Truth Teller Page 3

  “Here we are. These should do you for now.” She plucked out some clothing from the chest. “They are Elder’s old clothes from when he was about your age. They should fit, and I am sure you will find them warmer than those soggy things. You can try them on if you want. I will be back in a minute.”

  Charlotte watched her leave, and glanced around her new surroundings. The rough plastered, white walls showed dark oak beams exposed in the ceiling. A sprig of fresh-cut flowers placed in a clay vase beside the window filled the room with a pleasant aroma. She stared at the pile of clothes draped over the wooden spindle at the end of the bed: a pair of brown, cotton trousers with a wooden toggle button to fasten them, a plain white linen shirt, and a colourful woollen jumper. She slipped out of her damp pyjamas and rushed to change into the clothes before anyone came back. She sat on the bed hugging one of the pillows, waiting for Elderfield’s mother to return.

  The latch on the door clunked loudly. “You look much warmer now,” Swallow said, walking back in. She gave a cheerful smile that lit her face. “Do they fit? I can always look for something else.”

  “No, they’re fine, thanks.”

  Swallow sat next to her and put Charlotte’s arm through hers. “Elder said he found you alone in the forest?” She waited for her to speak.

  Charlotte nodded. “I don’t know how I got here.” She gave a shrug. “But I have to go home tomorrow. My mum is going to kill me when she finds out I’m not there.” She fought against the tightness of her throat.

  Swallow stared wide-eyed with astonishment. “Well, I am glad you came to us. I would be horrified if I found out Elder had left you in the forest. Shall we go and get something to eat with the others?” She pursed her lips and stroked Charlotte’s hair with her palm. “You poor thing.”

  She let Swallow lead her out of the bedroom, but paused in the doorway. A strange sensation sent goose bumps up her arms, and from the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a dark figure looming by the window outside.

  “Are you coming?” Swallow asked, offering her a hand.

  Charlotte nodded and rushed to catch up with her, dismissing it as her imagination.

  “Ah, here they are!” Middleton announced. “Come and join us.” He rose from his seat and gestured to the table.

  Charlotte gawked at the large spread of food laid out in a variety of wooden bowls, including loaves of bread, a large basket of fruit, and homemade biscuits. Everything looked and smelled delicious, reminding her of how hungry she was. Her tummy rumbled as she sat on the chair next to Elderfield. “I’m sorry for causing all this trouble.”

  “Do not fret, child,” Middleton replied, helping himself to slices of cut meat. “You have not caused us any trouble at all. We are only too glad to help.” He leaned across the table and patted the back of her hand, smiling.

  He had a kind, weather-beaten face, and reminded Charlotte of her favourite uncle. “I have been speaking to Elder, and he has told me how he discovered you in the forest, but I am afraid he is a little unclear on how you arrived there.”

  “I don’t know how I got there either,” she said. “I was looking at this dome thing that someone gave to me, and the next thing I knew, I was standing in the middle of the woods, and Elderfield nearly trampled me to death on his horse!” She gushed out the whole sentence in one breath.

  Both men laughed. She stared at them one at a time, frowning, unable to see what was so funny.

  Elderfield offered her a bowl of fruit and poured a drink from one of the clay jugs. “What is this dome thing you speak of? Do you still have it?”

  “My dome? No, I haven’t got it anymore.” She rested her head in her hand with her elbow on the table and picked at her food.

  “Who gave it to you?” asked Middleton.

  She took a cautious sip of her drink and found it to be a delicious mix of fruit juices, sweet and tangy. She drank half of it down and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “Some old bloke in a shop I was in.”

  Middleton studied her with a thoughtful expression. “Do you know this person’s name?”

  She shrugged. “I think so.”

  Swallow handed her a plate of biscuits, whispering, “Help yourself to anything you want, precious. My home is your home.”

  Charlotte smiled and mouthed the words, thank you, back to her. She turned back to Elder’s father who waited patiently for her reply. “He had a well weird name. I think it was ...” She paused, rubbing her eye. “Er, Goff something. Yeah, that’s it. He said his name was Goffer.”

