“Poo tat,” said Kerna.
They’d not gone far before a snag in the plan materialized. Even as their eyes adapted to the dim light, the further they got from the hole in the roof, the darker everything became. At first it was possible to avoid deeper puddles and dodge the occasional mound of squelchy nastiness, but soon there was so little light that almost every step resulted in Patch’s foot going up to the ankle in something unpleasant.
“We can hardly see,” he said. “Soon it’ll be pitch black!” He looked at Wren. “You can do something, surely?” He wriggled his fingers in a bad impression of a Sorcerer. “You must have a useful spell in your little notebook. You need to read it now, before we’re in total darkness!”
Wren frowned. “I wish I could do that finger lightning thing that Alia does,” she said. “But I can’t. As for my notebook…I copied the spells that interested me, or ones I thought might impress Alia. Barriers, shielding spells, that kind of thing.” She looked thoughtful, and passed Kerna over to Patch. “There is one that might help…” With a snap of her fingers, a tiny ball of flame appeared and hovered in the air. It burned bright and brief, then vanished. “It’s the basic fireball,” she said. “For beginners.”
“Good!” said Patch. “Keep doing that! I mean constantly. Like a lantern!”
Wren nodded. She snapped her fingers again, and another tiny fireball appeared. This one was smaller, dimmer, and lasted less than a second. “Well, that’s no good,” she said, despairing. “At this rate we’ll be lucky to get ten feet before I’m all spent.”
Then Patch had an idea.
“Kerna?” he said. “Bub bub! Can you do a bub bub?” Kerna tensed slightly in his arms. There was a gloopy sound, and then a little pop…
And there!
Kerna’s nose was alight, illuminating the sewer tunnel. Ahead, Patch noticed a few rats scampering away, darting down small inlet pipes that dotted the tunnel wall.
“Clever baby!” said Patch, and Kerna giggled.
With the tunnel lit clearly, they made rapid progress. The slope was gradual for the most part, but occasionally it grew steeper. More than once did Patch or Wren slip and fall, coming face to face with disgusting debris too stubborn to be washed away. One fall led to Kerna being briefly submerged in a grim and murky puddle. Tears followed. It was a worrying moment for Wren and Patch too, as Kerna’s nose was extinguished, but the tears soon led to a fresh supply of flammable snot, and light returned.
“How long left, do you think?” said Patch. “Before the catapults begin? It feels like we’ve been down here for weeks.”
“Oh, there’s ages yet,” said Wren. “We might even reach the canyon before…”
She stopped. Just at the very edge of hearing was a deep, steady ringing. It had to be the great bell of the dragon army.
Time was up.
Patch thought of the gap between hearing the cries of “Take cover!” earlier, and the arrival of the catapulted boulder. In his head, he started to count, as he and Wren instinctively crouched. Kerna, now in Wren’s arms, sensed their fear and whimpered gently.
One…two… counted Patch.
“It won’t be so bad,” Wren told the baby. “We’re so far down now, it’ll just be a rumble, that’s all.”
Six…seven…eight…
Nine.
It did start as a rumble, but the noise grew and grew until it was overwhelming. As the tunnel shook violently, they both clamped their hands over their ears, looking around in dismay as dirt and dust fell from the roof. Even Kerna’s wailing was lost under the noise.
“Should we run?” shouted Patch.
Wren shook her head, switching to Merisax: Wait for it to end, she signed.
Patch nodded, realizing that the ground was shaking so badly they would find it hard to even stand, let alone run.
They both looked up, thinking of the city above them and the horrifying assault it was suffering.
At last the noise died back, and the shuddering gradually reduced. Kerna was sobbing. Patch and Wren just stared at each other.
“What could have done that?” said Wren. “It can’t have just been rocks…”
“We need to keep moving,” said Patch.
On they went. Time after time, the walls of the tunnel shuddered. Chunks of the roof would fall down, ahead of them and behind.
And then they felt a movement in the air around them, almost a breeze.
“Wait,” said Wren. She set Kerna on the ground, and blew hard at the baby’s nose, extinguishing the flame.
