Air Keep

by J. Scott Savage

  One foot crashed onto the far edge of the opening, and Jaklah gasped as dirt and rocks crumbled away beneath it; he was sure soldier and boy would plummet into the darkness together. But Tankum’s momentum carried them forward, and a few seconds later, he sat Theyin gently on the grass as though they’d done nothing more eventful than go for a brisk walk.

  Jaklah crawled to the opening and looked down. The crevice was so deep he couldn’t see the bottom. Keeping safely away from the edge, he circled the hole and hurried to his friend on the other side. “You all right?”

  Theyin sat on the ground, trying to catch his breath. “I’m . . . not sure.”

  Around them, men were getting to their feet, untying horses, climbing into wagons, and checking their gear. Several of them eyed the break in the ground warily and muttered under their breath.

  Jaklah reached out and pulled his friend up. “When I saw that crack open, I thought you—”

  Theyin held out a hand, cutting off his words. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. I haven’t been that scared since . . .” He ran a hand across his brow. “To tell the truth, I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared.”

  Jaklah pointed to the front of Theyin’s rough-woven breeches. “At least you didn’t wet yourself. The other soldiers would never have let you live that down.”

  “Slim chance.” Theyin pulled the cork from his waterskin and took a measured sip. “With as little as they give us to drink, my body wouldn’t dare spill a drop. There’s not enough moisture in me to break a sweat.”

  “Forward, march!” Tankum shouted. The statue’s feet shook the ground like an aftershock of the quake as he strode forward. Theyin and Jaklah walked a few paces behind him.

  “You think it’s true what some of the men are saying?” Theyin asked. “That the land elementals are behind the quakes?”

  “Nah.” Jaklah had seen Lanctrus-Darnoc, the half boar, half fox creature that had come out of Land Keep with Marcus and Kyja. According to Tankum, they’d helped save Terra ne Staric from the Keepers. “They’re on our side.”

  Theyin tried to spit the dust from his tongue, but his mouth was too dry to create enough saliva. “They say the water elementals are on our side too. But they don’t seem to care about the fact that folks are dying of thirst.”

  Jaklah didn’t know what to say to that. The weather had gone crazy everywhere. Half the reason he’d joined the army was to escape the floods at home. But now here he was, dreaming of getting more than a mouthful of water at a time. Could the water elementals have something to do with the bizarre weather?

  “My heart’s still pounding,” Theyin said.

  “At least you had something happen,” Jaklah muttered, his voice thick with bitterness. He knew he wasn’t being fair. His friend had nearly died. But the other reason Jaklah had joined up was to get revenge on the Keepers who had stolen magic from his friends and family for so many years. So far, army life had been nothing but day after day of boredom. He kicked a rock. “Guess we’ll never see any action.”

  He’d forgotten Tankum was still there until the warrior turned to look back at him. “That eager to wet your blade in another man’s blood, are you?”

  Jaklah flushed. “It’s not that. It’s just . . . well, what’s the point of us being here if we aren’t going to fight anyone?”

  Tankum pulled out one of his long, curved steel blades and ran its keen edge across the tip of his stone thumb. “An army’s job is to obey orders. Sometimes obeying orders means fighting—to the death, if necessary. Other times it means keeping violence away by our very presence.”

  Jaklah had never looked at it that way. Tankum had fought in many battles. Maybe it was time to do less talking and more listening.

  The sun was still several hours from the edge of the horizon when Tankum abruptly called the march to a halt. Jaklah looked around. Why were they stopping? Except for the quakes, they never quit walking before dusk. The other men seemed confused as well.

  A stone wizard with big ears and an even bigger nose took out his wand. “What is it?”

  Tankum shook his head. He sniffed the air and put a palm to the ground. “Something’s wrong.”

  For the second time that day, Jaklah’s hand reached for the hilt of his sword. Following the warrior’s example, he smelled the air. He detected the faintest scent of something familiar. Despite the hot, dry air, the smell made him think of the swamp near his home—now turned into a lake.