  Middleton slumped back in his chair as though she had slapped his face. “Goffer? Did you say Goffer?” he repeated. “Well, my word. I have heard so many stories but, I never ...” He stopped to mumble under his breath.

  “Do you know him then?” Charlotte wrung her hands. At last, she had a sliver of hope.

  Middleton leaned forward and started filling his bowl with bread and more slices of meat from a leg of ham. “Yes, our paths have crossed in the past,” he explained. “A long time ago, mind you, when we were young. He was always a little strange, even back in those days. One day he just disappeared, and nobody knew what happened to him. Some say he went travelling with the Entertainers, others said he probably drowned in the Great River. Everyone had a different story to tell, but none of them really knew what became of him. I have even heard it said he travelled to another realm!” He raised his brows and took a mouthful of food.

  Charlotte’s face dropped. “So, you don’t know where he is now?”

  “I overheard rumours in a tavern a long time ago, but no one has spoken his name for many years. I did hear about someone seeing him beyond the borders to the north, but I could only guess as to how true that is.” He popped a piece of meat into his mouth and licked his fingers.

  “Do you think he could help Charlotte get home?” Elder asked, grasping her hand with the protective confines of his own.

  Still chewing, Middleton examined both their faces. “I am afraid we will not be able to do anything tonight.” He paused, his brow furrowed. “Tomorrow, I will go to Rivertown and see what I can find out about him. If need be, we shall find this scoundrel and force him to help us, whether he wants to or not. How does that sound, Charlotte?”

  “Thanks.” She tried her best to sound appreciative. “My mum is so going to kill me when I get home, and Beth will be crying her eyes out.” A mental picture of the mayhem played in her head. She thought of her dad and a single tear trickled down her cheek.

  “Who is Beth?” Swallow asked.

  “She’s my little sister. Beth’s only six.” Charlotte fiddled with her fringe to hide her face. She didn’t want to talk about her family right now. She knew she couldn’t control her emotions if she did.

  As if sensing this, Swallow quickly changed the subject and began questioning her son on how his day had gone.

  Charlotte sat quiet with her plate of food observing the family chatting and eating together. They didn’t seem any different from her family the way they laughed and teased each other. Occasionally, one of them would smile and ask if she was okay.

  Charlotte nodded in reply.

  With a full stomach and such pleasant company, she began to relax and joined in with the teatime banter. “Where are your brothers or sisters, Elderfield?” she asked, giving him a nudge with her shoulder.

  He looked at her for a moment. “There is just the three of us.”

  Charlotte thought she saw a glimpse of disappointment in his face. “I thought you said you were the eldest?”

  He gave a puzzled look. “I am the eldest.”

  “Yeah, and the youngest,” she said with a snigger. “You could have been called Youngerfield.”

  They all laughed together at his expense.

  Elder’s eyes sparkled, watching Charlotte giggle and point her finger.

  Swallow rose from her chair with a yawn. “I think it is time we retire in this late hour.”

  Charlotte glanced at each of their faces in turn.
“Thanks for helping me. I don’t know what I would have done if it wasn’t for you lot.”

  Elderfield ruffled her hair.

  They said goodnight, and Swallow walked Charlotte back to the little bedroom where they sat talking for a while. Her fears began to subside with these kind people, but she still had so many questions. She felt comfortable enough to ask Swallow anything.

  “Why is it you all have weird, pointy ears?” she blurted out in the middle of the conversation. Her cheeks began to warm the second the words left her mouth.

  Swallow roared with laughter. “It is because we are of elven descent ... We are elves!”

  Charlotte could only stare, dumbfounded. Her next question involved Father Christmas, but she decided not to ask in fear she would feel even more stupid than she already did. “What was all that stuff about another realm? I still don’t know where I am.”

  Swallow gave her a hug. “Try not to worry, my dear. You are safe enough with us. Now, will you be all right sleeping here?” She tucked her into bed.

