Authors: Matt Griffin
A Cage of Roots (12 page)
And then a light appeared behind the toad, there was a thud and the beast’s grip diminished. Ayla opened her eyes, to see the shaft of a short spear sticking out from between those horrible eyes. The green light in them dimmed, and Ayla was so relieved, but only for a second, until she saw the small black goblins swarm over it. They
removed the spear and hauled her roughly from its slack mouth.
‘
Not for you, King Toad! This one’s not for your supper!
’ one screeched.
‘
This one’s for our own king, fat one! But you’ll make a fine meal for us!
’ howled another, and they all shrieked with laughter.
Two of them produced crooked blades and started carving slimy lumps off the belly of the carcass.
‘Get off me, you horrible animals!’ shouted Ayla, wrestling to free herself. But a creature gripped her jaws and put its face right up to hers.
‘
We won’t be letting you go again, runt! You’re ours now, no escaping! Rotten, cowering, mewling toadfood! It’s time for you to meet our lord king! He summons you to his court!
’
The last thing she saw was the rest of the pack bowing in mock sincerity before she was struck with the butt of a blade and cast back into unconsciousness.
Ayla was woken by violent shaking and the putrid reek of rotten porridge, a bowl of it being held under her nose. A gaggle of creatures surrounded her, in a large tunnel lit dimly by flickering torches. She looked around hazily. The ceiling was high and the walls seethed with the same horrid carvings she had seen before – long serpentine versions of the goblins, mingling in an intricate web. Here, their scrawny arms all pointed to one spot – an enormous,
imposing door of steel. The door itself was alive with a carving of incredible detail. It depicted a thick swarm of goblins, like an army, all pointing upwards to a tangle of roots and on to a cruel-looking hawthorn tree surrounded by mountains.
‘
Awake, little ferret? Good! A great honour for you now, my Lady Piglet! Stand up straight now! You have been granted an audience
!’
Ayla was forced to her feet. She struggled, but her elbows were gripped painfully. One of the goblins approached the door and placed a long finger into the eye of one of the sculptures. The huge doors swung open slowly and silently.
A cavernous, colossal hall vaulted up into cold darkness. Towering pillars covered in the same unearthly carvings leaped from the floor, impossibly wide and tall. To either side, countless more stretched off into the distance. Ahead of them, the broad gallery ran on and on like a highway, into shadow. There were torches here and there, but they did not illuminate the measureless hall. The light came from the thousands upon thousands of glowing white eyes that hovered among the pillar’s feet like ghosts.
Ayla was knuckled in the back, urged forward. As she walked down the thoroughfare, the multitude of creatures on either side stayed eerily still. She expected abuse, howling, attacks, but none of them moved; they just stared. There was a noise, however; faint at first, and then louder
as she trudged on: it was hissing. After a long march, she was stopped just where the light fell to gloom. The hissing had become deafeningly loud and then, like a switch, it stopped to dead silence. She glanced around and found their eyes all resting on her. Squinting forward into the bleakness, she strained to make out the scene before her.
High above her a furnace opened, hot and gaping, spitting sparks that danced like bright yellow swallows. Above it, two smaller fires appeared, dimmed and then opened wider. A booming, thunderous growl filled the air. All the creatures in the hall turned to the furnace in unison, and their light revealed its source. For a moment Ayla felt as if her heart had stopped; her lungs, her stomach – all seized by shock.
The furnace was a mouth. Above it were two flaming eyes. They were set in a face of blood-red roots, twisted into a grimace. The face belonged to a monstrous figure, an imitation of a man, thirty-odd metres tall, made entirely of the same gnarled, weaving branches that tangled themselves into the form of his face. He was sitting on a gargantuan throne of solid rock, his feet sprawled before him, his hands gripping its armrests like thick ivy. His head morphed into a crown, which spread like a fan from his temples and disappeared into the murky heights above.
The monster looked down to Ayla and the roots began to move, writhing into the shape of a brutal grin. It spoke: ‘AYLA!’
