by M Norton
Peter grinned and flexed his upper arms.
Krys caught movement out of the corner of his eye and heard a stick crack nearby. A chill crawled up his spine and he jerked his head around. A bush moved slightly. “Something’s watching us.”
Navashay pointed in a different direction. “I hear something from that direction, too.”
“What’s going on down there?” Peter’s voice drifted down from his perch.
“I don’t know.” Krys wasted no time as he moved toward the edge of the moat. “We’d better get moving.”
Krys pulled the end of the rope out of the tangle of growth and cut away some of the brambles nestled against the edge of the moat.
“I’ll go first,” he said to Navashay. “The brush looks pretty thick over there.”
Holding the rope, Krys backed up to afford some momentum for crossing. Against his better judgment, he ran toward the moat and launched himself over the abyss.
He gripped the rope as the weight of the packs pulled him downward.
“Watch out,” Peter yelled from above. But the warning came too late.
Krys cleared the moat, but lost his grip and fell into a tangle of briars and vines on the other side.
Navashay gasped.
“Ooo, that had to hurt,” Peter yelled down to him. “You okay?”
With difficulty, Krys pulled himself from his thorny bonds. Razor-sharp assailants tore at his skin with vicious hunger. He surveyed his wounds. Pain shot through him. Blood oozed from too many places to count. Stepping away from the moat, his foot caught on something; he stumbled and almost plummeted over the edge again. The memories of falling into the moat before played through his head in a split second. He shuddered and stepped back.
“Krys!” Peter and Navashay yelled at the same time.
Krys stooped and drew in a few deep breaths, trying to will away the dizziness. He looked at his torn flesh again. The bleeding had slowed. It could have been a whole lot worse. “Yeah, I think I’ll be alright.” He winced as he pulled a long thorn from his thigh.
“I hope you didn’t spill any of my food,” Peter said.
“Thanks for your concern—friend!” said Krys.
Peter chuckled.
After dropping the packs, Krys shoved some briars out of the way and swung the rope to Navashay on the other side.
After she was across, Peter pulled the rope up and repositioned it. He then tied a harness on one end.
Navashay scanned the area they had come from.
“See anything?” Krys asked.
Her eyes darted about. She shook her head. “No, but I know I heard something.”
Krys gazed back up at Peter a split second before his friend dropped out of the tree.
A breath caught in Krys’ throat.
“Woo-hoo.” Peter swung high overhead, then lowered himself with the other end of the rope. He began to swing as he neared the open moat. The braided line slid through Peter’s hands and he landed with ease between Krys and Navashay. He retrieved his rope, coiled it, put it back in his pack, then slung it and the food sack over his shoulder.
“Should have joined me; that was great.”
“You never cease to amaze me, Peter.” Krys let out a held breath.
They struggled through the last dozen feet of tangled growth before they reached the massive castle. Krys leaned his back against one of thousands of large stone blocks making up the wall. He sighed. At last, they’d reached their objective. Half the day had passed since they left the edge of the mysterious forest.
He surveyed his wounds and torn clothing. Peter and Navashay were in no better shape.
Navashay went straight to work, and in no time, she had healed everyone’s wounds.
Krys turned and ran his hand over the tears in his clothing. “Qualum sorcandious,” he said. They returned to their former undamaged conditions. “Wow.” He smiled. “I actually did it! I’ve never been able to do that one!”
Navashay beamed at Krys.
“Good job.” Peter slapped Krys on the back.
Krys rubbed a hand over the surface of the stone, almost smothered by thick green vines, their bright blooms sporting unmoving insects, as if wearing them as jewelry. He looked up the surface of the outer wall to the apex. “It looks to be about forty or fifty feet t—”
A deep rumbling echoed, cutting Krys off.
[Back to Top]
Chapter 12 - Remnants of Battle
Another rumble echoed.
Krys jerked his head toward Peter. “Was that you?”
Peter clamped his hands over his belly. “I can’t help it, I’m hungry!”
Navashay snickered.
“Okay,” Krys said. “Your stomach wins, and I’m exhausted.” He bent to sit down, but caught himself in time to make sure there were no thorns in the way. Satisfied there were none, he settled himself on the ground and leaned against the castle wall.
Navashay sat on one side of him, Peter on the other.
From his sack, Krys pulled out a handful of venison jerky. He offered some to them.
Peter took two pieces out of Krys’ hand. He gobbled them fast and hiccupped loudly. “Thanks,” he said. “Now I don’t have to eat mine.”
“What? You had jerky left, and took mine anyway?” Krys threw a stick at his friend.
“Well, yeah—leaves more for me to have later.”
Krys rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“I haven’t figured you two out yet,” Navashay said as she tore a small piece of jerky off with her teeth, leaned forward, and looked from one to the other. “You constantly tease each other and play around. Sometimes you seem like you’re going to kill each other. But at other times you act like brothers.” She shook her head. “I guess there’s just no figuring out boys.”
Peter smiled. “That’s the way it’s supposed to be.”
Navashay’s brow rose at Peter.
“So,” Krys cut in quickly. “You said you come from Hibbard Village?”
