“We’ll kill him anyway,” the creature said. “Give him to us, and at least one of you will survive.”
Kyja shook her head, but it was becoming harder and harder to think. The creature’s huge eyes were like bottomless wells, pulling her down into darkness.
“I can teach you magic,” the Summoner said. “I can even send you back to Earth permanently. Help you find your family.”
“Magic?” Kyja moaned, slipping in and out of consciousness. “Family?” If she brought Marcus back, she could go to Ert—she could find her parents. The thought of her parents warmed her like a thick blanket.
“Yes-s-s-s,” the Summoner hissed. “Just give me the boy.”
“The boy.” Kyja’s hand moved without any conscious control, her fingers opening as though reaching for something. Behind her closed eyes she could see Marcus standing on a rain-drenched street. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a small part of her was screaming for her to stop. What are you doing? You can’t give Marcus to the Dark Circle. They will destroy him. But that part of her was too small to overcome the huge power that was forcing her to reach out to Marcus—to close her fingers around the golden rope, to end her intense pain.
As she reached for the rope—the Summoner’s foul, hot breath panting against her face—something smashed against the side of the Summoner’s head. Kyja’s eyes flew open, and she saw a bloody Riph Raph clinging to the top of the Summoner’s long neck.
A blue ball of fire crashed into the side of the Summoner’s face.
“Not . . . a . . . lizard,” the Riph Raph groaned.
The Summoner’s talons tightened around Kyja’s chest, sending spasms of pain through her body. It was enough to break the trance.
“No!” She spat in the Summoner’s face. “I’ll never give Marcus to you. Never!”
Snarling in anger, the Summoner flung her to the ground. Her ears rang with the impact. The creature flicked Riph Raph with the tip of its huge, red wing, and the skyte hit the dirt with a sickening thud.
Ripping scars into the ground, the Summoner leaned over her, opening its mouth to reveal the double rows of teeth inside. “I will make your death slow and painful,” it growled.
Kyja tried to lift herself to her feet, but she had no strength left. Instead, she dragged her body backwards. Pushing across the grass with trembling arms, she felt a cold mist settle over her. Strands of hair stuck to the side of her face.
“Hurry up, you three,” a voice called.
“Who’s there?” the Summoner barked, turning its massive head. Drops of water clung to its scaled body like tiny, shimmering rubies.
“Come on. Come on!” said a second voice Kyja thought she recognized.
“Don’t rush me,” a third voice answered. Overhead, the sky, which had been clear and blue a moment before, grew dark and menacing. A jagged bolt of lightning crashed down from the boiling clouds, striking the Summoner on the back of the head.
Roaring angrily, the Summoner whirled around as though chasing its own tail.
“That’s better,” a voice giggled.
“Dew?” Kyja said. As though in answer, a sparkling mist filled the air, and heavy drops of rain started to fall.
Something cold and wet touched Kyja’s arms and legs, and she turned to see the stream she and Marcus had followed earlier overflowing its banks. The water, which had meandered gently toward Water Keep before, was racing backward, away from the lake, in a torrent that quickly rose to the tops of the grass. Bits of debris and foam floated across the murky surface as the army of undead creatures looked about uneasily.
“What kind of trick is this?” the Summoner howled, turning back to Kyja. Its red eyes glared down at her as she struggled to stay afloat in the rising flow.
Before she could answer, something stirred nearby. A low groaning sound filled the air as a dark hump rose out of the fog for a moment before splashing back down.
The Summoner advanced on Kyja. “Your puny magic won’t save you.” As it raised a claw to spear her, a thick eel-like shape slithered out of the deep murk. It wrapped itself around the creature’s leg, but the Summoner jerked its leg free, and the eel shattered into a million tiny drops of water.
But now, all around them, the dark water was roiling and bubbling. Deep moans and high-pitched squeals filled the air. The water was up to Kyja’s chest, and she had to paddle her hands to keep from going under. Something brushed against the back of her leg, and she cried out. A hundred yards away, a row of wraith-like shapes seemed to rise up out of nowhere.
