[Webber]

The dim purplepuffs dotting the trees sheathed the branches in a faint magenta glow—barely enough light for the climb. But Webber had always been a good climber. He reached as high as he could go with impressive speed, and glanced down to see if Caruso had noticed. He hadn’t. Caruso was busy shimmying along a thick branch that reached over the river.

The river flowed straight from Zone 3 and cut a dark meandering path through the redparasols that lit up the forest floor around them.

Webber soon found a juicy patch of inkballs and begun plucking them off the upper branches. They were black and gooey and left a sticky paste on his fingers. He repositioned himself to get at another cluster, his legs gripping the branch beneath him as he reached for the shrooms.

Somewhere off to his left, something pricked his attention. He stared out through gaps in the twisting willow branches. I’m sure I saw something…

There. About fifty paces away, something was moving against the shroom lights, blotting them out like a cloud drifting across a starry night. It couldn’t be their mares—they were firmly tied up on the other side of the river—and it wasn’t just the branches shifting in the wind. Whatever it was, it was heading straight for the river, straight towards them.

As it passed under the glow of a brightly lit tree, it revealed itself as two figures. One much larger than the other. They didn’t carry any gathering baskets. Nor did they wear those stupid stone necklaces Foresters wore. Urchins, then.

Webber wasn’t usually one for thinking and strategizing. Thinking just slows you down, and most the time doesn’t even lead to a better decision. This situation, however, Webber found himself at a loss. There was nothing he could do while stranded up in this tree. And he had no idea if the approaching urchins were friend or foe.

He waved his arms to get Caruso’s attention—always good to have a thinker on your side—but Caruso was still busy picking inkballs.

‘Pssst,’ Webber used just enough volume so only Caruso would hear.

Caruso looked up and Webber gestured towards the approaching couple. Caruso scanned out at the approaching urchins before hunkering down on his branch, not moving a muscle.

Probably the right idea. Webber knew next to nothing about urchins. Well, he’d heard all the stories that people liked to share late at night in the shroomeries. But those were just stories. Usually one person, conveniently alone, witnessing things that only the gullible would believe.

The urchins approached the river, almost directly under the willow. Hopefully they would just have a drink and move on. Getting a closer look, Webber noticed the larger urchin to have some sort of bulky armour on, and something trailed behind him that almost resembled a tail. The smaller one appeared more feminine in the way she looked and moved, and carried a wooden pole.

The urchins gathered behind the rocky outcrop which the river bent around. There was something in the way they rested. Or in they they weren’t resting. Something about the way they crouched, ready and poised; Webber recognized the body language.

There was going to be a fight.

A familiar rush of excitement filled him. His lips curled at the edges. Being stuck up a tree with mysterious urchins below might be new to him; but fights, he knew well. The woman kept peeking up the river, up into Zone 3, presumably expecting someone to ambush. Sure enough, he soon spotted a raft floating its way down river. That thrill within him rose even further. Nothing better than watching a fight—except, of course, being in one yourself.

The raft stopped before the Zone 3 shroomline and a few figures disembarked. It continued down, passing under the glow of shroomlit branches. The three men on board passed over the shroomline as if it wasn’t even there. And they all wore the same dumb necklaces. Foresters.

With the raft only thirty paces away, Webber considered his position, and his excitement soured a bit. The most important thing in a fight is position. You never want to be cornered, but you want to be close to the action, close enough that if shit gets bad, you are there to protect your friends. Webber couldn’t tick either of those boxes.

He didn’t like that Caruso would be close to the action. Caruso was head smart, but he was certainly no fighter. He wanted to climb down to Caruso, but he couldn’t risk drawing attention. Instead, he was forced to wait, and watch. He was confident that Caruso would stay still and not give away his position. But fights never go the way you imagine.

When the raft was fifteen paces away the woman urchin edged around the outcrop, getting ready to strike. Although it was unclear what she could do against three Foresters—one of which carried a crossbow.

At ten paces away a whinny from the mares broke through the night. The Foresters snapped their heads to the side. The woman took the opportunity, slipped around the outcrop and jumped out towards the raft, her pole out in front of her, pointing at the men.

