The Middlewood Cuckoo
The slim stranger stepped out of the darkness, into the light of our pathetic fizzling fire. She squatted on a nearby rock, observing how it struggled to burn in the murky ether.
"Yous ain't the first to be exploring 'ere," she said in an intense guttural drawl.
Nobody sat round the fire doubted her, her own presence was proof of that -- she wasn't one of us, so must have been somewhere near when we arrived and setup our camp.
She must have companions nearby too, I thought to myself, if indeed she is the right pronoun. This really isn't the sort of place you'd want to be travelling through alone. For several hours we'd been in this area, and we'd seen, besides ourselves, only such living things -- if you could call them living -- the big eyed, friendly looking yet, vapid morivarids -- piranha-mosquitos of the murk, insipid, flat, dull, destitute of animation -- that swim lazily through the thick and oily murk, pecking at your eyes, your nose, your ears.
In this place, the interior of the The Dark Peak, you'll not coexist with these creatures for long without supplies and arms -- the equipment necessary for survival. You need to be an organised outfit. Those to carry, those to build camp and more to hunt and defend -- you need a team.
In the sure knowledge that she was unlikely to be alone, Delf Sike rose at her approach, his hand shadowing his holstered weapon.
Sit! Said the stranger, pointing to the floor; her eyes directed at the dirt. Sike snorted, nostrils flaring with anger, but I watched the situation, catching his arm and returning him to a sitting position.
He came down hard on his fleshy buttocks and was about to interject -- such was his way, Sike the loudmouth -- but placing my index finger to my lips, I silenced him, focusing my eyes on his and shaking my head.
The stranger paid this sword rattling no attention, speaking in the same deliberate and low way in which she'd started:
Some time ago, four explorers, all kindred of Hallam, entered this hex. They crossed these dark mountains, same as you, travelling due west. The four were prospectors, and a good outfit, but we had no guide -- just four of us intent on finding our fortunes.
Tor Wood, Edge Moor, Clough Ley and L.T. Marsh; the names were said slowly and distinctly, as if to fix them in our memories.
Each member of my team now attentively observed the stranger. And each of them, I knew, was apprehensive about her possible companions that might be hiding somewhere in the darkness; a darkness that enclosed us like black ramparts.
Yet this volunteer historian made no suggestion of any unfriendly purpose.
The stranger seemed to be more of a harmless lunatic than any foe to be untrusted, but maybe that was her intention.
We were not so new to The Dark Peak as not to know that the solitary life of many a dweller of these parts had a tendency to develop eccentricities that might not be distinguishable from mental aberration, this is that kind of place that induces such visions.
Folk are like trees. In a forest of like, she'll grow as straight as nature permits. But alone in the open, one might yield to the deforming stresses of this tortuous environment. Some such thoughts were in my mind as I watched the woman from the shadow of my hat, pulled low to shut out the firelight.
Why was she here in this, the heart of the impenetrable wilderness?
Having undertaken to tell this story, I wish that I could describe her appearance better; that would be a natural thing to do. But, and somewhat strangely, I find myself unable to do so with any degree of confidence. Afterwards no two of us agreed as to what she wore or how she looked; and when I try to set down my own impressions they elude me. Anyone can tell some kind of story; narration is one of the elemental powers of or kind, the talent for description, however, is a gift -- and not one I possess.
Nobody having broken silence the visitor went on:
This area was not then what it is now. There was not a farm house between the Dark Peak and the sea. There was a little game here and there in the mountains, and near the infrequent water-holes grass enough to keep our animals from starvation. If we should be so fortunate as to encounter none of them xin nor their loathsome dyapnid we might get through. But within a week the purpose of the expedition had altered from prospecting for wealth to preservation of life.
We had gone too far to go back, for what was ahead could be no worse than what was behind; so we pushed on, travelling at night to avoid them loathsome denizens and the intolerable cold, and concealing ourselves by day as best we could. Sometimes, having exhausted our supply of wild meat and emptied our casks, we were days without food or drink; then a water-hole or a shallow pool in the bottom of a dike so restored our strength and sanity that we were able to shoot some of the wild animals that sought it also.
Occasionally a lone clovenfoot, sometimes a grizzler. More likely a gnawmard, rooterwing, squawkwing or flufftail. A longleg was a delicacy -- as Dunlockslyn pleased; all were food.
One morning skirting a range hills, we were ambushed by a band of morivarids, as our trail led up a gulch -- it is not far from here. Knowing that they outnumbered us probably thousands to one, they crashed into us, biting and sucking noisily.
Fighting back was out of the question. We urged our feeble onetoes up the gulch as far as there was footing for a hoof, then threw ourselves out of our saddles and took to the dense thicket of shrubs on one of the slopes. Impervious to entry, we abandoned our animals to the horde as they descended upon us.
We retained our weapons, each one of us -- Tor Wood, Edge Moor, Clough Ley and L.T. Marsh.
Same old crowd, said our resident humorist. There was an undercurrent of mirth, but I gestured my disapproval, silencing them, and bid the stranger proceed with her tale.
