“Rest, child.” A woman with spectacles balanced near the end of her nose and gray-white hair tied back in a tight bun leaned over her, smiling a reassuring smile. The girl did not recognize her, but she felt immediately at ease, as though she had known this woman for as long as she could remember. “You are in our guest chambers. You’ve been through quite an ordeal, I must say, but there were no broken bones, and once you’re warmed up, you should be right as rain.
“As to the dragon, he is recovering, as well. He is being attended. It has been ages since we have seen his kind here, and I fear Lord Nigel is behind his enslavement.” A cloud of concern drifted across her eyes.
“Lord Nigel?”
“Yes, my husband’s older brother. He has been embittered these many centuries since the crown was bestowed upon my husband, Nicholas. Now, my dear husband is missing, and I fear Nigel used the dragon as a diversion to keep us occupied while he... abducted him.”
Elizabeth thought she saw a tear form in the woman’s eye, but she couldn’t be sure. She was just waking up... or was she still asleep and dreaming?
“Nicholas? As in Saint Nicholas?”
This seemed to brighten the woman’s spirits a little, and she chuckled. “No, dear child,” she said. “Saints are dead, and my husband is very much alive... or at least he was the last time I saw him.” The cloud of worry returned.
“He is not too fond of titles, but he does rather like the name Father Christmas. His brother prefers a different epithet: Father Time. He seems to think all living things must bend to his will, and now he has set out to prove it.”
Elizabeth tried to prop herself up on her elbows, but lay back again when her head began to spin.
“I can’t believe any of this,” she said, hastily remembering her manners and adding, “no offense intended.”
“None taken, child. But if I may ask, how is it that you believe in dragons, but don’t believe in my husband?”
“I’ve met the dragon personally,” the girl said.
“And you shall meet my husband, as well, if all goes well.”
“I pray it will,” said Elizabeth, more out of sympathy for the kind old woman than out of any confidence in what she was saying.
“As do I, child.”
The woman turned to go, placing a steaming cup of cocoa on a small, circular table beside her.
“Ma’am, one more question, if you please,” the girl ventured.
The woman stopped and turned back, waiting.
“How did I survive that fall?”
“Oh, that was Dan. He flew up to catch you when Cary swooped down to save the black rider he had knocked from his perch. Cary won’t say it—he’s quite ashamed—but he feels terrible that he let you fall off. It is just good fortune that Dan and the others had taken flight at the same time to meet the dragon, and Dan happened to be closest to you when you fell.
“Dan?”
“Some people call him Dancer, because he’s so light on his feet, but he prefers Dan. He’s very outgoing and doesn’t stand on formality, much like my husband.” She frowned again, and swallowed hard. “I really must go now, child. It has been a long night, and I fear it will get longer still before it ends.”
Elizabeth watched her as she went, then closed her eyes to rest and soon was asleep again.
...
Chapter Eight
Caravan
The boy thought he might find himself back in the corn maze once again. But, like so many other expectations on this night and in this place, it was simply not to be.
When the mist began to lift and the darkness became a bit less dark, he found himself on a hillside overlooking what appeared to be a settlement. It was not a town, exactly, and it was certainly not a city. It was, rather, a small grouping of structures surrounding a bright bonfire. As he drew closer, he realized, it wasn’t a settlement at all, and the structures weren’t structures but wooden wagons, each like a little house on wheels, painted in bright colors from red to gold to purple. Half a dozen such wagons were arranged around the bonfire, and he could hear the sound of people laughing and singing at the fireside.
Their song went like this:
I’m a nomad and a vagabond
Now I’m here, and now I’m gone
Adventures come with each new dawn
And I am off to find one
Alex had never seen anything like it.
“I don’t think I’m in Iowa anymore,” he said, half-aloud.
Pausing for a moment just outside the glowing ring cast by the firelight, he considered, for a moment, bypassing the group, unsure whether to reveal himself without knowing who they were. But his desire to find a way back home outweighed his trepidation. Besides, he had survived an encounter with the Reaper. How much worse could this be?
So, he stepped forward to the edge of the encampment and, when they did not seem to notice him, announced his presence.
“Hello,” he said, somewhat meekly.
When there was no response, he repeated, louder, “Hello!”
A young man who’d been sitting by the fire leapt to his feet, followed by another, and then a third. They seemed to have been taken by surprise, and they moved deliberately toward him like big cats on the hunt, half crouched and muscles tensed. The three appeared as though they had just recently—or were about to—come of age; each of them wore a tunic, tied at the waist by a bright red sash. One of them wore on his head a rich green bandana, the other two sporting similar, flat-topped, wide-brimmed hats. Dark black hair tumbled out from beneath each of their headpieces, though one of the young men had secured his locks in a braid behind him.
“Who’s there?” the one in the bandana demanded.
“My name is Alexander,” the boy replied, trying to sound important by enunciating his full name.
The young man’s eyes widened, as if in recognition—which was strange, since Alex had never seen him before—then narrowed again. He turned to whisper into the ear of the tall one, who was nearest him, but his voice was still loud enough that Alex could overhear him: “I’m not sure it’s him. It could be a trick by Railsback. I didn’t think we’d find highwaymen here.”
