Alik slowly rose to a sitting position and found himself bared of his cloak and with his arm wrapped up in a pungent, throbbing poultice. Deran was unconscious nearby. Two other dwarfish creatures were seated on the far side of the room.
He reached out his hand to touch the aching poultice, and as he did so, the elderly woman poured a cup of something and lightly brought it to him. “You shouldst leave that alone,” she said, her voice carrying the resonance of old age and authority. “They are painful because they neutralize the spinnik’s toxin, which had dimmed your nerves. Prithee, drink this. My name is Miraea.”
Alik drank the proffered cup cautiously. It had a dull, spicy taste like watered-down cinnamon tea. “That will keep you from coming down with fever from running about in the rain,” she said. Alik noticed he had been dried off, and with a sudden start, reached for his blue crystal shard—which after the loss of his necklace he had hidden in his pocket lining. “I have it, Alik,” Miraea said, holding up the shard in her hand and giving it to him. He snatched it and buried it in his pocket. She had the most intense crystalline green eyes....
“Hw...how...gnow...,” he tried to speak.
“I assumed, Sir, that it was you whom the Ristorian warrior-scribe was calling,” she explained.
“Ris’o’ian? S’ibe?” he murmured.
Her eyes narrowed at him for a moment, he couldn’t understand why. “Only the Ristorians wear the cyndan-leaf mantel...and as for scribe, he wore the badge thereof indicating himself to be a royal chief scribe on his cloak. It was not inconspicuous.” She paused carefully. “If you wouldst know what became of him...he did escape. I was hoping to bring both he and you to this my habitation, but then the dragonlings showed up, and it was impossible. As ‘t is, they are still swarming around up there, looking for you. You and your little shard are very valuable to them.”
“Kyit...euh...why?” asked Alik.
Miraea smiled broadly. “I see your pronunciation is returning,” she said. “I imagine your appetite waits not far behind.” She turned and with a supple movement gestured to one of her dwarfish companions. “Kudrei, dear, wouldst you be kind to fetch a bowl of what we had prepared before? Thank you.” The creature rose and obeyed. Miraea turned back to Alik. “They are my own friends and helpers in this wilderness. Waterwood dwarves. Descendants of some of those dwarves that came up to this land from the south before the jungle swallowed it. In the days of the Ladrian Empire. They know the secrets of the waterwood: how to find food, how to detoxify the various venoms, how to avoid the toves and murahs and various other monster plants. Few, however, remain.” Kudrei returned with a wooden bowl filled with seasoned herbs and vegetables and handed it to Miraea. She nodded and passed it to Alik.
Alik ate voraciously.
“Now I will ask you,” Miraea announced. Alik looked up nervously. “Alik,” she said. Her voice was like a mother’s. “Do you know what this is,” she asked, unfolding her hand to point to his pocket, where he had hidden the shard, “which you are hunting?”
Alik could feel his limbs becoming numb out of senselessness; then aching out of numbness, then feeling: and with feeling came pain. Pain prickled in his arm and in his head. Memory of pain in his heart. This thing...this thing that he was not hunting but which was hunting him...this thing was the thing for which his father had died. For which the island had burned. For which the city had been razed.
“Like this thing are six other shards,” Miraea told him gently. “Are you listening?” she asked. “The seven shards came from one machine, the Stone. The wizards—so they were called—were its guardians, once upon a time. My mother was one of these.
“The Stone was endowed with power over all things: the elements and the principles: fire, terrain, air, hydrations, flora, zoogenes, and even the core of being. When first the Wizard’s Council came to this land, they used its powers for good, to aid those in need, to preserve peace between the nations, to punish wrong, and to guide those who would follow them to the inner light. Seven were they first; names which will not soon be forgotten: Allisarion, Andaria, Arian, Kirion, Thaurim, Morin, Metaea. Others they soon found and fostered: the twins, Cathrandion and Ythrandilla; Sythara; Trypho the northerner; Pollis, their last apprentice; Xanthia.” For a moment she was silent. That is her mother, Alik thought: saved for last, and with a wistful meditation. To be thought of like that....
