Watcher could not help laughing. The Wormling must have heard her, for he turned, red faced, and rushed her. In midstream he tripped and fell on his face, which made Mordecai laugh. The Wormling arose, soaked and with red marks on his arms.
Mordecai’s laughter filled the woods. Watcher had never before heard genuine laughter from him. His guffaws echoed off the rocks.
“You think it’s so easy, Mordecai. You try it,” the Wormling said.
Mordecai knelt, leaning over the water, waiting. When the fish jumped, he shot out a massive arm and grabbed it around its middle, tossing it onto the shore. “Can’t be easier than that.”
“Not fair,” the Wormling said. “You have so many scars; you can’t feel the sting.”
Mordecai eyed the Wormling with a sour look. “My scars are none of your business.” He rose and stalked away.
“I didn’t mean to insult you,” the Wormling called after him, but Mordecai kept going.
Watcher shook her head. “One moment he was laughing like a child, the next he was quiet . . .”
“. . . as a child,” the Wormling said.
“Let me try,” Watcher said, kneeling on the bank as another fish jumped. She missed the first but was able to lean down far enough to kick the second to the ground beside her. She laughed as the fish flopped and gasped. On the end of its mouth sat a shiny gray patch that glistened in the sunlight. It was this that sent the shock.
“If you got out of the water,” Watcher said, “they wouldn’t be able to sting you.”
“Grounding,” the Wormling whispered. “That’s it. When I’m in the water, I’m part of their world, but on dry ground . . .” He took his place on the bank just like Mordecai and Watcher, lunged at the first fish, and fell into the spray.
It was all Watcher could do not to fall over laughing. She helped him up, and he grabbed the next fish without getting stung, but it slipped from his hands back into the white water. He was successful with the next, tossing it onto the pile with the others.
* * *
By noon, Owen had finished catching all the shock fish they could carry, so he tore from a plant a thick frond, as big as an elephant’s ear, and stuffed all the fish inside. Watcher held one end, and they carried the heavy load to the beach near the grapevine.
Mordecai had started a fire and stuck a thin, sharp knife in a stump. “Clean the fish there.”
“I don’t know how.”
Mordecai grabbed a fish by the tail and with one slice opened the belly and spilled the insides onto the stump. That didn’t seem to bother Watcher, who had caught and eaten lots of fish, but to someone who had grown up over a bookstore and had never fished in his life, it was disgusting.
Mordecai had laid out several vegetables called brawn, which looked like cucumbers with the edible part surrounded by a shuck, like an ear of corn (without the silk). Mordecai pulled out the vegetable and placed a fish inside, then wrapped it tightly. He sent Owen to look for skolers, a potato-like vegetable that grew in the moss-covered regions of the inner forest. Mordecai wrapped these in the skin of the brawn and put them in the fire next to the wrapped fish.
They rested in the shade while the meal cooked, Mordecai evidently content to let Owen have an afternoon off. Owen already felt the difference in his body, a strength that started in his feet and ran through his legs, all the way up to his neck. His arms had become stronger too from doing chin-ups in the trees.
If he went back to school in his own world now, Owen wondered whether he would be able to handle Gordan and his crowd without help from the invisible force.
The slow-cooking fish and vegetables smelled delicious, but as Mordecai and Watcher dozed, Owen felt restless. He wandered toward the waterfall, where a huge jargid crossed his path, waddling toward the water, apparently unaware of Owen. Usually the animals sensed humans and fled, but Owen stalked the animal as Mordecai had taught him. He grabbed its tail, making the animal shriek and run. Mordecai would have wanted Owen to kill and skin it, but he couldn’t bring himself to kill more than they needed.
Hungry as he was, Owen knew if he just waited for the meal he would be crazy with anticipation. He waded into the shallow pool where the stream flattened out and watched the cascading water. He couldn’t have conceived of a place so beautiful, so full of life, so wild, so dangerous, and he wished he could share it with someone, someone like Clara Secrest back home. They had talked only a couple of times, but there seemed to be a sharing of their souls, a connection Owen couldn’t get over.