  “I’m a bit scared.” Charlotte pulled the covers right up under her chin. “Would you stay with me for a bit longer, please?”

  Swallow climbed under the covers next to her. “Of course I will. Besides, there is more than enough room for two in this big, old bed. I hope you do not snore, though.”

  Charlotte laughed. “I might, I don’t know. I’m always asleep!” She soon settled as Swallow lay beside her on the opposite pillow. They chatted some more before Charlotte fell into a comfortable sleep.

  * * * *

  In the other room, Middleton and Elder sat deep in discussion.

  “Do you think she has come from another realm?” Elder asked his father, pacing back and forth beside the table, his arms folded behind his back. He had heard stories of such mystical elven magic.

  “Yes, I believe it could be possible. There are many tales claiming others have travelled to realms beyond our own, and she is definitely unlike anyone I have ever met.” He paused. “She speaks in a strange accent and uses words I have not heard before."

  Listening intently to his father’s words, Elderfield stared in wonder. “That must mean this Goffer fellow has travelled there also?”

  “It certainly appears that way.” Middleton looked deep in thought. “This is not good news. I fear Charlotte could be in grave danger.”

  He stopped pacing and threw out his hands. “Danger! What could possibly put an innocent child in danger?”

  His father’s face changed, and worry lines creased his already wrinkled forehead. “It is said that a day will come when one will walk among us from another world. The Truth Teller is a name I have heard people use. It is meant to bring many changes to our realm. It is a story passed down through many generations, like the knowledge of the land, the master builders and all the things we know today.” He slumped back in his chair. “These changes are said to bring only bad things to our peaceful way of life. The stories tell of war and dark creatures not seen since days long ago, when evil beasts roamed our shores and decent folk lived in constant fear of their lives.”

  Elder nodded. “I have heard you tell similar tales, but I believed them to be just stories. I never imagined there to be any truth in them.”

  “Every story has a hidden truth.”

  “But what does this have to do with Charlotte? Why is she in danger?” He fought against a creeping fear that tingled down his spine.

  “I do not know yet, but I have a horrible feeling we are about to find out some time in the near future.” He stared into thin air with a vague expression. “I think we have talked enough for one night. Tomorrow I will leave for Rivertown and see what I can find out.” He rose from his chair.

  “Should I come with you?” Elder asked.

  “No!” his father snapped. “You must stay here and make sure no harm comes to anyone. Do you understand?”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Do not worry, Father. I will see to their safety.”

  Middleton smiled. “Courage was one thing that never eluded you, my son. I have faith in your abilities.” He patted him on the shoulder and they retired to their rooms.

  Elder knew sleep would be a long time coming. His heart ached heavy with impending dread.

  Chapter Three

  Druid Assassin

  Far beyond the northern border, through endless miles of cold, bleak uninhabited marshland, stood the Black Mountain, a place just a legend in the mind of any living mortal. Burrowed beneath the glistening rock, deep in the crystal caverns, the druid, Dagan, prepared his weapons with meticulous care in the faint glow of phosphorous algae. His black, shoulder-length, matted hair hung over his skull-like features. He slid every blade and spike over a sharpening stone, accepting nothing less than perfection before placing each weapon in a set order inside the series of leather straps about his chest and torso.

  The clicking of a beetle echoed in the chasm as it scurried over the rocks. Before it reached its destination, he snatched it up in one swift movement, never once taking his eyes off his work. He tossed the frantic insect into his mouth and bit down, crunching its shell, juice squirting between his lips. Bitter, but necessary.

  He rarely left his desolate hideout, but this day he left the confines of his sanctuary in the gloom of twilight, drifting through the swirling mist. He weaved through the oozing pools of stagnant sludge, heading for the northern border across the endless acres of barren marshland. He was in search of the Dark Druid, Siren, believed to be in the Eastern Mountains, where the elven community banished him to the Underworld, imprisoning him with powerful magic.

