Woodlock (2 page)

What am I to Do?

I do not lose my temper. Such I do not do. My best friend Kar would say that I get snippish sometimes. That's a truth, I admit. We argue and bicker, but I do not lose my temper. I get snippish. Howsoever said, as that may be and is, standing by that pool I came within a single miffen whisker width of throwing my chonka down on the ground and stomping it to pieces. Truly, that close. So such. But I managed to hold myself under control. I settled. With hands quivering, I reattached the chonka to my belt. I then sat down glumly next to the pool.

“Well, that didn't work,” I sighed.

I no longer felt that the shifter was with me. I felt brutally abandoned without the proper preparation in an unknown when. Such was so. I plucked a white feather fern frond from the edge of the pool, and with it I idly tickled my chin.

What now?
I thought.
What am I to do? Why am I so awfully very alone? I should have met some sort of creature by now. I've heard twig snaps and rustlings, but when I call out, the rustlings stop and I get no response save silence. How long can my bendo dreen heart be left out under the open sky all alone? I wish Kar was here with me. We could build a hedge to walk under like we did that first time we dared to venture away from the hedge. Kar could shift to Dragon and fly me up high enough all around to see if there IS a cobbled road or a Blossom Castle in this when. So such I wish. So…

My thoughts shut down because I noticed for the first time a dense white thicket of thistle thorns winding behind the twisty oaks on the far side of the pool. Hedge! I jumped to my feet and hopped the tricklestream in a nince. I moved by the trees and up to the thicket. Nicely tall it grew, triple my height. White thorns. White thistles. I tested their comforting sharpness with the tips of my fingers. Without thinking, I pushed my way into the thicket using all of my bendo dreen skills. Not a scratch of skin or a rip of clothing did I suffer. I sat composed, regaining the serenity of a familiar safety, home in a hedge with briars and thorns, white though they were. I nibbled on thorns and thistles, closing my eyes.

Ah, sweetness with sour!
I thought.
If only I had capp melons, I could make a perfect jelly! Kar's favorite. How she loves thistles! Me, too! I never knew the Woods Beyond the Wood held so such delicious treats!

Comforted with the tastes and surroundings of home, though all of a whiteness, I nestled in the bower of thistles and thorns. I took my chonka from my belt and softly sang one of my favorite bendo dreen chants.

“Thistles and thorns piled in bowls

Ground and mashed and formed into rolls

Baked on the hearth with chankle chonk tunes

And eaten with jellies in nests lit by moons.”

“Who be there?” called a voice from outside the thicket.

Runner Rill

“Me!” I cried, shoving my way free of the thicket, again avoiding with bendo dreen deftness a single rip or scratch.

Chonka in hand, I gazed at a somewhat familiar sight I had never seen. Often so such happened to me on my adventures with Kar. From the Gwer drollek stories I heard all my life dozens and hundreds of times, I knew of many a thing I'd never seen. And there then I believed I looked at one of ‘em. A youngling waterwizard lad, to be sure, stood on the pool. ON it! Mist green skin, yellow orange eyes. A stormy mass of tangled orange hair. A fair few wispy strands of orange beard. A purple robe with stars. A matching pouchbag hanging from the grip of his mist green fingers. I knew who he was. Better than that, I knew WHEN. From the Gwer drollek story of the watery woodlock Rindle Mer, I remembered her waterwizard uncle, Riffle Sike. I felt certain I'd been delivered to an earlier when in the time location where Riffle Sike was yet a youngling. Such! Hair, eyes, skin, robe, pouchbag, he could be no other!

“And a good afternoon to you, Riffle Sike!” I said with a chuckle of confidence. “I am Bekka of Thorns, a bendo dreen bramble dwarf, Chronicler of the Boad, All Fidd and Leee Combined.”

I bowed. The waterwizard lad cocked his head and continued to stare. Puffed to bloat with my own cleverness, which true was soon to be popped, I tapped a gentle chankling with my chonka on my thigh and walked to the edge of the pool.

“When did ye see my brother?” asked the waterwizard, eyes darting, left, right.

“Brother? I haven't seen your…Oh, the…” I mumbled lamely, my cleverness popped.

“Be that sorcery ye carry there?” he asked, narrowing his eyes and pointing at my chonka with his free hand.

“Sorcery? No. It's a chonka. All bendo dreen carry ‘em. We like to—”

He put up his hand to stop my mouth flow. I stopped it. Bits of the Rindle Mer Gwer drollek story rushed around in my mind. Rindle Mer's uncle was in the story. Rindle Mer's father was NOT. The father. I struggled to find the father's name. Somewhere in the story it had been mentioned a time or two. Such was so. What was it? A trofle was in the story. Madge. Yes, Madge. And a Prince of Orrun. But what was the father's name?

“I want to tell ye a tale,” said the youngling lad, interrupting my mind search.

“What?” I said, understandably fuddled.

“Ye called me by my twin brother's name. I believe ye have heard his version. Be I not correct?” challenged not Riffle Sike—but who?—and he smiled a satisfied smile and raised his orange eyebrows.

