Tryal's Curse 7.2

~1637 words

~*~

At the eastern end of the Meargro Mountains, a boy and a girl sat hunched beneath a tree.

The girl was short and slight, with ginger hair that clashed with her nut-brown complexion. Her eyes were a startling shade of violet. She was not a pretty girl by any means, but the way she sat under the tree was quite dignified, and you could tell at once that she came from a family that was either respectable, or rich, or both.

She looked like she had been dragged through a maze of thorns. Her clothes were torn, her once bright-blue frock holey and smeared in all kinds of dirt. The boy next to her was a worse sight: a large purple bruise bloomed on his forehead, his white-blonde hair was matted and greasy, and he was dressed from head to toe in fleece. He was tall and lanky, splayed on the ground in a manner that was most certainly undignified, but the girl scarcely cast him a reproachful glance. It was obvious that she would have, were the conditions any different, but she was hungry, and tired, and her sojourn into the Meargro Mountains had as yet gone unrewarded.

This odd couple had been sitting under this tree for the last half an hour, contemplating their next move.

The girl was Arlene Randerfort. The boy was Prince. And they were being watched from across the Meare, their faces as clear as springwater, their voices resounding in a room in a tower in a red house that was built into the side of a mountain.

Kelm shuffled nearer to the window, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. Here was the girl! It had been days and here she was—safe. Kelm could have cried out in relief, but anger enveloped him, and he cocked his head closely at the children’s conversation.

He listened.

‘…find Quixa, you said it was just down this bend,’ the girl was saying, shaking her head at the boy.

‘It was--is--it was supposed to be, anyway!’ The boy, Prince, straightened up. He ran a hand through his hair. ‘But this part of the range is strange, it does whatever it wants. You’ve seen the trees, the weird fog, the wabbit, for goodness’ sake—there might be a herd—so when the cave entrances jump around, you shouldn’t be surprised either.’

‘I’m ... not—no.’ Arlene shook her head again, more violently this time. ‘I’m not surprised … I suppose. I’ve seen odder things Uncle El builds, and Ixister Kelm—I’ve been to his house, but…’ She sighed. ‘I’m tired, dirty, hungry, and I haven’t slept in fifteen hours. So please, please just get me to Ixister Quixa’s cave.’

‘It’s close,’ Prince said, bringing his knees to his chest. He yawned. ‘Your family’s going to kill you for disappearing for the entire night, you know,’ he commented lightly, picking at a blade of glass. He scrubbed distractedly at a grass stain on his fleecy sleeve and looked back at Arlene. Her expression was closed and guarded, her lips pursed as her thoughts roved over her situation once more.

‘It’s only one night,’ Arlene said. ‘It could be worse.’

Back in the tower, Kelm and Malkolm exchanged surprised glances. They knew very well that the entire village had been searching for Arlene longer than that—much longer, and Kelm wondered idly if he ought to take the matter up with the Ixisters’ Council. That part of the range had been left unexplored for too long; he felt stranger magics might be at work there.

But this accounts for why they are unperturbed by their disappearance. Poor child, Kelm thought, stroking his beard. She has no idea of the ruckus she has left behind her.

‘Yeah,’ Prince was saying now. He sounded somehow distant, his nails digging into the material of his trousers. His gaze was vacant as he observed the scenery before them, a rocky mountain trail, pines springing up from odd places, the whispering trees…. ‘It could be worse,’ he repeated. Then, snapping back to reality, he rolled his shoulders and got to his feet. ‘C’mon,’ he said to Arlene, and he pulled her up as well.

The image on the window flickered slightly as it followed the pair, zooming in on them as they tripped up the trail, their boots scuffing against the rock.

‘So are you going to explain your “utterly terrifying” dream to me any time soon?’ Prince said to Arlene teasingly. She rolled her eyes, wrapping her arms around her middle.

‘Those were not my words,’ she muttered irritably. ‘But I already told you—it’s been a consistent thing for a month now, the dream. It’s always the same.’ She fidgeted, attempting to stuff her hands into her pockets before realising that the dress didn’t have any, and allowing her arms to hang limply by her sides instead. ‘In my—in my dream…’ she said, making odd, jerky movements with her hand as though unsure how to explain it. ‘It’s—well, it’s never very clear, but, it’s always the same. There’s a … river, murky, deep, and I’m standing on the bank. There’s a light on the bank, the opposite side, facing me. And two wisps of smoke drag me towards the river, and I’m afraid—’ She sucked in a breath. ‘Well, I’m just afraid.

