Chapter 3, Part ii

“Wow,” Hector blurted.

The shaman said nothing as she seemed to stare deeply into his soul with her golden eyes. Without a word she moved toward him and walked around him in a circle, looking him over. Lilly stood by with her hands clasped and her eyes focused reverently on the well-worn ground, while Hector did his best to stay still and not do anything culturally embarrassing, though he flinched when the strange woman suddenly reached out and touched his bookbag with interest. She gingerly opened the flap and peered inside, but suddenly let go and stepped back with a sharp intake of breath.

“You are the Book Bearer,” she pronounced. Her voice was thick and her accent was strong: it seemed that she went out of her way to pronounce every single vowel distinctly.

Not sure if it was a question or a statement, Hector decided to shrug. “I suppose so.”

The shaman looked him up and down again. She said something in Tovish, and Lilly snapped to attention and appeared at her side. They spoke for a few seconds in their strange language, and both of them pointed at Hector a couple times. He shifted uneasily, but felt extremely excited at the same time.

Li

lly explained something more to her, and the shaman fell silent and stared blankly into space. Lilly's long ears pointed toward the ground with concern, or possibly shame, as her expression and stance seemed apologetic. A long moment later the shaman looked at Hector with those soul-searing eyes and groaned to herself. “Hictar. Do you have the book, of the ancient magics?”

Hector shook his head and thought about how to explain it. “Um. No. Not with me. I don't even know if it was in my library when Lilly went to-- er, I guess you already know about it. Anyway, um. No, I don't have it. Sorry.”

At this the shaman's entire demeanor became depressed so dramatically that Hector immediately felt rotten for not having the Manxor Slithe with him. She closed her eyes and hummed quietly, apparently lost in thought. Lilly glanced at Hector hopefully, though he wasn't sure what he could do to fix things, and she inched over to his side and whispered to him. “She does not know where the book could be. Do you know if anyone might have taken it from your library?”

He shrugged helplessly. “I don't know. I didn't even know the book was there. However...”

“What?” Lilly asked intensely. “However what? Do you remember something?”

“Well, I was just going to say that the only unusual event as of late was when a certain man came to visit the library. Professor Trellis. But he's not a Mome Rath, he's my superintendent – like a shaman, I guess. He wouldn't have taken anything from my library without telling me first.”

Lilly didn't seem so sure. She was about to speak again, but the shaman's voice suddenly rattled their bones.

“Children! Come with me. You must learn.” She beckoned them with a bangled hand, and she glided toward one of the largest trees of all. Its trunk was wrapped completely in more of that cloth, and every inch of it was covered with drawing and scrawled writing. Quivering with excitement, Hector ran to the tree and was about to inspect it closely, when the shaman's tattooed hand planted itself on his chest to hold him back.

“Do not get close, Book Bearer. It is most sacred.”

He stepped back reverently. At a command from the shaman, Lilly gently detached one end of the cloth and circled the tree, unwinding the record from it. Hector squinted in the dim evening light. “Um, it's getting kind of dark. How are we going to read it?”

The shaman made a strange movement with her arms, and suddenly a swirl of orange sparks encircled her uplifted right hand. A vibrant flame burst into life in her palm, but didn't burn her. Hector gawked. “Come and look, Book Bearer,” she commanded, and brought the fire close to illuminate the canvas. 

Upon closer inspection, the cloth was actually tanned leather, each piece being stitched to the next to form a long canvas on which to write. And what writing! Hector had seen some of those cloths (or pieces of leather) that appeared to be painted with red and purple, but the glyphs and drawings on this one were made by cuts expertly made in the material. Unlike Humish, the Tove letters didn't follow an ordered path, but moved horizontally, then vertically, then diagonally, then swirl around each other and overlap previous words. There were seemingly crude sketches of bipeds and four-legged animals, birds and plants; he recognized the sun, mountains, and what appeared to be several cities. There were obviously many subjects in this well-worn document, but the overall theme thereof was impossible to guess.

“What is this?” Hector whispered.

“It is called Gimble.” She waved her left hand just over the surface of the text. “It showeth what is, and it showeth what shall happen in the times to come; it gives warning of evil.”

