by J. M. Lee
“I don’t know, but I do know that not everything is right,” she said, kicking a pebble as she walked. When her companion didn’t answer, she looked to see what he was thinking, and halted with a lurching feeling.
Kylan was gone.
Chapter 12
“Kylan? Kylan!”
Naia trotted back a few paces, looking left and right. In the open field, he should have been easy to spot—but there was no sign of him. Not even his pack or a shoe. She hoped he hadn’t stumbled and fallen into the tall grass, or worse, been carried off by some animal.
“Over here . . .” He somehow sounded both distant and close by, but—most importantly—safe. Naia let out the breath she’d been holding and followed his voice, stepping off the trail when he called once more. His words were muffled, hard to make out—and then she heard him clearly.
“Watch out!”
Too late. Naia’s breath leaped out of her lungs as her foot met air. Instead of the mound of earth she was expecting beneath the thick, tangled grass, there was nothing but a hole. She lost her balance and was falling, and although it was only a short distance before she landed solidly on her rear end, she knew she’d have bruises from it later. She coughed at the dust that had clouded up from her fall and heard Kylan doing the same.
“I told you to watch out,” he said.
Naia waved the last bits of dust haze away, standing. She had landed, almost on top of Kylan, in a dug-out cavern. Roots lined the walls, and the smell of soil and vegetation was thick in the air, but from the makeshift shelves and wicker furniture that lay in neglect, it was clear the burrow had been someone’s home. Up above, the hole they’d fallen through let in the remaining daylight from outside. Naia glanced at Kylan as he rose, rubbing his backside. He seemed fine, though the dry red dirt that now coated his tunic and hair gave him the appearance of an unamoth that had just come out of its cocoon. She expected him to sprout antennae any moment.
“Who lived here?” she wondered out loud, touching the wall nearest and then crouching to inspect a little wooden rocking chair. The seat was much too small for an adult Gelfling, but a child might have used it—or, she noted, one of the little Podlings. The wicker was dry and cracked, overgrown with a pretty turquoise plant. From the color and shape of the leaves, it seemed the same sprawling flora covered almost every surface of the little room, from the walls to the ceiling. It was quiet and gentle, with delicate white flowers and coil-like tendrils dangling like curled ribbon.
“Looks like Podlings,” Kylan said. “Yes, see. This is one of their gardening scoops. But it’s so old and dusty . . . I wonder where they went?”
“And left all their things,” Naia added. She moved through the room, poking and prodding at the shelves filled with decorative stones caked in dust, carved wooden talismans, and clay pots whose contents had long since dried and been eaten by crawlies. A doorway, half-covered with a brittle woven curtain, was dug into the room at the far wall. Naia pulled the curtain back and peered down a dark hallway blanketed ceiling to floor with teal leaves and twinkling, pearlesque blossoms. Though the flowers gave off some light, the tunnel was otherwise drenched in shadow. She grinned.
“Let’s see where it goes!”
Kylan hadn’t moved far from where he’d landed, still brushing dust from his front and patting it out of his braids. He followed her gesture with a little curiosity, but his feet didn’t move. She realized as he stared into the blackness down the tunnel that he was afraid. Before she teased him about it, she remembered the fate of his parents. Perhaps the fear of the dark wasn’t so silly after all.
“You stay here and find a way out, then,” she said. “I’ll be back soon.”
He didn’t want her to go, but he didn’t protest. He nodded nervously and said, “Be careful.”
With no openings to the world above, the tunnel began dark and grew darker still as Naia followed it away from Kylan in the main chamber. The ceiling was low and rounded at a height for creatures of smaller stature, and Naia had to creep with bent legs to keep from bumping her head along the top of the corridor. She trailed a hand across the overgrown wall to keep her bearings, feeling the soft spongy tendrils and leaves of the life that had taken root in the cavern’s abandoned insides. The leaves and coils shivered as she passed, crowding around her fingers to take in her scent, kissing her knuckles and fingertips.
