The Nemesis
The Wizard
And
The Waterfall
Book One
Part of The Chronicles of the Tralatisis.
By
Albert and Matthew Benson
Copyright 2012 Albert and Matthew Benson
All the characters in this story are fictitious and any resemblance to heroes, gods, lesser gods, demi-gods, slobberlobbers, rotrobbers, killykarkins and gobbledegeeks, ceskarkias, siluns, hagges, vampyres and vampires, werewolves, banshees, ghouls, fiends, cacodemons, ghosts, ogres, bugaboos, hell-hounds, witches, warlocks, shape-shifters, seers, necromancers, shamans, giants, wizards, magi, thaumaturgists, philosophians, sorcerers, magical creatures, elves, supernatural beings, demons and, of course, actual persons, living, dead or undead, is purely coincidental.
Chapter One
In the woods, behind the imposing mass of rock, stone, wood and iron that was known universally as Dragoylia Castle and perched on a range of snow-capped mountains like a huge and inert dragon, waiting to pounce on the cosmopolitan swarm of Terrim Vorus, a huge city down below that defied the serenity of the Dragoylia area. Below the boughs of a massive, gnarled boak, covered in the lichen of centuries, stubbornly refusing to budge despite the light but steady winds. In a stream, flowing determinedly against the detritus of years.
Lights shone. Blue and eerie, alien to their surroundings, small points of blue light shone, as if the reality behind them had been punctured by an ethereal needle. And when any creature got too close, and looked behind these lights, they would see something that no natural thing should even know about. They would scarper away, changed in some inexplicable way by the light, and they would eschew the company of their litters. And for a few generations every other animal in the forest would remember, and they would avoid the tree and avoid the stream, and most of all, avoid the light...
It had been long enough. The last animal to lose whatever made any other living thing understand it was a rabbit. It came. It saw. It was conquered, and every other animal lived in a primal fear for the next twenty years. Statistically, the lights seemed about to take their next victim.
A badger cautiously walked around the trees, weaving through the long grass that constricted the growth of practically all other plant life, and peered at the stream. It opened its mouth and closed it a few times, in such a way that if it were a human it would be grumbling. And then it sauntered up to the stream, poked its head it, and stared at the lights, its eyes glistening blue. For at least an hour the badger remained, having neither suffocated nor fell into the depths of insanity, before it suddenly jerked its head out. Looking around for a moment, the badger seemed to reach a decision, and submerged itself once more.
It was suddenly disturbed by the sounds of human footsteps, looked at the lights in a curious way, and ran. It seemed quite unaffected by the lights. The source of the sounds, a hunchbacked young human slave, pushed the long grass aside and walked onto the banks of the stream. The badger saw with despair how he had crushed the dirt of the bank, destroying the tiny holes that the badger was looking at, and then ran off dismissively. The slave's name was Snorker, and he was about to be embroiled in events he only vaguely understood.
Snorker gave Muppy the puppy a stroke behind her ear, smiled, then turned his head towards the waterfall, something had caught his eye; a figure running swiftly, stooping and bending, as if chasing something. He couldn’t believe his eyes, it was a dirty, mud-splattered, naked old man running towards the woods.
Snorker stood and followed the old man’s progress. He’d never seen anything like it; the old man was sprinting faster than a games runner. He could see him, a baldhead, with wispy white, impossibly long hair flowing behind him. But what made him look again was the colour of the man’s skin, pink, but with great swathes of blue. Then he realised, the blue was tattoos, he was tattooed from head to toe with squiggles, as if an hyper-active five year old had been let loose with a paint brush.
The old man fell over, but was up again like a sprinter out of the blocks, and took a headlong dive at something Snorker couldn’t see. Then up again, twisting and turning, not really looking where he was going until he disappeared into a small heavily wooded copse.
Snorker watched the spot where the old man had gone, but all seemed quiet.
‘Strange Muppy, very strange.’ But if some of the tales the other slaves told were to be believed the whole area around the waterfall was strange. That’s why he loved it, no one, not even wizards, ever came within a thousand steps of this place.
He lifted his withered arm and placed it inside his fleecy coat, it was beginning to ache, and continued limping, Muppy, his small white, black and brown spotted dog running beside him, hunting scents that only she could smell. He turned back, no sign of the strange old man.
