by Lisa McMann
Mangrel opened Thisbe’s crypt and entered with some water. Three of the Revinir’s soldiers, wearing blue uniforms, pushed their way inside too. One of them was armed with a branding iron. Before Thisbe knew what was happening, two of the soldiers tackled her and held her face against the dirt floor. The third jabbed at the back of her neck with the iron. The force of it pressed her nose flat in the dirt so she couldn’t breathe without sucking in bone dust. She felt a piercing fire on her skin, and she struggled and coughed and cried out. “Stop! Let go of me!” Sparks flew from her eyes, but they merely hit the dirt and did no damage other than to bounce back up at her and singe her own eyebrows.
The soldiers released her, and Mangrel yanked her to her feet. When she stopped yelling and wiped the snotty, tearstained dirt from her face, he gruffly pointed out the bone he wanted her to deliver to the testing room that day. He let go of her arm and retreated with the soldiers, leaving the door open for the day. Wild with pain, Thisbe lunged after them into the hallway, trying to call up the courage to strike one of them dead. As in the past, she didn’t do it, but her reasoning was different this time. She’d reached the point of being desperate enough. And she could hardly care anymore about taking some horrible person’s life. But after all she’d been through, Thisbe realized her ability to kill people was more than a little complicated, especially when she didn’t have a way to escape this place filled with soldiers once she unleashed a spell.
Thisbe stopped herself in the hallway before they could catch her coming after them, and retreated to her crypt. After she cooled off a little, she knew her actions had been for the best. There were many more soldiers stationed out there at the nearest intersection of hallways. Sure, Thisbe might’ve managed to knock off one of them before the others got to her, but she’d spent a lot of time thinking about her magic in her solitude over the past days. She didn’t know if she was capable of firing more than one boom spell at a time—she’d never done it before. If she couldn’t, she didn’t know what the other soldiers would do to her. And what if she could? She still wouldn’t be able to get them all. They’d eventually overpower her. And then where would she be? Dragged back to the castle and thrown into the dark dungeon, chained to a wall and sitting in a puddle of cold water for the rest of her life, like the old woman she’d been with? Or maybe the Revinir had someplace even worse than that here in the catacombs to punish her evildoing slaves. Here among the bones, at least, Thisbe was dry and could move around.
The back of her neck throbbed with heat and pain. She fingered the edges of the burn gingerly as she walked toward the enormous pile of bones but couldn’t stand anything touching near the painful spot. She drank her water, pouring a little bit on her neck, but the liquid wasn’t cold enough to stop the burning sensation and only made it hurt worse. After a long moment of staring nowhere at nothing, Thisbe wearily started climbing up the bone pile to the large one Mangrel had pointed out. When she reached it, she began to work it from side to side, trying to wrench it free from the stack. She put every bit of strength she had into it and ignored her neck pain. Once she loosened the bone and pulled it out, she sent it skidding down the skeletal mountain to the floor. She made her way after it.
Next she picked up her harness and fastened it to the dragon bone, then looped her arms through the other end, careful not to let the straps rub across her neck. She leaned forward and dragged the heavy load to the doorway, and looked left and right to see if anyone else was coming around the corner from the other crypts yet this morning. There wasn’t a soul in sight. She glanced at the faint red arrows among the other symbols on the walls, pointing slightly uphill, and wondered what the people of Grimere were doing above her head in the huge square, or in the mountains beyond. Were they going about their business as usual? Selling produce and strange creatures from aquariums, totally unaware that there were a dozen black-eyed children being kept as slaves underground by the evil Revinir? Or did they actually know what was going on? If so, why didn’t they care? Why didn’t they do something? What power did this woman have over them? Was it just the fact that she’d taken the dragons captive that made her more powerful than the king? It seemed like she and the king must have some sort of relationship—after all, the king was keeping the Revinir’s dragons in the castle. Maybe their combined power was more than the townspeople could fight off.
