Song of the Dark Crystal #2

by J. M. Lee

  skekLi whistled sharply, and Naia’s yelps calmed. skekLi leaned over the edge and reached. When he did, Kylan thought of running and kicking, sending the Skeksis over the side—but he wasn’t sure he had the weight to do it and would probably just make things worse. So he waited, holding his breath, as skekLi straightened. In his hand, he held Naia by the back of the neck, lifting her up. In both hands she clutched the bone, and though skekLi shook her and shook her, she refused to release it.

  “Let her go!” Kylan said.

  “Oh? Now we’re in a mood to bargain!”

  “Don’t bargain,” Naia said, voice tight in her throat. “Do your thing!”

  She threw the bone. skekLi tried to catch it with his other hand, but it was full with the broken staff and he missed. Kylan lunged and snatched the bone from the air. It was larger than a normal firca, sun-bleached white and sharp on all three ends where it had been snapped.

  skekLi crowed a warning and lifted Naia higher.

  “Play it and I’ll dash her head on the rock!”

  Naia beat at skekLi’s claw with her hands.

  “Do it, Kylan! He won’t hurt me, he needs to bring me back to the Emperor!”

  “But what if he doesn’t?”

  A tiny shape flashed out from within Naia’s tunic, darting down skekLi’s arm and flying into his face. Tavra latched on to his eye, and he screamed as she bit. She raced across his prickling head as he dropped the staff and tried to smash her with his claws. He didn’t let Naia go, and she kicked and struggled against his grip.

  “Do it, Kylan!”

  He raised the bone and played.

  The note was a thousand times stronger than when Amri had tried. It filled the corrie like wind, or water, or fire. Its reverberations circling against the walls from the pool at the bottom and all the way up to the sky. As it echoed, it reinforced itself, growing louder and louder until the mountains themselves began to sing with its song.

  The spiders detached from the cap and every wall, falling like leaves. Even Tavra, in her spider body, could not withstand the sound in her sensitive spider ears, and fell from skekLi’s head to lie motionless on the ground, all eight legs folded under her.

  “NO!” cried skekLi, barely audible above the ringing. “I’LL KILL HER!”

  Kylan took another breath and played, willing that the ancient song of the bell-bird would take its toll on the Skeksis as well. skekLi resisted, free hand pressed against the side of his head where his ear hole was, lifting Naia and making to smash her against the hardened mushroom cap with all of his strength. Kylan’s breath caught in his throat, and the note began to die. It wasn’t working. The bone-flute dropped from his hands as skekLi let out a battle cry, thrusting Naia downward.

  The song of the bone-flute faded, but skekLi’s death thrust halted midair. A second note, then a third, vibrated through the corrie. The tones were deep. Primal. Voices, Kylan realized. As the two-tone chant sank into the walls of the cliffs, Kylan picked up the bone-flute from where he’d dropped it. He played the instrument and found the single note joined the other two with no discordance. It was the song of Thra, after all—the song that would move mountains.

  skekLi dropped Naia. She fell with a gentle thump, then climbed to her feet and stumbled away. The Skeksis was frozen where he stood, eyes wide and pupils tiny, panting so heavily that drool dripped from his open mouth.

  “Look,” Naia whispered.

  Kylan lowered the bone-flute and looked where she pointed. High on the edge of the corrie wall, two long-necked creatures stood. One held a tall bow, arrow nocked, though the point was lowered. There was no need to use the weapon while skekLi was held immobile by the bone-shaking song. He twitched and jerked against the power of his other half. He could do no more harm to the Gelfling, at least for now.

  Maybe a Mystic could keep a Skeksis in one place . . .

  Aughra’s words echoed in Kylan’s memory. He smiled as he recognized the long-maned oval faces of urVa and urLii, whose song filled the corrie as if it were the chamber in a seashell.

  CHAPTER 27

  SkekLi’s breath came in and out in furious, haggard wheezes. The chanting faded, but the power of the song remained, holding the Skeksis immobile.

  “This is not . . . ,” skekLi began. He shot a look at Naia and Kylan, then back at his Mystic brothers. “This is not nice—not fair!”