Webber expected her to land in the river, she had no shot of reaching the raft. Yet somehow there she was, on the raft. Impossible. She had lined up her pole with two of the Foresters, and had managed to skewer both of them through the torso…with her blunt wooden pole... Again, completely impossible. The Forrester at the back slumped forward, dead, the unskewered one off to the side tackled the woman into the water, while the one in front sprung upwards into the canopy, despite the wooden pole lodged through his chest. Something about his jump wasn’t right. There was no way the branches were low enough for a normal person to jump into. This fight was already making no sense.

Only now did the larger armored urchin move. He ran to the river to help his partner with the splashing brawl she was occupied with.

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Webber looked for the Forester that had sprang upwards into the tree—surely he’d seen that wrong. He saw flashes of movement between the lower branches. The Forester was pouncing tree to tree, branch to branch, right towards Caruso.

[Caruso]

Caruso didn’t understand what he had just witnessed. This man—at least he assumed it was a man—had been stabbed through the chest and had then launched himself up into the canopy with an impossibly high jump. And now, was leaping through the branches, straight towards him.

Caruso froze.

He could only watch as this... this man, pounced through the canopy, closer and closer. His nimble and agile scampering soon began to slow until he finally collapsed onto Caruso’s branch. He was a little older than Caruso, a Forester necklace around his neck, and a length of wood through his chest. His breathing made a gargling rasping sound. The Forester clutched a small sack to his chest, blackened with his own blood.

There were frantic yells and splashing from below, but Caruso could only concentrate on this dying man before him. Something about him looked off—his skin was too smooth, too oily. His legs too long. Blood bubbled from his mouth as he breathed with a whistling wheeze.

The wheezing ended with a final bubbly exhale. The Forester went limp and slumped down on the branch. His grip on the bloody sack loosened and Caruso snatched it reflexively before it dropped into the river.

The bag wriggled. Something was moving inside it, squeezing out of the bag’s opening. A thick wetness smothered Caruso's hand. It was a dark mass of slimy fungus—but it was moving? It wrapped around Caruso’s hand and stretched up his arm, spreading out, wrapping tighter. Caruso yelled out, flailing, panicking, trying to fling the slime from his arm. Before he could stop himself, he was falling.

The cold splash of the river shocked sense into him. He pushed everything he had seen out of his mind—nothing made sense anyway, he would deal with it all later. The situation before him required immediate attention. The two urchins stood staring at him on the left bank of the river. A sodden thick-set forester with a crossbow stood to the right.

‘Quickly kid, get over here,’ the huge armoured urchin said.

[Webber]

‘Quickly kid, get over here,’ Webber heard the urchin say. It was a calm, experienced voice. Someone who had control over the situation. Webber’s battle instincts told him to trust that voice. Caruso clearly didn’t share that instinct and promptly moved away, towards the Forester on the opposite bank.

Webber needed to get to ground faster, out of this fucking tree. He needed to protect Caruso.

‘Where is it!’ Panicked, desperate words came from below. Webber peered through the foliage to see the Forester grab Caruso, shaking him, yelling his question at him once more. Webber squinted down at the maze of branches between him and the river, found the biggest gap and leapt for it. His leg thudded against one branch, he smashed through another with his chest, then flopped ungracefully into the river. By the time he got his head above water, the Forester had picked Caruso up and was bundling him away.

Towards Zone 3.

‘Caruso!’ Webber yelled out, already out of the river and running. ‘Put him down you bastard!’

The Forester holding Caruso headed towards the group of Foresters waiting in Zone 3. He was quickly approaching the shroomline. Webber sprinted towards him.

‘Don’t be an idiot!’ the Foresters shouted back at him. Webber ignored him—consequences are for later—he continued on, fists clenched. The man carrying Caruso was fat and slow. Webber gained on him. But when he got within ten paces, something snagged his foot, ripping him to a halt and thumping him to the ground.

