Beneath the Mistlebells 2
#2 of Beneath the Mistlebells
The wolf stalked her dreams, and found her in her mountains, in her valleys and her spaces. He hounded her from dusk until dawn, always looming from a distance.
"Will you ever leave me alone?" she asked, hiding her head in her hands.
He shook his head sadly. "I'll always be here waiting for you."
"Why?!" she demanded, "What do you want?"
"To warn you."
"I'm afraid of you," she said.
And the wolf looked beyond the mountains, beyond the valley, beyond her spaces, and into the dark forever which stretched to the horizons. "I know," he whispered, so that she was unable to hear. "I know."
Far below, a forest was bathed in darkness, far from any star which may bathe serenity. Instead, the mistlebells shone their unearthly light, upon the face of a hare, who stared up fondly.
The tricks of the trees were magical in the unearthly light; the hare's eyes treated to a shimmering silver as she hopped through the undergrowth - the light speckling as she moved beneath the great bulbs. Here the forest was more open than before. She was struck by the colour, and danced between the white and blue, until at last she could dance no further.
She came to a halt at a large pool - a muddy depression which sank like a lake between the trees. The shores were brown, and seemed to merge seamlessly with the mucky water, which caked on the surface with dirt; the stillness had given it cause to harden.
Above, the brilliant play of blue and white continued, but down here it was dark, and she stopped to catch her breath, staring at the display.
"Hello, hare," came a voice from her side.
She jumped, recoiling in surprise. What she had taken to be a particularly muddy clump of earth and rock had spoken, and now she saw it for what it truly was - not a rock at all, but a creature larger than her - a great toad, wallowing in the mud.
"I am sorry," he said, slowly, his voice low and drawing out the syllables as he spoke. "I did not mean to cause you fright,"
The hare nodded, a little shaken. "It is quite a shock," she admitted, tentatively. "You were so still it was as if you were part of the shore."
He seemed to smile at that. "It was once so," he said, "But you, dear little hare, come running through these woods so fast. Where are you heading?"
She smiled back, though kept her distance, with her pristine white fur. She didn't much care for the mud and muck. "Everywhere and nowhere," she said. "I'm lost as a bun can be, but I don't know where I should be, so I can't say that it isn't here."
"There's always time to worry about other places when we arrive," the toad said, agreeably. "It is best to worry about the here and now."
"And yet, I do not feel the worry," she said, but looking at the toad's expression, she had a fair idea her privilege was not shared. "What worries you, beneath the bells?"
"Matters of grave and matters of gravity, and much in between," the toad said. "Though I would not trouble you so to hear a tale of woe."
The hare's ears folded back at this. She had not encountered such a one before, and her curiosity was piqued. "I can't say I have another trouble," she said, "So I'd gladly half yours, if you wished to share them."
He smiled again, strange amphibian lips curling long at the edges of his mouth. "I suspect by the telling they will merely double, but if it is your wish you are more than welcome to sit, while I regale the saddest tale."
I have lived in here for all my life, in murky waters full of strife,
But far from injured have I been, and though not cleanly, life was clean.
Beneath those darling mistlebells, are many stories no one tells,
But mine, it starts a happy play, I'll bear it spoken of this day.
When I was young and full of dare, I frolicked in mud without a care,
I'd stalk the shore of this great lake, a master of hunt, I took the take,
My prey was the hapless, helpless fly, a species built to hum and die,
And buzzing days would fill my life, I the stalker with my scythe.
I was judge and execution, and it was I who fed pollution,
For though a skilled hunter I may be, the flies were wily as can be.
I coat myself in mud and scum, lather it on by paw or thumb,
For were it not for this awful smell, they wouldn't swarm as near as well.
But as you may ask, and as you see, not one fly buzzes it's way to me.
They're all gone from here, all swallowed away, I lack a fly to eat today.
No matter how I build this home, I fear it'll be my catacomb.
The hunter now it seems is stalked, by stomach's call; oh how it talks,
I grumble to the mistlebells, and wonder at my future hells.
But I see your eyes are fearful still, no sympathy for the ones who kill,
But 'tis the way, I'm sure you know, for those with no other path to go,
As for the cause, I'll tell this too, I'm beset by fiends - it's true,
One day after I'd finished my hunt, (a grown up toad, no longer runt),
A meeting so melancholy fated, took place whilst I was merrily sated.
