9. Chapter 9:
Chapter 9:
I heard the river gurgling. I woke. I opened my eyes to see that I was inside of the clearing. Famished, I looked around for any food, unhopeful that I would find any, and if I did, whether I would even be allowed to eat it. There was nobody in the clearing, and I was half thankful, half disappointed.
I soon found that somebody had laid a chunk of roasted fish by my feet, in a plate made of a leaf moulded to hold food. I forgot about all of the pains that ravaged my body, all of the fears I had carried and any anxieties that Had carried me so far, and gorged myself on the fish. Though it was unseasoned, I tasted every beautiful note of aquatic brilliance the fish presented me with, I was able to savour the grilled and charred outside, and the fleshy and supple centre, I picked out the bones and shoved them in my pocket. with nothing else, these would serve well as a make-shift defence if any danger were to befall me.
I stood up, and immediately collapsed. I waited for my strength to return, and carefully got to my feet, using my arms to balance me out and make sure that I was safe. I did not want to risk yet another injury. Once I was up, I began to walk towards the mound itself. This one was much more elaborate than the one I had seen before, and it filled me with hope that I would meet another sentient being here. the walls were adorned with beautiful patterns, painted or dripped on using what seemed to be small brushes of some sort. The door was a heavy-set lump of rock, moved to the side using a cleverly designed lever which, when pulled, would hoist the rock up above the arched entranceway and allow the person in. The door was smaller than I expected, and I had to crouch down, though the ceiling inside soon grew to be just as high as my head. I began to make my way in.
Unlike the harvestmen's tunnel, this one was bright and open, as opposed to claustrophobic and entrapping. The walls were covered in clay, and pictures of fish, ribbed with dots and striped, adorned nearly every surface.
At one point, I got to a break in the tunnel, and decided to try and call to anybody who might be in the mound. I sincerely hoped that there was somebody here, as I did not want to be alone once more, especially with he weight of my expectations already having made me more hopeful than I had been in what seemed like forever. As I called, I heard what I initially assumed to be an echo, but soon discovered to be the pitter-patter of small feet making their way up one of the branching paths, and towards me at arresting speed. I began to see a small brown shape, just like the one that stole my bag coming towards me, and I braced, ready to fight if I needed to.
Once it cam closer, the details materialised, and I was able to tell what sort of creature it was. I felt as If I was about to cry.
It was no man, nor woman, but an Otter.
This otter in particular, though slightly larger in build than the river otters I had seen once in my youth, had a brown coat, flecked with white at the tips of the hairs, and was dry. this told me that it had not been the water in recent times, and so I began to get ready to shoo it away.
Once it arrived at my feet, it raised itself onto its hind-paws, and rose up so that it looked up at me from about the level of my chest. "Hello. What brings you here, giant?" It said, its eyes a pearlescent black, all of the emotion and soul carried by the contortionist tendencies of the face, which morphed and twisted with every word, to convey a sense of confused acceptance.
I was immediately taken aback. they were intelligent, it seemed, and they did speak my language, somehow. I needed to know how and why. "Well, Hello. I did not know that otters could speak." I asked it, crouching so that I could more easily seem on its level, and so that I would not intimidate it. "Well, Mr you must have been mistaken. Otters are some of the smartest in the entire forest. I must ask you how you came to speak the language I speak in now. For what purpose have you come?" it said, more inquisitive than anything else, but its voice carried a distinct coldness and interrogation, which stopped me from speaking for a few seconds. "Have you forgotten how to speak? Go on!" it encouraged.
"I have come here to retrieve my bag - my pack, which I think one of you took from me sometime yesterday night. I would also like to thank you for the fish, which I assume you gave me." I said, trying to sound as thankful and non-confrontational as possible. I wanted to see what this otter society was doing, and how it worked, but I needed to tread carefully If I was to get out or stay in without causing a ruckus.
"Ah! That pack was yours? it must have been Foxglove who brought it in. Well, you will get it soon enough if you convince the elders that you can buy it back. and yes, we did give you the food, but there is no need for thanks, it was simply a fish we did not need. Nature would have taken it anyway anyway." It looked at me slightly less warily, and waited for me as if expectantly. "Thank you, but how can I get my pack back?" I asked, worried that the Otters would ask for something I would not be able to give. "Come with me." it said, and I followed it down through a variety of tunnels and passageways, past rooms full of a variety of food and various tools, then down into a dark section, after which we emerged in an underground garden, where a few obviously elderly otters were sitting on the floor, with some infants sitting around them, playing with toys whittled out of fish bones and woven out of reeds. It was quite a tranquil image, and that did not change as I entered. One of the elders looked at the otter that had led me so far and motioned for me to be led next to where it sat. I was told to sit down, and I did.
