It doesn’t sound any easier than our trip in here, but I’m only too happy to hear an alternative to meeting a rock basilisk.
“The way back should only take a couple of days. At least, to get back to your Kingdom of Mar. It may take an additional day or two for you to make it back to your home.” He is silent for a moment, then continues. “The queen would like to tell you more about your King Mactogonii.”
I take in an audible breath, but the queen starts chirruping again. In a few moments, Cheep translates. “Your king only spent a few weeks here, but he had told the queen that he was seeking something which would destroy the daemon. He had been listening to testimonies for several days about the history of our exodus from the marshlands and descriptions of the daemon, when he got very excited and insisted on leaving immediately,” says Cheep.
Cheep chirrups back to the queen, and I have the feeling he is reminding her of details, which would make sense because he would have been present if there was any kind of testimony to be translated.
“He didn’t even take all his things?” I ask, fingering the tunic I’m wearing.
“No, he left a pack, including the clothes you’re wearing. Those clues plus a couple of other things he said led us to believe he wasn’t going far, that he was close to the end of his search. We thought he had found a way to kill the daemon.”
“Nothing like a little stroll around the Valley of Fire in the buff,” says Tig.
“He didn’t leave unclothed, Tigrabum,” Cheep sounds slightly offended, “he had his belongings and weapons. He was dressed for war.”
“Not sure how this matters to us,” Tig says.
Cheep translates back and then there are several moments of low chirrups from the queen and another of the Urodela. One of the Urodela leaves the room, and Cheep pipes up again. “It matters to everyone here. You don’t see Essie Brightsday, but it isn’t because you’re blind.”
“See what? You’re asking something that can’t be done!” I almost shout in the silence that follows. Cheep doesn’t bother to translate.
A shuffling lets me know that the Urodela are returning, this time there is more than one. An awkward scuffle sounds like they are carrying something. They shuffle over and one of them steps on my foot as they place something on the moss in front of me. They shuffle backward and a silence ensues, save for a thin rattling from whatever is in front of me. Tig is silent. I slip out of my seat and kneel on the moss. The thing is an Urodela. I can feel each of its tiny ribs. Where all the Urodela I have felt so far have felt cool and rubbery this one feels dry, hot and leathery. Its skin is shriveling. The arms move fractionally and a three-fingered paw clutches my fingers. The thin rattling gets faster and then it lets out a sad half squeak.
Cheep translates. “She said, ‘thanks.’”
I withdraw my hand and take my place on the bench again. “For what?”
“For coming,” says Cheep.
“What’s wrong with her?” I ask. The Urodela shuffle forward again, picking her up and carrying her out. “She’s completely gray,” says Tig. “No color at all.”
When the room quiets again, Cheep scuffs forward. “The Urodela are dying. Your people are dying. We think your king found something in the histories he heard from our old ones. You could listen as well, try to find what he found, and at the very least take it back to your people. Perhaps you can’t continue the king’s quest, but think of how you could help. Helping him is saving your people. You could try to think of where he would go. As a humani walker and one of his subjects you’re closer to him than we are. Where would he go? Why? What would he take? You say that the king disappeared, and this is the first any in your kingdom have heard of him. Get as much as you can from this opportunity before going home so that you can pass it on to others. We can show you the direction he went. We can guess with you where he might have traveled.”
“What’s wrong with her?” I ask again. The squeaks and whistles bounce around the room for several minutes before Cheep answers.
“She is from the upper city. The lake has receded, leaving that part of the city dry. Hundreds have crowded into the lower city, but there are still far too many left in the upper city. The water recedes, the moss withers, and we die.”
“But the Urodela seem happy here,” I say, trying to reconcile the dried up husk that has left the room with what I’ve heard so far. I’ve been trying to resist but my arm is itching so badly that I finally have to scratch it. No one seems to notice.
“They are excited to hope again,” says Cheep.
