Captives of Ice
Marie had always been a good swimmer, spending summers at Mohican Lake with her parents. What she loved most was to spin and whirl underwater; she often challenged her friends to see who could hold their breath the longest while darting between the raft and third swim marker. She now summoned that former skill to reach the surface— until she caught site of what lay below her. Glimmering and refracting the multi-hued light from above were a hundred thousand shapes and sizes of every kind, in the form of gemstones, ornaments, jewelry and coins.
Yet within the grandiose splendor, something clearly stood out, outshining everything else with its intensity. Unable to control herself, Marie thrust her arms downward, propelling her toward the submerged hoard. The fact that she struggled to breathe did not daunt her, until her throat convulsed. As her outstretched hands grasped the object she sought, water poured into Marie’s mouth. She became bleary with confusion and disorientation and never saw the speeding shape that approached and seized her.
Perion and Courinn raced back over the archway to the lake shoreline where everyone else waited. Looking out between the geysers, they could see Marie being carried, head above water with the speed of a boat. Seconds later, Theel lifted her lifeless body, which Perion and Brage quickly received. She was grayish pale and not breathing.
“Quickly, Theel!” shouted Courinn as the amphibious boy leapt out from the water.
“She’s swallowed a lot,” he answered in panic, the gills in his cheeks pulsating. “I don’t know that I can help!”
“Do it,” demanded Perion, “while you still can!” He and Brage held Marie securely by her arms and shoulders, turning her face down. Tilda and Zendara used their bodies to deflect the falling rain.
Theel crouched beside Marie, discreetly pulling up the bottom of her drenched shirt. He began lightly tracing his hands upon her back in circular swirling motions, alternating one stroke into the next. Each stroke became quicker as he pressed his fingers more firmly into her skin, giving the visual impression that he was drawing something outwards. Marie’s head swayed and her throat shuddered as water came streaming from her mouth in the same swirling motion. Theel continued until Marie began choking. He lowered her shirt as Perion and Brage spun her on her back. Immediately, Dyllion and Tybain grabbed each of her legs and pumped them into her chest, forcing her to breathe again. Color seeped back into Marie’s face. When she opened her eyes, everyone let out heartfelt sighs of relief.
“You’re going to be fine,” said Perion with firm assurance. “Try and relax.” Looking into her eyes, he saw in amazement tiny streaks of color: the colors of the rainbow.
“Wow,” he added amusingly. “There have been some changes in you.” He lifted the globe charm around her neck, holding it for her. First Marie saw the black stone, now cast not only in its emerald fluid, but in the rainbow light as well. Then she clearly saw the image of Thurle the gnome. He nodded in obvious approval. The globe went dark and Marie could see a reflection of her own radiant eyes. She smiled in awed approval.
For the rest of her life, whenever Marie was in rain, mist or high humidity, those same colors shone and sparkled in her ‘enchanted eyes.’
“You are a stubborn one,” said Courinn, motioning down at her hands. When Marie lifted them, she was holding a pure gold diamond, the like of which had not yet been seen in the mortal world. A gem only described by ancient, long forgotten words.
“I can only imagine,” pondered Courinn aloud, gazing into the diamond’s gloriously intricate design, “the trouble you’re going to find with this.”
The metal lock made a jarring klatch sound as it was turned. In the dark, it reverberated enough to wake the departed souls lying in peace just a block away.
Nearing two a.m. earlier that same day, Professor Mifflin was led into a jail cell. He quickly inspected it with a nod, before turning to face Sheriff Dan.
“Accommodations have improved, I see,” he said sarcastically. “Good to see our taxes at work.”
“One last chance, Raynor,” said the sheriff. “Talk to me.”
Professor Mifflin barely shook his head. “I can’t do that. Not now.”
The sheriff motioned to his partner in annoyance. The officer unlocked Mifflin’s handcuffs, then stepped back and securely locked his cell door.
Mifflin approached the cell bars. “I assume you’re buying the round, sheriff, when this is all over?”
The sheriff stared back, dull eyed and tired. “There won’t be any drinking this time. Not after all this.” He turned to leave, followed by his partner.
“You always say that,” replied Mifflin as a parting shot.
