A Change In The Weather

Chapter 60: A way through

The four figures that made their way slowly through the snow drifts were insignificant specs set against the vast white of the world. The blades of the swords that they carried with them dazzled like polished mirrors - reflecting the waning light of the evening with an intensity and brilliance that seemed to outshine even the setting sun.

All four desired the same thing: to escape the treacherous weather that they, themselves, had set in motion, and return to a world that they hadn’t set foot in for over two thousand years.

Surely they had waited long enough.

Their destination sprawled proudly on the periphery - the only landmark for miles about still not completely covered in snow. Rather strangely, unlike the rest of the country which had succumbed long ago to the freezing weather, Bracken Wood had remained oddly resistant to the encroaching cold.

But the wood was fighting a losing battle, and it was only a matter of days before it would be totally overwhelmed.

‘Wait here.’ said the lead figure, driving his sword into the thick snow, and pulling back his hood.

Cyrus exhaled deeply, his breath curling away into the icy air as he reached for a pair of small binoculars from the depths of his coat.

He carefully scanned the horizon from left to right, in an effort to get some sort of bearing. After a while he found what he was looking for and pointed with a gloved hand towards the edge of the wood that bordered Ketton marsh.

‘There.’ he said finally.

With eyes of piercing green he scrutinized the dark depths of the wood.

‘By the old marsh. That’s where we’ll wait…’

* * * *

The northern edge of West Ketton marsh had always been a dark and noisome place full of sorrow and despair, but now - more than usual - it reeked of it, choking the air with foul fumes that rose up from the rotting vegetation below.

Before the gloom had engulfed it, there had once stood a great tree, proud and ancient and full of life. Now though, it was little more than a hulking corpse, clinging on as its withered roots reached deep into the cold, wet soil and stole from the ground whatever it needed to survive.

It had managed to suck so much life from the marsh in an effort to stay alive that, eventually, no creature would dare set foot there - not even the goblins. Even they kept a respectful distance from it, declaring the area forbidden, and only daring to venture there out of pure necessity.

But the tree was not to blame, for the source of the foulness was to be found elsewhere.

Pouk - or Puck as he was often known in stories and legends - was an ancient spirit, full of malevolence, spite and malice. He’d lived below the tree for centuries, jealously guarding the entrance to his domain, only occasionally venturing out into the world in order to taunt and tease some poor unsuspecting victim.

After all these years though, the one thing that he’d been especially proud of had been the stone circle sitting on top of Winterton hill. Although at the time, he’d been spied on. Toadflax had watched with growing fear and morbid curiosity as Pouk turned the people who had danced on the sabbath slowly to stone. He’d watched as the demon first went about driving each of his victims mad as they danced slower and slower, all the while becoming more and more rock-like until nothing remained but eleven forlorn standing stones.

In the end, Toadflax had kept what he’d witnessed to himself, because even the act of looking at Pouk’s grim visage had slightly unhinged his mind, and - as well as witnessing the petrification before his very eyes - it had taken him a long time to recover his senses.

Pouk, being a dream demon, had lived to feed off the raw emotions of his victims. For when they slept, he would enter their minds, and fill their heads with dreadful terrors. Lately though, it wasn’t enough, and he’d found himself venturing back into Faerie more often to get his fill. He’d cursed the Windings and terrorized the place for several months. He’d convinced himself that it was out of pure hunger that he’d done it, but if he’d been totally honest, nothing motivated him more than pure spite and sadism.

Nothing, it seemed, could stop his insatiable lust.

He would return to Faerie, perhaps for good this time. It was not a decision that he’d arrived at lightly.

It seemed that magic was dying and the earth was dying along with it.

* * * *

‘Look!‘ whispered Cyrus, from the cover of a tree. ‘There it is!’

The thing Cyrus was referring to was nestling by the old withered tree, cloaked in shadow and concealed by a dreadful darkness.

Nevertheless, whatever was there, wasn’t normal.

Just gazing at it would have been enough to tip a mortal man over into insanity. But the Fiery Brand had seen terrors such as these before, and its visage held no fear for them. Its dark bloated form festered and rippled, unaware that it was being observed from the trees beyond.

‘I was right.’ whispered Cyrus. ‘The demon lives.’

‘Indeed it does my friend.’ replied Remus, with a smile. ‘Indeed, where it goes we must follow. To hell with this world.’

As Cyrus watched, the fearful creature lolloped away into the blasted trunk of the tree by the roots, and disappeared from view, leaving nothing but a smell of spiders.

‘Where’s it gone?’ he said.

Gripping his sword, he beckoned the rest of the Fiery Brand to follow him, and waded through the freezing slurry towards the tree.

‘We must be quick.’

At the entrance, the stench was unbearably vile. A swarm of rats scurried between his feet whilst maggots writhed about aimlessly in the rotting vegetation.

Without a second thought, he pushed his way into the blasted tree, and was surprised to find a set of centuries-worn stone steps that lead down into nothingness. After all these years, there had been an entrance here afterall. He couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

‘An entrance to the dreamlands…’ he muttered.

The rest entered the tree and followed the steps down and down, until they stopped and it continued through a crack in the earth, where the wind whistled upwards, shrill and powerful.

And then they were gone…

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