XII. Song and Dance
The cedar plank bumped
into a sandy shore and water lapped over Thomas’s ears. He coughed and spat and
tried to wriggle free from his bonds, but they were no looser now than five
minutes previous. The three-eyed creature hopped up onto the shore and dragged
the plank until it was solidly on less-than-firm earth. It looked down at him
with three wide white eyes and made a little flute-sound.
Thomas glared back.
The black-skinned
creature hefted the foot-end of the plank up to its sloping back and marched
forward. Thomas bumped along behind him, his head thumping against the plank as
he was dragged along the uneven slope up to the great bonfire. The creature
seemed quite strong; it struggled not at all with its burden, even waving
occasionally at other frog-things similarly laden to the left and to the right.
It trilled at them in its strange language and they replied in kind, though
whether the sounds were greetings or otherwise, Thomas could not say.
At last, and altogether
too soon, the three-eyed creature dropped the foot-end of the plank and stepped
away. Thomas glanced around. He was lying between two tables. He couldn’t see
what was on them, but they groaned beneath the weight, planks bowing in the
middle. The tables seemed to ring the great fire, and Thomas could see piles of
shadowed objects on the far-side tables. Some of them moved.
Other things moved too,
black-skinned things like Thomas’s captor, leaping and dancing and whistling
their fluted song in a strange frenzy around the fire. They hopped from one
foot to another and shook their webbed hands. In other circumstances, Thomas might
have laughed. Now he trembled. There was something intensely ominous about the
dance, something threatening in its unabashed glee: a weird energy filled the
dancers, a mania and a menace. Their webbed feet squelched in trampled dirt and
mud, beating a tattoo out of time with their high-floating word-songs.
Several slimy hands
grabbed Thomas and turned him onto his side. Now he peered straight beneath the
table to his left. The ground there was piled with chipped bones and a few
dirty cloths. The creatures loosed some of the ropes around the cedar plank.
Thomas attempted to seize his moment of escape but was again foiled, for the
creatures had only undone the ropes holding him to the plank, not those that
bound his limbs. Instead, Thomas flopped onto the ground and bruised his nose
on the table’s leg.
The hands picked him up
easily, adjusted him, poked him in the ribs, and then tossed him without
warning into the air. Thomas cried out despite himself. He landed on his back
on something hard and irregular.
Above, starlight
glittered in a distant night sky. Thomas’s nose smarted. His back was sore and
his skin chafed from the ropes. He was sodden and uncomfortable and scared. He
didn’t know where his friends were. The chanting song of the three-eyed black things
pounded in his ears.
And then the things
beneath his back began to move.
Thomas jolted upright,
yanking himself into a sitting position and trying to kick away the writhing
shapes. One of the three-eyed things standing nearby noticed him and reached
out, fastening an iron grip on Thomas’s shoulder. Thomas was momentarily
grateful, as he realized suddenly that he was in danger of falling off the high
table, and that surely would have
bruised more than his nose.
His gratitude faded
quickly and he wrenched himself away from the frog-thing. It blinked at him and
then turned back to watch the dancing and the growing fire.
Thomas looked at the
stacks and piles and shapes on the massive table. Mostly he saw food—dishes of
green stew that steamed and smelled like grass, piles of brown bread baked in
misshapen loaves, dirty bunches of carrots and potatoes and strange-smelling
herbs.
The moving things that
had startled him so were other trussed-up creatures, though Thomas guessed that
he was the only human catch. He saw a squirrel poking its head out of a black
bag, a pair of rabbits with their ears and paws bound, a whole family of
lizards whose tails had been gathered and tied up together.
Thomas even saw a
snake, a small green-and-yellow snake such as those that dwelt near
Riverbridge. This one had its tail looped about in a painful knot. It saw him
looking and flicked out its tongue in a gesture that seemed to Thomas like
sympathy.
Thomas looked around at
the other tables. They were similarly stacked with odd dishes of food and
tied-up creatures. He watched the dancing frog-things around the bonfire and
realized with slow horror that these strange things probably didn’t distinguish
between food and captured creatures.
Frantically, Thomas
looked around for familiar faces, but he saw only frightened creatures of the
woods and rivers and the inscrutable dripping three-eyed visages of the dancing
things.
One of the frog things
ceased its pipe-like intonations and lurched over to Thomas’s table. The human
boy leaned away, but the frog-thing had other intentions. It grabbed a bowl of
green stew, a crumbly chunk of bread, and a small white-green bream that had
long since expired. Then it hopped over to the fire, stuck the fish on a long
stick, and waved the stick through the flames.
Thomas didn’t have time
to avert his gaze when the frog-thing ate the roasted fish. In went the bream down
a slimy dark gullet, slurped in one, replete with scales and bones and crispy
eyeballs. The frog made a high single-note sound, evidently satisfied, and then
dipped its bread into the grass-soup and took a bite and smacked its lips.
