Beyond the Valley of Thorns

by Patrick Carman

  The morning went along in much the same manner, the gruesome details of which I will not share in great detail. We were able to lure in all of the forest ogres. Besides the one wayward arrow Yipes had shot, we had other difficulties. Guards were lost, wild dogs were lost, and we arrived at the Valley of Thorns with six ogres still remaining. We had ten guards scattered through the trees and fifty or more dogs roaming beneath us on the ground, but the remaining ogres were not close enough to be taken. Before these ogres could think to blow their own horns, six of our guards made the warning sound, not loud enough for the wharf to hear, but louder than we had dared blow them in the forest. With so many horns going off all at once, the six ogres that remained didn’t think to blow their own. Instead they ran to help, sure that every ogre from the forest would come running as well. When they arrived at the trees, the dogs began their barking and the arrows and swords began to rain down on the ogres. A few minutes later we’d taken what remained of the ogres in the Valley of Thorns.

  All told, we lost thirteen dogs and two guards. Another guard was badly shaken when an ogre slammed him up against a tree, but he was able to continue on, a few broken ribs not enough to keep him from the important work ahead. It was midmorning and we had achieved something miraculous, setting the stage for what we hoped would be greater victories in the hours to come. We raced back to the clock tower and found Armon and Scroggs waiting for us. They, too, had been victorious at the cliffs by the sea. One was taken while he lay sleeping, the other two lured to the cliffs by the dogs and pushed from behind by Armon.

  Balmoral had thought of everything, and when we arrived back at the clock tower, Margaret was waiting for us with fresh uniforms. The guards removed their bloody, stinking clothes and replaced them with new ones. Then those who had joined us earlier in the day ran off toward the gate, no doubt to receive more weaponry and instructions from Balmoral on the wharf.

  “I must go quickly,” said Margaret. “I will bring word to Balmoral of your success. Stay here until an hour before dark, and then wait at the edge of the wharf in the trees. Remain out of sight until a fire is lit by the lake, and then come as quickly as you can.”

  We bid her good-bye and offered Piggott and Odessa as escorts through the City of Dogs, which she accepted.

  Then we waited as the minutes turned to hours in what seemed an excruciating slowness. We ate and talked of our accomplishment, of what we would do on the wharf. We spoke of the black swarm that remained loose on the wind, hunting for Armon, and our fear for him as we advanced on the castle. The thought of this perfect creature mauled by a thousand bats was unbearable, and I begged him to stay behind. But he was no more willing than I to remain in the City of Dogs while the decisive encounter took place at the Dark Tower.

  In due time the hours turned the day to an orange dusk and the whole of our army made way for the edge of the wharf — dozens of wild dogs, a very small man, a squirrel, a girl, a smattering of Castalian guards from the forest and the Valley of Thorns, and one giant. We were not what you might hope to see coming around the corner to save the day, but together we had defeated twenty-eight ogres, and we walked with confidence, knowing we at least had a chance of winning the day. The dogs in particular had a new pride in their step and in the way they held their heads. I was happy for them, for the sense of purpose they enjoyed.

  We waited as instructed, quietly looking for the flame against the lake as the day melted away on the horizon. In the distance I could see the Dark Tower, and I imagined Grindall himself standing atop the highest point, looking down on his wretched kingdom, thinking all was well as the sun tipped down and out of sight against the shimmering of the lake.

  “There it is, the fire,” said Yipes, who sat on Armon’s shoulders. With that, we were moving fast, the whole lot of us, the dogs leaping out in front and running with all their might, Armon’s huge strides keeping pace, Yipes and Murphy riding on his shoulders. This left me at the rear, running as hard as I could to keep up and falling behind quickly.

  “Come on, Alexa! Run!” yelled Yipes. And so I did. With everything I had in me, I ran, sword drawn, onto the wharf and toward the Dark Tower.