“Ose vea doesuaow,” Alik said.
“You have a gift of speech,” said Miraea. “’T is felicitous: the Stone will listen to whomsoever speaks to it in its native tongue. No, the council’s peace did not last long. It was shattered by the schemings of he who sits upon the northern throne, and with it was shattered the council itself and the Stone which it guarded. And in order that the Wizard Morin might not assume the fullness of the mechanism’s power, four of the shards the other wizards of the council managed to steal from him and hide in the corners of the earth. One of these shards was carried hence by my mother, Xanthia, before the jungle sprung up, when a great empire ruled these hills and plains. But Morin set himself up as emperor of the north, and gathered together a force to overthrow these people to recapture the shard of the Stone. My mother fled...to a place not far away...and died there, slain by the beasts he sent after her, but he did not recapture the shard. It remained, and with its power over plants and vegetation, it caused to spring up the waterwoods all around it, as now you see. Morin has fought many and harsh wars to find all of the shards and capture them for himself. Even possession of one more shard would turn the balance in his favor, but while he has but three, chance remains with us.”
This only confused Alik, as Miraea could tell by the look in his face. If it was true, would he not want to take his blood-attracting shard and run to the farthest corner of the world to hide? Or why could not they be destroyed? Although the thought repulsed him, as though he had suggested murder. Could they be destroyed? And why for all the stars and their reflections would anyone want to create such a horrible thing? Although how could he think of it as horrible when it had been a mentor to him all his life, whispering words into his ears, causing him to learn. Or had it been cultivating him toward its own mean ends all along? It had planted the calling of the plant shard within his mind when he was in the city. Its motives were obvious: it wanted to reunite itself. Little it cared for him, as for his father, as for all the others it had murdered.... And then again, what if it was leading him on even now?
“I...of you help...needing,” Alik stuttered.
“You must find the shards,” Miraea said. “Keep them from Morin; keep them from the emperor of the north. If you will not, then I wouldst you would quickly deliver that which is yours straight to him, that we might have the end of all this worry and be certain of swift and easeful doom. Do you agree to it?”
“Kyit veae dol a-dosae’auu?” Alik asked.
“They can’t be destroyed,” Miraea answered. “They can only be broken down further, to prolong the bloodshed we must suffer under now. Do you agree to it?”
“Kyish vea cawvdair’u ce, au ce hevis’ai vea i Morin?”
The question surprised Miraea. What if it tricks me into giving it to Morin? “It can’t do that,” she answered. “Remember, you are the living one; it is a thing. It does what it is told.”
“Kyish u?” he insisted.
“You will refuse,” she said shortly. “The power is with you.”
Alik was silent. He was uncertain that it was possible. He was uncertain that it was desirable.
Deran stirred. Miraea glanced in his direction nervously and stood. Alik leaned forward uncertainly. She strode to a shelf carved into the wall, reached into a wooden box sitting on the shelf, and produced a struggling little burlap sack tied with a string. “Take this,” she said quietly, handing it to him by the tip of the string. He took it and watched the sack jiggle and squirm. “Do not open it,” she instructed. “It is a seeker plant. A few of my dwarves captured it near the mouth of the labyrinth a month
ago. They are servants of the shard, so to speak. Which is to say that they thrive on positive energy it exudes when satisfied. Or so we think. If you lose your way after you reach the mouth of the labyrinth, follow it.”
Alik put the thing in his pocket and it became calm. He didn’t ask her what she meant by “the labyrinth.” Deran woke with a start and got up. Miraea pulled herself up to her full height and glanced at him disdainfully. Deran struggled to his feet. “Who are you?” he demanded abruptly.
“I am Miraea,” she replied, going to the kitchen counter.
“The swamp witch!” Deran let out, barely above a whisper.
Miraea let out a long, crystally cackle. “Bothkrum, aelok feri,” she said, turning to the dwarf by the door. He nodded, turned, and disappeared as though into the earthen walls themselves. “You twain must eat. We have not what you might regard as ‘civilized’ food, but neither are these vegetables and fruits from ‘civilized’ plants. They shall give thee good nourishment and strength.” She handed a dish to each of them.
