"I'm a little more than a wand, Ilien. I may not be able to cast spells directly, but I can help you remember them."
Remember them? Ilien looked around the tent.
"Ilien, do try to concentrate!" the pencil scolded. "You're letting your mind wander and it's getting more than a bit confusing trying to sort through all those nonsensical thoughts of yours!" It rolled back and forth in the divot again, then gave up. "Don't you remember what the Swan said? You have no need to learn magic. You already know everything there is to know. I just need to help you remember."
Then jog my memory and make it quick, thought Ilien. Idiotic pencil.
"I heard that!" the pencil cried.
The tent flap flew open and in stooped a rather short Giant—the officer Anselm had played cards with. He held a burning brand in one hand and looked to and fro around the tent, studying Ilien for a moment while he fingered the medal on his tunic.
"That's odd," he muttered. "I thought I heard . . ." He shined his light about, shrugged, and left.
When the torchlight had faded away the pencil whispered, "That was close. I can't keep talking like this."
Then don't, thought Ilien. I could do with the quiet.
Do you know how to read minds?
Ilien struggled to sit up straight. I don't think so.
You just did! the pencil thought back at him. You do have powers unlimited!
Tell that to Anselm. Ilien stared at the tent flap, his mouth full of dirty rag. If it wasn't for me he might be eating Awefull by a warm fire right now, instead of—
The sounds of Anselm's interrogation from the nearby tent silenced his thoughts.
Then it's up to you to get him out of this mess, isn't it? the pencil replied.
But how? Ilien pleaded with his eyes.
There has to be something you know that will help get you out of those ropes.
Ilien hung his head. Fat chance. Even if I did know an Unbinding spell I'd probably turn myself inside out trying to cast it without saying the spell aloud. I nearly set the study ablaze and almost electrocuted myself trying to cast the last two spells in my mind, so no thanks to that.
That's it! thought the pencil.
You really don't like me, do you?
No. Not the Lightning spell. The Kindle Candle spell.
Ilien's eyes opened wide. You're right. I can burn the ropes with the Kindle Candle spell.
Do it. Do it now! the pencil urged.
Ilien looked down at his bound ankles and recited the spell in his mind. A thin wisp of smoke rose from the ropes as he furrowed his brow in concentration, squinting at the darkening spot before him. A small flame jumped up, feeble, on the verge of going out, and he cocked his head and recited the spell in his mind again. The flame held steady for only a moment then sank to a wavering yellow ghost, vanishing with a puff of white smoke.
No! he thought, his anger rising. This can't be happening. It's supposed to be a simple spell! At that, the ropes around his ankles burst into flames, the fire devouring them in seconds, and he quickly shook his legs free of the hot ashes.
Quick! thought the pencil. Your hands!
The orange light of an approaching torch lit the side of the tent. Ilien kicked at the smoldering remains of the rope as two Giants stopped outside the entrance.
"He won't tell us anything, sir," he heard a hoarse voice say.
"Let him be for a while," another voice replied. Ilien didn't need to see him to recognize who it was, but the short shadow the Giant cast didn't hurt. "Let him sit with his thoughts, and his wounds," the officer continued. "He knows he's dead in the morning if he doesn't tell us who his friends are and what they're planning. That kind of knowledge tends to loosen tongues."
"Isn't he dead in the morning anyhow?"
Ilien heard the officer spit on the ground. "Of course."
The light outside grew brighter as the first Giant pointed toward Ilien's tent with his torch. "What about this one?"
"He's harmless." The officer's shadow turned, and Ilien could see the outline of his hand adjusting the medal on his chest. "Let him be. We'll be rid of them both come morning. Any word on the search parties?"
"They haven't all reported in, but those that have didn't find anyone."
"Keep searching. Herman the Heretic was not alone."
There was a moment of silence. "He did have the boy with him, sir."
The Giants' laughter faded away along with their torchlight.
Good, thought the pencil. Excellent, in fact.
Ilien glared openly. Good that they're going to execute us in the morning, or good that they think I'm a joke?
