Morg was cradling a ball of black sparks in her hands now and as she raised it high, Zeb knew he had to make his decision now.
“I’ll—I’ll do it,” he stammered. “I’ll help you find whatever it is you need to build another world.”
Morg let the ball of dark magic fizzle to the ground, then she folded in her wings and sat back down on her throne. Zeb blew out through his lips.
“I plan to use the last of the magic inside the phoenix tears you brought me to break open a portal into the kingdom of Crackledawn,” Morg explained, “where sunlight is made. I went there after leaving Everdark years ago, and I still have followers there. Midnights, I call them. They know that without a phoenix, the kingdom’s magic is hanging by a thread, so they have seized upon Crackledawn’s vulnerability, and for the past decade they have been making things even trickier for the Unmappers and their precious sun scrolls. This is why your climate has been spiraling out of control again. Just as it was when I meddled in Jungledrop and you had no rain for months on end, and when I broke into Rumblestar and you were plagued by hurricanes.”
Zeb thought of the soaring temperatures, melting ice, and rising sea levels, the families who had lost homes and loved ones, and the TV footage showing polar bears stranded on melting ice. All that had happened because of this harpy?
“Smudge and Bartholomew might have locked me back in Everdark,” Morg muttered. “Casper Tock might have flung me out of Rumblestar, and Fox Petty-Squabble might have trapped me in a never-ending well after banishing me from Jungledrop five hundred years ago. But this time will be different. This time all the phoenix tears are here.” She patted her pouch, unaware that in her greed at becoming a harpy again she had been careless and overlooked the fact that there was still one phoenix tear unaccounted for. She crooned on, blind to her mistake. “This time no pesky eleven-year-olds from the Faraway can use the tears to enter the Unmapped Kingdoms and thwart my plans.”
Zeb’s pulse quickened. The social worker back in the theater had been called Fox. And hadn’t she mentioned going to a concert with somebody called Casper Tock? But the harpy had talked of meeting Fox five hundred years ago and that couldn’t possibly make sense…
“Does time pass in the same way in the Unmapped Kingdoms as it does in the Faraway?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.
The harpy shook her head. “One year in the Faraway is almost thirty years in the Unmapped Kingdoms or in Hollowbone.”
If time back home passed that slowly, then it was possible that five hundred years could have gone by in the Unmapped Kingdoms since Fox had beaten Morg as an eleven-year-old, because that would make her about thirty now. Could the social worker called Fox, who he had only spent a matter of minutes with, have been mixed up in this so-called Unmapped magic too? Had she battled the very harpy Zeb had just made a deal with?
For a wild second, Zeb wanted to rush back to the theater and find Fox. He’d been reluctant to talk earlier, but now there were dozens of questions he needed to ask. What if she really had saved the world from Morg and here he was about to destroy it? Was a world worth saving just for one person?
“This Fox Petty-Squabble,” Zeb said slowly. “What color was her hair?”
The harpy looked at Zeb intently, as if reading his mind. Then she said: “Red.”
Zeb’s eyes widened. But before his thoughts could gather any more momentum, Morg spoke again.
“Fox Petty-Squabble, who you did indeed meet in the theater tonight, is one of the nastiest humans I have ever encountered. There she was promising to help you and acting like she cared. But what would you think if I told you that in her quest to save the Faraway, Fox betrayed her own brother? She lies, you see, and she only ever thinks about herself. She’ll stop at nothing to ensure things go her way.” Morg cackled. “And there you were hoping that there might have been just one person in the Faraway who actually cared about you.”
Zeb felt a familiar hurt sweep through him. He didn’t know this Fox person at all, and though he was still wildly unsure of the harpy, she did at least seem like the kind of creature who got stuff done. Zeb thought of the crevice of rock he’d fallen through and how it had closed up, sealing his way home. He knew, deep down, that he didn’t really have a choice in what he was about to do. The harpy had him trapped.
He pulled his shoulders back and raised his head. “What needs to happen next?”
Morg rose from her throne. One flap from her wings and she was at the roof of the cave, her talons latched on to the tangled roots. She tugged one of the skulls free, and as she swooped back down, Zeb noticed it wasn’t shining green like the rest. The light inside this one was gold.
