Hook & Jill by Jones Andrea

Author:Jones, Andrea [Jones, Andrea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literary, General, Fantasy, Fiction, Peter Pan (Fictitious Character), Pirates, Never-Never Land (Imaginary Place), Fairy Tales, Legends & Mythology, Wendy (Fictitious Character: Barrie), Darling, Folk Tales, Wendy (Fictitious Character : Barrie), Adventure Fiction
Publisher: The Reginetta Press LLC
Published: 2009-08-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Dark Hunting

Rowan rapped his hands against his thighs, clenching his teeth as the blood flowed into his fingers. It had taken time to free himself of his bonds, but the trail was clear. Willow branches prickled his face as he followed Lightly and the Golden Boy. Two sets of feet had made their impressions. One set was firm, the size of his own, one set lighter and the size of the boy’s. They led him up the creek to the apparent end of its journey, then vanished into rock. Other, older tracks, those of a beast, and much larger, hung about. Rowan’s face stiffened.

Like the air here, the waters appeared to be stagnant, but Rowan discerned a hint of current where the core of Lightly’s apple floated. It bobbed ever so slightly among willow blades and scum, as if something bigger than fish lurked below the surface. He watched a little longer to be sure, frowning, then turned his attention to the end of the trail. The branches drooping against the rock were crippled. He brushed them aside to reveal a wall of stone, and studied it.

The odor alone told him more was here than could be seen. It smelled dank, the stench of swamp and decay, and it oozed from an opening low in the rock. The footprints were obscured by smudges where bellies had rubbed against the earth to wriggle into the opening. The hole’s upper edge was jagged. It was wide as the span of Rowan’s arm, not quite as tall, and half as thick. Easy enough for a boy to enter, if he could stomach the stink.

He saw the smaller footprints leading away again toward the water, where a deeper impression showed the toes of both feet had pressed down before disappearing. The Golden Boy had flown. Inside the rock, Lightly was alone. Rowan didn’t like the feel of it, the smell of it. Like an entrance to the Dark Hunting ground. Wasting no time, he dropped on his belly and slithered in to find out what he didn’t already know.

In the darkness he paused, his hand reaching to feel for his tomahawk, emptily regretting its loss. He allowed his ears to explore while his eyes adjusted, hearing nothing but the water outside trickling into its groggy pool. Daylight from the hole didn’t penetrate the grotto; the only source of light was a flickering within a shell. It glowed on a ledge of rock to the right, at Rowan’s waist level. Next to the shell sat a wooden bowl, and a circle was painted in what appeared to be mud on the craggy wall above, with daubs of more mud at regular intervals around its inside. He counted twelve daubs, evenly spaced around the inside edge of the circle. Rowan cocked his head. He thought the image might represent a spirit, but one only vaguely familiar to him. One sacred to white men, who strove to divide the sun’s day.

He could stand. The roof arched well above his head, and he stepped several paces toward the light.

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