//------------------------------// // Chapter 4 // Story: Room To Grow // by BlndDog //------------------------------// Chapter 4 Two candles and a roaring fire should have seemed luxurious, but Gemma could only think about how many shadows remained. The interior doorways were blocked and a heavy cabinet weighed down the cellar door for good measure, leaving the front door as the only entrance. The main room of the farm house was pleasantly warm, but Gemma kept every part of her body beneath her two cloaks and added a big heavy quilt on top. Her hand had not left the hilt of her dagger ever since her watch started. Her eyes were fixed on the darkness outside; she would see much better from the other side of the fire, but she refused to shed that last physical barrier between her and the unicorn outside. It’s a unicorn, Gemma thought. Papa knows. It’s a unicorn. Gus refused to comment on the events of that night, and went to sleep as soon as he was finished inspecting the house. Gemma felt like she could keep watch for the whole night. The first set of candles was almost spent when a bout of drowsiness set in. The cloaks felt to Gemma like a warm blanket, and the cold sweat disappeared off her skin. Her eyelids drooped, and once she lowered her head onto her folded hands she could not get up again. She was only a little scared; her thoughts ran like frozen pitch. “Papa,” she said weakly. She had closed her eyes, and now they were glued shut. “Papa, wake up.” From somewhere far away there came the sound of crunching snow. A floorboard squeaked. A puff of warm air ruffled her feathers, smelling of blood and pungent herbs. “Gemma! Wake up!” The slap on her face rolled her entire body to the side. Pain did not register in her sleeping mind, but there was a lot of it when Gemma finally opened her eyes. Her cheek burned, and there were what felt like deep bruises all over her body. As feeling crept back into her body she noticed the cold coils tickling her legs. With a scream Gemma shot into the air and hit the ceiling. Three snakes fell from her wings, but the ones on her feet and thighs and forearms clung on, grinding their fangs deeper into her flesh. Gus snatched her out of the air and held her in a neck lock to pry off the snakes. His legs were also bloody from their bites. The floor was covered with dozens of snakes, and a writing mass was forcing its way out of the cellar. They slithered around aimlessly and clumped in corners, shying from the cold wind blowing through the door. “Throw them outside,” Gus ordered. By the time they cleared out the house Gemma’s hands were so swollen she could barely bend her fingers. Bites covered her arms up to her shoulders, and every single snake lie frozen on the snow. Gus fared a lot better; after rolling in the snow to clean his coat he looked to be in good health. Breakfast consisted of a rich snake stew. Gus kept Gemma wrapped in a blanket and would not let her move for the rest of the day, but that did not stop her talking. “There’s nothing to translate!” Gus said impatiently when asked about the black cloaked child’s last words. “It’s gibberish. He’s trying to throw you off.” “I’m done with this place,” Gemma said more than once. “You know there’s something wrong! You saw it yourself!” “I saw a flash of light,” Gus replied. “It could have been lightning, or fireflies.” “It’s winter!” Gemma said incredulously. “You never know.” Was his only answer. “Stranger things have happened, especially around here. Perhaps if you hadn’t slept through your watch, we would have caught the kid before he lit a fire in the cellar.” “It was unicorn magic!” Gemma argued. “I never sleep on my watch! Never!” “Count this as your first time.” Gus cackled and ran his hand over Gemma’s head. At dusk Gus went out to set traps: snares for rabbits, and more dangerous ones too. Sharpened stakes tied to bent saplings; slings full of broken glass; large stones rigged to roll off the roof when the front door was disturbed. After dinner he sat down next to Gemma and took out his antler-handled hunting dagger. The night passed without any incident. Gus was still keeping watch when Gemma awoke the next morning. He did not look tired at all. “You see?” He said triumphantly. “No evil unicorns. You have to be bold. There was a kid outside last night, but he ran when I went out with a torch. That’s all it is, Gemma; some kids playing tricks on us. We’ll find them today.” Gemma was thoroughly tired of snake meat, but the snares were all empty. The bigger traps were likewise undisturbed, but there was no shortage of tiny griffin prints in the snow. Seeing them eased her mind; there was not a single hoof print anywhere. “Here is my idea,” Gus said as they walked towards town through the tract they had worn into the snow. “These are Goldenhands for sure, and they are not with their parents. They are here to play, or else they have run away from home. Knowing the Goldenhands, they probably took a sea route. There is a beach south of here where they could have landed, and if I am right we will find their boat hidden near the tide line. We will camp there tonight and see if they return. Be watchful of the houses today. They are hiding somewhere in the city. Perhaps we need not wait for nightfall to put this silliness behind us.” Gemma looked at every snow pile as she passed. Except for small animal tracks they were all clean. There was enough exposed pavement that anyone could easily walk the entire city without leaving a single footprint. She broke down a few more doors, finding nothing but the usual trinkets left behind by the ponies. “We’re missing something,” she said after searching yet another empty bakery. “Papa, I’m going to fly over. We can’t search the whole city like this.” It proved to be the best decision she made that day. Gemma spotted the tracks on the roof immediately. There were two rows, one similar to those near the farm house and the other even smaller. They ran from