Webber clawed at whatever had wrapped around his ankle. He couldn’t loosen it, or disconnect it from the ground. He snarled at the group of Foresters in Zone 3. One aimed a crossbow at him, but that didn’t bother him as much as the fat man holding Caruso.

Webber was powerless. There was nothing he could do but sit there, shackled to the ground with this white rope that came out of nowhere, as Caruso was carried against his will into Zone 3.

A rage burned inside.

Someone splashed across the river and ran between him and the Foresters. It was the armoured urchin. The crossbow holder fired at the large man, but the bolt bounced harmlessly off his armour. Webber was hoping to see him fight the Foresters, was hungry for it. But instead, the urchin just stood in front of him, staring the Foresters down until eventually they all turned and fled with Caruso, deeper into Zone 3.

Webber clawed once more at the thin rope around his ankle. It was slick with blood where it had cut into his skin.

‘Easy, kid. Calm down.’ The Urchin said, crouching before him.

‘They have my friend! We have to help him!’

‘Stop struggling, you’ll hurt yourself. There’s no rescuing your friend. We can’t take four Foresters. See how easily they stopped you?’

Webber looked down at the loop around his ankle, not quite understanding it. The urchin slashed it loose with something on his hand, and held Webber firmly in place.

‘If you run after your friend, you will be killed. Do you understand?’

Webber hated that he did. He wanted to ignore the warning and give himself to that burning fire within. But the urchin's calm presence was taking effect.

The urchin gripped Webber’s shoulder while giving a “don’t be an idiot look.”

‘Alright,’ Webber said, slapping the man’s hand away. ‘I’m not going to run after him.’

‘Good. What’s your name, kid?’

‘Webber. You?’

‘Call me Pango,’ he offered Webber a hand and pulled him to his feet. ‘Well, Webber. I suggest we get out of here before any Foresters return. Were those your horses I heard earlier?’

‘You can’t take one.’

‘Wasn’t planning to, but I recommend we cut them loose.’

‘What? Why? I need to return them to my uncle.’

Pango strode back towards the river while he talked. ‘Returning to Jamala is not safe for you right now. The Foresters will be looking for you.’

‘What would they want with me? I didn’t do nothing. It was those Forester bastards who took my friend.’

‘Firstly,’ Pango said, ‘you saw things tonight they didn’t want you to see. Secondly, they might find it suspicious you were up in that tree, right where they were ambushed.’

‘But I was just gathering inkballs.’

‘Inkballs eh?’

‘For my uncle.’

‘Of course.’

Webber followed Pango across the river. The water was a lot colder than he remembered. Towards the centre, Webber lost his footing on the slimey stones and Pango offered a steady arm to keep him floating downstream.

‘So what will the Foresters do if they find me?’ Webber asked.

‘Nothing good. You do remember they were about to shoot you, right?’

Webber remembered being tied to the ground, one Forester pointing his crossbow at him, Caruso struggling against the fat Forester’s grip. Webber clenched his fists. Maybe he wanted the Foresters to find him.

Pango eyed him, ‘No point getting all worked up now. You have no idea how easily the Foresters can overpower you.’

Webber suspected that was true, but it was not an easy truth to accept.

They climbed the river bank and headed to where the mares were tied. They were easy to find in the dark as they had cleared a neat circle of the bright orangegills around them.

‘If the Foresters want to kill us,’ Webber said. ‘We should take these mares and get outta here.’

‘You said the mares belong to your uncle? The Foresters will probably check the stables back in Jamala. Once they see two mares missing, that’ll lead them straight to him.’

Webber kicked himself for not thinking of that. He had already fucked up by letting Caruso get taken. Endangering Bozi on top of that would be the worst thing he could do right now.

‘And besides,’ Pango stroked one of the mare’s manes, the animal leaned into his touch. ‘Don’t think these guys will want me sitting on them. I’m a bit heavy. Let’s cut them loose. Do they know the way back?’

Webber nodded, untied the Mares, pointed them towards Jamala, and gave them a slap on the hide. The Mare’s trotted off into the night.

‘So, what now?’ Webber asked.

‘Now we move. My partner Eve is waiting for us, she’ll know what to do.’