Law of the Wolf Tower: The Claidi Journals Book 1 by Tanith Lee (black authors fiction txt) 📕

but it was soon all over everything, including clothes and hair. I felt as if I’d fallen into jam.

The tree-things rose up and up. Some were as tall as towers, tall as the trees in the Garden. It was dark, the overcast smoky sky mostly shut out.

The Hulta wagons seemed to move more quietly. The vegetation muffled sound, but also very little noise was being made. No calls or swearing. No kids running about. When the horses shook their bridles, which have bells and coins on them, the tinkling sounded flat, but also I saw riders putting out their hands to stop the bells jingling.

I said, Nemian had ridden off. I clucked to Sirree, and we went up the line of wagons, and Ro and Mehmed were there, riding along.

‘It goes on for miles,’ said Ro.

I hadn’t asked. Everyone was probably asking everyone: How long does this bit last?

‘Like it?’ Mehmed asked me.

‘Not a lot.’

‘Gives me the creeps,’ said Ro. ‘Like that forest over north, remember, Mehm?’

‘The one with panthers?’ inquired Mehmed.

‘Yeah, and those trees that lean over and grab you and wind you up in stuff so you can’t move, and then slowly digest you over months.’

‘Oh,’ said Mehmed.

They looked greenish. But we all probably did from the green-black shadows.

A carrot fruit fell off a tree and landed on the ground, where it burst in a repulsive way.

We were looking at this, when another shower of carrots came down, all bursting. And then the vegetable wood was shaking.

Long dull thuds seemed to come up from the ground, out of the air.

‘An earthquake,’ Ro decided.

The branches overhead also shook furiously. Creepers snapped and uncoiled, falling like ropes. The air was full of wiry stems, and leaves, and horrible bursting fruit.

There was already shouting, but now there were yells, shrieks.

Through the depths of the wood came a terrifying crackling rush. It was like a wind blowing, but a wind that was solid.

‘Something’s coming!’ yelled Mehmed.

It was. People were calling in panic, ‘Where is it?’ And ‘Over there! It’s there!’ or ‘No, that way—’ And then one voice cried out in a ragged howl, ‘No – up there! It’s above!’

And so we all looked up, and from high up in the trees, the face of a demon looked back at us.

My heart stopped. Or it felt like it.

That face—

It was yellowish, a mask, with large black eyes and pointed tusks – it had a mane of darkness that somehow flashed with golden fires—

And from the mouth there burst an impossible ear-shattering thunder that was a scream.

The horses reared. Sirree reared. I don’t know why I didn’t fall off. Ro did. Dogs howled. Then somehow, silence.

Dogs flattened on their bellies. Horses shivering. The rest of us turned to stone. Staring, beyond terror almost. (And a glimpse of Argul I only recalled after, somehow up at the front, confronting the menace, between all of us, and it—)

While the thing in the trees stared down at us.

It was like the bear-statue, only not. It had long arms, incredibly long, hanging now loosely over the limb of the tree where it squatted. Its claws were the length of my arm, or so they looked. I think it was altogether about twice the height of a man.

It was covered in fur, black fur, streaked with what looked like rust. But also the fur was full of creepers and ivy, like the trees, and with other growths, savage flowers, funguses – and there were smaller things living in the fur and the growths – mice, maybe, snakes – all weaving in and out, so tiny eyes sparkled and were gone, and sinuous little bodies moved like fish in a pool.

Round its head, its insane face, whirled this golden crown that spun. For the crown was several enormous flies, golden and green, constant companions to the demon bear-thing, must be, for it took no notice of them, as it took no notice of all the creatures living on it.

It was a world.

That awful face stared down. You know, it was a wise face, too, but not wise in any way I’d ever understand or want to.

The jaws stretched, and again out came that appalling ear-splitting roar-scream.

None of us now made a sound.

The beast hung over us, still, yet also in endless total motion, from the movement of its companion life.

But then it grew bored with us. It raised one long, long arm, dripping with hair and leaves and mice, and the great gold flies, each the size, I’d say, of one of Ro’s huge feet, whirled in a joyful dance. And smoke poured from its fur – dust, I think, from the lava pits.

The beast plucked a handful of the fruits, and put them in its mouth.

Then flinging up both arms now, in clouds of leaves and smoke, it sprang high, high across the boughs, caught some distant tree limb, and swung away into the shadow of the wood.

No one moved or spoke for about an hour.

‘An ape,’ said Ro.

‘Bear,’ Mehmed.

‘Ape, stupid. Bears don’t swing through the trees.’

I began to hear whispering, and then some loud joking all around. Argul was talking to some men and women, glancing our way a lot, no doubt to see what M and R were doing.

We were alive. Shakily I stroked Sirree.

The House had been right again. There are monsters in the waste. This one, luckily, was a vegetarian.

PESHAMBA

After all that, Peshamba was a relief.

Also a shock.

Peshamba is beautiful.

In fact, getting through the rest of the monster wood, wondering off and on if there’d be any more of the bear-apes, these more hungry and less fussy ones, or worse things than bear-apes (?!!) only took the rest of the day.

We came out of the wood before the sun set. This in itself was a relief, and I heard some ‘prayers’ spoken, sort of chants to do with thanks. (I’m still puzzled about this God-gods thing. I must ask somebody sensible. There were no gods, prayers or shrines in the House.