by GARY DARBY
Cara grins at me. “You don’t know the half of it.”
We start to take the steps but I stop midway down. “Wait, Phigby’s still in there.”
“I wonder what’s keeping him?” Cara questions.
“C’mon, let’s go fetch him. He’s probably so immersed in something or other that if we don’t break him out of it, we’ll find him still standing there come morning.”
We tread back up the roughed-out steps and make our way into the chair chamber.
At the sight that greets us we stop cold. “Phigby!” Cara gasps.
Phigby sits in the chair wrapped in a tangle of thick roots. He’s bound so tight that his eyes bulge and he strains to catch a breath, only he can’t.
“It’s killing him!” Cara shouts and together we jump forward to grab at the entanglement. However, no matter how hard we pull, we can’t budge the roots which seem to have the strength of a dozen strong Amils.
Phigby’s head lolls back, the whites of his eyes showing. “He’s suffocating,” Cara growls and doubles her efforts to free our friend.
Seeing how futile our efforts are, I pull at Cara and snarl, “Stand back!”
I whip out Galondraig, bring it back to slash at the shoots but then all at once, the roots spring back and Phigby begins to tumble from the chair.
Cara and I catch him before he hits the floor and gently lower him down. A moment later, he sucks in a deep breath and then another and another. Slowly, the color comes back to his face and his eyes flutter open.
“Phigby?” I question.
His eyes turn on me and he blinks several times before he seems to recognize me. “Phigby?” Cara asks. “Are you all right?”
He swallows, runs a hand over his face to wipe away the drops of sweat. “I am now, thanks to you two.”
“What happened?” Cara demands. “Why were you in the chair and why did the tree try to kill you?”
With our help, he sits up, his eyes on the death-dealing chair. “Wasn’t the tree,” he rasps.
He takes in another breath, lets it out. “It was Vay.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Vay!” I snarl and jump up, Galondraig out and ready. I spin around, looking for the witch, prepared to run her through if she appears.
Phigby reaches up and grabs my arm. “Easy lad, she’s not here.”
“But you said—”
“What I said was true. She cast a spell onto the wind and the Wind Catcher, true to its name, caught it.”
He rises and lets out a breath. “It was a trap, waiting for the right moment.”
Turning slightly, he peers at me. “And the right victim.”
There’s silence for several moments, Phigby and I staring at each other until Cara gasps, “Wait, are you suggesting the trap was for Hooper?”
“Indeed,” Phigby replies. “Vay must have given Talonda orders to either destroy the Wind Catcher or slay Liam. On the off-chance that only Liam died and there was no other to act as Vinderfangen, she cast her spell on the winds knowing that Hooper wields a gemstone that can call upon the greenery and—”
“The Whisperer just might speak to him,” Cara finishes.
“Hold on,” I protest, “the tree almost killed you, so why would I would want to sit in the chair?”
“Because,” Phigby returns, “I would ask it of you and besides, it’s perfectly safe now. The spell is gone, wasted on me.”
Skeptic that I am and not entirely sure that Phigby has it right, I argue, “If the spell was meant for me—then just exactly how was it wasted on you and it’s still not in force and ready to strangle me?”
Cara’s eyes pop open and her mouth sags. “He’s right, Phigby. You said the trap was for Hooper—not you!”
“Did you not see me trapped and in danger of suffocating?!” Phigby demands. “I tell you the spell is broken!”
“And just how did you—” Cara presses.
“Is for me to know and not you!” Phigby snaps before he straightens and takes in a deep breath.
He lays a hand on my shoulder, holds me with his eyes. “Hooper, you have my word, it is perfectly safe and this is important. We need to know where the dwarves are and more importantly, where Vay’s portal is hidden. Without knowing that, we cannot do what must be done, and soon.”
Cara and I gaze at each other for a moment before Cara lifts up the corners of her mouth in a wan smile. “He’s right, Hooper, it is important. Still . . .” she turns to Phigby and I can see that she’s not letting Phigby off so easy.
