Crik (26 page)

The Lady disappears with despair,

Her dire light held by our prayer.

After hearing the poem, it had taken Jack a month to sleep without first checking the bolt on his window.

‘You shouldn’t hang them,’ spoke Krimble, shuffling close. ‘They hate you, this is true. They lied about this supposed grandmother to weasel into your trust. Don’t listen to them; that’s how they trapped me.’ He kicked dust in Inara’s direction. ‘Her Narmacil is the most dangerous. Look at me, I am proof.’ He thumped his chest so hard his bent form rocked back. ‘A week ago I lived a quiet life in the marsh, now I am here, rotting in the sun. Before you hand out your judgement, you should find out why they have come here.’

‘There you are sister,’ said Kyla, ‘what more proof do you need. They reveal their cruelty by tormenting this man.’

‘His power of words over the Myrms does not impress me,’ said Justice. ‘Perhaps his crookedness runs deeper than his crooked spine.’

The tenseness of Inara’s body against him told Jack how much she wanted to shout, curse and deny everything Krimble said about them. He knew, as well as she did, that Krimble wanted them to do just that. By remaining silent, they offered no further opportunity for the zombie to spread his lies. Besides, the Ghost Walkers had no interest in what they had to say.

Kyla had murder within her. Their past haunted Justice and the other Ghost Walkers, terrorising them. Kyla’s memories fed her anger until it lay bloated like a full leach about to explode. 

‘You have travelled a great distance from Crik Village,’ said Justice, drawing Jack’s attention from Kyla’s green gaze. ‘The wood is no place for children; it is dark and very dangerous; even haunted.’

‘Haunted by us, Justice,’ said Kyla. ‘That is why the people we trusted, and loved, took us to the tree.’

‘I speak of older things than us,’ said Justice. ‘Time is ever moving, but not all things move with the times.’ She looked at the children. ‘You took a great risk in coming this far. The wood has no compassion, and the mire you traversed is treacherous, taking lives, as you would swallow a breath.’ At mention of the marsh, Jack ignored his compulsion to glance over at Krimble. He refused to give the zombie any satisfaction, no matter how small. ‘So,’ continued Justice, ‘why have you risked your lives to come so far?’

Jack knew Bill’s eyes bore hot holes into the back of his neck. They wouldn’t be here if not for him. All the dangers Justice mentioned were avoidable, only his desire to make his forked tongued imp disappear kept them on this long dangerous road. Even now, Yang flitted around the edge of his vision, reminding him of what hitched a ride inside.

‘We’ve come to see Knell,’ said Inara, before Jack had time to speak, ‘we would like to speak with her about getting me back home.’

Justice turned to Inara for the first time. ‘You are not from Crik Village?’

‘He,’ Inara said, pointing a finger caked in dust at Krimble, ‘took me from my parents. He used a stolen Narmacil to alter the path leading from my home until I became totally lost. It is my hope that the woman Knell will know the way back to them. Jack and Bill rescued me from the marsh house, and have helped me ever since.’

‘The only ones living between the wall and the swamp are the folk of Elysium,’ said Kyla. ‘And you,’ she said, edging up to Inara, bathing her in cold light, ‘aren’t one of them. So why travel east from the swamp?’

‘Wolves chased us,’ volunteered Bill. ‘If we returned to the wood they would’ve eaten us all.’

‘Don’t listen to him,’ whispered Krimble. ‘He commands the wild dogs. Ask the Myrms, they chased away the wolves the children used as mounts. Look at the girl, she has no legs, how do you think she came so far?’

‘I have lived here for a century,’ said Kyla. ‘You,’ she continued, looking at Justice, ‘have lived here longer than that. In all that time, no one has disturbed our sanctuary. If we allow the children to leave, they will tell tales of the Wold, and soon after the village hunters will seek us out.’

‘Kyla is right Justice,’ said the third Ghost Walker.

Justice shook her head. ‘If we hang them, we then become the executioner.’

