by J. M. Lee
She had not made it very far when a set of doors nearby opened, letting out a plume of steam that smelled of boiling food, broth, and stew, along with the clanging and chopping orchestra of a large kitchen. Out came a small group of Podlings, dressed in burlap shifts, pushing a tray-topped cart on squeaky wooden wheels. Naia stood aside as they passed, bare feet plodding one in front of the other, headed for the banquet hall. Their numb shuffling steps had none of the animation or energy of the Podlings she had met in Sami Thicket, and when she offered a polite “Hello,” none turned to acknowledge her. In fact, their eyes were milky, not even trained ahead but gazing aimlessly at the ground. One in particular looked exceptionally inanimate, mouth hanging open and a gob of thick drool dangling from his gray lower lip. When the slow-moving procession had finally passed, Naia saw wood shackles clasped around their ankles, which, while horrible, hardly seemed necessary given the sluggish state of the little Pod people. What was going on here?
Naia trotted along the corridor more quickly, keeping her footfalls as light as she could even on the veined shining marble that seemed to amplify every sound that fell upon it. She wanted to find a room—anywhere she could stop and think without worrying that some soldier or guard or lord might come along and ask who she was and what she was doing. In such an expansive castle, it was hard to believe it might be nothing but hallway, but that’s how it seemed as Naia continued on and on, up and down twisting stairs and along bridge-like throughways that passed over larger chambers. The entire way, she met no one but little scurrying crawlies and skittering bugs—not a single guard was to be seen. She didn’t even see any more of the strange Podling servants.
She stopped when something glinted in the corner of her eye. Deep in the maze of the castle’s tangle of passageways came a fuchsia light, trickling through the dimmer shadows lit only by the occasional torch. Naia followed it, passing through a darker narrow tunnel that spilled onto a high balcony in a huge open-roofed chamber. Though no torch lit the walls and there was no ceiling beam to hang a chandelier, the chamber below was radiant with a violet ambience streaming from a source just out of sight. Naia paused. An old metal gate barred the threshold where the tunnel met the balcony. She recognized that light. Her insides clenched and her heart pounded, both terrified of what she would see and, at the same time, drawn by an instinct she didn’t quite understand.
She shook gently on the gate; it was chained shut. Under normal circumstances, she imagined there might be guards posted here, one at either side, holding spears and keeping anyone out. But this stormy night, the guards were scarce and shadows plenty, and Naia took hold of the gate rails and climbed.
She pulled herself over the spear-pointed top and leaped down on the other side, taking the tunnel to the chamber balcony. The strange light crackled once like lightning, setting the air abuzz with its energy. She wanted to look—she wanted to see it, though she knew with every particle of her being that to see it would be to peer into the void. The void that she had only glimpsed in the silt of Sog—the abyssal dark flickering light that had swallowed the soul of the Nebrie. She could hear it turning, an almost grinding sound that she heard more in her bones than in her ears. Above that, in the atmosphere, she made out a higher sound like that of an instrument or a choir. It was singing, no, calling to her, and she stepped forward to see its face.
Below, in a great circular hall honeycombed with entrances and exits, was a flat dais marked with hundreds of runes and other etchings—words and symbols, some of which Naia recognized from Kylan’s writing and some which were completely foreign. At the center of the dais was an opening in the shape of a perfect circle; blinding red flames and waves of heat issued forth from it, as though it were a shaft which led directly to Thra’s fiery core.
Floating above the dais, as if held aloft by the hot wind and burning light, was an enormous multifaceted stone in the rough shape of a blade, wide at the top and growing narrower as it pointed down into the lake of fire far below. Its blood-violet faces alternated rough and smooth, some shining like ice and others rippled with the texture of time. There it turned slowly, suspended, and from its dark crystalline body came the song that permeated Thra and that rang through Naia’s heart with its beautiful sadness.