  “Let the Gelfling go,” urVa called, his low voice resonating inside the corrie so it sounded as if it were coming from everywhere at once. “You are outnumbered.”

  Kylan edged away from him when skekLi splayed his claws, as if contemplating an attack despite his position. They might still be in danger. skekLi spat and barked a laugh.

  “Or what? You’ll raise that bow and run me through? And what happens to our other, eh?”

  urVa stood watch while urLii began the winding descent down the corrie wall. He made the climb look easy with all four hands and his long-toed, bare feet, almost as dexterous as a spider himself. He paused on a ledge, half-hanging from the rock face, and tapped his chin. He was close enough now that his thoughtful murmur was audible.

  “Hmm . . . That would be an interesting turn of events . . .”

  “Don’t say that!” Naia muttered under her breath. “Kylan, let’s get Tavra and get out of here.”

  Kylan had never agreed with a sentiment more. skekLi’s gaze latched on to him as he pocketed the bone-flute and approached Tavra, who was crumpled on the ground in a little ball of legs and crystal body. Kylan had to step in reach of the hulking Skeksis, but he refused to be afraid anymore. He gently took Tavra in his hands before returning to stand near Naia.

  skekLi was spiny with anger, all the quills and feathers along his neck and the back of his head raised. His bloodshot eyes burned with hatred and vengeful excitement.

  “Just wait,” the Skeksis hissed. “If you think tiny spider servants are wicked. They are just the prologue. Just a test. You wait to see what skekUng is making. Big servants. Mindless, heartless servants. Flawless servants, with claws that could snap Gelfling in two. See what Gelfling do then, eh . . . if any are left.”

  Kylan shuddered and backed away. He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

  As much as he might have liked to, skekLi could do nothing to stop the Grottan Gelfling from flying over on their shimmering wings. He stood by, glaring at the Mystics overhead as the Gelfling took Kylan, Naia, and Tavra away to safety. It took two Grottan girls to bear Kylan’s weight, and one to keep Naia aloft. When they alighted on the far side, Kylan looked back. skekLi stood in the center of the mushroom cap behind them, quivering eyes fixed and unblinking.

  “What was he talking about?” he asked. “Heartless servants?”

  Naia shook her head. “I don’t care. He’s a liar. I say we strand him here.”

  Kylan let out a shiver, trying to shake the memory of the Skeksis’s words and penetrating eyes. Tavra stirred, finally, straightening her legs. He placed her on his shoulder.

  “He will not be stranded for long,” she said, whispering even in her spider voice. “The other Skeksis will come and rescue him. He will go back to the castle and inform them of everything we have done, if he hasn’t already. I don’t know how much Krychk told him, or whether he’s shared the information with the others—but if he hasn’t, we shouldn’t take any chances.”

  “What are you saying, that we should kill him?” Naia asked. “And urLii with him? That’s not right. urLii didn’t do anything wrong!”

  “No one’s done anything wrong,” urLii corrected. He met them and the Grottan, dusting his hands of rocks and sand from his climb. “We are all doing what it is we do, what is our nature and our character. Right and wrong . . . are a terribly complex song.”

  “But that doesn’t help us,” said Naia.

  Kylan held out a hand to her, hoping to calm her.


  “What do we do about skekLi?” he asked urLii.

  “Hmm . . . I suppose that depends on your character.”

  Tavra and Naia were in conflict, and it was unspoken but understood in the following quiet that they were waiting for Kylan’s opinion. Amri joined them, too, out of breath and scratched up, with some spider-bite welts along his arms and legs but otherwise spry as ever.

  Kylan watched skekLi, as dark and unmoving as a bad omen, still gazing at them from across the cavern expanse. The image reminded him of the shadowy cloaks of skekMal, the Hunter. The fire-eyed Skeksis that had killed his parents and tried to kill Gurjin and everyone else, without remorse. skekLi had tormented Tavra by giving her to Krychk the crystal spider, and had not only tried to kill them this day, but betrayed his own Emperor’s requests in doing so. He had no loyalty even to his own kind.

  urLii proposed that there was no right or wrong, but that in itself did not seem right. It wasn’t wrong, either. The paradox gave him a headache.

