The fifth sorceress, p.47
The Fifth Sorceress, page 47
‘Don’t let the fluid touch you!’ Shannon screamed. ‘Whatever you do, don’t let it touch you!’
The larger of the two remaining nightmares whirled toward Tristan and opened its mouth. Almost immediately a bright green stream of the ominous fluid flew through the air toward the prince.
But it wasn’t fast enough. Wigg raised one of his hands, and a bright azure bolt of light shot toward Tristan, arriving just before the fluid. Wigg’s azure bolt instantly turned itself into a wall of glistening blue, shielding the prince. The green fluid struck the blue wall dead center and fell drippingly to the floor of the forest, hissing as it went, coalescing into yet another pool.
Wigg wasted no time. With a wave of his hand, the azure wall became a magnificent sword, hanging in the air. With lightning speed, the sword tore across the clearing and sliced the creature’s head cleanly from its body. The creature fell to the ground, its mouth still working grotesquely in the severed head in an autonomic spasm of death.
That leaves just one, Tristan noted wildly. And it belongs to me.
But it was not to be. The last of the hideous things, apparently cognizant of its situation, instead turned its head and opened its mouth in a completely different direction, aiming up into the treetops.
A solid stream of the awful fluid shot high into the trees. Then the creature closed its mouth, seeming to bite down on the string of fluid and cut it in two. With amazing speed, it took hold of the rope of fluid and, with a single, powerful jump, swung itself up and away, into the darkness and safety of the limbs above, pulling the fluid rope up after it. The trees began to rustle hauntingly, one after the next, as it apparently leapt nimbly from limb to limb. Bright green fluid dripped down sporadically, leaving an eerie trail in the darkness of the forest as the thing ran through the tops of the trees as quickly as any man could ever have run across the ground. And then, finally, just as Tristan thought all would be quiet, from far away came another of the insane, blood-chilling laughs, resounding through Shadowood.
And then it was gone.
Tristan stood there, his chest heaving, in complete disbelief. He immediately ran to the wizard and the gnome.
They both seemed unhurt, but Wigg’s amazed expression was quickly turning into anger as he stood there in the firelight, glaring at Shannon. As for the gnome, he was shaking uncontrollably from fear, and quickly waddled over to where the jug of ale lay next to the fire. As if he hadn’t a moment to lose, he put the jug to his lips and took a huge gulp, followed by another, and then yet another. Tristan was about to reprimand him for drinking again, but given the nature of the situation, decided to let the little one have his fill for a while.
‘I told you never to trust the gnomes!’ Wigg shouted at Tristan, obviously upset. ‘I told you not to bring him along! And whatever those things were, Shannon had to know about it! He’s lived here for three centuries! And he didn’t say a word about this possibility!’ He glared back at the gnome, who was greedily drinking. ‘I would say you have some explaining to do!’
Despite the fact that they had all just nearly been killed, Tristan had to smile at what came next. Without hesitation, the gnome wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Looking into the jug and seeing that there were only a few gulps left, he carefully set it down. At the same time, he reached down to grasp a rock, which he promptly launched at Wigg’s head. The wizard stepped neatly aside, avoiding the rock as it tore through the air, but the tone between these two had once again definitely been set.
‘You pompous old bastard!’ Shannon yelled. ‘How dare you! You know what those hideous things are as well as I do!’
‘What are you talking about?’ Wigg shouted back, clearly beside himself. ‘I’ve never seen anything like them in my life!’
‘You know full well what they are,’ Shannon said. His voice had now become softer, but the anger in his eyes was no less apparent. ‘You created them,’ he whispered nastily.
Wigg just stood there and stared at the gnome as if he were from another world. He narrowed his eyes at Shannon. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t joust with me, Lead Wizard,’ Shannon said defiantly. ‘Those things were vomited into existence by you and the rest of your beloved Directorate, near the end of the Sorceresses’ War, when you all so efficiently created Shadowood.’ The gnome lowered his eyes, some of his anger now replaced with sadness. ‘And they have been plaguing our kind for the last three centuries. Even Master Faegan, the great one, is only of limited use in protecting us from them. It was your rush to protect your beloved magic, three hundred years ago, that brought these monsters forth.’
