by J. M. Lee
Deatea. Deratea. Kidakida. Arugaru . . .
Amri opened his eyes. He was in the dark, in a deep, cold cave. It smelled familiar, like water dripping. He looked up and gasped.
Hanging from the ceiling of the dark-filled cavern was a tree. It grew from the ceiling, down toward the depths, made of stone and rock and glistening with crystal specks. Still, he knew where he was. Knew the blue color of the rock, the scent of the fresh water flowing. He was in the Caves of Grot, far below Domrak.
“Tavra?” he asked, but there was no spider on his shoulder. He was alone.
Deatea. Deratea. Kidakida. Arugaru . . .
The chant was only a whisper now, a mere draft seeping from the world above. Amri remembered thinking just before he’d come to this place—wherever it was—that he had recognized it, and struggled to recall. Through the darkness, in the ancient embrace of the stone tree, something flickered.
DEATEA. DERATEA.
The world of the dream shuddered. The voice boomed like the voice of the heavens itself: KIDAKIDA. ARUGARU.
Light glared around him, and he covered his eyes against it. But when he closed his eyes, he saw another dream, this one deeper inside his mind. As if when he’d closed his eyes, he’d actually opened them.
And he saw it.
Spinning before him, larger than life, a spire of faceted stone shining a brilliant white. It rang with a deafening song, a cry that might pierce any darkness. A voice that turned the world, that beat with the pulse of the planet. It was the Heart of Thra. The Crystal of Truth: blazing from the depths of the world where it had always been, dwarfing Amri as he gazed upon it.
“Yes! Good! There!”
The voice was of the earth, rough and dirty, ancient and wise. It spoke to him from the Crystal, or from the dream. It was then that he finally recognized it.
“Mother Aughra?” he asked. “Did you do this?”
His question went unanswered, irrelevant and faint and drowned out by the ringing of the Crystal. He heard other voices all around him, but when he looked, he couldn’t see other faces. The Crystal was too bright. He could only hear them asking the same questions he’d asked: Is that you, Mother Aughra? Where are we? Why?
“Quiet!” Aughra’s booming voice silenced the chatter until all Amri heard was the pulsing of the Crystal and Aughra’s rough breath. “Quiet, and listen! Not much time. Skeksis might find out. About this dream-space, this source of magic and prophecy.”
“Dream-space.” Amri recognized Kylan’s voice, let out a breath of relief. At least the song teller was all right. “The world within our world . . .”
So they were in a dream, after all. Aughra ignored Kylan, speaking in her strange, impatient way. “Rian, brave Stonewood! Naia, fierce Drenchen! You listening? You here?”
“I’m here.”
It was Rian’s voice, followed by Naia’s: “Me too.”
“Good. Yes. Naia, who saw the blighted Crystal itself. Rian, who saw what the Skeksis have done to infect it. Your truths will light the way. You must share them, now! In this dream of menders!”
“Share my dream . . . you mean, dreamfast?” Rian asked.
“Yes!” Aughra bellowed. “Now, and with haste!”
Amri felt the familiar warmth of a dreamfast in his mind, through the dream-space of Aughra’s making. Through the projection of the Crystal that blinded him. The dreamfast was Naia’s, feeling of her essence—trees and fresh water, the scent of lush flowers and the symphony of the jungle forest.
The dreamfast came more vividly than any other. Clear as if he’d been there himself, Amri saw the Swamp of Sog—Naia’s home. A huge, gnarled tree broke the overgrown wetland, protecting the glade the Drenchen clan called home. In the memory, Naia was leaving, with her father, Bellanji, as well as a silver-haired soldier. Tavra of Ha’rar, who had come with news of Naia’s twin brother’s betrayal . . .
Then the trouble in the swamp. A wild Nebrie. Its monstrous tusks sent Naia, wingless, falling into the deep water. And there, below the layers of silt and mud, she’d seen the crystal vein. Purple, like the eyes of the darkened Nebrie.
The darkening had reached as far as Sog. Naia’s voice was in the memory and in Amri’s mind.
I saw it, too, said another voice. Was it Onica’s? In a dream of the deep ocean.
