The Road's End

by Daniel Kirk

  In his room, Nick was miserable; his hands felt as if they were on fire. The acid flesh of the fruit had burned his skin, and the pain was excruciating. He wondered, for the hundredth time, why he hadn’t stayed outside Argant with his Pixies, stealing pizza from dumpsters. Life had been so good, then; why hadn’t he been able to see it? He couldn’t manage to get changed by himself, as his hands were too swollen to be of any use. He went to find Jardaine and begged her to help him. As soon as he was dressed, the pair bolted along the shadowy corridors to Becky’s room. They found, to their dismay, that it was locked. Jardaine focused her energy into the delicate mechanisms of the lock and opened it: just a simple Mage’s trick. Nick stood in the shadows, moaning pitifully. His hands were green and swollen, like ripe fruit. They were beginning to take on an unpleasant odor. “Hush,” Jardaine hissed.

  Flinging the door open, she stalked in and pointed a finger at Becky. “Get dressed in your own clothes,” she said, “quickly.”

  The three of them fled for the outdoors. Chaos reigned in the courtyard as Becky, Nick, and Jardaine hurried toward the great tree, Yggdrasil. Fires were roaring out of control. The wind blew clouds of smoke and ash across the square. Elves were racing through the sooty darkness, coughing and crying and covering their eyes to shield them from the horror of the burning Arvada. Old Queen Geror, no doubt, would be in shock when she heard what had happened. But it might not take her long to round up her guards, and when she did, they would be after Jardaine’s head. As they forged onward Jardaine explained to Becky that the source of all this madness was, in part, her very own brother. She claimed that Matt had just arrived in Hunaland along with Tuava-Li and Tomtar. She said that the Elf and the Troll had stolen the Seed of the Adri, and that they and Matt were now on their way to plant it. She reminded Becky that it was imperative that they hurry and catch them, before Matt’s sacrifice could take place. Becky swallowed Jardaine’s lies like a glass of lemonade on a sunny afternoon.

  In a matter of minutes they reached the Cord that bulged up through the Gate of Hujr. Jardaine tore through the sealed membrane with her dagger, and the three of them peered inside. There was a faint, blue-green glow and the sound of rushing wind. Bits of leaves and charred debris were drawn through the opening and sucked downward. Jardaine told Becky and Nick to stay calm, that this descent into the Underworld would be like traveling in any other Cord, that they should stay close together and hold their arms in front of them to navigate the passage. She warned Becky in particular to stay alert and focused, to avoid getting hurt or separated from her companions.

  Becky was glad that there appeared to be some kind of platform and perhaps even a flight of steps built just inside the Cord. Perhaps they could begin their descent gradually, and not just leap into the unknown depths beneath the mighty tree, Yggdrasil. But when they slipped through the opening in the membrane they realized too late that Jardaine couldn’t have made the cut in a more inconvenient place. Becky cried out as she slid helplessly down, scratching and clawing for some sort of handhold. Nick and Jardaine shrieked as well, as head over heels they tumbled down the slope. The three of them were not flying, as in the Cords they had traveled in before; they were falling. A combination of gravity and the inexorable pull of the wind in the Cord drew them downward, hurtling faster than they could have ever imagined.

  There was little in Becky’s experience to gauge what was happening. She’d traveled in a Cord before, but it wasn’t anything like this. She was in a giddy freefall, and it didn’t take her long to realize she had no hope of any control. She couldn’t breathe; it was as if there was a lock on her chest. When she finally managed to gulp a mouthful of air she had the sensation that the wind was rushing right through her, like she was dissolving, like she was nothing more substantial than a sugar cube in a glass of water. She was coming undone. Her body was telling her, This is the end. You are falling from a great height, falling fast and free. This is the end.

  She tumbled down and down, for hours, days, even, it seemed, and her thoughts were swept away to a safer place. In her mind she was in a rowboat on a lake, feeling the coolness of the breeze on her cheeks and the gentle rocking of the boat. It’s so pretty out here, she thought, and gazed across the water.

