Crik (25 page)

Listening to the ruckus their arrival had caused, Jack missed the squirrel jump down. The small rodent danced around the heavy boots of the Myrms. A brute stamped down, missing the squirrel by inches. After his narrow escape, the squirrel dashed for the great tree, and disappeared.

Inara screamed as a Myrm, wearing an ornate helmet crafted to look like an owl, charged into the group, dislodging her from her captor’s arms. She fell with a heavy thud.

Outraged, Jack shot forward, not caring how close he came to the two Myrms. The owl Myrm smacked his gauntlet against the frog, cracking the lime green helmet. The aggressor, being much larger, dropped his opponent to its knees.

‘You alright?’

Coughing up red dust, Inara gave a quick nod. ‘Feels like someone threw me off a cliff.’ She batted dust off her thigh. ‘I’ll be fine.’ The dazed Myrm crouched in the shadow of the giant. ‘I feel a little sad for him. Forgetting the fall, he was gentler than I expected.’

‘They’re all savages,’ said Bill, hunkering down beside them.

Glowering bloodshot eyes set deep within the owl helmet demanded their attention. Another hole, half hidden by the curved beak, revealed a set of blunt slab-like teeth. From this opening issued a series of threatening sounds. The children dared not move, fearing the behemoth would attack.

Now amongst larger and fiercer residence of the Wold, Krimble kept himself as low as possible, while interpreting the barbaric speech for them. ‘Raglor,’ he looked toward the menacing Myrm, ‘is a great hunter, and First Fist of the Feylr Clan.’

Unlike the milling crowd, Raglor kept still, watching them with interest. An etching of the Hanging Tree adorned his dented gauntlet.

‘What does he want with us?’ asked Inara, sitting up. ‘We were only trying to get out of the Wold, not trespass on his land.’

‘He can’t just allow people to come as they please,’ argued Krimble. ‘If he did, it wouldn’t take long before people started to take advantage of his lenience. A few campsites would give way to more permanent dwellings. Given time, whole settlements will start to spring up, to mine all this magnificent iron.’

‘Well we won’t,’ shouted Bill. ‘You know we only want to get away from here.’

Impatient, Raglor raged forward. His shoulders bunched into tight knots behind his head like iron mountains. He reached out to snatch Bill’s shirt, only to roar in outrage as the boy ducked under his grasping fingers.

‘Careful Bill,’ cried Inara as Raglor strode forward.

‘I’m not going to just let him grab me,’ said Bill, backing away until a tree brought him to a sudden stop.

‘Where can you go,’ called out Krimble in hysterical delight.

‘Take control of him,’ called Jack.

‘I tried already,’ answered Bill. ‘They only look like animals…’

Raglor drove his fist into Bill’s stomach, doubling the boy over in pain. Blinking away tears, Bill managed, between mouthfuls of air, to say, ‘Animals have more sense,’ before collapsing to the ground.

‘He has magic that he wants to use against you,’ said Krimble, crowding behind Raglor. ‘Quick stop him before he has a chance to hurt you.’

Krimble flew back. Raglor’s fist broke two of the zombie’s ribs with a sickening crunch. As the zombie lay on the ground, touching the bone splintering from his chest, the Myrm took a step toward him.

Krimble listened to the grunts of the First Fist. When the chieftain had finished, he answered in a staccato voice. ‘I never meant he could beat you in a fight. I only wanted to warn you, that he has hidden dangers. They all have. Look.’ He pointed toward Yang, who had Inara circled protectively. ‘That shadow is treacherous, and will try to trick you.’

Raglor glowered at Yang. The shadow, contrary to the strong sunlight, remained in place. Noticing this anomaly for himself set Raglor over to investigate. Raising his boot, he brought it down with all his might. The ground cracked under his heel. Yang, having moved from the attack, swam back in to snatch Raglor’s foot. The hunter let out a surprised gasp, as too did the other Myrms gathered around. The muscles along Raglor’s thighs bunched and strained, groaning against the armour casing. Eventually he peeled the stubborn shadow from the ground. It appeared as though Raglor pulled himself from sticky tar. With an earth-shattering roar, Raglor smashed his fist into the shadow, only for Yang to secure his hand. Tying himself to the brute’s other appendages; Yang pulled the Myrm to the ground.

