Dire Woods

The old woman, staff in hand, edged towards the side of the trail among the bushes. She gestured at Emily and John Joseph to do the same. The wolves were nowhere in sight. The bog cat, fur still bristling, leapt onto a high ledge, his razor sharp talons evident.

John Joseph’s hiding place gave him a surprising good view of the trail below them. Silently, low to the ground, he edged forward.

At least twenty trolls were lumbering noisily towards them. Invisible or on the attack? Invisible or on the attack? He had no idea what he was supposed to do! They’d taken on that small group of mountain trolls previously, but that had been a group of only five, four really, if you counted the littlest one, who hadn’t even fought! Now there were twenty! He counted rapidly in his head. No, twenty-one, a small one was straggling behind. Twenty-one of the blasted things!!!!!

Sure, they had the wolves and the bog cats, but the clubs and axes the trolls were swinging were the size of small trees. It would take at least two wolves to take down one troll. He did some quick calculating in his head, two wolves to each troll, five trolls to Mrs. Wickaby, Emily and himself. Even if the bog cat could take down one on its own that still left ELEVEN TROLLS! Even if by some miracle the other four wolves showed up in the next thirty seconds, they’d still be grossly outnumbered.

He could feel himself panicking. He took short panting breaths as the troll in the lead stopped suddenly, his nostrils twitching. Calm down, breathe, feel the energy flowing around you. It was there, not heavy, but there all the same. He could feel his heart slowing slightly.

The lead troll, the largest by far, was scanning the mountainside above him, his great shaggy head swaying from side to side.

John Joseph’s mind was still racing. Air, he’d have to use the air, or maybe he could use the earth to move those boulders? There was no way invisibility was going to save them. Their camping gear still lay in the open at their site and these enemies were close enough to hunt them by smell.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Bounder still perched high on a ledge. His muscles were taut. He was ready to spring. If he makes a move, I have to be right behind him.

The massive troll grunted, a deep questioning roar. John Joseph found himself swiveling to stare at him, at his huge head, at his massive neck, at the strange, knotted ornament hanging from his neck.

That looks familiar.

In a moment of blinding inspiration, he knew exactly what to do. It was definitely a long shot, but it was their only chance. He stepped out from his scant cover until he was fully exposed and roared back at the troll. His wand clutched tightly in his hand.

He could hear Emily gasp off to the right, but he didn’t have time to worry about her now. He had to be right. He had to be.

Straightening his back, he strode down the trail approaching the group of Mountain Trolls, wand at the ready, just in case.

The head troll was staring at him, its huge mouth gaping open, yellow fangs protruding. The majority of the troop started stomping their feet and lifting their clubs and axes. The runt at the back was staring in apparent fascination.

“Remember me?” John Joseph said. “Do you remember? We left you alone, didn’t we? When we could have chopped you up into kindling.”

He knew that the boss recognized him. He could see it in his small, slate-grey eyes. Let’s just hope he remembers me fondly. Dragging his reluctant feet over the loose shale, he advanced towards the group.

Now or never. With what he hoped was a friendly flourish, he tucked his wand back into his pocket and held out a trembling hand. “Friends?” he asked. Please, let them understand English, or at least body language. Please.

The gargantuan figure before him bent down until he was staring directly into John Joseph’s eyes. His club was still clenched in his hands. John Joseph could feel the troll’s hot breath hitting his cheeks. Think happy thoughts! Think happy thoughts! This is it! Do or die!

The mountain troll formed his mouth into a grimace, then bared his teeth. John Joseph sincerely hoped it was a smile. He thrust his arm closer to the troll’s face, knowing that he could bite his hand of with a snap. John Joseph could feel beads of sweat dripping off his chin as the moment lengthened.

“Friends,” the mountain troll grunted.