“I have no version. You look like… I come from… Your daught…” I reeled from thought to thought, not knowing whether it was proper for me to reveal that I was from the distant future and knew more than a few things about him.

“Sit ye down in silence! I need ears to hear my tale. I wish to release it. It be clogging my head. Ye have heard Riffle Sike. Will ye not hear Runner Rill?” said the youngling lad while piercing me quiet with his bright and mesmerizing yellow orange eyes.

Runner Rill! Runner Rill! That was it! Rindle Mer's father! I knew this youngling's Gwer drollek future, and he didn't! I stared in awe at the young waterwizard who would one day successfully turn himself into a river! And more yet I remained fuddled about my task? What was it? When would I know? How would I know? I decided to keep my mouth shut and my eyes and ears open.

The Tree Incident

“This be the sea foam truth of it! It be none of Riffle Sike's lackwit water games. Take it in and judge ye which story flows more clearly, his or mine,” began Runner Rill, and he floated a span or two higher above the pool so that he might better loom above me and scowl down. So such I believed.

“When we were first spilled forth from the Hall of Learning under the Wide Great Sea to discover and take possession of our own beckoning pools, it was my idea,
mine
, to settle somewhere here in the Woods Beyond the Wood,” he continued. “I made the great mistake of allowing Riffle Sike to accompany me. He begged! He whined. He howled. Against all waterwizard lore and law, I allowed him to follow, but not too closely. I had to silence his waterfall of howling! I have been dragging him through rapids all of my life. Who drilled into his lackwit brain with hours and days of time and effort conjure spells and potion mixes and amulet chants? Who did all of his homework when he fell moaning and howling that the problems were too murky for him? Why, he would have been banished to the foulest bog in the Swump of Greedge classifying muds had it not been for me. What thanks do I receive? Not a drop! Twelve bar years be more than enough! Let him find his own woodlock!”

So such roused to fury, Runner Rill quivered speechless. His mention of a woodlock brought me from merely alert to bright alert. The Gwer drollek story I knew would happen in Runner Rill's future contained a woodlock named Delia Branch. I forced myself not to blurt out the name.

“Never mind! The truth of it!” he snarled at long and at last. “This be what happened, and not what Riffle Sike told ye! Two weeks in the ago we entered the Woods from Bloggum's Bluff. The winter white was a better sight than I had dreamed it to be. I searched out and quickly found a tricklestream to follow. I informed Riffle Sike that it was time for us to part. He howled again, the lackwit! ‘Ye must find your own stream and pool!' I shrieked in his face. He howled, ‘Not yet! Not yet! I forgot how to use my puddlejumpers!' I showed him again for the hundredth time how to do it! Then I made him promise to claim the first unoccupied pool we discovered and to stay there when I went on to find my own. He promised! Liar!”

Fury overtook Runner Rill again. He spun to the middle of the pool and savagely swung his purple pouchbag to strike against one of the boulders six or seven times. He floated back to his place above me, breathing heavily. His yellow orange eyes glittered wildly. He gained control. His breathing slowed.

“There was a tree by the first pool we found. It was twice taller than all of the others around,” he went on grimly in a soft voice. “A proper beckoning pool it was, untended by any waterwizard. No mark of claim in sight. ‘Here ye be, Riffle Sike. Take possession. Mark the claim. Then I will leave ye to find my own pool, and when I do, we'll visit, me to ye, ye to me, wherever my me may be.' That be what I said in the moment before I saw…”

A new gentle look settled on Runner Rill's mist green face. A smile of sweetness barely tipped the corners of his mouth. He blinked his yellow orange eyes. They grew dreamy.

“High in the tree I saw her standing. Wide dark eyes. Frightened. Satin black hair. Gray beauty,” he fairly whispered. Such was so. The moment passed, and he frowned, the glitter wildness reappearing in his eyes. “Riffle Sike! He saw her, too! The woodlock. In a flash of spray before I could even believe what I saw, the lackwit was into his pouchbag and out with the amulet. He dared to look at me and say, ‘It be written thusly to begin.' Then poof! He was gone, and so was she! I saw her sparkle away! He spelled her! He spelled her! My brother! Whatever he told you was a river of lies! Where be they?”

What could I say? I did not know the answer to his question. He believed I had spoken to his brother. He was wrong. What was I supposed to do? Was this meeting with Runner Rill part of my task? I rummaged for something to say. I was beginning to believe maybe my task might be to bring Runner Rill and Delia Branch together. I assumed that the woodlock he saw high in the tree was Delia Branch, and that Runner Rill had properly been smitten. The Gwer drollek future I knew made it seem so such likely. I wished Shendra Nenas would appear and show me somehow that I was following along the right thought path.

Alone Again

“This tall tree where you saw the woodlock. Where is it?” I offered, following my own simple bendo dreen logic, so such that to visit the site of the incident might be what was expected of me.

“Ah, the geyser spouts. I understand. Ye have been warned not to tell me straight out. So ye meander to avoid the rapids. He circled back? Clever,” commented Runner Rill, and he lifted up and away over the trees with so such a swiftness that I was left with words of denial perched on my tongue.

