Jim Henson’s The Dark Crystal Author Quest (11 page)

Ipsy awoke with the sun, already feeling lightning in her fingers and toes in anticipation of the day ahead of her. She pulled on a light tunic, tucked her slingshot into her belt, and snuck out of her bedroom balcony, skipping along the walking-ropes to the edge of the glen. There she waited until she saw her father. They would travel north for two days before they reached the Spriton clan's valley.

Ipsy perched atop the knee of a raised apeknot root, looking back on the quiet glen. Only some of the festival's decorations had been taken down; the rest of the banners and streamers waved lazily in the early-morning breeze. Somewhere, she heard soft voices speaking kind words to one another, but Old Smerth was otherwise quiet. Peaceful, Ipsy thought. For a moment, she was struck with an almost sadness at the thought of leaving, as if she might never see home again. But that was silly; in fair weather and without trouble, the journey would be a handful of days there and back. Before she knew it, she'd be fighting for another chance to leave.

It wasn't long before she saw the big form of her father ambling out of the main tunnel in Old Smerth's roots. He was in a traveling tunic, a layer of sun-toughened swamp kelp scales strung from his belt and from a mantle hanging off his broad shoulders. In his hand, he had a big spear that made Ipsy's look like an eating skewer in comparison.

“Prepared, little leaper?” he asked with a jolly grin when he reached her. Ipsy took hold of her spear and traveling pack, leaping from her perch in answer. She swung her pack over her shoulder and followed her father as he began the climb up into the apeknots.

Once they reached the upper canopy, travel was easier. The bog below was soft and spongy, riddled with hidden pitfalls, quicksand, and nettle. Up above, though, the apeknot branches intertwined in an enormous lattice. Ipsy traveled through the canopy web daily, but this time, she had to stay alert to keep up with her father. Bounding through the tangled trees and thick boughs, using his spear to vault from apeknot to apeknot, he was swift and powerful despite his bulk. At first she nearly asked him to slow down, but her pride held her tongue, and instead she pushed herself to match his pace.

“We'll make it to Tall Pass, then stop for a bite to eat,” her father called over his shoulder. “I'd like to clear the bounds of Sog before nightfall. Maybe we'll get lucky and you can taste your first bite of plains-growing grub tonight!”

Ipsy paused to catch her breath and rubbed her belly at a low grumble, thinking of supper roasted over an open fire. When the rumbling came again, though, she realized it wasn't her stomach. The earth shuddered deep below the swamp, moving the overgrowth below her feet so wildly she had to crouch to keep her balance. Plumes of vine-shrubs curled in on themselves; the younger trees successfully balled into knotted fists while the older trees, armored in centuries of hardened bark, only shuddered, creaked, and cracked. Ipsy grabbed tight to the bark, digging her fingernails in and holding her breath, knowing that if she were tossed from the branch she would have no way to slow her fall.

As soon as she was able without fear of losing her balance, she leaped to her feet and looked for her father. He'd been knocked down below, nearly to the swamp floor. He was safe, it seemed, save for the monstrous form that had risen from the murky depths below them. Ipsy gasped and pressed her hand over her mouth at the sight of the beast. It looked like a swamp Nebrie, its bulbous head armed with tusks and dark, inky eyes on either side. This creature, though, was ten times larger than any Nebrie Ipsy had ever seen—and dark as midnight, looming up into the canopy with its flippers held wide.

As Ipsy drew her slingshot, the monstrous Nebrie lunged for her father. He jumped out of the way, and the sheer bulk of the monster broke through the limbs of the apeknot as if they were twigs. The Nebrie crashed to the swamp floor with a thunderous
BABOOOOOM
. Bellanji braced himself, planting his heels and holding his stone-tipped spear out in front of him, waving it back and forth to draw the creature's attention.

“Stay back!” Bellanji shouted. At first, Ipsy thought his command was for the Nebrie, but when he glanced upward, she realized he was speaking to her. “This creature is feral!”

The Nebrie groaned, pulling itself up and baring its tusks, each of which was easily twice the size of Ipsy's father. Ipsy held her breath. She had never seen a Nebrie attack anything, much less a Gelfling; they were peaceful creatures, content to wallow in the swamp bog. They ate kelp and mud-crawlers—what had turned this one into such a monster?