The main lights were switched off as the building’s entrance was shut and locked tight. The professor stood peering into the shadows. Here he would remain, alone with his thoughts until their plan had been carried out, either in success or failure. At least he assumed he was alone, until another male voice spoke out.
“Only one Raynor I’ve ever heard of. Raynor Mifflin?”
The professor knew the voice’s source was a nearby cell, though he could not see it. He came up close to the bars and strained his neck. “Yes. Who’s sharing the pleasure of incarceration with me?”
“It’s James Meehanan.”
Within the dark, the professor grinned with some surprise. “Well, well. The sheriff does have a sense of humor. How long have you been here, Mr. Meehanan?”
“All week,” he answered. “What does the sheriff want with you, Mifflin? Why can’t you tell him anything?”
“I’m here for the same reason as always. Suspicion. And you, sir?”
“Don’t pretend you haven’t heard. Even here in Woldred, I know how fast word gets around. If you’re being held for suspicion, does it have to do with me or my daughter?”
The professor carefully considered his next response. It was no good deceiving Marie’s father now, here with him— almost face to face.
“I’m afraid it does, Mr. Meehanan. I stood with Marie not more than an hour ago.”
Now the silence brewed from James’ direction. “You are responsible for my daughter gone missing?” he hissed angrily.
“No one is responsible for Marie having left you but Marie,” stated Mifflin. “She came to me seeking my advice and help, which I have given to her as best I can.”
“Tell me, is she all right?”
“Yes, as of an hour ago.”
“What does that mean? Who is she with now?”
“Friends who have already laid down their lives several times for her.”
“Why?” roared James in frustration. His voice echoed through the small building. “Tell me, Mifflin, what is she doing? What’s going on?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know, sir. Did you not read Marie’s letter and hear what she said to you over the police radio?”
“How did you —”
The professor cleared his throat. “— Mr. Meehanan, you’re of course not aware of this, but you and I share a vaguely similar history. We’ve both lost our wives in the recent past. Under normal circumstances, the story would end there. But you and I, and the rest of us here in this county, do not live under normal circumstances.”
“Enough!” shouted James. “You’re as nuts as the rest! You want me to believe what Marie said? That she can bring back her dead mother? With what? Some magic pixie-dust? You expect me to believe that, Mifflin?”
“I don’t know. What do you think Marie believes?”
James hesitated, considering the question. “Listen, my daughter has gotten her memory back. She remembers her mother again. That’s all I care about.”
“Is that all?” provoked the professor. “Don’t you want to know what really might have happened to your wife? Instead of visiting her empty grave each week, wondering, don’t you wish to know the truth?”
James now realized how much the professor knew. “Is that what Marie meant on the radio? To find out the truth of what really happened?”
“At the very least, yes. And right about now, she is close to discovering that truth, for good or ill.”
James remained quietly in thought for a good while. When he at last spoke, his voice was a blend of fear and hope. “Marie is all I have left. Please tell me she won’t be hurt.”
“I can’t say for sure,” answered the professor. “The odds were against Marie getting this far, yet she has risen to every challenge. It’s a good bet that whatever danger may still lay ahead will most likely underestimate your daughter.”
They marched south along the valley, between the two mountains hedging the rainbow. It was now late afternoon, but still two hours from nightfall. Brage led them out of the rain, keeping an easy pace back to the woods’ edge. There they halted, drying off and letting Marie pause to regain some more strength.
“We’ll have to separate here,” said Brage.
“I didn’t know we were splitting up,” said Marie. “Where are you going?”
“To the professor,” Zendara answered, “who will need some assistance with his release. A brief southeast march for us, leading through the Croakmire Pass.”
“Then who will be going with me?” asked Marie, curiously glancing among them. No one answered.
“The final stretch of your road begins now, Marie,” said Brage. “Lake Gwindylo lies some three miles northeast.”
Still Marie waited for a response to her question. “So I’m now traveling alone?”
“I thought that would be obvious,” spoke up Courinn at last.
“Did you forget our pledge?” added Perion, proudly stepping up along with Courinn.
Marie smiled. “We started together, and we’ll face the end together.”
“With one more to tag along,” said Tilda, modestly raising a hand. “If that’s okay.”
“Yes, Tilda,” said Marie. “I hoped you would still come.”
