JOURNAL #40
(Continued)

FIRST EDGE

Twig redirected the ship with several adjustments of the controls, and we began sailing for the point he had seen through the telescope. And soon, the market came into view, visible as a fuzzy line of yellow light in the distance. Thousands of plumes of smoke were drifting up from the tree canopy, clearly demarcating the edges of the market from the rest of the Deepwoods.

As we drew nearer, I also began to pick things up with my other senses. There was white noise coming from this patch of light. And there were lots of smells, too. I smelled all kinds of foods and perfumes and smoke. And every so often, I caught a foul scent underneath it all, which put me in mind of decay, suffering, and death.

More detail started to become visible. Poking out of the surrounding trees were hundreds and hundreds of bustling, rickety wooden bridges. At first, it put me in mind of the network of sky bridges in the klee city of Leeandra on Eelong. But that's where the similarities ended. Instead of the sturdy, solid construction of the Leeandra bridges, these walkways were uneven and weaving; they twisted and dipped every which way, propped up by haphazard masses of ropes tied to stripped tree trunks. It looked very crude, not to mention dangerous.

Here and there, big torches were strung up, lighting up the innards of the market. Cages dangled from the paths as well, which seemed to contain all kinds of animals and people. There were also crude stalls and kiosks attached to the trees in various places. All in all, this place was easily as bustling and frenzied as any Undertown street.

I didn't like it one little bit.

"You're right to be apprehensive," Twig said, noticing that Cowlquape and I had shuddered a little. "For all its glitter and dazzle, the Great Shryke Slave Market is a terrible place. It claims for itself the unwary, the foolish…" He laid his hands on each of our shoulders. "But not us. We shall not fall into its clutches."

"A thousand strides, and closing," shouted the lookout from up in the caternest.

Twig fidgeted with the controls, and the Skyraider began to descend.

"Five hundred strides! Landing-stage on the port bow."

I looked down, and saw that this part of the market was taken up by a series of flimsy wooden jetties. At the end of each was a squat little hut with a high, pointed roof. This had to be where the sky ships arrived and departed. We were approaching an empty jetty, at the end of which was one of the familiar, menacing bird-creatures. It was holding another one of those purple flares, and waving it in our direction, plainly telling us we were cleared for landing.

"A shryke," Cowlquape muttered.

"One hundred strides!"

Each of the sails slowly came down, the ship lost speed, and we dipped towards the edge of the platform.

Jervis suddenly appeared on deck, accompanied by a disfigured, thin guy who had to be the ship's cook. Their eyes widened in astonishment at the sight of their captain bound and gagged, and Twig piloting the ship. And what was more, they didn't seem at all unhappy about it.

With a loud clunk, the gangplank at the end of the jetty swung down onto the stern of the Skyraider. I turned to see a massive party of shrykes boarding our ship. Gulp. Did they expect Thunderbolt Vulpoon to be captaining the ship? Were they going to arrest us? Fortunately, the situation didn't seem to surprise them.

One of the shrykes stepped forwards—a stocky individual adorned with multicolored beads. She gazed at Twig with her beady, unblinking eyes and said, "What have you got to trade?"

"Not much, I'm afraid," said Twig. "Bit of a mix-up in Undertown. We ended up carrying hammelhorns instead of slaves."

No surprise there. I didn't believe for a second that Twig was going to sell Saint Dane's cargo. But nevertheless, he was putting us in a delicate position. The last thing we needed to do was cross the shrykes the instant we landed, and they were expecting us to deliver them some slaves.

The leader of the shrykes certainly looked pissed at the news. "Do you mean to tell me," she squawked in outrage, "there are only free citizens on board?"

"Except for one," Twig said with a small grin. He reached out with his foot and nudged the tied-up figure of Vulpoon/Saint Dane. "A prime specimen. Links with academics, or so I understand."

"Really?" said the shryke, sounding interested once more. She turned to one of the other shrykes. "The roost-mother might be interested."

"My thoughts entirely," threw in Twig.

"How much are you asking?" inquired the shryke.

Twig froze for a second, clearly thinking hard. Obviously he was unfamiliar with the pricing of slaves. "A hundred and fifty," he finally said, apparently hoping that this was a reasonable figure.

The shryke glared suspiciously at Twig, and said "Roundels or docklets?"

I had no idea what either of those was worth, and neither, it seemed, did Twig. "R…roundels," he tried.

The shryke clucked in disgust, and made to leave. Bad move.

"I mean, docklets," Twig amended quickly. "A hundred and fifty docklets. I'm sure Mother Muleclaw won't be able to resist getting her claws into him." He added with a smile.

