The Wanderer's Tale (47 page)

‘Ah,’ he said to himself rather stupidly, ‘I’ve gone blind . . .’

He lurched up out of his bed of bracken and staggered to his feet, but his legs would not support him. Immediately he crashed to the ground again in a crumpled heap, and bleated in alarm.

The first oh-so-familiar mangle-turns of panic began to twist his insides. He realized only now just how starving and feverish he was. He had to eat and drink immediately, and must find some way of sheltering himself before nightfall. If he permitted himself to slacken his self-control for even a moment, he might drift off into a sleep from which he would never awaken.

Maybe if he managed to find some stream water and some leaves or berries, perhaps even some edible fungus, then that might just be enough for the present. Then he would be safe to sleep, which might assuage his sickness. It might even give his eyes a chance to recover.

‘Yes, that’s it! Whoever heard of anyone going permanently blind just from hunger?’ he laughed almost hysterically. After all, he knew of several mage-priests who regularly fasted for a month or more. This had to be just a passing symptom of his current physical state. All he needed to do was to forage for food . . .

But how could he do that, when he was blind? How could he possibly even begin to find food when he was like this? Foraging was not one of the skills regularly taught to esquires. His only practice at it had been during their trek through the Rainflats, and he had not then met with much success. Now he was blind, he would have to crawl about on hands and knees and
sniff
out his food like an animal!

Where were his companions now that he needed them? Above all, where was Master Wintus?

Were they all dead? Was he truly alone here in the Wild?

And how far had he gone? Which direction had he gone in? What was going to . . . ?

His mind stalled. He was as doomed now as he had been in the mines.

. . . The mines! He suddenly thought of them again, and it seemed to him that the mouth of the tunnel he had fled from earlier was now racing towards him over the forest, turning the trees black as it came on, and was bearing down upon him like a hungry leviathan, about to engulf him in its lightless deeps yet again!

No, he was not in the mines any more. He would never be in the mines again. No matter how bad things might be, they could never be as awful as that. They were the worst time, the ultimate test. They had been his training ground, his apprenticeship, his tutorial for whatever now lay ahead. In just a few days they had taught him more about survival than could an entire term spent at Wintus Hall. And now, at least, he was back in his own world again.

Gapp grew calmer. He inhaled deeply, as was his habit now, breathed in the humid air heavy with resin and the creamy yet sour fragrances of unknown woodland flowers. He noticed also smells that told him it had rained recently, and these brought back to him vague snatches of his early childhood, memories that he had up till now completely forgotten. His thumping heart quieted, for these were good smells.

He then concentrated on the warmth of the late summer sun upon his skin, the softness of the bracken underfoot and the leaves that caressed his face, the occasional whisper of air and the soothing noises of the forest in the evening.

Now
that
was something he could not have experienced in the dankness of the mines. This was a good place he had come to, wherever it was, and for that he could never cease to be grateful.

The panic receded, and finally disappeared.

Gapp was surprised at himself. That had been easy.

‘Now for some dinner,’ he muttered, and shakily but determinedly set off on his hands and knees to find sustenance.

His first priority was water. This did not prove as difficult as he had expected, for after the rain there was no shortage of wet leaves to lick. This did little other than whet his thirst, but it was a start. Later on, he found a tiny pool of rainwater at the bottom of a natural recess in a fallen tree trunk. It tasted of woodlice and peat, and had fragments of decaying wood in it, but it was just about potable. This was adequate to moisten his swollen lips and tongue, though they stung considerably for the next few minutes.

A while later, his expanded hearing picked up the musical sound of sweet, trickling water. There was a stream nearby!

Hastily he crawled towards it, pausing frequently to listen and get his bearings. He might have got up and walked had he thought about it, but in his state this did not even occur to him. Soon his nettle-stung and thorn-scratched hands felt the cool, blissful rush of water flowing over them, and the fine sandy grit of the stream-bed beneath them. It was only the meagrest of rillets, but to the diminishing boy it was as good as a river. He pressed his lips slowly to the water’s surface and drank deeply.