  For many days, Dagan glided across the desolate landscape with a determination bordering on insanity. Sleep came in short spells. Dreams of the slaughter of most of his race still plagued him after almost two hundred years. He woke with a start; a shroud of damp soaked his body. He cursed at the sight of the sun creeping towards the horizon. He had slept longer than he had anticipated; a luxury he would not allow himself. It was a sign of weakness in his mind.

  The morning silence was broken by a rustle in the grassland somewhere directly in front of him. He lay motionless, knowing that whatever moved out there was unaware of his presence. A small rabbit pushed its way through the undergrowth, bobbing its head as it sniffed at the ground. It stopped a few yards away once it picked up his scent and cocked its head sideways to stare at him. Dagan watched the creature for a second, surprised to see it there. He must have travelled further towards civilization than he realised. With a quick flick of his wrist, he killed the animal with a throwing knife and gorged on the rodent’s uncooked flesh, a meat he hadn't tasted in many years.

  With renewed determination, he continued his journey, focusing on the mountains that loomed in the distance like the jagged teeth of a mighty monster ripping through the ground. He forced any doubts to the back of his mind and quickened his pace, pushing himself along with a silent oration to seek his revenge against the Dark Druid.

  He headed east, careful to avoid the many villages scattered throughout the lush valleys leading to the base of the Eastern Mountains. The sun was already slipping towards the horizon as he started his climb. Shadows lengthened and a numbness from the frigid cold set into his hands and feet, but he continued his relentless pursuit, slowing only when the air began to thin. He waited for the light of day as the slopes became too dangerous to ascend in darkness. He began a sweeping search of every cave and crevice for an opening. The harsh nights drove him to take refuge wherever he could find it.

  Three days came and went before storm clouds rolled in from the north, forcing him to find shelter. Under a rock overhang in the mouth of a cavern, he stared out at the treetops dominating the lands in the west. Vivid images of the bloody battle he fought there two hundred years ago still taunted him. He huddled beneath his forest cloak and allowed himself to finally take some much needed rest. Tomorrow he would have to forage for food and water. It was scarce at these heights, but he had to ke
ep his strength up.

  He woke in the early hours of morning, his instincts telling him something was wrong. A warm breeze from deep within the cave carried the faint smell of burning oil from a torch. The sound of something shifting in the darkness brought him instantly alert. He slipped his hand into his cloak, grasping a weapon. The sound came again, closer this time. He waited, motionless.

  He heard the rush of the lumbering creature from at least ten feet away when the attack came. His instincts as an assassin had never left him. The huge figure of a troll lurched out of the darkness. Dagan let him come. Before the bulk of the creature came crashing upon him, he rolled to one side and thrust a long knife into the unsuspecting beast. The battle was over in an instant. His enemy dropped with a single blow. The twitching body of a troll hit the ground with an almighty thud, writhing and gurgling before it finally went still.

  Dagan stood over the corpse in the dimness of the moonlit cavern, relishing the sight of his first kill in many years. He ran his hand over the rough, bark-like skin of the creature's muscular body, satisfied. Good news at last, he thought, sensing the beast had emerged from somewhere within. There must be an entrance into Siren's underground kingdom somewhere in the depths of the cave.

  Edging through the blackness, he felt his way along the cold, slippery stone, creeping deeper into the gloom. The further he went, the narrower it became, until he had to crawl on his hands and knees over the loose gravel and stone chippings. The tunnel twisted and turned for hundreds of yards before dropping into a sharp incline towards a pinpoint of light in the distance. His breath grew ragged with anticipation as he inched toward the beacon. Reaching an opening, he found the light source came from a single burning torch mounted in an iron bracket of a deserted passage. He clambered out of the shaft and drew a short sword.

  With his last kill still fresh in his mind, a rush of excitement washed over him. He took several deep breaths to slow his breathing and pulled back his hood. He loosened his cloak to ready himself. His eyes scoured the corridor. All was quiet. With slow deliberate steps, he ventured forward, veering left and moving silently along the network of tunnels that branched out in many directions. Some were lit with torches, others remained darker than night.