The voice was like an earthquake. It rattled her bones. The air around her buzzed, her teeth chattered. A dull pain grew behind her eyes and throbbed.
‘You are home.’
The hissing started again, reaching a crescendo as the doors she had come through opened again, and some kind of contraption – it was too distant to make out – was wheeled in. This time the creatures weren’t still; they whooped and howled and scrambled over each other. The hall was filled with their caterwauling celebrations. The king leaned back on his throne. The contraption drew nearer. The king raised one tangled hand, and the crowd of goblins to his left parted, revealing yet another horror.
On the far wall, another being of roots hung limp and half-formed. It was a woman. Ayla could just make out a long neck extending down from half a face; the curve of a bosom; the slack form of a lifeless arm. It was grotesque. It didn’t seem to be awake. Fresh tears began to flow down Ayla’s cheeks. The scale of this nightmare seemed to know no limits.
The king spoke again: ‘Prepare the loom!’
At that, Ayla was hauled backwards and then turned to face the machine that had been brought to them. It was tall, made from thick timbers and heavy stone. On a wheeled platform, two walls of granite flanked a raised wooden structure. At the centre of this platform there was
a kind of bed in the shape of small person. Its arms and legs extended out in a star. There were belts of leather and chains to hold a person in. It looked more like an instrument of torture than a loom. It looked like something from which there was no escape.
The goblins began to chant in their grating, violent voices, louder and louder, to a shrill and deafening pitch. Ayla was shoved violently onto the steps and up, beaten over the head and arms as they wrenched her into the bed and fastened the straps violently tight. The chains bit at her arms and neck. Her screams were lost among the chanting. And then it stopped, and shifted to a lower tone, deep and baritone.
‘Begin.’
The order came, and a goblin pulled a wooden device down over her torso. Instantly, the pain started. It felt as though she was being stabbed in the chest by a long needle, over and over and over. She choked on the agony, and just before the darkness took her she started to hallucinate. It looked as if one of the goblins had pulled a thread from her chest, tying it to a higher piece of the device. But the thread shone like neon, a glowing thread of white. It was the last thing she saw before passing out.
L
ann and Finny had not spoken much as they walked. They crossed miles of forest, picking their way among the trees with barely a word. Finny kept some distance between himself and his guide. Any time Lann cared to look back and check, he saw that Finny was still there. He never lagged or complained – just marched in determined silence.
They had spent a full day on the move, breaking infrequently for a drink or a bite of food, and had rested one more night in the shelter of a great oak. Finny had barely slept again, his thoughts still overwhelmed by worry for Ayla and the insanity of Lann’s story. They had risen early to a fresh, crisp morning, and quickly packed up and set off again among the dripping ferns. This time Finny had more questions, and this time he wanted answers to them.
‘Where are the others, Lann?’ he asked. ‘Are they nearby?’
‘No, lad, not near. Not even far. They’re not here at all.’
‘What? You mean it’s only us? What are they doing?’ Finny was frustrated at the thought of being the only one risking anything to save his friend.
‘Calm yourself, lad. They’re just as far from home as you are. But they have their own tests to complete. If you and they survive, we will go through another gate and meet.’
‘If we survive? How can you say that and not tell me more?’ Finny stopped walking. ‘I’ve had enough of this strong and stern crap! You need to tell me what’s happening and stop being so secretive about something I supposedly have to do and supposedly won’t live through! What are these tests?’
Lann stopped but did not turn. Finny swallowed hard, suddenly nervous.
‘Fair enough,’ Lann said. ‘I told you of my father’s weapons. I didn’t mention that they were magic. My father won them from a witch in Ulster, and they had powers beyond simple tools of war. This was either a blessing or a curse, depending on how you look at it.