‘Then you will let us go,’ said Jack, but his gratitude only lasted a moment. His terror-filled eyes grew and he let out a gasping cry. Justice had turned to him, the light pulled back from her face. He wanted to look away while his mind scrambled furiously for some distant refuge, only it found none, only a dark place where a bleached skull screamed shrilly from a mouthful of aged teeth.

‘We’re undying.’ Justice’s jawbone swung open like a windblown barn door. ‘The people of your village cursed us to this damned existence. That is why I cannot allow you three to leave the Red Wood. You will remain here until the day you die.’

Sleep came surprisingl
y
easy to Jack. The Myrms had carried them to a mound of reddish dirt, which obscured the crafted Hanging Tree. Two Myrms carried a squirming Bill, whilst he and Inara allowed the brutes, armoured in their animal disguises, to carry them without objection. Anytime Yang revealed himself, the Myrm carrying him grew agitated; by the time he dropped Jack, a damp musty odour rose up and through the beast’s armour. Relief after the day’s adventure swept through Jack as soon as he hit the dirt and he closed his eyes as though he had drank a barrel of ale.

All thought of the Ghost Walkers and the Wold fled as he dreamed of fields of cabbage, parsnips, and runner beans. He recognised Farmer Vine’s land, even the old swing hung where he remembered it. The boy, whose swing it was, had died so young Jack couldn’t recall his name. It made him feel sad that he couldn’t. A dog’s bark had him choke back a sob. Some time had passed since he had heard something as mundane as a dog’s bark. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the cabbage patch, relishing the crunch of the leaves underfoot. The farmhouse, and its rickety old windmill, remained hidden by the wooded knoll that sat dead centre within the field. Hearing the wooden slats of the windmill turning drew him forward. Quickening his steps, he broke into a run. Within moments, he gained the summit of the knoll, coming face to face with the weathered face of Farmer Vine. Farmer Vine clutched a dirty parsnip in one hand, and a pitchfork in the other. At first, the farmer ignored him, satisfying himself with the look and smell of his crop. When he acknowledged Jack’s presence, he cast a quick glance over Jack before dropping his gaze to the ground at Jack’s feet.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Jack, fearing the farmer spied ruined vegetables mashed to the leather of his shoes.

Instead, Farmer Vine gave a perplexed half smile, and hit Jack over the head with the parsnip.

‘Hey, why’d you hit me?’

‘Your mother isn’t here to do it for me,’ drawled the farmer. ‘She’s worried about you, you know.’

‘It’s none of your business,’ retorted Jack, taking a backward step.

‘It became my business when she came out here to visit me. Crying she was, hysterical with worry. I doubt a day has passed since you left that she hasn’t cried. Poor dear. You should be ashamed of yourself.’

Blushing under the weight of the stern words, Jack said, ‘I only meant to enter the wood. I planned on returning home before she noticed that I had gone.’

‘Oh, she noticed alright,’ said the farmer. ‘Soon after the entire village knew about your leaving. You and your friend stirred things up right proper. Every hunter in the village has followed your trail. They think the wolves killed you.’

‘We escaped them,’ said Jack.

Farmer Vine smacked him over the head with the parsnip a second time. ‘I know they didn’t eat you boy, or I wouldn’t be talking with you now.’

Jack rubbed his head, feeling a lump beneath his hair. ‘How are you talking with me?’ Was he still asleep? The smack on the head felt real, and the pain still lingered, not at all like a dream.

‘I can step into another’s dream. That’s my Talent. Haven’t done it for so long I almost forgot how,’ said the farmer dropping to a knee. ‘I’m out of practice, so I don’t know how long I can keep our connection, so answer me quickly boy. Are you and Bill well?’

Thoughts of his capture swirled through Jack’s mind. Everything he and Bill had experienced since leaving home was both fascinating and horrible. How could he share his tales of meeting the Lindre, they belonged in fairy tales, not out in the open. The Wold itself, with its fabled Hedge Wall, lived in Grandpa Poulis’s stories, not as a physical reality. Yet the Red Wood existed. He wanted to tell the farmer everything, only if he did people from the village would come. Trembling, he pictured his mother entering the Blackthorn Tunnel. Nightmarish images of black flowers growing from her skin left him with only one choice.

