Strange day today. We passed more burrows, and birds’ nests are visible now high in the trees. Something followed us for a while earlier, something big. All I saw of it was a glimpse of its eyes staring out from beneath a clump of thorny bushes. It had big eyes, big and grey and it looked at me with such a mixture of curiosity and caution I knew immediately it was harmless. Judging by the size of those eyes I figure it was probably about the size of a large pig. And it moved like a wraith. When Armbranch slipped away to track it, he returned sorry faced and said it had disappeared.

At least that’s what he told me. Maybe he did discover what it was and doesn’t want to alarm me.

That notion triggered a wave of paranoia that I guess has been simmering away in my subconscious for a while. Though I’ve long since accepted this isn’t a nightmare I’ll wake from soon, I’ve never once considered Armbranch’s state of mind. Suppose he’s locked in some delusion that everything around him is some crazy dream. Is that why he’s helping me? It makes a twisted kind of sense. He should be baying for my blood. He’s not. He’s helping the one who helped destroy his environment, and it doesn’t make sense. Then again, not much does make sense in here.

It still worries me. If this is the case, what’s going to happen when everything ‘clicks’ and he accepts that this isn’t a dream but reality?

No matter what he thinks of me, or what he might have planned for the future, I’m starting to soften toward him. I won’t say I like him. I don’t. I’d much prefer I’d never met him. Now that we are working together, though, it seems like we’re functioning on some really basic level that could be described as a team. When I showed him some more photos of Killykeen last night his face softened into such a look of childlike glee I couldn’t spoil it by asking him questions.

As far as my ‘Armbranch nightmare’ theory goes, I guess I’m just getting paranoid. He’s not caught in some denial of reality dream. I’m sure he was telling the truth about what was following us today. So far, even if he is slow to tell me things, I’ve seen no evidence yet that he’s ever told me a lie.

Time to check on Maya again. Armbranch is keen to see more pictures, too. I haven’t let him see her on screen yet. I guess it’s some jealous, protective thing. Right now she’s mine and mine only. I’m not going to share her with anyone or anything. Besides, I’ve no idea what his reaction might be if he sees her sleeping there like that.

To be honest, I’m afraid of hearing what he might say about it.

The jungle is changing. Today we saw holes dug out of the ground that could have been burrows. They were big, wide enough for a man to wriggle down, and when Armbranch investigated the first, he stuck his head so far in I’d have sworn he was going to crawl inside. He didn’t. He simply sniffed around the openings and examined the soil before telling me that the burrows were long since abandoned.

Sent a long email to Justin warning him to be careful what he says to O’Heir. Probably unneeded, but sometimes he needs to be reminded about things. Maya’s birthday is approaching fast. I don’t want any turmoil back home on that day. We always celebrated her birthday with a small carrot cake. She never wanted much else, and she always made that cake last a few days. Used to joke she was watching her weight.

I’m going to ask Justin to buy a carrot cake. He can eat some for her. Yes. And he can eat some for me, too. Cake won’t last long. In Justin’s hands, I doubt it’ll survive any more than a few hours.

Maybe I should tell him to buy two.

A long, tiring day. I’m still exhausted after our escape from the clearing and my muscles cramp and ache with every movement. My mind is in a semi turmoil, too. I can’t help wondering if Mathlos’ men made it back safely to the clearing. If they did, I wonder if their superiors know of Mathlos’ death yet. Probably. Their next crop pickup was scheduled for yesterday. Even if they all died in the jungle, those remaining at the camp would surely have sent word out.

Perhaps that bird thing and its scouts are out searching for us already. Every time the sky darkened with cloud, I imagined it was there, gliding low and silent, skimming the treetops, hunting. If it comes, I’ve no doubt the ‘wind above the trees’ will deal with it. But will the ‘wind’ be there when we need it?

Armbranch was unsettlingly quiet when I mentioned this to him. He responded by saying there were mountains ahead and we should try and reach them sooner rather than later. I guess he’s right. And, in a way, I’m looking forward to reaching those mountains. I need a change of scenery. Badly. I’m goggle eyed looking at this jungle.

I dreamed about Mathlos last night, dreamed of that face, that look of unadulterated shock the moment he died. I guess I should have called it a nightmare. It wasn’t. No. I guess it was more of a closure.

When we left the clearing yesterday I didn’t as much as toss a branch over his corpse to cover it. The forest can have him, and I hope it feeds well and isn’t poisoned by the feast. Armbranch, however, did perform a crude sort of farewell ceremony. He tossed dirt over Mathlos’ face and kicked his shoulder. It was light blow, more symbolic than angry. I guess Armbranch knew well all along what Mathos had in store for him.

