Marcus and Kyja studied each of the ten doors. They were all the same size and shape—made of frosted crystal just opaque enough that they couldn’t see through. The only notable difference between them was that each door had a unique symbol on it. The problem was that the symbols were a bunch of complicated lines and curves. Marcus had no idea what any of them meant.
“Maybe they’re Aerisian writing,” Kyja suggested.
“Maybe. But if there is such a thing, Divum never taught it to me.” It seemed like there had to be an explanation of the symbols somewhere in the room. The last quest had taught them that if you didn’t know something, you could seek out knowledge from another source. They searched the entire room from top to bottom, but found no books, scrolls, translations, or writing of any kind. They’d had Riph Raph fly to the top of the dome. All he came back with was a juicy spider.
“I guess you can’t use water magic to see what’s on the other side?” Kyja asked.
“It’s blocked,” Marcus said. “Along with land magic and fire magic. The only element I can touch is air.”
Kyja reached out to touch one of the doors.
“No,” he said, stepping in front of her. “We have no idea how these doors open. There aren’t any knobs. Touching one could set something off.”
“What other choice do we have?” Kyja asked, studying the symbol on the door closest to her. “Eventually we have to try one.”
“Count me out,” Riph Raph said from across the room. “Did you miss the part about learning from pain? The only thing I’ve ever learned from pain is that I don’t like it.”
Marcus sighed. “You two stand as far away as you can get, and I’ll try one of the doors.”
“Good plan,” Riph Raph called.
“No,” Kyja said at once.
“Why not?” Marcus asked, a little offended that she’d shot down his suggestion so quickly.
“This is as much my quest as it is yours,” Kyja said. “You stand on the other side of the room, and I’ll open a door.”
“You want to get hurt?” He knew she could be stubborn at times, but this was ridiculous.
“Of course not.” She folded her arms across her chest. “But if someone has to get hurt, I have as much of a right for it to be me as you do. Is this because you’re a boy?”
“No,” he said at once. If it had been—at least a little—he wasn’t going to admit it. “It’s because I have magic. I can protect myself.” How could she argue with that?
“What if we have to fight?” she asked. “You both said I’m a better sword fighter.”
Marcus glared at her. Sometimes she could be so annoying; it was amazing they’d stayed friends.
“We’ll do it together,” she suggested. “We open the door at the same time. If whatever is on the other side requires magic, you take over. If it’s something we have to fight, I’ll handle it.”
Marcus didn’t like the idea of Kyja being in danger, but there didn’t seem to be any other choice that would satisfy them both. He randomly picked the fourth door from the left. “When I count to three, we both push that one at the same time.”
“All right,” Kyja said, eying him with obvious suspicion.
Riph Raph flew across the room and landed on Kyja’s shoulder. When she gave the skyte a curious look, Riph Raph said, “Someone has to be here to protect you two.”
Gripping his staff with his good hand, Marcus held his left hand up near the door. Kyja did the same. Riph Raph put his head under his right wing and peeked out with one eye. “One,” Marcus said. “Two . . .”
Before he could say three, they both touched the door. It slammed open with such force, it threw them across the room, knocking them into the far wall, then banged shut.
Marcus sat up and rubbed his head. It felt like he’d been punched by a giant. “I thought we agreed to wait to three.”
“I knew you wouldn’t, so I didn’t either,” Kyja said, rubbing her shoulder. “That really hurt.”
Riph Raph flapped his ears. “You two are incorrigible.”
Wincing, they crossed the room. The door they had picked was closed again, and neither of them had seen whatever was behind it.
“This time, I pick,” Kyja said. “Let’s stand off to the side so we’re out of the way.”
Marcus agreed.
“On two,” Kyja said. “One . . .”
They both touched the door. Marcus stepped back, expecting to be slammed again. Instead, a dozen gleaming daggers shot through the doorway. Kyja ducked away from one coming at her face. Riph Raph flew, screaming from a knife that chased him across the room. A blade cut through the sleeve of Marcus’s robe before he remembered to create an air shield.
