Aurelius and I (21 page)

I was far from sure that this would be the case but, for lack of a better idea, we turned back the way we had come. Then, after just a few steps, a voice echoed through the trees to our left.

“Guys!”

It was Grahndel, he was sitting atop the widest oak tree I had ever seen. I could only imagine how tall it must once have stood, but its growth had long since been stunted by a tremendous storm, for the majority of its length lay beside it, covered in moss and Ivy.

“Guys,” the dragnor repeated. “I think you should come and have a look at this.”

“This had better be worth it, Grahndel,” I threatened as I struggled to climb the immensely thick trunk of what remained of the once mighty oak. Indeed, despite the fact that the larger half of the tree lay broken on the forest floor, it was still quite a climb to reach the top of what remained – especially given that the old oak was far too large for the usual tactic of wrapping ones legs around the trunk and scooching up, and had instead to be negotiated as if it were a cliff face, holding tight to each branch or foothold until one could locate the next. By the time I reached the top I was exhausted, but this exhaustion was quickly forgotten when I saw what it was the dragnor had insisted we see.

“What on earth!?!” I exclaimed.

“I told you it was worth it,” said the smug little demon.

To my surprise and disbelief, aside from a thick outer layer of trunk on which we now stood, the entire tree was hollow. What was unbelievable though, was that this was clearly not some random act of nature, but the purposeful design of a human (or, more likely, alundri) hand. This fact was rendered undeniable by two things;

Firstly, the platform on which we now stood was part of a deliberately remaining outer layer, carefully calculated to leave the tree with enough support so as not to collapse in on itself under its own weight.

Secondly, and far more astoundingly, in the centre of the hollowed out tree was a spiral staircase, intricately carved and adorned with various, painstakingly crafted gargoyles, leading down into the darkness as far as the eye could see.

“The bat went down there – without pooping I might add, selfish little slug-licker!”

“Where do you think it leads?” asked Ophelia, her eyes never leaving the abyss before her.

“There’s only one way to find out,” I said, trying to sound confident as I placed my foot on the first step.

“Wait a minute!” yelled a suddenly panicked Grahndel. “What are you doing? Where are you going? You don’t know what’s down there!”

“He’s right, Charlie,” Ophelia agreed, fluttering out of my pocket and in front of my face in order to make her point. “It could be dangerous. Shouldn’t we just stick to the plan?”

Ah yes, the famous plan
I thought to myself. The plan I had been on the verge of admitting was non-existent, thereby destroying the both hope of my companions and their faith in me, before the arrival of the constipated bat. Perhaps it was luck. Perhaps it was fate. Whatever it was, we had been presented with the opportunity to take action once again. Okay, it may well have turned out to be action that lead to our cruel and painful deaths, but it was action all the same. And at that moment, with time fast ticking away until something terrible definitely would happen, walking down some steps seemed to be a more than acceptable risk.

“Plans change,” I said simply, trying to sound like a confident movie tough guy as I began descending the narrow, twisting stairs, an image which was instantly destroyed as I slipped, almost toppling to my doom before catching myself at the last second. Both Grahndel and Ophelia looked at me with condescension.

“Perhaps this might help,” ventured Ophelia, pulling from her bag what appeared to be a tiny ball of pure light, before flying past me down the staircase.

Small enough to sit comfortably in her miniscule palm (and apparently cool enough not to cremate it) the mysterious orb gave off a remarkable amount of light and made our journey down the treacherous, twisting stairs a great deal more negotiable. Even with this however, there were several occasions when either Grahndel or I came close to plunging off the railingless staircase and into the darkness that ran through their centre, ending in who-knew-what.

“How much further can it be?” I said, speaking more to myself than asking a genuine question. We had been making our descent for some time, far longer than it should have taken to reach the bottom of the tree - we were clearly quite deep underground by now, and there was still no sign of an end to our journey.

“It can’t be long now,” Ophelia responded, trying to sound reassuring.

“How do you know?” replied the somewhat less optimistic dragnor. “For all you know these stairs could just go on and on forever.”

“Nothing lasts forever, stupid!” she snapped. The bickering had begun again.

“Well, alright,” said the dragnor, “not forever then, but still a really, really, really, really, really long time. These stairs could keep twisting and turning, down and down, until, eventually, it comes out in another oak tree in another forest on the exact opposite side of the world.”

“Now you’re just being silly!” chided the princess.

“I’m the one who’s being silly?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m not the one who suggested walking down the stairs to the unknown just because I didn’t have another plan.”

“What?” said Ophelia.

“You heard me, there was no plan, was there, Charlie?”

“Er, well...”

“It’s not true. Tell him, Charlie. Tell him how wrong he is,” Ophelia demanded, a tearful uncertainty about her words.

“Well...You see...”

“See! I told you,” Grahndel declared proudly.

“Just shut up and let...”

“AAAARRRRGGGHH!!!”

THUD!

In turning around to berate the dragnor, Ophelia had swung her little magical lantern a little too close to his head and, in ducking to avoid it, the little demon had lost his footing on the narrow step and been plunged down into the darkness.

“GRAHNDEL!” I yelled. No response.

“Oh my, what have I done?” cried the princess.

“GRAHNDEL!”

Louder this time. Still nothing.

“I’ve killed him. I’m a murderer!”

“GRAHNDEL!”

Nothing.

