Chapter 8

Try getting to sleep with a Zibong floating around near you. It can be a trial. Eventually I just gave up and decided to relieve Gaku's watch early.

The boy nearly threw a fire spell at me when I came up the slope next to him. I guess I wasn't the only nervous one.

"Any change?" I asked.

"None," he replied, "It just keeps moving back and forth. Shouldn't we try to kill it?"

"Yes, definitely," I said. "If it threatens us. As it is, I just don't know. We are on a Quest and shouldn't get sidetracked. Also, I can't get over the feeling that this is tied somehow to our Quest. If we kill that thing, will someone somewhere know we are coming?"

I tried to get Gaku to go back to his bedroll, but he would have none of that. He wasn't about to shut his eyes as long as that thing was there. So, I let him stay. Maybe the two of us will keep each other awake.

"Gareth?" Gaku asked, after an hour or so. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, what?"

"Would you repeat your poem to me again? I want to memorize it. Maybe someday I will understand how you wrote it and write some of my own."

I chuckled, but this was exactly what I needed to stay awake. I recited it to the boy again, watching him, eyes closed trying to remember every line. I suddenly stopped.

"Did you forget the rest?" Gaku asked.

"No..." I could hardly believe my eyes, "Watch this"

I began again, pointing down the vale for the youngster. As I recited, the Zibong seemed to stop its endless back and forth motion, as if it was listening. Very strange. I got to the end of the poem and watched in wonder as the Zibong drifted off into the night. Soon it was gone.

"Why did it do that?" Gaku asked.

"I really don't know," I replied, "Maybe it is a poetry critic."

Gaku chuckled, visibly relieved at seeing the Zibong gone. "Should I stay here?"

"No," I advised. "Come on down to the campsite. I will keep watch from there."

Gaku was more drained than he thought, and went to sleep right away. Blaster just kept snoring, the wolf guardians he had summoned attentively surrounding him. They looked mean. Hungry, too.

I couldn't get over the strange way the Zibong had acted. Usually, a Zibong barely notices people, unless it is being attacked, and then only to counterattack. Pity the unfortunate that gets within the field of a Zibong's Death touch, for that can mean instant death to anyone.

Poetry? What does that have to do with anything? I couldn't reason anything, so I decided on an experiment. Moving out to the edge of the firelight, I quietly began reciting a poem. It was one of my favorites, about Stardrops and the women that love the shining things.

Nothing happened.

I started to read aloud one of my own works. It was a long poem about love and pride I called

"Lake Unicorn".

Across the snowy drifts

A frozen lake so blue,

My love comes bearing gifts...

Fresh bread and wine for two.

We snuggle on some furs

To keep each other warm

And talk about our life

Beside Lake Unicorn."

I was about to start the third stanza when I saw a flicker of white between the trees. It was the Zibong.

Cautiously, I grabbed my bow and moved away from the camp onto the dark roadway. From here I could get a good shot off without stepping into the creature's Deathfield.

As soon as I began to recite, the Zibong moved out into the roadway. I raised my bow, and sighted along the arrow. Instead of continuing to approach me, to get me inside its Deathfield, the Zibong stopped, again, as if listening.

I lowered my bow.