by T.A. Barron
None, he told himself morbidly. Not even a ghost could get out of here. He caught his breath. Unless . . .
Lifting his eyes to the skylight, he squinted up at the opening. Too high to jump. But maybe there was another way!
Rolling over on his side, he slowly pushed himself up to his knees, then his feet. Though his head swam dizzily, he managed to keep his balance long enough to totter over to the shell. He brought it to the center of the cell and turned it over, dumping out the remaining water. Grabbing the stool, he placed it on top of the upside-down shell. Without even testing this contraption for strength, he climbed onto the stool. Unsteady as he was, he managed to stand on top of the seat.
It held. Swaying precariously, head pounding, he stretched his arms upward, grasping for the skylight. There! One hand, then the other, wrapped around one of the iron bars.
Lifting his feet off the stool, he bounced vigorously, tugging with all his weight. The bar made a grinding noise, and a few chips of stone dropped onto his head. He shook them off, ignoring the hammering in his skull. Again he bounced, this time twisting the bar with all his strength.
Without warning, the bar broke loose. Krystallus crashed downward, along with the iron bar and a small avalanche of stone chips. Although he landed hard on the floor, his head barely missing the stool, he didn’t care. Gazing upward, he grunted with satisfaction. A few more stars shone through the hole in the ceiling.
Hoping nobody had heard the crash, he hastily reassembled his makeshift ladder. With the first bar removed, it was much easier to take out three more. Then, hanging from the last remaining bar, Krystallus called on every drop of strength in his arms and hoisted himself up. With several kicks of his legs, all the while hoping the bar would hold, he pulled himself out of the hole.
Panting with exhaustion, he rested on his knees, inhaling the cold night air. After a moment, he began to survey his surroundings. He was on a low, flat rooftop, paved with slabs of sea-blue slate. The roof connected to a much larger building, made from enormous chunks of stone that looked greenish blue in the starlight. Directly above the junction of his rooftop and the building, a wide balcony adorned a row of vaulting archways that bordered a huge, brightly lit room—the great hall of the queen, he guessed.
Lifting his gaze higher, he traced the outline of the building. Even in the dark of night, he couldn’t miss the lone turret that rose high above everything else. The turret was just large enough to hold one room, which would possess a commanding view of the ocean and sky.
Serella’s room. I’m sure of it. He studied the turret, trying to see into the tall, narrow windows behind its wooden balcony. But all he could discern was the flickering light of a fire—her hearth, perhaps—somewhere within.
Turning away from the building, he scanned the open ocean. Starlight glistened on rolling waves as far as he could see, making the water seem like a rippling, undulating reflection of the night sky. Below the outer edge of the rooftop, waves sloshed against the shore. And a few hundred paces down that shore, he could make out the flickering green flames of a portal.
Where I arrived, he noted. Now, that was an impressive bit of navigation! To come out right here at Serella’s home. Patting his swollen temple, he added wryly, And into the arms of her guards.
He glanced back up at the austere, commanding turret, and shook his head. All right, I should have guessed. Serella surely ran this place as ruthlessly as she ran all her expeditions. She would tolerate no errors—and no forgiveness. That rule would apply to her people, as well as any visitors.
Just the sort of person you should be really sure you want to save before you try. Smirking, he shook his head. Then, unbidden, he recalled his surprising feelings when he’d thought she was dead . . . feelings that still lingered, brushing the edges of his mind like a distant ocean breeze. She was a person, maybe even a special person, worth saving.
He looked down the shoreline to the portal’s green flames. That place guaranteed his escape, provided he moved quickly and stealthily. He should start right now, before the elves discovered his absence. And then hunted him down and brought him back to be skewered by their queen.
For several seconds he gazed at the portal. Then he slowly turned back to the high turret and its luminous hearth. Drawing a deep breath, he rose to his feet and started to climb—not downward, toward safety, but upward, toward the turret.
There was someone up there he wanted to see.
23: UNEXPECTED GIFT
What I fear the most is what I know the least.
