The Secrets of the Wild Wood, Page 5

  Tiuri, Evan and Piak looked at the other guests, who were sitting together at a long table and watching them curiously.

  “I don’t feel like going to bed yet,” said Piak.

  “Me neither,” said Tiuri and Evan at the same time.

  “Ah, you young people! You have no sense!” said Bendu. “But I don’t mind staying here for a little longer. Let’s go and sit with the others. Perhaps we might hear some news.”

  Everyone at the long table was pleased to welcome them, and soon the conversation was in full flow. Bendu explained that he and Sir Arturin were waiting for Ristridin and his companions to return. However, none of the villagers had heard any news about the knight-errant. When they found out that he’d gone to the Wild Wood, they shook their heads.

  “Why would anyone want to do that?” one of them said.

  “That forest is enchanted,” said another. “I wouldn’t dare to cut down any of its trees.”

  “Ah, you fool!” said the innkeeper. “Sir Ristridin is a knight. A man like him is scared of nothing! He has had more adventures than you could imagine. And I’m sure these knights here also have a tale or two to tell. Isn’t that right, Sir Bendu?”

  Bendu muttered into his beard.

  “How boring life would be without knights,” the innkeeper went on pensively. “Whatever would we have to tell each other stories about?”

  “I know other folk who can spin a good yarn,” said one of the villagers. “Like Red Quibo, for instance. Hey, where is Red Quibo?”

  “Oh, he’ll be here soon enough,” said someone else, with a laugh. “There’s no way he’ll go to bed without his little nightcap.”

  “Red Quibo’s been into the Wild Wood,” said the innkeeper.

  “And what does Red Quibo have to say about it?” asked Piak.

  The door opened and a hoarse voice called out loudly: “Who is taking my fine and florid name in vain?”

  A scrawny young man entered the room. He was dirty and unkempt, and his fiery red hair stood up in spikes. With large, clumsy steps, he walked over to the table and sat down opposite Piak.

  “That was me,” said Piak. “I’ve heard you have a good story to tell.”

  “Story? Story?!” cried Red Quibo. “It’s no story! What I have to tell is the truth, the pure truth, the truth as pure and as potent as…”

  “As brandy,” said the innkeeper, helping him.

  “Exactly! As brandy. Pour me one, please! I’m sure these fine gentlemen are paying, eh?”

  “Hm,” said Bendu, “if you tell a good tale.”

  “I can only tell a good tale when I’ve had something to drink, noble sir,” said Red Quibo with a smile.

  Bendu gestured to the innkeeper. “Go ahead, then,” he said. “Drinks all round, on me.”

  The innkeeper went around with a bottle and a flagon, and everyone cheerfully raised their glasses to drink to Bendu’s good health.

  Red Quibo made use of the opportunity to pour another glass for himself, which he soon emptied.

  “You should bear in mind,” said the innkeeper, when the excitement had died down a little, “that the truth of Quibo’s stories decreases with every glass he drinks.”

  “That is a lie!” cried Red Quibo. He looked around and jabbed his finger at the chest of the first person he saw. It was Tiuri. “Sir knight,” he said. “I am a maligned man, a misunderstood man. Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” said Tiuri, as seriously as he could.

  “I know I’m better at telling my story when I’ve had a drop to drink,” continued Red Quibo. “And I always hope they’ll finally believe me. But do they? No! So then I have another one to make me even more convincing when I tell them what happened to me. And do they believe me then? No, they still don’t. And then…” He fell silent, picked up the nearest glass, which happened to be Tiuri’s, and emptied it. “They’re scared,” he said, almost in a whisper. “Scared… Yes!” he suddenly shouted at Piak, so loud that he made him jump. “Scared… of the truth!” He lowered his voice again as he continued, “And it isn’t a pleasant thought that just a few miles from here the Wild Wood begins, where paths are overgrown by wild plants, where creepy creatures crawl all around you, where the wailing of wind in the tangle of branches wakes you at night…”

