Beyond the Deepwoods by Paul Stewart, Chris Riddell Read Free Book Online Page B

sign of the promised path. He glanced over his shoulder for any creature that might mean him harm as he scurried across the wide dappled clearing as quickly as he could, and back into the trees. Apart from a small furry creature with scaly ears which spat at him as he passed, none of the Deepwoods inhabitants seemed interested in the gangly youth hurrying through their domain.
    ‘Surely if I keep going, I'll reach the path,’ he said. ‘Surely!’ he repeated, and was shocked by how small and uncertain his voice sounded.
    Behind him an unfamiliar high-pitched squeal echoed round the air. It was answered by a second squeal to his left, and a third to his right.
    I don't know what they are, thought Twig. But I don't like the sound of them.
    He kept walking straight ahead, but quicker now. Beads of sweat broke out across his forehead. He bit into his lower lip and started to run. ‘Go away,’ he whispered. ‘Leave me alone.’
    As if in response, the squeals echoed louder and closer than before. Head lowered and arms raised, Twig ran faster. He crashed through the undergrowth. Creepers lashed his body. Thorns scratched his face and hands. Branches swung across his path, as if trying to trip him up or knock him senseless. And all the while the forest was growing deeper and denser and – as the canopy of leaves closed above his head – dismally dark.
    Suddenly, Twig found himself staring at a turquoiselight which sparkled like a jewel far away in front of him. For a moment he wondered whether the unusual colour might signal danger. But only for a moment. Already, the strains of soft hypnotic music were washing over him.
    As he got closer, the light spilled out onto the leafy forest floor. Twig looked down at his feet, awash with turquoise-green. The music – a swirl of voices and strings – grew louder.
    Twig paused. What should he do? He was too frightened to go on. But he couldn't go back. He had to go on.
    Chewing on the edge of his scarf, Twig took a step forwards. Then another. And another … The turquoise light washed all over him, so dazzling he had to shield his eyes. The music, loud and sad, filled his ears. Slowly, he lowered his hands and looked around.
    Twig was standing in a clearing. Although the turquoise light was bright, it was also misty. Nothing was clear. Shadowy shapes floated before his eyes, crossed one another, and disappeared. The music grew louder still. All at once, a figure stepped out of the mist and stood before him.
    It was a woman, short and stocky, with beaded tufts of hair. Twig couldn't see her face.
    ‘Who are you?’ he asked. And yet, as the music rose to a slushy crescendo, Twig knew the answer to his question. The short stumpy legs, the powerful shoulders and, when she moved her head to one side, the profile of that rubbery nose. Apart from the strange clothes she was wearing, there was no doubt.
    ‘Mother-Mine,’ said Twig softly.
    But Spelda turned away, and began to walk off into the turquoise mist. The unfamiliar blue fur gown she was wearing trailed along the ground behind her.
    ‘ DON'T GO! ’ Twig bellowed after her. ‘ MOTHER! SPELDA! ’
    The music grew increasingly frantic. The singing voices became discordant.
    ‘ COME BACK! ’ Twig cried, and he sprinted off after her. ‘ DON'T LEAVE ME! ’
    He ran and ran through the dazzling mist. Sometimes he knocked into branches and stumps he hadn't seen, sometimes he tripped and fell sprawling to the ground. Each time, he picked himself up, brushed himself down and set off once more.
    Spelda had come looking for him; that much was clear. She must have known I was in trouble, he thought; that I strayed from the path. She's come to take me home after all. I can't lose her now!
    Then Twig saw her again. She was standing some way ahead, with her back to him. The music had become soft and gentle, and the voices sang a soothing lullaby. Twig approached the figure, his whole body tingling with expectation. He ran up to her,