The Road's End

by Daniel Kirk

  “I’ve got the offering,” said Tomtar. He held out his hand and showed Matt three enormous, glittering emeralds.

  “Wow, I thought we lost all of those when the tent went into the ice water!”

  “You ought to know me better than that,” Tomtar said with a grin. “We’ve still got a good supply.… Never know when you might need ’em!”

  Tuava-Li gave Matt a gentle shove from behind. “Please,” she said, “we must hurry.”

  on a bed of dust, with nothing between her rumpled, dirty clothing and the cold stone floor. She would have given anything for a blanket, or a pillow, but her exhaustion was so complete that she fell asleep as soon as she laid her head back and closed her eyes. Jardaine sat in the flickering light of the Kolli, hunched over a sheaf of spells, curses, and incantations. She had told the girl that she’d stay awake and keep guard against any of the creatures that had devoured their companion. And indeed, she gave only half a mind to the words printed on the pages, the words that might help save them both from Nick’s fate. She’d memorized the spell that brought down the ceiling of the cave and crushed the nightmarish creatures. She could use it again, and she would, too, at the slightest provocation. But the monsters were fast. They might be upon her before she had the chance to utter the spell, and then what? She would never forget their smell; she’d carry the memory of it as long as she lived. It was … indescribable. She could almost see the monsters’ awful segmented bodies, their rippling, misshapen arms, their gleaming yellow eyes. Then her mind wandered over to the image of her own advising snake, Sarette, who had led her astray so many times with his ridiculous prattle. What a foolish trend that had been, she thought, when Elves wore trained snakes like necklaces and listened to their illogical nonsense. Jardaine was glad she had thrown him from the top of the wedding tower in Alfheim. One should never listen to a snake.

  She considered her options once again. She knew that the Elves of Hunaland would be furious at her theft of the Seed; she wouldn’t dare go back there to find another Troll to accompany her on the journey. She’d seen a variety of Faerie Folk aboveground, but it was too risky. She wasn’t yet sure how she was going to get back, anyway. She’d been praying for some kind of revelation, but nothing had come to her. No … she had no choice, now, but to wait for Tomtar. Tomtar … what a clueless, ignorant Troll he was. As a matter of fact, Tuava-Li was no smarter, and the boy, Matt, was just a Human. What chance did he stand of reaching the North Pole? Jardaine had a disturbing thought, and it made her shiver. Perhaps the others would never get here. Perhaps she’d remain underground, waiting, until she starved or was eaten by monsters. All will be well, she breathed, and chanted the words until she felt a little calmer. There was no point in panicking, not yet.

  Jardaine imagined that she had succeeded in planting the Seed. She pictured the lovely ceremony, given in her honor. She would be so gracious, so warm, so humble; she would be the very picture of a hero. She imagined that there was a new Sacred Tree growing over Hunaland, and that Elf Realm once again flourished in integrity and health. All of the world would be in balance, and all thanks would be due to Jardaine. She wondered what Queen Geror and her monks would say, then. Would they spoil the story and tell all of Elf Realm that Jardaine had stolen the Seed? Not likely. There was no such thing as a true story, after all. Good stories were all the better for the lies built into them, to make the foolish masses do their Masters’ bidding. No, once the world was back in balance, Queen Geror would support Jardaine’s story that the Goddess had presented her with the Sacred Seed.

  Becky groaned softly. She rolled over, sending a cloud of dust into the air. Then she got up on one elbow. “What are they?” she asked sleepily.

  “What are what?” Jardaine asked, fixing her eyes on the words to a spell, annoyed that the girl had awakened so soon.

  “What are the … the monsters called? Do they have a name?”

  Jardaine folded her papers with a sigh and slipped them back into her Huldu. “I don’t know. Honestly, I didn’t know that things like that were real.”

  Becky rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving her face dirtier than before. “We’ve got to get back in the Cord, right? That way we’ll reach Matt and save him before Tuava-Li and Tomtar … well, before they—”

  “Hush,” Jardaine hissed. “Did you hear something?”

  Becky froze. She drew in a deep breath, testing for the telltale odor of the snakelike creatures. Then she shook her head slowly. “I don’t smell anything! If those things were close, I think we’d smell them. Maybe it’s Matt, and Tomtar, and Tuava-Li!”

