World's End

by Jake Halpern

  "Get up, vermin!" shouted the boy in Uralic.

  The slaves and slave traders alike rose to their feet. The trader with the red beard, the one who seemed to be the leader, stepped forward and addressed the boy.

  "Honored Master, we bring you one last group of slaves for the convoy," said the trader. "After you are through with them, they will die with little fuss."

  "They look half dead," observed the boy.

  "Dearest Master, they are in acceptable shape," insisted the red-haired trader. "We caught most of them within the week."

  "Put them in the convoy," ordered the boy. "Give them bread and water, enough to sustain them but no more. It's seven days to Dargora and I want them alive when we get there."

  "Did he say Dargora?" whispered Hill to Resuza.

  Resuza nodded somberly.

  The slave trader bowed with elaborate deference and then said, "It shall be so, Lord Nartam."

  Resuza's knees buckled. Hill held her tight and prevented her from falling.

  A short sinewy man with dark black hair, dressed in Dragoonya attire, approached Nartam.

  "Konrad, any news of Kiril?" Nartam demanded.

  Konrad bowed deeply. "No news, Lord Nartam, but I assure you that he will emerge soon enough. He promised."

  "Indeed he did," replied Nartam. He turned and stalked back to his horse, followed by his Dragoonya henchmen. Amid a series of curses and blows, the slave traders began herding their prisoners into the sled cages. Meanwhile, the Dragoonya horsemen galloped away.

  The slave traders, on edge from their encounter with the Dragoonya, savagely hit the prisoners as they forced them toward the cages. Some of the prisoners fell to the ground in abject fear. One or two tried to run but were mercilessly cut down.

  Resuza and Hill shouldered their way into the middle of the group of prisoners to protect themselves.

  "Nartam," whispered Resuza in astonishment. "How? He's just a boy."

  Hill nodded. "It's what we feared," he said. "Of all people, Josephus was correct. After Firment gave us the news, he suspected that Nartam had ingested enough ash during his battle with Alfonso in the Founding Tree to become young again. It's incredible. He's now Alfonso's age."

  Resuza stared at her adopted uncle. "You knew!" she whispered. "You knew all along!"

  "Yes," Hill replied sadly. "It was Marcus Firment's greatest secret. The Wanderer said he had discovered Nartam at the head of a vast horde of Dragoonya, somewhere in the vicinity of the Sea of Clouds. Given the mood in Somnos, Firment's revelation would have panicked the entire city. Only Josephus, the Grand Vizier, and I knew. I'm sorry—we couldn't tell anyone. Not even you and Alfonso."

  Resuza pursed her lips angrily, but said nothing. "Nartam can't discover us," she finally said.

  "I know," replied Hill. "He'd do anything to learn about Jasber and Leif. And Alfonso." He paused. "And the Foreseeing Pen. Give it to me."

  Resuza handed it over. "Are you going to use it now?"

  "I'm not sure," replied Hill.

  They maneuvered to the edge of the group of prisoners so that they were out of sight of the slave traders. Hill palmed the pen to hide it from view and pressed the emerald embedded in the top of the device. They heard a slight click. A second later, an incredibly thin streak of fire shot out of the tip. It struck a medium-size rock, scorched it, and cracked it in several pieces. A nearby prisoner gasped and pointed at the rock, though he was too addled to make the connection between the rock and Hill's actions. Hill quickly clicked the pen, and the flames disappeared.

  "What are you doing?" Resuza whispered. "Use the fire to distract them. Burn all the scrubland!"

  Hill shook his head and returned to the middle of the crowd of prisoners. They continued to march slowly toward the cages. Resuza looked at him questioningly.

  "It's not the right time," he said. "We only have one shot at escaping and we don't know enough about the pen to use it well. We also may learn something about their plans. Why are they so desperate to find Kiril?"

  Resuza slowly nodded. "My sister is in Dargora. Maybe we'll find her." They stared at each other and realized they had made their decision. In the future they'd look back on this fateful moment and wonder how things might've been different if they had made another choice.

