Jerak proved a marvelous source of information about the
various creatures and plants around Phantasm. He carefully pointed out to me
the fabulous venim (veh-nim) plant, which he said would preserve anything it
touched in its current state. Sick people ingesting venim would remain alive,
but still sick; creatures would not age; clothes stored in venim sprigs would
not wear. Jerak spoke as if this was all a bad thing.
“But
why is it so horrible?” I asked, “It sounds as if this venim plant is the thing
of immortality.”
Jerak
wagged his head, “No creature is ever meant to be immortal, changeless,
ageless. Everything in the world changes over time, even the mountains. Without
change, time is meaningless, life is
meaningless.”
I
understood what he meant, and suddenly I saw the wisdom of his words.
The
sun set quite abruptly before we were halfway on our journey. Jerak stopped
alongside the road and said, “This would be a good place to rest for the
night.”
No
sooner had we gotten comfortable, with Jerak laying on the ground, and my head
resting against his side for a warm, soft pillow, than the sky fell absolutely
dark. I looked around. There was no moon, and no stars, no light whatever. I
observed this aloud to Jerak. He scoffed and said it was perfectly normal.
“Surely
you don’t expect the Moon-Beems to have the Moon in the middle of the sky right
after sundown,” he pointed out.
I
shrugged, not quite sure what he meant; was the moon of Phantasm supported on
celestial beams of some sort? “In my world,” I said, “the moon is always visible,
only more difficult to see in the daytime because the sun is so much brighter.
And even when there is no moon, one can always see stars.”
“How
strange!” Jerak responded, and at that moment, the bright, glowing Moon rose
above the peaks of the mountains. I gasped; it was much bigger than Earth’s
moon, and there were small glowing creatures running all about its surface,
giving a sparkling, moving appearance.
“What
are those?” I asked Jerak.
He
jerked as if he had been sleeping when I spoke to him. “Moon-Beems; the Moon is
their hive, and they work after nightfall. Their movement is what makes the
moon rise.”
As
I watched, the Moon-Beems raced around the craters of the Moon, in and out, and
all around. Every so often, a glittery flake of Moon-surface would peel away
from the moon, and seemed to hang in the air, glittering still, like a star. By
the time I fell asleep, there were hundreds of these stars in the sky.
Jerak
woke me the next morning, we had a bit of fruit and farran-wheat (sort of a cross
between corn, oats, and wheat-berries; a very sweet, crunchy texture, with an
oaty aftertaste) for breakfast, and set off down the road again.
A
few hours later, just when I was about ready to propose another break, a
newcomer ran up from behind us.
“Hold
up a minute, friends!” he huffed, struggling on his stocky legs to reach us.
Jerak and I stopped and turned to him. He was a dwarf, no more than three and a
half feet tall, and covered in dust, as if he had come a great distance. He
carried large pack with many utensils and tools hanging from it on his back.
His clothing consisted of random patches of many different weights and grades
of fabric, giving him a very mottled, rag-tag appearance. His eyes twinkled
merrily as he winked at us.
“And
where might you two be a-goin’?” he asked in a bass voice emanating from
somewhere within his thick brown beard.
“Good
Dwarf,” Jerak greeted him as formal as ever, “We are on the way to the nearest
dwarf-town, my companion and I. My name is Jerak, and this is Laura…a human.”
The
dwarf’s eyebrows lifted so I could actually see the whites of his eyes.
“Y’don’t say!” he gasped. “Well, it just so happens that I live in the
dwarf-town that lies this way. If’n y’don’t mind, I’d be right glad o’ the
company, if ya’d travel with me. My name’s Galen.”
“How
much further is it to the town, Galen?” I asked. I wondered if dwarves were
really as resilient as all the books said they were; at any rate, I knew my
legs were ready to fall off!
“If
all goes well, we should be there before the moonrise,” Galen announced.
We
started off, but a small voice in my head spoke up: What does he mean, “if”?
We
walked on through the day. Galen led us across a field. He pointed to a tree
line on the horizon. “That there’s the last glade, and then we’ll see the
town.”
I
looked up at the sky. The sun was already fast approaching the mountaintops. I
wondered if we would indeed make it before “moonrise.”
