Chapter 57
Trewoofe
Orfeo had to sleep eventually.
That was when Trewoofe found him.
Deep within the Underneath, he found the Tall One resting in a small crystalline hollow. He reached his paw in and hooked a talon through Orfeo’s skeletal calf.
The scent of rancid flesh assaulted Trewoofe’s nostrils before the bloodcurdling shriek reached his ears.
The Knucker tore Orfeo from his hidey-hole, ripping his sallow skin from bone.
The Prince Consort bucked and shrieked curses.
Like a striking snake, Trewoofe slammed down.
He pinned the Tall One beneath his paw with the point of a talon trained to his throat.
“Mercy, Well King,” Orfeo begged. “Mercy, please.”
Trewoofe would have laughed if he was not so outraged. “You will get no mercy from me! You are lucky I have not exterminated your entire clan for your crime.”
“Crime?!” he squawked indignantly. “And idle threats on my Queen? We both know you do not have the stones to hurt more than a butterfly.”
“Your youth betrays your ignorance,” Trewoofe snarled.
Little did the Tall One know, after the slaughter of his family, Trewoofe had crushed legions of the Cross God followers from across the sea.
All those turns of seasons ago, he offered sanctuary to the Good Neighbours whose groves were scorched and clans butchered.
Then, once Lamorna had been converted to follow the Cross God, he ceased his one Knucker campaign to wipe Christendom from Albion.
He would not kill people who were formerly his own.
He would not slaughter females and younglings.
That would make him just as cruel as the ones who killed his family.
So, his territory reduced, and he offered his healing waters to the Gardener women – the only ones who still respected the old ways.
Orfeo must have seen the burning rage in his eyes as he trembled beneath his paw.
It was the last thing the Tall One saw before Trewoofe – ever-so-slowly – pressed the point of his talon into Orfeo’s pulsing jugular.
The Knucker enjoyed the shifting expressions on the Tall One’s gaunt face: shock, indignation, rage, and then terror.
His dark blue blood bubbled up like a fountain and flowed to the ground beneath him, each drop making the sparkling blooms wither and die.
The Prince Consort twitched and gasped as the final drops of his lifeblood poisoned the soil beneath him.
Trewoofe watched to the very last, his heart thundering until every tremor ceased, and the light left Orfeo’s eyes.
With a satisfied chuff, he removed his paw and waited a moment more.
He studied the Prince Consort, waiting for any sign of life.
A rise of the chest or a pulse on his wrist. Trewoofe had to know he was dead before he could bring Avice to his Kingdom.
Once he was sure, the heavy weight he had been carrying lightened. For a being so large, he practically skipped to the river that ran through the tunnel. He needed to wash himself of the Tall One’s blood before he brought Avice to the Underneath.
To her new home.
Trewoofe slipped into the flowing river.
The water sloshed around him with a shimmer and chime.
He ensured every speck of blood was removed from him.
He studied his reflection in the ripples; his pearlescent scales gleamed, and his bone-white talons were immaculate.
He looked particularly handsome – if he did say so himself – and everything felt right.
He had achieved what he had set out to do, and that was to ensure Avice would be safe in his Kingdom.
The Knucker bubbled over with excitement.
It was time to fetch Avice. Twilight was a while off above, but he knew she would not mind if he came early for her.
He chuckled at the image of his organised little witch: ready, waiting, and her bags packed with Bramble and Ashling by her side.
Trewoofe flicked his tongue and scented the tunnel that would lead to his nesting cavern, then to the well, and up to Knucker Hill.
Trewoofe swam into his nesting cavern – the space bursting with blooms and the sound of singing crystals – and the air was heavy with sparkling magic.
It was still a mystery to him, how above and below was so overflowing with life.
He mulled on it as he swam towards the channel that would take him to the healing well.
He felt in his gut that the changes where due to his and Avice’s combined magic, but it was deeper than that.
Something old, or something new, or a combination of both.
Trewoofe fancied that they had blessed the land in way that had changed it irrevocably.
He looked forward to discussing his ideas with his little witch, and he knew with her sharp mind they could solve it and the Spriggan dilemma.
He had never expected to see Ashling zooming from the tunnel that led to the Well of Healing Waters.
The Wisp was clearly agitated, his flames flickering between blue, purple and red.