Such I had not wanted or expected him to do. Alone again, I called for Shendra Nenas feebly with no hope the shifter would answer. I spoke her name twice only, sank to the ground, sat and sulked. I picked at the white grassy stubble beside me. I chewed on white feather fern fronds. I stared at the boulders in the pool until they were black against the darkness of night. I retreated then to the comfort of the nearby thorn thistle thicket and settled to nestle there until morning.

He flew off in that direction,
I thought.
I must remember. Other side of the pool. I'll find that tall tree. It shouldn't be so such hard. After all, the tree is tall. Twice tall, he said. He appeared when I played my chonka. Was that the why Shendra Nenas suggested I bring it? I should chant the same chant when I find that tree. Might as well. It's as good an idea as one or any of another when you're left all completely alone with no proper instruction.

I nibbled a thistle, felt sorry for myself, and last of all dropped off to sleep. Night passed with a speed of quickness, because the next thing I knew it was morning. I knew it was morning because I opened my eyes and saw such. I opened my eyes because I heard a splash. Loud. Splash! I rolled and wriggled from the thicket without yawning a single yawn or stretching a single stretch. I raced to the pool and observed widening circles of ripples.

“Runner Rill…? Riffle Sike…? Shendra Nenas…?” I called.

I tore my chonka from my belt and tapped and sang the selfsame chant Runner Rill heard me play. The ripples widened. They smoothed away. I chanted other chants, danced many dances, banged and rattled countless rhythms. The pool remained a glassy mirror, undisturbed. I circled it, gazing hard into its depths.

“I thought you were going to the tall tree pool,” I said aloud to myself. “I was, but the splash… What was the splash? A Dragon flew over and dropped something. Or a beeketbird. Too big a splash for anything a beeketbird could carry. Well then, what does it mean? Well then, I don't know. If you don't know, are you going to spend the whole morning standing here doing nothing? You have a task, don't you? I have a task. What is it? How can you know? They forgot to tell you. So here you are all alone unprepared and expected to do something or some other thing. I wish I had Kar to talk to instead of myself. It's not right to be talking to yourself. A bendo dreen alone, outside, you might be cracking, becoming a jark dweg, a cracked melon. Such! Well then! Stop talking and start walking!”

I straightaway took my own suggestions and headed off through the warm winter white Woods Beyond the Wood. My quest? To find the tall tree.

Riffle Sike

I kept the sun, glimpsed between twisting limbs and branches, on my left while working my way through the white forest. So such I believed it held me on line with Runner Rill's recent departing flight path. He left me of a sudden in order to hurry to the tall tree. So else I believed. Sun on my left led me away from pool and tricklestream directly into a thickness of Woods, where white was mottled with pale and deep gray shadows. I walked with chonka in hand, making it shiver rattle to announce my presence. Sun on my left forced me up a heavily white wooded slope. Shragnut trees. I snacked. With the sun barely on my left, closer to straight overhead, I reached the crest of the wooded slope. My reward was the wide view of a seemingly frothy sea of white, the Woods Beyond the Wood spreading to all horizons. Doubly rewarded, far off I noted with pleasure a raised line of winding road. The high cobbled road to Blossom Castle! Triply rewarded, down to my left and a short march away I spied a tall tree towering above the frothy white sea of forest.

“So such, Shendra Nenas, how am I doing now?” I crowed with newfound fizz.

I plunged down the hillside, nearly colliding twice with twist oaks, nearly tripping, nearly falling, so such lit up with expectations of success was I. The slope leveled, and I came upon a tricklestream which burbled along in the proper direction. More confidence lit into me. I found myself humming happily. I followed the water's wander. I knew it would lead me to the very pool by which the tall tree grew. I knew it! And then…what would I do? What truly? I stopped short, halted in place by that thought. I shrugged. How could I know? I would know when I knew. So such determined, I marched on. To pass the time, I chanted a few of my favorites while tapping and rattling my chonka.

“Wavebillows and waterspouts!” came a cry from tall white reeds on the bank of the tricklestream.

I rushed forward, parted the reeds, and there was Runner Rill rummaging through his pouchbag. He slammed it shut when he saw me.

“Runner Rill, you didn't give me a chance to…” I began.

Yes, I began, but I could not complete my thought. His eyes struck me silent. Yes, yellow orange, but somehow different. Yes, orange hair a tangled mass and beard wispy. Yes, face mist green. Yes, he looked like Runner Rill, but he wasn't. A mild and calm expression he wore. A twinkle of amusement danced in his eyes. Yes, the yellow orange eyes twinkled with amusement.

“Riffle Sike?” I guessed.

“Ye have met Runner Rill then, have ye? Where be he? Who be ye? Be ye the Teller?” asked Riffle Sike, stroking his wisp of orange beard.

“The Teller?” I said, fuddled.

“I be instructed to tell my tale to the Teller. Be ye the Teller?” he said with a smile.

Instructed? By whom? When? Shendra Nenas?
The cogs and gears of my mind whirled like Fan Wa's Clock.

“I am Bekka, the Teller,” I announced.