Travelling & Trespassing

Underland and the Forehidden Kingdom, Chapter 9

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’s ankle is injured in the fall forcing the group to camp out in the Strait, though there is little rest. They are attacked in the middle of the night by sinister plumes of humanoid cloud called Mysts. The Millionth and Fifth fight them off bravely to protect Keon but Avana is caught and dragged away into the night.

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Keon stared at the spot where Avana had been but a breath before. The dust had barely settled over the drag marks raking the surface of the ground when her shield sent fresh plumes blooming into the air. She hadn’t even had a chance to react. A pang of guilt tugged at his chest. His thoughts towards her over the last few hours hadn’t been pleasant. Heck, part of him—deep down—may have even wished her some kind of misfortune. But not like this.

“Avanaaa!”

Zahara grabbed Keon’s hand and stuffed something between his sweaty fingers.

“They get close, you swing this at them, yeah?!”

She ran to fill the gap, rolling over Avana’s fallen shield as she grabbed it. Keon looked down at a yellowed, origami paper sword; the fibres of the ancient parchment tickling his fingertips. Columns of cursive script wound their away around the folded edges of the blade. He could’ve sworn he’d seen it before; the same phrase repeated over and over again. Turning it round, he ran his fingers tenderly over the embossed words.

Dwell in his shelter.

Live under his shadow.

Your refuge and fortress.

Your King whom you trust.

He felt his grip tighten around the hilt. It sounded like something his dad would recite. Did he carry one like this? Was that why the words seemed so familiar? Though his ankle twinged, he took a bold stance; his weight shifting restlessly from foot to foot. Then the voices came. At once, all other sounds seemed to withdraw; the clamour of battle becoming a distant hum as though plunged underwater.

“Come on then!” he yelled, taunting with the point of the blade.

A bright fog suddenly closed in around him.

“He comes to us.”

“Most prodigious.”

“He thinks himself wise…and brave.”

“He’s reckless.”

“Or curious.”

“We esteem curiosity.”

“And temerity.”

“You seek answers.”

The last voice boomed with a force that almost knocked him off his feet. The lights pulsed around him in unison; each one accompanied by the whoosh of ignited flames. He quickly regained his footing.

“The Scarred Warrior doesn’t give answers. Full of riddles he is.”

“Most ambiguous.”

“And these ones won’t help you.”

“But we will.”

“You need only ask.”

“You need only trade.”

He wheeled around as he felt something tug at his shawl. Nothing. The paper hilt scrunched beneath his fingers as his grip tightened.

“Tell us your name.”

“That’s all we ask.”

“Tell us your name…”

“…and we’ll tell you ours!”

“Get back!”

Keon swung at the air. The fog around him seemed to retreat, as though threatened by the blade. Suddenly, a wall of sound rushed in. The clouds billowed and blew around him. Spinning the sword round, he drove it deep into the dirt to anchor himself. Then he heard the singing, like a salve to the ears and warmth to the soul; healing carried on the wind. It fought as a mighty rushing wind against the clouds, raging until they dissipated.

Opening his eyes to peer through the evaporating mist, he caught sight of a figure some feet away, walking through the quagmire. The ground cleared before their feet; the fog fading at the sound of her tones. Golden light seemed to swell like wings erupting from her back. Suddenly, the melody struck the chord of a memory, though the words were unfamiliar.

Sree Josva kristhuve

Dhaivathinte Kunjaade

rekshikkunnu paapiye

nin thiru rektham maathram!

He could see the Millionth and Fifth now, shields held up to block the rush of vapour. As the last of it cleared, Avana stepped into the open and the singing ceased. The Mysts were gone.

“That—was mad!” said Keon, hands clasped around his skull, “I thought you were dead! What did you do?! How did you do that?!”

She dusted off her bracers, not bothering to look at him.

“The King told me to sing, so I sang.”

“What. He spoke to you?”

“In the midst of the cloud, yes,” she said impatiently.

“Wait, why didn’t you just do that in the first place?”

She stared up at him through the bent ridge of her immaculately threaded eyebrows.

“That’s not how it works. It’s not some super-power I can turn on and off as I please. I did as I was told.”

Keon eyed her up and down as though her very words stank.

“Alright, alright…Can the rest of you do that?” he said, wheeling round to the others.

“Every now and then,” smirked Kai.

As the group regathered, Shem’s stare met Avana’s. For a good few seconds, their eyes battled it out in mid-air; neither one willing to yield. Then he turned, looking for something else to anchor his gaze to.

“Good job,” he said, coming within inches of bumping her shoulder.

“It’s called doing as you’re told!” she barked at his back.

Dawit was doing a last sweep of the area when Shem shuffled up beside him. Not a puff nor sliver of smoke lingered, mercifully.

“Those tents might not be such a bad idea now,” he said, anticipating Shem’s question. “The Mysts won’t regroup for hours. We can make our ascent before then.”