A spider dangled from a branch, curious at my relaxed stance,
Asked me, it did, how well I faired, took it's time as if it cared,
"Very well," I said as true it was, it smiled and said "I asked because I am a mother expecting more, and looking for a place to store
A batch of eggs to spawn a clutch, a family I seek to hold and touch
And as it seems you're master here, I want to make my wishes clear:
I seek a source of steady food, and bear that I am not too rude,
Your prey it seems is never-ending, and space is what I'll hope you're lending
My brood will stick to high-up trees, if you would but let us, please."
I couldn't see the harm back then, and never did 'til one day when
I saw the silver of the stars, stretch from bough, from Moon to Mars,
And there in every further path, to trace a coffin, oh alas,
And high above my precious lake, the spider's web began to take
A share of food to keep me lean, a terror, a thought, unforeseen.
And as I wallowed ever more, the spiders grew by score on score,
'til the light came only in shafts so thin, the darkness swallowed this spider's kin.
The buzzing came a thinning thing, a halting, shuffling of silenced wing,
And rumble began in my tum, and of my horrors that is the sum.
I lived a life of many days, but life, to death, it finds its ways,
The cord is thinning, or so it seams. Sadness in my eye; it gleams.
The hare looked pityingly on the toad, her own heart feeling the pull of sadness from his tale. She looked up and indeed saw between the bells the specks of spiders scurrying above, far into the canopy.
"I shall speak to them," she resolved, steeling herself.
At this the toad raised an eye. "You'd go up there for little old me?"
"I shall," she said, resolute.
The toad looked at her curiously, as if unsure. Then he swelled up, breathing deeply before speaking again. "Then I wish you luck, little hare."
The climb was perilous. The hare's short limbs and digging claws weren't built for scaling the tall trees, and there was little in the way of branches to support her. She had to kick hard at the wood at each hoist as she worked her way around and up the trees. She occasionally stopped to look up and look down, but whilst the ground seemed to slip further away, the tops of the trees never seemed to come any closer. More than once she determined to stop, but as she looked down upon the great muddy lake she swallowed her fear and kept on.
Then, suddenly, after what felt like an eternity climbing that sheer wooden cliff, she was momentarily distracted by an insect-like blur darting across the bark in front of her nose. It was a tiny thing, but as her eyes focused on it she found it to be, unmistakably, a spider. Little more than a speck of black with eight spindly legs, sticking to the vertical wall as easily as if it were a floor. It regarded her with a modicum of surprise, and, she suspected, a trace of amusement.
"Hello, dear spider," she said, as eloquently as she could manage, perched precariously as she was, hanging by her claws.
The spider scuttled back, then forwards again, rolling it's many eyes around before swivelling back on to her.
"I... Was lead to believe you could speak," the hare said, suddenly feeling rather foolish.
The spider, in return, did a rather complicated dance, the meaning of which eluded the hare entirely, but as it scurried backwards up the tree, she decided she had little other choice but to press on. Perhaps it was leading her to another, she thought hopefully.
On looking up, the brilliance of the mistlebells had grown and grown, and though she never felt like she had gained any height on them whatsoever, she couldn't help but marvel as there seemed to be so much more of them, and they seemed so much brighter than on the forest floor. They hung in great big sacks of impossible size, like coconuts on a coconut tree, but of all kinds of fantastic colours. Here they created a rainbow which resolved to white light on all the trees, making their own whiteness shine in response. Up higher, their bark became smooth, and looked newer and stronger. She wondered idly how far she could go before it would no longer be possible to travel any further.
One other feature caught her eyes. Not far upwards the trunk split into branches. Dense bracken formed of tangled wood seemed to form a barrier, broken intermittently by huge gaps. It was on one of these wooden bridges, connecting tree to tree, that the spiders had decided to make their home. Silk covered each and every strand of their treehouse, a rich carpet of silk, and large hovels capable of housing a fully grown fox or wolf had been constructed. She wondered why such creatures would need such big homes, being as small as the arachnid she was chasing up the tree.