‘We’re fine,’ he said, wishing he didn’t have to lie. ‘Bill has found his Talent. Being able to control animals is very handy when you’re out in the woods.’

The smile left the farmer as he looked back down at Jack’s feet. ‘I don’t think your telling me everything Jack. You’re called Yin back at the village, aren’t you?’

Jack nodded.

‘Yang is your shadow. As I hear it,’ continued Farmer Vine, ‘he used to get you in trouble. Now I come to think of it, didn’t you two steal mushrooms from my garden a few years back?’

Jack had forgotten about that. Farmer Vine had set his dog, a huge Irish wolfhound with tangled grey fur called Jaffer, after him. Yang held the dog back on that day, letting Jack escape.

‘Well boy, where’s your shadow?’

Looking down, Jack for the first time noticed Yang missing. ‘It’s a dream; I suppose I didn’t dream him, that’s all.’

The farmer shook his head. ‘Who you are in life carries forward into your dream. Has something happened to your shadow since leaving the village?’ A worried frown creased the farmer’s weathered brow.

Shaking his head, Jack said, ‘Nothing.’ However, as he said it, he also pondered the meaning of Yang’s absence. Could the reason his shadow didn’t follow him in his dreams have anything to do with how he now viewed himself and Yang as two separate beings? The Narmacil shared his body like a parasite, something he had to eradicate. Did this explain his shadow’s absence?

‘I think you know more than you’re telling me boy,’ said the farmer, resting his weight on his pitchfork. ‘It’s something we can discuss when you’re back home. What’s important is where you are. Tell me and I’ll send out a posse to come and bring you safely home.’

Again, visions of anyone entering the Blackthorn stopped him from talking. How could he allow anyone else to face the dangers he had already subjected his friends to. Bill and Inara are his responsibility, he got them into this mess, and he would find a way to get them out. He refused to be accountable for anyone else.

‘I don’t know where we are.’ The lie caught in his throat. ‘We’re lost; all we can see are trees.’

‘Any landmarks? Anything at all,’ said Farmer Vine, eager for any useful information he could report to the village. ‘A hill; a strange looking rock? There must be something, no matter how small that someone back here may recognise.’

How could anyone help them where they were? Even if they passed through the tunnel, the Myrms would hunt them down and hang them from the metal tree. He sympathised with the farmer, and he wanted desperately to see his mother again, only he refused to place them in danger.

‘There’s nothing,’ he replied, tipping his head down to his chest. ‘Tell my mother that we’re safe, and we will get back home. I promise.’ His eyes sparkled as he regarded Farmer Vine. ‘I will return with Bill as soon as we can. Don’t come looking for us, I don’t want anyone else to get lost for our sakes.’

Farmer Vine reached out to grab Jack’s shoulder…

Jack opened his eyes to the sound of a hammer beating metal. Night had fallen, leaching the warmth from a nearby fire. To his left rested Inara, her gentle rhythmic breathing making her chest rise and fall. A worn brown blanket covered her shoulders, whilst her arm cradled her head.

‘How you two can sleep is beyond me.’

Startled, Jack almost sprained his neck as he swung his attention over to Bill, who sat with his knees drawn up beneath his chin.

‘I thought you’d banged your head when that brute dropped you,’ continued Bill, his teeth chattering from the cold. ‘If they left us some water to drink I’d have thrown it over you.’

‘I’m glad you didn’t.’

‘Did you dream of having a hot meal back home?’

Jack shook his head. ‘Why’d you ask?’

‘You kept mentioning parsnips.’

‘Did I,’ said Jack, feeling guilty for keeping quiet about meeting Farmer Vine. He knew Bill would like to hear from back home, he also knew if he told Bill about his encounter he would also have to explain why he didn’t tell the farmer where they were.

Looking toward a second more distant fire, Bill said, ‘Made me quite hungry to be honest. I’d give anything to have a bowl of stew right about now.’

