Shadows of the Dark Crystal

by J. M. Lee

  “We have to leave,” she said in between strikes. “The Skeksis . . . they have my friend—Gurjin, what’s happening here?”

  When the latch-plate had separated enough, Naia jammed the dagger between the plate and wood, and leaned with all her weight. With a creaking whine, the wood splintered and the plate popped off. Naia threw the top of the crate open and grabbed her brother to help him up. The breadth of his shoulders hadn’t shrunk with his weight, and she threw her arms around them and hugged him tightly.

  “I’m not sure I can walk,” he said. “I’ve been in there for days—no food, and they’ve put moonberry in my water—”

  “I’ll carry you if I have to.”

  Gurjin wiped her cheeks with his fingertips. His face—the face she shared with him—was changed, sallow and hollow, his eyes unfocused. The moonberry was to blame for the latter, Naia guessed. The effects of the sleep-flower would wear off eventually, but she worried there was no remedy for the other nightmares her brother had endured.

  “They’ll be coming soon,” Gurjin said.

  “I know. That’s why we have to leave. Can any of the others walk?”

  Naia hoisted Gurjin up, bearing most of his weight against her side when his legs nearly failed to support his body. She felt overwhelmed with a wave of hopelessness when she looked around them. She could barely support her brother’s weight. There was no way she would be able to carry out all the Gelfling in the cell—even if she had the time to free them. A wood crate was one thing, but the metal bars and chains . . .

  “What should we do?”

  Gurjin shook his head. His voice was so soft, it was hardly recognizable.

  “They’re already drained. It’s too late.”

  Naia didn’t know what he meant by drained, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. The awful fact was, they didn’t have time. If she wanted to help the silent dull-eyed Gelfling, she would have to save herself first.

  “We’ll just have to come back for them,” she said, determined. “We’ll come back.”

  Swallowing her guilt, Naia hobbled out of the cell with her brother’s feet stumbling along. Together, they made a slow escape into the outer hall. Naia pondered the long stairway down and tried not to think about the distance back to the exit and how long it would take them at this pace. She tried not to think about how easy it would be to find them, if the Skeksis had not been preoccupied with whatever they were doing to Tavra.

  I’ll have to come back for her, too, Naia thought miserably.

  “The Skeksis have betrayed us,” Gurjin breathed.

  “I know,” she said. “What’s happened—what have they done? You said the others were drained—did they drain you, too?”

  Before Gurjin could answer, a cold wind billowed around her ankles as something moved in the stairway below. With the way the stairs spiraled, she couldn’t see far, but she could feel it . . . hear it rustling and creeping and breathing . . . and then she smelled it, that terrible blue scent of Gelfling—of Gelfling essence, she realized, with a horrible shudder. She backed up the stairs, one at a time, but she knew she was only putting off the inevitable. There was nowhere to run in the narrow corridor, and nowhere to hide but in the dank cell that would become a prison as soon as the heavy door was shut once again.

  “Some scampabouts in Skeksis tower,” came the lisping, reedy voice. Footsteps followed, one after the other, and the cloaked figure that emerged from the shadows seemed to bring the darkness with him. It was the Skeksis with the burning eyes, the one that had watched her from the banquet. Across his shoulders was a mantle of liquid night, boiling about his feet like black smoke, bulging under one side where he carried something. Though Naia had now seen all the lords, as dark and towering as they were, on this night she knew that this one was to be most feared.

  “One and one,” he purred. He jabbed a finger first at Naia and then at her brother. “Two, but one. Two, one . . . twin. Had the one and been waiting for the second. Now we have her! Oh, have been waiting for this wonderful night!”

  “skekMal,” Gurjin whispered. “No . . .”

  “Now, come. Closer. End this now, skekMal will do. Time for special draining of twin Gelfling. Waited so long! skekTek the Scientist says may make a special essence for Emperor. Ha! Not if skekMal make and take it for himself.”

  The idea that they had been saving Gurjin like some rare holiday treat was bad enough, but knowing the Skeksis had known he’d had a twin—that they’d been waiting for her—was dizzying and revolting. Cornered, betrayed, Naia felt her fear ignite into anger, and she planted her feet and raised her voice.