“Being trapped in a never-ending well has its advantages,” Morg said. “You’re forced to dig yourself out, and five hundred years of digging is bound to throw up secrets.… I found Hollowbone eventually and tucked into a crack in the rock here, I found one half of the long-lost Ember Scroll. It tells the story of how the world began. And the very first phoenix hid it here to keep it safe from harm because it knew how secret in-between worlds like Everdark and Hollowbone are.”
Morg stroked the skull, and Zeb noticed the light inside it was moving. He edged forward. And as he peered through the eyes of the skull, he saw two gold wings, no bigger than a swallow’s, hinged together at the center.
“The Ember Scroll is made up of two parts, which have been separated over the years: the scroll itself, which is a piece of sacred parchment, and these wings, which are made from phoenix feathers soaked in Stargold. Once the wings are fixed to the parchment, the Ember Scroll can fly out over the Unmapped Kingdoms.”
Zeb watched the little wings open and close, and he felt suddenly glad of their light in the deep, dark cave.
“Legends claim that the story written on the Ember Scroll is waiting for an ending, for someone to write a new phoenix into life to ensure peace and prosperity forevermore for the Unmapped Kingdoms and the Faraway, no matter what happens to the magic there now.” The harpy snorted. “If I can find the scroll and write my own ending onto it—where I steal the Unmapped magic and build a new empire—I will break the cycle of the phoenix magic once and for all, and my words will ring true for eternity.”
Zeb looked up at Morg. “But how do I fit into all of this?”
“The phoenix was a creature of fire and flame, and many believe it placed the Ember Scroll somewhere hot, somewhere far out of reach.”
Zeb swallowed. He didn’t like the sound of where this was heading.
Morg’s eyes glittered behind her mask. “You, Zebedee, are going to steal the scroll from the sun.”
Chapter 5
WHAT?!” Zeb spluttered. “How on earth am I going to get to the sun? And how am I going to survive that scorching furnace of gas if I do get there?” Even the Tank would have drawn the line at this.
But Morg raised the skull containing the Stargold Wings and simply said: “Stargold. Whoever carries it is protected against fire.”
Zeb’s palms were beginning to sweat. He was all for siding with the harpy if it meant conjuring up a new life, but what she was suggesting was impossible! “Can’t you carry the Stargold Wings and I’ll just cheer you on from down here?”
Morg shook her head. “I am a creature of darkness and shadows, like my Midnights. Not even Stargold can protect us from the sun. But you will be safe. Phoenixes have a sentimental fondness for humans, so anything imbued with their magic will help you.”
“But the sun is huge!” Zeb cried. “A hundred times bigger than Earth, according to my science teacher. So if, miraculously, you find a way to get me there, how am I going to locate a tiny piece of parchment? It’ll take me forever!”
“Magic is drawn to magic, Zebedee. When the Ember Scroll senses its wings are nearby, it’ll come to you.”
Zeb slumped onto a rock and ran a hand through his hair—it was a lot to take in. “How do I know you’re telling the truth about all this? How do I know the phoenix magic will p
rotect me?”
Morg set the skull with the Stargold Wings inside down by Zeb. “Because I’m trusting you with this—the very thing I need to build a new world.” The harpy stalked off toward one of the tunnels. Then she stopped at the opening and looked back over her shoulder. “And because, much as I hate to admit it, phoenix magic is strong; it’s what saved Fox Petty-Squabble from me in Jungledrop.”
Morg swept off down a tunnel, her wings trailing behind her. And though Zeb scooped up the skull and made to follow, the spiked rocks lining the tunnels crunched closer, barring his way. Zeb gulped. He might have been interested in Morg’s offer, but one thing was crystal clear: Until he found the Ember Scroll, he was little more than the harpy’s prisoner. So, no matter how impossible or terrifying the journey to the sun sounded, he knew he had no choice but to do it.
Zeb looked about him—he wasn’t sure if it was night or day beyond the cave. Hollowbone had swallowed all sense of time. And having grown used to the clatter of New York City and the comfort of hearing and playing music, he found the cave’s silence smothering. But he was tired, and he figured that sleep was probably a good idea considering the scale of the task ahead.
