A Change in the Weather

Chapter 66: Lost and found

22 July, 2008 – 9:41 am

Interlude

 

Over time, the leaves on the trees had changed colour. The shades of green that before had been so abundant had turned to russet reds and deep browns, with dashes of deep gold and flecks of rich orange. A slight breeze stirred the air.

After months of travel and through times of great hardship, Fox Tufford finally found himself on a high mountain path that wound its snake-like way down to a flat verdant plain that spread outwards to a small forest in the distance.

He rubbed his beard and ran a hand through his unkempt locks, savouring the smell of the clean mountain air. Standing for a moment with his eyes closed, he allowed the afternoon sun to warm his weathered face, and he immediately felt as if he was back at home in Blakeby, standing in his corn field, ready to return home to his wife and sons. He let out a yawn and swayed a little from exhaustion, his weary bones ached and longed for the comfort of home, but he knew that his self-induced hallucination could never last.

He blinked and squinted, rubbing his eyes. He was about as far away from home as it was possible to get, but he also knew that it had been a far from easy task to get where he was standing presently.

Indeed, it seemed as if through blind luck he’d managed to overcome the Forces of the Thorn; those native races that had been forced into the borderlands of Faerie by mankind.

First he had been captured by Dark Aelfs, who had taken him back to their stronghold of Tarraslieven in the dark, dank forest of Erebor. There he had been made welcome at first, but it quickly became apparent that they had far more unspeakable plans for him, and after despatching several of his guards, he eventually made good his escape, following a trail that lead him through the land of Rotting Haven - traditional home to the Orcs and Goblins of Faerie.

In trepidation he trespassed through the valley of Westerpass and hiked over its noisome plain with its sulphurous bogs and eerie heathland. As quietly as he could manage, he slipped past the Crumbling Caves, home to trolls who, apparently, prized human flesh more than their own existence, only to came face-to-face with the mighty Wolf-king of Caspardum, who - after a fierce battle - he managed to slay, and whose sword he now carried as a spoil.

And so, after all this time, it seemed he was finally within sight of his journey’s end. For there, in the distance, rising above the black and blasted trees of Tinderwood Grove, soared the crumbling turrets and mist-enshrouded towers of the fortress city of Talistay.

Soon, with the old woman’s help, he would be able to return home. The expectation he felt in his bones was palpable and real. It was also too much to bear.

He rummaged around in his pocket, fumbling awkwardly for the smooth round stone that the old woman had given him all those months ago. Eventually he found it and held it up to his mouth.

‘Old woman? Are you there?’ he whispered. ‘Can you hear me?’

After a short pause, there came a reply:‘Ah, Mr Tufford. Yes, yes, I can hear you. It has been a long time. I trust everything is going to plan?’

‘Yes. So far, so good. I’m looking at the city now. Or what’s left of it anyway.’

‘Talistay? Good! Good! Use the stone. Show us.’

Fox lifted the pebble to his forehead and closed his eyes.

There was a gasp, and then Cordelia started to speak.‘Ah, Yes, yes. You are closer than we thought. That is good. You are looking out towards the place of the last battle. Now, first things first; we need you to enter the city and for that you will need to travel through Tinderwood Grove - the forest that lies before you. Do you think you can do it?’

Fox nodded.’Of-course I can. You said yourself the place was empty.’

‘Did we? Ah, yes. We did, didn’t we?’

‘Good. Let’s get this done then.’

‘You may not be entirely alone there though.’

‘Oh?’

‘When we said it was home to the dead, that is precisely what we meant.’

‘Stuff and nonsense.’ he said, dismissively.

‘The dead are dead, and that’s final.’

‘Yes, Mr Tufford, and that would normally be true, but I’m afraid this place is quite different from anywhere else you may have visited. It retains a strange hold on things. The spirits of the fallen haunt the grounds, and goodness knows what else. All I can suggest is you keep your wits about you - that is all you need.’

Fox snorted.

‘Don’t bother me with your hocus pocus old woman. Just tell me what I need to look for, and where to find it…’

* * * *

The light dimmed and Cordelia draped a black satin cloth over the seeing stone and turned to face her sisters. They had reverted to their crone-like human forms - ugly, toothless, hunchbacked and bony. Only Cordelia retained any semblance of youth.

‘It seems that he is closer than we thought.’ she said, with a smile.

‘Indeed,’ said another. ‘We must find a way of relieving him of the stone.’

‘If he succeeds in getting it.’ pointed out another.

Cordelia nodded.

‘You think he will break the oath of acceptance?’

‘All possibilities must be considered.’

‘Have no fear of that.’ said Cordelia. ‘We have allies close by.’

* * * *

As Fox Tufford approached Tinderwood Grove, it quickly became apparent that most - if not all - of the sparse trees there were either dead or dying. It was this, more than anything else, that gave the place its peculiar sense of foreboding. Was the place haunted? He could not say. All he knew was there was a sense of something, or someone, watching him. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but he carried on nonetheless, keeping his wits about him, as the old woman had directed.

For more than an hour he wandered through the dry, brittle trees, until he came to a natural fork in the trail. At that moment, a big fat crow hopped down and perched on a branch nearby and observed him in silence. Fox did his best to ignore the bird, but couldn’t shake the feeling that, for some reason, it was watching him. He waved his arms at the creature, but to no avail; as soon as the bird flapped off, it returned a moment or two later to resume its scrutiny. It was quite frustrating. In the end, Fox pretended to ignore it, hoping that it would become bored and find someone else to bother.

The bird would flutter off and then reappear further down the trail, or there would be a hint of it a minute or so later, or he’d catch sight of it when he wasn’t expecting, as if it was trying to lead him somewhere. This theory didn’t sit well with Fox, and he tried to shake it from his thoughts. But it was no use: there it sat, like the bird, goading him onwards.

And then, as soon as he was getting used to his new companion, it disappeared, and Fox looked around, suspecting at any minute to be the victim of an ambush or foul play. And so he stood there, listening intently, ready in case some sound would expose the truth of it all.

But nothing happened; the whole area was quiet, which unnerved him a little, but he tried not to let it affect him, and he carried on ahead, where he discovered a clearing.

As he got closer, it was the clearing and not the bird that revealed its truth to him.

The dome stood roughly twenty feet high, and even though it was overgrown with grass and overrun with weeds and bracken, it was most definitely man made.

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