by Aaron Gansky
Students crowded the stairs. She made her way to the wall side and slipped past the mass of people filtering down, a salmon spawning.
At the computer lab, she set her bag down, nodded to Mrs. Diaz, then went back out to the hall in time to see Sarah Skeleton walking up in all her vanity. Her freshly curled long blonde hair fell around her face and shoulders. She’d applied her makeup with computer precision. She looked like someone cut her face out of a magazine and pasted it on her neck.
Bailey wanted to break Sarah’s perfect little nose. She tightened her fist. Fingernails pressed into her palm.
But Sarah’s trademark smugness hid behind a reddened face. Not from blush, but sadness. Her puffy eyes, dark with purple eye-shadow and eyeliner, gave her away. Sarah Skeleton had been crying.
Amazingly, she walked right up to Bailey and threw her stickish arms around her.
“I’m so sorry about Lauren,” Sarah said. Her voice shook.
Sarah’s hair tickled Bailey’s ear. Bailey had no idea what to do. Instinctively, she put her arms around Sarah but pulled them back quickly. She pushed Sarah back and stared hard at her. “What are you talking about?”
Sarah’s narrow eyebrows scrunched up toward the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
Bailey should be angry still. She tried to conjure up the rage that boiled in her minutes earlier, but it vanished. The hollowness of shared suffering took its place. Genuine sorrow softened Sarah’s face. But Bailey wouldn’t give up easily, wouldn’t let Sarah off the hook. “What do you care?”
Sarah put her hand on her chest. “I always admired Lauren. I never really told her, but I did.”
“Stop,” Bailey said, her voice hardly above a whisper. “I saw your text.”
“What text?”
Students squeezed passed them. They frowned at Bailey, dropped their eyes to avoid the awkward, piteous eye contact. For once, instead of Lauren being Bailey’s sister, people saw her as Lauren’s sister—the missing girl’s sister. These students, her former friends, no longer recognized Bailey as anything other than a Lauren’s walking MISSING poster.
Her hot anger returned, and she clenched her fist, ready to punch Sarah harder than she’d punched anything before. She took a deep breath, wrinkled her nose, and said, “If I was as fat as you, I’d kill myself.”
Sarah shook her head. “Wasn’t me.”
“Don’t lie to me! I saw it! It came from your phone!”
“I didn’t send it. Kevin did.” Her face contorted into equal parts fear and anguish.
Bailey exhaled slowly. “Your boyfriend?”
“Not anymore. I totally broke up with him when I saw the text. I tried to unsend it, but it already went out. She’d already read it.”
Bailey Renee didn’t want to believe her. But Sarah’s face was every bit as red and blotchy as Bailey’s. “You liked Lauren?” She sounded more surprised than she hoped.
Sarah crossed her arms and tugged at the straps of her back pack. “I don’t know. I guess so. We were lab partners first semester. Do you remember?”
Bailey Renee nodded. Oliver was absent that day, so Lauren picked Sarah for some inexplicable reason.
“Anyway, we talked a little bit, and she seemed really nice. She was super quiet, but nice.”
Bailey Renee unclenched her fist. She dragged the sleeve of her sweater over her cheeks. She wanted to tell Sarah not to talk about Lauren in the past tense, but she didn’t want to fight that battle now. Instead, she said, “She is nice.”
* * *
Erica stood over Lauren’s slender shoulder. “So what’s it say?”
Lauren turned the stick around in her hands, brought her nose closer to the staff, squinted to better see it in the flickering light of the flames following the walls of Margwar. How did the dwarves see anything in this place? “It’s hard to make out, but the words are getting clearer. It says something about nests, I think. And it says abomination, which doesn’t sound good.”
Aiden flicked his wrist. Instantly the short gold blade erupted in flames. He held it over by Oliver’s staff. “Better?” He put his gauntleted hand on her shoulder.
Lauren smiled. “Much,” she said. His cold armor contrasted with his warm touch.
Ullwen bristled.
“Why is she able to read it, and you are unable, Vicmorn?” Ullwen asked.
“I made the language,” Lauren said. “I used to write letters to Oliver in dwarvish and elvish.” Her cheeks heated, and not from the flames of Aiden’s sword.
