The Black Reckoning

by John Stephens

  “Here.” Gabriel stepped over to the wall where there was, of all things, a human-sized door. He turned the ornate metal handle, revealing a corridor that stretched back into the palace.

  “It’s normal size,” Michael said.

  “In times past,” Gabriel said, “the king of the giants would have received emissaries and dignitaries from the human world; he would have had a suitable place for them to stay. But here is what is of note. The footprints begin on this side of the door but do not extend past it. The Secretary used it as a portal. I always assumed he had some magical ability. It was how he avoided me for so many years—”

  “Stop it!” Kate couldn’t take any more. “Am I the only one who realizes what just happened? We rescued Emma, and now we’ve lost her—again! We have to do something!”

  “But the portal closed after her,” Michael said, with a calmness that Kate found infuriating. “And even if it was open, we couldn’t go through.”

  “So? There are other portals, right? Like the one in Antarctica! She has to come through somewhere! There must be something we can do!”

  “I agree,” Gabriel said.

  “You do?”

  “Your sister has gone into the world of the dead. We cannot follow. As you say, our only hope is to find out where she is likely to emerge and be there when she does. But none of us are experts in such matters. You must use the Atlas to return to Loris and confer with the Council. They will have answers and guidance.” He shut the door. “But I will not be coming with you.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Before the giant crushed the witch, she said she had something you wanted even more than the Reckoning. It may be that this is the answer Pym spoke of, the means of saving your lives; I must find out. The Secretary will know.”

  Michael nodded. “If that’s true, she must’ve learned about it in the world of the dead; otherwise, I’d have gotten the memory. How will you find him?”

  Gabriel knelt and took a pinch of yellow-brown dirt from one of the footprints and rubbed it between his fingers. “I have seen this color before. I know where it comes from.” He rose and pulled a golden key from his pocket.

  Michael murmured, “That’s Dr. Pym’s.”

  “Go to Loris,” Gabriel said. “Tell King Robbie all that has happened. Find out where your sister will emerge.” Gabriel inserted the key into the lock, the mustard-colored dirt rubbing off his fingers as he turned the key this way and that. Then there was a snapping sound, and Gabriel was holding the end of the key in his hand.

  “It broke!” Michael exclaimed. “Were you turning it too hard? You shouldn’t force things.”

  “I thought it might happen,” Gabriel said. “With Pym gone, his magic is fading.” But he opened the door, and the hallway beyond had been replaced by a vision of pine trees and a darkening sky. Kate and Michael smelled cool, clean air from somewhere else in the world, and heard the high buzzing of an engine. “Still, it has served us one last time. I will come as soon as I can.”

  Then he stepped through, shut the door, and was gone.

  “Where was that?” Michael said. “Where’d he go?”

  “I don’t know.” There was no time to ponder, and anyway, Kate felt calmed by Gabriel’s words; they had a plan now, a direction. “Let’s say goodbye to Willy.”

  The giant seemed genuinely sad to see them go, and he made them promise to return, saying they would find the city restored to its former glory. “And no one’ll try and put you in a pie! If they do, they’ll have me to answer to!”

  They thanked him again; then Kate took Michael’s hand and, glancing about one last time, summoned the power of the Atlas and felt the ground vanish beneath her feet.

  She knew instantly that something was wrong.

  A second later, she was on her knees in her room in the Rose Citadel. The stone floor was cool and solid. Michael was pulling on her arm and shouting her name. There was a roaring in her ears, and she was gasping for breath.

  “I’m…I’m okay.”

  She struggled to understand what had happened. As she’d called up the magic of the Atlas, she’d felt a ripping, as if the air itself was being torn apart. But she’d kept going—indeed, at that point, she couldn’t have stopped if she’d wanted to. Only then it wasn’t just the air that was being torn apart, it was something inside of her.

  This is what Rafe warned you about, she thought.

  “Kate—”

  “I’m okay.” She forced herself to stand and look around. It had been midafternoon in the city of the giants, but it was night here. At least the Atlas had taken them where they’d wanted to go. She could see Michael in the darkness, silhouetted by an orange-red glow outside the shuttered windows.

  Then she realized that the roaring was not in her ears.

  “Do you—”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

  Together, she and Michael pushed open the shutters and stepped out onto the balcony. Fires burned all over the city. A vast armada pressed against the harbor and extended far out to sea. Swarms of figures were rushing up through the streets. Dark shapes flew across the sky. The screams of morum cadi tore apart the night.

  The island was under attack.

  —

  They had to find King Robbie. That was the thought driving them forward. But as they raced through the darkened hallways, down staircases, and along twisting corridors, hearing the shouts and clamor from the city below, they found not a single soul. The Rose Citadel seemed to have been deserted.

  But there was still fighting going on; they could hear it.

  Then Kate and Michael burst through a door on the ground floor, almost falling over each other, and found themselves in the tunnel that led from the Garden to the front courtyard, where they saw a small group of dwarves battling a tide of Screechers and Imps swarming in through the Citadel gate.

  Kate grabbed Michael’s hand. She had to use the Atlas; there was no other option. But where could they go? Where would it take them? Suddenly, the idea of using the magic scared her more than anything else.