  Her body continued to fall in the milky haze of the Cord, her hair whipping across her face, her limbs twisted and limp. Her mind and her body were coming unmoored, drifting apart, and it was happening so easily, almost like it was meant to be. Astrid had told her to stay present. Astrid … who was Astrid, again? She was falling so fast and so far that her mind couldn’t comprehend it. Her body was tumbling over and over; she couldn’t recognize her own hands and feet anymore, or Nick, or the monk she knew as Astrid; she couldn’t even remember having ever known them. She couldn’t remember what she was doing here, in this void, this nothing, this nowhere and everywhere, all at once.

  Finally there was a noise … a buzzing, or maybe a yelp. No … someone was calling someone else’s name. What was it? But there was no anxiety, no fear anymore, just watching, as if from above, and waiting. Who could know how much time had elapsed? It was nearly four thousand miles to the center of the Human earth; who knew how far it was to the center of Elf Realm? Becky! a voice cried out, somewhere.

  Becky, wake up!

  Wake up!

  Becky’s mouth hung slack, her eyes drifted in their sockets, lids half closed. Her arms and legs flailed aimlessly as she hurtled downward. She was like a rag doll, tossed from a window. Becky, wake up! Now!

  She saw a shape pass before her eyes; she realized it was her own hand, attached to her own arm. She gasped at the sight. It was transparent, at first. She really was beginning to dissolve into air. But reality came rushing back. Beyond her own hand was another shape, dark and blurry, and when she blinked she realized it was Astrid, her clothing billowing around her like storm clouds on the horizon. Becky turned her head. There was Nick, right above her, floating on the ceiling. But wait, there wasn’t any ceiling; Becky remembered she was falling, and if she was falling, then her head was facing downward, and Nick was below her. That had to be right; that was the only thing that made sense. “Astrid,” she cried, and the name flew from her mouth and was whipped away in the wind.

  Suddenly there were roots protruding from the wall of the Cord. Little ones at first, then bigger ones, all grayish brown and smooth as river stones; the roots began to block the passage forward. “Owww,” Becky cried, as her head struck a small dry tendril and snapped it off with a crack.

  Then a larger root struck her foot, and another smacked her in the ribs. The branches were arms, clutching and grasping, breaking her fall at the same time they lashed at her flesh and threatened to rip her to pieces. She looked down and saw a limb hurtling toward her. This time, she reached out and grabbed it. She swung around, nearly pulling her arms out of their sockets. She realized she was howling in pain. Or was it Astrid, or Nick making the sound? Becky was so disoriented, so lost. Her fingers were losing their grip. She swung her feet to the side and felt something strange; it was as if she’d kicked them into a vat of marshmallow, moist and soft. It’s got to be the wall of the Cord, she thought. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a figure moving toward her, hand over hand, gripping fistfuls of the sticky white membrane. It was Astrid! Her movements were painstakingly slow; her legs were knee-deep in the lumpy mass. Her right hand drew back and she drove a dagger deep into the Cord. With the muscles in her arm trembling from the strain, she drew the blade down, cutting a long slit. “Come, Becky,” she cried, and gestured with a hand covered in milky muck. “Hurry!”

  Becky reached out, but she was too far away. The Elf turned and slipped through the opening. “Astrid!” Becky cried. The length of root she was holding was smooth and hard, but the wind moving against her was strong. With her hands above, gripping the limb, and her feet barely reaching another, smaller root, she edged toward the side wall of the Cord. Then something stretched out of the opening. It was Astrid, with
a branch in her hand. She had snapped it off the tangle of roots that lay on the other side of the wall. “Take hold of this,” she said, “and pull yourself closer!”

  Nick was creeping toward the slit. Every handhold was agony for him; he clenched his teeth, gripping the pulpy membrane with his still-swollen hands, and drew himself slowly toward the cut Jardaine had made. His hair whipped across his eyes as he stared up at the girl, still balanced precariously on the root. “You can do it, Becky,” he cried. He reached his blistered fingers into the slit and pulled it back, so that it looked like a grinning black mouth. “Jump, it’s the only way!”

