It wasn’t long before the trio came to a fork in the path. Fürgůïn made a show of checking which side of the trees the moss was growing on,* searching for ‘tell-tale spores’ and consulting the undersides of various toadstools. Next, he pulled some crumpled papers from a fold deep within his cloak. The renling shaded his eyes, pointed at the angle of the light piercing the leaf canopy and looked back at the papers. Grimmbros looked unconvinced when the decision was taken to go left but acquiesced with an unconcerned shrug.
A little further through the carpet of blooms and tangles of twigs and lichens there was another path. The renling frowned, but this time the map reading and sign searching was dispensed with a bit more rapidly and less thoroughly and the group turned right. Subsequent choices were increasingly brief and casual with only a token glance at pocket or bark until it was obvious that Fürgůïn had no tangible orientation skills and nobody really had the faintest clue of the way to go.
* This was a skill that the renling had learned from Razzles, since the knohm had explained to him once that you could always tell where a knohm came from by noting which side his beard was growing on. Knohm beards didn’t grow well in the shade and so a knohm with a northerly beard was most likely from somewhere south of his current location. Therefore if you followed a knohm he would lead you home. See endnote #1
“Why ever did that thing just fall right out of the sky?” Fürgůïn asked as he gave up tracking for a while and sat chewing on a toadstool. “Do you think someone knew we would be there? And what about when you came back and we kept changing places? That was really weird, and then that beest turned up!”
“Yeah, I'd been thinking about that. I'm not a great believer in coincidences. Something drew it to us. If we catch it and get our device back, maybe we can find out.” Grimm was moving again.
“Our device? Wait a minute, we haven't decided whose it is.” The renling jumped up and scampered behind. “It was Razzles who was...” he stopped, swatting at a flying insect, not yet ready to tell Grimm of their quest. Grimm, though, was no longer listening.
“Oooh, will you look at that!” he said in a hushed, clearly awed tone.
“Look at what?” puzzled Fürgůïn, eyeing the rocks and the small lake that lay in a clearing ahead of them. He scanned the murky green water and the whispering reeds swaying in clusters at the water’s edge dotted with swarming mosquitoes. The big urgh-bane stood motionless, seemingly rooted to the spot. Beaming sunlight streaked the scene and birdsong echoed from tree to tree. It was a pleasant spot, yet the elbh and the renling wondered what it was about this pool of green water between the trees, that so enraptured the urgh-bane.
None of them, the urgh-bane included, had noticed, however, the one small, bright-red mosquito that had alighted on Grimmbros' neck. This one did not buzz. Its tiny feet had spread its minuscule load over the urgh-bane's skin without betraying its presence; the little creature carefully stepped its way into the urgh-bane's ear canal, painstakingly avoiding the impressive stalactites and stalagmites of wax until it reached a clear, soft spot, then it subtly, inserted its thread-like proboscis into the urgh-bane's flesh: the infection was almost immediate.
"It's beautiful!" Grimmbros breathed, staring at the water, its ripples meandering hypnotically.
"It's what now?" the renling asked, struggling to see what Grimm saw.
"Beautiful." Grimm paced down to the water’s edge, off-loaded the elbh and lightly hopped onto a rock projecting from the water, then on to another and then with a final broad stride he sat down on a large boulder surrounded by water about fifteen feet out from the bank.
"What is?" Fürgůïn yelled. But Grimm didn’t look inclined to answer, or to move any time soon.
The elbh limped off to sit on a rock of his own, back in the grass, whilst Fürgůïn watched helplessly. He began to feel uneasy in the face of this turn in Grimmbros' behaviour; he certainly had no inkling as to the influence of the mosquito to which the urgh-bane was now, subconsciously subjected.
"Let's stop here for the night," Grimm called back over his shoulder without turning his head.
The renling, sensing trouble brewing, suggested, "But there’s still hours to go before sundown. Wouldn’t it be good to keep going and make sure we leave big, bad and ugly well behind?" But Grimmbros pretended not to hear and simply swirled the tips of his toes in the pool.
Fürgůïn didn’t want to waste any more time, "Come on," he tried, "I'll bet the forest doesn't go on much further. Look there are some untrampled flowers over there."
It was evidently pointless and for a few moments the renling narrowed his eyes, considering whether his friend might be still under the influence of jam or marmalade or some other evil preservative; he never thought to look into his mate's ear, not that he could do so from his position on the bank, and even if he did, he probably would not have wished to. The sight of decades' worth of untended wax formations was more than enough to have bothered even the stoutest of stout constitutions. It was bad enough having to look at the outside of the behemoth, let alone have to perform an investigation of this hulk's inner parts.
