The Medievals 1, page 9
part #1 of The Medievals Series
She considers the disposition of the river: while the current is angry, Wendolyn suspects that she would be protected by the deep waters were she to fall in.
This is her chance to escape.
Without another moment’s consideration, Wendolyn surprises both herself and her captor as she squirms free of the saurian’s thoughtless hold. She drops into the rapids, blindly trusting her fate to the raging river. Water shoots into her mouth before she has a chance to close it, and she chokes on the river as it fills her throat.
The river is alive, with the arms of the strong rapids dragging Wendolyn downriver faster than her mind will allow her to think. It is a monster in its own right, and it seems intent on terrorizing Wendolyn.
She is wrenched to the side, then to the surface, then sucked below once more, her body bruising against boulders and scraping along the gravel floor. She has escaped her captors only to find herself in the violent, suffocating hold of another. And while she doesn’t wish to be back in the grip of the saurian, Wendolyn wonders if she has not doomed herself to a watery grave.
She feels herself swirling through a series of drops, like rocky stairs descending under the water. And then suddenly…
She can see!
Light floods her vision as the blindfold is ripped away by the force of the water. Wendolyn is now able to behold the anarchy that has been loosed upon her world as she is tossed and tumbled, lifted and dropped. And she can now see which way is up, with sunlight filtering through the foamy surface of the river.
But still, she is at the mercy of the current. She has no control over where she goes; and even if she did, the river is moving too fast for her to plot a course.
Wendolyn’s vision is turning gray at the edges, and she realizes that it has been too long between breaths -- causing her head to feel light and dizzy. If she does not get to the surface quickly, she will lose consciousness and drown in these waters.
The governing current pulls her lower, taking her further away from the surface and further away from the much-needed air, abusing her hope of survival. But just as quickly as she is drawn into the muted depths, she is thrown heavenward, as if the river has swallowed a bug and is spitting it back out with distaste. Her body shoots into a pool, the waters suddenly calm around her, and her head emerges from the river, letting Wendolyn suck in a mouthful of air.
With her breath recovered, Wendolyn turns back to look upriver, searching for the kidnappers. But they are not there. She has been dragged far enough downriver that she has lost her captors. For now.
As Wendolyn treads water in the pool, she tries to get her bearings, still dizzy from lack of air, and from being tossed through the river.
All around her, an enchanted forest grows wild and untamed; and it is marked by a dewy brightness that forces Wendolyn to shield her eyes after being blindfolded for so long. Everywhere, there are plants and trees she has never seen before, with a mossy white-gold flower covering the ground and the banks of the river.
The forest is dominated by giant red-barked trees that create a vaulted roof of green, the sun glowing warm through the leaves.
Wendolyn forgets herself and her situation for a moment as she marvels at the trees, which look ancient and noble. The measure of a year seems inconsequential in the presence of these still and silent leviathans. If trees could speak, Wendolyn imagines these trees could tell the story of man’s beginnings.
Such trees do not exist in the Cumbrian mountains, where the winter brings ashen, leafless limbs like the boney hands of corpses reaching up out of the earth. Nor do such trees exist throughout the Realm, as much of it as she has seen. But if Wendolyn is not within the Realm, where is she? And how does she find her way back to her father?
The thought of her father refocuses her mind.
In the pool, she is encircled by calm water that reaches just beyond her arm’s length. But just outside of the forgiving pool, the white rapids continue their rush and hiss; and the river is wide and swift and threatening. The flow splashes through scattered boulders that stand like portly sentinels in the water. And since the pool is positioned in the center of the river, she will have to brave the rapids once more if she wants to get to either riverbank.
Ahead, Wendolyn spies the bough of a tree reaching out over the turbulent waters. The limb, which is laden with purple blossoms, hangs just low enough that she may be able to grab it as she passes beneath it in the current, then pull herself to the right bank.
