Going Pear Shaped. A tale of wizards, lizards and galvanised tubing salesmen.

Chapter 10: 'Cadmus - stop that thing. It'll kill us all!'

Chapter 10: 'Cadmus – stop that thing.  It'll kill us all!'

A murky darkness was settling over the swamplands like a wet blanket as another leaf-covered tentacle slapped Smallscale in the face for the umpteenth time.  Tendrils of vines hanging from gnarled tree branches were still a hazard, especially in the dark.  Smallscale had forgotten how difficult it was to navigate through the dripping swamplands of Xardania. 

He had been travelling north east from Gila last night and all today and was probably getting close to the border, where he would pass into the delta of the Wetmouth Plains.

He still hadn't a clear idea in his mind where he was going.  He just knew that Xardania wasn't a safe place for him to be.  Once the Xardania warriors were on the march, nowhere would be safe.  Perhaps he could find a cave in the Edgeways Mountains and become a hermit.  All sorts of strange creatures and outcasts had made their homes on the mountainsides.  Perhaps a small green lizard wouldn't be noticed up there.  Maybe he could persuade one of the villages to have him as their wizard.  He liked that idea.  It would be a chance to put his magical abilities to some good, at last.

 He heard a sound behind him and spun around suddenly.

There was that strange mist again, in the distance.  It was always there whenever he turned around.  It was as if it was following him - and it had grown thicker and a lot patchier than before.  Not patchy, lumpy.  It was like the pale smoke that hangs around after a bonfire has burnt out.  It was tall, too, curling up into the higher overhanging branches of the trees.  And there seemed to be a prevailing smell wafting over from it, like something long dead.

Smallscale was filled with a growing dread.  He noticed for the first time that something seemed to be moving around inside the mist.  Something opaque, and yet something that seemed to be made up from the mist itself.  He had felt that it had been trailing along behind him all day yesterday, but the pale, luminous mist only became visible when night time closed in - like now.

He had plucked up his courage and walked towards it once or twice, but it had simply backed away.  It always maintained the same distance from him, like a mirage.

Smallscale watched and waited.  His heart was pounding so much he thought that the entire swampland would hear it.  His eyes never left the veil of mist that hovered in the trees in the distance behind him.

Droplets of moisture trickled their way down a branch and landed with a plop in a muddy puddle.  A small animal scuttled off a nearby log and disappeared into the undergrowth, hardly making a ripple.  There were the usual ambient drips and splashes - then there was a sudden stillness. 

Smallscale began to tremble.  As he watched, the misty vapour started to thicken and curl itself into a shape.  Branches of nearby trees moved as though an invisible hand was shaking them.  The writhing plume of luminous gas began to take on the form of something very tall and thin - something with long gangly limbs, elongated twisted fingers and a huge bulbous head with round staring eyes - and then it was just a pale mist again.  But in the mud at the base of the trees was the outline of a cloven footprint.

Smallscale was shaken.  He couldn't believe what he had just seen.  His first reaction was to run - to put as much distance between himself and that… thing.  But it was too dark and he was still deep in the mire of the swamplands.

He considered his second reaction.  That got the 'run' vote, too.  So he turned and ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

He ran blindly, crashing into overhanging branches, tumbling over protruding stumps.  He fell sprawling into ditches.  He stumbled over roots and rocks.  He ran and ran until he thought his lungs would burst.