Wigg looked as if someone had just slapped him across the face. His mouth was open, but no words came. A look of great pain came across his tanned, creased face.
‘What are they called?’ Tristan interrupted.
‘Berserkers,’ Shannon answered.
‘What?’ Tristan exclaimed.
‘We call them berserkers because of the vicious way they attack us and the awful, insane laughter they inflict upon their prey just before a kill,’ Shannon said. He looked at the corpses in the grass. ‘I believe you can now appreciate the name we gave them, after having seen them for yourself.’
Wigg took a step closer to the gnome, the anger completely gone from his face. ‘They were once gnome hunters, weren’t they?’ he asked quietly.
‘Yes,’ Shannon said. ‘The same humans of your kind who once slaughtered us and took our women. It seems that when your transformation of Shadowood took place, you effectively protected all of the gnomes living here at the time, but quite forgot about whatever gnome hunters were also here. They were transformed into what you see lying dead before you. You and your precious magic created the creatures you just had the unfortunate opportunity to encounter.’ He paused, as if in sorrow. ‘The scene of the massacre we saw two days ago was the work of berserkers.’
Wigg literally hung his head in shame, a rare sight indeed. ‘Why has Faegan not been able to rid Shadowood of them?’ he asked quietly.
‘Even Master Faegan has his limits,’ Shannon said. ‘And when you finally come face to face with him, you will understand why.’
Tristan walked over to the body of the berserker he had killed. The fluid that had pooled next to it in the grass still glowed. ‘What is this substance that comes from their mouths?’ he asked. ‘It is deadly?’
‘Yes, but not in the way you might think,’ Shannon replied. ‘They live in the branches, and hunt only at night. The fluid is used to help them traverse the trees. But they also use it to injure their prey. If it touches your skin, the affected area will quickly begin to wither and bleed. If the attacking party is small, the berserkers follow the wounded, waiting for them to become weak and helpless. Then they gather around him with their insane laughter and tear him apart, limb from limb. But a large attacking party will kill the prey on the spot, covering it with large quantities of the fluid.’
‘But why are they so intent on killing the gnomes?’
‘They need us for sustenance,’ Shannon said angrily. ‘They eat us – while we are still alive.’ He looked carefully at Tristan.
‘After they have eaten their fill, they take the heads, skin them, and remove and eat the brain. They then polish the bare skull to a high gleam,’ Shannon continued. ‘They store these trophies in the branches of the trees in which they live. We believe that there is some sort of hierarchy to their existence, that the one with the most skulls is the leader, but there really is no way for us to know. If we come upon a collection of skulls in our travels, we try to steal them back for burial later.’ He gave Wigg a hard look. ‘Many of my closest friends have died while trying to perform this act of kindness.’
Tristan thought to himself for a moment. ‘This is why you were so difficult with us back at the bridge, is it not?’
‘Yes,’ Shannon replied. ‘While it is my duty to Master Faegan to protect the bridge, I also have no use for anyone, other than him, who indulges in the craft.’
‘And the massacre we came upon two days ago, why did you not tell us of them then?’ Wigg asked.
Shannon turned to the wizard. ‘I did not mention it because I saw no look of guilt upon your face, only curiosity. Had you, as one of the creators of this madness, seemed more contrite I would have discussed it. As it was, I felt it best to say nothing.’
‘We thought we were doing the right thing,’ Wigg said apologetically. ‘We knew we had perfected the incantation for the protection of the gnomes, and we were fairly sure that the transformation would kill the gnome hunters.’ He sighed greatly, pursing his lips. ‘I am truly sorry, Shannon,’ he said. ‘And I will do everything in my power to correct this when we reach Faegan,’
‘Master Faegan to you,’ the little gnome added imperiously.
Wigg smiled slightly for the first time. ‘Master Faegan,’ he agreed.
Although dawn was still several hours away, Tristan doubted that any of them would be getting very much more sleep that night. Shannon went to retrieve the ale jug, and Wigg sat down next to the fire, lost in thought.
