Flames of the Dark Crystal

by J. M. Lee

  “He did it!” Gurjin cried. “Rian lit the Grottan fire!”

  Naia’s cheeks ached, and she realized she was smiling.

  “Huh,” she said, cracking a grin. It felt good. “I guess he’s good for something, after all.”

  Maudra Mera came to stand between Naia and Gurjin, staring into the fire.

  “Now only two remain,” she said. She looked upon the etchings that now covered the pavilion, nearly end to end. The same that graced the Omerya, the cloisters, the citadel—and now the Grottan Tomb of Relics as well. “These fires . . . they are more than symbols of our resistance. I believe they may be the fires of prophecy.”

  “Fires of prophecy?” Naia asked her mother as she joined them.

  “There is an old song that the Gelfling were shaped of earth and wind, lightning and water, shadow and light. But it was the spark of fire that brought us to life. That is why our essence is called vliya—blue fire. Fire burns at the heart of our world; the Heart of Thra was forged in it. We, too, burn with it. That is why the center of every Gelfling clan is the hearth . . . or so it used to be.”

  Maudra Mera looked back at the hearth, and Naia remembered the first time she had seen it. A hearth burned in the center of Great Smerth, too. Even the Grottan, deep in the caves, had joined one another in song around a hearth—as had the Dousan, in the rare days they returned to the Wellspring from their travels in the Crystal Sea.

  “There are scrolls in the Tomb that mention this. They say fires of fate spoke to the Gelfling on the day we were born,” Amri said softly.

  “Some songs say it was Thra’s word,” Kylan agreed. “Before Thra had words to speak. Some say it may have been Mother Aughra that whispered the song to us, when the Gelfling were nothing but seedlings.”

  Aughra. The voice of Thra.

  Master urSu’s words came to Naia in that moment, echoing Kylan’s. That’s what he had called Aughra: Thra’s voice. She hadn’t thought anything of it then, but now she wondered what the old Mystic had meant by it. The fires of prophecy were a sign, but Naia had always thought of them as Thra’s sign to the Gelfling. Now she wondered if maybe they were the Gelfling’s sign to Thra. To its heart and to its voice—to the Crystal and to Aughra—that the Gelfling were uniting and coming to save it.

  Maudra Mera folded her hands. “Whoever spoke to us, that fire burns within us still. And now it blazes beyond us, as a sign of our strength. These fires will light the way indeed. I am sorry for doubting you.”

  Kylan smiled. Then he opened an arm and stepped toward her, only half expecting to be greeted with the same. He sighed when Maudra Mera wrapped him in her arms, holding him tightly.

  “I know you must leave again, though I wish for everything you would stay here in Sami Thicket where I can keep you safe,” she said.

  “You’ll be all right if skekSa returns?” Naia asked.

  “We’ll be better than all right if that pirate shows her snout here again,” Maudra Mera retorted. “When a Spriton leaps, she leaps with both feet. There will be no standing on the line between Skeksis and Gelfling here. So go on, then. Get out of my sight, before I change my mind.”

  She pushed him away, wiping her face with her flouncing sleeve. Kylan laughed and kissed her forehead.

  “I’ll be back, Maudra,” he said. “And I won’t hesitate to make you proud.”

  “I am already quite proud,” she huffed. Then she turned away and faced the Spriton warriors. “Spriton! You’ve done well tonight. Bring out the food and feast, for our work is not yet done. The Skeksis will soon hear that we have turned against them, and we must fortify and be ready!”

  As quickly as they’d joined hands around the hearth, the Spriton jumped in response to their maudra’s commands. Naia and Gurjin, Kylan, and Amri remained with Naia’s mother and her flying eel.

  “I did not know,” Maudra Laesid said. She gravely looked upon her children and their friends. “I did not know that you had been given a task such as this. I did not know the clans were being awakened in this way, lighting these fires. And I certainly did not know that your friend Rian had been sent to retrieve a weapon to wield against the Skeksis.”

  A weapon. An instrument of war. Naia swallowed, trying not to let uneasiness get the better of her.

  “What are you saying?” she asked.

  Maudra Laesid gave a hearty snort, gesturing to the Spriton.

