by Daniel Kirk
She gulped anxious breaths as the air pressure changed around her, and thought about Matt. Was he safe? Certainly, if Tuava-Li and Tomtar meant to sacrifice her brother to the Elfin gods, they’d make sure he was kept from harm until the moment when they would … what? Stab him, cut him apart, like she’d read in a book about the ancient Mayans or Aztec priests? Chop off his head, like the Iraqis did to that newspaper reporter she’d heard about on television? Or would it be some kind of horrible magick that would paralyze his heart or stop him from breathing? Becky wished her friend Asra was there to console her, to give her hope. She let out a single, choked sob. With trembling fists, she banged helplessly on the sides of the cab. She gasped and cried again.
A moment later she caught a glimpse of Jardaine making her way along the cabin wall. “Where were you, Astrid?” Becky cried. “You said that when we got off the ground, you’d tell me what you’d learned about Princess Asra!”
Jardaine could see the fear in the child’s eyes. “Dear one, I know ’tis hard to lie here like this. Just try to remember that you’re doing a good thing, a heroic thing, and you are very grown-up, very grown-up indeed to make this sacrifice for your brother. Now you must calm yourself. You can breathe, you can! Repeat these words: I am strong, I am capable, I choose the path of truth. Can you say them with me?”
Becky said the words, as her fingers and toes tingled and beads of sweat ran down her forehead and into her tangled hair. “I am strong, I am capable, I choose the path of truth.”
“There, there,” Jardaine said. “Whenever you feel small and afraid, say those words to yourself, and they will protect you and make you strong. Will you remember? Nothing happens in this life unless ’tis first a dream. You must picture your brother, your mother and father, your younger sister, in some safe place, some happy place, where you are all together. You must visualize things the way you want them to be, before you can begin the work of making your dream come true. Do you understand?”
Becky squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. Somehow she felt a surge of hope. “In the name of the Mother and her Cord, may all be well,” Becky said.
Jardaine raised her brow in surprise. “Now where did you learn an expression like that?”
“From my best friend, Princess Asra. Please tell me what you found out about her!”
Jardaine gave Becky a kindly smile. The girl’s trust in her was built on a fabric of lies, and Jardaine had to be certain that every string was carefully woven. There must be no holes, no gaps for the truth to show through. Until last night, she hadn’t given much thought as to how Becky had arrived at Helfratheim. She assumed that the girl was just one of those brought in Brahja-Chi’s Acquisition. Now, though, it all made sense. The girl must have come with Asra and Macta. She must have been taken from her companions and thrown into the cage with the other Human children before Asra and Macta entered the palace. But why would Asra, who hated Macta, have appeared at the palace with him in the first place? Why were they working together? What had they been planning? Jardaine knew the girl would reveal as much as she knew. “Your Princess is safe, child,” she lied. “I didn’t see her, but the leader of the Council of Seven informed me that she’s well and planning her return to Ljosalfar.”
“But she’s not welcome there,” Becky said. “I should have tried to find her last night. I should have let her know I was all right—she’s probably worried about me. Maybe she could have come along with us! I know she would have wanted to help Matt, too.”
Jardaine nodded. “I asked the Council to let Asra know you were all right and to tell her that you still had important business to take care of. There would have been no room in the Arvada for any more passengers, my child. ’Tis for the best that the Princess stayed behind. No doubt you’ll see her again upon our return from the Pole!” Jardaine squeezed Becky’s hand. Her own hand was doll-sized, able to grip no more than two of Becky’s fingers. Still she gave a reassuring squeeze, suppressing her disgust at such intimacy with a Human. “Did you and Asra travel together to Helfratheim?”
“Yes,” Becky said, “we came together.” She tried to sit up a little. When her head banged the inside roof of the cab, the massive Air Sprite let out a grunt of disapproval. Becky flinched.
“Don’t mind that,” Jardaine said. “The creature can’t hurt us. Go on! Tell me what happened!”
Becky lay back again and turned her head to Jardaine. “We came with Prince—I mean, King Macta. He’s in love with her, you know, but he’s kind of crazy. When he came to us in the woods his arm was, well, it was nearly torn off. Asra had to cut away what was left of it, so that the infection wouldn’t spread and kill him. She saved his life, so that we could get to Helfratheim and …” Becky was suddenly overcome with images of the pen full of children that had been trapped in the courtyard. “Astrid, what did you do to stop the sacrifice?”