Minutes later, Krystallus pulled himself quietly over the railing of Queen Serella’s balcony. He paused for a moment, listening to the constant slap of rolling waves far below, then crept stealthily closer to her room. Crouched by an open window, he could peer inside without being discovered.
What he saw confirmed his hopes. Polished driftwood lined every wall, holding dozens of shelves that sagged with countless treasures from Serella’s travels. There were three precious firestones, glowing like molten lava, from Rahnawyn’s volcanoes; a slab of singing wood from the groves of El Urien; and an airy looking flower, glowing pink, that might have come from the Cloud Gardens of Y Swylarna. In addition, there were intricate carvings, painted masks, strings of shining pearls, at least three jewel-studded swords, a magical kite that floated above its shelf without any wind, a jade harp fitted with strings of unicorn manes, seven massive volumes with golden runes on their bindings, an enormous bow and a quiver of arrows fletched with the orange feathers of trueflight hawks, a vial that bubbled with the potent juices of hynallawn berries, several jars of iridescent mud from the high plains of Malóch, an ogre’s eyeball (floating in a clear glass bubble), a spiraling tusk of ivory from some creature he couldn’t recognize, a more complex compass than he’d ever seen before, a shaggy but luxurious green scarf that must have been woven by the spider faeries of Crystillia, a rare piece of maroon amber that could—he’d heard—alter its color with every change of fortune, a large pile of beautifully wrought silver coins, the largest conch shell he’d ever seen, a crystal goblet with the lavender-scented water of the Elven River, a pile of tattered maps, and much more besides.
Not bad, he thought, feeling a surge of grudging admiration.
On one wall, a small fireplace sat inside a whalebone hearth. Behind a golden screen, fire burned vigorously, casting wavering light around the room. By the opposite wall sat a massive bed, whose frame and posts were decorated with colorful sea stars. On the bedpost nearest to the fire perched a small, silver-winged owlet. And under the mass of blue and green blankets, woven from the finest strands of deep sea kelp, lay Serella.
She was propped against several pillows, her silvery blond hair flowing past her pointed ears and down over her shoulders. Judging from the tray of food and drink on the table by her side, she had recently eaten. And judging from the sour expression on her face, she was not at all happy. Krystallus could tell that beyond any doubt. For she was, he suddenly realized, looking straight at him.
He started, nearly falling backward onto the balcony. She merely continued to gaze at him, firelight dancing in her deep green eyes.
“Well?” she asked hoarsely. “Are you going to come in or not?”
Krystallus stood, stepped over to a richly carved door, and turned the silver handle. He entered the queen’s room, keeping his gaze locked on hers. Serella didn’t budge, but as soon as he stepped inside, the owlet on the bed post clacked its beak loudly.
“Hush now, Clowella,” she said with a glance at the owlet. Then, in a casual tone, she added, “He’s just come here to kill me.”
Krystallus scowled. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have taken the trouble of bringing you back from Lastrael. You were about to die when I found you.” He peered at her face; the shadowy lines had almost disappeared. “Looks like your healers have done their work well.”
Serella snorted disdainfully. “A likely story! My guards told me you were trying to strangle me when th
ey arrived.”
Shaking his head, Krystallus walked over to the floating kite and flicked it with his finger. It rose higher into the air, and even though there was no wind, made a graceful circle around the room before coming back to float above its shelf.
“Actually,” he replied at last, “I was checking your pulse to see if you were still alive.” He glared at her. “I thought you were dead. My second mistake.”
Her eyebrows arched. “And what was your first?”
“Trying to save you,” he answered coolly. Then, furrowing his brow, he asked, “How did you know I was out there on your balcony?”
She curled the corner of her mouth in a grin. “The maroon amber. It changed color.”
Turning around, Krystallus saw that, indeed, the piece of amber on the shelf was no longer the maroon color he’d seen. Instead, it was an ominous shade of black, much like the landscape of Shadowroot.