Thisbe pulled her dragon bone into the hallway and started her uphill trek. From what she could tell, her crypt was near the center of the catacombs, below Dragonsmarche, where the Revinir had snatched her up and brought her underground through a large, moving tube. And as far as Thisbe knew, that was the only way in and out of the warren of tunnels. She’d overheard one soldier call the tube an elevator, and there were always six or eight guards stationed outside it.
None of the other children seemed to even think about escaping. Their eyes were dead, and no wonder. Thisbe could see why they wouldn’t attempt to flee through the elevator, because it would be futile—there were too many guards. Mostly the other children roamed on their own, obediently completing their task as quickly as possible so they could get their meal of the day. Thisbe thought about all these things as she plodded along, trying to keep her mind from going to the dark place where she relived the horror of what had happened in the market. Wondering endlessly if Fifer was alive or dead. Wondering why no one had come back for her.
As she trudged, she pressed her fingers into the corners of her eyes to stop the burning tears that threatened. She’d been abandoned. Did Thatcher and Simber think she was dead? Would they ever come back to search for her? And if they did, how would they possibly find her in this maze?
When Thisbe heard a scraping sound growing steadily louder behind her, she looked over her shoulder. There was one of the other black-eyed prisoners like her. He seemed tall for his age. She’d seen him the other day when she’d been crying, and he’d appeared at least a little sympathetic. Her heart leaped at the thought of not being alone on the trek, but then it fell again when she remembered the girl who didn’t speak the same language Thisbe did. This boy probably didn’t either.
He eyed her, his expression flickering when he caught sight of the fresh brand at the nape of her neck. He glanced around, then said something quickly and softly in a different language.
Thisbe searched his face, wondering if somehow she could miraculously decipher the words by interpreting his expression. But it was useless. “I don’t know what you’re saying,” she said helplessly. “I’m sorry.”
He seemed surprised. “You speak . . . the language . . . of the dragons,” he said in halting words.
Surprised, Thisbe stopped walking. “Yes,” she said, remembering that Dev had said the same thing to her. “Do you? I mean, obviously you do, but can you understand me? Why does the Revinir keep all of us here? Is there another exit?”
“I can understand if you speak slower.” His lips were full and ruddy red, and they curved into a small smile. He held a calloused finger to them and whispered, “Let’s get past the guards at the next intersection. I’ll catch up to you.” He urged Thisbe to go ahead, then waited to follow until she was a good distance in front of him.
Thisbe entered a large intersection where several branches of the catacombs met in an open circular space. There were several like this along the way to the testing room, so she looked carefully for the arrows. Moving by a small group of guards, she kept her head lowered and forged down the correct passage.
Ten minutes passed before the boy caught up to her.
“We’re safe now,” he said. “What is your name?”
“Thisbe,” she said. “And yours?”
“Rohan,” he said. “I’m sorry about your brand. It only aches wildly for a day or so, and then the thrum eases.”
Rohan’s word choices were peculiar, Thisbe thought. And lovely, as if he’d chosen them from one of Lani’s poems. In a distant way he resembled Dev, with his black eyes and wavy hair, but his skin was more gray than brow
n, like driftwood dried on the shore of Artimé. It made Thisbe wonder how long it had been since he’d seen sunshine.
“You and I are neighbors in the tombs,” he said. “We share a back wall. My crypt is behind yours.” He saw Thisbe’s surprise and explained, “I saw you come out of yours as I rounded the corner. No one has lived in that crypt before.”
It was somehow comforting to know there was someone friendly on the other side of Thisbe’s back wall, though she was wary of trusting anyone in this world after her experience with Dev. Besides, as hopeless as she felt, she didn’t plan on staying here for long. “Is there any way out of here?” she asked. “Besides the . . . what’s it called? The tube thing?”
“The elevator,” said Rohan. “Yes, there is one other easement that I know of. But luck comes with wings, and I’m afraid we’re without luck.”