Zeb glanced at the Stargold Wings fluttering like a trapped moth inside the skull. He didn’t know what to make of phoenixes. But the fact that one had befriended Fox, even though she’d apparently betrayed her own brother, didn’t fill Zeb with much enthusiasm. Although there was something comforting about the Stargold’s glow, as if someone had remembered to save a little piece of light for Zeb should his world come crashing down.
* * *
Zeb woke with a start, a few hours later. Morg was towering over him, her wings bathed in the cave’s green glow.
“Ready?” she muttered.
Zeb felt for the skull containing the Stargold Wings and hauled himself up. He couldn’t help thinking a bit more problem-solving and even a spot of breakfast might have been sensible before journeying to the sun. But he was too scared to suggest it in case the harpy started juggling balls of dark magic again. Besides, Morg seemed to have other plans anyway.
“Follow me,” she said, whipping her wings round toward a tunnel.
The stone spikes barring the way slid back, the harpy hurried through, and Zeb followed nervously. Now and again there was a candle perched on a rock, casting a flickering glow on the wet stone, but more often than not, Zeb had to feel his way on through the darkness.
Eventually, the tunnel widened and a green glow slipped inside from somewhere up ahead. Then the rocks pulled back and Zeb found himself in another cave. It was as big as a stadium, with stalactites dripping down from the roof and thousands more skull-lamps lining the walls. But what made Zeb shiver was the lake that filled it. The water was black, lit green in parts by the lamps. It was eerily still, and all around the edge lay heaps of broken bones.
Zeb’s toes curled inside his sneakers. The cave was completely silent—even quieter than the cavern he’d slept in, if that was possible. And this was the kind of silence that comes before something terrible happens. Glancing down at the skull in his hand, Zeb noticed that the Stargold Wings were shivering.
He turned to the harpy. “Could we just have one little chat about how exactly I’m going to reach the sun and what I—”
The harpy, Zeb realized, wasn’t listening to him at all. She had taken the phoenix tears out of the pouch around her neck and was staring at them intently.
“There are only four.” She seized Zeb by the scruff of his neck. “Where’s the fifth?”
“There—there wasn’t a fifth,” Zeb stammered.
The harpy hissed. “Turn out your pockets.”
Zeb did so. “See—nothing. There were only four phoenix tears in the theater.”
Morg shoved him aside and curled her fingers over the tears she had. “There is one last phoenix tear unaccounted for, but even if it is found somewhere in the Faraway, I am on the cusp of entering Crackledawn. No one can stand in my way now.”
She held the tears high and they pulsed blue. Then the lake rippled, even though there was no wind, and the harpy shouted: “Arise, broken bones! I built you from the dregs of my magic, but I am growing in power. With this phoenix magic here, you will become my followers! My Midnights!”
The silence seemed to swell. Then came the sound of bones clanking. And Zeb watched in horror as, one by one, skeletons rose up from the heaps of bones lining the lake. Necks cricked and limbs twisted, until an army of gaping mouths and empty eye sockets turned to face Morg.
She crowed with delight. “The day is drawing near when I will steal all of the Unmapped magic and use it to conjure you Midnights a whole new world!”
Zeb made a mental note to build a very high wall separating his side of this new world from Morg’s.
“Now, though,” the harpy said, “you will follow me as we break into Crackledawn to steal the Ember Scroll.”
The skeletons let out a ghostly cry, but Zeb’s eyes slid to the lake. It was moving again. Ripple after ripple broke the surface, then the water began to fizz and boil. Zeb’s heart thumped. Something was coming, something big.
Morg raised the phoenix tears once again, and as they glowed, the lake erupted. Water spewed over the skeletons and up rose a towering ship. The deck was black, the rigging was black, the sails were black. And the sea serpent carved into the prow was blacker still.
“All aboard Darktongue,” Morg shrieked, “my ship built from shadows!”
The skeletons reached for their boned spears and began banging them on the cave floor as they marched into the lake toward the ship. Zeb wanted to shut his eyes and disappear. His getaway, which had begun just with running over the Brooklyn Bridge, was now reaching unforeseen levels of terror. He knew he had to hang in there if he wanted the new world and all its possibilities, but that didn’t stop him feeling the need for a quick whimper in the shadows. He shuffled back inside the tunnel with the Stargold Wings.