“I don’t remember those,” Oliver said.
Lauren took Aiden’s hand in hers and rotated it enough to better illuminate the grooved letters. “Never gave them to you. A little too nerdy, even for me.”
“It’s not too nerdy. My dad’s hand-carved chess board takes nerd to a whole new level,” Aiden said. “I’m really glad you’re okay. Have I told you that?”
“About a million times,” Erica sighed. “Seriously, put the romance on hold. Let’s grab the book and get somewhere with sunslight.”
Lauren reviewed the letters. “And neither shall the nests from above nor the abomination from below conquer them.”
Oliver moved closer behind Lauren and glanced over her other shoulder, the shoulder Aiden’s hand rested on.
“Look girlie, that’s all great information and everything, but does it say anything about a book and a place to find the book? That would actually be a lot better than something about some birds’ nests or whatever.”
Ullwen grabbed one of the arrows he’d retrieved before entering Margwar. He dipped the tip in the trough of kerosene, nocked it on his bow. He leaned back slightly, aimed the tip toward the ceiling, and let it fly.
The flaming arrow arched toward the ceiling nearly fifty feet up.
The nests did not belong to birds, or to bats. Thick black slimy strings twisted together into thousands of hammocks. As the arrow flew past them, they jiggled. The near silent city ignited in tongue clicks and squeaks of alternating pitches.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Erica mumbled.
“So those are the nests from above. What’s the abomination from below?”
Their eyes all went to the center, bottom-most level where the dwarvish palace stood.
“It’s as good a place to start as any,” Oliver said. “But let’s go through the tunnels. If nar’esh start dropping from here, we’ll never stop fighting them.”
Ullwen had already dipped the torches in the kerosene. “Lead on, good monk.”
* * *
Oliver took a torch and gestured toward an octagonal building nearby. “That should lead us to the Winding Roads. Think of them like freeways. They circle Margwar’s outer perimeter and spiral down in opposite directions. Each level has two access points to the Winding Roads.”
A quick rush of air pushed his back.
Nar’esh, must be.
He spun quickly, dropping to a knee and sweeping with his leg. The torch snapped around, illuminated a nar’esh stumbling backward. It covered its face and shrieked, then clicked its tongue. Three more clacks and thumps, like metal and meat hitting the floor. “Go fast,” he said.
Erica and Sparky dashed through the door. Aiden rushed Lauren in immediately after her, taking the hand and head of a bold nar’esh pressing in on Lauren. Ullwen loosed arrows, embedding them in nar’esh stomachs and chests, eyes and shoulders. Oliver twisted his staff, swatted outstretched nar’esh hands away. Their thin arms cracked under the force of the rognak wood. He ducked through the door and slammed it shut.
Nar’esh immediately threw themselves against the door. It swung open, and Oliver leapt out of the way in time to avoid being hit. He brought his staff around, sweeping the reaching arms away from him. Behind him, a statue of a Minotaur trembled on a pedestal. He took the golden idol and threw it toward the nar’esh pouring through the door. Aiden stood near the door, severing appendages with quick flicks of his flaming sword. Lauren snapped, and tiny burst
s of hot sparks exploded in front of the mass. Startled, the nar’esh stumbled back out the door. Ullwen put his shoulder into the door and slammed it shut. Erica kicked a bar down, which clicked into a holder on the opposite side of the door, barring more nar’esh from entering.
Aiden polished off the few remaining nar’esh and slipped the sword back in its scabbard. “Everyone okay?”
Breathless, they nodded. Oliver leaned on his staff and eyed the décor of the room. The statue he’d used to drive the nar’esh back wasn’t alone. Several, fashioned from gold or from stone, from bronze or from silver, portrayed the same Minotaur with eyes stitched shut. Each depiction held the same staff.
No, not a staff. Oliver had a staff. This monster had a wicked, fat stick, something like a macabre scepter, an evil stave, on top of which sat a grizzly ornate human skull.
“What is that thing?” Erica asked.
“I’d say a Minotaur,” Lauren said.