  “Follow me, and be still,” Jardaine whispered. “We should proceed along this path and see if we can’t find another way to reach the Cord. If we find your brother and his captors, we must take them by surprise.”

  Jardaine and Becky worked their way down one narrow corridor after another, relying on Jardaine’s judgment to lead them back toward the Cord. But the tunnels were a tangled maze, not unlike the roots of a tree, stretching endlessly ahead, then turning back on themselves. The carvings in these small passages were much the same, and many times Jardaine had a sneaking feeling they were going around in circles. She carefully watched the floors for footprints, and she began notching the crumbling stone with her knife. That way, when she’d come to a turnoff, she would know for certain that she was making progress.

  It occurred to Jardaine after a while that she’d made a terrible mistake. It might have been best to use her magick to collapse a larger part of the first great tunnel, after they’d met the awful monsters. Doing so might have opened up a path that led back to the Cord. But on the other hand, it might have crushed them, like the first collapse crushed Nick and the monsters. Jardaine stumbled over something and swore. More roots had burst through the walls of the corridor, and a lacy mesh of young vines covered the ground ahead. It was going to make further passage slow going. “I’m starving,” Becky said.

  Jardaine stopped and glared at her. Becky cried, “I can’t help it! Won’t you please check your Huldu again, just in case there’s something left in there?”

  Jardaine shook her head. “I’ve already looked, child. We can’t eat paper, and the Trans I’ve saved aren’t nutritious.”

  Then she glanced at the network of vines stretching along the floor. “I’ve got an idea,” she grumbled.

  She bent down and felt among the roots for something small and pliant. Most of them were tough and leathery, but the youngest roots were still soft. Jardaine pulled out her knife and cut a handful of them from the dusty mass. She carefully peeled away the bark from one of the black strips and pressed it to her lips. She sucked at the moisture, then drew back her lips in a grimace. “It tastes a little bitter, but it’s not poisonous. ’Tis the milk of the Cord—very good for you! You can chew it. Here, have a piece.”

  Becky took the root and let her tongue run along the length of it, tasting the beads of liquid on the surface. The flavor wasn’t unlike water from a dirty cup, but she had to admit that it was better than nothing. She shivered when she swallowed. Reluctantly she nibbled at the tip of the root, as more moisture bubbled from the spongy mass. An ironic smile formed on Jardaine’s lips as she watched Becky chew. “The Goddess provides, eh?”

  Becky didn’t dare recall what her reaction would have been, just a few short weeks ago, to the thought of sucking on a dirty plant root. She was doing it to survive, she knew, and thanks to Astrid, she might not starve. She wondered if her brother was hungry and thirsty, too. “Matt could be anywhere around,” she said, realizing how hard it was going to be to find a path back to the Cord. “These tunnels go on forever. He could be anywhere. I don’t know how we’re ever going to find him! And if those snake things attack, it could be …” Becky’s eyes were rimmed with red.

  “Don’t cry,” Jardaine said. “Once we find our way back toward the Cord, then I’m sure your brother will be near. Tuava-Li will undoubtedly take the same approach I’m taking—stay c
lose to the Cord, and listen to the voice of the spirit inside. The Goddess will provide!”

  “I know you always tell me the Goddess will provide,” Becky said thoughtfully. “But the Goddess can’t be on your side and Tuava-Li’s, too, can she? Doesn’t the Goddess want a new Cord, and a new Sacred Tree, and a new wall between our worlds, so that people and Elves don’t have to fight? If the Goddess were nice, it seems to me that she wouldn’t want somebody to have to die, just so she could have a new tree. Sometimes I wonder if we’re on the right side. All I know is, I don’t want them to kill my brother!”

  Jardaine shook her head. “That’s not the way it is, my child! Beliefs are odd things. You can spend all your energy, waste endless moons, in the service of an idea that isn’t true. You can devote your every breath to the cause of a being that never existed. Aye, there is a Seed, and there is a tree, and the Gods and Goddesses are real. But the Goddess Tuava-Li believes in is just a fabrication, something to justify her existence to herself. Sacrifice is a noble ideal, but a real, literal sacrifice of a living being, so that some chain of events can be set into motion?” Jardaine chuckled. “You’re right, ’tis preposterous … a monstrous idea.”

