'Extreme Holiday'

2014-02-25T19:45:00.000-08:00

Miriam dreams of being anywhere but here.

Thora is on a mission to save the world.

Fong wants the woman he married- back.

The boys want what all modern teenagers want.

And Black Fatty just wants to be adored by everyone.

They’ve got a doorway in their backyard to a pristine, parallel world in which they decide to have the holiday that will change their lives forever.

The Who family always go somewhere exotic during the school holidays. This year they’re going to Thora’s world … very exotic and very extreme. Thora lives in a parallel world, one that time seems to have forgotten. Miriam Who is having a mid life crisis and taking it out on everyone around her, especially Fong and their sons. Her longing for change combined with latent psychic abilities and some great feng shui are going to have huge ramifications for Thora and Miriam’s family. This is a story about being in the right place at the right time.

Begin reading Chapter One

a sketch of the story

2008-07-14T20:45:00.000-07:00

Thora is a small woman living a hermits life in an underpopulated, backward and superstitious world. Miriam is mother to four typical teenage boys and questioning her life as a mid-career Artist. Both women are undergoing change, physical and psychological. Through time and space a connection is made which unknown to them, opens a portal between their worlds.

A mythical creature known to Thora’s people as a Mrrow, uses the portal to make killing raids. Determined to close it, Thora follows the Mrrow back to the world of the Who family and contemporary Australia.

To this skeptical and thoroughly modern family, Thora and her world are the stuff of fairytales.
Miriam is intrigued, and talks her family into visiting a world without the mod cons and creature comforts they are used to. Unknown to Thora however, are anomalies in time.

Right off the bat, Miriam and her youngest son Oli, are separated from the main party and find themselves alone in a forest with snow on the way. Fleeing a pack of timber wolves they become hopelessly lost and are forced to shelter in a cave. Meanwhile, Fong, Thora and the boys arrive in the midst of a snow storm and must erect a crude shelter to ride it out. The snow has obliterated Miriam and Oli’s tracks so a decision is made to split up. Fong, Thora and Bas will search while Josh and Nic will stay put.

Boredom sparks an argument between the brothers and Nic takes off into the forest with Josh in hot pursuit. Climbing a tree, Nic makes his way high into the treetops leaving Josh hurling abuse below.
Nic spends the night high and dry sharing his sleeping bag with Black Fatty who has followed them through the portal. The next day he and a grumpy Josh against orders set off on their own search.

Miriam and Oli are found by Timothy, he guides them to his village and the home of his Master where despite misgivings Miriam agrees to spend the night. Thora picking up the trail outside the cave guides Fong and Bas to the fortress of Guillermo Lumir, a powerful and greatly feared Jishan. With grave fears for the safety of his wife and son, Fong hatches a plan requiring the help of his other sons and leaving Bas with Thora, sets off to fetch them.

After a miserable night spent locked in a windowless cell, Miriam and Oli are assured there is no escape and told they may wander the fortress freely if they abide to certain conditions. The Jishan’s sullen and obese housekeeper, becomes fond of Oli and knowing their fate, becomes their only ally.

Miriam playing for time entertains Lumir, however as his dreadful past and plans for her future become apparent, her fears give way to rage and the determination to kill the monster.

Chapter 38

2007-10-17T13:57:00.000-07:00

Miriam watched the screaming man’s decent and crash. She swayed on the edge considering the unthinkable. It’s unnatural to outlive your own children. How can I face the years ahead? It’d be easier to simply…

‘Miriam’, shouted Fong, ‘Miriam, darling. Don’t! He’s alive …Nic’s still alive.’

The heavy hand of grief released her and in the giddy relief the news brought, she wobbled and pitched forward.

Two strong hands —one no bigger than a child’s, but work worn; the other, large, pale and pretty— clasped her and hauled her back. Her two friends; one she dwarfed, the other dwarfing all, faced her with sad smiles.

‘Thought we lost you for a moment’, said Thora.

‘She would never leave two fine younguns such as these,’ said Gretchen.

‘I’m a lucky woman to have such friends,’ said Miriam, the colour beginning to return to her face. ‘I need your help.’

‘Anything,’ said Gretchen in her usual economic manner.

‘Need you ask?’ said Thora.

‘We have to get Nic back to our world with all haste,’ she said, shaking the tears that threatened, away. ‘Gretchen can you carry him? And, can you guide us to the portal in the most direct way Thora?

They nodded and the six of them began to race down the many staircases —each in their own strange style; and exited the fortress. They stopped for no reason, leaving the packs and warm clothing behind and arrived, out of breath, by Nic’s side.

‘He’s breathing evenly, but he’s not for a second, regained consciousness,’ said a very worried Fong, ‘I think he may be in a coma.’

Thora peeled the youngun’s eyelids open and noted the dilated pupils. She pinched the flesh on his chest viciously, observing the lack of response. The situation was grave. The prognosis, if he stayed here much longer; poor.

‘I can do nothing for him,’ she said taking Miriam’s hand. ‘I fear he will not last the night.’

‘We must get him to a hospital!’

‘He might die if we move him,’ said Fong, his face etched with despair and fatigue.

‘He’ll die if we don’t,’ said Miriam in flat voice. ‘We have to risk it. We have to give him a chance.’

‘Quickly Josh,’ instructed Fong, ‘—help me find some sticks suitable for building a litter.’

‘No time for that. Gretchen has agreed to carry him to the portal.’

Fong eyed the colossus of a woman with a mixture of awe and doubt. ‘Your new friend looks very strong …but flat strap; it’s still a distance of some hours. Are you sure she can make it?’

‘Nobody’s sure of anything, but everybody’s willing to try,’ said Miriam impatiently, ‘Let’s go now!’

~~~~~

The poor woman, thought Miriam, I must buy shoes for her when we get back, even if I have to hunt down a cobbler and have them made for her.

The family members formed a tight protective pack around the shuffling giantess who clutched Nic to her chest as if he were her own infant. He hung as limp as a rag doll, the bruising and swelling noticeably worse. Both his eyes were black and one-half of his face grotesquely distorted.

He looks like “The Elephant Man”, thought Fong.

They kept a steady pace, jogging slowly in the flattish parts and power walking in the steep bits. Gretchen maintained her fast shuffle but was having a hard time, her breathing laboured and her thighs chafed red raw. Each sweep of one mighty thigh past the other an agony, as more and more flesh was slowly eroded away, until the blood that oozed from hundred of lacerations collected to become a slow trickle and flow down her legs. This made things much worse, drying hard and brittle, adding to her extreme discomfort.

Her feet placed next to an average pair were large, but small in proportion to her frame, and after a short while, the pressure of her considerable weight on the gravel, sticks and pinecones —an unwelcome addition to the litany of misery. She kept going through sheer willpower, fuelled by love; her love for Miriam and the youngun.

‘Are you alright? Said Miriam jogging alongside; witness to the sticky trails of blood and Gretchen’s clenched jaw. ‘–we could stop for a minute, let you catch you breath…’

Gretchen merely shook her head stubbornly in response, pressing on.

If she ever shed that mantle of lard, she would be a magnificent specimen, a regular Amazon, thought Miriam -her endurance is phenomenal.

~~~~~

They were deep in the forest now and the going was rough. Bas began to wheeze, but did not complain. He’d given up carrying Fatty some distance back and he’d streaked on ahead and was lost to sight.

The desperate run down the forested slopes was fresh in Oli’s memory. Crap now we have to run up.

Josh had never seen his parents so afraid. They were white lipped. They both looked much older. His father’s beard seemed greyer, his mother’s face etched with fine lines like a crumpled tissue. He was very worried about them, he was very worried about Nic, and he was very worried about Elly. What if I never see her again? The pain in his chest was more than just a simple stitch.

Thora, running point position; saw with relief, the small clearing, it was at most, five minutes away. She loped on ahead and rested a spell on the fallen log. She gazed on each exhausted face tenderly. It would be very difficult to return to her solitary ways. She would especially miss Bas.

Long minutes later, Gretchen sat down heavily on the log beside her, her swollen feet savouring the blessed if brief, respite. Quiet reigned for a moment, as they listened to their racing pulses slow and drew deep shuddering breaths.

‘We made it my queen!’ said Miriam bowing before Gretchen.

Although Gretchen was as red as a beetroot from her exertions, she blushed a deep shade of port wine.

‘T’was nothing’, came her mumbled reply, her hammering chest fit to burst with happiness.

‘Alright. We must stay together while passing through the portal,’ said Miriam.

‘Best to link hands me thinks,’ added Thora, remembering the trouble she’d had getting the males here in the first place.

‘Mum, Dad—I need to speak to you …alone, for a sec,’ said Josh nervously.

‘Not now,’ said Miriam.

‘We’ll talk when we get back to the house son,’ added Fong.

‘No. there’s something I…I have to say now.’

‘Okay,’ said a distracted Miriam, ‘but a sec it is, there’s no time to lose.’

Josh gulped, afraid of their reaction to a decision he had come to. ‘I’m staying here.’

‘What!’ said Fong and Miriam in unison.

‘Have you lost your marbles?’ said Fong. ‘You’ll do as you’re bloody well told young man!’

‘I won’t go…and you can’t make me,’ said Josh squaring his shoulders.

Fong started to roll his shoulders —a sure sign of trouble. ‘You will and …I can.’

‘I’m eighteen, I can do what I want,’ said Josh, folding his arms.

This is going nowhere fast, thought Miriam. ‘Calm down the two of you,’ she said, trying desperately not to lose it. Stay calm Miriam. ‘Why don’t you want to come back? Aren’t you concerned about your brother?’

‘Y-yes… of course! But nothing I do from now on in is going to have any bearing on his…his recovery,’ said Josh, and looking down to avoid their eyes added, ‘—or not.’

That statement hung in the air for an uncomfortable period of time.

‘You have not answered your parent’s question, youngun,’ said Thora interjecting. ‘Why do you want to stay?’

‘Butt out!’ said Josh. ‘And stop calling me youngun.’

Thora merely raised her eyebrows and moved to one side of the huddle.

‘I … want…I have to help the Ironbards. Mikey…M–Mikal needs to be buried, and I know Nic would want to do the same thing … if he could.’

‘And you fancy Elly,’ said Bas, who’d been eavesdropping the whole time and now sheepishly joined his parents.

‘Is that true?’ demanded Miriam.

Josh just nodded.

Miriam turned to Fong, ‘She’s that pretty blonde girl?’

But, before he got a word out, Oli contributed his two cents, ‘Sure is and she’s great with a bow and arrow, as you might have noticed.’

‘Well hail, hail, the gangs all here,’ said Josh crossly. ‘Yeah, she’s pretty —but that’s not it … or not all of it. She’s smart, and funny, and…I can’t bear the idea of never seeing her again.’

His shoulders, so squared and defiant a moment before, now slumped, and Miriam realised that he was desperately in love and furthermore, that he was not, her little boy anymore.

‘We can’t just leave you here on your own son,’ said Fong in a surprisingly resigned tone, ‘–how will you find your way back?’

‘He can return with me,’ said Gretchen.

‘What! Why?’ said Oli. ‘There’s plenty of space at home. Like I said —you can have my room. I spend more time in Bas’s anyway.’ Tears started to trickle over his grubby cheeks, leaving little washed trails.

Gretchen patted Oli’s back gently. ‘I have to go back for my friends,’ and seeing his puzzled look, explained. ‘My other friends. They will surely starve to death. I want to give them their freedom—like you have given me mine.’ She smiled a wide toothy grin. ‘You will be back soon —to fetch this one here,’ she said indicating Josh with her chin, ‘and then we’ll see.’

‘Right. I guess it’s all settled,’ said Miriam her voice heavy with emotion, her eyes filming over. ‘We should be able to manage Nic between the two us, shouldn’t–’ a rebel sob burst from her constricted throat, ‘—shouldn’t we?’

‘I can carry him by myself —the short distance to the house, luv. Sure it’s the right decision? He said, trying to read her real feelings, ‘I can still kick his hairy bum if I have to.’

‘I’m sure. You know as well as I do— you gotta follow your heart.’

‘Hmmm. Okay son, you win— this time. But we’ll be back, as soon as Nic is out of danger and well enough, said Fong sternly. ‘You stay with the Ironbards. You go nowhere else. Then, we’ll review the situation.’

‘I promise Dad—Mum,’ and sniffing back the tears, he embraced first his Dad, then his Mum. He gave Bas and Oli a brief hug. ‘Be good, or I’ll kick your hairy bums.

‘Come now, best be on our way,’ said Thora gruffly.

‘What—are you coming too?’ said Fong in mock surprise.

‘Of course,’ said Thora.

Afterword

The garden was a profusion of flowers: hollyhocks, delphiniums, Canterbury bells, foxgloves, snapdragons, violets, poppies. Thora stopped to adjust her heavy pack and continued along the mostly overgrown pebble path, humming a tune she had learned just recently—from a television show called "The Simpsons". As she walked, she brushed her hands over the gently bobbing flower heads releasing their honeyed scents, momentarily angering the bees ―whose legs were so laden with pollen, they appeared to be wearing plus fours— industriously gathering for their hive. At the edges of the path grew spreading clumps of feverfew, selfheal, sorrel and tansy, and the perfume of their volatile oils was added to the heady mix, when her broad feet occasionally crushed a few straying leaves.

Just ahead on the long low bench, in the deep shade of the portico, was Elly. She was lying in a half prone position, one arm resting on her forehead the other on a basket filled with herbs and purple poppy heads.

‘Hallo there,’ said Thora, in a voice tinged with weariness.

Elly, who had not been sleeping—just resting in the noonday heat; sat up immediately, knocking over the basket and spilling its contents onto the tamped earth.

‘Thora—is that, really you?’ she said breathlessly. She crouched low to gather up the herbs. ‘We’d almost given up hope of ever seeing you again! Josh will be so happy.’ She stood up and grimacing, placed one hand on the small of her back. ‘Josh, Josh darling, come see who is here … at long last.’

Indeed…it must have been a very long time thought Thora, her eyes round and bulging, but not nearly so much as Elly’s abdomen.

Finish

Chapter 37

2007-10-16T13:38:00.000-07:00

Time, sometimes, has a funny way of standing still.
Miriam heard the shot.
Watched, as the ball travelled the short distance to the young stranger’s chest.
Heard a sound; like someone smacking the dust out of a pillow.
Witnessed the birth of a small, black-edged hole in a spot just above where his heart should be.
Saw the look of mild surprise on his handsome freckled face.
Watched him crumple.
Observed the bright flower of arterial blood bloom on his home spun, hand stitched shirt and heard Nic’s cry.

‘Mikeeey!’

In three swift steps, Guillermo crossed the space and grabbed the cutlass from the dying boy. In two more, he grabbed the youngest of Miriam’s cubs, placing his arm roughly around his throat. Oli gagged, and struggled to throw off the suffocating limb. Guillermo half dragged the thrashing child to the edge of the parapet.

‘Stop!’ cried Miriam in a voice that seemed to her, disembodied —for a fleeting moment she hoped this was just another terrible dream. ‘We’ll do whatever you want … Please. Please, let him go.’ Her voice cracked and she fell to her knees in supplication before him.

‘That’s better, much better,’ said Guillermo, loosening the pressure on Oli’s throat a fraction so that he was able to draw a shallow breath. ‘Now. Let us make your new —so much more attractive; position clear to your husband and his cohorts.’

~~~~~

Both the wind and snow had stopped, leaving everyone in a pocket of silence— as if the elements were a hushed and expectant audience. On the thick white carpet below, stood the three figures of Fong, Gareth and Josh. Gareth’s fears for his son lay transparent on his anxious face, as did Fong’s.

Fong shouted up into the stillness, ‘What do you want?’

Josh grabbed his arm, ‘Dad, Dad, we can’t just give ourselves up… He’ll just lock the lot of us up,’ he said, adding in a whisper, ‘—or worse. We should try to negotiate or something.’

‘What exactly is it that we have to negotiate ―with that —black hearted bastard, son—what?’

Josh shrugged. ‘Dunno, I just thought we should put up a fight rather than walk in like—like lambs to the slaughter.’

Guillermo —still holding Oli tight, leaned over the low wall a little to yell his instructions. ‘Take yourselves— all three of yourselves to the front; and wait. And, kindly divest yourselves of all weapons.’

Fong lay down his hatchet, Gareth, the bulging satchel —containing the stout rope, a loaf baked fresh this morning wrapped with a salted hock and thrust quickly in by a worried Maeve together with little jug of fortified wine; and Josh, the long bow and quiver of arrows Mikal had gifted.

Thora watched the sad unfolding of events from under the groundsheet where she crouched concealed. She knew she was the only help at hand and that she must act soon. But how? She had the cut down bow, but no arrow. Her knife lay with the rest of her belongings on the ledge.

Hidden, behind a bush on the ledge, crouched Elly, her ashen face smudged with tears. She too had witnessed her brother’s bravery and the Jishan’s cold-blooded act. She prayed he was still alive, but fearful that the pool of blood quickly forming around his unmoving body boded ill.

Nic cradled his friend’s head in his lap. He gulped back great wracking sobs of rage and sorrow.

‘Mikey,’ he said softly, ‘it’s me yer pal, Nic. Give us a sign Mikey’.

Pale blue veins in the closed eyelids of Mikal’s white, white face twitched faintly. Under the hand that clutched a blood soaked jacket pressed against the fast fading chest, Nic felt a last final convulsion and knew that Mikal had passed. He solemnly folded Mikal’s hands on his chest, and tenderly transferred his head from his lap to the ruined jacket, now, a pillow. He felt very cold. Resolute. He wiped his streaming nose on his sleeve, got up, and closed the distance between himself and Guillermo.

Elly knew that her brother was dead. She stood up and cried out, ‘He was just a boy!’

Gareth heard and understood. He bellowed his pain.

Guillermo laughed cruelly: short sharp barks. He did not notice the stony-faced teenager until he was almost upon him.

‘Nic stop! Nicky—’

Nic heard his mother’s cries. He knew that she was afraid —afraid for him. But he felt calm, unafraid and filled with hatred.

Oli struggled in the Jishan’s stranglehold. He jabbed with his elbows as hard as he could, hearing little grunts of pains from Guillermo, but the arm around his throat only tightened. He saw little pin pricks of light behind his eyes and felt his legs starting to sag. He wondered why Gretchen, big strong Gretchen wasn’t helping him.

Gretchen stood as though carved from granite. The point of Guillermo’s sword was poised over the youngun’s gut. One move from her and he would surely skewer the boy.

Miriam screamed at Nic. She saw murder on his face and feared the worst.

Bas had never felt so pathetically helpless in all his short life. He squeezed Fatty tight and prayed —to anyone who’d listen— for them all.

‘You utter, utter bastard!’ spat Nic. ‘He didn’t stand a chance.’

Guillermo heard the steely resolve in the boy’s voice and loosened his grip on Oli who slid to the floor unconscious. He needed both hands to deal with the reckless, soon to be dead, teenager.

Nic crashed into him and with both hands tried to wrest the cutlass from Guillermo’s grip. Though he stood a head taller than the Jishan, he was still a boy, with a boy’s strength. The Jishan’s grip around the hilt seemed immovable.

Guillermo smiled triumphantly into Nic’s face, ‘You are no match for me —bitch’s whelp!’

Nic’s eyes went wide with rage, ‘I’ll kill you!’ He clamped his teeth into Guillermo’s hand, cracking several of the man’s knuckles and tasting blood.

‘Aarrgh!’ Guillermo pulled his knee up and kicked out hard. His foot connected with the centre of Nic’s chest, winding him.

The Jishan saw the small window of opportunity and pushed the boy over the edge.

~~~~~

A trembling hand nocked the arrow to the bow’s taut string, took aim and let loose.

Gretchen retrieved the limp, but still breathing youngun and held him close.

Guillermo turned to face them, exultant; the smile on his face quickly replaced by one of shock before becoming a grimace.

Thora threw off the groundsheet and poised to challenge the Jishan, was puzzled by the changing expressions on the madman’s face. He dropped the cutlass and tried desperately to claw at something in his back. She sprinted to where he stood, afraid that in these last moments of ‘grand Guignol’, he’d exact a final revenge on one of them.

In that precise moment—her face devoid of expression, Miriam stepped forward and pushed him, screaming, to her husband and sons below.

Elly slumped forward and sobbed, her remaining arrows scattered on the ground next to her.

On the once unsullied carpet of snowy fleece, Josh cradled Nic in his arms. He wept as he dabbed at the blood dripping from his brother’s mouth. Nic was alive but seriously injured, a huge blood filled contusion distorting his left temple.

Elly slithered down the slope behind him and ran to her father’s side.

On the ground a few feet away, very near the edge of one of the shit pits, lay the broken form of Guillermo Lumir. He was still alive and crying piteously. Gareth picked up Fong’s hatchet and walked to his side. He kicked the Jishan, who screamed and opened eyes filled with blood. Satisfied the man was conscious, aware; Gareth Ironbard raised the hatchet high and in one blow decapitated him. The Jishan’s blood hissed and steamed as it flowed onto the frozen ground. He stood over the body several long seconds —as if taking a mental snapshot; before kicking the head into the pit.

Go to Chapter 38

Chapter 36

2007-10-15T14:24:00.000-07:00

He had loathed the fat cow since the moment he’d clapped eyes on her, however Timothy understood,the machinations of power, all too well. Her power lay in her great size and ‘special’ abilities. She, had made herself indispensable to the Master. She, was opaque ―completely unreadable. This infuriated him. He had survived, indeed prospered, because of his abilities to read people, to made tiny suggestions and subtly steer their course.

When, as a knock-kneed youth he had talked his way out of the Master’s soup pot and been sent ―to make himself useful in the kitchen, to her, he tried at first, to make an ally of her. He made obsequious remarks about her great physical strength, her lustrously pale skin, her dainty hands and abilities as chef, butcher and housemistress. She, remained as cold and unresponsive as a great frozen lake, where he ―like a novice skater, always found himself on slippery ground. The smarmy remarks continued, even after he became her enemy. He decided to play the waiting game, knowing that sooner or later he would find the chink in her armour.

He was very good at being invisible. When he was born, his parents found him lacking ―so entirely bereft of personal magnetism; they only remembered to feed him if his feeble cries were heard above the babeldom of family life. Rather than shake off this cloak of invisibility, he honed his abilities. He learned a great deal about people and the needs of their ego. All he had to do was remain quiet. Of course, if he wanted them to do anything, he had to work very, very hard.

Whenever the Master did not need him, he lurked near the kitchen. The signs were subtle at first. Still utterly repugnant, she seemed cleaner and …happier, not that she did anything so obvious as smile ―in his presence, that is. The Jishan woman ―who was almost as arrogant as his Master; and her son, had somehow wrought this change in her demeanour. He sensed his opportunity was close at hand, and intensified his covert surveillance.

Now he had sufficient evidence. The sullen sow was actively plotting the Master’s demise. He would enjoy sucking on her bones.

Revenge would be swift and very, very sweet.

~~~~~

‘Where, are, they, now?’

‘The small one ―who traffics with the imp, says they are on the roof,’ answered Timothy, his eyes glittering with anticipation. ‘Let me kill them for you Master?’

‘Not, yet.’ said Guillermo with a hissing intake of breath. He’d known that something was afoot, suspected Miriam was a Jishan but, he was surprised about Gretchen.

‘Let me at least dispatch the fat one?’ said Timothy in a whining voice. He tugged at Guillermo’s trailing sleeve and looked for all the world like a repellent variety of lap dog begging for a special treat.

Guillermo shuddered and jerked his sleeve from Timothy’s oily grasp. He stepped back a pace, re-establishing the normal distance ―the minimum personal space he required. I must find, a replacement for both of them, soon.

‘All in good time,’ he said through clenched teeth.

‘But Master ―we must act quickly, catch them unaware―’

‘And we shall, my … friend,’ said Guillermo, almost chocking on the word friend, ‘― we shall. But we must be sure to eradicate the entire nest!’

He finger-combed his neat black goatee, his predatory face dark with concentration; he paced a few steps back and forth. Several minutes elapsed while Timothy looked on, his spindly frame awash in anticipatory waves of quivers. With a final resolute tug of his beard, he instructed his servant, ‘Come with me … we must arm ourselves.’

~~~~~

‘We have to get up there ―now!’

‘No. It is too dangerous,’ said Gretchen in a hoarse whisper, wiping the sweat that ran in a steady stream around her hairline, ‘―we must wait until he … and that —tattletale, leave the—’

‘They’ll be dead by then. Frozen like popsicles. Give me the key, I’ll go ―by myself if necessary,’ said Miriam, wrenching it from Gretchen.

‘We’ll come too, won’t we Oli?’ said Bas gathering up Black Fatty. ‘We’re not afraid ―are we Fats!’

Oli quickly moved over to Gretchen’s side and taking her moist hand between his own began to pat it in a soothing ‘there there’ manner. ‘You’re not afraid ―because you’ve never even clapped eyes on him,’ he said quietly, ‘ and, you don’t know what he does.’

‘Oh pooh, so what can he do? Cast some spells, magic card tricks ―I’m not afraid,’ said Bas thrusting his jaw forward in his characteristic gesture of defiance.

‘He’s a cannibal,’ said Miriam in a quiet voice.

‘A what?’

‘A can―ni―bal, stoopid … he EATS people!’ said Oli, the dreadful words ringing on the kitchen’s stone walls.

A faint dripping sound broke the silence that followed. On the floor below Gretchen’s lowered head, a steadily spreading pool of snot.

‘Well … I’m never told anything ―till the last minute,’ said Bas, his jaw retreating.

‘C’mon Gretchen, I know you’re afraid ―but, so are we. We’re counting on you. Mum, me, Bas, ―all of us,’ said Oli. ‘We’re friends now ―aren’t we? More than friends ―family and…’

‘―Family sticks together,’ said Miriam.

~~~~~

For a heart stopping moment, on the third floor opposite the Jishan’s lab, they thought they had been discovered. The scurrying footfalls faded away however, and after a few tense minutes, they drew ragged breaths into grateful lungs.

‘Phew, that was close. I thought we were goners,’ whispered Bas hugging Black Fatty close.

‘Mrrow,’ answered Fatty, looking twice his normal size ―his fur puffed.

Miriam was worried. At least an hour had elapsed since the news ―delivered in quite a remarkable fashion, of the boys and Thora being camped on the roof. At the landing, she took Bas aside. ‘Ask Fatty to tell Thora that we’re nearly there. Tell her to try and clear away some of the snow on top of the door, then stand clear of it.’

Bas ―still new to this unorthodox means of communication; cleared his thoughts, and gazing into Fatty’s eyes tried to ‘think’ his message as simply and as clearly as possible. A few moments later, a picture of Thora nodding yes ―she understood, came swiftly unbidden into his head.

‘Good. Let’s hurry now,’ said Miriam, relieved to know they were alright ―for now.

~~~~~

Bunched up at the top of the stairs, Miriam did her best to help Gretchen. She could only just reach the door ―on tiptoes, arms high and straining. Gretchen pressed her shoulders to it and grunted with exertion. Bas put Fatty down and with Oli, helped to brace the woman’s legs.

Fatty hissed and spat, ‘Rrrroww—’

‘Sssh ―oh crap!’ said Bas.

‘Keep it down ―the two of you’, said Miriam, trying to push with pretty much only her fingertips ―her sciatica stinging her right hip joint like a wasp. ‘If you can’t help ―at least be qui—’

‘Going somewhere Miriam?’

~~~~~

Guillermo directed them at gun point ―an antique musket to be precise; to continue in their efforts to open the door to the roof. Timothy thoroughly enjoyed brandishing his ancient cutlass ―not at Gretchen or Miriam, but at the boys. Gretchen feigned indifference, but her heart pounded like a kettledrum. She scowled darkly and redoubled her efforts ―vowing revenge.

‘Is this how you repay my kindnesses?’ said Guillermo, pressing the end of the musket into Gretchen’s flesh. ‘Of course, I should expect nothing less of a worthy adversary such as yourself Miriam. But this —this grotesquery, this sorry, inflated excuse for a human being, is a turncoat. A traitor. A collaborator.’ Each epithet the Jishan spat, was accompanied by gobbets of spittle. He jabbed her savagely in the stomach, again and again. Gretchen made no attempt to defend herself or utter a single sound of protest.

‘Stop it yer bastard!’ yelled Oli. He kicked Timothy hard in the shin and stepped sideways, putting himself between Guillermo and Gretchen. ‘You’ve never been kind to anyone in your life.’

Guillermo ―his face now purple with rage; looked as if he would jab the musket into Oli. But Oli stood his ground, his arms crossed in front of his chest in defiance, staring hard ―up into the Jishan’s eyes.

Perhaps Guillermo saw something of himself in the boy, something long lost to him. He stepped back a pace and muttered, ‘Get on with it ―Oarf,’ and then added, ‘no one has ever been kind to me.’

‘Watchout!’ shouted Miriam as the door yielded at last and flung open.

~~~~~

Nic was colder than he’d ever been in his life. He and Mikal jogged on the spot to stop from freezing to death.

‘They are discovered!’ said Thora. ‘Prepare yourselves. They are coming, but they are not alone ―the Jishan and his henchman are with them.’

'Not to worry,’ said Nic ‘―we’re more than a match for two crotchety old dudes. Aren’t we Mikey?

Mikal squared his shoulders and gave the affirmative ―in the required show of adolescent machismo.

‘Do not underestimate the ‘old dudes’,’ said Thora. ‘Did you not hear me say they are armed?’

‘Armed with what?’ said Nic.

‘A long knife and a strange stick.’

‘A stick!’ Nic scoffed.

‘The stick commands respect from your mother. She appears to be at his mercy.’

‘Can you describe the stick a little better, maybe—?’

