boy in the balloon

Beryloam, having nothing to deflate the balloon with, and having left behind the lid that would douse the fire--he tried to use his shirt but it only caught fire and nearly spelled disaster, was left drifting up among the clouds and over the mountains.

"The basket is large and full, and the wood is long burning. Already I am soaring high over the trees and approaching the mountains." He gazed out sagely, trying to rise to the occasion. It was almost like a dream come true, apart from ... he didn't have any food or water, could not steer, was alone, and didn't know how long he would drift or where come down, or even quite how come down--though he guessed and hoped the answer to the last would be: gently enough.

He could still see the house on the hill. Some little figures were scurrying about, waving up at him maybe. He waved back and cheered, but the wind drowned it. He soberly took stock then, first appraising that the balloon should easily clear the looming peaks. In the basket with him were: a spyglass, a bundle of fuel, a large corked jug (empty). In his pockets were: the apple he had been saving for later, his little dagger, his pet toad Soly, and a little book of basic spells, chants, cantrips, charms, songs, and rhymes. He snatched up the spyglass and entertained himself with views of the receding house on the hill and the little ant-like folk running about. He thought he could descry Tallymo at one point, but wondered where was Sely.

He drifted, sometimes over, sometimes directly through the clouds, and right over the mountains, until the sun had passed noon and there were only embers left in the basket, and he realized the balloon was slowly sinking. Below were hills, woods, and a couple of creeks, one larger than the others. He marveled to see farmhouses and a village; and there was a largish town, further downstream, where he could see the road from the mountain pass intersect it. "Merysom and the others will come by the road," he reasoned. "Master is wise, he will guess where I might land."

He came down at last in a field not far from the larger of the two creeks, and the landing was gentle enough. He was parched, so he sprang from the balloon and ran to the creek to drink. As he was returning to the balloon, his thoughts were interrupted by a harsh yell, and looking up he saw a cadre of angry farmers with pitchforks waving and coming his way.

"You!" one shouted. His master had taught him quick thinking, and mistrust of men. He ran to the balloon and taking out his knife began cutting the cords that tied it to the basket. This done the balloon drifted up, coincidentally towards the coming farmers. It billowed in their direction and then began to collapse. They yelled. Beryloam meanwhile gripped the edge of the basket and pulled it over, dumping the ember-filled ceramic pot, and as quickly as he could he dragged the basket to the creek, climbed in and pushed off and was adrift. The farmers were running to the bank yelling, though some had veered away and were busily attacking the deflating balloon with their forks. The creek flowed rapidly, and the farmers only managed to lob a few rocks which splashed harmlessly short while the boy ducked in the basket. "Sorry about the balloon, Master," he thought. The creek was wide and swiftly flowing, he did not fear to fail to outdistance any pursuit. But he was hungry. He ate the apple. And he was shirtless and the sun was high. He took off his trousers and made a sort of cape of them over his shoulders, and resigned himself to where the creek would take him: it was sunny, and the world was wide. He had never been outside of the valley before, where there had been no horizon but the encircling mountains...

He jumped in (first putting his pants back on) and swimmingly towed the basket to shore at the next town, which was not far. The folk were suspicious and dark of mien, and of like manner as the farmers that had come at him with pitchforks. He quickly found a trading post (having read about towns in his master's library), and unclasped the golden star from his neck and presented it to the merchant, who gladly let him take what he needed in exchange (a shirt, a hat, fishing line and tackle, a bow and quiver of arrows, a water skin, leather shoes, a backpack, a length of rope, and some food). Then he hurried away, back to the basket and into the creek again; intuiting that the angry farmers might be along any minute. Drifting onward, he felt the farmers were left behind, and he felt at ease in the sunny wide world. It bothered him to think of Merysom and Talymo and Sely and the others, but he would find them later, or they him.

He drifted for days, maybe over a week, he didn't bother to keep count as he resigned himself to drifting in the sun and under the stars, eating berries and mushrooms from the shore and turtles eggs from sandbars and fish that he caught, not knowing where the river would take him.    He slept in the basket floating sometimes, sometimes pulled up on shore or a bar.

He drifted past many villages and a few towns but ducked in the basket and did not stop, merely peeked out, and most often was dissuaded by what he saw.

But one morning he woke and there was the dirty smoke of many fires ahead, down river, and a huge town or city came into view, and he hid and drifted peeking out, but then looking up he realized he would drift past a harbor and out into the sea.

he had never seen the sea before but had read about it and heard tales of his master.    it must be the sea he thought with wonder, but he thought much better of drifting out there; and he stripped to his trousers and leapt in the dirty looking water and hauled the floating basket to a landing close by the beach, where a bunch of fishermen were getting their nets ready for the day.

He took all he needed from the basket and simply abandoned it, thinking that it would not serve to sail the sea, while the river had ended.

Glancing quickly about he saw some woods on the far shore, and houses, and the city proper on top a tall hill skirted with outliers right at hand.    The sun was rising over it and the smoke looked dirty but also golden.    He hurried from the fisher folk and over the sand dunes and stopped at a little lagoon to sit and breakfast.

