Chapter 5

"Into the Swamp"

By day, crossing the swamp was slow going, its many hidden dangers and hungry inhabitants giving pause to even the most fearless of would-be trailblazers. By night, it was all but impenetrable, so much so that most travelers brave (or foolish) enough to enter were never heard from again.

But then again, most travelers weren't Shrek.

The ogre sloshed determinedly through the mud and muck, hacking away with the sword at whatever vines or weeds or spiderwebs refused to give way to his considerable muscle.

He wasn't comfortable by any means - the scratching thorns, the swarms of buzzing, biting bugs and especially the sticky, suffocating humidity that even a thunderstorm couldn't relieve took care of that - but he was nevertheless in his element. He had spent years in the swamp, exploring the territory around his house, and he knew the land better than probably anyone in Duloc.

If I'm still in Duloc… Shrek thought dejectedly to himself as he surveyed his surroundings uncertainly.

Truth be told, Shrek wasn't entirely sure where he was anymore. He had rarely had reason to wander more than a few miles from home, even before he had someone to come home to. In fact, he had only ventured this deep into the wilderness once before, years earlier, also in the dead of night. But that had been heading toward Duloc, and this…this was not.

He wasn't much more sure a few hours later when he plopped down to rest on a fallen log alongside what passed for a trail. As he caught his breath, his stomach rumbled, reminding him that in his hurry to leave he hadn't packed much in the way of provisions. He thought of his late dinner the night before, at home.

Home…

Shrek had built the house himself, adding some new feature now and then, making repairs when needed. He was proud of that house, and it had served him well over the years. It had everything an ogre could want - a state-of-the-art (by Duloc standards, anyway) outhouse, a mud shower perfect for "cleaning up," easy access to everything edible from weed rats to mud squids.

And yet, it had never really felt like home, not until Fiona (and Donkey, too, he conceded) had agreed to call it home as well. It was funny how another voice around the house, the weight of a warm body on the other side of the bed, could change a place.

He thought again of Fiona, and their fight the night before. He felt badly about lying to her, about breaking his promise, about leaving her behind.

She wouldn't understand he reasoned with himself. Besides, this doesn't concern her - she's better off at home.

Still, as he watched the first scattered rays of a new dawn filter through the canopy of leaves above him, he couldn't help but wonder what Fiona was doing just then…

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Countless miles and a lifetime away, those same sunbeams found their way past the crooked cross timbers that formed the frame of Shrek's bedroom window, falling across the face of the still-sleeping Fiona.

At the first hint of light, the ogress' blue eyes fluttered open, and she was immediately wide awake. It was an unconscious reaction, an old habit she doubted she would ever really shake. When one's life was as defined by the comings and goings of the sun as Fiona's had been for so long, after all, one soon learned to come and go with it.

Not that I have to worry about that anymore Fiona thought to herself with a smile. Not since Shrek…

She reached across the bed, her hand searching for the familiar angle of Shrek's shoulder. Instead, it found only air, her fingers tracing the outline of a now-cool impression in the moss-stuffed mattress where her husband should have been.

"Shrek?"

She turned away from the window, but her eyes had no better luck than her hands in finding her absent spouse. She stared at the otherwise empty bed in puzzlement. Shrek wasn't exactly an early riser, and for him to wake up before Fiona was all but unheard of.

"Shrek?!?"

Fiona jumped out of bed, untangling herself from the jumbled blankets as her mind raced back to the previous night's unsettling events and Shrek's reluctance - refusal, actually - to talk about them. As she moved into the main room, she tried to quiet the gnawing unease growing in the pit of her stomach, to tell herself that Shrek was probably off taking care of some early-morning chore or some similarly mundane explanation for his absence.

Then she noticed the bare wall where the sword had hung, and the gap in the bookcase where the helmet had sat, untouched, for months.

"Shrek!"

Fiona couldn't decide if she was more angry or worried. Shrek had lied to her, had promised to let her in on whatever was going on and then turned around and snuck off as soon as her back was turned. And wherever he had gone, he was in serious danger, or he would never have taken the helmet, much less the sword.

Worse still, she had no idea where he was, or where he was headed, or even when he had left. But she intended to find out.

"Donkey, wake up!" she barked at the slumbering animal stretched out in front of the dark fireplace.

"Huh? What? What?" Donkey sputtered as he bolted upright, his eyes darting from side to side in groggy alarm. "What's wrong?"

"Shrek's gone!"

"What d'ya mean, gone? Where'd he go?"

"I don't know!" Fiona yelled, more in frustration than real anger. She slumped into one of the chairs at the table, her head in her hands, fighting back tears. "That…that…THING showed up last night, but Shrek said not to worry about it and he'd tell me everything in the morning, and now the sword's missing and he's…he…"

She couldn't take it anymore. She started to sob, her shoulders shaking beneath unruly waves of her unkempt, unbraided hair.

Donkey wasn't sure what to say, or what to do. He'd only seen Fiona cry once before - the night he first discovered her secret - and he was as flustered now as he was then. But he had to say something.

"Hey…uh, look, princess - everything's gonna OK. I mean, how far could a big lug like Shrek get in one night, right?"

He offered Fiona what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and while she didn't return the gesture, she did manage to look up, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her nightgown.

"I guess…"

"That's more like it! See, I told you everything'd be all right. Now, how 'bout we grab some breakfast, and then we'll start looking for Shrek? How's that sound?"

"How about we skip breakfast, OK? If whatever he's mixed up in is serious enough that he took that sword, then he's going to need some help - whether he wants it or not."

