by Coleman Luck
A strange look came to her face. Walking over, she stared up at the Thing that was Alex and said, “You’re like a toad in a teacup. My brother doesn’t belong to you. Get out of him!”
With a roar, it kicked her in the mouth. She fell to the ground, bleeding. Then it shrieked, gagging out screeches about toads and teacups until spittle ran down. Finally it screamed, “Take the little witch so I can kill her slowly!”
One of the riders jerked Tori up by her hair, grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her onto the horse in front of him. As he gripped her, his arm felt like steel.
“Are you all right?” Mirick whispered.
My lip’s cut, but I’m okay. She wiped blood from her mouth.
The Thing that was Alex cried out, “Follow!” and the giant stallion leaped into the air. In a moment all of them were high above the crater, racing over mountains and valleys, forests, and deserts. And as they flew, in their wake roared clouds and slashing wind. Tori began sobbing, I’m so stupid. I’m just so STUPID.
“No, you are very brave,” Mirick replied gently.
I’m not brave. We got caught because I started screaming. If I had kept my eyes closed like you told me to, this wouldn’t have happened and your friends would be alive.
“We don’t know that.”
Well, I do.
“No, you don’t! Child of Earth, we walk the path that has been set for us. Our lives are in the hands of the One Who Is Above All. The Larggen didn’t die only for you. They died for Him.”
But it’s still my fault, and I’m so sorry.
“You are forgiven. Now stop crying. What’s important is to think clearly, and you can’t do that with salt water and mucus bubbling out of your head.”
Okay, you’re right. I’ll stop. Tori wiped her eyes. Suddenly, in the distance, she saw something. She squinted. It looked like a shimmering cloud of dust streaming through the air. What’s that ahead of us?
“The spirits of the Lost Ones.”
We’re following them?
“Before this night is over you’re going to see terrible things.”
I’ll close my eyes.
“This time it won’t do any good.”
The shimmering cloud began to descend, and the riders followed. A gleam of moonlight was on water. They were heading toward a line of cliffs that ran along a shore. Rising from them were dark shapes that stretched inland for miles. As the phantoms descended, suddenly there was an echoing moan and they disappeared.
They’re gone. Where’d they go?
“Into the ruins of an ancient city, the oldest in the world. It was called Arringale, the Garden by the Sea. The people who lived there were the first to sacrifice their children. They strangled them on beds of flowers.”
That’s awful!
“It’s where the horror began.”
The riders started circling. Tori stared down. I don’t see a city.
“The buildings are covered with vines.”
They circled lower. Okay, I think I see them now. It looks kind of like a jungle with streets.
And then she heard it. Rising above the wind came a scream.
Is the Caller down there?
“He is.”
Lower and lower the riders flew. When they were just above the buildings, Tori saw a grotesque form. Standing in the moonlight was the statue of a giant bird with its wings outstretched.
Is that him?
“He is imprisoned inside.”
Where are the ghosts?
“Look across the city.”
Down a vine-choked street a dark river was flowing. Thousands and thousands of phantoms were marching toward the stone figure.
I see them. What are they going to do?
“What they have done every night since the Caller was imprisoned in a battle long ago. But this night will be the last.”
Suddenly the Thing on the stallion screamed, “Ended! No more will you march!” The ghosts shuddered and froze. Then the voice from Alex cried out, “Rindzac…come forth, you old monster!”
Within the statue appeared a fiery shape. It had the body of a man but the wings and head of an eagle. Its burning eyes looked up at the rider and it screamed, “Blood for blood, Lammortan! Hear the last oracle of the Crimson Throne.”
In Heaven you were formed,
With crowns you were adorned,
For your horror I have mourned,
Oh, Painter of the Sky.
For the curses you have sworn,
For the children you have torn,
For the blood you have scorned,
Mighty Worwil, you will die!