The cries of the other
dancers rose higher into the night. Thomas watched with rising panic as, one
after another, they retrieved food and cooked it and ate it noisily and quick.
Some of the creatures they plucked from the groaning tables were already dead;
some thrashed and wailed until the fires burnt their skin up. Thomas saw one of
the frog-things, a large and bulbous creature on the far side of the fire,
swallow a roast hare whole, bones and fur and all.
Thomas felt bile burn
the back of his throat; but now was not the time to lose his courage. His
friends might be here, or they might not, but either way Thomas would find an
avenue of escape. These frog-things wouldn’t roast him and eat him—not while he
still needed to save his sister from the witch, and not after that either.
Moving carefully on his
knees, rocking back and forth against his bonds, Thomas inched his way along
the table. The nearest three-eyed frog-things were either inattentive or
uncaring; Thomas made it along the table with only a little difficulty. He
splashed several of the bowls of green stew and accidentally trod upon a
rabbit’s ear, but the poor little thing just quivered and turned away.
Thomas kept moving and
reached the far end of the table. He was kneeling now atop a high pile of
wrapped-up food so that he could easily see the next table’s contents and
occupants. He was halfway through formulating a plan to jump from the table and
roll toward the dark tree-wall beyond in a mad dash for freedom when a familiar
squeak pierced the high pipe-sounds of the dancing, feasting frog-things.
Jerking his gaze from
the trees, Thomas squinted against the fire-smoke and saw a small form two
tables over waving a large bunch of flowering herbs. Thomas’s heart leapt when
he realized he looked up the brave First Captain of the Thistledown Kingdom.
Cathán dropped the
bundle of herbs to avoid attracting the wrong kind of attention. He appeared
bound as well and stripped of weapons, but it looked as though he had an easier
time of moving than Thomas. Cathán hopped to the edge of the table, gave Thomas
a nod, and then jumped across the gap and landed on the laden table separating
him from the boy.
Thomas lost sight of
Cathán then, but he could see plates and dishes shifting on the table and could
hear the grumble and trembling cries of the animals there bound. Thomas glanced
back at the dancing frog-things around the fire. They seemed to be more
frenzied than ever now. Their piping sounds were mad with trills and fluttering
runs and sharp blasts. They seemed hungrier too, grabbing two or three animals
at a time to thrust into the fire and roast for their feast.
Thomas bit the inside
of his cheek nervously and rocked back onto his heels. There was little he
could do to help Cathán but wait.
The intrepid spirit of
the First Captain brought him swiftly to the edge of the table. There he gave
Thomas another nod, waited for the frog-thing at the table to turn to the fire
with its bundled-up food, and leapt high across the gap. Cathán landed upon
Thomas’s knee, wobbling only a little.
Thomas smiled and
ducked down as close as he could. “I’m glad to see you,” he whispered to the
Mouse Knight. “I’m sorry you were caught, of course, but I worried I’d lost you
and Avery both.”
“Not so, friend
Thomas,” Cathán replied, “not I and not the raven. He was not captured; he
chewed his way through the nets of these awful things and flew away. I thought
that might have been the last of him. But he came to me again as we floated
down the river, dark as night and just as quiet. He said he’d spotted you up
ahead, that you were asleep and tied up, and that we were being taken to a
great feasting fire. Then he left to devise some sort of plan to free us.”
“What are these things,
Cathán?” asked Thomas, looking back at the dancing frog-things. “I’ve never
seen anything like them.”
“Nor I,” admitted the
Mouse Knight. “I know not their species or kingdom. I know only that they are
foul thieves and miscreants with nary a shred of honor.”
“I don’t like them
either.”
“Are you hurt, Thomas?”
asked Cathán. “Injured at all?”
Thomas shook his head.
“Just a bit bruised. And tied up, of course.”
“I can help with one of
those.” Cathán winked at him. “Hold still and I’ll chew through your ropes,
enough to get your hands free. Then maybe you can untie my bonds.”
Cathán set to work
while Thomas kept watch. The mouse’s whiskers occasionally tickled the insides
of Thomas’s wrists, but the boy kept quiet until his hands were free. He rubbed
his raw skin and quickly started to unravel the rest of the ropes around his
shoulders and ankles and torso.
Cathán wriggled his way
back to Thomas’s knee. “Very good! Now, just loose my ropes and I’ll find us a
few sharp sticks and we’ll have our recompense against—”
The Mouse Knight’s
declaration of justice was interrupted by a blast of angry pipe-noises from far
too close. Cathán and Thomas looked up into the broad face of a black-skinned
frog-thing standing not a pace away from their table. The three eyes blinked
rapidly, all at once, and Thomas thought he saw steam rising from the
ever-dripping skin of the creature.
The thing swiped at
Cathán with a webbed hand. The Mouse Knight managed to roll aside; the
frog-thing thumped the table instead, a fierce blow that knocked a tower of
bread onto the grass and spilled two bowls of stew.
