NOCK AND THE CRICKET

NOCK AND THE CRICKET

The gigantic sandstorm towered over them as it moved past, a swirling mass of blurs and dust. Nock thought he glimpsed shapes in the chaos, and hoped it was his imagination. He had met some of the things that lived in there, and wasn't anxious to repeat the encounter.

Beside him, Captain Bergen tugged on his reigns to make his horse move faster. They were nearly half a mile away from the Pass, but the captain and the six guards who were accompanying him had already covered their faces to protect their nose and lungs from the sand which would soon be flying through the air, even before they reached the storm itself. The horses weren't happy, either – they stomped their feet as they walked, making their impatience and desire not to go forward very clear.

"Easy." One of the bodyguards said to his mount. "We'll turn back soon enough."

"You can turn around here," Nock said, "I can go on."

"We're waiting outside the pass," Bergen said firmly. "Just in case."

Just in case. Nock smiled to himself. Just in case I die and it's the Coachman who comes out of the storm, you mean. They were still underestimating him.

His mind wandered back to the meeting with the seven Elders.

It had taken place in the twilight hours of the morning, at a stonehenge about eight miles inside the borders of the province. Supposedly a deal struck inside a stonehenge was favoured by fortune – supposedly. Nock had no reason to believe it was true, any more than every other old wives' tale he had heard over the years. He'd arrived early, prepared a large pot of tea for his guests, and was meditating when he heard horses approach.

They had been disappointed to see him. Everyone always was. The stories that had gotten around made him out to be some sort of unstoppable giant, and people did not expect to see someone so short. He was still only five-foot-four, the height he had been when he had embraced the enchantment again, and obviously he had not grown further and would get no taller. It inevitably surprised people to find out that the legendary warrior they had heard of was at least a head shorter than the average person and looked like he had just reached adolescence. They also seemed surprised by his thoughtfulness in making them tea – he had a feeling that the seven village elders were withholding judgment as they introduced themselves, accepted the drink with words of thanks, and sipped in silence. Nock pretended not to notice.

"You went to quite a lot of trouble to summon me," He said when the tea-cups were drained and everyone rested. "I understand the matter is of some urgency."

"It is." A thin woman with a stern face and a graying head spoke in a severe voice. "So in the interest of that urgency, might we get straight to the point?"

"By all means."

"We've heard that you can survive the Sandstorm Pass."

"It is true I have a better chance than most, yes."

"Better chance than most? Not certain?" a slightly plump man with a mustache, Alderman of the Searkot village, looked worried.

"Not certain, no." Nock confirmed. "It is true I can survive the sand itself, but things live inside the storm. I've fought them before, but there's still a risk. Why is it you need me to go beyond the pass?"

"Someone has fled beyond it. With a number of abducted children." The thin woman said.

"Children?"

"Yes. There'd been a rash of disappearances in the province lately. Children going missing from their homes, their playgrounds. We suspected that someone was taking them."

"And?"

"We found the person responsible. Calls himself the Coachman."

"Never heard of him."

"Doesn't matter. We thought he was a merchant, selling toys from his wagon. The kids liked him."

"Except he wasn't a merchant?"

"No. One of the girls escaped – she was in shock but we managed to get the story out of her."

"The Coachman," said the youngest Elder in the group, speaking for the first time, "it turns out, was abducting children for his business."

Nock's painted-on eyebrows narrowed. "His business." He repeated. "Does that mean – "

"Yes. This merchant, it turns out, runs an establishment called the Pleasure Island. The children are sold off to buyers."

"Captain Bergen here led the guards to arrest him," the Elder of Searkot said, gesturing to a tall, powerfully built man with a sabre standing behind him, "But there was some kind of an enchantment on his cart – it came alive, began to run by itself."

"And ran all the way to Sandstorm Pass."

"Yes."

That made sense, Nock thought. The deserted area that led through to the constant sandstorm that flew from the west to the east was treacherous; apart from the sand flying around you, the sand beneath you was also slippery, constantly shifting with the wind. No one went there if they could help it. The storm itself was neverending; anyone who tried to go through would have their skinned ripped out as they choked to death.

Anyone made of flesh and blood, at least. If you had an enchanted closed coach to keep out the sand, you could cross through to the wilderlands on the other side. There was water there. Food, too – Nock had seen it. The pass let out into an enclosed basin – there was no way out – but the Coachman could stay there a long time without fuss.

"What makes you think he's still in there?"

"Because he told us." Ugly expressions of hatred and anger had appeared on the faces of those sitting around him. "He blindfolded one of the children, tied him to the coach, and sent it through the pass. It came out, dumped the child, and went back."

"The body." Someone corrected. "It dumped the child's body, stripped naked and flayed by the sand and covered in blood. There was a note pinned to him, carefully wrapped in leather."

"Send us some food so we don't starve to death while you idiots spend weeks trying to get in here and then give up."

"We put supplies in a wagon. The Coach came out and collected it. He's still inside, with our – " She paused as the skittering sound caught her attention. A large cricket, walking on two legs and wearing clothes, was chasing a cockroach across the ground. For a moment everyone was distracted as they followed her gaze to watch the chase, which ended with the cockroach dead and its head bitten off and chewed slowly in relish. Only then did the cricket look up and see them watching.

