The Tale of Alar

7

For three days and nights they traveled west through the Founders’ Forest. Halfway through, with the help of a friendly ferrymouse, they crossed the Genatrix River into the ancient hearth of squirrel civilization, now inhabited mainly by mystics. It did not seem that different at first, but slowly the landscape began to change. The trees grew more densely and the air became heavy with a closeness that made their fur tingle.

“It’s as though there is evil in the very air you breathe,” remarked Colin as they sat around the campfire that night.

“Of course it is,” responded Elvar. “This land has been befouled by the presence of dark magicians for a very long time. Plotting, scheming, and bending the energies of this world to their will. Rest well, my friends, for tomorrow begins the process of cleansing.”

They did their best to heed his words, though it was hard for some to find rest with the prospect of finally putting their martial skills to the test on the morrow. Alar and Fagan, as the youngest, had perhaps the most difficult time of it, though eventually the day’s efforts caught up with them as well. And thus it was that the next morning they came to the Forest Tower. Like a single massive tree trunk it stood, reaching toward the clouds far above. Around its base one could see the enormous roots delving deep like anchors into the earth.

“By gad!” exclaimed Fagan. “How are we supposed to climb to the top of that?”

“Is that fear I detect, archer?” spoke Brock with a smirk.

“Were I prone to fear, good sir, I would not have come on this quest.”

“Enough!” spoke Elvar, drawing the key from his pocket. “Let us begin by finding the door.”

They circled around the base of the tower first one way, then the other, but to their consternation could not find anything resembling a doorway. Burrus tossed down his spear and shook with agitation.

“Agh! What good’s a key if there’s no door to use it on?”

“Patience, my young friend, patience,” counseled Elvar, sitting on a boulder. “You can’t expect Magus to simply show us the way in, can you?”

“Maybe we could chop our way in,” suggested Brock, hefting his axe.

Elvar merely shook his head. “These walls may look like simple tree bark, but rest assured there are enchantments cast about them inside and out. A hundred axes couldn’t cut through in as many years.” He stopped and assumed a thoughtful look. “Enchantments?” He rose to his feet. “Stand aside!”

The others did so. Elvar planted his staff in the ground and raised a paw. Bowing his head, he muttered an incantation in some ancient tongue none of them knew. The tower began to shake and the earth to tremble. Then, with a tremendous groan and a massive downpour of loose soil and loam, the walls split apart just enough to reveal a door made entirely of bark.

“There now, you see? A simple concealment trick.”

“Ha! Simple, he says,” muttered Vitrio.

Elvar promptly fitted the key to the hole and turned the lock. The door swung open of its own accord and he stepped inside.

“Come along, my friends!”

They entered behind him and looked around, marveling at their bizarre surroundings. The tower was practically a forest in its own right, with plants of every description growing out of the floor and walls. Most were completely unknown to the little band, whose curiosity was difficult to contain.

“Of all the spells and sorcery in the world, this has got to be the strangest,” commented Colin.

“Among the strangest,” confirmed Elvar. “Stop!”

Alar pulled back from the red flower he was about to sniff.

“If you’d stuck your head in there you’d have lost it. Everything in this tower is enchanted and hostile. Do not touch, sniff, or taste any of it.”

“What do we do then?” asked Vitrio, tapping his foot.

“We must find the stairs. Then we must follow them up to the top and face down whoever may be guarding the next key.”

“Oh, easy as that, is it?”

“It will hardly be easy, friend,” replied Elvar, ignoring his sarcasm.

They proceeded across the spongy, soil-like floor into the depths of the tower, constantly scanning their surroundings as Elvar had advised. A sense of closeness and hostility replaced their initial wonder, and not for a second did it leave them. Thus it came as only a partial surprise when, on passing into another chamber, the plants suddenly shifted around behind them.

“Err...Is that supposed to happen?” asked Fagan.

“No,” replied Elvar. “It’s a trap!”

Plants began to close in from every side, pulled forward by long, serpentine tendrils. From the center of their flowers emerged hideous green maws lined with sharp little teeth.

“Looks like we’ll have to fight our way out of this one,” said Colin, whipping out his sword.

“About time!” spoke Brock, hefting his axe.

And so, they commenced hacking away at the oncoming foes. Dodging tendrils and teeth alike, the melee fighters slew left and right while Elvar and Fagan let fly missiles of magic and craftwork into the fray.

