The Secrets of the Wild Wood

  Then he and the Fool were taken, along the path, back to the Owl House.

  As long as Piak has escaped! thought Tiuri. Who were these men – and had he really seen one of the men of Islan?

  There was the Owl House. A number of horses stood on the grass in front of it, all decked out in red. As they approached, three men appeared at the gate, standing out brightly against the dark opening behind them.

  Tiuri’s steps became slower and he felt as though an ice-cold hand had gripped his heart. Three soldiers in red, with blood-red plumes on their helmets.

  “It’s them!” he heard the Fool gasp out beside him.

  Them… the Red Riders! Tiuri knew them only too well. How they had hunted and pursued him when he was on his way to King Unauwen with the letter! Many of them had been defeated by Sir Ristridin and his friends. But there were still more of them – all cruel and wicked men. Red Riders from the land of Eviellan! They stood, shoulder to shoulder, waiting for Tiuri.

  He glanced around. Nothing but enemies, and silent forest. And again he thought: Just as long as Piak has escaped. Please, God, let Piak have escaped!

  PART FOUR

  PIAK

  1 TO T HE EAST

  Piak soon found the bag of food. He hung it over his shoulder and was about to go back, when he heard voices – not Tiuri or the Fool. Startled, he peered through the undergrowth and saw a number of men coming along the path from the direction of the Owl House. He leapt back and headed eastwards through the forest, as quickly as he could without making a sound. He had to warn Tiuri, because what he’d seen of the men didn’t look good.

  But it wasn’t long before he had another fright; he heard more people coming from that direction. Then a cry rang out: “Danger!” It was Tiuri shouting: “Danger! Flee! Flee!”

  Then there came a shriek from the Fool and the sound of hoofs on the path.

  Piak cried out, too. He started running towards his friend, no longer worrying about being silent, but still instinctively avoiding the path. Riders soon came thundering by; he had no idea how many.

  Again he heard Tiuri call out, “Flee! Flee!”

  He’s calling to me, Piak thought, and he stopped, knees shaking. One of us has to escape to tell everything to King Dagonaut.

  Should he run? The sounds he could hear – the clashing of swords – made his breath catch in his throat. Flee? And abandon Tiuri and Marius?

  He carried on. Slowly, cautiously, he approached the spot where his friends had been ambushed. He could see something… He crouched down, crept closer, and surveyed the scene. He saw a troop of armed men, and Ardanwen, whinnying at being held captive. But where were his companions?

  Someone cried out, “A knight with a white shield!”

  Piak jerked to his feet, only to drop back down again. He felt all kinds of emotions at the same time: powerless fury, fear for his friends, frustration that he could not help them. What could he do on his own against all of those soldiers? He was also scared for himself, but he didn’t want to run away for that reason. And yet he knew he had to escape, because of what Tiuri had said: “At least one of us needs to reach our goal.”

  Then he noticed more men approaching – riders. They came to a halt close to him. Piak didn’t move a muscle; he didn’t even dare to look. He did hear something, though: “Sir Tiuri and his squire.” And then Tiuri’s voice: “Whatever possessed you to attack me?!”

  A tear came into Piak’s eye. His friend was still alive!

  Then the enemies spoke, but he caught only a few words. “You are our prisoner…” – “Where to?” – “To where our path takes us…” And louder: “Islan!” Was that Tiuri again? Very cautiously, Piak raised his head; the men on the path had started to move. Some of them looked like robbers, but there were also soldiers there, and men in green clothes and black caps. He caught a glimpse of Tiuri and the Fool; they appeared unharmed. Then they were led away, out of sight. They all disappeared in the direction of the Owl House.

  Piak was about to stand up, but then he saw that a few soldiers had remained behind – riders in brown and yellow. With closed visors. The cowards, he thought, as he ducked back down and peered out at them.

  They were talking. “What now?” one of them asked.

  “His squire’s not with him,” said the other.