“Oh,” said Thisbe, puzzled. She felt sad, but then her heart surged as she thought of the dragons. What if she could make herself some wings? She’d nearly done it before, and she’d made an inanimate object—the bamboo prison grid—come alive. So surely she could meld wings to her own back almost as easily and bring them to life. She stopped suddenly, then reached around herself in a hug, trying to gauge how she’d be able to place heavy wings on her back and magically adhere them to herself. It seemed . . . difficult.
“Do you need me to adjust your harness for you?” asked Rohan, stopping too. “It can be irritating if it doesn’t sit just right. Or is it your neck that’s hurting?”
“Oh!” said Thisbe, and she felt her face grow warm. She dropped her hands quickly. “No, it’s nothing—I was just thinking about something else. Thank you.” She began moving again. “Where is the exit that requires wings to reach?”
“It’s near the top of the climb, deep inside the mountains and near the lake, where the extracting room is situated. If no one’s around, I’ll show you.” He held up a hand to caution her and said more quietly, “Here’s another intersection. I’ll go first this time and wait for you.”
Thisbe nodded. When she passed the soldiers and caught up with him on the other side, she asked, “Why are all these dragon bones down here? And what are they doing with them in the testing room?”
Rohan looked at her, seeming surprised that she didn’t know. “These are the bones of the ancient dragon kings and queens of Grimere,” he said. “From when our black-eyed ancestors and the dragons ruled the land above us together in peace.” He looked around to make sure no one was in listening distance, then whispered, “The workers pull the magic out of the dragon bones for the Revinir. The story is that she was once magical, but her magic was stripped from her by a black-eyed child.”
Thisbe’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“The Revinir found her way here and invaded the underworld of these ancient crypts. She started rebuilding her magical abilities by stealing the dormant properties from these bones. Once she took in the magic of the dragon bones, she lured young dragons and captured them, making them her slaves. Her power and notoriety grew, and slowly she recruited and built her army of soldiers. The king felt threatened by her power and decided to work with her, offering to house the dragons since they wouldn’t fit down here, and she took him up on it, letting him use the dragons now and then. But their relationship is . . . What’s the word? Tenuous. Not very strong, I guess you’d say.”
Thisbe didn’t know what to think.
Rohan went on. “She hates children, especially ones like us, who are descendants of the rulers.” He looked grim. “In this society it’s great sport to keep a black-eyed slave. But for the Revinir, it’s revenge on the little girl who stole her magic in the first place.” He paused and smiled. “Not to mention, I suppose she doesn’t want to break her ridiculous fingernails doing manual labor.”
Thisbe’s lips parted, and her breath came in short bursts. “Revenge against the little black-eyed girl?” she whispered. “That’s why?” She could hardly believe it.
As they continued on in silence, for some reason the stories Lani and Sky had told about the final battle with Artimé flooded Thisbe’s mind. At first she didn’t know why, and she couldn’t make sense of them. Then she remembered where she’d first heard about a woman with long curling fingernails. The one who’d hurt Alex. The one who’d sent those horrible ravens during the final battle. The Revinir . . . and Queen Eagala . . . Thisbe stopped walking suddenly as she pondered it. Could it be? The Revinir is Queen Eagala—who is supposed to be dead. She looked up at Rohan, and the blood drained from her face when she realized that the child who had stolen Queen Eagala’s magical powers . . . was Fifer.
Luck Comes with Wings
Thisbe continued walking alongside Rohan without saying anything about what she’d just figured out. They approached the next intersection, her mind awhirl. She knew from the stories Lani had written that Queen Eagala had died—she’d been sucked down by the volcanic Island of Fire. How could she possibly have survived that? And how had she gotten across the huge gorge that separated the worlds, especially without any magic? Had she latched onto the young dragons before they’d even left the world of the seven islands? Had they flown her across?
Thisbe had known her whole life that Fifer had destroyed Eagala’s ravens with her scream. But from what Rohan had just told her, Fifer must have completely obliterated Eagala’s magic at the same time. The thought of Fifer having that much power was breathtaking.