  “What have you done with Tavra?” she demanded. She wanted to know, but more than that, she needed to buy time. Gurjin was bearing more of his own weight, beginning to shake off the haze of being trapped in the cell, but he was by no means ready to flee on his own two feet. Lightning crackled outside, illuminating the interior of the whorled stairway through one of the windows that opened into thick stormy air high above the Dark Wood.

  “Silverling wanted to know what we does with Gelfling. Wanted to see for itself. Stinking Silverling. Got what it deserves. Just a little drain tonight. . . the rest tomorrow.”

  Skeksis Lord skekMal held one arm out, spreading his cloak, and Naia’s mouth went dry. Clasped within was Tavra, limp and unconscious, eyes wide and misty like fog on a summer morning. She fell from where she was held, suddenly, dropping to the stairway with a broken thump, and Naia spied what had held the soldier’s body while skekMal’s talons had been occupied. Folded tightly against the sides of the Skeksis’s torso was a second pair of clawed black arms.

  Four arms . . .

  “He’s no lord,” Naia said. “He’s the Hunter.”

  skekMal chuckled and gave an extravagant, patronizing bow with all four arms as he reached within the endless bulk of his cloak. He withdrew a mask of bone, though it had a crack in the temple from a rock the size of a bola stone. With a toothy, fanged grin of smugness, skekMal the Hunter placed his mask upon his hooked face.

  “Even stupid Gelfling figures it out,” he cooed. “So stupid, Gelfling.”

  “Naia. I’m sorry.”

  Tavra’s voice was little more than a breath, but seeing the Vapra reminded Naia of how determined she had been to bring Naia out of Sog. How much she had already seemed to know about Naia and her twin brother. Even skekMal paused when the Vapra spoke, steepling the fingers of his two larger hands and watching, as if for sport. Tavra pushed herself up enough to meet Naia’s eyes.

  “You knew?” Naia whispered.

  “I knew they wanted you. I didn’t know why. When I found out, I tried to make it right. I tried to stop you, in the wood, but you followed me here anyway. I’m so sorry.”

  Despite the distant sense of betrayal, Naia felt the pain in the soldier’s confession, and then the urgency in the three words that followed:

  “Warn the others.”

  The fog cleared from Tavra’s eyes for a moment, and Naia understood. They knew the Skeksis’ secret, now, and it would all be for nothing if they couldn’t reach the other Gelfling, the other clans, Naia’s parents, her tribe, the All-Maudra.

  “No one warns anyone!” skekMal screeched, swiping a claw down and snatching Tavra from the steps. He held her by the neck and shook her like a beast worrying its prey, daring her to defy him again. Tavra withstood the abuse in silence, only looking at Naia and, with a stern and selfless clarity, said the words again, though her voice was strangled by skekMal’s grip.

  Warn the others . . .

  Then skekMal dropped her, and she did not rise again. Stepping over her with all his skirts and cloak, the Hunter growled a refrain:

  “No one warns anyone.”

  Tears on her cheeks, Naia backed away, taking Gurjin with her, pleading a silent apology to the fallen Vapra. A cold storm wind blew rain in from the window
, and she looked out, seeing the long drop into pitch blackness below, knowing behind her was only the top of the turret, a dead-end path leading straight to the dungeon cell she wanted with all her life to avoid.

  Satisfied with his disposal of Tavra, skekMal climbed the stairs, four arms spread wide, clawed black hands ready to slash, and fanged beak ready to bite. Naia looked to the dagger in her hand, its solid blade heavy in her palm.

  “Hard to fight while carrying stone,” skekMal cackled.

  It was the grim truth: There was no way she could carry Gurjin and fight at the same time. Letting go of the knife would leave her defenseless, but she would not let go of her brother. But perhaps . . .

  Now the Hunter waits behind him . . .

  He knows not what lies below him . . .

  Glancing out the window, a bolt of hope charged her body. She gave the dagger’s hilt a last squeeze for luck, saying good-bye before she flung it out the window. The move startled skekMal into silence long enough for Naia to listen, hard, through the howling storm beyond the window.