"Jim." Nock said with a note of annoyance, "I've asked you not to do that in front of people."

"Sorry, I was hungry." Jim said in his tiny voice. He skittered across and climbed on Nock's shoulder.

" – our children." The Elder finished with a touch of disdain.

"Did you try to negotiate?" Nock asked. "Send a note back, maybe?"

"No. We made some inquiries, and it turns out this Coachman has been in business for some time. He goes by a lot of names – Honest John, Willy the Fox, Graham Cat – and this isn’t the first time he's done this."

"You want to get him to talk."

"He will have names – who he sold the children to, for starters. Who helps him. Who gives him information. If we give in, we forsake not just all the children he's taken in the past, but also all those he would do this to in the future."

"So go through the great storm, get to the other side, bring him back out alive."

"Yes."

"Can we break a couple of his bones while we're at it?" Jim asked in his squeaky voice. "Just to get things started for you, I mean?"

"Feel free." The stern lady gave permission.

Nock was silent for a while, then stood and picked up his sword belt.

"All right," He said, "Let's do this."

From there they'd gone all the way to the valley, where the mercenaries hired by the Elders had camped out to wait for their prey to come out. It was only another mile to the pass, and Bergen and his men had insisted on accompanying him.

An unpleasant surprise revealed itself as they got close. The shapes that he'd seen moving through the storm hadn't been his imagination. The sandwhales were flying.

The realization brought them to a halt, and they waited. Nock could swear those behind him were holding their breaths. The whales weren’t really whales – they had wings, for starters – but they were gigantic and had an incredible sense of smell even through the sand, and they could redirect the storm if they detected prey. Nock himself would not smell like food – and neither would his horse, which was also made from the Blue Fairy's enchantment – but the seven humans and seven horses behind him made a veritable feast, even for something that big. The horses grew more restless and its riders stroked their necks, whispering words to calm them down.

That was when he saw it.

Something white and glinting. On the ground. In the storm. One moment it was there, the next it wasn't. The Coach. He swore.

"I saw it." Bergen said in a worried voice. "You think the thing recognized you?"

"It couldn't have." One of the others said. "Enchanted or no, it's just a dumb coach, isn't it?"

"But he's got to be controlling it somehow." Nock said. "What if he can see through it?" He was leading them at the head of the group, dressed in leather – a thick pair of trousers and a sleeveless leather vest for mobility. Jim was locked up in a little box for safety. Nothing in the world looked like Nock – and even if he hadn’t been recognized, it was clear he wasn’t an ordinary human, approaching the storm in that outfit. The Coachman would know that they were trying something.

This was immediately confirmed as something huge shifted above them, and they all looked up into the storm's depths.

A sandwhale, dark brown and almost invisible in its surroundings, was curving as it turned in the air, looking away from them – something had caught its attention.

"He's been seen." The captain said.

"No." Nock corrected. "I think he let himself be seen." Perhaps he was hoping the whale would move the storm's path, giving him a way. Or he could be feeding the children to it, hoping to get away while they tried a desperate rescue. Nock met Bergen's eyes, and realized the captain had reached the same conclusion.

"The children." Bergen said, horrified. "He could be using them as bait…"

"Stay here. When the coach tries to escape, stop him, no matter what. I'll get the children."

Bergen nodded. Nock dug his heels into the wooden magical horse's stirrups. "Jim," He said to the box on his belt, "Hold on." It replied with a squeaky grunt.

And he charged at the Great Sandstorm.

He'd been inside it twice before – once far away from here, at a different point of the storm's path, and a second time through this pass itself. It hadn't been a pleasant experience then, and it wasn’t now.

The world turned into a dark brown mist. A human who tried to keep his eyes open would have been blinded for life immediately. He felt the sands tearing at his limbs, but they were made of wood and had no skin to rip out. The horse slowed down in the unsteady ground but kept going.

And then the storm shifted.

He had been expecting it, knew the whale would likely use it to get at whatever they were looking at, but the change in the roaring wind almost unseated him from the saddle all the same. Nock craned his neck and saw the leviathan above him, its long, ray-like wings flapping to move the wind the way it wanted.

He quickly worked out the problem inside his head. If the storm reached the wide basin where the Coachman held the children trapped, they would die one way or another. If the whale didn’t get them the sands would. Their only chance was the enchanted coach, which was under the enemy's control and which would likely be used by him to make a run for it once the storm had covered the basin. If Nock reached the kids, he could cover them with the blanket that he carried on his pack – it had been stitched together from the thickest wool for this purpose – and maybe they could survive the storm itself. But not the whale. There was only one thing to do. He needed to stop the creature.

He drew his bow and breathed. Nock didn’t breathe often – he didn’t need to – but he did it when he needed to use the air; like now – he put two fingers in his lips, and let out a screeching whistle. Even through the roar of the wind, it rang powerfully in the air.

The whale stopped. Slowly, its lumbering body turned as it looked down.