I give up scratching my arm and dig my fingers in the moss on the bench, twisting the strands between my fingers. “What do you need us to do?” I ask. I hear the signature hiss from Tig that tells me how he feels. Cheep issues several whistling chirrups to the queen and another conversation ensues before he can translate.
“We can get the old ones who are still alive together and you can listen to their accounts. The queen and her advisors will discuss their theories as well. I also have some memory of the histories from translating for King Mactogonii.”
“How long will that take?” I ask, unable to keep the concern and subtle aggravation out of my voice.
Cheep seems a bit taken back. “Several weeks I suppose—”
“We can’t wait several weeks,” I blurt, “we need to leave tomorrow. Can’t you just tell us what we need to take with us?”
“We don’t know what it is!” squeaks Cheep. The Urodela in the room shuffle around, and Tig sits up from lying on my lap.
Tig flicks his tail back and forth, and I know he’s keyed up for action. “Looks like these little salamanders are armed,” says Tig. “The guards have their pointy sticks again, but they look like they have something painted on the end of these. It could be poison.”
I can taste the tension in the air. The queen issues several low chirps, and I immediately feel the room relax. Tig sinks back down into my lap.
“I apologize. We don’t know where King Mactogonii went,” says Cheep. “He left through a tunnel that would exit at the Red Giants well north of Watangau Falls. We think he might have been trying to cross the Gray Wastelands, or maybe he was heading directly toward the Cauldron’s Crater.”
“But . . .” I encourage.
“But the tunnel he used is impassible. At least for us. As we’ve told you, he slipped away suddenly. The end of the tunnel is an ogre den. We couldn’t follow. So we can only hope that he made it past the ogres. Then, if he continued, he would have dropped off the Red Giants somehow.”
“What did he hear that made him leave?” I ask, genuinely interested.
“The queen has asked the same thing. I don’t know. There were many stories. That day was just like all the others. We believe the story he heard that day was a rather plain one. The Urodela who told his story didn’t even see the daemon. Just a hurricane-like wind that was on fire sweeping down through the swamp. His partner was killed, and he grabbed two of his little ones and made it under the swamp and then wandered for several weeks until he found the Red Giants. Climbed the Watangau Falls gap and our spotters found him.”
“He escaped under the water?”
“There was no water by that time. He escaped through the tunnels under the swamp.”
“What tunnels?”
“The tunnels that run under the swamp. There is a foundation of what was an ancient stone city many years ago, so the tunnels are rock and easy to navigate. Apparently many of them were filled with water when the marshes were full. Everyone knows this. All the old Urodela used to play in the tunnels and some Urodela even had homes in them.”
“I didn’t know,” I say. Of course, that doesn’t mean much. Uncle Cagney would probably know if that were important. I’ll bet he would even remember what the ruined city was called. I wish he were here. I wish he could hear what Cheep is saying. He would know what questions to ask.
“Is it important?” asks Cheep.
I am about to say, “I don’t
know,” when Tig flicks me with his tail. I stop with my mouth half open. I can’t see what other useful information we could get from the Urodela. I don’t even have anyone I can give the information to. Mom and Dad are in the camps or fighting a rebellion or worse, something I don’t let myself think about. No one I know will stop to listen about the theories a fragile salamander-like race have about what King Mactogonii was doing under the Valley of Fire.
“That sounds like that might be it,” I say, with as much conviction as I can muster. “I’ll take the news of an abandoned city under your marshes and tell the people in the Kingdom of Mar.” I try to make it sound official and daring, but when it comes out, it is flat and sounds like I am trying to cut the meeting short so we can leave. Which is exactly what I want.
“Anything else?” I ask. I am suddenly weary. The task seems insurmountable for a champion. What can I contribute?
“No, Lady Essie Brightsday. There is nothing else.” Cheep sounds defeated, too. More chirps. Cheep takes my hand and leads us out of the meeting room. I think idly about the king, my new pants, and magic. Cheep only mentioned the magic that gave him mastery of Lingua Comma, which makes me think of Tig again. How does Tig speak Lingua Comma? It sounds like the same spell, but by whom? The king? I wonder absently if there could be more. I wonder if we found the king could magic restore my sight?