The
sky was golden by the time we reached the edge of the glade. The shadows among
the trees were deeper, but Galen paused, pulled a lantern out of his pack, and
lit it. We trekked through the glade by the cheery light of the little lamp.
Even so, I was on the lookout for more imps as we passed through the trees. At
last, we reached the edge of the glade, but the sky was already dark. Galen
stopped to look at the sky.
“Blast,”
he muttered, “that took longer than I thought it would.”
I
learned then that on Phantasm, there was apparently a space of time between the
actual darkness of “nightfall” and the phenomenon they called “moonrise,” when
the Beems would begin their work and the glowing hive would rise from the
mountains. The sun had set, but the moon had not yet risen. It was pitch black,
except for the light of Galen’s lantern.
“Look!”
he cried, and I saw his stubby finger pointing past the lantern into the
distance. Peering hard, I could just make out several points of light, like the
windows of cottages. “There’s the dwarf-town!”
Seeing
this gave new strength to my over-weary limbs. “Let’s go, then!” Who knew what
sort of beastly creature roamed the dark of Phantasm before moonrise?
“What’s
that over there?” Jerak’s voice came out of the darkness a little ways behind
us. Galen swung the lantern over to the right, and we could see the light of a
small bonfire ahead; it was just a little ways off from a straight path to the
town, and anyway, if we wanted to investigate it, we could just take a more
convex route than the one we were currently on.
“I’m
not sure,” I began, but Galen waved me off.
“I
smell meat cooking; it’s probably a band of gypsy trolls.”
I
glanced at the dwarf, “Are trolls mean creatures?”
“Ehh,”
Galen shrugged his round shoulders, “they’re nice enough, as long as you’re
polite.” He chuckled, “And they’re born entertainers!”
I
glanced back toward the town. “I don’t know about you two,” I said at last,
“but I could really use a break and a warm meal. Let’s go pay the trolls a
visit, then we can continue on toward the town when the moon rises.”
“Sounds
good to me,” Galen agreed. “Jerak? What about you?”
Jerak
tossed his mane, thinking over the situation, “Well, I suppose one small detour
would not hurt,” he said.
“Let’s
go, then!” Galen cried lustily.
We
trekked all the way across that long field in the blackness. As we neared the
fire, enough to make out the burly creatures that looked for all the world like
crumpled masses of flesh-colored clay, one of them stood and placed himself
between us and the fire.
“What
be you doin’ ‘ere?” he demanded in a gravelly voice. The firelight glinted off
the gold ring in his triangular ear.
“Hold
off,” Galen cried, stepping forward, “we mean no harm. We are only weary
travelers looking for a place to rest till moonrise. I met the unicorn and the
human on my way to town.”
All
the buzz of conversation that had been happening between the trolls ceased. The
burly one reached around and planted a hand on my back, pushing me closer to
the light of the fire.
“A
human, eh?” he looked me over, pulling at my clothes (covered in dust from the
road and slime from the vines) and running the ends of my hair through his
pudgy fingers. “Well…I ain’t never seen the like! She’s a rare creature, all
right!” He turned to Galen, “Can she talk?”
“Of
course I can!” I answered for myself. “May I sit down, please?”
I
didn’t like the way the burly troll leered at me; perhaps they were not evil,
but they certainly didn’t strike me as friendly! He gestured toward an open
seat behind me, “Yes, we’d be delighted to have you join us.”
I
sat between two squat trolls. They grunted in greeting and continued slurping
huge bowls of strong-smelling soup.
“My
name is Griggum,” the big troll said, resuming his seat. “Welcome, strangers.”
I
glanced at Jerak, wondering if it would be proper to return the favor and introduce
ourselves, but the unicorn remained silent. After the meal, the troll on my
right pulled out a squeezebox and began playing a slow tune. For the first time
in a while, I was actually comfortable, the fire was warm and bright, and the
music was gentle…
I
blinked at the realization that I was suddenly chilled to the bone. I wanted to
wrap my arms around myself, but my hands had been mysteriously tied behind my
back. I remembered how Galen had said the trolls were magical folk; no doubt
the music had contained some sort of charm to lull me into a trance. Now I
found myself bound yet again, for the second time in two days. This time, it
was rough troll-rope rubbing my skin raw. I saw Jerak, miserably hobbled, himself.
