Talisman: The Dervish's Tale

Chapter 3

It was unclear how much time had passed in the forest, and in what direction. All light fell through the thick penumbra of the massed leaves above. The look of his scarlet sleeve in the score-dimmed, green-filtered sun made the Dervish feel queasy. He had seen no one since the Angel – if that he saw. He had lost the path, and found another. But the trunks of the trees only seemed to bulk. Hollows delving into them were latched with fleeces of webs and mould. There was no way of knowing what was the right way to go. A narrow clearing housed a granite boulder, lichen covering it. He just had to sit down.

The dark mood seemed to deepen with inactivity. He pictured himself seated here, falling from the stone slowly to his knees. He rested his thighs down to the backs of his feet, and pulled his head down with his arms. A breeze lifted leaves in the clearing, and when they settled, a red and black stone sat silently throughout the years in this spot in the woods.

He snapped out of it. Observing the green light for a moment, he talked to himself about how one shouldn't be perturbed by such things. Merely a different colour. He readied himself to make a short prayer to Good.

'Piety Piety. What might the matter be?'

The Dervish started, and unbalanced backwards on the rock, rolling on a buttock and nearly falling.

Opposite the boulder had laid a fallen log, its bark so black and its wood so pumiced he had rejected it as a seat out of hand. But now another sat on it, hands on knees. Green-tights stretched on the thighs, and the tunic was a brilliant red. It matched a wide brimmed hat – a rounded cone. The stranger's smile was wide. His eyes sparkled and his face was squatly round.

'My my. Red as a robin's breast. Red as Robin Goodfellow's mischief. Let's say we be twins, you and I?'

The lithe stranger hopped from his perch. His pointed red boots he placed down delicately, bringing each before the other along a single line. With his arms crooked out for balance, he walked so to where the Dervish sat still, flabbergasted. Reaching his left, he hooked the Dervish arm in arm, and pulled back.

'Up with you, my blood-brother thee.'

'... Who are ...'

'Up! Up!'

Upon the command, the Dervish rose, his reactions still overtaken. The short figure in red, still smiling, began to lead them in a reel. Through the toothy smile, the little one scatted a tune.

'Please sir. I appreciate your friendly manner, but may I ask your name?'

The other stopped his little musics. His eyebrows raised in a weary way, 'You may.' Then the little phrases and scales continued.

'What is your name?'

The Dervish's feet left the ground as his dancing partner tugged upon the arm he held. He was let go and fell on his back. The grinning face was above his instantly.

'I said the Sparrow, with my bow and arrow!'

The slender body weighed heavily on the Dervish, and the legs clenched his torso like a vice. A moment ago, the arm on his had felt feather light. His hands had the stranger's shoulders, but awkwardly, and there was no give anyway.

Close up, the skin of the face was spongy. The smile stayed in place, and the eyes rolled up and to the left.

'I killed Cock Robin.' The Dervish's bicep bulged, but the arm raised to the rim of the conical hat. A bit was broken off. In the same motion, the hand slowly brought down the piece towards the Dervish's mouth.

A clout was delivered to the short thing and it was flung away from the Dervish's vision. A gabble of wild notes, up and down octave after octave, was heard from where it had been tossed. He turned his head, and saw an arrow embed itself in the throat of the creature. It lay still and silent, its posture unchanged. There was no blood.

'Well, there goes one's best arrow. Oh, my apologies, old bean. Can one help you up?'

Hands still held up somewhat dog-like, the Dervish looked about to his right. A blond, pale man stood over him, in armour, with a bow.