He flitted this way and that, as though he were trying to figure out which way to go.
Ashling had not seen Trewoofe yet, and the sight of the Wisp so agitated made the briars around his heart tighten.
Something was wrong.
Trewoofe leapt from the water and dashed over to the Wisp. “Ashling, what is it?”
Ashling pealed with alarm, and shot over to the Knucker, meeting him halfway. “It is Avice! They took her; they hurt Bramble—”
Trewoofe let out a feral hiss. “Who took Avice? Where is Bramble?”
“The villagers! They took her, and Bramble is just outside of the garden. He tried so hard to protect her, Lord. They used iron.”
The Knucker let out a huff and tried to slow his galloping heart rate.
Ashling was uncharacteristically panicked.
He babbled half of the information Trewoofe needed to help both Avice and Bramble.
He dug his talons into the flowers and raked them through the soil.
He tried to calm his protective instincts as they raged.
What he wanted to do was rip through the woods and slaughter every villager in his path until he found his soul-bound.
“Ashling, I need you to tell me exactly what happened,” Trewoofe ordered.
His firm command calmed the anxious Wisp. He recounted all he saw: Nell luring Avice out of the protective ward, four men capturing Avice, Bramble trapped under an iron net, how she wrestled herself free, and how she sent him to get Trewoofe.
“They must have taken her to central Lamorna,” Ashling concluded.
Trewoofe’s lithe coils had been twitching with fury during the story. He let out a guttural snarl when Ashling finished. If his soul-bound was hurt… he did not know what he would do.
“Down that tunnel” – Trewoofe tossed his head to a passageway – “is Wulver-led. Ask for Queen Olwilla. Tell her I sent you. Take her to Bramble, she will help him. I will save Avice.”
Ashling dipped in the air. “I will!”
With that, the Wisp flickered, before zooming down the tunnel to Wulver-led. Trewoofe lashed around and made like a bow from an arrow up and out of the Underneath.
“AVICE!” Trewoofe roared.
It was chaos.
The villagers had been brawling. Some of the villagers shoved against a row of men.
The armed men stood in front of a wooden structure covered with writhing vines, holding back the press of the crowd.
Every single human froze the moment Trewoofe marched into the square.
Someone screamed, then a cacophony of shrieks assaulted his ears.
He hissed and bristled, snapping at any human who did not flee from his presence.
What he wanted to do was crush them beneath his paws, tear down their houses, and wipe each one from Albion.
Trewoofe squashed down the impulse to maim and destroy.
He was there for Avice.
Once she was safe, he would return to punish Lamorna.
Too long they had forgotten that they were in his territory and lived peacefully by his grace and mercy, simply because he could not bear to hurt the innocent.
First the blow to his Kingdom, and now they had taken his soul-bound.
The Gardeners had long been the women who moved between the two worlds and kept the peace.
Now they had taken the one he loved the most.
The villagers bolted from the fray, shrieking prayers to the Cross God to save them from devils and serpents. Trewoofe could not scent his soul-bound over the pungent press of the people, pollen, and leaves.
“WHERE IS AVICE GARDENER?” he roared, his voice shaking the ground.
“Well King.” A voice drew his attention to a young woman.
She was holding a rope attached to a chestnut horse and stood firm against his rage.
“Avice is in the cage, beside the gallows.” Trewoofe’s eyes followed the point of her finger, directing him to a wooden structure writhing with vines. “She is my friend. Please save her.”
The Knucker dipped his head. “I thank you. You should leave. I do not plan on sparing those who stand in my way.”
Trewoofe marched on. The villagers that had not already fled parted like the tide, running for their homes or the fields.
A row of men stood firm and advanced towards him.
They carried spears, clubs, and daggers, all brandished towards him.
It was insulting that they thought they could stop him from reaching Avice.
He made short work of them. His talons swept them away like leaves in the wind, and their crimson blood stained his scales.
One man stood before him now. He was on horseback.
Draped in the finest clothes Trewoofe had ever seen on a human.
The thick gold chain around his neck bore the effigy of the Cross God.
He clutched the cross pendant on the necklace and pointed it in Trewoofe’s direction.
“Back to the pit, serpent!” he spat. “In God’s name I order you back! ”