‘With a chunk of bread to dunk,’ replied Jack, ignoring the pang of hunger throttling his stomach.

‘Now you’re talking. My grandma always gave me a glass of ginger beer when she made her stew. It was almost as thick as the stew itself, just the thing on a cold night like this.’

Looking around at the clearing, Jack couldn’t see any Myrm. The darkness made it impossible to gauge the size of the land; any number of enemies could lay in wait out there.

Bill saw him looking around. ‘I haven’t seen them since they dumped us here. There’s something by that other fire; it’s not a Myrm.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Saw a silhouette in front of the fire a couple of times. It walked differently to the Myrms. You know how the Myrms walk bent over like they’re always looking at the ground for dropped pennies.’ Jack nodded. ‘Well, whoever is over there walks upright, like us.’

Intrigued, Jack looked over to the distant flames, and again heard the ringing of metal upon metal. Who was over there? Not a Ghost Walker, they would light up half the night. He kept staring at the distant flames, in the hope of spotting the mysterious figure. A few minutes lapsed in silence before a large figure with jagged wings sweeping back over its shoulders appeared.

‘You didn’t mention it had wings,’ said Jack, rising to his knees in wonder.

‘Whoooaaa, I didn’t see those before.’

‘It must be our jailer,’ said Jack. ‘Why else would the Myrms leave us?’

‘You could be right. We wouldn’t get far with a flying demon on our tail. Not that we can go very far with,’ he pointed toward Inara, mouthing her name.

No wonder the Ghost Walkers had no use for bars to make their jail. They had little chance of outrunning the Myrms, and with a winged jailer, and a girl missing her legs in tow, they had no hope of escape. Again, Jack felt his heart plummet. He told Farmer Vine he would find his way home. His mother will hear those words soon, only how could he return home? Tracking back through the Blackthorn Tunnel held little appeal even if they managed to getaway from the Myrms. Alarmed, he spotted Bill crawl toward the second fire.

‘What’re you doing?’ Jack grabbed Bill’s arm. ‘If you go over there you’ll upset it. For all we know it could drink blood - our blood.’

‘You don’t know that.’ Bill pulled away.

‘Exactly, we don’t know anything about it at all. Wouldn’t it be better to wait for daytime? I know I’d feel more confident.’

‘You’ve slept Yin, you were snoring your head off a few minutes back. I’ve yet to shut my eyes, and I don’t intend to until I know what’s over by the other fire. I’m knackered, so the sooner we know what it is, the quicker I can rest.’

‘Ok,’ Jack relented. ‘Let’s take things easy though, I don’t want to startle whatever that is, by us suddenly appearing at its fire.’

‘Yeah, we’ll be the ones startling it.’

Jack started to follow Bill when he remembered Inara. ‘Should we wake her?’

‘We’ll only be a few minutes, let her sleep.’

With a glance back at the sleeping girl, Jack left the relative warmth of the fire. Already a score of small nicks peppered his palms as he crawled after Bill. At least the insects of the Wold gave this place a wide berth. The cold bit deep, clamping down on his thighs like a bear trap, and leaving his elbows and knees feeling exposed and bruised.

‘Get up Bill,’ whispered Jack. ‘We’ll scrape our skin off crawling all the way.’ He stood, eager to relieve the weight from his arms. ‘It’s going to notice us, whether we’re on all fours or not.’

Bill rose rather sheepishly. ‘I wish Black was here with us.’

‘Where is he now?’

Bill shook his head. ‘I lost contact with him when the Myrm hit my head. It took all my concentration to keep track of him. Now,’ he shrugged, ‘he could be anywhere. I just hope he and Silver are alright.’

Probably doing better than us, thought Jack. At any time, Kyla could persuade the others to hang them by their necks. Her hatred of them scared him more than the image of Justice’s skin peeling away from her face. He had little doubt that Krimble further poisoned her thoughts toward them. The last time he saw the zombie he stalked off behind Kyla, his rotted features alight with mischief.