Emily Rodda - Cavern Of Fear

The goblins threw down their paddles, leaped into the water and began dragging the boat out of the waves, calling for help.

Bruised, shaken and shivering, Lief and Barda crawled to their knees. The goblins were pulling the boat onto muddy land that rose out of the swirling water. Other boats were nearby, tied to what at first seemed strangely-shaped trees, but which Lief soon realised were huge, branching scarlet fungus.

Dazed, Lief looked around him, trying to take in what he was seeing. Hills of red and brown fungus trees, a few nearest the water broken or uprooted by the force of the waves. Orderly fields where rows of some sort of crop showed above streaming water. And beyond the mud of the shore, a village. Waves had crashed over the low wall that surrounded it, and the streets were flooded.

Several goblins were running from the village, crying out in relief and welcome. Lief and Barda’s rescuers, whose names seemed to be Clef and Azan, had plainly been anxiously awaited.

But at the sight of Lief and Barda, there was even greater rejoicing, and eager hands helped them out of the boat.

‘Get them to safety, quickly,’ said Azan, bending to retrieve the swords from behind the boat’s seat.

Jostled in the centre of the group, Lief and Barda were hurried towards the village. As they reached the wall the rasping sound came again, this time rising to a high, harsh note that was painful to the ears.

To Lief’s surprise, the goblins slowed, and their tense faces relaxed a little. After a moment, he realised that waves were no longer crashing against the walls. The crisis, it seemed, was over. At least for the moment.

They entered the village and began splashing through empty, flooded streets lined with dwellings.

The houses were all dark red or brown. Many had been damaged by the storm. In other cases, doors had simply burst open, allowing water to stream into the rooms beyond. Brightly painted bowls and pots, small pieces of furniture, even bedding and clothes, drifted in the flood.

Clef peered angrily from side to side as they hurried though street after street. ‘This is worse than ever I have seen it!’ he growled at last. ‘Why has Worron not proceeded with the Giving?’

‘There has not been time,’ the goblin beside him said nervously. ‘The ceremony of preparation had to be begun again for the new Gift, and it is not yet completed.’

‘What does that matter?’ called Azan from behind.

‘That last call was the final warning. Are ceremonies more important than our lives?’

Barda gave a muffled exclamation. Lief glanced at him quickly.

But Barda had not been listening. He was looking over the goblins’ heads, towards an open space at the end of the village where a crowd had gathered.

In the centre of the space, clearly visible as the crowd surged forward to greet the newcomers, was a tall cage. It was backed by a high wall and surrounded by a complicated pattern of red stones.

And standing inside the cage, their hands bound behind their backs, were Glock and Jasmine.

14 - The Giving

With a roar, Barda felled the goblins closest to him and swung around, intent on pushing his way towards Azan and the swords. Lief sprang to help him. But before he had taken two steps, there was a brilliant flash and he was frozen to the spot.

At the same moment, the cavern was plunged into darkness. Trembling and blind, his arms and legs refusing to obey his will, Lief stood helpless while confusion reigned around him. The air was filled with cries and moans.

Slowly, very slowly, a little light returned—the faintest red glow, like the promise of sunrise.

Lief began to make out shapes and movement. Barda was standing rigidly nearby, as motionless as Lief was himself. The goblins who had been knocked to the ground were struggling to their feet, with others helping them.

‘Bind the creatures, and make haste!’ ordered a new voice. ‘I cannot hold them for long and keep the light also.’

With dismay, Lief felt his arms pulled behind his back and his wrists tied together. His ankles, too, were tied, though not so tightly that he could not walk. He saw that Barda was receiving the same treatment.

‘Why were they not bound before, Clef?’ the new voice demanded irritably. ‘Surely you realised that the Longhairs would fight when they saw the Gift?’

‘How could they see them from such a distance?’ Clef sneered. ‘Do they have a magic eye?’

‘If you had listened when the old tales were told, boy, you would know that Longhairs have unnaturally far sight,’ snapped the other. ‘You have endangered us all by your carelessness.’

‘And you, Worron, have endangered us all by your delay!’ Clef retorted furiously. ‘The Giving should have been accomplished long ago. Azan and I were fighting for our lives on the sea while you dallied here, daring the anger of The Fear and allowing the village to be—’

‘Do not try to turn attention from your own fault!’ cried the goblin called Worron. ‘And if you do not respect me, Clef, you can at least respect my office and call me by my proper title.’

Clef kept sullen silence, but through the dimness Lief saw his lips draw away from his teeth in a snarl.

Worron waited for a moment, then raised his voice again. ‘I will now release the Longhairs so that we can have more light,’ he said. ‘Hold them firmly.’

The cavern slowly brightened and Lief felt his arms and legs tingling as movement returned to them. Someone seized his shoulders from behind, and he was turned around. Barda was pushed into place beside him.

Standing before them was a wrinkled goblin wearing a long scarlet robe and a tall, stiff head covering studded with red stones. This, it seemed, was Worron.

Worron leaned forward to peer at the prisoners then abruptly drew back, shuddering slightly and wrinkling his nose. Plainly he found Lief and Barda extremely ugly to look upon, and did not like their smell either.

‘Bring them to the Giving Bay,’ he said. ‘The ceremony must continue at once. The Fear is growing impatient.’

With a swish of his robes, he turned and began hobbling back towards the open space.

Pushed from behind, their arms gripped tightly, Lief and Barda shuffled after him.

Dwarfed by the hulking figure of Glock standing behind her, Jasmine pressed her face against the bars of the cage. Lief’s heart lurched.

Kree was sitting on Jasmine’s shoulder, and Filli was peeping from her collar. Jasmine’s hair was damp and tangled. She looked just as she had looked when Lief first saw her in the Forests of Silence.

But then she had been free. It was agony to see her imprisoned.

Jasmine’s eyes were wild as they reached the cage. Clearly she could hardly believe what she was seeing.

‘Lief! Barda! What are you doing here?’ she burst out. ‘How—?’

‘Silence!’ bellowed Worron. He opened the cage door and beckoned impatiently for Lief and Barda to be pushed inside.

‘What are you doing?’ shouted Clef angrily, as the order was obeyed. ‘Surely you do not intend to use all the Longhairs in the one Giving?’

‘Indeed I do,’ said Worron. He looked down, clicked his tongue in annoyance and bent down to replace some of the red stones which had been pushed out of place.

‘But that is madness!’ growled Azan, pushing his way through the crowd to stand by Clef’s side. ‘The Fear demands only one Gift each year. If we keep three of these Longhairs for the future, our people will not have to draw lots for three more Givings!’

Many in the crowd nodded and murmured agreement.

Worron shook his head disdainfully. ‘We cannot keep Longhairs in safety. They are as vicious as they are ugly. Besides—if the Fear is well pleased, it may not demand another Giving for a long time.’