  The prisoners began entering the cages. Resuza and Hill were packed in one cage with a dozen other mute, sullen slaves. Hill dug inside his jacket and took out his Dormian passport, which indicated that he was the foreign minister of Somnos. With a deep breath, he tore up the passport into little pieces and scattered them in the snow beneath the cage. Once the convoy started, the paper would be trampled and destroyed.

  That done, he looked at Resuza with a somber but determined expression. "We'll wait for the right time," he told her. "For the moment, though, our identities and the pen must remain hidden—even if it means becoming slaves."

  CHAPTER 60

  INTO THE FIRE

  ALFONSO PARTICLE-CLIMBED toward Marta's family. When he was about twenty feet away, he shouted at them. They shrieked in fear when they saw a young teenager floating above them, surrounded by steam and smoke.

  "I am a friend of Marta's," Alfonso yelled out in Dormian. "Let me help you!"

  Before they had a chance to say anything, Alfonso swooped down and scooped up Marta's mother, a skinny, gray-haired woman who looked remarkably like her daughter. Alfonso had no time to explain himself further. The fire was already beginning to devour the roof of the townhouse and the heat was becoming unbearable. In his other arm, he grabbed Danyel, Marta's younger brother. They were terrified but luckily did not resist. Alfonso dropped them off next to Marta, and returned for her father and Stoven, her older brother.

  Stoven reached up for Alfonso, but it was a different case for Marta's father, a burly, heavyset man. He shook his head when Alfonso tried to grab his hand. Understandably, he wasn't eager to grab hold of the outstretched arms of a skinny teenager who was somehow levitating in the air. Alfonso yelled for the man to grab hold. Flames were everywhere. The heat was now searing. The building was on the verge of collapsing. "Grab my hand!" screamed Alfonso.

  "Papa, please!" yelled Stoven.

  At last, Marta's father tentatively stretched his arms toward Alfonso, who grabbed them and turned to descend. At that moment, the entire building collapsed in a terrifying conflagration of flame and smoke and dust.

  ***

  Once Marta's family was safe in the square, Alfonso—still in hypnogogia—began particle-climbing up toward the roof of the armory. When he arrived, he saw that all four of the armory's domes had now collapsed. The building's stone walls were still standing because they were flameproof, but the interior of the armory, which was furnished with a great deal of wood, was ablaze. The building's stone exterior was operating like a giant oven, cooking and burning its wooden interior.

  It was into this hellish situation that Alfonso descended. He landed on a small support beam of the roof that was still intact, came out of hypnogogia to recharge, and then ran down a set of stone stairs that dropped into the armory itself. Here the air was dry and scorching hot.

  As he ran through the top floor of the armory, Alfonso leapt over charred trusses, support beams, and blazing roof panels. He saw dozens of wooden cases that contained the armory's valuables: swords, shields, and helmets. He ignored all this and headed toward a prominent-looking doorway. Its bronze door gaped open and Alfonso sensed there was something special inside.

  The doorway opened into a narrow room with high ceilings. The room's wooden walls, though on fire, were not destroyed. Rather, they blazed with a smooth blue flame. The stone floor gleamed like silver and it was hot to the touch, like a cast-iron skillet just taken off the flame. Alfonso could feel the heat softening the rubber soles of his shoes. Oddly, the room was devoid of smoke. Alfonso then saw a white-haired old man, dressed in a scarlet robe, who was kneeling in the middle of the room as if in prayer. Something about the man looked odd.

 
; Alfonso approached and saw to his great horror that a knife was lodged in the man's back. Only the handle and an inch of the blade were visible. Alfonso rushed over to the man's side.

  "We've got to get you out!" yelled Alfonso. "The building is about to collapse."

  The old man looked up. Blood trickled from his mouth.

  "It's too late," he wheezed. "T-Too late for me and too late for Jasber ... The Gahno ... He did this ... He took everything."

  "Where did he go?" asked Alfonso.

  The man groaned and leaned against Alfonso.

  "I have to find him!" yelled Alfonso desperately.

  "Too late," said the white-haired man. Tears streamed down his face. "He took the ether, the ash, and he demanded the Foreseeing Pen, but thank heavens..." The man coughed violently. His eyes, which were terribly bloodshot, bulged outward. "Thank heavens we hid it away long, long ago."