They heard Miriam’s warning, but there was nowhere to hide. Nic ran to the edge of the parapet and shouted to his father. ‘Dad, were in trouble up here, the Jishan dude is on —’

‘You must be another of Miriam’s cubs.’

~~~~~

Guillermo recognized the Blacksmith’s son next to Nic and snarled, ‘Another collaborator.’

‘I, am a free man —sir. Free to choose my friends. Free to choose my actions,’ said Mikal truculently. ‘I am no collaborator.’

Guillermo dismissed his bravado adding, ‘The son of our Blacksmith sets himself apart from his fellow Oarfs. No doubt old Ironbard himself colludes with this woman, this —feral Jishan.’ He pointed the musket at Miriam. ‘Make any sudden move and she will be the first to go.’

‘I don’t know much about guns,’ said Miriam addressing the Jishan and hoping that Nic would understand her underlying message, ‘—isn’t that a musket? That bag by your side carries powder and shot, doesn’t it?

‘If you are thinking of rushing me Miriam, know this,’ said Guillermo narrowing his eyes, ‘—I, am an excellent shot. Ask yourself … who should die first?’

‘And who should die second,’ piped Timothy, his face twisted in a leering grimace. He feigned stabbing movements at each of the boys in turn, ‘—and third ...’ and lunging at Gretchen, he managed ―to his delight; to slash her thin shift and draw blood, ‘—and fourth—’

‘Enough fool!’

Timothy, deflated and emasculated by the contemptuous smirk on Gretchen’s face, lowered his cutlass and his guard for a moment. It only took that moment for Mikal to decide and act on his decision: to tackle Timothy.

He swung the coil of rope at Timothy’s feet scuttling him instantly like a bowling ball a pin. In a flash he jumped on him, swung a punch that connected with Timothy’s large nose and wrested the weapon from him.

Timothy bawled and blubbered, blood streaming down the front of his filthy rags. ‘Master…’ he cried weakly.

‘I’ll kill him,’ said Mikal, ‘—if you don’t let them go.’ He jabbed Timothy in the bum, to drive home the point.

‘Owww…’

‘Ha! He was next on my list,’ smiled the Jishan, appraising the fit teenager before him. ‘I could use a fine, strong , enterprising young man such as yourself.’

‘I would rather die,’ said Mikal disdainfully, ‘—than join you.’

‘Have it your own way.’

Go to Chapter 37

Chapter 35

2007-10-14T14:54:00.000-07:00

‘Mum … now that Gretchen’s on our side, why don’t we get her to take us past the wolves and let us out the front door using the key ―the next time the Jishan and Timothy are out on business?’ asked Oli.

‘That’s a perfectly sensible idea, and one I considered. But that’s just it really. Gretchen is on our side, and we should be on her side. We can leave her and all the poor village folk who are scared witless by that ―monster. But, when we’re tucked up safe in our beds back home, things will be the same as they’ve always been, here. It’s time somebody shut him down.’

‘Well, I’ve been thinking about that. Couldn’t we take Gretchen back to live with us ―at Dragonbreath?’

‘Y ―yes, we could, presuming she’d want to go. But have you thought how people will treat someone as ―unusual looking as her? How difficult it will be for her to get along in our world? She can’t read or write. How will she deal with our technology and whole body image thing?’

‘I could teach her. She’s really smart. We could put her on a diet—’

‘What about the villagers, what about the next hapless victim, maybe … there was reason for coming to this world, Oli, a better reason than it just being —a cool holiday destination. Maybe, we’re supposed to change things, to show our appreciation for how good and safe our lives are, by making their lives safer and better.’

‘I guess‘—but afterwards … if Gretchen wants to come with us ―can she? She can have my room.'

‘Of course she can,’ said Miriam ruffling his hair. ‘Run and fetch her, she and I have plans. You can keep a lookout ―in case ‘you know who’ gives himself an early mark.’

~~~~~

Gretchen’s fear of the consequences was palpable. Her hands shook as she turned the key in the lock. Her sweat was sharp ―rank with the pheromones produced by dread. The door swung open noiselessly on oiled hinges, to reveal a laboratory with a distinctly Dickensian air.

Strange machines and devices cluttered the bench tops. A large central worktable held ―what Miriam recognised as, an early form of microscope, next to which were several dozen glass vials and a cage of unusually subdued rodents. A recently vivisected rat lay spread eagled, pinned cruelly and worse ―still conscious. Miriam horrified by this mute crucifixion, pulled her handkerchief from her pocket and spent precious minutes suffocating the wretch. A large journal lay open nearby, its creamy vellum pages densely covered with indecipherable script and curious diagrams. The text had a vaguely familiar look to it, but awareness that the Jishan could return at any time kept Miriam from puzzling it. Gretchen stood transfixed while Miriam cast about for where Lumir might keep his stash of drugs.

Dwarfed between two towering glass fronted cabinets was a doorway, remarkable only for its ordinariness. Miriam grasped the handle expecting it be locked; it swung inwards smoothly, revealing a pantry like space. From floor to ceiling were hundreds of small apothecary drawers, each labelled with a Latin description of their contents.

‘Hmmm, small problem, don’t speak Latin’, said Miriam half to herself.

‘Did you not state that you could both read and write,’ said Gretchen nervously.

‘Oh, I can do that all right ―but only in English,’ said Miriam defensively, ‘―this,’ she added indicating the exquisitely rendered handwriting, ‘is written in a dead language ―called Latin.’

‘So —you cannot read it?’

‘Well, if I knew what the drug —er chymical was called, then yes, I could. If it was written in English, I might be able to make a lucky guess …but this ―this was a stupid idea. Unless…’

All the brass drawer pulls were significantly tarnished, a few however, perhaps a dozen in total, were not.

‘Lumir obviously uses the contents of these quite a lot, so it’s really just a process of elimination. C’mon, we’ll start from the left side,’ said Miriam. ‘Now it’s all up to you my dear.’

As the minutes ticked by, Gretchen’s nervousness increased, she twitched with every tiny sound made by the lab animals.

‘I do not think it is one of these. We should leave everything as we have found it and go. Go now!’ said Gretchen in a voice barely above a whisper. She looked like a great draught horse straining to bolt ―her pupils constricted, her irises surrounded by white, her nostrils dilated and her great haunches awash with trembling.

‘Just one more drawer,’ said Miriam calmly.

Inside, lay a small parchment envelope, twisted at the top. Miriam carefully opened it and sniffed. A few small particles lodged high in her nasal cavities and within seconds ―blackness. She felt herself violently shaken, but unconcerned opened her eyes to find herself high above the figure of Gretchen ―wedged, in fact, between the top of the drawers and the ceiling.

How did I get here? Then she noticed the curious rag doll figure of a middle-aged woman slumped in Gretchen’s arms. Gretchen was shouting something at the woman that she couldn’t understand. Filled with ennui, she allowed herself to continue drifting upwards when ―with a shock, she realised that the rather plain woman was herself. Like a steel tape reeled quickly back into its case, Miriam returned to corporeal reality.

‘I guessh,’ she said, her tongue thick and her legs decidedly wobbly, ‘—that thish mush be it.’ She retrieved the packet from where it had fallen, scooping as best she could the small amount of whitish powder that had escaped. A few grains stayed stubbornly lodged between the floorboards.

‘Yes,’ said Gretchen, inspecting the powder. ‘I thought you were gone —’ she added shakily.

‘Me! Nah, I’ve got unfinished bushiness,’ said Miriam, still groggy. ‘I’m not going anywhere ―yet!’

Gretchen closed the drawers carefully, bent and blew at the granules caught between the boards, pulled Miriam to her feet and pushing her out gently, closed the door ―wiping the handle carefully with the hem of her shift. She made a quick check of the Laboratory for any evidence of their intrusion and with a growing sense of foreboding led a still tipsy Miriam carefully down the stairs, her heart beating like a drum.

~~~~~

He knew at once that someone had entered his laboratory. Everything seemed to be the same, nothing had been disturbed ...however, the faintest whiff of henbane still lingered in the air. Also, the subject of his latest experiment was dead, yet he knew it had not simply ―expired.

She had led her here. Of course, he should have dispatched her long ago ―who knew she would prove so …useful. Females were the weaker sex, although he hardly considered her gender anymore ―she being so shapeless, so sexless and so repugnant. It must have been the boy. The helpless, handsome little boy to whom she predictably responded ―as a cow with milk heavy teats might to a lowing calf.

He had seriously been considering dismissing Timothy’s services ―at best; his lean frame would provide a sour caustic broth. His endless nasal prattle and sickening fawning was getting on his nerves. Oh well, on the bright side ―her gargantuan carcass would provide generously for most of the coming winter season. He would send Timothy to the Green to find a new recruit.

~~~~~

‘Mum! Mum—’

‘What are you doing here ―didn’t I tell you stay in Gretchen’s room?’

‘Yes ...but—’

‘But nothing. Get back in there ―before you’re discovered.’

‘MUM! Just listen for a minute will ya’ said Bas in exasperation, ‘—they’re on the roof!’

‘What are you talking about ―who’s on the roof?’

‘Nic, Mikal and Thora.’

‘But …how do you ―didn’t I tell you it wasn’t safe to wander around. You were supposed to stay in the room.’

‘But I did. I stayed on the bed all day …talking with Fatty.’

‘Now’s not the time or the place to make jokes Bas.’

‘I’m not joking Mum. I can understand Fatty in my head and he can understand me.’

‘Prove it,’ said Oli.

‘Okay, I will. Mmmm … let’s see ―oh, I know. Mum, think of an unlikely thing for Fatty to do and whisper it to me.’

‘You better not be wasting our time Bas,’ said Miriam scowling. With knitted brows, she studied Black Fatty, who sat as patiently and mysteriously as a sphinx. ‘Okay.’ She grinned mischievously and whispered a set of long instructions to Bas.

‘Jeez ―a bit complicated.’

‘Well … I have to be absolutely sure,’ she said, trying to keep a straight face.

Bas sat on the floor opposite Fatty ―a short distance away. His face creased in concentration, several minutes slipped past before either he or Fatty moved a muscle.

‘C’mon Bas, we’re putting down roots here,’ teased Oli.

‘Sssh — I’m just making sure he gets it right,’ answered Bas crossly.

Black Fatty hadn’t blinked once during the whole transaction. Now he yawned widely ―his pink tongue curling like a tiny scimitar, and stood up. He strolled slowly around the kitchen table: tail perpendicular, head erect, three full turns. Gave up two long miaows, minced sideways on tiptoes to the hearth, rolled once and made his way back to his starting point in a complicated set of steps ―crossing the right leg in front of the left, then bringing the left leg over the right, like he was performing a minuet. He sat down, a huge feline version of a smile exposing his rather large canines.

‘H ―how long has your brother been on the roof?’ said Miriam, in a rather shaky voice.

Go to Chapter 36

Chapter 34

2007-10-13T15:49:00.000-07:00

Miriam devised and discarded several plans before deciding that the best solution was simply to use the Jishan’s own method ―on the plus side it satisfied her vengeful streak. Lumir who lived by the sword should logically die by the sword. They would drug Timothy and Lumir and dispatch both the heinous cannibal and his procurer.

Gretchen was in, from the moment Miriam outlined her plan, but, she didn’t know what the compound was called; only that he kept it under lock and key in his laboratory ―a place she had never entered. She was confident however that she could identify it, as she had once experimentally tasted the tiniest bit to satisfy her curiosity.

That night, Miriam joined Lumir after dinner to continue her tale, uncomfortably aware of his frequent appraisals of her fleshy thighs and buttocks. It was disconcerting, and unbidden came visions of her various body parts in culinary classics such as, ‘Rack of Miriam’, ‘Herbed Breast of Miriam’ and ‘Miriam Dianne’. She pretended not to notice and even went so far as to occasionally smile and flirt with the bastard to ensure he did not smell rebellion in the ranks. Gretchen kept up her end in the ruse, reverting to her unkempt, sullen self, slopping wine on Miriam and treating her with indifference tinged with contempt.

She was exhausted by the time Lumir finally allowed her to retire for the night and as she rose from her chair, he casually remarked that he would be late for the morrow’s tale, as he must attend to some affairs in the village.

‘Can I accompany you, and ask if my husband and sons have been seen?’

‘I think not Miriam. I shall arrange that they are found and brought directly here to be my guests ―as you are.’

‘Prisoners you mean.’

‘You shall be free … soon, Miriam. Soon.’

~~~~~

Bas was bored. He couldn’t remember being this bored, ever. Cats never seemed to get bored. I want to come back as a cat in my next life he thought. All Fatty ever seems to do is sleep, groom himself and eat. They’re not subservient like dogs, not that he didn’t like dogs, no … dogs were cool too, ‘cept he wouldn’t want to be one. Dogs had … well dogs― had a dog’s life, pretty bad in many places. In Asia, he had to throw his eyes out of focus whenever he saw a dog, he couldn’t hack how bad he felt. They weren’t just skinny, they had mange and bulged with tumours and were generally dinged up. Dogs seem really dependant on people. Cats … well, they take what they can from you, but they pretty much please themselves. They are their own masters. Whenever he called Fatty, he never came― unless he had food. But whenever he least expected it, Fatty would come calling, demanding to be let in, butting his head against him, plumping his lap up like Bas was just a pillow of flesh.

Mum said ‘Cats were like love, you didn’t find it … it found you ―when you least expected it’.

Fatty’s lamp-like yellow eyes were gazing intently into his. Bas felt a little creepy for a sec thinking that maybe, Fatty was reading his mind. It was very rare for him to stare so long. Cats don’t like to stare, it was like they thought it was impolite or something.

How cool would it be … if you could read my mind Fats?

‘Mrrrowwww,’ said Fatty, maintaining the unblinking stare.

Bas realised he had been holding his breath, he felt a little shiver and thought, Crap, now I’m imagining things. Fatty was still staring at him, somehow expectant, really alert looking … as if he was waiting … for something.

Get a grip on yourself kid, it was just a coincidence ―yep, that’s all … a silly coincidence. Isn’t that right, Fats?

‘Mrrrowwww,’ Fatty’s reply was instant.

Bas fell back against the bed head, the hairs all over his body, standing up. What the hell! Stop it, you’re imagining things …it’s just another coincidence. You can’t prove anything just because he happened to miaow.

Fatty continued to stare at him; however now he tilted his head as though he was questioning Bas.

Okay, okay. I need to test this. I mustn’t point or look in the general direction, or do anything to give him a clue.

FATTY … if you can understand me, please get off the bed and go and sit in the centre of the rug.

Bas sat stock still while Fatty quickly, without hesitation, jumped off the bed and walked to the edge of the rug. He stopped and seemed to consider something for a fraction of a second, and then he walked to the dead centre and sat, curling his tail around his four legs elegantly, facing Bas.

~~~~~

It took a great deal longer for Thora to cross the now even ricketier trough. The gap between the building and the hillside had become a roaring wind tunnel. She inched her way across, crouching low, trying to present as small a target for the buffeting winds as possible. Fong had given her his polar fleece vest and Josh, his beanie, as his thick tousled mop provided any insulation his noggin needed. It was treacherously slippery in parts and her feet ached both from the cold and with the effort of gripping. The telecom rope trailed from where it was tied around her waist, but she didn’t place much faith in the idea that they could simply pull her up. A couple of times, she’d had to practically embrace the trough, as strong gusts almost lifted her off her feet.

The iron grillwork stung her hands as she clung to it plotting the best way upward. She could see the tiny footholds that Bas had obviously used and summoning her courage, inched her way up and finally over the parapet. She leaned against the low wall and caught her breath, then stood up and waved to the miserable figures waiting anxiously on the other side.

Mikal had spent several hours cutting down and refitting his bow so that she could use it. He’d also made a shorter, slightly thicker arrow that was counterbalanced to fly straight with a thin line attached, the thin line being the reel of fishing line. She hauled the rope towards her now; tied to the other end and wrapped in the groundsheet was the bow and arrows. The bundle caught in the grillwork, but fortunately, she was able to jiggle it loose. She untied the package and looped the end of the cable around one of the square ashlar stones forming the parapet walls using a bowline that Fong had taught her. She extracted the fishing reel from her small backpack and painstakingly unwound the nylon line, keeping it as smoothly coiled as possible to prevent it kinking and snagging. She knotted the nylon line to the arrow, then the other end likewise to the sturdy cable.

It had taken some figuring out, but eventually Nic and Mikal had devised a way to connect it to the cable at the other end and to retrieve the arrow if it fell short of the mark. After they had nutted out the ergonomics of the system, the trick lay in keeping the fishing line untangled. In theory, all should go as planned provided she didn’t miss first time round; which she did. Not because she was lacking in skill ―she was indeed, as she had confidently stated … a quick learner. It was rather to do with timing, timing a very fickle wind. The arrow hit just short of the ledge and clattered to the troughs below. Crap, she thought and then chuckled; I am definitely spending too much time with the younguns.

Once again, she wound first the cable, which seemed to be growing heavier by the minute, then the line. It was knotted in several places and difficult to untie. She almost gave up on one last stubborn tangle, but a quick guilty glance at the Oarfs shivering and patiently waiting for her to try again urged her on. At last, she nocked the stubby arrow, took a deep steadying breath and after exhaling, let it loose a second time.

It just cleared the ledge where a triumphant Nic retrieved it. He whooped and gave Mikal a hug, who took a quick step backwards and looked sheepishly askance at Nic’s forwardness. Gareth wound the cable several times around the base of a stunted but strong looking tree stubbornly growing in a pocket of earth at the back of the ledge. Thora watched apprehensively as the males argued who should be first to venture across the tautly stretched rope.

‘It should be either Mikey or me that tests it first. We’re the lightest,’ said Nic. ‘And ,because it’s our family that’s in trouble, it should be me. Mikey shouldn’t risk his neck, besides there’s only one of him —sons that is.’

Gareth started to protest, but Fong clapped his arm about the large man’s shoulders and said, ‘I’m not too keen on the idea, but Nic’s right - on both points. He is the lightest, and Mikal is your only son.’

‘That’s settled then,’ said Nic triumphantly.

~~~~~

From the kitchen where Oli and Miriam waited anxiously, they heard a great restless howling peppered with yelps. They fancied they could hear the scrabbling noises of claws on stone and clutched each other, round eyed in terror. Gretchen almost burst out laughing at their expressions of abject dread.

‘Wha ―what was that,’ asked Oli in a tremulous voice.

‘Nothing to be afeared of youngun, t’was the Master’s dogs,’ she chuckled. ‘Prisoners like the rest of us.’

‘Is that what we heard that first day ―when we entered the castle?’ asked Miriam, remembering the curious soundless clay whistle.

‘Yes. They are both his doorbell and his guards. Come along I will show you.’

They followed Gretchen to a cold antechamber. Here, spaced evenly along its damp walls, were a series of large iron rings. Attached via short rusting lengths of chain to stiff wide collars were half a dozen snarling grey dogs. They looked as though they would like nothing better, than to tear out Miriam and Oli’s throats and they shrank back just out of reach of the frenzied beasts. Gretchen ignored the display and walked to each in turn, speaking in a kind of cooing voice before allowing first her hand then her face to be licked.

Miriam realised that these ‘dogs’ were in fact timber wolves, perhaps belonging to the same pack that had given them chase in the forest and tracked them to the cave. Perhaps, they had not simply been distracted, perhaps they had been called … by Timothy. She ground her teeth, and vowed to get the weasel.

‘These poor creatures are wolves not dogs. Do they never see the light of day?’

‘Never ―since being brought here as cubs, many years ago,’ said Gretchen sighing and scratching one fondly behind the ears. ‘They were, until your arrival, my only friends.’

‘There was a pack that hunted us in the forest, perhaps even steered us in this direction—’

‘As I have said, the Master knows of all that transpires in his domain. He has eyes and ears everywhere.’

‘But they’re creatures of the forest! In our world, they’re difficult to domesticate. How—’

‘These’ said Gretchen gesturing to the chained wolves, ‘―are the packs’ bitches … breeding bitches.’

Miriam knew little about wolves, but she did know that they were loyal and paired for life, like humans. ‘So … the pack always returns to the fortress?’

‘Yes.’

‘Poor things. How terrible to be locked in here. Do you think they miss the forest?’ said Oli eying them with pity.

‘We all want our freedom, youngun,’ said Gretchen. ‘Come here and let her sniff your hand. She can be your friend too.’

~~~~~

The rope dipped alarmingly. Nic was the featherweight amongst them and the rope ―whilst strong considering its meagre diameter; just wasn’t up to it. Wrapping his long shanks over it, he hauled himself slowly across, feigning a devil may care attitude about the distinct possibility that it could …at any moment ―simply snap.

Fong and Gareth argued about letting Mikal make the next attempt. Although he was every bit as slim as Nic, he was sinewy, his well-developed muscles attenuated like a sprinter. They contrived to make him heavier, as attested by the dangerous dipping of the rope ―now strained to breaking point. Gareth exhaled and visibly relaxed when Mikal clasped Nic’s arm and swung himself up and over onto the rooftop. The rope failed to spring back appreciably afterwards however, drooping in a loose moue.

‘You, Joshua and I are a good deal heavier than the boys, it would be suicide to make an attempt at crossing ―on that rope at least,’ said Fong.

‘I have a stout rope in my barn. I curse myself for not thinking to bring it,’ said Gareth.

‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. I only thought to bring a length of rope at the last minute. It’s really only fit to be used as a means to lower themselves down one by one to the ground, now. Don’t worry we’ll think of something else,’ said Fong.

Gareth considered the weather, which seemed to be calming down. ‘If I go alone ―I reckon I can be home and back in under …four hours. You and I can use it to join the lads. What say you to that?’

‘I say ―that if the weather permits it, and if the boys don’t get hypothermia waiting, it’s worth a try,’ said Fong. ‘However I won’t put anybody else’s life at risk. Any problems ―then down they come. Agreed?’

‘Agreed— best be off then,’ said Gareth shouldering an enormous leather satchel. ‘Elly, I leave you in Master Fong’s good hands. You will heed his advice and help where possible. There are some victuals your Ma packed in the other satchel ―you should put them to good use,’ he said winking. He kissed her briefly on her forehead and strode off into the whiteness.

Go to Chapter 35

Chapter 33

2007-10-12T14:30:00.000-07:00

The woman was like an onion. Every time Miriam thought she had her pegged, she sloughed off yet another layer to reveal more. Her aloofness was ―like her obesity, part of her armour. And though illiterate and uneducated, she was intelligent, resourceful and enviably creative.

Gretchen was sorting, splitting and stacking wood for the coming week, her arms rippled with powerful muscles all but obscured by her seal-like blubber.

‘Can I speak with you?’ said Miriam.

Gretchen split a log in one smooth practised movement and paused axe in hand. Miriam gulped and got immediately to the point.

‘Who dispatches the unfortunates destined for your Master’s table?’ There was an uncomfortable pause, and Miriam felt like Little Red Riding Hood asking ‘What big teeth you have’ of The Big Bad Wolf, and half expected Gretchen to say ‘All the better to eat you with,’ and proceed to cleave her skull in two with the axe.

As if reading her thoughts, Gretchen grinned― rather horribly, took a half step forward and in a low voice said, ‘He does.’

Miriam felt tiny trickles of sweat between her shoulder blades and shivered whilst asking, ‘How?’

Gretchen’s forehead wrinkled as she struggled for the words. ‘He uses chymicals in the form of draughts … in their food ―or drink if they decline to eat,’ she said at last.

‘He slips them a mickey,’ said Miriam half to herself.

‘A what?’

‘A mickey...a drug. Does the draught kill them ―or simply render them unconscious?’

‘They fall into a deep sleep and then …’ she paused and looked down at her feet.

‘And then ―c’mon Gretchen I won’t think any worse of you. I must know the details.’

‘And then ...I hold them still ―while he cuts their throats and bleeds them.’

‘You mean he collects the blood ―like they do with pigs and cattle?’

‘Yes,’ said Gretchen hanging her head, her mighty frame heaving with silent sobs.

‘I forgive you. You did what you had to —to survive. People have done worse ―in other times and other places, in my world.’ Miriam took Gretchen by the hand and led her to the kitchen. ‘Sit.’

She fought to gain control of her seething emotions. His victims didn’t stand a chance! Of course he couldn’t poison them ―that would taint the meat, as would being conscious while being executed. Adrenalin flooding the system would undoubtedly toughen the meat.

This monster must be stopped. Not tried. Not imprisoned. TERMINATED.

‘Will you help us?’ said Miriam quietly.

‘Yes,’ answered Gretchen. ‘I would rather be dead ―than alone again.’

~~~~~

‘Thora is lightweight but she’s not young ―no offence meant,’ said Fong to Thora.

‘None taken.’

‘If she were to fall … we’d have no means of knowing what’s happening inside.’

‘I’ve been giving that some thought. What if we rigged up some sort of harness with the rope, just in case,’ said Josh.

‘In case?’

‘Yeah, in case she loses her balance or something. We could haul her back up.’

Thora’s eyes widened at the prospect.

‘Have you bright sparks worked out how she’ll be able to get the other end of the only rope we have, back to us on this side? In case you haven’t noticed, it’s blowing a gale,’ said Fong.

‘As a matter of fact, we have,’ said Josh grinning, ‘―with a bow and arrow.’

‘Have you ever used a bow and arrow before?’ said Fong.

‘No, but Mikal is sure that I can. He is an expert and I ―I am a fast learner,’ said Thora matter of factly.

‘Well, you lot must think yourself very smart,’ said Fong wryly. ‘I can’t wait to hear how you’re going to get Fatty to let you in.’

~~~~~

‘Bas, under no circumstances are you or Fatty to leave this room,’ said Miriam. ‘Is that clear?’

‘Crystal Mum. But, what am I supposed to do all day?’

‘Catch up on your beauty sleep or … play hangman and noughts and crosses with ―Fatty,’ said Miriam barely suppressing a smirk. ‘You can use Oli’s pencils and drawing pad.’ Miriam placed them on the bed next to Fatty who was busy licking every hair back into place.

Bas groaned and rolled his eyes melodramatically. ‘Ye-ess, it shouldn’t take too long to teach Fatty the alphabet,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Let’s see … one miaow for A, two miaows for B, three miaows for C, four miaows―’

‘Have fun,’ said Miriam closing the door behind her.

~~~~~

Fong’s migraine pounded. It was hard to concentrate let alone be pleasant. As he entered what he called phase three, he began to feel light-headed and nauseous ―the blood was obviously not reaching his brain properly. He’d being laying down all morning, his head propped on his pack trying to calm down. It was worry; plain and simple. He felt totally helpless and it made him incredibly angry. Most of all, he was angry with himself.

Miriam had been giving herself a hard time for a couple of years before Thora turned up. It wasn’t so much the odd little woman’s fault; no … she was simply the straw that broke the camels back, the catalyst.

Fong hated to see his wife beat herself up. Her work had been overlooked, her paintings labelled too dark, too large, too hard. The road hadn’t been easy for him as a sculptor, but he was more objective about his art. Miriam was the first to admit her lack of objectivity; her process was more exorcism than technique, painting from the gut. Each thoughtless comment lacerated her fragile ego. Some days she was unbearable, wallowing in self-pity and castigating her lack of talent. And then, Thora entered their lives.

The old Miriam came out to play. He loved his wife and so he went along with it all, without ―thinking it through properly. He was usually very careful, a very thorough person. He’d been swept up in Miriam’s enthusiasm. It was his job to protect his family. He had failed.

Almost in concert with his internal pounding was a gentler, external pounding. He opened his blood shot eyes a crack and saw that Thora was sitting perhaps a metre away, hard at it. She was grinding away at something in a crudely improvised mortar and pestle.

‘Can’t you do that somewhere else,’ he said irritably.

‘I am almost finished,’ she said and dipping a calloused finger brought a smidgen to her tongue and tasted, her facials attesting to a less than pleasant experience.

‘You should be practising,’ he scolded.

‘I do not need to be accurate,’ she answered. ‘I have prepared a remedy for you.’

‘I’m not that desperate —yet,’ he said unkindly.

‘Oh, I think you are … or soon will be.’
‘
What is it, anyway?’

‘Tis willow bark, an excellent remedy for headache. I found some near the stream.’

‘Well,’ he said embarrassed by his rudeness, ‘―can’t hurt I suppose. You sure you know what you’re doing?’

‘My tongue never confuses the bitter efficacy of willow.’

‘Bitter ―oh god yes … I see what you mean,’ he said grimacing after slugging back a small handful of the coarse grey powder with water.

‘Rest for a spell, help it do its work, while I … practise.’

Go to Chapter 34

Chapter 32

2007-10-11T14:39:00.000-07:00

Nic joined the others on the ledge. Crap, it’s one of those freaky storms. It’s a lot worse here than back at the campsite. The only sensible thing Bas had done during the whole time, was finding it. But then, that was just dumb luck really.

‘Where’s he gone?’ said Nic shouting above the roar of the wind. Everything was rendered indecipherable, the castle looked like a wedding cake iced by a lunatic with palsy.

‘We can’t see him. Didn’t I tell him to not move a muscle?’ said Fong, dangerously agitated.

‘For all we know the silly twerp fell off the roof or something worse,’ said Josh.

‘Something worse —something worse, what could possibly be worse? I’m sick of the lot of you. A set of simple instructions—’ Fong felt a tugging on his sleeve and looked down at Thora’s bedraggled form. ‘What now? Speak up.’

‘The youngun has found his way inside, ―somehow. The large female has carried him to the room where she prepares food.’

‘The kitchen?’

‘Yes. He is stroking Black Fatty and talking with Miriam and Oli now.’

‘Great. The situation just got worse. Now we have three ―no, four to rescue.’

‘There will be no rescuing until this storm abates,’ said Thora.

~~~~~

‘We’ve got to hide him somewhere that we can be sure Lumir will never look,’ said Miriam, ‘―somewhere both he and Timothy would never venture into.’