  “I don’t think we should kill him,” Kylan said in the end. “The Gelfling are a peaceful people. Even when we fight among ourselves. If we’re to be the heroes of this song, we must show mercy, even when we’re not shown mercy ourselves. The Skeksis have done terrible things to us . . . but I would rather believe that we can unite for the good of our people, not for revenge.”

  Naia puffed up and crossed her arms as if that settled the matter. Tavra was diplomatic, although she disagreed.

  “You’d rather let him go? That is not for the good of our people.”

  “No. We shouldn’t let him go. I think Naia’s right . . . At least for now, we should keep him here, but someone will have to keep watch over him. Prevent the other Skeksis from finding him.”

  “Ho ho hoo . . .”

  The tired laugh was familiar. Still picking bits of spiderweb from her cloak, Maudra Argot stepped forward from the small group of Grottan. Of the thirty-seven Grottan Gelfling, even fewer remained, bedraggled and afraid, some elders but mostly younglings Amri’s age. They had lost the Caves of Grot as well—all in exchange for the bone-flute. Kylan’s heart broke for them all, and he hoped that it was worth the sacrifice.

  Amri took Maudra Argot’s arm to guide her to where Kylan and Naia stood.

  “This task falls to my people. The spiders took us by surprise in Domrak. They are not under the control of the Skeksis. They will not fall back just because skekLi has been defeated, nor will they stay away even if we evict them with the bone-flute. The truth is, we cannot return. The Sanctuary has caves in plenty for us. We will be the guardians of skekLi, as we have guarded the other wonderful and terrible secrets of Thra.”

  “I will remain here as well,” urLii added. “Between the Shadowlings and myself, I believe skekLi’s song has come to an end.”

  Maudra Argot waved an accepting hand to the Mystic. The hand latched on to Amri and shook him gently.

  “Amri. I still want you to go on to Ha’rar. I won’t be happy until those Silverlings in the capital welcome us to the table, and you still have quite a lot of growing to do. Ho ho hooo!”

  Kylan nodded.

  “We should go. We have the bone. We can make the message for all our people. We should do it as soon as we can. If skekLi has told the other Skeksis even a little, they’ll be after us. Especially once they find that he failed in his plan to capture us.”

  “I can agree on that,” Tavra replied. “Time is not yet out of our grasp. Kylan, how long will it take you to make the firca?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve played many, but I’ve never made one before . . . I can’t mess it up. We only have one chance.”

  “I didn’t see any other bones in the nest,” Amri agreed. “That was the only one.”

  Naia gestured to the bridge that would take them to the outer walkways of the Sanctuary.

  “Then let’s get out of here, at least. I can’t stand being here with him.”

  Kylan hoped they could find an exit that was not as difficult to navigate as the underwater tunnel, but at that moment he would brave three hundred of the dratted things if it meant escaping the ever-present gaze of skekLi.

  They said their goodbyes to Maudra Argot and the remaining Grottan. Kylan lingered, watching skekLi where he was alone on the mushroom in the center of the corrie. He had not moved since they had left him, except to hunker down to a squat. His cloaks draped out from his narrow shoulders, his mantle and headdress fluttering in the constant breeze. He looked like a feathered obsidian stone, though unlike the obelisks in Stone-in-the-Wood, he would be ready to leap, to claw and bite and slash his way to freedom the moment he was given an opportunity.

  urLii’s cool shadow covered Kylan’s shoulder.

  “I would give my life to stop him from escaping,” the Mystic remarked. “He is me, after all. But I do not believe it will be necessary. Even if it were, it would certainly be a dramatic moment, eh?”

  urLii chuckled despite the somewhat morbid sentiment. The bell-bird bone felt immensely heavy in Kylan’s pocket. They had fought so hard for it, and lost much—and he still had to craft the firca from it, a process which could possibly destroy it, if he did not take enough care. This was what he had wanted, though, wasn’t it? Purpose did not come lightly.

  “We spoke with Mother Aughra, before we came to Domrak,” Kylan said. “She had no words for us. She said only time would tell. That understanding the heavens would find us in our place, I think is what she meant. If we could understand the grand song, we would be able to find our way. But . . . the Gelfling don’t have time for that. We have to cut our own paths. We have to make the choice between being the weaver or the woven. The teller and the told. The singer and the song . . . But I choose to be both.”

  urLii scratched his chin with his slender fingers and tilted his head.