This was not the white pure Heart of Thra told of in song. This heart was the color of the crystal veins—the shade of a heart already darkened. In the Crystal’s crown was a wound, a hole surrounded by fractures from when it had been struck. Naia shuddered at the sight, the source of the broken song, the crack that had caused the Crystal to bleed violet and red, darkening, its pain flowing through its veins to reach every part of Thra.
Naia felt tears on her cheeks, knowing what she wished was not true.
The Crystal was not in danger of infection by the crystal veins.
It was the source.
The immense overwhelming sadness of the Crystal’s song pulled on Naia like no force she had experienced before—the ribbon she had seen in the swamp of Sog had been but a glimmer compared to the blinding gaze of the Crystal she beheld now. As she stared into its bright darkness, she began to see shapes, figures. Imposed upon the face of the Crystal—or in her mind, she couldn’t be sure—she saw Tavra standing before the Skeksis in the banquet hall, far from where she stood before the Crystal.
“I believe he is here, within these very walls.”
The soldier’s voice came loud and clear, as did those of the Skeksis when they broke into sudden raucous laughter. Did she mean Gurjin? Tavra stood before them, back straight and proud, while the lords pounded their fists on the table and crowed with cackles that were not very lordly at all.
“Treason!” bellowed the short-snouted lord in the armor. “Ahhhh! All Gelfling traitors, after all!”
“After all Skeksis does for you!” cried another. “Gelfling came here just to tell such lies!”
“You’re awfully eager to get us out of the castle, after so many trine inviting us in,” Tavra called over the din, sternly, although her fingers twitched near the hilt of her sword. “I came to find the truth. If you vow to me that there’s been nothing of concern—that the Crystal is in fact intact and well—and the rumors that you’re responsible for the vanishing Pod people and the two missing guards are nothing but lies—then, I suppose, I will report nothing of concern to my Lady Mother, and we will scour all of Thra to find the two traitors.”
“Then begone and report it!” shouted one lord, and his cry was echoed by his brethren. Yes, begone! Report it! Tell her whatever she would like to hear! Treasonous Gelfling All-Maudra!
“Then vow it!” Tavra demanded. “Vow to me it’s the truth! Vow to me that should I search this castle, I’ll find no sign of the guards you accused of treason, and that should I look in on the Crystal, I’ll find it shining white and bright as it did the day it became entrusted to you!”
The Skeksis, as eager as they had been to laugh and scream in Tavra’s face, fell to a simmer of murmurs and whispers and chuckles. She knows, came the words, oh ho, she knows, like smoke rising from a kindling fire. Emperor skekSo, who had been quiet throughout, raised his triangle-headed scepter and waved it back and forth in a nonchalant, careless gesture.
“Silverling is sounding like a traitor herself,” he said.
“Where are all the castle guards? The last time I was here, there were two at every door and ten at the gate. Tonight, it’s quiet as a crypt. My mother has had me searching the land for two traitors who are as scarce as ghosts, but I pursued them without asking questions. I sent Rian and Gurjin’s closest kin to the Court of Ha’rar, as I was ordered. I trusted the All-Maudra and you, the Skeksis. But then I saw darkened creatures roaming the land. I heard the song of Thra singing out of tune. I heard testament to the good hearts of the so-called traitors . . . and I received a message from Rian of Stone-in-the-Wood claiming the Skeksis are murderous liars, that Gurjin is here in the castle, and that my people are
in danger.”
Emperor skekSo clacked his beak twice and continued dragging his scepter through the air in figure eights, the charms and jewels applied to its tip glinting hypnotically. Tavra held her ground, a thin piece of paper in her hand. She tossed the message to the stone-tiled floor.
“I am merely in search of truth,” she said. “Rian is an alleged traitor, so I came to find out for myself. If I am wrong, I invite you to prove it . . . because if I am right, it is the Skeksis who have betrayed us. Betrayed the castle, and the Heart of Thra. And I do not want to be right.”