Alik dug in happily, already slightly satisfied by his earlier meal. Deran scowled at it for a moment and glanced at Miraea.
“If I wanted you dead I’ld simply feed you nothing,” Miraea replied to his look. “When did you last eat and drink? Then eat, before you starve.”
Reluctantly, Deran took a bite. To his surprise, it was good. Not his taste, but good. “Note the appearance of what you eat,” Miraea advised them, “and seek it when you are in the waterwoods. You won’t go too far astray that way.”
The dwarf reappeared. “Inaubri chudra, Morindro bin ah ahn spinektoe.”
“Those who were hunting you are diverted,” Miraea told them. “They will not be diverted long.”
“Right,” said Deran, rising.
Alik also rose and found his cloak, still damp, beside his bed. He paused. “Iessai’i,” he said to Miraea.
“Iessai,” she replied.
With that, Alik slipped on the cloak and was led out the door with Deran by Miraea’s dwarf.
No sooner had they stepped through the door than all traces of house or habitation vanished behind them. The heat of the jungle was oppressive. All around, the ground showed signs of trampling and disturbance.
Deran glanced back to appreciate the perfect camouflage of the hidden home. “Bloody witch,” he muttered in a low voice. “Still, she seemed helpful. What’d she say to you?”
“Shh,” the dwarf guide hushed them. He nodded for them to follow him. Deran thought he spotted a drake flitting through the foliage off to the right. Right, he thought.
From the left, two other dwarves joined them and spoke in hushed tones to their guide. Then the three of them started out again, motioning to Alik and Deran to follow. Deran recognized the place: they were heading up the ridge where they had been before.
There was a sudden drake shout from the left at some distance. They made their way up the crest of the ridge, past the place where Alik and Deran had rested before, into a dense thicket, and out onto a steep, rocky incline covered by the thundery mist of the Orim Waterfall plunging a hundred feet down into the density of the overgrown gorge of the river.
Their guide pointed to a narrow trail descending along the edge of the drop, no more than forty feet but treacherous with watery moss and slick creepers. Alik stared as though lost at the high face of the mountain before him.
The grey shape of a drake flashed through the trees behind them and crashed into the lead dwarf at full velocity. Alik cried out but quickly stifled himself. The drake and the dwarf tumbled down the incline, flashing blood and claws at them as they fell. One of the other dwarves made his way a few steps down the slope after them, but soon realized there was nothing he could do: they would both be killed by the fall. Their guide nudged Alik onto the mouth of the trail down along the face of the mountain and signaled everyone else to follow quickly.
Alik hoped his cry might have gone unheard. He edged his way cautiously along the precipitous path. It was not as difficult as he had thought it might be. Someone had had the foresight to drill handholds in the rock.
Over the thunder of the waterfall he could hear the descending caws of the drakes. A few more feet.... The last dwarf drew a machete and came out after them on the trail. The first drake appeared, stark black against the grey-green of the rocky descent, and was surprised by a blow from their rear-guard dwarf’s machete.
Alik reached the end of the trail. There was a small ledge beneath the foam of the waterfall. He was quickly soaked through. The rock face dropped off straight below him and shot straight up behind him. There was no sign of any secret door. He wiped the water away from his eyes. Deran came out on the ledge with him, and he was forced to scoot himself over. A frond of fern bobbed against his neck. Then he could clearly make it out: a recess in the rock, covered with slinky vines like snakes, leading into darkness.
Four drakes swooped out over the edge of the incline and veered in diamond formation toward their group. All four struck the rear-guard dwarf at once, evading his machete and raking his neck and ankles and the tendons of his shoulder in their pass. The dwarf’s cry was drowned in his own blood and his machete slipped limply from his lame arm.
Alik stepped out onto the vine-strewn ledge, careful to avoid anything green. He barely missed stepping on the first vine, and its tentacle curled spasmodically where his foot had been. He blinked in concentration, planned a series of moves, and hopped dexterously through the viny lair into the darkness without awakening a single vine.