“What are you doing?” cried Patch, but in a moment he saw. The tunnel up ahead wasn’t completely dark.
He could see light.
A moment later Kerna’s nose spontaneously relit; Patch and Wren grinned at each other.
“Not far now!” cried Wren. “Ten more minutes and we’re out! Come on!”
Patch took Kerna, and they picked up their pace, hope surging through them.
But then came a sound: a deep and ominous crack that Patch felt in his kidneys, like the earth itself had fractured. Patch and Wren froze and looked at each other, their grins gone.
“What was that?” said Patch.
Wren shook her head, and as she was about to reply she frowned and turned, looking up the tunnel at where they’d come from. Patch turned too, because he could hear it now – a curious noise, like a thousand people whispering in a church.
“There!” said Wren. She pointed: in the tunnel, at the edge of their vision, the floor was moving.
“What is it?” said Patch, terrified.
“I can’t tell,” said Wren. But it wasn’t long before they could see – rats, carpeting the tunnel floor, rushing towards them. “Stay by the wall!” cried Wren. The noise grew, a maddening cacophony of panicked chittering, as thousands of rats abandoned the city.
The tide of rodents threatened to take Patch’s feet from under him. He just managed to stay upright. Wren slipped, falling against the wall as the rat horde tore past. “They’re terrified!” she cried.
“I am too!” said Patch, but the huge rat pack started to thin out, the last stragglers coming past now. And then a strange thing: one of them, as it ran across Wren’s lap, stopped and looked right at her. Wren stared back, as if…
As if she’s seen a ghost, thought Patch. But a moment later, the rat squeaked and set off again. Wren stood up, in a daze.
Slowly, she and Patch turned once more to look up the tunnel. For there was yet another sound approaching, one that explained why the rats were running for their lives. Patch realized that the steady trickle of water in the sewer had suddenly increased; he thought of the pool they’d swum in, and about the water supplies being large enough to allow Skamos to hold out in a siege, even if the aqueduct was destroyed.
And that vast cracking sound.
“The reservoirs,” said Wren, almost in a whisper.
They could see movement again, far up the tunnel, but this time it wasn’t rats. It was water, surging towards them.
Patch looked down to the tunnel’s end. “Can we make it?” he said, knowing even as the words left his mouth that there was no time.
“Kerna,” said Wren, and when Patch gaped at her in confusion she scowled at him. “Hold the baby up!” she cried. “I need the nose light to see my notebook!”
Patch held Kerna up, as Wren took her notebook and flicked through the pages.
A spell! thought Patch. “What do you have?” he said.
“Let me look!” snapped Wren, but an instant later she seemed to have found it. “I’m not sure what it does,” she said. “A shield against catastrophe, it was called, and that caught my eye. Use only when no other options remain, it said.” She paused, and they could both hear a terrible roar, as the contents of the reservoirs of Skamos grew ever closer.
“I think no options remain,” said Patch. “Go for it!”
“Stand right behind me,” said Wren. “Whatever happens, stay there! Don’t move an inch!”
<
br /> Patch held Kerna so the baby’s light shone on Wren’s notes. Wren began to chant, the words ancient and mysterious, and very similar to those that Alia had chanted back in Gemspar a lifetime ago.
“Tee skarra tee garra,” said Wren. “Hin yessa hin vessa, skee tow, skee tow! Pak hansa pak! Pak hansa tak!” She waved a hand carefully, in a gesture that Patch could see was described in the notes.
He looked up: the full torrent burst into sight, floor to ceiling, the noise growing every second.
Wren had to shout now. “Tee skarra tee garra,” she yelled. “Hin yessa hin vessa, skee tow, skee tow! Pak hansa pak! Pak hansa tak!” She waved her hand again, but nothing. Patch could feel the frustration in his friend, as she started to repeat the words faster, faster, and the water came closer, closer…
And then: he felt something take hold of his foot. He looked down and saw dark vines wrapping around his leg. Don’t move, he told himself, as Wren’s chanting became so rapid he wondered how she was managing it.
