Emily Rodda - The Lake of Tears

“First I must see how my poor piece of baggage is faring,” said Barda. He unwrapped the cloak and was soon cradling the Ralad man in his arms.

“Is he dead?” asked Lief quietly.

Barda shook his head. “He is unconscious — and no wonder. The Ralad are a strong people, but no one can resist starvation, exhaustion, and fear forever. Who knows how long our friend has been a prisoner of the Guards, or how far he has walked in heavy chains without being given any food or rest?”

Lief looked at the small man curiously. “I have never seen anyone like him before,” he said. “What was that sign he drew upon the ground?”

“I do not know. When he awakes, we will ask him.” Barda groaned as he lifted the Ralad man up again. “He has caused us some trouble, but still the meeting was fortunate,” he added. “He can guide us from here. The village of Raladin, where he comes from, is very near the Lake of Tears. Let us find a place where we can sit in more comfort and remove these chains.”

They pushed on through the bushes. The further they moved into the little valley, the more enchanting it seemed. Soft moss covered the ground like a thick green carpet and nodding flowers clustered everywhere. Brightly colored butterflies fluttered around the sweetplum bushes, and the sun, filtering through the delicate leaves of the slender trees, shed a gentle, green-gold light over everything it touched.

Never had Lief seen such beauty. He could tell from Barda’s face that he felt the same. Even Jasmine was soon looking around with warm pleasure.

They reached a small clearing and gratefully sank down onto the moss. There Barda used Jasmine’s dagger to cut the tight leather collar from the Ralad man’s neck and break the locks on his chains. As he pulled the chains away he frowned at the rubbed, raw patches on the man’s wrists and ankles.

“They are not so bad.” Jasmine inspected the wounds casually. She pulled a small jar from her pocket and unscrewed the lid. “This is of my own making, from my mother’s recipe,” she said, lightly spreading a pale green cream onto the raw places. “It heals skin quickly. It was often useful … in the Forests of Silence.”

Lief glanced at her. She was looking down, frowning fiercely as she screwed the lid back on the jar.

She is homesick, Lief thought suddenly. She misses Kree, and the Forests, and the life she had there. Just as I miss my home, and my friends, and my mother and father.

Not for the first time he felt a stab in his heart as he thought of all he had left behind in Del. He thought of his room — tiny, but safe and full of his own treasures. He thought of evenings in front of the fire. Running wild in the streets with his friends. Even working with his father at the forge.

Suddenly he longed for a hot, home-cooked meal. He longed for a warm bed and a comforting voice bidding him good night.

He jumped up, furious with himself. How could he be so weak, so childish? “I am going to explore,” he said loudly. “I will collect some sweetplums for us to eat, and wood for a fire.”

He did not wait for an answer from Barda and Jasmine, but strode to the edge of the clearing and through a gap between two trees.

The sweetplum bushes here were even more heavily laden than the ones he had already seen. He walked between them, using his cloak as a pouch to hold the fragrant fruits he picked. There were few dead sticks, but those there were he collected. Even a small fire would be welcome when night came.

His eyes fixed to the ground, he walked on. At last he stumbled on a good piece of flat wood, far bigger than anything else he had seen. It was damp, and moss had grown over it, but he knew it would soon dry and burn once the fire was well alight.

Pleased, he picked it up and, straightening his back, looked around to see where he was. And it was then that he saw something very surprising, right in front of his nose. It was a sign — old, broken, and battered, but plainly made by human hands:

Beside the sign, hanging from a tree branch, was a metal bell.

How strange, Lief thought. He peered through the bushes beyond the sign and jumped with surprise. Directly ahead was a strip of smooth, bright green lawn. And beyond the lawn, in the distance, was what looked like a small white house. Smoke was drifting from the chimney.

“Barda!” he cried, his voice cracking. “Jasmine!”

He heard them exclaiming and running towards him, but he could not tear his eyes away from the little house. As they reached him, he pointed and they gasped in amazement.

“I never thought to find people living here!” exclaimed Barda. “What a piece of good fortune!”

“A bath!” cried Lief happily. “Hot food! And perhaps a bed for the night!”

“‘Ring and Enter,’” said Jasmine, reading the sign. “Very well, then. Let us obey!”

Lief stretched out his hand and rang the bell. It made a cheery, welcoming sound, and together the friends ran through the bushes and onto the green lawn.

They had taken only a few steps before they realized that something was terribly wrong. Desperately they tried to turn back. But it was too late. Already they were sinking — to their knees … their thighs … their waists …

Beneath the green-covered surface of what they had thought was a fine flat lawn — was quicksand.

Floundering, terrified, they screamed for help as the quicksand sucked them down. Already they had sunk nearly to their chests. Soon — soon they would disappear under the treacherous green surface that they now knew was simply a thin layer of some slimy water plant.

The fruit and sticks that Lief had been carrying had scattered and sunk without trace, but the big piece of wood he had found was still lying on the surface of the quicksand between the three struggling friends. It floats because it is flat and wide, Lief thought through his panic. It is floating where nothing else will.

There was a shout, and he saw, hurrying from the little white cottage, two plump, grey-haired figures carrying a long pole between them. Help was coming. But by the time it arrived it would be too late. Too late.

Unless …

Lief reached out for the flat piece of wood and just managed to touch its edge with the tips of his fingers.

“Jasmine! Barda!” he shouted. “Hold on to this wood. At the edges. Gently. Try to — to stretch out and spread yourselves flat, as though you were swimming.”

They heard him. They did as he asked. In moments the three companions were spread out around the piece of wood like the petals of a giant flower or the spokes of a wheel. High on Jasmine’s shoulder, Filli chattered with fear, clutching her hair with his tiny hands.

They were no longer sinking. The wood was holding them almost steady. But for how long could their balance last? If one of them panicked — if the wood tipped one way or the other, it would slide under the quicksand and they would go with it and be lost.

“Help is coming!” gasped Lief. “Hold on!”

He did not dare to raise his head to look for the two old people in case the movement disturbed his balance. But he could hear their gasping cries. They were very close now.

Oh, quickly, he begged them in his mind. Please hurry!

He heard them reach the edge of the quicksand. He could not understand their words, because they were speaking in a strange tongue. But their voices were urgent. It was clear that they wanted to help.

“Taem hserf!” the man was panting.