I asked him this morning if the ‘wind above the trees’ was a spirit storm. He shook his head. For the briefest of moments his mouth cracked open as if to say more, but then he turned away. I didn’t push it. I know now that the ‘wind’ comes from the Envelop. And it seems to be on our side. That’s all I want to know about it for now. After seeing it’s power, my theory about Armbranch being the trap of last resort in the Envelop is shattered. That ‘wind’ is surely the most potent component. I can’t see how anything could match it.

But why does it follow us? Why is it watching us? Why does Armbranch communicate with it every time it comes? Somehow I get the feeling there’s no casual conversation at those meetings. No. I suspect he’s reporting to it, reporting our progress.

Is there something else behind the wind? Are Armbranch’s creators watching and following us.

I’m beginning to wonder if I’m simply some tiny cog that’s just been fitted to some huge wheel that’s beginning to roll faster and faster.

Or maybe I’m just getting paranoid.

A flock of green and yellow birds has just landed on the branches above me. They look like some type of finch and they’re just sitting there looking down at me.

I think we’ll be okay now for a while.

It’s over. It’s all over. We’re safe. I’ve been lying beneath a large tree for the past hour, drinking water and trying to gather the strength to log on. I’m still not sure what actually happened. Around about eleven-thirty this morning, Armbranch slowed to a crawl. I thought it was because of me and I finally told him to push on. He paid me no heed. Even when I tried to push him on ahead of me he resisted. I couldn’t believe it. Mathlos couldn’t have been any more then a hundred yards behind us and Armbranch was giving up.

When we broke into a small clearing he stopped and told me we didn’t need to go any farther. It was almost time to resolve this, he said. I couldn’t have agreed more. The shouts and bawls and whining were so close we could all have been part of the same group. I lost my temper then. Had he gone insane? Didn’t he realise what they would do to him? Didn’t he care that I’d tortured and killed?

A flicker of genuine hurt crossed his face when I said that. He nodded his head and asked me to trust him. I decided I had no other choice. I cocked the Purdy and braced myself. There wasn’t much point running. Mathlos was too close.

The whines turned to growls. The shouting died away. Everything, even the thump of heavy boots on ground, sank away as if my mind was blocking it out. Moment later the group streamed into the clearing. Six of them. Each was wearing a harness and had a length of rope with a small grapnel hook attached looped over their shoulder. Storm protection.

The animals were with them, things on chains that looked like fat snakes with legs and sharp spines and a head that was more nose than anything else.

The creatures grew quiet the moment they saw us, like they were ready to spring.

Mathlos was the last to enter the clearing, a sneering, triumphant smile plastered all over his face. I almost shot him on the spot. Right then, nothing would have given me greater pleasers than to splatter that smile all over the forest. When I aimed the Purdy, Armbranch took it from me so swiftly and effortlessly it was on the ground before I’d realised it was out of my hands.

He nodded towards my watch, and glanced upwards.

It was only then I realised the significance of his timing for stopping here. The ‘wind above the trees’. It was midday. Off in the distance I could hear its distinctly familiar sound. It was moving fast; fast and angry, whipping up the treetops in its wake as it rushed towards us.

The sound stopped. An avalanche of loose leaves cascaded down around the clearing. The tracking creatures dropped tight to the ground and began to whine.

The wind didn’t stay above the trees this time. No. In a blinding flurry of leaves it dropped and went straight for Mathlos. It snapped his neck as he turned to run. That sound, that terrible ‘crack’, was as clear and sharp as a gunshot in the clearing. And, for the barest of moments, Mathlos was staring at me, bug eyed, mouth agape, his tongue sticking out in a grotesque yet oddly comical way.

His men were shoving past him even before he fell.

The wind took one more of the gang and raised him up about twenty feet in the air before flinging him against a tree trunk. He was still up there when we left the clearing, hanging lifeless between the branches like a discarded doll.

Then the wind was gone, and we were alone in the clearing, and all I could hear was the sound of men bolting through the forest. That was hours ago. We’ve pushed on another few miles since, just to put some extra distance between them and us. I don’t think they’ll follow us. Armbranch doubled back a few times to check and there’s no sign of any pursuit. Don’t blame them.

Time now to lie with Maya for a while. I’ve missed her. Tonight I’ll not worry about the laptop battery. I want her to be there when I wake.