They took turns saying goodbye. There was a note of apprehension, with none of them quite knowing what the future might hold. Theel offered Marie a gentle hug and whispered the word “faith” in her ear.
“I won’t forget that you saved me from my last breath,” she said to him.
Zendara gave Marie a much bigger and secure embrace, then kissed her on the cheek. “Theel is right,” he said. “Do not yet abandon hope in spite of my grim words to you.”
Courinn stood before Dyllion, heedlessly scratching one of his cgrimpyre wounds. “Can I help you with your injury?” she asked.
“Why?” said Dyllion, staring back at her in confusion. “It’s good the way it is.”
“Dyllion,” she continued with a grin, “I admire your vigor. I’d like to soon take you up on your challenge to race a unicorn. But maybe— we could work on cleaning up some of those rougher edges too?” She offered her hand to him in parting gesture.
“What rough edges?” he asked as dollops of dark blue accidentally trickled into his palm while shaking Courinn’s hand— smearing over her fingers. “On second thought, perhaps not,” she added, wiping away the mess.
Tybain briefly peeked over at Tilda. Knowing better, he simply nodded to her.
“Aren’t you going to wish me luck?” she asked.
“So you can smirk and turn away?” he answered cynically. She shot him a sidelong glance with a surprising hint of sincerity.
“No,” she said. “So I can wish you the same.”
Not trusting her sudden, exposed armor chink, Tybain replied after a brief moment. “I hope you find what you came for.”
In the most telling embrace of all, Brage took Perion, full in his arms. “We’re proud of you, little brother and what you’ve done for Marie,” he said. “Look after them and see this through, but don’t forget about yourself.” He released Perion but held his head close, staring into his face. “Don’t ever doubt you’re coming back. We’re returning home together.”
“Thank you,” said Perion, “for believing I could do this.” Brage then saw his eyes drift to Marie. “I do have to see this to the end.”
Brage nodded, understanding. “I know how you feel about her,” he admitted softly. “May the Arsentian Winds be at your back.”
With a series of final, departing waves, the five exiled boys moved out, heading back into the forest. Perion slung the small pack they left for them over his shoulders. As he did so, Marie held up her radiant, golden diamond, larger than her fist.
“Why don’t you let me carry that a while?” Perion suggested. Marie hesitantly eyed her comrades. She half-smiled, forcing away a noticeable uneasiness.
“When we get to the end,” she said, handing over the gem, “if we need to use this in any way, don’t think twice about it.” As Perion placed it in his pack, Courinn nodded and peered ahead. “We’ve got a few hours light left. However far you can manage, Marie.”
“I’m feeling better.”
With a last glance back at the Rainbow’s End, they plunged ahead, re-entering the woods. Perion led the way, holding a simple compass Brage gave him, which, unlike Marie’s first compass, the professor had rigged to function correctly within the wood. Behind him were Marie and Tilda with Courinn bringing up the rear. They were once again quickly swallowed up in a stretching cavern of tall oak and maple, watching the existing light around them darken and losing all sight of the sky. Marie thankfully noticed the lack of any thickly gnarled roots. The ground was smooth with no rocks and low shrubbery.
As she walked, Marie held up and peered into her charm. “Mom, are you there?” she softly asked, repeating the question several times. She only saw the swirling colors of the rainbow.
Glancing aside, Tilda watched Marie replace the amulet under her shirt and dab her wet eyes. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
Marie shook her head and sniffled. “Maybe Zendara was right. It’s too late.”
Behind them, Courinn listened. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember something very important, but instead exhaled in frustration only.
“Tilda,” said Marie, brushing aside her worry and quickly changing the subject, “what made you leave Bettyann and Trish to come and find us?”
“I’d still be with them,” admitted Tilda, a bit ashamed, “if something else didn’t happen.”
“Really?” said Marie. “What?”
Tilda looked away, then sharply answered. “You’re so lucky, Marie and you don’t even know why. Yeah, all this stuff happened to you, but you had one sure thing: both of your parents noticed if you were still breathing. Whether you find your mother or not, you don’t know how lucky that makes you.”
These words sharply tugged at Marie’s heart as she recalled Tilda’s frightening accounts of her father— how he often beat her and her mother, until he left one night and never came back. It was the only time Marie ever heard Tilda use brutally foul language.
