Chapter 5, Part v

A thousand tiny barbs bit into Aric's legs and waist as he crouched in the darkness, but he dared not move, lest he betray his location.He had heard voices behind him on the path, and promptly hid himself in the shrubbery; it wasn't as impenetrable as it looked, but it was certainly uncomfortable in the extreme. He didn't have the time or leisure to hide himself further away than a couple of feet from the main path, but he was sure that nobody would be looking his way when they passed by.

Who could have followed us here? He thought to himself as the voices approached. Or perhaps they have been lost, just like me and the others. Maybe they're ghosts of travelers past, or something even worse. Guess I'll just have to wait and find out...

He didn't have to wait long. Soon a dozen or so people in familiar black robes appeared, arguing as they walked along, and just so happened to stop right in front of Aric to continue their heated discussion.

“I told you we shouldn't have taken that left turn back there,” said the first Mome Rath. “Now we're never going to find the Tumtum tree; we'll starve first.”

“Maybe if you hadn't suggested that we tag along with the Professor,” countered the second cult member, “we wouldn't be in this mess right now. And besides, maybe you'll starve, but that's because you're used to five-course meals every day in your posh penthouse, Inspector Bulno! When was the last time you went inspecting anything, other than the kitchen?”

“Why you--”

They continued squabbling. Aric carefully observed the other members of the group: there were about five humans, three men and two women, all of them dressed in very fancy silk vests, ties, trousers, petticoats and business suits – all completely black, of course – and the others were a contingent of de-slithed Toves in their traditional formless black overcoats. They stood a short distance away from their human masters, completely unmoving and silent.

The arguing Mome Raths finally came to some sort of truce, and one of them produced a map. “Look, here is the fifth crossroads, as marked by my red pencil,” said the one called Inspector Bulno. “The Tumtum tree is only three crossroads away. We only have to take this curvy path, which will lead us to--”

A snooty-looking woman interrupted him. “We can get there even faster if we take this route here--” she butted in and drew something with a blue pencil, “--and we can get there before Trellis and his slaves. Not to mention before Doctor Virchuk and those other imbeciles.”

The second speaker voiced an opinion. “But, Chairlady, what shall we do if we do arrive first? It's not as though we have any advantage over him. He has more Toves than we do, and he is stronger besides.”

The Chairlady, who was wearing a smart business suit with a jacket and tie, cackled and patted one of her pockets reassuringly. “Oh, but he doesn't have this! The Knife of Chimm. We can easily overtake him with this, he won't expect it. Then we can have the Jabberwock all to ourselves...”

“But we don't have the Manxor Slithe!” wailed the Inspector. “We can't take control of the Jabberwock if we don't have that book!”

“Hush, you! There is more than one way to skin a Tove. We can still take advantage of our little Jabberwocky! Remember: we are Mome Raths! We have ancient knowledge and ancient powers! We can control the powers of life and death! We have done so for generations! Remember our threefold creed, all together now!” Raising her spidery hands as if directing a chorus, she goaded them on in a chant. The others eagerly joined in the mantra, though the Inspector sluggishly droned along with disinterest.

“Power, Wealth and Control! May our Foes tremble before our Wisdom! May our opulent Brotherhood ever Stand! May the Ancient Magicks of the Land be our Sword and Sceptre!” Everyone chanted together, and the Chairlady snatched up the map with a wicked smile. “Good, good! Let us go, then, and take what is rightfully ours from those sniveling brats.”

“You mean Aric and the librarian, right?” asked one of the lackeys as they set off further down the path. The Toves obediently followed.

The Chairlady rolled up the map and smacked him on the head with it. “No, you fool! Doctor Virchuk and Professor Trellis! You look like you haven't got an ounce of ambition in you...”