  Now it’s my turn! thought Piak. If they take a good look around, they’re sure to spot me! He closed his eyes, even though he knew that wouldn’t help. Thoughts flashed through his mind: What should I do? Stay lying here? Jump up and run away?

  The sound of pounding hoofs thundered in his ears. It came closer, before moving away.

  “Why did you…” said one. But he didn’t hear the rest. He could hear the other one more clearly: “Quick! Spread out! Look for him! Find the squire!”

  He knew that loud voice and also the brown and yellow colours. Islan!

  “The last man who spoke was Hamar,” he said to himself, cautiously getting to his feet. “So it is indeed Islan!”

  There was no one else around. If he wanted to escape, he’d have to attempt it now – run to the east, fetch help… He had to, even though every step would take him further away from Tiuri. Why me? he thought.

  He quickly crossed the path. As he did so, someone called out, “Hey! Who’s there?”

  Piak started to run. They’d seen him. Yes, he was being followed! He fled through the forest, constantly glancing back.

  Then he had to stop. He’d come to the Black River; just a few steps through tangled reeds separated him from the river that he needed to follow to get out of the wood. Behind him, he heard his pursuers getting closer. Any minute now they would reach him – and he couldn’t swim.

  No, Piak couldn’t swim, and the river was dark and seemed deep. In desperation, he ran onwards, dived into the reeds and crouched at the water’s edge.

  Twigs cracking, footsteps coming closer… Piak held his breath, clung on to a clump of reeds and lowered himself into the river. The water crept up his body – it was ice cold as it embraced his chest and his neck. When he felt mud beneath his feet, he let go. The water came all the way up to his lips. For a moment, he panicked and grabbed at the clump.

  “Calm down,” he said to himself. “You can’t drown here.” Then he moved carefully through the water, along the bank, and stopped, dead still, hidden beneath overhanging reeds. Close by – it seemed like almost directly above him – he could heard his pursuers, the men of Islan.

  He heard what they were saying, “Why don’t you ask for their help?”

  “Then we’ll get blamed for letting him escape. Now at least they don’t know. Besides, Sir Fitil wants them at Islan.”

  “So what about the other two?”

  “They took them with them, into the wood, as you know. There’s nothing we can do about that. Hoo-hoo-ooh!”

  The unexpected cry startled Piak. An answer came from the opposite bank.

  “Any sign?” called the man on Piak’s bank.

  “No, nothing!” came the reply. “Is the path well guarded?”

  “Yoo-hoo-hoo!”

  “Quiet, then! Do your duty.”

  The water was so cold! Piak didn’t dare to move a muscle. And soon I won’t even be able to move at all, he thought. My whole body’s gone numb.

  He shifted his foot, sank into the mud, and almost went under. Something slimy brushed against his arm.

  But, finally, he could no longer hear his pursuers and so he ventured back up onto dry land. He walked eastwards along the river, trying hard to keep his teeth from chattering. The path was guarded and it seemed safer here beside the water. If only I could swim, he thought. Yes, that was the first thing he’d have to learn, even though he didn’t like water – right at that moment, he detested it.

  He went on walking for a while until he heard his enemies again. They seemed to be coming after him along the river. His first impulse was to flee to the north, but that was where the path was – and the guards. He shuddered as he
realized there was only one good hiding place: back into the river, into the cold, dark water…

  He made himself invisible beneath the overhanging vegetation. His enemies didn’t find him there, but, as he climbed back out and went on his way, he muttered to himself, “There’s no way I’m doing that again! I’m not cut out to be a fish.”

  But he knew he would do it again if he had to – indeed, he soon found himself wading along the river, sheltered by the dense growth on the bank. After a while, he noticed that the bottom was becoming softer and the bank was lower. Some way downstream they appeared to merge and, where the ground should have been dry, it was boggy. It was just as well that his enemies were nowhere around as he came ashore with much splashing and struggling.