Jardaine shook her head impatiently. “We’d been working behind the scenes for quite some time to put a stop to it, Rebecca. But what about Macta? What was he—”
There was a blinding flash of light, and the cab jerked. Becky and Jardaine felt a blast of heat through the brass walls. There was a smell of singed hair; Becky’s fingers flew to her head. Her eyes were wide with fear. “What’s happening?”
There was another powerful jerk, and Jardaine lost her footing and tumbled to the floor. She grabbed Becky’s leg and held on as storage bins, bundles of rope, and emergency gear tumbled into the corner. Amid their own screams, they could hear shouts of anger and surprise coming from the control room up ahead. The giant Sprite roared. It turned in the air, and for a moment Becky and Jardaine could see what was happening through the portal windows. There was another Air Sprite, another Arvada—no, two Arvada—approaching from the south. The Sprites were not easy to see; they were gigantic, yet translucent, and the clouds in the sky were visible through their pale hides. The brass cabs beneath the Sprites gleamed in the sun. They were closing in, getting bigger by the second. Suddenly one of the Sprites opened its enormous mouth and a long blast of fire shot out.
Becky saw the ball of flame hurtling toward her. She screamed as the Arvada shuddered, dropped, dodging the fiery ball, then rocketed out of harm’s way. Jardaine was crawling back to the control room. “Astrid, don’t leave me!” Becky screamed.
The three Arvada were locked in a firefight. The pair of attacking Sprites opened their great maws, ejecting plumes of flame, trying to bring down Becky’s Arvada. “Why are they attacking?” Jardaine screamed at the pilots as she pulled herself into the foredeck. Nick, cowering in his seat, turned guiltily away from Jardaine. Abruptly the Sprite shifted again. Jardaine toppled over one of the pilots and practically landed on Nick’s lap. She grabbed his ears with both hands, and her enormous eyes burned into his. “Did you kill Prashta, as I commanded? Only the Council of Seven could have ordered Arvada to strike us down. Only Prashta could have given the command!”
“I’m s-sorry, my Mage,” Nick stammered. “I swear, I thought they were dead, I thought—”
“So you failed to obey my orders?”
Nick was whimpering. “My Mage, I did as I was told, I swear, I thought they were dead!”
“Weakling!” Jardaine shrieked. She tugged on Nick’s ears as the Sprite roared and pitched again, and then her body swung against the window. “Bring the ship down,” she yelled. “Bring it down; there’s a clearing in the woods ahead, I can see it!”
“But we’ll be a sitting target,” one of the pilots cried.
A fiery blast shot past the cab, and the Sprite, overhead, roared with pain. “After King Valdis’s Arvada was shot down,” the pilot shouted, “the Techmagicians worked out ways to toughen the Sprites’ hides. But the beasts can’t take this kind of heat! On the ground, we’ll have no protection at all! We’ll be doomed!”
“We’re not going to stay in the cab, you idiot,” Jardaine yelled. “Take us down, now!”
Dodging another burst of fire, the Air Sprite turned. The cab s
kimmed the treetops, denting and scraping the metal underbelly, and a moment later it reached the center of the clearing. It hovered there with the damaged cab dangling inches above the ground. The shadows of the two enemy craft swept across the field. Jardaine was the first to open the door and leap onto the matted grass, followed by members of the royal Air Squad. They dragged the ship’s long tethers behind them. “Don’t tie it down,” Jardaine shouted as currents of air swept around them. “Let the Sprite loose—’twill fight better without the weight of the cab hanging from its belly!”
“Aye,” cried the squad leader, knowing they’d never be able to capture the Sprite again.
One of the beasts in the air turned its head downward and opened its jaws. A gush of flame erupted, reaching all the way to the clearing. The blast tossed Jardaine and the others onto the grass as the column of fire chewed a hole in the earth. Meanwhile the windows of the Arvada cracked and smoked, as Becky shrieked inside. “She’ll be burned alive!” Jardaine screamed. “Get her out, now!”
