Zally's Book (7 page)

After studying my map, I rolled it up and put both it and the quill back in my bag. The open cacao pod had resealed itself and now glittered with flecks of gold. I stuffed the pod into the bag, too, relieved to know that Queen Patchouli had been right and that our family talisman was intact.

Imishi and I climbed up on Kir's back again. Using the sun to get my bearings, I guided Kir along the route from my map. We cantered, walked, galloped, and walked again, until we came to a marshy-looking area. The ground was soggy and Kir's feet sank into the mud. Gnarled trees draped with moss and spiky reeds grew at the edges and in the water. Hundreds of small islands, a few feet wide and a few feet high, were visible in the murky water. The path we needed to take was several hundred feet away
across the water, but we had no raft or canoe, much less one large enough to carry a horse.

The route that I had mapped out would take us around the marsh along the water's edge, to where we would reach our next path. A mist rose from the surface of the water and a moldy smell hung in the air, giving me a really creepy feeling.

Imishi drew in a sharp breath. “Look!” she said, pointing.

A snake glided silently through the water between the marshy hillock islands.

“So swimming is not an option,” I said, trying to joke. No one laughed. I patted Kir's neck. “This way,” I said, tugging his mane in the direction of the solid ground along the edge of the marsh.

Once there, he stepped over dead branches and around stagnant pools of water, avoiding the muddier spots. We rode beneath trees with curtains of gray-green moss over their branches. I pushed some moss aside for Kir, letting it go when we were past it. Suddenly Imishi shrieked. I looked over my shoulder to see her trying
to tear away at moss that clung to her hair and folded wings. She shrieked again. I did my best to help her get the moss off. Kir stood, waiting patiently.

“It's just moss,” I said when it was all off her.

“Well, it didn't happen to you, did it?” she said, her voice trembling. “I bet if you ever got caught in a giant spiderweb,
you'd
think it was a big deal. If I could fly right now, I could get across that water in two minutes.”

I struggled to think of something nice to say.

“There,” Imishi said, pointing to a less swampy area that stretched almost all the way across the water—an area that looked solid enough and, while muddy, didn't appear to be treacherous.

“I don't think so,” I said. “That isn't the route we're supposed to take.” I got out the map and showed Imishi the picture of the swamp. I pulled my finger off the map as the image expanded to show us the details as if we were using a magnifying glass. (Now that was a cool effect! I wondered what else the map could do.) “See?” I said. “We're supposed to go around here, and then over there.”

“I don't see any roads,” she said, sounding unconvinced.

“There aren't any real roads or paths,” I admitted. I traced a line on the parchment with my finger.
“I just
sense
the way we're supposed to go, and that's what I draw on the map. This is the route I sensed, so that's the right path to take.”

“But that will take too long. We need to hurry.” Worry sharpened Imishi's voice. “Anyway, how can you be certain that what you drew is right? How many will die because you insisted on taking your ‘right' path?”

Aren't fairies supposed to be small and cute?
I thought as I stared silently at the narrow strip of mud that could cut miles off our journey. What if I was wrong? What if the pathway I drew on my map was merely a suggestion for people who had plenty of time to travel? The muddier route seemed to be a straight shot across one end of the swampy lake. It was late afternoon already; if all went well, we could be across before nightfall.

Kir stood still while I deliberated. My instincts told me to take the longer way, but didn't Imishi have instincts, too? After all,
her
queen,
her
people,
her
home were at stake, and she had been more or less right about the ink being in my bag.

How was I supposed to know what was right?

“Great,” Imishi said from behind me. “Now we're not going anywhere. Do you plan to just sit here until nightfall?”

I blinked back sudden tears. I had to decide
something
. “All right! We'll do it your way.” I knew my mood was showing, but it was the best I could do. “Let's go.” I patted Kir, who seemed to be my only supporter at that point. I had been getting better at guiding the golden horse with just a few words or slight pressure from my hand on his mane.

Kir carefully walked us to where the muddy strip began, his hooves making suck-
plop
, suck-
plop
noises as he walked. He took a step or two onto the path, then started backing up, snorting and shaking his mane.

“What's going on?” I asked. The muddy strip looked just as solid as the ground we'd already ridden across, and I couldn't see what had spooked him. Maybe he had seen a shadow or a reflection on the murky water. “Take it nice and slow,” I said soothingly.

Kir balked again, then started forward. To our left, across the larger expanse of the swamp lake, mist gathered, thickened, and drifted into our path. Tiny flecks of light danced and flickered in the vapor.

“What are those?” Imishi asked in a hushed voice.

I had hoped
she
would know. “Swamp gas?” I guessed. “I think some people call them fairy lights.”

The fairy girl gave a snort. “Fairies that small? That's ridiculous!”

Kir slowed his pace even more. All around us in the swamp, the brownish water and lazy rivulets had a sinister effect, the water so murky we couldn't tell how deep it might be. Silver mosquitoes and large blue-green beetles hummed all around us. Some of them bit, leaving itchy welts; others satisfied themselves with sipping our sweat. Ick.

Kir's withers twitched and his tail flicked. The insects were annoying. Even though the fairy garments that Queen Patchouli had given me were magical and marvelous, right now I would have settled for basic bug repellent.

“I didn't expect so many bugs,” Imishi said.

I wondered if that was her way of apologizing. “I hope there's no such thing as a marsh spider,” I said. I felt her shudder behind me.

Suddenly Kir slipped into a hidden sinkhole and struggled to regain his footing, spraying mud everywhere. Imishi and I held on tight, despite the magical blanket. Kir plunged toward what looked like more solid ground.