Navashay nodded. “I’ve lived there my whole life.”
“There’s no way you walked all the way from Hibbard to Ravenwood by yourself. Are you sure you didn’t come with the wizards and the students for the Choosing?” Peter asked.
“No. I came alone,” Navashay said in a defensive tone. “And evidently there is a way—” She crammed her fists into her sides and bobbed her head from side to side, “—because here I am.”
“Hmm,” said Peter. “And you’re just a girl.”
“What’s that’s supposed to mean?” She rose part of the way off the ground.
Krys shook his head, wanting to defuse the situation before it really got ugly. He turned to Navashay. “And, you’re a healer?”
“That’s right.” She glared at Peter and sat back again.
“I don’t believe anyone your age could possibly be a healer; maybe a healer-apprentice,” Peter said.
She threw the rest of her jerky at Peter. “No! I told you before, I’m a healer, a full healer, have been for over six months now.”
Peter picked the piece of jerky from the ground, blew the dirt from it, and shoved it into his mouth.
Krys turned to Peter. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
Peter shrugged. “Three second rule.”
“What makes me a full healer,” Navashay said, leaning over Krys to address Peter. “Is my knowledge of plants. I know their secrets.”
“Plants have secrets?” Krys and Peter asked at the same time.
“I know how to manipulate them.” She poked at a group of vines growing up the castle wall. “That is, if they’re normal plants. And, I know how to feel for their essence. It’s what defines a healer. Without that ability, no amount of mentoring can help, and you’ll never be able to be called ‘healer’.”
“If you say so.” Peter dug around in his full sack and found three tea cakes. He lobbed one to Navashay and threw one at Krys. It hit him in the face. “There ya’ go—now we’re even.” He
grinned.
“Where do you put it all?” Navashay asked Peter with a shake of her head.
Peter just shrugged and ate.
Krys pulled the journal out, glad that Peter and Navashay had stopped arguing for the moment. He opened it to the drawing of the castle. “I’m not sure where we are along this wall.” He ran his fingertip along the edge of the sketched stones.
“Hopefully we’re close to the front corner and it won’t take too long to reach it,” Peter mumbled through a full mouth.
“We’ll rest for a few more minutes and then get moving again. We still have quite a walk to get to the entrance even if we’re lucky enough to be close to the corner.” Krys glanced at the drawing again and noticed that a part of the picture glowed with a dim yellow shine. Unsure whether it had been there the first time he’d looked at the drawing, he studied it closer. As he stared, two lines of text gradually appeared under the picture. “Hey, look at this.” He held the journal out to the other two.
Navashay took the journal out of his hands and read the passage out loud.
Spike and filament shall hold tight
That which seems unlikely.
“Another riddle.” Krys sighed.
Navashay handed the journal back.
He considered the entry and illustration and decided the position of the mysterious object was close to the corner of the wall they leaned against. He pointed to the image. “Looks like we need to find this glowing object.”
He closed the journal and dropped it in his pouch. When he looked up, a sudden movement startled him. A shadow, roughly half the size of a grown man, began a gradual ascent from the moat. It undulated as a dozen shades of gray swirled within. It billowed like smoke escaping a fire and had no discernible shape to it. Krys jumped to his feet, his heart hammering in his chest. “What the heck is that?”
The shadow stretched into a light gray wisp and burst from the moat. All three youths pressed their backs against the castle wall, frozen in place. Krys’ breath caught in his throat.
It coalesced into a pure white form, hanging in the air in front of them.
Peter shrieked and shot to his feet when it flew at him. He jumped aside in a futile attempt at escape.
Within seconds, the white form penetrated Peter’s torso. It immobilized him and lingered for several seconds. The scent of burnt flesh filled the air. A translucent filament snaked out of Peter’s belly.
Krys leapt forward and thrust his hand outward, meaning to grab the protrusion.
“Stop!” Navashay screamed, knocking Krys’ hand away from it. “We don’t know what it is. You could make things worse!”
The wispy form extricated itself from Peter and disappeared into the ground in front of the castle wall.
Peter collapsed to his knees. “Wh-what h-h-happened? I’m f-f-freez-zing.”
Krys’ heart pounded and his hand trembled as he reached for his friend.
“A g-ghost,” Navashay said in a high, shaky voice.
Peter’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the ground, unconscious.
Krys scrambled over to his friend and shook him. Navashay sank to her knees on Peter’s other side.
Peter’s skin felt cold, his expression blank. Krys shook him. “Peter. Wake up,” he pleaded.
Worried, Krys fell back. He ran a hand over his face and let out a ragged breath. His gut churned, not knowing what was happening to his friend. “Can you do something?” He looked up at Navashay.
“I-I don’t know.”
“You’re a healer. You have to do something.”
“I’ve never seen anything like this before.” Navashay’s eyes were wide. “A healer can’t always fix something that’s super-natural in nature.”
They sat there for several minutes, calling Peter’s name and shaking his shoulders. They never took their eyes off their fallen friend.
Peter groaned and his eyes fluttered open.
Krys jumped to his knees. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” Peter said. His skin was pale and his eyes rolled around in their sockets. He sat up with Navashay’s assistance.