He’d collected all the herbs and plants Ollivon Creap had given him pictures of. Perhaps he should have gone back to Dragoylia Castle, but it was more like a confining hole full of criticism, hate and numerous beatings than a place of refuge. Even worse were the rotrobbers, when they appeared even the tiniest bit of happiness would disappear, like a fart in a perfume shop.
He stopped and gazed around, glancing again at the copse, nothing. Perhaps it was his imagination after all.
This was the time of the day he loved; when the sun was still bright; when the animals seemed to be at peace with one another; when the world was relaxing, when he knew he was the only one here, except, of course for the strange old man. But had the old man been real? He’d been having some weird dreams lately, dreams where he wasn’t Snorker the slave, but Snorker the brave. Snorker, the slayer of dragons. He smiled, unfortunately, that would never be true.
He worked hard to retrieve the herbs and plants the evil principal-slave Ollivon Creap ordered him to, however, Snorker still feared the whip, as Ollivon often beat him with a scrobble-skin whip for the slightest reason. Maybe it was his horrific appearance that made Creap hate him, his lop-sided face, with one eye lower than the other, his twisted nose, his absence of eyebrows, plus, he was also a hunchback, with a crisscross of many scars on his hump. He had a thick mop of shaggy hair, a sort of blacky-brown colour. He wore a filthy fleece with rips all over it, and the same could be said for his shirt-come-smock, trousers and hand-me-down boots.
He slowly climbed over the large boulders toward the waterfall and the lake, grasping for the hand and foot holds that Muppy seemed to have no trouble with, and only dared to breathe as he reached the shingle line.
He carefully clambered over the rocks towards the pool and kneeled, looking into the gently rippling waters. Then splashed his reflection with his hand, he didn’t want reminding of his ugly, misshapen face. Scooping up a handful of water, he drank; it tasted so good, cool and fresh. Laboriously, he took off his boots, placed them to one side and rested his sweaty feet in the cool water. Oh, that was good, the water was just right, not too cold, but cool enough to refresh his feet.
The sun was just touching the tops of the wooded copse when he took his feet out, gave them a shake and put his boots back on. Painstakingly, he made his way to his favourite spot, a large boulder at the side of the waterfall, picking a handful of red berries on the way.
He sat, held out his hand with the berries in his palm and waited. Soon, one small yellow and red bird landed on his thumb and began pecking at the berries. Another, then another, and another, until his arm was aching with their weight. At times like this he wished he were stronger, so he could hold out his arm for hours.
The birds quickly finished their feast and one by one flew back to their observat
ion points. He glanced at his red-stained palm and wiped it on the boulder, which was staining red.
He felt at peace, and the solitude was comforting; here there were none to laugh, none to point, none to call him names. A deer clambered by, sure-footed and confident, then stopped and looked at him. He held out his right hand and the deer slowly came to him, lowering its head expectantly. He stroked its head and rubbed its thick silky coat. The deer nudged his hand for more when Snorker stopped because of tiredness, and then licked his hand. Again he gently caressed the deer’s fine coat, running his fingers through the close fur, but had to stop as his muscles failed him and the ache and fatigue once again made his body useless. The deer, recognising that its moment of tenderness was over, turned and trotted to the pool to drink.
He looked back towards the copse, still nothing, perhaps it was his imagination. He checked the bag over his shoulder, all the herbs and plants were still there, he should be going back now, if he was late he’d only get another beating.
Then he saw the old man again, running out of the copse, bent chasing something, unaware where he was running, until he smashed headlong into a tree, staggered back, stumbled and collapsed.
Snorker hurriedly began clambering over the rocks towards the fallen old man, his fatigue forgotten, as his only thought was to help. Muppy instinctively knowing which way he was going and leading, her nose close to the ground, her ears pricked and her legs and paws sure upon the rocky terrain.
She reached the unconscious old man well before he did, but didn’t go near, instead kept a respectful distance, occasionally glancing behind to see where her master was, occasionally holding her nose up and sniffing the air.