I took several deep breaths, holding tight to Kir's mane and telling myself it wouldn't do any good to panic. Finally he pulled himself onto a rounded hillock
covered with slimy weeds. I didn't point out to Imishi that none of this would have happened if we'd stayed on the path I had drawn on my map.

Kir snorted and stomped, shaking his legs to free them of mud. Before we could catch our breath, the hummock beneath us began to tremble and lurch from side to side. Imishi yelped as Kir reared and neighed. The hummock rose, streaming with water, as if it were growing out of the muck. I clung to Kir's mane, and Imishi clung to me. Kir jumped, landing in the mud again but on the opposite side, which I seriously hoped wasn't another sinkhole.

It wasn't.

We landed, spraying more mud and water. We turned and watched as the hummock continued to grow higher and higher with a creepy sucking sound. Then I saw that the hillock was actually a creature—a creature the size of an elephant, covered with weeds and mud. Under its shaggy brown-green coat I couldn't see eyes, only a wide, lipless mouth filled with crooked, squarish teeth.

While my mouth hung open, the creature let out a low moan that was halfway between a growl and a sneeze. Its mouth quivered, and a deep voice rumbled out: “Dooooooo … not … disturrrrrrrrrrrrrb.” I could see the glowing yellow eyes now behind its
drooping nest of muddy reeds. It was my first monster, and I was torn between horror and a weird delight.

My heart hammered in my chest. “Do you know what that is?” I whispered to Imishi.

“It could be a marsh troll, though I have never seen one before,” she whispered back.

The marsh troll—or whatever it was—reached for Kir with a massive arm. Kir snorted and tossed his head. Then he danced backward. Imishi screamed in pain as we were jerked back. I thought that she had hit her wing somehow. I shouted for her to hold on. The marsh troll wildly swung a giant hand with three fingers at us. Now
I
screamed and Kir reared.

The troll swung again. Kir sidled sideways to avoid the blow and slid back into the water.

My mind cast about, searching for something,
anything
, that could help us. The marsh troll pounded his fists on the water as if it were doing a drumroll. Pictures started to appear in my mind, distorted pictures with hazy edges: stinging, biting insects; a troll seeking refuge in the water from the insects; a horse landing on the troll's head.

I realized that I was picking up the images from the troll itself! Not really understanding what I was doing, I sent pictures back: calm, murky water; horse
and riders leaving him in peace; bugs flying far, far away.

The creature stopped pounding on the water.

I tugged at Kir's mane gently. He slowly turned in the water and walked away from the marsh troll. I sent out more calming visions, wondering what sort of bugs could be so bad that they had angered such a hulking beast.

The troll heaved a noisy, slobbery sigh.

Kir climbed up onto the solid ground. We waited.

The creature sloshed away, and I felt that it no longer meant harm; it just wanted to be alone. It continued to growl as it went, knocking marsh branches and Spanish moss aside, squishing through quicksand pools.

Imishi heaved a sigh of relief, and Kir's trembling stopped.

I realized that the troll was also an innocent. “The troll was just hiding from some giant insects,” I said. “It was under the mud so it could have some peace and quiet, and then we stepped right on its head. It just wants to be left alone.”

“Well, I am happy to leave it alone,” Imishi said emphatically. “Come, we still have a long way to travel before we find the Kib Valley.”

Kir stamped his hoof, as if he agreed.

I still felt uneasy and wondered whether to say something. I was pretty sure we were now headed the wrong way, but I knew it was too late to turn back. “Okay,” I said. Then I knew I had to at least warn them. “But it still doesn't feel right to me.”

“Piffle,” said Imishi. “You just don't like that it's not your way.”

“No,” I responded. “It's not that. But it doesn't matter. You and Kir want to keep going, so let's go. Just don't blame me if this swamp is filled with marsh spiders or something like that.”

Soon we came across a portion of the path that seemed to be made up of three marshy islands before the regular mud road resumed. I got a queasy sensation in my stomach, and a faint feeling of dread. The questionable part of the path couldn't have been more than twenty feet long. “Kir, can you stop for a moment?” I asked. “I'm going to get down.”

Kir stopped right away. Flinging one booted foot carefully over his neck, I slid off his back. I landed in the mud with my beautiful new boots making a disgusting squelchy sound. “I'll go first,” I said to Kir. “I'm lighter than you are, and I'll find the solid spots. Then you follow me.”

“I don't think I need to get off,” Imishi said,
sounding nervous. “I don't weigh very much.”

I knew Kir would be able to maneuver better across the muck without any riders. I wondered if she was trying to avoid getting her new shoes muddy—mud being something fairies don't have to deal with as they fly over the landscape—but it was more likely that she was worried that there really were marsh spiders.
Why
had I said that?

I shrugged. “Suit yourself.” I took a cautious step onto the first small marsh island. My feet sank into the mud up to my ankles, but otherwise the little hillock seemed stable enough. I was happy that the boots were waterproof. One more step, then another, and I was across the island, ready to go on to the second. With a bit more confidence now, I stepped out onto the next island. My foot slid right out from underneath me, and I fell forward to land face-first—
splat
—in the grassy, wet muck.

If I hadn't been worried for our safety, it might have been funny. But little alarm bells were going off in my head, telling me that this was dangerous, especially for Kir, who was much heavier than I. That was why, when I heard Imishi giggling behind me, I carefully got to my hands and knees and turned to glare at her.

“This was
your
idea,” I said. “You should be the one down here in the mud.”

Her face turned sober, and she looked away. A wave of fear and skittishness hit me as Kir whickered and rolled his eyes. That was when I made the connection: I was actually feeling Kir's fear! It was
his
nervousness I had felt so strongly before setting off along this road. I was picking up feelings and images, not words. Just as I had sensed what was bothering the troll.