“I really do not think that I could go any farther my fellows. I may just live here, as I truly could not care for travelling any more.”
Fürgůïn sensed the resignation in Grimm’s sentiments and decided to change tack.
“Look, we can’t stop here, we’ve a quest to do. Come on, let’s keep moving. Come on. Come on.
Come on... Come on... Come on! Come on! Come ON? Ohhhhh!”
“Can’t you picture it,” Grimmbros mused, “A quiet little hovel just there among the tussocks for me and a delightful burrow for you Fürgůïn. What more could one ask? You could have your own personal little spot under those trees. Nice bit of gorse growing round your hole.
Something tells me I need to just give it all up. Let it all go. No more expectations, no hangers-on, no hassle, no wandering, no nonsense. Nothing but peace and quiet. You know how good that is?”
“No...” the renling was lost for words. “Just, no!” was the best persuasive argument he could manage. The elbh looked at Grimmbros from his seat on a rock with a mixture of disappointment and gathering concern. He looked at the renling, expecting him to do something dynamic. Instead, the renling just started to stomp on the ground and kick random plants with disgust.
The elbh, his last remaining shreds of admiration for renling-kind shedding faster than the dandruff on the renling’s head, turned back to the urgh-bane whose energy and drive was visibly dissipating from his very being like a swarm of cockroaches before a flaming torch. Had his leg not been broken by a fleeing oafe and made worse by the inept insertion of a hazel stalk, the elbh would have skipped over and given the urgh-bane the biggest kick up the butt that he could summon, in hope of jolting some enthusiasm back into the colossus. As it was, he gave him his most withering scowl and then just sat there glowering in disapproval at his inert back. It was obvious that no-one was going anywhere for the rest of that day.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
The night passed without any shift in the impasse. Grimmbros had refused to allow the making of a fire as it might ‘upset the delicacy of the ecosystem’ and no, ‘heaving a load of manky bog water on it if it got out of hand and burnt the surrounding filth’ was not - apparently - ‘the point.’ Besides, he also could not be bothered to gather any firewood. Fürgůïn had pointedly slept on the far side of the swamp after tramping (to try and annoy Grimmbros) a path that skirted the lake.
Next morning, when the renling had given up hoping for Grimmbros to follow him, he returned, stamping on foliage and kicking an unobservant hedgehog into the lake. His already morose expression fell further when he spotted the urgh-bane lying flat on his back in the grass on the spot of ground for his envisioned hovel. He just sprawled there like a half-deflated walrus. Fürgůïn approached until his shadow fell on Grimm.
Seeing the black look on the renling's glowering face, Grimmbros offered, "Look, I don't know that I can't be unbothered with this questing lark (he hoped that his multiple negatives might cloud things somewhat), but you'll be dragging and nudging all the way to... where is it we're supposed to be going?"
"Henrod Scree, The Soglands - the forest..." Fürgůïn slumped. "No one cares. No one cares!" he moaned. "You're not coming are you?" The renling gave a further sigh of resignation. "Where's that elbh? What does he want to do?"
"Oh, halfway through the night he said something like 'I'm just going out, I may be some time.' He'll be along soon I imagine, but then again, this is a wood, and you know elbhs when they get in woods."
Turning reluctantly, Fürgůïn stamped off once more along the path he had made around the swamp, as he disappeared into the undergrowth, Grimmbros could just hear him muttering, "If you want anything done you've got to do it yourself. Living in a swamp!" Grimmbros lay on the soft mossy grass, his hands outstretched, his eyes, unfocused, floated about the canopy above. He took the opportunity to evaluate his recent rovings. It didn't take long until he arrived at the conclusion he knew was inevitable; he really did not want to be here at all, but just couldn't muster the will to go anywhere either. Besides he was beginning to experience a rather unpleasant sensation of vertigo.*
* The secretion injected into Grimm’s ear by the mosquito was currently enjoying a picturesque cruise of the urgh-banes meandering ear canals.
Wherever the renling was going, whatever he was up to, he just could not bring himself to care anymore, far less get up the energy to go with him. He rolled to lean on one elbow, waiting for the spinning sensation to stop. It was like lying on a children's roundabout.
"I shall waste my time here for evermore!" he declared to nobody in particular, lurching qualmishly to his knees. "I shall do nothing.” He was aware that he wasn't making much sense, but just couldn't understand why every time he thought of something positive to do, he just felt the overwhelming urge to quash it.
He forced himself to his feet, dusted himself off, and strode with a faltering gait to do something potentially purposeful. His view of this new-found prospect amid despondency was bordering on the philosophic, and he considered that if he was to stay here in this little quiet haven, away from all that beest nonsense, he might as well make the most of it. The sun was still prodding the lake with lazy fingers and the breeze turned to a southerly direction, knots of tiny gnats were dancing into tangles beneath the shadows of branches. Grimm sat down on a fresh spot of grass. That’s what he would do, he would have a sleep. If he could be bothered. Maybe make a ‘keep out’ sign.
