The Strait & Narrow

Underland and the Forehidden Kingdom, Chapter 8

Underland and the Forehidden Kingdom is a serialised, young adult, fantasy novel about an overconfident bookworm who finds himself in a parallel world where words are weapons, ideologies form fortresses, and intelligence without integrity may just cost you everything. If you’re new here, you can start from the beginning or check out the index.

RECAP: Keon and the Millionth and Fifth are heading for the mysterious Eastern Monument. On their journey, he gets his first lesson in foraging from Shem and learns the secrets of his Codex. Time is running out to cross a the dusty plain known as the Narrow Strait using specially forged gliders. Shunning the advice of the group, Keon gets blown off the edge the cliff prematurely.

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Keon was out of control, disorientated from the fall; the world kaleidoscoping around him. Suddenly the wind shifted direction and he levelled out. He was staring straight ahead towards the opposite walls of the Narrow Strait. He’d lost a good deal of altitude and was unlikely to make it even a kilometre. He wanted to turn and see if anyone was coming for him, but dared not risk banking off course. The floor of the canyon was fast approaching. He stuck out both legs, bracing himself for the impact.

Particles of dust choked his throat as his feet hit the ground and a rock clipped his ankle. He bent his knees and tried breaking into a controlled run to slow his speed. The pain shooting up his ankle forced him to let go of the glider, pushing him into a roll. After tumbling several metres, he slid to an achy stop.

His legs, his back, his ribs. Everything throbbed and he was caked in sparkling dust to boot. He looked like one of Bella’s art projects. She always left these huge dunes of sparkly glitter piled up on the kitchen counter that he would inevitably have to clean up. The ordeal would leave him twinkling from head to toe.

Rolling onto his hands and knees, he took stock of his surroundings. The shadow of the shining cliffs loomed over him. Zaphon was nowhere to be seen and wisps of orange and red were creeping across the waves of the evening sky. Night was approaching.

Dawit reached the edge of the cliff first. He’d dropped his glider and taken off down the slope at a speed that belayed his size. There he was! Mercifully, Keon hadn’t drifted far. What little lift he’d gained had guaranteed that. The others quickly amassed around the cliff’s edge.

“The bloody hell happened?!” said Shem.

“The winds. They came sooner than I expected…”

“No, they came on time. We were late,” seethed Avana.

“He was holding it up. I warned him not to…”

“Does it matter?! We need to help him!” said Zahara.

“Should we abseil?” offered Kai.

Shem shook his head.

“We’ll lose the light. We need something fast.”

“The gliders’ll take us out too far,” said Dawit. “Jonas?”

They turned to face the masked Torchbearer, cradling his chin in deep thought. After a few seconds he began signing.

“What…Helicopter seeds?” said Zahara.

“You mean, sycamore seeds?” asked Dawit.

Jonas pointed at him.

“Yes! That’s it,” she said.

“What about them?”

She turned back to Jonas.

“We can ride our gliders down like sycamore seeds. They just need a few adjustments.”

Jonas gripped the centre of his glider and tore it down the middle. He bent both wings in opposite directions to make opposing blades. Next, he untied the rope from his pouch and bound it around the middle section. Tying the mouth of the pouch to preserve his horde from foraging, he fastened it back to his belt. He held the new contraption aloft and nodded to Dawit. A brilliant smile spread across Dawit’s face.

“Let’s do it.”

Without a second thought, Jonas ran and jumped off the cliff, gripping the roped centre of the blades. As the wind caught the glider, it spun a few feet into the air before steadily descending in a twirl. The others worked rapidly at their own gliders. Dawit, remembering that he’d dropped his on the way down, looked around frantically. There it was, halfway up the hill being gently buffeted by the wind.

Down in the valley, Keon cocked an eyebrow as the Millionth and Fifth descended like a squadron of military helicopters coming to rest on the dusty sands of the valley, silhouetted against the gold evening sunlight.

Jonas landed first, a good two hundred metres away. Sprinting over, he skidded to a stop, immediately dropping to one knee to check Keon over. He didn’t know this guy cared so much. His hands flashed in a myriad of signs before Keon’s eyes.

“No idea what you’re saying, but I’m glad to see you.”

A smile seemed to break out beneath the mask. Guess he had a jaw after all. He signalled to Keon’s ankle.

“It’s not that bad…ow…”

As Jonas pulled him painfully to his feet, they were joined by the others.

“You’re an idiot, y’know that?” said Avana.

Jonas shot her a look of rebuff. She rolled her eyes and walked off. Zahara came to support him on the other side, placing a hand on his chest to steady him. He felt his cheeks flush hot.

