The Forest, by Ben Greenfield - Chapter 9: "Tink's Tale"

Chapter nine Sitting cross legged on the ground, Tink tore open the loaf of golden brown bread. The flavorful aroma of yeast and salt and grains wafted towards river and Terran. Tink opened the bottle of oil, poured a few drops onto the bread, popped a giant chunk into his mouth, then handed the bread and bottle of oil over to the boys.

Balinga. The stuff will last for days. Barley, beans, lentils, wheat and millet mixed together and baked on dry coals. It keeps our TR troops going for days.

While battling the Cithron, he put another well oiled piece into his mouth and spoke with filled cheeks.

Ah, and so much better with rich sweet camellia oil harvested from the lovely red flowering shrubs that grow in the eastern Gwaeld mountain range where the thin air is sweet and where the elven folk flourish.

His mouth dripping with saliva, Terran ripped away a piece of bread and passed it on to River.

He poured the golden oil onto his bread, put it into his mouth and closed his eyes as the combination of the crisp outer crust, the soft flavorful inner loaf and the sweet oil washed over his palate. When he opened his eyes, he saw Tink's outstretched hand offering him a piece of dried meat.

Tanuki meat. The great horned tanuki beast roams the plains for days on end, often at top speeds. When you eat these dried strips of loin, its powers of stamina and endurance will be passed on to you.

Taran took the tanuki and tore a strip from it with his teeth. It was surprisingly easy to chew and tasted ever so slightly sweeter than beef. He eyed the bread and oil which had made its way back around to Tink and wished he had a chance to taste all three at once, secretly fantasizing about a glorious bread, meat and oil sandwich. While Tink continued.

I'll begin where we now sit, the island of Octan.

In what seemed like a flowery, over exaggerated gesture, Tink opened his hands wide and gestured and giant circle all around them.

This island is 12 nautical miles away from the mainland of Goild, or about a three hour journey with most human powered watercraft. For centuries Octan has been the designated location to banish the most dangerous of criminals, due in most parts to its isolation, difficulty to access and large number of deadly currents, sharks and sea monsters that make passage in and out quite ruthless.

On his final sentence, he lowered his voice for dramatic emphasis, paused for a moment and looked at both boys as if trying to determine whether any of this was news to them. Despite their faces being stuffed with Balingaloaf and Tanuki meat. River and Terran's attentive, engaged non criminal expressions apparently encouraged him enough to continue.

Course of each year the judges of Gweird lock away murderers, villains, lawbreakers, delinquents, and crooks. And on the seventh month of each year the wicked are placed on a steel hulled boat, forced to row across the treacherous Chebidian Sea and onto the island. Sometimes they make it here, and sometimes.

Tink violently brought one hand to his neck and made a slitting motion across his throat. As if perfectly cued, the fire gave a loud crack at the same time. With this he looked out over the ocean where the sun was disappearing in a reddish orange glow, and shuddered.

Sometimes the Chebidian Sea spews forth the most hideous of monsters, giant sea serpents that make even the average Cithrin seem slightly less repulsive. Water monsters with tentacles that wrap around steel and snap metal like flimsy firewood.

For the first time since they had sat down at the fire, Terran spoke.

You keep saying cithrin. What is that?

Tink narrowed his eyes and studied Terran's face.

Are you lying to me, my boy? Do you really not know?

Terran shrugged and glanced at the remaining food that lay by Tink's side, not quite sure how to answer, or whether he should feel embarrassed about not knowing what a cithrin was, but far more interested in another serving of balanga, tauluki, and camellia oil. Tink followed Terran's gaze to the food and seemed to read his mind.

Tell me what you really know about the cith' run and I'll give you all the food you desire. Mr. Terran.

Terran looked into Tink's eyes in a display of absolute honesty. I really don't know, sir. I'm not lying. I've never heard that word before. Tink intuitively nodded.

Very well. I do indeed believe you.

With this he turned and looked at River.

And you, my yet to be named duplicate.

By this time, from a combination of the warm fire and flavorful food, River's aloofness had slightly melted away. He threw a tiny dry strick into the flames and looked up at Tink. I have no clue what a Cithrin is, and my name is River. We're twins. Tink smiled, a twinkle in his eye.

Tern and River. Earth and water. Strong names, element names, noble names. Although our chosen Gewildian name for look alikes like you is indeed duplicates.

Then he became quite serious, gave a heavy sigh, reached down, tore two chunks of balinga from his loaf, ripped the last remaining shreds of tanuki in half, dripped a small amount of oil on each, and handed a serving to both boys.

We shall speak more of the cithrin later. For now, think of the most hideous snake you've ever encountered, but nearly double the size of a man with short stubby legs and razor sharp claws. Foul smelling poisonous slime pouring from its scales and tail, breath that could slay a horse, a forked black tongue and the ability to move at shocking and deathly speeds.

Terran shrugged nonchalantly at Tink's harrowing description. Sounds like our pet lizard, only stinkier. He wiped several crumbs of balanga from his cheek and leaned forward. So why did you come here? Were you running away from one? Tink chuckled.