Did a quick email check this morning. O’Heir was back at the house last night. This time, Justin invited him. Hell! I can’t believe he did that. I’ve enough to worry about right now than to be thinking about O’Heir. I don’t doubt O’Heir’s genuinely interested in discovering more about what he saw years ago. I’ve also no doubt that I’m going to tell him what’s happening. But not now. If Justin lets something slip then…

I don’t think I can go much farther. I’ve no energy left and the air is so dead and clammy in this part of the forest my lungs burn every time I suck in a breath. Armbranch is aware of this. Every time my legs give way he stops. His encouragements are whispers now instead of rousing cries. I think it might be time to tell him to continue alone. Yes, I’ve seen that happen in countless movies. The hero, resigned to his fate, always appears brave and strong. It’s a true Hollywood creation, but a very false reality. It’s a depressing, agonising thing to be lying covered in dirt and sweat and feeling so exhausted and helpless you want to submit to the suffering.

Right now, though, it would be so very easy –if it weren’t for Maya.

I can’t stop. It’s impossible. I’d be condemning her as well.

Even though we’ve been ducking and weaving our way through the trees, Mathlos is still gaining on us. I can’t imagine what kind of animals he has with him. And Armbranch seems reluctant to tell me. Typical. Even if he doesn’t want to scare me, I’d prefer to know. It would make things more real and immediate. Right now I’m so tired it’s easy to imagine I’m fleeing through a nightmare.

That terrible whining is getting to me. Perhaps that’s what it’s designed to do, get into you head and chew up your thoughts until you’re so confused you start making mistakes. Armbranch doesn’t seem as bothered by it. I’m thankful. There have been a few times I think I’d have given up if he wasn’t there to push me along.

If push comes to shove I think he’ll stick with me to the end. Otherwise he’d have gone on alone by now. I’ve no doubt he could easily lose our pursuers on his own.

His loyalty doesn’t make me feel any better. If anything, I feel worse for holding him up.

At times I can hear Mathlos clearly. In true despotic form it sounds like he’s bawling just as many curses and threats towards his men as he is towards me. Part of me is glad of his threats. It might make it easier to shoot him if I have to. He keeps yelling at me that he doesn’t care if I give him the key to Armbranch or not. Once he gets me back to camp he’ll toast me bit by bit over a fires and feed me slices of my own flesh until I tell him.

Tell him what? It’s a mystery what knowledge I might know. Then again, he’s doing me a favour. The next time we meet someone who’s interested in Armbranch, I’ll be able to bluff my way along a bit better.

Stopped for a few hours just before dawn. I didn’t sleep much. I couldn’t. I kept on hearing that whining noise in the distance and the more I listened to it the more I imagined that it does have a rhythmic ‘pinging’ sound to it.

Armbranch doubled back while I dozed. He says they’re at least six hours behind us and he’s left a few false trails to confuse them. What a shame he couldn’t conjure up some of those Envelop traps. Some of that creeping gas could come in useful right now.

The weight of anxiety in my gut is becoming unbearable. I’m really afraid I’m going to have to shoot some of those men soon.

Kept a steady pace all day, steady and hard. No time to stop and admire the scenery and wildlife. Armbranch barely let me stop for any more than a few minutes at a stretch. Even now we’ve only stopped to eat. They’re pursuing us, he said. And they’ve got something with them, something that can track us. He can smell them.

Animals! They have animals. Around about lunchtime I heard a high-pitched whining that seemed to reverberate through the trees all around us. Damn Mathlos anyway. He must have kept the beasts hidden in a shelter all along. That sound scared the hell out of me. Worse still, it scared Armbranch, too. He knows what they are. They’re used for hunting. Like bats, they track their prey by echo location. Only these things work on a much higher level than any bats. If anything moves in the jungle they can find it.

Armbranch figures it might be possible to outrun them, but if Mathlos has any of those tracker birds we’ll be in trouble. Everything in here has become a threat. Every time I hear a bird or any sound in the undergrowth I think it’s Mathlos’ eyes. The forest is silent now. Yet, occasionally, I think I heard a distant, angry roaring. Mathlos. I’m sure of it.

Is Armbranch so valuable he’ll risk everything to pursue us so deep into the jungle?

I guess so. Either that or Mathlos was overstating the danger in order to put some fear into us as well and keep us grounded longer in the camp. If I didn’t have Armbranch with me it might have worked. Then again, if I didn’t have Armbranch with me I’d be most likely dead or enslaved by now.

Must push on. Armbranch figures our best chance to put some distance between Mathlos and us is to move by night.