Tilting her head, she looked closer at the surface of the wall. Beneath the overgrowth was a faint light, and she parted the tangles of the plant to look closer. It was dirt and rock beneath the lacy roots, but there was certainly something . . . She dug with her fingers, pulling at the dry soil and old clay until a crumbling handful fell away. What she saw beneath sent an icy lance through her: A bright mineral shimmered deep in the darkness of the earth—something crackling, glimmering. Dark. Violet.
“The crystal veins . . . They’re spreading . . .”
“Naia! Help!”
She shook off the fear-struck numbness, sprinting down the hall to find Kylan facing the wall, one hand pressed over his mouth. At first she saw nothing, but then she heard it: the sounds of scratching and digging. The leaves of the plant that covered the burrow shivered, and then sand and small pebbles trickled down the wall. Naia could feel a growing tremble under her feet. Something was making its way through the earth, and it was big. The cavern steadily filled with a familiar disturbing sensation, as if the song of Thra was being drowned out by something darker, more chaotic. It was the same as she had felt in the swamp, standing in the shadow of the darkened Nebrie.
“It’s the Hunter,” Kylan whispered, grabbing her arm in terror. “He’s here. He took the Podlings. Now he’s come to take us!”
A brief imagined vision of the wall falling around them to reveal the bone-masked monster from Kylan’s songs sent a shock of panic through Naia’s body, but she stayed calm for her companion’s sake.
“It’s going to be all right,” she said. “But only if we can get out of here. Soon.”
“Can you fly us out? Quickly!”
Naia swung her pack down and knelt, searching feverishly for the length of rope she’d packed, but it was buried in between food and bola and—there! But it was tangled, and as she struggled to straighten it, the grating, deafening sounds spread to all their surroundings. She yanked out spans of rope, but before she could straighten more than her height’s length, the wall cracked, then buckled, then crumbled. The earth fell away in huge rocky chunks to reveal a black furred monster, twice as tall as Naia and many times bigger around. Though it was a predator—its enormous claws made that clear enough—Naia felt the heavy weight of panic drop from her chest. It was not the Hunter.
“A ruffnaw?” Kylan squeaked, naming a beast Naia had never seen before. They froze instinctively as the monster halted, disoriented in the open air of the Podling burrow. It had thick oily fur coated in dirt and mud, and its eyeless face was spiked with hundreds of long whiskers. At the end of its pointed nose was a red flanged cluster of nostrils that flared when it took in the open air, flashing a warning crimson. The color was a sign of danger, and so were the huge hooked claws that made up the creature’s front paws.
Behind the ruffnaw, sheets of the glass-like violet mineral glowed hot in the earth where the soil was falling in damp dark clumps.
Naia reached out and grabbed Kylan’s hand, dreamfasting to avoid making any noise. He accepted her link with a rush of warmth.
It’s darkened, she whispered into his mind, sweeping aside his other thoughts and fears and memories in order to focus on simply communicating. It’s been enraged by that crystal in the earth—we can’t expect it to behave normally!
Kylan swallowed, and his hand shook in hers, but his chin dipped in a little nod of bravery.
If—if we stay quiet and don’t move, it might leave us alone. Ruffnaw hunt by sensing movement, not by sight . . .
His
advice was obvious and belated, probably from some song, Naia guessed, instead of out of common sense. Even so, she wasn’t sure common sense mattered right now. The ruffnaw crouched before them in the entrance it had made, breathing heavily through its glistening star-tentacled muzzle. Little drops of mucus flew from its nostrils, and its sides heaved with its panting, its slick fur standing on edge. Seeing it in such a state evoked such a heavy dread that Naia felt as if she were sinking into it, stuck with both feet, unable to move. The Nebrie was not the only darkened creature, and the crystal vein, deep in Sog, was not the only instance of the cursed mineral. Wherever the sickness had begun, it was spreading.
What would happen if it spread all the way to Thra’s heart?
Kylan released her hand and slowly backed away, but there was nowhere to escape. Naia clutched the rope in both hands, calculating how hard she’d have to swing the counterweight, and at what angle, to get it out of the opening overhead and far enough away that it would—hopefully—catch onto something. Then they could climb to safety.