Their words eventually faded away into mere noise as they distanced themselves from Aric. Slowly, so as not to prick himself any worse than he already had, Aric extracted himself from the underbrush and stepped again onto the weakly-lit path. So, he thought to himself, checking that the vorpal sword was still belted to his hip. The Mome Raths are pitted against each other. Nothing new there. Maybe we can use this against them. And where did they get that map? I guess I'll have to follow them to get to the Tumtum tree, or I'll never get out of here. As quietly and as quickly as he could, Aric started after the Mome Raths, hugging corners and curves in the path as much as possible, keeping them in sight but not daring get any closer than that.

*

“Here we are,” said River brightly, and pushed aside the hanging vines. The dry plants snapped and fell in a cloud of greenish-gray dust around his feet. Hector and Burr shared another glance, then peered around River to get a look at the forest beyond. The Tove politely stepped out of the way and held the vines open for them. “After you,” he said with a gesture.

“Thanks,” Hector said, and gaped at the glowing trees. Their green runes seemed to pulsate ever so slightly, like a beating heart, and Hector's instincts told him that he was in an exotic library. He was about to open his mouth and ask River a thousand questions about this place, but Burr's strong hands suddenly clamped around his bicep and he bit his tongue. Burr's eyes were wider than they had ever been, but with panic, not with awe. Hector's stomach filled up with ice, and he swallowed. Ever since River had met them in the maze, Burr hadn't stopped acting so strangely, and it upset Hector. Something was not right...

“What a beautiful place,” River sighed in happiness, extending his arms as if to embrace it all. “You know, Lilly would love to spend a whole lifetime here, studying Gimble. She's a very skilled togomila.”

“What's a togomila?” Hector asked before he could stop himself. Burr released his arm just as River turned to answer.

“It's like an apprentice togom,” he said. “I, too am a togomila, but Lilly is my elder so she is next in line to be togom. Speaking of which, we haven't come this far to let our shaman down! Let's go find that Tumtum tree – and I know what you're thinking, Hector, you want to ask what the Tumtum tree is. It's the place where the Jabberwock was subdued by the Tove Mountain a thousand years ago, and where we can find it today. Let's go...”

Hector was more than willing to follow and see this mysterious tree, but he caught one last horrified glimpse from Burr and his nerves gave out. All right, Burr, I get it, something is not right, but what are we supposed to do? He thought, and tried his best to silently express this idea with his hands and face. Burr shrugged frantically, but he wouldn't calm down.

Don't follow him, Burr signed.

Then what are we supposed to do? Hector repeated.

Burr trembled with unease and glanced at River, who was advancing through the forest and singing about something or other. Suddenly he turned around, making both Hector and Burr jump, and laughed. “What are you waiting for? I don't bite.”

Seemingly unable to control himself, Burr snarled at River, baring his sharp teeth and growling ferociously. Hector, who had never seen him behave like this, backed away and looked nervously between the two Toves.

River was strangely calm. He pivoted and swaggered closer to Burr, holding his hands out wide, the doglike pads of his palms facing outward innocently. “What's wrong, Burr? Don't you trust me? Didn't I rescue you from the maze? Is this how you treat me for my kindness?”

Burr's revulsion intensified, and the fur on his shoulders and neck visibly rose. He lifted his hands and balled them into fists. He wouldn't stop growling. Hector was torn between running from his friend or standing with him, though he knew that if a fight broke out he would be powerless to defend himself. River laughed quietly. “Oh, so that's how it's going to be, eh?” He stopped, standing only a few inches from Burr, hands still held out mercifully. The tension between them felt like a thunderstorm about to break.

With blurred speed, Burr brought his fist upward and slammed it into the center of River's abdomen, just below the ribs. However, rather than the sound of flesh hitting flesh, there was an audible crack, and Burr suddenly clutched his hand in pain. Hector blinked in confusion: were his eyes deceiving him, or was River actually made of stone?