A blackbird was watching him eat his fish.    He threw it a morsel and it hopped to it, snatched it up, gulped it down, and regarded him again.

"No more," he said, but he smiled.    City birds were different.

He made for the city then, thinking likely he would skirt round it and keep going into the country, find some woods by one of the many creeks he had passed flowing into the river.

He was soon accosted though by the voice of a girl from the trees.   

He didn't understand what she said, and when he looked, her face wouldn't come into focus.

He tried, "Where is this--what city is this?"

She might have smiled, or it might have been frowned, but said something like, "Weedily woshoshosho."

Beryloam nodded and tried to smile, and kept going.

There were houses, two-storied and rickety.  He made the little road through, seeing no good way around, and went warily but quickly.  Litter everywhere and a crazed man yelled at him:  "Hoy there-hoody what you meaning goin on?"

He waved half-heartedly and tried to hurry on, but a skinny woman leaned out of the window suddenly and screamed and he jumped aback.

"Hoying I sed wither you shankin for to gil me an clanker bitch?"

He nodded and waved noncommittally and again hurried on.

The man rushed up. He paused, ready to spring, but the man stood in front of him, his eyes wide and mouth open and hands waving, crying "Oooty oooty wisher me pooty!"

The boy bowed slightly and said, "No speak."

'Oh sheeek!' screamed the woman in the window, and a little girl came out then, frowning.

The boy smiled awkwardly and made to bypass round the crazed looking man, who was four times his size.

The man slunk suddenly to the side as if cringing as he passed, then sidled absurdly by him crying, 'Ooshee monily ooshee monily we man the bows now!'

The boy ran, and he heard the man stomp a few steps after him and bellow something, but he left him and did not stop until he was well down the lane and turning onto a gravelly road that slanted off and up a hillside to a better view.

No one followed behind, and before the road dipped down the hill then up another taller one and kept going down and up another hill.

The city proper rose in the distance. A belt of woods followed the course of a creek, and hives of shanties littered the hills along with taller brick buildings.

He left the road and skirted a heap of refuse and trotted down the hill, making for the woods.

He was startled as he came up to the trees to find a large cottage or small villa in a bay where the creek made a bend.

A young lady in the garden saw him before he could duck away in the trees and waved congenially after a pause.

He waved back.

'Who are you?' she said, in a voice not unpleasant.

He took a few steps in her direction, and said, 'Beryloam I am.'

'What do you here, little sir, this fine morn?'

'I ... was on my way to the water, and then to wend upstream wither it may go-do you know?'

'It flows down from the high hills way yonder. A spring I am sure. Will you join us for berries and cream?'

He said, 'Nay, I am eager to travel.'

'Tis a shame then, for your manners are rarely meet.' She smiled.

He waved and kept on, feeling her eyes on him.

The creek was dirty, but he knew it would be clear upstream. He stopped for lunch and stared at the water, wondering where he would go and what do. If I escape from these people into the hills, I can make a living for myself but will be all alone. Well then, I will travel until I find some decent folk, or until I find Merysom and the gnomes, or I will just keep traveling and let the constant new sights satisfy my need for ... something.

He rose up and hurried on upstream. A little after noon he came to a bridge and two dark men fishing from it. They waved in a friendly like manner.

He waved back and hurried on to pass under, but when he was below them a net was suddenly flung down on him, and he was tangled.

'Oooooeee! Got him fo sure, miss Sparky Spango.'

He squirmed but could not get free. He fished for his knife and was just able to get to it and was beginning to cut his way out when the two men rushed down and had him.

'Har!' said one, the tall skinny one. 'You goes not free til she says ee.'

'Ee's a little worm for fishin now!' said the short fat one.

'He is mine and you will two be content with what I give you,' said a woman's voice. It was the woman from the cottage or villa earlier, and her face were not so pleasant now.

She giggled or cackled, something between the two. 'You'll have berries and cream now, if I say so, won't you, laddy?'

He said nothing. His master had trained him in the ways of the world. He had not thought to suspect anything from the fisherman on the bridge. It's worse than...

She snarled, 'Well you're coming with me, and that's all to it. Bring him along, you two.'

'Ay,' said the fat one, and they carried him in the net between them, like a caught game animal, but they freed his head and gagged him and took his things first and draped a quilt over him and he saw nothing, but felt himself being carried over a road, then over some refuse and greensward and at last up a little path and into what he assumed must be the cottage he had seen earlier. He was taken in and dropped on a cot in a little room and untied and ungagged, and then the three left him there and shut the door. He didn't bother trying it, nor were there any windows. So he sat still and shut his eyes and breathed. Those two thugs were typical low-lifes, but that woman was something else...what he saw in her eyes before she had shut the door was a rare kind of evil.

I'll have to try magic of course. He tried to stay calm and perused his known spells in his mind.

Then he opened his eyes and looked around. If he could find a lock pick that might do, though that woman was scary mean and unlikely to make such an error. There was a chest of drawers, and he searched it but found nothing other than some linens and mouse droppings.