  “I’m saying you do not need to convince me. I will not let these pesky Grasslings best the Drenchen in our rebellion against the Skeksis. We will return to Sog and light the Drenchen fire immediately . . . but first.”

  Naia and Gurjin yelped in unison as Maudra Laesid dropped her spear, embracing both of them at once. They held her in return, and Naia buried her face in her mother’s locs. She smelled of soil and apeknot leaves, flowers and fresh water. Home.

  “I missed you so much,” Naia mumbled. “I wanted to come home, but I couldn’t. Not until it was time.”

  “I know. Gurjin told me how strong you’d become.” Maudra Laesid leaned back, holding their shoulders to keep her balance. Amri picked up her spear and held it out. She looked at him as she took it, then Kylan. She smiled and said, “You must introduce me to your handsome friends.”

  Naia chuckled at first, though once her mother had said it, she realized it might be true.

  “They’re Amri and Kylan. Amri joined us when we went to the Tomb of Relics ourselves . . . and I met Kylan on one of my first days after I left the swamp. They’ve been with me ever since. Tavra, too . . . but we had to split up.”

  “Tavra!” Maudra Laesid exclaimed, raising a brow. “That Silverling’s still around?”

  “Sort of,” Amri muttered under his breath.

  Naia’s mother clucked her tongue, and Chapyora lowered her head. Astride, she tugged on the eel’s mane until she reared, high above all the Gelfling in the pavilion.

  “Drenchen, we return to the borderland. Quickly! Can’t let these Spriton have all the glory with this fire of theirs, can we?”

  The Drenchen roared, raising their spears.

  They followed Maudra Laesid out the way they’d come, feet clamoring like drums alongside Chapyora’s giant, slithering body. When they reached the edge of the thicket, they found more Drenchen waiting. Some of the warriors gasped and waved when they saw Naia, and she waved back from where she walked beside her mother. She recognized their faces, though every one of them had grown and changed since she’d last seen them. Older, tougher. Wearier. How long had she been gone?

  “Mother, we heard from Maudra Mera that skekSa the Mariner has been looking for us. She came by Sami Thicket, and I can only guess she’ll head for Sog next. Have you heard anything? Has anyone seen her?”

  Naia’s mother snorted, blowing away the worries that had been settling across Naia’s brow. “No. Not a glimpse. Do not worry, Naia. Have you forgotten what the swamp is like? No Skeksis will make it a day’s journey inside, let alone all the way to Great Smerth.”

  Naia wanted to believe it, so for the moment she did. Maudra Laesid clucked her tongue for Chapyora to slither ahead to join the warriors at the front. Naia settled into a brisk walk. Amri wandered closer after Maudra Laesid left, keeping pace at Naia’s shoulder.

  “How far is it to Great Smerth from here?” he asked.

  “About a day and a half, two days tops,” Naia said. “At least, that’s what it was last time I walked it. Sound about right, Gurjin?”

  Gurjin walked ahead, halfway between them and the next group of Drenchen, as the party headed south. He grunted and nodded.

  “I guess.”

  In the distance, the sky brightened. They’d been up all night. Naia yawned.

  “I hope Tavra and Onica made it to Domrak,” Amri said.

  “Me too. But if Rian and the Grottan lit their fire, then at least we know all is well there,” Kylan
said. “Only two fires left. After the Drenchen, only one. And Rian’s found a sword.”

  “And that is what worries me,” Naia added. “What are we supposed to use a sword for if we don’t bring it against the Skeksis? Especially if Rian’s the one wielding it. He’s the only one I can think of who wants to kill Skeksis more than me . . . or wanted to, anyway.”

  “Maybe it’s not what we think,” Amri suggested. “There’s so much in the Tomb of Relics, it’s hard to say what anything really is, no matter what it looks like. There are swords and tapestries, paintings and carvings and amulets . . . and rubbish. Lots and lots of rubbish. The only thing we can know for sure about it is that it was covered in dust and cave creature droppings.”

  Naia couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Can you imagine serious Rian, sent by Aughra to the Tomb of Relics looking for a sacred weapon and having to go through all that?”