‘And every time I dream that dream, I stand on the bank for a real long time—it feels like years, and my limbs feel heavy, and I just—I know it’s a dream, okay?’ She looked at Prince, eyebrows furrowed, expression daring him to suggest otherwise ... but he simply nodded.

So Arlene continued tersely: ‘And then, for some inexplicable reason, even when my limbs begin to feel like they’re made of steel and there’s snow, then leaves, then yellowing grass underneath my feet, I walk into the river, that wisp of smoke curling around my waist. On the—on the other side of the bank, there’s another girl—a little older than me. She gets pulled in, too, but she’s screaming. I think, maybe, it’s my screaming that I hear, but I can never remember, and my mouth fills up with water and I—’ Arlene stopped suddenly, both in speech and in her trudging along the trail. Her shoulders were rigid; her expression closed off and stony.

Prince stopped walking, too, and looked at her questioningly. He was curious, there was no denying that, but he touched her shoulder somewhat awkwardly in an effort to comfort her.

Arlene shook her head, blinked, and resumed pace. This time, she spoke fast and her words were … measured, careful, like she was wary of giving too much away to this boy in sheep’s clothing. This boy—her first friend. So different from her, not just in the way he looked—pale, as pale the ice on the Meargro Mountains, pale as the trees boughs that swished above and around their head…. She looked down at her hands, so scrawny and brown in comparison.

Her hands balled themselves into fists.

‘The two wisps of smoke join when they reached the middle of the river,’ she said, through gritted teeth. ‘And I wake up.’

Prince looked over his shoulder at her, stumbling slightly when he didn’t pay attention to the trail. ‘That’s it?’ he asked.

‘That’s it,’ Arlene confirmed, concentrating on her feet. But both of them knew—and their audience in the red tower knew, too—that this was not the complete truth.

Prince shrugged. ‘It doesn’t sound like anything that really requires a visit to Quixa,’ he said lightly. ‘Just a nightmare.’

Arlene opened her mouth to reply, then closed it. Her nails dug into the sides of her arms as she walked, catching up with Prince, and her breath rose before her like steam from a heaving engine. Wispy and pale—Malkolm and Kelm watched on from the red house, watched on as she reached out hesitantly with a pale hand to touch the vapour. Her fingers closed around emptiness, and she shivered. Prince, too, was quiet, and for a while they simply walked, the trees around them like ghosts amidst ghosts, the trail the only solid thing beneath their feet.

‘It’s important,’ Arlene said quietly, breaking the silence. ‘It’s important to me. You can’t understand—it wasn’t your dream. You weren’t there. I need to see Quixa,’ she said. ‘I have to.’ Her voice was laced with desperation now, and Kelm moved closer towards the window, looking at the scene with utmost concentration. The cogs in his head turned. Malkolm, too, held his hands up without complaint, pretending to look uninterested. But things were changing, and perhaps this girl was not so silly as he had originally thought after all….

‘I know,’ Prince said. ‘You didn’t have to tell me anyway.’ And he took her hand and dragged her up the trail, faster. The sun dribbled yolk above their heads before it sank behind the mountains.

Malkolm let the screen down. His hands burned. It was like the chill of the mountains had permeated the room; it left him feeling uneasy, and he sat down with considerably more grace than Kelm, who had collapsed onto an armchair. Kelm twirled his beard around his finger, eyes overcast as if he was somewhere far, far away.

‘We need to get Elborn,’ he said, his voice heavy. ‘We need to get Elborn and go see the Ixisters’ Council straightaway, even before we see the king. Malkolm—’

‘Yes,’ he said. He felt drained—too tired to argue. ‘I’ll go get him.’

‘Good,’ Kelm said. ‘Good.’ He closed his eyes and fell back on the armchair, rubbing at his forehead.

Malkolm looked out of the window. It was only past noon. Why had it felt like decades had passed, then? It had been dusk at the Eastern end of the mountains. The children said it had only been a night since they had left. Time—time was strange. He rolled up his sleeves and stepped out of the window, magicking a platform for his to walk on.

It was going to be a busy night.