  He handed Alfonso a small leather envelope that had been hidden inside his robe.

  "Take this and run," said the man. "Give it to the first monk you see. He'll know what to do with it."

  "What is it?"

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  The sound of several explosions echoed through the room. Smoke began to enter from the doorway. Alfonso's feet felt warm and he knew the floor was melting the soles of his shoes.

  "It's the last of the green ash," said the man. "I hid it from the Gahno. Now run!" yelled the man. He screamed so violently that spittle flew into Alfonso's face.

  Alfonso took the envelope and bolted back through the doorway and into the main room on the top floor. Here the heat was so strong that Alfonso feared that his skin was blistering. There was no way he could survive in the room for longer than a minute or two.

  With one hand shielding his eyes, Alfonso spied a relatively unobstructed path across the room to the stone stairway that led back onto the roof. This was his escape route. He ran at full speed, leaping over burning debris as he went.

  Alfonso was almost at the stairway when a large burning timber collapsed and fell directly in front of him, forcing him to leap recklessly into the air. He avoided the slab of wood but landed awkwardly on one foot and lost his balance and fell onto the steps. The leather envelope sprang loose from his hand and landed with a thud, causing a puff of green ash to billow out. Alfonso watched in disbelief and only after a few seconds did he think to cover his eyes.

  But it was too late.

  Green ash landed on Alfonso's face, and some of it dissolved in the moist film of his eyes. His heart rate slowed. His vision faded. His mind tumbled into darkness as he fell heavily onto the steps. In a matter of seconds, Alfonso transformed into a shriveled ninety-year-old man.

  Not long after this, a young woman who appeared to be in her early twenties emerged from the smoke and flames. She was moving quickly, agilely, and with a great sense of purpose. The woman had red hair, green eyes, and a freckled face. She knelt down beside Alfonso's old, wizened body and felt his pulse. It was slow but steady. The young woman picked Alfonso up in her arms and, as best she could, ran through the burning debris toward the exit.

  When the young woman emerged from the armory—and out into the safety of open air—she set the old man gently onto the ground. Just seconds later, she morphed into the form of a young girl. Several people noticed this phenomenon.

  "Behold," cried an onlooker. "She's an ageling. It's Marta the Seer!"

  The girl nodded curtly. She glanced down at Alfonso. He was deep in an ash-induced coma. "I'm no longer alone," Marta whispered into his ear. "We are both agelings now."

  CHAPTER 61

  AN UNLIKELY RESCUER

  AS THE WILD CURRENT of the river whisked Bilblox downstream, he struggled to keep his head above water. When he wasn't gasping for air, he was calling out in the dire hope that someone, anyone, might rescue him.

  "HEY! Hallo!" Bilblox yelled. "HELP!"

  No reply. Bilblox began to feel desperate. To make matters worse, he felt a new headache coming on, and somehow he sensed that this one would be the most excruciating one yet.

  "Help!" he yelled.

  A few seconds later, Bilblox felt a strong, sinewy hand grab under his arm and effortlessly pull him into a boat. Bilblox rubbed the water from his face.

  "Thanks, buddy," gasped Bilblox. He instinctively shielded his white eyes, conscious that whoever this Jasberian was, he or she would see them. "You really saved me!" exclaimed Bilblox.

  The person in the boat laughed in a strangely familiar way.

  "My good fellow," said the other person in the boat. "What's the matter with your eyes?"

  "My eyes?" said Bilblox, cautiously. "Uh ... er ... What about them?"

  "Oh, nothing in particular," replied the voice. "Just that they are entirely white."

  Bilblox said nothing.

  "Blind are you?"

  "Yes," said Bilblox quietly. His headache was suddenly coming on strong and Bilblox felt as if someone were poking red-hot needles into his brain. Currents of pain radiated down his spine and he lost all feeling in his feet.

  "And how would you like to see again?" asked the voice.

  "What are ya talkin' about?" asked Bilblox weakly.

  "Come now, don't you know who I am?"

  Bilblox felt his legs weaken. It wasn't possible. After all that happened, he had been rescued by Kiril.

  "No," whispered Bilblox. "NO!"

