z

Young Writers Society


E - Everyone

The Book Man, Chapter 82 (Revised)

by BluesClues


82 THE GARDEN UNDERGROUND

Christian found himself on all fours with tears streaking his face, his breathing quick and shallow. He shivered uncontrollably. His hellhound stood over him, wagging its tail with its head cocked at him quizzically.

Tirion’s chest heaved like he’d just finished a marathon. His face was strained, but he slung the bow back over his shoulder and said, not unkindly, “Alright, Abernathy?”

Christian screwed up his face and pressed the heel of his hands to his eyes, but he could not stop the flow of tears. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. The hellhound licked his face.

“What,” he croaked. The other words got lost on their way to his mouth. He was back in the tunnel, back in the present, yet the pull of his heart and the weight of his chest were so heavy he might have lost them all yesterday. The years between all the abandonments and tragedies and heartbreaks had vanished and run them together into one long string of misery.

Tirion hesitated and then put a hand on his shoulder, gave him a reassuring squeeze.

“I know,” he said.

The accountant watched blearily as the elf released his shoulder and went to Morrow’s side. The Rover looked even worse than Christian felt: paler than ever, stretched out on the ground like a corpse, drawing raspy breaths that rattled alarmingly in his chest. They were broken by intermittent murmurs as he faced his own demons. Whatever memories the night-mares had made him relive had not stopped with their death.

Tirion’s face was white, but he opened Morrow’s eyelids to examine his pupils like nothing was wrong.

“What,” Christian tried again. “What…?”

He seemed to have forgotten how to speak. All he could remember were the faces, flashing before him in quick, horrific succession. His mother. His father. Joel. Uncle George. Jude.

“Night-mares,” the elf said again, as if this explained everything. He rooted about in Morrow’s pack and produced a bottle of a purplish liquid. “Here. Not too much. He’ll need it more.”

Christian took the bottle with shaking fingers. It took him four tries to pry the cork out of it, but Tirion was still digging through the pack and did not notice. The liquid smelled like lemons and cold tea but tasted as bitter as quinine. He gagged on it and spit some down his shirtfront.

“Careful with that,” the elf said sharply.

“Sorry,” Christian whispered. He wiped his mouth and held the bottle out to Tirion. It slipped from his fingers.

“Watch it!” the elf snarled. A brown hand darted out and caught the bottle before it hit the ground. He stuffed the cork back inside and then looked at Christian and sighed. The dropping of the bottle had spooked the accountant; his breath came in short bursts and fresh tears spilled down his face. He was useless. Worthless. So many people dead or hurt or gone in his life, and what had he been able to do to stop any of it? Nothing whatsoever. He couldn’t even keep from dropping a bottle.

Tirion stopped rifling through Morrow’s pack, pulled the cork back out of the bottle.

“I guess you’d better have a little more,” he said. “Come here.”

Christian crawled over to him on his hands and knees. His head felt heavy again, much heavier than when he and Morrow had tumbled down the stairs, and his lungs still felt like something was sitting on his chest. A monster, maybe, or maybe it was just the weight of all his memories. Tirion helped him into a sit and held the bottle to the accountant’s lips so Christian could drink. When half the purple liquid was gone, he said, “That’s enough,” replaced the cork, and returned to Morrow’s pack, digging through it once more until he found a small pouch full of leaves. He chewed them into a paste and pulled Morrow into his arms, feeding the paste to the Rover a little at a time and working his jaws to make him swallow. Morrow moaned without waking up.

Christian’s breathing slowed as he watched. He was not sure if it was the purplish liquid or the elf’s steady action that calmed him, but the pressure on his lungs and heart let up and his tears dried. The burning anxiety and sorrow that had come over him at the rusty-pulley sound of the night-mares had diminished, replaced by exhaustion. He was utterly spent; he felt he could sleep for a thousand years, gladly, and not feel that he was missing out on anything that happened during his slumber. But he could not stop shivering. He wished he had a quilt.

“How are you feeling?” the elf asked.

“Cold,” Christian said. The hellhound plopped down on its haunches beside him. Heat radiated from its furry body; the accountant moved closer, still shivering.

Tirion nodded without looking at him, still focused on feeding Morrow the crushed leaves. “That’s normal.”

“How,” Christian said. The words were coming unstuck from his throat—slowly, though, and he had to search for them. “How…”

“How?”

“How…did you…” The words rolled over in his mind. “…kill them?”

Tirion glanced at him quizzically and said, “Arrows. Just arrows. They’re nothing more than horses, when you come down to it.”

Christian shook his head. “Not…not what I…meant.”

The elf did not answer, but his nostrils flared and something tightened in his face. Now he was rubbing Morrow’s temples with his thumbs in an absent-minded way, his leaf-green eyes fixed on the Rover’s wrinkled forehead.

“My sister,” he said finally, and then paused as if he did not know what he meant to say. “Tiriel, she…she ran afoul of a herd in the plains north of Greendale. By the time I found her and brought her home, there was nothing we could do. Wasn’t long after that when this idiot—” with a nod at Morrow and a sternness in his tone that did not deceive Christian in the least—“went out looking to kill one and got attacked instead, but I was there with him.”