The Vapra’s words echoed in the hall, and Naia could hear nothing else except for the beating of her own heart. She held her breath, trying to quiet it. The Skeksis Lords were rustling, fidgeting, the feathers and scales on their heads and necks rising in anticipation. Again, the castle itself reacted, creaking as the tension in the room thickened, tightening, soon to snap. The Chamberlain, still standing near Tavra’s back, rubbed his claws together.
Emperor skekSo snorted, casually picking at his teeth with a claw. He sighed, stretching his head forward on his sinewy neck.
“I’m very sorry, Silverling. I’m afraid . . . you are correct.”
Tavra’s voice was unsurprised, slow, and grave when she responded. She asked her next question with the delivery of a regal command:
“Where are Gurjin and the missing Gelfling guards?”
“You can see for yourself. Chamberlain!”
Tavra’s hand went to the hilt of her sword as the Chamberlain lunged forward. He caught her by the hair, knocking the sword from her hand. As he grabbed her arm with his other claw, the room exploded into shrieks and laughter, and the Skeksis Lords launched from their dining thrones, clambering over the banquet tables and converging on the Chamberlain and Tavra, sending platters and goblets clanging and shattering to the floor and against the walls. Tavra did not cry out as they amassed around her, clutching her by the arms and legs and hair, and lifting her, crowing with laughter and jeers.
“She wants to see!”
“Show her in person! See the Crystal herself!”
“To the chamber!”
“To the Chamber of Life!”
“No!” Naia cried, but her voice did not reach through the Crystal. In a parade of hysterical celebration and uncontrolled, garrulous fanfare, the Skeksis Lords tossed Tavra back and forth among them, finally dragging her with frantic waves of their berobed arms toward the exit. Even after they were out of sight, their deafening laughter and stomping feet beat through the body of the Crystal. Naia tried to make sense of it all in her fear and incredulousness, but one fact surfaced against the sea of questions.
The Skeksis Lords, protectors of the Castle of the Crystal, had betrayed them.
Heart pounding, Naia turned away from the Crystal, drawing Gurjin’s dagger. Tavra had known—she had known even before they had entered. She had been trying to save Naia, and for a moment, Naia thought about finding a window, descending the castle wall outside, and escaping. But even then, the masked monster lurked in the wood, and it would still be night for hours more. In her frantic state, she wouldn’t be able to escape a second time. Guarded by the shadowy beast, armored in heavy gates and walls, the castle she had sought for shelter had become the most dangerous place in the Dark Wood.
What was she to do? Tavra was a seasoned soldier and the All-Maudra’s daughter, and the Skeksis had treated her no better than an insect. If the lords thought that much of one of Mayrin’s daughters, what might they think of Naia? How could she do anything to save Tavra, let alone Gurjin? Even now that she knew he was in the castle, somewhere, it was possible he wasn’t alive, and she had no idea exactly where he was. Despite being so close, he might as well have been on the other side of Thra.
Why are they doing this?
Naia felt a desperate tear escape and wiped it away. She thought of the broken light of the Crystal—the milky eyes of the Podling slaves—the hungry look in the Emperor’s eyes. There was a connection between it all—she could feel it. It all came back to the Crystal and the Skeksis Lords who had been charged with its protection, but how, and what exactly, she still couldn’t divine. The frustration was maddening, and she put her face in her hands in anguish.
Naia sucked in a deep hard breath. She didn’t have time for misery, and she didn’t have time to wait for answers. The fact was, Tavra was in danger, and Gurjin, if he was still alive, was likely in danger as well. Either way, they were both captive now, and if Naia didn’t act quickly, she knew she would be caught and face the same end. It was death in the wood at the hands of the Hunter, or the possibility of rescuing her brother and her friend if she remained here.
Is that what Gurjin had been trying to do?
Her heart lurched at the thought, nearly toppling out of her chest, caught only by the web of intense guilt that surrounded it like a net. The rumors and the lies he’d been accused of telling—it wasn’t that he hadn’t told them, it was that they weren’t lies.
But guilt would not solve the problem. Gurjin’s knife firmly in her grip, she faced the Crystal once more.