Alar had no time to consider how he felt about being in his first truly life-threatening struggle. Every fiber of his being was concentrated on making every stroke count, like Ruskin had told him. His quick reflexes saved him from a probing tendril here and there, but for the most part he dealt out far more than he dodged.

Together the companions fought their way into the next chamber, where they were able to funnel the remaining foes through the narrow entryway and deal with them one by one as they came through. As soon as the last was slain, they looked around in satisfaction.

“What, no more?” asked Burrus, sounding almost disappointed.

“Worry not, young warrior,” replied Elvar. “I am sure that plenty more trials await us as we work our way upwards.” He paused, surveying the jumbled mess of vegetation to either side. “Right now, simply finding the way is our primary concern.”

The eight squirrels looked down the two paths open to them. Each seemed equally likely and equally forbidding.

“I think this way looks most promising,” remarked Grant, trying to sound confident.

“Oh yeah,” spoke Alar. “And why’s that?”

“Because I’ve got the nose for this sort of thing, that’s why.”

“Really? And here I thought your nose was too far up your...”

“This way looks best to me,” interrupted Elvar, looking down the alternative route. “The ground is less damp and the air just a touch cooler.”

“I like the sound of that,” said Fagan.

“As do I,” said Colin.

“Then that way it is, I suppose,” said Alar, casting a victorious smirk in Grant’s direction. Grant merely scowled back, then brought up the rear as the party advanced down Elvar’s chosen path. The air was still quite humid and the place extremely dark for their liking, but Elvar’s observations held true, and they noticed after some time that the ground seemed to be leading them gradually upward. They even came to a solid wall overgrown with vines reaching for a small window high above. This, they sensed, was the opposite wall of the tower from that through which they had entered, and the path once more split two ways.

“Aah, a breath o’ fresh air!” Fagan sighed, taking a whiff of the clean, clear draft that blew in through the tiny aperture near the ceiling.

“Aye,” said the more down-to-earth Vitrio. “But how do we get out into that air. As in, out of this accursed weed patch?”

“I confess myself at a loss,” spoke Elvar. “Both choices seem like distinct possibilities this time. I should say we’ve come about halfway up, so we’re making good progress. Judging by the light out there, I don’t think it’s much past noon.”

“Time for a bit of lunch, then?” suggested Brock.

“I don’t see why not,” spoke Fagan. “Though, I hope it don’t upset any walkin’ rosebuds as might be watchin’, bein’ made mostly of plants and all.”

So, they took a hardy repast and discussed which road to take from here.

“We need to keep going up,” spoke Colin. “That much is clear. The question is, how do we avoid taking some false turn that could end up leading back down?”

“Hmm, indeed,” remarked Elvar, chewing on a biscuit. “If we get lost in this place, it could be days or even weeks before we find our way out. This tower is every bit as massive as it appears from the outside. And if the walls keep shifting, we may never achieve our aim. Which, of course, is the whole point, I suppose.”

“Now hang on just a minute,” Vitrio held a paw up. “What do you mean shifting walls? They all seem still enough, if not the firmest I’ve ever seen.”

“Aah, but they’re not. At least, some of them aren’t. When I was looking behind us a little while ago, I saw a doorway we passed through far behind. Before my very eyes, I could see it close itself as though it had never been there.”

“What?” exclaimed Grant. “You mean we’re trapped in here?”

Elvar nodded gravely. “I’m afraid so. It is forward to the end or forever lost amidst this wilderness until we starve, but there is no going back.”

The other squirrels exchanged grave looks at this news. None of them dared show they were worried or afraid before their companions, but deep inside the realization struck home: this was no jolly lark anymore. This was life and death. Alar recalled his earlier vow that he would return victorious or not at all. Now, here was his chance to put that resolution to the test.

“Bah, accursed forest within a tree!” Burrus spat out. “Why don’t we just set fire to the whole tower and be done with it? Kill of all those pesky plants and then search for the key we’re after amid the rubble.”

Elvar shook his head. “That would never work. This is living plant matter here. Plenty of water flowing through it. A fire would fizzle out long before it could do any real damage. And in case you weren’t listening just now, we are essentially trapped in here, and would burn along with the tower even if you could get it alight.”

“Right, that does it!” said Vitrio, standing up. “I for one am not sticking around here for days, hoping not to become plant food. Let’s get hopping and find a way out onto that roof, shall we?”