He heaved Morrow into a sit and uncorked the bottle of purplish liquid.

“He had to take an infusion of skullcap every day after that to keep the night terrors at bay, but he survived. Ever since then, I’ve hunted them—any time there’s been a sighting within a hundred miles of Greendale, I’ve gone to find it. I’ve built up a tolerance. But it’s not easy. And you can never be totally immune to their effects.”

He resumed rubbing Morrow’s jaws and temples until the Rover’s mouth slumped open. Tirion tilted the bottleneck to his lips and whispered in his ear. Morrow’s throat rippled as he swallowed the liquid, but he did not wake up.

The elf nodded at the iron knife, lying on the floor where Christian had dropped it when he collapsed.

“You’ll need that.”

The accountant’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. The purplish liquid had calmed his body and begun to work on his thoughts, but his head was still fuzzy. He could not remember why he would need a knife.

Tirion avoided his gaze, looking ashamed of himself.

“Look,” he said. “As long as we’re down here, your friends are up there fighting and dying, and it won’t stop until Goblin is dead.”

Goblin! He had forgotten all about Goblin, but at Tirion’s words, thoughts of the battle and the tunnel and the mission came flooding back.

Morrow stirred in the elf’s arms, gave a low groan, and stilled again.

“He’s down for the count,” Tirion said. “I know I should leave him here and go with you, but—”

He fell silent, but Christian saw his meaning as clearly as if it had been inked into his skin. He had left the Rover alone for twenty years, and he would not leave him again unless forced—certainly not for anything so trivial as the defeat of an age-old enemy.

“I don’t know why he thinks you can do this, but he does,” the elf said. “We’re not that far. You follow the light, and you kill that bastard, and you end this. If you run into trouble, stall as long as you can. I’ll join you as soon as he wakes up.”

Christian’s shivering had not yet stopped, but he struggled to his feet and stood quivering in the middle of the tunnel. Why Morrow had asked him to wield a knife when he had no discernable skill with any weapon, he did not know, but the task was his, and Tirion was right: the battle would not end until Goblin was stopped. He would go on alone, weary and afraid as he was, and he would see this through.

“Alright,” he said.

The elf’s eyes shone with a grudging respect as if he had seen some quality in the accountant that he had not realized was there before.

“As soon as he wakes up,” he said. “I promise.”

Christian put a hand on the hellhound’s warm hide. The two of them continued down the tunnel on their own with the light ahead shining on their faces.

It grew still brighter as they went. The sounds of the hellhounds and the crow and the creaking of a spider’s legs echoed around the tunnel as they neared. Then, there they were: standing in a massive doorway, looking into a cavernous stone chamber with massive roots hanging from the ceiling and waving gently as if in a breeze.

Christian blinked in surprise. He was underground, yet it looked as if he had stepped into a bright garden. Thick grass replaced the stone floor beneath his feet; creepers and vines sent tendrils snaking up the walls, hiding much of the stone. Flowering shrubs stood scattered around the edges of the room. There was even a fountain.

Three hellhounds (much smaller than Christian’s) tumbled about on the grass together as if in play. Guarding the doorway were two spiders (much larger than Christian’s); across from it were three stone steps crowned by a throne like Neva’s. This one, too, was covered in bougainvillea, made of two flowering dogwoods growing together in the shape of a chair. At the bottom of the steps, a pale, ragged woman drifted silently. One more night-mare stood on the other side of the steps; its bat-like wings stretched in and out, but it stared at Christian with its empty eyes without a sound.

On the throne sat Imelda with her eyes shining blue and a crow sitting on her shoulder. She grinned and arose at the sight of him, her arms spread wide in welcome.

“Christian Abernathy,” she said. “At long last.”


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Sun Sep 28, 2014 2:09 pm
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TimmyJake wrote a review...



Timmy here!

So I don't have much to say on this chapter, I am afraid. It's beautifully written, and I loved the explanation of why Tirion wasn't affected. To me, it sounded like something similar to what the dude did in, erm, "Princess Bride" when he became immune to that iocane powder. Something similar, but what Tirion did was so, so much more difficult, in my opinion. It's really amazing how he could do that, and why he would do that just boggles my mind. Yeah, "Let's go inflict some nightmares on ourselves!" It does puzzle me, though. The way you talked about it in the last few chapters makes me think that the nightmares are completely debilitating and you even almost loose consciousness. The world could break apart and there you would be, still in the nightmare trance, unable to move... So how would Tirion be able to make himself immune to them, then? If they leave you so paralyzed and out of it, how does he make himself not affected? It isn't like the poison, because he can't choose how much he gets of it. He gets the full bit, every time.

One thing that might just be my little thing in your book is your usage of the word, accountant, when referring to Christian. <.< As far as I am concerned, he isn't an accountant. Not anymore. Perhaps in the beginning of the book, it would have been perfectly fine to refer to him with that, but now... now I feel as though you are calling him something he's not. Like you're calling him a circus-clown, because this new Christian is so much different (although still the same ole' dude) than the man we knew in the beginning, I think it may be a good idea to not use that in the later chapters. Also, even if you disagree with me there, you do use it quite a bit in this chapter - several times, in fact. And it seemed strange and it may be why I noticed it, too. Because in the past chapters, I don't think I saw it really at all. Maybe once or twice? But not as many times as you reference in this.

