

LOST ILLUMINATION

K.C. DUNFORD

Copyright © 2016 by K.C. Dunford.

Library of Congress Control Number: 201690296

ISBN Hardcover: 978-1-5144-6808-1

ISBN Softcover: 978-1-5144-6807-4

ISBN eBook: 978-1-5144-6806-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only. Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Print information available on the last page.

Rev. date: 03/29/2016

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Contents

Chapter 1 The Black 1

Chapter 2 Reflections 11

Chapter 3 Through the Water 22

Chapter 4 Gafford 35

Chapter 5 Around the Ground 47

Chapter 6 The Caves 56

Chapter 7 Across the Bridge 69

Chapter 8 The Garden of Light 80

Chapter 9 The Kingdom 93

Chapter 10 The Great Aldrics 110

Chapter 11 The Figure Dressed in White 120

Chapter 12 Three Princesses 131

Chapter 13 Fire of Winter 145

Chapter 14 The Plague 157

Chapter 15 The Box 178

Chapter 16 The Metal Door 185

Chapter 17 Back to the Black 202

Chapter 18 The Hollow Holders 209

Chapter 19 The Unintended Curse 228

Chapter 20 Screaming Trees 239

Chapter 21 The Shifting Lands 249

Chapter 22 The Skathe 264

Chapter 23 Finding the Nest 282

Chapter 24 The Scalpmonger Queen 293

Chapter 25 The Quondam Crystal 303

Chapter 1

The Black

A commotion pulled Christian's attention away from the depths of his novel. He peeked from behind the pages and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the afternoon light. On the grassy field before him, a cluster of schoolboys were shouting and kicking wildly. It seemed that their sport was becoming more of a struggle to the death than a game. Dust and gravel sprang from the ground in a dirty cloud, and their shouts escalated in volume.

There was a hollow thud, and a sun-faded kickball sprang from inside the group and soared across the playing field. It bounced twice before skipping off the gravel and rolling down into an open storage cellar.

Like a frightened rabbit fleeing a foe, it leaped down the concrete steps and disappeared into the thick blackness of the room.

The sun-squinted eyes of the boys trailed after their escapee. A taller boy stepped forward. "You there!" he called from across the field.

Christian lowered his book and touched his chest.

The boy nodded once. "Get the ball," he said, wiping the sweat from his brow and pointing to the cellar.

The cellar was close to his shade tree, so Christian shrugged and stood without complaint. He sat his book on top of a large root and turned to the

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cellar entrance. The edge of a bicycle wheel was peeping from inside, but the kickball was out of sight, lost in the depths of the shadow.

The shouts from the boys grew more insistent, and he hurried forward, kicking a rock out of his way as he jogged toward the cellar.

These boys weren't Christian's friends, but he didn't mind fetching their ball. In fact, there was a time when he would have liked nothing more than to join in on their boyish brawl of kickball.

Since arriving at the Fall Valley Boarding School for Boys, however, the excitement of sports had been replaced with a hollow feeling that left Christian with little motivation to play. He much preferred the solitude of a good storybook, a place where he could lose himself in private enjoyment and forget the things that troubled him.

He reached the edge of the stairs and glanced over his shoulder. The boys were standing watch—some with hands on hips and all with expectant eyes. He turned away from them and peered down. The afternoon light stretched to the base of the steps where yesterday's rainstorm had created a puddle of water. The light reflected over the surface but then faded away in a subtle barrier between light and darkness, comfort and unease.

It was a simple task: retrieve the ball. If he did so, he could return to his shade tree, lose himself in his story, and maybe even doze off for a few minutes before returning to class. It was broad daylight, and the sounds of children's scuffle were all around him. He assured himself that there was nothing to be afraid of, nothing to dread.

Somehow, however, as he stared into the shadow, the security of the school grounds seemed distant, and the looming darkness of the cellar took charge. A tingling ran down his spine as he lowered his foot onto the first step.

Just as his shoe touched the concrete, however, a sound stopped him in his tracks. It was not far off, certainly not the distant commotion of the school grounds nor the subtle rustling of the swaying trees.

It was a voice.

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The words were brief, but the moment they broke the silence, his ears stretched in question, perking up with a surge of surprise. The voice was a whisper, subtle yet crisp. "Christian," it said, "stay away from the . . ."

Then it faded away into silence.

Startled, he turned quickly to look over his shoulder. He was uncertain from which direction the sound had come, and looking back, there was nothing to be seen but the crowd of impatient boys in the distance, turning their palms forward in expectancy.

He inhaled deeply, disturbed by the eerie sound, and turned back to the stairs. A breeze ruffled his hair and shook the leaves. September was coming, and although the afternoons still glowed with heat and sunshine, the warmth was beginning its descent, and rain was a daily probability. In one dimming moment, the sun shrank behind a cloud, and the boys moaned in displeasure.

Now the stream of light that shined on the stairs was gone. The puddle was black, and the air around him was chilly.

He was about to descend to the next step when a sudden crash of thunder struck. The rumbling started low, but in an instant, it grew into a resounding boom that pushed a startled gasp from inside him. Then, as though it were happening before him, he imagined the heavy door of the cellar swinging closed. The last sliver of light disappeared, and he was locked inside. Alone, with nothing but chilling blackness and the sound of the beating rain overhead. His cries for help only delighted the other schoolboys, and he became the object of a merciless game.

His heartbeat quickened, and a heavy drop hit his arm. He looked up, and a moment later, the sky released a downpour. The boys in the field shouted and laughed as they ran toward the school building.

Christian tore his eyes from the cellar and turned on his heel. He raced toward his shade tree and scooped up his book, tripping twice and almost falling as he hurried into the building.