“Impressive,” he said as he turned back to face her. “But while I hate to disappoint you, I didn’t come here to kill you. You may be an arrogant, ruthless tyrant and a treacherous competitor . . . but you didn’t deserve to die on the ground in some faraway realm. And you don’t deserve to die tonight.”
For the first time since he’d entered her room, Serella blinked. Firelight cast flickering shadows on her face. “Then why did you come here? Surely you could have escaped by now. And my guards will—”
“Want to kill me, I know.” He stepped calmly to the side of her bed. Ignoring the owlet, who was watching him closely, he bent closer to Serella. “You really want to know why I came?”
“Yes,” she declared, but without her usual imperiousness. Eyes wide, she peered up at him. “Why?”
He bent lower and kissed her on the lips. She flinched in surprise, but didn’t pull away. Instead, she placed her hands on the sides of his head and pulled him closer, kissing him passionately.
Finally, they separated. After a pause, Krystallus said, “That’s why.”
“You . . . you know . . .” She brushed back her hair, then cleared her throat. “That sort of impertinence could get you killed.”
“Add it to my list of crimes,” he said with a grin. He watched her for a few more seconds, then turned away, preparing to leave her chamber. He paused to glance at the piece of amber, whose color was now golden yellow.
“Wait,” she said—not in the commanding voice of a queen, but in the beseeching voice of a lover. “I have something to give you.” She almost smiled. “Something else, that is.”
He turned and cocked his head questioningly.
“Over there,” she said, pointing to an object on one of the shelves. “That compass. I want you to have it.”
He shook his head of white hair. “But you need that. For your explorations.”
“No,” she said a bit sadly, “I think you need it more. Deserve it more, at any rate.” She bit her lip, then continued. “Don’t you understand why I taunted you all those times? Why I humiliated you every chance I could?”
Krystallus said nothing. He merely continued to meet her gaze.
“It was to prod you to be your own self! To step out of your father’s shadow.”
After a long pause, she added in a whisper, “You have started to do that. And now . . . you will be the greatest explorer Avalon has ever known.” She grinned. “Except, of course, for me.”
“Of course,” he replied, grinning back. “But the compass—”
“Is yours. You saved my life—and besides, I want you to have it.” Her eyes gleamed knowingly. “You’ll find some uses for it, I’m sure.”
Krystallus swallowed. He wanted to stride over and kiss her again, but resisting the impulse, he walked to the shelf and carefully removed the compass. Expertly crafted, it was shaped like a glass globe inside a leather strap. Within the globe, held in place by hair-thin wires, were a pair of silver arrows. Tilting the globe slightly, he gasped. For he’d just realized what this instrument could really do.
“One arrow points westward, as with all compasses,” he observed. “To the heart of El Urien, first home of the elves.” He glanced up at her. “Appropriately.”
Looking back at the globe, he went on, “But the other arrow, the additional one—that spins on a vertical axis. So it always points starward.”
Serella gave a nod. “So no matter where you are—under the root-realms, inside the trunk of the Great Tree, or anywhere else—you can always find your way.”
Gratitude filled his heart, but he couldn’t find the words to express it.
“Now,” she said, “you can be the first explorer to climb all the way to the stars.” With a mischievous gleam, she added, “Unless I get there first.”
“Your challenge is accepted.” More quietly, he said, “And so is your gift.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you. You’re my . . . favorite competitor.”
Reminded of how he’d found her in Shadowroot, Krystallus grew suddenly serious. “You shouldn’t go back to Lastrael. Something is very wrong about that place. What it did to you, and the elves with you, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Her expression turned somber. “I know. Something attacked us, all at once. The chief healer told me she thought it was a kind of plague—darkdeath, she called it.”
“Darkdeath?”
“Right. But if that’s true, it raises more questions than it answers. How does this plague spread? Who is susceptible—only elves, or everybody? How can it be prevented? I need to go back there to find out.”
“No,” he pleaded, waving his arm. “Don’t risk it. Don’t go back there.”