  I’m back at the marsh, he thought. Now I have to try to find the same route back as the way we came. At any rate, they won’t be as keen to come after me on this awful ground. At least I hope they won’t…

  He really wanted to rest for a moment, but he decided to keep on walking for as long as it was still light. Maybe walking would warm him up; he was still shivering with cold. He chose his path carefully. Marshes can be dangerous places and he didn’t want to be surprised by his pursuers.

  Piak didn’t allow himself to stop for a rest until the day was coming to an end. He thought there was no one else around, and he was glad of that. But the surroundings felt more gloomy and dismal than ever. The twigs seemed to be pointing at him with their twisted fingers; countless eyes appeared to be spying on him from the bushes. He was still freezing and his clothes clung to his body.

  He opened up the bag, which was soaked through. The bread had turned to mush and looked unappetizing. He took a couple of reluctant bites and moulded the rest into a ball.

  “This will have to keep me going for a while,” he said to himself. On the way there, it had taken two days to get from the Dead Stone to the Owl House. They’d had the horses, but still they’d walked most of the way. I want to be at Stoneford by tomorrow evening, he thought. That should be possible! And I’ll keep going now for as long as I can see.

  He headed onwards in the reddish twilight, wondering where his friends were now. They had been captured and taken away, deeper into the forest… not killed. But who knew what might happen to them? Would he be able to rescue them if he escaped? Would help – if he found any – come quickly enough? Wouldn’t he have been better off following them and trying to come up with some plan to free them?

  “Why am I the one who’s still walking around free?” he said to himself. “Why didn’t I get caught? Tiuri should have been here instead! He’d have a much better idea of what to do. He’s a knight!”

  How he’d been looking forward to travelling together with Tiuri! It had all gone so very differently than he’d imagined. Something had come between the two of them at Islan. Maybe his friend hadn’t felt it, but Piak certainly had. Then when they’d headed into the wood with the Fool, everything had returned to normal, but that journey had ended so unhappily! His friends were in danger. He’d been separated from them and now he had to go onwards – or rather, back – all by himself.

  It was getting darker and colder. Something jumped into a puddle – splosh! Frogs began to croak. The trees transformed into shadows, and it became more and more difficult to press on. Finally, shivering, he dropped to the ground.

  Piak couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned. The wood was full of sounds, much more so than when he’d spent the night there with his friends. But he must have fallen asleep, because when he awoke with a start he saw that it was getting light. He swallowed a lump of bread with difficulty, as his throat was sore. Then he continued his journey through the marsh.

  There was one thought in Piak’s mind: I must reach Stoneford today! All his attention and effort were focused on completing that journey and evading his pursuers. He paid barely any attention to the bloodsuckers, and when he became tired he ignored that too.

  That afternoon, he was startled by the sound of voices. He heard men talking. It sounded like they were on the other side of the water, but if they crossed the river…

  Piak took a detour to the north, even though that meant he wouldn’t reach the path that ran along the river to Stoneford, but he didn’t want to run the risk of being seen. He thought he must have almost reached the end of the marsh, and hoped he wasn’t mistaken. As he could still hear the voices, he moved away from the river. The ground beneath his feet became firmer, and he sighed with relief. “At least that’s over and done with,” he said to himself.

  It was only at that point that he realized it was actually a fine day, and he would probably make it to Stoneford before too long. He knew that people lived there and he might be able to ask them for help. By then he’d be on the Great Road and surely no one would dare to attack him there. Piak looked around. There was no sign of anyone following him. Now he just had to get back to the river.

  “Don’t let me be lost,” he prayed. “Let me find Stoneford.”

  Where had that river got to? How long had he been walking? The sun was already low – he was going in the right direction, wasn’t he?

  Then another path crossed his way. Was it a sign of civilization or one of the dangerous ways into the wood? Piak hesitated. If he went right, he’d probably come to the Black River. He’d have to risk it.

  He could feel now just how far he’d walked; his legs seemed to be made of lead. “Just pretend they feel fine,” he said to himself. “One foot in front of the other. One, two…”

  Before long, he reached a clearing where a large stone stood. The Dead Stone!

