Midnight Over Sanctaphrax (33 page)

Woodfish heard his thoughts. ‘It is a question I have
asked myself a thousand times,’ he said. ‘Perhaps it is to remind us of something important that happened,’ He shrugged. ‘Sadly, as I told the captain, I have no memory of what took place after we entered the weather vortex,’ He nodded at Goom and Twig. ‘And unfortunately, neither have they.’

‘We can worry about the past later,’ said Twig. ‘For now, we must get some sleep,’ He laid himself down on the soft sand and wrapped about him the thick cloak, which abruptly extinguished the glow from his body.

Cowlquape turned to Woodfish. ‘When will we get to waif country?’

‘Sleep, Cowlquape!’ said Twig, without looking up. ‘The more tired you are, the longer it'll take.’

All round them the thorns clicked as a chilly breeze blew through the surrounding bushes. Cowlquape lay down between Twig and Goom, and pulled his cloak up around his shoulders. Woodfish settled himself last. Awake or asleep, the waterwaif would hear any intruders. As he wrapped his cloak around him, the whole clearing was plunged into darkness.

Refreshed and rested, the four travellers were up early the following morning, and taking it in turns to hack at the wall of thorns once more - first Twig and Woodfish, then Cowlquape and Goom. They made good headway and at midday, Woodfish announced that their ordeal was almost over.

‘Let me take over,’ said Twig, seizing his axe off Cowlquape. And he began chopping at the thick brambles like a creature possessed. ‘Yes!’ he called back a moment later. ‘I can see it. I can see the end of the thorn-bushes.’

Half a dozen well-positioned swings of the axe later, and Twig was through.

‘So far, so good,’ he panted.

The others crawled through the narrow gap and straightened up. Cowlquape looked around and trembled with horror. The relief he'd felt at escaping the clutches of the thorn-bushes instantly melted away. Before them lay waif country.

It was a dreary place, marshy underfoot, foul-smelling, and so dark that Cowlquape would have been blind had it not been for his three glowing companions. As he stared about him at the gnarled trees, encrusted with dripping moss and oozing fungus, which loomed from the shadows like fearsome monsters, he almost wished he were.

‘Where now, Woodfish?’ he heard Twig asking.

The waterwaif was crouching down with his large fluttering ears close to the ground. He looked up and pointed into the darkness of the dismal forest ahead. The heart of the Deepwoods lies in that direction,’ he said.

It was a hard slog through the cold, dank forest. The
air was brittle with eerie stillness. There was no bird-song. No creature-cry. Every time a twig was cracked by a passing boot, or a pebble kicked, the sound ricocheted from tree to tree, and off into the darkness.

Cowlquape stumbled blindly on. His sodden feet had blistered and swelled. His face and hands were crisscrossed with cuts from spiny creepers he never saw until it was too late. Reduced to eating the bark and fungus that Goom selected as edible, Cowlquape's stomach cried out for food; proper food - yet he did not complain.

By night, they slept in makeshift hammocks fashioned from their cloaks and ropes, strung out between the branches of the trees. By day they walked. And walked and walked. It was on the seventh day that Woodfish discovered running water.

‘Look at it,’ he said, staring down at the tiny stream trickling through the centre of a broad river basin. ‘This used to be a raging torrent. No wonder we've seen no sign of life for so long.’

Cowlquape crouched down at the sandy edge. ‘So long as it quenches my thirst, I don't mind how little there is.’ He cupped his hands and slurped at the clear water.

Woodfish turned to Twig. ‘The running water marks the beginning of true waif territory’ His fan-like ears trembled. ‘They are all around us. I can
hear
them.’

‘I can't hear anything,’ said Cowlquape, looking up.

‘Yet, they are there,’ said Woodfish nervily ‘Waterwaifs. Flitterwaifs. Barkwaifs. Nightwaifs … Put your cloaks on, all of you. Raise the hoods over your
heads to dim your glow. We must not draw attention to ourselves.’

‘It's so dark,’ said Cowlquape nervously. ‘How will we find our way?’

‘We follow the stream,’ said Woodfish. ‘She will lead us to the heart.’

‘But what if we lose one another?’ Cowlquape whimpered.

‘We'll rope ourselves together,’ said Twig. ‘Don't panic, Cowlquape.’

‘No, don't panic, whatever you do,’ said Woodfish. ‘Waifs will be attracted by fearful thoughts.’

Cowlquape groaned. Now, on top of everything else, he had to pretend not to be scared.

‘Follow me,’ Woodfish told them. ‘Stay close. And whatever voices you may hear, ignore them as best you can.’

Gripping the rope that was strung between them, the four of them stumbled on through the darkness, following the water upstream. Cowlquape fixed his thoughts on the stories he'd read in the barkscrolls and imagined what Riverrise might be like.

‘This way,’
whispered a voice.
‘It's over here.’