Above the cab the Sprite swung its tail furiously back and forth until the harness stretched across its back snapped and fell away. With a mighty bellow it launched itself into the air, cutting a wide arc around the other two Sprites. It turned its head and belched a river of fire at its attackers. The air crackled with smoke and heat. Flaming cinders, burning chunks of the Sprite’s flesh, fell like rain. Crewmembers managed to turn the release bolts on the side of the cab. Becky pushed with all her might. The cab wall flew back and knocked the Elves to the ground. She rolled onto the grass, got to her feet, and scrambled for safety among the trees. Nick cowered beside Jardaine as she stood in the middle of the clearing, gazing skyward. Her robe billowed around her, snapping in the wind. “Come,” Nick pleaded. “We must find shelter, before—”
“Hush,” Jardaine spat. “Can’t you see what I’m doing?”
From the relative safety of her hiding place Becky watched the battle in the sky. Smoke was everywhere, and the swishes of the Sprites’ tails, and their monstrous belches of flame, turned the air into a crazed patchwork of flashes and flares. Leaves fell from the trees, shaken loose by the bellows of the great airborne monsters. The ground itself rumbled. Becky watched her new friend Astrid standing in the field, commanding the freed Sprite. The air flashed with light. The freed Air Sprite aimed a gust of fiery breath at one of the enemy craft, and the flames caught hold. The enemy Sprite bellowed in pain, its translucent hide erupting in a sheet of fire. The Arvada sank toward the roof of the forest. The Sprite twitched and coiled as it burned. Becky thought she saw small figures leaping from the red-hot cab, their parachutes burning; they were too high in the air to survive the fall.
Jardaine stood in the grass with her arms extended, her eyes closed. All her strength was concentrated into exerting control over the remaining enemy Arvada. The great Sprite, so full of power and tension in its harness in the air, suddenly seemed to soften. Its turn was almost graceful as it descended toward the clearing. A roar of triumph came from above. The freed airborne Sprite, no longer under Jardaine’s influence and no longer facing attack, swished its snakelike tail. It turned in the smoky air and sped away.
When the first of the royal Air Squad of the downed Arvada thrust his head out the door of the cab, Jardaine was ready for him. She had already spoken the words of magick, and it took but a moment for a writhing mass of energy to form in her mind. Then she sent it, like a psychic cannonball, hurtling at her opponent. The Elf fell before he could raise his Dragon Thunderbus. Again and again she fired her psychic burst, until the crew of six lay dead inside their cab. “What’s going on, Astrid?” Becky cried. “What happened to the Elves?”
The monk could not answer, for all her energy was spent. She dropped to her knees and fell facedown in the grass. “No,” Becky cried, “not you, too!”
She hurried from her hiding place and rushed to Jardaine’s side. Nick was already there, turning Jardaine’s body so that he could see her face. He slapped her cheeks like she had done to revive him, back in the techmagick labs. “Stop,” Jardaine sputtered helplessly. “Stop that!”
“My Mage, I was so worried about you. Are you all right?”
“Of course I’m all right,” Jardaine muttered, turning onto her hands and knees. She weaved uncertainly from side to side and Nick hovered over her, afraid she might fall down again. “The Gods have smiled on me and send me good fortune for our journey,” Jardaine said. “’Tis just a bit of vertigo that makes me weak.”
Jardaine glanced up and saw that Becky was completely stricken. “Don’t be afraid, my child. I can see now that only one of those Arvada was trying to attack. This one, here, has come to save us. Isn’t that right, Nick?”
The Troll snapped to attention. “Of course, my Mage, of course! The Elves landed their ship here on the grass next to us, so that we might be rescued after our own Arvada crashed. Fortunately the enemy ship was shot down. I don’t understand, though, what’s become of our rescuers! They lay about as if they’re, as if they’re—”
“I pray that their hearts have not given out,” Jardaine said, getting to her feet. She stood, leaning heavily on Nick, her fingers tense against his arm as she smiled at Becky. “Elfin hearts are not as strong as one might think, you know.”
