World's End

by Jake Halpern

  "Wait a minute!" yelled Hill. "You don't know where that leads. Come back!"

  But it was too late—Resuza had already disappeared into the vent.

  CHAPTER 39

  ESCAPE

  THE DOOK TO MARTA'S ROOM opened silently, throwing a thin ray of light over her bed. Moments later, the abbot poked his head in. He saw that Marta was in bed, resting. This was actually quite unusual. Typically, whenever Marta fell asleep, she sat at her desk and read. She rarely, if ever, used her bed. The one notable exception was when she had a vision. On those occasions, like today, she was often so exhausted that she simply collapsed and lay motionless for extended periods of time.

  The abbot nodded his head and closed the door as noiselessly as he had opened it. He assumed that Marta would be knocked out for many hours; seers, and especially young ones like Marta, often needed as much as a day to recuperate after a vision. The abbot would check on Marta again in about ten hours and, in all likelihood, she'd be the same curious, intelligent child that she had been prior to having the vision of her family and the fire. The abbot was not an unfeeling man. He could well understand Marta's distress. Yet he reminded himself that the ancient codes of the seers had to be followed. There could be no exceptions. Even still, his heart ached for Marta. How much could she be expected to bear?

  When the door closed, and the room fell back into a heavy darkness, Marta cautiously sat up, fully awake and dressed. She sat in her bed for a few minutes and listened for any noises. Satisfied that everything was quiet, she glanced at a wind-up clock that she was holding in her hand. It was ten minutes to midnight. She sighed and continued to wait. Other than the ticking of the clock, the only sound was the gurgle of the water chime. Beyond that, she could just barely hear the far-off rumble of Jasber's many waterfalls.

  She thought about her time in the monastery. It wasn't fun—that was for certain—but Marta had tried to make the best of it. After all, being the seer was the greatest honor imaginable. Her family was very proud of her. What's more, the citizens of her hidden, treasure-filled city were counting on her to keep them safe. So she did her best and counted her blessings. Overall, life in the monastery had been comfortable. The abbot was kind to her, the food was exceptionally good, and her lifelong curiosity was satiated by the volumes upon volumes of accumulated wisdom that sat in the monastery's rich collection of archives and manuscripts. It was an honorable life. It was a life Marta fully accepted.

  Until today.

  Marta glanced at her clock again. It was exactly midnight. The monks who patrolled the shores of Monastery Isle would be changing their shift.

  Now was her moment!

  She threw off the covers, sprang to her feet, and put on her robe and sandals. She took a deep breath, cracked open the door, and tiptoed down a long stone corridor. Torches flickered every twenty feet and water dripped steadily from an unseen leak.

  A minute later, she appeared at the top of a stone embankment that sloped down to the monastery's small harbor. Tied to a wooden pier were half a dozen sturdy rowboats with high gunnels, built to keep out turbulent waters. The boats were all painted a distinctive bright red. Marta had never rowed a boat before, but how hard could it be? She had seen others do it with relative ease. Besides, she only had to go several hundred yards. That's how far it was to cross the river and reach Jasber Isle, where her parents lived. She couldn't imagine what they would say upon seeing her.

  Marta crouched behind the embankment and searched for any signs of the monks. The area was deserted. She took a deep breath and then dashed for the harbor. Her dark cloak and small size made her difficult to see even if anyone had been looking in her direction. Soon she arrived at the pier and jumped into the closest rowboat. She untied it and, within seconds, the boat was free. It took only a few strokes before the rowboat exited the harbor and began drifting downriver with the current.

  Marta did her best to control the rowboat, but the oars were much heavier than she expected. The current was powerful, and as the turbulent water slammed into the hull of the boat, the tiny vessel shook and trembled. Marta pulled as hard as she could. Her life and the lives of her family depended on her success. She had gone over this route in her head: it was crucial to meet the current at an angle so that the waves broke harmlessly across her bow. A wave hitting the boat broadside might tip it, sending her and therefore her family to their deaths.

  Five minutes passed, then ten. Marta's back and arms began to ache. Her hands burned and, in several places across her palm and thumb, she felt the onset of painful blisters. She was panting heavily and despite the cold water that frothed around her, sweat gathered in the small of her back and under her hair. In a moment of panic, Marta looked up and noticed that she was barely halfway across the river. A dark realization began to settle upon her.