We’re moving. On the run. Only stopped to get our gear and make one quick post. Armbranch got caught stealing from the fields last night. They’d set some alarms there, small bells attached to threads that he didn’t see. I can’t believe we were so naïve to think they’d just let us wander about here at will day or night.

The camp erupted in confusion, but he made it back to our shelter without being seen. They knew it was us, though. Luckily we managed to get the hatch closed before they got organised and came for us. And it was even luckier they were all drunk. They couldn’t get the hatch open. No matter how they kicked and banged and hammered and cursed at it, the hatch didn’t budge an inch.

The noises tapered off after a while until all we heard was singing and shouting and wild, drunken laughter. Obviously that homemade brew diluted their fear of any spirit storm because they kept this racket up for hours.

Once it finally died down, we popped the hatch and made our move. Several large fires were burning up top, the light from their flames tossing a hazy orange glow around the clearing. Mathlos and three of his men were wandering along the edge of the clearing, using long, spear like tools to probe the undergrowth for anything we might have hidden there.

We made it half way to the jungle before they spotted us.

I took one shot at them. I aimed over their heads but one man fell. I hope it was fright that dropped him. I really hope I hadn’t aimed too low. Dress it up as self-defence or whatever, I’d still feel like a thug if I’d hit him. I don’t want to hurt anyone. Nevertheless, the blast from the Purdy stopped them dead and gave us time to get into the jungle and get our gear. They didn’t follow us into the woods. I think it’s the darkness that scares them.

Time to go now. I can hear Mathlos shouting at me from the clearing. He says he doesn’t care what magic weapons I have, he’ll track me down. He doesn’t sound too drunk now. He keeps repeating that I should have taken his offer because soon I’ll die. He’s a smart one. It’s a psychological move. He’s trying to turn Armbranch against me.

Must get moving. It’ll be dawn soon. Must get a head start.

Despite the mayhem, I’m glad to be out of that place. That shelter was beginning to feel more like a crypt.

Can only make one post a day now. Mathlos’ men are getting braver. This afternoon, when I tried to slip away from the clearing, one of them slipped off his safety rope and followed me into the woods. Though I lost him easily, I get the impression that Mathlos’ patience is running out.

He asked me earlier if I’d reached a decision. I told him I had, but that I wasn’t ready just yet to hand over Armbranch. I stalled him by saying I wanted out of here on the next crop pickup in two days time. He nodded and laughed and told me I was a wise man. But I saw something else in his eyes, an underlying restlessness that told me he wasn’t prepared to wait that long.

It’s time to leave, and soon. Armbranch is remarkably laid back about the whole affair. It’s like he doesn’t understand the concept of slavery and how he might see out his days destroying plants instead of tending to them.

I wonder if he’s so relaxed because he knows I’ll be the only one they’ll kill when the time comes. I doubt it.

Mathlos told me more about the fields earlier. There are only nineteen clearings like this in the known Shalvod where this crop will grow. Nobody knows why. He also admitted that he doesn’t want Armbranch to help him here. No. He wants him for his future business. He wants Armbranch’s skills as a tracker and forester

Justin told me more this morning about O’Heir’s visit. Holten from the National Museum was in contact with him. He didn’t ask him to investigate anything. No. He just enquired a bit more about us. O’Heir said he told them nothing, and I tend to believe him.

He told Justin some other interesting information as well. He said that he’d used to play around the lake when he’d been a boy. Said he saw things here, weird things. He didn’t know what they were and stopped short of mentioning faeries. But whatever he saw left its mark. Over the years he’s been coming out here time and time again hoping to find an answer.

I’m sure he’s convinced we’ve seen something. Otherwise he’d never have been so open with Justin no matter how much Guinness or whiskey he drank.

If it comes to a fight with the museum, I think I’ll let O’Heir in on our secret. He could prove to be a great help to us, a buffer between us and Holton. In return, he’ll get proof that he wasn’t seeing things all those years ago.

Besides, I’m curious to know what he saw, too.

It is with great regret that I make this post. It has nothing to do with my journey, but everything to do with my blog. I am now getting large amounts of something called ‘Comment Spam’ sent to me so I’ve decided to turn off the comments facility on the blog for a week to see if this might stop this nuisance. Apologies in advance to anyone who might want to post a comment. I’ll switch it back on again soon once I’ve had the time to figure out a better solution.

Comment spammers! Seems like the darker shadows of our society can stretch a long, long way.

Anyway, anyone who wishes to contact me can always use the Contact Me feature on the home page.

