The Obsidian Quest [Search for Earthlight Trilogy Book 1]

by Laraine Anne Barker

  He turned back to the contents page. There was a chapter headed On Obtaining Obsidian. He found the page and began to read:

  "It says here that Obsidian can be obtained in two ways: straight from a volcano's cooling lava or by use of the Obsidian Orb.” He looked up in dismay. “I don't think the book is of much use to us without the Obsidian Orb—we haven't time to make anything to help us if we have to go through what Merlin went through to get the orb refashioned."

  "We have the Obsidian Dagger,” Jamie reminded him. “We might be able to make use of that."

  "I'm not too sure of that. It was made by evil hands for an evil purpose.” Peter turned back to the contents page. “There's a chapter here about the use of Obsidian for evil.” Impatiently he turned the pages until he came to the right one. He scanned it quickly. “It says that Obsidian can't be used for evil except by one involved in the fashioning or refashioning of the Obsidian Orb, which is itself the only object of power that has to be created from Obsidian obtained from a volcanic eruption: any other object can be created using the spells of the Book of Obsidian. The actual making or remaking of the Obsidian Orb can only be undertaken by those with pure intentions—but that's not to say, according to the book, that the one involved in its making can't be influenced by evil after the Obsidian Orb is created, because such a one will be eagerly pursued and tempted by the Evil One himself."

  Peter went back to quoting from the book. “'It is prophesied that one will come who, because of his great skills and exalted level of education and intelligence, will have power over the Obsidian Orb equal to—or even exceeding—that of the greatest of the Earthlight's Chosen throughout all ages. He will give battle to the Earthlight on the Evil One's account. He will gather for his master such a council of Lords of Corruption as has never appeared before. They will be terrible indeed, striking terror into the hearts of even the bravest.'” Peter looked up thoughtfully. “'Lord of Corruption'—that's what I called Sujad. Can you imagine a council of creatures like Sujad?"

  "One of him is more than enough,” Jamie agreed gloomily. “Don't tell me we're going to have to face two of him."

  "Probably more than two. The book uses the word council. That could be any number—hundreds perhaps."

  "We have Giddeon and the Reborn,” Jamie reminded him. “They must number in the thousands."

  "Unfortunately we don't know when the time for the rebirthing is. Do we have time to wait for the coming of the Reborn? What I want to know is, what are we supposed to do next?"

  In the absence of any answer to his question, Peter bent his head to the book. Irresistibly, he found himself fingering the hilt of the dagger at his side. Without being aware of what he was doing, he took the dagger from its sheath and laid it across the pages of the book. There was a compulsion about it that forced him to touch it and stroke its shiny surface with reverence.

  Sitting there in cross-legged reverie gently stroking the blade of the Obsidian Dagger, Peter lost all consciousness of his surroundings. The air started to shift and move before him as though he was looking into a heat wave. A sensation of shock went through him like a bolt of lightning. His mouth went dry and his heart started to hammer as he realized he was looking into the face of his Aunt Angela—and it was a face full of despair.

  She was locked in a dungeon with black, slimy walls and no windows. One small candle showed her sitting with her head against a massive door. Her fists were bleeding where she had obviously been beating them against the heavy metal paneling; her face was streaked with sweat and tears.

  Peter's own face broke out in beads of perspiration.

  "Aunt Angela! Aunt Angela! Can you hear me? Where are you?"

  Peter saw the woman raise her head. A flicker of hope sparked in the dulled gray of her eyes. She looked around as though trying to gauge the direction of his unspoken cry. Then he heard, with a thrill of shock, her voice in his mind.

  "Don't worry about me, Peter. You must first defeat the Enemy. Then you'll be able to rescue me. I'll be perfectly safe in the meantime. He and his servants are too busy to bother about me. They intend to deal with me when they've won the battle against the Earthlight."

  "But I can't leave you in that dreadful place!"