  She wasn't going to make it.

  She struggled mightily for another ten minutes and succeeded in going forward no more than another thirty feet. It was a lost cause. Still, she kept going. Her mind willed her body to move, but it began to ignore her commands. Her arms felt like iron and slipped off the oars.

  The rowboat drifted and ran smack into a wave. The jolt threw her to the bottom of the boat. Pilotless, the rowboat and its light cargo were carried away by the swift current. The current took command and smoothly forced the boat downstream, away from both Monastery Isle and Jasber Isle. Marta licked her suddenly parched lips. She crawled into a fetal position at the bottom of the boat, as water broke furiously over the top and drenched her. Her last conscious thought was that she had failed. The tall man with white eyes and the gruesome, coiling scar across his face would succeed in burning Jasber to the ground. Her family would be among the first to die. There was no way to prevent it.

  ***

  A few minutes later, on the shore of Monastery Isle, a young monk who was on patrol glanced out across the river and, quite by chance, caught sight of a wooden rowboat being pulled downriver. The boat's red color indicated that it had come from the monastery. The young monk squinted into the darkness. Who was in that boat? It was hard to see clearly.

  In the coming days, the abbot would question the young monk many times about what he had seen. The monk was hard-pressed to say for certain, but his overriding impression was that the boat was empty.

  "But I can't be sure," concluded the young monk during one such questioning. "Although certainly there was no one at the oars."

  The abbot thrust his hands into his tunic. He withdrew a piece of parchment he had found in Marta's room, in the former resting place of the Foreseeing Pen. He stared at the drawing of Marta's family and then in a fit of despair crumpled it in a white-knuckled fist.

  Where is Marta?

  Jasber's very existence lay in the hands of a young girl gone missing.

  And there was another matter. The fire. In just a few days, the abbot knew that Marta's prophecy would come true and a fire would sweep through Jasber Isle. People would die. What's more, the fire would start near the house of Marta's family—and near the old armory, where the city's single most valuable treasure was stored and preserved. For a brief moment, the abbot was sorely tempted to share his secret, but soon his sense of propriety returned and he knew that, in accordance with his monastic vows to protect only the Founding Tree, he wouldn't say a word.

  CHAPTER 40

  THE SEA OF CLOUDS

  ALFONSO AND THE OTHERS followed Resuza's lead and, one by one, entered the large vent. Here they found rusted metal rungs that led the way up. In the distance they could hear Resuza's footsteps and, more encouragingly, they could see the faint, murky glow of daylight. Bilblox carried Kõrgu, who appeared quite comfortable and at ease on the longshoreman's shoulders, while Hill managed with some effort to carry Josephus, who remained unconscious. The others carried Bilblox's and Hill's packs.

  The walls of the vent were covered with ice and the floor was wet with a constant trickle of cold water. For most of the time, they climbed straight up. Toward th
e end, however, the vent turned into an incline that they could walk up. At this point, Kõrgu began walking and Bilblox picked up Josephus. The old historian was pale and his white hair was matted to his damp head. After some time, they caught up with Resuza, and then they all paused to catch their breath.

  "What's wrong with him?" Bilblox whispered. "He's so light, and he's shiverin'."

  "He's got two fur coats, but he's soaked them through with sweat," replied Hill. "Outside of a few bruises, I don't see anything the matter. Maybe he's got internal injuries. I wish we had a doctor among us."

  The others stood or sat nearby in silence.

  "C'mon now, let's get goin'," said Bilblox finally. "Can't ya jus' taste the outside!?"

  They continued onward and gradually the tunnel changed into what appeared to be the inside of a cave. The walls grew rougher and the ground flattened out almost completely. The skeletons of animals lay scattered across the floor and light green algae began to appear in small patches. A mist of water vapor hung in the air and the darkness began to recede.

  When they arrived at the mouth of the cave, a strong wind, flecked with ice and rain, greeted them. At first they saw nothing because they weren't used to being aboveground. As they stood there, waves crashed around them and lapped at the floor of the cave. It appeared that the cave ended at water level. They huddled against the sides of the cave and grew progressively wetter. The way forward was unclear. There were no boats and they certainly couldn't enter the freezing water.