The other Myrms stayed clear of the fight. Only the headdress of their leader escaped Yang’s embrace. The black mass writhed as Raglor continued to fight. Bolstered by the hot sun, Yang threw a dark wave over the roaring hunter.

The Myrms ringed around the conflict hollered their outrage. The First Fist’s armour cracked, revealing a raging white haired beast beneath the ornamental layers. With a twist of a hand, Yang threw off the owl helmet, unmasking a grizzled, scarred, creature. A stone flew from out of the throng. Yang dissolved away from the striking stone, allowing the projectile to hit the jaw of the Great Hunter with a sickening thud. Blood spurted from rubbery black lips. Yelling in pain, Raglor renewed his efforts to escape. Straightening up Raglor stretched Yang, from a low-lying mound, to a tall black monolith. For a time it looked as though Raglor had the strength to pull free, and the other Myrms expected their chief to do just that. A collective groan escaped when Yang, rushing up Raglor’s chest, drove the chieftain back down to one knee.

Bill, having moved close to Inara and Jack, cowered with them just outside the frenzied mob. They could have tried to escape if Inara could walk, but they were stuck to the spot just as surely as Raglor.

‘The children control the shadow,’ cried out Krimble. ‘Kill the children to free Raglor, Fist of the Feylr Clan!’

Jack felt the blood drain from his face. The sly zombie had hobbled over, and with a word condemned them all.

Two brutes closest to the children turned. One held an iron club; the other flexed its fingers ready to tear them apart.

‘Free Raglor,’ called Krimble through a sneer. ‘Free your leader!’

The raised iron cudgel hung over the trio, ready to fall.

Although the cudgel’
s
shadow moved, like a sundial, from Jack to Inara, the hand holding the weapon never shifted. Jack traced the clockwise shift of the shade. He assumed his demon had another trick up its sleeve and had taken charge of the weapon, yet all his shadow’s attention remained on Raglor. Switching his focus from the weapon, he saw the Myrm’s bloodshot orbs looking off to the left to where approached tendrils of light.

‘What’s coming?’ Inara asked, clutching his arm.

The light spread out like windblown ribbons of cloth. The Myrms backed away from the radiance; some took to the trees, clamouring for the high branches. Although a few of the larger clan members grunted amongst themselves, to show they were not as afraid as the younger brutes, they too eventually stepped out of the light’s path

‘There’s more than one coming,’ said Jack, spying other light from behind the Hanging Tree.

‘And there’s another on the far side of the lake,’ reported Bill.

Lowering his arm, the creature with the club, with an impatient snort, retreated. His companion sprang upward, snatching an overhead branch with a thunderous clang, breaking loose a few silver leaves.

Inara snatched back her hand as the serrated edges of the metal shards punctured the ground around her. ‘They’re scared,’ she said. ‘None of them will face the light. I bet they’d kill one another to get out of its way.’

‘Is that a good thing?’ asked Bill.

Jack wondered. If the demon living within him hadn’t protected itself, Raglor would’ve hurt them, even killed them. This new danger, presented a more alarming peril. He knew the Myrms physical threat; he had faced such dangers during the wolf attack. The looming light had the same effect on him as a fire had on a cornered animal. Sweat beaded his upper lip, and his heart no longer thumped against his chest, it thrummed like a guitar string.

The core burned brightest amongst the billowing filaments of light. Shielding his eyes with the blade of his hand, he attempted to discern some detail, when his watering eyes smudged the bright centre of the wandering light. Before his vision dissolved, he spotted a figure gliding toward them.

‘There’s something in the light,’ he told the others. ‘It’s female.’

Bill turned to him, his face slick with sweat beneath his bloodied rag. ‘How can you be sure?’

With a shrug, Jack replied, ‘There’s a silhouette within the light. Tall, narrow legged and full at the hip. It’s feminine.’

‘You’re wrong.’

‘Not bloody likely. Why’d you care if it’s a woman or not?’ said Jack, feeling his anger growing.

‘I don’t think you need argue,’ said Inara. She bit her lip. ‘Whatever it is, it’ll be here soon enough.’

