“Directions, eh? Are you sure? Bit of a hike, that is. Might get a little complicated. You want to write them down? No? Suit yourself. Now, let me think…”
“Right, got it!”
“First off, keep going down Main Street. Take a right at the first junction onto Bailey Avenue. That’s a RIGHT, understood? Not a left, it’s a RIGHT. You don’t want to mess this up! Next up, stop at the third manhole cover you find. Bailey’s busy this time of day, so you might have to dodge traffic. Or maybe it’ll be really busy, and you’ll have to redirect it entirely. That okay? Okay? Good.”
“Anyways, once you open the manhole cover, go down into the sewers. Head north for five minutes at a jog and you’ll find a big, circular grate blocking your path. Now, if you look very closely and rub off the muck, you’ll see there’s about seven hundred different runes inscribed around the perimeter of the grate. Taking it from the north centre, you want to touch the eighty-ninth, four-hundredth-and-forty, and seven-hundred-and-ninety-first of them, in that order. Do that seven times, and it’ll open. Or was it six? No, it was seven. I’m sure of it, don’t worry. Anyways, it’ll open up and start draining the sewers. Jump in fast, because it closes after seven seconds and it can only open once per week. And be careful that the crocodiles don’t bite you, because the water gets sucked in fast and they tend to come with it. What? Yes, crocodiles, not alligators. Alligators have broader snouts and their lower teeth don’t show when their mouths shut. These are definitely crocodiles – oh, I didn’t mention them? Well, I have now.”
“All right. Once you’re through you’ll fall into the Bowl Sea and be swept into the very centre of its dish. It might seem impossible to swim up the curved slopes of its watery sides and out of its trap, but don’t be fooled; it’s very simple when you know the trick. You’ll need something round and pale – a melon would do. Do you have a melon? No? Better get one before you reach Bailey Avenue then. So, you take your melon, or maybe a baseball – oh, you have a baseball? Good, then you won’t need to buy anything. Groceries are too pricy here. So, you take your pale round thing and chuck it as hard as you can into the sky. It’s very important that you throw it as far and high as you can, you want to get good hang time. Do this towards the late afternoon at least, but NOT at night. That’s important. Then stick your head in the Bowl Sea and yell as loud as you can: “HEY, LOOK AT THAT FULL MOON.” That’ll get its attention (see, you can’t do this at night or it’ll see the REAL moon instead). When it sees that pale round thing in the sky (seas have poor eyesight, did you know?) it’ll think it’s time for a big spring tide, and it’ll puff itself up, transforming from the Bowl Sea into the Dome Sea. If you were sitting at its bottom (which you probably were), you should end up at its very peak, balancing high above the land. Better start sliding down fast, because once it catches ahold of that ball it’ll realize it’s been tricked and splash back down again. With a good, clean throw you’ll be sitting on the shore laughing before it can finish settling down again. Got a strong enough arm? You sure? Hope so, but I guess I believe you.”
“Set in front of you from the shores of the Bowl Sea should be the Hjallit plains. Nothing for miles and miles and miles but knee-high grass and cacti the size of skyscrapers. I hope you didn’t leave getting out of the sea TOO late in the afternoon, or it’ll be night-time and that’s when the thousands and thousands of giant, blood-sucking bats come out of their fortresses in the cacti to feast on the thousands of insects and war against one another. Did I mention the insects? There’s lots, and they’re big – grasshoppers that can cross a street in a single leap and praying mantises that could take on a wolfhound and walk away half the time. The bats eat them, but they prefer nice warm blood, which is why they battle one another for captives to drink dry. And travellers.”
“Now, getting out of the plains consists of two parts. First of all, you’ll want to start running, and run as far and long as you can. You want to get deep into them before sundown, because the grass thickens and you won’t stick out as much. Head northwest – no no no, wait, northeast. I’m sorry, terribly thick of me. Right, so you’re heading northeast, and as soon as evening comes in, the cicadas will start singing. Stop up your ears with dried grass if you have nothing else at hand, because this next bit’ll need it. Run towards the cicadas as fast as you can (they’re always a long ways away, farther than they sound). When the sound is almost unbearably loud even through the blockage, you’ll see them. Now, grab one – the size of a daschund, they are – and tie it up or wrap it up, just something so it won’t bite or run. Now you can walk away through the plains all night without fear of bat, thanks to the roaring of that cicada in your grasp, bamboozling their sonar. Which is a pity, because you’re just using it to wait out the night. Get close to one of the really big cactus-forts and hide out there till dawn, when the bats are asleep and you can let the cicada go. Then, shinny up the sides (you can use the spines as handholds). This’ll probably take about until evening, okay? That’s why you’ve got to put it off until after the first night’s through.”