We can’t leave today. Though Armbranch’s been sneaking around the fields, he’s brought precious little food back. Most of the newer growth it is still hard and sour. It needs a few more days, he says. I don’t want to wait any longer. I want to leave right now and take our chances. Surely there’s food enough in the forest to eat.

When I argued this fact, Armbranch told me there was something special about this food, something worth waiting for. Not for him, for me. He claims what they fed me already was only a husky part of the plant and not the cone.

Who am I to argue? He’s the expert on all things green.

Waiting for the crop to ripen presents another problem, too. Mathlos’s men. They’ve nothing to do except loiter about and drink that crap beer. That’s probably why a few of them turn up almost everywhere we go. I’m sure Mathlos has told them to watch us.

Can’t help wondering how Mathlos knew about the Basilod. Did he receive some communications with the supply drop? Did he send out news of our arrival? If so, I doubt if it’ll be long before his superiors take an interest in us. Then again, if he’s convinced I’ll do a deal, then it’s probably in his best interests to stay quiet.

I hope he’s smart enough to realise this. I also hope I’m smart enough to stall him.

He’s certainly getting all buddy buddy with me. This morning he was all smiles and laughter. When I asked him a few background questions he told me he’d come from Ralanor and that this was his second last trip into the interior of the Shalvod Jungle. He’d saved enough to start his own exploration business. When I asked what he intended to explore, he replied that same look of surprise he’d given me on our first day here when I’d asked about the crops.

It’s at times like that I wish Armbranch knew more about the Parawerthan than simply the jungle. I desperately need some basic background knowledge. Otherwise, someone smarter than Mathlos is going to get mighty suspicious.

Much as I’d longed to question Mathlos further, I held my tongue. It’s best to play along with him for now.

I started scribbling a monthly update for Maya this afternoon. I hope it helps. Once I’m finished I’ll type it up and put it online in a special folder to make it easier for her to understand what happened to us when she wakes. I hope it helps. My conscience is already bothering me because I haven’t paid her much attention over the past few days.

But how can I? It’s hard enough to slip away into the jungle for any more than a few minutes. There’s always somebody watching.

At least Justin’s there to watch over her. He met O’Heir yesterday. The old cop had called to the house to see if we’d returned from France yet. Justin told him we we’re staying on over there for an extra few weeks. Justin didn’t know if O’Heir believed him, but it sounded like they got on well together.

They drank the remainder of my Guinness.

We’ve got to leave this place; and we’ve got to leave it soon. Last night started out okay. Mathlos cooked his fungus meal. And, despite the risk, I ate it. All through the meal he plied me with some kind of weak, home brewed beer. Then, the instant we’d finished eating, the interrogation began.

And he wasn’t too discreet. He told me straight out he didn’t believe I was a miner. He said he knew I was on the run and that he could help me greatly with any problems I had. When I feigned interest, the dam burst and the questions flooded out. Where had I found Armbranch? What did I know about him? How long had I owned him? Was the creature wild when I got him or did I train him?

Armbranch! So it was all about him. I was so shocked I almost choked on the beer.

The questions flowed relentlessly after that. He even straight up asked me if we could do a deal over Armbranch, said he’d split the profit from the next crop pickup and arrange an airlift out of here if only I told him how I controlled the beast.

It sickened me to think these men regarded Armbranch as a beast. But I played along. I dropped hints that I might be willing to strike a deal if I knew more. Mathlos laughed at that. So did the other three men in the shelter. It was genuine laughter, too; the sound of men who thought everything had its price. I forced myself to laugh along with them. I don’t think any of these men have any experience of Armbranch’s kind. But they’ve certainly heard about them. Mathlos said that with Armbranch’s skills with plants and trees he could expand the fields and increase the crop three or four fold.

Armbranch wouldn’t need a safety rope, Mathlos joked. No. The chains they had would anchor him solidly to the ground if any spirit storm came.

As an extra encouragement, he added that there were rumours circulating that a rogue second level creature was loose and this part of the woods might not be safe to travel through any more. When he pushed me for a decision, I told him I’d have to think about it because Armbranch cost me much in time and money and I’d have to calculate a good price.

I’d trust the Basilod quicker than I’d trust Mathlos. All he needs from me is the knowledge of how to control Armbranch. What that is, I don’ t know. Perhaps he thinks I’ve some spell or other hold over him.

I’m sure if he ever learns the truth he’ll kill me.

I told Armbranch everything when I returned to our shelter. He agrees we must leave. But not yet. He wants to find a way to steal some of this crop substance before we go. He says I’m going to need it as food on our journey.

We’ll stay one more day. That’s it. Then we’ll bolt.