But Wendolyn does not recognize the species of this tree either, so she is not sure if the branch is strong enough to hold her. However, as she scans the river ahead, she does not see another lifeline.
Wendolyn turns to look upriver again. Her captors are surely looking for her, and it will not be long until they come upon this pool.
She has to act now.
Wendolyn moves to the edge of the pool, holding onto a boulder to stop from slipping into the rapids before she is ready. Then, upon the tail of a silent prayer, she lets go of the boulder, releasing herself to the whim of the river once again.
From the vantage of the pool, the bough was no more than a stone’s throw away. But as soon as the water grabs hold of her, everything happens quickly.
Before she knows it, Wendolyn is thrusting her arm skyward toward a blur of purple, and her aim proves true as she seizes the branch. While the river does not want to let go of her legs, Wendolyn forces all of her might into her arms, and she pulls herself free of the watery hold. Then, Wendolyn inches her way across the branch until she is clear of the river, and she drops to the ground, her feet cushioned by the white-gold moss.
A path presents itself, a thin trail of fettered sunlight running off into the forest. While Wendolyn does not know what is out there in the shade of the giant trees, she knows what is chasing her, and so she makes a run for it.
As she flees, she feels her clothes against her skin, heavy with water. She feels the ground, softened by moist soil. And she feels hope, clattering in her ribcage.
Wendolyn’s breathing comes fast and deep as she runs, still trying to make up for the air lost to the river. There is a softness to the air that does not exist in the mountains of Cumbria. And she is grateful for it. She is used to the air having teeth that make one slowly suffer. But this air, it meets Wendolyn with an invisible smile, and she is encouraged to run deeper into the unknown forest.
As she runs, Wendolyn spots a dead tree lying on the ground just ahead, several branches rising up from it. Wendolyn slows without stopping as she breaks one of the limbs from the tree, the stick the length of her body, making it ideal for a spear. (The branch should be at least as tall as you, her father had instructed her many times.)
Then, she scoops up a sharp rock from the mossy ground; and, not wanting to give up any slight lead she might have over her pursuers, Wendolyn sharpens the end of the branch with the rock as she keeps moving through the forest. (Form the point of your spear with small, even strokes, her father had said.)
When she judges the tip of the spear to be sharp enough, she drops the rock, returning it to the forest floor, and then clutches her new weapon in her right hand, the point leading. Now, if her pursuers catch her, Wendolyn will have a means to defend herself. The spear is long enough that she should be able to fight the saurians while keeping her distance from their claws and wings. And its tip is keen enough to pierce the leathery skin of the beasts.
Wendolyn continues to follow the lighted path, her shadow running ahead of her. She notices the dry leaves scattering at her passing; and she realizes that this offers Waldron and the saurians an easy way to track her, exposing her route to them.
Meanwhile, if she were to move off in a direction where the light fails to shine through the trees, the shadowed ground is covered only in the soft, white-gold moss.
Wendolyn breaks from the sun-spangled path, choosing the mossy ground through the shadows instead to conceal any marks left by her feet.
Now, without a clear path, Wendolyn must shape her own way through the forest, her hands and feet acting on faith as she brushes aside branches and undergrowth, not always knowing what lies just out of her view. If she were not being chased, if fear were not coursing through her body, Wendolyn would slow to take in the vines and plants of this forest, which seem to have a radiance within their leaves; some glowing green, some purple, others yellow. But she does not dare let up.
It is a strange feeling, not running toward anything; only away from something in this endless and vanishing landscape. It is strange to her; but she recognizes that this is how her father has lived his life since Wendolyn was born: always moving away from, never toward, anything.
Just then, her wet sleeve catches on a thorny bush. Her momentum helps free her sleeve from the glowing yellow bush; but the thorns tear at her skin as she pulls away, droplets of blood forming on her arm. As she presses on, the spear is still in her one hand as she notices the wrist of her other, which is left bare by her torn sleeve -- not torn by the bush, but instead by her father as he clutched her shirt before Wendolyn was pulled from him, leaving him with a piece of her as they were ripped apart.