The shryke seemed to consider the revised offer. "The price is still high," she said at last, "But…it's a deal."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Having to lug Saint Dane around with us wouldn't have been cool on a whole lot of levels.

Behind us, the assembled crew of the Skyraider let out a raucous cheer. The shryke seized the trussed-up figure, and one of her lackeys dropped a small handful of coins into Twig's palm. Vulpoon/Saint Dane struggled fiercely, to no avail (even though I didn't believe for a second that he was in any real danger).

"Mffll bwfll blmmf!" he bellowed through his gag.

"The same to you!" retorted Jervis. "And good riddance."

Twig darted forward to get one last look at the enemy. "Until next time, Saint Dane!" he shouted in triumph.

Vulpoon/Saint Dane wheeled his gaze to meet Twig's, and his eyes flashed blue in anger. Twig staggered backwards, startled. I knew the feeling…Saint Dane's glare was enough to make anyone's blood run cold. But he shortly recovered, and looked around at all of us.

"What's to become of us now, though?" Jervis asked Twig.

"Of you? You're all free," Twig replied. "You can do what you want, go where you want…Back to Undertown, for a start, then who knows?"

"Please, young master, take us back," Jervis begged, seizing Twig's hands. "We need a captain if we are to sail the ship."

"No I…" Twig mumbled awkwardly, "It's not possible. We…that is, Cowlquape, Pendragon, and I have business to attend to…"

Cowlquape stepped forward and whispered something in Twig's ear.

"Don't worry, Cowlquape, I haven't forgotten," came Twig's barely audible reply. He turned back to the crew. "When I said 'you're all free', I meant it. All those on board the Skyraider—each and every one—are free."

"You mean…?" said Jervis in astonishment. "The…the slaves?"

"Yes, old-timer," Twig said. "Those you helped to waylay and transport to this terrible place are as free as yourself. And I warrant that there'll be creatures amongst them who have some skill in skysailing." He turned back to me and Cowlquape. "Come. Let us go and release Saint Dane's prisoners."

The three of us broke away from the crew and went back below deck. We continued our descent, deeper than we had ever gone into the bowels of the Skyraider. Down here, it was dark and fetid, reeking of soiled straw and B.O. The cries of the prisoners were louder than ever, and they redoubled as they heard footsteps.

"Is there someone there? Water! Water!" moaned a chorus of voices.

"Something to eat."

"Korb! Korb, is that you?"

"Have mercy on us, I beg you!"

We reached a massive door at the end of a hallway. Cowlquape held up the ring of keys he had taken from the captain. Choosing the biggest one, Cowlquape inserted it into the keyhole and turned it. The door swung open.

"Pfwooah!" gagged Cowlquape feebly. I couldn't blame him; this place smelled like…well, like a bunch of slaves that hadn't washed in weeks.

"Hide your revulsion," Twig muttered to us. "It is not the prisoners' fault that their conditions are so disgusting. It is the greed the led to their imprisonment that is to blame for this foul place."

This vast room in the belly of the hull was filled with crowds of people representing tons of First Edge races, each and every one of them chained to the walls. They were all emaciated and filthy, and looked desperately hungry. They also looked seriously confused.

"Where's Korb?"

"Where's our food and water?"

"What's going on?"

"Why aren't we sailing anymore?"

"Friends," Twig proclaimed loudly, raising his hands in the air, "Your ordeal is over! The Skyraider is to return to Undertown! And you will travel with it, to be reunited with your families."

The prisoners looked absolutely dumbstruck. Twig might have just told them that he was from Neptune. Except there was no Neptune here, but you get my meaning.

"You are going home!" he continued, brandishing the ring of keys. "As free citizens! You, and the crew that tyrant enslaved. There will be no slaves at all on board this sky ship ever again!"

There was a second of dumbstruck stillness. Then, a flat-head goblin let loose a bellowing cheer, and suddenly every prisoner was whooping and roaring with joy. I felt the Skyraider shudder beneath us.

When at last the cries and yells began to die down, Twig spoke again. "Now, I need volunteers to crew this ship. How many of you have experience in skysailing?"

Five or six of them put up their hands eagerly.

"We've done our bit," Twig said with a smile, turning towards me and Cowlquape. "They'll be able to get back safely to Undertown. Our quest lies in the slave market." He redirected his attention towards the prisoners. "You will all be unshackled. Be patient. Your turn will come."