No. Didn't you hear them? They're going to leave you and Anselm alone for a while. Now's our chance. Burn those ropes around your wrists and let's get out of here.
Ilien twisted about, trying to bring the knots within sight. I can't see them, he thought.
It isn't like you've never seen your hands before. Just think. Visualize the ropes.
Ilien closed his eyes and pictured his hands behind his back. He wriggled his fingers to get a feel of where they were, how the ropes were wrapped around his wrists. As he recited the Kindle Candle spell in his mind, he hoped his aim was better than his memory. He anticipated the pain and smell of burning skin, but to his relief and amazement got neither. In moments he heard the distinct sizzle of singeing ropes, and a puff of dark smoke rose over his shoulder. He shook free of the ropes and pulled off his gag.
"Now what?" he asked aloud.
Sshh. Keep it down! thought the pencil. It's best if you think instead of talk from now on.
Now what? thought Ilien.
Come get me, that's what.
Ilien tiptoed across the sandy floor and picked up his pencil.
Now, the pencil began, its thoughts whispering in Ilien's mind, what do you think we should do?
Ilien locked his fingers around the pencil and brought it close to his face. What do you mean, what do I think we should do? he thought through clenched teeth. You said you could get us out of this mess!
I can only help you remember spells, Ilien. I can't teach them to you. I'm not the wizard. You are. Remember?
Remember what?
Remember what spell it is that'll get us out of this mess!
You're unbelievable, you know that? thought Ilien. Look at this! He gestured around the tent, pencil in hand. Stuck here, surrounded by an army of murdering Giants and all you can think is, 'So Ilien, what do you think we should do?' You're truly unbelievable. He threw his hands up in disgust. Some help you turned out to be. Why Gallund ever made you I'll never know. Sometimes I wish you'd just disappear from my life completely.
"That's it!" shouted the pencil out loud.
"Quiet down!" Ilien cried, looking quickly to the tent flap. "I thought you said it was best to think, not talk."
"Sshh! Quiet!" the pencil hissed.
"My god!" Ilien said. "You're incredible!"
"No. Sshh! Someone's coming."
The shadowy outline of a Giant appeared, framed in the light against the wall of the tent.
I thought you said they were going to leave us alone for a while, thought Ilien. What do we do now? We'll be caught for sure.
No we won't. Remember what you just said, about disappearing? Well, you can do it. You know how. You must know how. You just have to remember.
Remember how to disappear?
The shadow outside lumbered closer. The outline of a sword grew visible.
"Hurry!" whispered the pencil. "Remember! You have to remember!"
"I can't. I don't know how to disappear!"
Yes, you do. It's just like in geometry class. I never told you the answers but you got the questions right every time. Remember?
"I just thought I was smart."
Really, Ilien.
But the pencil was right, it had always been like that. Whenever he took a test using his pencil the answers seemed to magically pop into his head. The pencil never actually told him
the correct answers but he scored A's nonetheless. Now as Ilien watched the approaching shadow grow larger on the tent wall, a feeling stole over him like the sinking feeling he had in class when the time was running out and the page of geometry problems still lay blank on his desk. The teacher was coming to collect his test. There wasn't much time left. His face flushed hot and itchy.
"I just don't know!" he screamed aloud.
The shadow began moving. Quickly. Purposefully. Words whispered in Ilien's mind, like the words of a half-remembered song. He tried to listen but fear shouted through his mind, drowning out his thoughts. The words came again, louder, and he could almost make them out. He willed himself to understand but he couldn't keep his concentration. The tent flap rustled.
"Inhibi inhabi hababi viru." The words tumbled from Ilien's mouth before he knew it.
The entrance to the tent parted and in stepped the largest Giant Ilien had ever seen. Its shaggy head brushed the tent ceiling as it peered warily about, sword in hand. Satisfied the tent was empty, it turned and left, its massive shadow expanding ever larger until it was gone.
It worked! the pencil said in Ilien's mind. He couldn't see you at all. You're invisible. You did it! Let's go!