The brief opportunity of stillness expired. Sensing their movement, the ruffnaw lunged, claws spreading. Kylan yelped as the furry beast fell on top of him. Naia grasped after it, not knowing what else to do except try in vain to keep it away from her companion. She felt the thick strands of the ruffnaw’s fur race through her fingers, and then her grip held, firm around its sinewy pink tail. Though she couldn’t restrain the huge creature by force, her grasp distracted it long enough that it turned back at her, letting out a high-pitched hiss and spraying her with saliva. She thought of grabbing Gurjin’s dagger from her belt and plunging its blade into the ruffnaw’s vulnerable muzzle, but the memory of the Nebrie in the swamp stayed her hand. Instead, in desperation, she reached out to the ruffnaw with her mind. She first felt a searing, blinding light, then saw a dark jagged silhouette floating in a tunnel of fire, and finally felt the groaning of Thra itself—creaking and moaning in agony.
A piercing whistle reverberated through the tiny burrow, and the ruffnaw went still from nose to tail. Naia felt its fur raise, going all on end, and something in it changed. Her hand felt hot where she had touched it—dreamfasted with it—and its fur slid away from her grasp as it backed away. The whistle came again, and the ruffnaw needed no more incentive. It was gone, back down the tunnel from which it had come.
Naia fell to her knees and held her hands over her breast, wishing she could calm the pounding of her heart with pressure of palms alone. She squeezed her eyes shut and saw glimpses of the vision . . . the dream the ruffnaw had shared with her, whether it had done it intentionally or not. The darkness in the earth and the electric violet light—the same she had seen with the Nebrie. Only this time, to her relief, the encounter was over and no blood had been shed. Her ears were ringing, but through it she heard someone kneel beside her. Kylan touched her shoulder.
“Naia,” he was saying, “Naia, are you all right? We should get out of here.”
Naia felt numb, but Kylan was right. She felt around in the dirt and rubble until she found the length of rope, and stood. The ruffnaw might come back, and the next time, who knew what might happen. She gave a soft grunt and launched the rope’s counterweight overhead, letting it land before tugging. When she felt the line was secure enough, she tightened the straps on her pack and held the rope for Kylan to climb first. While he did, she took in the abandoned burrow for the last time . . . then pulled herself up to daylight.
They sat in the grass to catch their breaths and put themselves back in order. Naia wound the rope around her elbow and thumb to still the shaking in her body.
“What happened? With that whistling call . . . Was that you?”
Kylan put his small fingers into his mouth and curled his lips in, then blew a loud, bold whistle that carried across the plain. He put his hands in his lap and shrugged.
“The ruffnaw fears the hollerbat call,” he said. “I heard it in a song.”
Naia sighed, but whether it had come from a song or not, it had worked. She couldn’t deny that. She focused on stowing the rope, then checked her pack to see if anything was missing. At the very bottom of it, hiding in a bedroll, she saw a trembling tail, and pulled. Out came Neech, ears flat along his body and eyes big and alert. She stroked his head and scratched his chin until he relaxed.
“It’s all right. It’s over. No thanks to you, little spithead.” To Kylan, she said, “Are you hurt?”
“No. Are you?”
“I don’t know . . . I’m not hurt in body. But . . .” She shook her head, trying to put into words what had happened. It had all been so quick, and powerful, and her head was still spinning. She sat down, feeling weak, pressing her hands against her face. “I think I dreamfasted with the ruffnaw . . . I saw within its mind, and it saw within mine . . .”
“You dreamfasted?” Kylan gasped. “With the ruffnaw? Is that possible?”
Naia shook her head.
“I don’t know. All I know is my head hurts.”
Kylan squatted beside her, hand on her shoulder, lips pressed together, and brows furrowed. Then he stood.
“I think we should call it a day,” he said. “Come on. Can you make it to that tree?”