Angrier now, the
frog-thing reached for Cathán with both hands. Cathán was better prepared now.
He jumped high, clearing the grasping hands and alighting upon the frog-thing’s
wrists. There Cathán bit down. A droplet of black liquid darker than blood
welled up; the frog-thing keened, his song turned to rage.
Another sound blasted
into the clearing, louder than any of the noises yet and surprising enough to
shock all the leaping and dancing and wailing three-eyed things into watery
silence. It was a harsh cry, almost a cackle, and it doubled off the trees and
moaned through the leaves and bounded atop the bonfire-flames and rumbled
through the food-tables and shrieked away upon the river-shore.
All stood frozen save
for Cathán. He used this opportunity to jump from the frog-thing’s wrists back
to Thomas’s knee.
“Untie me! Quickly!” he
urged Thomas.
Thomas pinched the
knots that bound the Mouse Knight between thumbs and first fingers and began
working the tight strands.
The unearthly howl had
only just washed over them when a black shape swooped above the tables and the
bonfire and the stupefied silenced frog-men. It was large, larger than they, the
size of a red crane or one of the great eagles that rarely left their
mountain-eyries far to the west of Mídhel.
This shape was birdlike
as well, but oddly lumpy and indistinct, more the impression or hint of a bird
than the form itself. It was gray and black with a streaked plumage of gold and
trailing feathers like a royal banner. It dived over the bonfire once, twice,
rising again into the shadows and blasting the clearing with that howl-shriek
that so disturbed the frog-things. A third time it came, circling around the
table in a fast glide.
The black-skinned
three-eyed creatures seemed now to recover from their stupor. Their pipe-like
noises started up again, filled now with confusion and fear and anger instead
of the joyous celebratory atmosphere of an impending feast. They leaped and
hopped from table to table, arranging the food and bound animals, pulling sacks
and boards over their haul to protect it from the intruder’s grasp.
The flying shape came
again, its howl become more plaintive, a whistling groan like wagon-wheels on a
stony path or a Monday afternoon settling into winter’s crisp.
One of the frog-things,
a large fellow and burly, hurled a bowl of the green soup at the intruding
flier. The throw missed wide. Grassy stew splattered on the heads of some of
the frog-things and sizzled into the fire, filling the clearing with the scent
of loam.
The flying shape
returned for another pass. Several of the black-skinned things joined in the
retaliation now, grabbing misshapen loaves and plates of food and, in one
unfortunate case, a small rodent of some species Thomas couldn’t identify. The
poor thing sailed through the smoky night air and bounced off the soaring shape
and tumbled to the ground, where it was snatched up again by another of the
creatures.
Thomas thought he heard
a muffled voice interrupt one of the flying shape’s ghostly howls. He frowned
and looked at Cathán.
“It’s not the worst
plan he’s had,” said the Mouse Knight, slipping free of the last of his ropes, “but
very nearly so.”
“How’d he do it?”
Thomas wondered aloud, trying to catch a clear view of his friend soaring among
the hopping and ululating frog-things.
“A sack of canvas and
strips of cloth?” Cathán guessed. He jumped up to Thomas’s shoulder. “More a
costume than a disguise, and he’s dangerously close to those flames. These
beasties will have their snack soon enough if he’s not more careful. We too
should make our hasty escape, Thomas. We’ll cut through the trees here and head
southwest back toward our camp. With any luck this will be the worst we face in
the Grimgrove.”
Cathán jumped to the
table and then to the grass beyond the ring. Thomas rolled to his knees and
swung his legs over the side of the table.
His feet never touched
earth. He was snatched up again, hard, the jerk knocking the breath from him,
pulled backward across the table and down the other side, where he dangled in a
strong grip.
Thomas was dragged away
from the bonfire and the food-tables and from Cathán the Mouse Knight, who had
scampered away into the underbrush somewhere. Thomas wriggled and tried to pull
away, but the being that carried him seemed to have little difficulty in
keeping hold.
Thomas could see only
that this stranger was small and strong and wore a long cloak that shrouded all
features.
They came to the shore
again, farther along from where Thomas’s first captor had landed the
cedar-plank. Here waited a proper boat, a small one but riverworthy and filled
with unusual implements of wood and metal. Thomas was tossed unceremoniously
into the boat, where he thumped among the hard and pointy things.
The cloaked figure
jumped in after him with a grumble and a mutter. For a brief moment Thomas hoped
that this might be a savior in disguise, some other new friend who had rescued
him from the frog-things just in time. But then the moonlight glinted upon
exposed silver-white fangs, and the cloaked figure pulled a hood over Thomas’s
head and cinched it tight, and Thomas felt the cold certainty of fear gnawing
in his stomach once more.
The small strong figure
pushed them off the shore, still grumbling to itself. Once again, Thomas was a
captive sailing down the stream, hooded and bound, heading deeper and deeper
into the strange and menacing heart of the Grimgrove.
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