In fact, the only free creatures were the trolls—and the dwarf who had brought
us there. I glared at him.
“Galen!”
I cried, “How could you do this?”
Galen
only shrugged, “Sorry, human; I enjoyed your company while it lasted, but—“ he
broke off and stroked the large bag of gold Griggum had given him.
“Awwright,”
the nearest troll ordered, hauling me as far upright as he could. Being only
three feet high, I ended up in a sort of leaning squat over him as he dragged
me toward the wagon. “Inta there wit’ ya!”
He
half-tossed me toward the steps at the edge, barring the way with his thick
arms so I had nowhere to go but up. Once I was inside, three trolls followed
me, while Griggum and his partner tied Jerak to the back of the wagon, cleaned
up camp, and sat on the bench at the front of the wagon to drive.
I
didn’t like the way the trolls—once so quaint and charming—leered evilly at me.
“Where
are we going?” I asked.
“We’re
going to the dark towns,” the biggest one answered, “That’s where all the
Underworlders live, since the sun don’t shine over there.”
“Underworlders?”
Whatever they were, it didn’t sound pleasant at all.
“Yeah,
minotaurs, ogres, goblins, and the like; they’ve found a way to the surface,
see, and they can’t get back, so they stay in the dark towns.”
“And
we come by,” another troll chimed in, “whenever we gets an opportunity, and we
give them a little entertainment!”
The
burly one nudged him, “How much you figger we’ll get for the human show?”
The
second troll grinned, “Twice as much as usual, and if we get the gryphon, twice
as much again!”
I
blinked, “Gryphon?” The word squeaked out, I was so unaccustomed to saying it,
“there are gryphons in this world?”
The
burly troll kicked me, “Hey, shaddup, human, or I’ll stuff my sock in your
mouth! O’course there are gryphons; darn nuisances!” He turned back toward the
smaller troll. “And we are going to get
one! Griggum has the trap all laid, right where it comes. We’ll get it, all
right, and tomorrow night, when we put on the show, oh! We’ll make it squawk!”
We
had not been driving for more than ten minutes when I heard Griggum shout, and
the wagon suddenly took off at an alarming speed. I almost fancied I could hear
the sounds of horses behind us as well as the pained whinny of the ponies up
front. After a while, the wagon rolled to a stop. Griggum stuck his wrinkled
head into the wagon.
“Unicorn
patrols,” he said quickly, “I can’t shake ‘em; we need to make a scrape for
it.”
“What
about the prisoners?”
“Cut
the milk-horn loose,” Griggum ordered frantically, “and—“
A
loud, insistent neigh wafted over the open plain. I could hear the drumming of
a hundred hooves.
“Garn!”
Griggum swore, “Chuck the human! We can’t be caught with it!”
The
burly troll stood and lifted me hand and foot completely off the ground. “Chuck
it where?” he said, as Griggum’s partner rolled up the cloth on the side of the
wagon. I saw that we were very near a body of water.
“In
the Lake!” Griggum cried, as the voice of the Chief Unicorn could be heard.
“Halt! It is I, Undaglen, Guardian
of the Lake! I command you, come forth!”
I
just barely heard Griggum trying to appease the unicorns as I sailed about
three feet through the air before hitting the water with a heavy splash. I
wiggled as much as I could to stay above water, but the bonds were too tight,
and I could not keep myself afloat. The last thing I heard was the unicorn’s
reaction to the sound of my body hitting the water, but I sank below the
surface before anyone could see me.