Do I look like the kind of Eastern elf who would flee from a single cithrin?

He glared at the flames for a moment, then looked up quickly.

In truth, I run not from one Cithrun, but from many thousands. A rising math of cith' thrin possessed by shaman demonic malice that is bent on overthrowing our entire Goalian monarchy. I run from pure blood soaked slime, sopped carnage and the entire villages of Goeldians ripped to shreds. Elves with melting flesh and blempers being eaten alive.

River interrupted Blimpers.

A small, round plump cheeked roly poly creature endowed with, shall we say?

Tink laughed again.

Wideness.

He became somber and returned to his story.

But truthfully, I come here not to flee and not to hide. Instead, I, Tink, the inventor of the highest royal mechanic Stripe of Ga, keeper of the Museum of Relics and loyal subject of the Crown, risk my life in the longest wooden bird flight yet attempted to find hope.

His voice trailed away, then returned again, this time with a slow and haunting melody.

Atop the Octan's lonely peaks, where pine and furze lay bare, where cithrin swarms, unleash their scream. Sure weapons you'll find there.

He stopped on a high note, making it sound as though there were surely more to sing, but then began speaking again.

Old song from the Order of Goild. Weapons, my boys. Weapons. Somewhere amongst these ancient trails, roving criminals and quiet meadows, this island possesses the tools we need to defeat the Storm of Cithrun before Goild becomes a poisonous wasteland ruled by dark shamans.

Terran looked over the meadow where the sun's final red rays seemed to sizzle and vanish into the ocean, replaced by the blue glow of two moons, one near the horizon and the other directly overhead. Despite the light from the moons. The fire already appeared more bright, and across the fire the fine details of Tink's face were beginning to fade. Terran didn't know how long Tink had been talking, but his full belly was now sucking blood from his brain and his thoughts began to wander to sleep. One of his heavy eyes closed and snapped back open. Then both eyes closed. In the back of his head. He imagined Mother wandering desperately through the forest, weeping, looking for her lost boys. He imagined Father crashing, crawling, raking through the trees, turning over rocks and logs for any sign of river and Terran. By now Father would be angry. Angry at whatever force had snatched away river and Terran to this place. He imagined Father and Mother walking into the shed with flashlights, knives, weapons. Would there be neighbors looking? Police dogs? Look. Terran's half asleep, mind snapped back to the meadow. He could see the faint outline of Tink's outstretched arms reaching for the sky and pointing at the lights in the sky. Tink was signaling towards the moon, behind the boys and closer to the horizon, river and Terran.

It's ever more apparent to me that you are quite unfamiliar with these lands, and I must still hear your story. But first, a brief lesson in Gwyllian astronomy. That is Alizara, the young fire Moon, full of passion and fury and the ability to make mountain spirits spew magma when full. And above us you can see Alizar's lovely older sister, moon Zephyra, the air moon with a slightly more blue color and the ability to bring on dreams of truth and strange magic when full.

There was silence as the three of them studied the sky. Then river yawned loudly.

But your story will wait. Shall we rest our tired minds?

Tink leaned forward and began kicking his boots against the fire.

By the looks of it, you've perhaps enough room for a thin elf like me inside your tiny fort. Yes, Won't be. Shall I stumble by the light of the moons back to my flying machine and curl up with my bed of charred coal?

Terran and river looked at one another. They could barely see each other's faces through the darkness. Could they trust Tink? River shook his head. Though he couldn't see his brother's face, Terran knew River's eyes were suspiciously squinting towards Tink. His lips were tightly pursed, his shoulders nervously hunched. But before river could stop him, Terran spoke loudly, still looking at his brother.

Yeah, sleep inside with us.

Creak.

Sat up. At home, this would have been the sound of footsteps on the old wooden stairs in their barn. But here on this fifth night in the meadow. He'd never heard the sound before. He didn't know how long they'd been sleeping. River was breathing deep and loud, evidently fast asleep after having calmed his anger at Terran's open invitation for Tink to share their already cramped sleeping quarters between him and his brother. Taran could feel Tink's lanky body stretched out in the debris hut, his long flowing hair smelling like sweet flowers, accompanied by a blended odor of grease, oil, and smoke from his cloak. Tink's chest rose and fell in deep sleep. Creak. Terran sat up as high as he could sit under the low ceiling of the debris shelter. As the sound repeated again, he dropped to all fours and crawled quietly towards the entrance. He slowly brought his head out, put both hands on the dirt wall surrounding the giant tree roots, and peered over the wall and into the meadow. It could not have been the wind. There was no wind. Was that a slight shuffle?

Footsteps?

Terran narrowed his eyes and looked towards the sounds which seemed to be coming from the wreckage of Tink's flying machine. There, standing atop the one good wooden wing and lit up against the eerie blue light of the Zephyra moon, were two human shaped figures. Terran heard river roll over and mumble in his sleep behind him. Terran briefly turned his head and looked back, and as he did so, the weight of his knees made a tiny crunching sound against the dry debris scattered the shelter. A sound that in the dark of the night seemed so much louder than it should normally have been. He whipped his head back around and looked at the wing. The figures were gone.