Bas had stopped shivering and now wore Oli’s spare set of clothes. His boots steamed on the hearth, filling the kitchen with a pungent aroma.

‘He shall have to stay in my room,’ said Gretchen.

‘Wait a minute Mum, I’m sure she’s a nice enough lady, but I don’t even know her. No offence … I don’t want to stay with her,’ said Bas, aghast at the prospect.

‘No offence taken,’ said Gretchen nonplussed. ‘I prefer my own company as well, youngun. I was merely thinking of your safety.’

‘I apologise for my son’s rudeness, and if you believe he is safest there ―then there, is where he will stay,’ said Miriam, fixing Bas with a look that said, ‘don’t truck with me’.

‘Well …can I at least keep Fatty with me?’

‘If the imp is housebroken, you may.’

‘He’s not an imp, he’s a cat ―’

‘Imps may take many forms, cat, fox, raven ―still imps.’

Through a doorway, that must have been a squeeze for her, they followed Gretchen up a winding flight of stone steps to a plain wooden door. One by one, they filed in after her and stood … silently ―almost in disbelief.

The room was everything Gretchen was not. She was filthy, unkempt and smelled like a dung heap, whereas her room was scrupulously tidy and sweet smelling. It was large and welcoming, and though sparsely furnished with only a bed, a chest and a chair, it exuded a warmth and personality lacking elsewhere in the fortress. A circular rag rug in soft earth tones lay on scrubbed flagstones. The furniture ―given a cursory glance, seemed simple, perhaps crude, yet to Miriam’s discerning eye, they were beautiful, austere and almost contemporary pieces, their gleaming surfaces smelling sweetly of beeswax polish. On a deep ledge in front of the slot-like window sat a wooden bowl filled with potpourri and an arrangement of small, bizarrely hominoid figures composed from smooth twigs and sticks. Some sported elaborate crowns, others, aprons fashioned from iridescent speckled feathers and leather, each armed with pointed beaks or sharp teeth, and claws.

The sturdy bed was resplendent in a marvellously intricate patchwork of abstract design, and overhead hung a magnificent wall hanging depicting a complex forest scene, meticulously stitched and using an inventive mix of cutwork and embroidery. Woodland animals appeared to peep from behind bracken and underbrush. Birds attended their young in nests high up in a forest of birch, alders, pine and oak ―each tree lovingly rendered three-dimensional. A small herd of deer lapped at a gambolling brook, whilst further along, a young golden haired milkmaid led a sway-backed cow through a pasture filled with wildflowers. It was a masterpiece.

‘Did you find this in one of your Master’s rooms,’ said Miriam softly.

Gretchen let out a bitter chuckle and answered, ‘I do not desire to be next on the menu. He knows the whereabouts of every, single, one of his possessions ―down to the last pin. I have made these,’ she said, indicating with a sweep of her hand the contents of the room, ‘in my spare time —from his cast-offs.’

~~~~~

Nic had to admit, that the stew was good.

‘Still, it was pretty brave ―you know … the whole getting across and climbing up thing,’ said Josh quietly.

Nic declined to reply, but silently agreed that it was uncharacteristically brave of Bas ―stupid, but undeniably brave.

‘If he could do it, so could we.’

‘Nah, we’re too heavy. I reckon he’s already stressed it. Wouldn’t take much to send the whole lot tumbling,’ said Nic, ‘even if someone smaller or lighter…’

Josh caught his drift and said ‘Supposing we could get someone to try it again ― what good would it do, the rest of us couldn’t get across, could we?’

‘What if we could span the distance with a good strong rope, and those of us able to ―cross hand over hand?’

‘Yeah … but what then?’ argued Josh. ‘We’d just be stuck on the roof. What if we can’t find a way in?’

‘Bas did, didn’t he? Anyway … maybe Thora can figure something out with Fatty,’ said Nic, with a gleam in his eye. ‘It’s better than freezing our bums off here.’

‘Right ―as opposed to freezing them off on that windswept platform.’

‘Have you got anything better to do? Besides, your bravery is bound to impress that chicky babe,’ said Nic winking. ‘Now … comes the hard part.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Talking Dad into it!’

Go to Chapter 33

Chapter 31

2007-10-10T15:24:00.000-07:00

They got up early and while Gretchen made an enormous omelette replete with embryonic chicks, Miriam and Oli bustled about sweeping the ashes from the hearth, stacking kindling and drawing water. The cellar was like a crypt and the vat had a thin crust of ice; their breath made small white clouds.

‘It’s a lot colder today,’ said Oli shivering. He edged close to Gretchen on the pretext of watching her cook. She fairly steamed, the stone floor was icy yet she wore no shoes and her arms and legs were bare. The woman was a human combustion stove.

‘I was as cold as a hair on a polar bear’s bum,’ said Miriam, blowing into her hands and rubbing her arthritic knuckles, ‘had to keep my beanie on all night.’

‘Snow is on the way,’ said Gretchen nodding sagely.

‘Have to get to the roof straight after he’s finished breakfast,’ said Miriam. ‘How does he occupy himself ―during the day?’

‘I am not the Master’s confidante,’ said Gretchen, slamming the steaming platter on a tray. ‘I have observed however, that the Master either attends to his laboratory work ―in which case I must leave a tray of cold cuts and a pitcher of ale at the door precisely at noon; or … sometimes, it is his habit to inspect his domain.’

‘What will he will do today?’

‘The Master will let me know by way of instructions ―regarding his lunch,’ said Gretchen making her way up the stairs, ‘―instructions I will receive, after … I have served breakfast.’

~~~~~

Bas hadn’t planned for more snow. Thankfully, he’d had only one heart stopping moment in his frantic climb. Just as he was about to drag himself over the top of the wall, the knobby bit of stone under the big toe of his left foot crumbled and he only just made it. But he clipped his chin in the process and his front tooth went through his bottom lip. He sucked at the metallic tasting blood and ran his tongue over his teeth feeling their ragged edges ―I’ve only chipped them a little bit.

He sat on the roof shivering and caught his breath. More luck than skill ―really, he thought studying the drop, even half a metre more and I probably couldn’t have done it. He had no feeling in his hands and feet. Better get my gear back on.

He struggled with his laces and the zipper of his jacket and noting the first few snowflakes, kicked himself for leaving his beanie behind. He stamped his feet and did a few star jumps to warm up. A rock whistled past his head and clattered on the roof.

‘What the―’

‘Oi … Bas, what the hell have you done? Dad’s gunna kick yer ―’

‘Bas!’ said Fong in a sort of shouted whisper. ‘Have you lost your marbles. Haven’t you caused enough trouble already? Come down ―now.’

‘No can do Dad,’ shouted Bas back.

‘If you can climb up, you can climb down,’ said Fong angrily.

‘I can’t, my fingers are all numb. I only just made it up, and it’s way colder and slipperier now. I’ll fall Dad.’

‘Bloody Hell,’ said Fong pressing his temples with his thumbs. ‘Nic, get up to the campsite and find the coil of telecom rope in the bottom of my pack.’

‘Sure thing Dad.’

‘And Nic —when you’ve found it, stuff everything back in. DON’T leave things strewn on the ground. I’ll meet you back here in five. I’m going to hurry the others up. We’re going to need some help. Don’t you move a muscle Bas.’

‘I won’t Dad,’ said Bas sighing. ‘I’ll be right here when you get back.’

~~~~~

‘He has ordered cold cuts,’ said Gretchen surveying the spick and span kitchen. ‘He said that since it is snowing, there can be no reason to venture outside. Indeed, during the winter months we are unable to open the door ―which is weighted with a mantle of snow many hand spans thick …’ Noting the disappointment in their faces, she added with a small smile, ‘―however, I was able to convince him, that this may be the last time you are able to take the air. And, would it not be better to keep you happy —for the time being that is?’ And, with that, she fished from her pocket a large key, which they recognised at once and hugged her with gratitude.

A small tear glistened in Gretchen’s eye as she in turn lifted both of them off their feet and swung them around. She laughed and capered in a shuffling jig, looking for all the world like a dancing bear.

‘Come on,’ said Miriam a little shocked at Gretchen’s sudden emotional outpouring, ‘―put us down, we’ve got to get out on the roof before we’re snowed in.’

~~~~~

Bas had fully intended to do as he was told. But, after a minute or two his bum started to go to sleep and the snow was really starting to come down heavily. It was very uncomfortable and he couldn’t understand why people made such a big fuss about the stuff ―he preferred warm weather. He didn’t like having to wear so many itchy layers. He started jumping up and down again. Everything was getting very white, very quickly.

Oh crap, all the stuff in his pack would get ruined…Oh crap, crap, crap, my gameboy’s probably cactus. Mum was always harping on about keeping it in the plastic snap lock bag ―just in case.

He practised a few Aikido moves, leaping about as if he was fighting an imaginary ninja, and then he tripped on some unevenness in the floor and fell heavily. His funny bone caned. He sat there rubbing it for a sec and then leaned over to inspect the area. The snow had all but obscured it, but there was a large rectangular shape made out of weathered grey timber ―a bit like a hatch or a trapdoor. Then he noticed the ginormous metal ring.

He jumped up, forgetting his elbow and starting tugging on it. No good, it would take all of them ―and then some probably; to budge it. He plopped down beside it and waited for Dad, for someone, for anyone.

Crap the snow is really bad now. They’d better hurry up.

~~~~~

‘Push Gretchen, Push,’ said Oli and Miriam in unison.

Gretchen grunted and said, ‘As I have already told you, when it snows it is nigh on impossible to open it again until the Spring thaw.’

‘Come on ―Mum and I will help. One more big push together, one … two … three.’

The door, which was directly above them and formed the ceiling of the narrow stairwell; finally budged somewhat and groaned a protest. With a mighty heave, Gretchen flung it unceremoniously open and it came to rest with a deafening crash. Accumulated snow fell on the three heads that peered out into the whiteness.

‘We won’t see much now I expect,’ said Gretchen. ‘If they have any sense at all, they will find some shelter …till it clears.’

‘Yes, I know ―but we’re here now. I’ll just be a minute. I need to have a quick look. Maybe I can see where they’ve camped or, failing that where they’ve been working on the wall. If I could just figure out where they’re trying to bust the hole―’

‘Mum ―Mum is that you?’ said a disbelieving voice. A small white figure shook and temporarily divesting itself of snow, hurtled headlong into Miriam’s arms.

‘Oh my god, is that you Bas?’ said Miriam trembling with shock. ‘Let me look at you. Oh darling, I’ve missed you so much. How did you get here?’ She stood up and scanned the roof, half expecting the figures of her husband and sons to appear out of the snowdrifts ―as Bas seemed to have.

‘Where’s your Dad … Josh and Nic and’ lowering her voice, ‘―Thora?’

Go to Chapter 32

Chapter 30

2007-10-09T15:18:00.000-07:00

‘Have you always known?’ said Miriam.

‘Known what,’ said Gretchen evading her.

‘You know exactly what I’m talking about,’ said Miriam grabbing her wrist roughly. Checking that Oli was not in earshot, she whispered, ‘has he always been… a ―cannibal?’ When Gretchen refused to answer, Miriam ploughed on regardless.

‘Is that why you’re still alive in a fortress that is ― other than Timothy; devoid of other human beings? You’ve made yourself indispensable, haven’t you? You’re as bad as him, evil and blighted ―’

‘It is all very well for you to judge. You have not been abandoned ―left alone… unloved!’ Gretchen blurted, fat globular tears spilling down her cheeks and disappearing into the deep creases that had claimed her neck.

‘Should I have joined the rest of the cattle and walked meekly to the slaughter as you and Oli will!’

‘I’ll fight with my bare hands if I have to. I’m no ignorant serf. He may have fooled himself into believing he’s immortal ―that his vampiric feasting will stop his own corruption. But … all men must die.’

‘He does not. He has been here since time out of mind. He, cannot be beaten. You are doomed ―as am I, if, I try to help you.’

‘But you will help me ―won’t you,’ said Miriam taking Gretchen’s hand between her own. ‘You’ll help, because you love Oli as much as I do ―don’t you?’

‘Help you do what?’ said Oli.

~~~~~

‘Black Fatty is safe and he is with Miriam and the youngun,’ said Thora. ‘It seems she is a smart slave.’

Elspeth, who was standing close by smiled at Thora shyly.

‘Have they read the note?’ said Fong.

‘Yes, they are asking the woman to help them. Miriam is distressed, Black Fatty does not know why, except ―that they are in grave danger.’

‘Is there any way that he can communicate with them?’

‘Not unless they speak mrrow,’ answered Thora without a trace of irony.

It’s all my fault, thought Bas, they’re right ―I’m as useless as a pair of tits on a bull. I’ve just gotta find a way in.

The sky was getting lighter, signalling dawn. That meant they’d soon all be trouping up to the campsite to eat and plan, before catching some shuteye until tonight’s work shift. It was now or never. He wiped his nose on his sleeve for the umpteenth time ―adding yet another silvery streak, and tried not to think about falling to his death.

He unzipped the smaller section of his backpack that turned into a daypack and stashed the main bag behind a bush. He took off his jacket, longs, socks and boots and stuffed them into the bag, put it on and checked that it was dead centre― as maintaining his balance was everything.

Just don’t look down, he reminded himself.

Stripped to his T-shirt and jocks, he stepped out onto the swaying and very rickety trough. He felt like one of those trapeze artists, except they had nets. ‘No shilly shallying Bas. You can do this…it’s just another apparatus,’ he said to himself.

Bas hadn’t always been chubby. He’d been a gymnast ―a bloody good gymnast, and had a drawer full of medals to prove it. Okay so that was two years ago and he was a little out of shape, but he’d show them all.

About two-thirds the way across, he heard a shout and came close to losing his balance. He recovered nicely though and upped the pace. He practically leapt the remaining distance to the grilled opening and clung, panting, considering his next move.

‘Yer bloody idiot, Dad’s gunna kill you,’ screamed Nic. ‘How you gunna get up to the roof from there … it’s a good ―two metres. Stay there while I get Dad.’

Bas could hear him saying ‘crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, crap’ over and over as he skidded back down the track, but Bas did not plan to stay where he was, besides ―he was bloody freezing.

The stonework was irregular and he thought that with a bit of luck he could find places to wedge his fingers and toes in and heave himself up. His teeth chattered as he grimly started his way up like a rock climber except, he didn’t have any safety ropes.

~~~~~

Miriam’s dreams were troubled.

She swam under a moonless sky in a sea of pale squid’s ink. She was in a grim race striking for an unknown shore. No current impeded her progress; no wave broke the calm of this weird endless pond. Others raced. Pale strangers —who neither spoke nor hailed her; swam silently past, with no sound other than that made by their arms slicing into the water and their laboured breaths.

She became aware of a distant beat, a steady rhythm, and thought this to be the sound of her own heart matching her strokes. The drumming became a pulsating thrum, the silken liquid sea ―now viscous and pulsing. She struggled to make any distance forward, as a fly might in a pool of honey. The eldritch sky grew shade by shade lighter. She heard a cry, then others. The contestants were drowning ―disappearing in this weirdly coagulant ocean. One by one they sank. Miriam dog paddled desperately.

The insistent thrumming was now so loud the sticky surface shuddered, puckered and began to shift as if stirred. A whirlpool swirled and sucked at her, pulling her ―gasping, into its gummy depths.

She sank for an unguessable passage of time. Around her, strange marine beasts watched impassively as though she was a newly placed object in a tableau vivant. One large lamp fish hovered close enough for her to brush her hand over its coarse whiskers.

Down.

She was pulled ever downwards.

At last ―in a darkness absolute and a silence profound; her feet touched bottom. She waited, twisting this way and that, feeling her way, she could see and hear only blackness. Another sense ―a long forgotten sense, informed her that she was not alone. She stepped forward, reached out and felt teeth. Long, sharp and pointed.

Go to Chapter 31

Chapter 29

2007-10-08T14:21:00.000-07:00

The Jishan wanted to know all the details: where ‘her’ portal was, what means she had used to find it, how many in their party and so on. Miriam was aware that she had to play for time, especially now ―knowing what she did.

Her discovery tonight confirmed that she and Oli would stay alive ―only as long as she was more entertaining than appetising. She was determined to save Oli at all costs, and she knew she could not simply sit and wait for help from the outside.

‘The portal, was revealed to me, in dreams,’ she began.

And so, like Scheherazade she began to fabricate a complicated, elaborately embroidered set of stories that ―like Babushka dolls nesting one inside the other, would leave the Jishan wanting more.

Oli wasn’t sure what was going on? Both Gretchen and his mother were holding something back from him. He felt angry being treated like a baby. Mum had convinced the Jishan that a growing boy needed his sleep and dismissed him, whispering in his ear, ‘not to wait up for her.’

The Jishan was pouring her a glass of wine, and she was smiling in her special flirty way that she sometimes trotted out when she wanted something ―badly. He closed the door with a defiant bang and stomped downstairs to the kitchen.

No way am I going to bed ―by myself. He shuddered at the thought.

If Gretchen heard him stomping down the stairs she made no sign of it, instead she kept her broad back to him. She was sitting on the settle in front of the fire fiddling with something in her lap.

‘You’re not the only one who’s got the shits you know …I don’t know what Mum’s up to now ―’don’t wait up’ ―ha! Whatcha got there?’

Gretchen thrust the still limp and now steaming Black Fatty into Oli’s face.

‘Found an imp in the vat.’

Speechless for a second, Oli grabbed Black Fatty and hugged him to his chest. ‘Ooh Fatty, I’m sooo glad to see you. Where’s Bas ―oops,’ he eyed Gretchen fearfully. ‘You won’t tell, will you, please?’

‘You do not want me to tell the Master that you traffic with imps?’ she said, bending so that she was eyelevel with him. ‘What is a Bas?’

‘He’s my brother. Fatty belongs to him.’

Miriam was practically hoarse when Guillermo finally acquiesced; he let her leave on the proviso that she join him promptly after dinner the following evening to continue her story.

She had left out certain crucial bits of information ―like Thora; and instead told a tale that implied she had certain magical powers, banking on this having one of two effects on him. Either he would be a little afraid of her or, he might offer her a place in the Jishan ranks, or both. It didn’t matter; either way she was playing for time.

She slipped down the stairs to the kitchen wearily. Gretchen was sitting with Oli asleep in her lap and Black Fatty curled in a ball at her feet. She was humming a kind of lullaby and gazing down at his face in frank adoration.

She looked at Miriam and smiled, ‘Are your other younguns as handsome as him?’

‘Each in their own way, yes. Gretchen do you know how our cat found his way in?’ She bent and scooped him up. He purred ‘hallo’ loudly.

‘Thought he was an imp ―til the youngun put me straight. Found him swimming in the cellar.’

‘Can you take me there … to the cellar, Gretchen?’

~~~~~

‘We have to tell your father,’ said Thora.

‘He’s not going to be very happy. Can’t we leave it til tomorrow?’

‘No. A lot can change between now and the morrow. You leave the talking to me.’

Bas followed Thora down to where Fong, Gareth and the boys laboured. It had been slow going. They couldn’t afford to make any noise and so they’d been painstakingly scraping the mortar from between the massive stones before trying to loosen them. It didn’t help that they had to do most of it by feel in semi-darkness ―as they had to strictly ration the use of their torches.

‘It’s about bloody time ―slacker,’ hissed Nic.

‘There’s three sacks over there,’ said Fong tersely, ‘empty them into one of the pits … and do it quietly.’

Thora rested her leathery palm on Fong’s forearm and said, ‘I need to speak with you ―alone.’

‘I can’t spare the time or the energy. If you’ve got something to say, spit it out … in front of everyone or ―not at all,’ he snapped.

‘Black Fatty is inside.’

‘What do you mean ―inside?’

‘I mean exactly that. He went in through that grill … yonder’ she pointed above them. ‘He fell, and was found.’

Fong rubbed his throbbing temples. ‘Whose cockamamie idea was this?’

~~~~~

Miriam searched the cellar carefully, concluding that Black Fatty must have fallen in the water storage vat via the stone chute in the ceiling directly above.

‘Where does that lead Gretchen?’

Gretchen shrugged and answered, ‘Outside,’ and noting Miriam’s exasperated expression added, ‘—however I do not know how or where.’

‘Can you take me to the room directly above this so that we can track it?’

‘I cannot.’

‘Don’t be afraid, he said we can wander where we like,’ said Miriam grumpily.

‘Not into his strongroom!’ countered Gretchen.

‘What about the room directly above that?’

‘That, is my Master’s bathroom ―and before you ask, the room above that, is his laboratory.’

‘Jeez, the mind boggles at what goes on in there. Think Gretchen, we have to find where Fatty got in ―Whatcha you got there?’

Gretchen dangled a small damp leather pouch, ‘This was around the imp’s neck.’

Miriam snatched it off her and wondered to herself whether Gretchen was a little slow upstairs or a little perverse. She struggled with the knotted drawstring, cursing under her breath. ‘Damn, the leather’s swollen and I can’t get it open―’

Gretchen snatched it back and broke the leather thronging as easily as Miriam might snap a strand of cotton.

‘Um …thanks,’ said Miriam carefully extricating a sodden piece of paper, which started disintegrating immediately. Torn from an exercise book; the blue biro message was blurred but decipherable.

‘Can you read?’ asked Gretchen in a tone that barely disguised her surprise.

‘Yes, of course. It’s a message from Thora and Bas.’

~~~~~

‘We put a message in a bag around his neck,’ said Bas. ‘It says that we’re camped outside and that we’re planning to get them out … um, and that they’ve got to try and get up to the roof ―somehow.’

‘When you decided to act on your own, did you stop to consider the possibility that the message might fall into the wrong hands,’ said Fong ―his look of disappointment a knife in Bas’s heart.

‘I ―I’m sure Fatty wouldn’t let that happen,’ he stammered, on the verge of tears.

‘Good one! What a dickhead,’ said Nic.

No one else said anything.

Thora broke the awkward silence. ‘You forget that I can communicate with Black Fatty. While it is true that he has had some difficulty and, that he has been found ―by a stranger. The stranger however, is female and he senses no danger from her, only a … curiosity.’

‘Yeah, but she’ll just turn him over to her Master won’t she?’ said Josh, ‘Isn’t that what all good slaves do.’

‘Perhaps she is not a good slave, perhaps she is a smart slave,’ offered Elspeth.

‘Perhaps,’ said Fong brusquely. ‘But we’d better be prepared all the same. Let me know everything that Fatty thinks, does and sees Thora— everything.’

Go to Chapter 30

Chapter 28

2007-10-07T14:25:00.000-07:00

What have I gotten myself into? Thought Black Fatty, as he crept along the swaying water trough, he’d tried to keep out of the water by sort of straddling the upper edges, but slipped and uncharacteristically, nearly fell to ―mostly likely; his certain death. Deciding that he was already drenched and therefore might as well put aside all pretence of grace, he sloshed through the chest high water the rest of the way.

Hmmm, it’s awful dark behind that grill. Maybe I should turn back and tell them I didn’t think I could squeeze through.

He looked over his shoulder at Thora and Bas and gave a soft yowl.

‘I’m soooo proud of you,’ Bas mouthed. ‘You know what you have to do.’

'Courage my friend, courage …' said Thora. 'The youngun’s depending on you ―trusting you'.

'I’m going, I’m going. Just being cautious…' he thought back at her as he squeezed his head in first, whickers bristling and alert, and hearing nothing but the sound of falling water, squeezed the rest of himself sinuously past the rusty ironwork.

Don’t want to fallllllllllllllllllll...

~~~~~

Gretchen backed out of the room carefully and stooped to put down the tray laden with dishes; Miriam and Oli were waiting just outside and surprised her. She almost dropped the lot.

‘Here let me help,’ said Miriam grabbing the tureen from the top of the stack.

‘That will not be necessary. The Master is expecting you, best if you do not keep him waiting,’ she said a little more harshly than she’d intended.

Miriam didn’t seem to notice however, and said loud enough for Guillermo to hear, ‘surely your Master can wait a few minutes longer.’

‘Yeah, it’s not like we can go very far, is it Mum,’ added Oli.

‘What ‘meaty’ soup did you serve the ungrateful bugger tonight?’ asked Miriam lifting the lid of the tureen before Gretchen could get a word out otherwise. Miriam looked at the contents, looked at Gretchen, looked back in and blanched.

‘What’s wrong Mum? What’s in the pot? Give us a look.’

‘N ―nothing ... Brussel sprouts if you must know. You know how I hate brussel sprouts,’ answered Miriam slamming on the lid.

‘Thought you said the Jishan only ate meat.’

Gretchen didn’t know how to answer him.

‘Maybe he gets constipated ―if he doesn’t occasionally take some greens,’ said Miriam unconvincingly.

~~~~~

‘What is the matter now?’ asked Thora.

‘The matter is …I’ve fallen a very long way into something big; filled with water. I don’t know how to get out. I don’t think there’s anyone else in here. I’ll call for help―’

‘NO! Do not make any noise. You forget that your kind is not found here. You may find yourself in a far worse predicament. Describe what you see.’

‘I don’t think I could possibly find myself in a worse predicament,’ said Black Fatty desperately dogpaddling in circles. ‘Let’s see … it’s round, and made of wood. The water is freezing, and very, very wet―’

‘Enough! Is there nothing that you can grab onto to assist you?’

‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ said Black Fatty only a little sarcastically because he was now getting frightened and … tired.

‘What ―what am I forgetting?’

‘I haven’t got any hands. Thora ―Thora are you there? Think of something ―quick. I can’t last much longer. In case you didn’t know … cats don’t like to swim.

‘I am thinking. Try to hook your claws into the wood and drag yourself up.’

Black Fatty tried several times but the wood was very tightly grained and slickly smooth, his claws could find no purchase deep enough to get more than one exhausting step up before tumbling back.

Black Fatty knew he was going to drown.

‘You are not going to drown. Conserve your strength; I will try to get to you.’

Black Fatty dug his front claws in as best he could and kicked his back legs to buy some time. He was very afraid.

He heard slow heavy footsteps, the lifting of a latch and without thinking, let out an echoing, hopeless howl. The next thing he knew; a hand grabbed the scruff of his neck and dragged him unceremoniously, out.

His rescuer held him at arms length ―a considerable height from the stone floor, as if unsure of what to do with him, a small puddle forming beneath him. He was so grateful to be alive he didn’t struggle a bit. He went limp like his wet, bedraggled fur.

‘Oh pooh … Don’t bother trying to rescue me. I’ve been found,’ he said to Thora.

Go to Chapter 29

Chapter 27

2007-10-06T14:33:00.000-07:00

‘It’s a good four storeys high. Let’s suppose we can get a message to them, and that they can gain access to the roof. How will we ever get them down? No … son, I think we’ll have to concentrate our efforts on busting a hole through the wall and take our chances with what’s on the other side,’ said Fong grimacing.

He had one of his door-buster migraines and he’d been chewing ‘paracetamol’ like they were lollies. He’d finished the last this morning, so life was going to get a whole lot worse very soon, for himself, and everyone around him.

‘I’m depending on you two big boys to do your share of the work. This isn’t going to be a picnic.’

‘You can rely on me, Dad,’ said Nic. ‘I’ll be down in a minute ―I need to top up my canteen.’

Nic studied the fortress for a few moments, shook his head in disappointment and walked, lost in his thoughts towards the trough that spanned the distance from the ledge to the grilled opening high up in the back wall. All sorts of crazy ideas were tumbling around in his mind as he waited for his canteen to fill.

‘I bet Fatty could get through that grill,’ said Bas.

‘You’re supposed to be carting away the rubble. Shirking work again? That’s typical,’ said Nic sarcastically.

‘There isn’t any rubble to cart ―yet,’ said Bas sticking out his tongue. ‘I’ve been thinking ―’

‘Yeah, well that’s about the only thing you ever do ―besides sit around on your fat bum that is.’

‘As I was saying ―’ said Bas ignoring the jibe, ‘Fatty can get through any tight space. If we can get him to walk across the trough, he could squeeze through and go looking for Mum.’

‘Yeah and what then, bright spark, fight whoever he comes across with his bare paws, rescue Mum and Oli and fly off the roof with them on his back? As usual, great idea,’ said Nic rolling his eyes. ‘Come on, haul arse down and pull yer weight for a change.’

‘I’m coming,’ said Bas, ‘―in a minute.’

He made a show of dusting himself off and stretching, all the while watching as Nic disappeared down the track. He plonked himself down again and dangled his legs off the ledge.

All I’ve got to do is convince Fatty that a bit of water won’t hurt him.

~~~~~

‘Found some personal pride …Gretchen?’ said Guillermo nastily. ‘Do not get too fond of them ―else you join them.’ He gave a cruel chuckle and resumed sipping his sherry. ‘Fetch them directly after I have finished here,’ he added, indicating the gruesome fare set before him.

She has been here a good long while, he thought whilst inspecting Gretchen ―as a gourmand might a ripe camembert.

Gretchen did not respond verbally or otherwise, as usual she merely inclined her head the tiniest fraction and placing the last steaming bowl of titbits amidst the others, padded from the room leaving him to his supper.

'Mmmm,’ said Guillermo to the empty room, ‘tis a pity it is so hard to find a good cook these days; a lot of meat surrounds her bones.’

Using a soft linen napkin, he dabbed delicately at the grease on his chin and lips before spearing another bobbing chunk from a deep earthenware tureen. He shivered with gluttonous delight.

Why, he mused, does all the flavour congregate in the extremities of every beast.

~~~~~

He found Thora sitting on a log poking at the remains of the fire.

‘Why aren’t you down there helping?’ he asked trying to look serious.

‘Why aren’t you!’ she said crankily, snapping the stick.

Black Fatty yawned and stretched, then set to exterminating some fleas at the base of his tail.

‘I’ve got a brilliant idea … but I need your help,’ he said, nudging her along the log. ‘I’ve thought of a way to help Mum and Oli.’

