Charlotte and the Morthe: The Flying Tiger Series, #1

Charlotte and The Morthe

By Kevin William Barry

Sometimes, during those few, brief moments between being fast asleep and wide awake, you may catch a glimpse of another world. Another world which exists alongside ours, yet remains unseen by all but a lucky few.

Such a world is the kingdom of Rockhamptia. A world inhabited by wizards and witches, Kings and Queens. By giants, and by the fierce, terrifying, eight legged creatures called Grombletics.

It is also home to the magnificent, huge, winged cats known as the Morthe.

This is a story from the world of Rockhamptia.

A story of the adventures of a little girl called Charlotte.

Chapter 1

The Morthe

IF SHE HAD BEEN ASKED, Charlotte would have said she was terrified. And who could blame her. After all, no one had seen a Morthe, not anywhere, not in the entire kingdom, for over one hundred and thirty six years. Not since the Great Wizard Plith walked the earth, had an official record of a sighting of one of those huge creatures been posted in the Kingdom of Rockhamptia’s records. They had died out years ago.

Except they hadn't. Charlotte had seen one with her own eyes just twenty five hours ago. And it was quite a big one. The beast had a wingspan of around fourteen metres, fangs as long and as sharp as pitchfork tines, and claws that could rake a man's flesh to the bone and tear out his heart in the blink of an eye.

Rhono Flant the shepherd, had complained, as indeed he often did, long and loud about the fact that someone was stealing his sheep. Every night, he told them, he counted his sheep and every morning, when he counted them again, there was one less.

Charlotte's father, Brendan, who worked as a blacksmith, and also as a part time peacekeeper with the village council, had offered to stand guard over Rhono's flock for him. Telling Rhono that If there were thieves about, he would arrest them and drag them before the council to be tried and punished. For his efforts, Rhono would pay him three silver coins. A sum which Charlotte knew would do much to ease the strain on her family’s purse. A purse which had frequently been empty these last few months.

The entire land had been struck by a terrible drought. A drought which had lain waste to much of the countryside. No rain meant no crops and no crops meant no need for the upkeep of farm equipment. Ploughs, harrows and wagons rarely broke down when they were just sitting idle in the barn. Charlotte's father's skills had seldom been called upon over the past seven months. The three coins would not be enough to fill the larder completely, but they would certainly help.

But then barely an hour before dusk, Charlotte's little sister Zara was taken ill. They called for a healer who examined the younger girl thoroughly. The healer believed the ailment was nothing serious, most likely just a tummy bug and felt sure Zara would recover by morning, but she also felt it best that Brendan stay home and watch over her until the fever broke.

Predictably Rhono was furious and demanded that Charlotte's father return his fee immediately. Brendan would have done just that, but then Charlotte stepped forward and offered to take her father's place.

Such a hazardous task is not one suitable for a tiny slip of a girl such as yourself, proclaimed Rhono. You’re only nine years old. What if the blagards attack you? Surely you don't intend to subdue them with that tiny toothpick of a sword you carry around with ya!

If I may remind you Mr Flant, said Charlotte politely. The Queen’s own bodyguards are girls. They have no difficulty dealing with any situation thrown at them. Besides, I don't need to stop them from taking your sheep. I can hide, watch the thieves from a safe distance and then follow them to their hideout. Then I can run back to the garrison and fetch the Peacekeepers. I will be quite safe, as indeed will be your sheep.

Rhono Flant roared with laughter at the child's cheek. The Queen’s body guard indeed. Queen Mirkin The Fair’s bodyguards were women not girls. Women with special powers and years of training in swordsmanship and fighting skills. They were not tiny nine year old babies whose only weapon was barely bigger than one her mother’s kitchen knives.

Brendan, however seemed to have confidence in his daughters abilities and felt that her plan had merit. Eventually Charlotte and her father were able to persuade Rhono to accept the young girl as a substitute night watchman. Though he accepted her only at the reduced rate of a single silver coin for her efforts.

And so, that night, Charlotte found herself in Rhono's field, wrapped snugly in her dark blue, hooded tunic, safely hidden on top of a huge haystack. By her side she had her trusty crossbow, and her sword, secured inside its tiny scabbard, was strapped firmly to her waist.

The haystack stood under the sweeping boughs of an enormous oak tree, so she was protected from any possibility of rain, and by mounding up a few handfuls of hay around her, she could remain well hidden whilst she stood guard over Rhono’s flock.

The sky was moonless tonight, but never the less, alive with the twinkling of stars. Occasionally, as Charlotte scanned the heavens a shooting star, an angel flying to earth on some divine mission as the village soothsayer would say, blazed a trail across the night sky and disappeared into the dark.

Dotted around the field, in groups of six to a dozen, were Rhono's sheep. One hundred and six, Mr Flant had told her, and Charlotte set about the arduous task of counting them all.