Hector nodded. He figured it would probably be a good idea not to write about this in his journal, so he kept his book where it was. “So, is this what told you to send Lilly and Meadow after the Manxor Slithe?”

The tattooed Tove jabbed a finger at a certain place in the text, where the warped lines and dots formed a circle around a square with strange squiggles on it; Hector felt uneasy just looking at it. “It is written here: that whosoever possesses this book will have power over the Creature. Will also have power over the whole Wabe because of the Creature. And here is written: it is in the Place of Many Books, in the City Between Three Mountains, south of the Unbound River, west of the Cold Wilderness. This is why I sent them for the book to that place.” Hector thought of the map of New Hume in the City Hall: the three mountains, the river to the north – of course, the humans called it Lil' Blorgenson's Creek, after the famous beaver-skinning butcher that discovered it – and the wilderness that he and Lilly had crossed in the last day or so. That accurately indicated Dunberg, so there was no doubt that Lilly and Meadow had gone to the right place. It felt eerie that little Dunberg appeared in ancient prophetic Tovish scripture.

“Where does this writing come from, anyway?” he asked. “Like, who tells you that these things are going to happen?”

“It is the spirit of the Wabe,” said the shaman. She waved her long claws over the leather, tracing the flow of the text. “It speaks to us. The togom's purpose is to be in tune with this spirit, and write when it speaks. It speaks of itself, of the dangers that come to it. And for the year past, it has spoke of nothing but the Mome Raths.”

The Mome Raths... Hector pondered on the evil cult. He wanted to know more about them, but he seriously doubted that there was an encyclopedia that contained information on them. “And what did you say about a Creature? What Creature do you mean?”

She turned her wide, gold-colored eyes on him. “Jabberwocky. It is the Jabberwocky.”

“Jabber... what?” Lilly mentioned something called a Jabberwock in Dunberg, he remembered. “But what is it?”

The shaman suddenly hissed with surprise, and Hector jumped. “What is it?” he squeaked.

She checked again, then triple-checked. “Ah, how did I not see it! It makes sense now! Here it says that the book shall move, but the Mome Raths shall not have it... but it does not mean that we shall have it. And here... I do not understand... Lilly. Come.” Lilly, still holding the end of the script in her hand, carefully made her way toward the shaman and peered at the place where her black claw pointed. They spoke in Tovish for a moment, but Lilly seemed to be at a loss.

Hector peeked over their shoulders, but the indicated spot on the Gimble was just convoluted text and symbols without any apparent meaning.

“If this is correct,” she explained, without any hint in her voice that the Gimble would ever be incorrect, “Then we have very little time. I will explain quick, and you must understand, Hictar Book Bearer. Will you listen to me?” The orbs of her eyes bored into his soul.

Hector nodded solemnly.

She returned the nod. “You, Hictar, appear in the text. We knew this before: it is read that you are connected with the Manxor Slithe and share a fate. Lilly as well is read in the Gimble, and shares a fate with the both of you as well.” Hector's heart was pounding, and he glanced at Lilly, but she was staring quietly at the leather. The shaman went on. “But there is something here that I did not notice, a subtlety in the text. You are not the only ones to take part in this fate, this Gimble, this struggle, this... this...”

“Quest? Story? Adventure?”

“This Hunt,” the shaman declared. “The Hunt of the Jabberwock. But you see, Hictar, it is not just you and Lilly that must do this. There are two more.”

Hector's eyes went wide. “Two--”

(Graphic 3.3: Hector, Lilly and the shaman realize that there is a mysterious figure clothed in a dark robe behind them.)

*

“You have a Gyre, right?” gasped Aric as he sprinted across the stepping-stone bridge onto the island. It was growing dark and he risked several times slipping into the black lake

“Haven't found it yet,” panted Burr in reply.

Aric grunted. We'll have to improvise, then, he thought. He ignored the alarmed stares of the native Toves and ran onward. They had left the exhausted horse somewhere behind, and had run all the remaining distance. Aric was surprised and impressed at the little Tove's incredible stamina, but his own lungs and legs were failing him. He just hoped they weren't too late again...