His fur, face, and clothes had all taken on a gray aspect to them, gritty and spotted like carved granite. In the blink of an eye River was suddenly back to normal, and he moved almost too quickly to see. He delivered a sudden blow to the side of Burr's head which knocked the smaller Tove off his feet. In a smooth movement, River spun and brought his leg down onto Burr's back with a terrifying impact. Burr grunted in pain, but swiftly rolled to his feet and grappled with his opponent.

To Hector's despair, River laughed, and a strange light burst from his eyes. He opened his mouth and a gout of fire spilled out, engulfing Burr.

Hector cried out and lunged toward them, but there was another flash of light and a sudden gust of freezing cold exploded out of nowhere. When Hector caught his breath and could open his eyes again, he looked down and was shocked to find that his legs were completely frozen in a mound of solid ice that reached to his thighs. “That's--- interesting,” Hector gasped, and looked to Burr.

He had put out the fire, though his fur smoldered a little and the air smelled of burnt hair. River slowly sauntered closer, and Burr backed cautiously away, fists still raised.

“You ungrateful cur,” River said sweetly. “From the looks of things, it would seem that you're angry with me for rescuing you.”

“Monster,” Burr breathed. His eyes glowed with hatred.

River sighed. He took a step closer; Burr took a step back. “Look, Mr. Aztlav, don't be angry with me just because I'm skilled with Gyre and you haven't found yours yet...”

Burr snarled with rage and lunged at him, but when we struck, River had turned into stone again, and he rebounded with a yelp of pain. River's fur flickered back to its normal tan color. “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he chided. “Temper, temper!”

Burr lashed out again and again, but River's form kept changing: from stone, to fire, to water. Burr paused in alarm when his fist burst through River's torso, which was as clear as a spring stream, and rippled like the same. The altered River gripped Burr by the arm and twisted himself sharply, causing Burr to cry out, and quickly flattened him to the ground. He changed again to his natural form, his snout just inches from Burr's own.

“I know all about you, prince,” he seethed, and bared his own fangs. “I know about your failure, your shame in Aztlav. I made a visit there not too long ago. Oh, how your father wept when I tortured him!” With every emphasized word, he shoved his knee into Burr's chest, making him clench his jaw in agony. “And your pitiful brother Thorn! He begged me to spare his life! You should have seen it!”

“Stop it!” Hector shouted. There was a dangerous silence. For a moment River didn't move, but then he slowly turned his head and peeked at Hector over his hunched shoulder. For some reason, the Tove's position terrified Hector more than if he had been standing in front of him, claws and teeth and all.

“What did you say, librarian?”

“I said get off him!”

River looked again into Burr's reddened eyes, gave him a final shove to the chest, then clenched his fists. As if with a will of their own, vines flowed from the treetops and slithered around Burr's body, pinning his limbs together and binding him into immobility. Burr struggled faintly, but mostly just panted and wheezed helplessly. River stood up and walked toward Hector. His clear blue eyes, just a moment ago so serene and happy, were blistering with hate and adrenaline now.

“So you think you can make me do what you want, do you? What power do you have that could possibly stop me?”

Hector's mind raced. He couldn't help comparing this situation to his first run-in with the Jubjub bird. Suddenly, he caught a glimpse of movement behind River, and a gleam of gold in the dark. “Well,” Hector stalled, “For starters, I know how to read. Literacy is amazing. Knowledge is power, and all.”

“I, too, can read,” River growled impatiently. “What are you getting at?”

“Well, if you like to read as much as I do, I could probably get you hooked up with a library card. They're very handy if you need to get some research done. On possessing multiple Gyres, for instance,” he pointed out, stabilizing himself as he almost tipped over. His toes were starting to go numb in the ice. “I'm sure there's something more you can learn about that stuff in the library.”

“Why am I even talking to you?” River asked. “I should just kill you right now.”

“Oh, you don't want to do that,” Hector corrected him.

“And why not? It would be like snapping a twig.”

“Why not? Because you would make Trisha angry.”

“Who in the world is Trisha?”

“My cousin.”

River sighed with smoldering disgust. Hector saw another subtle movement in the trees, this time a lot closer. The golden blade of a sword peeked its way out from between the glowing trees.