Bellanji stiffened his back and followed the Nebrie with the head of his spear. “What's driven you to such rage, Nebrie?” he roared.

Ipsy clenched her hand around the grip of her slingshot, legs immobile with fear. The Nebrie reared up. If attacked again, as quick as her father might be, there was no way he could escape the huge creature. Breaking from her daze, Ipsy drew a stone back in the pocket of her slingshot and let it fly, striking the Nebrie in one of its globular eyes. The rock harmlessly bounced away, but she had the thing's attention. She drew back another stone and stepped out of her hiding spot. The wild Nebrie caught sight of her movement and turned toward her, pivoting away from her father.

“Ipsy, be careful,” her father warned, though he was backing away, out of the shadow of the Nebrie. From her higher vantage, Ipsy doubted the Nebrie could strike her. If she could lead it away from her father, he could ascend back into the safety of the canopy and escape. She let the stone fly and struck the monster in the face again, eliciting a howling squeal from it. The Nebrie reared, taller than she had thought possible, fixing her with dark eyes that sparked with a crackle of vicious violet light from deep within. Ipsy searched for any sign of intelligence in those eyes, but it was like staring into a deep, endless hole.

“Nebrie,” she said. She could hear her voice quaking. “Nebrie, please, come to your senses—we mean you no harm.”

For a moment, the darkness in the Nebrie's eyes eased, almost warming to the brown silt color common to the species. But no sooner had Ipsy let out the rest of the breath she'd been holding than the shadows converged, fiercer than before. This time, Ipsy felt trapped in their darkness, frozen as she gazed into the flickering violet lights—

“Ipsy, look out!”

Ipsy turned just as the Nebrie turned and swung its head at her tree. Hundreds of birds exploded into the sky as the old apeknot splintered with a deafening
CRACK
, and then Ipsy was falling, falling, falling. She scrambled along the falling branch, trying to make it to another tree before she became caught in the tangles. When the apeknot fingers became too thin to hold her weight, she leaped. The leaves from the opposite bough brushed through her fingers, and then she was falling fast into the shadow of the dark nebrie.

She hit the murky lake, and the shock immobilized her as she sank. Like others of her clan, she had no fear of drowning; the gills in the side of her neck opened, and she breathed in a deep gasp of water. She sank deeper until her back touched the soft mud of the swamp floor. Neech, who had been hiding in her locs, swam about her, letting out little bubbles of worry, while overhead she saw the Nebrie's silhouette amid flashes of light. The water muffled all sounds except the groaning of the half-submerged beast. All she could do was hope that her father would be all right.

Her fingers began to tingle, and after what seemed like ages, she regained feeling. She flipped over, digging her fingers and toes into the mud below her and bending her knees to push herself upward, but then she stopped. Something hard was under her toes. She twisted and looked, then dug away at the mud and silt. Below the dark gray and black, there was a ripple of light—a sparkle of violet. She cleared the area and saw a thin vein of crystal running through the rock. Though it was only a thread's width, she found herself squinting instinctively, as if her body knew that the source—however distant it was—was so bright it might blind her. It was familiar—no, the same!

As she looked at the dazzling ribbon of mineral, the chaos above her seemed distant. It wasn't until a loud splash cascaded above her that she realized she had lost time, and she looked up. A body was drifting down toward her, blood reddening the water around it. Panic struck her and she forgot the crystal, planting her feet on the lake floor and launching herself upward. Her father was sinking, bleeding from a massive wound in his side.

She caught him and slowed his descent. He was still conscious but barely, still clenching his spear in his hand. Ipsy kicked, swimming upward and pulling the weight of her father until they broke the surface of the lake.

Looming overhead was the Nebrie, still trembling and groaning in its rage. Froth flew from its muzzle and tusks as it sighted her. Bearing the bulk of her father's weight, there was no way she could escape. It let out an echoing wail, and despite knowing it was the Nebrie that had injured her father, Ipsy felt the agony in the creature's cry resonate with the pain she was feeling in her heart.

“Please,” she called to it. She didn't know what else to do. She poured her honesty into her words, wishing, hoping, praying that it would reach the Nebrie. “Please, I don't know what plagues you. We're not here to harm you.
Please leave us in peace
.”