They stumbled to a stop in a dirt-floored clearing, and Aric propped himself against a tree while Burr took to sniffing around. “This way,” he indicated, and the two immediately took off again.

*

The mysterious newcomer immediately approached, and Hector backed up slowly.

“What do you want?” Lilly barked. “Who are you? What have you got to hide?”

It said nothing, but advanced at an alarming pace. With a burst of light, Lilly activated her Gyre, and a sudden gust of wind surged through the glade, slamming visibly into the robed person and simultaneously putting out the shaman's fire. It staggered for a second in the dark, but righted itself instantly and continued onward as if nothing had happened. Hector had never felt such profound terror as he did seeing this stranger come nearer.

She sent another bolt of air straight into its chest, but this time it deflected the Gyre with a flick of its gloved hand and suddenly appeared next to her. It darted forward in a deft movement and slammed into Lilly's side, sending her sprawling with a yelp of pain.

“Lilly!” Hector shouted and tried to run to her, but the stranger roughly gripped him around the stomach and pinned him to the ground with its boot in the small of his back. He felt his bookbag ripped away, the strap whipping painfully out from under his chest.

One, two, three, and then four books thumped carelessly onto the dirt floor, followed by the empty bag. Hector grit his teeth in despair. Then suddenly he found himself being rudely lifted from the dirt, and the strange character gripped him by the lapels and hoisted him into the air. His feet dangled six inches from the ground, and he gasped and clutched at the vicelike hands that held him up. Sustaining Hector with one hand, the stranger reached into its cloak, pulled out a long dagger that glinted wickedly in the faint moonlight, and--

A fist-sized rock flew out of the dark and crashed into the assassin's head with an audible crack. It fell to the ground, releasing Hector, who also tumbled into the dirt. He heard somebody – a human man, by the accent – shout “Burr, don't touch him!” and the sounds of a heated struggle, but Hector just scrambled on all fours to find his books.

“Leave your books, Hictar,” hissed the shaman by his ear. “If you die, the world dies with you!”

“I can't just leave them! What if something happens to them--”

“You idiot, just get up!” That was Lilly. He felt her seize his arm and yank it nearly out of its socket, dragging him to his feet and across the moonlit glade.

“What's going on?” Hector gasped. He turned back and squinted to see three black shapes struggling, wrestling over each other in the dark.

“Stop looking back, Hector! We have to get to safety!”

“But he'll kill them!” Hector wailed. “And my books! My journal's out there!”

“Forget your stupid journal!” Lilly growled. She wrenched his arm, but he resisted and finally broke free. He stumbled into a run back toward the Gimble tree, where he could see scattered pages and book covers. As quickly as he could, he scooped up all the books and located his broken shoulder bag. He stood in a crouch and shoved them into the bag, weeping inside at the sorry state of the books, when suddenly he looked up and saw the assassin sprinting toward him.

Hector screamed and lurched away, but not fast enough: the killer tackled him and slammed him face first into the hard ground.

In a flurry of movement and confusion, other figures stepped in and wrestled the assassin off of Hector's back. There was a grunt, a struggle, and then the shout “Hold him there!” Hector rolled over and looked. One figure was pinning another down by the arms, and the third stood over them both.

There was a sharp metallic scraping sound, and suddenly the upright man was holding a sword, blade pointed downward, with both hands; but Hector got a good look at the weapon, and it was unlike any sword he had ever seen. It was glowing a bright orange, blade, hilt and all, and a bright yellow flame danced along the edge, which lit up the whole glade with its splendor. But suddenly the swordsman shouted and plunged it downward, straight into the chest of the struggling assassin.

There was a dazzling flash of light, a quick burst of heat, and it was all over.

When he was sure that nobody was trying to kill him any more, Hector stretched from his huddled position and stood up on shaking legs. The grove was filled with the strong smell of burning pine needles, and smoldering patches of greenery were sprinkled among the branches of the trees.

(Graphic 3.4: We see Aric and Burr standing over a smoldering corpse, completely exhausted.)