  I arrived at the narrow road to find ogres and Castalians strewn all about. It was a sea of bodies large and small. From the looks of it, the Castalians had triumphed. As I dodged and ran down the narrow road, I heard the dogs barking and growling. It was a ferocious noise that chilled my bones.

  I came around the last corner and saw that the gate blocking the road to the Dark Tower had been breached. All of the Castalians, dogs, and guards had gone through and were laying siege on the ogres at the base of the tower. All at once I was struck by the evil of this place — the dark spire against the night sky, the single flame from a window far above, and the silhouette of a man who looked down upon the war that raged at his feet.

  I was terrified by this place. I had some trouble breathing, and I began to wobble back and forth where I stood. Then the strangest thing happened. I heard a voice, one unlike any I’d heard before, like the wind rolling in one ear and out the other.

  It is you who must go, you have I chosen. There is no other.

  I heard the words as clear as a bell. They were firm, and they were not a request — they were an order. I began to walk, slowly at first, and then I was running again, to the long line of stone steps that led to the great wooden door of the Dark Tower. While the fighting continued below, I kept running, bounding from step to step. I didn’t look back, I only ran and ran until I stood on the last stair and gazed up to see a hulking beast of a door, big enough for an ogre to walk through upright, a layer of iron bars before it, and in front of that a wicked ogre with a spiked maul in his huge left hand.

  “Out of the way, Alexa!” It was the booming voice of Armon, who had come up behind me unnoticed. He was standing on the steps, ripping a giant stone from its mortar where it protruded from the Dark Tower and formed part of the entryway. The stone was so big, a square mass he could barely get his huge arms around. He pulled it free and raised it over his head, advancing on the door. Then he threw the stone with all his might into the ogre, knocking him back and smashing him through the bars. With tremendous effort Armon picked up the stunned ogre and hoisted him over his head. With a loud cry he threw the foe over the edge of the stairs.

  I crawled up onto the stone banister to look over the edge and saw that the ground lay fifty feet below. Torches lit the night well enough to see that Balmoral, the dogs, and the Castalians were overtaking what remained of the ogres. Soon they would have control of the tower. I jumped down and stood at the door, the bars mangled but standing.

  “Step aside, Alexa,” Armon said, taking the huge stone and throwing it once more. This time the door itself blew apart at the center.

  The entrance to the Dark Tower lay exposed. Inside, darkness and the flickering of torches against barren stone were all that could be seen.

  CHAPTER 22

  VICTOR GRINDALL

  I stepped carefully inside the doorway, then Armon ripped away what remained of the bars and the door and strode in behind me. It was damp and musty inside, weak flames from a few torches the only light I could see. Everything was dark stone and eerie shadows. I could still hear the dogs barking below, and there was a soft breeze blowing through the exposed opening behind us. Still, there was no mistaking the whispery voice that came on the wind once more.

  The black swarm is near. Send Armon away to the cliffs at the edge of the sea.

  The thought of Armon morphing into an awful ogre terrified me even more than staying within the Dark Tower alone. I looked up at Armon and beckoned him to lean down to where I stood.

  “What is it, Alexa?” he asked, seeing my concerned expression.

  “The black swarm is near, Armon,” I said. “You must go to the cliffs and wait for us there.”

  He stared at me a moment and then took my shoulders in his enormous hands.

  “It is said that the last stone would bring t
he word of Elyon himself. That the one who possessed it would hear his very voice,” the giant said reverently. “Have you heard this voice?”

  I looked down and grabbed hold of the leather pouch that kept my Jocasta hidden.

  “I believe I have,” I whispered. “You must go right now, before they come for you. Run, Armon!”

  Armon rose quickly, turned for the door, and lumbered away. As he disappeared into the darkness, I heard voices. At first distant, then closer. I drew my sword … only to lower it in relief when I saw two little heads peering around the edge of the broken door. One was furry and twitching, the other mustached. It was Murphy and Yipes, and they bounded into the open space of the tower. Armon dipped his head back into the doorway.

  “It’s up to the three of you now. You must save Catherine and put an end to Grindall once and for all,” he said.

