Beyond the Deepwoods (29 page)

Authors: Paul Stewart,Chris Riddell

Tags: #Ages 10 & Up

‘A woodtroll. You could go home. You could fit in. Isn't that what you wanted all along?’

Twig nodded his head mechanically.

‘You can be
anyone
, Master Twig,’ the gloamglozer said, resuming its own form. ‘Anyone at all. You can go anywhere, do anything. Simply take hold of my hand, and all this shall be yours.’

Twig swallowed. His heart beat furiously. If the gloamglozer was right, he would never have to be an outsider again.

‘And just think of the things you'll see,’ the gloamglozer purred enticingly. ‘Think of the places you could go, shifting your shape, appearing as others want to see you, always safe, listening in corners; always one step ahead. Think of the power at your command!’

Twig stared at the outstretched hand. He was standing at the very edge of the cliff. His arm moved slowly forwards, brushing against the spiky hammelhornskin waistcoat.

‘Go on,’ said the gloamglozer, its voice like oil and honey. ‘Take that step forwards. Reach out and take my hand. You know you want to.’

Yet Twig still held back. It wasn't as if all his encounters in the Deepwoods had been bad. The banderbear had saved his life. So had the slaughterers. It was they, after all, who had given him the jacket that had caught in the bloodoak's gorge, which now bristled so sharply. He thought of his village and Spelda, his own dearest Mother-Mine, who had loved him like her own since the day that he was born. Tears welled up in his eyes.

If he accepted the gloamglozer's tantalizing offer, he would not really turn into them. No matter what I
look
like, he thought. Instead, he would become what they all feared most. A gloamglozer. No. It was impossible. He would never again be able to return. Never. He would have to remain apart, aloof – alone.

‘It is fear which makes us reluctant to be on our own,’ the gloamglozer said, reading his thoughts. ‘Join me, and you need never be frightened again. Take my hand and you will understand. Trust me, Master Twig.’

Twig hesitated. Could this truly be the terrible monster that all the forest dwellers so feared?

‘Have I let you down so far?’ the gloamglozer asked quietly.

Twig shook his head dreamily.

‘Besides,’ it added, almost as an afterthought. ‘I thought you
wanted
to see what lay beyond the Deepwoods.’

Beyond the Deepwoods. The three words rang round inside Twig's head.
Beyond
the Deepwoods. Twig held out his hand. He stepped over the edge.

With a screech of terrible laughter, the gloamglozer grabbed Twig's wrist, its talons biting into his flesh.

‘They all fall for it,’ the gloamglozer cried triumphantly. ‘All the poor little goblins and trolls, waifs and strays; they
all
think they're special. They all listen to me. They all follow my voice … It's pathetic!’

‘But you
said
I was special,’ Twig cried, as he dangled from the gloamglozer's bony grasp over the yawning space below.

‘Did I really?’ the gloamglozer sneered. ‘You little fool. Did you honestly think you could ever be like me?
You are as insignificant as all the rest,
Master
Twig,’ it said scornfully. ‘You are nothing.
NOTHING
!’ it screeched. ‘Do you hear me?’

‘But why are you doing this?’ Twig wailed desperately. ‘Why?’

‘Because I am a gloamglozer,’ the beast cried out, and cackled wickedly. ‘A deceiver, a trickster, a cheat and a fraud. All my fine words and fancy promises count for nothing. I seek out all those who have strayed from the path. I lure them to the Edge.
AND I DISPOSE OF THEM
!’

The gloamglozer released its grip. Twig screamed with terror. He was falling. Down, down, he went, over the Edge and into the bottomless depths of darkness below.

· CHAPTER FOURTEEN ·
B
EYOND THE
D
EEPWOODS

T
wig's head spun as he tumbled through the air. The uprush of wind set his clothes billowing and snatched his breath away. Over and over he rolled. And all the while, the gloamglozer's cruel words echoed round and round his head.

You are nothing. NOTHING!

‘It's not true!’ Twig howled.

