Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #14 May 2015 | Page 27

to their knees. All ten soldiers cocked their muskets
and pointed them at the group. The leader shouted
something that was obviously directed towards them,
but Simon was unable to understand the language.
Jhamed cursed and then whispered instructions to
them. “By the Balance, what an idiot I am! Curse
my complacency. Stand very slowly. We are trapped
between the soldiers and the river, outnumbered, and
out-gunned. Their projectile weapons are primitive but
dangerous. They only have one round and then they
have to reload. We need a diversion so that we can get
back through the portal.”
“Wait. I have another plan,” Taran whispered. The
soldier’s leader barked at them again. “Do you see
that grove of willow trees by the river bank? If we can
make it there, it may provide some sanctuary for us. I
feel the trees in this realm. There is a memory of elves
here. Willow trees are sometimes evil. I hope these
ones turn out to be benign. On my signal, run to the
trees in a zigzag pattern. Leave everything behind.”
“We still need a diversion, or we risk being shot,”
Jhamed whispered. As if on cue, a naked man appeared. He ran, more quickly than an Olympic sprinter, between the soldiers and the companions. He
zigged and zagged, genitals flapping in the breeze,
like a dog running away from the butcher’s shop with
a stolen link of sausages. He shouted vague obscenities at the soldiers. He raced off along the concrete
pathway and the soldiers broke ranks to chase him. As
he passed by, Simon noted his impressive physique.
He looks like Adonis. “Run! Now!” Jhamed shouted.
The four companions rushed to the grove of willow
trees as fast as their legs could carry them. Taran began to sing in a silky voice, smooth as creamy mocha
coffee, in an ancient language that Simon could not
understand. It sounded poetic and melodic. He could
almost feel the words evoking ancient memories and
emotions inside his head. He could smell the luscious
scent of ancient forests, where no human had ever
walked. He could hear the joyous noise of elf-children
playing in the trees. He could feel the love between
elves and trees. He saw, not a grove of gnarled old
willow trees, but a huge forest as far as the eye could

see. He heard a plea for help, in the spirit of days
long past. The willow branches seemed to reach out
towards them to welcome them warmly. They rushed
into the thicket. At the centre was an old willow,
huge and weeping. Its trunk was as thick as several
pillar-boxes, rotten and empty. Taran guided them
through an opening so that they were inside the hollow trunk. There was room to stand, but it was a tight
fit and they were pressed closer together than normal
propriety would allow. There was a loud click and
a dimming of the light. The hole had closed behind
them. They were locked in. Taran continued singing
for a while and Simon felt gratitude mixed with unexplained sorrow. Eventually, Taran spoke.
“We are fortunate that Old Man Willow still lives. He
is the last one who remembers the old times and the
elves. His children and grandchildren, who cluster
around him, think he is crazy. He weeps for his loss,
for he remembers elven children playing in his branches and singing with him. He says we will be safe here
until the sun vanishes. He apologises for the discomfort.”
“Please thank him for his generous hospitality,”
Jhamed said. “Your song reawakened memories I
thought long forgotten. I visited the Hanging Gardens
with my mother and she sang with the One Tree.” He
snuffled, and Simon thought he saw tears streaming
down Jhamed’s face. “I’m sorry for our predicament. I
should have known better. This realm has gone entirely over to Law. It is governed by rules and bureaucracy gone mad. I’m afraid we have just broken about a
dozen local by-laws. The penalty for walking on the
grass, let alone sitting down and having a picnic, is
death. If we are caught, we will be tried, found guilty,
sentenced, and executed by firing squad.” Simon was
shocked. Executed for walking on the grass! What sort
of crazy world is this? Jhamed continued. “We were
fortunate that our well-endowed friend was nearby. We
will wait for cover of darkness and then sneak away to
the next portal. Try to get some sleep, if you can.”
“Sleep! Sleep! Are you crazy?” Dawit exclaimed.
“What happens when they give up chasing the naked
man, or catch him, and come back for us? Who is he,
anyway? We have been followed throughout our jour-

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