She did not have to wonder long, as shadowy spots which she had taken to be mere tricks of the light soon resolved themselves to being gigantic spiders - complete with fluffy legs and menacing mandibles. Not for the first time, she contemplated abandoning her quest and returning back down the tree. Again she steeled herself, and again she dug hard at the bark before reaching up. Now, the platform was in sight, and it was a matter of a few minutes for the hare to scale the last of her climb, emerging aching on the relative flat of the spider's causeway.
The density of arachnids had been increasing greatly, as well as flies and other small creatures. The nets the spiders had cast between the branches were humming with winged insects, and many more seemed to spiral up towards the light from below.
"Twenty thousand," came a voice, and she turned in surprise to see one of the bigger spiders regarding her from only a short distance away.
"E-excuse me?" she said, a little taken aback by the size of the arachnid. Its legs were as large as her arms, and it's body as least twice the size of her. Those mandibles chittered and scraped as it spoke.
"That's how many spiders call this nest their home," the spider said, proudly. "That is, I'm sure, what you were wondering?"
"I dare say, mister spider, that I was given little time to wonder much at all about this tree-top retreat."
"Then you shall forgive my assumption, for its intrusiveness." the spider murmured, in a rather lazy fashion. "Indulge me, hare," the spider says cordially. "What brings one such as you to heights such as this? I see no wings to soar you here."
"No, fair spider," she said, hiding her feelings. "I was given no wings to speed my flight."
"No tail either, with which to grip the boughs and balance."
"Only a speck of one, dear sir," she said. "And I feel blessed with that." The spider repulsed her with every further move. There was no kindness in his words, or woeful concern, like the toad down below.
"No wings, no tail, no sticky, too," the spider chittered.
"Sticky?"
"Our silk," he explained, "We use to tie ourselves, and give us a path which always leads home."
"No sticky," she agreed, and for a moment she thought of her own home.
She could remember the feeling. Like sun and heat, surging through her body and rejuvenating her from her core. She remembered comfort and safety, and a security of faith. She remembered all these things and feelings, but, she lamented, she could not remember her home in a real sense.
Ladybird, Ladybird...
She stared up at the spider and immediately knew the answer. She had not asked the question, or even begun to explain the situation, but all at once she knew that after all her effort, it would be for nothing. Her eyes broke contact with the spiders', and she looked around at the scuttering thousands, each busy with their own tasks, each one in the comfort of their own home.
...Fly away home...
Even still, she pressed on. She opened her mouth, and the story came tumbling out. Her manner deteriorated and she could feel herself waver, as the spider looked on with a mixture of expressions, as unreadable on that alien face as any could be.
...Your house is on fire...
She felt dizzy. She breathed deeply, as if the climb had suddenly caught up with her. The air was thinner here, she was sure of it. She had been there minutes, and still not caught her breath. She sensed the mistrust, the outrage and the anger brewing in the creature before her, and as she rambled about toads in mud and striking a deal, a small crowd stopped to watch. She tried as hard as she could to sound convincing, to sound persuasive, to draw out their empathy.
...Your children are gone.
She stopped abruptly, falling to her knees. A ringing sound filled her ears, and the edges of her vision flickered. The spider began his reply. She saw him as if he was no longer there. A phantom from a different world, shimmering across her vision in violent clicks and posturing. Muffled words breached her mind from the pontificating arachnid, words like "outrage," and "free-loading." Had she tried explaining how the lake drew the insects to the spiders? She couldn't remember, but she felt, deep down within, the certain knowledge it would make no difference. She had no bargain to be made. She had no token with which to barter. She had nothing but the righteous desires of a hare. She despaired in that moment, and, throwing her head back, was dazzled by the light of the mistlebells.
A kaleidoscope of colours filled her vision, and for a precious moment there was no tree, no spider; no quest for no toad. Only a voice, heard above the ringing. "What has brought you here?" The hare toppled backwards, staring up vacantly as she fell. She watched everything numbly. Her body caught the wind, and she felt it breeze through her fur silently. It reminded her of open fields, the wind carving it's path through stalks of grass, a momentary labyrinth formed then wiped away as the second master conjures its own creation, until the winds jostle and fight to form anything at all in the chaos. She breathed out.