Jim Henson’s The Dark Crystal Author Quest (12 page)

He leaned down and gave her a tight hug, though she could tell from the flinch in his eye that it pained him. Wrapped up in her concern for her father, she barely had time to think about the journey that lay ahead of her. Bellanji had never sounded so serious before, though, and he certainly wouldn't send her off on her own if there wasn't reason. She remembered the look in the Nebrie's eyes and suppressed a shudder. She tucked her slingshot into her belt and threw her arms around her father for a last time, securing in her mind her quest: She would find the Spritons, tell them of what she had seen. She would find Aughra, mother of Thra, no matter where she might be hidden. She would seek Aughra's wise old words and bring them back to Old Smerth in the glen to keep her people safe.

“Tell Mother I'll make her proud.”

“I don't need to tell her,” he said. “Take care of my little girl, Neech.”

Neech burbled, hugging Ipsy's neck. She wiped away a tear, then darted up the nearest apeknot to the north, eager and anxious to begin her journey.

By dark Ipsy had crossed the threshold of the swamp she had grown up in and called home, passing into the thinning marsh that marked the final perimeter of Sog. The air was already drier, cooler. As the sun set, she paused to pull a cape from her father's pack, wrapping it over her shoulders and around her neck to ward off the night's chill. The apeknots receded into the swamp, and within a few short miles, Ipsy's feet were treading the spongy ground of a marshland that would soon disappear altogether, evaporating into the great plains ahead to the north.

When the last of the marshland dried beneath her exhausted feet, she finally made camp. She found a small thicket and made quick work of climbing the flowering tree at the center, leaning with her back against the trunk and her legs on either side of a large branch to keep her from falling out in her sleep. She found a bite to eat stored in her father's pack, but rationed herself. She wasn't sure how easy it would be to find food in these new places.

“Guess we'll find out in the morning,” she told Neech, who was waking. She scratched him under the chin and he gave a little purr.

That night, Ipsy dreamed she was lying atop a tall hill, staring into the dark heavens. Her hands were linked with another's on either side, grasping tightly yet gently as they dreamfasted together, sharing visions with one another and with Thra, below and all around. Overhead, the stars twinkled like gems, forming constellations Ipsy had never before seen. Only on the horizon could she make out the zigzag shape of Pillas, the snake.

Nerves awoke her. Neech was stone-still on her shoulders, all his spines puffed out and both ears pointed downward. Loud huffs and grunts below were followed by the sound of crunching bark, and the tree quivered. Something was down there.

Ipsy held her breath and peered downward as slowly as she could. Though it was still mostly dark, the sun had risen enough for her to make out the form of a furred animal with enormous front paws hooked with claws. Its long and pointed snout flared with tendrils at the end, feeling up and down the bark of the tree while it sniffed and snorted. Ipsy's lungs pinched; she knew every creature of the swamp—what it ate and how it might behave around a Gelfling in the wild. But here in the open field, far from home, she had no clue.

The creature continued to circle the tree, clawing at the bark every rotation, and Ipsy caught her breath. Unlike the darkened Nebrie, this animal showed no signs of unnatural rage. Was it foraging? Or marking its territory? Perhaps it could be reasoned with. Or, perhaps, if she just left it alone, it would leave her alone.

But Ipsy was not so lucky. A moment later, the tree shook, and she heard the terrible sound of the creature's claws digging into trunk—it was climbing up! She leaped to her feet, pack rattling as she pulled it onto her back. Neech squeaked and hugged her neck as she sidled out along the branch, as far from the trunk as she could. She was smaller, lighter, and much more nimble than the beast; even if she were forced to the ground, she might be able to flee faster on foot, if she didn't break a leg in the process.

The creature sighted her, though
sight
wasn't necessarily the most appropriate term; as it reached Ipsy's branch, she got a closer look at its face and noticed it had no eyes, just its wriggling, star-shaped nose, huffing and puffing at her. Ipsy tightened her grip on her spear, feeling how heavy the spearhead was in comparison to the shortened shaft.