The sun was slowly making its way down the other side of afternoon when Owen noticed something in the waterfall he hadn’t seen before—a break in the white water, a blackness behind it. He moved closer and reached into the falls to feel the powerful surge. The sound and the coldness combined with the force of the splash on the rocks made him feel like he was visiting some place from his past, some echo he had never heard.
Owen moved onto the rocky path behind the waterfall between the rushing water and the face of the wall. Looking out through the sheet of water into the sun-drenched stillness of the island reminded Owen he was in a whole new world. The island took on an even more surreal tone, as if it existed only in some artist’s mind.
He inched along, his back to the wall, careful of snakes or anything else that might slither along these slippery rocks. Suddenly, as if the wall behind him had moved, he backed into an opening, turned around, and found himself enveloped by a dense blackness. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Owen saw he had entered another cave.
Curious, he moved along a narrow corridor, the rocks so close together that he thought he had come to the end. But just beyond the narrow passage, the cave opened into a wide expanse. He had the same feeling as when he had discovered his father’s secret underground hideout, but here there were no torches on the wall nor any stone staircases.
The floor was damp and trickles of water dripped, echoing. A pinpoint of light came from above or Owen would not have been able to see a thing. He cautiously stepped deeper into the cave until he came to a long stone table. On it sat a long padlocked chest and what looked like finely woven robes of velvet.
Owen was scanning the area for a key when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped and turned, holding his breath, unable to speak, facing the dim outline of a face.
“So you really are the Wormling then.”
The voice was Mordecai’s. He rested a hand on each of Owen’s shoulders as if to calm him, then moved toward the table. “You found the secret stash. I figured it would take you a lot longer. This was to be your final test—finding this place.”
“What is all this?”
“Remnants of the attack on the King’s castle. Garments stolen. Some of the looted treasure.”
Owen stepped back. This was why Mordecai had been exiled? He had stolen from the King? “You brought this?”
Mordecai shook his head. “I found it here, along with the key.” He ran a hand along the padlock. “Perhaps hidden by whoever attacked the castle. Perhaps by someone else.”
“What’s in the chest?”
“Coins. Parchments. Records of the King’s family—those who survived the fire. And one other item that should interest you.”
“I’m listening.”
“The Sword of the Wormling.”
“I get a sword?”
“Since you do not battle only against flesh and blood, your weapons are often of the mind and the heart. The Book of the King tells you all you need for battling evil. But there will come times when you need to wield a physical sword.” Mordecai unlocked the padlock and removed it. From within the chest he pulled a long sword.
Owen could tell from the glow of it under just the pinprick of light that it would gleam like the noonday sun outside, but we will not add anything to this story that would not make sense to a rational reader like yourself. Suffice it to say that it looked magical.
The handle sported the head of a lion in full roar, the rest wrapped in thick leath
er up to the blade, where all the design and pomp ended. It was simply two sharpened edges that ran to a pointed tip. Even in Mordecai’s massive hands and strong arms, Owen could tell it was heavy.
“Take it and learn quickly,” Mordecai said. “Your time is nearly at hand.”
Owen grasped the sword, feeling as if something missing from his life had suddenly returned. All fears, all questions faded with the great weapon in his hands. It was too heavy to maneuver now, but he was already stronger than when he had arrived, and he would grow stronger still.
He couldn’t wait to show it to Watcher.
Mordecai removed the coin boxes and other heavy items, then carried the chest back to the fire, where Watcher was tending a fresh roasting of skolers and fish. Owen followed with the huge sword, which seemed to render Watcher speechless. She just stared at it and at Owen.
Owen left the sword with her when he moved to the water to wash up. When he returned, Watcher was looking at herself in the reflection of the blade. She seemed fascinated with her face, opening her mouth, looking at her teeth, and pulling a tuft of fur from over her left eye.
“You need a mirror, not a sword,” Owen said.