  Becky leapt, tumbling into darkness. Nick heaved himself in after her, as the flap of Cord shuddered in the wind. Now all three of them were inside. Becky felt as if she’d landed in a tangle of bones, and the thought if it filled her mind with terror; but it was too dark to see where she was. Jardaine reached into one of her robe pockets and withdrew her Kolli. She flipped open the lid and the Fire Sprite peeked out. Then she held it up before her, a torch in the darkness, and gazed around in the flickering light. They were crouching in the midst of a tangle of black tendrils that had burst through a bulwark of stone and grown out through the wall of the Cord. Roots were everywhere. “Are we there yet?” Becky asked tentatively.

  “Does it look like the center of the world to you?” Jardaine snapped.

  “I d-don’t know what the center of the world looks like!”

  Jardaine sighed and climbed away from the outer wall of the Cord. “Follow me,” she said.

  “I don’t like it,” Nick piped in. The blisters on his fingers had popped, and he looked down at them sorrowfully. “We should have stayed in the Cord, Jar—I mean, Astrid. Once we were past those roots, everything would have been fine. Who knows how much farther we had to travel?”

  “We went as far as we could,” Jardaine said. “We’ll work our way around these roots, and see if we can’t get in again. I have a feeling we’re very close.”

  She came to the end of the root mass and stepped onto a stone floor. The light from the Fire Sprite leapt up the wall, illuminating the dusty carvings there. In the dim light Becky peered at the intricate stonework and her mouth dropped open in disbelief. “Look! Those three figures, there in the rock, are they the ones? Look what that one is holding in his hand—it looks like a seed. Are they the ones who saved the world?”

  “That’s not the Sacred Seed,” Jardaine said. “’Tis far too large. The real Seed is no larger than a grape. Look closer, girl.”

  Becky crept to the edge of the roots and jumped. A cloud of dust blew into the still air when her feet hit the floor. She coughed. “Careful,” Jardaine said, covering her face with her hand.

  “I’m sorry,” Becky said. “I forgot to cover my mouth.”

  She looked up at the carvings and saw that what she had thought was a seed was in reality a skull, with the eye sockets turned down into the hand that held it. She looked further and saw that the carvings represented some kind of battle. Great stone figures of Faerie Folk wielded swords and shields, and in frozen motion they hacked and hewed their way through their enemies, dressed in feathers and primitive armor. Skeletal figures danced through the battle scene. There were snakes carved everywhere: wrapped around columns, forming decorative circles on the low ceiling, marking borders. “I don’t think we’re at the center of the world, yet,” Becky said, realizing that the scenes on the walls didn’t really seem appropriate for a holy, sacred place. In reality she didn’t know what to expect, but she knew that it wasn’t fighting, and battles, and death. “I wonder how the Elves got down here to carve these things? We must be awfully far down into the ground. How long do you think we were in the Cord, Astrid?”

  “A very long time, child,” the Elf said. She herself couldn’t say how long they had been traveling; there was a kind of stupor, a sedative daze that had come over them all as they descended in the passage beneath Yggdrasil. She knew that long travel in a Cord could bring on a paralyzing mental fog, and that even the most experienced Faerie Folk needed to be on guard, or risk a fatal accident. They’d narrowly avoided such an accident themselves. “I don’t know who carved these, but the snakes are a good sign,” she said. “The Goddess loves snakes. Snakes, and lizards, of course. Chameleons, especially.”

  “Astrid,” Becky said, “you told me that Matt and Tuava-Li and Tomtar stole the Seed and started down into the earth, but you had to cut open the Cord at the gates when we fell—when we went down inside. I didn’t think that the skin of the Cord healed itself that quickly after it was cut.”

  “There is surely more than one entrance to the center of the earth, child,” Jardaine answered. “They must have come in through another place.”

  “Then how will we ever find them?”

  Jardaine knew that she had to think fast to come up with a plausible answer; the Human girl wasn’t completely gullible. “Legend says that the paths converge as we reach the center of the world. We’re probably not far from them now.”

  “Those roots slowed us down,” Nick said. “But if the others traveled in another Cord, what’s to say they’re not already at the center of the earth?”

  Jardaine threw the Troll an irritated glance. “We must keep our voices low, and talk as little as possible. If Tuava-Li and the others are near, we don’t want to give away our position.”