“An abomination,” Ullwen said. “The dwarves turned their hearts from Adonai to this, whatever it is.”
“They worshiped this thing?” Aiden asked.
“Sure looks like it,” Oliver said. His heart broke. So much time had gone into the crafting of such idols, so much craftsmanship and care. They were works of art, but the artists’ hearts had been in the wrong place. How could they turn from their creator to such an atrocity, from something as beautiful as Adonai, to something as twisted as a man-bull?
“Why’d they want to worship something so ugly?” Erica sneered, eyeing a four-foot tall statue.
“Power,” Ullwen said. “They felt as if Adonai had turned His back on them. This abomination must have promised them power, a return to prominence in Alrujah.”
The sadness in Oliver’s heart transformed slowly, turned from irritation to a righteous anger. The dwarves were a long-lived people, a people of patience. How could they turn their backs on Adonai? How could they be so impatient? He curled his lip, knocked the standing idols on their faces. “Smash them,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Shedoah corrupted those who chained him, twisted them into his image. In Moloch, Shedoah fostered a heinous love for violence and death. He became the Keeper and Eater of the Dead. He perverted life and took for himself a body of death.
—The Book of the Ancients
THE WINDING ROADS OF Margwar stretched as wide as a four-lane highway. Each had a similar trough of kerosene running the length of the wall. Inexplicably, it consistently ran downhill and hadn’t dried up in the decades Margwar had been abandoned to the nar’esh.
Oliver touched the torch to the trench. The kerosene ignited, flooding the massive corridor in light and warmth. Lauren scanned the roads for nar’esh or their nests. None in sight. A morbid curiosity replaced her initial elation. The nar’esh were an invasive species. They moved in and stayed around; they infested every corner of the caves and caverns here. Why not the buildings or the Winding Roads?
Bleached white skeletons littered the black stone floor. Though short and stubby, the bones were thick, dense. Lauren’s heart sank. “All these dwarves,” she whispered.
“Oh thank God!” Erica said. “I thought they were kids for a minute.”
“Some are,” Oliver said. He stared at a huddle of skeletons, a larger one and two smaller ones tucked under the larger’s arms. No mistaking the posture of parent and children.
“What happened here?” Aiden asked.
“Many of these are from the nar’esh,” Oliver said, kneeling to better inspect the bones. He lay his staff down on the floor, reached toward the mass of bones but did not touch. He nodded to skeletons near the middle of the roads, axes and hammers littering the black stone floor. “They fought, but were overwhelmed. Others,” he said, nodding to the huddled family, “died later, of starvation, after the nar’esh pulled out.”
Lauren closed her eyes and focused on breathing slow. Aiden put his arm around her. “It’s okay,” he whispered. Even his touch failed to comfort her. An entire race of people had been slaughtered, wiped out. She’d designed it that way. She wrote their tragic ending in her journal. How could she look at these brittle bones and not feel like a mass murderer?
“On the bright side, it is kinda nice not to have to fight all the way, right?” Erica asked.
Erica’s lack of compassion soured Lauren’s stomach. She couldn’t even find words to explain her irritation at the lack of respect shown toward the proud, noble race of dwarves.
Ullwen agreed with Erica reluctantly. “These are dead, and beyond our help. If we fail, more will die needlessly. We must press on.” He had an arrow nocked on the string of his bow and held it at the ready in front of him as if he didn’t believe the lack of nar’esh meant the lack of danger.
“What’s that?” Erica asked, pointing to a rough-hewn tunnel.
Oliver shrugged. “Don’t remember putting that in.”
“The dwarves,” Lauren whispered. “Some must have escaped the nar’esh. Maybe they tunneled out of Margwar to safety?” Her heart sang a little tune of hope.
“But where would they have tunneled to?” Oliver asked.
“They’re dwarves, Oliver. They could tunnel anywhere.”
“So there is hope,” Ullwen said. “Let us press on. Once we have secured the book, if we wish, we can return here and explore the tunnel.”
“If we have time,” Oliver said. “Every second that passes is another second the Mage Lord is closer to the Book of Sealed Magic.”
