Chapter 15: The Secret Playground

Ragnar walked uneasily towards the forest. He was worried about venturing in the wild alone. A horde of beetle-men could easily ambush him, or several babbles could suddenly surround him like they did to Alex, leaving him completely insane with fear. After seeing what one of the vile little monsters had done to Harald, Ragnar was not overly keen on discovering what it would be like to battle babbles on his own.

Ragnar looked out towards the eastern mountains. The storm clouds were beginning to roll down the hills and would probably envelope Izmit and the rest of the Burland coast with a thick, gloomy fog the next morning. Ragnar just hoped he would be finished with his investigation in the forest before any rain fell.

A few minutes later, Ragnar came across the edge of the forest that Alex had pointed out to him. Now all he had to do was search for the sign. He walked along the perimeter of the tree line, probing and poking through the several, thorny bushes. It wasn't long before he found a very old and moldy sign. The words carved into the wood were all but eroded from various elements and wood insects.

Ragnar stepped behind it and followed Alex's directions. He tried to chop away at the tangled bushes and elm branches but they proved much too tough. Realizing it would be better off to keep his sword sharp, he sheathed his blade and pushed through the thick foliage.

Four steps south, four steps east, and Ragnar came across a barely noticeable path. It appeared to be an old deer trail but long since abandoned, probably due to the increased monster activity in this part of the country. The branches hanging above the path were very low but high enough for a small child to walk through without any inconvenience. However, Ragnar's above-average height proved to be a mild problem, as he had to push his way through the several branches as he made his way along the path.

He tried to keep an ear open for any monsters that may be lurking around but the noise several birds were making made it difficult. He figured he probably didn't have much to worry about though. Slimes, healer, and babbles usually were not all that active during the day. Ragnar hoped the same held true for beetle-men.

It took some time but Ragnar eventually came across a clearing in the forest. In front of him was an old shed, possibly used by hunters who would hunt for food in the woods. It appeared to have been abandoned for some time now. Was this the secret playground?

Ragnar strained his ears to pick up the sound of anyone around but all he heard was the wind rustling the leaves of the trees. Just as well, the soldier guessed. He really didn't want to have to explain his presence to any children that may be playing here.

Ragnar checked the exterior of the old shed. It had decayed over time but it looked like it could still support itself for another decade or so. Whoever had built it had meant it to be used for a very long time.

He cautiously stepped inside, careful not to disturb the rotting frame. Floorboards lined along the bottom and several jars were lined up against the far wall, probably once used to store food and water but now homes for various spiders and insects. Having found nothing of interest in here, the soldier went back outside.

A cold wind had blown in from the east while he had been in the shed and Ragnar shivered. There didn't seem to be much to hide here and the storm clouds appeared to be drawing closer, much faster than he had calculated. Not wanting to be caught outside should a sudden squall spring up around him, Ragnar prepared to head back. However, just before he was to leave, he heard someone faintly call out to him, "Come this way..."

At first, Ragnar just thought it was a trick the wind had played on his ears but he soon heard it again, someone distantly saying, "Come this way..." It seemed like the voice could have been all the way in Burland Castle, yet was as clear to him as if he were standing beside the speaker.

Ragnar stood still, listening for the general direction the voice was coming from. The voice called out again and he figured it was coming from a little ways in behind the shed. Curious, Ragnar walked there and cleared away the bushes, following the voice. It sounded like a familiar female he once knew, long ago in his past, but he couldn't place a face to it.

The ground he walked on was very soggy, as if the last rainfall still hadn't seeped into the ground. Ragnar found that his boots were becoming filled with muck but he ignored the discomfort, entranced by the voice.

Brushing aside a large elm branch, Ragnar didn't even notice a pile of stones until he bumped his knee into its hard structure. Ragnar immediately doubled over, clutching his knee and swearing to himself. After he regained his composure, Ragnar suddenly noticed that he had been totally entranced by the voice. He could have been left wide open to an attack, or worse. He was going to have to pay better attention to what he was doing.

Ragnar looked down at what he had bumped his knee into and discovered that it was an old well hole. There didn't seem to be any water buckets but there was a rope tied on the inside. He tugged at the rope and found it was quite strong, easily able to hold a large man. The rope wasn't all that old either so it must have been put here recently.

Ragnar's thoughts were suddenly interrupted when the voice entered his mind again, this time louder. "Come this way..."

He definitely recognized the voice this time from somewhere in his early childhood. It was feminine, very caring and touching. The kind of voice that could erase the entire pain one might suffer in a day as you went to bed.

It was the voice of his mother...

"Ragnar, time to get up..."

