The Road's End

by Daniel Kirk

  “I’m always focused,” he said, “you can count on that. And be careful what you ask for, Asra. It may come true!”

  The Arvada skirted the branches of Yggdrasil and came down, at Macta’s command, outside the main gates. As soon as the cab’s shadow cast its inky smear over the ice, the Aeronauts spun out of the windows on braided ropes and rushed to tether the Arvada. The ice was far less stable than it had appeared from the air. The heavy ice screws, taller than an Elf and thicker than the trunk of a sapling, bit into the ice and released geysers of slushy water. Every footstep left a wet print on the ground, and the entire sheet of ice groaned in rebellion at the weight of the enormous craft. As soon as the stairway was in position, and the doors were flung open, Macta emerged into the frozen world. Powcca huddled, whimpering, in his arms. “Ah,” he breathed, sniffing the air. “I love the smell of burning wood! I see the spires of the palace, and if I’m not mistaken, the smoke looks like it’s coming from the courtyard. I suppose that means I was wrong about Jardaine burning the entire place to the ground. It was generous of me to think her capable of such a thing!”

  “Indeed,” said the captain, shivering behind him.

  “Look at those limbs,” Asra gasped, pointing to the immense tree that rose from within the walls, spreading toward the heavens. The trunk was gnarled and gray and pitted with age, and the branches, though nearly barren, twisted in and out with a busy vitality. “’Tis impossibly large. How can something grow that big?”

  “Well,” Macta cried into the roaring wind, “now we shall see if a King of Helfratheim is considered a King in Hunaland!” He turned to the captain. “Do they even have a King in this place?”

  “Sire, there are stories that speak of a Queen who rules the land, in cooperation with a Mage and her monks. Still, there’s much secrecy surrounding this place, and we know very little.”

  Macta adjusted his goggles and stared down his nose at the great stone gates. “Do you know why there is no welcoming committee to greet me? Shouldn’t a Queen come out to meet a King?”

  “A better question,” Asra asked, “is if the ice is stable enough to support our weight. Does it extend all the way up to the walls of this place?”

  The captain pressed his lips together. Already there was ice forming in his goatee, and crystals dangled from his nostrils. He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. “There was once land, not water, surrounding Hunaland. Yggdrasil didn’t grow in water, you know. I fear the contamination of the Human world has now spread all the way to the North Pole. Once solid has become liquid, anything is possible. Good can become bad, right can become—”

  “Enough,” Macta said sternly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! Now you have more work to do, Captain—I want you to see about getting those gates opened for us. Then hurry back to your ship and make ready for departure; we won’t be terribly long. Asra and I are about to see what the Elves up here are made of!”

  “Sire, ’tis not right that you enter this kingdom alone,” the captain said. “Won’t you let me gather the Aeronauts to accompany you?”

  Macta shook his head. “I fight my own battles. I always have, and I always will. You and your Aeronauts would only slow me down!”

  A terrible, earth-shaking groan suddenly arose from the ground. It was the great tree, Yggdrasil, slowly drawing its roots from the depths of the earth. The branches of the tree shook as the Elves covered their ears with their hands. “If that’s the tree,” Macta shouted, “then its roots are still grounded in soil. We don’t have much time, though. That was the same sound the oaks of Alfheim made when they began pulling up their roots. They do it bit by bit. It may take days, but before you know it, that tree will come crashing down!”

  When the creaking sound faded away, the small group of visitors descended the Arvada stairs. With measured steps they headed across the fractured ice toward the gates of Hunaland. It was obvious to them that the gates had not been opened in a long, long time; drifts of ice and snow piled high along the thick, dark wood. There were other footprints, however, all along the edge of the gate and leading off to the side of the fortress walls. Macta studied them as he passed, stroking the Goblin pup that shivered in his arms. “Male and female boot prints. And look, look at these enormous, grotesque prints, they can only have been made by a Human!”

  “Becky,” Asra said, kneeling by one of the prints. “She’s here.”

  “She’s here, and we’ll be meeting up with her before long, as soon as these rude, arrogant Elves open up and let us in!”