one edge of the roof to the other, and continued on top of the next house to the south. “Just as I thought,” Gus said after examining the tracks. “They’re going back to their boat. Come on.” The sea wall became shorter as the land rose, ending at ground level at the old harbour in the south. The pier stood intact if a little weathered, but there was no ship in sight. “They wouldn’t dock here,” Gus said when Gemma mentioned this. “This pier is too tall. It’s for big fishing ships that go far out to sea, and I don’t think a few kids would have one. There aren’t many of them left. We are looking for a fishing dory or a rowboat.” The ground on this side of the city was more treacherous. Big thickets of thorny bushes blocked the way, and the rocky beach was slick with ice. Gemma and Gus packed up their cloaks and flew south, but even that was made difficult by the sea wind. The beach was not as close as Gus made it sound. The tide was returning when they landed on a broad gravel slope. A good portion of it was above the tide line, and the incline was not too steep for a camp. Gemma had not searched a hundred metres before she found the first boat: a twenty foot dory surrounded by a wall of rock and kelp. The inside was painted in grey blotches, making it almost invisible from the sky. The tall mast was stowed on the floor along with six boards for seats. Gemma and Gus unearthed six boats before they had to set up camp. These were not the black lacquered boats that Gemma remembered. The hulls were not as deep, and all were painted with giant scales in every colour of the rainbow. “How are there so many?” Gemma wondered aloud as she sat by the fire with most of her body inside the tent. “They’re raiding,” Gus said without looking up from the pot of snake stew. “Why build your own boats if you can just take the pre-made ones? This is a bigger party than I thought; at least twenty if they plan to row all these back to one of their villages.” Gus went to sleep immediately after dinner. Gemma kept the fire burning high against the wind, but it illuminated so little. The beach was flat and dark. Blowing snow looked like the shadows of monsters coming out of the sea. At first Gemma thought it was just the flickering of the fire playing tricks on her eyes. A lot of things seemed to move in the dark; perhaps the tall dark shape was a bush or a snowbank. It was hard to judge time under the uniform pink sky, but a thick layer of ash was starting to smother the flames. Gemma poked the bigger chunks with a stick of driftwood, raising brilliant tongues of fire that died down as quickly as they appeared. She shrieked and scampered backwards into the tent. A blue face with giant white eyes was staring at her from the south end of the beach. “Papa! Wake up!” Gemma screamed, pounding her fists against her father’s side. He slept on without even a snort. Gemma struck him until there were bruises on his chest, and screamed into his ears. Tears of desperation rolled down her cheeks. A long shadow fell across the tent entrance. Gemma clutched her hatchet with trembling hands and curled up tight against Gus. They’re just kids! They’re smaller than you! She could hear gravel crunching above the sound of the fire. Be bold. Be bold! Gemma took a deep breath and launched herself out of the tent, hatchet in one hand and dagger in the other. She had meant to scream, but her throat went dry when she saw the figure that loomed over the fire. It was completely black up to its face, and much taller than she expected. And it was not a griffin. Gemma stared into its white eyes glowing brighter than the fire. She could not see much of its face, but she was sure that it had neither beak nor feathers. There was a loud noise like thunder, and then all was black. Gemma plunged headfirst into icy brine. Her cloaks swirled around her, tangling around her legs and dragging her down. She stretched out her legs and pushed against the current with numb hands, but there was nothing to grab and no bottom to stand on. Gemma had only known water as shallow streams and murmuring falls. She kicked frantically, but every time her face broke the surface a new wave pushed her down. She pulled the brooch off her silken cloak, but could not find the knot to the woolen one. A powerful wave swirled her around. The garments wrapped tight around her like a cocoon, and the hood closed around her face. Suddenly Gemma felt her body moving upwards. She had sank a great distance. She opened her mouth as soon as she heard a splash and immediately gagged on the waterlogged fabric. Fortunately Gus pulled the hood off her head a moment later. Gemma felt the back of a blade on her neck, and her cloaks slid off her back. “Grab this and don’t let go,” Gus stammered, pressing a corner of the cloak into her palm. Gemma could not see him at all. She held on with all her strength, sputtering as she paddled clumsily behind her father. He was by far the stronger swimmer, and the cloak served more as a tug rope than a leash. Gemma soon lost all feeling in her body, and her chest grew stiffer and stiffer like it was freezing solid. She knew only to hold tight to the wet wad of cloth in her hands. Eventually Gus pulled her onto his back, but the air felt even colder than the water. At last Gus stumbled onto a rocky beach. Gemma raised her head, fighting her locked muscles. The fire still burned, though there was barely enough flame to warm a kettle. The tent was still there, and Gemma’s tools lie at its entrance. She crawled over the rocky ground, oblivious to the pebbles gouging her knees and belly. She threw handfuls of sticks onto the fire and almost put her hands into the hot ashes. When a decent flame was burning once again Gemma threw on all the remaining wood and lay down against the fire pit. Gus took up the other side of the fire, leaving the cloaks in a pile weighed down with rocks. He glared at Gemma until she cried, but his anger could not mask his fear.