Strange Little Creatures

Morning broke in the usual way, with my crowing piercing the peaceful curtain of calm that hung over the Tenders headquarters. The sun was shining brightly in anticipation of the day.

I found Crispin already cooking breakfast, chatting amiably with one of the initiates as he reduced a gingery liquid down to a thick tar at the bottom of his cooking pot.

“I may not be the best cleric in the Wood,” Crispin explained to the initiate, “but I keep them alive.”

Olive and I gathered supplies for our journey to the Scorched Grove. Nothing unexpected, just maps and rations and some assorted spices for Crispin. Olive selected several empty glass vials, presumably to collect yet more nasty substances to throw at people.

I went to find the mole Humblefolk from the previous day, but before I could I heard Crispin outside yelling in impossibly loud thaumaturgical tones.

“SUSAAAN!” Crispin’s voice boomed across the Avium and shook leaves from the nearby trees in the front gardens.

“What are you doing?” I asked when I reached them.

“We could use some help from our friends,” said Olive as way of explanation.

I breathed deeply. “You do remember that it’s quite easy to find Susan. She has a tent with her name on it.”

“But it’s so far away,” whined Crispin.

“Anyway, we can’t wait around for them,” I said decisively before Crispin could try shouting again. “We must leave at once. Susan is a seer: she’ll know how to find us if they want to lend us a paw.”

Crispin really took the “at once” part to heart. He picked up his pot and pack and marched straight out the gates.

We caught up with him just outside Alderheart where his aggressive starting pace finally caught up with him. I helped him up and fed him one of the sticky ginger snacks he had made that morning.

“Thanks for this, by the way,” said Olive, snapping shut a familiar book and handing it to me. “I’m all caught up.”

“You’ve been reading my journal?” I asked in astonishment.

“Yes, I keep forgetting things,” Olive said without addressing the deep invasion of privacy. “It must be all those blows to the head.”

“I have a journal too,” said Crispin. “Well, it’s more of a picture book.”

“I don’t c—” I controlled myself. “Let’s get going. If we take the same tracks as last time it will take us about three days to reach the Grove.”

---

I knew the trail well and my estimate was good. On the afternoon of the third day we found ourselves nearing the edge of the Scorched Grove, but before that the location of the abandoned cabin we had claimed during our last visit.

“I hope nobody has taken our cabin,” said Crispin for the fifteenth time. “We put up a sign, after all.”

There was a rumbling, thudding sound, like large rocks had been tossed somewhere far beyond the mountains and left to tumble down on the Wood, knocking and crashing against each other, until at last they came to a rest. A moment later, we entered the clearing and saw the faint sign of smoke rising behind the cabin.

Olive narrowed her eyes and her paws flickered with the signal for stealth. I crouched low and smeared dirt on my face to hide my brilliant complexion. Without a word, I crept round the left side of the cabin and Olive took the right. We kept to what little shadow the midday sun left us.

In the back garden sat a small tree frog Humblefolk with smooth green skin and bright dancing eyes. A pointed black hat was perched on her head and she hopped and squatted around a cast iron cauldron bubbling merrily above a small campfire she had made in the backyard.

As we watched, she reached into a pouch at her side and produced a small wriggling pink creature. It was featherless and bipedal and made a strange high-pitched mewling sound. Then the frog witch tossed it into the cauldron and waved her hand over the bubbling liquid, muttering a few incomprehensible syllables.

Crispin, apparently having missed our carefully choreographed approach, had walked straight in the front door and now threw open the back door and stepped out into the yard.

“Wait!” said Crispin, face aghast. “You’ll ruin the broth!”

The frog witch jumped high into the air and landed on the other side of the cauldron to face us. I straightened up and coughed, discarding the camouflage dirt in a way I thought looked casual.

“Oh, visitors!” croaked the frog witch.

“Actually, you’re the visitor,” I said firmly. “This is our cabin.”

---

The frog witch introduced herself to us as Ivy Hoppenspell and, after getting past the initial awkwardness of us sneaking up and her squatting in our garden, we found ourselves on good terms.

“I won’t stay long, don’t you worry,” said Ivy with a wide glistening smile. “My potion is almost complete.”

Crispin studied the bubbling liquid. “What are you making?”

“A Potion of Hue Man Strength,” said Ivy and plucked another wiggling pink creature from her pouch. It squeaked and twitched nonsensically in her grip.

“Hue Man?”

“Yes,” said Ivy her smile widening. “They are creatures from another world. I open a portal, reach through, and grab them!” She carefully squished the creature back into her pouch. “They don’t seem to resist.”

“They also don’t seem very strong,” I said. “Why would you want their strength?”

“Aha!” Ivy nodded and pointed a webbed finger at me. “You understand. This potion is more of a Poison of Hue Man Strength. You feed it to your enemies.”