  Becky chewed on the root until there was no liquid left inside. “May I have another?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Jardaine said, and peeled back the bark of another strip. “You may have one more piece! But we must be on our way again, as soon as you’re finished.”

  A voice drifted past, like a faint breeze from a faraway place. Soon, you will be finished.

  “What was that?” Jardaine cried, her skin crawling.

  Becky shivered. “I don’t know. Don’t you know?”

  “Hush, child.”

  The pair of them waited, barely able to breathe. “Do those snake things talk?” Becky whispered.

  “Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?” Jardaine hissed. “I just read of a spell to take your voice away, child, don’t make me use it!”

  The sound of laughter echoed down the corridor. Jardaine wasn’t fooled, though. There was a distinct note of menace in it. With trembling hands she held her Kolli aloft, turning her head from side to side, peering into the blackness. Then she happened to glance up and saw that the ceiling was riddled with holes, passages that might hold a thousand unknown horrors. Something flashed in the corner of her vision; she wasn’t sure if it was real, or just a figment of her imagination, and she almost screamed. She gestured for Becky to follow her; the two of them hurried into the darkness. “What’s wrong?” Becky cried.

  They came to a fork in the tunnel and Jardaine saw a dark streak on the wall, about head level. As she drew closer she saw it was a notch in the stone. “So we have been here before!” she murmured, glad to have marked her path. If the creatures noticed the marks in the stone, it would make it easier for them to follow them; but she was about to make sure they were not followed again. “The Cord is near,” she whispered to Becky. “I can feel it! I want you to walk ahead of me, dear one.”

  “But it’s black,” Becky protested. “I can’t see anything! I’m going to stay right here with you!”

  “Just go ahead,” Jardaine ordered. “I have to bring the tunnel down behind us! I don’t want you to get hurt. Now go!”

  The Elf began chanting the words to the spell that would collapse the roof of the tunnel. Becky headed into the blackness, tripping over rocks and roots and trying not to shriek in terror, when she heard the rumble of stone from above. Suddenly everything was shaking, and she was lying on her face, choking on dust. Her nose stung; she lifted a hand and touched something hot and wet. “Astrid,” she called out. “Astrid, are you there?”

  The violent, wracking cough that followed let her know the Elf was still alive. A moment later the Fire Sprite flickered on once again. Becky saw Astrid on her hands and knees, covered in stone dust, looking more like a statue than an Elf. When she glanced up at Becky, she drew back her mouth in disgust. “Blood!” she said.

  Becky touched her nose again; there was a sharp pain, and she tasted the salty, metallic taste on her upper lip. “I—I think I broke my nose!”

  “It doesn’t look broken. Just wipe that off your face. I don’t want it anywhere near. It might carry contagion, child, and if anything should happen to me, you’d be left down here by yourself. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

  Becky got up and wiped her hands on her jeans. “No, I wouldn’t. Were they following us?”

  Jardaine shrugged. “There’s no chance of that now!”

  “But what if they’re in front of us? What are we going to do then?”

  “The Cord is nearby,” Jardaine lied. “I can feel my fingers tingling, the closer we get. If we keep going this way, I know we’ll reach it soon. Have faith, my child. We’re almost there!”

  the plume of smoke on the horizon and steered toward it. The monks of Hunaland, distraught over what had happened to the Seed of the Adri, had let down their guard. Hunaland was no longer shielded from view as it had been throughout history; the smoke that trailed into the heavens let everyone know just where they were.

  Techmagicians had been working ceaselessly to keep the tear in the Air Sprite from growing larger. Their spells, along with the constant application of healing balm, kept them afloat. Princess Asra stood inside the captain’s deck and peered out from one of the upper windows as the Elves worked. “I’m amazed they can manage to stand out there on the top of the cab, in the wind and cold. They’re tied to the rigging, but still you’d think they’d be blown away!”