Ilien quickly stole to the entrance and peeked out. Anselm's tent stood twenty feet away. Ilien looked left then right as if he were about to cross a busy street.
You don't have to be so paranoid, thought the pencil. You are invisible, you know.
Ilien stopped to inspect himself, waving his hand before his face. He felt it breeze by his nose but saw only the tent flap in front of him. Now here was something he wished he knew how to do earlier. He could have wreaked such sweet vengeance on Stan and Peaty! He crept the distance to Anselm's tent, stopped and looked around. Oversized tents rose in the night around him, run-down tenements in some grey, desolate city, and he wondered which one held the Book. A lone Giant stood a hundred feet away, picking his nose in the shadows, glancing to and fro to make sure no one saw him. Ilien parted the flap to Anselm's tent and peered in.
A small fire smoldered in the center of the tent, its thin ribbon of smoke rising to exit a large hole in the roof. Several lanterns had been lit and hung from long poles in each corner. Anselm sat slumped beneath one of the sputtering lamps, bound with rope to a heavy stake in the ground. Even from where he stood Ilien could see the bruises on the side of the Giant's face. He entered like a soft breeze to stand near his wounded friend.
Anselm looked up then, and even though he couldn't see Ilien, his eyes burned with the fierce fire of wariness. Ilien pulled off Anselm's gag.
"Who's there?" Anselm asked, startled, looking to and fro.
It's me.
When Anselm didn't respond, Ilien realized he was still thinking instead of talking.
"It's me. Ilien," he repeated, this time aloud.
Anselm's gaze crisscrossed the tent. "Ilien? But how? Where are you?"
"I'm here, right in front of you. I'm invisible."
Ilien began untying Anselm's feet. The Giant looked on in fascination as the knots unraveled, seemingly on their own.
"Don't." Anselm pulled his feet away. "Leave them be."
"What do you mean?" Ilien whispered. "We've got to get you out of here before the guards return."
"No, Ilien. Don't."
Ilien shuffled forward and continued working on the knots. "I'll have to burn through them. Shield your eyes."
"No!" Ilien looked up, and even though he was still invisible, Anselm looked directly at him. "If you free me, all will be lost."
Ilien hunkered down to work on the knots again. "All will be lost if I don't."
"Listen to me," Anselm pleaded. Ilien had moved from his gaze and Anselm spoke to the air beside him. "When they discover I've escaped, how far do you think we'll get before we're found? You may be invisible but I'm not."
Ilien stopped and peered up at Anselm. "But I can't leave you here. You're to be killed at dawn."
Anselm's eyes moved to Ilien's again. "It doesn't matter."
"What do you mean, it doesn't matter?"
Anselm's hand speared forward and he grabbed Ilien by the collar. "We all have choices to make," he said, his eyes peering into Ilien's as if Ilien stood plainly visible in the clear light of day. "This one is mine. Yours should be to leave, right now. You can still beat the Book to Greattower. They have no idea how important you are. They won't worry about the small boy who fled in the night, but they'll tear the plains apart to find me. They'll never let Herman the Heretic escape them again."
Ilien pulled away. With trembling hands, he resumed his work on the knots. "I'm not leaving here without you."
Anselm kicked his legs. "If you love all that you know to be true, then you will leave me now to save it!" he shouted, sending Ilien flying across the floor.
The tent flap flew open and four Giants marched in. "What's going on here?" The officer stepped from behind his soldiers. "I thought I told you this Giant was to be gagged."
"He was gagged, sir," answered one of the soldiers.
The officer's eyes flicked about the tent. "He was, was he?"
Ilien held perfectly still, even as several times the officer's gaze washed by him. "Stand at the entrance!" the officer commanded. "Don't let a breeze pass by you." His eyes continued to dance around Ilien. "You are well aware, Heretic, that you will die come morning, as are your friends, whoever they may be." The Giants guarding the entrance followed the officer's eyes around the tent. "If only you would tell us what we want to know. Surely you don't take us for fools. We know much already, perhaps everything, so come, confirm our suspicions. It might just save your life."
