Feynard (19 page)

“Good
Lurk, you have outdone yourself!” cried Zephyr, pressing forward eagerly.

Kevin
crouched to dip his hand in the balmy water. Ah–wonderful! The Unicorn had already sunk in as deep as his belly. He telekinetically removed his travel packs with precise flicks of his horn. The X’gäthi spread out to quickly reconnoitre, but there appeared to be no danger, for by the time Kevin had removed his cloak and unlaced his boots, two or three of their number had melted into the shadows near the entrance, and the rest voiced low, carefree barks in their guttural language as they waded eagerly toward the hottest pool. It looked scalding–Kevin had no intention of going near that bubbling kettle!

There were four or five interconnected pools scattered along the length of the main chamber, which had some rocky parts and some small, sandy coves along the pools where one could find a degree of privacy. He was too timid to venture far, however, and disappeared behind the nearest boulder to shuck the balance of his clothing. Goodness, it did smell rather ripe, particularly at the armpits! He regarded his scrawny limbs with the usual distaste
.

“I say,” he pinched his left bicep. “Is that a hint of
muscle?” Indeed, as he glanced down at his torso, Kevin found he could no longer count his ribs. “Health,” he muttered darkly. “All that toad oil and whatever else they’ve been feeding you.”

A particularly fetching set of bruises on his upper arms and torso told the sorry tale of his tangle with the glüalla, and his foot was swollen and purple where the eel had bitten it, doing some damage even through the tough leather of his boot. Gingerly, he immersed himself. A long sigh of pleasure escaped his lips. Good grief, how easily
one forgot life’s simple luxuries!

“Will you be leaving us?” he heard Zephyr ask.

The Lurk’s answer was almost too low to be audible. “This is uncertain in my mind, good Unicorn.”

Kevin
floated closer.

“I do not follow, good Snatcher.”

“Of what further use could I be to you and your companions?”

“Legend has it that the last time a Lurk ventured from his home, was to join the war against Ozark the Dark, where he greatly distinguished himself and brought untold honour to the mighty Lurks of Mistral Bog.”

“Good Zephyr, we both know what became of that honour.”

“I believe,” the Unicorn nickered softly, “that we speak of your sire.”

“My grandsire.”

“Indeed?”

He made a keening noise like the echo of a sob. “Such a tale hearkens to sadder times.”

“I’m
truly sorry, noble Lurk. Yet I declare to you now that there are some who do not forget so quickly. Perhaps the time is ripe to regain that honour.”

“Your ideals are ever lofty, noble Unicorn, and your purposes too high and noble for such a lowly creature as I. If you conceive a need for my poor services, then speak, and I will be honoured to serve.”

By now, Kevin’s drifting had brought him out into the open. Both creatures looked up as he slipped unexpectedly and sank with a gurgle under the water. With a gruff laugh, Snatcher surged forward and righted him with a flip of his huge paw.

“Have you drunk sufficiently of the
ur-malläk tyak
, good Kevin?”

He spluttered and gurgled something unintelligible, and coughed severely.

“That’s what comes of eavesdropping!” Zephyr accused him. “A thoroughly disagreeable habit. You look like a drowned rat!”

“I wasn’t
… intentionally.”

Zephyr added two choice words from the
Unicorn tongue that made Snatcher’s nictitating membranes flicker in amusement.

Kevin
gazed up past the Lurk’s shadowy bulk to his luminous eyes, forgetting for a moment the alien nature of this creature, and whatever he saw there, it made his back straighten imperceptibly. He nodded slowly. “I may be mistaken,” said he, selecting his words with the care a jeweller takes over picking the right stone, “but I suspect that the Lurk’s concern for our cause runs deeper than a mere escort through Mistral Bog. Are not the waters of his homeland being poisoned? Will Lurks sicken and die too like the good trees of Driadorn? His heart is burdened. And I, for one, who seem unable even to take a bath without attempting to drown myself, would consider it an honour and a privilege to travel in his company.”