  Macta sat in a plush chair, stroking the Goblin on his lap. His mechanical arm was in fine form; he’d nearly forgotten that it wasn’t real. “’Tis always a wonder what one can accomplish, when one’s mind is fixed upon the goal.” Though his words were meant to refer to the Elves standing outside, rubbing greasy fistfuls of ointment onto the Air Sprite’s tender flesh, Macta was thinking of himself. The part of him that wasn’t full of hate … was full of love. He considered his good fortune to be traveling with Asra, and the easy way she’d learned to converse with him now, as if all the errors of the past had been forgotten. For they were just errors, after all. Macta hadn’t meant to shoot Asra’s father. It had been nothing more than an accident; it could have happened to anyone! And the battle following the wedding in Alfheim, that had been Jardaine’s idea from the start, not Macta’s. Jardaine, and her stupid snake, Sarette. The only thing Macta ever really wanted, well … one of the only things, was Asra’s heart. He wanted her to love him, to respect him, to honor and cherish him, as much as he honored and cherished her.

  Macta knew that Asra didn’t understand the depths of his feelings for her. He knew that he was, in part, to blame for his inability to express his love in the appropriate way. But he had saved her life now, several times. That ought to count for something, he thought. But being grateful was no more like being in love than a grape was like a pebble; they were both roundish in shape, but one would taste deliciously sweet and the other would break your teeth. “What do you make of the smoke?” he asked the captain. “It concerns me. Do you suppose Hunaland has been burned to the ground? I wouldn’t have thought Jardaine could destroy something so quickly. Can’t we go any faster?”

  “Your Highness,” said the captain, “at this altitude, and with the damage to the Sprite, we’re making remarkably good time. As for the smoke, ’tis not necessarily a bad thing. There are many possible reasons for it: burnt offerings to the Gods and Goddesses, clearing away the detritus of the old Sacred Tree to make room for the new one …”

  “Or the complete and utter destruction of the city,” Macta said, “because a violent and criminally insane Mage has laid waste to the most sacred place in Elf Realm.”

  “She wants to plant the Sacred Seed,” Asra said, turning from the windows, “not ruin the chance for Elf Realm to be restored. Jardaine is after recognition, she wants power and glory, and all that will come with being the Savior of her people. Why would she th
row all of that away? It would make no sense.”

  Macta got up, Powcca in his arms, and stalked to the front window. Before him an icy plain extended in either direction. There were fissures and broad puddles of salt water along the ice; but the sky, at least, was an unbroken slab of gray. In the middle of it all a black cloud billowed up into the heavens. High above, it spread out and disappeared in the upper atmosphere. But at the base of the plume Macta could see an irregular shape reaching into the clouds and smoke. “Could that be the tree?” he mused aloud. “I’m curious, Captain; perhaps you’d be willing to make a little wager on what we find when we get to Hunaland?”

  “No more gambling,” Asra scolded. “You promised.”

  “Indeed I did,” he replied. “But some promises are meant to keep, like my love for you, and some promises are meant to be broken.”

  Asra snorted. “That’s nonsense, and you know it. Conditional morality isn’t morality at all. How could I expect you to be true to me if you can’t be true to yourself?”

  “Ah,” Macta cried in delight. “So you want me to be true to you? If that’s the case, I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth to prove it.”

  Asra took a deep breath. Macta was once again trying to steer her into waters too deep for comfort. “I’ve spoken to you about the conditions of this expedition a hundred times, Macta. You’re not following me, like a young Goblin follows its Master. We’re going as a team to save my friend Becky and try and stop Jardaine. How can we hope to accomplish our goals if you keep changing them?”

  “My love for you will never change,” he answered.

  Asra threw up her hands. “You’re impossible! You won’t stop until you’ve completely worn me down!”

  “How I will spoil you,” Macta said with a voice as smooth as the barrel of a Dragon Thunderbus, “once my affections have rendered you helpless.”

  Asra bit her lip. There was something about Macta’s relentless flattery, the flirting that found its way into every shuttered part of her heart and mind. How could she keep it out? She wanted to stomp on it, to crush it so that she would remember only the bad things he had done. At the same time, though, she thought she could feel Macta changing, changing because of her, because of the way he felt about her. There was a certain power in that; the taming of a wild animal, the reining in of a force so strong it could knock someone off her feet. “Promise me you’ll stop this nonsense when we get to Hunaland, Macta. We have important work, dangerous work ahead of us. We must stay focused.”