Cowlquape hesitated. He looked about. Two round eyes glowed in mid-air some way to his left, staring, unblinking. Woodfish tugged his cloak sharply.

‘Keep going,’ he warned. ‘Don't let them into your thoughts.’

But the voices continued. Sometimes tempting, sometimes pleading; always soft and seductive.

‘Come this way,’
they crooned.
‘You'll be all right. Trust
us - please trust us. If you re not too timid. If you re not too
scared.’

Ignore them,’ Woodfish's voice broke into their minds, calm and reassuring. ‘We must keep going.’

The eyes glinting in the invisible branches increased in number. Twenty. Fifty. A hundred pairs stared down at them as they stumbled on through the dark forest.

‘Follow us; follow,’
the voices sighed, and in their soft invitation, Cowlquape heard the promise of something he couldn't ignore.
‘Kobold the Wise came this way. Let us show you, Cowlquape.’

He let go of the rope.

‘Twig, Riverrise is so close. So close, Twig,’
whispered the voices. Twig hesitated.

‘Captain Twig!’ Woodfish's voice in his ear was urgent. ‘Do not listen to them, Cowlquape …’

‘But they're waifs, Woodfish,’ said Twig. ‘Like your good self. Like Forficule, a nightwaif I once knew in Undertown …’

‘We are not in Undertown now. These are
wild
waifs,
and they are hunting us. They're
hungry,
Captain,’ said Woodfish sharply They're …’ He peered back along the line and grimaced. ‘Sky above! Where
is
Cowlquape?’

Twig looked about him, unable to see anything at all, apart from the gleaming eyes. ‘Has he gone?’ he said.

‘He has,’ said Woodfish, scanning the darkness. He crouched down, ears twitching. ‘Wait, I think I hear him. I… Oh, no!’

‘This way, Cowlquape, that's right,’
chorused the unseen voices.

‘Quick!’ said Woodfish. ‘He's still close by. You stick with me, Captain Twig,’ he said as he seized him by the arm and dragged him away from the river-bed and off into the darkness. ‘Stay close, Goom,’ he called back.

They stumbled and groped their way through the dark forest.

‘Calm your thoughts,’ urged the waterwaif. ‘I must listen.’

‘Kobold the Wise once trod this ground, Cowlquape,’
murmured the voices.

‘Yes, there he is!’ said Woodfish. ‘This way!’

The terrain grew wilder, more treacherous. Black logs littered the forest floor, impeding their progress. Bindweeds and barbed knotweeds slowed them down still more.

‘They're getting away with him,’ Twig gasped as the light grew dim far in front of them. ‘Oh, Cowlquape,’ he whispered. ‘Cowlquape.’

‘Wuh-wuh!’ grunted Goom.

‘Quiet!’ said Woodfish. He stopped to crouch low to the ground again.

‘Just a little further, Cowlquape. That's right.’

Woodfish shuddered. ‘We haven't much time!’ he said.

They bounded on into the darkness, Woodfish now on Goom's shoulders in front, crashing through the undergrowth, carving out a path for Twig to follow. Ahead they could see countless pairs of eyes, dropping down from the trees onto the forest floor and gathering in a circle.

‘Kneel down, Cowlquape. Rest your head. You're so tired, so very tired …’

‘What's going on?’ Twig panted.

‘I told you,’ Woodfish muttered. ‘The waifs are hungry, and they're closing in for a kill.’

Goom burst onto the scene. The waifs darted back in alarm and flew into the surrounding trees, hissing and mewling. All, that is, apart from the ones already attached to Cowlquape's twisted body. Woodfish shuddered. ‘Flitterwaifs,’ he said. ‘I might have known!’

Twig stared at the dark creatures. They had stubby legs, broad, membraned wings and flattened faces, with jagged fangs that jutted down at an angle from their top jaw. It was these fangs which were biting into Cowlquape's back, his leg, his neck …

‘Get off him!’ Twig roared. He drew his sword and dashed forwards. He plunged the blade through the flitterwaif on Cowlquape's back and, tossing it aside, slashed at the one on his leg. Spitting and snarling, the creature flapped its wings and flew up into the branches with the rest. The flitterwaif at Cowlquape's neck turned and fixed Twig with its blazing eyes. The jagged fangs glinted. Twig gripped the sword tightly. He would have to be careful not…

‘…
to sever Cowlquape's neck,’
the flitterwaif completed for him.
‘You wouldn't want to do that, captain!
it said, and hissed malevolently.

Twig's eyes narrowed. Since the creature could read his thoughts he would have to act suddenly, to take it unawares … No! Don't think, don't think … just…

With a sudden
swoosh,
the great sword leapt forwards,
flew down through the air and sliced off the flitterwaif's head in one deadly movement. Twig breathed a sigh of relief and sank to his knees. He hadn't even scratched Cowlquape's throat - yet Cowlquape was in a bad way. He seemed to be unconscious.

‘Help me move him,’ Twig called to the others. ‘Goom, can you carry him away from here?’