  Splash.

  Naia pulled Gurjin onto the windowsill and, giving skekMal a last look of defiance, turned toward the open sky beyond, and leaped. With a shriek of dismay, skekMal dived forward, his claws brushing her ankle as she cleared the sill, holding Gurjin in her arms and taking him with her.

  She felt a rush of wind and a blossom of pain in her back and shoulders as the updraft hit them. Naia closed her eyes and prayed, bracing herself for the impact of the water, hoping it could cushion their fall enough to save their lives. Expecting freefall, she clung to Gurjin and prepared for the fast drop to the castle moat. Its thick waters were quiet—save for the single wet splash it had offered when Gurjin’s knife had struck from above.

  But they weren’t falling. Instead, their descent was light and airy, like a plumed seedpod drifting on the wind. Looking over her shoulder, Naia saw skekMal hunched in the window of the castle, screeching madly after them, and then she saw them—felt them.

  Black and iridescent, reflecting the light of the storm in vibrant blues and fuchsias, Naia’s wings held them afloat, high above the wood and away from the terrors within the Castle of the Crystal.

  “Naia,” Gurjin said. “They’re beautiful . . .”

  Naia did not have time to enjoy the moment—the wind broke abruptly, and they faltered, dropping from the heights before another updraft came and buffeted their fall once more. Above, in the tower, skekMal’s shadow had disappeared from the window. Naia tightened her grip on Gurjin. The Hunter would be coming after them, no doubt. They were not safe yet.

  Far below, hidden by the shadow clusters of the wood, she heard the whistling call of a hollerbat, and a smile broke her features before she could think to stop it. The ground was fast approaching, and she gathered her wits, attempting for the first time in her life to maneuver in the air. It was rather like throwing a bola with her off hand, familiar but uncoordinated, and they veered suddenly, careening toward the earth. It was all she could do to aim for the water of the moat, and they splashed into it, Naia holding tightly to her brother despite the temporary shock that came from the cold water. Her gills opened, and she took a breath, orienting herself in the murky black water before swimming to the bank. The water was thick with algae and weeds, and almost as cold as ice. Her limbs were numb and aching by the time she broke the surface, sticky black algae stuck to her face . . . and then warm hands grasped her by the arm and hauled her up. When her knees were on the bank, she twisted and, in turn, hauled Gurjin from the deep moat. Cold as the water was, it seemed to have done him good, his body moving with greater control and rising confidence. Naia turned to the one who had pulled her from the water—had whistled the signal from below—throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly.

  “You shouldn’t have,” she whispered. “It’s dangerous—they’re coming. The Skeksis—”

  Kylan the Song Teller of Sami Thicket nodded, rising and helping her to her feet.

  “Then we’d better move, hadn’t we?”

  Gurjin stood on his own when she and Kylan tugged on him and, though his movements were still sluggish, he was able to run beside them as they made their escape into the wood. The storm had eased, finally, thunder receding into the distance and replaced with only a steady cold rain that Naia hoped would dampen their scent. The Dark Wood was the domain of the Hunter, and now his pursuit of them was personal. Her heart ached when she thought of him, the cruel way he had disposed of Tavra—but she had no time for tears, not even to worry for the soldier, if she was still alive—or mourn if she was otherwise.

  “The Skeksis betrayed us,” Naia told Kylan, in case they should be separated. “We have to escape. We have to tell the All-Maudra!”

  “I left the Landstrider at the river,” Kylan said. “A shortcut, I hope, if we can make it in time!”

  Something else had to be said, and Naia made sure it was, before it was too late.

  “I’m sorry about before,” she said. Kylan met her eyes and nodded back.

  “I know. Me too.”

  A crash behind them brought them to a brief halt. Naia knew, in her mind, that stopping to look back was the worst way to flee, but the reaction was reflexive. Through the wood, a monster was coming, and from its loathsome enraged breathing and then the bone-chilling cry it loosed, she knew it could only be skekMal. Gurjin suddenly snagged Naia by the elbow, yanking her to the side and into the hollow of a fallen tree stump. Kylan skidded to a halt and followed. There in the dark, they listened to the sounds of the monster hunting for them.