Every time the knives tried to stab one of them, Marcus knocked it away, until at last all twelve daggers flew back through the door, and it slammed shut. “Did you see what was inside?”
Kyja shook her head. “The light behind it was too bright.”
Riph Raph flew back from the top of the dome, where he’d been circling to stay out of range. “Another second, and I would have melted those daggers to piles of slag.”
Marcus inspected the cut in his robe. At least the blade hadn’t reached his skin. “Divum said that air elementals are instinctive. They do what they feel is right, even if logic tells them something different. Maybe we should pick the door that feels right.”
Kyja pointed to the door at the far left. “That one. I have a feeling about it.”
They walked to the door, and Marcus studied it, waiting to see if he had a feeling one way or the other. His right ear itched a little. Maybe that was a sign. “Okay, I’ve got an air shield ready. When I count to—”
Before he could begin to count, both he and Kyja touched the door. It swung open, and a huge crab scuttled into the room. It was nearly the size of a car, with claws big enough to cut off an arm in one swipe. How had something that large had made it through the door?
“Use air magic,” Kyja yelled dancing away from the giant pincers.
Marcus tried to blast the crab away, but it was too heavy. His air magic moved it no more than a few inches and then it was at her. The crab backed Kyja toward a corner. Marcus blasted it again. Trying to drive it back was like trying to lift a tank with his bare hands.
Riph Raph pelted the creature with fireballs, but they bounced harmlessly off its armored back.
Kyja attempted to get around the crab, but it could move faster than she could. “give me your staff,” she called.
Marcus threw his staff like a javelin. She caught it with one hand and used it to jab the crab in the eyes. Every time it tried to cut her, she dodged and jabbed again, making the creature give an angry hiss.
She couldn’t keep holding the creature off for long though. It was only a matter of time before she’d miss, and the crab would take off her hand or foot.
Marcus searched the room for something to use against the monster. How could he stop it? He wasn’t strong or fast enough to fight it, and his air blasts and shields were completely ineffective.
“Do something!” Riph Raph shouted. “It’s going to kill her.”
The skyte was right. Sweat poured off Kyja’s face, and her jabs were getting slower and slower. Marcus searched his memory. What else had Divum said air magic was good for?
Emotions. The air elemental had taught him how to use air to control emotions. The crab had a big body, but Marcus guessed it probably had a small brain that would be easy to control. He blasted air magic at the creature’s heavily-armored head, enveloping it with fear. Nothing happened.
Kyja’s next jab missed, and the crab’s pincers slashed the back of her arm, drawing blood above the elbow.
Was it possible that crabs had no emotions? They had to be scared of something. What if it was attacked by a creature that was bigger and stronger? He imagined the green dragon in the mountain. If it were to come after the crab, it would definitely feel fear then. Using that image to guide him, Marcus projected
fear at the crab one more time.
The response was immediate. The monster threw up its claws, gave a high-pitched scream, and scuttled back through the door, which slammed closed behind it.
“Are you okay?” he asked, scooting across the floor to where Kyja had collapsed against the wall.
“I’m . . . fine,” she panted. “It’s only . . . a . . . little cut.”
Marcus tore a length of fabric from the sleeve of his robe and wadded it against her wound. “I’ve had enough. I’m not opening any more doors. Air elementals have the strangest sense of humor; I’m sure they’d think this was hilarious.”
“What should we do?” Kyja asked.
Marcus didn’t know. He was sick of jokes and pranks. Other people could learn from their pain, but he would . . .
He glanced across the room. “Their sense of humor,” he whispered.
Kyja stared at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all.” He picked up his staff and walked back across to the side of the room where they’d first come in. “The woman said we needed to open a door. She didn’t say it was one of those ten doors.”
He reached out to touch the door they’d entered through. It swung open, revealing a dusty, book-filled office. A familiar figure doffed his top hat and bowed.