‘Then you should share this with your Father and the other Oarfs, not with a Gnarlth―we cannot be trusted!’ she said petulantly.

‘Oh come on Thora, you know WE don’t think of you that way. Don’t you?’ he said putting his arm around her scrawny shoulders.

‘Well …’

‘Thora you need to talk to Fatty for me. Tell him, I’m sending him on an important mission,’ said Bas, ‘―and he needs to be brave,’ he added, running his hand lovingly through Black Fatty’s fur.

~~~~~

Gretchen took great pains to keep her face as still and calm as the surface of a pond, despite her inner turmoil. The Jishan liked to threaten her from time to time, to remind her of her place. She must not take his bait. He was right. She was taking more care with her appearance: washing her face and hands, tying her hair back off her face with a rag into a limp, oily braid. She’d have to be more careful in future … She’d only wanted them to like her a little better, to be less ―disgusted.

She found them in the kitchen sharing a settle in front of the hearth, balancing pewter plates on their knees.

‘This is not bad, Gretchen. Wanna try?’ said Oli proffering a spoonful.

‘It smells quite good … but no— thankyou kindly.’

‘Go on, it’s a frittata ―sort of. Isn’t it Mum?’

‘Yep, made with the leftover unfertilized eggs, you should try it ―What’s the matter Gretchen?’ said Miriam.

‘The Master wishes for you to join him …after he has finished his ―his food … and I have cleared his table.’

‘We’ll help you then, won’t we Mum? We’re nearly finished our tucker,’ said Oli, ‘—got nothing better to do.’

‘No ―youngun, I can manage. Stay until I summon you.’

Oh, I will miss them. But what else can I do? She thought bleakly to herself as she composed her face into a sullen mask.

Go to Chapter 28

Chapter 26

2007-10-05T19:34:00.000-07:00

It was getting very dark when they decided to venture down a well-used staircase. All the way down, the walls were scuffed, chipped, and had a generally greasy appearance. At the bottom they stopped, unsure if they were intruding even though they’d been given a so-called free rein to wander at will. Gretchen half sat, half stood, her bulk perched on an especially sturdy stool. Large as it was, it barely accommodated one bum cheek. She was busy kneading some sort of pallid dough. Hanging from an iron rack above her head were an assortment of blackened pots, an ancient kettle and the most wicked array of cleavers and filleting knives Miriam had ever clapped eyes on. This woman was serious about her cooking.

‘Can we lend a hand Gretchen,’ asked Miriam brightly. ‘I used to make my own bread once, when Fong and I were young hippies playing at self sufficiency.’

Gretchen threw her a quizzical look and shook her head.

‘Go on, it’ll give me something to do. I promise to do as you tell me ―in the kitchen that is,’ said Miriam amiably.

‘You may shape them into buns.’

‘So, is this what you do? Are you the cook, or are you expected to do a bit of everything? I mean … I haven’t seen Timothy since yesterday.’

‘Laziest bag o’bones you will ever meet―famulus indeed!’

‘Now that you mention it, I’m not familiar with the job description. What exactly is a famulus?’

Gretchen stopped kneading for a moment to wipe her sweaty brow with her forearm and thought about it before replying. ‘The silly twerp attends the Master, that is all. A famulus is much more than that. He … organises his master’s affairs, holds the keys to his library, oversees the Oarfs, arranges meetings. He is …’ she wrinkled her smooth brow trying to drag the words out, ‘he is…’

‘He’s a private secretary ―or something like that?’ said Miriam finishing her sentence.

‘Or something like that, indeed. None of which describes that malnourished, conniving upstart.’

Obviously there is no love lost between the chunk and the bone, thought Miriam.

Oli— who was feeling much better after dutifully forcing down a horrible greenish herbal tisane that Gretchen had concocted and bade him drink; was dutifully shaping the bread into small round buns. His hands were getting very sticky so he searched around for a bag that looked like it might hold the flour. At the end of the bench ―long enough, and strong enough to butcher a whale, stood a wooden barrel, a small version of those that might normally have contained beer or wine. He scooted over and lifted the lid, yes; inside was dull grey looking flour. He was about to stick a hand in when Gretchen let out a mighty bellow.

‘No— that must not be wasted! Use this, to prevent them sticking, and work quickly youngun, like this.’ Hanging from a sturdy rope around her waist was a small sack. She dipped her hand in and sprinkled the surface of the table, then deftly pinched off and shaped six buns in the space of time it had taken Oli to make one. ‘A light touch is required, youngun,’ she said, this time gently.

‘Sorry Gretchen, Oli and I take things for granted. Back home we get our flour from the shop. Guess you have to grind your own,’ said Miriam.

‘Oarfs grow and grind this,’ said Gretchen, indicating the stuff in the sack, ‘but that … there … well. That is a different story. I, have to make that. Master won’t take normal bread, just like the eggs ―says he needs to eat nourishing food.’

Oli tried to keep his movements ‘light’ as requested, copying Gretchen’s nimble fingers. ‘Is it a different type of grain, you know …that you grind the flour from?’

Gretchen gave a strange chuckle and said, ‘Yes, very special. Requiring specialised skills … I will show you,’ she added winking.

She wiped her hands on her shift, ambled over to a large box near a fiercely burning hearth, and grunting with the effort, squatted down, lifted the lid and delved its dark interior. ‘This will do nicely,’ she mumbled half to herself and half to them. She stood up and turned, flourishing a large bone ―a strangely familiar bone.

Oli stopped shaping and stepped back from the bench, slightly alarmed. Gretchen reached up and selected a heavy cleaver. Holding one end of the bone steady, she split it squarely through the middle lengthwise. She scooped the marrow from both halves as though seeding a cucumber, and proceeded to bash the ends using the flat side of the cleaver like a mallet.

Next, sweating copiously with the effort, she reached down and brought from a shelf running the length of the bench, a large, pitted granite mortar. It took ten minutes from start to finish. Miriam and Oli stood slack jawed processing the information.

‘There … done,’ said Gretchen with a flourish ‘–the Master’s bone meal’.

I’ll grind yer bones to make my bread …thought Miriam numbly.

~~~~~

They assembled at the back wall of the fortress just before sunset, when they were sure that everyone in the village had hunkered down for the night.

‘What do you think Dad?’ said Nic.

‘I’m thinking, that even if we can break through this section, and if we can do so without making so much noise that the Jishan from the next county hears us, that we will have very little time to find your Mum and Oli before everyone inside and outside, is on to us. Which beggars the question, how on earth will we locate them in this monstrosity of a building?’

‘Mikal and I have brought two strong chisels, a mallet and long bar of iron,’ said Gareth inspecting the spot that Fong had determined assailable. ‘I think working night times only, and with stealth, two ―perhaps three days with all those able to, working.’

‘Miriam might not have, two or three days,’ said Fong chewing his lip.

‘Let’s say we do get in without someone raising the alarm. Who’s to say we won’t find ourselves in a locked dungeon or something. Does anybody here, know about your typical castle layout?’ said Josh gloomily.

‘Have you got a better idea?’ said Bas.

‘No,’ said Josh, uncomfortably aware that Elspeth was listening.

‘I didn’t think so … well then, we’ll just have to hope for the best. I’ll give you a hand Dad, I’m pretty strong,’ said Bas.

‘Hey, I didn’t say I wouldn’t help,’ blustered Josh, ‘―I just don’t like our chances … that’s all.’

‘You know, I noticed from the campsite that the castle’s roof is flat like a big courtyard. Maybe Mum and Oli can find an excuse to get out there?’ said Nic.

‘That’s presuming we can get a message to them, and, they’re not locked up ―or worse,’ countered Josh.

‘Show me what you’re talking about,’ said Fong. ‘Maybe I can figure out a way to get across.’

~~~~~

Gretchen had never witnessed first hand, a bond as close as the one between Miriam and Oli. She tried not to think about them. She tried not to like them. She tried not to care. It was breaking the rules, self-imposed rules, the rules that had kept her alive and sane until now.

No one had ever treated her as anything but a freak, certainly no one had ever offered assistance, a smile or a kind word ―til now. She turned over these new feelings. She wondered if she could crack their bones when the time came.

The boy ―a handsome and caring soul; was sitting next to her peeling and quartering potatoes while his mother scraped carrots and parsnips, they were making a stew of vegetables because ―as they politely informed her, they were vegetarians.

Well it takes all kinds, she thought.

‘Why are you doing that?’ said Oli.

Gretchen was holding an egg in front of a candle peering intently this way and that, before adding it to one of two piles in front of her.

‘It is to reckon whether the cock has had his way with the hen or not,’ answered Gretchen in a distracted voice.

‘How can you tell if an egg is fertilized or not?’ he asked leaning against her and squinting at the egg.

She took a moment before answering ―not wanting him to move away and, fighting the urge to gather him up and set him on her capacious lap, she gazed into his intelligent eyes and said, ‘look closely youngun, there …observe the tiny beak, and that dark spot … it will quiver ―for it is the chick’s heart.’

‘So … what do you do with the fertilized eggs, do you put them back in the laying boxes, or stick them under a clucky hen?’ said Miriam without looking up from the onions she was slicing.

‘I am sorting those that are suitable for the Master. He will not eat eggs without a hint of feather,’ said Gretchen blandly.

‘Sounds as if your Master is taking his high protein diet a little too far. Does he ever eat fruit and vegetables?’ said Miriam, giving Oli a ‘can you believe this ‘ look.

‘The Master credits his longevity, to his abstinence of that which grows in the earth, believing that those who eat from the earth will like as not, repair to the earth.’

‘And what about you Gretchen, what do you believe?’ asked Miriam.

‘I do not trouble myself with thoughts that dispute the Master’s ―as should you,’ she answered, with eyes downcast.

‘Ah, but he’s not our Master Gretchen and ―he doesn’t have to be yours,’ said Miriam in a loud whisper.

Go to Chapter 27

Chapter 25

2007-10-04T14:22:00.000-07:00

‘It was agreed upon long ago. Each Jishan knows the boundaries of his realm and those belonging to other Jishans. Each does not trespass without invitation; they meet rarely. I think it is because they mistrust all, even their own kind,’ said Gareth. ‘Every soul, animal, tree ―blade of grass, belongs to the master of each domain.’

‘Are you and the members of your family ―enslaved, indentured? I’m sorry Gareth, I’m trying to come to terms with this barbarous practice. Are you serfs?’ asked Fong.

‘Most Oarfs are, but I am a free man ―as is my family. I am a smith. I work iron. Mikal works wood. Maeve is a weaver unsurpassed and Elly … Elly has many talents,’ said Gareth winking at his daughter. ‘She is very precious to her Ma and I.’

‘What reason would this Lumir person have to imprison my wife and son, they’re not after all Oarfs, and certainly pose no physical threat to him?’

‘Even if they have nothing to offer, he would be loath for them to leave ―this would show weakness. Oarfs greatly outnumber Jishans. In my own Da’s time, there were those who sought freedom from the Jishans’ yoke,’ said Gareth. ‘They were all to a man; fine ―with the fire and …rashness of youth.’

‘What happened to them?’ asked Nic.

‘They disappeared, youngun.’

‘People don’t just disappear. Well, I suppose they might, if they find a portal, but —’ said Josh.

‘My Da said the last anyone saw of them, was when they went to the Jishan demanding their freedom. They went in all right, but, they never came out.’

‘Who was the Jishan?’ asked Fong.

Gareth clapped one mighty hand on Fong’s shoulder and answered, ‘Master Lumir.’

~~~~~

Guillermo was true to his word, allowing both Miriam and Oli to wander freely the labyrinthine fortress. More than once, they lost their way down the twisting corridors and resolved thereafter to stick together.

Many of the rooms they peeped into were completely empty, whilst others were stacked to the rafters. One room held nothing but rotting canvases in ornate gilded frames. Gloomy landscapes, formal portraits, hunting scenes and mythical allegories painted in every conceivable style, were stacked with what it seemed, very little regard, the larger paintings leaning cheek to jowl ―some sagging and torn. Although Miriam could not recognise any individual works, many of them appeared hauntingly familiar, and she vowed to come back and shuffle through the stacks. One large work of a sensuous youth with bee-stung lips would be hailed back home as an unknown Caravaggio masterpiece.

In a dusty corridor that had at least a dozen doorways, Miriam elected the right hand set and Oli the left. The first, she pushed open with some effort only to slam shut seconds later. It contained erotic sculpture and what she presumed to be ‘sex’ toys or machines, there and then, she decided they’d better investigate each room together, and hurried to a gaping doorway where Oli stood ―transfixed, by its contents.

This room was also very dusty but unlike the others, ordered and neat. Heavy wooden shelves lined the wall from floor to ceiling and, each shelf held dozens of thick-walled glass containers ―each filled with yellowish fluid and a monstrous specimen. One entire wall of this macabre pantry held hundreds of human foetuses, each more horribly deformed than the last. Oli’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly like a goldfish.

‘They’re dead darling, all dead. Poor things. Probably stillborn, or dying soon after they were born. There’s an awful lot of them … isn’t there?’

Oli managed a little croak and a nod, by way of reply.

‘It certainly confirms the guy is one sick puppy,’ said Miriam grimacing. ‘I don’t recognise the other creatures here.’

‘That one there looks like a mermaid and that one, that one looks like it’s got a tiny pair of wings. Look … they’re a bit like bat wings except that they’re pale and the skin looks like —’

‘Like dead human skin. Yes, I’m pretty sure that little fellow is human. Look, he’s intact, he’s got a —’

‘Oh gross Mum, I can see a shrivelled ball sack. Let’s get the hell outta here!’

Miriam shuddered under the fixed vacant gaze of Siamese twins, hunchbacks, foetuses with all manner of extra limbs, heads and unguessable appendages. Some floated surrounded by organs that should have developed inside their bodies, some had chitinous flesh, most had deformed facial features ―missing some or in the possession of too many. One had thankfully never drawn breath ―its head as blank as a party balloon.

They hurried out, closing the door carefully; their curiosity for what lay in the other rooms; assuaged.

~~~~~

It was Thora’s turn to get some shuteye. Bas found a sheltered ledge affording an unhindered view of the valley and waited.

And I thought life was boring at Dragonbreath! Where is everyone, and what the hell can they be doing in their shacks? He couldn’t see any TV aerials or satellite dishes. I suppose it’s getting on for winter, so there’ll be no tilling of the soil or harvesting of crops, nothing for a peasant boy to do ‘cept maybe scratch his nits.

He chewed on an astringent stalk of grass and wondered why it tasted funny, spitting it out quickly when he noticed a goat pissing on a clump nearby. Yucky. He busied himself instead on the peeling bits of skin in front of his fingernail beds and hummed idly.

‘About time,’ he said to himself and the goat.

He could just make out the figures of several people moving about at the outskirts of the village. They were darting in pairs in a distinctly sneaky manner from building to building and anything else that gave some cover. He counted six. Hmmm, it’s not Dad and the boys then.

He was trying to make up his mind whether he should wake up Thora when he realised that something, one of the persons was wearing on their head, was reflecting sunlight, like a mirror.
Who’d be wearing a mirror on their— Nic! It has to be Nic, he insisted on bringing his ‘aviators’. So who are the other three? He’d better haul arse down there and lead them back to camp before the bloody idiot alerted everyone of their presence.

~~~~~

‘There was no mention of a Gnarlth in your tale,’ said Gareth towering over Thora who looked as if she was deciding whether to run or stab him in the foot with her stick. ‘Generally speaking, we are not comfortable in the company of their kind.’

‘Just what do you mean their kind?’ said Bas stepping protectively in front of her.

‘I mean naught, ‘cepting what I have plainly stated. We do not feel comfort— ’

‘Her name is Thora and she is our friend. My wife almost considers her a member of the family. I could not have tracked them here without her. And, whilst I am grateful for your offer of help, I cannot accept unless you can overcome your prejudice for the Gnarlth. There will be no secrets from her.’

‘I have had no dealings with them, but I have heard tales of their cunning and deceit,’ said Gareth looking indecisive.

‘Da, have you not always told Mikal and me, that we are free people. Free to think and to say as we like unlike these … these poor folk hereabouts, these Jishan’s thrall?’ said Elspeth gesturing down towards the village. ‘We can never be free, if do not set aside the tales spread— perhaps maliciously; about these wee folk. Have we not always been taught that the cat is but an imp in disguise? That it is the embodiment of evil. Surely, if Black Fatty is not as we believed, then perhaps the Gnarlth— ’

‘Da, I say we join with these folk, all these folk and find a way to free their loved ones, else we become thralls to superstition and ignorance,’ added Mikal.

Go to Chapter 26

Chapter 24

2007-10-03T14:26:00.000-07:00

‘What lies beyond those mountains?’ asked Miriam.

‘That’s not for the likes of me to know,’ answered Gretchen.

Miriam buried her nose in the top of her jacket and exhaled hot air to warm her bony nose. She walked to the edge of the tiny parapet where Oli sat hunched against its low walls, dozing in the thin sunlight. A wave of dizziness washed over her, threatening to pitch her forward, she stepped back from the edge and waited for the nausea to subside. Heights were a problem. She scanned the pleated peaks surrounding the valley with a profound sense of déjà-vu. The mountains ―like women in purdah, had the same deep vertical folds and purplish cast as those in her paintings and the reoccurring dreams she’d had since infancy. I know this place …but how?

‘My Da reckoned there is a great shining lake hiding behind ‘the Teeth’, which is what we call the mountains that guard our lands. Everyone knows the world is flat and the lake marks the edge. So vast … you cannot walk around it or see beyond its horizon,’ said Gretchen breaking the silence of Miriam’s reverie.

‘What else did your Da tell you?’

‘Oh— not much, least ways that I can remember, I was just a youngun when I left.’

‘I thought you were from around here?’

‘I am. I am from the Green,’ said Gretchen pointing to the village, ‘but I’ve not been back these long years, and won’t— ‘cept in a shroud,’ she added matter of factly.

‘I’m sorry Gretchen, I hadn’t realised that you’re as much a prisoner as— I guess, Oli and I are,’ said Miriam patting her gently on her broad back. ‘He has no intention of letting us leave has he?’

Gretchen’s mute response confirmed Miriam’s darkest fears.

~~~~~

Her Da ―not a bad man by nature but turned hard on a steady diet of poverty and endless toil, saw Gretchen as yet another stone around his neck. He had no living sons, only the burden of seven daughters, each blighted with a variety of defects.

The eldest, Hilda, was so cross-eyed she could not walk to the latrine without help and thus, rendered helplessly house ―or rather hovel bound. Agatha, was perpetually cloaked in a snowstorm of flaking skin and as bald as a shucked pea ―hairless in even her private parts. Their sister Gutha was a lacklustre albino whose pink eyes scared off any suitors, and, poor Freda … she ate out of sight of others lest it put them off their food ―on account of her harelip and cleft palate. Mad Meg ―a thin consumptive schizophrenic, continually hacked up globs of flem and blood while her multiple personalities talked up a storm and took turns with each other to trip Sarah, who got about on a crutch dragging her clubbed foot; her back humped and twisted with scoliosis. This left only the youngest, Gretchen, a giantess.

She was without doubt, the pick of his litter. Her prettiness due in part, to her plumpness, for even as a newborn there was no mistaking her propensity for great size. Her mother died plain worn out, after a heroic labour lasting the better part of three days, leaving an embittered husband without a son and namesake.

Gretchen looked like a robust ten year old instead of a girl just shy of her fourth birthday, when teary eyed, she was abandoned at the door of the fortress with whispered promises of food aplenty and regular visits. Her home lay scarcely a mile away but she never saw her Da and sisters again.

Pragmatic, she filled the hole in her heart with food. It was now her family and her friend and ultimately, the reason she did not join the ranks of the other Oarf girls who, as brood mares mysteriously disappeared shortly after giving birth ―to monsters mostly.

Gretchen was uneducated but not stupid and knew where her bread was buttered.

~~~~~

Bas was very proud of his concocted stew simmering away in the billy and couldn’t wait to tuck into the first decent meal in ages.

He, and a slightly more cheery Thora, had set up camp amongst the shelter of the stunted forest, after which he set off leaving her as lookout to find the fortress’s water source ―which he did in no time. All he had to do was watch the goat thingies, who starting grazing the tussocky grass again when they realised he was no threat. Soon they led him clump by clump to two clear, black pools fed by a small waterfall. Water rushed from the larger pool to the smaller one over a random rubble weir. It was cold and misty and the grass crackled with frost underfoot as he leant over to fill the billy.

He heard the crack of a twig broken underfoot, followed by a series of soft, seemingly argumentative squeals. Oblivious to his presence and busily rooting around in piles of decaying leaf litter under the trees nearby, were a troop of wild pigs. Normally he’d be terrified of ‘razorbacks’ as the bush pigs back home were know, but these creatures seemed quite dainty and peaceable looking ―despite the scuffles over whatever it was they were digging up. He tried to sneak up on them, but they saw him at once and dove into the underbrush, leaving several large pale tubers scattered.

A little chewed to be sure ―but hell, with a good wash … perfectly edible.

Thora was impressed with his fledgling ‘bush tucker’ skills and suggested they see what other edibles they could glean to supplement tonight’s meal.

The piggies were back and hard at it, ploughing the friable earth underneath the mulch, and it rankled a little that they took no notice what so ever of Thora. In fact, they obligingly moved aside and allowed her to root around in their midst. He half expected her to use her ‘snout’ as well, but she set to with a stick and in no time filled all her ‘dilly’ bags.

Afterwards, while Thora gathered some tart berries and the leaves of unfamiliar plants growing at the waters’ edge, he shimmied up the trees and culled the last nuts of the season ―a little shrivelled, but he hoped edible. They walked back to the campsite in companionable silence, sucking the hard sour berries. Bas felt very pleased with himself.

‘I’m going to cook us up a feast,’ he said, grinning from ear to dirty ear.

‘What ―and waste good food. No thank you, I shall take them as nature herself intended,’ she said and proceeded to crunch into a tuber.

‘Suit yourself,’ said Bas a little crestfallen. ‘I’m sure the others will enjoy something tasty for a change.’

‘Waste of energy as well as food,’ she said between bites.

‘You gunna stop me making a fire?’

‘No,’ she answered, and with a mouth full of tuber added, ‘―make it a small one youngun; don’t want to alert the wrong people of our whereabouts.’

Into the billy went the washed cut-up tubers, some wild scallion tops, a handful of pungent greens, and a few pieces of the precious jerky. It bubbled gently over a fire that warmed not only their flesh but also their spirits.

~~~~~

‘You can take whatever you like ―in fact you can have the lot. Just let my son and I leave,’ implored Miriam.

‘Everything, and everyone, within these walls ―indeed within this valley, belongs to me,’ answered Guillermo in a disdainful tone.

‘That’s …preposterous. It’s unbelievable. It’s … against the law. You can’t keep people against their will. Kidnapping is a punishable offence in every decent society―’

‘I, have kidnapped no one. You, have trespassed. You, are now subject to my, laws.’

‘My husband will have something to say about that!’

‘If, your husband is foolish enough to follow you, then he, his companions and, their possessions, will also become mine. For their sakes, I hope they are as interesting ―as you are proving Miriam.’

Miriam was momentarily shocked into silence by the Jishan’s loaded statement. ‘I thought I was dealing with a gentleman— a decent human being. Someone who was a cut above the poor sods living little better than their animals in those ―those hovels,’ she stammered defiantly. ‘I will never submit to you.’

‘Ha, Miriam but you are haughty. I have no desire to bed you.’ And to her chagrin added, ‘I prefer those lucky enough to share my bed, to be a little younger and easier on the eyes. No, I am in need of entertainment— intellectual stimulation. You may go where you wish within these walls, but take heed― do not try to escape or warn your husband. My amusement, like my good temper, is often short-lived.’

~~~~~

Thora kept watch, glad of the small fire’s warmth. She begrudgingly acknowledged her growing affection for the youngun. Prone to the telling of half-truths and lazy ―when there was no profit for himself; he none the less displayed an innate fondness and curiosity for all living creatures. He was observant and clever.

Where, she wondered, are the others?

Go to Chapter 25

Chapter 23

2007-10-02T15:43:00.000-07:00

The main building of the farmyard complex was of random rubble construction. Shuttered openings at the gable ends let in light and air during the warmer months. Boldly painted in red ochre, the thickly mortared joints of the freshly whitewashed walls enlivened an otherwise austere exterior. The front door, a single rough-hewn plank was magnificently ―if naively: carved with a complex design of both mythical and domestic beasts. Next to it, above a long sturdy polished bench, hung four beautifully carved pegs: a thick necked bull, a plump hen, a slender fawn and a creature they thought might be a badger. Large flat boulders anchored a thick sod roof supported by sapling rafters stripped of bark, laid a hand span apart. A primitive portico protected a swept earth floor, the door, the pegs and the bench. Here sat a burly middle-aged man wiping sweat and grime from his neck with a faded kerchief. As he raised an arm in greeting, Josh knew the peg carved as a bull belonged to him. Elspeth tied Maggie to the rail of a split post fence and grabbing the pail, led the boys down the flower edged path.

‘Da, I found these gentlemen down at the milking shed,’ said Elspeth. ‘They say they have lost their way and are seeking the rest of their family.’

‘Show them in Elly. I will be there directly … after I have dipped m’head. You know it vexes your Ma otherwise. Mikal fetch your Ma.’

‘I have fetched myself,’ announced a small plump woman. Wiping her hands on an immaculate apron, she pushed a stray lock behind her ear, patted the bun of iron grey hair perched low on her nape and briefly curtsied. ‘Elly, do your friends have names?’

‘Sorry Ma. This is Josh,’ she said shyly, ‘…and this is his younger brother, Nic. They were caught in that bad storm ―day before last.’

‘Well … only a Jishan can predict the weather these days. Poor things must be famished. Fetch the bread and cheese Mikal.’

‘But Ma ―that is not a man’s job!’

‘Tis true Mikal, but you are not a grown man ―yet.’

‘Mums are the same everywhere Mikey,’ said Nic commiserating. ‘How bout I lend a hand?’

‘My name is Mikal and, I do not need a hand.’

‘I know, I just thought Mikey suited yer better, yer know … it’s more ―modern sounding, a bit tougher.’

‘Is that so? Well …’ said Mikal shrugging, ‘you may call me Mikey if you like.’

Unsure whether they should remove their heavy boots before entering the cottage, Nic dipped his head beneath the low lintel and reported a floor of compacted earth likewise within. The boys stamped off the worst, and stepped into the dim interior. They were pleasantly surprised. It was as neat as a pin and utterly charming.

Just like Elly, thought Josh.

They shrugged off their packs and stood them in a corner, each directed by Elspeth to sit on simple low stools encircling a well-crafted stone fireplace. Inside crackled a cheerful fire over which, suspended by a large iron hook, hung a huge steaming cauldron of water. They sat on their hands, a little nervous at first, while Elspeth bustled about.

She grabbed small wooden bowls from the long shelf over the hearth, and from one of the many bunches hanging from smaller hooks, she broke off and crumbled into each some fragrant dried herb. Using a large ladle, she poured boiling water to cover and left them to steep. Mikal; as instructed by his mother, placed a small wheel of deep yellow cheese on a table laid with a cloth embroidered with sprigs of flowers and hovering bees.

‘Come young gentlemen, bring your stools closer,’ and giving Elly a strangely coy look added, ‘are you going to introduce your Ma, or do I have to do it myself?’

‘I don’t know what’s come over me Ma! Forgive me?’ said Elspeth blushing pinkly again. ‘Josh ―Nic, I would like to introduce my Ma, Maeve,’ and hearing her father stamping his feet at the door added hastily, ‘and my Da, Gareth Ironbard.’

Over a delicious repast of fresh baked bread spread with pale creamy butter and topped with thick slabs of crumbling cheddar, the boys recounted an abridged tale of their arrival and journey thus far to a captive audience.

‘Bloody ripper cheese … can I have some more?’ said Nic, breaking the silence that followed.

‘Yes, of course you may. Oh, I forgot … Mikal ―fetch a crock of honey and … one with the berries put by for winter,’ said Maeve.

‘But Ma … you said they were for special occasions ―only.’

‘And a special occasion it is! Who else have you met recently that has journeyed from so far away! Do you like jam, Nic?’ she asked, her eyes twinkling.

‘Mmmm … sure do,’ answered Nic with a full mouth, winking conspiratorially at her.

~~~~~

Miriam and Oli didn’t sleep a wink. After the candle sputtered and died, they were left in a darkness so complete they could not tell whether their eyes were open or not. Miriam fretted about the rodents who squealed and scampered with abandon, Oli was terrified of the unseen spiders and other nasties lurking in the claustrophobic space.

They had trudged wearily up many steep stone staircases after the seemingly indefatigable Gretchen, who never once huffed or puffed. Each new flight veered at a different angle from the previous, each without balustrade, forcing them to pay great attention to their footing; else they pay a dreadful price at the bottom of a dark stairwell.

They were hopelessly lost by the time Gretchen showed them a narrow doorway through which she could not possibly pass. The room contained a solitary hard bed and a bucket, it was windowless but not airtight and a pitiless wind found every crack in the crumbling mortar. The door slammed shut behind them and they heard the ominous scraping sound of a bolt shot into the doorframe.

Come daybreak, they were connoisseurs of the many shades of grey twixt night and day.

~~~~~

It was a very angry Fong that tracked the boys ―eventually, to the Ironbard farmstead the following day. He was still stiff from a night spent propped against a tree, sleeping rough in the forest after a fruitless day of searching. Just as he was about to give up, he spotted Nic’s sock in the stream and picked up the trail.

Nic, stripped down to his singlet and jocks, was wrestling Mikal in the short springy grass growing between the cottage and the barn. Josh was deep in conversation with a porcelain complexioned blonde girl, whilst spreading his and Nic’s sleeping bags over a fence to air. A cat resembling Black Fatty, lay in his trademark ‘flying’ position on a long bench. He stood with arms crossed a few feet away for a full minute before they realised he was there.