As any person who has ever tried can attest to, counting sheep at night has the almost magical effect of sending the counter to sleep almost immediately. Soon Charlotte's eyelids became heavy. She yawned widely, her chin sank to her chest, her breathing became rhythmic and deep, and her mind wandered off into the land of dreams. In no time at all she was fast asleep.

In her dreams she played happily with her dog Harley, running through the forest below her parents house. They played ‘fetch’ with a big yellow ball. They played at rabbit hunting and explorers and other such games and ran and jumped and danced until they were both quite worn out. They lay down together on the soft, cool, green grass and Charlotte put her arms around her best friend and then did what Harley liked best in the whole world, she rubbed his ears and tickled his tummy. Harley wormed his way closer and then rolled over, jumped up playfully next to Charlotte and licked her face over and over again.

With a start Charlotte realised that dream was a little too realistic, the licks a little too wet. She opened her eyes and screamed.

Raaaaacccckkk, screeched the Morthe back at her. The beast was huge and it was perched on a stout branch of the oak tree, right  above her head. Suddenly it reached down, and once more licked her across her face. Charlotte screamed again and scrambled backwards over the edge of the haystack and slid down to the ground. As soon as her feet touched the grass, she ran for the gate as fast as her legs would carry her.

The Morthe jumped into the air, executed a perfect backward somersault and with a mighty flap of it’s enormous wings took off after the young girl like a rocket. Charlotte felt, rather than saw the beast coming and spun around, throwing herself onto the ground just as the monster shot past, over her head. The Morthe circled around and came back once more. Charlotte jumped to her feet and quickly began to load her crossbow. Her hands were shaking like a leaf but she managed to get it loaded just in time. She raised the bow to her shoulder, pulled the trigger, and the bolt shot though the air, straight at the beast. But the Morthe was too quick and easily side-stepped the arrow, which shot past it’s head and flew off into the dark.

Charlotte felt certain that at any moment the Morthe would open it’s mouth and swallow her whole but instead the beast spun around and raced off after the arrow. Seconds later Charlotte heard a crashing sound somewhere over near the fence and then the Morthe came hurtling back out of the darkness, shot past Charlotte like a bolt of lightning, spun around and plummeted to the ground, landing less than a metre from where the little girl stood. It dropped the arrow at her feet and then stood waiting, expectantly, tail wagging.

Charlotte was dumbfounded. It wanted to play! Surely not. A huge winged beast, a creature known to all as being a bloodthirsty, ravenous monster, one which could tear you to shreds in a blink of an eye, wanted to play fetch? It was simply beyond belief. She reloaded her bow and sent another arrow off into the night and once again the Morthe went after it. Six more times she fired the crossbow bolt into the air and six times the Morthe flew after it and brought it back, dropping the arrow at her feet and skipping up and down excitedly until she sent another arrow up and over to the other side of the field. Just as Harley did when they played fetch together.

Suddenly the beast seemed to tire of this game, and flew off into the shadows over by the fence. It returned a few moments later, hovered for a few seconds above Charlotte’s head, and then dropped something new at the little girls feet. It was the half eaten carcass of one of Rhono Flant’s sheep.

The Morthe landed gently next to the dead animal and then, using it’s massive head, pushed the sheep towards the little girl. Oh goodness me, exclaimed Charlotte out loud. Don’t tell me you want me to share your food? She backed away slowly, but the Morthe followed, pushing the dead sheep forward as it went.

No thank you Mr Morthe, said Charlotte, holding her hands up and shaking her head vigorously. I don’t like sheep unless it’s been cooked first.

Whether the huge winged beast understood, or just changed it’s mind about sharing, Charlotte didn’t know, but the Morthe dropped onto it’s tummy, placed both paws on top of the sheep, dragged the carcass towards itself, and proceeded to eat. Tearing huge chunks of meat off the dead animal and chewing the juicy flesh noisily, before swallowing.

While it ate, Charlotte moved a little closer to get a better look at her new friend. She knew it was a silly thing to do. She knew very well that wild animals didn’t like intruders getting too close while they were eating. Yet she felt that, as the Morthe had already invited her to share in his feast, it was probably safe enough. She took another step closer and then reached out and touched the beast’s golden fur. It was soft, soft like that of a new born kitten, soft, thick and warm to touch. In fact, now that she was able to look more closely, she could see why many people called Morthes, flying tigers. Apart from the heavy mane running down its back and the long, flat tail like that of an eel, it looked a lot like a normal cat. A huge cat admittedly, with enormous wings and a pair of fangs which were nearly half as big as Charlotte herself.

A deep grumbling sound came from somewhere deep inside the animal and Charlotte was amazed once again when she realised what the sound was. The Morthe was purring.

Suddenly it looked up and stared towards the east. The dawn was breaking. The first rays of another day were just starting to