Chapter 27: Chapter Twenty – When Streams Grow

After a mile or so, another happy stream joined their own, and the two carved a wider and deeper groove through the wood. This larger stream now dropped from one clear pool to the next as the slope of the landscape began to steepen.

Gradually, the black mud and dead leaves that covered the stream’s bed were washed away so that sand and small smooth pebbles replaced them. The large black rocks that dotted the forest floor changed into great gray stones clothed in rich green moss. Lush emerald colored foliage gradually replaced the broken lifeless trees of the bog, and the dead silence from before was gradually filled with the sounds of birds chirping, frogs croaking, and squirrels chattering.

Shafts of light also became more and more numerous, and the once foul reek was now only a distant memory long since replaced by a rich clean earthy smell and the sweet aroma of flowers blooming.

The two men continued to follow their stream, and they watched it grow with the same joy parents have watching their children become adults. Every time a new stream joined the first, they felt their anticipation build with the influx of new and fresh water.

Thus, the stream grew collecting to itself all that was pure and wholesome until, at last, it could no longer be called a stream. Finally, only one name could describe it; their stagnant stream had become a small cleanly flowing river.

Curesoon followed along the bank of the river marveling. It was hard for him to believe that this beautiful country lay hidden like a treasure just beyond the foul curtain of Miremurk’s shadows, for the whole wood seemed to blossom and fill with life.

The river that flowed past the farm of Guileless was completely swallowed by the greedy bog of Miremurk, which seemed to hoard all its goodness and corrupt everything that came into its dark shadows. However, no matter how wholly the bog tried to drink in the river, it was clear now that it could not contain the waters forever, thus the river slowly collected itself together again until at the last, cleansed by many falls and tribulations, it was born anew as a pure watercourse once more.

Gradually, the river-reborn widened as the grade of the land began to level out. Moreover, the water began to flow more slowly and was now only interrupted here and there by shallow rapids. These made a sound similar to the wind blowing through pine boughs.

Earlier, when they had been following the stream, Curesoon and Tippleglee had crossed several times, but as it widened and deepened, they found themselves upon the left riverbank. However, after a mile or so, they suddenly came to a place where a bluff rose up on the left side. Thus, they had only two options: climb the bluff or cross the river and continue their journey upon the right bank.

“I don’t wish to climb, so let’s go across.” Curesoon said resolutely.

“All well and good for you – You’re a tall man!” Tippleglee growled.

This was amusing to Curesoon because he was actually a little short when compared to most Common-men.

“Come, I’ll let you ride upon my shoulders,” he offered with a smile.

The thin wisp-of-a-man was beside himself. “I’m no child to be riding your neck!” he retorted.

The bard took a deep breath. It was his duty to treat the older man with respect, but how he made it difficult!

“Remember how the fox is courteous even as he kills your chickens,” Curesoon grumbled the old proverb under his breath and then slowly inhaled again. After letting the air back out, he calmly asked, “What shall we do then?”

Tippleglee scanned up and down the banks. What he was looking for, Curesoon did not know, but after a second the little man struck out at a good pace. The bard had no choice but to follow.

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Thus, the two men walked back up stream until Tippleglee came to a narrow place where a small island lay between him and the far bank. There he found a large gray stone that lay mostly in the water.

With a nimble hop, the old man was upon the stone and then across a thin fallen tree that spanned the water to a large stump near the shore of the small island. Leaping from the stump to the island, he went through the thick brush disappearing from view.

To Curesoon’s surprise, the little man was soon standing on the opposite bank with a proud expression upon his long aged face.

The bard, not nearly so graceful, started to take off all his clothes thinking to keep them dry as he crossed, but when he looked at himself, he realized how the filth of Miremurk still clung to him.

After a grimace, he decided to go in with everything on, and so he only held his swords over his head. As he went across the river, it grew so deep that it came to his shoulders, but since the forest was now letting the sunshine down into it, the day felt warm, and so the cool water was wonderfully refreshing.

 

 

The river’s current was strong, and it was all the bard could do to keep from slipping upon the smooth slick rocks that lined the riverbed. However, he managed and soon was on the far shore as well.

They continued to pursue the winding watercourse until, late in the day, the river suddenly spilled into a wide clear lake. Though the dry land ended there, the forest did not, for there grew in the lake massive cypress trees in groves as thick as any wood. These were so numerous that Curesoon and Tippleglee could not see the distant shore of the lake.

As the two men approached the water’s edge, there fell upon their ears a faint sound of splashing water, but as they passed the first few cypress trees that lined the lake’s pebbled beach, the sound died away.

Neither man said anything to the other, for they both seemed to doubt their own ears. The only proof that someone or something had been there was a few ripples that silently fled out across the lake.

Curesoon slumped down upon a large moss-covered stone which lay half in the water.

“Now, what shall we do?!? We can’t go forward, and we dare not go back, but who can tell how long it would take to go around?” the bard muttered with discouragement.

Tippleglee gave no answer but sat on a smaller rock gazing out across the surface of the water with an expression Curesoon could not read.

 

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