  Jardaine was feeling angry at herself for not looking a little harder for a suitable Troll to accompany her on the journey. Nick, she thought, hardly inspired confidence. He’d ruin the entire charade if he said just one wrong thing. It was crucial that Becky remain in the dark about what was going on. But it was also crucial that there be a Human, an Elf, and a Troll to accomplish the planting of the Sacred Seed. What choice did she have? “Tuava-Li is a powerful witch,” she whispered, “and Tomtar is no better. The Goddess will help us, though, as long as we’re smart and take no chances. Do you understand me, Nick?”

  “Aye!”

  Jardaine led the way as they followed a trail around the mass of roots. In the flickering light of the Fire Sprite they saw that huge chunks of stone had fallen from the wall, and the path was littered with rubble. Roots jutted through gaps in the stone wall. “We’ve got to get back to the Cord,” Nick said, dodging tendrils.

  “I think somebody’s been here,” Becky murmured. “Look!”

  On the ground, thick with filth and debris, there were places where all the dust had been swept clear. “It’s not footprints, exactly,” Becky said, peering down. She ran a finger through the powdery grime. “It’s like somebody swept it with a broom!”

  “These marks must have been made by Tuava-Li’s robe,” Jardaine said as she knelt to examine the tunnel floor. “They’ve been here, my dear, they’ve been on this very path!”

  Becky’s heart beat a little faster. “Then we’ve got to follow the trail in the dust, and that will lead us right to them!”

  “The Cord must be over this way,” Nick said, gesturing in the opposite direction with his swollen hands. “There’s a path that runs parallel to the Cord; that must be what these tunnels were made for—maintenance, or something, maybe.”

  Jardaine was frustrated that she didn’t know more. The myths she had been taught as a youth revealed only so much, and left many questions unanswered. The details of the quest to plant the Seed were largely unknown. Of course, if the fruit of the Adri had fallen for them in the conventional manner, and they’d received the blessings of the Queen and the Mage, perhaps then they would have been provided with help and answers to their questions. As it was, they were somewhere between the surface of the earth and its center, without food or water, and it seemed to Jardaine that they were quite lost. Nick was right; they had to find a place to get back into the Cord, past the section blocked by roots.

  Suddenly Jardaine had an idea. She placed her Kolli on the top of a boulder. With both hands free, she reached into her Huldu and removed the folded papers. She remembered one of the spells�
��methods for using mental energy to conquer an enemy with the power of the mind. Surely there must be a similar spell to break up the tangled roots that blocked the Cord. She went through the papers, one by one. There was barely enough light to see, but she finally came upon a spell that she thought would do the trick: methods for using mental energy to move inanimate objects with the power of the mind.

  “Astrid,” Becky called. “Shouldn’t we hurry? If we want to catch up with Matt, we’d better get going.”

  “Shush, child,” Jardaine answered. “Just as soon as I can make out how to pronounce the spell on this paper, I’m going to use it to break up the roots that stopped us from going any farther.”

  “But Matt and the others are here, Astrid, you said so yourself! We don’t need to go back into the Cord!”

  Nick was wondering how long it would take for his hands to heal, when he heard a strange, swooshing sound behind him. He spun around. Was it bats? Those animals were fond of underground places, like caves and dungeons. But he saw nothing in the air. Then he saw movement behind one of the fallen boulders. “Jard—” was all he could manage to say.

  “What is it?” Jardaine cried, annoyed to be distracted yet again from the spell she was trying to learn.

  Nick pointed. His face was twisted in fear; he was trembling all over. Jardaine had never seen him like this before. “I saw a s-s-snake,” he whimpered. “Or an Elf and a—a s-s-snake, together.” Even in the near darkness, the whites of Nick’s eyes were enormous. “Why would an Elf and a snake be together?”

  “You saw the carvings, and your eyes deceived you,” Jardaine answered. “There’s nothing alive down here. Now just pull yourself together and—”

  “There it is again!” Nick screamed this time.

  Becky ran to his side. She clung to a faint hope that what Nick had seen was a glimpse of Tomtar or Tuava-Li behind the rocks and roots, and that her brother was nearby. “Matt,” she called. “Matt, is that you?”