Tyler's Dream by Matthew Butler Page A

Tyler’s sarcasm. “But I am sure that ghatuan eyes are much dimmer than a mukwa’s during the day.”
    Suddenly keen to prove his worth, Tyler screwed up his face into a tight grimace and stared outwards to the distance. “I can’t see anything,” he said with disappointment.
    “But anybody could be watching unnoticed, from a hideaway among those trees. This could be the reason why we have not been caught yet: our pursuers have been waiting for us here.”
    Again Tyler looked at the wall of swaying pines on the other side of the riverbed. Varkon was right: this was extremely dangerous. “Is there any other way across?” he asked.
    “There may not be. We could well walk for days or weeks to the south, only to discover that this old riverbed continues until the sea. Or we could follow it to the north and find that it curves back to meet the river from which we have just ventured.”
    “So I guess we will have to cross it here,” said Tyler resolutely. “We should wait until its dark.”
    “Ghatu can see better at night. It would be better to go as soon as we can. Is your foot better? Can you run?”
    Tyler shifted his weight experimentally. “I can run, but perhaps only for a while.”
    Varkon nodded. “Very well. Are you ready?”
    Tyler nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”
    “Good. On my signal … Now!” hissed Varkon.
    They burst from the pine cover and raced the few paces needed to reach the dry trench where the river used to flow. Varkon bounded over the edge and landed almost in the centre of the cracked riverbed. Tyler followed with a little more caution. The forest loomed close ahead. They were easily going to make it. Varkon crashed into the trees first, plunging within the safety of the branches as though he was diving into a pool. Tyler followed soon afterwards.
    “Varkon?” Tyler gasped, breathing hard as the pine needles tickled his cheeks. There was no reply. Tyler walked a few steps further forward and then stopped. “Varkon?”
    Still no answer. He took another step – to nothing. The ground caved suddenly inwards. Tyler gasped and thrashed his arms as if this would somehow help keep him floating in the air. His efforts were unrewarding. He dropped for a short time before reintroducing himself to the ground with a soft whack.
    His heel swelled with fresh pain from the unexpected impact. He crawled to his knees and took in the fact that he was now located at the bottom of a large, man-made hole. Tyler used to dig similar traps for Derek, but needless to say they were never quite so deep – perhaps a foot at the most. The edge of this hole hung a lethal fourteen feet above him. It was lucky he hadn’t seriously hurt himself.
    The sun hung directly above, shining as constantly as ever through the branches to illuminate Tyler’s little space.
    “Varkon!” Tyler shouted. “Varkon, help!” There was no reply.
    Tyler continued to shout for a while longer, but it was hopeless. It occurred to him that Varkon had probably fallen into a hole as well, and at the speed the ghatu had been moving when he had entered the woods, he was probably lying somewhere in a heap, knocked out and thus unresponsive.
    The top of his hole was too high to jump to, but Tyler tried anyway, hands clawing for a crack that he could use to scamper out. Eventually he gave up and sat down with a thud. Unfortunately whoever had constructed his horrible hole had done an exceedingly good job, but he wasn’t going to accept his fate without a fight.
    He swung a calculating gaze around his prison but found only purple bulging roots and brown soil. The bottom of the hole was covered with a thin layer of hay. “That’s helpful,” he whispered bitterly. “At least whoever built this wanted me to be comfortable after I broke my neck from the fall.”
    He sifted through the straw, searching for something hard that he could use to dig himself out with, but the architects of this place had been meticulous. Perhaps the ghatu had dug