“You ok?”

He nodded silently.

Avana paced in irritation. Keon couldn’t quite hear what they were saying, but it looked like Kai was trying to calm her down. Clearly, it wasn’t working. She wouldn’t look Kai in the eyes, staring instead at some random rock on the valley floor.

“What’s her problem?” he muttered under his breath.

Zahara and Jonas exchanged looks.

“Don’t take it personally.”

“She called me an idiot. That’s pretty personal.”

“She ain’t wrong though. That was pretty stupid.”

He was about to retort, but she was right; not that he’d admit it though.

“Dawit, you gotta call it, mate,” said Shem.

Hands on his hips, Dawit heaved a sigh of resolution.

“It’s gonna take us an hour just to reach the wall; more if Keon can’t walk.”

Kai dragged a clawed hand through his hair, “So what, we just camp out in the middle of the Strait? You know what that means, right?”

Keon limped over, Jonas and Zahara supporting him on either side.

“Yeah,” muttered Shem. “No sleep tonight.”

It was twilight by the time they neared the wall. The last streaks of daylight were glinting off the tips of the crystal cliffs. They set up camp a few hundred metres from the sheared rock face, laid out in a circle with a fire smouldering at its centre. Keon sat by the flames, arms folded under his armpits. Zahara sat cross-legged on the other side. A moist poultice had been applied to the injured ankle which did little to salve his bruised pride. Whatever was in it was doing wonders for his foot though. The sprain wasn’t even that bad, but Zahara insisted on fussing over it. Fussing over it technically meant she was fussing over him and he was all for that.

The rest stood armed, facing outwards into the canyon; all with swords and shields, some with spears or javelins. They’d forged bows that were slung across their backs with dozens of arrows embedded in the ground.

Dawit, standing at the western edge of the circle, turned to look back at the glistening cliffs. Following his gaze, Keon saw darkness extinguish the last glint of light lingering at the tip of the crystal canyon.

Dawit exhaled, shoulders sinking with the weight of expectation.

“Go time.”

From that point on, silence was the order; the only sound the gentle snap, crackle and pop of the flames. Beyond the orange halo of the campfire, the light dipped into a cobalt abyss; the canyon stretching out like a velvet sheet all around them. Nothing stirred.

Keon saw the last traces of twilight give way to the cool, simmering glow that filled the ocean each night. After twenty or so minutes, the nebulae began to shine.

His gaze fell back on the Millionth and Fifth, standing like a human Stonehenge around the camp.

“Are we seriously staying up all night?”

Zahara watched her comrades, solemn, “We don’t have a choice. If we’re not careful, they’ll sneak right past us.”

“Who?”

“The Mysts.”

The hours stretched doggedly into the night, yet still they stood. Every hour, someone took Zahara’s place by Keon. By midnight, they’d cycled through the entire team once and come back round to Zahara. Avana had beleaguered him to stay awake but doing so had become a losing battle.

“If they see you, they’ll ask questions. Under no circumstances are you to answer. Our job is to keep them away from you. Don’t make it harder,” she’d said.

“Why not forge a tent for me to hide in then?”

“They’re not stupid. A group of Torchbearers guarding a single tent in the middle of the Strait won’t go unnoticed.”

“Several tents then?”

“That would be even more conspicuous.”

Before his chin could tap his chest, he jerked back up to find himself gawking at a dull, grey cloud of smoke walking through the canyon. ‘Walking’ because it appeared to have legs. With each step, smoke billowed around the outline of a form that hung briefly in mid-air before dissipating.

He began to make out arms swinging at its side; a voluminous, featureless head bobbing to and fro with each stride. The humanoid form alternated between visible and invisible; indistinguishable from the swirling swells of smoke one second, then fuzzy arms and legs periodically taking shape before disintegrating into vapour.

There was a sudden flash of light amidst the plumes, like lightning arcing between tempests in the sky; then a blood curdling scream tore through the canyon, startling Keon alert.

There were more of them! At least five or six; no seven, coming from all directions, trudging silently through the darkness. The Millionth and Fifth stood firm and immovable. Nobody flinched.

His tongue clenched against the roof of his mouth in anticipation, his jaw grinding his molars like bars across his breath until they twinged. At any other time of day, the exhalation probably would have gone unnoticed, but in the silence of the canyon, it ricocheted from wall to wall.

The cloud nearest appeared to turn its head. You couldn’t tell from the smoke billowing around its every movement. Angling towards the camp, it limped in their direction. He would’ve looked away, but terror mingled with curiosity held his gaze.