The Thing that was Alex shrieked, “You curse me? Never will you scream again!” With a roar the stallion flashed down and vanished into the burning figure. A pillar of fire engulfed the statue. The Caller lifted his head and one last scream filled the air. “The Curse of the Blood…let it fall!” With a rumbling crash the statue was no more. The fire blazed upward and the Worwil was gone. From out of the smoke rose the stallion with Alex on his back.
In a strange room on a distant island an old woman stood before seven golden frames. In one, the glass was shattered. Taking a deep breath, she bowed her head and started circling the room making peculiar reaching motions. On the fourth circle she began to sing. A thick vapor rose from the floor. Slowly it drifted higher, and the room became filled with radiance.
Seven times.
Seven circles.
And at the end of the last one the vapor congealed into streaks of crimson. Four of the frames were running with blood. The old woman whispered, “Angel fall! Only two of us left to stand against him. Indeed and forever, the night has come.” Moving to the frame with the broken glass, she raised her hand and cried out, “Spoken, spoken, foretold and spoken! On this night all truth will be revealed. In the Name, the Very Name, I command you…paint your presence before my eyes!”
The darkness swirled and, line-by-line, in the broken glass of the seventh frame appeared the work of a great master. It was the face of Alex, and from his eyes flowed crimson tears. When the portrait was finished, the face smiled and whispered, “My sister, I come.” Then it faded and was gone.
Coldly the old woman replied, “Long, yes, long, have I waited. So come and do not delay!” She turned and walked to the wall. Passing straight through the bricks, she went outside.
Moonlight and mist.
A world of blue-green shadows.
As Bellwind stood on her porch, all the creatures of her island gathered before her, strange and lovely beings, large and small. “Dear ones, yes, my very dear ones,” she began. “For untold ages, this night we knew would come. Through wars and endless dying, safe we were upon our island because to the shore of darkness we were not allowed to go. Died, our brothers and sisters, in untold millions. And now, this night, our night it is upon us. Be brave, my children. I love you still and will love you always.” Raising her hand, she cried out, “Look to the Mountain! At the end of sorrow will come the Dawn!” Then she turned and walked back inside her house.
Quickly Bellwind began to climb the stairs of the tower. And with each step the marks of age fell from her. Higher and higher, through floor after floor, from wrinkled and old to beautiful and young. When she reached the top, the soft light of her loveliness filled the tower. Calmly she turned and looked toward the land; far away, she saw it, a streaming cloud blotting out the stars. But her heart held no fear, for beyond the cloud she saw the Mountain. With joy she whispered, “Tonight, yes, this night…I will be home.”
Where are we going now? Who’s he gonna kill next? Tori couldn’t stop trembling with rage.
“He’s destroying the last of his enemies,” Mirick replied.
How many more are there?
“Only two.”
They were flying above the ocean. Far below, waves crashed and foamed. In the roaring hurricane behind the riders streamed the phantoms of the Lost Ones, moaning and shrieking. Suddenly, in the distance, appeared a soft green
light that glowed on the water like a floating star. The riders veered toward it.
What’s that up ahead?
“It’s the island of the Watcher.”
Who’s that?
“One of the mightiest of the Worwil. Her name is Bellwind.”
That’s the old lady who was with us in the raft. She’s one of them?
“She is.”
Then he’s going to kill her too. She started crying. Somebody’s got to warn her. She’s got to get away.
“She knows he’s coming. She’s been waiting for this night for ten thousand years.”
As the light drew nearer, the riders descended until Tori could see the crimson cap of each moonlit wave. And then the source of the lovely light became visible. It was streaming from a tower that rose high above a mantle of glistening mist. She stared—something was in the tower. No, someone. Closer still. The light was coming from the shining form of a lovely young woman. It was flowing from her body.
I see a girl in a tower. And she’s so beautiful.
“That’s Bellwind.”
But she’s young. Bellwind is old.
“Her spirit is young forever.”
She’s just standing there. It’s like she doesn’t even see us.
“Oh, she sees us.”