And I, said another. In the Crystal Sea, there was a terrible storm . . .
And I saw nurlocs with purple eyes, deep in the Caves of Grot!
How many Gelfling were listening? How many had Aughra summoned to this dream-space—how many menders had she named?
Naia’s voice was solemn when she went on.
I went to find the Crystal, to be sure it was safe from the sickness . . .
The Dark Wood. The bone-masked Skeksis Hunter. The Skeksis and the Castle of the Crystal. It was all a blur of cloaks and claws and laughter, cruel Emperor skekSo as he ordered Tavra to be taken to the Scientist skekTek’s laboratory. All as Naia beheld the horror in the Crystal Chamber. That the Crystal of Truth, once white and pure, was damaged and dying. Bleeding darkness into the world like wildfire.
But it was the source.
Naia’s dream rippled, losing detail. Amri felt as if he were breaking the surface of a lake, returning to the sight of the projected Crystal in the dark. It was all in his mind, the dream within a dream. No sooner had it ended than another dream began, this time with Rian’s voice guiding it.
The Skeksis are responsible for the state of the Crystal, he said. Because of what they’ve done with it.
Now Amri was in the Castle of the Crystal. Sneaking down a hallway through the eyes of Rian, deep in the catacombs. Catching a sliver of red light, the hushed whispering of Skeksis. Looking in, and seeing . . . a machine. A hole in the wall, filled with the fiery light of the Crystal. A Vapra soldier—Mira—forced to gaze on the beam of deadly light that shone from the Crystal that once had protected Thra. Now, instead of giving light, it took. It took and took, until she had nothing left, the whole of her life’s essence distilled to a single vial of blue liquid.
It was my only proof, Rian said, his mental voice breaking with anger and remorse. She was my only proof. And now . . .
The final memory. One Amri had borne witness to in person. The Chamberlain, leathery tongue flapping against his pointed teeth, swallowing the last drops of the precious essence in the vial.
The dreamfast ended. Rian’s voice was rough and broken, near as if he were standing just out of Amri’s sight.
“It was our last hope. But now it’s gone. She’s gone . . .”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Naia. “Even without the vial. We must reach Ha’rar. We must tell the All-Maudra—”
“You already have.”
All-Maudra Mayrin’s voice rang through the dream-space like the sea crashing against a cliff of ice. As she spoke, her image came into focus on the face of the dream-Crystal. As they had seen her in Onica’s Far-Dream: noble and solemn, her wings like prismatic ice.
Amri wondered if Tavra was in the dream with them. If she was, why hadn’t she spoken, if only to tell her mother that she was still alive? Or maybe she hadn’t come into the dream-space with them, because of her spider body. Either way, the Silverling soldier’s voice did not rise from the quiet.
“I have seen the petals that came on the wind from the south,” the All-Maudra continued. “I’ve heard rumors, rippling through the Vapra of Ha’rar. Of Mira’s disappearance. Of Rian and Gurjin, the traitors.” Her emotions were hidden on her stolid face when she added, “But now I understand the truth.”
Aughra grunted.
“Yes, yes. Now you know. Now you all know. Your many dreams are one. Your many truths are one.”
“Why have you taken so long to help us?” It was Kylan again, though he hadn’t been called on to speak. “If you had the power to do this—the will
to help us—”
Aughra paused, dropping them into a silence that threatened to dismantle the dream-space altogether. The light of the Crystal dimmed, and Amri felt himself begin to wake. Until Aughra’s voice brought him back, this time softer and sadder than before.
“Aughra made this place, this dream-place. To ask Thra the same thing! Thra answered,” Aughra muttered. Amri wasn’t sure if it was an answer to Kylan’s question or just a continuation of her thoughts.
“Now, Thra has answered,” she continued. “And here is what it has said: Seven fires of resistance must be lit. Seven fires by seven clans, before the Skeksis destroy the Crystal with their greed. Seven wondrous melodies must unite as one, in a single song . . . By you, Naia. By the menders who hear the cries of the Dark Crystal. This is Thra’s answer.”
