Brand and Vaeol - Chapter 5

  22. Rova, 4718 - 2nd Day on Castrovel, 1st Day North of the Gatestead   Today I led the men out in vain hope to find some help or safety. Our new watchword is eyes on the sky, for we must not repeat the mistake that cost us Vanya. The men are fearful, and rightfully so. Even assuming we could find another worldgate, Vanya was our last way home, the only one who could open it. Yet leaving the ghost-city helps keep them busy; otherwise, I would have a mutiny.   Honestly, I am no less fearful than they. Hopefully, I’m hiding it better.   In good news (such as it is), this benighted forest under these monstrous trees is not wholly dark. Glowing things dot the landscape: mushroom caps that lighten like faint lanterns, and glowing wisp-motes float on the heavy air, like fey-lights for lack of better word. We have begun tacking from light-patch to light-patch, to conserve torches. Burnable wood, despite these woods, is rare and mostly rotten from the dampness. We have burned mushrooms and fronds tonight in our campfire, which smokes heavily and stinks. I worry things may be attracted to our firelight. We have heard odd noises in the shadows beyond, things scuttling, clicking, or buzzing.     10. Afaelae – On the River Yaro (1st day of Scoutfare)   Today our scoutfare left Son, whence now we first head southward along Father-Yaro, repeating our earlier fare. My Damaya spear-riders are worrisome. For most, this is their first firdhood. The thought of us truly finding fight scares them. For my sake, I hope my worry shows not.   Tonight we camp again at Toa-farmhold, who know us, and I may gladly say gave good welcome. We asked whether they had beheld any queer haps or deeds since our last fare. They answered they had not. We were thankful of the meatroast they gave, which may be our last for a long while.   The two troops sleep nearby, but a-shed. None know each other. Even Erymi and Oshis behave themselves, though they shrove they had ere know Tae and Less, and even name them friends.     11. Afaelae – 3rd day on the River Yaro; Faring eastward (3rd day of Scoutfare)   Today we left Father-Yaro and headed eastward. We soon followed the treepaths, which luckily are broad enough for the Korasha to walk. We have made good speed. Tonight we camp among the pathlimbs and have stretched hammocks. I have set a twofold watch, unmerely to beware any queerness.       24. Rova, 27418 - 3rd Day North of the Gatestead, 4th Day on Castrovel   How far this forest of giant trees outstretches we have no clue. We steer around their stumps like impassable hills. Only in one spot was there any thinning in the roof overhead. Within the lightened gloom sprang a tangled grove of ferns and briars, almost thirty feet high. Dimly we glimpsed a gray, cloudy sky overhead. The men were loath to leave, for it was the first natural light we’ve had. I drove them on.   We have begun to learn this world’s animal life. Though we’ve kept sharp eye upward, no repeat of the floating jellywraith that carried off Vanya. Even so, we've heard noises overhead that make us think of madly large things scampering over boughs too far up to be seen. I can only imagine that trees so big must have limb broad like roads. If I did not fear isolating a man and risk losing him, I would send one up to climb.   I came around a massive tree-beam while leading the men, and almost ran into a wizened fuzzy thing, hanging from the moss. It stared at me with beady eyes. In all its wise, it had a squirrel’s bushy tail, but the long ears of a hare. Then it scuttled up the trunk, squawking shrilly. Too late, the men with bows hurried for a shot. Yet it had already fled out of sight.   Right now, a dragonfly flitted over our camp. It would look normal back home, only it was big as a hawk, and with wings broad as my shoulders.     13. Afaelae – 3rd day Faring eastward (5th of Scoutfare)   A wild Shotalashu herd twice thwarted our path, which wrought some thrill among the riders. Erymi beread the queens are in heat, which has misdrawn our bulls, even Ess, to no end. Each time we lost a belltide handling them. The Korasha watched and laughed until Elderbow Less set them awatch.   We have camped tired and cranky from outstrength and time lost. For the first time ever, I bade the Shota hobbled. If a randy queen lurks tonight, I have no wish to lose our steeds.     