“Why,” Cara asks, “did you sit in the chair if you suspected there was a spell on the wind?”
“There was only one way to find out,” Phigby replies with a sigh. “If there was a fault to my thinking it is that I badly underestimated Vay’s power in her spell.”
“It almost killed you,” Cara states.
“Because of a foolish assumption on my part,” Phigby replies. “I thought I could withstand her enchantment, but I was wrong. Bringing up that shield to counter Talonda’s monster took too much out of me. I was much weaker than I thought.”
He smiles at me. “But think of it this way, I made it that much easier for Hooper to do what he must—listen to the Whisperer.”
“Easier?” Cara grunts. “It didn’t appear to be an easy way for you to die.”
“Indeed,” Phigby nods, “but you two rescued me and all’s well.”
“Seems to me,” I grumble, “that we should be careful about saying ‘All’s well’ when clearly it’s not.”
“But it is now,” Phigby returns and gestures toward the chair. “Ready?”
“Ready?” I stammer. “No.”
Phigby sighs. “Hooper, Liam—may his soul rest peacefully—was unable to give us the answers we need. It’s up to you, m’boy.”
“I’ll do it,” Cara offers. “Only you two make sure have your swords drawn and ready to hack me out of there.”
“No, Cara,” I reply with a sigh. “Phigby’s right, the gems, especially the emerald, give me a certain affinity with the trees. If anyone can, and should do it, it’s me though I admit I’m not sure what I’m doing. After all, it’s not like I go around having conversations with trees.”
“First time for everything,” Phigby replies and with a hand to my back urges me toward the rough-hewn chair.
I blow out a breath, scabbard Galondraig and slowly ease myself down onto the seat.
“Lean back,” Phigby directs, “relax. You’re all hunched up like you’re a mountain Tyger about to pounce on a fat sheep.”
“I’d say,” Cara observes, “more like a horse about to burst from its stall trying to escape a barn fall. See how round his eyes are, how much white is showing?”
“Do you have to compare me to animals?” I growl. “How about, the handsome hero crouches, readies himself to rescue the beautiful—”
Just then, a thin root whips itself around my chest, then another crosses my stomach and legs. A thicker shoot presses itself against my head just as Cara yelps, “Phigby!”
“Easy, Cara,” Phigby urges and looms close to me. “Are you all right, Hooper? They’re not too tight, are they?”
“Uh no,” I reply. “not too tight and I’m fine. Just an odd sensation being pinned down by roots.”
“Indeed,” Phigby agrees, his eyes narrowing as he stares at me. “Hear anything?”
I close my eyes, concentrate on listening. At first, there’s nothing and then, ever so faint come whisperings that sound like a soft breeze rustling leaves.
At first, I can’t understand the whispers and then at a thought, I wiggle my hand over to clutch Galondraig’s hilt. No sooner do my fingers touch the gemstones than I hear,
In the north, mountains of fire and ice. Darkness broods. It grows and swells. From the dark, lamentations and rumblings of woe and misery. Misery befalls them, they who command fire and metal.
In my mind, I see a ring of immensely high mountains and in the center is one solo mountain, a perfe
ctly shaped cone covered with snow that spreads to its base. From its top, a gray-black plume of smoke rises straight up and every so often an orange light bursts upward followed by a billowing pall of black smoke. Here and there, trails of ebony runnels spill down the mountain’s sides as if dirty streams rushed down its flanks.
The image seems to draw back and then I see spread out around the snow-covered mountain smaller mountains, each dome-shaped and dark colored. Some spit streaking cinders and small boulders that shoot skyward before they fall, hit, and roll down brownish-black flanks.
Swirling wisps rise and fall across the scene and seemingly from the gritty ground smoke rises to curl and float through the broad mountain valleys.
Dotted throughout the scene are bubbling ponds and small, steaming lakes. Threads of vapor float off their bubbling surfaces and add to the gray and white smoke that drifts across the landscape.