Raglor’s roars only grew at the appearance of the newcomers. Held prisoner by Yang, the chieftain, with stubborn fury, struggled against his bonds. Yang’s stranglehold showed no sign of weakening until a wisp of light touched him. Immediately the shadow recoiled from the caress. The spreading light pushed Yang back, so that he fell from the white fur like melting snow. Freed first were the chieftain’s large biceps and angular triceps, and then his shoulder and a portion of his thigh. Torn armour lay in a ruined heap at his feet. Feeling the warm contact of the sun spurred Raglor to greater effort. As his head appeared, his triumphant roar deafened the children. Continuing to pull away, Yang dripped from the Myrm like raindrops on glass.

‘He’s going to come for me again,’ said Bill. ‘They always come for me.’

Watching his shadow return to his side, Jack doubted the chieftain wanted anything more to do with them. So he let out a gasp when Raglor hurled himself after Yang.

His fearsome mouth opened to an incredible girth as Raglor hurled a fearsome challenge. Standing his ground, Yang remained with his arms planted on his hips. Dust swirled up from the boots of the chieftain, and his driving fist cracked the ground.

Stretching his arms and splaying out his fingers, Yang rushed Raglor. With a howl, the Myrm skipped back, almost tripping over in his alarm.

Although he had nowhere to go, Jack wanted to retreat from the light. Holding his breath, the light washed over the bewildered chieftain, before bathing him and his friends. He expected its touch to be searing hot, not cold and withering. Shivering, he wrapped his arms around his chest and stared into the face of a woman. Sorrow painted her face heavier than any makeup. A deep loss, casting her mouth down, and creating impenetrable pits for her eyes, dulled her light into autumnal shades.

In straight lines, her lank, dispirited hair, framed her cheeks. ‘You’ve come a long way from Crik Village,’ she said, reaching out to touch Jack’s chin.

Jack imagined a lizard’s tongue would feel like her fingers. ‘How’d you know that?’ he asked. Had she heard the revulsion in his voice?

‘You have its taint,’ she responded, pinching his skin. ‘Its shame.’

‘There’s no shame in living in the village.’ He pulled back from her grasp. ‘Only good decent people live there,’ he said, picturing the Hulme sisters playing in the street. Tommen Guild, one hot summer’s day, iced the pond so whole families could skate. Above all, he saw his mother, kneading bread with flour up to her elbows. He decided it wasn’t the right time to add a quip about Dwayne Blizzard, her dislike for Crik Village had nothing to do with his own childish aversions. ‘No one from back home has ever entered the Wold.’

‘Until now,’ she said. ‘You passed the blue stones. We placed them to stop you from trespassing. You risked killing your Narmacils by coming here. Why have you come into our retreat?’

Walking up to Jack’s shoulder Bill looked at the woman. With his eyes half shut, he pursed his lips. ‘You’re a Ghost Walker.’

At once, her features changed from sorrow, to one filled with anger. Black pools developed under her eyes, blotting out the light. Tributaries flowed from the crepuscule concavities down her smooth skin. Her lank hair blew back from small ears as she crowded the boys, enveloping them in a cold that sank bone deep.

‘That was a name given to us; one we have not heard for many years,’ she said.

The breath caught in Jack’s throat. These were not the first Ghost Walkers he had seen, another much closer to home walked night-time boards.

The Ghost Walker, looming large, said, ‘Does the village think so little of us that they have given our eradication over to the children? Do they think your Narmacils are powerful enough to combat us? Your shadow has shown its worth against the Clan Chief.’ She tilted her chin toward a knot of three Myrms, where Raglor stood in evident distress. The First Fist, shielded its broad face from the Ghost Walker’s inspection. ‘What impressive Talents have the fat boy and the girl to warrant such overconfidence?’

‘Don’t give them a chance to use their abilities, Justice.’ said a second Ghost Walker, who came to stand behind Bill. ‘We should kill them now; let them swing from the Hanging Tree. The wind stirs the rope in anticipation. Give them to the hemp.’

‘Your words remind me of laying in a thicket, watching a line of torchlight weave a path toward the first Hanging Tree,’ replied Justice. ‘Are you so eager to pick up the torch yourself, sister?’