I force myself to listen to Cheep. He issues several whistling chirrups to a passing Urodela and then switches to Lingua Comma. “I’m sorry for asking so much of you. We’re usually much more generous to guests. But our people don’t have enough to live on, and we’re grabbing at any ray of hope.” I don’t reply.
“You’ve sure kept me busy as interpreter for a couple of days anyway,” Cheep says.
“Glad we could make you feel important again,” Tig says.
“Tig,” I admonish. But it is a half-hearted rebuke.
Cheep doesn’t reply, but he grips my finger a little tighter. We are on the far side of the large cavern, opposite the lake. Now that I am aware of it, the moss here does have a slightly crisp feel, like grass in late summer, not dead yet but done growing.
“Tell me again how we are leaving tomorrow,” I say.
“We will escort you as close as we can to the Red Giants. Climb down the Watangua Falls gap and from there travel along the bottom of the cliffs and over the dunes. You should find low hills. Those are a part of your kingdom. Cross those and you will be looking into your own valley. It is a long way, but anything is safer than trying to go through the Valley of Fire.”
I don’t like it. But I am still stiff where the long scab runs down my arm and my left side. I know I nearly died in the Valley of Fire. I won’t go there again—ever. “Okay,” I say. “We’ll do it. We’ll climb down the cliffs and around the Valley of Fire. How long will that take us?”
“It will take you a day to climb the cliffs. From there, I don’t know. You humani walkers move differently than we move. We think it will cost you one night in the Gray Wasteland before you make it back to your own kingdom, but it could be two or three. Then perhaps another couple of days back to your valley.”
“Hmm . . .” purrs Tig from just ahead of us. “There’s a lot of ‘I don’t know’ and ‘we think it might be’ in those directions. That could be the difference between ‘happily ever after,’ and ‘oops, I’ve died a horrible death,’” Tig says in his dry monotone.
“Can you find out more?” I ask Cheep.
“I can try,” says Cheep. We make our way back and are shut into our room just after Cheep shuffles off, hopefully to get more information for tomorrow’s start. As soon as the door is closed I start pulling off the moss cast on my arm. It comes apart in tufts, and I spend the next half hour massaging the stiffness out of my arm.
“Too bad he’s not a pretentious know-it-all,” says Tig in a sad voice. He’s sitting in front of me, watching me work on my arm.
“Like you?” I ask.
“At least then we wouldn’t die in the desert somewhere between ‘one night—oh wait, its two—oh no, I mean three.’ You know, you should thank me that you haven’t ever died some ghastly death brought about by profound ignorance.”
I grab my little pack and go through the contents with my fingers. “I like Cheep’s humility and his honesty. It’s a rare and refreshing thing.”
Tig hops up on the bed next to me. “Yes, I’m a know-it-all. At least anything worth knowing. And you’re welcome,” Tig says in a hurt voice.
Hearing Tig call himself a know-it-all makes me laugh out loud. The rock basilisk’s screams and our run through the Valley of Fire seem far away. The tension of the morning and the weight of the Urodela’s request dissolve, at least for the moment. I can’t help myself; I laugh until my sides hurt. Whenever my laughing slows to a giggle I replay Tig’s injured tone, and the laughing starts all over. It’s good to have a cat that can make me laugh.
“If you lose one of your senses your other senses are enhanced, right?” I hiccup.
“They could be, yes,” says Tig suspiciously.
“I’m just trying to figure out what sense you’re losing since you’ve got such an incredible sense of self-importance.” I can’t even finish the sentence without cracking up again.
Chapter 12
I have dumped my pack out on the bed and am re-packing when Cheep returns in the morning. Two days. That’s what Cheep confirms as to how long it will take us to get home after we are down the Red Giants. I wonder if they took all of their numbers and averaged them. I don’t think any of them really know. They fled what was their home, now the Gray Wasteland, a long time ago. Many of them are a new generation who don’t even remember the marshlands or the cliffs.
