nobody loved an adventure better than Isis. She was positively exhilarated. She’d race ahead through brier and short grass, outdistancing the other two by a hundred yards. Then some movement or vapor would catch her eye and she’d hunker down, poised, staring intensely at the occult perception. Her back legs would rev up and she’d pounce – have it out with the bramble or grasshopper or molecule she’d focused on. Then Josh and Beauty would catch up and Isis would run ahead.
Occasionally they passed a totem or a fetish – a pile of bones, a mask of feathers – constructed by some local shaman to ward off passing evil. These affected Isis in strange ways. Some she would approach cautiously, on tiptoe, and sniff all around while some she ignored entirely. One she hissed at, and unceremoniously urinated on it. Josh and Beauty treated them all with equal disinterest – the only significance to them of such signs lay in their state of disrepair, which reflected how long it had been since interested locals had been around.
They soon crossed a great plain where craters pocked the land. Many battles in many wars had been fought in this area between the sea and the Forest of Accidents. These large holes they passed were scores of years old, for they were smooth and filled with soft yellow grass.
At the end of the plain they came to a rise which they climbed easily. It was topped by a plateau upon which they rested a minute. The plateau was perhaps fifty feet wide and one hundred feet long, affording a grand view of the plains they’d just left and the valleys beyond.
At one end of the long table of rock was a small square hut of rusted steel, chipped paint, and broken glass. They walked up to it and stared inside. It was empty. Beside it was a mound of sun-bleached bones. Atop the door of the hut was a series of strange white markings on a faded green board. The travelers stared at the marks a few moments. Beauty turned to Josh and said, “Scribery.”
Josh nodded. “It says ‘Toll booth’.”
Beauty furrowed his brow and tilted his head. “But what is the meaning?” he repeated.
Joshua pursed his lips. “I think this was a road once.”
Beauty snorted. “It seems a lot of effort was expended to go a short way.”
Josh nodded. Isis pointed down the hill. Josh and Beauty followed the direction of her paw, and saw three hundred yards in the distance, two tiny figures pulling a cart. In an instant Beauty was running at a full lope, Josh not far behind.
When they were one hundred yards short, they saw the two creatures look up, shout, break away from the cart, and begin running. Beauty galloped down and headed them off, his bow taut. Joshua covered the creatures’ retreat. Everyone stopped.
It was not the Vampire and the Griffin, though. It was an Elf and a Rool, quivering with fear. Joshua walked over to the cart they’d been pulling, looked inside: dishes, flowers, a rocking chair, colored fabrics. He walked back as the Elf was saying, “Are you going to kill us?” The Rool, covered in soft amber fur, wouldn’t open his eyes.
Josh relaxed. “No, we won’t kill you.”
“How are you called?” asked Beauty, lowering his bow.
The Elf was only two feet tall, but wore high-heeled boots to try to look larger. “I am Fofkin,” he said. “This is my friend, Rool.” Rool kept his eyes closed. Rools were all named Rool, because nobody could tell them apart – not even other Rools, it was said.
“You give us a wicked scare,” Fofkin went on. “Our people are taken by demons, our home is sacked. We run all day and mourn all night.”
“Rooooool,” cooed Rool, like a wounded dove. His eyes stayed closed.
“We beg your pardon,” Beauty bowed. “We have lost our own and seek them now.”
“What manner of creatures did this to you?” asked Josh. “Was it a Vampire and a Griffin?”
Fofkin jumped a foot in the air and sat in the grass. “A Vampire, yes. He’s in charge. But no Griffin. Three others. A big Lizard, a Sphinx, and a Faceless one.” He shuddered. “The Sphinx lives right up there, in that little shack up on the flats. He eats anybody who wanders by. I think it’s the Vampire who puts him up to this terrible mischief. Poor Mary.”
The Rool curled up into a big ball of fur and rolled over next to Fofkin. The little Elf petted him tenderly.
“Your people,” said Beauty. “Are they Elves and Rools?”
Fofkin shook his head. “Humans, every one. Every one is drug off in a cart and pulled away. Poor Mary.” A tear dawdled down his cheek.
“Rool,” came the muffled sound from inside the ball of fur.
“Which way were they headed?” Josh asked softly.
“South,” said the Elf.
Isis strolled up, sat down, began licking her belly. Joshua looked down at her. “You still know where you’re taking us?” he asked.
“Surrre.”
There was a faint humming above them, and Josh looked up to see the red-and-gold Flutterby hovering excitedly over their heads. Isis leapt straight up, six feet in the air from a sitting position, took a swipe with her paw, and almost bagged the Flutterby with one blow. As she landed on her feet in a crouch, Josh swatted her backside with the flat of his hand. “You leave that Flutterby alone,” he scolded. Isis looked ready to spring again. The Flutterby gained altitude.
Beauty laughed. “Dissent among your minions.” The Flutterby settled on Josh’s shoulder.
“Looks like it’s made up its mind to follow us,” said Josh. “I guess we’ll have to call it something.” The Flutterby smiled demurely and hummed.
“How about Humbelly?” suggested Beauty. Isis kept a dour eye fixed on the gentle bug.
“Humbelly it is,” agreed Josh, and tossed the creature back into the air, where it fluttered giddily all around.
They bid good journey to Fofkin and Rool, wished them well, and set off once more east in the direction Isis led them. Humbelly bobbed playfully over Joshua’s head. Isis swatted and jumped at the dancing wings, but to no avail, until she finally just purred “Whorrre” under her breath, and ignored the silly creature entirely.
In the early evening they came upon a sign. Wheel tracks from a heavy cart, mingled with the foot and claw prints of the animals they wanted. Isis almost touched her nose to one of the prints, sniffing intently at its meaning. Finally she lifted her eyes to Joshua’s and nodded her head.
They followed the trail due east for several miles. At the edge of a pine grove the tracks were joined by those of another cart and other animals. Here they all turned southeast for a while until they were met by still a third set of wheels.
The terrain was becoming rocky. It was increasingly difficult to distinguish whose prints were whose. In addition, some tracks would disappear where an animal had flown away, some walked off, and some joined up. It was a confusing melee. At the north rim of a quarry still almost a mile from the Forest of Accidents, the three wagons split in three different directions. Despite intensive sniffing and study by Isis, Josh, and Beauty, it was impossible to tell which set of tracks belonged to the cart carrying Rose, Dicey, and Ollie.
After