  He lunged at Kiril with full force, his fists swinging wildly at the man they had pursued for so long. Kiril released the oars and wrapped his arms like a vise around Bilblox. They tumbled heavily to the bottom of the rowboat. Despite Bilblox's immense strength, Kiril had him in a hammerlock that was impossible to break.

  "I may be about to drown, but so will you," muttered Bilblox.

  "Not so," grunted Kiril. "You see, we're about to enter a whirlpool. It will knock us about, but ultimately we'll arrive at the Sea of Clouds. And, after that, I have a little rendezvous planned."

  Bilblox struggled against Kiril's iron grip, but it was no use.

  "My friend, I just took a pinch of Jasberian ash," remarked Kiril, as if they were sitting on a porch having a casual conversation. "At this point, I'm much, much stronger than you. Just relax. Soon we'll be through the whirlpool. Then, if you behave yourself, I may even offer you a pinch of ash to help ease your pain. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

  Bilblox stopped struggling. Water furiously churned around the boat. As the boat entered the whirlpool, it pitched downward and the stern rose almost perpendicular to the water. Kiril braced himself. As the boat plunged into the spiraling waters, he caught one last glimpse of his birthplace in flames.

  Epilogue

  IIT WAS A BEAUTIFUL, sun-streaked morning in the Sea of Clouds. Clink woke up in the master's bedroom—a vast space on the top floor of the lighthouse occupied by a canopy bed, a thick bearskin carpet, and a bay window with a perfect view of the Ferramentum Archipelago. He heard a series of excited shouts and the sound of doors slamming from the floors below. Perhaps Misty had discovered Second-Floor Man's buttermilk and cheddar pancakes, complete with a dollop of wild blueberry preserves. Clink smiled. He climbed down from bed, put on a mink bathrobe twice as wide as he was, and opened the door. It was going to be another perfect day at the lighthouse.

  Clink walked down the corridor and became aware of a slight crick in his neck. He looked down at the vast array of gold and diamond-encrusted pendants hanging around his neck. Eventually, he'd probably have to wear less jewelry, but for the time being, he was determined to wear these baubles everywhere. He had spent his entire life trying to steal finery that was a fraction as valuable as this.

  Misty appeared on the staircase, out of breath.

  "Now seriously, dear cousin," said Clink jovially. "I know Second-Floor Man is skilled in the culinary arts, but you should pace yourself. There's an endless supply of top-notch food."

  "So ya don' stop talkin' even when weighed down with half yer weight in gold?" said Misty with a sigh
and a roll of her eyes. "Shut yer trap fer just a second 'n' listen! Colonel Treeknot—she's here! Half dead, a-course, but she's 'ere."

  "Colonel Treeknot?" asked Clink. His heart raced. How could she possibly be alive? Clink ran downstairs behind Misty and found Nathalia Treeknot unconscious on the same couch they had laid Josephus on. Her eyes were swollen shut, and her skull shone through in several places, as if clumps of her hair had been yanked out. Her right leg was bent at an angle that meant it was broken in at least two, maybe three, places.

  Second-Floor Man was tending to her. At the moment, he was gingerly feeling up and down her leg, trying to determine where the breaks had occurred.

  He looked up at Clink and Misty.

  "This is a friend of yours, Master Clink?" he asked.

  "I'm not sure she's a friend," Clink carefully replied. "But we ought to help her."

  Second-Floor Man nodded somberly. "This soldier has been through terrible ordeals. It will take several months of recuperation, and it is unclear—perhaps unlikely—that she will walk again."

  Nathalia moaned softly. Her head turned to the left and right, as if in her dreams she was still warding off attackers.

  "How did she get here?" asked Clink.

  "Jus' like us," replied Misty. "Somehow she found 'er way outta the Fault Roads and at the island picked up the same kinda rowboat and made 'er way 'ere. Poor thing. The things she musta seen. The boat washed up onshore, overturned, and First-Floor Man found 'er layin' there unconscious, 'er leg crushed by the boat."

  "Well of course she will stay here," Clink replied magnanimously. "And when Alfonso, Hill, and the others return, Colonel Treeknot here will be able to provide them information about Kiril's plans. I'm sure she saw something that will help them."

  "MASTER! MASTER!! MASTER CLEEENK!"