‘Hey…Dad. Wotcha doing here?’ said Nic spitting out a clump of dirt and grinning wolfishly.

‘What do you mean, what am I doing here! What are you doing here? Do you have any idea how long I’ve been combing the forest for you?’ Fong was rolling each shoulder in an agitated manner as he closed the distance between them.

Josh thought his Dad was angry enough to deck them. Instead, he snatched up the sleeping bags and barked at them to grab their things.

‘Thank these people for their hospitality and pack up.’

‘Wait a minute Dad ―’ started Josh.

‘Now!’

‘Maeve ―Mrs Ironbard, is making us breakfast. She’s gone to lot of effort,’ said Nic pulling on his longs.

‘Well, that’s very nice of her, but I’m sorry ―we have to leave right this minute. We’ve lost enough time as it is.’

‘But they’re really cool people; they have to make everything they need. They’ve built their house, woven their clothes, made all their tools, grown their food ―’

‘I don’t have time for this. Your mother needs me. She needs us,’ said Fong, adding in a gentler tone, ‘time to think about someone else for a change boys.’

‘It’s not fair!’ said Josh.

‘Life’s not fair son.’

‘Mayhaps we can help?’ Said a kind faced man built like a Mongolian wrestler.

‘Thankyou, but I cannot risk the lives of others.’

‘Your sons have shared your story with us. What ill has befallen your wife and other sons?’ said Gareth.

‘Not so much an ill as a Guill. A nasty character by the name of Guillermo Lumir,’ said Fong sitting down next to the Fatty doppelganger on the bench.

‘Ahh ….’ said Gareth.

Go to Chapter 24

Chapter 22

2007-10-01T14:59:00.000-07:00

Wil ―just Wil as he was known then, found his way there by accident. After the Black Plague took his parents, his two older brothers and the rest of the village, he and the few surviving children formed a ragged band that in turn, joined other bands to become a multitude of roving orphans. Despite ruthless culling by the twin gods of disease and privation, at each village and town countless recruits with hollow eyes and distended bellies replenished those fallen. Every day dozens fell, listless and mewling. Every day, Wil learned and prospered at the knee of death. While others begged and pleaded at the doors of every hovel, hut and home they passed, he took whatever he could find.

Into open windows and back doors he slipped, counting on the distraction provided by whining unfortunates clutching at the hems of the hardhearted stony-faced occupants. At first, he only stole anything edible. His heart in his throat, he snatched up rinds of cheese, mouldy crusts, and sometimes a half gnawed bone. With time, he grew bold and selective, quickly locating pantries and cellars beneath trapdoors. Even the poorest peasant abode set aside winter provisions of potatoes, onions, turnips, carrots, salted meats and wheels of cheese. In the homes of the middle class he stole haunches of venison, spiced sausages and little jugs of wine.

His robust appearance did not go unnoticed. Those who survived at the expense of the weak thrashed the truth out of him, and he began working for the self-appointed king of orphans and his brutish courtiers.

Wil’s cockiness grew until one day exiting a pantry with a bulging sack; a quick thinking kitchen maid ―who barred his only escape; intercepted him. Dropping the sack, he fished for and found the dull edged knife he’d purloined weeks before. He flourished it in what he hoped was a threatening manner to gain a few moments grace to think of an escape, she, however stood her ground in front of the now barred doorway and screamed an alarm to alert those distracted at the front door.

A rickety ladder led to the roof space above the kitchen hearth, up he dashed to sounds of angry voices and scuffles. The maid hurled abuse at him from below, while he cast about for an opening of some sort. Filling the space were strings of looping sausages hanging from slender branches stripped of bark, slowly curing in the rising heat of the hearth fire. There seemed to be no possible means of escape, until he noticed the flash of sky in the thatched roof surrounding the brick chimney. With desperation his brother, he climbed the chimney using the roughly mortared joints as purchase, his palms and fingertips blistering from the intense heat of the bricks. Hanging onto a rafter with his left arm, he braced his steaming feet in their layers of rags on the chimney and slashed at the twine holding each bunch of thatch together. Frantic now at the sounds of his pursuers climbing the ladder, he clawed a small opening through the stiff grasses. With barely a moment to spare, he hoisted himself through and ran along the roof ridge. Behind him, a face purple with rage appeared above the hole hurling abuse while Wil cast about for a way down. There was no way but to jump.

Years later the self invented Guillermo Lumir ―respected alchemist, pondered the events that changed his life.

Wil ran heedless to the pain inflicted by his ordeal, putting miles between himself and his hunters until he stumbled upon an abandoned badger’s den at the edge of a forest. He thrust his protesting body into its farthest recesses and promptly fell into a dreamless sleep. The wind carried the sounds of angry men and snuffling dogs and he shivered, thinking they must surely scent him. Later that night he crept out and lapped at an oily puddle, hurriedly retreating when he spied the glow of a campsite fire. He searched through his rags for food, finding only the remains of a black rye loaf. He scaped off the thick yeasty mould and forced himself to swallow.

He dreamt as he had never dreamt before, in which every thing and every colour was intensified. As he moved from one visionary landscape to another, transcending time and space, he met with beings who tried unsuccessfully to communicate with him. He followed stumbling, until they stopped before a mighty book resting on a carved lectern, its thick velum pages, gilt edged, open, waiting … waiting for him. His eyes devoured but gleaned no meaning from the densely inked symbols that seemed to writhe with a life of their own. He howled with frustration at his illiteracy.

After waking, he remembered few of the details of this dream, but felt himself transformed in his thinking, keenly focused. He gingerly inspected the damages and resolved to find the means to change his lot in life, or he might not be so lucky next time.

His burns healed, but in the fall, he twisted his foot and damaged something that left him with a permanent limp. Now when he stole into the homes of those distracted by the beggar armies, he took small items of value as well as foodstuffs. Silver candlesticks from churches, pewter tableware from the middleclass and occasionally jewellery from the few wealthy homes he gained entry. He thieved linen shirts and woollen hose from the bushes they lay drying upon, a fine pair of deerskin boots airing in front of an untended hearth, a warm grey cloak from a peg on a kitchen door and an elegant feathered cap from a slumbering inebriated merchant.

He took great care with his appearance, never washing ―his long matted hair a haven for lice and other blood sucking parasites. He kept his knife ―now wickedly sharp and always oiled; at the ready and trusted no one, keeping only his own company. Although always cheated by those he sold the bulkier stolen items to, his bag of copper and silver coins grew until he feared it jangled too much. From time to time, he returned to the badger’s den to bury the jewellery and smaller items of value, along with all but a few coins of low denomination. Here also, he carefully hid the pilfered clothing covered with aromatic leaves to drive away destructive vermin.

He had a plan ―that only great wealth could realise.

Go to Chapter 23

Chapter 21

2007-09-30T16:22:00.000-07:00

‘This looks like the weakest point in the wall. See, I bet it would crumble under any half-decent hammer or even …the back of a hatchet —the hatchet, of course. Damn it! I left it with the boys to chop up firewood,’ said Fong.

In the scratchy half-light of pre dawn, Thora roused both of them so that they could make themselves scarce before the Oarfs greeted the day ―or more likely grunted at it. Fong had insisted on another quick trip to the wall before announcing his brilliant plan to break a hole through the masonry.

‘So, now I’ve got two reasons to go back, I need the help of the big boys and my hatchet,’ he said.

‘Best we make a start then,’ said an anxious Thora, eyeing the infant sun. ‘Have to stay low and keep out of sight.’

‘I’ve given that some thought too, and … I’ll be a lot quicker ―by myself,’ said Fong fixing Thora with a serious look. ‘Someone has to stay back with Bas.’

‘I was not aware that I had put up a shingle proclaiming youngun minding services,’ said Thora angrily. ‘I will go.’

‘No. The two of you are small, so find another hidey-hole and wait for me. I’ll be back before nightfall.’

Thora wasn’t used to taking orders from males, especially male Oarfs. In a cleft in the mountainside ―a couple of hundred metres away from the fortress; she and Bas rolled out a narrow foam sleeping mat and sat back to back so they wouldn’t have to make polite conversation, and waited. Bas didn’t need to be a mind reader to know that Thora was pissed off.

For the first half of the day he dozed in the weak sunlight. Flies ―sated on sewerage; nibbled at the crusty bits in the corners of his eyes, and sucked at the streams of his drool. Thora sat poker-still, quiet as the grave. Time moved like treacle.

Late morning brought a breeze; welcome at first ―if only to break the monotony of stillness, soon however, he was almost gagging on the stench of excrement it carried. He was dreaming about Black Fatty when he sniffed instead of snorted, sucking up a fly ferreting about in his nostrils for goodies. A stony-faced Thora watched him spit, hack and curse the vile insect for a full minute afterwards, before shushing him.

‘I’m going for a walk,’ said Bas.

‘You are to stay here.’

‘Well, ―I have to go.’

‘No, you do not.’

‘Yes ―I― do!’

‘In that case be quick and do not draw attention to yourself.’

‘Yeah, like I’d want to draw attention to myself while I’m hanging a leak ―duh,’ said Bas rolling his eyes.

Thora watched impassively as he skirted the edge of the mountainside looking for a conveniently sized shrub, well outside her radar zone. Bum to the bush, he pissed up against the rocky face studying it casually. About four metres above him stood two strange looking sheep creatures, or maybe mountain goats. They were grazing at some still green clumps of bladey grass skirting the edges of a track of sorts, winding upwards. I wonder where that leads? And checking to see if Thora had come looking for him, scrambled up, loosening a few stones in the exercise and scaring the goat thingies away, who in their haste let loose their own miniature rock shower.

‘Ouch ―stoopid animals!’ he felt where his eyelid had been cut, a little bit of blood came away on his fingers; guess I’ll live.

It was flattish where the goat thingies had been grazing, a sort of deep step in the mountain face. Protected from the worst of the elements it offered a good view of both the fortress and the village and a microclimate that supported some flourishing ―if stunted, trees and shrubs. I bet there’s a stream here somewhere and I bet it’s the source of the water that’s piped to the fortress. We should camp up here.

He hurried back down ―on his backside most of the way, coming to a sudden stop at the bottom where Thora stood arms crossed, cranky as a bag full of cats.

‘Did I not tell you to be quick?’

‘Yes ―but―’

‘Come. Now!’

‘Wait Thora. Up there, just a little way is a much nicer and safer spot to wait for Dad. There’s plenty of vegetation to hide in. No snow. And we’ll be able to see everything that goes on down here. And, there’s water up there … somewhere.’

‘Stop your prattling youngun and get your pack,’ she said, and seeing his surprised expression added, ‘make haste.’

~~~~~

Two hard high-backed chairs stood on a drab rag rug in front of a plain brick hearth. A half-hearted fire burned within. With the exception of the fat tallow candle wedged into a misshapen pottery candelabrum, the cavernous room was bereft of ornamentation: no paintings, tapestries, curtains, pillows, or knick-knacks of any sort.

‘Let’s hope the décor doesn’t reflect the owner,’ said Miriam ―stating the obvious. ‘Maybe, they don’t really live here. Just keep the place open for appearances sake.’

‘I think we should make up an excuse and get the hell outta here. I don’t really care if it is just a front ―this place is seriously creeping me out,’ said Oli.

Gretchen waddled in and slammed two pewter dishes onto the chairs, spilling some of the greasy contents. Lumps of congealed fat and the thankfully unidentifiable body parts of some animal, occupied a grey tepid porridge. The bowls came without implements of any sort.

‘There’s still some chocolate in my bag …how bout another square or two,’ said Miriam. ‘If that meat is pork, it needs to be a tad warmer before we attempt to eat it.’

‘You seriously wouldn’t eat that, even if it was boiling hot ―would you?’

‘Well …’

‘It is said, that the only other flesh a cannibal will take ―is porcine. Do you not eat the flesh of the pig, Mam?’ said a mellifluous voice.

A smooth spare middle-aged man stepped out of a dark corner. As Miriam’s eyes adjusted to the deep gloom surrounding the small circle of light provided by the candle, she could just make out a third chair in the corner closest to the door.

He must have heard my comment about the décor.‘Do you generally eavesdrop on your Master’s guests?’ said Miriam in a tone she hoped would cover her surprise and embarrassment.

‘Your pardon Mam, I was ―as is my habit, napping in yonder chair. I am Guillermo Lumir,’ he said, his black depthless eyes pinning her own briefly ― rather like a cobra might its prey, before bowing slightly, bending at the waist and inclining his head.

‘Oh, no ―um … really it’s I who should beg your pardon Sir Lumir. My name is Miriam and this is my youngest son Oliver.’

‘It would please me if you called me Guillermo, Mam. If I may be so bold, it is unusual for a woman to be travelling alone. Are you a widow? If so, your mannish attire and shorn head do little to disguise your gender.’

‘My mannish ―oh, I see what you mean …No, no, no, no. I always dress ―er appear like this. I’m not in disguise. And, no, I’m not a widow. My husband and sons are a little way behind us,’ and noticing his puzzled look added, ‘we got lost in the storm and had to find shelter.’

He circled them, his arms behind his back, his pointed chin jutting― as if inspecting … livestock? She noticed he dragged his right leg ever so slightly.

‘Then, your husband does not know your whereabouts Mam.’

‘Fong will find us, eventually. Timothy, the kind man who led us here, said that you ―his Master, would get a message to my husband?’

‘My famulus, Timothy, presumes a great deal of late. I shall have to remind him of the perils of speaking on behalf of his betters. Of course, we will let your husband know that you ―Lady Miriam and young Oliver, are my guests.’

‘Thankyou Lord Lumir however, Oliver and I won’t be staying—’

‘Mam! We will speak of this on the morrow. This night, you will accept my hospitality.’ Guillermo spun on his heels and exited before either of them could utter a protesting word.

‘Yer to follow me,’ said Gretchen from the doorway, ‘and best bring the candle.’

Go to Chapter 22

Chapter 20

2007-09-29T19:30:00.000-07:00

It took about two hours of brisk walking to reach the stream. Here in the gloom of the overhanging forest it barely flowed. Busting a hole through the icy crust, they thrust their canteens deep into the freezing but still moving water below. Their stinging fingers ached with the contact, but they were glad not to have to suck snow to slake their thirst for a change. Pressed on all sides by the forest, the banks were cold and oppressive, the shadow too deep for shrubs and small plants, the exception: a bilious yellow lichen clinging stubbornly to a few rocks.

They argued about whether to follow the watercourse left or right, finally flipping for it with a coin Nic found in his jacket pocket, and went left. They walked in silence, uncomfortable in the eerie quietude until the forest verge receded sufficiently from the banks to allow weak sunlight to fill the space. The stream, now freed from its icy carapace gurgled modestly, brave yellowish grass shoots, thistles, stinking rogers, cobblers’ pegs and other ragged weeds pierced the few remaining patches of slushy grey snow. Luridly coloured toadstools grew under gangly rhododendrons alongside mushrooms that looked like the sort Miriam tossed into stir-fries. On fallen logs grew wood fungus as large as dinner plates. Fat bumblebees droned and dipped into the few remaining flower heads, plundering the last sippets of nectar for their winter larder. A portly dun coloured lizard sunning itself yawned and blinked at them fearlessly.

The now expansive bank became a well-trod path, evidenced by its compact and rutted appearance. Their mood lifted by the hefty injection of solar rays and the promise of meeting up with their family; Nic began to regale Josh with oft told tales and snatches of song. Rounding a gentle bend, Josh urged Nic to shush.

Ahead lay a steaming circular pasture intersected by the stream, which was now a good deal broader and fairly gushed around some strategically placed large boulders straddling the narrows. Here the path forked, the stepping-stones providing the means to cross. On the opposite bank, an ancient willow drooped, trailing wraith-like fronds in the gambolling currents. Nic crowed with delight and proceeded to peel off his boots and socks. The forest edge, dense and hushed, crouched like red Indians clustered around a circle of covered wagons.

‘I’m going over the other side to check out the tree,’ said Nic. Mid stream he gingerly dipped his toes, ‘brrrr, the water’s bloody freezing. Oh well … guess it was a bit on the optimistic side. Hey, there’s a rope hanging off the willow! Looks like kids here do the same as we do back home. Looks lovely and deep… bet it’s beaut to swing off into ―in the summertime,’ he said wistfully. ‘Let’s have a break and something to eat in the shade?’

‘Have to make it a quick one and pick up the pace when we get moving again,’ answered Josh.

Twenty minutes later ―as Nic was brushing the grass off his toes in preparation to don his stinky socks and boots; they heard a female voice calling.

‘Maggie, sweet Maggie. Come here my darling.’

At the far edge of what they’d thought an empty pasture stood a shed of sorts, effectively camouflaged by a rambling vine. Josh bobbed low and made his way with Nic in tow ―boots clutched to his chest; to the back wall. The vine had lost most of its leaves, whilst it must have originally used the construction as an arbour, it now appeared to be the sole reason the decrepit shack stayed erect. Rotting rough sawn planks formed two walls and a skew-whiff skillion roof. The boys pressed their eyes to one of a dozen peepholes.

She rested her cheek lightly on the warm heaving side and sighing, closed her eyes in concentration. ‘You have always been my favourite Maggie; there, let me feel ―I promise to be gentle.’ She stroked lightly at first, before pulling firmly downwards on the elastic pink flesh.

Josh watched breathlessly. He had never felt like this before. His mouth was dry, his throat painfully constricted and his heart flopped wildly like a fish caught in a net.

She was lost in concentration, murmuring endearments, her pale oval face dusted with a fine sheen of perspiration. One of many beams of buttery sunlight piercing the tattered roof, puddled over her head ―bent diligently to its task; a cloud of small flying insects dancing a halo over white blonde hair plaited in two thin tails.

They had seen this activity on the telly before but never in real life, and Nic, already bored; started up his chatter at— whisper level. Josh however was spellbound, unable to hear anything but the roar of blood in his ears. Nic had stopped prattling for some seconds before Josh realised that the girl’s almost transparent lids had snapped open. Her eyes very round and very blue, were very angry. He turned to Nic whose eyes were also very round with surprise.

‘Get up ―the two of you. I will show you for letching on my sister. Up! Else you find my dagger in some place unpleasant,’ said a young male voice.

They both stood very slowly and, with matching guilty expressions turned to face him.

‘Mikal! Put that aside and leave them be. By the look of their fine if strange apparel, they do seem to be gentlemen and, have no weapons drawn.’ The girl stood with arms akimbo, her skirts tucked up between her thighs, considering them.

‘I—we—er—we didn’t mean any harm. This is the first sign of human habitation we’ve found and we thought we should play it safe by checking things out before announcing ourselves …’ Josh stammered, painfully aware of how badly that sentence had come out. She must think I’m such a coward. Red faced his eyes locked with hers.

The expression in her eyes softened a little as they drank each other in. She was a far cry from the stereotype of beauty in his world. Her hips too wide, her thighs fleshy, her knees dimpled. She blushed under the intensity of his gaze, lowering her eyes and set to, smoothing down her skirts with small capable hands.

‘A gentle man does not watch a lady through a peephole; a gentle man makes his presence known.’

Her words a slap, he too lowered his eyes, his cheeks burning with shame.

‘Well ―maybe round here a gentle man might do exactly that,’ said Nic, ‘back home, that gentle, unarmed man, would be considered a bloody idiot! Look before yer leap, check there’s no jackasses ready to stick rusty blades in yer kidneys ―that’s how a gentle man behaves around unfriendly, un gentle men.’

Mikal lunged forward a step his blade at the ready, his lips compressed into a thin angry line. Nic reefed his backpack off and tossed it to the ground prepared for a scrap.

‘Yeowwwrr!’ screeched an unceremoniously dislodged Black Fatty. He’d missed everything, being at the time fast asleep in the bag.

‘What other evil familiars have you hidden about your persons,’ exclaimed Mikal stepping backwards.

‘You seem very young for Jishans?’ said the girl also backing away.

‘No. Nic and I are not Jishans. Please … don’t be frightened. We don’t even live here. We’re just two ordinary guys looking for the rest of our family. That’s Black Fatty. He belongs to Bas, our younger brother. He’s not a familiar ―he’s a pet and a friend. My name is Josh … I’m sorry if we frightened you.’

Black Fatty did a circuit of each sturdy leg before flopping belly up on the ground between them. The girl’s musical laughter broke the ensuing silence when Fatty proceeded to take liberties with her billowing skirt.

‘My name is Elspeth and this brave boy ―is my brother.’

Go to Chapter 21

Chapter 19

2007-09-28T14:44:00.000-07:00

It was the piece of beef jerky— that convinced him to throw in his lot with Nic. Black Fatty didn’t much care for him or Fong; they were ‘try hards’. Everyone knows you don’t call cats. All that ‘puss, puss, puss’ —some humans never learn. He was about to turn tail and leave, when lo and behold Nic produced that tempting bit of tough meat.

‘I don’t know how you did it Fatts, but I’m hell glad of the company,’ said Nic, scratching him behind the ears. ‘C’mon boy, you can snuggle in the bag with me. Don’t worry, we won’t fall ―I’ve seen to that. We’ll be as snug as two bugs in a rug.’

Nic had woven a miniature platform from supple branches just big enough to half sit, half lie on, and he’d secured the bag and himself to the main trunk using an elastic ‘octopus’ strap. From far below they heard Josh yelling various profanities and lurid descriptions of torture he would perform on Nic’s person when he caught up with him.

‘Yep, that’s the hairy mammoth bellowing for my blood. I’m gunna teach him a lesson though and stay up here til morning. Night night Fatty,’ said Nic yawning.

Josh spent a very bleak night under the stars. When Nic shimmied down the nearest tree and called a cheery hallo, he forgot he was still in his bag and tried to stand up, only to fall over face first in the powdery snow.

‘You bastard, I’m gunna throttle you!’

‘Ho ho, a fine welcome mammoth! Sleep well did ya? Said Nic smirking. ‘Here give me yer hand’.

‘Rack off!’

‘Okay, have it your own way,’ said Nic brightly, turning to leave.

‘No!’ Bellowed Josh, ‘You get yourself back here. Where the hell did you spend the night?’

‘Up there,’ said Nic pointing upwards. ‘Look who’s come adventuring.’

Black Fatty popped his head out of the top of Nic’s backpack and gave his equivalent of a grin.

‘Humph, I’m sure he’ll be a great help,’ said Josh. ‘Look, I don’t know about you ―but I’m worried about the others. Dad should have been back by now; I think we'd better look for them.’

‘For once I agree. What do you think Fatty?’

Fatty nodded and gave an affirmative ‘Mmmrroww.’

~~~~~

Bas’s stomach growled all night after the meagre meal consisting of half a strip of jerky, a multivitamin tablet and a withered apple contributed by Thora. All three of them were jammed into the corner of a tumbledown barn, the only uninhabited shelter they could find. Between the hunger pangs, the spooky surroundings and the soft drone of Thora and Dad’s conversation he couldn’t get to sleep.

‘The animosity between my people and his has not always been so,’ explained Thora, ‘we had not been here, in this new world, long, when the first Jishan; Wulfwyn Froeps found his way. He was the trusted famulus of a great scholar for whom the study of the Prima Materia was his life work…’ here she stopped seeing the quizzical expression on Fong’s face, ‘—the Prima Materia is the essence that is the world’s soul.’

‘Well, yes of course that makes it so much clearer to me —not,’ said Fong dryly.

‘As I was saying, the scholar um, whose name is lost in the mists of time, had a daughter, Gudrun, for whom Wulfwyn harboured what he believed to be an unquenchable desire. The girl, lovely as she was to behold, was never the less as dumb as an ox and was very quickly compromised by Wulfwyn.’

‘Huh?’ said Bas.
‘He had his way with her, you know … made love to, am I right?’ said Fong.

‘Yes. As I was saying youngun, their love was consummated, after which the fire of his desire was snuffed.’

‘Snuffed? You mean like he didn’t fancy her anymore, that kind of snuffed?’ said Bas.

‘Yes, and what is more, Gudrun confided this deflowering to her nurse, who in turn took this news to the wretched girl’s father. He demanded that Wulfwyn make an honest woman of her, however, Wulfwyn protested, saying that he would never wed one as unvirtuous as she. The scholar raged at him, swearing he would not rest while Wulfwyn went unpunished. That night Wulfwyn left taking the scholar’s lifework ―a hefty leather bound tome, and certain chymicals.’

Thora rubbed the papery skin off an onion and bit into it making small murmuring sounds of appreciation. Their noses wrinkled in disgust at both the idea and the pervasive stench of sulphur.

‘Drugs such as …?’ said Fong trying not to breath through his nose.

‘Such as those, which alter the state of the mind allowing one to commune with the divine. Ointments, which when rubbed on one’s loins allow one to fly and the like.’

‘Okay, this is getting a little far fetched, skip a few pages Thora,’ said Fong.

Thora gave an irritated sniff and continued, ‘Using a chymical snuff and instructed by the scholar’s tome found he himself here. After some experimentation he was able to travel back and forth at will, bringing all that would make his new life comfortable, including servants who could neither read nor write.’

‘So it was an accident?’

‘Yes, initially … a fortuitous accident.’

‘Okay, that still doesn’t explain how the other Jishans got here,’ said Fong.

‘Some arrived courtesy of his vanity which grew with his power. He could not resist bragging ―aside from which, he grew lonely for people of his own ilk. Each new recruit swore an oath not to divulge the means of passage between the worlds, and never to allow the Oarfs to raise their heads above their ignorant stations in life. All new technology is used to keep the status quo.’

‘So they are all his cronies?’

‘Most— yes, some have come through honestly, through their own efforts whilst seeking spiritual enlightenment, others accidentally, such as yourselves. The Jishans practise various arts such as scrying and divining the innards of beasts; others pretend to have magical powers using modern technology stolen from your world to dazzle the Oarfs and keep rebellion from their minds. The Oarfs believe their masters to be immortal.’

‘And … are they?’

‘No— of course not, all things must die ―eventually. The Jishans foster this notion by keeping to their fortresses and, if forced to leave, wear clothing and masks designed to obscurate their appearance. They allow only one male youngun to live, the other younguns and their mothers— usually pretty Oarfs; are despatched, as a failsafe. That lucky child inherits his father’s name when he becomes an acolyte of the Jishan brotherhood. Thora blew a tiny particle of onionskin into the air between them. ‘That, is how they remain to all intents and purposes ―immortal, and therefore all-powerful.’

‘Bastards … low down bastards!’ said Fong shaking his head.

‘Hasn’t anybody tried to change things, you know ―overthrow them or something?’ said Bas.

‘Many have tried and paid a terrible price,’ whispered Thora. ‘They have never been seen again.’

Go to Chapter 20

Chapter 18

2007-09-27T15:51:00.000-07:00

From somewhere inside his much-patched cloak, Timothy produced a small clay whistle. He blew into it, producing no sound that Miriam or Oli could hear, seconds later however, from somewhere within, came answering howls ―howls that sounded unnervingly familiar. The minutes passed, but Timothy did not put the instrument to his lips again, instead, he placed it carefully back into a pocket deep within the many layers he wore.

Miriam’s misgivings were gathering momentum when the sounds of protesting locks and bolts ground them to a faltering halt. I suppose he might take offence, if we don’t at least say hello, she thought.

She was aware of Oli pressing ever closer to her as the door swung open with an all mighty screech of its rusting hinges revealing a woman ―they tremulously eyed with a mixture of awe and revulsion. The word ‘obese’ did not do her mighty frame justice.

Worthy of a place in the ‘Guinness Book of Records’, she almost filled the massive entrance. A gut churning, nauseating stench of unwashed, inaccessible body parts enveloped her and threatened to overwhelm their senses. All the features on her vast carcass paled to insignificance when compared to the acres of her tortured fat-infused flesh. Set like after thoughts in a neck-less head: were pale eyes, an upturned nose and small mouth. Listless strings of unkempt hair stuck to her greasy scalp. Sprinkled lavishly across the broad swathes of her flat cheeks ―like freshly cracked peppercorns; were blackheads or rather, comedone craters. A vast and shapeless filthy shift barely covered her, falling just short of the indentations that marked her knees, exposing columnar arms and legs atop tiny feet, swollen to the point of imminent explosion. Miriam’s eyes settled on the only normal, even pretty feature the poor woman possessed, a pair of finely shaped, delicate hands with long slender fingers, one of which was busy hooking out a troublesome booger.

‘Gretchen, show the Mam and young Master to his Lordship’s hearth. I, will address Lord Lumir while they are warming their bones and you, will find them some food,’ instructed Timothy in a voice reserved for subordinates.

The woman smeared her prize onto the fabric that strained over her gargantuan dugs and grunted a sullen affirmative, whereupon she began to lumber down the dimly lit passageway that led into the chilly interior.

Ignoring the voice in her head that was screaming, ‘grab the kid and run’, Miriam gave Oli’s hand a gentle squeeze and whispered, ‘C’mon, she’s probably really nice; a lot of overweight people seem defensive and unfriendly at first.’

‘Overweight! Mum, she’s the fattest, smelliest ―dirtiest person I’ve ever seen. You don’t think she actually cooks the food do you?’ whispered Oli, barely suppressing a shudder. ‘Did you see all the nose dirt on her ―dress?’

‘I’m sure she washes her hands darling ―and, you shouldn’t call her fat; the word is obese.’

‘A beast is right!’ said Oli forgetting to lower his voice.

They both held their breath wondering whether Gretchen had heard that last unkind remark.

Out of the mouths of babes, thought Miriam. ‘It’s alright,’ she whispered to Oli whose eyes were wide with fear, ‘I don’t think she heard.’

‘Hurry yerselves along, folk have been known to get lost in this place ―permanently,’ said Gretchen from somewhere in the gloom ahead.