  Aunt Angela's eyes scanned the black walls of her prison. “It's not that bad. At least it's free of vermin."

  "How come you can talk to me in mind-speech like Merlin and the Lady? I know you're not one of us."

  "No. I wish I was. Then maybe I could free myself. As for being able to talk to you in mind-speech—well, that's entirely your doing, Peter. The power comes from you.” She gave a watery smile. “Now that I know you've come into your powers I feel a lot happier. Do your part to overthrow them and I'll be free."

  With that the vision disappeared and Peter realized, with dismay, that he had no idea where Aunt Angela was imprisoned. She had not answered that part of his question. He tried to reach her again—in vain. Desperately he rubbed the blade of the dagger, calling her name.

  Then he heard the sound that he always welcomed—a few faint notes of the Lady's music. He gasped with relief and his whole being tingled as a voice came through: “Peter! Peter!” But it sounded very far away.

  "Peter,” the Lady repeated, more calmly, although she still sounded distressed, “you mustn't go looking for your Aunt Angela. It wasn't your own power that enabled you and your aunt to communicate—it was the Enemy working through Sujad and his dagger. They want to distract you from the Earthlight's Quest so that you won't be here to help the Reborn when their time comes. Tell Jamie and John that the Lady has said you will be taking Merlin's place and performing tasks the Earthlight had delegated to him."

  "How do I know you aren't a trick of the Evil One?"

  A faint musical laugh, along with a few more notes of the Lady's music, made his spine tingle with joy. His senses, he realized, would always alert him to any trickery the Enemy might try in this direction.

  "When you hear my music, Peter, you'll know it is I calling. No one can forge that, although they may successfully imitate my voice. Merlin himself cannot do it. Now I'm needed elsewhere. There's much work to do. Don't forget to tell Jamie and John. Farewell.” This time the Lady's music was cut off in mid-note, as though her task had become urgent.

  Jamie and John had been watching Peter anxiously.

  "What is it, Peter?” Jamie asked when he saw Peter come out of his trance-like state.

  Briefly, Peter related his conversation with the Lady.

  "How do we know that the Enemy won't harm or kill your aunt when he sees he's beaten?” Jamie asked with a frown.

  Peter shrugged. “We must trust the Lady—she knows how the Enemy works."

  "Well, what do we do now?” John asked, glad he didn't have to make the decisions.

  "We're to wait until the rebirthing, so I guess we just stay here.” Peter looked at the twins’ drawn, white faces. “Try to get some rest,” he suggested with a gentle concern that was almost adult.

  "Some hope in this place,” Jamie muttered. “The floor's hard and cold and it's become awfully damp. I don't seem to be able to find anywhere dry to put my things."

  By unspoken consent, Peter had settled down on the platform holding the Lady's and Merlin's tombs while Jamie and John had remained on the lower level. Peter stared at the ground where Jamie and John were sitting. He hurried down the steps. “That's funny. There wasn't any dampness when we first came through here to the grotto—and it hasn't been raining. Where's it coming from?"

  He recalled how, after his experience with the Westlight the previous evening, his senses had seemed intensified: he had smelled dampness in the vaults. The smell had not persisted and he could smell no dampness now despite its obvious presence. He began to entertain suspicions of the Enemy's involvement somewhere.

  "It may be nothing,” Jamie said. “Underground caverns do get damp. After all, the grotto's full of water—"

  "Yes, but that's on a lower level. It coul
dn't run up here without being pumped. And this is a man-made cave. It was made as a burial vault."

  As he spoke, Peter followed the route of the water. The ground could no longer be described as just damp. Even as he looked, the rivulets of water widened. Jamie and John snatched their belongings up and placed them on the platform.

  It was the work of less than a minute to trace the source of the water: it was pouring in beneath the door leading out to the circle of statues. As Peter realized this, his hearing returned. As though plugs of wax had been removed from his ears, he heard the sound of rushing water. There was an almighty rumble. Peter knew without seeing that the swiveling stone had given way. Seconds later, with a crash, the iron doors shook with the force of the torrent. The water started coming in faster. The doors bulged inward. The awful truth dawned on Peter.

