Her hand tightened about his, and Garth was grateful for the contact. He ran his eyes over the girl’s face, his thoughts well guarded now, and wondered if all the marsh women were as beautiful as she and her mother. “Where is your father, Ravenna ?”
The question surprised her, and her step faltered. She turned to stare at him wide-eyed. “I have no father, Garth Baxtor. Now, stay beside me and do not let my hand go.”
Then she stepped forward again, and her hand jerked Garth after her.
At some point Garth realised they had left the main causeway for a small track that led deep into the marsh. Water and mud squelched to either side, and the occasional tree still loomed in the mist, but the noise of the birds had disappeared completely, and the sound of the surf sounded very distant, even though—as much as Garth could work out—they walked directly towards the coast.
“Where—” he began, then gave a cry as a great redwinged bird swooped low over their heads. Its beak snapped as it passed, and Garth reflexively ducked.
“Shush,” Ravenna whispered. “It will not harm you. It was merely the manifestation of someone’s dream.”
Garth moved a little closer to her, his eyes roving carefully from side to side. “Someone’s dream?”
“Yes. Somewhere, someone dreams, and they dream of that great red bird. Thus it appears here.”
Now even the trees had disappeared within the mist, and it clung cool and damp to their skin and clothes. Still the mud sucked and plopped to each side.
“Does someone have to be dreaming it for the creature to exist?”
Ravenna nodded. “Mostly, although some creatures can exist independent of a current dream. Such is the Manteceros.”
“Perhaps it is the mark that the king and heir wear,” Garth said slowly, “that keeps the Manteceros alive.”
Surprised, Ravenna glanced at Garth. “Yes. Perhaps.”
“How do we find him?”
She grinned, and tossed her dark hair about her shoulders. “We call, Garth Baxtor. What else?”
“Call?”
And Ravenna began to sing, and singing, ran lightly down the path into the formless mist, pulling Garth with her.
She sang clear and sweet, her voice underscored with the breathlessness of laughter and the anguish of a new widow; even so, it took Garth some time before he picked out her words.
Blue skin pitted with sadness
—Skip, trip, my pretty man—
Face drawn and lined with trial
—Skip, trip, into my hand—
And awkward formlessness, there
—Skip, trip, be frank and fair—
No beauty, grace, nor frailty
—Skip, trip, through the air—
Belongs in your face, despair
—Skip, trip, leap to the sky—
Clings close and binds heart to fear
—Skip, trip, linger and die—
Cries who comes to Claim? Who dares
—Skip, trip, my pretty man—
The Dream, and daring ——
—Skip, trip, into my heart—
Infected with both her sorrow and joy, Garth laughed even as tears drifted down his cheeks, and he felt her hand clench yet tighter about his.
“Sing!” she cried, her hair whipping about her pale face, and Garth sang, his bass voice taking up the sad verse while Ravenna’s soprano, filled with laughter, sang the ridiculous refrain.
Skip, trip, my pretty man,
Skip, trip, into my hand,
Skip, trip, my pretty man,
Skip, trip, into my heart.
So mesmerised was he by her lovely face, by her magical, lightening eyes locked into his, Garth completely forgot that they were trying to find the Manteceros. He seized both of her hands in his, swinging her about the path, then gripped her waist and lifted her into the air.
Skip, trip, through the air,
Skip, trip, leap to the sky,
Skip, trip, my pretty man,
Skip, trip, into my heart.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” a terse voice said behind them, and in his surprise Garth almost dropped Ravenna.
In the middle of a breathless gasp of laughter, Ravenna instantly sobered, then abruptly pulled away from Garth’s grasp. Her eyes darkened back to their normal shade.
On the path behind them stood the strangest creature that Garth had ever seen, yet he recognised it instantly.
The Manteceros.
It jerked its head in a curt greeting, then shuffled forward several steps, its thick legs creaking slightly. Its eyes slid appraisingly over Garth before lingering on Ravenna, and Garth had the strangest feeling that the creature had appeared only when—because—Garth had wrapped his hands about Ravenna’s waist.
As the Manteceros looked at Ravenna it dipped its head again, more courtly this time. “Am I intruding? If so, then forgive my impoliteness. Perhaps I should leave…”
“Welcome,” Ravenna said, holding out her hand, and taking a step forward. Garth still stood with his mouth wide open.