Twig handed me and Cowlquape some of the keys, and we each set about freeing the prisoners along the sides of the room. As each one was released, he or she bounded out of the room and towards the stairs to the deck, to taste the fresh air yet again. Some cried with joy, others wrung our hands and hugged us and offered us their eternal gratitude. It felt good. Lately I've become less sure of my role as a Traveler, and whether I have made the right decisions in this war, but as I stood here in this filthy hold, releasing the poor, wretched souls condemned to a lifetime of bondage, I could honestly feel proud of what I was doing. These souls of Halla had done nothing to deserve their fate. They were cruelly thrown into the cogs of society. And now they were going to get a second chance. I hoped that our actions might inspire them to do what was right when the time came for them to make tough decisions.

At last, only two of the prisoners were left. One was a young gnokgoblin with a hollow face and a patch over his eye. The other was a tiny figure huddled at the other end of the hull, cast in shadow. Cowlquape stepped over to the second prisoner and fumbled with the lock. But it wouldn't budge.

"I can't unlock this one," said Cowlquape, beckoning Twig over. "It must be the key—or the rusty lock. Or something."

"Let me try my key," replied Twig. "I won't be a minute," he added to the still-shackled gnokgoblin."

Twig stepped over and bent down. "Let me see. Ah, yes, I think I've got it." He then wheeled around, startled. "Cowlquape? What's the matter?"

"I don't believe it!" Cowlquape shouted in amazement. "Look, Twig, look!"

"What is it, Cowlquape?" Twig asked, confused. "Tell me…"

"It's fate, Twig!" Cowlquape interrupted. "It's fate! Fate itself must have brought us to this place!"

"Cowlquape," Twig said urgently, "What are you talking about?"

I suddenly realized what Cowlquape was getting at. We were all glowing again! Within a few seconds, Twig noticed as well, and a look of comprehension came over his face.

"It can't be," he gasped, as the figure shielded a pair of gigantic eyes from the bright light. "Can it? Spooler? Can it really be you?"

We had found the fourth crew member! No wonder we had no luck searching in Undertown.

"Captain Twig?" breathed the oakelf in astonishment. "Captain Twig!"

"Spooler!" Twig cried in jubilation, and wrapped his arms around the lookout of the Edgedancer. "It is you!" He spun around to face Cowlquape. "It's Spooler! The fourth missing crew member. Oh, Spooler," he pulled away and stared at the oakelf. "I hoped…but I never dreamed…But tell me, how did you end up in this terrible place?"

"I…I'm not sure, Captain," said Spooler slowly. "It's all a blur."

"We were on board the Edgedancer," Twig said, trying to jog Spooler's memories. "Tethered to the caterbird. We set off into open sky in search of my father, Cloud Wolf."

"Yes, yes. That I remember," said Spooler quickly. "And I remember seeing the weather vortex from the top of the caternest, coming closer and closer…"

"Yes?" Twig urged him.

"And then, nothing," finished Spooler hopelessly. "The next thing I knew I was lying in the gutter in the Undertown fish market."

Twig was clearly disappointed, but did his best to hide it.

"I seem to be the only one who can remember anything of the inside of the weather vortex," I threw in. "The Edgedancer took a pounding, drifted into a big empty place, and Twig was reunited with his father briefly…though what Cloud Wolf said, nobody can remember. Then, the Stormchaser faded and there was a blinding explosion…and we all went rocketing back to the Edge."

"I was hoping you could jog my own memories," Twig added to Spooler. "I think my father told me something crucially important…but I can't remember for the life of me what it is. But enough of that…how did you end up here?"

"A mobgnome found me," Spooler said. "He offered me somewhere to spend the night; he gave me something to drink. Woodgrog…" His voice trailed away, and his expression grew dark. "And then…And then, this!"

Spooler burst into tears, trembling all over. Twig laid a hand on the oakelf's shoulder.

"It's all right, Spooler. You're safe now," Twig said kindly. "We've found you—though Sky alone knows how. And now this sky ship will take you back to Undertown."

"But what is there for me in Undertown?" wailed Spooler.

"You must make your way to my study in Sanctaphrax," Twig replied. "The others are waiting for me there: Tarp, Bogwitt, Sleet. They will be delighted to see you. You can wait with them. The three of us shall return when we have discovered what has happened to the rest of the missing crew." He grasped Spooler's hands. "And we must travel on alone, Spooler. We can't take you with us. The glow that we create when we are together is already hard to conceal; your presence would make us too conspicuous."

Spooler wrenched his hands free of Twig's. "No," he said sharply. "No, Captain. I cannot spend another moment on this evil vessel."

"But Spooler," Twig protested, "I've explained…"

"I can be useful to you," Spooler cut across him. "On the long voyage hear I gleaned a considerable amount of information—vital information—about the slave market from some of my fellow prisoners."