  “Look!” One of the men pointed toward a dark spot in the dirt. Jaklah stepped through the crowd to get a closer look.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Theyin asked. The dark stain on the ground was round and less than a stone’s throw across, but it appeared to be growing.

  Several of the men dropped to their knees and touched it with their fingertips. “It is,” one of them said, his eyes wide with surprise. “It’s water!”

  Jaklah rushed forward and flattened the brittle grass, ignoring the way it jabbed his fingers. He touched the dark soil with his palm. It was definitely wet.

  Two men began digging into the ground, trying to get enough of the brown water to cup in their hands. Even as they did, it became clear that it wasn’t necessary to dig. Like a spring, the water bubbled up through the ground, first soaking the dirt, then puddling around the base of the grass.

  Theyin scooped a handful and held it to his mouth. “It’s cold.” He hooted. “And delicious.”

  Soldiers shoved each other to reach the water—cupping it in their hands, soaking pieces of cloth and squeezing the water into their mouths or lapping it straight from the ground. Theyin was right; it was ice cold, and despite the grit and dirt, the best thing Jaklah had tasted in weeks.

  The men started shouting and splashing, wetting their faces and dousing each other. One man dropped his pack and sword, tore off his shirt, and rolled across the ground, giggling like a child.

  Only the statues seemed impervious to the water’s allure. Unlike the humans, they could neither drink nor eat. Tankum, who continued to sniff the air, stepped away from the growing pond. “Get back,” he growled.

  When the men failed to respond, he shouted, “On your feet!”

  A few men stood, but most of them ignored the warning. “What is it?” Jaklah asked, getting up.

  The warrior suddenly drew his second blade. “Away from the water. Now!” The army of living statues pulled out their wands and weapons.

  Jaklah’s throat ached for more to drink, but he took the warrior’s advice, grabbing Theyin’s arm and pulling his friend backward. About half of the men did so as well. The other half continued to drink despite their commander’s orders.

  “Is it the water?” Jaklah asked Tankum. “Is something wrong with it?”

  Tankum’s brow lowered, the muscles in his stone arms bulging as he gripped his swords. “Something’s . . . coming.”

  Jaklah looked around. There was nothing as far as he could see. But he did feel something—a tingling in his limbs. The hairs on his arms and legs were standing straight up.

  Some of the men who had continued drinking must have felt it too. A few stood, looking around with confused expressions, before hurrying to join their companions.

  The ground shuddered under Jaklah’s feet. Another quake? Usually they happened only at morning, mid-day, and evening. But once or twice the ground had trembled at other times. If that was all, why was Tankum holding his swords out before him, a low rumble growing in his throat?

  The water gushed faster from the ground, washing up chunks of grass and clods of dirt. Now all of the men who’d continued to drink began getting up. They stumbled through the thick, silty water that had risen to their knees. Only the man who’d pulled off his shirt took no notice—he continued to splash and frolic.

  “Look there.” Theyin pointed toward the middle of the pond. Bubbles boiled in the mud.

  “Get out of the water!” Jaklah screamed. Several soldiers started forward, but then froze as something t
hick and brown rose from the murky liquid. It took Jaklah a moment to realize that he was seeing an arm. Could there be a man down there? But the arm was too big. A man with arms that size would need to be . . .

  A second arm emerged, dark as mud and lumpy, not like a real man’s at all, but like some kind of monster’s. Out of the murk rose a head as big as a boulder. Its face was blank—no sign of eyes, nose, or mouth. Yet Jaklah felt hatred radiating from it so strongly, it might as well have been glaring straight at him. The creature climbed from the water, growing as tall as a man, then two men, then the size of a small tree.

  Soldiers yelled out warnings, and for the first time, the swimming man seemed to understand that something was wrong. He turned, saw the creature towering above him, and stumbled backward—straight into another pair of lumpy arms. The shirtless soldier reached for his sword. Before he could remember he’d dropped his weapon, the second pair of arms yanked him under the water.

  Bodies emerged from all over the muddy lake now. Clay giants pulled themselves out of the ground. Ten, a dozen, thirty—Jaklah lost count as he drew his sword with a trembling hand. The clay golems turned and started toward their army.