“What’s a mirror?” Watcher said, sticking out her tongue and moving it from side to side.
Now famished, Owen finally sat with his mouth watering. He had eaten only breakfast and lunch each day on the island, snacking on pineapple or coconut milk to keep his strength up. That had made him stronger and leaner. He had more stamina and grew faster and more agile every day.
Mordecai skewered the fish and skolers and removed them from the fire. He pulled a green fruit from his pocket, sliced it with his knife, and squeezed the juice onto the fish. He poured coconut milk onto the skolers and let it soak in until the milk bubbled, then put all the food back on the fire. He rubbed his hands on his tunic and opened the chest. “I need to show you something.”
Owen sniffed at the chest. It still smelled of the smoke that had permeated the scorched papers and jewelry.
Watcher picked up a gold necklace and gasped, “It’s beautiful.”
“It belonged to the Queen,” Mordecai said. He took if from her with his scarred hand. The necklace matched the color of Watcher’s fur, but its beauty made Mordecai’s red scars look even more hideous.
Owen took it and held it up to the sunlight. It had become darkened by soot, but Owen was still impressed to actually be holding a piece of jewelry owned by a queen. “How do you know it was hers?”
“I just know.”
Owen put the necklace back in the chest and took out a watch.
Again, Watcher was agog. “What is that?”
“A timepiece,” Mordecai said. “It tells you how far the sun tracks across the sky each day and then the moon at night.”
Owen thought that was an interesting way to explain a watch. “I have the same thing on my arm. Only it doesn’t have hands, just numbers.”
Watcher examined the black digital watch on his arm, which had become dirtier the more he trained. It was one of the few connections with his world, other than his clothes and his backpack. And the book. Always the book.
Owen pulled from the chest promissory notes, papers that said a certain person owed the King money. There were also forgiven debts, people for whom the King had canceled the money they owed.
“Seems like a pretty nice guy,” Owen said. “He sure helped a lot of people.”
“He was the best,” Mordecai muttered.
“So who do you think hid this in the cave?”
“I don’t know,” Mordecai said. “Perhaps someone trying to put all the pieces of the King’s life back together. His plan. He was a man of ideas, always sifting information, anticipating events.”
Owen wondered how Mordecai knew so much about the King, but he wasn’t ready to ask. “It wasn’t just a thief then, stashing the loot?”
“Oh no. Think, Wormling. A thief would have long since sold the coins. And the sword and the jewelry would claim quite a price too, from the right buyer. No, whoever stashed all this was probably looking for something. Or someone. A clue to the whereabouts of the King, perhaps. Or maybe something about the King’s Son.”
“Maybe they wanted to lure someone here,” Watcher said. Owen and Mordecai looked up at her, and she stepped back. “You know, as bait. Maybe they thought the Wormling would come here at some point, and they could do him harm or worse. Why are you looking at me like that?”
Mordecai coughed. “Pardon me, but I hadn’t thought of that. It shows you’re . . . thinking quickly and with a good head.”
“Well, you needn’t appear so amazed. Excuse me if I’m feeling less than appreciated.” She strutted off in a huff.
“Watcher, come back,” Owen said. “It’s almost time to eat and you’ll like this. Please.”
But she had already disappeared into the jungle.
Owen rose to go after her, but Mordecai put a hand on his arm. “We’ve offended her somehow. Give her time.” He retrieved a fish from the fire and examined it. “You should be glad she’s accompanying you. She really does have a good mind—and not just for watching.”
Owen nodded and helped Mordecai remove the food. They let it cool while Owen examined a few more pages from the chest. One was burned and almost unrecognizable, but at the bottom of the page was a footprint, the kind you see on birth certificates.
Owen showed Mordecai and the man recoiled. “That is the royal certificate for the King’s Son.”
Beneath it was another, not quite as charred. “And this?”
“His sister. Gwenolyn.”
Owen flinched. “No one told me he had a sister! Perhaps she knows where her brother is.”
Mordecai sighed. “There is much to learn, Wormling. Not just about the sword and how to work with Watcher. I fear for your future.”