Then why doesn’t she do something?
“Watch!”
The attack began. Like a typhoon of smoking filth, the riders swept down. With the Lost Ones screaming behind, they began circling the island. Around and around they went, and each time they passed the tower, Tori saw Bellwind’s face. It was so strange. She wasn’t looking at them. She was looking up as though at something far away, and her eyes were filled with blazing joy.
With each revolution the circles grew tighter. And then a bell began to toll. Deep and clear it rang. With each mighty peal, waves of light began rippling outward. Tori had never seen light that looked this way. It was thick and soft, and as it flowed from the tower, it pulsed like blood from a wound. When the first wave slammed into the horses, they went insane, screaming and shrieking, as though they had been covered with burning oil. Hundreds plummeted into the ocean. The rest scattered. The horse carrying Tori bucked and thrashed. It was all the rider could do to keep them on its back as it raced away.
Over and over the bell tolled, and the waves of light rolled on. From out of Alex the deep voice raged, “Stop running! Come back and form around me! Obey!”
But the horsemen couldn’t control their mounts. The ones that didn’t fall into the ocean vanished into the darkness. All that was left were the ghosts of the Lost Ones, circling and moaning in the hurricane. Finally, with a raging shriek, the great stallion turned and raced alone toward the tower.
Within the room of the frames there was a thunderous crash. Out of the seventh frame flew a spear of darkness. As it streaked across the floor to the stairs, it became the stallion with Alex on his back. They climbed, and with each step, the horse’s hooves struck lightning. The tower began to burn.
Outside, Bellwind gasped and whispered, “Oh, Father…I am dying.” As she stood in the roaring night, no longer could she see the Mountain. The crimson mists were lost in horror. As flames rose within her body, the agony deepened in her eyes. Yet the bell continued ringing.
Up the staircase the stallion pounded. As the rider passed each landing, the stairs behind him vanished in howling flames. Through floor after floor he raced until he was at the top. Above him was the crashing bell, roaring sound, and pulsing light. He shrieked, insane with rage. Leaping up, he grasped the iron and screamed, “Ring no more forever!”
The bell stopped, but the reverberations grew, ringing light and fire. Suddenly there was a mighty explosion. As the tower fell, Bellwind lifted her hands and cried out, “Lord of the Mists, I come!” With a streak of burning light she vanished in a cloud of crimson.
From out of the firestorm leaped the stallion. Rising into the air, the rider gave a cry, and once more his army gathered. They drew their swords. Tori closed her eyes and tried to cover her ears, but still she heard the horror. Over and over the horse that carried her swooped down, slashing and screaming, killing Bellwind’s lovely creatures. The dying seemed to take forever, and all she could do was sob. Finally the Thing on the stallion gave a call and the shadow-riders leaped into the air. Below, the lovely island of emerald mist vanished into the waves.
When she felt the wind on her face, Tori opened her eyes. Still sobbing, she asked, They’re all dead, aren’t they? They killed all the beautiful things on the island. “Yes.”
I hate him! Isn’t there anybody who can stop him?
“He will be stopped. And when it happens it will be forever.”
When is that? After everybody’s dead?
Mirick didn’t answer. As they flew on, the ocean vanished behind them. Below, in the moonlight, flowed a landscape of forested hills and, beyond that, a broad, empty plain. Tori cried for a long time, but she was so exhausted that her eyes finally began to close. In spite of the awful clouds and beating wind, she fell asleep.
Then suddenly she awoke.
The horse had slowed. They were descending. Where are we? Where’s he taking us now?
“To a terrible place.” Mirick spoke with great sadness. “What’s about to happen will be the most awful of all.”
What do you mean? A cold knot formed in her stomach.
“Prepare your heart and pray for strength.”
She looked down. They were passing over a desolate mountain, and on its slopes stood a forest of dead trees. Stark and leafless, their twisted limbs reached up into the crimson moonlight.