The vines spread, covering his legs, engulfing his torso, and Kerna too.
“Wren…” he said, all courage gone. Kerna let out a howl of fear, and as the vines crept over his face the last thing Patch saw was a wall of angry water about to hit them.
Alia had watched the catapults fire, and knew all was lost.
With the cross-eyed owl playing piece clutched tightly in her hand, she’d been trying her best to locate Wren. Somewhere out there, among the tents and the hopelessness, Wren and Patch and little Kerna were surely waiting to be found. Eyes closed, Alia had recited the simple words of the Sensing Enchantment, one of the oldest spells she knew. Hands outstretched, turning slowly, she waited for a tug that would indicate Wren’s position.
A tug that didn’t come.
And then the bell had sounded, and the catapults had launched…
All she could do was watch. Seeing the smoke trails that the “rocks” left behind, she knew at once that this was different. Here was a new technology, a fearsome advance. The explosions ripped through Skamos: stone shattering, buildings crumbling, clouds of dust engulfing the fabric of the city.
A cry of horror and disbelief came from the citizens, watching those terrible spheres detonate. Watching their city crumble. But soon the echoes of the detonations turned to silence. Long seconds passed; then it began to rain sand and grit, the death of a city pouring down from the skies.
And as she watched, she realized with dismay that she felt a tug – facing the ruined city, she felt a sign of Wren. She looked for Barver, seeing him standing by the great bell. “Barver!” she cried, breaking the silence. He took wing, and was with her in seconds.
His face was heartbreak. “What is it?” he said.
Alia pointed to the city. “Wren’s out there,” she said. “But alive!” She climbed onto his back. “Go!”
Barver flew. Together, they approached Skamos. It was dying still, structures that had somehow withstood the barrage now disintegrating.
Alia held the cross-eyed owl; she focused until she felt the tug again. But it was weak, difficult to pin down.
“Well?” said Barver, desperate. “Where are they? How can they be alive in all of that?”
Alia directed him to the western edge of the city, and the tug grew a little stronger. She suddenly understood: down! Down, beyond the wall!
Wren was in the sewers!
It was at that very moment that the sound came, like the earth itself breaking in two. The tower connected to the vast aqueduct began to collapse, water surging out across the devastated streets.
She knew where else that water would go; she knew what it meant for Wren.
“To the canyon!” she ordered, and Barver flew. There: the outlet from the sewer, a pipe the height of a large dragon. Only a slow trickle of fluid came from it at first, but soon there was a torrent!
In that water, sensed Alia, were lives – small, terrified, some doomed but all clinging to hope.
And then something larger, half-filling the tunnel. It burst out, falling to the canyon floor, where it was swept along by the flow.
“There!” yelled Alia. “Get it out of the water!”
Barver flew down, keeping close. It was like an enormous walnut – a bizarre thing, the surface twisted and intricate, but Alia knew exactly what it was.
And she was more proud than she’d ever felt in her life.
It was carried along on the white-foaming surface of the surging water, tossed around too violently for Barver to be able to grab it. Further down the canyon, the water calmed slightly; he managed to get enough grip on part of it to lift the whole thing clear. He flew high, returning to the plains above and setting it down.
“Give me room,” said Alia. As Barver stepped back, purple light flickered around Alia’s fingers; she released a careful flash at the walnut. Seeing where part of it broke, she worked at the weak point and opened a wider fracture. She looked to Barver, who seemed dazed. “Tear it open,” she told him. “But be careful. If I’m right, they’re inside!”
The words snapped Barver to action. He pulled at the curious walnut, and away came things that seemed to be branches, and vines, and bark, until he saw something that brought tears to his eyes, hot and uncontrolled: Wren’s face, and Patch’s, and Kerna’s, as each of them took a gasping breath and let out a great sob.
Barver couldn’t speak. Nor could Alia, or Wren, or Patch.
It was left to little Kerna to break the silence.
“Ba Va!” cried the baby, as Barver wrenched the last of the vines aside and took the child in his arms. Wren and Patch fell from the strange plant-formed sphere, coughing and exhausted.