  “Yeah, poor guy. I don’t wish that much hollerbat poop on anyone. Except maybe a Skeksis.”

  Naia’s laugh grew. It felt good, as if she had almost forgotten how. Even Kylan was grinning. Amri scooped a clod of soft soil from the ground at his feet, throwing it out into the field. “Take that, Chamberlain!”

  “Will you keep it down?”

  The brief elation died in an instant, as if Gurjin had thrown a spear and struck it down from the air. Naia bit her tongue.

  “We’re just joking around.”

  “It’s the middle of the night. Your voices are echoing all across the plains.”

  “It’s dawn,” Naia said. “I can hear birds.”

  Sure enough, the suns were peeking over the horizon, and the birds and other critters were coming to life, singing from the tall grasses and clusters of trees. Gurjin pinched his lips together and turned away with a grumble.

  Naia glanced at Amri and Kylan, who shrugged. She picked up her pace, trotting to flank Gurjin. He didn’t look at her as she walked beside him. “What’s going on? We lit two fires, and your best buddy Rian found a magic sword. I would have thought you’d be happier about all this.”

  Gurjin sucked in a big, slow breath and let it out. He shook his locs out with his hand and rolled his shoulders.

  “Sorry. It’s nothing.”

  “Is something wrong? Is it about Mother, or . . . ?”

  He finally met her eyes, the same blue as hers, his forehead wrinkled with concern. He licked his lips, hesitated, then said, “When we get to Sog, Naia . . . just don’t be surprised if it’s not how you remember it.”

  “What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Her feet felt stuck in the grass, and in that moment he picked up his pace to catch up with the other warriors and their mother up in the front of the line. Naia’s feet moved again when Amri and Kylan met her. The three of them walked together, though now all the joy felt as if it had been sucked out of the fledgling day despite the blue and violets that crept across the sky.

  “What does that mean?” Amri asked.

  “I don’t really know,” Naia said. Up ahead she could see the distant, foggy line of green and gray where the fields sank into the jungle. The Swamp of Sog hovered ahead, the marshy borderlands within their day’s journey. Whatever Gurjin had meant, it was only a matter of time before she would find out.

  CHAPTER 18

  The journey south was a strange one, accompanied by dozens of Drenchen warriors and Maudra Laesid’s personal entourage. Naia recognized all of the Gelfling who marched with them. They all smiled and greeted her, though if they had questions to ask her about her travels, they didn’t ask. Maudra Laesid was always urging them onward, discouraging idleness and small talk.

  What struck Naia the most about it all was how their number changed the journey itself. When Naia had first emerged from the swamp on her own, the vast plains of the Spriton lands had seemed endless and infinitely daunting. Now, with so many Drenchen walking beside her, and having seen so much more of the world than she’d ever expected, the plains seemed small. Gentle and forgiving, especially compared to the brutal cold of the north or the arid, draining heat of the sandstorm-ridden desert.

  How many of these Drenchen had left Sog for the first time to march north with her mother? Even now they treaded across the dry soil and grass without sandals. Naia’s feet ached in her shoes, remembering how uncomfortable and often painful the walk had been, full of sticks and brambles and sharp rocks.

  “It’s finally happening, eh?” Amri asked.

  Gurjin had gone up ahead to walk alongside Chapyora, as if putting as much distance as he could between the four of them without running all the way back to Great Smerth on his own. Naia wasn’t sure what had gotten into him, but after their confrontation she let him have his space. Still, Amri’s comment was a welcome relief from the quiet.

  “Yep,” Naia replied. “By this evening we’ll be in Sog. Ready? You’ll have to take off your cloak, you know. It’s too warm and humid, and we’ll be doing a lot of climbing.”

  “Sounds like my kind of place,” he said. “So you walk among the trees? I thought maybe we might take boats or something.”

  Whatever had come between them before—the strange aloofness he’d shown when they’d been with the Mystics—was slowly wearing off over time. Now when she looked up, she saw him again. Looking back at her with those eyes like the night.

  “No. The waterways are inconsistent, some deep and some too shallow to swim in, and they’re always changing. It’s more reliable to travel in the canopy. I hope you’re not afraid of heights.”

