mournful howl is accompanied by the shrieking cries of the birds, circling overhead and nesting along the jagged ledges.
‘Petrels,’ hisses Lawson, nocking an arrow to his bow.
‘Leave them be,’ grunts Kirk, glaring up at the pitted rock. ‘This is the birdman’s territory. Let’s not ruffle any feathers, eh?’
‘The birdman?’ echoes Mitch nervously. His eyes are already darting from side to side.
‘Yeah, one of the convicts from Ryker’s Island. Went a little crazy, you know. Thinks he can fly or something. Ah, here we go.’ Kirk halts in front of the party, throwing back his head to take in a deep breath. ‘Smell that?’
You pick up a sweet, pungent oily smell. ‘The tar pits?’ you venture.
‘Indeed, my green-gilled friend.’ Kirk flashes you an ugly grin. ‘Black gold. Come on, let’s get these barrels filled.’
The canyon widens, bringing you to the banks of an immense lake of black tar. Smaller pools lie to either side, several dotted with islands of rock and coarse grass. As Kirk and Lawson start to unload the barrels, you become aware of a grief-stricken howling. At first you wonder if it is a trick of the wind, but the sound only intensifies, reverberating from the walls of the canyon. It sounds like some creature in distress.
‘Look, over there!’ Mitch is already scurrying down the slope, to where the black tar laps thickly against the pebbled shore. He hops onto a boulder to give himself an elevated view of the lake. You hurry to his side, scanning the black waters until you spot the disturbance. A large, shaggy-haired creature is mired in the tar, beating its arms as it tries to free itself. But each frantic movement only serves to ensnare it further, the sticky tar clinging to its matted hair.
‘What is it?’ You squint, trying to make out some features. The tar already coats much of the beast, but you get the sense of a muzzled face, a pronounced forehead and two curving horns.
‘Yeti,’ says Lawson, taking aim with his arrow.
‘What are you doing?’ gasps Mitch, putting out a hand to stay the intended shot.
‘What do you think I’m doing, runt? Putting it out of its misery,’ Lawson furrows his brow in concentration. ‘It’s just a juvenile. Ain’t got a hide worth skinning.’
‘Don’t waste the arrow, Law,’ grumbles Kirk, walking over.
‘But you can’t just leave it!’ Mitch looks around frantically, then his eyes fix on the cart. ‘We could use a rope. Get the horse to pull it free.’
Henna appears at your side, hand resting casually on her sword hilt. ‘It’s hardly likely to thank us, is it? I don’t fancy a crazy yeti on the loose.’
Lawson lowers his bow, glancing towards Kirk. ‘What’s it to be?’
The pug-faced soldier grins. ‘Let the rookies decide. One vote to save, one to kill. Up to you now, green gills.’
Will you:
Vote for the beast to be saved?
216
Insist the beast is put out of its misery?
128
25
You ascend a short staircase into a wide, vaulted chamber filled with musty-smelling shelves and stacks. The sight of the familiar library chokes you, bringing back memories of your days as a child, hiding here, lost amongst the many storybooks. You pass between the tightly-packed shelves, your hands running along the spines, leaving a smudge of dust on your fingertips – everything feels real. Exactly as you remember.
You pass the empty tables, passing through a doorway into a small reading room. This had always been your favourite place – the one you came to at night, to read and be alone, to stay awake and avoid the nightmares.
You see yourself, a pale ghost, reclining on the window seat beneath the pitted pane. Moonlight filters in through the glass, joining the amber flickering radiance from the candles on the table. A dozen books lie scattered across it, all your favourite storybooks. Whereas most of them lie open, their pages flicking back and forth in an unfelt breeze, two of them are closed, their titles
‘Petrels,’ hisses Lawson, nocking an arrow to his bow.
‘Leave them be,’ grunts Kirk, glaring up at the pitted rock. ‘This is the birdman’s territory. Let’s not ruffle any feathers, eh?’
‘The birdman?’ echoes Mitch nervously. His eyes are already darting from side to side.
‘Yeah, one of the convicts from Ryker’s Island. Went a little crazy, you know. Thinks he can fly or something. Ah, here we go.’ Kirk halts in front of the party, throwing back his head to take in a deep breath. ‘Smell that?’
You pick up a sweet, pungent oily smell. ‘The tar pits?’ you venture.
‘Indeed, my green-gilled friend.’ Kirk flashes you an ugly grin. ‘Black gold. Come on, let’s get these barrels filled.’
The canyon widens, bringing you to the banks of an immense lake of black tar. Smaller pools lie to either side, several dotted with islands of rock and coarse grass. As Kirk and Lawson start to unload the barrels, you become aware of a grief-stricken howling. At first you wonder if it is a trick of the wind, but the sound only intensifies, reverberating from the walls of the canyon. It sounds like some creature in distress.
‘Look, over there!’ Mitch is already scurrying down the slope, to where the black tar laps thickly against the pebbled shore. He hops onto a boulder to give himself an elevated view of the lake. You hurry to his side, scanning the black waters until you spot the disturbance. A large, shaggy-haired creature is mired in the tar, beating its arms as it tries to free itself. But each frantic movement only serves to ensnare it further, the sticky tar clinging to its matted hair.
‘What is it?’ You squint, trying to make out some features. The tar already coats much of the beast, but you get the sense of a muzzled face, a pronounced forehead and two curving horns.
‘Yeti,’ says Lawson, taking aim with his arrow.
‘What are you doing?’ gasps Mitch, putting out a hand to stay the intended shot.
‘What do you think I’m doing, runt? Putting it out of its misery,’ Lawson furrows his brow in concentration. ‘It’s just a juvenile. Ain’t got a hide worth skinning.’
‘Don’t waste the arrow, Law,’ grumbles Kirk, walking over.
‘But you can’t just leave it!’ Mitch looks around frantically, then his eyes fix on the cart. ‘We could use a rope. Get the horse to pull it free.’
Henna appears at your side, hand resting casually on her sword hilt. ‘It’s hardly likely to thank us, is it? I don’t fancy a crazy yeti on the loose.’
Lawson lowers his bow, glancing towards Kirk. ‘What’s it to be?’
The pug-faced soldier grins. ‘Let the rookies decide. One vote to save, one to kill. Up to you now, green gills.’
Will you:
Vote for the beast to be saved?
216
Insist the beast is put out of its misery?
128
25
You ascend a short staircase into a wide, vaulted chamber filled with musty-smelling shelves and stacks. The sight of the familiar library chokes you, bringing back memories of your days as a child, hiding here, lost amongst the many storybooks. You pass between the tightly-packed shelves, your hands running along the spines, leaving a smudge of dust on your fingertips – everything feels real. Exactly as you remember.
You pass the empty tables, passing through a doorway into a small reading room. This had always been your favourite place – the one you came to at night, to read and be alone, to stay awake and avoid the nightmares.
You see yourself, a pale ghost, reclining on the window seat beneath the pitted pane. Moonlight filters in through the glass, joining the amber flickering radiance from the candles on the table. A dozen books lie scattered across it, all your favourite storybooks. Whereas most of them lie open, their pages flicking back and forth in an unfelt breeze, two of them are closed, their titles
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