Barver hugged Kerna tightly.
“Poo tat?” said Kerna. Baffled, Barver smiled, the tears not stopping. He looked to Patch for an explanation.
“Long story,” said Patch, catching his breath at last.
In the distance, they saw some of the dragons of Skamos flying towards them, Yakesha and Zennick at the head.
Alia offered Wren her hand, and helped her up. “I see you’ve been studying, little Sorcerer,” said the Witch of Gemspar. Then she gave Wren a long hug.
Night came, and fires were lit to keep the cold at bay.
Patch and his friends discussed what they would do next. If Tobias had managed to convince the Pipers of Kintner to come to the forests of the Ortings and hunt down the Black Knight, they might already be on their way to Gossamer Valley. Without dragons to provide the airborne scouting needed, there was only one option left if the mission was to have any chance of success: find Merta Strife, and see if griffins would step in and help where dragons would not.
“It may be impossible,” said Barver. “I don’t know enough about the Griffin Covenant, but as a Pila, Merta can tell us if there’s any way it could work.”
Alia left them for the night, and went to the infirmary tents to help out. Patch and Wren took warm clothing from Barver’s packs, and all three of them were soon asleep.
When Patch woke, the smell of cooking filled the air. Beside him, Wren and Barver still slept.
He ached all over, and kept finding new bits of vegetation in his hair, up his sleeves, or elsewhere; tiny twigs and leaves, leftovers from the protective shell Wren had conjured up to save their lives. But it was his heart that ached most of all, at the sight of the citizens of Skamos, trying so hard not to seem defeated. Everywhere he looked he saw forced smiles beneath anguished eyes. The journey ahead of them all would be long.
Food was shared out freely as it was cooked in the camp, everyone making sure those around them were looked after. Patch nudged Wren and Barver from their slumber, and they ate a small meal of eggs and chicken.
As they were finishing, Alia returned.
“How were things at the infirmary?” asked Wren.
“Busy,” said Alia. “I did what I could, before we depart. Which we should do right away! Barver, we must find your aunt and uncle, and bid them farewell.”
The
y found Yakesha, Zennick and little Kerna at the edge of the camp nearest the devastated city. Seeing them approach, Kerna began to yelp with excitement.
Barver gave his aunt and uncle a hug. “It’s time for us to set off,” he said.
“I knew you’d be going as soon as you could,” said Yakesha. “Kasterkan’s forces aren’t preventing people leaving any more – they allowed us to send out envoys at first light, to begin the discussions needed to resettle the human population.”
“I wish I could stay and help,” said Barver. “But people are relying on us.”
“I know,” said Yakesha. “Your mother would be so proud of you. Just as proud as we are. We’ll all miss you – Kerna especially.”
The baby reached out to Barver, insisting on being held by him. “Ba Va!” said Kerna, giggling as Barver made faces.
Zennick looked lovingly at his child. “I thought yesterday’s little adventure might have left a mark, but Kerna slept soundly. And this morning, not a single tear.”
Yakesha nodded. “I want to thank you two again,” she said to Patch and Wren. “For keeping our little one safe.”
Patch and Wren muttered a thank you, although they felt more than a little guilty at Kerna being in danger in the first place.
Barver tried to pass Kerna back to Zennick, but the baby kicked up a fuss. “Wen Wen!” said Kerna, and so Barver passed the child to Wren instead, and she made faces for a time. And then, as Wren went to pass Kerna back, the baby did something that brought a tear to Patch’s eye.
“Pat Pat!” said Kerna, reaching out to him.
“You do know my name!” he said, taking the baby. He started making faces too, getting a riot of laughter in return, but after a few seconds a curious rumbling sound started to come from Kerna’s belly.
With a calm urgency, Zennick reached over and turned Kerna’s head to one side. Suddenly a great burst of intense flame came rocketing out of Kerna’s wide-open mouth, filling the empty air to Patch’s left – which was far preferable to it incinerating his very shocked face.
A Vanishing of Griffins Page 20