  He looked around at the others, his piercing eyes glinting in the flickering light of the oil lamp above the table. He cracked the knuckles of his lean and filthy fingers. Almost in a monotone he continued: “I used to go there, even as a boy, although my parents had forbidden it. I dared to go because I had never cut down a tree in the forest, or picked a flower, or even snapped a twig. I walked along paths until they became dead ends, I watched animals as they came to drink from the pool, and I followed the Forest Brook, deeper and deeper into the trees…” He stopped his tale to ask the innkeeper for a refill. After swirling the brandy around his glass for a moment, he took a swig and continued: “I will not tell you everything. You might end up believing it and then you wouldn’t sleep tonight or even the next night. I won’t talk about the rustling in the reeds and the surreptitious sounds coming from who knows where. Or about the gnarled branches with beetles gnawing away, nor about the stealthy steps I heard, and the slithering snakes and the furtive feet… But then the Forest Brook led me to the Unholy Hills.” He downed his brandy, wiped his lips and nodded.

  “The Unholy Hills,” he repeated. “And unholy is what they are! You go round and round in circles, and when you think you’ve finally found the way, it’s suddenly gone, and when you think you’re going back, you’re actually going forward. As you walk on, you go more and more astray, deeper and deeper into the Wild Wood. There, in the valleys among the Unholy Hills, many skeletons lie beneath a thick layer of leaves… white bones on the dark moss, those who went astray and never found their way back to the path again. I have been there. I did not want to go, but I found myself there anyway, and I have not been the same man since.”

  He turned to the innkeeper. “How long was I gone?” he asked.

  “Over a month,” he replied and, for the benefit of his new guests, he added: “He came back twice as thin as he is now and talking like a drunk man. But then he always does that.”

  “You be quiet!” cried Red Quibo, suddenly angry. “Let me be drunk if I wish. I was not drunk when it happened, and that’s all I’m going to say.”

  “Oh no, please, go on,” said Piak. “Tell us more. What happened to you in the Unholy Hills? What a name! That alone is enough to give anyone goose bumps.”

  “Nothing happened to me,” said Red Quibo abruptly. “I walked round and round in circles, and finally I got out. But I was on the wrong side, very deep in the forest, somewhere in the west. There was nothing there, no sign of civilization. I walked – no, I stumbled – onwards. The animals fled from me, and I was alone… all alone… Then, suddenly, nearby, I heard loud cheers. Yes, people cheering! Do you understand what that meant? You’re walking in a forest, the first human being who’s been there for centuries, and then you hear cheering, happy cheering on the other side of the trees right beside you! I nearly dropped down dead with shock. My heart must have skipped three beats! The cheering was accompanied by the sound of hoofs, someone laughing, something clinking, someone shouting. When I’d recovered a little, I tiptoed towards the sound and peered through the bushes to see a clearing and men jousting. I could see knights in full armour, riding fierce and fiery horses. They had red plumes on their helmets, and the light on their lances and swords flashed before my eyes. A crowd watched, cheering them on. They were standing all around the sides of the clearing and sitting in the trees, dressed in red and green and black.

  “As I watched, though, I realized I was seeing something that was not meant for my eyes. These were not people! Perhaps they were the spirits of those who had lived long ago in places where trees now grow. I have heard that here and there are still ruins of their cities. And I knew they must not see me, or they would strike me blind. I c
rept back, slipped away and left that place. And after a long time, with the help of heaven or my lucky stars, I found the way back through the Unholy Hills… the way back to civilization. But it wasn’t easy – oh no!”

  Quibo stopped to pour himself another glass.

  “Many paths led from that place,” he continued in a quiet voice. “But I will not tell you what I found there or how I wandered and strayed, for many days. If I did, I would have to talk until tomorrow and I am too tired for that. But in the middle of those Unholy Hills is a shallow valley, a gloomy vale with a dark pool. Poisonous mushrooms grow there, grey and sickly pale. But whatever is green withers in that place, and whatever blooms wilts…” He sat up straight and continued, almost as if he were reciting a poem: “There is a slope, a hill, a den that seems like a grassy bank, covered with plants and turf… an opening within it like a darkened eye… a hole in the roof sending smoke to the sky…”

  “What else?” asked Piak.

  Red Quibo looked at him and started laughing. That broke the tension. Glasses clinked and people began to murmur.