  The Arvada captain raised one gloved fist and pounded on the gates. The sound was nearly swallowed up in the wind. “Hellllllloooooo,” Macta cried, “in the name of the Mother and her Cord, let us in! Please!”

  He turned and grinned at Asra, delighted that they were finally closing in on Jardaine. He glowed with the certainty that it was only a matter of time until he held her beating heart in his hands. “You see,” he said to the Princess, “I can be the picture of grace and formality when it’s required of me!”

  “Am I supposed to be impressed?” Asra stepped back and gazed up at the top of the walls. “I don’t think we’ll be getting in this way. Perhaps we should follow around the side of the fortress and see where the others entered. Look, their footprints all go in that direction, but there are none coming back.”

  “There’s a bit of sleuth in you, Asra,” Macta said, “but we’re staying here. Believe me, they’ll come. They must know that a King doesn’t go around to the side door.”

  “I seem to recall that going in a side door is exactly what we were forced to do when we entered Helfratheim, on the night of the last full moon!”

  Macta shook his head. “That was different.” He held a hand to his mouth and hollered again. “Hellllloooooo! In the name of the Mother and—”

  A Pixie fluttered up from inside the fortress and came to rest, clinging to a high balustrade. She stared down disapprovingly at Macta and Asra. “You’re not welcome here,” she said, fighting the wind from her stony perch. “You must leave at once, by order of Queen Geror of Hunaland.”

  “What?” Macta gasped. “Of all the …”

  Asra said, “Please tell Her Royal Highness that the King and Queen of Helfratheim have arrived, at great risk to their lives, and that they request an audience. They are in possession of important facts the Queen needs to know, concerning the Sacred Seed of the Adri.”

  The Pixie looked dubious, but fluttered out of sight behind the fortress walls. “The right words are like a key to unlock many doors,” Asra said.

  Macta grumbled. “Well, we’re not in yet. And what are you doing telling that Faerie that my mother and father, the King and Queen, have arrived? They’re quite dead, you know.”

  “Fool,” Asra said. “’Tis but a tiny lie; I meant you and me. I could have said, ‘Please allow entrance to the King, accompanied by the female who hates him,’ or ‘Please let in the King, and the Princess who’d rather be anywhere else in the world than here, if it wasn’t for her endangered Human friend who recently passed this way.’ For a notorious liar, you’re quite naive at times.”

  “Well, look where it’s gotten me,” Macta said. “And by the way, I thought you claimed to have never lied?”

  Asra frowned. “Perhaps I’m picking up some of your bad traits.”

  A minute later a bright blue-and-pink cloud of Pixies descended over the wall and hovered around the visitors. The glittering Faeries steered them along the wall, away from the gates. “I am a King,” Macta complained, scuffing his boots. “I go through front doors!”

  “No one comes or goes from Hunaland without permission of the Queen, and these gates have been sealed for quite some time,” one of the Pixies said. “The entryway chosen by a visitor to Hunaland reveals much, however; ’tis one of the tests used to prove a guest’s intentions.”

  “And did we pass the test?” Asra asked.

  “You’ll see!”

  They rounded the c
orner and found the empty niche, where the hidden door swung wide to allow them entry. “Are you absolutely certain you do not want some of the Aeronauts to come along and protect you?” asked the captain.

  “When you see us next we will be basking in the glory of our success,” Macta said, “and the glory will belong to me alone. Me and Asra, of course!”

  The captain saluted, then turned and walked away, shaking his head. Macta and Asra followed the Pixies through the opening in the thick stone wall. Asra’s gloved hands traced the mazelike patterns carved into the door frame. She thought momentarily of younger, happier days, when she’d played in the mazes of her homeland, running carefree, and hoping to get a kiss from a handsome Elflad. Then she thought of her departed friends and relatives. She pictured her father and her mother, and all her thoughts were a blur of loneliness and loss. But then she turned her gaze to the courtyard of Hunaland, and her memories were swept away.