They followed her reluctantly, the sound of her huge buttocks and thighs shifting one in front of the other their guide.

~~~~~

‘You aren’t seriously suggesting that they went in there— of their own free will?’ whispered Fong.

‘There is nothing in their tracks showing otherwise,’ whispered Thora back. ‘Miriam does not know of the Jishan Lumir’s powers or reputation.’

‘She does not know because she was not told! When you spoke of Jishans, we presumed harmless tricksters, card sharks and snake oil salesmen ―not tin pot emperors in unassailable castles.’

‘I do not know about these sharks nor about the oil that may be procured from snakes, nor did I think Miriam would so readily find herself here. I had thought Miriam to be a better judge of character!’ said Thora defensively.

‘Sshh! You two bickering isn’t going to help Mum and Oli. There has to be more than one way in or out. I’m going to have a look around,’ said Bas, and taking care that he wasn’t being watched, crept from the thicket of prickly bushes before either of them could protest otherwise.

‘See what you’ve done.’

‘See what I have done! All Oarfs are the same … male Oarfs that is. Make haste. We must follow the youngun, else he is lost also,’ said Thora grabbing her stick.

~~~~~

The rear of the fortress abutted a scree. Piles of rotting garbage and deep, foul smelling pits occupied the narrow space between. Scabrous feral pigs and scrawny chickens rooted, scratched and raked through the nauseating middens pessimistically. The back wall was a mosaic; testament to enlargements and repairs carried out in fits and starts over time, the result: a fascinating if unsafe patchwork of aesthetic styles and masonry skills. Older parts of the wall —roughly buttressed with random stone bulwarks; adjoined sections of crumbling, lichen-covered stonework that lurched drunkenly here and there, braced in places by large tree trunks. A wooden trough made from sections of hollowed logs and reinforced with iron bands, ran overhead from some point high up the shaly slope and across to a small opening in the wall. Likewise, other troughs led from the fortress interior to the mysterious pits.

‘Careful youngun … they be the waste pits, and some unfortunates have been known to drown,’ remarked Thora casually.

Bas stepped back quickly from the edge of one that he was inspecting. ‘So these are filled with shit?’ he said holding his nose.

‘Yes, and that’ she answered, pointing to the trough entering the wall higher up, ‘—brings water from a spring further up the mountain. Lumir wisely built with the mountain at his back.’

‘So … that’s it— only one way in or out. That’s just great! Any suggestions you two?’ said Fong looking vexed.

‘Best we find a hidey hole in which to sleep and ponder the problem. Night is fast upon us,’ said Thora patting his hand, ‘those nearly grown younguns of yours will need to be fetched. The big one will be an asset.’

Go to Chapter 19

Chapter 17

2007-09-26T16:09:00.000-07:00

Oli lost his watch somewhere along the way, most probably during the mad dash away from the wolves. Miriam guesstimated they had been walking for about four hours. She made mental notes of any landmarks, worried about the distance they were putting between themselves and her husband. Fong could find his way anywhere ―it was as if he had a built in compass, whereas Miriam could get lost in her own bathwater. Every now and then, she stopped and waited for Oli to catch his breath, using the time to place unobtrusive markers like piling a few rocks perpendicularly both to jog her memory and catch Fong’s eye.

Since leaving the cave, they had kept the steadily broadening stream to their left. After leaving what she presumed was Thora’s valley, they passed through another. It was smaller and steeply inclined, its geography mysterious and threatening ―the narrow floor strewn with strangely anthropomorphic boulders. After an exhausting scramble over and through a colossal pile of the monoliths that all but blocked their way, they entered at last, a broad alluvial plain.

Stretching before them lay an untidy checkerboard of fields, dotted here and there with small low roofed forlorn buildings in varying states of disrepair. Trails of thin grey smoke wheezed from sorry excuses for chimneys. The few areas not yet covered in snow, held shivering herds of cattle, desultorily chewing at the roots of now withered grasses. Tumbledown fences roughly demarked what must be one property from another, but the poor wretches that lived in this medieval shantytown stayed hidden.

The bleakness of the village oppressed Miriam. Oli was unusually subdued and aware like she, of the curious, perhaps hostile eyes that surely observed them.

‘Is this your village Timothy?’ inquired Miriam.

‘Yes Mam. I, however have been elevated and reside there,’ he answered, pointing to a large forbidding building that sat hunched on a high knoll, its back against a towering range of impossibly pointed peaks.

If it was possible to assign a personality to a building, then this edifice appeared stoic and implacable. A squat toad-like fortress of roughly hewn grey granite, the only one way in or out: an enormous fortified door without stoop or overhang to shelter it ―or anyone who dared to ask admittance. The narrow slot-like windows piercing the upper floors and secured by thick rusting grillwork had glass so grime-encrusted they surely let no light in nor allowed glimpses of its inhabitants. Miriam wondered whether they were for keeping people in, or out.

‘This ―is your home,’ said Miriam barely disguising her incredulity.

Timothy smiled broadly, revealing pale receding gums. ‘It is the home of my Lord Lumir and his servants, of whom, I am ―I believe; his most esteemed.’

‘Please don’t trouble your master. I think we will instead ask shelter of the good folk back in the village,’ said Miriam taking hold of Oli’s hand and making to leave.

‘Mam, my Lord will thrash me and any of his servants,’ said Timothy indicating the village, ‘―who would presume to have a Lady such as yourself as hearthside guest! If you have not already so observed, the day draws nigh to evening, and the boy needs warmth and nourishment. My Master will arrange for word to be sent to your husband.’

Miriam met Oli’s eyes and saw that his needs were greater than her unfounded reservations. Why don’t I expect the best from strangers rather than the worst?

‘Alright,’ she said with a sigh, ‘but it’s only for one night, tomorrow we’ll go back the way we came.’

~~~~~

A bar of chocolate won’t last long, thought Fong stowing the discarded wrapper carefully in his pocket.

‘Someone shows them the way,’ said Thora pointing to tracks leading upstream. ‘These were made by an Oarf.’

‘How on earth can you tell?’ asked Fong studying them.

‘Footwear in your world has intricate patterning, does it not? Observe the prints you are leaving, these: are quite smooth and belong-- I think; to a young male.’

‘I understand what you’re saying about the lack of tread as it were, but how can you tell the gender and age of the person; as you’ve pointed out, they’re smooth?’ said Fong.

‘Has it got something to do with how deep some parts of the foot prints are and how straight he walks— stuff like that?’ asked Bas.

‘Yes, it is, youngun,’ said Thora winking at Bas. ‘Females carry their ballast differently and it shows in how the foot is placed. Observe how Miriam’s are set wide apart showing the sway caused by her generous behind.’

‘Are there any signs of a struggle Thora, just tell me that?’ said Fong.

‘No, no struggle. Both Miriam and the youngun appear to be following of their own free will, but most Oarfs are thralls to Jishans, and I fear they may, as we speak, be making the acquaintance of one Guillermo Lumir.’

‘Who is this person …Lumir? Will he hurt them? Could they be in danger?’ demanded Fong of Thora.

‘I do not think he will hurt them, but I do not think he will let them leave. Save for a few trusted servants, no one has ever left the fortress,’ said Thora. ‘Come, we must hurry. Mayhaps we can catch them up ―before time.’

Go to Chapter 18

Chapter 16

2007-09-25T16:03:00.000-07:00

What the hell is this stuff? Thought Fatty, flicking each leg with disgust, it feels worse than water ―and colder.

Bubs did not, as anticipated follow Thora and the others, heading off instead to the Sally Wattles where flocks of tiny, banded finches lifted and settled in succulent avian clouds. Black Fatty sat in the long grass wrestling with indecision; he’d counted on Bubs blazing the trail. Looks like I’ll have to go it alone, they surely can’t have gone far. I’ll be able to pick up their scent, no problem.

But, there was a problem; a big, white, cold problem. He had no idea what it was, but it was everywhere. It clung to him. Every time he shook one leg free, another got covered in the wretched stuff. And, he couldn’t smell a thing, his nose was colder than it had ever been ―full of frozen snot. He was alone, just him and thousands, correction: millions of strange trees that swayed and groaned.

‘Where is everyone?’ he yowled into the emptiness.

~~~~~

Nic hadn’t intended to go very far, just far enough to scare the daylight out of Josh and, he hadn’t expected Josh to give chase, as it generally wasn’t his style. Usually Josh would just make up a bunch of lies, and when Nic predictably blew up, his irate beyond reason parents, would send them to their separate rooms. Afterwards, they would refuse to listen to the details; instead doled out punishments like ‘pooh patrol’ and lawn mowing, failing that, a fine. He was sick of Josh always getting him into trouble. Deep down he knew Mum was right; he did have a short fuse ―and she should know she was the big black pot calling the kettle black!

He had to admit though, that this place was amazing. He’d gathered the sticks to spell out LOST for a bit of fun really and not because he was afraid or bored, but just fidgety to go off and explore. For once, he wasn’t set on revenge against Josh, of course, he’d like to see him sweat a bit, teach him a lesson. Meanwhile he’d explore the forest, after all, there was no way that he could evade him forever, unless fresh snowfall covered his tracks or … He looked up and assessed the degree of difficulty involved in scaling one of the trees. Nic was a tree-climbing specialist. Up he went, finding tiny handholds in the deep scaly bark until he reached the first bough after which, it was a cinch.

It was a different world up here. The higher he climbed the more the tree swayed, instead of being afraid however; he listened to the rhythm and adjusted his climbing tempo. It took twenty minutes to reach the top of the ancient pine; from there he gazed out in wonder over Thora’s world.

The forest was unlike anything he’d seen before. It was thick, untouched, with no sign of tree felling other than the spot they had arrived in, and the trees rippled constantly like the pelt of a powerful beast. There were murmurs, whispers, sighs and moans, as if they were conversing in an ancient unknowable language. He felt as frustrated as a deaf mute at a concert, and filled with a deep yearning to connect and communicate. He tried to remember where he’d seen trees like this before. Was it in a book or a documentary? Some of the trunks were massive; if all seven of them linked hands, they couldn’t have reached their way around them. Trees this big must be very old and very old things must know a lot. How excellent it would be to build a tree house here, away from everyone, high above the world ―safe.

~~~~~

Black Fatty was well and truly over this white stuff. He decided a better option was to seek higher ground, in this instance up the nearest tree, and get out of the horrible stuff. This was significantly better than being down there. But, how to find his humans?

The trees were so large and grew so closely together that many of their branches touched, forming aerial highways for all manner of creatures. Black Fatty watched the steady flow of traffic and realised he need never walk on the forest floor again. The question was ―which direction should he take? A small handsomely furred creature was making its way in a determined fashion across a sturdy lower branch … Well it’s as good a way to go as any, thought Black Fatty. And tail erect, he followed.

He walked for a long time, only pausing to make the most of a few found titbits bye the bye. Some of the insects looked pretty much the same as back home, others were very strange, but most of them tasted pretty darn good ―except for an iridescent green bug that caused the immediate constriction of his throat. He spat it out, gagging and retching until he lost most of his stomach contents ―unfortunately. He stopped eating every bug he came across and was feeling very hungry when he came upon some tasty wood fungus. Feeling much better, he called loudly several times not really expecting a reply.

‘Fatty, Fatty …is that you?’

That sounded very close, and from somewhere in the trees too, thought Black Fatty trembling with gladness. I’m safe at last.

He fairly rushed along the branches very nearly slipping in his haste. ‘Mmmmrrroooowwww, I’m here,’ he called joyously, ‘oh, how I have missed —oh no, not you!’

Go to Chapter 17

Chapter 15

2007-09-24T14:03:00.000-07:00

‘Have you journeyed far young master?’ Said Timothy; his smile revealing long yellow teeth with spaces big enough through which to suck a straw.

Nice teeth thought Oli. ‘Er, not sure, we left home yesterday– I think.’ Wonder if this dork’s a friend of Thora’s. ‘Mum carried me most of the way.’

‘Your mother is a most unusual female,’ added Timothy.

‘Yep, that’s Dad’s opinion too.’

‘Where is your Dad, pardon ―the Master, will he be joining us?’ Inquired Timothy smiling again, this time though —only with his mouth.

~~~~~

It was business as usual for the cats, and the honorary cat, Toby, otherwise dubbed ‘catdog’. With the ritual greetings between Toby and Lunchbox concluded they now were busy mock fighting, Black Fatty was carefully arranging himself on the tank in preparation for his morning nap and Bubs had announced in a deep yowl his intentions to hunt.

Fatty who had not so much mastered the art of relaxation as simply been gifted the ability at birth, could not for the first time in his life get comfortable. He shifted restlessly, rolling from one side to the other. He tried stretching out in what the boys called his ‘flying’ position and even tried laying belly up. Fatty was ... perturbed, disgruntled. If you could ascribe a motto to Fatty’s philosophy, it would be ‘don’t worry … be happy’. Today, however, Fatty was not happy.

When Thora informed him of his humans’ intention to visit her world, tacit in both her tone and the look in her eyes was the statement, ‘no Mrrows, even good Mrrows allowed!’

Fatty tried very hard not to take it personally, but it stuck there like a hairball he could not cough up. When they were packing for the trip he went off on a long walk, he stayed away for supper and this morning when Bas and Oli called for him repeatedly ―to say goodbye; he refused to come out of his hiding spot, somewhat mollified by their obvious distress. It was not so much that he wanted to go along; rather that he had expected to be asked to accompany them, and then to have gracefully declined despite tearful pleas of entreaty.

He was grooming himself in this distracted manner when he saw Bubs making his way down to where he’d sulkily watched this mornings’ hubbub surrounding Miriam and Oli’s vanishing act. In a blinding flash of rare inspiration, he squished a blood-engorged flea between his teeth and leapt off the tank, landing noiselessly ―well almost noiselessly, and proceeded to follow Bubs. I’m going in, he thought rebelliously. Wanted or not!

~~~~~

They’d been waiting for hours. Josh was bored and whenever Josh was bored, he created his own amusement which was always at the expense of others. Today’s lucky participant would have to be Nic. Nic was always quick to stir, not much of a challenge for the ‘pot stirrer’, as Josh was not so fondly known. Nic had spent an hour or so gathering fallen branches to fill most of the open space they were in, with the word LOST and now circled restlessly like a 'tiger in Taronga’ whacking the trucks of the trees. Thunk …scrape, thunk … scrape, thunk …scrape … thunk …

‘Stop that yer retard,’ said Josh.

‘And who’s gunna make me ―you? Ha. By the time you get off yer hairy bum, I’ll be long gone ―Mammoth.’ Scrape, thunk …scrape …

‘Yeah well, it’s true you’ve got longer, skinnier legs but that’s because they match yer brains …dickhead,’ goaded Josh.

Thunk.

‘Are you calling me stupid?’ said Nic, hefting the thunking stick and testing its weight in his palm, considering his next course of action.

Noting the familiar look in Nic’s eyes, Josh plunged in. ‘Yeah, shit for brains, I am. Who do you think’s gunna be swooping over this god forsaken forest and see your LOST? I don’t recall any mention of trains, planes or automobiles by the dwarf!’

‘Lay off the dwarf crap! Thora’s a Gnarlth and she knows heaps of cool stuff.’

‘Yeah, well …personally I could do without the cool stuff,’ said Josh, picking up a handful of snow and flinging it in Nic’s direction. ‘Come on, what are you waiting for, you gunna use that stick or what? I dare ya.’

‘I know what you’re doing. You think you’re so smart. You think I’m so predictable. Well duh … here's the news, you’re the predictable one. You’re just trying to get me into trouble. This time … you’re gunna fall in the shit pit you dug!’ And, with that, Nic picked up his backpack and took off into the forest ―full tilt.

‘Crap!’ Josh jumped to his feet and yelled after him. ‘If you think I’m gunna fall for it, forget it. Dad will ground you till your thirty when he finds out!’

‘Correction,’ came the distant, echoing reply, ‘―he’ll ground you …into mincemeat —mammoth mincemeat.’

Go to Chapter 16

Chapter 14

2007-09-23T14:01:00.000-07:00

Fong and the boys argued about the best course of action. Thora said that she knew of a small cave a few hours walk away, but Fong was concerned that Miriam might even now, be making her way back from an entirely different direction. Despite the recent snowfall —which had obliterated any tracks; Thora was confident that once she picked up the trail she could easily track them.

‘Miriam would have chosen downhill rather than uphill, especially with the youngun in tow, would she not,’ said Thora

‘But what if they went uphill, Dad,’ said Nic. ‘What if they come back and we’re not here? We should split up!’

‘No, your mother would kill me. We have to stay together, we don’t know who or what might be lurking in this forest.’

‘The most dangerous animals here for creatures of your size, are timber wolves, and they are afraid of fire and such. If in doubt just climb a tree, wolves cannot climb trees. I am sure they can handle themselves. Am I not right younguns?’ said Thora.

‘Dad, if a little old lady can handle them, we can. Nic and I are bigger than you now. What if Mum does comes back and needs help? Someone has to be here,’ said Josh. ‘Nothing will happen to us.’

‘Under normal circumstances, I’d agree, but there’s no spare adult to stay here. I need Thora to guide me to the cave. We’ll leave a piece of cloth tied to a stick to let your Mum know we got through and a note weighed down with a …a rock telling her to wait,’ said Fong in an uncertain tone.

‘When are you going to treat me like an adult? You’re always saying, grow up and get a life, how ‘bout you let me prove I’m responsible enough. I promise we’ll stay here and...’ smirking in Nic’s direction he added, ‘—I’ll keep Nic in line -er look after him.’

Before Fong could answer, Thora added, ‘Another storm will cover any scribblings under rocks and rags tied to sticks; she might think we are not here yet! Let the younguns get on with their growing up.’

‘For the record Josh, I’m not happy about this. Where your mother is concerned, it’s a case of damned if I do and damned if I don’t. If anything happens to you or your brother there’ll be hell to pay!’

‘Yes Dad. I won’t disappoint you,’ said Josh with a triumphant smile.

‘And Nic …Josh is in command.’

‘But Dad —’

‘But Dad nothing, you are to follow his instructions implicitly!’

‘That’s bogus!’

‘I said …implicitly. Bas, you have to come with Thora and I, and no shilly-shallying. You’ve got to keep up.’

‘Yes Dad,’ replied Bas rolling his eyes upward and sighing.

Just before they were lost to their sight, Josh and Nic saw their father turn and wave. They heard a faint shout, all but drowned out by one of the stiff gusts that periodically whistled through the trees.

‘Did you catch what he was saying?’ asked Josh.

‘Dunno, something about don’t go anywhere,’ said Nic shrugging his shoulders.

~~~~~

Neither Miriam nor Oli’s packs contained any food to speak of; however, Miriam had secreted a family sized block of dark chocolate in hers. She made Oli eat a couple of squares and carefully wrapped the rest up, away from the curious eyes of Timothy. That man looks perpetually starved, his mother should have named him ‘Twigothy’, she thought to herself.

‘Come on darling, I know you feel sick, but we don’t know who the rightful owner of this cave is. It might be a bear or something worse. This kind man here is Twig er Timothy and he’s going to lead us to his home,’ said Miriam in coaxing tone. ‘Can you walk okay or do you need a piggy back?’

‘I can walk. Besides, I’m too big to piggyback,’ he answered petulantly. What could be worse than a bear? He wondered.

‘Okay Timothy, Oli and I are all set to go. Lead on if you will.’

~~~~~

Every five hundred metres or so, Fong would have to stop and shout at Bas to ‘hurry up’. He was becoming more and more exasperated each time.

Bas never did anything in haste except losing his temper ―usually at Oli. Some part of knew him that it was important they find Mum soon, but another pig-headed part of him resisted being harried for any reason. All attempts by others to speed things up usually had the opposite effect on him; he slowed down, took his time, and smelled the proverbial roses. He was a dawdler, always putting everything off. He handed in his school assignments after the due dates, his room was a mess, he never brushed his teeth and most nights he fell asleep in the same clothes he’d worn that day. Mum said he’d even been too lazy to be born on time —he was born a month overdue. He was even late for puberty. However, Bas noticed things no one else did.

There were lots of interesting animals and birds in this creepy forest. He was just about to find out where a small furry creature a bit like a possum was hiding some interesting looking pine nut thingies when Dad yelled at him ‘to get a move on’, again. With a sigh he picked up the really strong stick with the gommy knocker end bit he’d found, and started ambling down the track they’d made in the snow. His pack was getting heavier and his back was itchy where the sweat trickled because of it. His thighs were chafing and his guts were starting to rumble.

We must have been walking for hours; surely we’ll get to the bottom soon? Rats, that means we’ll have to walk uphill! What I wouldn’t give for a bag of chips right now; even if they were just plain potato flavour. He stuck his stick in a deepish snowdrift, adjusted the contents of his pack, tried to scratch his itchy bits, adjusted his jocks and spent a few minutes wondering if the locals ate anything resembling chips.

Dad and Thora were waiting for him at the bottom. They looked cranky.

‘You took your own sweet time as usual,’ said Fong glaring at him.

‘I was feeling a little bit wheezy. Mum says I’m supposed to take a break and use my puffer when I feel out of breath,’ he lied, ‘but I think I’ll be okay if I just sit for a minute.’

‘Five minutes,’ said Fong, adding after a guilty pause; ‘I’ll carry your pack the rest of the way.’

Ten minutes later, Thora found the first boot print. ‘I was right, sensible woman went downhill. There is only one set of prints … looks like she is carrying Oli.’

‘Are you sure? Maybe they’ve become separated!’ said Fong anxiously.

‘I am sure. Look carefully at the right boot print, see ―it is much deeper than the left, and she is dragging it rather than lifting it.’

Thora followed the faltering footsteps admiring Miriam’s gritty determination. Winter was early this year and it took courage and ingenuity to survive the present conditions. The cave was very close now, which was just as well. By the look of the tracks, the poor woman appeared close to being done in.

Fong heard Thora shout, and sprinted the distance caused by Bas dragging his legs. ‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded, flinging both packs down on the bank.

‘They fell here. Look, you can see the imprints of both of them and …’ she paused and met Fong’s eyes, ‘wolves have been here. Many, six maybe seven, they were here for some time before going that way.’ Thora pointed towards the forest edge.

‘Da ―ad.’

‘Not now Bas.’

‘Dad. I found Oli’s beanie.’

Go to Chapter 15

Chapter 13

2007-09-22T14:13:00.000-07:00

The storm continued unabated for a day and a bit. Inside the hastily erected ‘gunyah’, that Nic ―King of the Cubbies, had largely masterminded; Fong sat patiently boiling a billy over the tiny camp stove. The three boys slept as best they could in a tight huddle, their troubled sleep punctuated by complaints…

‘Oi, watch where you put that elbow.’

Thora had taken up a position by the small opening that the boys used to pee out of; she had either abstained or waited till they were all asleep to stick her bum out into the storm. Despite his fears for his wife and son, Fong felt sorry for Thora.

‘Come over to stove and warm up. The stew is nearly ready. Thank god, I let Miriam talk me into this dehydrated stuff. To think I wanted to live off the land,’ said Fong.

‘I am not hungry, thankyou.’

‘Nonsense, you haven’t touched a thing.’

‘You forget, I carry my own stores.’

‘Yes, I forgot about that mildewy onion and those sprouting potatoes you tote about. Come and have something warm ―I insist.’

Thora shuffled over, keeping her eyes downcast, ‘I blame myself. I should have tried harder to talk her out of this foolishness ―and that poor little mite.’

‘Oli is a lot tougher than he looks, and as for Miriam …she’s like a tiger when it comes to protecting her children. We’ve got believe that they’re alright, and do the right thing by these guys here,’ he said looking in the direction of the now stirring heap of limbs. ‘Chow’s up boys! Come on, up and at ‘em.’

‘Hey, can you hear that Dad?’ said Bas.

‘Hear what?’

‘Nothing Dad, nothing. I think the storm has stopped.’

‘Eat up, then pack up boys. Time is wasting.

~~~~~

Thankfully, no one was home ―at least for the time being, so Miriam hauled the complaining Oli into the rear of the cave. In a miasmic state of fatigue, she unpacked and shook out their down bags, zipped them together to make a double and spent the next five minutes cursing her numb fingers. Oli’s laces were double knotted and she was almost about to give up and cut them when she worked the last knot open and took off his hiking boots. His socks were fairly dry below the boot line but the tops were sodden where the snow had collected and he shivered in fits and starts like a puppy. She found his spare clothes in his pack and managed with little help from him: to change him, roll him into the sleeping bag, do the same for herself and zip up tight. She kissed his forehead tenderly and pulled the hood of the bag snugly about his head. His eyelids barely fluttered. Curling her body around him, spoon fashion to both warm and protect him, and with the stick come cudgel at the ready ―fell into a deep sleep. She dreamt about her home, her cosy… safe… home.

Feeling like something the cat had dragged in, Miriam rubbed her crusty eyelids, wincing as she and some eyelashes parted company and took in through one bleary eye the mossy walls and floor of their sanctuary. She heard birdcalls and what she presumed must be the normal sounds of an everyday forest type. She decided that the storm most probably was over and that she should investigate. Oli was still fast asleep, his upper lip and forehead beaded with sweat.

Best check out the lie of the land myself, and noting Oli’s flushed face thought; he needs to sleep a bit longer. She unzipped the bag to cool him down, found their canteens and, hunched over to avoid banging her head, made her way to the mouth of the cave. She paused to pick up what looked like the rotted remains of a woven bag, and just as she was about to crawl out, saw to her horror a pack of large wolves lapping at the still slushy stream, immediately below the entrance. They must have tracked us here. She dashed to the rear of the cave to retrieve her cudgel and forgetting the low ceiling, knocked the top of head so hard she let out half a yell before clamping her hands to her mouth. Tears of pain coursed down her grimy cheeks, making it hard for a few seconds to see if the beasts had heard.

Ignoring her bleeding head, she snatched the fallen cudgel and crawled on her belly over to the opening. The largest and she decided, most likely the leader, a huge almost-black and very shaggy wolf with a crooked ear and the end bit of his tail missing, gazed up at the cave. His head was cocked, water dripped from his purple gums as he listened intently; he looked poised to investigate when a fight broke out amongst some smaller and youngish looking wolves. Distracted, he stalked over, snarling and stiff legged and sank his teeth into one of the unfortunate subordinates, shook it hard and threw the poor creature yelping a short distance away, where it quickly stumbled to its feet and fled into the straggling undergrowth. The rest of the pack surrounded their leader, each in turn presenting their bellies and throats to ingratiate their way into his good books. When he was satisfied, he gave a long low howl and without a backward glance raced off with the pack in tow, into the gloomy depths of the forest.

When she was absolutely sure they weren’t returning any time soon, Miriam picked her way carefully down to the stream, her head pounding, her heart a frightened rabbit in her chest. The partially frozen water had a churned and slightly muddy look, so she walked a little way up to where it lay undisturbed and scooping up a handful, rubbed it into the wound in her scalp. It felt swollen and very tender but had stopped oozing blood, gingerly cleaning it, and her hands and face as best she could, she moved a little further upstream again to fill their canteens. A loud crack signalled the presence of something behind her, spinning on her heels she turned to defend herself.

A man, a young human man a bit taller than herself and looking as scared as she felt, stared at her from a short distance way. She guessed him to be a little shy of twenty or so, despite his drooping elderly stance. He was cadaverously thin, with an even thinner neck that appeared almost unable to support the weight of his enormous head. He had a large beaky nose, an almost non-existent receding chin, small round eyes, taxicab ears and an uncombed thatch of carrot red hair. As the seconds ticked, by his prominent Adams apple bobbed up and down and she felt an unsuppressed chuckle burst out of her. Poor man looks just like a rooster… a rednut rooster!

Her laughter broke the tension, he visibly relaxed and inquired in a high tenor voice. ‘Are you well?’

Realising he was inquiring about the wound on her head, she replied, ‘I think I’ll live. But my little boy is not well. Can you help us?’

‘Your pardon Mam, I had not realised you to be a lady,’ and he bowed deeply, doffing a curious bowl-like cap worn high over a shaved crown. ‘I am Timothy, Timothy of Green’.

She looked down at herself and understood that her dishevelled and unorthodox appearance might well be interpreted as somewhat butch. ‘My name is Miriam, pleased to meet you Timothy.’

Oli was awake and sitting up when she returned with Timothy. She made him drink some of the now melted water, which soothed his sore throat. Using her torch, she saw that it was very red and inflamed looking. His coughs were sharp barks and caused him great pain, his eyes were glassy and his head damp with sweat.

‘Do you live very far away, Timothy?’

‘A few leagues only, Mam.’

Leagues, how far is a league she wondered. A conversion table that converted leagues to miles had been on the back cover of every exercise book in her childhood, if she could remember that, she could then roughly convert the miles to kilometres. A league couldn’t be that far. Oh well.

‘My son needs to rest awhile, out of this weather. Can we impose upon your hospitality, Timothy?’

‘Please … consider my home to be your home Mam,’ he answered, his eyes never leaving the hand that held her torch.

Go to Chapter 14

Chapter 12

2007-09-21T16:44:00.000-07:00

It seemed much later on in the day than it should be, but there was no way to guess otherwise. The pewter sky almost boiled with roiling storm clouds. There was a surreal theatrical quality to the light, with no way to tell where the sun was. A fine rain more mist than actual droplets came in drifting gusts and swirled around the log where Miriam and Oli sat stoically waiting. The minutes turned into half an hour, then longer. Miriam didn’t want to alarm Oli any more than he already was, so she studied the forest and stamped her feet periodically to ward off the deepening chill.

‘Mum, are they moths?’ Delicate fluttering forms were falling all around them, coming gently to rest on the grass and tree boughs. ‘There’s some on you Mum,’ said Oli nervously, ‘oh …it’s cold!’

‘It’s snow, silly. Snow … flakes. Beautiful aren’t they. You’re right they do look a bit like moths, cabbage moths.’ Beautiful but dangerous, she thought to herself especially for those who’ve had no experience of snow and extreme cold.‘I don’t know what’s taking them so long; maybe we should try to go back?’