"Over here." Nock said with a smile as he drew an arrow. Shooting something through a storm like this was impossible for a human, since the arrows would get knocked off course in an instant, but Nock's bow had a three-hundred pound draw, and the arrows weren't normal arrows. The tip glowed blue as he spoke a word of power, drew back the string, and loosed.

Far above him, the whale bucked in pain and roared as the arrow hit its eye.

"Got your attention now?" He asked with a grin, though a part of him realized taunts were meaningless to the beast. "Come on, let's dance!"

It charged at him – he knew those things could move unbelievably fast when they were going for food – and he dug his heels in, making the horse take off in a full gallop. The whale's mouth missed him and its body hit the ground, spraying sand upward. It then raised itself and gave chase.

Nock did not gallop away to escape – leaving the area was out of the question – and instead slowed down to let the creature get close as he stood up on the stirrups and climbed to the saddle, knees bent to keep his balance. Its huge jaws opened, revealing rows and rows of triangular teeth, close enough that had he a real nose he could have smelled its foul breath…

Nock jumped. The horse veered left as his feet left it and the whale was momentarily confused, not knowing whether to follow the horse or the man. Likely the fact that both smelled exactly the same added to its confusion. Either way this allowed him to land gracefully on the creature's nose.

The guards who saw the battle later spoke of it in taverns and inns, and it added to the legend that was already famous. He was one man, one puppet on the nose of a great titan, and he fought it to a standstill. Nock seemed to move with a speed that was inhuman, and his small size helped. They saw blood flying from one eye, the temple, the nose, and the back of the neck before the whale relented and made a run for it. Like all predators, it wasn't interested in hunting something that could kill it. Consequently, the storm kept its course. They were ready to stop the Coachman had he tried to rush past them in his enchanted cart, but it didn’t come to that.

Nock found him first.

The wild, natural basin beyond the pass was lush with vegetation, interrupted only by the stone ruins of the fortress that had once stood here a long time ago, before the storm had been conjured into existence by the Black Alignment. Nock came through the storm, bow loaded and ready, and saw half a dozen children tied up and gagged on the floor. One of them was being held by a man, who had a knife to her throat.

"Come any closer, and I'll slit her throat." He said, "I know who and what you are."

"If that's true, then you know I can't let you go. I've taken the contract."

He laughed. "You'll have to break it, then."

"Won't happen." The Blue Fairy's magic was strong, and when he had accepted the role offered by her after his godfather's death, it had cast a powerful spell on him. "Guardian of the Kingdom, remember?" He said to the Coachman. "The magic binds me to my word. I break contract and I'd be a puppet again – a real puppet, lifeless and dead. I like being alive, sorry." He grinned maliciously.

"Alive?" The man snorted. "What do you know about being alive? You're not alive, you're cursed! You can't even breathe! Or eat, or drink, or touch a woman! "

"Or sell children to rapists." He finished. "Sorry, you won't talk your way out of this. Kill the child if you think that's going to help – what do you imagine happens next?"

"Nothing. I'm just distracting you."

The coach barrelled into Nock like a charging bull, sending the bow flying out of his hands as he went down on the ground. It pulled back again, preparing to hit him once more, but this time he was ready. He rose, blocked it with his shoulder and instead of matching strength with it he twisted, turning it on its side and they skidded to a stop. The wheels spun in protest as it tried to struggle, like an animal thrashing about.

"Good distraction." Nock praised, "But mine's better."

The Coachman screamed. Blood was flowing from his wrist as he pulled his arm away from the girl, and the deep puncture marks Jim's teeth and claws had left on him glowed red. Jim could produce a vast array of venoms from his stomach, and Nock suspected he'd used something painful.

By the time the children were cut loose, the man was on the ground next to his coach, holding his wrist and screaming. Jim was watching over him with a grin. "Sorry about that," The cricket squeaked in a voice that made it clear he wasn’t sorry at all. "The magic made me poisonous, and that's venom's potent. It won't kill you, but you'll wish you were dead."

The children gathered behind Nock as he stood over the defeated merchant of flesh, smiling, "You want it to stop?" He asked, and without waiting for an answer, he reached out a wooden hand and pulled the enchanted coach upright. "Get us out of here."

Minutes later, Bergen and the guards saw the vague form of a rider on a horse in the storm. Then a coach behind the rider. They all emerged and Nock dismounted. He opened the cart to reveal the children and their jailer, who was being guarded by a malicious-looking Jim.

"Coachman." Bergen said. "Honest John the Fox. Graham the Cat."

Nock grabbed the man's foot and pulled him out on the ground. He let the children dismount as well, then, with a sudden, violent movement, ripped one of the coach's wheels out. He then did the same to the other three and broke all of them into pieces. That would be that. No more enchanted coach.

"All yours, then." He said.

The guards had picked up the kids and let them on their horses, leading them by the reigns. The Coachman's arms were bound and he was tied to Bergen's horse, screaming for mercy. Nock knew he would find none.

He pulled his sword belt tight, mounted the horse with Jim on his shoulder, and rode off into the desert.

Author's Note: Sorry about the length, I might've gotten a bit carried away. Thanks for reading!