Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1) (29 page)

“You’re awake,” he said stiffly when he reached them. “Good. We have come further than I thought last night, Valdyr’s Mirror lies barely half a league yonder. Provided there are no problems crossing it, then there’s a chance we could reach the cliffs by nightfall.”

Valdyr’s Mirror turned out to be a long, wide lake that stretched from the cliffs that marked the edge of the Spiritwood to several leagues into the fens, stabbing into its heart like a colossal spearhead. It may not have been far from their camp, but took over an hour to reach; there had been no option but to cut a direct path through the mire itself, every footstep accompanied by a thick squelch of liquid mud. By the time they stood on the western bank of the lake, the sun was already high in the sky above the horizon.

At the northernmost edge, near where they now stood, the lake was narrower and as still as a pond. It was clear how the Mirror had earned its name; its surface was a brilliant reflection of the blue sky and thin wisps of white cloud, the illusion unspoiled by the merest ripple.

“It is not so still near the falls that feed the lake, but this far away... it is quite a sight, is it not?” said Harri. “They say the lake is so calm it serves as a looking-glass for the All-Father himself.”

Cole eyed the lake dubiously. “It’s very striking, but how will we cross it? I’m not sure I fancy a swim in this chill. Or is the plan to go around it?”

Harri shook his head. “I would not attempt it. The ground on the northern edge, where it feeds the mire, is too soft, making it too difficult to predict the safe paths... if there are any. In the summer, perhaps, but not now. Fortunately, there is a way that doesn’t involve getting your breeches wet.”

He strode to a thicket of tall reeds at the edge of the water, and pushed his way into them. “Good, it’s still here,” he muttered.

Raven joined him. Hidden among the forest of tall green stems, pulled halfway up to the bank, was a rickety rowing boat with a shallow bottom. Of oars, however, there was no sign. “A boat,” she said. “Is it left here by hunters?”

“Aye,” Harri replied. “It is not often we’re called on to venture into the fens, but when we are it is good to have a swift way to cross the mere.”

“What if it had been left on the other side?” asked Cole, coming up behind them.

“Simple.” Harri bent down and lifted a rope, one end of which was staked to the ground nearby and the other fixed to the stern of the rowboat. “There is another, below the water, which is secured on the other bank. Whichever bank it is on, if you’re on the opposite side you can pull it across.” He dropped the rope back to the ground, where it landed in the mud with a squelch. “It is a joyless task, though, and one I am always happy to avoid.”

With a heavy kick, Harri pushed the boat from the mud into the water. Despite the hunter’s protests that it was able to carry them all safely across the lake, neither Raven nor Cole were keen to take the risk. After some discussion, they decided that they would cross first, after which Harri would pull the craft back to the other bank and follow with their packs. He didn’t seem entirely pleased at the prospect.

The boat wobbled when Raven stepped lightly onto it, but not so much that she was in any danger of falling into the water. Cole followed, holding out his arms to steady himself as he climbed on board. There was a confidence to his movements, she noticed, that had not been so evident that day in the tree, weeks earlier. The training was yielding results, it seemed.

When they were both safely aboard, Cole took up a long pole that was loosely tied to it, and used it to propel them across the lake. As they travelled, the motions of the pole and boat created ripples that dispelled the illusion of the sky on the surface of the water. Raven wondered idly whether Valdyr would be annoyed.

They crossed without incident. Raven felt almost cheerful as she sat staring into the water, lulled by the peace of the marsh and the rhythmic rising and falling of the pole in Cole’s hands.

It seemed only a short time later that they reached the opposite bank with a soft thud. Yet, when she turned around, Harri was a distant speck on the far side of the lake. Almost as soon as Cole leapt onto the bank, the boat began to drift slowly back the way they had come as the young hunter pulled on the rope.

“I guess we just wait then,” said Cole, glancing at their surroundings. Raven did likewise. A cursory look suggested there was little to mark the eastern part of the fens from the west; similar pools and raised grassy pathways stretched out before them. At least on this side they would not need to venture out into the mire itself. Once Harri had joined them, they would turn south and follow the eastern bank of the lake all the way to the cliffs that led up into the Spiritwood.