‘Yeah, I’m tired. Will we be home in time for The Simpsons?’

‘Hmm, before lunch ―probably.

A large deer-like animal burst out of the trees stopping only long enough for them to note the absolute terror in its eyes, and the foamy white sweat that lay on its spotted hide. It ran between them and disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. A series of frenzied yelps and loud howls came from a place close by.

Wolves, it must be wolves. How do I know they’re wolves? Miriam grabbed her backpack and Oli’s arm. His eyes were round with fear; she clamped a hand over his mouth before he could get a questioning yell out.

Inside the forest was like being in a maze. Everything looked the same in every direction. As they fled breathlessly deeper and deeper into the arboreal ocean, their backpacks were snagged again and again by the trees’ greedy and treacherous branches. Sobbing with fear and exhaustion Miriam came to an abrupt halt. Her chest felt like it was about to explode. It was several seconds before she could summon the breath to whisper into Oli ear. They clasped each other like shipwreck survivors in a storm without a raft.

‘Oli ―Oli are you all right?’

‘I think so. I’ve got something in my eye and my shoulder hurts where I got caught by the trees and my pack nearly got ripped off. What are we running away from Mum ―the trees?’

‘No, not the trees; though I have to admit they’re pretty scary. Wolves —I’m fairly sure they’re wolves. They sound further away now don’t they?’ said Miriam nervously scanning the surrounding gloom. ‘Maybe they’ll keep following that poor animal— that deer,’ she added uncertainly.

‘I’ve seen wolves on TV, aren’t they just big dogs?’

‘Well they might look like big dogs darling, but I wouldn’t try to pat them.’

Every now and then, the forest gave up another howl, but they did seem to have put some distance between themselves and the ‘wolf like’ things, however they were well and truly lost now. Hansel and Gretel without the breadcrumbs came unbidden into her mind. Paralysed by indecision, Miriam pondered what to do.

The snow was already beginning to cover their tracks, but that way was where the wolves mostly likely were. The weather was steadily growing worse, and she knew they wouldn’t last out in the open for very long. She believed that Fong and Thora would eventually find them. Her first priority was to find shelter for Oli and herself and wait out the storm. Above them the trees swayed, popped and creaked like the timbers of an ancient boat, there’d be no safe perch for them up there.

‘We have to find a place out of the weather, somewhere warm and dry, and wait for Dad, Oli.’

‘Okay … which way will we go?’

Miriam surveyed their surroundings, she couldn’t read this landscape, however they had been running downhill or rather down mountain. Down had to lead somewhere ―eventually.

‘Down … we’ll go downhill.’

~~~~~

‘This isn’t working!’ said Fong sending a stone whistling off into the undergrowth. He and the boys had spent the past ten minutes walking back and forth over the spot Oli and Miriam had vanished, concentrating as Thora had instructed ―to no avail. His desperation was palpable.

‘Thora, I said this isn’t working! There must be some other way to think our way there?’

‘Will yourselves.’

‘Right, will ourselves —that’s got to be a lot easier. Now I’m really worried.’

‘As well you should be,’ said Thora irritably. ‘It might be better for everyone if you remain here while I-’

A great hullabaloo erupted, a mixture of wails, epithets and roars of indignation.

‘When you have quite finished,’ she said rolling her eyes heavenward and crossing her arms, ‘I may have a solution’. Instant silence. Satisfied she had their complete attention; she put her stick down and faced the Oarfs. Taking Fong and Bas by the hand, she instructed, ‘Nic- take hold of Bas’s hand, Josh do the same with your Da. Now join hands with Nic’.

Josh slapped Nic’s hand away, but seeing the fierce look in Thora’s eyes quickly grabbed it again —albeit gingerly and feigning great disgust.

‘We need to form a tight circle. This is important younguns. You must hold hands … now … close your eyes and clear your mind. Let no other thought intrude and think on this … What if you never saw your mother or Oli again. How do you feel?’

Fong felt sick with apprehension, actually sick. He had butterflies, chills and felt almost about to faint. He lurched forward, opened his eyes and snapped them closed again. Now he was seeing things. Get a grip on yourself man. When he opened his eyes again ―this time slowly, he saw that his sons were also rubbing their eyes in disbelief. Thora however was looking worried.
The first thing he noticed was the trees, the second that it was a lot later in the day than a few seconds ago, and finally, that they were in the middle of a storm ―a snow storm. His teeth were already chattering, his eyelashes, moustache and nostril hairs were collecting icicles. He quickly pulled his beanie out of his trouser pocket and jammed it on his head. The boys were obviously in shock and at a loss at what to do. He shouted at them over the roar of the storm.

‘Quickly, get into your packs and find your jackets and beanies. Thora, where’s Miriam and Oliver?’

‘I do not know, it has not been that long since …’ her voice trailed off, as a look of confusion was replaced by one of sudden insight.

‘What are you thinking Thora?’

‘I think that perhaps, they have been here for longer than we thought. Time is different here.’

‘Knowing this beforehand would have been helpful!’ said Fong derisively. ‘Can you at least guess where they might have gone? Is there a hut or cave close by?’

‘No, no hut …’

‘For heavens sake woman, think. We need to find shelter as soon as possible. How long is this storm likely to last?’

‘Several hours or days…’

‘What! Dad, no one said anything about snowstorms. I’m going home,’ said Josh.

‘What about Oli and Mum? We can’t just leave them here …in this,’ said Nic angrily. ‘You always just think about yerself and yer own safety.’

‘Nic’s right, we have to stay and find them. But first, we need to find or construct some sort of shelter and wait out the storm— any ideas sons?’

~~~~~

After several hours of stumbling and shuffling downwards ―ever downwards, through a monotonous and indecipherable landscape, Oli collapsed in exhaustion. No amount of cajoling by Miriam could budge him. Knowing they would both succumb to hypothermia if they didn’t keep moving and find shelter, she hoisted him with great effort over her shoulder in a sort of half ‘fireman’s lift’. Somehow ―through dumb luck she supposed; she came upon a small stream, still running sluggishly, but starting to ice up. She followed it for a short while, knowing that the game would soon be up; she was close to collapse. Her right leg throbbed from hip to toe with sciatica. Her shoulder felt as though it would soon part company with her torso. She willed herself forward, always keeping the stream to her left. A tree root caught her weary boot and both of them went sprawling onto the frozen muddy bank.

It would be too easy, she thought, to sleep ...just here. Get up Miriam! Oli needs you, said another Miriam, a disembodied Miriam. Rolling onto her side, she crawled to where Oli lay, shaking him gently at first, then violently when there was no response.

Finally a small voice murmured, ‘Leave me alone, I’m tired. Lemme sleep.’

She was about to shake him again when she spotted the opening to what looked like a small cave or overhang just behind him, a little further up the bank on the other side of the stream. A half hearted attempt at camouflage hinted at occupation by a sentient creature of sorts. With fear fuelling her sudden adrenalin rush, she leapt across and approached the entrance.

‘Hallo is anybody home. My son and I need shelter. Hallo?’ Choosing a heavy stick from a pile stacked up nearby she willed her body upright and tottered like a geriatric using a walking frame, to the entrance. ‘Hallo. I’m coming in now.’

Holding the stick at the ready, she crawled in ―her heart in her throat.

Go to Chapter 13

Chapter 11

2007-09-20T15:16:00.000-07:00

It was general pandemonium. Nic and Josh were biffing each other. Fong was shouting at both of them, and Thora. Bas was running round in circles calling at the top of his lungs for his brother and mother.

‘Shut up!’

Four pairs of angry, shocked, scared and disbelieving eyes focused on Thora. There was silence for a millisecond, then they all started yelling again.

‘I said, shut up!’

‘Where's my wife and son?’

‘I thought that would be obvious to you, but you still do not believe the evidence of your own eyes. You were only humouring Miriam, were you not?’

The boys were very quiet now, waiting for his response.

‘Well … that’s putting it a bit strong, but, yes, I suppose I was. She’s been a bit difficult to live with lately. That is until you showed up. Anyway, some of the old Miriam, the Miriam I fell in love with and courted years ago, was back.’

‘So you pretended to believe us?’

‘No … I gave you the benefit of the doubt.’

‘And you still doubt.’

‘No. But, there must be a rational explanation, people don’t just … disappear.’

‘But they do and they always have, except that they do not just disappear. They will themselves elsewhere.’

‘Okay, whatever … how do we get there?’

Thora and Fong both turned to Josh.

‘Yeah, so I didn’t believe Mum either, and well, who’d believe you? Have you looked in a mirror lately,’ mumbled Josh without meeting her eyes. ‘Dad’s right. Mum has been different since you came. I was just going along with it all. I thought we’d be back at the house for lunch, laughing it all off. Deciding what to do with our ‘bag lady’ ― jeez I’m sorry Thora.’

‘Humph.’

‘Well I always believed you Thora,’ offered Bas, gulping back some stillborn sobs.

‘Yes, I know you did youngun.’

‘Oh yeah, then how come you’re still here Fatty?’

Fong threw a cold reprimanding glance Nic’s way.

‘I’m scared to go. I believe ―truly I do, but I’m really scared.’

‘Poor ittle diddums. What you gunna do, now that yer sleeping buddy has disappeared too?’

‘That’s enough Nic!’ snapped Fong through clenched teeth.

‘What’s your excuse for still being here, Nic?’ said Josh.

‘Don’t want to go, yer woolly mammoth.’

With that, Josh started biffing Nic again and Bas flopped down and began to wail.

‘Enough!’

Nic rubbed his arm where an ugly bruise was forming. Josh gingerly felt the spot on his scalp where Nic had triumphantly torn out a clump of hair, and Bas sniffed back the contents of his streaming nose. Thora stared at the rabble distractedly and waited for calm before speaking.

‘We have a problem.’

‘What do mean a problem!’ demanded Fong.

‘I mean … if you and Josh do not believe, if Bas is too scared, and if Nic does not want to go ―then we have a problem. A big problem,’ said Thora.

Go to Chapter 12

Chapter 10

2007-09-19T13:48:00.000-07:00

Six bulging backpacks jostled each other at the kitchen door like rowdy schoolboys waiting for the bus. Miriam had packed and repacked them many times during the week, nervously checking the contents against a dog-eared list the previous night and once again that morning for good measure. Fong had ruthlessly culled what he called fripperies and non-essential items down to compact no frills piles.

As there would be no porters or beasts of burden where they were heading, every gram counted. So each family member could take two sets of clothes ―one set worn, the other set in their backpacks. Each were to carry their own light-weight sleeping bag, a water bottle, a tiny micro fibre travel towel that dried in a wink, a few personal items; including a toothbrush, combination camping knife, fork and spoon set, mug and bowl, a journal and pencils. The adults and two older boys would carry heavier packs commensurate with their size and strength. Distributed in their packs were a waterproof tarpaulin and ground sheet, a medical kit, water purification kit, sewing and repair kit, compass, everlasting flint, a billy can, a cooking pot, camping stove, salt, insect repellent, sun block lotion and multivitamins. As well, they carried several weeks supply of dehydrated high-energy food.

Miriam’s pack contained a small digital camera, a torch, spare batteries, hand mirror and antibacterial hand wash. Fong packed a zip lock bag filled with chilli peppers, a spool of dental floss, a tiny scientific calculator, a hunting knife, a small axe, a couple of handlines and assorted hooks, and a coil of strong nylon ‘Telecom’ rope. Josh and Nic insisted on bringing their mp3 players, Bas his gameboy, and at the last minute, Oli shoved two decks of playing cards into his pack ―as emergency downtime entertainment.

Thora insisted that they leave at first light. Twice a year or so, flying ants in their trillions would take to the air looking for new homes. Tens of thousands would creep into every nook and cranny of their house and most annoyingly, beds. Unable to sleep any longer each family member sat grumpily staring at his or her cereal bowls and the insects that crawled ―now wingless, over every surface, including the breakfast table.

On the verandahs, swallows swooped, gorging themselves. The cats looked very fat and the surface of the fishpond twitched as the goldfish dispatched thousands of the termite army. It was unusually hot for spring; the air was still, hazy and expectant as if a thunderstorm was brewing. Clouds of biting midges followed them as they made their way through tall kangaroo grass, single file down the steep track from their house to the scrub that encircled it. Thora, who had almost sprinted ahead, came to an abrupt halt under a whisper of shade provided by an anorexic eucalypt and waited.

‘Hey, I know this spot, this is where we built one of our cubbies,’ said Nic.

‘Humph! You and your cubbies —is there anywhere you haven’t built one?’ said Josh, grumpily dislodging cobbler’s pegs and other burrs from his mop of unruly hair.

‘Better check for ticks,’ added Bas after picking one out from his scalp.

‘I’m hungry, when’s lunch?’ complained Oli shrugging off his pack. ‘Can we open the bag of chips? Where’s the sandwiches’.

‘Pipe down all of you! There are no shops where we’re going, no snacks, no bags of chips, soft drinks or lollies,’ blurted Fong angrily, ‘and we left home barely ten minutes ago! Why have we stopped anyway?’

‘This is the spot … the portal, isn’t it?’ said Miriam in a trembling voice, ‘I can feel it.’

‘Still time to change your mind, put an end to this nonsense, and the lads complaints,’ said Thora.

‘Where is it?’ The boys starting pushing and shoving each other, laughing and pretending to be blind, their eyes closed. They stumbled about with their arms waving. ‘Is it invisible?’

‘Open sesame! Abracadabra, presto chango! Must have taken the wrong turn at Albuquerque. Where’s that wascally wabbit? Why … he must have gone ahead down the wabbit hole with Alice and the Mad Hatter,’ said Josh sarcastically. ‘I knew this was a hoax. The midget should be sent back to the circus where she belongs.’

‘Josh ―apologise this instant!’ demanded Fong.

Although Josh had pipped Fong in height quite sometime ago, he quailed in the face of his father’s anger, ‘Sorry’.

‘Josh!’

‘I’m very sorry, Thora.’

‘My son had no right to be so rude Thora, but he has made a point. How do we go through a gate that we can’t see or feel?’

Thora turned and looked at Miriam, ‘Do you want to explain or shall I?’ she asked cryptically.

‘We have to sort of think our way in―’ began Miriam.

‘What do you mean think our way in? Miriam, you’ve lived with me long enough to know that I am a very practical person. I mean if you’d wanted esoteric —well then … you should have married a painter.’

‘I know darling. You’re my loveable lumberjack, my plodding patient rock. I just don’t know how to explain it. I haven’t done this before, but somehow I just know … we’ve got to want to go through.’

‘Maybe since you want to go so badly, you should go first —and show the rest of us,’ grumbled Fong.

‘Alright, I will!’ And with that, Miriam just … evaporated.

Oli started howling straight away, ‘Where’s Mum!’ But before the tears that had sprung into his eyes had a chance to plop onto the cheeks below, he too vanished into the now shimmering air.

Miriam shivered as an autumn wind that hinted at an early winter whipped around her. She was alone and afraid. Before she could get her bearings and take in her surroundings Oli appeared, his mouth snapping shut in shock, mid howl. He hurtled headlong into her arms, knocking her over into the tall wet grass.

‘Where are we Mummy?’ he whispered.

‘I think we’re in Thora’s world, dear. Don’t be afraid?’ she whispered back, hoping her small smile masked her own apprehensions.

They stood on a high rise in a small open part of a vast forest, the limbs of a mighty pine tree that had occupied it strewn about — a scarred and blackened truck testimony to the lightening strike that had ended its ancient life. Young saplings desperate to stake a claim formed a small ragged grove, like a band of uneasy grave robbers. Miriam recognised very few of their numbers, realising however that these were of species that only grew in a cool temperate climate zone. The birdsong and general forest noises that they were accustomed to at home were very different to what they were hearing now. Miriam heard a sharp intake of breath from Oli and realised that both of them had been subconsciously holding their breath while tuning into the alien surroundings.

‘We’re not on Dragonbreath anymore, are we Mum?’

‘No. We’re not.’

Go to Chapter 11

Chapter 9

2007-09-18T14:29:00.000-07:00

As usual, Miriam was awake before dawn. When Fong walked ―still bleary eyed, into the kitchen he found her and the boys somehow expectant and unusually subdued.

‘How are you this morning? Did you manage to catch some sleep?’ but before he could answer, Miriam took a deep breath and continued, ‘I’d like to call a family meeting and propose a destination for our annual holiday. I think we should spend the summer in Thora’s world.’

Insomnia was an old acquaintance of Miriam’s. Mentally switching off when something was on the go was well nigh impossible for her. Thora’s revelations had her mind racing; it was as if an entire debating team was inside her head. As always, she greeted the morning with relief. Letting her husband eek out the last few minutes of sleep, she tiptoed out of their room and into the still sleeping household. Half expecting that the previous day’s events had been a hoax, a figment of her sleep-deprived imagination; she was relieved to find Thora curled up beside Black Fatty under the old quilt she’d made years before. Black Fatty opened one eye and yawned, springing out of the bed lightly, he began to rub himself energetically against her legs in his time-honoured fashion.

‘Yes, I know, time for breakfast’, she whispered, scratching him affectionately behind the ears. ‘No noise please or you’ll wake Thora.’