What a crazy, crazy day. Mathlos awoke us at dawn with news that the crop lift was imminent. We climbed out of the shelter and found the camp a hive of activity. Men were hauling fat sacks out of two storage shelters and piling them into a great net that was laid out on a flattened, earthy patch of ground close to the fields. Several fires were blazing around the edges of the clearing. There wasn’t a whisper of wind. Dark pillars of smoke rose cleanly into the sky from the fires.

Once the storage shelters were empty, the net was tied into a bale using thick lengths of rope. Mathlos told us to keep watching the smoke. If we saw any sign of turbulence we were to dive through the nearest hatch.

I never took my eyes off that smoke –at least not until the birds came. There were four of them, jet black and as big as eagles. They circled in great arcs high above the smoke before two swooped and took position on trees overlooking the clearing. Scout birds. I was sure of it. Mathlos confirmed this when I questioned him. A low hush fell about the clearing while the remaining birds circled high. Everything stopped. Time stood still. For the next few minutes nobody moved or spoke. All I remember hearing was the crackle of the fires and the sound of my own breathing. Even Armbranch seemed rooted to the spot with anticipation.

A low whooshing sound grew above the trees off to our right. At first I thought it might be a spirit storm. But when nobody budged, I stopped looking around for a bolthole and focussed on the tree line.

Another bird appeared. At least I think it was a bird. It was so big, so fast. Its wingspan was fifty feet if it was an inch. Everything happened so quickly. It made one great sweep over the clearing, shattering the smoke pillars, and sending a back draught of air down that swept across the fields like a great, invisible wave. It had no feathers. I remember that much. Its wings were webbed and leathery. I couldn’t see the rest of its body because it was covered with chain mail that glittered in the early sun and made me partly shield my eyes. Its head was covered too. All I saw were its eyes, yellow eyes that blazed as hot as any furnace.

It swooped low, seized the bale of crops, and soared off above the trees with one great beat of its wings. Moments later the scout birds were gone and the clearing was silent again.

It was a long time after it had left before I could catch my breath.

After that, the rest of the day was an anticlimax. Mathlos left us to wander about on our own and we divided the afternoon between exploring the fields and resting in the shelter. Yet, though Mathlos stayed away, there was always someone watching us. We’ve agreed not to get separated no matter what happens. And it was like Mathlos had heard us because barely twenty minutes after we’d made that decision a messenger arrived with an invitation from Mathlos to eat with him tonight. It’s a special meal, a stew made from the crops and a special type fungus the bird delivered with the supplies.

Armbranch wasn’t mentioned. The messenger just kept repeating that Mathlos had some important issues to discuss with me. He must have said those words a dozen times, like they’d been programmed into his mind.

Questions. I’m sure of it. Mathlos is finally going to start asking his questions.

We were greeted warmly at the camp this morning. Mathlos’ attitude hadn’t changed. He was still smiling, still quick to throw his arm around my shoulder and tell me how fortunate it was we escaped the storm. He was more open, too. After insisting we wear safety ropes, he gave us a tour of the fields and explained that the crops were a foodstuff much sought after in the southern Allemont region of Vallenon. They only grow in places such as this, places close to a strong Envelop.

I got the impression he was testing me by mentioning specific names so I just kept nodding and said no more. I have my own suspicions about this crop. It’s a corn yellow plant with bushy leaves and small green cones that sprout along its stem. The cones remind me of poppy buds. That’s the worrying part. Poppies. Heroin. Narcotics. Every time I think about them images of Afghanistan flood my mind.

Are these guys harvesting drugs out here? In a crazy, uncomfortable way they do resemble those Afghan farmers I’ve often seen on TV bleating on about how they have to grow poppies in order to survive and feed their families.

Armbranch stared blankly at me when I mentioned my suspicions to him. The concept of illegal narcotics seemed alien to him. Perhaps that’s the way it is here. Perhaps drugs aren’t viewed in the same light as back home. Perhaps they are considered simply as ‘a foodstuff much sought after’.

Either way, I’m going to keep my nose out of it and agree with everything Mathlos says. He’s given us the use of an underground shelter for as long as we want. It’s a fairly basic shelter. Constructed from metal, it’s about fifteen feet in diameter and a fixed ladder drops down to two separate levels. The bottom level is the sleeping quarters with six bunks while the upper area is a living/eating area. It’s self-contained with a supply of running water, a small toilet, and a hole in the wall I presume is for cooking. It actually smelled okay down there, too. Fresh, like air vents were built into the walls.