“I will do it,” Naia said without hesitation. “Seven fires, seven songs—whatever Thra believes will save us, you can rely on me. I will bring the truth to the clans and unite the Gelfling.”
Amri shivered. He could almost see her face, gazing fearlessly into Aughra’s eye. He hoped she could feel him, standing beside her even if it was in a dream. She wasn’t alone. He would be with her, and so would Kylan.
“All-Maudra Mayrin,” the song teller said, “we came all this way to tell you what the Skeksis have done. To give you this dream in person. To show you the vial . . . but we didn’t know if we could trust you. Now that you’ve seen what we’ve seen, seen what Rian has seen, tell us true: Do you believe?”
The All-Maudra’s form came and went in the face of the Crystal, liquid and shifting until suddenly solidifying with clarity. Amri held his breath waiting for her answer.
“Yes,” she said. “I see now it cannot be denied. Go forth, knowing the first fire already blazes . . . Ha’rar and the Vapra will stand against the Skeksis.”
Amri’s heart nearly burst with light. The words from the All-Maudra were like a salve on the ache in his heart. The worry that she would deny them as liars and traitors or, worse, that she might have already known and decided to look the other way. Maybe they had been wrong to doubt her. Even after seeing how she had turned Brea away.
Rian spoke up next, voice bristling with fervor. “And what about me? The Chamberlain drank the last of Mira’s essence. The Skeksis have to pay for what they’ve done!”
Aughra was silent for a long time, and Amri thought maybe the dream had ended. When she replied, it was grave as the earth itself.
“Rian, you have a special task. One that can be done by your hand . . . or else by none. You must retrieve a sacred object. When you wake, you will know it.”
“Aughra—wait—”
“WAKE!”
Amri bolted upright. A cold arachnid body huddled in the crook of his neck. Beside him, Naia and Rian stirred. The suns were setting. They hadn’t been asleep for long.
“Was it a dream?” he whispered.
“I believe so,” Tavra replied. So she had witnessed it. “And what a dream it was.”
Naia shook out her locs and turned to Rian. “You all right?”
Rian sat up, a grim look on his face. His eyes were still red from the tears he’d shed over the vial of essence—the last remains of Mira, the Vapra from the memory. But the faraway look on the Stonewood’s face was not all grief. It was also determination, and fury.
“Rian . . . ?”
“I have to leave.” He stood, brushing off snow. He helped Naia and Amri to their feet. “I’m sorry . . . Thank you for getting me out of a bad place with the Chamberlain. But I have to go.”
“What did Aughra tell you?” Naia asked. “Aren’t you coming with us to light the fires of resistance?”
“No. I have a different task. Aughra wants me to get something. Some old relic . . . I don’t understand.”
“Don’t be too surprised,” Amri remarked. “This is Aughra we’re talking about, after all.”
Rian glanced his way and snorted. “Indeed. And even if I don’t understand, I suppose I still have to try. That’s the way this always goes, it seems. I’m sorry I can’t come with you.”
Naia fluffed her cloak. “It’s all right. Do what you need to do, and so will we. I’m sure we’ll meet again . . .” Naia trailed off, then bolted upright. “Oh, Rian! I nearly forgot—Gurjin is alive!”
Rian’s whole posture changed from suprise to shock, then confused joy.
“What? I thought—I thought skekMal—”
“I did, too. But the Skeksis kept him alive. Something about us being twins. I sent him back to Sog to recover. No way the Skeksis will go all the way through the swamp to get to him . . . He’s safe. I just wanted you to know.”
The realization changed the Stonewood for the better. Amri was surprised Rian was able to smile after all that had happened to him. But he did at Naia’s news, if only a little. He reached out and clasped Naia’s hand.
“Thank you, Naia,” he said again. “I’m indebted to you—”
“WHERE ARE YOU? RRRAUUGHHHH!”
They all held their breaths as a distant Skeksis scream echoed through the twilight wood. The freezing fingers of fear crept up Amri’s spine, digging in and squeezing. It was the Chamberlain, down in the ravine. Amri felt the ground flinch beneath the snow, warning him.
