Pan's Labyrinth: The Labyrinth of the Faun(17)

11


The Creatures of the Forest


It didn’t take Vidal and his soldiers long to find the remains of the campfire that had sent the treacherous smoke into the sky. Branches were still smoldering when he got off his horse and knelt beside it, and he could still feel the heat when he took off his glove to hold his bare hand over the embers.

Yes. They’d been here less than twenty minutes ago.

The rebels must have heard them coming. Of course. Vidal stared at the trees, wishing he could hunt as silently as a wolf. He would have torn them apart by now and licked their blood off the moss that was covered with ash from their fire.

Garces knelt by his capitán’s side. Vidal liked the devotion in his eyes. Garces listened to every word from his lips as devoutly as an altar server read the words from a priest’s lips at Mass.

“A dozen men. Not more.” Vidal had learned to track from his grandfather. His father had only taught him that the worst beasts walk on two legs.

“What do we have here?” He brushed a few wilted leaves aside. A small package was lying between the stones that surrounded the fireplace. They had indeed left in haste. The three glass vials, carefully wrapped in brown paper, looked familiar. Vidal rose to his feet. He held one of the vials up and let the clear liquid catch the sunlight. Antibiotics. That probably meant that at least one of the rebels was wounded. Good.

“Mierda, look at this!” Garces grabbed a small piece of paper from the ground. “They lost a lottery ticket!”

He laughed.

Vidal silenced him with a gesture. He took a step and listened. They were still here. He could sense it. Those rebel sons of bitches were watching them! He took another step, but all he could hear were the sounds of the forest. Curse it!

“Hey!” he yelled into the trees, holding up the vial. “You left this behind! And what about your lottery ticket? Why don’t you come back and get it? Who knows? This could be your lucky day.”

The only reply was the chirp of a bird.

And the rustling of leaves in the wind.

The forest was mocking him.

Again.

No. Vidal turned around. He wouldn’t make a fool of himself by chasing the bastards through this treacherous maze of trees. He would wait for them to come to him, for he had the food and the medicine. The vials were proof they needed it.

Vidal was right.

His prey was watching. The soldiers mounted their horses and followed their capitán back to the mill, the trees painting their uniforms black with their shadows. And a dozen men in ragged clothes who were hiding on a hill above the abandoned campfire were watching their hunters ride away. For now.

Vidal had almost found them this time.

He would find them again.





12


The Toad


Ofelia had given up wiping the woodlice from her arms and face, which by now were covered solidly in mud. She felt as if she would be crawling through the intestines of the earth forever. The lost princess, if the Faun was right, looking for her underground kingdom.

She found it harder and harder to breathe, and all the tunnel had revealed so far was darkness. Darkness, roots, wet soil, and armies of woodlice serving whom? Ofelia had just asked herself that question when she heard something moving behind her, something heavy and huge.

She peered over her mud-covered shoulder to see a massive toad just a few feet behind her. His wart-covered body was as large as a cow and he was plugging the whole tunnel. The Faun’s book had portrayed the creature quite perfectly, but he’d looked so much smaller in the illustration!

“H-hello,” Ofelia stuttered. “I am Princess Moanna, and I . . .” She took a deep breath. “I am not afraid of you.”

That was of course not the truth, but hopefully the Toad couldn’t read a human face. Ofelia could for sure not read his. A belching croak escaped the bloated body, while the golden eyes were blinking as if the huge beast couldn’t believe something so furless and fragile had crawled all the way down to his lair.

Ofelia kept her eyes on the creature as she opened the pouch and let the three stones slip into her palm. All around her the mud was alive with woodlice.

“Aren’t you ashamed?” she asked, her voice shaking even more than her sore knees. “To live down here eating all these bugs, growing fat, while the tree is dying?” She swatted a woodlouse from her arm while another crawled over her cheek.

The Toad’s answer was swift. He unfurled his enormous sticky tongue and slapped it across Ofelia’s face. It grasped the woodlouse and left her cheek dripping with saliva. But what was worse—her fingers let go of the Faun’s stones!

The Toad drew his tongue back into his gaping mouth, while Ofelia desperately searched for the stones in the mud.

The Toad was quite annoyed with the furless creature.

He was sure the Tree had sent her. Groaning angrily, he opened his mouth and showered the intruder with the poisonous slime that was eating the Tree’s wooden heart. Oh yes. It would for sure eat the furless flesh of his uninvited visitor as well. The Toad was vastly satisfied with himself.

Ofelia wasn’t giving up, despite the venomous slime burning her face and arms. She opened her trembling hand and saw that along with the stones she’d plucked from the mud, she’d grabbed a few woodlice that were rolling and unrolling themselves on her palm. Rolled up they looked exactly like the stones.