  Quibo dipped a finger into his glass and then licked it. “That’s it,” he said, grinning at Piak. “The rest is for you to guess.”

  “You stopped at just the right moment,” said Bendu. “You have told a good tale, but I must agree with the landlord that your story does sound rather unlikely.”

  “Why shouldn’t it be true?” said Piak. “I couldn’t make up something that strange!”

  “Didn’t you go inside the den, Quibo?” asked Bendu.

  “Would you have dared?” replied Red Quibo.

  “Me? Most definitely,” said Bendu. “But I’m convinced I’d have found nothing in there. Not even a fire that was sending up smoke!”

  “No smoke without fire,” said the innkeeper.

  “Ah, but there is such a thing as smoke without fire!” cried Quibo.

  “For sure. The smoke of your imagination,” said Bendu.

  “The smoke of what once was…” whispered Quibo, “the mysterious smoke of what is past and gone… Look, now my glass is empty, but the glow of what was in it still warms my body!”

  “It certainly does,” said one of the other guests with a laugh. “Now heed Red Quibo’s warning. Drink in moderation and stay away from the Wild Wood!”

  “Just a glass or two won’t do you any harm,” said the innkeeper. “But it’s true that you’re well advised to steer clear of the Wild Wood.”

  “Oh, but that’s not true!” said Tiuri. “You have to investigate, find out which of the stories are genuine and which are not, try to solve its mysteries…”

  “Nonsense!” said Red Quibo. “You will never solve those mysteries because they are not your mysteries to solve. We have no business in that forest. I’ll never go back there again. I’ve had enough for a lifetime.”

  Tiuri gave him an inquisitive look. He didn’t really know what to think about Red Quibo’s tale. He seems to believe it himself, he thought. But that doesn’t mean it has to be true.

  Can those who disappeared long ago come back to life in lonely places where once they dwelt? It was a strange thought to have in this lowly but cosy inn.

  “So? Have I changed your mind?” asked Red Quibo.

  “I… I still think Sir Ristridin was right, and so was King Dagonaut, when they wanted to discover what was in the Wild Wood,” said Tiuri.

  “And when you’ve found out, what then?” asked Red Quibo. “Do you want to lie awake every night? That is if you’re lucky enough to be able to lie awake… Don’t you remember what I said about the mournful valleys in those unholy, hateful hills?”

  “Hey, stop it,” said Piak. “You’re just trying to scare us.”

  Red Quibo stood up. He looked a bit shaky on his legs.

  “Brave knights cannot be intimidated!” he cried. “They dare to go into the forest, like Ristridin of the South. Others, though, stay safe indoors, by the fire, like Sir Fitil of Islan.”

  “Mind your tongue,” said the innkeeper.

  “I’m not speaking ill of the Lord of Islan, am I?” cried Red Quibo. “He once took many a step inside the Wild Wood. They even say he can wander the Unholy Hills without going astray. But now he knows what’s what and he stays inside his castle, nice and quiet, and laughs at those who fret and worry. As he is so right to do.”

  “These knights are on their way to Islan,” said the innkeeper, nodding at Bendu and his companions.

  Red Quibo looked at each of them in turn and started laughing again.

  “Are you a friend of Sir Fitil’s?” he asked Bendu.

  “That would be overstating it,” Bendu replied. “I last saw him years ago.”

  Red Quibo turned his gaze on Tiuri, Piak and Evan. “And you are all heading to Islan, too?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “But not to see Sir Fitil, I should wager… No, I am certain of it! Good heavens, with the sun and the moon and a thousand stars together, three young men, all with the same goal! What do they seek beyond the palisades and peaks, within the mighty walls of Islan? A beautiful maiden with honey-blonde hair and hands as white as snow, with eyes like lakes in the moonlight… a girl like a May rose, as slender as the vine.”

  “That’s enough drink for you, Quibo!” the innkeeper said sternly.

  “May I not drink to Islan’s daughter? A toast to the fairest lady in the Kingdom of Dagonaut! The Daughter of Islan! Isadoro, Lady Isadoro of the pale plain beside the dappled forest, the green-dappled Wild Wood in the west!” cried Red Quibo and then he stopped, out of breath.