Eventually he was sated. He had been careful not to gulp too greedily; a mouthful here, followed by a long pause, then a mouthful there, and so on. In spite of his febrile condition, he was well aware of the dangers of drinking too speedily after a long period of dehydration.

Task number one completed
, he thought with quiet self-esteem.
Next, food . . .

He wasted no time in retracing his trail through the trodden-down undergrowth to the fallen tree-bole he had drunk from earlier. When he finally bumped into it, head first, he began carefully running his fingers over it. He had a beginner’s knowledge of the feel and the smell of the many varieties of edible fungi. (For that, he had Wodeman to thank, bless his pagan heart!) And there were numerous little grubs and insects lurking deep within the rotten wood that provided easy pickings.

He did not need to pace himself on the food, as he had done with the water, for each tiny morsel had to be worked hard for: and by the time he was satisfied that there was no more to be found, he could smell and feel that it had got dark.

Though the pickings of food had left him feeling rather sick and shaky, it had undoubtably reduced the worst of his hunger. He pulled up several handfuls of fern and made a comfortable mattress for himself beneath the partial shelter of the tree-bole. It was not much, but compared with the stony floors of the mines it was heavenly. For he could now feel
life
all around him.

He inhaled the scented air of the forest in the early night, and only then knew just how exhausted he was.

Seconds later, he was fast asleep.

Gapp awoke with a start. He raised himself up sharply, only to crack his head painfully against the overturned tree trunk. Instinctively he stifled a cry, and lowered his splitting head carefully back to the ground. He then stared out into the night. Something had awoken him.

He stared for several minutes, hardly daring to breathe. The frigid early-dawn air made him shiver almost uncontrollably. He was sure there was something out there; he could almost smell it. But he could not hear or see anything that might presage danger. The only sounds were the muted songs of the early birds echoing throughout the stillness of the forest, whilst all he could see were the numerous dew-heavy cobwebs hung out on the bushes like little silver fishing nets, and the grey-green mist that entwined itself about the black silhouetted trunks of –

He could
see
again! Pel’s Ribs, he could see! For a moment all his fears vanished. He could see again! His sight may be a little fuzzy and his eyes sore, even in this dim light, but at least he was no longer blind. He could hardly believe it. He blessed any gods that might happen to be listening at this early hour, and chuckled.
He could see!

Luck was definitely with him on this wonderful new day!

But he soon got over this most pleasant early morning surprise, and remembered just why it was that he was peering out into the twilit forest. Something out there had caused a sound. Something furtive? Gapp had the impression that, whatever it was, it was a long way off still. In fact, he had
felt
it rather than heard it.

Instinct again
, he chided himself.
It’s getting so’s i can hardly keep it quiet any more.

So he listened long and listened hard, but heard nothing else except the tiny, furtive sounds of the forest’s awakening.

Perhaps it had not come from ‘out there’ at all, he mused, but instead from within his mind. Maybe to do with that vague sense of unease, that vestigial anxiety that still clung to the inside of his head.

Muttering wearily to himself, he decided to snatch a few more hours of sleep. He pulled the fronds of fern back around himself and settled down in the warmth of his nest. It was still night out there, and he shivered.

Just then, a pack of huge, slavering hounds burst into the clearing and bounded straight towards him.

The ten animals came to a halt just feet away from him and growled menacingly. Their teeth were huge and white, their coats sleek and black, and the muscles rippled beneath their skin. They all stood at least three and a half feet high at the shoulder, with eyes like cold slits of yellow-green chrysoprase. The whole pack stood so close that Gapp could feel and smell their fishy breath upon his face, but none made any move to advance further. They just stood there ringing him in against the tree trunk. Squeezing himself painfully against the knobbled bark until he could retreat no further, Gapp stared out at ten panting red tongues.

Then, without warning, they ceased snarling, and settled back upon their haunches, all except one. Gapp frowned at the way they had all acted in perfect unison, as if on command, yet he had heard no voice.