Raven turned in that direction, and saw the dark line of trees far in the distance. At the far end of the Mirror, the falls were also just visible. From so far away, the point where the Ymbral cascaded into the lake seemed like little more than faint white mist. It was hard to believe that before nightfall they would be standing close enough to it to feel the spray on their faces.

“Raven,” Cole hissed urgently. “Over by that stump. I see something.”

Raven’s hand flew to the hilt of her sword. She gazed searchingly in the direction Cole was pointing. There was indeed a tree stump standing at the edge of a pool thirty or forty yards away. Even from this distance, Raven could tell that it was half-rotted. How long ago a tree had actually grown in this mire, she could only guess. At first, she didn’t see what Cole had spotted. But then, in a hollow at the base of the stump, she caught sight of a small figure. In colour it was almost indistinguishable from the wooden stump itself.

Whatever it was, it was tiny.

“What is it?”

“I... I’m not sure,” Raven replied. “I haven’t seen its like before.” However, it didn’t seem to present an immediate threat, so she relaxed her grip. To her horror, Cole brushed past her and approached the stump. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t think it’s dangerous,” Cole replied. “It’s just standing there, looking at us.”

“You know that for sure, do you?” Raven caught up with him and grabbed his arm, pulling him to a halt. “It’s only a couple of days since you were frightened half to death by a duck.”

“This doesn’t have a beak, though,” said Cole with a grin. “Oh gods, it’s raising its hand,” he added at a sign of movement from the little figure. “Wait, no... it’s just picking its nose.”

Raven squinted doubtfully at the stump, and it appeared that Cole was correct. All the same, she hesitated, still holding his sleeve.

“Look, it’s fine,” said Cole, pulling his arm free of her grip and approaching the stump once again.

Exasperated, Raven looked at the lake behind. Harri had now boarded the small boat and was slowly making his way across the water. It would still be several minutes before he reached them.

When she turned back, Cole had already reached the tree stump, and was bending down towards the small figure. With a groan, Raven hurried over to him.

The little creature looked vaguely humanoid, she saw as she neared them, though smaller even than an infant. It stood barely a hand tall from the ground. Its head was covered in a thick, bristly hair, while its face was dominated by a disproportionately large, bulbous nose. Two small yellow eyes glared belligerently from beneath thick, wiry brows. It was clothed in what appeared to be a dirty, matted pelt that might have been from a rabbit, or just as easily a rat or squirrel.

As Raven squatted down beside Cole, it leered nastily at her, revealing two rows of sharp teeth. “Wot?” it demanded in a gruff voice.

Raven’s eyes flew wide. “It speaks?” she said, turning to Cole.

Cole nodded. “He says his name is Grume.”

The creature rolled its eyes and emitted a strange phlegmy growl from its throat. “Faggorf,” it spat. “Does I look like a bladdy kit? I,” it continued, drawing itself to its full, unimpressive, height, “is The Impending Grume.”

Cole blinked. “Impending of what?” he asked.

The creature eyed him suspiciously. “You wot?”

“Well, you have to be impending of something.” Cole scratched his head. “Like a cloudy sky is impending of rain. You can’t just
be
impending.”

“I can if I wants,” the creature sniffed. “Anyways, I didn’t bladdy name myself, did I? The ‘ag did that, same as for everyone.”

Despite herself, Raven smiled at this exchange. As Cole had said, there seemed little risk of imminent danger. He turned to her. “I think I’ve read about this,” he told her. “They weren’t part of our lessons, but in the Crag’s library there were books of legends and fables. I flicked through them from time to time. I think he is one of the fae folk.”

“Aye,” said a voice from behind them. “It’s a boggit.” They turned, and saw Harri making his way towards them, struggling beneath three heavy packs. “You are right, Cole, though this creature is far removed from storybook fairies or pixies. It is more likely to eat your cat than grant a wish, as I believe is proven by its choice of garments. Isn’t that right, swamp-fiend?”