  Asra gasped as she stumbled after Macta across the littered and broken cobblestones. Hunaland was in shambles. The ground was strewn with a thick layer of grain husks that crunched beneath their boots. A rank, fishy smell permeated the air. The carcasses of earth and sea animals lay dismembered on makeshift altars. There were altars everywhere; many were nothing more than heaps of blackened twigs and scorched bones. Groups of monks wandered from place to place, chanting sorrowfully, waving incense burners. Charred bundles of rosemary, sage, Rose of Jericho, and rue smoldered in fire pits. Asra recognized the scents from cleansing rituals she’d witnessed in her youth; the Mage of Alfheim had always been fixated on cleanliness.

  Elves knelt before the smoking pyres with their heads cast down in helpless resignation. Through a haze of smoke Asra saw the great tree, Yggdrasil, looming in the distance. At first the scale of it seemed impossible; an illusion caused by the swirling gray ash. But she lifted her eyes and saw the branches reaching upward into the heavens, even larger than they had seemed from outside the gates. “This way,” cried one of the Pixies, as the cloud of fluttering wings suddenly banked left.

  An enormous tree limb, a hundred feet long, lay on the shattered cobblestones ahead. Macta and Asra stepped around the workers who busily sawed the branch into pieces. Amid the splinters, there were also rubbery chunks of some translucent material heaped on the ground, and Asra’s boot sank to the ankle in one of the quivering globs. Her nostrils curled at the smell. “’Tis exactly like the odor of the punctured Air Sprite.”

  Macta shook his head and snorted. “How could that be, unless the Arvada that brought Jardaine here was destroyed?”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Asra said.

  The Pixies led them to the doors of the palace, where they were met by a small group of black-robed monks. One of them stepped from the group and blocked Macta’s path inside. “The Pixies say you have information regarding the Sacred Seed. What is it?”

  “Facts I’m prepared to share with the Queen alone,” Macta blustered. “Enough of your nonsense. Take me—I mean us, to her at once!”

  “We’ve sailed from Helfratheim,” Asra interjected, “in pursuit of the Mage of that kingdom. She’s wanted in her homeland for crimes against the crown, and we know that she’s come here with the intention of taking the Seed of the Adri. Whatever her motives may be, she’s dangerous, and we’ve come to apprehend her and return her to Helfratheim. There she’ll be punished for her infractions.”

  “Her depravity, you mean,” Macta said.

  The monk narrowed her eyes at Macta. “If the two of you are who you claim to be, then why did you not send soldiers on your behalf? A King and a Queen are meant to lead their people, and soldiers are meant to risk their lives for the good of the realm. Elves with royal Bloodlines would not take such reckless chances with their personal well-being.”

  “Are you calling us liars?” Macta scowled. “I see no reason why a common monk should be permitted to question a King. Take us to your Queen, immediately!”

  The monk shook her head. “Three saviors have already come to rescue the Seed from the thieves and see that justice is done. They have descended in the Cord beneath the roots of Yggdrasil and are already on their way to bring honor and blessings upon our people. You’re not needed here,” she pronounced with a smile, showing her teeth, “Your Highness!”

  An elegantly robed and ancient Elf appeared behind the monks. She wore a crown of braided golden snakes around her wizened forehead and leaned heavily on a staff with a two-headed snake on its shaft. “I am Geror, Queen of Hunaland,” she said.

  The monks spun around. Shocked to see their Queen walking unaided, they immediately dropped to their knees and bowed. Asra, too, knelt on the stone-tiled floor. But Macta stood and spoke with casual familiarity to her. “Finally,” he said. “There’s no time to waste, Geror. I’m King Macta of Helfratheim, and I’m here to save your—your kingdom, or whatever you call a place without a proper King! I want to meet with your generals, so that I may familiarize myself with the underground passages I’ll be traveling. Asra and I will need provisions for the journey, as well as appropriate gear for trekking underground, and anything else your experts deem necessary. Tell me now, when did Jardaine arrive here? Is the Seed in her possession?”

  Asra tugged on Macta’s sleeve. “And Becky,” she whispered. “Ask about Becky.”

  “Asra, you’re a Queen,” Macta admonished her. “You may address another Queen directly!”