In a way it reminded me of the miners ‘bunker’. I figure these habitations had been dropped here into pre-dug holes that were then filled in around them.

One of the oddest things I saw there today was the length of rail that sits alone near the edge of the forest. It was maybe five or six feet long and reminded me of those horse rails they had outside saloons in the Old West. Eight short lengths of safety rope were attached to it. The ends of each rope were flowery and loose. Snapped not cut. A line of unlit candles wer laid out beneath it. The candles look like they’ve only ever been lit once or twice.

When I asked Mathlos about it, he lowered his eyes and told me it was a memorial for the ‘taken’.

All day my eyes were drawn back to that rail and its significance. I’ll have to push Armbranch to tell me more about the spirit storms. It’s vital I learn as much as I can about them.

I watched Mathlos closer today. He was taking an undue interest in Armbranch. He even asked his advice several times about the method they were using to grow the crops. It wasn’t harmless curiosity either. There was an undertone to his voice, a deep impatient longing for an answer that made my gut heavy with anxiety.

Armbranch played it smart. He said nothing.

Mathlos sent over food tonight, a pot of some type of hot vegetable stew. It was the first hot food I’d seen since leaving home. It was made from the crops, and it smelled great. Armbranch wouldn’t let me eat it. Not until he’s sniffed and sampled some of it first. Did he think it was poisoned, or was he ensuring it mightn’t make me sick? I don’t know; and he didn’t say. All I know is that by the time he was satisfied I could eat it, it was cold.

There’s a crop pickup tomorrow. Should be interesting. Time to stash the gear away now. I’m writing this from the jungle and dusk is falling. I don’t like hiding our gear out here, but I’m certainly not bringing it into the camp. That could be way, way too risky.

Talked long into the night with Armbranch about our next move. Though we both agree that it might be better to bypass this camp and keep going, we also agree that it’s not an option. We need to know more about what they’re doing. We have to know more. They’re taking such elaborate security precautions it fills me with dread to think of what might be scouring these forests.

Armbranch doesn’t seem too bothered by that aspect of things. It’s as if he knows already what’s here and isn’t afraid of it. Once again, I can’t help thinking about that ‘wind above the trees’. Is it some kind of spirit storm, or some other type of latent storm the creators placed in the Envelop as another line of defence?

Right now, I figure anything’s possible.

That wind doesn’t come every day now. No. It’s becoming more erratic. In the past week I’ve only heard it a few times, and it sounds weaker every time. I asked Armbranch about it again last night. He didn’t reply. He just closed his eyes. I didn’t push it. When he closes his eyes like that it’s like he’s shutting something down something deep inside his mind. Later he admitted that he was concerned by Mathlos’ interest in him. I didn’t notice it, but Armbranch claims the man never let him out of his sight.

I’ll stay more alert today and see what happens. I’m not looking forward to returning to the camp. But I have to return there. I owe to Maya to find out more.

Well it all went easier than I expected. After hiding most of our gear (including the laptop) in a tree, we simply marched out of the forest and walked towards them. The reaction was immediate and predictable. Those above the surface stopped working and simply stared. Those below ground popped their heads up through the hatches as if alerted by some secret signal.

We stopped at the edge of the thin, grassy borderline that separated the crops from the jungle. After a few minutes the first man came towards us, a tall guy, his eyes narrow, his reaping hook grasped so tightly in both hands his knuckles were white.

It was a relief that he spoke English; or at least the same old English that Armbranch used. Things could have got tricky otherwise. A predictable standoff followed. Then the questions began. Who were we? Where had we come from? What did we want? Why no storm protection? Were we miners?

I nodded at that last question and replied by telling him we’d escaped from a spirit storm. A chain reaction of whispered murmurs spread through the group. Some automatically crouched and gaped upwards. Others turned, poised to run. One guy, who’d more fluff than beard on his face, dived to the ground and wrapped his arms around one of the frame’s support struts.

They didn’t relax until Armbranch quickly added that we hadn’t seen the storm for over a week. Things didn’t change much, though. When more men came closer, we backed up until they were straining at their safety ropes to get a better look at us. A few minutes later a tall, burly figure whose beard was streaked with grey, climbed up through a hatch and marched towards us without bothering to attach any safety rope.

My hands tightened around the Purdy at that point.

His nose crinkled slightly when he stopped and held out his hand. It was only then I realised how much I must have stank. I took his hand. It was strong and calloused, a working man’s hand. Said his name was Mathlos. A smile crossed his face when I introduced myself. Said he’d never heard the name Raymond before.