And then, after the longest of silences, six words of salvation emerged quietly from the darkness;

“I think I found the bottom.”

We hurried down the remaining stairs as fast as we dared, hoping against hope that our friend had not been too badly injured, hopes that faded with each additional step as it became apparent just how far he had fallen.

On nearing the bottom there was a great improvement in illumination, an improvement which we soon discovered was provided by two flaming torches which adorned the walls of the chamber at the base of the stairs. Lying in their flickering shadows was a twisted and broken dragnor.

“Are you okay?” asked Ophelia as the two of us rushed over to the crumpled heap that was our companion.

“Do I look okay?” he asked, his voice weak.

He did not look okay - far from it in fact. His leg was unnaturally bent into the most painful looking of positions so that his left foot almost touched his left knee. His right arm looked as though the bone had simply shattered from the elbow downwards and was now only held together only by skin and tendons. More concerning than any of these things however, was the stream of electric blue blood that pooled around an unseen wound on the back of the small beast’s head. There was no way around it, Grahndel was dying.

“Stand back,” I said to Ophelia, rolling up my shirt sleeves.

“Are you going to be able to save him?” she asked, tearfully. “It looks really bad.”

“I’m going to try,” I said. And then, turning to the dragnor, I warned; “I’ve never been on the receiving end of this before, so it might hurt a little I’m afraid.”

“I don’t think a little more pain is going to make a whole lot of diff...” the dragnor’s eyes rolled back into his head as he passed out before he could finish his sarcastic response. I checked for a pulse; he was still breathing – just. I knew I would have to act quickly.

I lay my hands on Grahndel, one on his head, the other on the injured leg, and tried to remember how it was I had made this work on the squirrel.

How long ago that wounded rodent seemed at that moment. So long that part of me questioned whether it had really happened. Could I really hold the power to heal the sick? It just seemed too ridiculous to imagine.

You can’t think that way, you need to concentrate!
I told myself angrily.
Now how did I make this work last time?

“Hurry, Charlie, hurry!” panicked the little fairy.

Needless to say her cries did nothing to ease the pressure I was feeling. It did, however, do much to increase my feeling of rage. I remember thinking to myself
why don’t you take over if you think you could do any better!
I found myself becoming increasingly annoyed with Ophelia for her begging and her weeping, although, at the same time, I knew deep down that I was really only annoyed with myself for my own failure.

And then it happened.

Just as the frustration at my inability to help my friend set in, I felt the tingling beginning in my spine once again. I could feel it moving up my back, down my arms, and through to my fingers just as I had done before – only this time the whole thing happened much more gradually, and this, combined with the familiar yet inexplicable aroma of cherry-blossom, made me feel unexpectedly nauseous.

Then came the jolt. Exactly the same as before. The last thing I am able to recall is a spark of light over the dragnor’s dying body, closely followed by a falling sensation. The next thing I remember is waking up on the dry dirt floor, almost choking on the dirty stream water which was being poured into my mouth.

I sat up coughing and spitting out clumps of mud.

“He’s alive!” cheered the tiny princess.

“Are you okay?” asked the dragnor before profusely and repeatedly thanking me for saving his life.

“I’m fine,” I reassured him groggily, slowly allowing my eyes to adjust to the dingy light so that I might take in my surroundings.

We were surrounded on all sides by a small, circular chamber, the walls of which appeared to be formed from clay. Its only adornments were two flaming torches and the staircase that twisted into eternity above us. Other than that, the room was empty.

That can’t be right
I thought to myself.
Why would somebody go to all the trouble of carving an intricate wooden staircase that lead to an empty room?

The simple answer was that they wouldn’t; a fact Grahndel promptly demonstrated.

“Charlie, come over here and look at this.”

There, hidden under the stairs, in the most poorly lit part of the room, was a door. It was no wonder I hadn’t noticed it in my initial, groggy surveillance, for it was crafted of very dark wood and was completely camouflaged within the shadow of the staircase.

“I’m not sure Charlie should be moving just yet,” Ophelia warned.

“I’m fine,” I lied as I stumbled wearily to my feet to make a closer inspection of the door.

In doing so I confirmed my initial feeling that the door was a very heavy one, and therefore not something which could be easily broken down. This was a great shame, as there was also no handle with which it could be opened.

“Do you think we should knock?” asked the dragnor.

I shrugged. Whilst I was more than a little concerned that whatever lay behind such a door my not be receptive to our visit and we may therefore be disadvantaged by announcing our arrival, our only other option was, as far as I could see, to leave the way we had come. An option which held the unusual quality of being simultaneously cowardly and dangerous. And so, I knocked.

We waited. No answer. We waited some more. I was about to knock a second time when I noticed something on the wall at the side of the door. There was some writing and some kind of strange devices which I couldn’t quite make out. I went over to the opposite wall and took one of the torches from its holder so that I might read what was written more clearly. It was a riddle! This, as best as I can remember, is what it said;

This is a warning to all those who seek to pass through this door; turn back now, for danger awaits all who enter here. For those of you too courageous or too foolhardy to heed such this warning, there follows a test of your worthiness – but ignore this final warning not; fail such a test at your peril.

Something like that anyway. The riddle that followed however, was written exactly as I shall write it here, for it will remain etched in my mind for always.

I always run, but cannot walk,

I’m often loud, but cannot talk,

In distant lands, I start and end,

And yet right now, I’m near you friend.