The harpy’s clawed hand dug into his shoulder. “Leaving so soon, Zebedee?”
“I—I wasn’t leaving,” Zeb spluttered. “I was just—just getting a better view.”
“Good,” Morg replied. “Because you will be lost for eternity if you slink back inside those tunnels. There’s no way back to the Faraway from there. But climb aboard Darktongue, and a new world awaits.”
She stalked off toward the ship. Zeb bit his lip to stop it trembling, then he steadied his legs and forced them into a swagger, the kind of walking the Tank did when he was about to face extreme danger. Zeb’s swagger was more of a hesitant limp, but it nudged him forward and, moments later, he found himself aboard Darktongue, which Morg’s Midnights had steered to the shore.
The Midnights poured over the ship, letting down sails, sorting the rigging, manning the wheel at the helm, and unfurling a shining black flag from the crow’s nest. As Darktongue pulled back from the shore, Zeb threw one last look around the cave and was surprised to see a large heap of bones in one corner that didn’t seem to have become a terrifying Midnight. But he quickly forgot them as the ship began to gather momentum, speeding toward a vast wall of rock at the far end of the cave.
“We’ll be killed if we charge into that rock face!” Zeb yelled.
Morg was up on the deck at the prow now, her wings outstretched and rippling, her hands clasping the phoenix tears. She had been waiting for this moment for a long, long time. And as the last of the phoenix magic burned blue, there was a loud crunch and the rock face before them slid back, like a giant stone door opening.
Light poured in, the blinding white light of a sun just risen, and Zeb raised a hand to cover his eyes. There were new sounds now too: seagulls crying and waves roaring, and Zeb almost wept with relief at hearing these noises because it meant the eerie silence and never-ending darkness of Hollowbone was coming to an end. He could taste salt on his lips and feel wind ruffling his hair. He lowered his hand from his eyes. An ocean spread out as far as he could see, diamond-bright under
a wide blue sky. Zeb felt almost dizzy thinking of how far he’d come from Brooklyn. Dragged down into an underground lair and then forced out in a totally new world through a portal Morg had opened.
The harpy screeched with delight as Darktongue forged its way into Crackledawn. Then the Midnights banged their spears on the decks and cheered, and even Zeb managed a shaky smile. Morg had done what she said she was going to do: She had broken into the Unmapped Kingdoms. And now Zeb was moving closer to a brand-new life.
The harpy laughed as she tossed the phoenix tears, now drained of magic, overboard. Then she leaned over the sea serpent prow and smiled. Because there were creatures waiting for her as the ship sailed out of Hollowbone. Followers who were rising from the depths of the ocean to swim alongside Darktongue.
Zeb leapt back from the edge of the ship as an enormous eel with purple skin, flickering gills, two forked tongues, and a single roaming eye surfaced for a moment, then sunk out of sight. Then came a red kraken with enormous suckers and slime-drenched skin.
“Ogre eels and fire krakens!” Morg cried. “So my army of Midnights grows! I thank you for your work here. Your dark magic kept me alive as I clawed out of the never-ending well, found Hollowbone, and made my way on to the Faraway! I am looking forward to helping you drain this kingdom of magic and put an end to all those who live here!”
Zeb began doing some wild jaw-clenches. Anything to distract himself from the reality of Morg’s plans and the sea monsters racing along either side of the ship. He looked out over the ocean again. Had there not been ogre eels and fire krakens splashing about, Zeb figured this world would look a lot like his own, though something about the air here felt different, as if the wind might be carrying secrets. He shrugged off his hoodie. It was warm in this kingdom, tropically warm. He tried to imagine what kind of creatures might live in a land like this and found himself looking for the seagulls he’d heard earlier. But they were nowhere to be seen now, and despite the heat, Zeb shivered suddenly. The birds might have flown off, but surely there should have been others, or at least some fish beneath the surface of the sea. But there was nothing. No sign of any boats either. And Zeb wondered then whether the wind might be carrying fear as well as secrets.
Zeb Bolt and the Ember Scroll Page 4