I can't add to what Iggy said about the crying. Sometimes I hate being the last reviewer, or at least here after the awesome one's arrive, because I am never able to say something emotional. :D All I can do is ditto what they have already said. But, yes. I really liked the crying part of Christian, and it totally made sense for everything to just tumble over like that and cause his sudden tears, so I really liked that there. And again, all I can do is ditto Iggy with what she said about the entire deal with how he is worth so much. He is! And now Tirion is beginning to realize it, too. That is making me mucho happy. Christian may not appreciate himself, but Tirion is finally beginning to see him for what he is truly worth, I think. That is nice.

“I don’t know why he thinks you can do this, but he does,” the elf said. “We’re not that far. You follow

the light, and you kill that bastard, and you end this. If you run into trouble, stall as long as you can. I’ll join you as soon as he wakes up.”


That dun look right. A ninja inserted a corrupted enter key there....

On the throne sat Imelda with her eyes shining blue and a crow sitting on her shoulder.


Oh, dear. This reminds me of Malificent in Sleeping Beauty. And now I am curious to know why she is there, and who she is playing... <.< I am not so sure about this no more. hmmm.... Although I admit I did have to think about it for a moment before I remembered who Imelda was... perhaps a small, teensy introduction to her again? Just for our benefits? Those with terrible memories, of course. *AHEM* That would be me. :P

All I have for this chapter. Just wonderful.
~Darth Timmyjake
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BluesClues says...


That dun look right. A ninja inserted a corrupted enter key there....


Oops. Thanks muchos, dudebro. Glad you enjoyed it :)



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Tue Sep 23, 2014 8:04 pm
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Deanie says...



Blue! BLUE

I LOVE IT

I don't know why, but this chapter needed that emotional battle in there as well. And then, when Christian was recovering I was like, yes, I feel sorry for you and all but PEOPLE ARE DYING UPSTAIRS.

And then Tirion, all calm, said exactly that! I was so happy! :D

So yes, perfect chapter!

Except... for my pet peeve.

“Not…not what I…meant.”


We need spaces after the ellipsis. Otherwise, the two words connected by it technically become one, and that isn't correct. You used it somewhere else in the chapter as well. Just make sure you don't forget those all important spaces!

I should be reading more <3

Deanie x




BluesClues says...


Oh...MS Word counts it as two separate words, so I don't notice. But other than that, it was good?



Deanie says...


Yes, other than that it was very good!



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Sun Jul 27, 2014 7:57 pm
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rainforest wrote a review...



Hi! Unknown391625 here with another review!

This is pretty good! I really like it. I think it's the title that draws people in to read it. Same with the short description. Good job. You're ending sentence is very good. It's awesome. I leaves you wanting to read more. That is what a lot of people love. You did categorize the story under the correct genres. Same with the rating. Good job with that. I also like at the beginning of each chapter of this book you write, you put what chapter it is and a very small summary of what goes on in the chapter. Very well done! And also, you are revising it. That's awesome! Good job, BlueAfrica! I wanna see more from you. Don't give up and always write!

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Sun Jul 27, 2014 12:17 am
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Iggy wrote a review...



Hello my love!

Ugh <3 I can't say I remember much from the first draft. Wasn't there another reason why Tirion and Morrow wouldn't/couldn't go with Christian into Goblin's lair? I think he went alone but I can't remember.

Anyways, this addition has me very, very excited because IS TIRION GONNA LIVE?! PLEASE? It sounds like it, kind of maybepleaseihope. Either way, ugh, Morrow and Tirion <3 the Elf refusing to leave Morrow's side until Morrow wakes up just makes me so UGH YES MARRY. You are so on par with this gay couple. They make the fangirl in me go <333

The part about Christian crying made me tear up. :( that was pretty deep. He's so not useless! I can understand why Tirion was sharp with him but still </3 he was pretty shaken up after the attack from the night-mares. And Morrow... is just a wimp. Sorry :P had to say it. Either that or his demons are pretty stronger than Christian's.

Did you get your inspiration for the night-mares from dementors or are night-mares already something that existed before dementors? Regardless, they are awesome and I'm glad you used them. I also liked that Tirion took them out with a few arrows. The backstory as to why he's tolerant of them was also a nice addition. Overall, I'm just loving these changes so far!

Hope my review helps.

~Iggy

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BluesClues says...


Christian actually didn't go alone the first time, but I figured he had to spend a *little* time alone on the journey, you know? Anyway, Morrow's not a wimp, but...he did have a pretty bad attack off a herd of night-mares before. He almost died poor bby I'm so sorry. I was trying to post the next chapter for free literary work day, but...I couldn't get the revisions done in time. Only had a couple hours when I got home from work, and it wasn't enough for the changes that chapter needs, now that Christian spends some time alone with Goblin.




Poetry is the art of creating imaginary gardens with real toads.
— Marianne Moore