  Just before Tankum raised his pair of swords and moved forward to meet the charge, he glanced at Jaklah. “Looks like you’ll get your action after all.”

  Part 1

  Is, Was, Will Be

  Chapter 1

  Books and Beetles

  Flick. Snap. Crunch.

  Flick. Snap. Crunch.

  “Would you stop that?” Kyja swept away the pile of maps in front of her and scowled into the dark corner of the underground room.

  Riph Raph spotted another of the eight-legged water beetles that had come here to avoid the blistering heat outside. His tongue flicked, and he snapped the red-shelled insect into his mouth, then crunched it with his beak. “Did you say something?”

  “Ohhh!” Kyja slammed a fist on the big wooden table. “You are so annoying.”

  The skyte flapped his stubby, teal-blue wings and hopped up to where Kyja had been studying stacks of maps and books for hours on end. “Pardon me,” he said in a tone that was anything but apologetic. He looked around, found a beetle hiding in the shadow of a thick book, and speared it with one talon. “Here,” he said, the creature wriggling. “I wouldn’t have hogged them all if I’d known you wanted one.”

  “I don’t,” Kyja said, tired of his jokes. “I want you to let me think.”

  Riph Raph ate the beetle, then licked his beak with a long tongue stained the same bright red as the insects he’d been catching. “I didn’t realize my trying to eat enough to stay alive while you keep us locked in this dungeon was bothering you.”

  Kyja wiped a dusty hand across her face. Riph Raph was right. She’d been at this so long she’d lost track of time as she tried to locate any mention of air elementals and where they might be found. Plenty of people had searched for them, each with a different theory of where Air Keep was located. But as far as she could tell, none of them had discovered so much as a single clue to the elusive creatures’ whereabouts.

  She’d worked straight through dinner, and if the candle, burned down nearly to its holder, was any clue, she’d probably missed breakfast as well. Keeping track of time was impossible in these rooms deep beneath the tower. This area, used for storing documents too old or unreliable to be worth keeping upstairs in the library, wasn’t actually in the dungeon, but it wasn’t far from it.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just frustrated. Water Keep wasn’t that hard to find, and we at least had rumors of where Land Keep was located. But I can’t find a single theory on Air Keep that isn’t based on a dream or a story someone made up. Then there’s that stupid poem. See the Lords of Air—Above the clouds they creep. How am I supposed to get above the clouds? I can’t fly!” She pounded her fist on the table, causing Riph Raph to jump.

  “What’s making you angry is the turnip head,” Riph Raph said.

  “What?” Kyja looked up sharply from the table.

  The skyte shook his floppy ears. “You’re blaming maps and books, but what’s really frustrating you is that the wizard won’t let you bring your boyfriend with the turnip-shaped head back to Farworld. He’s all you think about.”

  Kyja felt her face redden. “Marcus is not my boyfriend. And he isn’t all I think about. I’ve been practicing fencing and archery. I’ve been searching for Air Keep. I’ve been helping the wizards try to discover what’s causing the ground to shake and what’s causing the drought. Until you brought him up, I hadn’t thought about Marcus in . . . weeks!”

  Riph Raph nodded as though considering her argument. “Then I guess you won’t want to check on how the wizard’s doing with his search for a way to protect Turnip Head from the realm of shadows.”

  Kyja clenched her fists. What she wanted to do was give Riph Raph a hard whack on the head with one of these big dusty books. But that would just convince him all the more that he was right. In a tight voice she said, “Marcus does not have a turnip-shaped head. And I am not going to check on how Master Therapass is coming with his research on the shadow realm.”

  The skyte crunched on a bit of beetle.

  At last Kyja licked her fingers and pinched out the candle. Except for the flickering light of a torch in the hallway, the room went completely dark. “As it turns out, I do need to speak with the wizard. But only to update him on my search for Air Keep. It has nothing to do with Turni—I mean, Marcus.”

  Riph Raph made a sound that might have been caused by a piece of insect shell caught in his throat. Or it might have been a laugh.

  Five minutes later, Kyja raced through the kitchen, where Bella, the tower cook, was blustering up a storm at a red-faced guard.