  “Go! Go to the cliffs and do it quickly!” I yelled back. Armon nodded, turned away, and disappeared into the darkness, leaving Yipes, Murphy, and me alone in the gloom of the tower.

  “A fine mess we’ve gotten ourselves into,” said Yipes. “I suppose there’s nothing left but to go as high as the stairs will take us … or down into the dungeon.”

  Murphy was already several paces ahead of us, sniffing at the stone floor and darting from side to side. There were two enormous sets of stairs, one going down and one up. The landing itself was circular, empty except for the two torches that hung along the walls. I immediately thought of going down until we reached the dungeon, rescuing Catherine, and running away. Then I remembered the solitary figure at the top of the spire, standing at the window, watching his kingdom crumble all around him. If we were to put an end to Grindall, we’d have to find him first.

  “We’re going up,” I decided. “He’s at the top, only a few flights away. The dungeon can wait.” The stone steps outside had led us to the very center of the tower — fifty feet below and fifty feet above. Something told me we were meant to find Grindall waiting for us at the very top of the spire.

  Murphy was on the sixth step before I could say another word, moving fast for the next level, staying close to the wall where the shadows lurked. Yipes and I followed quietly, winding around the inside of the tower, the sounds from below growing weaker as we went. After what seemed like a very long time, we came to a landing and yet another door. I thought it odd that the door was ajar, but Murphy thought nothing of it and scampered right through.

  I pushed gently on the door and it opened slowly on squeaking hinges. When there was just enough room to put my head through and see inside, I smelled the ogres — that terrible smell of wet, rotting flesh. It was coming from behind us, and as I turned back to look, the door flew open and we were pushed inside. Yipes and I both fell to the floor, surprised. The door was slammed behind us, two of the biggest ogres I’d seen standing before it, placing a huge wooden beam across the middle and barring the door from anyone who might seek to enter.

  “I don’t see how this can get any worse,” Yipes mumbled. But then we both looked into the dimly lit room and saw that eight more ogres, all of them bigger than any we’d seen before, stood in the room. Four of the beasts were against one wall, four against another. Between them stood a single stone chair where a man in a flowing dark purple cape sat, head down, his long black hair cascading over his face so that his features could not be seen.

  “Guess you were wrong,” I said.

  The man in the chair looked up, crazed, his head tilted to the left. His skin was deathly pale, as if he hadn’t seen the sun for years and years. His eyes bulged miserably from their sockets, full of rage and deceit, his gaze locked on the leather bag that held my Jocasta. His brow was set low over his eye sockets, and, to my astonishment, when he saw me looking at him he bared his twisted teeth as though he were a wolf or a serpent. His thick lower lip hung down and a twinkle of drool marked the corners of his mouth. I realized then that Grindall — for this had to be Grindall — was not at all in his right mind. He pulled his upper lip back from his teeth in a sinister grin and bolted up from the chair. It was then that the ogres began to speak in their own language, filling the room with the sloppy, guttural sounds of groans and low roars. Grindall spoke to them in their language, and I was amazed to hear the sickening sounds he made as he commanded these creatures in harsh tones. They became still and, though their noisy, wet breathing remained, they were mostly quiet.

  “You have caused me a great deal of difficulty, Alexa Daley,” Grindall intoned, his voice sultry and deep now, almost hypnotic in its slow cadence. “However, you have also delivered something to me for which I have searched an awfully long time. How convenient that the last Jocasta hangs around the neck of a pitiable little girl, a mere child. I find it amusing that this is the best Elyon could do.”

  “Are you Victor Grindall?” I asked. He looked at me with such malice I had to turn away, and then his voice slithered out once again.

  “Indeed I am. The tenth Victor Grindall, to be exact.” His voice was measured and slippery. “And these are my servants, the most powerful of the giants, sworn to serve and go to their death at my choosing. A smelly lot, but as you might imagine, very useful in situations such as these.”

  Then I heard a glorious sound, for Balmoral and his men had arrived outside the door, and they began beating on it with all their might.