“My brother,” she pleaded. “Show me where he is? Please, I must save him!”
The Crystal moaned with its ghostly song, turning once again. In the walls of its body she saw a dark figure slumped near a window, and through the window she saw stars and the tops of trees. It was somewhere high in the turrets of the castle, and so without another moment’s hesitation, she dashed back into the maze of corridors, searching for a way up.
Chapter 24
The Skeksis’ voices faded in and out as Naia scurried from hall to hall, searching for a passage that would take her upward. The castle’s hard walls seemed made for echoes, amplifying and distorting the lords’ crowing so that it seemed everywhere at once. At every corner, Naia braced herself for a confrontation, heart hammering with relief every time there was none.
At one such junction, Neech let out a chirp and launched from her shoulder, gliding quickly up an inclining corridor and disappearing into the dim staircase.
“Neech!” she hissed after him. If she called too loudly, her voice would surely echo—but Neech didn’t respond, chirping to himself as he glided farther and farther away upward. Naia gritted her teeth and followed before she lost track of him, hoping he had caught something she had missed and wasn’t just chasing some tasty-looking critter that scurried through the shadows. Neech’s black body made him hard to spot in the poorly lit ascending spiral passageways, but he gave intermittent chirps that let her track him even in the dark. The higher they climbed, the tighter the spiral stairway wound, and the louder the storm outside became. Glancing out windows as she passed, Naia could see they were climbing one of the turrets of the castle, and the view overlooked the storm raging across the Dark Wood.
Neech finally settled on a big iron bar set across a set of heavy doors, eyes wide and entire body vibrating with anticipation. Did he think this was where the Skeksis were headed? Listening, she didn’t hear them approaching. No, Neech was waiting here for a different reason, gnawing at the heavy wood in a vain attempt to gain entrance.
Naia braced her hands below the iron bar and pulled, sliding it horizontally out of the latch with a groaning creeeak that she hoped would be drowned out by the many other grumbling noises that lurked throughout the dark halls. Lock disengaged, Naia carefully pressed her weight on the heavy door, pushing it open wide enough to see a dim cell inside. From the warm sour scent that met her nostrils, she knew she didn’t want to see what lay within, but she had no choice. Neech chirruped and darted inside, and so she followed, knowing with a rotten gnawing expectation what she was going to find.
Iron cages holding Gelfling lined every wall within the cell. Most captives huddled in the cramped space with their arms wrapped about their knees, while others leaned against the rusty bars. Some were alive—she heard shallow, labored bre
athing and quiet little whimpers. Some lay so still they were certainly unconscious, if not gone altogether. She saw a palette of skin tones, from the dark umber of the Spriton to the pale, almost white of the Vapra. One of the Gelfling had no hair upon her head, only inky black tattoos along her scalp and neck. Another had matted auburn curls that had long since lost their luster. None moved but a twitch when she entered, and she thought perhaps they were sleeping, but when the faint light from the hallway touched the face of one prisoner nearby, she saw his eyes were milky and vacant, like the Podling slaves . . . like the Nebrie.
“Naia?”
The croaking voice was almost lost in its fragility, but the timbre in it brought tears to Naia’s eyes. Crouched in a wood crate in the far corner, nearly hidden by shadows, was a haggard Gelfling with gray-tinged Drenchen skin and thick locs pulled into a bun at the back of his head. So much of his natural bulk was gone, leaving him thin and bony like a child. He twisted, holding on to the thick wood and pressing his face between the slats to get a better look at her. His voice was muffled and weak, but it was definitely Gurjin.
“Naia? Is that really you?”
“Gurjin,” she breathed. “You’re all right. You’re all right!”
“All right?” he repeated with a little cough. “I’ve been tossed in a bin like a noggie husk.”
Naia wasted no time, finding the clasp that held the top of the crate shut and hacking at it with her dagger. The wood was thick but old; the knife’s blade took steady bites out of the plank, slowly loosening the metal plate to which the latch was bolted.