by Daniel Kirk
Tuava-Li felt stung but ignored Matt’s accusation. It was more or less true, after all. But Jardaine doesn’t know how to get there … does she?
“Well …” Matt hung his head. “I told Becky what Asra and Macta told me, and I think Jardaine must have been listening. They’re going back that way, past the ledge. A few last twists and turns, and they’ll be there, unless the snakes get to them first.”
Then there’s no time to waste, Tuava-Li said. I’ll take my cue from Jardaine.
Tuava-Li focused her thoughts around the image of a blue sphere. Matt felt air swirling around his feet and looked down. A blue fog was forming in the blackness. As it rose up around his body, and lifted from the floor of the cavern, he fell back against the rubbery wall. He felt himself swaying back and forth. A moment later he saw a pair of golden, gleaming lights—Macta’s and Asra’s Kollis. Matt realized he was hovering over the edge of the precipice again and the Elves stood back to make room for him. He leaned forward and pressed gently on the inside of the sphere. Anytime, he called to Tuava-Li in thoughtspeak. With a tiny popping sound, the bubble burst. Matt fell to his knees on the dusty ledge. Then he turned and called into the abyss. “You did it, Tuava-Li! You can come up now.”
Soon they heard the rustling of a bird in flight.
within Jardaine’s blue orb. It hovered in the air as the Elf stepped from the corridor into the amphitheater, using all her strength, all her magickal reserves, to keep it aloft. “Finally,” she said through gritted teeth. “Finally I’ll get what I deserve!”
She lowered the orb to the rubble-strewn floor, where it bounced gently, flattening like a balloon with a slow leak. Tomtar slogged down one of the aisles of the amphitheater, barely able to keep his head up. “Give me my Huldu,” Jardaine ordered.
She’d placed it in the Troll’s pack because she knew that having it close to her own body had sapped her strength. Inside the Huldu, the Seed of the Adri pulsed and throbbed. Drawing energy from everything around it, the Seed was now draining Tomtar’s vital energy. Wearily he sat down on one of the raised stone rings around the pool and the black, ascending root. He took off his backpack and let it drop to the floor. The high, domed ceiling groaned, and a shower of dust and pebbles fell. Jardaine spun around and glared. “Fool,” she whispered. “Can’t you see you have to be careful in this place? Look at the walls, they’re crumbling!”
“I can’t see anything,” Tomtar said in a hushed voice. “You’re the one with the Fire Sprite, not me!”
Jardaine grabbed her Huldu from Tomtar’s pack and walked toward the center of the chamber. Tomtar struggled to think of something to do that would stop her. Time was running out, but he hardly had the strength to get up. Jardaine raised the orb again and guided it over the pool surrounding the massive root. “Perfect,” she said.
She closed her eyes, recalling the spell that her Mage had uttered, so many moons ago, when a Human girl named Anna was entranced and placed at the bottom of a stream at the outskirts of Alfheim. Jardaine uttered the words to the spell and withdrew her energy from the orb. It disappeared with a faint pop, and Becky slipped beneath the surface of the water.
“What have you done?” Tomtar cried. Once again the ceiling responded with groans and rumbles and a rain of dust.
“Be quiet,” Jardaine whispered, glancing nervously at the dome. “She’ll be safe under the water, safer than we are out here. … It looks deep. And I can’t concentrate when I have to keep that orb afloat. She’ll be fine, there, until I figure out what to do. I can’t risk having her wake up and cause a commotion in here! It would spoil everything.”
Tomtar remembered watching over Anna, the daughter of the hunter who killed Prince Udos. He’d stayed by her side as she lay in the stream, neither dead or truly alive, for countless seasons. He also remembered how Anna had lost her mind beneath the water, and how when she walked on dry land again, she was no longer truly Human. “You can’t keep Becky in there for long,” he said to Jardaine, forgetting that her plan was to sacrifice the girl.
Jardaine held her Kolli high and peered into the flickering shadows. “If only I could get a sense of everything in this chamber. I don’t know where the Seed should be planted; there are no signs, no clues! Why doesn’t the Goddess guide me, why doesn’t she tell me what to do? ’Tis her bidding I want to perform, ’tis her will I want to carry out!”
She went to examine the walls, and realized that the chamber was ringed with dusty light sconces. Carefully she lifted one of the lids and saw an ancient Fire Sprite curled inside. “Wake up,” she hissed.