I shuddered at the thought. I vowed to be more careful what I ate and drank in the future, just in case.

“It’s not complete though,” said Ivy. “I just need one final ingredient, which I knew I could find here: Skyleaf. If you could fly up there and gather some I’ll make it worth your while.”

Ivy gestured up at the canopy above us. She was right, the conditions were perfect for growing Skyleaf. The heat from the west and the low humidity would provide the plant with the ideal environment to thrive.

“I’m on it,” said Crispin and scampered up the nearest tree.

“Are you sure?” Ivy asked, her smile breaking for the first time as Crispin dug his claws into the dry tree bark and ascended at a breakneck pace.

“We’ve learned to just let him do things,” said Olive.

“It’s not like we can stop him,” I agreed.

A minute later, in a flurry of leaves and loose branches, Crispin descended headfirst down the trunk and deposited an armful of Skyleaf at our feet. I nodded my appreciation.

“Indeed,” said Ivy, still off-balance from Crispin’s unexpectedly splendid performance. “It’s just a shame you picked so much. It takes hundreds of years to grow and it’s only magically active when fresh.”

Ivy used a pair of tongs to lift one leaf from the pile and dropped it into the cauldron.

“It’s an irritant before it’s cooked,” she explained.

Crispin scratched at his arms.

“Which also means it shouldn’t be eaten raw,” she added.

Crispin spat out the mashed remains of a leaf.

Under Ivy’s watchful eye, the liquid in the pot thickened into a sweet-smelling pink slurry that clung to the wooden spoon when she stirred it. Olive’s eyes lit up at the opportunity for some more goo, and Ivy allowed her to fill a vial with a single dose of the completed potion.

At Crispin’s request, we were also given six of the Hue Man creatures for dinner tonight.

“No trouble at all,” smiled Ivy as she packed her equipment and bid us goodbye. “I can always get more.”

---

Before we left, I went inside the cabin to resolve one question that had been gnawing at me for the past three days.

There on the table, undisturbed by beast or bird, was my letter to Tevor and the leaf-wrapped parcel of food I had left for him. I bowed my head and breathed deeply. I had so hoped for a different sight. If only the letter had been opened, the food eaten, some familiar claw marks in the dust. But no. Now I was faced with the reality, the truth, that it was just false hope.

“Thank you again, Tevor,” I said. “For everything.”

I took the letter and unfurled the parcel of food. It was a little mouldy but would not go to waste. I left it outside the back door for the local wildlife, then turned and left the cabin.

“We can still reach the Grove itself before sunset,” I said resolutely. “Let’s not spend any more time here.”

“We want a rock that is a frog,” said Crispin. “Not a frog that is a witch.”

---

It was oppressively hot when we made camp at the edge of the Scorched Grove. There were few other signs of life, even the number of ember bats was reduced and we saw no recent trace of ash snakes. Heat radiated from the ground itself and the wind carried the crackling sounds of fire and smoke.

Crispin said that spicy food was the best remedy for hot weather. He set about making a chilli con Hue Man, bonking the strange little creatures on the head before slow-cooking them in the pot. Before we ate, he separated out their tiny bones and set them aside.

“What are you going to do with them?” asked Olive.

“I’ve been thinking about something I discussed with Odwald,” said Crispin eagerly. “I think I know how to do it!”

As we ate, Crispin sat cross-legged in front of the bones and focused his power. Despite the fires raging nearby, the air felt suddenly cool, and it seemed that I could briefly hear strange voices whispering and pleading from the darkness around our camp. Crispin’s eyes glowed white and then a sickly green. I couldn’t tell whether it was part of the spell or just a thaumaturgical effect to make him look more impressive.

Finally there was a twisting, crunching sound as the Hue Man bones jerked and snapped together into a diminutive bird-like shape. Green light washed over them and then dimmed as the spell came to an end.

“A servitor!” said Crispin triumphantly.

The bones took two faltering steps and a shiver ran through them. I noticed the temperature was back to normal and sweat was running down my neck.

“Is this alright?” I asked suspiciously as the reanimated bones of the dead began to walk more confidently around our camp. “I mean, is this normal cleric magic?” I took another spoonful of the chilli to settle my nerves. “I’m not sure how I feel about this.”

“I’ll call it Glenda,” said Crispin. “Glenda, play catch with Olive!”

Olive gave a squeak as the tiny servitor staggered over and clutched at her ankle, trying in vain to lift her. Crispin laughed and the two of them spent the next hour teaching the thing to chase a ball while I prepared our packs for tomorrow.

“And that’s not going to slow us down?” I asked meaningfully.

Crispin looked thoughtfully at Glenda. From my observation, it could barely keep up with a stationary ball.

“Let me rephrase,” I said to break the silence. “That had better not slow us down.”