was an enormous pit which extended past the edges to the trees on either side, severing the path completely. Shad had only just stopped in time to place his foot on the edge without tumbling inside, and before the little man could announce the danger to his partner, Pound stepped backward and bumped Shad forward into the chasm. Shad let out a yelp as he fell reluctantly into the crevasse, and Pound spun around on his heels to see what had happened, catching only a last glimpse of Shad’s torch as it fell out of sight.
“Crap!” Pound exclaimed and immediately dropped to his knees to look for Shad in the darkness of the pit below. Luckily, Shad had fallen only twenty feet below, and the torch remained lit beside him as he stood and dusted himself off at the bottom. “Hold on! I’ll lower the rope,” Pound yelled down the