“
Well spoken indeed, good Kevin!” Zephyr nodded, and with a poetic twirl of his horn, he added, “Your sentiments mirror my own like the never-rippling waters of the Pool of Stää.”

Snatcher took stock of this. “Good outlander, your allusion is inaccurate with respect to Lurk physiology, for we have not one heart but three, but in all other respects you have spoken with wisdom and insight beyond your years.”

“Thank you.”

“I would counsel, however, that amongst Lurks I stand alone in my desire to help the other races of the Hills. My brethren consider the history to which the peerless Unicorn referred a betrayal of reprehensible and unforgivable proportions. Were you to come bearing the riches of Thaharria-brin-Tomal, to plead until your knees were raw to the begging, they would not crook so much as a single digit to offer service.” He sighed. “On our own, I believe that Lurks will not survive. But come, let us turn our thoughts to more cheerful paths. What of the Dryad? Does she support your–”

“This Dryad,” Alliathiune replied pertly, “speaks for herself.”

Zephyr rolled his eyes. “Is there no privacy? Have you been listening too?”

“You spoke not as one eager to conceal his conversation,” she replied, with a defiant tilt of her chin. “Although I was at the next pool, washing my hair, voices echo–especially your dulcet tones.”

“Humph!”

“Zephyr, you’re a right old stick-in-the-mud sometimes!” Tiny Alliathiune struck a stock pose, hands on hips, and stamped her foot. “How dare you speak about me behind my back?”

Kevin
smothered his laughter beneath a poorly faked cough. Even with no more than a blanket tucked about her torso for modesty’s sake, she was formidable. His green eyes sparkled with mischief. “Ahem!” he cleared his throat. “May I request, children, that you refrain from squabbling in my bathtub?”

“
Your
bathtub?” Alliathiune spluttered, “Well I … good outlander–”

“Zephyr was merely seeking your opinion on an important matter. I hardly see what there is to quarrel about.”

She waggled her forefinger at him, rescued the blanket from a subtle slide that had suddenly doubled Kevin’s pulse-rate, and declared, “For one who speaks and behaves with such apparent meekness and hesitation, good outlander, you certainly show your teeth on occasion!”

Hot shame flooded his cheeks. “I-I’m sorry,
Allia–”

“Stop right there!” she cried. “Don’t you dare apologise! I
like
it, that’s what I mean.”

“
Pardon?”

The Dryad
smiled brilliantly. “I like it.” But before Kevin could rearrange his bewildered–well, gaping like a goldfish–expression, she turned to the Lurk. “We are already in your debt, noble ally. What repayment is possible? Yet as the Leaven seasons turn about the Sacred Well, such an opportunity may arise. It is no mere coincidence but part of a wider purpose, I hold, that we are rewarded with your companionship. I, too, request the honour of your company.”

With his arms crossed
, the Lurk bowed from his waist until his snout almost brushed the water. He murmured, “You are too kind, nobles all.”

Kevin
stared at the Lurk with a sudden flash of insight. What secret torments encumbered one of his high intelligence? The sigil of the once-victimised was emblazoned on Snatcher’s character–had his own miserable existence not uniquely placed him to recognise it? There was a grave and crippling uncertainty, a need to seek the approval of others, a basic lack of self-belief utterly–and bafflingly–at odds with the Lurk’s manifest prowess. Contrast him with Alliathiune or Zephyr, both self-confident to the point of arrogance. His eyes flickered to the Dryad, facing away from him as she brushed the snarls out of her long, green tresses with tiny noises of discomfort and frustration. It was different in her, though. He was unable to reason why. To his intuition, the prickly exterior she often displayed did not tally with other things–her great love for the Forest, her passion to challenge the Blight, and her evident care for all living things. Vague shapes in the mist, these conjectures, and yet he sensed their truth. His eyes, having lingered so long on Alliathiune that Zephyr harrumphed meaningfully behind him, jumped guiltily away. Goodness, she was a terrible distraction! No wonder she was so paranoid, with a weasel like him leering out of the shadows.