“Actually, I had a question for you, River,” Hector asked, folding his arms ponderously. River cocked an eyebrow in apathy. “How do you feel now that you're... um... now that you're...”

“Tired of listening to you talk?” River suggested. “Angry? Or perhaps impossible to overcome?”

Hector shrugged, barely suppressing a grin. “I was going to say 'about to be pummeled,' actually.”

“What do you m--”

Aric leaped from the trees with a yell and swung the vorpal sword at River's head. The Tove was too quick, however, and with inhuman agility he ducked and swept his foot around, catching Aric by the ankles and toppling him. He brought his fist up – it burst into an intense flame that singed Hector's eyebrows – and was about to bring it down straight into Aric, but Aric rolled out of the way and scooped up the vorpal sword. He swung it deftly toward the Tove, keeping at a safe distance but flashing the blade threateningly. River lashed out with his long legs, but Aric skillfully slapped the blows away with the flat of his sword and with his own body. After a few more moments of combat, the two of them stood a few feet apart, panting with exertion.

“Have at ye,” Aric taunted, and waggled the tip of the golden sword toward River's face. The green light of the forest reflected off the blade, mixing strangely with its yellow color.

River laughed mirthlessly. “I know who you are, Aric,” he said. He popped his knuckles against each other.

“So do I,” Aric retorted with a confident swagger in his voice. “That makes us even.”

“You know what I mean,” said River in a voice so quiet and level that it made Hector's goosebumps rise even more.

Aric's expression froze. Then he sliced through the air with the sword, lopping off a Gimble-covered branch but missing River entirely as the Tove lightly hopped backward. Hector watched as the branch hit the ground and exploded faintly into a pile of rotted dust. That's strange, he thought, but returned to watching Aric and River fight.

“Enough of this,” River said, and with a twitch of his head, his eyes glowed ominously. He shouted wordlessly and a dart of water condensed out of the air, shooting straight toward Aric. He had no time to dodge, and it splattered across his chest. With a sudden crackling noise, the moisture froze solid, in such a way that Aric could no longer move his shoulders.

“That's inconvenient,” Aric noted, and River rammed his shoulder into Aric's center. The human fell sprawling to the ground, and the vorpal sword was sent spinning onto the soil. It buried itself point-first by the root of a tree and remained there, quivering slightly. River repeated the same Gyre and froze Aric's limbs stiff. When he could no longer move, River placed a padded foot on his chest and glared down at him.

Aric spat, but his spittle only arced up slightly before landing beside his own ear. “You nasty brute,” he said with a smile. “You cheated.”

River removed his foot and walked calmly over to the sword. He pulled it from the ground and examined with admiration. Hector squinted to get a better look. For the first time he noticed that the sword had an elaborate hilt, with masterfully etched images in the pommel and a golden gem the size of a bird's egg nestled where the blade met the hilt. There seemed to be swirled writing up and down the blade.

“What a beautiful weapon,” he mused. “In my opinion, all weapons should be beautiful.”

“I sure am,” Aric said with a toothy smile, but River paid him no heed. When he had finished looking over the vorpal sword, River raised his head and called out to some unseen audience:

“I have him! I have Aric, and I have the sword!”

Detaching themselves from the shadows, there appeared a host of persons wearing black. Some of them were humans, whose faces were proud and grim. Others had their faces hooded. De-slithed Toves, Hector realized. The Mome Raths...

“Mr. Gribley? Eugene Gribley?” Hector cried out in surprise upon seeing the town clerk among the cultists. The skinny, bespectacled Gribley averted his eyes. “What are you doing here? You're one of them too?”

“It seems that there is a lot you don't know,” said a familiar voice, whose owner emerged from the ranks of Mome Raths.

(Graphic 5.9: Hector, Burr and Aric, frozen and entangled, see Professor Trellis appear. River gladly hands him the vorpal sword.)