The side of the cliff blurred past him like a streak of smudged paint. All that searching. All the trials and tribulations. All the times he had thought he would never make it to the end of the Deepwoods alive. To find his long lost father, only to lose him again – and then, worst of all, to discover that the whole treacherous journey had been a part of a cruel and complicated game devised by the deceitful gloamglozer. It was so, so monstrously unfair.

Tears welled in Twig's eyes. ‘I'm
not
nothing. I'm not!’ he wailed.

‘I'm
not
nothing. I'm not!’ Tears welled in his eyes.

Further and further he fell, down into the swirling mist. Would he fall for ever? He screwed his eyes shut.

‘You're a liar!’ Twig screamed back up to the top of the cliff.

Liar
, liar, li … The word bounced back off the rock.

Yes, thought Twig, the gloamglozer
is
a liar. It lied about everything. Everything!

‘I
am
something!’ Twig called out. ‘I am some
one
. I am Twig, who strayed from the path and travelled beyond the Deepwoods.
I AM MEEEEEEE!
’

Twig opened his eyes. Something had hap-pened. He was flying, not falling, high above the Edge, in and out of clouds.

‘Am I dead?’ he wondered out loud.

‘Not dead,’ replied a familiar voice. ‘Far from it. You still have far to go.’

‘Caterbird!’ cried Twig.

The caterbird's talons tight-ened their grip around Twig's shoulders; its great wings flapped
rhythmically through the cold thin air.

‘You were at my hatching, and I have watched over you always,’ it said. ‘Now you truly need me, here I am.’

‘But where are we going?’ asked Twig, who could see nothing but open sky.

‘Not “we”, Twig,’ said the caterbird. ‘But you. Your destiny lies beyond the Deepwoods.’

With that the talons released their grip and, for a second time, Twig was falling. Down, down, down and…

CRASH
!

Everything went black.

Twig found himself running down a long dark corridor. He dashed through a door into a dark room. In the corner was a wardrobe. He opened the door and stepped into the deeper darkness inside. He was looking for something; he knew that much. There was a coat hanging from a hook inside the wardrobe. Twig felt for the pocket, and climbed into the even deeper darkness inside. It wasn't here, whatever it was he was looking for, but there was a purse at the bottom. He opened the clasp and jumped into the even-deeper-still darkness within.

Inside the purse was a piece of cloth. Its touch was familiar. He felt the chewed and twisted corners. It was his scarf, his shawl. He picked it up and held it to his face, and there – staring back out of the darkness of the material – was a face.
His
face. It smiled. Twig smiled back.

‘Me,’ he whispered.

‘Are you all right?’ asked the face.

Twig nodded.

‘Are you all right?’ it said again.

‘Yes,’ said Twig.

The question came a third time, and Twig realized the voice was coming not from the scarf, but from somewhere else. Somewhere outside. His eyelids fluttered open. In front of him loomed a huge red hairy face. It looked concerned.

‘Tem!’ Twig exclaimed. ‘Tem Barkwater.’

‘The very same,’ nodded the sky pirate. ‘Now will you answer me – are you all right?’

‘I … I think so,’ said Twig. He pulled himself up onto his elbows. ‘Nothing broken, at least.’

‘How is he?’ Spiker called.

‘He's OK!’ Tem shouted back.

Twig was lying on a soft bed of sailcloth on the deck of the sky ship. He pulled himself up and looked round. Apart from the Stone Pilot, they were all there: Spiker, Stope Boltjaw, Slyvo Spleethe, Mugbutt (chained to the mast), Hubble and, standing closest of all, the captain, Quintinius Verginix. Cloud Wolf. His father.

Cloud Wolf stooped and touched Twig's scarf. Twig flinched.

‘Easy,’ said the captain in a low voice. ‘No-one's going to hurt you, lad. Seems we're not to be rid of you after all.’

‘Never seen anything like it, cap'n,’ broke in Tem Barkwater. ‘Just dropped out of the sky, he did – straight onto the aft deck. This is strange sky we're in and no mistake …’