“Go on!” she said, puffing up her chest and planting her feet. “Shoo!”

To her relief, the beast hesitated. Maybe it hadn't been expecting a fight. Gaining confidence, Ipsy stepped forward and waved her spear. When the creature did not advance, and actually shifted backward as if about to retreat, Ipsy stepped again and thrust at it with her spearhead.

It was the wrong move. As soon as she attacked, the creature let out a squeal and lunged, slashing at her with its claws. She yelped and leaped back, barely catching her balance along the thinning tree limb. Her grip didn't last for long; as the beast charged, its weight bore down on the branch, and the branch broke. Not willing to lay stunned below a tree for the second time in two days, Ipsy jumped as bough and beast fell together. Her ankles flashed with pain as she landed on the hard earth, but she landed intact, watching the creature thrash its way out of the tangle of branches and leaves. Her heart pounded, her breath coming quickly as she prepared to fight or flee. But in the field, where could she run? Now that she had angered the creature, it would surely chase her. She was much smaller and it would take more than one lucky stab to defeat it.

With an angry buck, the creature tossed the branch into the air, limbs, leaves and all. It cast about wildly, flanged nostrils spiked into the air. Ipsy took a deep breath and dug her toes into the earth, ready to fight. Before it came to that, though, a loud, shrill whistle echoed across the plain. Ipsy's adversary bristled, fur standing on end, and the creature's entire body froze. Ipsy's eyes turned instinctively to the sky, but she saw nothing but clouds. When the call came again, piercing the air, the creature made a little squeal and turned, loping off toward the cover of the nearby wood. Ipsy pivotted quickly at the sound of new footsteps, but relaxed when she saw who approached. It was a Gelfling—dressed in a long traveling robe and carrying a simple walking stick. His long, mahogany hair was pulled into thick braid at the nape of his neck. His ears were at a resting angle, though his light-footed gait was deliberate. At his back, the sun was rising.

“Hello there!” the Gelfling called as he neared her. “Are you hurt?”

Ipsy held her arms out in reply. She saw a small, round object in the boy's slender hand; when he held it up and smiled, she saw holes across its surface, like the finger-notches in a pipe. So that was how he'd made the sound that had scared off the big beast!

“Close one, eh?” he asked with a grin. “Glad to see you're fine. Good morning!”

“Good morning,” Ipsy said. She put her hand over her heart and waited for the beating to calm. “Thank you. I'm ready to eat breakfast, not become it!”

He chuckled and she could hear in his voice that he was young, though still older than she. In the early-morning light, she could see his skin was red umber, like rich soil, and his eyes were the color of moss. She had never seen a Gelfling so small and thin, and she reckoned she might be able to lift him over her shoulder if she found the need. His hair was soft and fell in thousands of fine strands, pulled into a long, sinewy braid that fell to the backs of his knees. As he turned to look toward her, she saw he had no gills in his neck, no spots or markings like those of her clan. Was he from the woodlands, or maybe the mountains?

“My name is Kylan,” he said. “You look as if you're far from home. Where does your journey take you?”

Ipsy was about to respond, but she held her tongue. Even though Kylan had saved her, she didn't really know him. She had never ventured outside the swamp before, and she wasn't sure what to expect from other Gelfling. She thought carefully about how to answer before speaking.

“North towards the Spriton's land,” she said. “I'm Ipsy, and this is Neech.”

Kylan made two little bows, one to Ipsy and one to Neech. Neech responded with a burbling murmur, though he loosened his coils on Ipsy's shoulder, and in turn she felt a little wariness fade. Despite her earlier apprehension, Ipsy liked the way Kylan's eyes smiled, as if something was always just a little funny. It reminded her of her father.

“The Spritons, eh?” Kylan was saying. He gestured. “Then you aren't far off. If you see those two crops of trees there, pass through and it's only a winding trail left until you've made it. I'm headed that way myself!”