‘When we were given our order by the Old Ones, to live on and find the girl, first we were told to hide our weapons. We had to hide them in the most treacherous places we could imagine. For if it ever happened that the
girl was taken by the dark forces that sought her, we would not be able to rescue her alone. We would need the help of three new heroes. These three would be faced with unimaginable danger, and it would take far more than bravery to succeed. Many heroes are brave and strong, but to rescue Ayla from the bowels of hell, they would need more.’
‘Like what?’ Finny pleaded.
‘Love. Sacrifice. They would need the will to lay down their lives in place of someone they loved. And to have that conviction, that selflessness, they would need to find something else again. Their
true selves.
’
Now Lann turned to look into Finny’s eyes.
‘When faced with the ultimate evil, lad, only the true can triumph.’
He turned and began to walk again.
‘The Old Ones opened gates for us, and taught us how to find the hiding places, and how to overcome the creatures that we would set to guard them.’
‘Creatures? What creatures?’ Finny asked, trotting after him.
‘We couldn’t just hide them under a rock, lad. Each is guarded by something abhorrent. The guardians are not men or women; they are the most fearsome things to have walked this world. There’s a different beast guarding each treasure. They would never let the weapons fall into the wrong hands. I am sure, over the centuries, people have
tried – my father’s arms were famous. Those people would have died trying.’
‘Then I’ll die!’ Finny shouted. ‘I’m just a kid, Lann! You guys are the bloody ancient warrior heroes! I don’t understand why you need
us
to do this!’
Lann turned to look at him again. He started to speak and then stopped himself. He swallowed, shifted the pack on his shoulder and said, ‘Save your strength, lad. You’ll need it. You’ll be meeting your guardian today.’
With that, he simply turned and marched on through the bracken.
Taig stood before Benvy and looked at her with a mix of emotions. Among them, Benvy recognised pity and concern. He tried to disguise his feelings with a smile, but it didn’t work. Behind her was the forest of white-barked birch they had spent the last day-and-a-half walking through. Ahead was a high inland cliff of granite, bright in the midday sun. At the foot of the cliff, a hundred yards or so ahead over flat flagstones and tufts of yellow grass, was the opening to a cave. That was where Benvy was going, alone.
‘Why can’t you come with me again?’ she asked, a crack in her voice betraying her fear.
‘This you must do on your own, Benvy. I can’t help you. I can only wait, and pray that you come out again.’
He added, ‘I have every faith that you will.’
This was small comfort. He hadn’t even been able to tell her what to expect. Only that there would be a cave, and she would enter, and her survival was entirely up to her. If she did make it out, but without his javelin of red gold, then she had failed.
‘Can’t you give me any tips?’ Benvy pleaded, already knowing the answer.
‘I’m afraid not, young lass. You are on your own.’
He looked genuinely conflicted, and it seemed like a thousand thoughts were fighting for dominance behind his eyes. She could see him struggling with the urge to stop her, and she wished he would.
Benvy swallowed and took a long, deep breath. The air was fresh and quenching, full of the scents of woodlands. A gust carried a smell from the cave mouth: it was tepid and sickly. She didn’t look at Taig again, in case it robbed her of what little resolve she had.
Am I ready to die for my friend?
she asked herself.
Why should I risk dying for something that’s totally out of my control? Why should my life be gambled against Ayla’s?
She thought of running, but realised she had nowhere to run to. She was in a strange land with no people or cars or telephones. She had seen
actual magic
. And she knew then that there was no going back.
Ayla
is suffering somewhere,
she reminded herself.
Ayla needs my help. Ayla would do it for me
.
She inhaled deeply again, cleared her throat and began the walk across the stones. As she drew closer to the cave, the cliffs hid the sun and she was suddenly in shadow. The air chilled and sent goosebumps up her arms. The cold was coming from the black yawn of the cave mouth, and the breeze danced and swirled in the archway, creating a ghostly drone from the dark. When Benvy had just a few yards to go, she heard a shout behind her.
‘Listen to the music!’
‘Sean, lad, shut your eyes. Don’t open them again until I say.’