  “I was not aware that Sir Fitil had a daughter,” said Bendu soberly.

  Then Tiuri remembered the daughter of another lord: Lavinia of Castle Mistrinaut. Lavinia with her long dark plaits and her eyes like stars. In his bag, right at the bottom, he carried her glove. No one knew about it, not even Piak.

  Red Quibo had sat down again and was talking to Bendu. “Take good care of those young men, so quickly aflame, so often in love!” he said. “Ah, let me have just one more drink. Then I shall drink to you, knights, and to all the secrets – the inex-troca… inoxtrica… um… unfathomable secrets of the Wild Wood, so strange but true!”

  2 CANDLELIGHT AND HARP MUSIC

  At first sight, the Plain of Islan did indeed seem pale and dull, but anyone who looked closely could see that was about to change. New blades of grass poked through the soil, and white bellflowers blossomed by the side of the road. Buds were on the trees and the dark, ploughed farmland would not be bare for much longer.

  It’s spring, thought Tiuri. Finally it’s really spring!

  And there was Castle Islan – a strange, outlandish building, half stone, half wood, surrounded by palisades and moats.

  It was some time before the four travellers were admitted to the castle, as it took a while for the drawbridge to be lowered and the gate opened.

  But finally the captain of Sir Fitil’s guards, a particularly grim-looking man, led them to the castle’s living quarters. He took them into a large hall, with rough stone walls and a ceiling black with soot. A wooden staircase led to a gallery, with various doors opening onto it. Three spotted dogs came bounding down the stairs, wagging their tails, followed, more slowly, by the lord of the castle himself. Holding out his hands in welcome, he walked to meet his guests.

  “Well, well,” he exclaimed jovially. “So they haven’t forgotten us in lonely Islan! Welcome, welcome! Sir Bendu, if I’m not mistaken.” He slapped the knight on the shoulders as the dogs whirled about his feet. “It’s good to see unfamiliar faces for a change!” he continued. “I was starting to feel like a hermit.” He gave a booming laugh.

  Sir Fitil looked nothing like a hermit. He’d need to be a lot thinner, thought Tiuri, with a beard. Sir Fitil, though, was stout, perhaps even fat. His face was ruddy and clean-shaven, and his hair was blond and thinning at the temples. He looked very merry and his stature ensured that he cut a fine figure in his long robe of peacock-blue velv
et.

  Now he turned his small, bright eyes on the other three members of the party. “And here we have two knights of King Unauwen!” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Welcome, welcome! What brings you here, from your distant land?”

  “Only one of our number comes from the west,” said Bendu, “and that is Sir Evan. Tiuri is a knight of King Dagonaut, even though he carries a white shield.”

  Tiuri also introduced Piak to Sir Fitil.

  “We come from Castle Ristridin,” Bendu continued. “Sir Arturin sends you his greetings.”

  “Arturin,” repeated Fitil, twitching his eyebrows again. “How is he? Is that why you travelled here, to bring me his greetings? Or have you come for another reason? To visit me, perchance?” Again, his laughter boomed around the hall.

  “We are glad you have welcomed us so warmly,” said Bendu, “and we should like to stay for one or two days. But we also have something to ask you. You can probably guess what it is.”

  Now Sir Fitil raised his eyebrows so high that his forehead turned into a mass of wrinkles. “I am not very good at guessing,” he replied. “What could I, the hermit of Islan, have to tell you? However, you may ask whatever you wish. I am at your disposal.” He placed his hand on the head of one of the dogs, which was trying to jump up. “Calm down, Baro!” he ordered.

  The grim-looking man-at-arms, who had waited in silence, gave a cough.

  “I’m coming, Hamar,” Sir Fitil said to him. He turned back to the four travellers. “My house is yours, knights and squire,” he said. “I hope you will stay longer than a couple of days! But I must briefly excuse myself. If you go up the stairs and open the first door, you will find my daughter. Her name is Isadoro. She is the mistress of this castle and she knows of your arrival. As your hostess, she will undoubtedly give you a better reception than I have! I shall join you shortly.” He bowed, and left the hall with his dogs and the man-at-arms.