Roused from endless centuries of sleep, the Fire Sprite took only a moment before it burst into flames and stood on its porcelain platform, burning with abandon. Jardaine went to each sconce and opened the lid. Soon the entire chamber was brightly lit. “That’s better,” she said with satisfaction, and gazed up at the dome overhead. What she saw there was so awful, so frightening, that for a moment she didn’t dare to breathe. The walls and ceiling of the chamber were riddled with holes. Inside the holes were creatures, blinking down, squinting in the glare of the Fire Sprites. “Noooo,” Jardaine whispered, when she saw their horrible, luminous eyes.
“Not them,” Tomtar cried in fear, “not again, not here!”
Footsteps echoed in the corridor, just outside. Matt appeared at the entrance to the amphitheater. Tuava-Li, Macta, and Asra were right behind him. “Where’s my sister?” Matt demanded, when he saw Jardaine standing by the pool. “What have you done with her?”
The ceiling groaned, and the creatures darted back into their holes. The sound was louder now, and it stretched from one end of the dome to the other. Bits of stone and dust fell in a torrent. Tomtar met Matt’s gaze and with exaggerated motions he gestured to the pool. “She’s in the water,” he whispered. “Jardaine put a spell on her, and she’s in the water!”
Matt ran for the pool. Tuava-Li watched in horror; in the dream she’d had, traveling down through the Cord, she had been standing with this same group by a body of water. Now she knew that the dream foreshadowed this dreadful moment. Matt dove into the pool and disappeared beneath the surface. He saw something bright, far below him. He swam with all his might, keeping his eyes open for any sign of Becky, and the light at the bottom of the pool grew brighter and more vivid. When he felt his lungs would burst, and that he couldn’t dive any deeper, he kept on, cutting through the water, paddling ever deeper. His limbs grew weary as the distant light filled his field of vision. It came over him like the light of the sun on a summer afternoon, like the glorious balmy days he had sat on the hillside with Becky and Tomtar, telling stories, and looking for animal shapes in the clouds. And then it all faded to black.
“I can stop your hearts,” Jardaine said in a harsh whisper. “I can stop all of you!”
Macta took a step forward. Powcca raced ahead, baring his teeth and growling. “How I’ve longed to see you again, Jardaine! How I’ve longed to rip out your heart with my bare hands, after what you did to me and my kingdom. You traitorous flea, I’ll show you what it means to suffer!”
“Macta,” Asra cried, surprised to hear such venom coming from the King’s mouth. He’d shown her a gentler, kinder side since they left Helfratheim. Now she wondered—had it all been an act?
“I’ll kill you, Macta,” Jardaine said. “I swear I will!”
“If you’re going to kill anybody,” Asra cried, “it had better be these monsters, Jardaine, because they’re going to eat us all alive if you don’t!”
“We can stop them together,” Tuava-Li pleaded. “Jardaine, you and I can try to stop them, and then we can think this all through. It doesn’t have to be this way. We can plant the Seed together, we can—”
The creatures were wriggling from their holes again, jaws slavering as they whispered together, “The intruders must die! The intruders must not be allowed to live in the Chamber of the Seed!”
They came from every direction, gliding through the dust, their bodies l
eaving trails on the floor. Powcca leapt up and down and began to bark as Macta pressed his mechanical hand over his pet’s frothing mouth and gazed in panic at the crumbling dome. Then Tomtar had an idea. He reached into his pack and found his wooden flute. He raised it to his lips and blew a single high note. The ceiling responded with an ominous rumble and a shower of debris. Tomtar paused to look around. Many of the creatures, gripped in fear, crept back toward their holes. Others opened their mouths and let out a sharp hissssss.
“Go away,” Tomtar said in a quiet but steady voice, “go away, all of you, and leave us alone. I can bring down the roof of this place on top of us; it won’t take much! I’d rather die like that, than have you gobble me up. It’s up to you! Do you want to risk it?”
He raised the flute to his lips again. The song started low, and quiet, but quickly gathered force. The roof of the cave rumbled ominously. As Tomtar’s fingers played over the little holes along the shaft of the flute, a chunk of the ceiling, as big as a house, came loose. It landed with a crash on the amphitheater seating, crushing rows of carved stone to powder. There was a moment of terrible silence. Then the entire ceiling seemed to cry out in protest, as a thunderous roar shook the air. “Nooooo,” the creatures hissed. Though they warily eyed the ceiling of the dome, only a few turned to wriggle away. They were far, far too hungry.