It came within inches of Shem’s set jaw, peering over his shoulder in Keon’s direction. Knowing which way it was looking seemed more a sense than a certainty, but Keon felt eyes he couldn’t see probing him. Scrutinising.

“What’s wrong with that one?” it said, wincing as a spark ignited its belly.

The rasp of its voice was as crisp as it was loud, as though spoken directly into Keon’s mind. Shem held firm, moving only his eyes to glance in the thing’s direction. Nearby, Avana seethed at him, silently admonishing him to keep his mouth shut.

“He’s injured.”

“We know a good few of the old remedies,” it said, jovially. “That poultice won’t quite do it you know. All you have to do is ask—”

“We don’t need your help!” snapped Avana, an uncharacteristic crack in her otherwise composed demeanour.

Shem shot her the glare she’d meant for him with a ‘what the hell are you doing?’

The cloud curled its head, fixing it’s smouldering gaze on Avana.

“Well, aren’t you a rude one?…What are you hiding?…Who is he?”

“This is Kingdom business,” said Shem, “Perhaps you’d like to take it up with the Throne?”

At this, it jolted, then slunk away in a trail of mist. It wouldn’t be the last to approach.

An hour passed and their numbers increased exponentially. One in particular roamed the defence circle like a commander inspecting its troops. It stopped, examining each of the Millionth and Fifth from head to toe.

“Dawit. I know you…”

“Kai. I know you…”

“Shem. I know you…”

“Avana. I know you…”

“Oh, I know you…Jonas.”

Having completed the circle, it stopped, staring straight between their shoulders in the direction of Keon and Zahara.

“But who is this?”

Jonas moved to block its view, his steely blue eyes boring holes into the swirling mass of gas. After what felt like a seven-minute standoff, it appeared to lose interest and filter away.

In the distance, Keon saw three more huddled together. Despite their featureless visages, he was certain they were talking about him. No matter how much they were trying to hide him, he was drawing attention.

“How long’s this gonna last?” he asked.

“Prob’ly until daybreak,” said Zahara.

“When’s that?”

“A long time from now...”

“What the bloody hell are they?”

“Ghosts…basically. Spirits of the ancient dead who don’t wanna rest in peace.”

“Ghosts…so, they can’t hurt us, right?”

“Oh no, they can hurt us,” she said, turning to him with a mischievous grin. “But we can hurt them back.”

More and more of them were amassing in a froth of cloud encircling them, jostling and bumping one another; whispering in sharp hisses. Multiple flashes lit up the crowd.

“I think the jig’s up, mate,” called Shem to Dawit.

“What’s drawing them?” asked Kai.

“Avana ticked them off…”

“Well, who told you to start a bloody conversation?!”

“I had it under control!”

“Wellworn said, never!…”

“Guys…”

As one, the Mysts began moving, suddenly spurned on by something unseen or heard. As they strode towards them through the dust and dirt, flashes erupted from their billowing bodies, like sapphire flames. As the flashes grew in intensity, they illuminated the shadowy silhouettes of long-limbed, gangly forms within the smoke; their bodies bent and broken in awkward, contorted shapes. With every flash of light, they let out those ear-splitting screams, their every step an excruciating agony.

“Aw hell…”

“Bows!” Dawit bellowed.

The Millionth and Fifth dropped, notched their arrows and released in synchronised unison. The first few Mysts dropped like cascades of dry ice. The rest broke into sprints; their paths crisscrossing over one another as they bobbed and weaved through the dust. The sudden burst of speed made their wispy forms harder to discern, the crossing paths of smoke and vapour obscuring their individual whereabouts. A wall of smog fanned around the defence line, cutting visibility to almost zero.

“Blades!”

Slinging the bows across their backs, the Millionth and Fifth grabbed their swords, shields and javelins.

“Close the line!”

They titled their shields horizontally and backed off several paces until the shields were but a few feet apart. At the approach of the Mysts, the fire seemed to recoil.

Keon spun round in a crouch. On all sides, sparks lit the area, as if they were stood in the midst of a raging cyclone. Dawit slashed. Kai parried. Avana shoved. Jonas thrust. Shem stabbed.  The death curdling shrieks of felled Mysts filled the air.  

“Don’t worry mate! We’ve got this!” called Shem over the clamour.

But Keon didn’t hear him. His eyes were locked onto the nebulous hand clawing its way around Avana’s feet. He cupped his hands around his mouth to bellow over the battle, but his warning was swallowed by the unearthly wails of living plumes. The frothing hand clamped its claws on Avana’s ankle and yanked her feet out from under her. Keon could only watch as she hit the ground and vanished beneath her toppling shield.