The tall one nodded and whispered back: “I don’t know. He seems to match Mama’s description, but we’ve never actually seen him before.”
“Better safe than sorry,” his companion whispered.
The tall one nodded, then raised his voice and addressed the boy: “How many are with you, Alexander?” he asked.
“Just me,” the boy answered.
“We don’t believe you,” the tall one said. Then, shouting out into the darkness, he called, “Who goes there?”
The boy noticed that some of the others around the fire had stood and were looking in his direction. Most of them seemed young; some no more than children. Some of the older boys were escorting several girls, each adorned in flowing dresses of many colors, back into the wagons. Alex could not tell exactly how many people were in the encampment, but he guessed there might be about a dozen. They were clearly wary, but not of him; they seemed to believe that he was a decoy or scout, and that others were hiding in the darkness beyond the camp, plotting an ambush.
The boy stepped forward slowly, and the three young men matched his pace as they moved to meet him. The moment he came within a few paces, the one in the bandana leapt forward and roughly took hold of him, grabbing him by both arms and twisting them behind his back. “Rope!” he shouted, and another man emerged out from one of the wagons with a thick double cord that was deftly wrapped and tied around the boy’s wrist almost before he knew it was happening.
“Hey!” He pressed briefly against his bonds, but they only tightened in response, and he quickly realized a struggle would be fruitless. “Let me go!”
The young men ignored him, their eyes instead darting back and forth as they focused on the darkness. “Are you out there, Railsback? We have your spy. Now, show yourself!”
Alex tried to shake their arms o
ff him, but they held him fast. “There’s no one out there!” he protested.
The one holding him bent low near his ear and whispered, “We don’t believe you, boy.”
They stood there for several minutes, scanning the inky murk beyond the encampment for any sign of movement. At last, seeing none, they cursed under their breaths as they began to retreat, dragging Alex with them and pushing him down forcefully at both shoulders to make him sit beside the fire.
“I can’t tell whether he’s the one,” the one in the bandana said.
“Neither can I,” the man with the mustache agreed.
“Maybe he is, but maybe Railsback kidnapped him to do his bidding,” the first man suggested.
They were talking about Alex as though he wasn’t even there. “Who’s Railsback?” he ventured.
All three of them laughed, and the tall man raised a metal tankard to his lips. “You tell us, boy. If you tell us where he is and what he’s up to, we might let you go.”
“Might,” said another, and the three laughed again in unison.
“He doesn’t know.” The voice came from behind him, and all three men turned at the sound of it. It belonged to a woman who had just emerged from one of the wagons. She appeared to be of middle years, with strands of white hair flowing among the golden strands remaining from her youth. Her forehead was high, and her cheeks were soft and round. Had she been smiling, Alex would have seen a single dimple adorn her left cheek—although she was not smiling now. She was not tall; quite the opposite, in fact: She seemed to be scarcely taller than the boy. But at the sound of her voice, the young men all fell silent and nodded toward her in a show of deference.
“He’s the one,” the woman said curtly. “He doesn’t know Railsback.”
“As you say, Mama,” the tall one said, nodding his head.
“Thank you, Django. You’re a good boy.” Her thin lips curled upward in a slight smile.
“Yes, Mama,” one of the others said.
And the third, more reluctant: “As you say.”
The woman bent over and kissed Alex lightly on the top of the head, then sat down, cross-legged, beside him. “You have to forgive my boys,” she said. “When we came here, we were attacked by a band of ruffians led by the man named Railsback. We had not been prepared for this, so my boys are wary.”
Alex looked more closely at the three young men and noticed bruises around two of their faces, and a recently healed cut above the eye of the third.
“What are you waiting for, Vano? Untie his hands,” the woman said. “This is no way to treat our guest.”
The one wearing the bandana hurriedly took hold of the rope and had it off of him in an instant.
The woman turned to face him and looked directly into his eyes. “My name is Alamina,” she said. “I am the matron of this caravan. These boys here are my sons, Joey, Vano and Django. Tell me, then, where it is that you have come from?”
“I’m Alex, from Moravia,” he answered. “You’ve probably never heard of it. It’s here in Iowa.”
Alex thought he saw a flash of recognition in the woman’s eyes, but it vanished quickly, and her expression turned inscrutable. “Iowa?” she said.
“Yes,” Alex answered. “We’re in Iowa.”
“We are in the Black Forest,” Alamina said in a tone that brooked no opposition. “For as long as we have traveled these lands, we have never come upon a town or village called Iowa.”
Alex wanted to tell her Iowa wasn’t a town, but thought better of it. She seemed as certain of what she was saying as he was of what he knew, and it was pointless to argue in such situations—especially with grown-ups.
“Where are your manners, Joey? Fetch a cup of broth for our friend Alex.”
Joey got up quickly and pulled a shallow wooden bowl from a pouch by the fire. He dipped a ladle into an iron cauldron hanging suspended over the fire and spooned some piping-hot liquid into the dish, which he handed to Alex.