Snorker was near as he saw the old man suddenly sitting up and look around, he could see the big bump, red and angry, forming on the old man’s forehead. The old man was covered in mud, his feet nearly black, and with many small red scratches across his arms, legs and body, adding more colour to the blue and pink of his body. The old man looked confused, and was looking around as if he’d lost something. Snorker continued limping past Muppy until he was two steps from the old man. ‘Are you hurt?’
The old man blinked and stared at him, then frowned, staring at Snorker’s face, his hump, his withered arm and gammy leg.
Obviously stunned thought Snorker, then so would I be if I’d run head first straight into a big tree.
‘Elijah?’ asked the old man.
Definitely stunned, ‘No, I’m Snorker.’
‘Prithee, hast thou seen my teeth, shouldst be around her somewhere?’
Snorker did a double take, he could understand the words but they sounded strange, and he thought he had a funny voice, lisping, yet deep, as if someone was speaking inside a large cave. Teeth? He looked around, glancing at the roots around the tree. Teeth? He must have knocked them out when he was doing his bull impression on the tree. But why would he want his teeth back, not as if he could slot them back in. Perhaps he believed in the Tooth Fairy. ‘No, but Muppy can find them.’
‘Muppy?’ asked the old man, looking a bit puzzled, ‘Who’s Muppy?’
Snorker pointed at his dog, ‘She’s excellent at retrieving things. Find the old man’s teeth,’ and pointing to his own mouth, then repeated, ‘find the old man’s teeth’, saying it in separate bits so that he thought Muppy would understand him.
‘Old man?’ he replied indignantly, ‘I’ll have thee know I’m not yet a thousand years old. Old man indeed.’
A thousand, thought Snorker, obviously addled from the head injury?
At that moment a set of dirty, stained false teeth came chattering past, bouncing and somersaulting over the rocks. Muppy immediately ran after them, disappearing into some bushes.
Snorker could do aught but stare, astonished, dumfounded that a set of teeth could be moving by themselves. It must be magic, he’d occasionally seen wizards and witches doing magic at Dragoylia, more so to punish ordinaries, but had never seen anything like this. This must be strong magic; but how was it possible to make a set of teeth move on their own?
‘Here, help me up,’ the old man’s reverberating voice seemed to echo through his mind. He leaned forward and grasped the old man’s upper arm.
‘Where’re your clothes?’
Told you to put some clothes on.
The old man stood somewhat shakily, ‘Clothes?’ and looked down at his body. ‘Oh no, no, no. That cheating, low life, usurping excuse for a wizard Zanatos.’
Snorker stepped back, surprised, shocked and shaken, ‘Lord Zanatos?’
A low growl came from behind them, both turned to see Muppy standing, looking up at them, the old man’s false teeth firmly clamped in hers. Snorker stifled a laugh, her bushy tail was waging, and the false teeth made her look as though she was giving an enormous cheeky grin.
‘Thank you,’ the old man said, reaching down to take his teeth.
Muppy dodged his hand, scampered off, turned, her tail wagging happily, and pranced from side to side, wanting to play.
‘Dog,’ the old man said sternly, ‘give me my teeth.’
They look better on the dog than you.
‘Shut up.’
‘I haven’t said anything. Muppy, give the old,’ Snorker hesitated, looking at the old man, then back to Muppy, ‘give the nice man his teeth.’
Muppy trotted forward, hunched down, growled and shook the teeth as if it was a rat she was extinguishing its last bit of life.
The old man again stepped forward, and again Muppy dodged his outstretched hand and scampered away.
The old man was becoming angry, he turned to Snorker, ‘Dost thou know whom I am?’
Course he doesn’t.
Snorker shook his head, ‘If you don’t know how do you expect me to?’
‘Bah, thou most ignorant misshapen creature, lucky for thee I am Worlyn the Wonderful, the most gracious, the most kind, the most bountiful ruling wizard of the three continents, otherwise I would rack thee with terrible pains, fill thy bones with red hot needles, bring thee such agonies that even beasts would flee from your screams.’
Blah, blah, blah.
‘Shut up.’
Snorker frowned, he hadn’t said a word. Ruling wizard of the three continents? Definitely addled, crazy, perhaps he was mad before he challenged that tree to a head-butting contest. ‘Muppy, come, here, give.’