The young boy slowly lifted his eyes. Why did he have to get up? He was so comfortable here in bed. It was so cold out right now that he could see icicles hanging from his frost covered windows. I know, he thought. I'll pretend I didn't hear her. He went back under his covers and turned away from the door to his room.

"Ragnar," the voice said again, more sternly this time. "Wake up! Your porridge will get cold."

The young boy smiled and ducked his head underneath the covers. He was asleep. Why should she bother with breakfast when he was so nice and warm underneath the covers?

He heard movement from behind him and the young boy kept still. If I don't move, she'll think that I'm asleep and leave me alone, he thought and held in his breath.

He waited a long time, not moving a single muscle to alert his mother that he was awake. He listened for some movement and heard none. He was inclined to come back out from under the covers but his mother could just be playing a trick on him, pretending she was gone. No, it would be best to wait for a few minutes before he ducked his head back out.

Still, he heard no sign of movement. He couldn't hold his breath any longer, and let it out as quietly as possible, trying his hardest not to move his body as he took in another large breath of air.

It seemed he had been underneath the covers for at least ten minutes. How much longer would he have to wait? It was getting really, really hot now and he had trouble breathing comfortably. His father had always warned him that if you hid underneath your bed until it got really hot, you would begin to roast like a pig over a spit. The young boy began to sweat nervously. What was he to do? If he ducked his head out, he would be forced to get out of bed and eat porridge. But if he stayed underneath for too long, he'd roast to death!

Not liking the idea of the latter, the young boy quickly ducked his head out of bed. Cool air rushing into his face gave him a refreshing sensation.

"There you are!" a woman on a chair said. "I was wondering how much longer you would be under there for."

The young boy leapt out of bed, and rushed over to the woman, hugging her. "Mama," he wailed. "Don't let me roast again! I'll never stay under covers that long again!"

"Whatever do you mean?" the woman asked, confused by the young boy's anxiety.

"Papa says that if I stay underneath covers for too long, I'd roast like a pig on a spit!" the young boys said.

"Oh," the woman said, as if realizing something that the young boy didn't. She hugged him and then slowly got up, gently letting the young boy drop to the floor. She grabbed his hand and said, "Come on. Time for porridge."

The young boy looked at her, wondering if it might have been better off staying underneath the bed and risk being roasted alive. He hesitated.

"What's wrong?" the woman asked, smiling gently.

"N...nothing," the young boy replied.

"Then let's go," she said, still smiling. The young boy followed slowly but still resisted a bit. He really didn't like porridge. It seemed like he was eating slimes when he ate porridge, all mushy and gooey. "Come on," the woman said, tugging gently on his arm, "Come this way..."

"Come this way..." the voice beckoned.

Ragnar shook his head, not realizing that he had been daydreaming. His earliest clear memory of his mother had caused a deep welling in his stomach. He didn't have many memories of her but each one was dearer to him than anything he had in his possession.

Now was not the time to let his thoughts stray with painful memories, however. Someone, or something, was imitating his mother's voice. Whoever it was, it was coming from deep in the well in front of him. Wanting to find out the source of the voice, Ragnar grabbed a hold of the rope in the well and carefully lowered himself down.

The walls of the well were surprisingly rough. Ragnar had expected them to be covered with mold and mud from years of decay but the walls were clean. Not only that but the path down the well was clear of branches that would probably fall into the well and get caught on the way down. Someone would have had to clear the branches out to do that but whom?

Ragnar reached the bottom much sooner than he expected. Not much sunlight filtered down, so he could only see a few inches ahead. He undid his pack and pulled out a torch.

As soon as the torch was burning Ragnar looked up, expecting to see the perpetrator of the voice. Instead, he saw a long tunnel ahead, stretching far beyond his torch's light. The walls of the tunnel were covered with moss and mold. This was apparently a very old tunnel.

"Come this way..." the voice said again, coming from beyond the darkness ahead.

Ragnar hesitated going forward. It all seemed like a trap. The tempting lure of his mother's voice and the long dark tunnel ahead was much too suspicious. Why would he be hearing his mother's voice? Why not someone else's voice? And why was it coming from deep in this underground cave?

Ragnar realized that the only way to find out would be to go forward. He strapped his pack back on, held the torch high, and went forward, unaware his every move was being watched.

"This is not good. Already three soldiers have tried to get at the tower and now a fourth one was entered the tunnel. Our cover could be blown at any time."

"I don't think so. There is no way the soldiers can reach the tower from the lake without our seeing them.

"As for the one in the tunnel, the spell seems to be working on him as well. If he follows the spell to the end, he will be trapped. You go there and order the lethal gophers and healers to attack once he enters the room. When he has no escape, their sheer numbers will overwhelm him."