Ipsy held on to her father, cradling his head in her lap as he groaned gently. She blinked away tears and swamp water, closing her eyes and surrendering herself to fate.

“Ipsy,” her father whispered. “Look.”

He touched her hand and she raised her head. The Nebrie was bent backward, face toward the sky. The entire swamp was silent save for the dripping of water and then a low, rumbling moan. The cry was so miserable and pained it brought more tears to Ipsy's eyes. The Nebrie shuddered from fin to snout, then collapsed in a wave of flippers, whiskers and flesh. It heaved a breath, but the sound was ragged, deep, and hollow.

Ipsy waited in the silence for several heartbeats more before pulling her father up onto a bed of kelp and moss. Out of the water, Ipsy could see that the wound, although deep, was not as bad as it had seemed in the water when clouds and clouds of blood surrounded her. Fallen between two apeknots across the way, the Nebrie was dead. One flipper extended limply in the air, soon to be a perch and feeding ground for the scavenging animals of the swamp.

“Father,” Ipsy whispered. “Father, are you all right?”

“Oh, hush,” Bellanji grunted, sitting up and pressing a hand to his side. “Of course I am.”

She searched the traveling packs that were buckled to his belt, looking for healing herbs, then tore cloth from his tunic and pressed it against the wound. Next, she found his spear and laid it nearby in case of any more trouble. Then she searched the canopy for any more danger but saw nothing. All the creatures had fled, afraid of the monstrous beast the Nebrie had become. Her father waved his hand, but the motion was shaky.

“Don't look so worried. If your mother can lose her leg, I can be scratched by a simple Nebrie. Ha!”

Ipsy felt some relief at his humor, but it couldn't extinguish the worry in her gut. The Nebrie's behavior hadn't been natural. What if there were more? What if one made its way to the glen? The entire tribe would be in danger. Hissing with effort, Bellanji braced himself with his spear and pulled himself up.

“That wasn't a simple Nebrie,” Ipsy protested. “I've never seen one so big and angry. And your wound—”

“Shh, Ipsy,” he said. She half-expected him to make another joke, laugh it off, but this time the humor in his voice had run dry. The wound in his side was taking its toll, and he solemnly gazed upon the fallen Nebrie. “You're right . . . you're right.”

“I saw something down under the mud—it looked like a crystal, the same color as the light in the Nebrie's eyes. If they're connected, it might not just be that Nebrie. There could be more creatures affected.”

Bellanji's eyes went far away, but whatever he was thinking, he kept it to himself. After a minute passed, he jostled himself back together again, his beard-locs shaking with droplets of swamp water.

“You need to continue on to the Spriton tribe,” he said finally. “You need to bring them word of this. Tell them of the Nebrie, and what you saw down below. And after that . . . I must ask you to seek Aughra on the matter.”

Aughra.
The name itself seemed to bring the swamp into a hush of murmurs, whispering mysteries.

“Why?” Ipsy asked. “I should at least help you back to Old Smerth—”

“It's as you said, little leaper. This is no laughing matter. I can return to the glen on my own, but news of a monster Nebrie and dark stones beneath the swamp needs to be taken to the other tribes, and to Aughra, and fast. I don't know that we have time to wait, and if you come back to the glen, the old council will get tangled up in all of it and slow things down even more.”

He shrugged out of his traveling pack—waterproof, as all Drenchen commodities were—and put it across Ipsy's shoulders. She was dwarfed by its bulk and weight, but bore it with a straight back and feet planted firmly. Bellanji grunted and snapped his spear shaft short, then pressed it into Ipsy's hands. She suddenly realized what kind of journey lay ahead of her, and trembled with both courage and anticipation.

“I don't know how to find Aughra,” she blurted. “I've never left the swamp.”

“If you follow the ravine that flows through Tall Pass, you'll reach the edge of the swamp. Continue upstream and within a day you'll reach the Spriton village. Ask for their help to reach Aughra; if Gurjin is with them, he'll go with you, and he's a soldier strong as any.”

He chuckled but it was forced. “You'll be fine. You've got the spirit and energy of youth on your side. Not like your old man.”