  “Sorry,” Gurjin said, panting. “They’ve taken so much out of me. I don’t think I can run.”

  “Then we’ll wait,” Naia said. “I’ll call the Cradle-Tree. Maybe it can hide us, help us escape.”

  Gurjin shook his head. “skekMal is relentless and master of the Dark Wood. Unless he is stopped, he will find us. He will kill us.”

  Tears sprouted in Naia’s eyes.

  “What . . . what are you saying?” she asked, though she knew the answer.

  “We don’t have time. Dreamfast with me, now!”

  Naia numbly took her brother’s hands when he reached out to her, and then all at once, every memory that lived within his mind crashed upon her.

  Chapter 25

  “Rian! Are you in here?”

  Rian? I know that name . . .

  Naia—no, this was her brother’s memory, she was Gurjin, now—shouldered open the door to the room he shared with Rian. Looking upon the little space, it was clear which half belonged to the Drenchen and which to the Stonewood Gelfling. Where Gurjin’s posessions were strewn in practical piles of clothing, rope, and experiments in metal-molding vliyaya, Rian’s were in orderly stacks: books, papers, and a few finely crafted wood sculptures. The only thing amiss on Rian’s side at the moment was Rian, pacing, wringing his hands. He was Gurjin’s age, with thick brown hair and olive skin, a few stone beads hanging from a cord around his neck. He was still in his uniform from the previous night, and looked up with exhausted, worried eyes when his friend entered.

  “There you are!” Gurjin exclaimed. “What’s gotten into you? Everyone’s looking for you since you and Mira missed your shift this morning. Doesn’t seem fair I’m the one who’s being held accountable. But I guess it’s usually the other way around . . . Come on.”

  Gurjin grabbed his friend by the arm, but Rian pulled away so suddenly, Gurjin jumped back.

  “Mira’s gone,” Rian said, the first thing he’d had to say since Gurjin had found him. Gurjin frowned in response.

  “You two didn’t run out last night and get into some trouble, did you? Aughra’s Eye! I’ll never hear the end of it if you did . . .” Gurjin trailed off at the blank, troubled stare he was getting. Rian was usually full of life, talkative and forthcoming. It did not bode well, and Gurjin’s heart sank when Rian�
��s next words confirmed the worst:

  “Mira’s dead.”

  It was hardly imaginable. In shock, Gurjin could only ask, “What?”

  “The Skeksis,” Rian breathed, eyes widening, warmth finally coming to them, though it was a heat of fear. “They took her—last night, when she returned from watch—Lord skekTek called her to his chambers. I wanted to see her when she was done speaking to him, so I waited . . . but she never came back. When I went to the chamber to see where they had gone, I saw . . . I saw . . .”

  Rian’s voice went empty, at a loss for words. Feeling light-headed, Gurjin closed the door to their barracks before returning and gently shaking his friend by the shoulders.

  “What did you see?”

  “Lord skekTek bound her to a chair,” Rian said. “He opened a window in the chamber wall . . . it opened into the shaft below the Crystal. It was burning bright. I had to shield my eyes. They made her look into it, and . . . it drained her. I don’t know how. Her face—her eyes—the life was drained out of her. Withering like a dying flower in the sun.”

  Gurjin didn’t want to hear the rest, covering his mouth and feeling his heart pounding, but Rian went on, unable to stop now that he had started.

  “They drained all her life by making her stare into the Crystal’s light,” he said. “And they pulled her life force into a glass vial. Drop by drop. They stole her vliya and she died, Gurjin!”

  “You lie,” he said, though he didn’t believe it. Rian had no reason to lie, and certainly not about something like this. Gurjin shook his head, boxing his own ears gently, trying to make sense of it all. “The Skeksis Lords . . . They wouldn’t—why Mira? Why anyone?”

  “I don’t know,” Rian said. “But we’re in danger. Our people are in danger. We have to tell the All-Maudra.”

  Gurjin agreed; that much was obvious. His mind was still spinning from Rian’s telling, but they didn’t have time to spin in confused circles, doing nothing.