“Once you’re up the cactus, head to the very peak and tip. There you’ll find the lair of its bat-lord, its biggest, toughest, canniest leader. He’ll sleep, but sleep lightly, so you must walk very quietly. Get really close to him, then grab ahold of his ears and jump on his back. Start twisting them right away, because a moment he can think clearly in is the moment you’re dead. He’ll roar, beg, threaten, wheedle, but keep his ears hurting until he says “I submit.” Those words, and no others, mean that you can let go, because he’s admitting you beat him, and through him, all the bats in that fortress. Order him to take you to the northmost corner of the plains. Should take you all night, but you’ll make it on his back just fine. When he asks permission to leave, make sure you say “I permit this, thank you, and bid you goodnight” because it’s a formal declaration of peaceful farewell. Anything else might set him off with a bruised ego like he’ll have by then. You got that? Say, you sure you have enough paper to keep track of all this? Okay then.”
“So, that was probably a bit tiring. Feel free to kick back for a nap before you go on, because you’ve got quite a barrier ahead of you. The forest of Fjoi may be beautiful beyond all belief and just one kilometre long, but it’s so thick and tangly that the only animals that live in it are snakes, and it’s over a mile tall! I hope you’re still limber from climbing the cacti, because the only way past that thicket bar pureeing yourself and seeping through is climbing. A lot of climbing. On the way up, be sure you don’t mistake any vines for snakes or vice versa. Remember, the vines are safe if they’re striped green-black-green, in that order. Or was that brown-black-green? No, I think it was green-black-green. “If green touches black, you’re okay, jack/if brown touches green, bid farewell to yer spleen,” those were the rules. Right, so green-black-green is safe. Got it? Good. And remember, if you get bitten, chew the seeds of the big yellow trapezoid-shaped fruits. They’re called pam-pams, and they really are delicious. Good disinfectant, too.”
“At the top, you’ll have a nice long view of what’s ahead: the Tumbling Hills, with their endless canyons, gulfs, gullies, and gulches, and their enormous ever-rolling stones. Memorize as much of it as you can, but don’t stay too long – the upper reaches of Fjoi are the home of the Trunksnake. Or at least, the Trunksnake’s head. Its tail is coiled down deep in the earth and its body stretches up from the soil as thick and strong as any tree trunk, while its head browses the canopy for snacks. If you see the treetops shaking near you, run for it and don’t look back.”
“There’s two ways down. One of them, you climb. Might be tricky, particularly if the Trunksnake’s seen you. The other, much better. Be sure to gather as many flower petals as you can, especially the big white sturdy ones from the Salapak vine; they’re nice and tough. Stitch ‘em together using the jaws of ants you can pick up on your way, and you’ll have a good makeshift parachute. Just get to the top, memorize your landing zone, aim, and hop away!”
“What happens then? Hmm. Give me a second, I’ve got to think.”
“Got it.”
“Okay, so you’re at the Tumbling Hills. Whether you’ve gotten in there through airdrop or climbing, you’re in the midst of the mess now and it doesn’t really matter anymore. The absolute most-necessary first thing you need to do is find a pebble. A good one, about the size of my thumb, yes? Got that? It’s very important. Then climb up to a good high spot, right above where one of the boulders rocks back and forth. Watch it careful for a good time – ten minutes, half an hour maybe, depending on your attention span – and then kick it as hard as you can. Try to nudge it towards another one of the boulders. Bonk! Like pool with balls that can crush you. Just lather, rinse and repeat. It really accelerates after maybe the fifth or six one. After that you’ve got a nice wave of canyon-clearing, rock-slamming, hurtling missiles charging ahead of you and mopping up anything that might get in your way. The downside is that it’s probably awakened the mole people. Wait, no, that isn’t right. Who ever heard of moles in rock? No, no……yes! I remember! The rock giants! How could I forget the rock giants? They’re about a hundred feet tall and very strong. Well, one of your rocks will probably have smacked into one or two napping ones along the way, so they’ll be really angry. Do I have any advice? Actually, no, not beyond “try not to get squashed.” Look, it’s either piss off the giants or spend a month or two trying to carefully navigate your way through here. The latter has much greater odds of squashing you and takes longer, so take your giant-induced lumps and suck it up, all right? Don’t get all squeamish on me now.”
