Chapter Seventeen of Many

Chapter Seventeen

“I’m not lost,” Bysgo snapped. “I simply haven’t determined which direction we came from yet, that is all.”

Meilyr strode up to stand beside him. “That is the definition of lost.”

Bysgo glared at him. “Should you wish to try your hand at leading us to Wallace, then by all means, be my guest.”

Meilyr ruffled his feathers and fell quiet. He wasn’t going to argue with the boatman. If he wished to believe that he knew where they were, who was he to argue with him? There was simply no point in angering the man any more than he already was, which would succeed only furthering them from the correct direction, or even any sense of coherent movement at all. As it was, Wallace had not been waiting where they had left him, and there was no way to know what had happened to him. They had little time to dawdle.

Bysgo sniffed and looked about himself, reminding Meilyr of a dog whose attention had been snagged by the scent of a tasty treat. “Do you smell that?”

Meilyr sighed. “No.”

“It smells like smoke, smoke from a fire.”

“Perhaps it is the village?”

“No,” Bysgo said excitedly, “that is in the other direction! Perhaps someone lives out here, and has found him!”

Meilyr did not smell any smoke, and, as a stag, his nose was arguably better than Bysgo’s, but he nodded and quietly allowed the man his delusion. Perhaps this would at least encourage some movement and they could be done with this stalemate in the mist.

Meilyr breathed a sigh of relief when the man started marching down the path, his nose in the air.

“You know, a good hound tracks with his muzzle to the ground,” Meilyr said playfully. “Perhaps you could give that a go?”

Bysgo didn’t respond, casting a nasty look over his shoulder before resuming his snuffling.

“I’m simply pointing out that we may be overlooking something,” Meilyr continued. “What if we’re being mislead by the wind, you know? It does carry things, aromas included. Seems to me that the only way we can tell for sure that we’re going in the right direction is for you to plant your nose on the path and start shoving it along...”

“Alright, alright,” Bysgo said sharply, turning around and fixing Meilyr with a cold stare. “You’ve had your fun.”

Meilyr wriggled his neck happily. “Yes, I’m enjoying myself. But it’s all thanks to you,” he added politely. “One must give credit where credit is due.”

Bysgo rolled his eyes slightly and began casting about in the bushes and shrubbery at the sides of the path.

Meilyr blinked. “What are you doing now, my dear bloodhound?”

“Looking for something that we’ve seen before,” Bysgo replied. “I feel like we should be seeing something different, or the same, or anything of note. Gah, curse the forest and land itself. How is one supposed to navigate with no stars or tides?”

“Does this not remind you of some years past?” Meilyr said thoughtfully. “Don’t you ever think of our adventures, old friend?”

The corners of Bysgo’s mouth twitched. “Some days. I’m a great deal older, now.”

“Perhaps. Age comes to us all, after all. But it doesn’t take away from the memory, does it?”

“As I remember it, I was getting into trouble, and you were allowing it,” Bysgo said sourly. “Not exactly what Dyn Twodd had in mind when he told you to look after me.”

“Dyn Twodd knows more than you give him credit for. I should think that you would be surprised to hear his thoughts on that day.”

Bysgo shook his head. “At this point, I highly doubt I would be surprised by anything he said. Now stay focused! We need to find Wallace. Wandering off into this wretched wood wasn’t the greatest of ideas.”

“Perhaps try your ears, since your nose seems to have failed you?”

Bysgo crossed his arms. “Really, I think I’ve had enough of the jokes. We ought to take this a little more seriously.”

Meilyr nodded soberly. “Agreed, agreed. As I mentioned, however, you should try your ears.”

Bysgo squinted at him. “Why? I hear nothing.”

Meilyr nodded. “Perhaps because you were too busy sniffing. Off to our right, into the forest. Do you not hear a voice? It carries as though borne by the wind...”

Bysgo frowned and held his breath. After a moment, he released it in a rush. “I do not hear any voice.”

Meilyr nodded. “Human ears. They hear little, even when they listen.” He sighed. “Very well. Follow me, my little hound. We shall find your lost Dreamer yet.”