  “Hmmm! Weaver and the woven, eh? Where did you hear such fine advice?”

  Kylan smiled and sighed.

  “Goodbye, urLii. I hope to meet again someday.”

  “We probably will not. But I will hear the song of the bell-bird again, yes . . . When light and shadows collide, under the triple suns.”

  The words were like poetry, and Kylan did not know what it meant. It was like a refrain to a song whose main chorus had not yet been revealed to him. He had seen similar words on the walls of urVa’s hut, and even in some places in the Caves of Grot. Yet the bigger picture was still unclear. Perhaps that was the vision Aughra was seeking. The Great Conjunction, and all it entailed.

  In the meantime, Kylan bowed to urLii, and then to urVa, who remained stoic on the ridge above, bow in hand in case he should need to use it. He gave skekLi a last glance, remembering the Satirist’s sinister words.

  Wait to see what skekUng is making. See what Gelfling do . . . if any are left.

  In his mind’s eye, he saw nightmares, looming in the dark of the earth. Monsters, mindless and heartless from looking into the darkened Crystal. He wanted to believe it was just another lie—just more words meant to burrow into his mind and poison him with doubt. If they were a lie, would skekLi have mentioned skekUng by name? Which of the Skeksis was skekUng, and what was his role in the court of the Skeksis? Most importantly, what was he making?

  The spiders were only a prologue . . .

  “Look away, Kylan.”

  He had almost forgotten Tavra was there, crouched on his shoulder. For a moment, it was as if she were standing beside him, just out of view, resplendent in her whites and silvers, the opposite of the black tower of hatred that was skekLi. In truth, her tiny shadow did not fall beyond the folds of his cloak, and her touch was only a pinprick on his cheek instead of a comforting hand.

  “Forget him for now, or you will not be able to look ahead.”

  He did as she suggested, turning his back on the Skeksis’s piercing gaze and hurrying after his friends.

/>   CHAPTER 28

  There were many exits from the corrie, though most were overgrown and difficult to find. Amri led them along the spiraling stair ledge to one such egress, a triangular opening below where urVa stood watch. The Archer’s mane danced in the wind where it was not tied back in braids and topknot, and he faced the direction of the breeze to take its scent. He had put up his bow when skekLi was confined to the open-air prison, and now leaned over to watch the Gelfling as they stopped in front of the tunnel.

  “urVa! Will we see you when we come out?” Naia called.

  “No. I traveled this far in search of my others, little Drenchen,” he replied. “I found one, but it seems he will stay here. I must move on. We will meet again. Someday.”

  “Are you all right? We fought skekMal . . . I was worried we would harm you as well.”

  urVa shook his head. When he did, the wind blew his mane from his face, and Kylan saw a wound on his cheek and eye, in the same place where he’d struck skekMal in the Dark Wood.

  “What is done is done. The suns turn.”

  urVa straightened, his warrior’s back strong and hard. Rocks and pebbles skipped down from the ledge as he moved away from it, departing.

  “If you see any of my urRu others,” the Archer said in his heavy, weighted way, “tell them I seek them . . . Tell them to meet me in the valley. Farewell, little Gelfling.”

  They waved after him until the tip of his tail disappeared from view. Once he was gone, they pushed aside the ferns and other plants and started into what Kylan hoped would be the last tunnel he ever saw.

  “urRu,” Kylan breathed, trying out the word. “That must be the name of his people.”

  “The urRu . . . ,” Amri echoed. “The urRu and the Skeksis.”

  Despite the familiar confines of rock and moss, though, this tunnel was short, and lit from both ends by daylight. In fact, Kylan reflected, it was almost nice. Naia took the lead, as usual, thinking out loud.

  “The Skeksis live together in the castle . . . They have power there, because of the Crystal, and because they are all in one place. The Mystics are alone. We found urVa trapped in the Cradle-Tree. urLii was in the Tomb of Relics. They had power over skekLi, with their song . . . but only because he was outnumbered. If all the Skeksis were to overtake urVa alone, or urLii . . . if they all came to rescue skekLi, and only urLii was here to guard him . . .”