Ipsy gave Kylan one more glance, up and down. She had to get to the Spriton village as quickly as she could, and after that she had even farther to travel to find Aughra—wherever Aughra could be found. Any help she could find along the way was welcome.

“Could we travel together?” she asked. “I'm good with a spear and slingshot!”

Kylan's green eyes twinkled.

“I hoped you'd say that,” he laughed. “The whistle-call trick only works once, you know, and I'm not much of a fighter myself.”

“Good!” Ipsy said. “Then I'm glad to meet you, Kylan!”

Just as she was feeling confident with her decision to adopt a traveling companion, Ipsy's cheeks flushed when her stomach gave a loud growl. Neech echoed the sound and added a mournful, pandering twitter. Kylan only laughed.

“And even more glad,” he said with a wink, “for some breakfast!”

Kylan started a small fire using sparking stones from his traveling pack and cooked a breakfast of tubers and warm berries. They drank from their water pouches while the sun rose. Ipsy dug in the soft earth at the foot of grass clumps for worms, which Neech ate with a happy chitter and purr. Hunger satisfied, they packed up and headed north at a pace that was neither hasty nor leisurely; it was sustainable, and that was what it was meant to be.

When the ground became too hard and stony for Ipsy's bare feet to comfortably navigate, Kylan pulled a silver whittling blade from his pack and showed her how to fashion sandals from two small planks of wood and an arm's length of thick twine. They were awkward, and she couldn't imagine scampering anywhere in them at first, but by the time half the day had passed, she walked comfortably and was grateful that only small blisters developed—blisters that would soon grow into calluses. Without the sandals, she could only imagine the sore state her feet might have been in.

They chatted while they walked. Kylan was from a smaller Spriton tribe just south of Ipsy's home. Kylan's mother was the maudra of their clan, responsible for keeping the words of their heritage and history. It reminded Ipsy of her mother's role of maudra for the Drenchen, and she was pleased to know that she and Kylan held that in common. When it was her turn, Ipsy shared her own trials prior to embarking. When she told him of the Nebrie with the dark light in its eyes, Kylan grew quiet. Since Ipsy had met him, she found he usually chose his words casually, as a friend her age might. But this time, when he spoke, he sounded much more solemn.

“It saw the darkness,” he said. “The light of darkness.”

Though it sounded like a contradiction, when he said it like that, Ipsy felt as though it was the perfect way to describe what she'd seen in the Nebrie's eyes and beneath the silt of the swamp. The color had been bright, blinding—but when she had looked upon it herself, she'd felt as though she'd been pulled into a deep abyss. It was indeed a light of darkness.

“It was so frightening,” Ipsy said, rubbing her upper arms to warm them from an imaginary chill. She kicked at a pebble with the toe of her sandal and watched it bounce into the tall, gold grass that lined either side of their path. “The Nebrie seemed so furious. Furious and sad. I don't understand, and I don't think the Nebrie understood, either.”

“I've heard songs,” Kylan said, in a soft voice. “Songs sung of a light shattered by corruption. That any creature that looks upon it becomes imprinted with its brokenness. It turns them mad, the way the reflection of sunlight in a pond splinters when a rock is thrown in. I thought it was a metaphor, at first, but I've seen things now that make me wonder. Fliers flying the wrong way during the wrong seasons, climbers climbing down instead of up. Sometimes it feels as though something has changed at the heart of Thra, and that change is creeping toward the surface.”

Ipsy suddenly felt very small. Here Kylan spoke of the whole world as if it might fit in his hand, and yet she had never left the Swamp of Sog. The darkened Nebrie at Tall Pass had been news to her and her father, and would be to their entire clan, but it sounded now as if the darkness that had touched the Nebrie was older than the day before. How many creatures had looked upon it? Where was the darkness coming from? What had caused it? More important, could it be stopped?