******************************************************

I crept through the fog and underbrush, my brow slick. I wished Bysgo or Meilyr were here, or Dyn. Fear fluttered in my chest as I inched through the black forest toward something I knew would only be worse when I found it. This should have been enough to dissuade me from my venture, but I trudged on, stubbornly refusing to think about where I was going, and instead focusing on why. I couldn’t lose the book that Dyn Twodd had given me; he had been concerned for its safety inside his own palace, and so had entrusted it to me. I had no intention of letting some thief make off with it.

Something chittered in the brush as I plugged slowly along, my arms wrapped around myself as my head swung between the hedges and trees around me, warily waiting to be ambushed by some monstrosity that I would not have the luxury of being rescued from. I wasn’t sure exactly why, but I felt as though my rescues had been used up, my rescue well run dry, the bucket tipped up and retired. Perhaps that train of thought was a bit dramatic, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that for the first time since I had come to Gald Wydion, I was utterly alone.

My heart leapt into my throat as I heard a moan from somewhere off in the mist, somewhere out of sight. It was lonely, aching, like a great mother bear seeking a lost cub.

The sound repeated once or twice, and then fell silent, the hairs on the back of my neck so stiff I might have been mistaken for a porcupine.

I shuddered and pressed on, trying to forget the noise.

This mage was going to give me back my book, even if I had to bite, scratch and claw it away from him. I was only eight, of course, but I was sure my fists would still hurt. And anyway, thieves were the lowest of the low, so any option was available to me.

If things weren’t going the way I imagined them, I would simply cheat.

Another noise flung itself from the bushes, somewhere just out of sight. This one was more familiar, like a clank, or metal sound. It sounded like something I might hear in the playground at school, or on the highway, or if papa were working in the garage.

My heart rate slowed a little, and I edged toward the sound, figuring that if I were going to eventually find this mage, I would need to start following some sort of trail, or sound, or smell. Aimlessly wandering through the darkness of the forest was not only getting me nowhere, it was making me tired, and I preferred to sleep when I was tired.

The sound repeated itself, a little closer than before. I wasn’t sure if it was closer because I had moved toward it, or...

I froze, my foot hanging in the air. The thought then occurred to me that the sound was probably closer because it was moving toward me, and not the other way around.

I swallowed, wiping a trickle of sweat from my brow.

The sound came again, definitely closer.

I had definitely not moved. And I didn’t even then, as solid as a statue, so still, in fact, that I began to wonder if I would ever be able to move again, or if my body would get stuck that way, like someones face who always frowned.

A moment later, a great, terrible metal thing loomed out of the fog, mist swirling from its decaying pauldrons. A molding visor stared down at me from a growth-covered helmet, an empty, dark gaze boring into my eyes.

I could suddenly move again, my heart hammering so fast I was sure that it was more vibrating than beating. I turned around and ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction of the Mold Knight, the broken pieces of my ocarina clinking in my pack. I ran quickly and senselessly, not caring where I was going or where I might wind up, the only thought in my mind being to get as far away from the angry Knight that wanted his dog back.

In my frantic rush to flee my pursuer, however, I neglected to notice the shadow dancing in the edge of my vision, the flaming, dark shape that sped between the trees and dashed from trunk to trunk like a stalking ghost. I did not notice my second assailant until I burst from the treeline and descended a steep hill, down into a broad valley. It was different than the rest of the forest; it was clean, and free of mist, for one. It was bright and clear, with an unclouded view of the starry sky above, nothing between me and shine of the earth. Thin, white grass waved under my feet, the stone trees gone from sight.

I whirled around, putting my hands on my knees and panting, facing the wall of fog I had just dashed out of. It was vaporous ebony, clashing with the clean white grass of the valley I now stood in. I stared into it tensely, waiting, sweating, ready to dash the moment I saw the metal monster chasing me.