  Eventually, Alfonso discovered a series of tiny steps carved into the rock. Shouting over the wind, he showed them what he had found and then carefully began to climb. After about thirty steps up the sheer cliff, Alfonso emerged onto a flat, rocky surface. He looked around and saw that they were on a tiny rock-strewn island no more than two hundred feet in diameter.

  Alfonso peered into the gray light of day and stared at the waves advancing on the island from every direction. Farther out, slabs of ice floated heavily, barely visible above the crashing water. A heavy layer of clouds hung so low in the sky, it seemed to Alfonso that he could climb through them with a short ladder. And on the horizon, they saw what appeared to be land or other islands. It was too distant to tell.

  "I'm freeeeeezin'!" yelled Bilblox, who had just emerged from the narrow stairway. Josephus was still slung over his shoulder and Kõrgu followed behind. "Where in the name of Ivan Magrewski are we?"

  "I assume we're in the Sea of Clouds," said Hill, who was the next to emerge. "Now we just have to find a big island. Supposedly Jasber is on a mountainous island in the middle of this sea. It can't be that far away. Of course that map would've helped." He looked back at the stairway, from which Resuza, Clink, and Misty emerged. The stairway was nearly impossible to see unless you were standing right next to it.

  "How's Josephus?" asked Alfonso.

  "Still out like a busted light," replied Bilblox. "But he's breathin' steadily."

  It began to snow lightly and Bilblox began to mutter. Alfonso scanned the horizon, but saw no indication of where to go, or any possible way to get off the island. It looked as if they were marooned in the middle of a vast icy sea. Alfonso's spirits were beginning to plummet until he heard Misty cry out, "Well, look-e-here!"

  The old miner had found another set of steps on the other side of the island. It led to a small cave also at water level. Just like the other cave, the entrance to this one was well hidden. Inside they found a row of six sturdy wooden rowboats. The wood was oddly translucent so that you could almost see through it. The boats were provisioned with oars, tarps, and old navigation devices known as sextants. The ground had been recently disturbed and there was obviously room for one more boat. Alfonso and Hill exchanged glances—Kiril had likely found this cache and taken a boat.

  "I bet these boats are Dormian-made," said Hill as he ran his fingers over the gunnels. "Look at how light they are! And they haven't decayed at all. I'd wager they were made with wood from the Arboris pierratus tree."

  "Which way do you suppose we're meant to go?" asked Resuza.

  "Probably toward that light," Clink said confidently.

  "What light?"

  "That one," said Clink, pointing off into the distance.

  Clink was right. Flickering on the horizon directly in front of them was an orange light that glowed like a faint torch. It looked to be two or three miles away, but it was impossible to know for sure.

  "Let's go," said Clink. "Finally, some adventure in the open sky!"

  "Yer crazy!" exclaimed Misty. "Jus' think of it—bobbin' around in that ocean like a buncha frozen ice cubes."

  Ten minutes later, they were all piled into a single boat, moving steadily in the direction of the orange light. Bilblox and an ashen-faced Misty were working the oars and Alfonso was navigating. The others, including Kõrgu, sat on the floor of the boat shivering and watching the freezing water pass ghostlike underneath the boat's translucent bottom. On several occasions they collided with giant slabs of ice and almost tipped, but Bilblox and Misty's strength with the oars kept them afloat. As they drew nearer to the light, it became increasingly obvious what it was they were approaching—a towering stone lighthouse. A dozen or so cannons poked out of battlements along the walls. Hundreds of gargoyles glared stonily from ledges along the tower.

  They maneuvered closer and saw that two torches burned in front of a portcullis that blocked any entrance into the lighthouse. It seemed to be the only way in. The rest of the stone base was filled with thousands of steel spikes, which made the tower look like an evil porcupine.

  "Who wants to knock on the front door?" Alfonso joked.

  To everyone's astonishment Clink immediately volunteered. "I'll do it," he said. "Anything this well protected has a lot to hide. Treasures, if you catch my drift."