The morivarids savage in their slouch, swam lazily up the gulch to where we had left it, cutting off our retreat, forcing us up the sides. The gorse extended not far up the slope, so as we came into open ground above we took the biting of a dozen or more of them; but the foul creatures become frenzied when rushed, and Dunlockslyn protected us so that none of us fell.
Sixty feet up the slope, beyond the edge of the brush, were vertical cliffs, in which, directly in front of us, was a narrow opening. Into that we ran, finding ourselves in a cavern, no bigger than the kitchen of a farmhouse. Here for a time we were safe: Any individual with a catapult could defend the entrance against all the morivarids in the land. But against hunger and thirst we had no defence. Courage we still had for now, but I had no idea for how long that courage would stay with us.
Not one of those morivarids did we see after that, but we could hear their thirst, their bloodlust. We could imagine their bloated stomachs full of puss and blood, their vile existence spreading plague and pestilence. The buzzing of their fins in the viscous murk and the chittering and chattering of their gummy mouthes. We knew that by day and by night they watched with their deadlight eyes. We knew that if we made a sortie not one of us would live to take three steps into the open.
For three days, watching in turn, we held out, until our suffering became intolerable.
Then, on the morning of the fourth day, Clough Ley began to stammer and uttered as if possessed:
"I ain't no acolyte, and I know not what pleases Dunlockslyn, but if I do believe in the three tailed serpent and the three voices of reason that vent at the ripperthroat mountains, then I believe that all hope is gone. I shock you, crosslanders, but for me the time is come to defeat this vile murkspawn."
The explorer knelt upon the floor of that cave, charged his pistol and pressed it against his temple. "For d'divi," he said, "here comes the immortal soul of Clough of the Leys."
And so he left us -- Tor Wood, Edge Moor and L.T. Marsh.
I was the leader: It was for me to speak.
He was a brave, I said -- he knew when to die, and how. It is foolish for us to go mad from thirst or to die as fodder for this swarm of spite. Let us charge our weapons and join Clough Ley.
"That is right," said Edge Moor.
"That is right," said Tor Wood.
Each of us charged our weapons.
I straightened the limbs of Clough Ley, placing his scarf over his face. Then Tor Wood said: "It is a good look, dignified; I should like to look like that in a little while."
And Edge Moor said that she felt that way, too.
Yes, trust me, I said, I'll see you right, just as with Clough -- Tor Wood, Edge Moor -- draw your weapons and kneel.
They did so and I stood before them.
D'divi, divine one, our Dunlockslyn, I said.
"D'divi, divine one, our Dunlockslyn," said Edge Moor.
"D'divi, divine one, our Dunlockslyn," said Tor Wood.
Cleanse us of the murk, free us from these murkspawn, release us unto the ripperthroats, I said.
"free us from these murkspawn" said they, and:
"release us unto the ripperthroats."
"release us unto the ripperthroats."
D'divi!
"D'divi!"
"D'divi!"
I laid them beside Clough Ley and covered their faces with their scarves.
One of my party sprang to her feet, knife in hand.
You! She shouted -- you dared to escape? -- you dare to be alive? You cowardly barker, I'll send you to join them!
But my vantage point was between the stranger and the aggressor, and I was able to put myself in front of the outstretched blade. Seeing me in the way she faltered, allowing me to grasp her wrist.
Hold it back, Lilac! Her wrist slackened, the immediate danger over.
We were now all upon our feet -- except the stranger, who sat motionless and apparently inattentive. Someone seized Lilac's other arm, but there was really no need, the anger had passed.
There is something wrong here, said Lilac. This dweller of the murk is either a lunatic or a liar. If this woman was of that party it had five members, one of whom -- probably herself -- she has not named.
Yes, I said, releasing Lilac, who sat down, there is something unusual. Many years ago the partial remains of four dead crosslander bodies were found in the mouth of that cave. The remnants were barely nothing. Smashed fragments of bone and tooth. They are buried there; I have seen the graves -- we shall all see them tomorrow.
The stranger rose, standing tall and slim in the light of the expiring fire, which in our breathless attention to her story, we had neglected.
There were four, she said -- Tor Wood, Edge Moor, Clough Ley and L.T. Marsh.
With this reiterated roll-call of the dead she walked into the dark and we saw her no more. At that moment one of our party, who had been on guard, came among us, weapon in hand, breathless and excited.
"For the last half-hour," he said, "three figures have been standing out there, on that ridge."
The ridge that he pointed to was bounded by all sides by steep escarpments and stood high above a surrounding plain. It was the same direction taken by the stranger as she departed.
"I could see them distinctly silhouetted by the murk moon. They appeared to be unarmed, and I had them covered, so I thought it was their move. They made none, but they had me spooked."
Go back to your post, and stay there until you see them again, I said. The rest of you get some sleep.
Our sentinel withdrew obediently, and did not return. As we were arranging our blankets, Lilac said: "Sorry to ask Maam, but who were they?"
Tor Wood, Edge Moor and Clough Ley.
L.T. Marsh? Said Lilac, I should have gutted her where she stood.
Needless I said, Lyn Tendril Marsh; you couldn't have made her any deader. Go to sleep.