“You are welcome,” Ravenna continued, “and wanted and needed.”
The creature’s lips twitched in what might have been a smile. “Oh,” it murmured, “I don’t know about that.”
Ravenna smiled, and stepped forward until she was close enough to touch the creature’s shapeless nose. “My name is Ravenna, and behind me stands Garth Baxtor.”
The Manteceros totally ignored Garth. “I have seen you, through the mists,” it said softly, relaxing as Ravenna continued gently to stroke its nose. “Skipping and laughing through dreams and border lands. Sad creature that I am, you skipped right by me. Ah, Ravenna, I have waited aeons for you to think of me, for your song to call me.”
“But I have sung for you now,” she whispered, and put her arms about its neck. “Here I am now.”
The Manteceros shuddered, and Garth wondered if it was close to tears. For the long minutes that the girl and the Manteceros clung close, he studied the strange creature that Maximilian had set him to find.
The Manteceros was every bit as ugly as the royal emblem depicted it. Shapeless head, bloated body, trunk-like legs ending in ungainly feet that were merely slight thickenings of the legs they protruded from. Everything, from its pock-marked skin to its stiff mane and square-nailed feet, was coloured in various shades of blue. Even its teeth, when Garth finally managed a glimpse of them, were blue-tinged.
And about it all hung an immense aura of sorrow—yet a sorrow tinged with wisdom, and Garth could not help wondering if its wisdom had caused its sadness.
Is the sum of all knowledge, he suddenly thought, utter despair?
“I must ask,” the Manteceros finally, regretfully, said, “what has disposed you to seek me now.”
“A sadness,” Ravenna said, stepping back.
“I am not surprised,” the Manteceros said. “Nothing but anguish surrounds me.”
“Garth?” Ravenna motioned with her hand, and Garth stepped forward. “Garth? Will you tell the Manteceros why you seek it?”
The Manteceros fixed its all-knowing eyes on Garth, and the youth had to clear his throat before he could speak.
“Manteceros.” Garth hesitated, then bowed jerkily from his waist. He wasn’t sure how to treat the creature, but he was the emblem of the royal House of Escator, and in itself that made the Manteceros worthy of respect.
The Manteceros acknowledged the bow with a slight movement of its head.
“Manteceros, I have come to ask that you step back into the world of living creatures.”
The Manteceros’ nostrils and eyes flared alarmingly. “Oh, I don’t know about—”
“Please!” Garth extended his own hands in appeal. “The true king of Escator lies trapped in the Veins, denied his throne, and denying even the existence of the open sky and the fresh air.”
“A king sits the throne,” the Manteceros said slowly, eyeing Garth carefully. “I remember his claim well. He had the blessing of the king just dead.”
“Cavor,” Garth said. “Yes, Cavor currently sits the throne. But Maximilian is the true king, and he needs to be rescued. Manteceros, will you step forth and aid him?”
“Oh, certainly not!” the Manteceros cried. “Not without due cause.”
“Due cause?” Garth asked, stunned. “What do you mean ‘not without due cause’?”
“I think,” Ravenna said carefully, looking between Garth and the Manteceros, “that what the Manteceros means is that a king already sits the throne, and he needs due cause to step back into the land of wakefulness. Due cause…a rival claim?” She raised her eyebrows at the creature.
“Precisely,” the Manteceros agreed. “Due cause means another claim. If someone else claims the throne then I shall be required to respond to it.”
“You mean you’re not going to do anything to rescue Maximilian?” Garth cried, appalled.
The Manteceros furrowed its brow. “Who did you say?”
“Maximilian!” Garth muttered, trying to keep his temper under control.
“If he hasn’t claimed,” the Manteceros said with great finality, “then I’ve no reason to know him. Now Cavor,” its eyes brightened momentarily, “was an upstanding man. Fine claim.”
“Maximilian has your mark tattooed on his right arm—with blue ink,” said Garth, sure this would convince the Manteceros.
“Any competent artist could carve that in,” the Manteceros responded.
“But the ink!” Garth cried.
“Garth,” Ravenna murmured, slipping to his side as gracefully as a breath of breeze. “Please, try to understand. If there is a rival claim, then the Manteceros will have to come forth.”