  "Quick! Run!” he shouted, racing back to the platform. He grabbed his pack and pelted for the steps to the lower cave. Jamie and John snatched their own packs and followed. Dreyfus raced ahead.

  They never reached the lower vault. Less than halfway down, Dreyfus gave a loud warning bark. Peter stopped suddenly. Jamie and John nearly collided with him. Only after recovering their balance did they see why Dreyfus had stopped: the lower vault was awash. The water had risen above the tops of the tombs.

  "The Enemy has won! Sujad dammed the water at its source and diverted all the streams. The Reborn will be destroyed! We're trapped!"

  At Peter's cry there was a tremendous crash as the great doors gave way.

  Chapter 17

  The Reborn

  THE ANGRY waters, fed by Sujad's hatred, roared across the cavern. They engulfed the tombs of the Reborn with savage joy. Whereas in the lower cavern the water had risen with quiet and deliberate stealth, in the upper chamber Sujad's aim was to wreak maximum damage on the tombs of the Lady, Merlin and Giddeon, destroying the Reborn, along with Peter and his companions, before they could rise against him and his master.

  The next few seconds seemed like a lifetime to Peter and the twins as they awaited their destruction. Horror paralyzed them as the wall of water charged toward them. In the cavern's confines it thundered and crashed with the might of a vast ocean. It hurled the heavy stone coffins of Merlin and the Lady off the platform like matchstick toys. Peter sensed that Sujad intended him to see this destruction. In apparent slow motion, he saw the thundering waves tip the Lady and Merlin from their stone coffins as though they were dolls. Then the torches on the walls were doused. All was total darkness. Peter's mouth went dry at the thought of the death awaiting him. Slavery under Sujad and his master, the Evil One—with no Merlin and no Lady—was the heritage he would leave the rest of the world.

  Instinctively bracing himself for the impact of the water, Peter screamed: “No! No!” He was amazed that he heard himself above the din. Next moment the air was driven from his lungs as the weight of the water hit him. Well, he thought, I'll be struck on the head by one of the coffins before I drown. At least death will be quick.

  He felt himself hurled off his feet and tumbled down the steps to the lower, already flooded, cavern. Despite the alarm bells ringing in his brain, his lungs automatically expanded to replace the air that had been driven out. He waited for the inevitable choking sensation of water-filled lungs; but it didn't come. Strange: I can't feel the water against me either. I can see it and feel its force but not its wetness.

  Feel it or not, Peter was helpless against the force of the torrent. He hit the water in the lower cavern with an impact that once more sent the air from his lungs. He drew in another gasping breath—and again his lungs filled miraculously with air. He tumbled over and over, down and down. And the world became darker. The noise of the cataclysm above receded. But the world in the depths of the flood water was no less frightening. It tumbled him wherever it wished.

  Then he felt himself rising to the surface again. How come I'm not already drowned—or battered to death by the walls or one of the tombs? He broke the surface with a resounding splash. It was no longer dark. He could see daylight filtering in from above and knew that he was in what had once been the grotto. In the contrasting brightness of the sun's light, the damage done to the grotto shouted mercilessly at him. Most of its vegetation had been uprooted and dragged into the water. The rest had been broken and flung around as though a giant had thrown a tantrum there.

  The unbridled rush of the deluge had lessened only slightly. Peter had no time to notice anything else before he was drawn under and bounced up and down against the low part of the cavern's roof. His flesh could feel nothing, but the impact was still jarring to his body—the darkness all the more terrifying because he could only guess where he was going.