The whole landscape seems deep in shadow though I can clearly see the sun, which rides high in the sky. It’s as if the sun’s light is blotted or pushed aside before it reaches the ground, leaving everything in a murky gloom.
Movement catches my eye and issuing from an archway at the giant mountain’s base is a horde of Blackguards, their hounds bounding beside them, red tongues hanging to one side. They stream outward for what seems like a full day and then, as if driving the Blackguards before him, out steps a giant, only this monster is full of fire.
Its massive head, crowned in bull horns, turns this way and that as if looking for something. Flames lick up and down its arms and torso and where it walks it leaves a path that burns as if the very stone had caught fire.
For a moment, it stops, again looks around and then stops. Its fiery eyes narrow as it looks straight at me. My eyes grow big and round as I think that the thing can actually see me. It roars and from its mouth issues a stream of fire. It begins to run straight at me and I know I have to get away before it can reach me with its fiery talons.
I jerk upright, gasping, and my eyes spring open. The stringy roots instantly drop away as I claw my way out of them. “Hooper!” Cara demands, helping me up from the chair, “are you all right?”
My chest heaves as I try to get a breath, my heart thumps so loudly in my ears that it all but drowns out Cara’s voice. A face looms close to mine—Phigby, his expression one of anxiety and concern. “M’boy, are you all right? What happened? What did you hear—see?”
I take in several deeper breaths. “A tall mountain, cone-shaped,” I describe, my voice sounding ragged to my ears, “snow-covered and there were smaller, rounded mountains around it—almost like domes. They were spitting fire and rocks, and . . .”
Stopping, I draw in another breath. “There was this entryway into the mountain. Blackguards and Fire Hounds came out, thousands of them it seemed, but they weren’t the worst. This giant, as big as Regal, maybe bigger, strides out as if he lorded over the Blackguards and hounds.”
Peering up at Phigby, I stammer, “Phigby, I know this sounds crazy, but I think he was made entirely of fire.”
Phigby’s head jerks a little as if my words had a sting to them before he leans close. “Repeat what you just said.”
“I think he was made of fire,” I answer. “His body seemed covered in flames and wherever he stepped, his footprints burned the ground.”
Phigby covers his mouth with a hand, purses his lips together, and then straightens. He turns and starts pacing, mumbling, “They wouldn’t unleash . . . No, it can’t be . . . Why would they . . .”
This goes on for several moments before Cara reaches out and stops Phigby. “Phigby,” she states, “you’re pacing and mumbling again.”
“What? What did you say?” Phigby returns.
“You’re mumbling and pacing.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Phigby stands perfectly still for a moment before turning to me, “Did you hear or see anything else?”
I nod in response. “The whisperings were that in the north, a land of fire and ice, darkness grows and from the dark come cries of misery from those who command fire and metal.”
“They who command fire and metal,” Cara whispers. “That can only mean one thing: the dwarves.”
“Yes,” Phigby agrees, “and the dwarves I’ve met are not ones to show much emotion, so if they’re crying out in misery then their condition must be insufferable.”
He again pinches his lips together as if in thought before asking, “Anything else, Hooper?”
“Only that the Fire Giant growled when he saw me and breathed out fire.”
Phigby, who had his back half turned to me, whirls around. “What do you mean, he saw you?”
“Just that,” I answer. “He looked right at me, growled out fire, then started sprinting right at me. I tried to get away and that’s when I opened my eyes here.”
“Phigby,” Cara gasps, “that can’t be true, can it? That fire monster thing couldn’t actually see Hooper?”
Phigby goes back to pacing, hands behind back, head down, his eyes seemingly staring at the floor while he mumbles to himself. Cara and I exchange a look. “He didn’t answer, did he?”
“No,” Cara replies, “and that’s a bit worrisome.”
Phigby marches to the far end of the room and turns to stride back. I plant myself in his line of march and wait. He strides along and bumps into me. He shakes his head and mutters, “Hooper? What—”
“You were pacing and mumbling again,” I reply. “Besides that, you didn’t answer Cara’s question, which I’d like answered too.”