The crowd behind him either didn’t understand a word or were having none of it. They started to raise their clubs and axes into the air, speaking in their heavy, guttural language. The biggest troll casually swung backwards. The troll behind him collapsed to the ground holding his head. The smallest of the troop scampered forward, his teeth bared in a grin.

“Me, me!” he grunted, slapping himself on the chest.

“It is you, isn’t it?” John Joseph responded. “The one we left behind to release the rest!”

“Mogan,” he rumbled, hitting himself on his chest. “Me, Mogan.”

“Your name is Mogan?” John Joseph asked, making exaggerated facial expressions and talking slowly.

The smallest troll nodded enthusiastically.

“Pleased to meet you,” the boy replied. “I’m John Joseph.”

“Grohn Gosef,” his new friend repeated slowly.

“Close enough.”

“Do you mind if we join you?” Mrs. Wickaby hollered from her hiding place, “or is this a one wizard show?”
 The troll troop gazed around warily, their huge heads fanning from side to side, as the rest of the John Joseph’s friends slowly appeared from their hiding spots. There was a lot more head shaking and club waving. Even the head troll grunted warily when the wolves emerged and he gave a huge start when the bog cat joined them. John Joseph adjusted his numbers absent-mindedly. Maybe Bounder could have taken on two or three?

Fortunately, Mrs. Wickaby took control. It seemed she spoke troll fluently, all variations.

Within fifteen minutes, they were sitting comfortably around a small fire while Emily brewed tea. The old woman was busy sharing out their stores of food. “Better to be safe than sorry,” she whispered in an aside to John Joseph. “They’re much easier to deal with when they’re not hungry.”

John Joseph put the piece of jerky he’d chosen back into the pile. He only got a little grumpy when he missed a meal.

It seem’ed Mogan was the son of the fellow wearing the necklace, Grokk. His brothers, three burly looking giants with low one-piece eyebrows, had been picking on him because of his small size. Mogan had run away and his father and brothers had gone looking for him. They’d tracked him into the valley and were leading him home when they’d smelled Mrs. Wickaby, Emily and John Joseph.

It seemed they hadn’t eaten in a few days and had been feeling a little peckish. The smell of the three of them, ripe for the picking, had been too much, especially as they hadn’t seen any game during their trip back.

“Because of that bog cat probably,” Emily commented.

It looked like Grokk and Mrs. Wickaby were going to be talking for awhile. The old hedge witch was pouring more tea. John Joseph decided to move upwind from the trolls who were lounging around the pool. They were really ripe. Surprisingly, Emily joined him.

John Joseph and Emily perched on a broad rock upwind from the trolls and watched the strangely assorted group as they lounged around the pool. The bog cat joined them silently.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” John Joseph asked Emily, his hand on Bounder’s flank.

“Probably trading recipes,” Emily answered with a smirk. “Or talking about their kids or grandkids.”

John Joseph realized Emily hadn’t seen her parents in days. “What will your parents do when they discover you’re gone?” he asked.

Emily groaned. “They won’t be back for weeks, thank goodness,” she added. “They’d have a fit if they knew what I was doing and especially who I was doing it with.” She gave him a furtive glance.

John Joseph had a flash of intuition. “You mean with me?” he asked.

Emily looked embarrassed. “They don’t much like wizards or witches,” she admitted. “They’re of the opinion your sort think they’re better than the rest of us.” She grinned shyly. “Oops, I forgot, you’re not one of them either, are you?”

“Not by a long shot,” John Joseph admitted with a laugh.

He was finishing his last bite of apple when Mrs. Wickaby shook Grokk’s ham-shaped hand and got to her feet. “We’re off,” she informed them. They grabbed their gear (there was no food left) and headed back to the trail, the trolls right alongside them.

Emily and John Joseph started on the path they’d chosen the night before.

“Not that way,” Mrs. Wickaby informed them. “Down the trail a bit.”

“But this is the way the map says to go,” protested her granddaughter.