Ilien looked from the officer to Anselm. Just then his heel slipped forward in the sand.
"Guards!" cried the officer. Though he hadn't seen the sand move, he sensed something was amiss. The guards leapt to attention, unaware of what was happening. "Link arms and spread out!" They did so at once, stretching across the tent.
"This heretic came here to steal our Lord, but he did not come alone. No. He no doubt has accomplices more powerful than little boys. In fact, he is being helped even now, even here."
The officer reached to his side and yanked forth his sword, a nicked and bent blade too short for a Giant. "There is a wizard among us, boys."
The guards exchanged nervous glances as the officer took his place to block the exit. At his signal they walked forward, arms linked, legs forming a moving picket fence.
"What makes you think you could ever catch a wizard, Molnius, when you could never catch me?" Anselm said, trying to distract the officer's attention.
Molnius lunged at Anselm, leaving the door unguarded, and seized him by the throat. "But I have you now!" he spat.
Ilien crawled backwards, bumping into the small pile of Anselm's belongings that had been cast to the side. There at his fingertips lay the map. He snatched it up and tucked it beneath his shirt where it disappeared without a trace.
The pencil's thoughts cut through his mind. It's now or never. Let's get out of here!
Ilien's neck felt hot and prickly. The hair on his head stood on end as he fought back his growing anger, an anger he'd felt only once before, a rage from which he knew there would be no turning back. I'm not leaving Anselm, he thought wildly. Sparks flew at the edge of his sight, unseen to anyone but himself.
No Ilien! Anselm's right. If you love all that is true then you must leave him to save it! There's no other way!
Ilien watched as Molnius raised his hand, and felt the singe of wild magic burn at the back of his throat. The hand came down, striking Anselm across the face.
Anselm merely smiled. "One day soon my people will rise above this evil," he said. "One day soon the shadow of the Necromancer will lift from the heart of my son, and you will be the first to follow your Master into the darkness."
Molnius struck again, this time with the flat of his sword and Anselm fell back, covering his face. "Leave me!" Anselm cried, struggling
back up. "Leave me!" His eyes searched the tent and Ilien knew for certain that they searched for him. Molnius hit Anselm again.
Ilien! the pencil exclaimed in his mind. The guards! The guards had stopped to watch Molnius, but now they resumed their march across the tent, arms linked. We have to get out of here!
There was no way past the net of guards. How? thought Ilien as they drew nearer.
The hole in the roof! Fly out the hole in the roof! the pencil thought in a rush.
As Ilien looked up, his hand struck something small and hard. The vial of Fireflies popped out from the pile of Anselm's belongings and rolled across the sand toward Molnius. The officer spun around and looked directly at Ilien. Anselm looked up too, his eyes beseeching his invisible friend to flee.
Fly! cried the pencil in his mind. Fly now!
The guards jumped forward, arms linked, eyes dancing. They reached the far end of the tent and looked back in confusion at their angry leader. Ilien floated silently toward the hole in the roof, his feet gliding inches above them. He closed his eyes against the haze of stinging smoke rising from the fire, but tears streamed down his cheeks anyhow. He sailed up and out, and into the cool night air, leaving Anselm behind.
Up he drifted over the Giants' encampment, like a balloon lost by a heartbroken boy. Anselm's tent shrank below him in the gloom and his tears fell upon its roof, the first lonely raindrops of a storm to come. He rose higher into the night until the camp resembled a gathering of fireflies on the grass below, the cold wind pitching him forward, propelling him toward the imposing shadow of Greattower.
Chapter XXII
Greattower
I'm so tired, Ilien thought as he sailed through the air under a skyful of stars. Why am I so tired?
"It's the magic," his pencil answered aloud.
"Magic?" muttered Ilien, like a child being carried to bed well after bedtime.
"You're flying invisibly, Ilien. That takes a lot out of you."
The shadow of Greattower filled the northern sky, a black hole in the night, growing larger as he drifted closer, spreading out to devour the stars. Below him the fires of the Giants' camp stretched into a glittering spiral of lights.
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