Jack, on the other hand, burst into laughter. "Victorious," he bellowed, shaking his rapier in the air. "I am victorious. I did it. I did it."
Jaws dropped.
Frank rolled his eyes.
"I knew I could do it," Jack leaped to his friend’s motionless body. "I knew I would." He grabbed Carlo’s shoulder, rolled him over. "I knew I’d save—"
Carlo’s face, bloodless, frozen in an expression of abject terror, stole his thunder.
"Hopeless," Grash breathed, sheathing his broadsword. "It was hopeless, and yet one does hope. I fought many of those dastardly creatures in my time, during the wars." He raised his head nobly, eyes looking into the past. "Ah, I remember the first time as if it was yesterday. I was leading a troop—my first command, it was—into the Marshlands on a planned flank attack that would catch the enemy off guard when—"
"The transported prisoner is shackled wrists and feet! What delays our much needed, time saving speed?"
All eyes turned to the Parson, standing well ahead of them on the path. One set of those eyes shot daggers: Orlon did not appreciate yet another interruption to his chance to hear a war story from the hero’s own lips.
Grash, however, appeared to take this interruption in stride. "Merely a minor scuffle with a forest creature," he said with a flippant wave of a hand.
"Merely?" Jack looked up, slack jawed. "Minor?"
"The beetle scurries across the busy ant hill! We must be off, make haste to escape any more such dangers," Ty the Parson said in a flail of limbs that spun him around to start down the path.
"You heard him," Grash said with a definitive twist of his handlebar mustache. "We must be off." And he started down the path.
Swords were sheathed in unison, the sound of metal scraping hardened leather overpowering the forest’s endless roars, howls, growls and snarls in a brief, ear splitting way. Then the warriors, one by one, started down the path, and once everyone was moving they were in the same line-up they were in to begin with. Orlon and Sharna once again trailed behind Tarl, still "protectively" holding Mishto, with Jack on his left and Frank on his right. Carlo’s bloodless body was soon lost to sight in the path’s next looping turn.
Orlon walked beside Sharna, thinking about what had happened since they entered Dark Forest. He lost his servant—his friend, Jujay, and now Carlo lost his life to a frightful creature of this accursed place. These losses, and any that might follow, made him question if he had made the right choice in picking the journey’s direction the day before…. He brushed aside such questioning, telling himself if this quest was real, and he believed it was, the path was his only choice.
His mind turned to Jujay, and he sniffed back a tear. The servant had been with his parents and then with him so long he had become family. Now he was gone. It hurt him deeply—and he thought of the sorrow Carlo’s death must be causing his friends. Shaking off his melancholy, he looked first to Frank, was surprised to find him apparently unaffected by the loss. When he turned his attention to Jack he found a man devastated by the loss.
Shoulders slumped, head hanging, he trudged along, from time to time bringing a hand up to wipe his eyes, a sleeve to wipe his nose. Orlon’s heart went out to him, and he wanted to comfort him over his loss. But when he started to pick up speed to do so, Sharna stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Where do you think you’re going?" she said.
"I’m going to see if there is anything I can do for Jack," he said. "I lost Jujay, my servant and friend, and it hurts me deeply. Jack lost Carlo, a close friend, and knowing how he must feel…"
She looked into his eyes, repressed a beaming smile of admiration for what she saw within them. Never before had she met a man like him. So good, so kind, so innocent…so pure, everything Ty the Parson touted him to be. And with such a giving heart he was willing to offer a suffering soul succor without a thought to his own safety in this nightmare forest. How could she refuse him? She could not. But she could do something for her own peace of mind about it.
"Go ahead," she said, releasing his shoulder, and when he started off to perform his good deed, she followed at a discreet distance, just in case.
Two things made attaining his objective harder than he thought it would be: the breakneck speed the Party maintained was already taxing him to the limit and the cause of his overall problem with doing so, his short legs. Yet somehow he was able to reach Jack’s side, pumping his arms briskly. It was then he realized something else. He did not know Jack, at all.
What in the whole wide world should he say to him?
On they went, side by side, Sharna close behind, Jack unaware of them in his sorrow, and Orlon racking his brain in search of the right approach. Time and again, he grunted off an idea that at first sounded promising. He never imagined such a thing would be so tough. Then his finger drifted to his chin, his eyes twinkled. He had it! He reached up to tap Jack’s arm… Hair from Jack’s arm and head fell across his extended hand.
Horrified, Orlon looked up into his face, watched his skin turn light blue. What was happening here? Whatever it was he knew it was not good, but he found himself unable to respond to the inner warning to get out of there. Jack looked at him, his once blue eyes now pink. In those eyes Orlon read a wanting, but rather than alluring like he saw in Sharna’s eyes it was terrifying.
"Touch me," Jack said, reaching for him.
"Look out," Sharna yanked the Midget back by the collar.
Jack reached for her, saying, "Touch me."
"Warriors, to me," she called, stepping clear of his reach, drawing her saber. "Protect the One."
Those ahead looked back, were aghast at what they saw. Frank looked at his friend and breathed an oath. In quick order, swords were drawn and the light blue man found himself surrounded by sword wielding warriors. His pink eyes took them in, located a familiar face and, reaching out, he said:
"Touch me."
"Stay back," Frank blurted, and when his warning went unheeded, he hacked Jack with his rapier.
As if on cue, the others hacked away at Jack. Crik-or’s rock flew in, bouncing off the bald blue head and flying away, its thrower scurrying after it.
Sharna tried to shield Orlon from the carnage going on before them. He thankfully buried his face in her hip, but there was nothing he could do to stop hearing the horrible noise of it. Nearby, Tarl, "protectively" holding Mishto Sharpaine, saw this and followed suit with Mishto, even though he found the swordplay fascinating. Face buried in her hip, he breathed in the Campfire Girl’s enticing scent, smiled. If he had seen her face, he would have been confused. Rather than scared she looked sad, embarrassed, worried—strangely aware.
The circle of violence finally ceased, broke up, revealing all that remained of Jack was a puddle of pink streaked goo. The warriors held their goo dripping swords well away from themselves, disgust on their faces. They looked about for some way to clean the blades off, but only saw the thorn bushes which offered them nothing for that task. It was Tarftenrott who saw the leafy little tree close at hand. He ripped free a handful of leaves and wiped off his blade.
"Fool," Ty the Parson said, pointing his staff accusingly at him. "The child places a finger near the snapping turtle’s mouth! You, Tarftenrott, have placed our journey through this dark, dangerous forest in mortal jeopardy."
To a man, and woman, the warriors cast a disapproving glare on him.
"W-wu-wu-what d-du-du-did I du-d-du-du-do?" he said.
"The unwanted entrance of male organ to female organ! The tricked seeks reprisal on the trickster! You have defiled the Mighty Aurtauntin Tree. Do so and danger follows," Ty the Parson said in a flail of arms and legs. "The runner dramatically leans forward to rip the white tape! Now, I, Ty, the Parson, and those who follow on this quest must make even more haste if we wish to exit this forest successfully."