They pressed on, moving through the roads in a cautious hurry. Ullwen and Aiden took the lead, carefully stepping over bones and scanning the ceiling for nests of nar’esh. But none appeared. The Winding Roads were clear of any signs of the beasts.
After they’d walked for close to an hour, Aiden paused a minute and stretched out his hand to Lauren. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I know this place is grim, and my timing probably sucks, but what do you think about going out together and getting some coffee or something when we get back to North Chester? Just you and me.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Did he just say that? He must have meant it as a joke, no matter how serious he sounded. She scowled at him. Her fingertips heated, glowed red. “Aiden Price, what a mean thing to say.”
Erica arched an eyebrow. “Did you hear what he said, princess?”
Aiden’s cheeks flushed red. He glowered at Erica. “You heard? I could hardly hear myself.”
“It’s called acoustics, sweetie. Look in to it.”
“Why would you want to tease me? Get my hopes up so at the last minute you can remind me I’m a fat loser back home?”
Ullwen whispered, “Indigo, keep your voice down. If anything resides here, we don’t want to alert it to our presence.”
“What are you talking about?” Aiden asked.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
Aiden whispered. “You’re not a fat loser, Lauren. Not in North Chester and not here.”
Every thought of plaguing monsters vanished. She turned on her heels and walked backward in front of him. “You may like me here because I can do this.” She traced the shape of a heart in the air with her fingers. Flames followed after. They dissipated into smoke. “But back home, you’re the star football player, and I’m the fat nerd. Those two don’t mix. Not in high school. Not after high school.”
Aiden stopped walking.
Erica said, “Seriously? You’re going to have a spat right here? You guys sound like you’re already married.”
“You really think you’re a fat nerd?” he asked.
“You have no idea,” Oliver said.
“Shut up, Oliver. No one asked you,” Lauren snapped.
Aiden sheathed his sword and took her hand in his. “Let me tell you something about yourself. You—the real you—are super smart, you’re funny, but most of all, I have fun with you. And you are beautiful.”
“No. I’m fat and ugly.”
“Welcome to my world,” Oliver sai
d.
“The only thing ugly about you is how you feel about yourself. You have the most amazing blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Seriously, the first time I saw you, when we got paired up in Algebra that first week of school, that image burned into my brain. I couldn’t forget it in North Chester, and I still remember it here. But what makes you the most beautiful is how kind you are. At least, you used to be.”
“Wow. Get ’em, Tiger,” Erica said.
Lauren said nothing. She stopped walking and stared at him.
“And you’re fun, too. I mean, you thought up this game, and I’m having the best time of my life here. I mean, life-threatening battles aside, it’s pretty awesome.”
“You really think so?” she asked.
He said, “I don’t tell jokes. I’m not very funny.”
“Agreed,” Ullwen said. He lowered his bow and smiled at Lauren.
Lauren stared at Aiden. “You don’t care that I’m fat?”
Aiden rolled his eyes. “You’re not fat.”
“You would actually be seen in public with me?”
“That’s kinda what a date is, sweetie,” Erica said.
Oliver stopped walking for a moment, leaned heavily on his staff. “So?” he asked Lauren. “Answer the jock so we can get moving again.”
Everyone stared at Lauren. Her self-consciousness vanished. For a moment, she let herself believe what he’d said. She’d never felt more like a princess. “Okay. But can we get something other than coffee? I’m not a big coffee drinker.”
“How can you not like coffee?” Erica asked.
Annoyed, Ullwen said, “I’m sure the bones will celebrate your love. But we must move on.”
* * *
Oliver wished he’d not made the city so expansive. They’d been walking for what must have been hours. Still, the road stretched ahead of them. With each step, he reminded himself, they drew closer to the castle, closer to the book, closer to home. Still, the rhythmic clacking of his staff tested his patience. He tucked it under his arm.
His whole body ached, and he remembered his first night in Alrujah, racing through the Cerulean Woods. It seemed weeks ago, not just nights. But each muscle in his legs, in his back, in his arms, screamed that he’d been pushing himself too hard. Even in Vicmorn’s well-conditioned body, he knew he approached the limits of his physical endurance. “Think we should maybe take a break?” he asked.