  Geror nodded at Asra and said, “The Human girl Becky was fine, when last I saw her. The Elf whom I believe you call Jardaine, and the Troll called Nick, left here two nights ago, after they stole the Seed from the fruit of the Sacred Adri.”

  Macta swore, and the Queen turned to him. “I had my doubts that you were who you claimed to be, but only a King would be so naturally inclined to insolence as you have been with me. Most Elves cower in their boots at the very sight of their Queen. I welcome you and your consort. I don’t believe for a moment that she’s a Queen, though, or that she has any inclination to become one. Now … before you meet with the Mage of Hunaland, you must undergo ritual preparations. She’ll tell us what we need to know about your worthiness.”

  “I think things have gone a little too far for you to be concerned over my worthiness,” Macta said. “You need me!”

  The Queen pursed her thin lips and turned, gesturing for Macta and Asra to accompany her into the palace. “Come out of the cold and shut the doors behind you. I cannot bear the sight of this destruction in my land. I’ve been pacing about, knowing there’s nothing I can do.”

  “You can show us the entrance to the Cord,” Macta said.

  “As my monks undoubtedly told you,” she said, ignoring Macta, “another three self-proclaimed heroes arrived in Hunaland yesterday, with the intention of taking the Seed to the Underworld and planting it there. They arrived too late, however, and our prayers are with them as they attempt to catch up with the thieves. They remain our greatest hope that the Seed will be planted, that the appropriate sacrifice will be made. Their names were Tuava-Li and Tomtar—an Elf and a Troll. I cannot recall the Human’s—”

  “Matt!” Asra interrupted. “The Human’s name is Matt. He’s Becky’s older brother. Those three, their quest, began before any of the rest of us even thought of coming here. You see, the Goddess spoke to Tuava-Li in a vision and told her she’d been chosen to relive the quest of Fada in the Underworld!”

  “So I heard,” said Queen Geror.

  “Did you send soldiers after the thieves?” Macta asked, hoping that the answer would be no. His greatest passion lay in the thought that Jardaine’s punishment for everything that had happened would be his responsibility and his alone.

  “As for armies and generals and soldiers,” Geror said, “we have none. Our monks have always shielded our whereabouts with protective spells that render Hunaland invisible to the naked eye. In that way we’ve protected the Seed from harm … at least, up until now. Perhaps it’s our Mage’s fault that you arrived here so easily. Our
monks have obviously let down their guard. Perhaps it pleases the Great Goddess to see us brought low. Who knows?”

  The Queen turned and shuffled slowly away, mumbling to herself as the monks directed Macta and Asra down one of the corridors. “Now what?” Macta demanded.

  “The ritual bath, and then the audience with the Mage.”

  Monks were filling the single porcelain tub with buckets of steaming water when Macta and Asra entered the elegant royal suite. Unlike the room where Matt and Becky had bathed, this part of the palace was well appointed, elegant, and warm. Macta waited in a room with a stone fireplace while Asra undressed, bathed, and anointed herself with the proper oils and lotions. Then, dressed in a simple white robe tied at the waist with a golden braid, and her hair still damp and hanging down her back, she went to find Macta. His thoughts of vengeance against Jardaine disappeared when he saw his beloved approach him, her face shining, her eyes bright with expectation.

  “Come,” she said, “let me help you take off the mechanical arm. You’ve got to be quick, so that we can meet their Mage and go after Becky.”

  Macta drew back. He knew that after their journey he wouldn’t smell his freshest when he took off his shirt, and the healing skin on his shoulder would still stink of ointment and sweat. And yet, Asra was the one who had sawn off what remained of his rotten arm when she could have watched him die. For once he was at a loss for what to say; he couldn’t think of anything clever or witty, and there was no flattery that would do justice to Asra’s beauty. So he leaned forward and kissed her. For a brief moment the Princess was too stunned to respond. Macta had made his intentions clear for so long that it should have come as no surprise. But despite his inappropriate remarks and his bold tongue, he had always shown restraint. Asra felt the warmth of his skin like a fever and she pulled away. “That should never have happened,” she stammered.