Suddenly Tuava-Li was overcome with a feeling she hadn’t experienced since she’d received her vision from the Goddess, back in Alfheim. The sensation was so strong that she nearly fell to her knees. Her body seemed to open up, as if her molecules were expanding, as if she were dissolving in thin air. A shimmering image of a monk appeared in her mind. Approach the water, the mysterious figure said in thoughtspeak. Do not be afraid. You must dive to the bottom of the pool, to reach the true center of the earth.
Who are you?
You will meet me, soon! Hurry, now. The creatures will not follow you.
As the vision began to fade, Tuava-Li called to her companions. “Come with me! We’re going into the pool.”
Asra cried, “But we can’t breathe underwater—we’ll drown!”
“No, we won’t. Trust me, this is the only way. We must dive to the very bottom. We have no choice!”
“I’m certainly not going into that pool,” Macta said. But when Jardaine grabbed her Huldu and leapt into the water, Macta snatched up his Goblin and ran forward. At the edge of the pool he turned, his eyes burning with excitement, and looked back at Asra. “Come, my darling,” he said, holding out his good arm. “I won’t leave you here!”
“Now, Asra,” said Tuava-Li, “come now, before it’s too late!”
The Bloodthirsty monsters scuttled ever closer, their lips drawn back and ready to strike. Their shiny white teeth gleamed in the light from the sconces. Tomtar raised his flute and began to play again. This time he was completely drowned out by the awful grinding of stone against stone, and the shriek of the creatures as rubble began to fall from above. As the dome collapsed, there was only one place for the Faerie Folk to go. “Now!” Tuava-Li cried, and she, Macta, Asra, and Tomtar dove into the pool.
Matt lay on his back, his hair hanging in wet rivulets across his forehead. He woke up, coughing fluid from his lungs. He got up on one elbow and coughed some more. Where am I? he wondered. The air was sweet, and sticky, and hot, like a greenhouse on an August afternoon. Becky lay beside him. He brushed her wet hair out of her face and saw that her eyes were open, blank, and staring. “Becky,” he cried, fearing the worst, “Becky, wake up! Wake up!”
He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her over on her belly. Water spouted like a fountain from her mouth. With his hands on her chest he could feel her heart beating; she wasn’t dead, just entranced, like Tomtar had said. He lay her gently down on her side just as he saw a shadow creeping over Becky’s face. He turned his head around and stared in wonder. A light flickered dimly in an emerald sky, and set against the green Matt could see a distant figure approaching. “Where am I?” he cried aloud. “Who are you?”
The figure coming toward him was a Troll, a female Troll, dressed all in white. She stood over Matt and smiled beatifically. The pupils of her eyes were tiny points of black in a field of blue. There was suddenly a strange sensation in Matt’s chest, a vulnerable, defenseless feeling, unlike anything he’d even remotely experienced before. It was as if an invisible force was reaching into every fiber of his being, probing, cleansing, healing. He opened his mouth to speak. “Where am I? How did I get here?”
The Troll gestured, and Matt turned to see where she was pointing. Behind him appeared to be a wall of trees, shimmering in a milky haze. “You passed through the membrane, as all must do who wish to participate in the birth of the new Seed! I am Desir. You’ve arrived at the heart of the world. Are you the King?”
“King?” Matt repeated. “No, I’m not the king. I’m—Matt. And you—how can you be Desir? Desir came here thousands of years ago, to plant the seed. You can’t be the same—”
There was a sound from behind, a burbling, sucking sound, and when Matt spun around he saw the wall of trees bulge, as if the forest itself was an apparition. A foot appeared, and an elbow, and water gushed out as Jardaine stepped through the shimmering membrane. She stumbled to her knees, dripping wet, beside him. She got up, coughing water, and shaking her dark hair. “And you,” Desir asked, “are you the Mage?”
“Her name’s Jardaine,” Matt volunteered, “and she’s not supposed to be here. She was never supposed to be here! It’s Tuava-Li who had the vision, not Jardaine!”
“But I have the Seed,” Jardaine croaked.