We spent the afternoon with Mathlos in the clearing. And all through that time he didn’t ask a single question. Not once. Somehow that didn’t feel right to me. He was cautious enough about what he showed us. We didn’t get a look down into their underground habitations. Nor did he show us inside any of the huts. When I asked what kind of crops they were harvesting he reacted with mild surprise, like he’d expected me to know already.

One of the most exhilarating experiences there was also the most simple. They had barrel upon barrel of rainwater and it was such a joy to have a proper wash.

So what if the water was possibly full of strange bacteria. I didn’t drink any of it. Even if I had and I’d got sick, it would have been worth it to feel the cold rush as I spilled bucket after bucket over me until the ground around my feet was waterlogged.

It’s so easy to forget about these small, important pleasures like washing or changing clothes. Even without soap, I felt like a newborn after drying and getting dressed. I also found time to wash some clothes. They dried quickly. It was nice to relax and watch the steam drifting up from them in the late afternoon sun.

Mathlos offered us use of an underground shelter for the night. We refused. I was eager to get back to our gear and log on. Besides, I’d agreed with Armbranch earlier to return to the jungle before dusk. Perhaps tomorrow we’ll ask for shelter. I think we’ll find a lot of answers in that camp. In order to get them, I think we’ll have to live with those men for a while.

I don’t fancy the thoughts of it.

Mathlos might sound genuine, but he told us little about himself or his team. There are a million questions bubbling behind those icy blue eyes and I’m sure we’re going to hear many of them before we leave these people.

Must mail Justin now and see how things are going back home.

Armbranch is out scouting through the woods, just to make sure nobody followed us.

We’ve decided to make contact today. If we don’t, I know I’ll always regret it. With any luck these people might be of some help and advise us on how best to proceed through this endless forest. If not, well, if they get aggressive I always have the Purdy. And we can run, too. Even if they dare release their safety ropes, Armbranch would soon lose them in here.

Next problem. How do we make contact? Should we call one of them over the edge of the clearing or should we boldly march out into the open and see what happens?

Left to me, I’d prefer to watch them for another day or two to get a better idea of whom we’ll be dealing with. Armbranch’s the opposite. True, he’s wary. He’s also eager to push on. I know he’s right. It might be better to simply skirt around this place and keep going instead of spending days watching and doing nothing.

Spent the day hiding in the woods and studying the clearing. There are people there, about a dozen of them. Men. Bearded, tough looking men. And though they spent much of their day harvesting crops, they don’t strike me as farmers. Nor do they dress like farmers. Each is wearing knee length boots, leather breeches, and some kind of chain mail jacket. They look and act more like soldiers.

They’re living underground. What Armbranch thought were shelters are actually crude wooden huts that are used to store this crop. Their homes or shelters of whatever they live in are buried below ground level. They emerge up from these through hatches that, oddly, remind me of submarine hatches. They even have wheels attached on both sides.

What was even more unsettling was the metal frame that dissects the fields. It was waist high and fixed to the ground in places with stone foundations. This frame began close to the hatches and once anyone came above ground they immediately attached themselves to it using a rope and harness. It’s a safety rope. I’m sure of it because nobody moved far from the hatches without using it.

But why go to such lengths to protect themselves? Spirit storms, I guess. Either that or there’s some powerful flying predators that hunt around here. It’s almost as if they’re afraid of being plucked up and carried off.

At one point I think the sun must have caught the binocular lens because one of the men looked directly towards us and kept staring our way for almost a minute before carrying on with his gathering.

We’re back at last night’s camp. Soon we’ve got to decide on our next move. Do we contact these men? Can we take the risk? Will they be hostile or friendly?

Right now, I don’t want to think about it. Armbranch doesn’t sound too keen either. He’s more interested in the laptop. Earlier I showed him a video I’d taken of Maya shortly after we’d moved into the cottage. She was in the kitchen, smiling and laughing as she painted the back door. Armbranch seemed absolutely stunned to see her moving. He immediately drew back from the laptop and loitered in the shadows for a few minutes.

Once I convinced him it was okay, I showed him a different movie. This time we were in the garden and Maya was picking flowers. When he asked me how she could move, I told him that, among other things, the laptop was a crystal ball and that this was our future. I felt bad for lying. Yet, I guess it wasn’t completely a lie because I fully believe what’s on those movies is our future. That’s why I’m here, to make sure Maya will soon be out in the garden again.

It was hard to watch her picking flowers, hard to see her laugh and smile without the guilt rising again.

I wonder will she ever forgive me for all this.