“All right. Past Tumbling Hills you’ll come to the foot of Chals canyon. Its walls are so high you wouldn’t believe, and nothing lives inside its narrow walls but one creature. It’s the home of the Foust-dragon, and its sulphurous breath has polished the walls as brilliantly as mirrors. If you don’t want to lose your lungs, you’d better eat some of the garlic plants growing just outside the canyon’s mouth. Eat as many as you can, until your tongue feels blue and your stomach has stopped caring. Then head into the canyon. You still have the pebble, right? Good.”
“The Foust-dragon has pretty good hearing, so it should be awake by the time you reach the midpoint of Chals canyon. It folds up its long, gangly legs when it naps, and it takes up the whole width of the canyon when it lies on its belly like that. Walk up to it, bold as you please (it despises cowards), and demand passage. Be firm, but not insolent or mocking – you want it impressed, not irritated. If you’ve adopted the right tone, it will challenge you to withstand the death of its breath before standing up to let you pass. I hope you’ve eaten enough garlic, because unless your own breath is as powerful as you can make it, nothing will prevent your face from dissolving from the nostrils on. Just exhale as the Foust-dragon breathes in your face, and though the wind may knock you over and bleach your hair, you’ll live and be free to go. One last thing here: do not, under any circumstances, touch the Foust-dragon’s belly as you walk underneath it. It’s very ticklish, and one laughing wriggle attack would be enough to smash you into raspberry jam.”
“Oops, nearly forgot! Right, well, be sure to keep your eyes squinted nearly shut the whole time you’re walking through the canyon. Not only is the dragon so ugly that you’d scream and make him eat you as a coward, but the walls are so blindingly reflective that a simple sunbeam would sear out your eyeballs. Not a fan of that, let me say.”
“At the end of Chals canyon is the entrance to the deep dank dwelling pits of Chas caverns. The Foust-dragon’s family live down there in their rotting hundreds, dead and alive, riddled with stink and gnawing hatred. It left because it was too small and weak to thrive down there, where you’re forever being eaten as you eat, an ouroboros made out of more than a thousand separate serpents. Light blinds and binds them, so before you enter (with the pebble, you didn’t forget the pebble, did you?), break off a piece of stone from the very end of Chas canyon and take it with you. You’ll also need a little bit of light – just a match will do. Reflected into the mirror, it will shine like midday light, but be careful and don’t look too hard at anything around you. You won’t like what you see, and anything that shines back at you – lakes of fungal slime, the glistening pupils of ancient dragons, the glowering grim glimmer of darkened crystals – is especially to be avoided. Do you understand me? Especially.”
“Towards the very deepest of the caverns will be the Hole to the Sky, a shaft of rock almost ten miles in height. Its exit is Mount Drabbis’s peak, but that won’t concern you as much as its root, where the city of Erakida is cradled. It’s big, it’s thriving, and there’s lots and lots of tough customers down there, so mind you don’t let any of them get too close or too angry at you. All the peoples of the sky and the deeps meet in Erakida, because the thermals are so clean and convenient to flap down and the tunnels so broad and accommodating to creep up. The founder is Great Gram Drakkal, and he – ah, that’s a long story and it doesn’t matter. Just don’t bother him if you see him – easy to identify, he’s about twenty feet tall, drab grey, and has horns where his eyes should be.”