  Misty and Bilblox paddled the boat onto the lighthouse island, to an area out of sight of the entrance. From the untouched look of the area, no one had set foot there in recent days, perhaps months. Clink was the first ashore. He splashed through the ankle-height water and onto the pebbly ground. It was covered with great masses of frozen sea kelp. He cursed to himself as he trudged through and sank several feet down.

  "This is a fine mess to be stuck in!" he snapped. Suddenly, he stood up straight and stared at a pile of sea kelp in front of him. "Hullo, what's this?" He leaned closer and then began to shout. "Huzzah!" he yelled. "Happy days!"

  "What's he carryin' on about?" asked Bilblox.

  "I don't know," said Hill. "But we better have a look."

  They clambered out of the boat and made their way toward Clink. There, nestled amid the frozen kelp, was the object of Clink's happiness. It was the unmistakable skeleton of a man clad in a leather overcoat, and frayed ropes of cloth. Thick black hair still clung to his skull. Given the man's exposure to the weather, he might have died anywhere from months to years ago.

  "Clink, show some respect," said Resuza.

  "Oh, I respect this fine man," replied Clink happily. "Just look at what he is about to give me!" Clink knelt down to the skeleton, took hold of an arm bone, and pried off a glittering bracelet that appeared untouched by the passage of time. It was a band of thick silver. Delicate lines of gold and sparkling inset diamonds ran along the length of the band. It had to be worth a fortune.

  "Now this is worth the whole adventure," Clink proclaimed. "Can you imagine me walking the streets of Somnos with this bauble! There won't be a woman who'll be able to take her eyes off me!"

  "Put it back," said Hill. "It's not yours."

  "True enough," replied Clink. He looked at the skeleton lying before him. "But this poor sap can't use it. Tell you what—if he wakes up and demands it back, I'll return it. Otherwise, I'll keep it for a while." With that, Clink set off whistling through the sea kelp, toward the lighthouse.

  "Where are you going?" demanded Hill.

  "Why into the tower, of course," replied Clink. "I can just imagine what goodies might be inside."

&nbs
p; "Wait a minute!" said Hill. "You can't go in alone."

  "Of course I can!" replied Clink with a laugh. "You forget, this is my business. I am a thief, a pickpocket, a purse-snatcher, a kleptomaniac, a burglar, a purloiner, a pilferer. You get the idea—I break into places! And I'm always successful because I'm so clever! However, I always work alone. Let me go inside. I'll check it out, secure the premises, and then we'll all have a nice rest."

  Clink walked up to the portcullis and knocked loudly on its iron latticework. After a minute of knocking, the portcullis opened with a loud clanking noise. Clink waved a friendly goodbye and disappeared into the darkness of the entranceway.

  CHAPTER 41

  KIRIL'S HOMECOMING

  THE ROUGHNESS of the Sea of Clouds didn't bother Kiril in the least—he simply rowed right through the waves, deftly avoiding the ice as he went. One of the many advantages of being over six hundred years old was that he had centuries' worth of experience to draw upon. Kiril had spent entire lifetimes of normal humans dedicated to the pursuit of various skills. This was part of the reason that he was so good with a sword—he had been wielding one since the Renaissance. The same was true of boating. He had been navigating boats ever since the early 1500s, when he had sailed alongside the famous Portuguese sailor Fernao Mendes Pinto, who explored much of China. Kiril was an expert marksman, a skilled archer, a connoisseur of poisons, a master craftsman, and a scholar of over two dozen languages. He was, in short, a man who had made good use of his immortality.

  Kiril had been rowing now for almost six hours, heading due west the entire time, in the direction that the sun had set. When night fell, and the clouds cleared very briefly, Kiril used his sextant to confirm his whereabouts. He was on course. It was all going so well.

  For centuries, Kiril had contemplated trying to find his way back to Jasber, but it had always proved impossible. The High Peaks of the Urals were sprinkled with hundreds of lakes. Of course, Kiril had been aware of the legend that Jasber existed on an island in the Sea of Clouds, but how could he have known that the legend was true? After all, Jasber's location was kept hidden even from its citizens. Even if he had known the location, it would have been impossible to know which island was home to Jasber. Most of the islands lay in the Ferramentum Archipelago, where Kiril was currently rowing. It was a cluster of thousands of islands, all of them filled with impassable marshland, razor hedges, and other traps that had caused the death of so many explorers.