  2 FROM THE DEAD STONE TO THE NORTH

  According to the innkeeper of the Silent Inn, this was an evil place, but still Piak was pleased to see it. The Black River was here, and Stoneford! He was exhausted, but that didn’t matter. He’d escaped from the wood in one piece, and he’d done it quickly, too.

  As he approached the river, he saw that there were people on the other side. But when he reached the riverbank, he realized he wasn’t out of danger. Among those people were soldiers in brown and yellow – the men of Islan, who were looking for him!

  Piak swayed on his feet. They had seen him, too, and lined up on the opposite bank. One of them shouted an order and stepped forward. Hamar!

  Piak took a few steps back and knew with absolute certainty that he had no strength left to flee. Hamar crossed the river and some of the others followed him. All was lost! And yet Piak could not surrender until he actually dropped.

  He turned and ran back to the Dead Stone. He stopped, gasping, a misty haze before his eyes. Swaying, he reached out his hand and grasped onto the stone that he hadn’t even dared to touch before.

  He leant against it, hating himself for his weakness. He felt better now, but his legs were powerless. He couldn’t take another step.

  “Stop!” called Hamar. “He’s over here!”

  Piak saw the soldiers coming. He couldn’t see them very clearly, though… was it already so dark? They were all talking at once and Hamar said, “Come here!”

  Is he talking to me? he thought. Why didn’t they just grab him? And why was he just standing there? He had to escape! But he couldn’t let go of the stone, the Dead Stone!

  Quietly, as though from afar, he heard a voice inside, “They say that every ill wish spoken at the Dead Stone will come true…”

  That was it! His only chance, if he had the courage and the strength.

  Piak took a deep breath and stood up straight, still leaning against the stone. He shivered as he pressed his fingers more firmly against it. Then he looked at the soldiers and said, “This is the Dead Stone. And by this Dead Stone I speak an ill wish against anyone who attempts to touch me…”

  “Come here!” shouted Hamar, stepping forward. But the others remained silent and did not move.

  “Dead Stone!” cried Piak. “I speak a curse against anyone who captures me. May he become a captive himself, hunted through the Wild Wood!”

&
nbsp; Hamar backed away and shouted, “Shut your mouth!”

  “That is my ill wish,” said Piak, drawing his sword.

  Would it help? The soldiers said nothing, but he could feel it: they were scared, terrified… just as he was himself.

  “Come here,” said Hamar again, but he sounded unsure of himself now. “Come with us. My master wishes to speak to you…”

  Now or never! thought Piak. He let go of the stone and ran – away from the river and from the soldiers.

  He headed back onto the path he’d just come from. Then he fled to the north, back into the wood. Racing onwards as if his feet had wings, he was amazed that he could do it. Was it really him, Piak? Had he really spoken a curse at the Dead Stone? He didn’t look back, even though he thought he heard footsteps behind him. It was almost completely dark and ahead of him he saw the path, narrow and straight, leading into deeper darkness.

  Were they following him? Or had the curse saved him, even though it was supposed to be dangerous to speak such an ill wish in that place? But perhaps that was true of all such wishes. I had no choice, thought Piak.

  His pace slowed, as the last of his strength left him. He stepped off the path and stumbled through the undergrowth, where he tumbled into a hollow, landing on dry leaves, and then lay there. It was like sinking into the depths. And Piak fell straight to sleep.

  When Piak awoke, it was pitch dark. He tried to sit up, but he couldn’t. His whole body ached, and his limbs were stiff. He lay there for a while and opened his eyes as wide as he could, but the darkness remained impenetrable. Anxiously, he made another attempt to sit up. The leaves beneath him rustled, and he broke out in a cold sweat. He felt so strange, and ill. Perhaps the Dead Stone had enchanted him and harmed him somehow. How could it be so very dark? Where was the light of the moon? Finally, he managed to sit up and he listened to his own frantic breathing.