“What happened?” She brushed a stray lock of hair out of Peter’s eyes.
Peter shook his head and looked at her, then Krys, with unfocused eyes. “It was like I could feel a man’s presence—but not in a physical way.” His voice cracked.
“What does that mean?” Krys said.
“I don’t know—like I could see into his mind or something.” Peter’s chin fell to his chest and he was silent for a few moments. “No, not really like that either.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “I just felt him—not his body, but him—his spirit, his being.” His gaze met Krys’. “And I didn’t like it—his spirit felt evil. Like he wanted to hurt me.”
Panic gripped Krys’ throat and he felt light headed. “Where did he come from?”
“My guess would be the battle that took place here two hundred years ago,” Navashay said.
Peter’s eyes opened wide and his mouth fell open. “With all the people who died here, that means—”
“That there could be thousands more,” Krys said.
He looked at Peter. Not knowing what else to do, he handed his friend a piece of jerky.
Peter waved his hand. “I’m not hungry,” he said in a faint voice.
Krys glanced at Navashay, her gaze frightened. If Peter wasn’t hungry, something was definitely wrong. Worried, he pulled Peter to standing. He could feel the tension in his friend’s muscles as he clutched his arm. “I think we better get moving again.”
“Me too,” said Navashay as she glanced around. “And fast.”
Peter nodded.
An odd rustling sound came from the forest across the moat.
All three spun around. Krys squinted at the foliage, but saw nothing.
Krys eyed the castle wall. “Quick, climb!” His stomach churned at the thought. But fear of the unknown beat out the fear of heights any day.
They used the numerous climbing vines to scramble up the wall. Krys struggled to pull himself farther and farther from the solid ground below him. The smaller vines would not support his weight, causing him to stretch his legs for substantial footholds.
Peter bolted past the other two. But as he neared the top, the plants pulled from the stone. Peter hung on the vines near the apex of the wall.
“Be careful,” Navashay screamed. “You almost fell.”
“I never fall!” he answered. There was a touch of uncertainty in his voice.
Grabbing a better hold, Peter tried again. The vines gave way again and he fell.
“Peter!” Krys cried out.
Navashay placed her hand on a large vine and closed her eyes. Vines shot out from the wall below her and snagged Peter.
The vines Krys clung to, also pulled from the wall.
“Jump,” Navashay yelled to Krys as her hands gripped loosening vines.
Krys steeled himself against the fear of letting go, took a deep breath and released his hold. He hit the ground hard, knocking the wind out of him. Navashay dropped down next to him. The vines lowered Peter, set him on the dirt by Krys’ feet, then retreated and reattached themselves to the castle wall.
Krys scanned the edge of the moat for additional danger. He saw nothing else.
With as quick a pace as possible, they resumed their trek along the castle wall.
The sound of branches rubbing together came from across the moat. Krys spun on his heel in time to see the bushes on the other side shuddering.
Krys froze, his heart racing. He saw nothing on the other side of the moat but brambles and trees. “I’m not waiting around to see what that noise is,” he yelled as he urged his legs to run. “Come on! Let’s go!”
He ran full speed through the briars.
Several dozen yards ahead, he skidded to a stop at the drum tower that marked the corner of the castle. It stood twice as tall as the mighty walls.
Peter crashed into him from behind
and almost knocked him down.
“Why did you stop?” Peter asked, out of breath.
“This is the corner of the castle.” Krys pointed up at the immense tower. “We have to find the spike and filament, whatever they are.” Krys pulled the journal out and flipped it open to the proper place. “And we need to do it in a hurry.” He stared at the page, showing newly formed words.
Equidistant from ground and drum
The height of four ax handles and again.
“It’s as far from the ground as it is from the tower,” Navashay said.
“Yeah, but how far is that?” Krys furrowed his brow and looked up from the journal.
“A standard ax handle is half a man’s height,” Navashay said.
“Then four man-heights. No, eight up and eight from the drum tower.” Peter paced off the distance.
“Wait a minute.” Krys grabbed Peter’s arm. “It said four ax handles.”
“But it also said ‘and again’, which means we double the length.” Peter resumed stepping off the distance. When he stopped, he looked up the wall. “These blocks look to be about a pace and a half square, which will make this a whole lot easier.”
A shiver crept up Krys’ spine. “Well, you better hurry up, because I don’t want to hang around any longer than we have to.”
Peter nodded to Krys and started to climb the stone wall. Vines reached out and slapped at Peter. Some tried to wrap around him and pull him off. Peter kicked the vines and untangled his arms. He placed his feet and hands into small crevices and indentions, and counted off the blocks out loud as he got to them.
“Do you think a standard ax handle is the same now as it was two hundred years ago?” Navashay asked Krys.
“Hope so.” Krys shrugged.
Peter stopped his assent and looked at a space between two blocks.
“Do you see it?” Krys yelled up to his friend.
“No,” Peter said as he lifted a leg and pulled his dagger out of his boot. “But I think I’m in the right place.” Dust and small chunks of stone filtered down on Krys and Navashay as Peter ran the blade between the blocks.