Back when Thisbe, Fifer, and Seth had arrived in the land of the dragons, Dev had told Thisbe that the black-eyed people were worth a lot as slaves because they had once been rulers. Apparently the Revinir had an additional reason to pick black-eyed children specifically—to get revenge on Fifer. Did the Revinir know who Thisbe was? Surely she’d seen Simber outside the elevator tube when she’d taken Thisbe captive—he was so recognizable, there was no way she could have missed him. Had she figured out her identity? Thisbe hadn’t seen the woman since the day of her capture, but she was growing more and more certain that the Revinir must at least suspect who she was. What did that mean for her?
When Thisbe and Rohan met up again after the next intersection and were on their final leg of the journey to the testing room, Thisbe was filled with questions. “How many people with black eyes are there?”
“In all of Grimere? Or down here?”
“Both, I guess,” said Thisbe.
“Not many,” said Rohan. “There are eleven of us in the catacombs, plus you. Many of our parents are dead or being held as slaves in various palaces and other kingdoms, both within and outside of Grimere. There are other lands beyond the forest that I’ve never been to, but I know some of our people and at least a few dragons, too, are hiding from the Revinir there.”
Our people, thought Thisbe. Rohan considered her to be one of them. “So the Revinir has only taken over Grimere so far?”
“Yes.” He glanced at her, as if puzzled that she wouldn’t already be aware of that information. “What about you? You seem to know shockingly little about us, and you don’t speak the language of the commoners, which is strange. What part of Grimere are you from?”
“I’m not actually from here,” Thisbe said a bit cautiously as she tried to figure out what things were safe to tell Rohan.Could she trust him? She’d been evasive in the past with Dev, but that was to protect the dragons. But the dragons didn’t seem to be part of the picture anymore. Still, Dev had burned her. Would Rohan be different? Thisbe didn’t see any reason to hide anything now. She was stuck down here with no allies—not a single friend. She shrugged and confessed, “I came from the land of the seven islands.”
“Oh, you did? Intriguing!”
“Have you heard of it?”
“Yes, of course. The pirates come from there. It’s in all the history books.”
“Books?” said Thisbe with a hopeful surge—perhaps there’d be something to do after all in the evenings. “Are there books here?”
“Not here. In the village schools. I
had them before the Revinir caught me.”
“Oh.” Thisbe’s heart settled into disappointment. “That’s a shame. I like books. I don’t know what to do all evening except look at all the awful bones, or make up stories in my head and act them out. But there’s no place to write anything down.”
Rohan smiled as if he’d like to see that play out inside a crypt. He pounded Thisbe with questions. “Tell me more about your world. It’s magical, isn’t it? Some of it, anyway? That’s where the Revinir came from too. I wonder how people do it—magic, I mean. It’s amazing to me. If only I could do something powerfully magical to break us all out of here. . . .” He trailed off.
“How?” asked Thisbe. In the distance she could hear rushing water, which meant they were nearing the testing room.
“However magic’s done. You’d know better than me, I’d guess.” Rohan shrugged and put a finger to his lips. “I’ll wait for you,” he whispered, then proceeded to the testing room to deliver his dragon bone.
Thisbe waited a while, then went in after him.
The cavelike room was set up as a big laboratory. The tables and machinery reminded Thisbe a little of what Ishibashi and the other scientists had in their greenhouse, only this was much bigger. The tools here were sharp, like picks, and used for extracting magic from bones for the Revinir. The workers wore ragged, loose clothing, more like the slaves than the soldiers who guarded the elevator exit and the intersections. Perhaps they were held against their will too. Thisbe tried to see if any of them had black eyes, but they kept their heads down.
As Rohan exited without a glance her way, Thisbe brought her bone to an empty station and removed it from the harness, leaving it on the floor for the examiners to hoist up. Then she went to the pile of finished bones, chose the smallest one, and harnessed it to herself to drag back to her crypt. Before she left the room, she stopped for a ladleful of water from a bucket near the door and drank it down. It stopped her stomach from growling, at least for a few minutes. She was halfway to her meal.