“Thank you,” he said.
Alamina looked deeply into his eyes as he sipped the broth. “Now, young man, in our culture, it is customary to show kindness to strangers, and it is also customary to repay kindness for kindness.” Her voice became suddenly harsher and more insistent. “This is the way of the Romani of the Southern Reach. So tell, me, what do you have that you can use to repay our kindness for welcoming you into our camp?”
Alex blinked twice. He had not expected this. “I... I don’t know.”
“But surely you have not come to us empty-handed.” She seemed to know he had something to offer.
Flustered and unprepared for the feeling that he had something the woman wanted, Alex reached into his pocket and put his hand on the only thing there. Before he realized what he was doing, he pulled out the Lou Gehrig baseball card in its plastic sleeve.
He regretted it immediately.
Alamina leaned forward, her eyes widening as if mesmerized. “Ohhh. What have we here?” she said.
“It... it’s nothing,” Alex stammered.
“Ohhh, but I have never seen anything like it. May I?” She reached out her hand, and Alex noticed the three young men had moved in closer to him. More people were emerging from the wagons, and they were all gathering around him. He glanced this way and that, and thought he might be able to get away, but something told him it was better not to try. Reluctantly, he handed the card to the woman, frantically hoping he might somehow find a way to retrieve it later. The Reaper had told him he would need each of the seven talismans to find his way back home, and without the card, he feared he would be stuck inside this bizarre maze for the rest of his life.
To his surprise, however, Alamina did not seem to be interested in the card itself. She seemed to all but ignore it, glancing at it only briefly before removing it and, instead, marveling at the plastic sleeve!
“I have never seen any material like this!” she said. “If you please, young Alex, I will keep it.”
She didn’t wait for a response, but handed the sleeve to one of her three sons and returned the card itself to Alex. He hastily returned it to his pocket.
“Now, there’s a good lad,” said Django, patting him on the head.
He tried not to scowl. He did not like being treated like a child; never mind that he was a child.
Alamina smiled, more broadly this time. “That was a test, you know.”
The boy’s brow furrowed. “A test?”
“Yes, like in school,” she said, winking at him, as though she had shared a private joke with him.
He had no idea what it meant.
She continued: “I know the card is a talisman. I trust you, Alex, but I needed to show the others here that you are worthy of that trust: that you are who you appear to be, and that value the rule of repaying kindness with kindness. It is clear now that you do.”
Alex didn’t feel too pleased with himself about this. He had been all but surrounded. But then, when it came right down to it, he’d always been taught to be kind and show appreciation, especially to his elders, so maybe there was at least a little something to what she was saying. His face brightened.
“Now, since you have shown yourself to be a man of honor...” (his chest puffed out just a little when she called him a man) “...I know I can entrust you with something you will need to complete your journey.”
She nodded to Joey, who stood and disappeared inside one of the wagons, each of which had a door at one end and a shallow, curved roof on top. He emerged again a moment later, carrying a square box painted red and gold. Adorned with various designs and swirls, it was inlaid with what appeared to be rubies and sapphires.
When Alamina saw his eyes widen at the sight of the box, she placed two fingers under his chin and turned it toward her. “The box stays here,” she said firmly, then smiled when she saw him taking her very, very seriously. “What’s inside is far more valuable.” She winked again.
This piqued the boy’s interest, and when Joey approached and offered him the box, h
e lost no time in accepting and opening it.
Inside was an ornate compass, set in gold and covered with the same designs that appeared on the box. When he opened it, the needle danced for a moment, then pointed true in one direction.
“North,” he said.
“No,” Alamina corrected him. “This is a wayfinder compass, the only one ever fashioned, so far as we can tell. All you need to do is set your mind on the place you wish to go, and it will point you in the proper direction.”
“Where did the compass come from?” the boy asked, fascinated.
“It has been handed down in our family for generations. When my sister entrusted it to me, she made me promise—as she herself had promised on receiving it—that I should not part with it, no matter what might be offered in return and no matter how great my need might be. It was only to be given to ‘the one who would put directions aright and weave the strands of time together as they ought to be.’ That’s what she told me. And that person, I know, is you.”
“That sounds like a big responsibility,” the boy said. “I just want to get back home.”
“The Compass of the Seventh Kingdom will help you do just that,” Alamina assured him. “And it will make everything the way it always should have been. The earth has Seven True Kingdoms, some larger, some smaller, and each separated from one another by the Seven Seas.”
Alex didn’t know what she meant by that. He had never heard of these Seven Kingdoms. More importantly, though, was the name she had given the compass: It was the same name the Reaper had used for one of the talismans he had listed. He could not believe his good fortune. But then it occurred to him that such fortune would require he grant a kindness in return under the code of the Southern Reach Romani. And he supposed it would have to be something of great value—would she want the Lou Gehrig card after all?
“But I have nothing to offer,” he said.
The Talismans of Time (Academy of the Lost Labyrinth Book 1) Page 7