The two men and Sean had remained uncomfortably jammed in the pillory until well into the night, to be sure that all but the wall-guards were asleep. Fergus and Goll had exchanged chat as if they were outside the local shop, but in a language Sean didn’t fully understand. It was like Irish, so the odd word seemed familiar. Whatever it was, it must have contained some jokes, as they laughed together periodically. It was infuriating. Sean did as he was told.
Fergus watched the guards stroll along the platform behind the wooden perimeter fence. When they were out
of sight, he made sure Goll was ready and that the boy’s eyes were firmly shut, and his teeth and fists were clenched.
With a short grunt, Fergus lifted the top board with his wrists and the back of his neck, until the metal hinges groaned and snapped, scattering the bolts around him. Next, he placed a hand on each of the wooden boards that pinned down his companions. With just a modicum more effort, he lifted them both simultaneously and cast them aside like they were cardboard. Sean winced as he stretched the raw skin on his neck and wrists and, realising he could see barely anything, grasped for his glasses. One of the lenses was cracked.
It had been an impressive but noisy feat of strength. The night-watch guards raced around to the front to see what had happened and, after a moment of shock, howled for help. One started clanging a large bell, while the other fired a bolt at them. It whizzed just past Sean’s ear, sinking into the broken timber behind him. The narrow windows of the keep blinked into light and its great front door opened. Soldiers poured out, drawing swords and loading their crossbows.
‘Whenever you’re ready, Goll!’ Fergus shouted, pulling Sean behind him. ‘Keep those eyes shut now, lad. And hop on to my back. Don’t let go, whatever happens.’
Sean obeyed, clambering onto the giant’s broad back and squeezing his eyes tightly. He had no intention of opening
them until he was safe. As the Norman soldiers rushed with swords and a flurry of bolts rocketed towards them, Goll spread his arms and began to chant. Sean braved a peek from behind Fergus’s red mane.
Goll was very tall – the same height as Fergus – but slight. There was no weight on him; he was gangly and long-limbed. His features were blackened with grime, his puffin-beak nose arching out over a wispy beard. He had his eyes closed at first, but then opened them, revealing a blinding blue light that stung Sean’s own, leaving sunspots hopping behind his lids when he shut them again.
Goll’s chanting grew louder and more frantic, and at his command, a fork of lightning hurtled from the night sky and struck the thatch of the smithy roof in an explosion of flame. The soldiers ducked, and some threw down their arms and ran, but more followed out of the castle door and down the steps. The captain was the last to emerge.
Fergus shouted, ‘Eyes shut! Hold on! Don’t let go!’ before leaping from the platform and wading into the scattering soldiers. He swung his monstrous arms and hit two and three at a time, knocking helmets into the air and leaving limp bodies behind. He was ferociously deft, pounding his way across the yard, grabbing, lifting and slamming armoured men as if they were as weak as lambs. He carved a path straight to the captain, while thunder boomed and rain pelted down in thick arrows.
Round pellets of hail joined the deluge, as Goll’s chanting grew in volume above the thunderclaps. The wound on Fergus’s cheek had reopened, and leaked warm blood into his beard and onto Sean’s hands. Still the giant strode through the soldiers, swatting them aside in groups until he reached his target.
The captain threw his sword aside and dropped to his knees. Sean didn’t need to speak the language to understand that he was pleading for mercy. Fergus shouted something back, and then raised both his arms over his head. Just as he was about to bring them down, Sean shouted, ‘Fergus, no!’ and jumped from the uncle’s back to stand in front of the begging knight. Fergus only just stopped himself, barely realising that his young charge was in his way. He blinked, confused, and then stared at the stricken captain. He hoisted Sean onto his shoulders like a weightless sack, and stomped away towards the gate.
Goll’s incantation had reached its feverish peak, and his eyes blazed with waving fronds of electricity. Then he stopped, quite suddenly. The rain and hail and thunder followed him into silence and all was chillingly quiet. Fergus began to run for the gates, reaching them in a few long strides just as a deafening thrum cracked and rumbled overhead.