The four drakes looped back into their diamond formation and plunged toward Deran and their guide at the edge of the ledge. Deran stepped as he had seen Alik do over the first vines, found a second clear space a few feet off, and stepped again. The guide glanced back at him and drew a machete in one hand and a knife in the other. The drakes hit him, dodging his machete but not seeing the knife until it was too late. The guide fell, staggering in blood. A stricken drake lashed about with the knife still in it, then fell over the edge. Another drake the dwarf had gotten hold of by the wing flopped and clawed desperately to free itself. His hands crushed the bones in its wing and, as the other drakes came around for him, he crushed its neck. Then the other two drakes hit him, raking his face and pulling him over the edge. The shapes of the drakes flashed through the foaming of the waterfall as they turned sharply back over the ledge after Deran—who by then was gone.
Deran scanned the entrance of the tunnel he found himself in. His eyes adjusted quickly to the low light, and he found several unlit torches set in notches in the wall. Four. He took them all and tied three into his belt. The drakes were not following, so he looked about for Alik, the thought of how deep the tunnel might delve pushed back out of his mind.
The passage sloped at first steeply, then more gently, downward. Alik was huddled against the wall barely thirty feet in, sitting very quietly.
“Haven’t seen a cave before, have you?” Deran asked in a low voice.
“Do,” said Alik in reply.
“Is that yes or no?” Deran asked.
“N...no,” Alik spoke.
“I figured,” muttered Deran. “Well, the dwarves are dead, the drakes are going to wait there till either we show our faces again or their master comes along—probably not long—and we have plenty of torches.” He glanced down the tunnel. Something else, too. “Plenty of water, also,” he added.
Alik turned in that direction. With the roar of the waterfall he had not heard the drip—drip—plop of drops behind him, but now he could sense the presence of the water clearly. The water’s presence made him shiver. It was a numbing, noxious presence, more disturbing than even the waters of the Aris River had been afloat with corpses: an active numbness, noxiousness...gathering form.
“Well, so here we are,” grinned Deran, pulling the boy to his feet—but Alik at once sunk back to his knees. “Don’t you worry, boy. We’re in my element now. Didn’t I tell you I’m Narrissorean? You know Narrissor—the great un
derground kingdom. Old Deran will easily slip that slimy Krythar’s knot.” He peered into the tunnel and laid his torch hand on the wall, wondering for a moment how deep it did go. As a Narrissorean and a rock elf, he had an innate sense for navigating underground. He listened intently. Multiple caverns, multiple tunnels. A labyrinth.
A rush of fire lit up the entrance of the tunnel behind them. Deran turned to Alik. “Well, boy? That’s time up and no turning back. Now don’t worry about the caves. I’ll light a torch as soon as we’re comfortably away from these monsters. Now get up.”
“Te hali’i vea?” Alik murmured, trying to grab the torch out of his hand.
“Trust me, boy, lights in caves are nothing but targets. Don’t worry, I won’t let you stumble, if that’s it.” The scent of smoke from the fire above, and with it the scent of burning vegetation and blood, wafted down the tunnel mouth thickly. “Listen, do you smell that?” Deran demanded of Alik in a whisper. “That’s going to be you if you don’t come with me...now!”
“No...we...forwarding,” Alik stuttered. Burning vine tentacles strobed the dim, crackling light from above, and unearthly screams filled the air. Alik looked and thought he saw a human form standing at attention behind the flames with a drake on its shoulder.
“We have to forwarding...go forward,” Deran reasoned. He paused...as long as he calculated he could safely do so...and pulled the boy back to his feet. “Come on.”
Ka’a, thought Alik. Te ka’mi. Between mysterious doom and certain death he had to give in, but he took the torch from Deran and fumbled in his pockets for something with which to light it, knowing there was none such. Deran narrowed his eyes and lit a match and set the torch aflame. “Th...,” Alik began to thank him.
“Now we really need to hurry,” Deran answered.
The shrieking of the vine creatures was already dying out behind them as they began to hasten down the sloping tunnel. A cold, imperious voice barked something from above.
The Wizard's Heir Page 13