14. Afaelae, 24,535 – 4th day Faring eastward (6th of Scoutfare)   Nothing to bewrite, but that Less found limb-spoor behinting a mountain eel’s thoroughfare. He told sometimes they come out of the mountain’s into the Deepwoods. We shall tonight keep a hard watch on the Shota. Also, likely we have seen the last wild herd for some days.   I miss Remaue’s touch. We lie beside each other, but dare not for fear to set a bad example before the warriors. The two troops lie together more easily, but little underplay. They besoothe this scoutfare’s grimness. We are in the deepwood, well beyond the wonted huntlands, and none to our help if things go ill. Along with twofold watch, I have dwimmered witchlights every night.     1. Lamashan, 4718 - 10th Day North of the Gatestead, 11th Day on Castrovel   We are running short of food faster than planned. Despite the dry rations we packed, they are rotting in this world’s dampness. Anything still unspoiled will be gone in a couple days. If we hadn’t started fishing and hunting, we would already be in trouble. This baking wet weather isn’t rotting only our food. Our clothes are starting to fall off our backs. Our pack straps are fraying. It is all we can do to keep our swords from rusting.   Last night while we made camp, something crawled from the shadows and over my bedroll: a long grublike thing with too many eyes and legs, and feelers wriggling from its head. I drew sword and stabbed between its eyes. It chittered, thrashed, and slowly died. The men gathered and made mistasteful noises, cursing the unnatural things this world harbors. Yet I skinned and dressed the body, and found it was rather less a shelled buglike thing, but a fleshy thing with bones. I jointed it with the meat still on and hung them over the fire. Despite the men’s mislike, soon a tasty smell filled the camp. It tasted half like pork, and half-shrimp.   We have found fishy eels in the small streams running through these woods. Luckily, they are eatable. They are suckerlike blind-things, but will bite a hook swiftly enough, and cook up quickly over fires we build on rotten deadfall and stinking mushroom stalks. It’s not enough, but something.   I have been hoping for a long while now that we will meet this world’s inhabitants, even the Elves.     18. Afaelae, 24,535 – 8th day Faring eastward (10th of Scoutfare)   Something spooks the Shotalashu. All afternoon they were restless, though not as if they fear a hunter. They smell something queer.   We have camped early, and I have taken rede with my underreeves. We have stocks enough for another two sixdays (foreguessing we hunt nothing in that while) and must choose whether we keep onward or head backward. I shrove the Shota-hint bothers me. It brooks nothing to uplook something but go back.    Tae and Less put forth something lurks below on the Darkfloor. That thought stilled us. I asked their rede: do my underreeves feel sure in leaving the treepaths for the Darkfloor? After long thought they yaysaid. So tomorrow we will forsake the treepaths’ fastness and go along the ground.     1. Vealae, 24,535 – 1st day on the Darkfloor (11th of Scoutfare)   As forechosen, today we left the treepaths with some hardship. We found a leaning deadfall fast enough and made a slippery way downward, with twofold riders; foot-warriors behind riders. Luckily we lowered mishaplessly. Also I doubt the Korasha misliked their hands steadying on Damaya hips.   Below while we climbed down, I beheld a wonderful sight, almost like again being among the mountains at the Hall of Stars and seeing naked Heaven for the first time. Instead of darkness, the Darkfloor glowed. Feymote-spoors floated aloft, and purple and blue rings that betold mushroom-treecaps lit underneath. When at last we reached the floor and looked upward, it was even more wonderful.   Today was but my second time on the Darkfloor, and ereward was nothing like. Oshis has scouted it, as have Tae, Less, and some other warriors. Though darkness abounds, in patches the glowlight dazzles. The loft heredown is overwhelmingly damp, and whose mist spreads the glow. They tell it rains heredown wholly shed from above.   Swiftly we worked a plan to scout. I stayed at midst with the foot-warriors, shieldbearers, and packbeasts, while the riders headed outward in four teams each with a reeve. I cast a witchlight upward upon a mushroom-tree tall and bright, as beacon for their comeback. The foot-warriors waited with me against sake that balethings might be drawn to our light. Luckily, none came.   