“Nuffin’ wrong with cat,” the boggit grumbled, wrapping its fur cloak tightly around itself. “Keeps you nice and warm when the snows come, cat does. My grandsire caught this one, and it kept us fed all winter long.” It licked its lips at the memory.

“I’ve never heard of these creatures before,” said Raven.

Harri let the packs fall to the ground with a thump. “To tell it true, I thought they had long ago died out. It has been many years since I last laid eyes on one.”

“Where does its strange name come from?” she asked, trying to ignore the creature’s glare.

“Our storytellers say that when boggits reach maturity they are named by their tribe’s... wise-woman,” Harri replied. “Or whatever passes for one. They give them grand, impressive names, perhaps to compensate for their humble lives and surroundings. Gruk the Magnificent, Delf the Invincible, and so on.”

“Maybe she meant something else.” Cole turned to the little creature, who was scowling ill-temperedly at them. “Impoverished, maybe. Impatient?”

“Faggorf, bigguns,” it said again.

Before Raven could stop him, Cole reached out and took hold of the boggit, lifting him up. “Oi, lerrus go!” it shrieked, thrashing in his hands.

“I think it’s sweet,” Cole said, turning to her.

The boggit continued to howl, waving its arms furiously. “Gerroff! I ‘as powers. I’ll zap yer!”

In the next moment, several things happened at once. As Cole leaned over, still holding the boggit, his pendant fell out from his undershirt onto his chest. At the same time, the creature pointed a gnarled finger and squinted its yellow eyes at him.

Raven saw the crystal glow for an instant, before a bolt of green lightning erupted from the startled boggit’s finger, striking Cole in the chest with a loud crack. The pair of them flew in opposite directions, landing in the mud a few feet apart.

She ran to Cole’s side. He was conscious, laying on his back staring at the sky with wide eyes. His face was blackened, and the front of his leather jerkin was scorched. Several of the metal rings sewn into it were twisted and misshapen, and a wisp of smoke rose from the fabric.

“Are you all right?” she asked urgently, inspecting him for wounds. Aside from the shock and the burns he seemed otherwise unharmed.

“I... I think I’m ok,” he said in a faraway voice. “That was... unexpected.”

She pulled him into a sitting position, and looked across to Harri. The young hunter was squatting next to the still figure of the creature. “What was that?” she asked him.

“I don’t know,” Harri replied. He prodded it with a finger. It didn’t move. “The few stories of boggits say nothing of magic. It seems unlikely such base creatures could wield such power. I think it was just as surprised by what happened as Cole.”

Gently, she helped Cole to his feet. “Is it dead?”

“No, it still breathes.” Harri prodded it again, once more without result. “It lives, but other than that I could not say how well it fares.”

Cole squatted down next to the creature. Its eyes were closed, but as Harri had noted, its chest rose and fell with each breath. “What will we do with him?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“Do?” Raven was incredulous. “We’ll leave it here where we found it and make our way to the cliffs before it gets dark.”

Cole looked up at her, his face radiating concern. “We can’t leave him here like this. He’ll die.”

“And what if it does?” Harri replied. “Cole, these creatures are little more than vermin. What would you do with a rat that attacked you?”

“He didn’t mean to.” Cole shook his head. “What happened wasn’t his fault, it was mine. I can’t just leave him. He could be the last of his kind. You said yourself you hardly remember the last time you saw one.” He appeared to reach a decision, and picked the boggit up once more, more delicately this time. “I’m bringing him with us,” he told them, cradling the unconscious creature in the crook of one arm.

Raven made no attempt to hide her frustration. “This is your idea of an apology, is it? To carry it into the heart of the Spiritwood while it sleeps. Do you think it’ll thank you when it wakes up halfway down a screamer’s gullet?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” replied Cole stubbornly. “I do know he’ll probably die out here if we leave him. Besides, something happened when he was near my crystal. If I can, I want to find out more. Perhaps his people have come across them before, or know of them.”