“Below is the Mountain of the Faithful Ones. Long ago many brave people died here, murdered because they wouldn’t sacrifice their children.” Then Mirick’s voice changed. Somehow it became hard and soft all at the same time. “Tori of Earth, your heart is about to be broken. What you are going to see will test all of your faith and love.”
What am I going see? Her mouth was dry.
“One of the greatest heroes who ever walked through this dark world, the bravest of the brave.”
The riders began to circle. Beneath them was a barren peak. At the very top, all alone, stood a small white tree. The leader on the stallion raised his hand, and ten horsemen followed him downward. One of them was the rider carrying Tori. They landed on the mountaintop. Then the Thing that was Alex dismounted. “Put her on the ground!”
The rider dropped Tori off the horse. She landed in a heap. As she struggled to get up, she suddenly saw something very odd—in the branches of the small dead tree there was a strange bundle. She took a step closer. What was it? It looked like a baby. She walked over. It was a baby; the bundle in the tree was a real baby held as though in a mother’s arms. And he was alive. His eyes were open. He was looking at her. Tori couldn’t believe it.
It’s the baby who was in the raft. What’s he doing here?
“Take the thing out of the tree!” The roaring command came from Alex’s mouth.
She turned and glared at him. “Why should I? You’re not the boss of me.”
“Obey!”
“Do it, Tori. Take the child.”
Giving a vile look to the Thing that was Alex, she began pulling back the dead branches, but as she did so, her eyes fixed on the trunk. She stared—what was that? There was a shape in the bark almost like a face. She bent closer. It was a face, a dead face, though its eyes were open.
Tori staggered back. She knew that face.
It was Amanda.
35
ALOI
Steady, child. Be strong,” Mirick whispered.
But Tori was screaming, “Is that my sister? That’s her, isn’t it? That’s her and she’s dead.”
Out of the Thing that was Alex came a horrible laugh. Shrieking, she rushed at him.
“You killed her! You killed my sister!” With all her strength she started hitting and pounding on him. He shoved her away, but she came back. He struck her.
>
“Tori, stop it!” Mirick yelled, but she didn’t stop. Finally the Thing that was Alex kicked her in the stomach. Gasping, she doubled over and dropped to the ground.
Mirick pleaded, “Tori, listen to me. Your sister was the bravest of the brave. She died trying to protect the baby. He needs you. Will you help him?”
Choking, sobbing, wanting to die, she lay with her face on the cold stone.
The command came again. “Take it out of the tree!”
“Look at him. Look at the baby,” Mirick whispered.
Though she didn’t want to, Tori raised her head and looked.
“What happens to him now depends on you. Amanda did all she could.”
Suddenly she thought she heard another voice calling softly to her from far away.
Tori, come to me. It was her sister’s voice.
Sobbing, Tori struggled to her feet. Then, as though in a dream, she stumbled to the tree. From a broken heart she whispered, “Amanda, I love you, I love you.” And a sweet voice seemed to whisper back, I love you too. Take him and don’t be afraid.
With tears streaming Tori began untangling the branches that had been her sister’s arms. The little boy was finally free. He was so light. He didn’t weigh anything. As he clung to her, she looked down into his eyes. She had never seen anything like them. Deep, not like a baby’s eyes. And as he looked up at her, she heard soft voices like mist, rising, falling, lilting in her soul, singing away the rage and horror, singing peace and strength beyond anything that she had ever known. And in the singing Tori changed forever. Within her heart a brave young woman was born. Holding the baby close, she whispered through her tears, “It’s all right. I’ve got you now.”
The Thing that was Alex climbed back on the stallion. “Take her!”
The rider who had carried her before reached down and jerked her up. But this time he didn’t lock her in with his arm. Instead, with one hand, he gripped a knot of clothes on her back and with the other her hair.
“Stop that! It hurts!” she yelled. But he kept on.
“Bring the filthy weed to burn on my altars,” the leader roared.