Jardaine called the flight crew from her own ruined Arvada to move the bodies out of sight. Then, while the Air Sprite twitched impatiently, they hauled their provisions into the empty cab and prepared for flight. “If there was ever any doubt as to the importance of our journey,” Jardaine announced, “if there was ever the slightest hesitation on our part that we were undertaking a truly historic, nay, more, a blessed pilgrimage, today’s events have proven, beyond the shadow of a doubt, the eternal wisdom of this venture to Hunaland. The Gods are truly with us, and from behind their heavenly veil, they look upon us with pride and encouragement. All of you may feel justifiably proud of your contribution to our quest to save the Human boy, Matt, from the wicked Mage Tuava-Li and her accomplice, Tomtar.”
At the mention of Tomtar’s name, Becky felt a stab of pain in her heart. Despite her hatred of Tuava-Li, she had a soft spot for the Troll with whom she’d spent so many hours playing, laughing, and drinking tea.
The Air Squad turned the massive bolts on the side of the Arvada and opened the hatch so that Becky could enter. “Come, child,” Jardaine said. “Here is your place of honor. Be glad to sacrifice your comfort for the sake of the salvation of your brother! ’Twill not be long, now, before we reach our destination.”
maybe days. There was no way for Matt to tell anymore just how long he, Tomtar, and Tuava-Li had traveled in the Cord. The only light in their subterranean passage was a kind of twilit incandescence, rippling the inside of the tube in a faint, milky glow. Matt’s companions seemed little more to him than black shapes moving at his side, indistinct smears of darkness in the harsh Underworld winds. At times Matt would perceive a speck in the distance, no bigger than a fly or a gnat. He would watch the shape grow larger and larger, until finally, when it looked like the blackness was a void about to engulf him, a voice would cry, Watch out!
He’d draw in his shoulders as he ripped past a protruding branch, or another lonely traveler, or a moldering patch of Cord. Watch out!
Matt could no longer tell who, if anyone, was speaking. Nothing seemed real anymore. Maybe it was all nothing more than his imagination, filling in that yawning chasm, that void, which the Cord created in his brain. He was a bird riding on a breeze; he was a fish in a river. He was sheer movement. His head was a bullet, cleaving the air in two. At the same time, the tempest propelled him from behind, sent him careening forward, cocooned in wind, enveloped in air. The sound of it was a relentless throb, steady and insistently monotonous. His awareness had slipped into a featureless haze, and there it hovered. It must be like this when you’re still in the womb, he thought. You just float there in an ocean of sounds and light, and nothing’s sharp or clear enough to really see, to grab on t
o. It’s like I’m floating in a vat of—what’s that called? Amniotic fluid? And I’m waiting to be born. It’s like …
Don’t drift away. Tuava-Li’s words appeared in his mind, more crisp and distinct than anything his senses told him. He wondered if the words were perhaps his own, or if all this was just a dream. He thought he heard someone singing, far away in the murky distance. I’ll take the high road, and you’ll take the low road, and I’ll reach the North Pole before you. …
“What?” he cried aloud. “Was that you singing, Tomtar?”
“Nooooo, ’twasn’t me. I didn’t say anything!”
Stay awake. Stay focused. Stay strong.
I’ll take the …
Matt shut his eyes and saw a black speck. Something was approaching; the speck was growing. He opened his eyes and there was nothing. Relax, he said to himself. He closed his eyes again, and the blackness was larger. A thick, oily fog seemed to come at him, ready to soak through his clothes, his skin, his soul. The odor engulfed him; he couldn’t breathe.
Stay awake. Stay focused. Stay strong.
Suddenly he was in the back of the family car, and his dad was outside, filling the tank. Oil. He was in a classroom, looking out the window as workers poured fresh, steaming tar on the playground. Oil. He was riding a bus and the reek of the exhaust made him so sick he fell to his knees on the floor of the bus, and he threw up, and the wall between the worlds started coming down, and a river of blackness shot out of his mouth and filled the bus. Oil.
Every thought that arose in his mind was like a seed sprouting in a field of green, a tender new plant basking in the golden sun. Each tender leaf was turning black—withering, rotting. Everything living on this green earth was turning black. Oil. Matt’s eyes were closed, and yet he saw sky. It was full of roiling clouds, black and heavy, and the rain that fell in great greasy globs was poison. The sky was full of oil; his nostrils burned with the stench of it.