Donkey looked less than enthusiastic about the prospect of a cross-country hike on an empty stomach, but he nodded his assent anyway.

"Yeah, OK - no breakfast, I guess. So, how we gonna rescue Shrek, anyway?"

Fiona finished drying her eyes, her expression turning suddenly serious. She stood up, smoothed out the rumpled material of her gown and looked around the room for anything she and Donkey might need. She had a feeling this little quest was going to be a lot more than just a walk in the swamp.

"First, we have to find him…"

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Following what he hoped what still the trail, Shrek finally stumbled out of the underbrush and onto the bank of a wide but almost stagnant river, its dark, murky water creeping slowly between clumps of lily pads and floating weeds.

"Oh, this is just wonderful!" Shrek moaned out loud to no one in particular. "How am I supposed to get across - swim? I don't think so."

Mud was one thing. He liked mud. He liked the way it squished between his broad, thick toes, that satisfyingly disgusting sound it made beneath his heavy boots. But water…water was another matter altogether.

Shrek started to look around, scanning the bank for some sign of a bridge or a boat or anything that would let him avoid a dip in the less-than-inviting river.

His eyes fell upon a couple of wooden posts a few yards down the shore. He jogged toward the structure, hoping to find some sort of passage across, but he quickly realized that the two half-sunken beams and the tattered ropes tied to them were all that was left of what he could only guess had been a bridge. Squinting, he peered across the water and spotted a similar pair of posts on the opposite bank, showing the same signs of long disuse.

"Well, there WAS a bridge here, anyway - for what it'll do me. Wonder what happened?"

Shrek reached down and picked up one of a number of weather-beaten wooden planks that had apparently washed up along the river's bank. From the grain and a few stray strands of fiber, he guessed that it had been part of the bridge at some part. What puzzled him, though, were the curious, jagged holes gouged into the board, and the unnerving, rust-colored stains that spotted it.

"That's funny…looks like some kind o' bite mark…"

Deep in thought as he pondered this mystery, the ogre failed to notice as the swamp grew silent, the chirps and croaks and buzzes that had filled air quickly fading away. Nor did he notice the ripples that had begun to form along the river's surface, a few bubbles forcing their way past the latticework of weeds. He couldn't help but notice, though, the geyser of foam that exploded from the depths of the still waters, soaking both banks and knocking a flabbergasted Shrek to the ground.

Looking up in confusion, Shrek could only watch in terror as an impossibly long, serpentine neck uncoiled itself from beneath the choppy water. Atop the neck, the narrow turquoise face of what Shrek could only guess was some sort of dragon glared down at him, its cold, reptilian amber eyes surveying the ogre hungrily, its forked tongue running along its dagger-like teeth in anticipation.

Not good… the ogre thought as he eyed the monster warily. Not good at all - lucky thing I brought the…the…

With a sinking feeling, Shrek realized he didn't HAVE the sword. Looking around frantically, he finally spotted it a good 20 yards away, near the tree line. Cursing himself for having laid it aside when he went to investigate the bridge, the ogre scrambled to his feet and made a mad dash for the weapon. Shrek was fast, but the dragon was faster, its monstrous head darting forward to cut Shrek off. The ogre began to back away, holding his empty hands in front of him in a futile attempt to calm the beast.

"Whoa, now, whoa - let's slow down, then, shall we?" Shrek began to sweet-talk the dragon (or whatever it was), trying his best to sound as non-threatening as possible. "Ye don't really want t'eat ME, do ya? I mean, look at me. I'm an ogre - I'd taste TERRIBLE. Let's just talk this out like a couple o' adults, hmmm? What do ye say?"

The creature responded with an ear-splitting roar, the rows of needle-like spines along its neck suddenly standing straight, the thin flaps of skin between them forming a leathery mane around its massive skull. Obviously, it didn't much appreciate this delay from dinner.

Shrek wasn't any happier. He needed a plan, and fast, or he was very quickly going to end up Dragon Chow. Out of options, he decided to try a little classic misdirection.

"Hey, look! A princess!" he shouted in the direction of the dragon, gesturing excitedly over the creature's shoulder. The dragon's neck doubled over itself, curling around to glance back at where Shrek had pointed. In a flash, Shrek was gone, ducking under the curve of the creature's neck and charging toward the sword. With one last lunge, he had the weapon firmly in one green hand.

"I can't believe ye actually fell for the ol' princess bit," remarked with a smirk and a shake of his head as he turned back toward the beast, feeling significantly more confident now that he had the sword. "You dragons an' yer damsels in distress…"

Realizing it had been duped, the dragon's head spun around, zeroing in on the offending ogre. It had been just hungry. Now it was hungry AND angry. It let loose with another fearsome roar, but this time, Shrek was prepared.

"Enough with the noise already! Y'know, that mighta worked last time, but last time I didn't have…THIS!"

He held up the sword, waving it wildly in the air, the meager sunlight flashing off its chipped, well-worn blade.

"What do ye think o' THAT!?!

The dragon's eyed the ogre and his new weapon, one scaly eyebrow cocked in amusement. The corners of the beast's mouth curled upward in a toothy grin. It opened its mouth wide. Without warning, its tongue shot forward, its forked tip wrapping around the sword and tearing it from Shrek's grasp before snapping back. The dragon's jaws clamped down with a crunch, and with a loud gulp it swallowed the mouthful of metal. The creature smacked its lips (or the dragon equivalent, anyway) and smiled smugly at the much less confident ogre.

Shrek knew he was next on the menu. He winced as the dragon opened wide again, a few stray slivers of sword caught in its gleaming teeth.

This is going t'hurt…

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