Owen’s shoulders slumped. “Why does this have to be so complicated? I really believed I could simply find the King’s Son, he would unite the worlds, and I could go back home.”
“You will need to go back. That’s certain.”
“Why?”
Mordecai shook his head. “There is much to tell. Let me show you something. Wait here.” He climbed the vine to his cave with surprising agility and quickness for such a large man.
The sun was setting now, the smell of the food overwhelming. Owen couldn’t resist opening the frond and picking off a white piece of fish. The taste exploded in Owen’s mouth. He couldn’t wait to dive in.
Soon Mordecai returned, the vine creaking under his weight. He held a parchment similar to the one containing the initiation ceremony, but Owen could tell it was much different.
“Your presence here means something is happening in the invisible world,” Mordecai said, “and in your world as well.”
“That’s what Bardig said.”
Mordecai handed Owen the fish and skolers, along with a crude fork. “He was correct.” Mordecai ate with his fingers and downed the fish in three bites.
“I can’t read this,” Owen said.
“These are orders intercepted from the Dragon. Special orders for his elite troops. It talks of the truce between the King and the invisible kingdom. It confirms rumors of talks between the Dragon and the King. Whether it was face-to-face I don’t know.”
“Can there be a truce with a being such as the Dragon? He doesn’t seem like the kind who would keep his word.”
Mordecai nodded. “I wouldn’t trust the Dragon to live up to any agreement that called for his doing less than controlling both worlds as well as the invisible realm.”
Mordecai took a bite of skoler and closed his eyes as if the taste had transported him. He licked his fingers and spoke with his mouth full. “The Dragon, it says, was prepared to sign the treaty of peace between the two worlds, but the agreement calls for his delivering the two ‘packages’ wrapped and intact. This can mean only one thing.”
“The Dragon had the King’s children kidnapped.”
�
��Exactly.”
“But why? Couldn’t the Dragon have just killed the children?”
“Yes, quite possible. Probable even. But it strikes me that the Dragon wanted these two alive for his own purposes. They give him leverage to make a different deal with the King, perhaps.”
Owen studied the scroll. “Where did you get this? It wasn’t in the chest, was it?”
Mordecai popped the rest of a skoler in his mouth and stared at Owen. “What does it matter where I got it? I have it today.”
“Where would the Dragon have taken the children, Mordecai?”
“No one knows, of course. This may be why the King disappeared. He conducted a search of the kingdom himself, checking every hamlet.”
“But The Book of the King says the Son is in prison, so we know that much.”
“Read it to me.”
Owen dug the book from his pack, and as he began reading, Mordecai closed his eyes and a smile crossed his lips. The words seemed to bring him life, like a man dying of thirst given a goblet of the best drink in the land.
When Owen read that the Son would one day save both worlds and unite them, Mordecai finally opened his eyes. “Now I can see why you were so determined to be initiated. I have heard those words before, but they were only whispers on the wind, hope and freedom in the darkness.”
“Do you remember when there were books?” Owen said. “Do you remember what the land was like?”
Mordecai nodded. “Knowledge was esteemed. People hungered for it. They would sit and listen to stories of old as their hearts turned to fire, and they wondered if there could ever be anything as good and as nourishing as apt words. And then came the fire, the burning and looting of wisdom. It began with the books and continued with the minds of my countrymen. We no longer hunger for knowledge.”
“Your countrymen?” Owen said. “You count yourself among them, and yet you live here?”
“Are you a Wormling or a meddler?”
Owen smiled. “Maybe both.”
A sensitive being, Watcher knew there were scarier things than just invisibles. At least she could tell when one of those was coming. With the humans, she could never tell when one would anger or betray her. She’d had her doubts about the Wormling at first, thinking he was just out for himself. The death of her trusted friend Bardig had been no small thing. But gradually she had come to trust the Wormling and believe he truly wanted to help his own world and hers achieve wholeness, as the book said.
The Sword of the Wormling Page 9