  My confidence surged.

  “You’re trapped,” I said. “You and these few remaining ogres. A very large army is about to break into this room.”

  “Is that so?” he replied. “How convenient for me, since I intend to bring the whole tower down on top of them. I have no doubt my servants will keep that door shut until you and I finish our business.”

  He spoke again in that hideous, throaty voice and ordered two more ogres to the door. There were four there now, and though the door bounced on its iron hinges when the men on the other side battered it, it seemed unlikely that they would break through soon enough to save us.

  Grindall advanced to the window and looked out, then returned his attention to us and leaned against the sill. Behind him I could hear a terrible sound on the wind. It was the sound of leathery wings and the shrill voices of a thousand dark creatures. The black swarm was coming, searching for Armon.

  “You do realize the one who created all this is long since gone,” Grindall taunted. “He’s not coming back, not ever. He fancies other creations now. Humankind has been quite a disappointment to him. I must say, I can certainly understand his position on the matter.”

  The bats arrived at the window and swirled in the night air behind Grindall, their shrieking almost unbearable. Grindall turned to them and spoke.

  “The giant you seek is near, somewhere down below. Find him! Take him captive and bring him to me!”

  Grindall turned back into the room with a new look — a sort of delighted rage.

  “The only one in command around here is me and the forces I control,” he said. “All the violence going on outside that door is utterly pointless. I have long since grown weary of these wretched Castalians. They’re dirty, lazy, practically useless to me.” He gazed once again at the pouch around my neck. “All that matters is the stone.”

  “If the tower goes down, you go with it.” It was Yipes, his voice startling me. He was showing even more courage than I would have given him credit for in such an unnerving scene. The wild dogs outside were barking and the men were pounding to get in. The smell of the ogres was astonishingly strong in the small space, and Grindall was laughing. It was an awful laugh, sinister and crazed, half human and half something else.

  “I believe you are the stupidest little man I’ve ever seen,” Grindall spat, his laughing trailing off and his tone becoming serious once more. He strode over to where Yipes stood and backhanded him hard across the face. Yipes fell to the ground, motionless, his head bleeding from the temple. Grindall stood over him and heckled grotesquely.

  “Oh, I say, you really are quite impressive. Maybe I shou
ld pick you up and toss you out the window. It would be a pleasure to watch you fly through the air and break into pieces. Or maybe my giants would enjoy eating you for dinner. What do you think, Alexa? Shall we toss him to the giants?”

  The ogres grunted and moved closer, stirring up the rotten air in the room. Grindall was much stronger than I had anticipated, and he picked up Yipes by the vest and tossed him across the room. An ogre caught him and eyed him hungrily.

  “Take out the Jocasta and give it to me, Alexa,” Grindall demanded. “Give it to me now or we’ll finish your friend.” He was out of his mind, looking at the pouch as if it were the only thing in the world he cared about, his arm held back and waiting to signal the ogre to dash Yipes against the stone wall of the room.

  Take out the Jocasta and present it to Grindall.

  I couldn’t believe my ears. It was the whispering voice on the wind. Had Elyon given up? Had I failed him?

  “Have I made a mistake coming here? Did I do something wrong?” I asked.

  “Who are you talking to? Give me the Jocasta!” Grindall screamed, his dark humor gone, nothing left now but desire for the stone around my neck.

  “Give it to me!” he screamed again. A moment more and he would take it from me by force.

  I looked at Yipes, so small and helpless. Then I gazed around the room. All stone; ogres at every turn; one large, open window that faced the lake; a flickering torch at its edge. After everything we’d been through, if Grindall did as he said, the tower would fall and destroy everyone, including Catherine. Elyon would be defeated, once and for all, and the dark reign of Abaddon would travel across the whole of our land, devouring it until nothing good remained.

  I took the leather pouch into my hand, opened it, and pulled the glowing Jocasta out for everyone to see. I held it up high, its orange glow filling the room and dancing off the walls.