“I’m sorry,” replied Marie. “I remember when you told me and Bettyann about—”
“—Just shut up!” bristled Tilda, angrily. “Forget about it!”
Courinn gestured for Marie to leave it alone. They went on, mostly without speaking for another hour and a half, until they halted, sat and had their dinner meal. The sun began to dip and the day’s end drew near.
Marie contented herself with a tuna and tomato sandwich from their pack. Finishing that, she had a banana and not one but two apples, realizing she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. They shared drinking from their water flask.
Courinn looked up. “We’ve about twenty minutes of light left. Should we camp here or press on to the lake? How are you feeling, Marie?”
Having eaten, Marie felt a feverous rush of strength. “If it’s okay with both of you, I’m not ready to stop yet. I’d like to finally see this Lake Gwindylo.”
“It shouldn’t be more than a two hour hike,” said Perion. “We’re close to the Croakmire ridge. We should make northeast straight from here.” Courinn nodded in agreement.
“Tilda, are you okay with this?” asked Marie, turning to her. “I keep forgetting, I had a week head start getting used to long walking.”
Tilda nodded. “It’s cool, I’m okay.” She sighed. “Sorry about before, Marie.”
Marie and Courinn exchanged glances. Tilda somehow knew they were both thinking about the defiant and cruel girl who confronted them only last week, aggressively wielding a knife. She now appeared a wholly different person.
Night came swiftly. Courinn lit the lantern Brage had used and kept it low as he did. They resumed the same formation with Perion at the rear. Using her compass, Courinn began directing their way northward. They strode on light and easy along the low shrubs and moist ground.
But within a half hour, the delightful terrain began to transform. The trees became gloomy hemlocks and pines. The ground turned weedy and mossy, full of dark pits and quagmires. With Courinn’s dim lantern, it was difficult to pick their way ahead through the stagnant pools and around the rotting, drowned tree trunks now barring their way. After a quick discussion, it was agreed to brighten their light. Yet with each step forward, they could not suppress the growing, strangling sense of foreboding that clutched at them.
The sudden screams of muddy tree toads along with the hissing of water snakes sent a chilling restlessness up their spines. Marie thought back, thinking this marsh far more difficult to cross than the Vampire Bog. Just then, the sounds of low voices began, mixed among the noises of other marsh creatures—different from those Marie heard in the rainbow tower, which were mocking in tone. The voices here seemed to be crying out. They desperately pleaded to them in unknown words and phrases.
“What do they want from us?” shrieked Tilda, her face ghostly pale and sweat soaked.
“For you to be as frightened as possible,” said Courinn, turning back to them with her lantern. “But nothing here can physically harm us.”
“Tell them that!” said Tilda, stopping.
“What are they?” asked Marie, halting along with her.
“I’ll explain,” said Perion loudly above the whispering clamor, “but we must keep moving on!” He nudged them forward, exchanging glances with Courinn, who held her light so they could all see one another clearly.
“I know what they are,” said Perion, “as I’m sure Courinn does.”
Courinn nodded. “I didn’t realize such things endured in Spellhollow or I’d have kept watch for them.”
“What lies ahead will soon become far more terrifying,” continued Perion. “You don’t have to look. Take my hand and I will guide you.”
Perion wasn’t exaggerating. They soon began to catch glimpses of eyes, wicked, yet sad, peering through the dead knotholes of hollow hemlocks. Then came the worst: The clear outlines of deformed faces and rotted corpses, deeply sunken into hundreds of tree trunks with gaping eyes and mouths, suffering in endless torture.
Tilda squeezed her eyes shut, amidst the gagging screeches of the anguished dead. Courinn reached out and helped her along. When Marie stumbled from the heinous sensory overload, Perion lunged out, leading her onward.
The corpse marsh nightmare seemed to never end. Yet as Marie plodded on, she gradually became aware that the surrounding terror existed merely along the periphery of her thoughts, only as a fading nightmare. She then understood that Perion was doing more than just helping her along. He guided her through an ethereal otherworld, a place that Marie knew somewhere in her mind was a cloak, a gentle protection against the horrifying insanity accosting them. From within herself, Marie’s voice burst forth, singing beautiful, joyful songs, sweeping aside her most disturbing fears.