“It’s not the way we’re going now,” Mrs. Wickaby informed them, slapping Grokk heartily on his hip. “The trolls have agreed to show us a secret tunnel. We’ll be through the mountains before the next sun sets.”

“They have a secret passage, too?” John Joseph exclaimed. “For an impassable mountain range, there seem to be quite a few ways to get through it.”

“And a good thing too,” Emily commented, glancing up at the cloud covered sky. “It looks like it’s going to rain.”

“But what about the rest of the wolves?” John Joseph asked. “How will they find us in a tunnel?”

“They won’t have to,” the old woman answered. “Shadow Walker and the rest of the pack are going to meet them in the valley. We heard all four howling a few minutes ago. They sounded fine.”

“But I thought they were coming,” Emily complained.

Her grandmother shook her head, her unruly hair tumbling around her face. “I wouldn’t have let them accompany us into Haven anyway, my dear,” she said. “No matter how much they’d like to help, they don’t have any defense against the magic John Joseph’s aunt will wield,” she whispered. “They’d just be putting themselves in needless danger and I wouldn’t want that, would you?”

John Joseph shook his head. “No. Never.”

Emily shook her head silently.

“Good, we agree,“ Mrs. Wickaby placed a wrinkled hand gently on each of their shoulders.

After a few quick licks and numerous, boisterous head butts, Shadow Gazer and his family tore down the trail towards the valley. John Joseph could hear the other wolves yapping enthusiastically in the distance. The bog cat yowled once, then came to stand at John Joseph’s side. They all watched the pack silently until they disappeared. They’d be missed.

“Well, we’re off!“ Mrs. Wickaby exclaimed.

Grokk took the lead with Mrs. Wickaby, absurdly short, following behind. John Joseph, Emily and Bounder closed the gap, while the rest of the trolls sauntered along behind.

Deeper and deeper into the mountains they went, the trolls ambled effortless up the pathway. For such large and seemingly cumbersome creatures, they moved with an energy saving grace.

John Joseph was ready to drop within a few hours and could hear Emily gasping behind him. There was no time for conversation; he couldn’t waste his breath! Even Mrs. Wickaby looked a little worn by the time Grokk halted at a large crevice. The bog cat wasn’t even panting.

“Here?” Mrs. Wickaby asked.

Grokk nodded slowly and gave Mrs. Wickaby a rather heavy pat on the head.

“Luck,” he grunted.

“Thank you,” the old woman stated. “I look forward to meeting you again.”

Grokk tapped John Joseph and Emily on their heads as he passed them on the trail. John Joseph felt about two inches shorter.

Mrs. Wickaby waved and hollered goodbyes in several languages while the troll troop disappeared down the trail.

“Where are they going?” Emily asked.

Her grandmother herded them into the shadowed fissure.

“Home,” she responded. “Grokk said this tunnel leads directly to the mountainside overlooking St. Francis Academy and the town of Haven. We’re extremely lucky that they showed it to us.”

“So, they’re not coming with us, either?” Emily asked.

John Joseph didn’t know what the fuss was about; personally, he was a little relieved.

Mrs. Wickaby raised an eyebrow. “Mountain trolls need to eat quite frequently, my dear, their large body size demands it. Grokk didn’t want anyone to get the nibbles while we were halfway through the Talon Mountains.”

Emily turned a pale shade of green.

“I agree with Grokk,” John Joseph said.

“I thought you would,” the hedge witch chuckled.

The entrance was quite large, but then John Joseph figured it would have to be, to admit a troll of any size at all. The bog cat, with his exceptional night vision, led the way.

“Shouldn’t we be using a light spell or something?” asked John Joseph. Not that I have one that works or anything.

“Well, if you have to my dear, go ahead. Grokk said not to worry once we get into the darkness. It seems there’s a bit of a light system,” Mrs. Wickaby informed them.

“Like lanterns?” Emily asked.