The biggest of the pack, however, a hairy monstrosity in silver-flecked brown, still crouched upon all fours and continued to snarl as it fixed its yellow-green eyes upon the quaking boy.

‘Shlepp!’ came a sudden gruff command from the edge of the clearing, and this last hound grudgingly lowered its rear quarters to the ground. Gapp heard the swift approach of heavy feet, and peered out of his shelter to see who the newcomer might be.

After his ordeal underground Gapp believed himself to be inured to surprises, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of the creature that strode into the clearing now. From behind the semicircle of waiting hounds stepped the tallest figure the boy had ever encountered. He quailed at its approach, wondering whether he was seeing it wrong from a distorted angle. It would even tower over the ogre of the Blue Mountains.

At least twelve feet tall, but of basically human appearance, it was so skinny it appeared like a collection of long sticks joined together loosely. Despite that, this lanky figure looked as tough as ironwood, with
massive
leverage in those elongated arms. Long blood-red hair, entwined with ivy-like tendrils, was tied back from its domed forehead and trailed in a horsetail behind. Around its neck was a torc of twisted green stems that looked as if still living, and its weathered skin was of a pale, creamy yellow, except where a blue-black stubble covered the lower jaw.

It was not just the intruder’s size that caused the southlander to gape. For the giant looked as if it had fallen straight from the pages of a history book. It was dressed in simple raiment of forest-green and earth-brown, all leather and oiled hessian, just like in those pictures of the legendary trapper-barons of Grendalin that hung in the galleries of Wintus Hall. The tabard was cinched about its waist with an enormous, age-worn leather belt, clasped with an ancient tarnished buckle that was nearly as wide as the giant’s narrow torso. Loose-fitting leggings were tucked into great bucket boots. It carried a lengthy wooden spear, a great bow with a bag of arrows, and a hunting knife long enough to serve as a sword for any normal human.

All this gear was clearly utilitarian, and as such should enable its wearer to blend in with its surrounding, but to Gapp it looked like a costume from a stage play of a Hero Saga.

Whether this giant would play the part of hero or villain, however, was yet to be revealed.

The wood-wight returned the boy’s stare with equal curiosity, but for the time being it did not advance any closer. His bearing appeared neither threatening nor welcoming, merely
interested
. Gapp tried to mentally list all the various types of giants he had heard of, and in each case whether they were considered friendly to humans or not. But he could not force himself to think clearly, and the great beanpole that stood in front of him did not seem to fit immediately into any of the categories that came to mind. Nevertheless, Gapp did not feel himself in any immediate danger. He permitted himself to relax a little, though continuing to regard the giant warily.

It was intriguing, but there was something about this giant that told Gapp he could be respected and trusted. He had no idea why. Perhaps it lay in the eyes? They were coloured the rich brown of newly tilled soil in the evening sunlight, and seemed to hold within them a secret tie with the ways of the forest, much like Wodeman’s. There was also a sadness there that reminded him of Bolldhe, and at the same time an openness that was definitely Nibulus.

Eventually the giant seemed satisfied that the miniature person under the log was not enemy, or even ‘game’. He stepped over the line of hounds and held out a hand to Gapp.

‘B’kundha Un-laf Haethenna hirnoest-A?’ he asked.

Gapp blinked uncertainly. ‘I’m sorry?’ he replied.

They both grinned foolishly, then the giant helped the stray youth to his feet. Gapp was no longer on his own. He had found a friend at last.

Gyger – that was his name. That was the only thing Gapp knew about his new companion as he was led deeper and deeper into the forest. Even this was an assumption, for that was the single word the giant had used, while pointing to himself as they shook hands. For all Gapp knew, ‘Gyger’ might be the name of his race.

But for now, it was enough. There were no other words between them as Gapp followed Gyger into the darker reaches of the forest. He had no idea where he was being led, and no way of knowing how far they had to travel. He was still feeling extremely weak, and hoped it would not be far; but really he had no choice but to keep up with this new lot he had fallen in with.