But in her mind also, Marie became aware of a shadowy corner that opened up. It widened as she tried to force it away. The dark void smothered her singing, then revealed something vague, quickly coming into focus: two dead and rotted trees. Within them were two faces, becoming only too familiar. One face she had recently come to know and the other she had long missed. The torn lips of their mouths opened in anguish and their tear-filled eyes burned with fire. They were the faces of Steavyn and her mother, ensnared, writhing in torment and on the threshold of death. Marie vomited in revulsion.
Returning from whatever incorporeal state she’d experienced, Marie was lying on her back with Perion leaning over her. “They’re gone,” he said. “It’s over, Marie, we have left the swamp.”
It was still night and quiet once again. They were within a cluster of ordinary pines. Marie glanced aside and saw Tilda lying near her, drinking from their flask, which Courinn held. Marie was freely sweating and her eyes were filled with tears. Her throat felt raw. She knew she had been screaming, not singing.
“We’re safe?” she asked, feeling the burn in her throat. She coughed and swallowed hard. “Water, please,” she said.
The flask was passed to Marie and she drank. It was only when Perion helped her up into a sitting position that she saw the four of them were no longer alone. There now stood a handful of smallish figures, curiously studying her. No more than two feet in height, dressed in gray and brown with low boots. Some were full bearded; others with only chin whiskers. But Marie knew what they were: gnomes.
“When did we get company?” she asked, gulping a last swill of water. In response, the gnomes quickly spoke amongst one another in a peculiar language, with words that seemed to glide off their tongues. Marie found herself— just as she could at Professor Mifflin’s home— able to understand some of what they said. Though they gathered in a half circle, two gnomes seemed to be leaders or in some way in charge. Courinn stood and spoke up.
“We have at last come to the shores of Lake Gwindylo, Marie. These good gnomes have held camp upon this shore for some time. Their interests are the same as yours, but they are unsure how to proceed.”
Again the gnomes reacted, speaking with some anxiety. Marie could just make out the last of their chattering as they asked, “How does the mortal share our interests?”
“At ease, my friends,” said Courinn. She acknowledged Marie, gesturing to the two leading gnomes. “Marie, this is Landrom and Rhysis, whom I’ve met on occasion. Please excuse their uneasiness, it is merely concern for our unexpected arrival here.”
“Oh, sure it is,” quibbled Tilda. “C’mon, look at them. Do they look worried about us? What’s wrong, they don’t like girls?”
“Easy, Tilda,” said Perion. “They are suspicious folk, and after what they’ve endured, they do have some—” he paused, somewhat embarrassed. “There I am, forgetting my own speech lessons of the professor’s. Justification? Yes, that’s the word.”
Marie smirked, recalling Perion explain how Professor Mifflin had taught all the boys English after they had arrived here. Perion had the most trouble at first, but in time became one of the best speakers with the least evidence of an accent.
The gnomes began grumbling again, until Rhysis sternly quieted them, while taking a few steps forward. He addressed Courinn and Perion, while condescendingly pointing to Marie and Tilda— mostly Marie.
“Excuse my comrades’ concerns,” the gnome began in his tongue, “but what business does a unicorn and one of the Knolvenor kin have with bringing two simple humans less than a morning’s stroll from an evil they cannot begin to understand?”
Marie understood enough of his words to defiantly step up to Rhysis. “Excuse me, sir, I know all about what’s waiting ahead,” she proclaimed in authority, sharply laced with the effort and suffering of the past week. “I might be a human, but I have already stood face to face with Gwylligwitch and I’m still here so far to talk about it.”
Marie withdrew her globe charm, triggering a collective gasp from the gnomes. She held it up as it glowed with the hues of the rainbow.
“I guess you know what this is, and I guess you knew Thurle, who made it and tried to defeat the vecubus monster. It’s now passed to me, and this simple, silly mortal here will use it just as Thurle wished.”
With their best-subdued grins, Courinn and Perion allowed Marie to continue, looking upon their comrade with unexpected awe. That Marie could seize such a moment and make it hers was a testament to her integrity and wit. Next to her now, even Tilda’s blustery and outspoken presence seemed blanched in comparison.