  He rose to the surface again. This time he was in a tunnel and ahead of him daylight showed in a rough yawning arch. Not much of the arch showed above the water—but Peter guessed the opening was bigger than it looked. The arch drew closer and closer, and he burst out into daylight—only to find himself being flung headlong down the lower slopes of the mountain. Uprooted ferns and other plants tumbled around him, showing first their roots and then their fronds or leaves, tattered and torn.

  Where were Jamie and John ... and Dreyfus? Oh no, Peter prayed desperately; please don't let Dreyfus drown. Then he felt ashamed at putting a dog's life before the lives of his two friends.

  The floodwaters left him in the valley against a rock before carrying on. Peter sensed he had been literally dumped there as though the water had finished with him. He sat up and opened his eyes—realizing he could feel the water and that he was wet where he was still immersed in it.

  He staggered to his feet and looked around. The water came up to his knees. He stumbled out of the flow and stood on the bank bemusedly looking around. He saw first Jamie, then Dreyfus and John—and his heart started to feel as though is was pounding as he realized they were unhurt. At the same time they saw Peter. Dreyfus dashed toward him and, reaching him before the twins, nearly knocked him down with the force of his greeting. He shook himself vigorously, drenching them all afresh in the spray. So great was their relief at escaping the dreadful death planned for them by Sujad that they all burst out laughing.

  Abruptly remembering what he had seen in the upper chamber, Peter sobered in an instant. “I must go back. I've got to see if—if the Lady managed to escape like us."

  "How did we manage to get out unharmed?” Jamie asked curiously.

  Peter paused a moment to think. “Well, I seemed to be wrapped in a sort of invisible cocoon. I could feel when it jarred against anything—but it was as though it was made of rubber. It seemed to bounce back."

  Jamie and John nodded.

  "That's exactly what it was like,” Jamie said. “If the Lady was able to protect us with such powerful shields surely she did the same for herself?"

  "That's what I'm hoping.” Peter's drawn, anxious face made him look almost adult. “I want to see what happened to the Reborn, too.” His voice broke as he recollected the savagery with which Sujad had used the water to attack the tombs of Giddeon and his people.

  He looked up the lower slopes of the mountain to the hole from which the water was still pouring. The flood had landed him a reasonable distance from it. A great rumble as of thunder overhead made him look up. But the sky was very blue. Even the mountain peaks were free of cloud. The rumble grew louder—and they saw part of the mountainside collapse in on itself. This is the final destruction of the grotto, Peter told himself. His throat ached and he had trouble keeping back tears. He broke into a run. Dreyfus raced beside him.

  I'll probably not be able to get anywhere near the tombs. But the Lady—the Lady must be alive. They can't kill the Lady—they can't—he told himself. Desperately he called out to her in his mind. He received no answer. He stumbled and realized he could no longer see where he was going. Tears blinded him and choked up his throat. Where are you, Lady? Where are you? Please answer me! Please give me some sign that you're all right.

  He lis
tened intently for the Lady's music—the haunting sound like bells that told of her presence. All he heard were more thunderous rumbles as other parts of the grotto and caverns collapsed. At the same time, however, a strange sensation in his head made him pull up. He dashed the water from his eyes and stood blinking, trying to analyze the sensation. He closed his eyes. There seemed to be something gentle working in his brain. Something soothing washed over it. He groped around inside his head, expecting a message. But there was nothing—only that strange soothing sensation.

  He opened his eyes. His heart gave a jerk and started pounding in his throat, for coming toward them was the black cloud hiding either Sujad or his master. Peter froze in his tracks. The cloud looked enormous—much bigger than that of the Evil One himself. It came closer, and Peter realized it was not one but three clouds. Sujad's cackle echoed over the mountains.

  "See, Pukling? Even your precious Lady couldn't stop me from destroying the sepulchers of the Reborn. Ha! Ha! Ha! That's rich, that one. There will be no Reborn now—Sujad the Great has seen to that.” He was nearly on top of Peter and Dreyfus by then. Peter could see his gloating figure inside the cloud. The other clouds looked vacant.