  Then one of the figures in the courtyard—it was too dark to see if it was friend or foe—broke away from the fighting and rushed toward them. Before Kate could decide what to do, the figure was on them.

  “Bloody—It’s the children!”

  And Kate and Michael found themselves looking at the smoke- and sweat- and blood-smeared face of Haraald, the red-bearded dwarf from Pym’s Council. He was wearing armor and held an ax in one mailed hand.

  “What’s happening?” Kate was half-frantic. “Where’s—”

  “No time! The city’s lost! We’re the last ones out! That’s if we make it! Now! Run!”

  Haraald seized Kate’s hand, and she just had time to grab Michael’s as she was yanked away; but the dwarf was pulling her toward the fight in the courtyard, toward the Screechers and the Imps, and every part of Kate was thinking no no no no, but as soon as they reached the courtyard, Haraald pulled them to the right while shouting an order, and half a dozen dwarves broke off to follow. Kate and Michael and the dwarves ran around the side of the courtyard, away from the clanging of swords and axes and the shrieking of the Screechers, and then they were at the side wall, and there was a door, small and barred, and Haraald was shooting back the bolts, yanking the door open—“Where’re we going?!” Kate shouted. “Where’re you taking us?”

  “The boats! The city’s lost, I said! The Dire Magnus himself is in the harbor! We have to go! Now!”

  And, shouting for the door to be barred behind them, he dragged her through, with Michael still a step behind—

  Then they were on a narrow, dark, steep path that wound down and away from the Rose Citadel and the city, and Haraald was pulling her at a run and Kate couldn’t see where she was stepping and she was terrified she would lose her footing and fall, for she could feel the emptiness to her side, and then her brother’s hand slipped from hers—

  “Michael!” />
  “I’m okay! I’m here!”

  His voice came from just behind her, and by then she saw the water below them, close now, and she saw too a pale beach and the dark shapes of boats drawn up on the shore, and then her feet were sinking among the small smooth stones of the beach, making cush-cush-cush sounds as she ran toward the water, and Haraald turned and she felt herself lifted up and other hands taking her and she was passed into one of the boats, and a moment later, Michael tumbled in beside her, and the boat was already pushing away, and she heard Haraald’s voice shouting, “Go! Get them to the King! Go!” She raised herself up to look at the rapidly receding shoreline and saw Haraald sprinting back up the beach to where the dwarves who’d followed them were battling a stream of Screechers and Imps that were pouring down the path. Then the boat passed out of the cove, around the side of the cliff, the scene vanished, and they were moving swiftly away across the dark water.

  —

  Kate lost track of how long they were on the water, but it was several hours at least. As soon as they had gotten clear of the cove, the dwarves on board—there were three of them, none of whom introduced themselves—had raised a set of black sails, which had immediately caught a stiff breeze and yanked the boat forward, across the water.

  The island of Loris had disappeared quickly, but for a long time afterward, Kate could see the red-orange glow in the darkness, telling her where the island lay and that the fires still burned.

  As Kate sat in the prow, listening to the keel cutting smoothly through the water, Michael went and spoke to the dwarves. He came back a while later, moving in a low crouch, his hand on the gunnel to steady himself.

  “They’re taking us to meet up with King Robbie and the others.”

  “The others?” Kate asked.

  “The other refugees. The ones that got away from Loris.”

  He said it as if there were those who hadn’t gotten away, and the thought chilled her. How had this happened? How had the city fallen so quickly?

  “They wouldn’t tell me much,” Michael went on, “but I guess the attack started last night. They say it was clear from the beginning that the city couldn’t be saved and King Robbie ordered people to evacuate, but he kept fighting till almost everyone was out and safe.”

  “What about the other dwarf? The one who helped us?”

  “Haraald?” Michael looked back toward the island. “I think we just have to hope he got away.”

  They were silent for a time. Kate could feel Michael watching her.

  He asked, “How do you feel?”

  “Fine.”

  “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

  “No, I feel fine, really—”

  “Kate.” And Michael’s tone stopped her.

  She gave in. “It’s like I can’t control the Atlas anymore. And…”

  She found she couldn’t actually explain how it felt, but her frustration and confusion were apparent.

  Michael nodded. “I didn’t say it before, but when I used the Chronicle to bring back the Countess, I felt like I was forcing something. There was this…ripping. I felt it with Emma too, in the fortress, only not as bad. It’s getting worse.”

  “It’s the Books.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Kate thought of how to explain, and then how to explain how she knew what she knew without giving away that she had learned it from Rafe.

  For a moment, she thought about telling him the truth.

  But she said, “I don’t know. Dr. Pym just warned me it might happen.”

  “Are we going to die?”

  “No! Of course not—”

  “Kate.”

  Again it was that serious tone, and it was like the moment beneath the giants’ city when he’d challenged her authority, and she realized, He doesn’t need me to protect him anymore, he can protect himself, and that realization made her both happy and sad, for her little brother had grown up, and he had grown up well, he was strong and capable; and she thought that maybe she had done her job, done what she had promised her mother so many years before; and yet she was sad too, because he didn’t need her as much, and in that moment, part of Kate’s self fell away.