"But, Spooler…" Twig tried to say again.

"Besides, I am an oakelf," Spooler continued. "Observant. Sensitive. My faculties are sharp. And like all other oakelves I know how to read the signs in the behavior of others. I will be able to determine how the slave market operates."

Twig gave his head an agitated shake. Clearly he was uncomfortable with the idea, but I had mixed feelings. On one hand, I understood Twig's concern for Spooler's safety and for our own, and I knew that, as when Tarp was with us, Spooler's presence would limit our ability to discuss Traveler matters openly. But on the other hand, if the Great Shryke Slave Market was as bad as I suspected, having Spooler to guide us could mean the difference between life and death.

"And as for the glowing," Spooler was saying, "apparently, there are all sorts in the market. All sorts! Including creatures that glow—the glimpelt when its fur gets wet, the fritts when their frightened, the lumhorn when it's attacked…No one will give us a second look."

Twig looked at Cowlquape. His acolyte merely shrugged, and he turned to me. I shrugged as well; I figured it should be Twig's decision.

"If you transgress just one of the unwritten laws of this place, then you're done for," Spooler continued meaningfully, sliding his finger across his throat. "Believe me, Captain, without my help in the Great Shryke Slave Market, you won't last ten minutes."

"He's got a point," Twig said thoughtfully.

"He certainly has!" nodded Cowlquape, looking scared.

"Then it's decided," said Twig. "We shall continue as four."

"I think…oh, what's that phrase that the Travelers are supposed to say?" Cowlquape muttered, scratching his head for a second, "This is the way it was meant to be." I gave him a small smile, and he continued, looking somber. "I read something in the barkscrolls the night before last, something that I think is important. It is what Kobold the Wise said to his followers as they gathered at Riverrise to await the Mother Storm. 'We are all but puppets, waiting for our strings to be tweaked. Our lives are nothing more than the workings of an unseen hand that holds those strings.'"

"And you think someone or something tweaked our strings, do you?" Twig asked with a smile.

"I'm just telling you what I read," Cowlquape replied.

"Someone is tweaking our strings," I said quietly, excluding Spooler. "That someone is Saint Dane. Remember, he took the form of Thunderbolt Vulpoon to interfere with us. And it just so happened that one of his prisoners was a crew member of the Edgedancer. No way that can be a coincidence. It never is. He always plays with us, on every territory he targets."

"I know," Twig replied in a whisper. "But his latest plan failed. We were a step ahead of him."

I realized that Twig didn't get it. He wasn't taking the demon seriously enough. But I knew that it was only a matter of time before he would understand exactly what he was up against. It had to be, or we would have no chance at saving this territory.

"And perhaps you and your Kobold the Wise are right," Twig added to Cowlquape. "After all, here we are—we've found the fourth member of my crew. It's more than I'd ever thought possible. Perhaps there is also a benign unseen hand at work. But if so, Cowlquape, my friend, then I hope its grip is strong, for I feel the greatest test lies ahead of us out there."

"In the slave market," shivered Cowlquape.

"The slave market!" Spooler repeated darkly. "And I shall be your guide."

"Good, well, if that's decided," came a sudden voice from the other side of the hull. We had totally forgotten about the gnokgoblin, still chained up. "Then will someone please release me."

I'm gonna end my journal here, guys. I'm sitting in the hold of the Skyraider, and I'm preparing to set off with Twig, Cowlquape, and Spooler into the heart of the Great Shryke Slave Market in search of more crew members. I'll confess to you now, I'm scared. I'm about to get a taste of First Edge at its worst, and it hasn't exactly been a picnic up until now. And I'm disturbed by what Saint Dane told me about the turning point, too. It made me more desperate than ever to discover what's going to happen.

More than that, though, I'm scared of how cocky Twig is getting about Saint Dane. He's emerged from his first brush with the demon thinking that he got one over on him. Every time I've thought that, reality quickly slapped me in the face. Saint Dane is not a guy you can get one over on, and no Traveler who believes he can is going to fully appreciate the scale of his responsibilities.

At least I can be grateful for some things. Tarp, Bogwitt, Sleet, and Spooler were all found. That's much more than I could have possibly hoped for, and I know Twig feels the same way. Saint Dane told me all the crew members are still alive. I can't possibly begin to understand how he would know something like that, but I believe he was telling me the truth. Of course, this makes me wonder if we're actually supposed to be hunting for them, if Saint Dane gave us an open invitation to do so. But what are we supposed to do? Leave them to their fate?

Keep thinking of me. I'll write soon.

END OF JOURNAL #40