She reached into her Huldu and withdrew the pouch by its corner. But the cloth fell away, and the Seed slowly drifted overhead, out of Jardaine’s reach. The Seed was glowing so brightly now, so radiant with energy that it literally buzzed, and the air around it popped and crackled. “Now,” Jardaine said, “we’re an Elf, a Troll, and a Human, just as in ancient days. Let the ritual begin!”
Desir narrowed her eyes at Jardaine. “You’re mistaken if you think that it’s we three who will deliver the Seed to its proper home! I’m here to supervise the ritual, not to take part in it. And where is the King?”
At that moment the wall of the emerald-colored womb bulged inward again, and one after the other, Macta, Tuava-Li, Tomtar, and Asra tumbled through the illusion of trees and forest. All four of them lay stunned as the wall behind them sealed itself like a cut in the Cord. Powcca leapt from Macta’s grasp, shaking water from his coat, as the King of Helfratheim slowly got to his feet. Jardaine cried out, “Not you again, not here, not now!”
She focused all her strength in generating a burst of energy to stop Macta’s heart. Nothing. Again she concentrated, trying to shape a ball of fiery light behind her eyes, and again she willed it to grow, she willed it to blossom into a fierce, destructive force. Nothing. Feverishly she recited the words to half a dozen incantations, curses, and spells, trying again and again to hurl a devastating blast at her adversary. But nothing happened. “’Tis the end for you, Jardaine,” Macta jeered. “Your power’s gone!”
Desir frowned at Jardaine. “Did you truly expect to work such dark magick in this place? Your spells and incantations have no power here!”
Macta laughed. He flexed his mechanical arm, and he contracted the muscles in his shoulder so that the blades along his fingers would spring into action. “Finally,” he said, “after all this time, I shall have my vengeance!” But he found that his commands had no more effect than Jardaine’s spells; the blades stayed tightly sheathed, and the metal fingers remained limp.
“How dare you,” Desir thundered, “how dare you bring your petty squabbles to the very heart of this world!”
As she glared at them all, the light behind her seemed to dim, and the air felt oddly cold. The Seed of the Adri, still hanging in the air, snapped and flared. “What’s happening?” cried Matt. “What’s happening to the sun?”
“The light behind me is not
the sun,” Desir said. “’Tis the last vestige of the life of the old Seed! When the power of the new Seed joins with it, it will burn with a radiance that will blind you, should you look directly into its fire. And now …”
Matt felt a terrible anxiety flood his senses; he knew instinctively that the time for the sacrifice had come. “Wait!” he cried, panicking.
“Enough,” Desir intoned. “’Tis too late for any of us to change our minds or alter our destinies! All that must be will come to pass, whether we choose it or not.”
Desir’s eyes focused on Tuava-Li. “It seems that you are the Mage who has come to replace me. You are the One whom the Goddess called.”
“But I brought the Seed!” Jardaine cried.
“The time has come!” Desir turned her gaze upon Macta. “And you—are you the King?”
“I’m the King of Helfratheim,” Macta said proudly, “and I’m here to deliver justice to this so-called Mage, Jardaine. I’ve come all this way, I’ve sacrificed my throne, my honor, even my arm, to get the revenge I’m due. If I have to take her life with my one good hand, I will!”
Desir quivered in righteous indignation; her eyes burned into his. “Do you not understand what your proper role is here, King Macta? Have you not been told?”
“No one tells me anything,” he snarled. “I tell others. That’s what a King does!”
With that, Macta sprung at Jardaine. But instead of closing his grip around Jardaine’s throat, he grabbed the Seed that hung glittering in the air. As a searing river of current raced up his arm, he pushed the Seed into Jardaine’s open mouth. She fell back, gagging, as Macta jammed it deeper down her throat. “So you wanted to plant the Seed, did you?” he cried. “I think I know where to plant the Seed, Jardaine; what do you think about that? What, you can’t talk?” He turned his head to Desir. “Tell me, O wise one, where the Sacred Seed belongs!”
Matt leapt for Macta. Despite all that Jardaine had done, he didn’t want to see her choked to death before his eyes. As he grabbed Macta’s good arm and began to pull, the King yanked away and swung his mechanical arm at Matt’s head. Even with the slashing blades withdrawn into the fingertips, the fist struck Matt like a mallet. He dropped, unconscious, to the ground.