‘Kyla’s words reflect all of our feelings,’ spoke a third woman. ‘We are the persecuted, not the persecutors. We must defend ourselves. Why else would they go through the agony of crossing the stones if they did not want to hunt us down?’

‘We aren’t hunting anyone,’ said Jack, looking at all three women. ‘We didn’t know you were here. We thought the Red Wood only existed in stories.’

‘The Myrms carried us here, taking us from the path that would lead us from the Wold,’ added Inara.

‘Only one exit from the Wold,’ said Kyla. ‘The Blackthorn Tunnel is to your backs, as you well know.’

The news that the Blackthorn Tunnel was the only way in or out of the Red Wood rocked Jack. He couldn’t face returning to that horror. Terror clouded his mind when he thought of the creatures covered in black flowers. He knew he could not survive going through there again. His friends mirrored his fears.

‘You must help us,’ Bill suddenly cried out, falling to his knees. ‘My grandmother is one of you. That is how I knew you were Ghost Walkers. She leaves her body every night.’

Bill’s words had revealed a long kept secret. Bill knew about his grandmother being a Ghost Walker. For years, he had kept the truth hidden. Being Bill’s closest friend, Jack had expected no such secret to exist between them.

‘The child lies,’ said Kyla.

‘He’s not,’ said Jack. ‘I’ve seen her myself. She paints in her room.’ He ignored the amazement on Bill’s upturned face. He had also kept secrets from Bill, more than one. His sense of Bill’s betrayal dissipated, leaving room for a sea of guilt. ‘What you suffered in the village ended a long time ago.’

‘We should be free to wander, to share our light,’ said Justice. ‘Not to dream of other places while clutching at brushes. If what you say is true, then your grandmother,’ she looked down at Bill, ‘is a prisoner within the village. In case the villagers discover and destroy her sleeping body, she will not risk venturing into the woods.’

‘No, she is happy,’ argued Bill, shaking his head vigorously. ‘She lives with my grandpa, and there aren’t two happier people in the whole village. Most fear crossing her; you can’t say she is a prisoner.’

Nodding his agreement, Jack said, in a breathless rush, ‘She’s always yelling at me. One time she left my ears ringing for hours cos I hit her roses with my ball.’

Justice ignored his outburst. ‘If safe, why hide her true self? Why else does she remain inside?’

‘The villagers are as small minded as they were in our day,’ said Kyla. ‘If they found out about her, her spirit would wander alone in Crik Wood. The fear of the men of her village unearthing her secret is terrorising the poor woman.’

They wouldn’t think that if they knew Grandma Poulis, thought Jack. Then why not reveal herself to the village? Why did his closest friend keep the fact from him? The poem he knew about the Ghost Walkers did not come from Grandpa Poulis, that night Mr Dash, the grave keeper of “Long Sleep” Cemetery, sat in the fire’s glow. His eyes shone like rubies, and his voice took on a serious tone as he began:

The wood’s secrets are strange and accursed,

Whistling wind shapes its crooked curse.

An icy call passes on its fell light.

Heeding the ancient voice, the lady, alights.

From haunted land, and unbeaten track, she comes.

A mischievous smile, plays across greying gums.

To plant a poison kiss, she comes.

Beware her light or you will succumb.

The slumber of innocence, taken with a kiss.

Beware the Lady, her poison lips.

Your life she wishes to eclipse.

Beware the Lady’s possessive grip.

Her house of blood and bone, talks,

Loved ones unbeknown fall for this horrid faux.

Amongst the sun and fields, she walks,

Wrapped in disguise, the innocence she stalks.

On blackest night, she roams,

Stepping from her house of bones.

She schemes and plots our demise,

While her house falls and dies.

The ancient voice has its own expression.

From which spells tales of woe and depression.

Lies and warped truth she tells,

This we must all repel.

Her deceit caught, her guise revealed.

Her lifeless host, no longer concealed.

With solemn hearts, we compose,

To end such a dire pose.

To break the shackle, and remove the curse,

The Hanging Tree concludes this epic verse.

Swinging from wood, we drop the rope,

We can only offer this one hope.

Without a place to hide, without a body to wear,

We must conclude this awful affair.