  “How am I supposed to bake anything when there’s no milk because the cows have dried up and you give me only a half barrel of water to last an entire week?” the stout woman shouted, waving her large wooden spoon. “You do realize I’m trying to feed an entire tower, don’t you?”

  “Don’t blame me. I’m not the one who stopped the rain and dried up the river. The high lord says that’s all there is,” the guard said with a grunt. “Another week, and there won’t even be that if we don’t get some rain.” He eyed the barrel, licking his parched lips. “You think maybe I could get a tiny . . .” He mimed drinking from a ladle and Bella hit him on the top of his head with her spoon.

  “Get out!” she hollered. “And tell the high lord he can expect stringy beef with hard carrots and no biscuits for dinner.”

  As Kyja started toward the spiral staircase leading to the tower, Bella noticed her. “Come here child,” the cook whispered.

  “No time,” Kyja said. “I have to talk to—”

  Bella cut her off, taking her arm with fingers strengthened from hours of cutting vegetables and rolling dough, and led her to a corner cupboard. After checking to make sure no one was watching, she pulled out a small clay jug.

  “There’s no more than a swallow or two,” Bella said. “But it’s the last there is.” She pulled the cork from the jug, and the heavenly smell of apple cider wafted through the air.

  “No, I couldn’t,” Kyja said, although her stomach gurgled with desire at the smell. “Drink it yourself. Or give it to one of the children. I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine.” Bella pulled down one of Kyja’s lower eyelids. “When did you last have anything to drink?”

  Kyja couldn’t remember. Ten or twelve hours? A day, maybe? She’d meant to drink her ration yesterday morning—a half cup of warm, brackish liquid. But then she’d seen a boy crying in the street, so thirsty his eyes couldn’t even form tears, and she’d given the cup to him instead.

  “That’s what I thought,” Bella said. The cook put the jug to Kyja’s lips. “Go on. Another day, and it will turn sour anyway.” Kyja gulped down the few swallows gratefully. She hadn’t realized how dry her mouth was until her tongue tasted the sweet liquid. She poured the last trick
le into her hand and fed it to Riph Raph.

  As the skyte lapped the final drops from her palm, the tower floor began to shake. Bella reached for a counter, and the jug slipped from her hand, crashing to the floor with a jangle of broken pottery. That wasn’t the only crash. From around the kitchen, anything not firmly held down or locked away rattled and shook. Although all breakable items had been placed at the backs of the shelves, two dishes and a bowl still managed to rattle off and crash to the floor.

  Kyja clung to Bella, waiting out the quake.

  “If this keeps up, there won’t be a single cup or bowl left in the whole town,” Bella said when the shaking finally stopped. “Of course, that won’t matter if there’s nothing left to eat or drink.” She looked down at Kyja as though realizing the girl was still there. “Didn’t you say you had somewhere to go?”

  “Yes!” Kyja ran to the doorway, and Riph Raph flew out the window. At the base of the staircase, she stopped and turned to Bella. “The water will come back. Cascade won’t let us starve.”

  Bella nodded, her double chins wobbling. “I hope so, child. I hope so.”

  As Kyja hurried up to the tower, she remembered climbing this same staircase on her way to magic lessons. It had been only a little more than a year ago, but it seemed much longer. Back then she’d been convinced that with enough practice, she could learn to cast spells and use potions like every other kid her age. She hadn’t known she was really from a place called Earth, where no one cast spells. She hadn’t known she was destined to save that world—and Farworld—by creating a doorway called a drift between the two. Elementals had been something from a children’s poem.

  And she hadn’t known about . . . Marcus.

  Kyja swallowed and increased her pace, the steps blurring as she leaped up them. For the last six months, she’d concentrated on her studies and weapons practice, trying not to think about Marcus. But how could she, when, for all she knew, he was in the hands of the Thrathkin S’Bae—the Dark Circle’s evil wizards—or worse? Master Therapass wouldn’t even let her check on Marcus with his aptura discerna, saying that using it would only make it that much harder for her to resist pulling Marcus back to Farworld.