  “Not me! What about you, Kylan?”

  Kylan shrugged from Naia’s other side. He, too, seemed uncharacteristically light-footed. “It’s closed-in places I don’t like. I’ve wanted to see Sog for a long time.”

  It felt as if a long-lost light was streaming out of her heart, and Naia could barely contain it.

  “I can’t wait to show you,” she said.

  The earth became wetter as they walked through the day, with marshes and ponds and lakes springing up more frequently until they were wading through reeds, up to their ankles in peat. The air was thick and wet, abuzz with darting bugs, and once when Kylan tripped over a big root, his yelp scared up a flock of a hundred squawking, blue-feathered bog-birds.

  When the peat gave way to clear, fresh water, Naia found a raised apeknot root. The smooth-barked trees sprang up around them like gnarled warriors, guarding the swamp and welcoming her home. Naia hopped up onto the root and untied her sandals. Amri and Kylan did the same when they saw what she was doing. Loop by loop, they loosened the cords until the sandals came off, stowed in Kylan’s traveling pack. The cool water and spongy peat pressed against the full sole of her foot. It felt like home.

  “Oh!” Kylan said, half in surprise and half in dismay. He took another step, sinking into the water, mud, and peat up to his knees. “Oh.”

  Naia laughed as Amri pulled off his cloak. He hung it on the tree root so it draped like a ghost, dark fabric blowing in the light wind. Below, he had on a simple jerkin and leggings in Sifa colors, probably borrowed from Onica’s ship. Without the voluminous black cape and hood, his athletic figure was more apparent, with strong limbs, feet, and hands for climbing as swiftly as any rock lizard.

  “We’ll carry on through the marsh until we reach the Tall Pass,” Naia said. “There, we’ll ascend into the canopy for the rest of the journey to Great Smerth.”

  “The Tall Pass,” Kylan murmured. “That’s where you and Tavra and your father encountered the Nebrie, isn’t it?”

  Naia nodded. She’d shared the memory so many times, with so many Gelfling, but it still surprised her when Kylan recalled it. She wondered if the big Nebrie’s body was still there, or whether it had been completely foraged by scavengers and decomposed, returned to rest in the swamp and Thra.

  “The same,” she agreed.

  The small apeknots in the
marshland perimeter grew in height and girth, but still something bothered Naia as they followed the Drenchen deeper into the swamp. She’d heard birds before, but now there were none singing. It was silent. The apeknot leaves, long and flat and dangling, languished where the trees’ branches met. Tired and weak, luster faded. Here and there the smooth bark peeled in big strips, baring the tender heartwood beneath, not from grazing creatures but from lack of nutrition.

  Kylan and Amri didn’t notice as Naia did; they had never seen the swamp before, especially not in all its lush glory. They didn’t notice how much darker the trees felt, how quiet everything was. How the scent in the air smelled dim, if that were possible. As if the life and light were flickering.

  Perhaps she was imagining it. It had been unum since she’d left, but the seasons didn’t stop turning just because she’d been away. Although the colder seasons didn’t affect the swamp as much as they did the northern regions, the trees and creatures still felt the effects. When she’d lived in Sog and seen the swamp transition into winter, it had always been gradual. Flowers folding up, opening for shorter periods each day. Animals hunting less and sleeping more. Perhaps the stillness and quiet seemed so jarring because the seasons had changed while she’d been away.

  “Wow,” Amri said, looking up.

  Overhead, blue and green flowers grew in ivies up the sturdy trunks of the apeknots. The sun shone through their petals, casting dappled lights the color of Sifa sea glass across the pools of water that ringed the swamp floor. They had reached the border of the swamp.

  Naia closed her eyes and breathed. The sounds of dripping, flowing water were all around, like a constant rain. Birds were singing. The Drenchen had dispersed, no longer walking in a single group, scattering through the apeknots and other trees, disappearing and reappearing as they passed in and out of the sun and shadows.

  “All the songs of Sog are wrong,” Kylan murmured. He walked through the water and mud without hesitation now, having rolled up the cuffs of his leggings to keep them from getting dirty. At least for now, Naia thought to herself with a smile.