“I agree,” said Colin, likewise rising. “We’ve rested long enough. Which way, then?”

“I like that road best,” answered Vitrio, pointing down one.

“I think this way would be better,” said Colin, indicating the opposite direction. “I like the look of it more.”

“What have looks to do with it? In this place I should think the weedier the better. What do you say, Elvar?”

But before Elvar could answer, a rattling sound came from the direction Vitrio had indicated. The squirrels all faced the dark trail, weapons at the ready. Slowly there emerged a couple writhing masses of tendrils with the same horrible gaping maws as before. Fagan let fly an arrow, wounding one. But even as it slowed down, hordes of the hideous creatures began to emerge into the light.

“Well, I think that settles that debate,” said Elvar at last. “This way!”

They backed off rapidly, Fagan loosing one more arrow into the swarm before joining the rest in full flight. They moved along at a brisk run, stopping as they came to yet another fork in the road. Once more, their route was decided by the arrival of more plants on the scene. They hurried into what appeared to be a large, dome-shaped chamber with the enemy hot on their tails and no apparent exit. Even as they paused to take stock of the situation, more hissing and rattling came from the sides. More plant creatures lying in wait now came forward.

“Well, looks like we’re in for it now, lads,” said Colin with surprising aplomb. “Chins in, chests out, and let’s give a good account of ourselves, shall we?”

Elvar searched around for a moment, then pointed ahead.

“Look there! I can see light streaming down from that little passage. I believe it may be the way out.”

“Wonderful!” exclaimed Vitrio, warding off a probing tentacle. “Let’s run for it, shall we?”

They did so without question, following first Elvar, then Alar and Vitrio as they took the lead. From every side came a barrage of whipping tendrils and snapping jaws. The first two reached the passage and cleared it of plants. Elvar and Brock arrived next, followed by Fagan and Colin. The old wizard allowed himself a brief smile as he espied a staircase leading upward at the back of the passage, just as he had suspected.

“Hurry up, you two!” called Brock, looking back.

Grant and Burrus had been fighting a rearguard action, which had put them a considerable way behind. Now the plants swarming in from the flanks threatened to envelop them, but at Brock’s shout, they both turned to run, tentacles and plant jaws thrusting at them all the way.

“They’ll never make it,” said Alar, shaking his head.

“Not without help, they won’t,” spoke Colin, stepping forward. “Keep us covered, will you friends?”

“Oy, come back!” cried Vitrio. But it was too late. The two swordsquirrels had charged forth to rescue their beleaguered comrades.

Alar had little time to think as he swung his narrow blade left and right. There was little need to, as these plants did not make particularly cunning opponents. Their strength lay in their sheer volume as they attempted to envelop the four warriors whole. Grant sliced off one creature’s jaw, but did not see the tendril going for his ankle until it was too late. He fell with a thud and dropped his sword.

“Help me! Get it off of me, quick!” spoke Grant, real fear showing in his eyes for the first time. Alar acted on pure instinct. Somersaulting over the nearest creature, he made for Grant at top speed. Slashing away at any who dared oppose him, he arrived on the scene just as the creature was opening its big mouth of jagged teeth. Grant swallowed hard and shut his eyes against the ghastly visage. Suddenly he felt the creature’s grip slacken. He looked up to find its tendril severed. Alar delivered a killing thrust through its middle, then held a paw out to Grant.

“Come on!” he cried. Grant quickly regained his composure and took the proffered paw. In half a second the two were up and running as fast as they could beside their companions under a covering barrage of arrows and lightning bolts from Fagan and Elvar. Grant snatched up his sword along the way and helped fend off attackers.

Amidst the chaos, the four had a hard time keeping together. Burrus had fallen behind from the start, and his spear had slowed him further by snagging on sundry plant parts. Nevertheless, he had nearly reached the others when a root caught his foot and he tripped. In a flash, the other plants had descended upon him.

“No!” shouted a horrified Brock as the plants began to strangle his brother before his very eyes. He started forward to reach Burrus. Alar, seeing his distress, glanced behind to espy Burrus being dragged under. He turned to assist, but found his way barred by several plants who had turned their attention to him. It was all he could do after a moment to reach his own companions safely. They all watched in helpless horror as Burrus writhed and fought like a mad animal to free himself. Fagan let loose a couple arrows into the swarm, and Elvar his magic, but it was all for naught. Soon the mighty spear squirrel stopped struggling completely. His body was instantly enveloped by plant tendrils. Elvar grabbed the distraught Brock by the shoulder and dragged him back.