The
sun provided some light as I sank deeper into the clear water (it was clear,
but not icy), but what good was light when I was running out of air and could
not move? I jerked as something bumped against my back. I tried to twist my
body to see what it was, but whatever it was had already disappeared into the
depths. I actually reached out to steady myself in the water before I realized
that the bump I felt was someone releasing me from the troll rope! I tried to
swim into the shadows (not that easy with my legs still tied) to see what it
was, but I had to give up because I was running out of air. I tried to tuck my
legs closer, to see if I could untie the rope from around my ankles (very
difficult, since troll-rope has no ends; it is woven around a bound thing by
magic), but just then, something began moving out of the shadows, headed
straight toward me! I jerked out straight to confront it, but the huge creature
(easily ten feet long, at least! Much larger than I) made straight for my
ankles, and I felt a bump again. I looked down, and my feet were free! My lungs
were nearly bursting at this point, so I tried to kick my legs and wave my
arms, hoping to get enough momentum to carry me toward the surface—to no avail.
Every movement just made me sink lower. I was losing strength; it was becoming
harder to hold my mouth closed against the water. I saw the creature come
toward me again, this time from behind, and I felt long limbs wrap around me
like a blanket—a wet, fish-like blanket.
A
webbed hand, palm planted against my neck and fingers firmly gripping my jaw so
I could not move, held my face still as the other hand, holding a leaf of some
sort, smeared it across my face. It left behind a snot-like jelly coating my
nose, mouth and chin. The arms did not resist as I pushed against them, wanting
to get a good look at my new captor before I passed out from lack of oxygen.
I
saw, but I could not comprehend. The creature before me was neither fish nor
human, but a mix of both, and very tall (or long, as the case may be), too
fish-like to be described in human terms, and too humanlike to be dismissed as
a mere fish. She had bulbous eyes, gills instead of a nose, and a mouth
constantly in motion. Violet hair was piled on top of her head, bound and
fastened by strands of seaweed and starfish. She maintained her position by softly
waving colorful fins spanning the space between her arms and her sides. The
legs were separate, but each ended in a long fin, like flippers. I banked on
the creature’s desire to rescue me as I waved my hands, trying to signal that I
wanted to be taken up closer to the surface.
The
creature only peered at me in what could only be construed (having no eyelids
or eyebrows) as annoyance.
“Speak;
you are a human, this I know, else the trolls would not discard you in this
fashion. You may breathe air without fear, for I have spread uandino over your
mouth. My name is Shirill, and I am a mermaid.”
My
mouth flew open on its own, and I felt a sudden heaving rush of air enter my
lungs—but no water. I stretched my lips as far as they would go, but the gel
over my mouth did not even crack. I could breathe normally with the coating on
my lips, just like Shirill had said.
“My
name is Laura,” I told her. “Thank you for rescuing me.”
Shirill
smiled and turned her back toward me. “The rescue is not complete yet. Hold
fast, Laura, and I will take you to the surface.”
I
wrapped my arms around her neck, taking care that I would not choke her, and
with a powerful kick of her foot-fins, Shirill propelled us toward the surface
of the water.
I
gasped when my head broke the surface. Shirill arced her back, so that I could
remain above the water and catch my breath without causing her to come above
the water herself. We seemed to be in a water-filled cove of some sort. I
gripped the jagged rocks at the edge, but I had no strength in my arms to pull
myself up. Just then, I felt Shirill underneath me, grabbing my legs and giving
me the necessary boost upwards. I hauled myself onto the rock and sat there,
soaking wet and panting heavily.
“Thank
you, Shirill,” I said.
Shirill
smiled at me from beneath the water. “Humans are a rare breed,” she said, “we
merfolk have seen many such breeds die out over time, because the species have
no care for each other.”
“What
do you mean?”
“The
dwarves will not help the gryphons, the fairies will not venture to help just
any wounded unicorn, the giants, well—“
Giants?
I had not met any giants yet. “How do you know so much about the other
creatures if you cannot leave the water?”
Shirill
blew a stream of bubbles that sounded like gentle laughter as they broke on the
surface. “There are waterways under the ground all over Phantasm. True, there
is only one Lake, but that Lake is the water source for any body of water in
the world.” She paused, “That reminds me.”
Shirill
swam away for a moment, and returned with something white in her hands. She
handed it to me. It looked like a small clam, but the shell was translucent and
waxy, almost like plastic.
“What
is this?” I asked her.
“It
is called a meir; it is a sort of shelled creature that we merfolk use for
communication.”