Belltides crawled by until a horn blew off to our north, on which bode all scout-teams should come to my beacon. Bywardly all came back, and Tae’s team bore word they had found a firestead, where they had left a twain to mark it while we others gathered. We all yaysaid smoke could be what yesterday had unsettled the Shota, though who would willingly fare the Darkfloor?   Tae led us to the firestead, where we found her two riders safe and hale. Then we oversought the stead. Along with ashes we found broken fern and meddled moss, as if a well-sized troop had camped. Within the moss we found odd footswathes, whose heels were queerly straight and no toes. Then someone said it belooked a kind of sandal, such as some fishers along Father-Yaro wear when they wade astream, so to not slip on rocks. We also found scraps stained with an odd red sap, which when we gave the Shota, they hissed and stirred bothersomely. Their thought named it blood.   The footswathes’ path led northward, which we followed for a while until I deemed we needed rest. We camp with a fire to offdrive balethings, but no lights. The darkness here where the sun never shines is fearsome, and beholds spooky hoots I know not. Remaue has drawn near me and lies with her brow upon my knee while I write, and I have not chided her.     2. Lamashan, 4718 - 11th Day North of the Gatestead; 12th Day on Castrovel   More bad luck today. We found ahead first a riot of pastels, and then a break in the woods, our first in several days. With our morale so low, I had no holding them back. They rushed into the clearing, and I followed. This glade among the giant trees had resulted from a stony outcrop, low but broad, which the trees had not found root on. Instead, what I would call a jungle-like scrub (lusher by far than we would call back home) flourished: vines, brambles, and bamboo-like shrubs, each fighting all else to rise above or choke the others out. More interesting were their leaves. I had already suspected something odd, based on the jungle’s deadfall. I now found they were, although green on the topside, any number of hues on their bottoms, from blues, golds, and an exotic purple-pink. So bright was this diffusion that true blossoms got lost within the color-blaze. Fruits and berries also dangled from the low-lying plants, which had me harrying the men from eating, lest they be poison.   I rightfully feared this greenness, though for the wrong reason. Vern, who had quickly come around to my advice, was clambering through a thicket to bring the men to heel, when a towering flower-shrub suddenly stirred above him! Its giant beaklike bulb-head bowed and struck. Vern bewared and leapt aside, too late. It fleshy maw snapped on his leg and lifted him skyward.   Straightway we drew swords and rushed the ravening flower-shrub. By good luck I grabbed Vern’s arm and dug my feet in, while the others hacked the shrub’s unearthly stump. To further horror, its roots quivered along the ground, and the whole tree-like stalk moved! When the man’s blade made little dent in the stump. I bade they should cut the waving roots. This got a strong tell, and the giant flower’s path wavered wildly. At last, with Vern cutting the entrapping bulb with a hand-axe and me pulling him, he and his mangled leg fell free. The shrub’s head then flailed wildly at the attacking men, who now wise to its danger, dodged while they cut more roots. The meat-eating plant finally broke through our line, whence it fled into the deep woods.   I cannot describe our dread that we must fear not only this world’s beasts but also its plants. The men, likewise afflicted, laid waste against the nearer shrubs and briars until they cleared a rough swath. My main worry, however, has become Vern’s leg, which is badly mauled. Happily, the bone is unbroken. Yet the bulb’s beak had clamped hard and cut both skin and flesh. He will not be walking soon, despite his protests that he can limp along. Also, I remembered the old proverb that it is better to lose on the northern wastes than Garund’s lushness, for (and contrary to what many physicians preach) many old sellswords believe wounds likelier to fester with warmth and dampness. With that in mind, I stitched Vern up best as I could (I am no surgeon, and he may well limp even if he keeps the leg). Then I warned I was doing him no favors, and set a red-hot knifeblade on his seams while four others held him down. If we are lucky, his leg won’t sicken. Then I bade them make a stretcher, and we headed out bearing him - no mean task, since he is a big man.   This setback means less progress. We have also used our last eatable food we brought with. If our luck doesn’t turn soon, we will be in real trouble.