“Wendolyn, I am sorry I could not protect you,” he had said with what little life was left inside of him.
A tear finds one of Wendolyn’s eyes, and the emotion is enough to make her lose her focus, which is why she does not see the wide black hole in the earth just ahead of her feet.
And, without warning, Wendolyn is falling.
A sudden darkness hides the drop, and her mind cannot predict the end of her fall; so her body is not braced for the impact as her palms and knees hit the ground first.
Fortunately, the landing is softened by a loose compost of soil and leaves; and as she sits up on her knees, she feels no apparent injury from the fall.
From her knees, Wendolyn orients herself to the space around her, which is dimly lit by the daylight leaking in from a hole that cuts through the earth about ten feet above her -- the hole she fell through. But while the opening is out of her reach, Wendolyn quickly eyes her possible way out of this pit: an exposed root of one of the massive red trees, which offers Wendolyn several footholds to climb.
Then, Wendolyn thinks: Wait, I could hide down here.
If Waldron has his darklings flying through the forest canopy and looking for Wendolyn, they will not see her down here beneath the earth. She could wait in this dark pit until Waldron and the saurians move on to another part of this forest without end, and then she could find her way out and back to Cumbria.
Frick, frick, frick, frick, frick, frick--
Wendolyn’s ears perk up at a sound she does not recognize. And her gut swirls with the realization that she is unlikely to be alone in this deep, dark hole.
Instead, what is more likely, is that Wendolyn has just intruded upon the home of some other creature. And judging by the expanse of this burrow, it is a rather outsized creature.
Frick, frick, frick, frick, frick, frick--
To Wendolyn, it sounds as if something is rolling down a long tunnel, making its way to her. And before Wendolyn can turn to climb out of the pit, she is confronted with the source of the sound.
A boulder.
At least, it has the appearance of a boulder at first.
But then the boulder unfurls -- emitting the sound of stones rubbing against each other -- to reveal a massive creature that Wendolyn has never seen before.
If she had to compare it to an animal she knows, it looks like a bear with silver fur; only,with a segmented stone shell on its back, which allows it to roll up into a ball.
And then, as the silver bear-like creature moves from the shadows, Wendolyn sees that its face is not that of a bear at all, but instead, an insect. It has many bulbous eyes, and two antennae growing from its forehead, and an elongated mouth.
It is a bugbear, Wendolyn thinks.
While she has never seen one before, she has heard stories of them; stories that were mythical until this moment.
Then, the bugbear stands on its hind legs, revealing another mystifying feature: it has two sets of arms on each side, giving it a total of six appendages. And as it shows its teeth, the creature’s many eyes seem to glow in the darkness.
For a long moment, the creature stands still, a statue in the middle of this shadowy pit. Then the monstrous statue drops to its two legs and four arms and moves, approaching Wendolyn slowly. Not so much cautiously, but curiously, as its paws crunch into the leafy floor of the pit.
Try as she might, Wendolyn’s mouth will not open for a scream. And if she were to scream, it would only alert Waldron. She can only take in a whisper of air through her teeth as her body remains still.
The furry beast grows closer.
Closer still.
Then, the mystical creature is no more than an arm’s length away. And it stops. Its mouth is closed, but Wendolyn imagines her entire head could fit into the creature’s maw twice over. As she grows dizzy at the thought of becoming a meal for this beast, she catches sight of its thick, wet lips.
Grab the animal’s lower lip and pull as hard as you can, she remembers.
This is what her father once instructed her to do if she ever found herself in this very situation. To pull as hard as she can -- surprising the beast -- and then to run.
Another one of his lessons.
But he never told her how to drive the blood back into her fingers so that she could even begin to carry out such a foolish plan.
Just reach out and grab its lower lip. Now.
And then, warm air steams from the bugbear’s nostrils, heated by its insides. It is not a threatening gesture. More of a greeting. And this surprises Wendolyn.