“Congratulations,” Mr. Z said. “What have you learned?”
Interlude: Raising the Stakes
Killing Graehl had been a mistake; the Master was nearly positive. The more he thought about it, the more sure he became that the man had been keeping secrets. The dark wizard ran a cold palm across his face. Why hadn’t he used the truth magic on Graehl the same way he’d used it on the boy? Because he’d been so sure of himself that he’d overlooked the fact that he might have been duped.
The question was, what secrets had Graehl been keeping? Surely nothing too important. If the man had been trying to goad him into throwing the boy into the realm of shadows, so be it. Either the whelp would be stuck on Earth, if that story had been the truth, or he’d end up in the harnesses. Either way was fine.
Still, it bothered him that he’d missed something.
Footsteps in the hallway interrupted his thoughts, and someone knocked rapidly. He considered sending a bolt of ice straight through the door, teaching the fool to think twice before arriving unbidden.
Instead, he shook his head and called, “What is it?”
Tide opened the door and hurried into the room. “The stone army has been spotted heading northward.”
“North? To where?” What was his brother up to, sending away his most powerful army?
Tide rubbed a pudgy hand over his cheek. The Fontasian was a fool, but a powerful fool. “My best guess would be Icehold.”
That made no sense. They’d already fought over Icehold. His brother had won that battle, which still rankled. The city was useless. The only other place of significance in the area was . . .
His eyes snapped open wide. It all made sense now. They’d wanted the boy in the realm of shadows because they hoped he would be able to contact the girl. The one in Fire Keep. And if they were sending an army to Icehold, they had to think the boy had a better than even chance of bringing her back.
The Master turned the gold ring on his finger. Was it possible that they thought they could free the fire elementals? If that happened, they’d be giving him exactly what he needed to accomplish something he’d only dreamed about. He turned to the Fontasian. “I want a legion of undead and as many of my wizards as you can get waiting for the stone fools when they arrive. I want my brother’s pathetic army outnumbered ten to one. Make that a hundred to one. Leave me the Summoner, but take everyone else—including the other elementals.”
Tide nodded. “At Icehold?”
The Master cackled. “No you fool. It’s not Icehold they’re headed for.” As he told the Fontasian what he had in mind, Tides eyes began to gleam.
“What shall we do when we get there?”
“Kill any enemy who shows up,” the Master said. “Tell the leaders of Icehold I’ll destroy their city if they come against me. Now go.” As the Fontasian scurried toward the door, the Master raised a hand and called him back. “I also want you to come up with a way to destroy those living statues once and for all. They’ve been a thorn in my side for too long.”
Tide smiled and nodded. “It will be my pleasure.”
32: The Last Gate
“You’re . . . one of the four?” Marcus could barely get the words out. After the grace and dignity of the woman in the water, the wisdom of the tree man, and the majesty of the woman in the mist, the idea that this little man, with his purple vest, lensless eyeglasses, and silly top hat could be one of them, was too hard to accept.
Kyja pushed forward, nearly toppling a stack of books. She stared at the little man and turned to Marcus. “Do you know him?”
“Zithspithesbazith at your service,” the man said, brushing lint off the shoulders of his long, black coat. “But if that twists your tongue into torturous turns, you can call me Mr. Z.”
Kyja grinned, but Marcus put a hand to her ear and whispered, “He’s the crazy guy I was telling you about who drove us to Air Keep on a racing snail.”
“The racing snail.” Kyja looked around the office. “I’ve never seen one before. Is it here?”
“I’m afraid Drymaios is in bed with a bad case of slug sniffles.” Mr. Z pulled out a silk handkerchief and blew his bulbous red nose into it. “I fear I may be coming down with a case of it myself.”
“Don’t get him started,” Marcus said. Mr. Z might have helped them in the past, but as far as Marcus was concerned, the man had been nearly as much trouble as he was help, talking nonsense and disappearing at the most important times. He glared at Mr. Z. “What are you doing here? Sending us on more confusing quests? Offering rides on a snail that supposedly travels faster than a race horse? Whatever it is, we don’t want it.”