Teasingly, she shot back, “Why? So you can discover all the wonders of that realm by yourself?”
“No,” he answered, his voice gentle. “So nothing will harm my”—he paused, choosing his words—“favorite competitor.”
She beamed at him. “All right, then. I won’t go. That is, until I change my mind.”
“The right of every queen.” He gave her a mock bow. “But first, I—”
Bootsteps, growing louder by the second, interrupted him. They were pounding up the stairs that led to the top of the turret.
“My guards,” said Serella, heaving a sigh. “They are coming to tell me you’ve escaped.”
“It won’t please them to find me here with you.” Looking over at the amber, he saw the golden color darkening swiftly. “They might think I’m here to murder you.”
“Or to steal a kiss.”
Krystallus almost grinned, but the pounding grew louder. Now the guards were only seconds away. He started toward the balcony, then paused and glanced back at her. “I’m glad I didn’t kill you.”
Her voice a whisper, she replied, “So am I.”
Krystallus ran to the door and climbed over the balcony railing, just as three armed guards burst into the queen’s chamber. Although he couldn’t hear all their jumbled, breathless words, he couldn’t help but chuckle when he heard Serella’s harsh reprimand: “You what? You let him escape?”
Stealthily, he climbed back down the building wall, pressing his toes into the gaps between stones. The compass, safe in his tunic’s breast pocket, almost seemed to touch his heart.
24: A PROMISE
Sometimes a victory has the look and smell of a total loss.
Basilgarrad flew swiftly, shearing the tops of high, bulbous clouds with his wings. Spread wide, those wings glistened, each of their thousands of green scales covered with mist from the clouds, each of their powerful muscles rimmed with rivers of vapor. With every rhythmic beat, sheets of droplets poured off the wings’ rear edges, forming trailing veils that shimmered with rainbows.
But the dragon wasn’t enjoying this flight back to Woodroot. Not at all. Not even the feeling of Merlin atop his head, leaning into the wind with an arm around his great friend’s ear, gave Basilgarrad any comfort.
Ever since they had left the scene of the blight and returned Rhia, Lleu, and Nuic to their home at
the Society’s compound, he’d felt an ominous weight swelling inside of him. It dragged on his wings, just as it weighed heavily on every thought, crushing his hopes like a blight of the mind.
That shadow beast! he raged silently. From the very moment he’d seen its writhing shape in Bendegeit’s sphere, he couldn’t dispel the feeling that it was growing stronger by the day. That it was behind all Avalon’s troubles. And that it was laughing at him—raucously laughing—for his failure to stop its plans.
I don’t even know what it is, he grumbled, let alone where it is. We’re no better off than before I went to Bendegeit’s lair!
“Not true,” replied Merlin, who had overheard his thoughts. Speaking directly into the dragon’s ear, he said, “We know now, thanks to you, that there is one central source of all this wickedness. We don’t know what, or where, it is—that’s true. But we will find it! That’s certain.”
Yet even the wizard’s encouraging words didn’t lift Basilgarrad’s mood. As he sailed through another bank of clouds, scattering luminous mist in his wake, he ground his massive jaws together, scraping hundreds of titanic teeth.
All I know is that beast is evil. Wholly evil. The phrase that had come to him when he’d seen it returned, echoing in his mind: Darker than dark.
He banked to one side, tilting from the tip of his snout to the club of his tail, to avoid an especially dark cloud. Lightning sizzled and sparked inside of it. Rumbling thunder filled the air, resounding like the shadow beast’s laughter.
Why can’t I shake the feeling I’ve met that beast before?
“Try thinking about something else, old sport,” counseled the voice in his ear. “Something more pleasant. How about that irrepressible dragon maiden you met in Waterroot? The one who wanted to fly?”
Basilgarrad shook his head, nearly knocking Merlin over. Not even the memory of Marnya could distract him right now from his worries. For those worries concerned something much greater than himself: Avalon, this unique and fragile world.