“When can we leave?” I ask.
Cheep issues a sad squeak. “This is all you can do to save Crypta then?”
I chew my bottom lip. “I can’t save anybody, Cheep. I don’t even know if we can make it home.” He shuffles in front of me. “I’ll tell my Mom and Dad,” I promise. “He was Kingdom Champion and is a part of the rebellion. He’ll look into it.” I hope it doesn’t sound as flat as it feels.
Cheep shuffles again and then changes his tone abruptly. “Of course. I recommend you leave this morning. The sun will be coming up soon in the Valley of Fire, and it will be safest for you to get out of the lava flow and down the cliffs before night falls. The lassertilla like to hunt at dusk.”
He turns and shuffles awkwardly out of the room. I hear him hesitate at the door. “The queen has directed you be given provisions for your journey home. They will be brought shortly.”
I call out, “Thank you, Cheep,” but there is no response. He’s gone. A few minutes later several chirruping Urodela enter the room and drop off packages. They are as cheerful as ever, and I even get a couple of “hellos” called back to our room as they leave.
I smell the packages, wrapped in dry mossy cloth. They smell good. I can tell we have mushrooms, fruit, and maybe even spider legs. Those will be for Tig. I decide not to unwrap them—my wrapping skills are untidy, and I can tell this has been packaged to preserve as much moisture as possible. The boots are back. Inside they are made of the same soft leather as my leggings, but they are much lighter than they were two days ago. I feel them carefully and decide the Urodela have taken off much of the plate armor that was sewn into them to be able to cut them down properly. I push my feet into them and am surprised that they fit fairly well. The left one is a little tight on my toes. I make a mental note to dip both of my feet in water before we leave. The leather will stretch and mold to my feet during a long day of walking. I have loved being barefoot in Crypta. I sigh inwardly and try to wiggle my toes again.
I stow everything in our pack and turn to try on the leather and plate shirt again. It is still way too heavy and awkward.
“I can’t use this, Tig.”
“Well, let me try it on,” he says.
I give him a wry smile. “I wish I could wear it. I think all of it i
s laced with some kind of magic.”
“What could have given you that idea?” says Tig, a little bitterly.
“Careful! You’re dripping sarcasm everywhere,” I tease. “It’s making a mess.” I chuckle and shrug the leather armor off. “I’ll just leave it here, I guess.” I give it a half fold and put it at the head of the bed. Then I pull Tig to me, and we wait for our guides.
It’s Cheep. He pads back into the room with the Urodela’s distinctive gait. “Ready?” he asks. We are. We go around the city, passing the underground lake and the lazy ripple of the Mar’s outlet. Being under the Valley of Fire in the Kingdom of Crypta for the last time, my mind screams that there is so much to talk about, so many questions to ask but any kind of conversation just feels like we are avoiding yesterday’s issues, so I bite my tongue. The tunnel out of Crypta is damp and the stone hard after the soft moss of the city.
I miss Crypta already, but I miss home worse. I’m afraid I might have missed my parents. They might have come looking for me, and I wasn’t there to meet them. We have to get home. We have been gone three whole days. I feel my pack rubbing against my lower back. It’s heavy again. Most of the weight is from the Urodela’s packages and rusty, lava-tasting water from the Mar in dried gourds and a water skin.
Our directions are easy: drop off the Red Giants and head south, hugging the cliffs on our left, but not too close because of the numerous caverns at the base of the cliffs. When we reach the end of the wall of lava we’ll swing east. That’s where the cliffs turn into the broken teeth of the Valley of Fire. Then it’s a straight shot home, the Valley of Fire always on our left and the sea somewhere far to our right.
We travel steadily all morning. I can tell the tunnel is coming to an end. The air gets drier. I smell the tangy dust of the lava rock floating around us, which tells me some kind of air is moving through the tunnels. And then we’re there. At the mouth of the tunnel with a short walk to the Red Giants. We say goodbye to Cheep. Except it’s not “we,” so much as it’s just me.
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