Fürgůïn's stamping soon lost its energy, burnt out quickly like a few sheets of parchment in a tin pail. Parchments... Those were what drove him on, those and that bizarre appearance of the cloud lady. What did she want? Come to that, who even was she? He fingered his pages, deep inside a pocket within a pocket. Scraps were all he had left now. The two books from the chest in the Forbidden Forest were more than just intriguing tales and beguiling histories.
He scowled, recalling the day when he had fled through the alleyways of Tullgotha chased by rats. He should never have allowed himself to be seen reading outdoors. He cursed himself for not examining his treasures in secret, underground, in a darkened burrow. At least he had managed to tear these few pages from the books before they were forcibly taken from him. Fürgůïn mooched around the woodlands, recalling afresh the shock of the dream books. One of them had described the duplicate device falling from the sky. Had foretold it! Then it had happened, exactly like the book said. That was no mere deja-vu! He couldn't stop now. For a second time, he contemplated going on alone. At least this time there was no snow to stop him. Perhaps the cloud lady had given up on them?
Fürgůïn decided to give Grimmbros one more try. Perhaps he just needed the right encouragement. Striding up purposefully he poked the urgh-bane's stomach roughly with a stick and jumped back, ready to run. “Come on Grimm! Someone truly Chacky-da-da or whatever it is would never give in to a thieving beest.” but Grimmbros just grunted, clearly devoid of any urge for vengeance. Why had he changed? Give up. Go on. In the end, you’re always on your own.
The ground on the far side of the swamp rose strongly and the disheartened renling trudged up through the wildwood. At the top, a panoramic vista spread out before his eyes. Immediately ahead he could see the forest dropping away down the far side of the rise, the broad oaks, beeches and sycamores thinning, giving way to more delicate birches and blackthorns at the forest's edge and the valley floor. Beyond, an extensive grassy plain rolled like a green blanket over sleepy oafes, going on for miles. Further on, undulating moorlands topped by stone outcrops lifted the terrain once more.
Eventually, where the sky looked darker, the rocky crags of Henrod Scree squatted grey and angular atop the rolling shades of green. Fürgůïn knew that The Soglands lay on the far side of that horizon, an uninviting wild land, worse yet, Bogmire to the east - quicker to cross, but a place of grim legend and disquieting tales. Sitting down at the bole of an old horse chestnut tree the renling gazed out at the enormity of the land ahead of him and sighed. Could he face such a journey alone?
He reached into his cloak and pulled out some folded papers. There was the map that Razzles had seen that night back near the bridge; and the paper that the lady in the sky had given them. He ran his finger slowly from Tullgotha at the bottom of the map upward past the oafe toll bridge into the
trees; they didn't look much on the map. He glanced back down at the forest they represented, for a moment hoping that Grimmbros might emerge having had a change of heart, ready to carry on once more. Or maybe even Razzles, having somehow caught up and regained his spirits. Nothing disturbed the stillness. Heavy-hearted, he turned his attention to the diagrams on the second document: why did the woman in the air want them to get this thing anyway? What had she said? Find the source of time? What did that have to do with this queer egg thing with legs? When the beest had made off with it, he knew where it was heading - north - the Forbidden Forest. His eyes returned to the map and wandered along to the Forbidden Forest. It looked a lifetime away.
But it was going there because that's what the last page foretold. That was where it ended. The Forest.
This was an ill-fated quest. Where in the world had the cloud woman sent them to get the egg? They had had the egg device in their hands, but lost it to that big-horned beest - where had it come from? Setting off in pursuit felt optimistic at first, however, the bridge changed that, Grimmbros nearly didn't make it out, then Razzles was gone. Now a gang of heavies was after them. The forest inevitably turned out to be another obstacle - it had taken the elbh, had it claimed Grimmbros? Why did everything have to be so hard? As these glum thoughts swirled around the renling's mind like the amassing of evening mists, a blue butterfly fluttered out of the sunshine and alighted on his knee. The brightness of this small creature lifted Fürgůïn's spirits and he decided to wait for a while to see if Grimmbros might yet decide to rejoin him. Seeing Razzles come skipping out of the undergrowth was certainly too much to expect.
Settling back into the deep moss carpet, Fürgůïn allowed his eyes to close, enjoying the caress of the sun on his skin. Warm and gentle, he could feel light beams on his arms and face. A butterfly shadow danced across his closed eyelids, a musky fragrance touched his nostrils and he drifted into sleep.