“So! Once in Erakida, see if you can find someone who’s about to take a trip topside. A Cliff Amyioch might be good – they have the bodies of gorillas and the heads of crows. They’re quite clever, so they get bored easily and cherish interesting things. For payment in trade, offer the mirror first. If that doesn’t work, tell them the story of how you got there. Failing that, try a riddle. Past that…anything you can think of, as long as it ISN’T THE PEBBLE. If you must, try another Amyioch. Some are greedier than others.”
“Once you’ve passed through the Hole to the Sky, you’ll be cold and exposed on Mount Drabbis’s summit. Take a good look around, because this is the greatest height you’ll attain on this trip, and your last chance to see where you’ve been before. Make any promises you must to yourself or others, then start walking north, downslope into the lost and forgotten lands. There aren’t any roads, since most of the people arriving at this end can fly.”
“The Lost and Forgotten Lands aren’t going to be pretty. They’re beautiful, but BIG. The most powerfully exhuberant jungles, the biggest trees, the largest, most hungriest monsters, the strongest rivers with the roughest currents. Everything in the Lost and Forgotten Lands is big and fierce, but your best bet is to find the tracks of the biggest, fiercest thing you can and follow it. Why? It makes perfect sense, just let me get to it. Right, so you follow the steps until you find a kill it made. Hopefully, it’s left. Now you must cover yourself in the bones of the carcass. Sheath yourself so perfectly and completely that not a scrap of flesh shows – use river mud as a glue if you must. When you’re done. the lost beasts will see what they fear most: empty bones, barren of food. They must eat and eat always, fiercely, to the death, and they shun the sight of bones. Unless, that is, you meet a bonecrusher. They’re about a hundred feet long and eat only bones (sometimes they kill prey and suck the skeleton out through the stomach), so be careful, all right? If one goes for you, use a sharpened rib or something, lash it onto a tree branch, and go for its eyes. They say they have the foulest-smelling and tastiest meat of any beast ever to walk the rocks.”
“When you reach the very centre of the Lost and Forgotten Lands, you’ll find an old, old shrine, the oldest shrine ever made. It’s nothing more than a ring of rocks (not very big rocks), and a little pit in its center. In that pit is a shiny rock (speaking of which, you still have the pebble, right?). Touch it, and you’ll get three million years of screaming terrified monkeys gibbering in fear of the darkness and light shoved into your head, so don’t. It hurts a lot, trust me. Instead, wait there until high noon. That’s when the sun’ll shine straight down on it, and that shiny stone’ll get a helluvalot shinier. Stay in the circle until half-past-noon, then take one step out of it. You should not have eaten anything before you do this. It gets messy.”
“So, you’ll spin around and around and around. After what feels like forever but’ll probably be something like two minutes, you’ll wash up on a sandy beach. On a hill in front of you, surrounded by pine trees, will be a stone home. Walk in through the door, and don’t look up, because the five gargoyles around the entrance will attack if you meet their gaze, and there’s nothing their claws can’t tear and snap.”
“Inside, it’ll look more like a quarry than a house. Plus, there’ll be no roof. Very nice, clear blue view above though; the bluest of anything anywhere that’s ever been. Only one thin wisp of a cloud, forever orbiting the centre of the sky.”
“In the bottom of the quarry will be an old man, staring at a field of very carefully placed pebbles, grown into the rock. Most of him is rock by now, actually. His name is Zeff, and he won’t talk to you, nor you to him, if you know what’s good for you. He’s busy thinking, as that furrowed brow and frozen, tapping finger should let you know. He started a million years ago, seven million more should see him through, by his last estimate. You’re going to change that estimate.”
“You still have the pebble, right? Good.”
“Now, take that pebble, and place it between (counting from the bottom right upwards and to the left) pebble number seven thousand, seven hundred and seventy-six, and pebbly seven thousand, seven hundred and seventy-eight. That’s what he’s been looking for, I think. If I’m wrong, well, you won’t have to worry about anything ever again. None of us will. If I’m right, and you did it right, he’ll probably arch that immovable eyebrow of his, finish his thought, and then everything that’s ever been should get very interesting.”
“After that, you’ll get where you need to right away, easy as falling asleep. Just take the right step in the right direction, and there it’ll be. That good? Good. Got all that? Excellent. Nice talking to you, and good luck!”
“…Or was that a LEFT on Bailey Avenue?”