Muppy obediently went to Snorker and sat before him, he stooped and took the false teeth out of her mouth, then handed them to Worlyn.
Worlyn took them, slotted them into his mouth, and gave a dirty teeth smile.
‘Perhaps,’ Snorker said, pulling a face, ‘you should have washed them first.
Worlyn was chewing his teeth, slanting his jaws, moving his lips into impossible contortions and spat out small pieces of grit. ‘Follow me,’ he said, and began running so fast that Snorker couldn’t keep up with him. Muppy could, but she came back to Snorker and stayed by his side.
Snorker soon lost sight of the deranged old man, every part of his body was hurting, his legs gave way and he had to sit, Muppy licked his hands and he, in turn, tickled her ears. The old man was nowhere in sight. Then he saw a glimmer of light that shouldn’t have been there. He stared, but could see nothing, then again, a glimmer of blue light that again quickly disappeared.
He stood and picked his way over the rocks, boulders and ledges, Muppy following, until he was at the side of the spray and could see behind the curtain of falling water. Nothing, perhaps he was imagining things, then again, a beam of blue light, like a sword, sharp and gleaming, piercing the millions of droplets, causing little rainbows.
He slowly made his way, carefully stepping on the wet and mossy rock until he was behind the waterfall and found the source of light. Suddenly he was filled with an intense desire to see what the light was, where it was coming from, and why was it filling him with a powerful urge to go in?
Muppy whined next to him, he stroked her head in reassurance. It was a small opening, a tunnel
just large enough for him to squeeze through.
He took off his fleece coat and pushed it down the hole before him. He crawled into the hole, and like an ungainly snake slithered and slid down, squeezing and forcing himself past a difficult bit, twisting his hump around and continuing, pushing his coat before him. Muppy jumped up and followed. Again, he had to lie flat on his belly and wriggled through. Water was seeping through his clothing, cold drips fell on his neck making him shiver, making his joints feel brittle. But he had to find out what the light was.
Unexpectedly, the blue light disappeared, leaving him in total darkness. Muppy whined. Panic spread its fearful fingers through his mind as he became stuck, unable to move either forwards or backwards, his withered arm trapped between his body and the rocks. The sound of the waterfall seemed to be increasing, invading his mind with a gushing and thumping that came from inside him as well as outside.
Thankfully, the tunnel was once again flooded with blue light and he was able to see. Trailing his withered arm behind him he quickly clawed, pushed with his toes, and wriggled his way forward. Then a mini-tidal wave washed over him, and he was sliding, building speed, down and down he went, the water more forceful. The tunnel became wider and Muppy had jumped on the back of his legs. The tunnel began twisting, dropping, levelling out, dropping again, and more water was coming from somewhere, until he was engulfed in a torrent, going down, further down.
Suddenly, without warning, he was flung out, there was no tunnel, he was a least thirty steps in the air, cold water cascading all around him, and he was falling, into an enormous lake. He screamed.
He and Muppy hit the surface simultaneously, and he was disorientated, not knowing if he was up or down. An instinct seemed to power into his mind, he was kicking his legs, pushing the water behind him, and he surfaced. Breathing in deeply, he body was tingling strangely, not unpleasant, but mysterious, making him feel stronger than he’d ever felt before. He looked around; the waterfall was two steps away. But where was Muppy? He saw her small head bobbing towards a shingle shore and followed. He’d never swam before but the waters appeared to enable him to float. He kicked his legs and followed her.
His feet encountered the bottom and he began wading onto small smooth pebbles that stretched out all around him. Muppy gave herself a good shake and was waiting expectantly for him, and when he was out of the water she instantly jumped up into his arms, and he cuddled her and began laughing uncontrollably. Muppy licked his face frantically, which made him laugh even more.
They’d survived.
After some tender moments he placed Muppy on the shingle, but she quickly went to the back of his legs and quivered, he reached down and stroked her head, reassuring her.
He stood and gazed with wonder at the large magical cavern that shimmered with a pale blue light coming from behind the glimmering cascading waters of the underground waterfall. It was beautiful as the blue light shone through the mists, forming vivid rainbows transfixing him with wonder. The walls were covered in what seemed like crystal pillars, sharp orchids, glittering ferns, seemingly made from dark green emeralds, transparent roses that shone like rubies, and rocks that glimmered with an inner luminance.