“He’s coming,” Amri whispered. “The fire dust must have worn off. We should go.”
Rian nodded. “Until next time.”
He gave the rest of them a clipped salute, tossing his hair a last time before slipping away into the wood, heading south.
Tavra tapped Amri’s cheek. “Quickly. Back to Onica’s boat,” she said. “We must tell her what we have seen, and we must not let Lord skekSil find us!”
The Chamberlain let loose another roar, shaking the trees with his essence-infused fury. Amri did not need Tavra to tell him a second time. He grabbed Naia’s hand and headed back the way they’d come. As they hurried through the dusk, snow continued to fall, covering their tracks. Amri thanked it with every breath as they escaped the raging Skeksis, leaving him behind in the ravine.
CHAPTER 5
A chill wind blew as the moons rose, reflecting off snow. By the time the light reached the cliff along the coast, the mist had cleared. Below, the ocean appeared to bleed directly into the heavens with only the stars to differentiate the sky from what was the sea.
A bright light shone far to the north. Amri might have mistaken it for a star, or maybe even a moon, had he not already found the Sisters moving across the night closer to the horizon.
“The Waystar,” Tavra said, noticing him looking. “A grove of star trees growing high on the Ha’rar cliffs. Along with the seafarer’s lanterns, the grove lights the way for travelers coming to Ha’rar. Although it’s not a real star, it’s tradition for the Vapra to look to it in times of need.”
Amri remembered the light he’d seen in the Far-Dream, when they’d been petals blowing into Ha’rar. The city of Silverlings and their All-Maudra were there. He shivered, but this time not from the cold. The first fire was lit.
“I wonder how many gaze on it now,” Naia wondered aloud.
Onica was waiting for them on the deck when they arrived back at the ship, cheeks and nose red from the cold, crimson hair frothing around her face in the confines of her hood.
“Oh, thank the Sisters,” she said. “After that dream, I wasn’t sure if we would find you frozen to death in the snow. Come in, come in.”
Amri let her pull them inside, let her wrap heavy quilts around his shoulders. Kylan looked up from the fire where he’d been stirring a pot of soup.
“Naia, Amri—Tavra! You’re all right.”
“And you,” Amri said. “I was worried!”
“I had just made it to the top of the cliff when the dream-space happened . . . Afterward, I didn’t know where everyone was, so I came back here. I’m so glad you’re
all right . . . But where’s Rian? Did you find him?”
Naia told Onica and Kylan what had happened. With the Chamberlain and the vial. Rian’s aloof goodbye. She ended with a sigh and a shrug, as if nothing else could be done for the Stonewood soldier. Maybe nothing could.
“I was able to tell him about Gurjin, at least,” she said. “I just hope he doesn’t do something brash and get himself killed.”
“The two of you were there, too?” Amri asked. “I mean, in the . . . dream-space? I heard your voice, Kylan . . .”
Kylan nodded. “I think we all were.”
“I wonder how many people saw it,” Amri murmured. He had heard so many voices in the dream-space, and only some of them had belonged to his friends. How many had Aughra called? How many menders were there among the Gelfling clans, and how many of them were now waiting for them, to light the fires of resistance? Amri tried not to feel insignificant, thinking about it. “I haven’t seen the stone tree in Domrak since I was little.”
“Domrak?” Naia said. “Is that how you saw it?”
“Yes . . . you didn’t?”
“No. I was home in Sog, in the heart chamber of Great Smerth. Kylan?”
The song teller shook his head. “The meadows near Sami Thicket.”
“And I saw the great ship Omerya, off Cera-Na,” Onica said. “Hmm . . . not surprising. The dream-space is in our minds and our hearts, after all. Now, eat up while I take us out to sea. I fear the Chamberlain may come to the coast in his search for us, and I would like to be gone if that happens.”
“So now the All-Maudra knows,” Naia said as the ship drifted away from shore. Through the cabin windows, Amri could catch only glimpses of the Sifa Far-Dreamer bringing the boom around. The boat lurched when the sail bit the wind. Kylan served their supper, and Amri mulled over all that had happened.