Runes: Day XXVIII

Fire and Water

For a moment, nobody said anything, but it seemed to Autumn that the clearing was full of noise, of song. The Giants waited, quite still, but their branches rustled, whispering. The people of the Greenwood and the Larchwood took up their positions again, just in front of the trees, and stood there, poised and waiting. The people of the Pinewood were still bringing up the rear, blocking the path leading back to the woods, and the people of the Brushwood were scattered amongst all the others. Some were tending to those wounded from fighting.

The Wildfolk were shifting uncomfortably. They had paused when the Giants had arrived, and they were clearly unsure about continuing. Several of them were glancing back to the bridge.

Rose stepped forward. Autumn still had her staff, but she didn’t look at all like she needed it.

“The woods are protected,” she said in a loud voice, addressing the Wildfolk. “Go back over the bridge and do not return. You know this cannot end well. The Giants have returned.”

Several of the Wildfolk started to edge backwards towards the bridge, until, eventually, one turned to run. As if this shook the others out of their indecision, dozens, hundreds, followed. The leader screeched at them, yelling for them to stay. One or two here and there paused, not sure what to do, but within only a handful of minutes the path leading to the bridge was nearly clear. Only about twenty Wildfolk remained.

The leader turned to face them, shouting a brief command, and the remaining Wildfolk fumbled in their belt pouches for something. They pulled out what looked like strips of leather and pebbles.

“Oh, no,” said Rose under her breath. “Not fire.”

The Wildfolk filled their slings with pebbles, and one of them - a woman wearing a strange cap on her head who Autumn hadn’t noticed before - walked past each of them, sprinkling something on the pebbles. One by one, the pebbles burst into flame. The Wildfolk took aim and fired at the Giants.

Some of the fire fizzled out as soon as the pebbles landed, but a handful dropped into the tinder-dry undergrowth and Autumn could see the sparks. As the flames caught, the people of the Brushwood, spread out amongst the wider group, darted to the fires and doused them with sand they pulled from pouches round their waists.

The leader of the Wildfolk shouted something again.

“He will not stop,” said Rose. “Not even for the Giants.”

“Alright, Erland,” Autumn heard her mum say to her left. “Our turn.”

Taking Erland by the hand, Autumn’s mum crouched to the ground.

“Place your right hand on the ground, like this,” she spread out her left hand, five fingers stretching out, and every bit of her hand and fingers touching the earth. “Think of water.”

Autumn glanced forward. The woman was walking past each of the Wildfolk again, setting fire to the next line of pebbles.

Autumn’s mum started singing. It was a song Autumn recognised from being a young child, something she’d always assumed had been a lullaby. Her mum had always sung it to her, and then to Erland when he had been born.

Erland started singing too, though Autumn realised she’d couldn’t really hear any words she recognised. They didn’t seem to make sense, it was as if it was in a different language. She wondered why she’d never noticed before.

Autumn’s mum and Erland were still crouching on the ground, their eyes closed. The woman had finished lighting the pebbles now, but the Wildfolk hadn’t released them yet. They were watching Autumn’s mum and Erland. One started to back away towards the bridge and then, almost as if realising what he was doing, jumped and hurried forward again, looking fearfully over his shoulder towards the river.

The song came to an end, and the two of them stood, still holding hands. They were looking at the Wildfolk. No, thought Autumn, following her mum’s gaze. They were looking beyond the Wildfolk. To the bridge and the river.

Perhaps Autumn hadn’t noticed the last of the daylight failing so fast, but it suddenly seemed much darker, as if night had settled in. There still didn’t seem to be any clouds, but the sky was dulled somehow, as if a film had been placed between the trees and the sky.

The Wildfolk felt it too. They paused and glanced behind them, uneasily.

Their leader screamed something to them, urging them to fire their pebbles, but it was clear something had changed.

There was what sounded like a gurgle of water, like when you pull a plug out of a bath, and splashing from beneath the bridge.

The Wildfolk started shuffling nervously not knowing which way to move, but clearly not wanting to be standing in the middle of the path. Whatever magic had been used to light the pebbles fizzled out, and the flames died. The Wildfolk didn’t even seem to notice. Even some of the people of the wood looked scared. The gurgling and the splashing sound got louder and something leapt up the bank from the river.

At first glance, it looked black, though shining with dripping water which formed pools beneath its feet. At that moment, the sky became clearer and the broad pale moon lit the woods. Autumn stared in horror.

If this was the Ckel, the water horse, it was like no picture of a water horse she had ever seen.

It had seemed black before in the dim light, but Autumn realised that its skin was almost translucent, like a black balloon stretched to almost bursting point. She could see through its skin, to muscles and sinews, even blood flowing through its veins. It looked like a horse and rider, though when she looked more closely, she saw that they were one and the same, all part of the same creature. Both the horse and riders’ eyes were just pools of darkness, with tiny sparks of light flickering deep within. As she watched, the Ckel reared up, and the horse struck out at the air in front of it.

It screamed. A loud, deep bellow and a piercing shriek all in one.

The Wildfolk scattered, running for the bridge, trying to give it as wide a berth as possible. All except their leader, who roared back.

Everything seemed to happen so quickly that Autumn almost absorbed it in slow motion. The leader drew his arm back and threw his spear at Autumn’s mum. It cut cleanly through the air, and Autumn saw her dad leap forward, stretching with his staff, but he wasn’t quick enough. At the same time, Autumn saw something out of the corner of her vision, a fast and whip-like movement, and a dark shape swept down from the left. The spear clattered to the ground at her mum’s feet and, in the clear brightness of the moon, Autumn saw the monkey puzzle stretched out, leaning forward. It pulled its branches back, curling up again to its full height, and stood tall and still once more.

The leader of the Wildfolk roared again, and started running towards them, covering the last of the ground between them quickly. Nearly all the others had already vanished over the bridge, and the remaining handful were running as fast as they could.

Erland, still standing next to Autumn, calmly raised his free arm and pointed at the leader. The Ckel screamed again, rearing and leaping forward in one movement. In a single bound, it had reached the leader, and the rider swept forward and pulled him astride the horse. The leader thrashed and fought, but the rider held fast. The horse paused, snorting and pawing the ground, looking at Erland and Autumn’s mum. Autumn’s mum nodded decisively, her face expressionless, and the Ckel spun round, bounding back towards the river. The leader of the Wildfolk roared, twisting in the rider’s grasp, but it was no good. They reached the edge of the bank, and the Ckel leapt into the water. There was more splashing, gurgling.

And then they were gone.