"Ah! I have not seen a giant like you for quite some time. What is your business. You may refer to me as Bloodroot." He clicked a few times with his tongue hitting his palate, and I kneeled next to him. A larger majority of his fur was grey than the otter that led me in, who I soon came to learn was named Hawthorn, and worked as a Herbalist for the mound. "I would like to have my Pack back, as it was taken from me by an otter of yours who I have been told is called Foxglove." The Otter seemed to laugh for a moment.
"Ah, yes. Foxglove. She's always been a bit too inquisitive for her own god, quite frankly. I will tell her to give you back your pack, but I would like some payment, you see, to make up for the things we could have used from inside of it." Bloodroot said calmly. He looked up at my face expectantly. I was dumbfounded by the thought that I needed to pay for something that was already mine.
"But Bloodroot, is the Pack not already mine? Why should I then have to pay for it?" I asked, trying to mask my indignance with curiosity. "The Pack does not belong to anybody. It was found in the woods and so it belongs in the woods. It could have been used by the colony for some useful use. As you are wanting the pack back, you must reimburse the colony for any benefit that the pack might have brought us. It is only fair, Giant." I thought about this for a moment and understood that the otters did not seem to have a system of ownership, somewhat like the things I used to have to give over to the guild after I stole them. I decided not to fight any more, and remembered that I had brought some gold coins in my pack.
"In my pack, I have some gold coins which I would be more than happy to give to you." Bloodroot Laughed, and Hawthorn scurried off supposedly to grind down some herbal pastes to be given to a scouting party who were leaving in a few hours, but I saw her shoulders shaking as they left. "For one, the gold is in the pack at the moment, which the colony holds. As well as this, we have no use for Giant gold. it provides no benefit. Do you have anything else to give us." I was lost for words, and there was an anger that was bubbling up in me I could not quite control. As I crouched there in silence, bloodroot seemed to be looking deep into me, scanning me up and down for something seemingly only he could see. I could not help myself, "I have nothing but my body. Do with that s you will. I will not leave this mound until I have my Pack again." I said, the anger clearly palpable under my the façade of my calm and controlled reply.
Bloodroot smiled again. "Well then. Come with me. I think I have a use for you." He began to trundle off, slower then Hawthorn, but with a greater air of satisfaction, which juxtaposed the slightly needy, almost frustrated gait of Hawthorn with a calmer and more assured step. Once we got even deeper down, I had to squeeze carefully through a hold in the ground, before coming into a secluded room, and being told to stay there. Bloodroot looked around for a while before lifting up a leaf concealing some sort of hole, and speaking into it. A few muffled noises came back out of the hole, seemingly from a room far above us, and Bloodroot left, leaving me alone in the room.
The room was not too large, but large enough for five or six normal people to squeeze in. The walls were smoothened with an ochre clay, and I could smell the distinct scent of sorrel added around the entrance. There were many holes in the walls, just like the one Bloodroot had spoken through, and each one seemingly led to a different place, and each was covered with a leaf with a varying symbol carved into it. I assumed that they symbolised each of the places or rooms the holes led to, and that the otters were able to transport their voices through the tunnels I assumed to lie behind the holes, and up or down to wherever they needed to be heard. I would have written all of this down in my notebook, but I obviously did not have it with me.
A few minutes later, Bloodroot, followed by four other otters, some much younger and others much older, appeared through the hole, and sat down in various places in the room. All of them looked at me with a peculiar, dissecting glance that did not help in reducing my anxiety for what they were going to ask of me, we, especially with that enraged outburst I had made to Bloodroot. The only other otter I recognise is Hawthorn, who had brought along a mortar and pestle, and was cursing some aromatic herbs in the back. The younger one is dragging my pack behind it.
The otter who seems to be the oldest looks at me intently , and says, "You may have your pack back, only if you can do something for us." I consider what he is asking me, and nod gently. "I have heard that you know this forest well, it that true?" I am surprised. "No, not really, I have only been walking through it and recording what I see. For some reason, the woods seems to be drawing me in in some way. I cannot hope to explain it." The old Otter considered this for a moment. "it is a rare sentiment to be not repelled by the woods but attracted to it. I have never once seen a giant so intent on exploring it. Something must be afoot." He looked to Bloodroot, and they whispered a few things in each others' ears. "We need your help with the Witches." I was shocked. I had never expected those words to be coming out of the Otter's mouth. Witches now seemed but a distant memory, the fairy-tale that they had always been, I had even begun to forget that I had once postulated that they had been the ones to take Wea. I listened carefully. "You seen to know something about them already, Giant?" the otter asked. "Yes, one of my friends had a daughter who was stolen by witches, or at least that is what she believes. I came into the forest partially to search for her, partially to find out about myself, as I was found in the forest as a baby." The room was filled with tiny whispers and clicks, as all of the rest of the otters in the room began to discuss what I had just said.
"It seems," The Bloodroot said, "That you are more closely linked to the problem at hand than any of us expected."