“I agree,” Riph Raph said. “You can keep your racing snail. Far away.”
“Why are you two acting like this?” Kyja asked. “What’s this man done to either of you?”
“He hasn’t done anything,” Marcus said. “I just don’t trust him.” He turned back to Mr. Z. “I thought you said you wouldn’t help us anymore.”
Mr. Z, whose head barely came up to Marcus’s waist, climbed onto a stack of books and crossed his legs. “I’m not here to help you. In fact, I’m afraid you won’t like the things I must tell you. Which raises the question, why would I tell you at all?” He put out one pudgy palm. “On the one hand, if I don’t say anything, you’ll probably go ahead with your plans. On the other hand, if I do tell you, you won’t listen to what I say, which will lead you to do what you would have done if I hadn’t told you in the first place.”
“See?” Marcus said. “He always talks in riddles that make no sense.”
Kyja looked around the office. “You must read a lot.”
“More than my friends think I should, but less than I’d like. Given the choice, I’d rather read than eat, sleep, or breathe. After all, stories are more nourishing than soup, and the dreams inside them more invigorating than those of sleep.”
“I agree,” Kyja said. “I can’t remember for sure, but I’m almost positive I love to read. Have you read all of these books?”
“These?” Mr. Z looked around the room. “I never read my own work. That gives you a big head and small stomachache. Or is it a small head and big stomachache? Either way, I highly discourage writers from reading their own work more than absolutely necessary.”
“You wrote all of these?” Marcus asked. There had to be at least a thousand volumes, and the little man had never mentioned anything about writing books once. With Mr. Z’s constant babbling, he’d hadn’t been entirely sure the man could read at all, let alone write.
“Certainly,” Mr. Z said. “If reading is like breathing, then writing is what provides sweet, pure air.”
“I’d lik
e to read your books sometime,” Kyja said. She picked up a volume, flipped through the first few pages, and set it back on the pile. “You asked us what we’ve learned.”
Mr. Z shifted, sending the stack he sat on wobbling dangerously left and right. “Have you learned anything? No offense, but in my experience, one of you is more than a little hardheaded.”
“I know,” Marcus and Kyja said at the same time, turning to look at each other.
“In the rooms with the doors,” Marcus said, “I learned that air elementals are nothing but a pain in the neck, and that air blasts are almost useless against giant crabs.”
Kyja sniffed dismissively. “I learned that humor and trusting your instincts are sometimes the best way to make a decision.”
Mr. Z rubbed his glasses on the sleeve of his jacket, though Marcus knew for a fact that there wasn’t any glass in the frames. “Surprisingly astute answers from both of you.” He pulled a quill pen from his vest pocket, opened a nearby journal, and scribbled inside it. “I may need to write a volume on the topic. Instincts, Air Magic, and Neck Pain: Why Humorless Crabs Make Notoriously Bad Decisions.”
Marcus shook his head. “So, did we pass? Can we move to the next test?”
“There are no tests here,” Mr. Z said. “I’m surprised my associates didn’t inform you of that. Or perhaps they did, but you suffer from a case of wax-in-ear syndrome. In any case, if these were tests, you’d have failed them miserably.”
“Failed?’ Kyja asked. “But we got the baby to its mother, saved the family from the dragon, and opened the right door. I think we’ve done pretty well.”
Mr. Z laughed so hard that his top hat fell off, and he was barely able to catch it before it hit the floor. “You think you’ve done well? You took a child who didn’t belong to you—a felony in most worlds—terrified the child’s uncle, aided and abetted a group of thieves who’d tried to help themselves to the legally gotten gains of an honorable dragon, and frightened a poor crustacean so badly it will need years of therapy to carry on a normal life. No, if this were a test, you would have earned an F for flounder, fizzle, and flop.”
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