She tilts her head to meet the bugbear’s gaze, and there is a gentleness in its eyes, which appear more human than animal. There is a kindness there.
The creature breathes out again, only now with a sense that it is prodding her to do something. But what?
Wendolyn knows it can not be true, but the bugbear’s eyes feel like they hold a message for her. Once more, the creature breathes, this time as if it is demonstrating how one takes in air and then expels it. And Wendolyn suddenly realizes that she has not taken a breath for many moments. Not since the bugbear appeared.
Wendolyn allows the forest air to fill her lungs, doing as the creature has instructed. Then she breathes out. Breathes in. Breathes out.
Much better.
“Thank you,” Wendolyn says to the creature.
The bugbear nods, accepting Wendolyn’s gratitude. Then, in the same way the creature introduced itself, it returns to its round shape, closing itself back into a boulder, and then it rolls away back into the shadows.
With the creature gone, Wendolyn’s mind regains its clarity, her thoughts becoming solid again, and she remembers that something similar had happened to her in the past. She was with her father at the lake, and they were fishing for their supper when a pack of wolves approached them. As the wolves neared, Wendolyn thought for certain -- just like with this unfamiliar creature -- that she would end up in the belly of those beasts. But one sniff of her, and the wolves seemed to make a united decision to let Wendolyn and her father live (as well as keep that day’s catch from the lake).
Eeeee-eeeee-eeeee!
Wendolyn is ripped back to the present moment. And her heart freezes. Before even looking up, she knows what it is.
The darkling is circling high above the hole, looking down in the direction of Wendolyn, whose body is caught in the forest light that penetrates the opening.
Can the bird see her?
Hope retreats. Fear rushes in.
If the bird has seen her and reports to Waldron, the hole will fast become a trap. Not knowing what else to do, Wendolyn quickly uses the massive root with its ribs and knots to climb up out of the hole. As she reaches the surface, she grabs hold of a bush to pull herself out completely; and then she starts racing through the forest, ducking beneath branches whenever possible. Trying to remain invisible.
After running until her legs can go no further, she takes cover behind one of the trees, hiding within its massive roots that rise out of the earth. She ducks behind a burl protruding from the tree’s wide trunk. From her position, she can still see the black-winged bird floating in the upper reaches of the forest while she remains hidden.
Did the darkling see her?
But her question is quickly answered as another darkling joins the first. Then another. And then another. Until the entire canopy is swarming with the black-winged sirens.
Then, the sound of Wendolyn’s beating heart fills her ears as Waldron ghosts out from behind one of the trees. While she remains hidden behind the burl, Wendolyn is under no delusions that the cloaked figure is not aware of her presence. She knows that she has been found -- and that she should run.
But she can not seem to move. Wendolyn urges her legs on, telling them it is time to flee. But her legs do not respond. And suddenly she feels as if all of the blood in her body has abandoned her, leaving her bones cold with fear.
Wendolyn reaches out to the burl on the tree, hoping to pull herself up. But as she grabs it… the burl flinches and makes a yelping noise!
Wendolyn lets out her own involuntary yelp from the shock of seeing part of the tree move as if alive. The burl quickly unfolds itself from the red bark of the tree, then turns to reveal the face of an impish creature.
The creature, seemingly able to disguise itself against the tree, is now exposed. And clearly it is as surprised to see Wendolyn as she is to see it. The diminutive creature flees, leaving Wendolyn shocked and alone.
Her yelp has caught the ears of her captors, and the two saurians reveal themselves among the trees, positioned at angles that limit her ability to escape.
Meanwhile, upon seeing their master, the flock of darklings drop down from the canopy; and as if Waldron is a lodestone, the birds are drawn to him, landing on his head, shoulders, and arms, creating a living, feathered mantle that covers all but his silver mask.
The cloaked figure moves in her direction, and it seems as if his feet, hidden beneath his black cloak, are floating above the ground.