Tristan sat down as well, still astounded at what he had just heard. Pulling his knees up against the chill of the night, he began the rather long wait for the first prisms of dawn.
The prince of Eutracia shifted in his saddle as Pilgrim half walked, half trotted up a little wooded knoll. He and Wigg had been traveling for the last two hours in relative silence, following as the gnome led the way on foot through the dense forest of Shadowood. Despite his lack of sleep, Tristan was not tired, too excited at the prospect of finally meeting Faegan and, he hoped, coming one step closer to finding Shailiha.
Looking around at the forest, he continued to marvel at the similarity it held to the Hartwick Woods, especially the area in which he had discovered the Caves of the Paragon. The same lush and colorful ground foliage grew here, as did the huge, gnarled trees that until now he had never before seen in any other part of the kingdom. The branches overhead were just as thick and dense as those surrounding the Caves, and the air brought back to his nostrils the same sweet, light scents that he had first detected before finding the wall that led him tumbling down into the earth. Once again his overactive mind sought out the similarities, trying to connect the possibilities of such coincidences. Wigg has said that Shadowood was created by the Directorate just before the end of the war, as a refuge for endowed blood, he thought. Could the Hartwick Woods be the same kind of thing? Did the Directorate create that place as well?
Looking ahead, Tristan thought that he could discern some brighter light at what finally appeared to be the edge of the forest. Pressing his heels to Pilgrim’s sides, he sped up to follow Wigg and Shannon as they finally exited the woods.
What Tristan saw beyond the trees took his breath away.
He was looking down onto a wide plain of grasses and wildflowers that seemed to stretch off to his left, to the west, forever. To the east was the Sea of Whispers, the great uncrossable ocean. With the crashing of waves upon the jagged rocks of the coast, it came ever rolling into the land, angrily attacking over and over with dark, frothy arms, only to tentatively retreat, regroup, and roll in again.
Straight ahead lay a ridge of low mountains, at the bottom of which was the most beautiful lake he had ever seen. Tranquil, deep, and dark blue, the water gently swayed back and forth to a rhythm of its own, seemingly unaffected by the breezes that were blowing over it. At the far end of the lake was a very high waterfall. Jutting out from the ridge, it billowed its contents out and down the amazing height as if nature had intentionally commanded all of the beauty and grace in her power to this one spot. The endowed blood in his veins ran quicker the longer he looked at it, and he somehow knew, without a doubt, that the waterfall was their destination.
Tristan and Wigg watched from their horses as the excited little gnome in the red shirt and blue bibs started to jump up and down with glee.
‘I told you!’ he exclaimed happily. ‘I told you we would get here! My master awaits on the other side of the falls.’ Over the last two days, Shannon apparently had come to regard Tristan and Wigg as trophies to be shown off to his master, rather than as the imposing Lead Wizard of the Directorate and the prince of Eutracia who had come to find Faegan. He rubbed his hands together anxiously, and instinctively reached up for the jug of ale that was tied to the back of Tristan’s saddle. It had been their practice not to let the ale-loving gnome near his swill while guiding them through the forest, letting him drink it only at night around the campfire. They had no need of a drunken guide. But knowing that the jug was almost empty, Tristan decided to let the little one have one final, congratulatory swig of the potent, dark brew, despite the glower on Wigg’s face, and handed down the jug.
‘It won’t be long now,’ Shannon said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, at the same time nodding his thanks to the prince. Tristan simply sat atop his horse and smiled. On the pretense of wanting a drink himself, he reclaimed the jug from the little one, retying it to his saddle after a quick swallow. Finally the three of them started around the western edge of the lake, and on toward the falls.
It was then that Tristan saw them.
When the first slash of color came swooping out of nowhere to careen before their eyes, Pilgrim began to dance about nervously. Tristan instinctively unsheathed the dreggan, touching the button on the hilt of the great sword and sending the tip of the blade shooting out angrily. Then, at the same time he realized he didn’t need it, he heard the old wizard speak his first words of the day. ‘If you can cut one of them down in midair, you will be the first ever to do so, Chosen One or not,’ the old one said calmly, pursing his lips. ‘The Directorate brought them here, over three hundred years ago, for their protection. I shouldn’t like to think that the prince of Eutracia had become responsible for their demise.’