Directly in front of him was a large lake, and over to the left, what appeared to be another waterfall coming out of a large hole set in the rock. But the waters of the waterfall were blue, the source of the blue light. He couldn’t see the end of the cavern; it seemed to disappear in a shimmering blur of incandescent light.
Movement at the edge of the lake caught his eye. He looked, and there, standing still, looking towards the waterfall, were two magnificent white eunicons, with long flowing manes and tails. But what made Snorker’s mouth gape open was that each eunicon had a spiralled golden horn. They were magic eunicons, brilliant and majestic, heads held with regal dignity, so different from the ordinary eunicons. Muppy whined behind his legs.
Snorker could only marvel at their perfection, how each eunicon radiated a grandeur so powerful that Snorker loved them instantly. He wanted to go to them, to touch and to kiss, embrace and hold their splendour and sublimity in his hands.
Suddenly, the waters under the waterfall began to bubble and stir. Snorker watched awestruck and frightened, yet filled with an intense curiosity. Slowly, almost agonisingly, the old man’s tattooed bald-pated head rose out of the turbulence, then his naked body, until he seemed to be swimming up the brilliant gushing waters. He stopped and slowly levitated out until he was suspended in mid air. He raised his arms and the eunicons nodded their heads, their manes waving like thick grass in a summer breeze, as if in acknowledgement and applause. The blue light increased in intensity until Snorker had to shut his eyes and put his head down.
Then it was gone. Snorker looked up and the old man had disappeared. The eunicons were slowly turning and walking away. Then he heard Muppy growl and a shiver ran through him as something wet and cold touched his cheek. It was a scrobble, perched on his shoulder, muzzling up to him, quivering with fear. Muppy was growling, barring her teeth, and on the verge of attacking the scrobble. ‘Muppy, stop it,’ he commanded. He stroked its small head and muttered words of assurance. Muppy sat, still glaring at the scrobble; jealous of the affection it was receiving. It gently whined, sensing it was in a place where it should not be; a place where different rules applied, where the normality and brutality of the outside world was of another dimension.
Once again he looked at the eunicons; the desire to touch them was overwhelming. The scrobble, realising his mood had changed jumped down and scampered off, going down a small corridor. Muppy watched it scrambling away, her ears pricked, her eyes bright, her natural instinct wanting to chase it, but her loyalty to Snorker holding her back.
Slowly he surveyed the cavern. Years of aches and pains ingrained into his mind of his body’s weakness, made him weary of any sharp movements. But he felt nothing, his withered arm did not pain, his back felt good, and the hump did not ache as usual.
Slowly he walked around the lake towards them, feeling good, and his legs felt strong, as Muppy trotted behind him, occasionally turning back to look at where the scrobble had gone. He stopped the water’s edge, stooped and put his hand in. As before a tingling sensation seemed to travel up his arm. Quickly, he withdrew it. The eunicons sensed his presence and as if by some collective instinct, lined up facing him. Fear and anxiety should have sprung into Snorker’s mind, but he did not feel anything except love. Muppy gave a little whine, realising better than him that something was seriously wrong.
One eunicon stepped forward, a magnificent beast, taller than the other, and shook its mane and pawed the stones beneath its hooves. Snorker bowed, hoping that he was paying it homage and respect. Suddenly, without warning, it charged forward, its head held low, its horn aimed at Snorker’s chest.
Frightened at the thought of this fantastic beast about to skewer him, he stepped back, but the eunicon stopped just in front of him and seemed to gaze into his eyes. Then, it lowered its head and pushed him gently with its nose. It was enough to push Snorker back and he tumbled into the blue lake. The water engulfed him, and the same tingling sensations like mild electric shocks spread throughout his body. The current, like thousands of tiny hands, grabbed and dragged him deeper.
He struggled, madly kicking his legs, wildly thrashing his good arm in an attempt to reach the surface for some urgently needed air. Deeper he went until his chest seemed to want to collapse in upon itself. He could hold his breath no longer and opened his mouth, the water gushed into his lungs. Realisation that he was going to die added to his endeavours, but the current pulled him further down. Black spots exploded in front of his eyes as darkness claimed him.