But Thora was shamming sleep. Like Miriam, she had spent most of the night turning over and over the events of the day before. She was more convinced than ever that Miriam was the key and if Miriam could open a door, then surely she could close it.

~~~~~

Miriam had expected a very different response to her announcement. When the idea had simply plopped into her frazzled brain like a newly laid egg, it seemed scathingly brilliant. An idea that would be met enthusiastically by her daredevil sons, and bring out the intrepid explorer in her world-weary husband. It was as if she had dropped a bomb. They were utterly gob smacked ―stunned into silence. When they did speak, it was all at once.

The youngest wailed. The older boys shouted indignantly, ‘―Well we’re not going!’

And, her stoic rock of a partner simply shook his head and mumbled, ‘this is all too far fetched for me. How do we book this trip, through the Voodoo Travel Agency?’

Thora who had entered the room unnoticed, tried to speak above the caterwauling. Unsuccessful, she climbed onto the dining room table and stood with arms raised like a midget messiah until they all shut up. ‘Miriam, I agree with your family, you must have taken leave of your senses to even contemplate such a idea!’

Miriam’s little bubble of excitement burst, she felt deflated and hurt by her family’s reactions, particularly Thora’s. It was so unfair; they were outright dismissing the opportunity of a lifetime. ‘Well, maybe I’ll go without you.’

Fong leapt out of his seat and put his arms around her. ‘Calm down please … Miriam, and the rest of you. And that includes you too Thora. Okay, I’m sorry about the Voodoo Travel crack. Let’s rewind and start from the beginning. What is this fantastic idea of yours?’

Fong and Miriam met at art school as young students. When it became clear to him that this was a lasting relationship, Fong declared his intentions with one proviso: that he never —ever, be asked to give up his love of travel to exotic destinations. This emphatic statement would come home to roost this morning, twenty years after leaving his lips.

Their experiences as a backpacking couple and then as a family with young children in tow, were precious to them. After each trip, they would plot their next, the degree of difficulty increasing as the boys grew older. Future destinations were nominated— hotly debated, sometimes agreed upon then, heavily researched; after which Fong would ‘crunch’ the figures. They agreed that the world was getting smaller and more homogenous, that ‘untouched’ places didn’t exist anymore, were prohibitively expensive, either in a state of civil unrest or in the grip of a pandemic. They had not agreed however, on the destination for the fast approaching school holidays.

‘Don’t you see … Thora’s world is the perfect destination? It couldn’t be more perfect or more exotic. No crowds of tourists asking for directions to the nearest internet café, no terrorists or bomb threats, no visas, bureaucracy ―or passports for that matter.’

‘No phones, gameboys, ipods, televisions or playstations,’ agreed Fong.

‘No cheap t-shirts and knockoffs,’ said Nic with a groan, ‘―that’s not fair, I’ve saved all year for those.’

‘I was going to buy an ipod duty free,’ added Oli.

‘What will we eat there? Thora hasn’t mentioned wayside warungs or charming cafés. You know Dad and I won’t last on a vegetarian diet,’ grumbled Josh, looking meaningfully in Fong’s direction.

‘Okay …so I haven’t worked out the finer points yet. But at least consider it, because when the portal closes ―it may be for good,’ said Miriam wistfully. ‘I’m retreating for while to lick my wounds.’

‘I think this means a lot to Mum,’ said Bas, filling in the silence left in Miriam’s wake. ‘We’ve got all the gear we need already: good hiking boots, warm clothing, backpacks, ultra light sleeping bags. All the stuff we used in Nepal,’ he added.

Aghast at the prospect that Miriam already had an ally to her foolish idea, Thora hurried to find her, leaving Fong and his sons to discuss this new and unexpected turn of events.

What madness has taken hold of her? Have I not explained the gravity of the situation? Is it not clear that she must close the portal? Thora’s anger was short lived as a resigned pair of eyes met her furious ones.

‘I’m sorry Thora. I thought you of all people would understand how important this is to me. Last night it was like a veil was lifted from my eyes and that … somehow, everything in my life has been leading to this point. I felt happy, scared and exhilarated all at once. As long as I can remember, I’ve felt like a stranger in my own world, in my own skin even. I thought that you and I were somehow connected. And, as silly as it sounds coming from this old sceptic ―destined to meet.’

Go to Chapter 10

Chapter 8

2007-09-17T13:14:00.000-07:00

Thora was pensive throughout the meal. Afterwards, they cleared the table, taking the dishes to the kitchen and then the boys switched on the television. Thora —face drained of colour, exploded into action and sprinted through the only open door, which was to Miriam’s utility room. After searching behind every piece of furniture, they found her shivering with fear but intent on eluding capture a second time, underneath an enormous pile of clean laundry waiting for folding and sorting. She jabbed at them half-heartedly with her scissor dagger, only managing to inflict damage on an old teddy bear that Oli held at arms length.

‘What on earth’s the matter?’ asked Miriam.

‘You tricked me. I am such a fool. Now I understand why there are no Gnarlth in your world. You have entrapped them. You are not simple Oarfs. You are clever Jishans,’ said Thora reproachfully, tears springing in her eyes.

‘No, you’ve got it all wrong. We’d never ever harm you. I swear I’ve never seen or met another little person— Gnarlth, before’. Miriam turned and indicated with a nod that the boys exit briefly. ‘Could your father and I have a word with Thora…in private?’

‘Go on boys, the washing up won’t get done by itself,’ said Fong giving Miriam an ‘are you alright look’.

Miriam nodded.Thora appeared more afraid than at anytime since meeting her. Miriam was also afraid, afraid that this marvellous being would disappear into the night and she would be left puzzling the ‘what ifs’ for the rest of her days. Miriam reached over and extracted a clean hanky from the pile of dishevelled washing; she blew her nose loudly and played for a few moments of time. ‘Just give me a chance to explain —please?’

But before a word escaped Miriam’s lips, Thora blurted out an abbreviated account of her observations of their family life during the past few weeks. Stopping only to draw a shuddering breath, she wiped her now streaming nose and eyes on the sock covering her thin right arm and in halting voice delivered a damming conclusion that explained the dearth of Gnarlth in this world. A few minutes silence elapsed in which each woman carefully deciphered and digested the information; Miriam was the first to speak.

‘I understand your fears Thora, our worlds are very different, but we are not …Jishans, and we do not lure and enslave others. Please follow me back into the living room and I will try to explain the television to you.’

Easier said than done was explanation however, everyone had a stab at it, leaving Thora more confused than ever. She could not understand the concept of electricity or image transmission. After a gruelling couple of hours, they gave up when Thora finally accepted ―after a thorough inspection of the appliance; that they did not keep small prisoners inside their television. They also agreed, after much protestation from the boys, that they would not watch it while Thora was a guest in their home.

‘That’s typical!’ said Josh throwing the telly remote on the floor. ‘The little creep’s been perving on us and we get punished.’

Fong gave the other three boys the hairy eyeball, daring them to add their two cents. Josh threw them a look of disgust and left, slamming the door dramatically behind him.

Later that evening after their sons had gone to bed, Fong and Miriam fired their own barrage of questions at Thora. The concept of a parallel world and gateways were as difficult for them to accept as the technology of their world was for Thora. An emotionally drained and weary Thora gave them a brief history lesson according to the Gnarlth.

Her people, she explained, had fled this and other worlds, because Oarfs universally viewed the Gnarlth as shiftless, mysterious and potentially dangerous. Gnarlth took only what they needed from nature. They did not breed indiscriminately or wage war on each other. They listened with their hearts and minds and not just their ears. They respected life and therefore did not kill to eat or need to domesticate animals. They worshipped Nature not gods.

Every Gnarlth is a great storehouse of practical knowledge. Each can accurately read the skies, the seasons and the tracks of the creatures that share their world, yet are unable to read mysterious Jishan scribblings. Many Gnarlth are telepathic. All are deeply intuitive, with heightened powers of observation. The superstitious Oarfs mostly avoided them, but sometimes bartered for herbal tisanes, salves and potions to ease their many ills. Thora had been called to save the life of a female Oarf in labour on more than one occasion, her skills as a midwife were formidable and she attended many animals in difficulty— able to commune with both the mother and unborn child and intuit the best course.Gnarlth rarely encountered Oarfs ―who preferred open areas, fearing the forests and their inhabitants. But as Oarf populations grew, forests became farmland and little by little, the Gnarlth were left with nowhere to go.

Countless generations ago, Lendera, an elder and much respected Gnarlth, discovered a portal to a new world and brought those brave enough to do so, across. It was a world without humans but rich with bird, animal and plant life. Lush valleys, high snow capped mountains, pristine rivers and primordial forests. Similarly in other worlds, other Gnarlth ―suffering persecution, fled through portals to settle in distant parts of Thora’s world. As time passed, clever Jishans also found their way across, bringing with them small bands of trembling Oarfs. Jishans by their very nature needed constant affirmation of their superiority and ignorant souls over which to lord it over. Portal locations and use were closely guarded secrets, enabling the Jishans to keep the Oarfs in ignorant serfdom.

Thora confessed that she did not know how or why these portals opened and closed again. She only knew that it was at the subconscious behest of certain beings, during significant periods of psychic growth. These individuals could sense or feel the portals and often travelled in troubled dreams, to what they believed to be, no more that imaginary realms. Thora paused and gazed long and hard at Miriam. Fong joined Thora in the ‘stare fest’ making Miriam intensely uncomfortable, then with a jolt, she realised, that for most of her life she had been able to sense these ‘special places’.

Sometimes they felt a bit creepy, the kinds of places you both avoided and respected. Other places however, emanated a tangible feeling of rightness. She had felt that when first stepping onto the land they later bought built upon and now lived. Furthermore, the concept of good and bad places as opposed to innocuous ones fascinated her as an artist. Many of her paintings included references to the significance of place, and the possibility that both good and bad energy could exert power over those who trespassed. There was also the inexplicable sense of déjà vu and longing for a landscape, she had never been.

There are many theories concerning the seepage of energy through cracks in the Earths’ crust. Geomancers and alternative folk refer to them as lay lines. Certain places deemed auspicious, due to two or more lay lines crossing each other. Visitors to their home and studios on the mountain inevitably remarked on the good energy that emanated. They had good, no ...GREAT ‘feng shui’.

Miriam felt an odd mix of emotions concerning Thora’s comment that these portals to other realities have always been there, but that it took a particular person with a strongly developed desire to be elsewhere …to allow passage through them.

‘Stop putting silly ideas into my wife’s head. There’s a rational explanation for all of this, need I remind you of the television? Said Fong breaking the unnerving lull in Thora’s account, ‘besides, you hardly know her. I, on the other hand, know her better than anyone.’

‘Or think you do,’ said Miriam, squeezing his hand softly.

‘I have been here a full lunar cycle,’ said Thora, ‘her thoughts are loudest when she is working in her studio, quietly’.

Whenever she could, Miriam worked in her studio. No one ―not even Fong, dared disturb her at these times. The family accepted that she needed this ‘away’ time, or what she referred to as headspace. Her concentration was intense, enabling Thora to decipher the storm of feelings, inner conversations and creative processes from a cleverly positioned vantage point close by.
After a few days, it had become clear to Thora, that Miriam was the proverbial key to the portal, subconsciously desiring to be here, there and everywhere. Bub was only a bit player; his abilities limited to exploiting the situation. It was Miriam’s latent powers gathering momentum, a combination of her physical and psychic changes, and her propitious location on Dragonbreath Mountain.

Fong broke the long silence that was pregnant with all sorts of possibilities. ‘We should call it a night. It’s been a long, exhausting and, surprising day. We’ve got a cosy single bed made up for visitors in the spare room Thora, and I think just this once, Black Fatty can share it with you. Just until you settle in that is.’

Afterwards tucked in their cosy bed, Fong held Miriam close. It was a long time before either of them fell asleep, and when they did, they dreamed strange dreams.

Go to Chapter 9

Chapter 7

2007-09-16T13:45:00.000-07:00

Black Fatty sauntered casually across the short lawn between the clothesline and the house, checking that the others were keeping to their daily routines. Both Bubs and Lunchbox off hunting —check. Toby sleeping on the driveway soaking up the heat of the mid morning sun —check. Bounding up the steps two at a time to the kitchen door…yep, open and latched back as usual— check. Boys off to school —check. Miriam in her studio —check. House empty —check.

From the top of the stairs he gave the agreed upon signal of all clear, by waving his tail stiffly from side to side three times and waited for Thora to make a cautious zigzagging dash to the verandah. He admired her stealth and economy of movement, very catlike really. All the humans he had encountered til now were lumbering and loud, as utterly graceless as corpulent Labradors.

With Thora keeping a lookout from behind the old filing cabinet, he entered the house and gave voice to a tentative and rather plaintive ‘mrrrowwww,’ the one he reserved for humans that they roughly understood as ‘feed me, please’. No response; good, ‘the coast is clear Thora, come on, I’ll give you a tour of the house.’

He took her from room to room showing her emergency hiding places and points of interest: such as the spot on the Persian rug where he was born. Strictly speaking, he and the other animals were not allowed in the house, as several of his humans were allergic, or some such twaddle. However, Bas and Oli liked to risk a scolding and sneak him in to their rooms. He would lie under the covers with them, submitting to their caresses until they were asleep and, when the house was dark and quiet, stroll out to scam some leftovers or raid the compost bucket. As a rule, the evening dishes were left to be washed up with those generated by breakfast, so he would carefully —and he thought helpfully; lick their surfaces clean. Unfortunately, this was how he usually came undone. Miriam was always first to rise, and he would hear a yell of indignation whereupon the covers would be ripped back and his illegal presence discovered. An oft-repeated monologue would ensue, after which he would be gently, but forcibly ejected out the kitchen door.

Thora mentally assaulted him with questions, many of which he simply couldn’t answer or his cursory responses failed to satisfy. There were a lot of things his humans owned and did that perplexed him, however, life was too short to bother puzzling them out. He could tell though, that Thora was the type that would want to know all the whys and wherefores and his brain would be picked at, like it was a big itchy scab. Actually, it was starting to hurt already, so he pretended to have been alerted by Miriam’s footsteps and suggested they beat a hasty retreat to the yard.

Thora combed Black Fatty’s mind for an explanation to the marvellous illumination of the Oarf house. Different sections —of what could only be described as a palatial abode; would wink on and off in an instant, and there was no flickering or sputtering as when candles are lit. The Oarfs in her world rose and went to bed with the crows as only the wealthiest could afford the tallow for candles. Every night for the last week, she and Black Fatty watched the nighttime customs of his Oarfs from a sturdy branch of the old mango tree that grew outside the kitchen. A long bank of windows afforded them a bird’s eye view of the strange rituals his Oarfs undertook each night.

Black Fatty would curl protectively around her, keeping her torso deliciously warm but her poor legs and head were freezing, until she noticed the socks left amongst the countless items Black Fatty called ‘joggers’, which apparently protected Oarf feet. The male younguns were boisterous and talked at the top of their voices, so that most times she could hear the family conversations. That however did not make it any easier to understand why they would need to wash so often, or why they stayed immobile for hours in front of an enormous illuminated chest that contained countless sprites and genies. She looked on horrified as the males roared with mirth at the mysterious antics of those entrapped within, commanding them to perform strange deeds by threatening them with a short silver wand that emitted a winking red beam. It was very effective because, in an instant the creatures would change their forms and actions. Sometimes however, they had to do so, many times over before the Oarfs were satisfied and ceased to threaten them.

Thora thought she might be well be small enough to keep in this box, if she were unlucky enough to be caught.

Go to Chapter 8

Chapter 6

2007-09-15T13:39:00.000-07:00

Black Fatty had not expected the aggressive response to his usual friendly greeting exclusively reserved for human beings. When he gracefully plopped down in front of Thora from his water tank perch, she dropped into a half crouch, growled through clenched teeth in surprise and tried to jab at him with a long sharp stick.

Luckily, his luxuriously thick coat protected his person but not his feelings. He had expected the obligatory scratch under the chin and gentle admiring ruffle through his fur, not fear and loathing. He persisted however, coiling his way around her, anointing her with the precious scent of his cheek glands whilst purring blissfully. As expected, she eventually capitulated to this lethal combination of charm and good looks.

Soon after however, it was his turn to be frightened when a gentle voice inside his head asked him his name. Astonished he replied, ‘Black Fatty’.

‘That is a lovely and fitting name for such a gentle and …handsome creature,’ she said without making a single, audible sound.

This was not your ordinary garden variety of human being.

That afternoon safely tucked away in one of his favourite hidey-holes, they swapped via thoughts and images, potted personal histories. Thora learned that Black Fatty was also not your everyday variety of Mrrow, and he learned that the world was bigger and infinitely more interesting than he had ever imagined. He agreed that Bubs was an incorrigible killer and commiserated with her on the inevitable fate of her forest if not stopped. Being a peaceable soul however, he drew the line at actual elimination, besides which, Bubs was a relative.

His suggestion that they enlist the help of his human family— who had authority over them all; met with a look of horror from Thora that he read as a definite NO.

Go to Chapter 7

Chapter 5

2007-09-14T13:40:00.000-07:00

Miriam inspected the small woman perched on her knee. Her accent was hard to penetrate at first, but after a while she managed get the general differences of cadence worked out. Thora was speaking an unusual lilting and archaic form of English, which, combined with her eccentric appearance was fanning Miriam’s burning curiosity to know everything about her. A self-confessed documentary addict, she knew there were isolated groups of humans who by choice or circumstance had preserved antiquated customs and language, but Thora pushed the envelope of that idea somewhat.

Miriam did most of the talking at first, sprinkling her conversation with remarks designed to thaw her guest’s frosty indignation, before drawing her out. She felt an instant and strange affinity for the woman and knew that Thora felt the same way.

The boys were uncharacteristically quiet as Thora’s strange tale of events in her world unfolded. Bas and Oli were clearly taken with her pluck and not inconsiderable personal charm and chutzpah; the older boys just as clearly thought she was as mad as a cut snake. It was only Miriam’s warning looks that prevented Josh from saying what he was sure everyone must be thinking.

A loud rumbling issued from Thora’s tiny frame, reminding Miriam that it was way past dinnertime. They must have been chatting for hours.

‘Will you share a meal with us?’ she asked. ‘We can talk some more afterwards, there’s so much I don’t understand.’

‘I have my own supplies,’ said Thora rummaging through her bags.

‘Please …be my — our,’ said Miriam after an encouraging nod from Fong, ‘be our guest. We can talk while I cook.’

Miriam instructed the boys to stop lollygagging and get on with the business of evening showers, homework, setting the table for dinner and feeding the animals.When Oli opened the kitchen door —with the intention to feed the cats, in sprang Black Fatty with what he could only assume was bad intentions. Instead, purring like a motor boat, he entwined himself about Thora as if utterly besotted with her. The same could not be said however of Bubs, Lunchbox and Toby. The old dog bared his teeth and growled, Bubs hissed and took off into the gathering darkness, while Lunchbox puffed up her fur and glowered at the intruder.

Miriam set about preparing a vegetarian meal in deference to her small guest’s eating preferences. She peeled, chopped and sautéed as Thora, sitting on a high kitchen stool fired off question after question about the exotic ingredients and methods of preparation. Miriam was making curries and sambals using a slew of fascinating ingredients. Her practised hands flew from pot to pot, shaking, stirring, lifting lids and adjusting the heat under each delicious concoction. Thora sat as though hypnotised, right next to the action at the stove in order to savour the pungent aromas released by the spices— each sizzling addition, an ecstatic assault on her senses.

Even at the best of times, Miriam was testy about sharing any workspace, especially the kitchen. The family knew through bitter experience the results of a foray into her ‘headspace’. Tried and tested family favourites were barely edible if Mum’s mood was off. Normally, Miriam would be giving less than subtle hints to houseguests that they would be more comfortable in the lounge or dining room, but tonight her own curiosity was aroused by the small woman’s incredible naivety.

It was true…few people cooked from scratch like herself these days, but hell, Indian cuisine is available in every supermarket. Once a month or so when she was feeling really frazzled, she resorted to jars of instant sauces that simply required the addition of meat or vegetables. The frozen food departments stocked a dazzling array of microwaveable meals like chicken korma, tikka masala and vindaloo. It didn’t stop there either, you could get chapattis, roti and paratha in the bakery and even if you never cooked or had reason to venture into a supermarket, small cafés in every sleepy town boasted tandoori chicken burgers along with the usual fish, chips and hamburger fare. Where has this person been living she wondered, under a rock―
Thora was strange, no doubt about that; but insane? Miriam watched her lighting and relighting the stove with the electronic ignition.

WHOOF

The stench of singed hair filled the kitchen.Miriam knew, felt it at gut level, that Thora was a tiny miracle, living proof that modern science can never explain all the worlds’ mysteries.

Throughout dinner, Thora was quiet and introspective. Fong brought the children’s old highchair out of retirement so that she’d feel at an equitable height and hopefully comfortable at their table. She inspected each utensil and her plate carefully. Her glass elicited small sighs of wonder. She held it up to the light and peered through it at each family member in turn, caressing its smooth cool exterior and inquired, ‘Where might a body acquire such a beautifully crafted crystal cup?’

‘These are just the juice tumblers, Mum’s got some posh wine glasses for special occasions in the cupboard behind you,’ piped Oli.
Thora fell quiet again seemingly lost in her own thoughts and somewhat apprehensive about the steaming dishes set before her. She pushed the food around her plate for a while before finally selecting a tiny morsal that she placed ever so carefully on her tongue— as if she fully expected to be poisoned.

Fong and Miriam looked on in bemusement, each privately pondering their small guest’s origins.

Go to Chapter 6

Chapter 4

2007-09-13T15:07:00.000-07:00

For days afterwards, Thora devised and discarded countless plots for the capture and dispatch of the Mrrow. What other option was open to her? Was she not the self-appointed guardian of her forest realm?

The Gnarlth believed in the sanctity of life. They went to great lengths to avoid harming any creature. The Mrrow was upsetting a delicate balancing act, even so, she could not bring herself to simply despatch it. No, she must study it and find a way to stop whatever or whoever was allowing it passage into her world.

She closed up her mother’s home for the second time, barring the low door and carefully disguising it with fallen branches. Slinging a large basket packed tightly with food over her shoulder and grasping the spear that doubled as a staff in her right hand, she bid a silent farewell to her beloved valley.

This time she only had to wait an hour or so before the beast shimmered into her world again. She waited however, several long hours for its return— trembling with fatigue and despair at the thought of what it must be doing. When it sauntered into view, she could barely suppress an uncharacteristic desire to spear it in the bowels or throat.

She had presumed it would be easy to follow, but now found herself stepping back and forth over the same small patch of grass where it had disappeared. Finally, she slumped on the ground and howled with impotent rage, ‘I HAVE to get through!’

In that instant, feeling nauseous, light headed and as if every part of her being momentarily shifted in alignment, the air shimmered and she was through.

Go to Chapter 5

Chapter 3

2007-09-12T23:03:00.000-07:00

Black Fatty was just settling himself for a session of sunbaking on the water tank, when he spied Bubs returning from yet another hunting expedition. Although not interested in the activity itself, he was none the less curious to know where exactly Bubs disappeared to most days. On more than one occasion, Black Fatty had tried to follow him, keeping a circumspect distance, each time losing the trail in the same spot. He didn’t dare broach the subject with the murderous bully and instead cautiously extracted snippets of information from Lunchbox, who adored the brute and was a small time blood letter herself. During a recent mutual grooming session she skited about how Bubs was going to take her to his ‘special’ part of the forest.

‘What makes it so special?’ inquired Black Fatty in as nonchalant a tone as he could muster.

‘Well…’ she gushed, ‘he’s the only one allowed in and out —‘cept of course for certain invited friends.’

Bubs, was a lot older than Black Fatty and his sister. He’d made it abundantly clear from the start that he thought Black Fatty was cowardly and effete. This was a blatant slur against his intrinsically good nature. He most definitely was neither! He simply had no desire to kill, no malice for, or ill will towards any living creature. And while Bubs enjoyed nothing better than snapping vertebrae, Black Fatty snapped bread crusts and pastry ends, chewed on succulent flowers and greens and ate with gusto the store bought food dished out each day by Bas and Oli.

Today, like every other day spent successfully hunting, Bubs attempted to get Fatty riled.‘Ain’t natural t’be a veggo.’

‘S’not natural,’ came Lunchbox’s echo, her head bobbing up and down in vacuous agreement.

‘I’m not a veggo, it’s just that…’

‘Jes that you’re a wuss,’ said Bubs nastily. ‘That’s my spot, rack off…yer crowdin m’space.’ Bubs stretched luxuriously and said rather imperiously to the ever-sycophantic Lunchbox, ‘do a better job today, last time yer missed a spot.’

As usual, to keep the peace, Black Fatty slunk off in disgrace.

Black Fatty never bore a grudge and some hours later, feeling very slightly overfull and therefore sleepy from his careful gleaning of this mornings addition to the compost pile, he stretched, belched and farted in preparation for his daily siesta. Through heavy lidded eyes, he noticed Bub’s sudden appearance on the grassy bank below and just when he was about to doze off completely, the slightest suggestion of movement in the bushes nearby caught his attention. Keeping perfectly still, he watched as a small being purposefully tracked Bubs.

How very interesting.

Go to Chapter 4

Chapter 2

2007-09-11T23:35:00.000-07:00

Thora preferred her own company, but then, that was a trait of the Gnarlth in general—she just had a bad case of it. The Gnarlth had learned through experience that it was safer not to clump up in anything bigger than family groups. So they rarely got together, just at designated times of the year like summer and winter solstice.

During these gatherings, they shared the excesses of the season: meads, ales and fresh tasting wines. Combs dripping with honey, roasted hazelnuts and dried berries. Those with an itch to scratch found partners, whilst others disseminated important information, laughed over gossip, sung songs and told tales. Otherwise, a Gnarlth only sought another in times of dire need, such as mortal injury.

There were fewer younguns of late; perhaps their population was in serious decline. Thora had never felt the call of motherhood, it was hard enough to find something to eat for herself these days let alone provide for a youngun. Maybe the others felt that way too? Of course, when she was feeling poorly, or it had been raining for a long time and she’d had to wait out the weather, she ruminated about the state of things. At these times, she felt lonely rather than simply alone. Usually these feelings were as fleeting as the weather, but now she realised with a start that she’d missed the signs of her changing state.

Alarmed, she examined her body carefully, finding no excess in flank or belly. Her breasts still high and firm, her back strong and flexible, her hearing and sense of smell excellent, her eyesight good. Her teeth ached sometimes, but nothing that willow bark could not alleviate. Had her ability to commune with other creatures increased?

Her considerable skills as a herbalist and forager, enabled the finding and preparation of medicines for herself and others in need, but for as many years as she could count on the fingers of both hands, the winters had steadily been getting colder and longer. There was less food available and it required more effort to find it. More time spent foraging edibles, meant less time to make or find things to barter. She traded her tinctures and salves for clothing, tools, cheese and salt. These days, the only herbs and mosses she gathered came her way by happenstance. Too busy in survival mode, meant the change had come and gone without fanfare ―too late for younguns.

Every adult foraged in a loosely defined territory. Quarrels were rare as, come to think of it, chancing upon another Gnarlth. Lately she had been finding the remains of small forest creatures, both furred and winged, who had met untimely and messy ends. She was in a state of high anxiety as to what was causing the carnage, when she almost came face to face with a Mrrow — or what she thought might be a Mrrow. Her mother Doret had described in some detail, Mrrows, but until now, she had never seen one.

She sensed it or rather its intent, in sufficient time to climb the nearest pine tree as far as she dared. Below her, the bracken shuddered, then parted and a large furred creature came into view, its long supple tail flicked about whip-like as though annoyed. Holding her breath, she pressed herself closer to the resinous bark and concentrated on clearing her thoughts as the creature’s large lamp-like green eyes surveyed the branches. A huge yawn revealed a delicate pink tongue surrounded by enormous fangs. Thora involuntarily shuddered and thought, that must be what killed those poor creatures, and me —if I am stupid.

She stayed in the tree for a long time afterwards pondering the best course of action. A sensible person would avoid its favourite haunts and be extra vigilant. A sensible person would also move their belongings to a safer place. A foolhardy person might try tracking it.

Thora’s brief childhood at her mother’s side was spent learning how to survive— mathematics, reading and writing not part of her home schooling curriculum. Instead, she learned through direct instruction and observation: to locate seasonal foodstuffs, to identify the edible as opposed to the deadly and or hallucinogenic— as in the case of mushrooms. How to store and propagate the tubers, nuts and roots essential to survival during the harsh winter months, and during which season and where to look for the various herbs, mosses and barks that could help bones to knit, gum up a bad case of diarrhoea, prevent wound infection and dull pain.

Doret passed on the skills handed down through countless female ancestors, making Thora taste every medicinal ingredient even the deadliest, believing that sight and smell might be deceived but not the tongue’s memory. Equal if not more importance was placed upon was the correct handling, preparation and storage of these often poisonous elements. Thora once neglected to wash her hands thoroughly after the careful collection of Wolfsbane and suffered days of fatigue and a sense of suffocation. Her mother’s lessons also included a long list of creatures and situations to avoid such as swollen rivers, lightening, deep snowdrifts, poisonous snakes and spiders, carnivorous animals and mean spirited, murderous beings ―this subject naturally overlapping with her version of Gnarlth history. Thora drifted off to sleep each night to stories of the world, the Gnarlth, the Oarfs, the Jishans and the countless semi-mythic creatures like Mrrow. Now she cast her mind back to what Doret had told her about Mrrows.

Mrrows killed to eat but they also killed for fun, which was why sometimes all that was left was a tiny part of the victim, a bit the Mrrows found distasteful. But most times you came upon them intact, except of course for the marks of their fangs. Mrrows had good memories and would come back repeatedly until they had dispatched everything that flitted, hopped and scampered. Thora had been noticing lots of these ‘dead’ zones —eerily quiet places in the forest, but had had little time to ponder why. Mrrows didn’t live in the world; they periodically appeared, created havoc and inexplicably disappeared again. Her mother had once enigmatically remarked that these cunning creatures were often the first to sense a tear in the ‘veil of reality’ through which, they presumably made their entry and exit into the world of the Gnarlth.

In the proper scheme of things, Doret would have overseen Thora’s transition to the last and most important phase of a female’s life. Gnarlth lived long lives but kept no reckoning of age, marking only birth, puberty, the change and death. A certain cloudiness of mind, restlessness and an intangible longing marked the start of the change in both males and females. With help and guidance, the transition period would be brief, without it however, the individual could suffer years of anxiety and emotional turmoil.

Doret’s untimely passing was slow and painful, while trying to free a young vixen from an Oarf trap she in its stead became entrapped. Thora had been away on a trading trip and after two weeks of desperate searching without sleep or sustenance, finally located her badly decomposing body by the signature sweet smell of decay.

After her mother’s death, she closed up the cosy home they had shared for countless years and slept rough, usually in the open, sometimes in abandoned burrows or under hastily erected bivouacs. During the winter months, she took to sleeping in a tiny cave above the stream that neatly divided her small and lonely realm. The cave had an opening towards the back that acted as a natural chimney for the fire she kept for warmth, company and dim illumination. Like most caves, it was dank, dark, musty and wholly uninviting.

Before first snowfall, she collected long grasses with her small blade for bedding and stockpiled twigs and fallen branches. Tree roots poked here and there through the roof and provided a means to hang the numerous baskets she wove from vines and grasses. These stored the last comestibles of autumn. She drew water from the stream below until all but snowed in, after which she slaked her thirst by lapping at the moisture that oozed through the cave walls or by chewing snow.

It was the hardest winter of her life, with no living creature for company and no work for her normally busy mind and hands. She spent the worst part of the season in a semi-hibernatory state sleeping for days on end, only getting up to urinate in the rear of the cave. She drifted into consciousness one day to the persistent sounds of dripping water and carolling bird song. The early morning sun was melting the snow at the entrance slowly, like a patient rodent nibbling a hard cased seed.

Spring’s warm arms embraced her and coaxed her from her grief. She moved back into her mother’s home gently evicting feathered and furred squatters. After a short period of recuperation, the rhythm of her days returned to normal, except for certain intangible feelings of longing for whom or what she couldn’t say. She kept busy, gathering and storing food, sorting and preparing herbs, observing the minutiae of changes in her world, all the while feeling as if she had become a spectator rather than a participant and that she was waiting for something to happen. Then the Mrrow came.

She happened on it again during a particularly savage killing frenzy. It was too busy exterminating an entire burrow of baby wood mice to notice her crouched behind a nearby bush. The mice were too young and paralysed by fear to move, a fact she observed that annoyed and frustrated the beast. It tossed its hapless victims into the air trying to make them move, to no avail. Then in a fit of bored pique, tore them to pieces and scattered their body parts without eating so much as a tiny tail. She followed it at a safe distance up a steep incline to a small, dense copse of trees where it shimmered briefly before disappearing. Mistrusting the evidence of her own eyes, she gathered her senses and made a thorough search of the area until she was convinced that it was indeed …gone —but not by conventional means. Determined to solve the mystery she found a suitably rotted out log as shelter and waited. A sleepless two days of vigil elapsed before its return. No sound preceded its appearance; indeed the forest seemed to hold its breath. The air began to wriggle as it sometimes did on a hot midsummer day and then … the Mrrow was simply there.

Go to Chapter 3

Chapter 1

2007-09-10T18:11:00.000-07:00

It was Black Fatty’s fault. If they hadn’t been searching high and low for him, checking all the usual places: under the cubby house, the compost pile and finally the old chicken coop where Bubs usually hung out, they wouldn’t have found ‘It’ — sorry, her.

Oli went into the coop before Bas, who was ducking down to get through the opening in the wire, when Oli yelled, ‘What the…’ so of course he stood up — too quickly, and got a nice smack to the forehead courtesy of a bit of timber bracing the opening. He didn’t start to cry or anything, but the pain made his eyes smart and so he couldn’t see what Oli was making a fuss about. When his eyes stopped watering, he saw Oli crouched in the far corner trying to shoo Black Fatty, who was busy rubbing up against him.

‘Ba-ass, come and take Fatty away before he takes a swipe at it.’

‘I am not an it! I, am a she. I am Thora,’ said someone in a kind of huffy voice, ‘and he would never do that. We have an understanding.’ Being in something of a hurry to get out of the coop, Bas smacked his head even harder than the first time and went down for the count. When he came to, his Mum, Miriam, was hauling him to his feet.

‘You’d better have a really good excuse for letting out such a blood curdling scream’, she said, after a perfunctory inspection of his dinged scalp. ‘Has your over-active imagination started giving you trouble during the daylight hours now?’
Lately Mum was always a bit cranky. ‘It’, meanwhile was busy trying to escape by getting under the chicken wire in the far corner and might have succeeded except that Black Fatty once again brought that fact to their attention. Three pairs of astonished eyes locked with one somewhat defensive pair.

Thora was very small.

Less than half as tall as me and I’m short, thought Bas.
It was hard to guess how old she was. Her motley coloured skin was dark, leathery and wrinkly like the bark of old trees. Crudely drawn symbols daubed randomly with ochres, overlay intricate blue-black tattoos, the complex swirling patterns intersected at every turn by angry raised scars, faint ancient scars and the tiny cuts and scratches that crisscrossed every bit of the exposed flesh on her arms, hands, legs and feet. Her ragged and dirty nails suggested she spent a lot of time digging in the earth, and though she didn’t appear to bathe too often; she didn’t stink —in fact, she smelt a bit like a pile of well-made mulch. Her teeth were her least attractive feature, one front tooth was missing, another badly chipped, the rest worn down almost to the gums. Above a wide flat nose and beneath a scowling brow, embedded in a nest of wrinkles, a pair of lively brown eyes studied them. But, it was the strangely familiar, mismatched socks she was wearing that drew Miriam’s eyes.

After the initial shock wore off Miriam recognised the purloined items. ‘So it’s you that’s been stealing the socks.’

‘I only took enough for warmth and a few extra, in case —p’raps to trade,’ said Thora squaring her shoulders. She jammed the tip of her spear into the friable earth of the old coop and crossed her arms. ‘There are more than a body could ever use, left for you.’ She thrust her jaw forward adding, ‘you should not leave valuable hose just lying around like that. Tis plain, you have more than you need.’

Miriam did a quick mental calculation to figure out roughly how many socks they had lost recently and realised that even if Thora did wash sometimes, there was some serious squirreling away of sock assets to explain. ‘What do you need so many socks —um hose for?’
The little woman blinked rapidly and took her time before answering. ‘As I was getting around to saying — before I was interrupted. I had it in my mind to trade those that are in excess of mine and — er your needs, those I honestly found but did not steal…’

‘Taken with out asking…’ said Miriam.

‘Found, and soon to be put to good use, by my own folk and p’raps, some Oarfs — those that are not in thrall to Jishans. I never traffic with Jishans.’ Thora brushed her wind burnt cheek with one sock-clad arm, her expression softening. In a crooning voice addressed to no one in particular, she added, ‘much better than the scratchy stuff our hose is made of. Grand stuff it is. Observe how it bends when a body does.’ She flexed her scrawny arms. ‘Dries in a wink after a drenching, soft, warm, very cosy,’ and delicately sniffing the cotton, elastane and acrylic mix added, ‘mm — smells wonderful too.’

‘Okay, I get the picture, man-made fibres are a modern miracle,’ said Miriam in a patronising tone.

A self-satisfied smile spread across Thora’s face. ‘Just as I surmised, magic is involved. You can be sure I will tell them that.’

‘Tell who?’

‘Why, my customers of course!’
Her customers, what a mental image that evoked— a rag tag band of sock-gypsies, small sock-gypsies!

‘So, your customers are all short like yourself, then?’

‘Short! Speaking on behalf of all the ‘normal’ sensibly sized folk of the world, actually, I am a little on the tall side.’ Well, thought Bas, that solves ‘the disappearing sock mystery’. Jeez, we must be wealthy beyond dreams with a veritable sock pile of wealth.

Just yesterday Miriam had solemnly declared a lone sock moratorium, hoping that the boys might surrender some up from what she called their ‘black holes’ ― formerly known as bedrooms.

Thora sported one of Miriam’s favourite black and white striped socks, jammed on her head, hopelessly stretched out of shape forever, the toe end folded so that it fell rather jauntily to one side ‘Parisian’ style. Unmatched socks with the ends hacked off served as sort of fingerless gloves /sleeves on each skinny arm. Likewise, each leg sported thick ‘footy’ socks so that she looked like a very butch ballerina.
One of Miriam’s new tartan tea towels was now a spiffy poncho courtesy of a recently cut raggedy neck hole, and hanging from her shoulders and waist to complete this bizarre outfit were various pouches and bags; one was even fashioned from an old orange bag. Inside could be seen crusts of bread, a sprouting potato and an assortment of flower bulbs —Thora’s packed lunch. She carried a long sharpened stick and stuck into the braided string belt at her waist was one-half of an old pair of kiddies craft scissors, honed to a much sharper edge than the manufacturer had ever intended. Her bare feet were splayed and large for her size, the soles crusty, cracked and tough looking.

‘Is that all you’ve taken to trade?’ inquired Miriam.

‘Inside or out?’

Well, that came as a shock to them. How did she get past the dog and the cats, let alone enter and leave a household as busy as theirs?
It explains some of the strange noises at night when everyone’s gone to bed, thought Bas, Toby growling at nothing …Bub’s maniacal preoccupation with the old filing cabinet on the back verandah.

‘You’ve been inside our house! What else have you pinched?’ Miriam’s hands were on her hips as she stared down hard at Thora waiting for a reply.
Hmm this isn’t going smoothly, thought Bas, Mum’s entering phase one of interrogation mode.

‘N—nothing you did not want or—need,’ stammered Thora defiantly.

‘Let me be the judge of that. You’ve got some explaining to do. Better come up to the house.’

It took all three of them to frogmarch her — cursing, spitting and wriggling like an eel, up the back steps and into the kitchen.

‘Ow, she kicked me,’ yelled Oli.

‘Go and get your Dad, Bas. Tell him — it’s important.’

~~~~~

Nic usually ignored any shouting he heard, particularly if it was Mum. However, he sometimes enjoyed a bit of light entertainment, especially if one of his brothers were involved. He plonked his guitar on his bed and sauntered out to check what was causing the ruckus. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw Mum straddling a wriggling filthy little kid — no wait … midget. Whoa, she’s really lost the plot now! He thought, as he ran off to find Josh.

Miriam however, didn’t find Thora’s behaviour amusing at all.‘Bloody hell, calm down will you. I stopped eating little people years ago … ouch.’ Miriam rolled off Thora keeping a firm grip on her tiny wrist. ‘Can’t you take a joke?’ She inspected the already purpling bruise on her upper arm. ‘Just as well you’re practically toothless.’

‘And keep off me you big Oarf.’

‘Fancy believing that cannibalism crack,’ said Miriam. ‘I’m going to let go of your arm, but I deserve some sort of an explanation, alright?’

Thora stepped back and rubbed her wrist. ‘Alright,’ she said sullenly.

Miriam sat on the floor patiently, a bemused expression on her face. She watched as Thora fixed the angle of her sock cap and picked up a potato that had rolled out and come to rest under the kitchen bench. After checking the contents of every bag, she looked long and hard into Miriam’s eyes and said softly, ‘you are the reason for all this I will have you know.’

By the time Bas fetched his father and Nic had convinced Josh that something really cool was happening and far more worthy of his attention than the stupid computer game he was playing, Miriam was settled into the fireside chair with Thora on her lap. The family found them in a huddle talking like long lost friends. Her husband was more out of breath than shocked when he burst through the door.

‘Thora I’d like you to meet my husband, Fong. Darling, this —is Thora.’

Fong didn’t say anything he just sat down — quickly.

Go to Chapter 2

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2007-07-31T20:29:00.000-07:00

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2003-06-25T22:28:00.000-07:00

I’ve spent most of my life making art, travelling and reading fiction.
Extreme Holiday is my first novel, written as a form of therapy during a period of crisis and life changes. During that time I felt unable to make art and began writing both for myself and for my seriously ill son.
I started writing while he was in hospital and during the long period of rehabilitation and recovery. Extreme Holiday is our story... mostly true with a liberal sprinkling of fantasy and wishful thinking.

If you like the book - please tell your friends, maybe blog about it, comment on this and other blogs.
Thankyou