Kyja rubbed her eyes. The water-wraiths moved smoothly across the surface of water, looking neither left nor right. Their faces were devoid of mouths, eyes, or noses, and Kyja swore she could see right through them as if they were made of the water itself.
As she watched, one of the giant spiders lunged toward the line of figures. Without hesitating, the wraith on the left wrapped itself around the spider’s legs, and both of them disappeared beneath the dark water.
Nearby, one of the two-headed dogs—which had been paddling around looking for a place to escape the rising water—howled in pain, and Kyja saw something that looked like a giant turtle snap it down into the darkness. Roars and howls filled the air as water-creatures of all shapes and sizes rose from the water and attacked the Fallen Ones.
For the first time, the Summoner seemed unsure of itself. Watching its army disappear all around, it flapped its bony wings, looking right and left. Then, from far out in Lake Aeternus came a sound that seemed to make up the dark creature’s mind. It started as a dull grinding—like an immense boulder being pried from the side of a mountain—but quickly rose in volume until it sounded like the roar of a hurricane.
A solid black wall of water rolled out from the lake, growing as it raced toward them. First ten feet, then twenty, finally fifty feet high.
“Riph Raph!” Kyja screamed as she was flung forward. Fighting to breathe, she turned her head to see the Summoner rise into the air, red wings beating at the stormy sky, eyes blazing.
Just as she was sure it was going to escape, something immense rose out of the water. At first it seemed to be a huge fish—its body so wide she had to turn her head from one side to the other to take it all in, like trying to see an entire mountain from close up. But no fish could be that big. Somehow it kept rising up and up. Meeting the Summoner in midair, it opened a broad, dark maw and swallowed the dark creature in one bite.
At that moment, Kyja slipped under and swallowed a mouthful of lake water. Coughing and gagging, she tried the fight her way to the surface, but the tide was too strong. She could swear she heard Marcus’s voice screaming her name; then a pair of hands seemed to lift her until she could gulp the cold air into her burning lungs.
Chapter 62
Flight of the
Broken Bird
Marcus woke to the sound of shrieking brakes and honking horns. The floor shifted violently beneath him, and his head slammed against metal bars. He was in a dark, closed space. Had he somehow returned to his cell in the caverns of the unmakers? He opened his eyes and looked around.
He appeared to be in the back of some kind of janitorial van. Buckets, brooms, and various cleaning supplies rattled against one another on narrow metal shelves all about him. He was inside a cage that was either the same one Dew had been locked inside or one very much like it.
Street lights briefly illuminated the interior of the van and then disappeared again as the vehicle raced past them. Outside, horns blared as the van shifted again, tossing Marcus about like a stuffed doll. He threw his hands up to keep from being smashed against the bars again.
“Exciting, isn’t it? Maneuvering through city traffic,” came a voice from the front seat. Silver eyes stared out at him from the rearview mirror. Marcus’s pulse raced.
“Bonesplinter,” Marcus said, nearly gagging on the word. He wrapped his fingers around the bars of the cage and yanked at the door, but it was locked.
“I suppose you’re looking
for this,” Bonesplinter laughed. He adjusted the mirror with a long-fingered hand and held up something black and rusty so Marcus could see it more clearly. Bonesplinter dropped the key into his pocket.
All at once, Marcus remembered Kyja and Riph Raph. Closing his eyes, he looked for the golden ropes, but they were gone.
As though reading his mind, Bonesplinter let out a dark chuckle. “I don’t think you’ll be doing any more world jumping. You see, the bars of that cage possess a few special properties.”
Anger pulsed through Marcus’s body as he thought of Kyja trapped in Farworld with the army of the Dark Circle. Tightening his fingers on the bars, Marcus imagined a gust of wind throwing Bonesplinter—who was not wearing a seatbelt—forward against the windshield. Under his breath, Marcus began muttering the words he’d used against the Thrathkin S’Bae outside the bus days before. But this time they seemed robbed of all force. They were just words.
Bonesplinter grinned into the mirror. “Did I mention one of the benefits of the cage is that it renders magic powerless?”
Marcus slumped against the bars. “Where are you taking me?”