I
examined the shell, but I could see no way it could possibly aid in
communication. I couldn’t even get the thing open. “How does it work?”
“Place
it under the water,” Shirill explained, “and the shell will open and emit a
high-pitched squeal that only merfolk can hear. I have memorized the sound of
this one. Wherever there is a body of water, place the meir in it, and I will
come to you, wherever you are.”
“Sounds
like the merfolk are the only ones who aren’t restricted to one location, but
truly inhabit the world around,” I observed, tucking the strange white shell in
my pocket.
Shirill
somersaulted thoughtfully, “I suppose,” she said, “though there are Unicorn
Guardians for every species; yet the unicorns still keep mostly to themselves
and others like them. There are different-colored horns, you know.”
I
crossed my ankles and pulled my knees to my chest to conserve body heat.
“Really?” I prompted the mermaid. “Like purple and orange and such?”
“No,”
Shirill corrected me, “Not quite; there are five colors: blue, green, gold,
silver, and red. The color of the horn signifies the region and the species the
unicorn must protect: blue is for the Lake and the Mer-folk, Green for the
Meadowglades and the Little Folk, Gold for the Dwarf-towns, Silver for the
gryphons in the mountains…” her voice dropped respectfully, “And the Red-horned
unicorn guards the Phantasmagyth.”
“Phantasma-what?”
I asked, but just then I heard a familiar voice calling my name.
“Laura!
Laura! Are you in there?”
I
turned around. “Jerak?” At first I could not tell where his voice came from,
but just then I noticed that the cove did not consist of this one area, but
extended further back into the shadows.
“There
is an exit onto land back there,” Shirill confirmed, “Fare you well, Laura!”
“Thank
you, Shirill!” I said, and ran toward the sound of Jerak’s voice.
The
unicorn was very relieved to see me.
“Ah,
Laura!” he cried, “I would have never forgiven myself if I had lost you for
good! We were lucky those Unicorns came when they did. How did you escape the
troll-rope?”
Speaking
of unicorns reminded me of what I had just learned from Shirill. I looked at
Jerak’s horn: milk-white and velvety. “Shirill the mermaid saved me,” I told
him.
“A
mermaid?” Jerak was almost disgusted at
the mention, “Well, I suppose it’s all right.”
“Jerak,”
I continued, “She told me that unicorns have different-colored horns that mean
different things. What does yours mean?”
Jerak’s
body stiffened; evidently I had hit on a sore subject. “Well, Laura, it appears
that you, being a human, are not safe around dwarves. I am afraid we must
abandon our present course and return to the Fairy Glade.”
I
could see that he did not want to talk about horns just now. I remembered how
young elk with new horns had the same velvety covering.
“You’re
very young, aren’t you?” I hinted gently that I knew.
Jerak
sniffed in frustration, “Not young, just—not assigned, yet.”
“When
will that be?”
“Good
gracious!” He burst out, “Why should a human concern herself with the
traditions of unicorns?”
“All
right, fine,” I replied, “We’ll leave that alone for now. But I must tell you,
Jerak, that I learned something in the back of the trolls’ wagon.”
“What
did you learn, human?” He wasn’t calling me Laura anymore; he was still angry
with me.
“They’ve
trapped a gryphon and they’re going to put him on display like they wanted to
display us.”
Jerak
didn’t break his stride, “So?”
Shirill
was right; the different species didn’t care for each other. “Don’t we want to
work out some sort of rescue?”
“Why
should we? It would only mean trouble… and I wouldn’t want to be caught by the
trolls a second time!”
Now
was my turn to sigh in annoyance, “But what if you end up a Mountain Guardian?
Wouldn’t you want to rescue the gryphon to perhaps earn their respect?”
“If
I am their Guardian, they will have no choice but to respect me!”
We had just entered a clearing when
Jerak stopped in his tracks. I wondered if I had gone too far harping on his
attitude, but he tilted his ears forward, listening intently.
“Laura,”
he warned me, “hold very still, something is—“
Before
he could finish, a shadow passed over us, and a very large object (or creature)
landed at the edge of the clearing, right in front of us. As the dust settled,
I found myself staring right in the face of a young—
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