  She said, “I don’t know.”

  Michael nodded, and he sat down beside her and took her hand, and Kate felt something new beginning in the place of the thing that had just ended: she would not protect him anymore; they would protect each other.

  They sailed on in silence, the trio of dwarves working the boat with quiet, grim efficiency. Islands slid by on either side, some of them just dark masses against the horizon, blotting out the stars, others close enough that the children could see individual features along their coasts. One island they passed glowed with an eerie green light, while another followed them for a while, like a dog herding a stranger off its land, before finally turning aside.

  Time slipped away, and Kate was drifting off to sleep when she heard the dwarves giving and relaying orders in their low, gruff voices, and the boat tacked hard. She glanced over the prow to see where they were going, but the sea stretched on flat and empty. Then one of the dwarves came forward and tied a sprig from an olive tree onto the bow ring. Kate looked at Michael, but he only shrugged.

  There was a shimmer in the air, the night seemed to part like a curtain, and where before had been open water there was now an island, dead ahead. It was hard to see much in the darkness, but Kate’s impression was that this was not the picturesque island that Loris was, with its olive trees and mountain and romantically soaring cliffs, but a brutal, rocky crag jutting up out of the water.

  The dwarves had steered them toward a large natural harbor, and as they drew closer, Kate and Michael could see dozens of ships, from small fishing vessels to warships that could hold a hundred soldiers, anchored in the waters of the marina. Sounds were now reaching the children, of voices shouting, of the hammering of metal, the hulls of ships rocking against the water. And the children could see small fires all up and down the slope of the island, and figures, hundreds of them, moving about.

  The sails were lowered; two of the dwarves grasped the oars and began pulling for shore while the third came forward and picked up a coiled rope attached to the bow.

  He said simply, “We’re here.”

  The boat glided between the ships at anchor, and as they neared the beach, a figure standing in shadow called out, “Who comes?”

  “From Loris,” returned the dwarf in the bow, and he flung the rope to the figure, who caught it and began pulling the boat in. “We were with Haraald.”

  “Who do you have with you?”

  Kate saw Michael sit up straighter, as if he had recognized the voice of the speaker.

  “Two of the children. We’re to bring them to the King.”

  The figure hauled the boat up onto the rocky shore, and Kate and Michael felt it crunch to a stop; then they saw the speaker clearly for the first time.

  “Captain Anton!” Michael said. “You’re alive!”

  It was indeed the dark-haired elf captain, and not only was he alive, but he also looked to be, despite all that must’ve happened, as perfectly groomed as ever.

  “I am. It is good to see you both well. The Princess especially will be pleased.”

  He helped Kate down onto the beach. Michael leapt over the side himself and sort of sprawled on the rocks, but he was quickly up again, saying, “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

  The elf captain looked back at the dwarf in the boat. “What of Haraald? The King has been eager for his arrival.”

  “We left him fighting on the beach. He sent us on with the children. You’ll see them to the King?”

  Captain Anton nodded. Kate, watching this exchange, had the sense that something significant was happening, but she wasn’t sure what.

  Then the elf handed the rope back to the dwarf, took hold of the prow, and pushed the boat back into the water.

  “Thank you!” Kate called.

  “Yes. Thank you!” Michael said,
but there was no answer from the boat; the dwarves were already moving out of the harbor.

  “Where are they going?” Kate asked.

  “To see if they can find Haraald,” Captain Anton said. “They won’t. Come.”

  He led them up the beach and through what was, the children saw, a vast encampment. All along the shore to a hundred yards inland, groups of men and dwarves were massed around fires. Many of them were busy ferrying supplies from the boats, and then carrying them farther up the island. There were wounded everywhere, and those who were not themselves wounded, or tending to the wounded, or cooking or eating food, were sharpening and polishing weapons and armor.

  “Where is your sister?” Captain Anton asked.

  “That’s…kind of a long story,” Kate said.

  “But she is alive? Safe?”

  Kate glanced at Michael, wondering how to answer that question.

  “Yes,” she said finally, because she herself had to believe it. “She is.”

  “Captain,” Michael said, his voice betraying his nervousness, “you mentioned Princess Wilamena. Is she okay?”

  “She is well. After being thrown by the cyclone, she was released from the Dark One’s hold. We saw you had escaped and therefore fled ourselves. Once we were clear of the valley, we passed through the portal that Pym had set up for our retreat. His death was a grave blow. You know that Wallace fell?”

  “Yes,” Michael said. “I remember.”

  “He was our friend,” Kate said. “We’ll miss him.”

  “It is a dark moment in which we find ourselves,” Captain Anton said. “We must stand by one another. That is the only hope any of us has.”

  Kate glanced at her brother, to see if he too had picked up some deeper meaning in the elf captain’s words, but Michael was staring straight ahead, his face unreadable.

  They had been walking steadily uphill since leaving the beach, and Kate saw that they had come to a kind of division, and that while the fires and encampments continued on, the makeup of the camp had changed, as if in the lower camp, the one by the water, was the army, and in the upper, the civilian refugees, the shop owners and fishermen and families that lived on Loris and had been driven away.