“Let’s hope so,“ John Joseph responded, grabbing onto Mrs. Wickaby’s backpack as the tunnel got dimmer and dimmer.

“It sounded like some sort of growth, or something,” the old lady mused. “I couldn’t quite translate it, in any dialect. But he said we wouldn’t have to use any spells to be able to see at all.”

“Maybe you teach us one anyway,” Emily suggested. “Just in case.”

John Joseph was contemplating pulling out his wand when they tumbled around a sharp corner and gasped in unison. They had stepped into a dazzlingly bright, cathedral-sized room with walls so high, John Joseph expected to see the sun shining above them. But the light wasn’t coming from any celestial source. All along the walls, suffusing every surface, like a living, glistening tapestry, was a glowing multi-coloured moss.

The foursome, heads scanning the lofty heights, stared in awe and amazement.

“It’s absolutely, breath-takingly gorgeous!” Emily said in a hushed voice.

“I’ve never seen anything to match it,” her grandmother responded.

“No wonder they weren’t interested in the sun diamond,” John Joseph added. “They’ve got something even better, right in their own backyard.”

John Joseph, Emily and Mrs. Wickaby continued to stare in rapture, mesmerized by the ever changing lights surrounding them. Fifteen minutes went by, then twenty. Their bags discarded at their feet, they continued to gaze at the mesmerizing lights.

After twenty-five minutes, the bog cat growling softly and nudged them one by one.

Emily jumped, shook her head and blinked her eyes. “You could stand here and stare forever,” she said drowsily.

“I think that’s a very real danger,” her grandmother replied rubbing her eyes.

Bounder continued to growl.

“It’s okay,” John Joseph assured him. “We get the message. It’s time to move on.”

The bog cat pushed and prodded until they approached the only exit. It too, was lit by the enchanting moss, but as it grew sporadically here, the effect was less intense. Where the cavern was ablaze in colour, this passage way only had a muted light. It was enough to see by, but not enough to mesmerize.

“Just one more look,” Emily whispered looking back, then she let out a shriek that echoed through the tunnel. “He BIT me!!” she shrieked pointing at the bog cat.

“I don’t blame him a bit,” her grandmother responded. “It probably needed to be done.”

Emily snorted, but she didn’t complain again.

Quietly, almost reverently they walked down the dimly lit corridor. John Joseph wondered if they were as full of the force that flowed unhindered from the splendour of the cavern, as he was.

“It‘s pure energy,” Mrs. Wickaby murmured. “The most sheer I’ve ever felt.”

John Joseph silently agreed.

“Someday I’d love to go back and study that moss, but if one ever did, they’d have to be very cautious. The allure of that place is exceptional.” Mrs. Wickaby reached a calloused hand towards Bounder and ruffled his fur. “It‘s a good thing that we had a companion who wasn‘t overwhelmed by it.”

The silence resumed as they continued down the tunnel. John Joseph felt like he was walking in a dream.

The bog cat continued to nudge them when they lagged. The power of the lights was slow to fade. Finally, the moss disappeared to almost nothing and there was only muted darkness.

“Hands out,” Mrs. Wickaby instructed. “We don’t need to break a leg now.”

They emerged onto a large rock shelf. On the horizon, the lights of the town of Haven twinkled with a cold light. Below them, amid the woods, was St. Francis Academy.

“This is it, John Joseph,” Mrs. Wickaby whispered. “We’re almost there. A little later than Grokk estimated, but here nonetheless.”

John Joseph stared at the shimmering windows below him. St. Francis Academy, with its towering spires and large, stained glass windows was a beacon in the night. The hedge witch joined him.

“It’s so close, Mrs. Wickaby, can’t we just go down there tonight?”

“Bounder would make it,” she answered. “But we’d probably break our legs, arms or necks. Personally, I’d prefer to be in one piece in case we meet that aunt of yours.”

With that cheery thought to sweeten their dreams they curled up in their blankets and tried to go to sleep.