Shem offered an almost imperceptible nod, “Might be worth moving closer to the wall in that case. Less sides to cover and we can start scaling it if needs be.”

Dawit nodded, gaze on the ground.

Shem eyed him for a few seconds and then squeezed his shoulder.

“Don’t over think it, mate. We made it.”

“That was way too close though—and that’s on me.”

“Eh—It’s kinda my fault too. Showed a little hack to the kid and it made us late...”

“Dude…You need to stop doing that.”

Shem’s face said, ‘I should, but I probably won’t.’

“But seriously, I’m sorry mate.”

It was Dawit’s turn to pat his shoulder with a knowing smile.

“I’m probably not the one you should apologise to, brother.”

With a final pat, he proceeded on his way. Shem’s eyebrows bunched in a grimace.

Not a chance!

The next few hours passed without incident. They forged four tents. Three of the crew were placed on watch duty in two-hour rotations. Again, Keon barely slept, his mind abuzz with the night’s revelations. How the heck had Avana done that? And how had the King spoken to her?

The plan was to scale the cliff in a few hours. It would still be dark, but not as dark. They could take their time without the pressure of sundown. Apparently, Mysts roamed Underland at night, and were partial to desolate places. Those piercing cries usually meant they were near and on the move.

“It’s said that they were once half-human, so when they died…they didn’t die like normal people,” Zahara had told him. “It was like a half-death; like the part of them that was human was just—taken away. What we see is what was left behind. Now they roam Underland in constant torment, seeking what they lost. Seeking Mirrors.”

“Why Mirrors?”

“Control a Mirror and you control a body. It’s why they ask questions; they’re looking for a way in.”

“And what happens if they find one?”

“Then, your body becomes theirs,” she’d said with a shrug.

Keon had wondered why she seemed so blasé about something so horrific.

He’d held her gaze, feeling like there was more she wasn’t saying.

“You ever see it happen?”

She never answered; just poked at the campfire with a stick.

Keon shuddered at the memory, pulling his shawl tighter around him as he curled up on the ground. One of them had grabbed it; he was sure of it. How close had they come to getting what they wanted? His body. They’d asked for a trade. His name in exchange for theirs. Was that how they got in; by asking your name?

Ghosts. Ghosts you could touch. He scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. What on earth was this place?

It was still dim when they finally made it out of the canyon. The warmth of dawn had just begun tickling their heels. The ascent was swift and surprisingly easy. It wasn’t the first time the Millionth and Fifth had made the climb, leaping from rock to rock with the ease of a rabbit crossing a meadow. They’d each visited the Eastern Monument at least once as part of some sort of Torchbearer rite of passage. Maybe that’s how they got their powers? Would he want flight or invisibility? Heck, was that even how it worked?

Avana said they weren’t super-powers. To be fair, she only said she couldn’t turn them on at will, not that they weren’t super-powers. What else did you call the ability to sing away evil spirits?

They were bent low to the ground amidst a forest of long grass, staring up towards a wooded, blue-green hill; blanketed by mist. He’d finally figured it out; how the vegetation got water. Every night, mist covered the ground, watering the plants. He reckoned moisture evaporated from the waters above and made its way down to Underland by the time darkness descended. Some of it must have settled on top of the dragonblood trees before falling to the ground as waterfalls, feeding the various streams and rivers.

Several paces ahead, Jonas crept through the grass, nearing a stone flanked, hedged path that wound its way up to the cusp of the hill. Halfway between him and the group, Zahara crouched.

At the summit, an ethereal figure stood blocking the way. It looked like a person; a girl in fact, with flowing white robes, staring up at the sky. But—she was transparent. A cool blue glow enveloped her almost translucent form like a ‘Force Ghost.’

Jonas signed to Zahara who signalled to the group with a ‘time out.’

Kai, a few steps ahead of the rest, whispered back.

“TnT.”

“As in a bomb?” hissed Keon.

“Travellers ‘n’ Trespassers,” said Dawit. “People who enter Underland uninvited either through dreams or—by other means. From a distance, it’s hard to tell which is which, so we try to avoid them.”

“It’s just chilling there. What’s it doing?”

“Travellers? They’re just dreaming. Passing through. They wouldn’t even know you were there. But Trespassers—they’re always lingering around, looking for something—”

“Like a Codex,” said Keon.

Dawit nodded with a smile. He was catching on, “Exactly.”

Jonas signalled to the group. He’d found a way around. Further explanations would have to wait.

Singed spires of wood jutted out of the ground at various angles, forming something like the skeletal remains of a burnt-out tee-pee. Dawit trudged with delicate care towards the charred remnants of the campfire.

Shem was stooping down to pick something up out of the dirt. A golden mustard seed. He’d definitely been here. He let the seed slip through his fingers, looking around for any other signs of Wellworn’s presence.