Ipsy jumped when Kylan put his hand on her shoulder. It was comforting, and it pulled her mind out of the frightful spiral it had been spinning into. After a moment, though, she shied away, hoping he hadn't noticed something was missing below the hood of her cloak. She wasn't sure what he might say if he found out her wings hadn't bloomed yet. What would he think of her? Probably that she was still a child—a child with no knowledge of the world outside of Sog—and no wings, to boot!

To her relief, he said nothing and lowered his hand to his side. They walked in silence, and Ipsy wondered how long it would be before dark. It was quiet and the path was a long one. Words welled up in Ipsy's lungs and, compelled to release the mix of emotions in her breast, she let them loose in song. It was an old nursery rhyme, one all children learned in the cradle and one all would remember to sing to their own children:

Come away with me, toward the hills

Where the mountains meet the skies

Ring encircled, palm in palm

Where the earth meets oceans wide.

Kylan uttered a quiet
Oh!
of surprise, but as she went into the next verse, he joined in, his deeper voice dancing below their two-part harmony:

Lay me down beneath the open sky

Where the river black runs deep

Hand in hand with eyes toward heaven bent

We shall weave a ring of dreams.

The silence that followed the ballad was easier than before, and Ipsy smiled. Kylan took a forked pipe from his satchel later and played it, making up tunes as they traveled to occupy the time. Neech stuck his nose out from under Ipsy's hood when Kylan started playing, taking a few sniffs of the open meadow air before curling back against her neck.

They made camp in a circle of stones after the sun set. Kylan started a fire and Ipsy unpacked enough dried swamp grass for two, plus a bite for Neech. Roasted over the fire, the spongy, thick leaves turned crispy and salty. She traced overhead constellations with her eyes, remembering her dream. She took in a deep breath of night air and imagined being back home in Sog, nestled in her hammock beside a smoldering hearth. She wondered how long it would be before she was back there again.

Ipsy opened her eyes at the dry sound of Kylan withdrawing a scroll from his pack. It was different from most of the scrolls Ipsy had seen. Unlike the wide, square maps her mother had shown her, Kylan's were narrow and thin, with dozens of thin lines of ink in tight rows one after the other. The two opposing ends were rolled around whittled dowels, wound so tightly they looked like tree rings from the side. Ipsy watched keenly as Kylan took a wood tablet and placed it across his lap. He stretched his slender fingers and held them over the tablet, moving them in swirls and lines and dots. As he did, the shapes he drew in the air settled into the tablet, smoldering into deep lines of charcoal. The beautiful shapes flowed from his fingers like music from a lute, all intertwined in long lines across the tablet.

“You know writing?” she gasped. “Words that stay?”

Kylan glanced up with a smile that was just a little shy.

“My mother is a scribe as well as maudra,” he said. “It's a skill she made sure I mastered very early. I practice it whenever I can. I write down my journey. I thought right now I'd write about meeting you.”

Ipsy circled the fire to sit beside him. He pointed to a string of intricate swirls and loops, straight lines and dots. “There. That's your name. Ipsy.”

“My mother is maudra, too, but none of our people know writing.” Ipsy traced over the drawn words with her eyes, afraid to touch them lest she smudge the charcoal. It was right there: the shape of her name, for anyone to see, long after she'd gone. “Long ago, our elders did. They left behind some tablets, and some old things written into Old Smerth . . . but we only remember the meaning from song.”

“The Drenchen are known for their words of strength,” Kylan said. “I saw that in you this morning, with the ruffnaw in the tree! I suppose the Spriton are known for their spears and bows . . . but I don't have the stomach for combat. I found writing easy, though, so my mother taught me.”

Kylan spoke the last with his eyes set on the scroll, pressing his lips together. It didn't seem like he was going to say more on the topic, so Ipsy didn't, either. She picked a twig from the ground and poked at the fire with it, letting loose a
pop
and a flurry of twinkling sparks. The sound brought Kylan out of his quiet, and together, they watched the embers dart back and forth on their way into the night sky.