He scooted the chest from the corner, quietly, and sure enough there was a mouse hole. He quickly got down and peered in.

'I can't see you, little one,' he whispered, 'but if you can hear me, I do need succor most direly. I am in the grips of evil most sour. You've made you're little dower here with her, so you must know how to dodge her, help me now and I'll be indebted. I know a special little charm for the boon of a critter--to ward off the fleas and help you find cheese. Now hurry and find me a lock pick quick!'

He waited a moment until he felt his message had been received and as well as could be, then he got up and quietly pushed the chest back and crept to the cot and lay down with his eyes closed.

All was quiet.

He waited and did not sleep.

He heard steps without the door, and key in the lock, the door opening, soft breathing. Did he imagine there were whispered words of evil?

Then the door shut and the lock clicked and the steps crept quietly away again.

He waited as long as he dared, then he quietly rose and went back and again pulled out the chest, his heart pumping madly, and: there was a little metal sprig of an old hair pin or clock spring there! He fell to his knees. 'Thank you,' he whispered, then opened his eyes and touched the dusty floor before the hole and softly cast the little spell he knew, then smiled faintly and took the pick and rose. He hurried to the door and got to work, not yet wondering what he would do once the door were open. He perished the thought 'if it were opened'. It had certainly been long enough that it ought to be night time, and he might just be able to escape! He would. He had to. The woman intended to misuse him someway and then dispose of him, he knew it.

The lock was not over difficult and he sprang it in just a few minutes, praising the lessons he'd received from his master and more especially from his master's sometime visiting friend Cherloo the Black. He shut his eyes a few moments and breathed, before softly turning the knob and slipping out into a short hall. There were closed doors and a window could be seen across the open room at the other end. It was night without!

He made quietly for the window. It looked like the front room. There was a door by the window. There were lots of tall dark furniture. There was--a dark ... cat! It quietly crossed his path. He ducked and whispered a quick spell to turn its preference from mice. It hissed. He paused. All were quiet. He waited. Nothing, unless maybe it were a clock ticking in a distant room.

He went to the door, lifted the latch and opened it to the outside, breathing a large sigh of relief. The night insects and birds were there and a cool breeze, clouds sailing quietly over. I flee! he said; but first ... he pulled the door quietly too and appraised the room. He stepped quietly to the nearest cabinet and opened it. There were objects there, but it was too dark to make them out well. He thought a candle would be the thing and a means of lighting it. He quickly cast his light cantrip and little candle light flame lit over his hand. He glanced around quickly but all were still. In the cabinet were: a vase, a stack of books, a little box, a carved wooden head, a small human skull (as of an infant), a little bird skeleton, and a fist sized crystal, and a round mirror in which he saw himself and--

He dropped and whirled and rolled, light out, just in time to dodge the swipe of what he could only describe as a demon. He would have fainted from sheer fright, had his master not trained him so well. As it was, he rolled to his feet and sprang aside, dodging a pounce of the thing which was twice his size but smaller than an adult. In doing so he bumped a table loudly. He flipped it up to obstruct the thing which came again, and he sprang for the door, as he heard a door open down the hall. He ran out. The thing did not follow, but he heard an unbelievably harsh voice-it was the woman-incoherent. He wanted even then to taunt her, but dared not turn a second. He ran through the garden and around the hedge, and he ran and did not stop until the cottage was well behind.

Then he squatted in the trees-downstream this time, and caught his breathe. She will not soon forget me, he thought. She will find a hair and use black magic on it. I would like to kill her. But I don't know where I am. I should run far. Or ... be leisurely and enjoy the prospect of killing her should she dare to seek me....

He was flustered and riled up. 'Little mouse!' he cried suddenly overjoyed. Then he rose and made ready to go--but was frozen in his tracks by an eerie sound behind. His heart stopped and he turned and there was what looked like a ghost come up the hill for him.

Quickly he thought: his spells might not work, but he had to try, or run, and if he ran it would keep coming, and he would not sleep--

He cast a magic dart at it bravely, which when it hit sparked and tore a shred from the thing, but it came still. He did so again, and another shred ripped away, but it came on in tatters and not happy, reaching for him. He cast once more and struck it dead center and it silently howled and fell forward, but still came on, reaching for him, silently snarling, slipping over the ground like a tendril of fog. He cast once more, reaching deep, for his reserves were at their end, and the thing skidded to the side and fell to naught, and the boy collapsed panting and himself snarling. He groaned and pushed up, groping deep for air. She'll send no more this night, he managed savagely and pushed himself up and stared back down his path long and hard. He had half a mind to go back, but of course he would not, spent as he was. He turned and walked leisurely away into the night, not stopping 'til dawn, when he came to a barn and crept in, exhausted and slept in the hay.

HE WAS WOKEN SOMEWHAT LATER BY VOICES. A MAN'S AND A GIRL'S. THEY HADN'T SEEN HIM YET, BUT WERE TALKING. HE BURIED HIMSELF MORE DEEPLY IN THE HAY....