Smiling and chagrined, Tristan replaced the dreggan in its scabbard. He spoke gently to Pilgrim and stroked the horse’s neck as the riotous flashes of color continued to dart and swerve around them.
For the second time in his life he was watching the Fliers of the Fields.
Except this time there were hundreds of them.
The huge, multicolored butterflies swooped and darted back and forth across the afternoon sky with amazing speed, teasing the horses and their riders, zigzagging in and out of the forest behind them at will.
Wigg turned in his saddle and stretched out one of his gnarled hands. In a moment, a violet-and-yellow flier came to rest upon the old one’s forearm, settling down and remaining very still save for the gentle opening and closing of its long, diaphanous wings. Tristan’s mouth fell open. He had no idea that there had ever been any kind of bond between the fliers and human beings.
‘When we realized that the fliers had been changed by the waters of the Paragon,’ the wizard continued, ‘not only did we feel responsible for their welfare, but we knew that we needed to find a place to hide them, lest the curious come looking for them and discover all of the same things that you did that day. But despite our best efforts to keep their existence a secret, the rumors of their existence still persist.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me all of this that day in the Redoubt?’ He remembered all of the pain that he had felt that afternoon in his meeting with the Directorate and his father. How none of the things that they had told him had made any sense. And how angry he had become. He looked directly into the wizard’s penetrating aquamarine eyes. ‘It would have helped me to know that there were at least other fliers that were still alive.’
Wigg sighed and lifted his arm, and as if by silent order, the giant violet-and-yellow butterfly once again took to the air. ‘We couldn’t, Tristan,’ he said simply, ‘no matter how much we wanted to. The coronation ceremony was only a month away, and in your state of mind at the time, we couldn’t take the chance of you wanting to come here to prove it to yourself. You would never have made it across the canyon alone.’
The old one looked with genuine love into the dark blue eyes of the man who had so quickly, so painfully, come to so many realizations. ‘Your father told you that day that everything that was done, indeed even everything that was not done, as well, had a reason. I hope you are beginning to understand.’
Tristan lifted his eyes from the wizard’s gaze long enough to see that the little gnome was trotting happily around the edge of the lake to the left, through the tall grasses and wildflowers of the pastures.
‘We had better hurry up and follow him,’ Wigg said. ‘I suppose it’s actually possible that we could lose him in all this high grass.’ He pushed his tongue against the inside of one cheek. ‘And what a shame that would be,’ he added caustically.
They soon caught up to Shannon and followed him around the lake to a spot very near the rushing water of the falls. Tristan had never seen anything like it, even in the Caves of the Paragon. It was the highest waterfall he had ever seen, and the roaring sound that it made as it poured its flowing, almost crystalline contents out and down into the indigo lake was deafening. The spray brought to his nostrils the sweet, familiar smell of morning rain. He watched Shannon and Wigg exchange a few words, and then the gnome inexplicably stepped behind the falls and disappeared.
Confused, the prince trotted Pilgrim up to stand next to Wigg’s horse, making sure he was close enough to the old one to be sure they could converse amid all of the noise. Both horses had begun to dance about in their nervousness at being so close to the rushing water. Tristan reached up to stroke Pilgrim’s neck as he leaned over to shout into the old one’s ear.
‘Where did he go? How could Shannon just disappear like that?’
‘He didn’t,’ Wigg said calmly. Still looking straight ahead at the place where Shannon had slipped away behind the falls, he added, ‘Dismount. We walk in from here. Make sure and hold the reins very tightly.’ Wigg got down off his gelding and curiously passed his hand over each of Pilgrim’s eyes. Immediately the stallion began to grow calmer, more docile. The wizard then accomplished the same feat with his own mount and began to walk behind the falls, leading his horse, beckoning Tristan to follow. Before Tristan knew it, Wigg, too, had vanished.