What melted from the mist was not what I was expecting to see. Something different, something not metal, strode confidently out into the brilliant white valley, which I now knew was the Valley Torn. It was shaped like a human, tall and strong, standing on two legs with its arms hanging loosely at its sides. What it was, I couldn’t say. What is looked like, however, was pure terror. It was black, dark, and burning with an evil I could feel from over fifty feet away. It was surrounded in red fire, smoking around the edges of the human-like silhouette like an iris of flame around a lanky pupil. It stared at me, its faceless, eyeless gaze boring into me and driving me to my knees.

I knelt there on the snow-white grass, staring up at the thing helplessly as it took several long strides across the valley floor and stopped in front of me. I wanted to scream, to run, to say something, anything, but I was unable. The flames of its body danced like wild minstrels in my eyes, riveting my gaze to their performance. The grass scorched under its feet, little puffs of smoke rising from where it stood, the sound of a crackling fire filling my ears. I waited for it to do something, anything, to step away, to move closer, but it didn’t. It simply stood there, staring at me, whether in confusion or desire I couldn’t say.

Finally, after several moments of silence, it lifted one flaming hand. It reached toward my face, its fingers spread. I tried to squirm away, but I was locked in place, powerless against whatever mystical force held me. I stared helplessly as its hand drew closer to me, the heat of the flames bouncing off my forehead and cheeks.

Just before it touched me, there was the groan of twisting metal, and the thing wheeled backwards as a great sword sliced the air where it stood.

I took a deep breath and shot to my feet, staggering backwards and falling on my behind. The Mold Knight pulled back for another attack, its gaze dead and quiet, its sword high. The thing screeched like a trapped bat and vanished in a puff of smoke. A moment later, it reappeared above the Mold Knight, hovering in the air like something from a nightmare, before plummeting down on its adversaries head.

The two clashed and warred, tearing up the fine grass of the valley with their efforts, neither making any headway. The Knight was too strong for the thing to hurt it, and the thing was too fast for the Knight to catch, and so they danced their deadly dance across the valley torn, a waltz of decaying steel and corrupt fire, the world alight with black and white and blazing red. I stared, transfixed, unable to tear my eyes from the scene before me, wondering which would win, and wondering which would hunt me more fiercely should it be the victor.

Finally, mid plunge, the thing hesitated. It stopped its attack, its head turning and glancing toward the mist ahead of us, across the valley. It gave one final shriek, before dropping to the ground and sprinting off into the fog wall it had come through.

I swallowed.

The Mold Knight turned its head, its helmet grating against its armor. Its empty visor fell on me, and it picked up its sword.

I crawled backwards on the ground, not far enough away to make a good start. I dared not turn my back on it, for fear that it would swing its blade and I would not see which way to dodge.

It overtook me in just a few short steps, and I stopped, my eyes wide.

It didn’t move, or make a sound, apart from its breathing. It simply stood there, its sword hanging limply by its side. It wasn’t raised to attack, nor did it move to do so. It stared down at me silently, its breaths rattling like leaves in a can, its armor creaking each time its lungs were filled.

I stood up slowly, eyeing it warily. For some reason, I didn’t feel as though it were going to attack me. It stood there like a forgotten chess piece, patiently waiting.

Would it attack me if I moved? If I left, would it chase me down?

I took a step back, and it followed me, with one step.

I blinked.

“Are you...” I trailed off.

I took two steps, and so did it.

“I think you’re-”

I was cut off as the Knight suddenly took two quick steps forward and reached out one massive, armored hand toward me.

I leaned backward, taking a few floundering steps, before a white figure flashed by me and crashed into the Knight, sending him flying backwards.

“Quickly,” Meilyr said, turning to face me. He shook his head, his feathers ruffled from his clash with the Mold Knight. “We have found Nos! Bysgo awaits. Climb on, Dreamer. We must away!”

I didn’t hesitate; I leapt forward, climbing onto Meilyr’s back. In an instant, we were airborne, high above the Valley Torn. I looked behind us, watching the Mold Knight stare up at us as we flew away, his molding, decaying form shrinking into the distance.