“A very good question indeed, little bird.” Bonesplinter jerked the steering wheel hard to the left, and outside the shrieking of tires accompanied a sudden glare of headlights. Marcus could only imagine how many accidents were taking place all around them as Bonesplinter maneuvered the van.
“Out of my way, you pitiful maggots!” the Thrathkin S’Bae roared, rolling down his window and shaking his fist. Cold, wet air poured through the window, making Marcus shiver. “My only regret is that I won’t be able to take any of these fascinating inventions with me when I return to the Master. But I guess you’ll have to do.”
“You’re taking me back to Farworld?” Marcus asked, his throat tightening.
The Thrathkin S’Bae gave a feral grin. His teeth seemed to have grown larger over the last few minutes. “The Master would gladly accept the gift of your dead body. But how much better to deliver you alive—especially if you agreed to willingly serve him?”
“I’ll never join the Dark Circle,” Marcus growled.
Bonesplinter’s eyes gleamed. “You won’t have any choice once I take you through the drift.”
“The drift?” Marcus remembered the words Master Therapass had spoken in the Westland Woods. If the Dark Circle has created a drift, they did it by force. Before you could get halfway through it, you’d be as foul as they are.
“You understand then? Once I take you through the drift, your soul will be as black as night, your magic confined to the dark arts. The only ones who will accept you are the Dark Circle. Who knows? Maybe you’ll even learn to like it.”
Marcus’s skin went cold as the Thrathkin S’Bae chuckled. He had to find some way to escape and get back to Kyja. But what could he do? As long as he was trapped inside this cage, he was helpless.
His eyes returned to the front seat, where Bonesplinter’s seatbelt hung unbuckled at his side. If only there was some way to cause the Thrathkin S’Bae to lose control of the van. But Marcus was too far away to reach the front of the van, and his magic wouldn’t work.
The van tilted upward for a moment, and Marcus thought they might be pulling onto a freeway ramp. Bonesplinter shot him an amused glance. “It’s a shame about your arms and legs. It must be a horrible inconvenience to slither about everywhere on your belly.”
Marcus glared at him. “You would know, being a snake.”
The Thrathkin S’Bae remained composed. “The difference is that I choose to slither.”
Marcus knew Bonesplinter’s taunts were meant to unnerve him, to keep him off balance. Instead, he scanned the back of the van for something that might help him escape. With his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he took note of the bottles of chemicals and boxes of supplies around him. Some of the liquids might burn if he could manage to throw them in Bonesplinter’s eyes. But Marcus knew he would never be able to get them through the bars of the cage, and even if he could, there was no way to throw them anywhere near Bonesplinter’s face.
“Have you ever wondered who it was that mangled your arm and leg?” Bonesplinter asked.
Despite himself, Marcus felt his body stiffen.
In the mirror, the Thrathkin S’Bae watched Marcus’s expression with an unpleasant smile. “Yes. I can see it in your eyes. I can see the hate. You do want to know who did this to you.”
Ignore him, Marcus told himself. Biting the inside of his lip, he tried to shut out the Thrathkin S’Bae’s words and focus on something he could use to escape. He scanned the bottles, buckets . . .
All at once his eyes landed on a mop. He remembered the day he’d fought off Chet and his friends. If he could manage to jam the head of the mop against the van’s gas pedal, maybe . . .
“I’ll give you a hint,” Bonesplinter said. “The same person who turned you into a belly-crawling cripple also killed your parents—slowly and painfully.”
Inside his cage, Marcus jerked, and his eyes found Bonesplinter’s. “You’re lying.”
“You didn’t know about your parents?” The Thrathkin S’Bae’s smile extended from ear to ear. “Oh. I’m sorry. I just assumed the old man who called himself a wizard told you about your mother and father before he died.”
Master Therapass dead? Marcus lunged for the mop—pressing his side against the far wall of the cage. But his arm wouldn’t fit through. The bars were too close together, stopping his arm just above the wrist. The mop lay less than eight inches from his grasp, but it might as well have been a mile.
“It’s probably better your parents died anyway,” Bonesplinter continued cheerfully. “I’m sure they would have been so disappointed to see how you ended up. A nasty, broken bird in a nasty cage. A cripple who dreamed of flying.”