The tree Kylan had picked wasn’t far off, and he helped her by taking her pack and bearing some of her weight while she leaned on his shoulder. She tried to keep her mind trained on the path and the fields, the rustling of the nearby trees and the pastel sky overhead, but it all blended together. Even the big breaths of dry meadow air left her exhausted. In her weakened state, some dreams passed between them. She saw the fear he’d felt, looking in the face of the mindless ruffnaw, but within it she also saw the flicker of strength. What she shared with him in return were muddled visions of looking up toward the exit to the burrow, the heavy weight of shame at not being able to save them with the wings she didn’t yet have. The rest she kept hidden from him, though the effort left her dizzier still.
By the time Kylan lowered her to a patch of soft grass beneath the shadow of the tree, her wits were returning, but she still felt tired. She stayed quiet while he settled their packs and kicked grass aside to make a fire.
“I can’t help but feel like there’s something you aren’t telling me,” he said, mostly to himself, as if he didn’t expect a response at all. “You didn’t seem surprised at the way the ruffnaw was behaving.”
Naia was half inclined to let his words become lost on the cool wind, but maybe he was right. They had been in danger—real, dire danger, and for Naia, it wasn’t the first time since setting off. Kylan wasn’t her ward, but they were companions now. Maybe even friends. Maybe she owed it to him. Making up her mind, she held out her hand to him. Recognizing the gesture, he clasped her hand in his, and she felt the link of the dreamfast warm again. At first it was a trickle, like water drops gathering on a broad leaf, but soon the memories flowed like rain filling a river.
Naia showed Kylan her home in Sog, the sunlit apeknots and the lush, living wood of Great Smerth. She showed him the morning Tavra had arrived, the feast that had followed, and the hearing they’d had in her mother’s chamber. Their departure and their confrontation with the Nebrie—the crystal veins buried in the swamp bed, and the haunting loneliness and rage in the Nebrie’s heart. She showed her father’s wound and Tavra’s message, but through it all, she kept back her secret about Gurjin—that her brother was accused of treason and that she was going to Ha’rar in his stead.
Kylan showed his parents, raising him in a little hut on Spriton land near the Dark Wood, tending the crops that fed their bellies, and playing in the rolling hills of the grasslands. She saw Kylan’s father teaching him to play the lute, his mother harvesting the tall, wide grass and weaving it on a loom to make their roof. She saw a winter night with no moons, so cold, little Kylan had gathered two quilts and wound them tightly around his body. He jumped when the shutters flew open, banging against the i
nside wall with a startling clatter, freezing wind gusting in and bringing all the black of the night with it. His mother went to close the shutter, but it was too late. The dark wind extinguished every candle in moments, and then he was there. The Hunter, in a cloak so black, he was one with the night, pierced only by hateful red eyes behind a bone mask. He snatched Kylan’s parents in his inky embrace. His claws muffled their screams as he disappeared, leaving Kylan alone in the howling night.
The dreamfast ended, and Naia felt Kylan’s hand draw away from hers. They sat in quiet and stared into the fire, letting the silence be. The memory of the black wind that had taken Kylan’s parents stuck in Naia’s mind, the phantom chill of the winter night clinging to her skin though a warm breeze blew upon it. No wonder he had feared the dark tunnel in the Podling burrow.
“The crystal veins . . . they’re a sickness in Thra,” Naia said. “They darken the hearts of creatures. I worry what might happen if the sickness reaches the Castle of the Crystal. That’s why I’ve got to reach the All-Maudra, whether or not I find my brother.”
“The Skeksis will protect the Crystal,” Kylan assured her. “Ancient gods gave them the power to protect it when the castle was entrusted to them.”
Naia nodded. She sighed and turned her eyes to her present surroundings, stroking the top of Neech’s head where it rested on her knee. The great waves of grass around them looked afire with gold, and they stopped to watch as the flickering of night bugs sparkled across the horizon.
Though it was beautiful, above and all around, Naia couldn’t help but wonder what else hid below and up ahead, waiting in the shadowy arms of the deep.
Chapter 13
When the morning fog cleared the following day, Naia raised her hand to her brow and squinted. Under the quickening daylight, she could make out a ridge of stony highland within the day’s distance, lying like the back of a serpent between them and the still-distant mountains. It had been invisible in the dim of the previous evening, but now it was unmistakable. Kylan, following her line of sight, let out a quiet sound of astonishment under his breath.