Filled with
disgust at his inner feelings and motives, Kevin stole away to a quieter place to be alone with his thoughts rather than inflicting them on the others.

*  *  *  *

Alliathiune must consider him the feeblest creature upon the Seventy-Seven Hills, Kevin thought bleakly, trying to put one aching foot before the other while ignoring the springy pace that his companions set. Lyredin’s Way was far too steep and challenging for him. He was falling behind once more–which he had become quite accustomed to–and four of the X’gäthi had dallied to carry him up the difficult parts.

“I’m sorry,” he kept panting.
“Just leave me behind. I know I’m a useless burden to you. Please, let me rest.”

But even though their toothy smiles never faltered, they pressed him mercilessly. What an injustice, being born with such a delicate constitution! While Snatcher’s hot springs had been wonderful, he was allergic to something in the water and now had a fiery rash behind his knees and inside his elbows. No rest for the wicked. He mopped his forehead. This jolly humidity
combined with the exercise was making him sweat like a pig! His skin stung like disinfectant applied to a cut where the nisk flies had turned his face and neck into a personal playground. He had never worked this hard in his life. He had never been
able
to.

The narrow trail–clear even to his inexperienced eye–doubled back and forth up the side of a towering, rocky pinnacle, and the footing was treacherous. Were it not for the X’gäthi he would have twisted an ankle long ago. As it was, the loose, mossy boulders were staining his clothing a delightful khaki colour, and his hands were torn and muddied from grasping uncomfortable handholds during the climb. There must be a blister the si
ze of Scotland on his left heel. Kevin paused to wheeze unhappily. Goodness, what if he had an attack–out here, without his pump? He would die! Either that or some ravening monster would eat him first. But despite his morbid imagination, he was beginning to suspect he was well and truly trapped in Feynard’s extensive Forest. There was no hope of return. He may as well play along, for what else could he do? He was only grateful to be many miles distant from Mylliandawn and her revolting threats.

But why the blazes did it have to
hurt
so much?

Above him the trail meandered interminably until it
disappeared amongst the jumbled boulders. He tried not to think of the yawning gulf that lay between him and Mistral Bog, lost in the mists several hundred yards below his current elevation. Heights were not his forte. If he focussed on the solid rocks underfoot, the sickness should disappear.

He was so focussed, and in so much pain, that he nearly stumbled right on past where the others had paused to allow him to catch up.

“Good Kevin!” said Alliathiune, grasping his arm. “Sit and rest awhile.”

His smile was like that of the last finisher in a marathon. “Those are the sweetest words
e’er you spoke, my dear Dryad.”

“I am
not
your dear anything!”

“Sorry–I forgot.
Again.” Sinking to the ground, he groaned and scratched furiously at his legs. “Gracious me, is it possible one person can itch so severely?”

“Common or not
in your culture, in the Hills that is an inappropriate form of address and I will not have you–”

“I hear you,” he whispered. He would draw blood at this rate.

“I’m sorry,” she added, quite unexpectedly. “It’s just that I’m feeling nervous out here in the open. I didn’t mean to shout.”

Kevin
stared at her in frank, open-mouthed amazement. “Excuse me?”

Alliathiune shrugged
, and held out a chunk of waycrust. “You look famished and footsore. I break this waycrust to share with you, good Kevin. May our Mother Forest sustain you, keep you, and shelter you beneath her boughs all the lighttimes of your life.”

Their fingers touched. Startled at how gentle and sincere she sounded, he fumbled the waycrust and dropped it. Both moved to pick it up; they bumped heads.

Kevin’s attempted blessing stuttered amid Alliathiune’ chuckles. At length, she explained, “We creatures of the deep Forest dislike open spaces. I would much prefer a shaded glen to these barren hills. It might sound silly, but I keep wanting to duck beneath the nearest boulder.”

“Had you no difficulty with Mistral Bog?”