Keon stood on the edges of a small stream. Having refilled his canteen, he stood with his back turned, admiring his reflection over his shoulder. Kai eyed him warily a few paces down, holding his canteen beneath the surface.

“You should cut that out, bro.”

“What?”

“Staring at yourself like an idiot.”

Keon looked side-to-side for an explanation.

“Why? What’s the problem?”

“Focus on yourself too much and you might just attract your Mirror. They can move through reflections.”

Keon’s face scrunched in scepticism.

“Yeah. Ok.”

Kai rolled his eyes, snapped his canteen shut and took his leave. Keon took one last look at himself and slung his shawl over his chest, his fun spoilt. Arms swinging at his sides, he came up behind Dawit who was staring at the campfire.

“He didn’t cover his tracks. He wanted us to know he was here,” he said. “He must’ve left us something. A message.”

He began poking through the charred sticks.

“In—the campfire?” asked Keon.

“In a place where no one else would think to look.”

He gasped in triumph and practically dived into the charcoal-like remains. Between his finger and thumb, he held up a long, blackened stick with flattened edges. Turning it over, he showed the etchings on one side, within which mustard seeds had been pushed into the gaps at various intervals.

“What’s with him and the mustard seeds?” asked Keon.

“Apparently, they remind him of home…”

“Oh yeah? Where’s that exactly?”

Dawit’s expression of elation quickly turned grave as he deciphered the message.

“We have a problem.”

One by one, the Millionth and Fifth emerged from their various activities. Jonas from checking his supplies. Shem from scrawling something into his Codex.

“He wants us at the Eastern Monument in twenty days, but there’s a conflict breaking out in the south. We’ll have to pass through Midnah-Dogu.”

“Seriously?” said Kai, arms behind his head, “We can’t just wait it out?”

Avana motioned with her chin, “What kind of conflict?”

“The King’s Guard and the Prince of Putaya.”

A collective groan reverberated throughout the group.

“What? What’s that mean?” asked Keon.

“It’s a Morningstar fight, mate. You don’t wanna be anywhere near a Morningstar fight,” said Shem.

Keon swallowed.

“And Midnah-Dogu? What’s that?”

“A Moonlamp Stronghold. To reach the Eastern Monument, we’ll have to pass through it,” said Shem, arms crossed beneath his chin.

Keon gripped his head, trying to force it all in.

“Wait, a Moonlamp?”

“Underland’s split into seventy principalities, each one controlled by a Prince; a Morningstar who’s declared himself sovereign. You enter that region; you’re entering their territory. They don’t like that,” said Dawit. “When the Lowlands split, so did the Torchbearers. Moonlamps are just one faction.”

“They bear a different seal and pledge allegiance to another king,” added Zahara. “In this case, Helel ibn Shakar, the Prince of Meshech.”

Keon’s eyes narrowed.

“I thought Morningstars enslaved Torchbearers? You’re saying people serve them willingly?”

“Most of them don’t know,” said Zahara. “Moonlamps think they serve the same King we do.”

“Why would they think that?”

“Morningstars control the Strongholds. As long as you live within the walls, you’ll believe whatever they want you to believe,” added Kai.

Keon rubbed his eyes with both palms.

“This is so complicated…”

“That’s the problem with passing through Midnah-Dogu. If Helel finds out we’re there, he won’t be able to resist. He’ll hunt us down and throw everything he has at us,” said Dawit.

“Bottom line, we don’t take that route unless we absolutely have to,” added Shem.

Keon crossed his arms, “Alright, so what do we do?”

Shem’s eyes twinkled.

“We walk through it, of course.”

Avana exhaled, rolling her eyes as she paced.

“Our best bet is to slip in disguised as Wayfinders,” added Dawit.

“Uh oh…” said Zahara.

Avana stopped, hands propped on her hips.

“Are you mad?!”

Keon shook his head.

“Sorry, who are we talking about now?”

“They’re another faction. Rogue Torchbearers with no allegiance to any king,” she replied. “Moonlamps are as likely to pounce on Wayfinders as they are a Torchbearer!”

“But Helel won’t. He’s the one who controls the Moonlamps, and he hates us more than anything. Just try not to antagonise anyone, init,” said Shem, throwing a smirk in her direction. It must have been a first; she didn’t have a comeback.

“And you guys have done this before, yeah?” said Keon.

Shem and Dawit exchanged grins.

“Once.”

“Heyyy…” said Kai, suddenly alert.

“A few years ago, we were escorting this rookie through the Stronghold,” Shem snickered, “We probably would’ve made it too if someone hadn’t messed it up.”

Keon’s gaping stare swung back and forth between them and a scowling Kai.

“Are you serious? What makes you think it’s gonna work this time?!”

Shem popped his shoulders in a shrug.

“I don’t,” he said. “But, we made it out once. If things go south, we’ll just do it again…”