He turns to Cara. “Question? What question?”
“I asked you if that fire giant could actually see Hooper.”
“Oh, that,” he grunts. “Highly doubtful. The Fire Elementis doesn’t have that sort of power.”
“Wait,” I sputter, “Fire Elementis? What’s a Fire Elementis?”
“One of the four Elementis,” Phigby explains, “that the gods used to create Erdron, the other three being Water, Air, and Soil.”
Cara and I exchange a quick glance. “But Phigby,” Cara questions. “Erdron is already created, why would there be this Fire Elementis on Erdron now?”
Phigby shakes his head. “It has to be Vay. Somehow, she convinced the Parthenon to release the Fire Elementis and he, in turn, brought the Blackguards and hounds with him as they are essentially creations of fire.”
“And,” Cara questions, her eyebrows furrowing deeply, “this Fire Elementis is now doing Vay’s bidding?”
“Apparently,” Phigby growls, “thanks to the gods. It is not a creature that is given to taking sides in conflicts, so the Parthenon must have infused it with an allegiance to Vay.”
He slams his fist into his open palm. “But why? Why would they do such a thing?”
“Don’t look at me,” I return, “I haven’t the slightest idea. I can’t explain even half of what Scamper does, let alone why the gods do what they do.”
“Maybe,” Cara replies slowly, “they were tired of the pieces on the game board and wanted to add a few more to enliven the game.”
Phigby raises his head and stares at Cara for a long moment. “My dear, I always knew you were smart and not only is that a brilliant deduction but absolutely correct.”
“Wait,” I stammer, “are you saying that this is all a game to the gods?”
“All of life is a game to them, Hooper,” Phigby replies. “Only this particular one is quite a bit more serious.”
“You bet it’s serious,” I retort, “with people getting hurt and dying, I’d say it doesn’t get any more serious than that.”
“So,” Cara asks, “if Vay petitioned the gods to release the Fire Elementis to her and this being a game and all, what new pieces do we get on our side?”
“Now, that’s a great thought,” I applaud. “So, Phigby, what do we get? An Air Elementis would be good.”
“I don’t think that’s what the gods had in mind,” Phigby answers and tilts his head back, looking upward.
I
follow his stare and then sputter, “Wait, a tree? We get a tree?”
“An exceptional tree, Hooper,” Phigby asserts, “that can tell us many things about Vay, her minions, where she’s holding the dwarves.”
He reaches out a hand, runs it across the rough bark. “Perhaps even where Vay’s portal lies.”
With a growl, he adds, “And that would be worth far more than a Fire Elementis any day.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Maybe,” I grumble, “but I think an Air Elementis on our side would be fantastic. Think about it, first time Vay brews up a storm it could spit it right back in her face. Maybe hit her with a few of her own lightning bolts.”
“Give her a taste of her own magic by sizzling some of her tail feathers,” Cara exults. “Or how about when she’s out flying our Elementis could turn the air into a brick wall or a granite mountain that she’d smack into face-first.”
“Excellent,” I grin, “or how about—”
“Save your overactive imaginations,” Phigby growls, “until we get back to the company. We need to let them know what we’ve learned and decide on a course of action.”
“Wait,” Cara protests, “we haven’t learned where Vay has her portal hidden.”
“Oh, but we have,” Phigby declares with a grim face. “It took but a few moments of contemplation and consideration given what Hooper saw.”
He pats the tree’s rough inner bark. “Our sincerest gratitude, friend, we are indebted to you.” Without waiting for a response from us, he marches toward the entryway.
“We have?” I say to Cara. “We know the location of Vay’s portal?”
She shrugs in answer. “I guess we have, though it’s still a secret to me.”
“And me,” I return.
Outside, the shadows blend together as the evening deepens. Here and there, cooking fires are lit as the Uhlan begin their preparations for an evening meal. My own stomach tells me that I’d gladly join in one of the groups sitting close to the fire waiting for a bite to eat.