“Instead of judging me, can you help us?” said Marie, not yet finished. “Why don’t you go on from here with us, instead of arguing and planning and doing nothing? This is the time to act!”
The gnomes were silent until Rhysis and Landrom gathered them and held council. Their debate, consisting of quick, interjecting whispers could barely be heard.
“An excellent field general’s speech,” said Perion to Marie, as Courinn and Tilda joined them in their own circle.
“I intended to say roughly the same thing,” added Courinn, “but with a good deal more diplomacy. Perhaps the hard approach might have been best.”
The corner of Marie’s mouth curled in a wry grimace. “It’s like what my father always said— you can’t go easy on gnomes.”
Both Perion and Courinn stared at her a moment, before bursting out in laughter. Tilda did not quite get the joke, but smiled anyway.
The gnomes’ deliberation ended with Rhysis and Landrom approaching them. They halted and both stood with hands politely crossed at their chests and heads bowed in suggested forgiveness. They spoke in English with a strange accent.
“Mortal Marie,” said Rhysis, “I would ask for your forgiveness of my rash words.”
Marie bowed her head slightly. “Of course. I didn’t mean any disrespect. You just hit a touchy nerve, I guess.”
The gnomes raised their heads. “We have decided to take you further,” said Landrom, “to your final destination. We will leave in the morning after you’ve rested.”
“Thank you,” said Marie. “But if it’s okay with my friends, I’d like to continue now.”
“Are you sure?” said Perion. “It’s close to midnight. Some sleep would go a long way.”
“That’s just it, Perion, we’re so close that I won’t be able to sleep. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’d like to go on now.” Marie studied her friend’s reactions. Tilda looked none too joyful at her decision.
“I’m sorry, I’m being selfish,” admitted Marie. “You’re right, let’s get some rest.”
Courinn and Perion exchanged that same glance which seemed to communicate whole conversations in a moment. They nodded with a smile. Tilda saw it, sighing with sunken shoulders.
“Keep it to yourself, Tilda,” warned Courinn. “You wanted adventure, this is part of it. This is what Marie wishes.”
Perion turned to Landrom. “We leave at once.”
They led them out from the clearing along a fresh path. In only a few minutes, they reached the shores of Lake Gwindylo. As Marie peered ahead, her heart sank. She did not like the look of it one bit. The still water had a bitter, decaying odor and was greenish black— just like the fluid inside her charm. She held it up again, but could see nothing except the streaking and shining colors of the rainbow.
Some said Lake Gwindylo was at the heart of the deepest, most powerful enchantment within the wood. Others claimed the birth of the river feeding the lake, some eight miles north, was the most bewitched. Either way, the river and lake surged through much of the Spellhollow vale, an area most believed possessed an awareness all its own. If this mysterious sentience might have once been benevolent, it was now mostly agreed that it had taken on a wicked and vengeful compulsion: a force that also made it far more powerful and dangerous. Much of the war that centuries ago had been bitterly waged within the wood took place in or along the river and lake. Echoes of sadness and loss were long ago buried along its shores. Who knew how many were forever lost under its malevolent, dark waters?
Marie knew little of this history as she sat with her companions in an old wooden boat, being hauled across the lake by a raft ahead, maneuvered by five steadily paddling gnomes. Whereas only a short time ago she was haughtily lecturing the gnomes’ leader, a gloom had now swept over her ever since seeing the lake, which only continued to grow. Her three companions also said little—Tilda was nodding off to sleep— as they drifted through the black, still water, where a single ripple hardly seemed to issue from their passage. Had Marie made the wrong choice deciding to go on with no rest?
With their lantern lit to medium brightness, they could only see some dozen feet around them. There was no way to perceive the lake’s expanse. Above, the night sky was a cloud-filled pasture of emptiness with no stars or moon. They passed through large floating masses of what looked like charred water lilies. As their boat glided over them with a lengthy whoosh, Marie caught a glimpse of some perched creature. It had a melon-sized frog’s head with a thick snake’s tail coiled around it. Marie saw it’s head turn with them, revealing sizeable yellow fangs.
“It’s a Nymphus,” said Perion, watching Marie. “They spawn upriver and settle here. Not something you’d care to swim into alone. I’ve h