Cripple. The word pounded over and over inside Marcus’s head. It was true. He’d failed again, leaving Kyja alone with the Summoner. He was useless. It was crazy to think he would ever be anything else. If only he had two good arms and legs. If only . . .
Suddenly he stared down at his withered arm. He might be disabled, but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. At least not this time. His left arm was much thinner than his right, and it fit between the bars easily. Crooked as it was, his arm was still long enough to tweeze his thumb and forefinger over the mop handle.
Giving a quick glance to the mirror to make sure Bonesplinter wasn’t watching, Marcus edged the mop toward his cage until he could reach it with his right hand.
“It’s only fair you should know.” Bonesplinter was still talking in the front seat. “Since we’re going to be friends for a long time, I might as well tell you. I’m the one. I’m the one who killed your parents. And left you the way you are.”
Marcus felt fire burn in his cheeks. But it was no longer coming from Bonesplinter’s words. The Thrathkin S’Bae was a liar. He always had been. Maybe he did kill Marcus’s parents, or maybe he didn’t, but what mattered now was that Marcus find a way to get back to Farworld and help Kyja.
He had to distract the Thrathkin S’Bae long enough to lift the mop and drive it forward. Looking at Bonesplinter’s face in the mirror, the answer came to him in a flash.
“You failed though, didn’t you?” Marcus said.
“What?” For once the Thrathkin S’Bae seemed to be taken off-guard. His broad smile faltered.
“You were supposed to kill me, weren’t you? What would be the point of nearly finishing me off, while leaving everyone else dead? Your master sent you to kill me. And you thought you had.”
“Be quiet.” Bonesplinter’s mouth curled into a sinister frown. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“How hard could it have been to kill a baby?” Marcus continued, knowing he’d hit the mark. “But you didn’t. You failed. Your master must have been furious. That’s why he gave you that scar, isn’t it? Because you failed to kill me then, just like you’re going to fail now.”
“Shut up!” Bonesplinter
screamed. Reaching up to touch the scar with one hand, he turned his head and glared furiously at Marcus.
That was all Marcus needed. Lifting the mop handle with his right hand and guiding it with the thumb and finger of his left, he jabbed the head of the mop at the gas pedal just like he’d jabbed the handle at Chet’s friend Squint back at the boys school. His aim was every bit as good this time. As the mophead hit the accelerator, Marcus leaned on the end of the handle.
The van shot forward, and Bonesplinter spun back toward the wheel. “What are you doing?” he screamed, trying to kick the mop away. But Marcus had his whole weight on the handle, jamming the stringy mophead over the gas pedal and under the brake. It wouldn’t budge.
Marcus couldn’t see what was happening outside the van, but he could hear horns blaring as Bonesplinter cut the steering wheel left and right. Finally the Thrathkin S’Bae thought to step on the brake, but by then it was too late. “Look out!” Bonesplinter cried, throwing his arms up in front of his face as headlights flashed through the windows.
There was a stench of burning rubber followed by a jarring crunch, as Marcus, still in the cage, flew toward the front of the van. Burying his head in his arms, he lodged his body against the bars. A second crunch came from the back of the van, sending them spinning in a circle. Bonesplinter, who had locked his hands on the steering wheel, was thrown violently to the left. His head slammed against the side of the van, and his eyes rolled back.
With one final thud of bending metal and a tinkle of broken glass, the van finally came to a stop. Dizzy and disoriented, Marcus opened his eyes. His right arm was throbbing, and his head felt like someone had bowled a strike with it, but nothing seemed broken.
The cage had ended up jammed sideways between the two front seats, but not a bar was bent. The same couldn’t be said for the Thrathkin S’Bae, who was bleeding from several cuts on his hands and face. His right arm was twisted at a strange angle, and his eyes were closed. He was breathing in slow, shallow breaths, as if asleep.
Realizing he might not have much time before Bonesplinter came to, Marcus quickly slid his left arm through the bars of his cage. Ever so gently, Marcus dropped his hand into the Thrathkin S’Bae’s pocket until his fingers found the long, metal key.
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