“He is dead, Brock! We must ascend these stairs now if we are to avoid joining him.”

Brock still hesitated until Colin stepped in.

“Onward and upward, Brock,” he said. “It’s what Burrus would have wanted.”

Brock’s whole frame sagged as he realized the truth of their words. There was no more he could do. And so, tearing his eyes away from the painful sight, he started wordlessly up the winding staircase as the others covered the rear. The plants stopped pursuing them halfway up, giving them a moment’s respite before continuing to the top. Once there, they had but half a minute to savor the touch and smell of free-moving air again before the roof began to shake.

Root-like structures emerged from a spot just a few feet away, followed by two long, twig-like arms which hauled the rest of the creature out. It had the head and torso of a squirrel, but a body covered in leaves instead of fur and a mass of roots where its legs ought to be. But most importantly to the brave squirrel band, from a thin vine around its neck hung the key!

With a voice deep and resonant it declared, “How dare you disturb the slumber of this tower! Turn back now or face the wrath of Jord!”

“Have at you then, you overgrown pansy!” shouted Brock, hefting his axe vengefully.

The seven companions rushed forward, but presently found their feet held fast by roots springing up from the rooftop sod.

“Fools! None can survive my power. May your bodies nourish my children below for many moons to come.”

Even as it spoke, the roots started pulling them slowly downward into the earth. They struggled fiercely, but could not get free. Then Elvar very calmly pointed his staff at Jord and launched a fireball toward its face. Jord raised its arms to block it, and in the second it was distracted, the squirrels pulled free or cut their way out.

They once more attacked Jord, who tossed out a pawful of seeds that instantly sprouted into more monstrous plants. These kept the companions occupied for the most part. However, Alar and Brock managed to cut through and face Jord up close. The tower guardian swiftly brushed Brock aside, then knocked Alar’s sword from his paw. It grasped the stunned smith’s apprentice by the throat with its long, twiggy claws and hefted him bodily into the air.

“You have climbed one tree too many, squirrel. Die now!”

But ere Jord’s fist could close completely and snap his neck, Brock once more approached and took a mighty swing with his axe.

“Agh!” exclaimed Jord, dropping Alar. “Filthy rodent!”

With a ferocious backhand, the monster sent Brock soaring through the air. He landed with a thud on the edge of the roof, rolled over, then scrabbled for purchase. He found it, and for a brief moment it seemed as though he might be able to haul himself back up until a tendril emerged from the tree and struck him once, twice on the head. Brock’s grip loosened, and for a split second his terrified gaze met Alar’s. Then the tendril struck once more, and in the blink of an eye, Brock had disappeared without a sound. Alar could not believe it, even as the light-headedness of the moment before began to wear off. Both brothers gone in the space of a single afternoon. How was this even possible?

The harsh cackle of Jord on beholding his handiwork brought Alar back to reality. A new fury burned within him as he saw the gleam of sheer wicked delight in the creature’s eyes. This Jord had no honor, striking a downed and unarmed warrior like that! Through his rage, Alar saw clearly what had to be done.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he took up his sword with one paw and hauled himself up onto the momentarily distracted Jord’s arm with the other. Like lightning he struck, plunging his sword into Jord’s neck, whipping it out, and leaping gracefully to the ground.

High-pitched screams of agony filled the squirrels’ ears as the plants thrashed about alongside their slain master. The warriors watched this dance of death with terrified fascination until at last the creatures toppled over. Roots began at once to creep over the corpses and pull them under. Then, after another minute, all was still at last.

“Well that’s that, then,” remarked Fagan.

“But where’s the key?” asked an almost hysterical Vitrio. “Tell me it didn’t go down with him!”

Alar gave a mischievous grin and held out the key in question, still hanging from its little vine necklace.

“Well done, young smithy,” said Elvar. “That was a masterful stroke indeed.”

“But we’ve lost Brock and Burrus,” said Alar, looking at once very somber.

Elvar sighed. “It is a high price to pay for victory, ‘tis true. May their sacrifice not be in vain.” He cast a disgusted look about. “Come. Let us be gone from this foul place.”

With heavy hearts and naught more to say, they took in one last breath of fresh, free-flowing air, then started down the stairs.