The rain had never bothered him much, but he hurried inside nonetheless.

He didn't like the idea of shivering through a class in soaking clothes.

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Before coming to Fall Valley, however, there had been times when he had purposefully sat outside in a rainstorm just to feel the cool prickles on his skin. The insects, animals, and everyone else fled for shelter, but for Christian, there was something freeing about doing the opposite. Something about it was magical.

Of course, such things had only ever lasted a few short minutes before his mother had discovered him and insisted that he come inside.

As he reached the school's back entrance and pulled the door open, he could almost hear his mother's voice say, "You silly boy. You'll freeze to death out there in the rain." Then he saw her face. She was smiling warmly and pushing a lock of his sandy-blond hair away from his eyes. "Come on, baby," she whispered, "let's get you dried off."

How he missed her gentle touch and soft-spoken words.

As he remembered her voice, another came to mind: the one that had spoken his name just outside the cellar. He would have blamed it on another schoolboy out to frighten him, but there was something different about that voice, and he didn't think the boys were capable of creating such a sound.

The thought was unsettling.

Christian raked his hands through his hair and wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. His head and shoulders were soaked, and his feet were damp, so he removed his shoes and unfastened the first three buttons of his shirt. He decided that, for now, he would not think about the voice but instead find a way to enjoy the rest of his break time.

The other boys had gone to play ball in the gym, so he decided to head to class early. There he could sit in his desk and read a few more pages before break time ended.

He headed down the hall with his shoes in one hand and his book in the other. The cover was sprinkled with drops of rain, and he wiped them on the front of his shirt.

The title of the book had been worn by time, but the words "two cities" and the name Charles Dickens were still clearly readable. He tilted

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it forward and was pleased to see that the pages had not been too severely dampened. Then he sighed and pressed the book to his chest. Dickens could be a bit long-winded, but Christian loved to lose himself inside of the pages of his novels.

Out of all the characters in this particular story, he felt the greatest connection with the imprisoned Dr. Manette. Perhaps he was only feeling sorry for himself, but at times, he couldn't help but feel that this boarding school was a sort of prison. Only instead of making shoes as Manette did, Christian distracted himself from prison life by losing himself in schoolwork and literature.

He suppressed a smile and stared at a hole in his left sock. Manette's brilliant physician mind was being wasted in prison, and Christian's brilliant childhood was being wasted in boarding school. Manette, however, was a grown man who had lived a good life, while Christian was only thirteen, and these years of his life were precious.

Now he abandoned the effort to fight back his smile because he knew he was only embracing his own self-pity with this comparison. He tightened his grip around the book cover and gave a silent thank you to the doctor. Manette distracted himself with shoes, and Christian distracted himself with Manette.

He turned the last corner to his classroom, and just as he did, a monstrous sneeze tickled and built up inside of him. It was a sneeze that called for a deep and steady breath of preparation before being let loose. He closed his eyes and sucked in his breath, releasing the sneeze with a satisfying blow, and not even bothering to cover his mouth. The sensation was relieving, but as he opened his eyes, the good feeling was swept away and replaced by one of sinking dread.

Ms. Hawthorne, the school's housemaster, was standing just in front of him, her arms open in disgusted surprise. Her lips pressed into a tight line when he looked up at her.

Christian stepped back. "I'm so sorry, Ms. Hawthorne, ma'am. I didn't—"

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"Don't," she said, closing her eyes and raising a finger. "Just go, Mr. Bennett."

Christian lowered his head and stepped around her.

"One moment," she said.

Christian turned with a grimace. "Yes, ma'am?" "Your shoes, Mr. Bennett?"

His could feel his cheeks burning. "It was raining and they got wet, ma'am."

She raised a thin and pointed eyebrow. "You were out in the storm?" He nodded sheepishly.

"All right, then," she said, weaving her thin fingers together. "You best be off to the medical matron's office."

"Ms. Hawthorne, I—"

She raised a hand to silence him. "I'll hear none of your excuses. You are soaked and sneezing, not to mention looking rather pale. Off with you, Mr. Bennett. I want you to be feeling your best for tomorrow."

Christian's shoulders slumped. Perhaps he did appear rather sickly with his dampened clothes and sneezing, but he knew that this trip to the medical matron's office was more of a punishment than anything else. He nodded and excused himself, hiding his dampened shoes in hopes that she would forget that he was not wearing them.

He sighed in relief when he was away from Ms. Hawthorne and turned to the corridor leading to the medical matron's office. It was a pity that his favorite doctor wouldn't be there. Even if Manette managed to escape from prison, he wouldn't escape A Tale of Two Cities.

He sighed. The matron was pleasant enough if she didn't get so close as to share her rubber-and-mothball smell. Although he was unpleased to be visiting her, Ms. Hawthorne was right. He needed to feel his best for tomorrow.

He had been counting the days until this season's school excursion, and he wouldn't want to miss it. Every season held a special trip to a museum, monument, or geographical site. One of Christian's favorite excursions had

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been their trip to the caverns. The boys had been bused outside of town and were allowed to hike to the mouth of a massive cave. They were permitted to explore a small part of the entrance but were heavily cautioned that the caverns ran extremely deep, and any confusion could lead to a child lost forever in the depths. Many explorers had entered there, never to be seen again.

All these excursions held some educational value, all except for the special summer excursion. Summer was always the same, The Fall Valley Fair. It was the only excursion of the year that was pure entertainment. The students looked forward to the trip all year, Christian included. Yes, Ms. Hawthorne was right; he needed to feel his best for tomorrow.

He knocked on the glass window of the matron's door and waited, wondering, and hoping she wasn't there. This would give him a perfect excuse to leave and return to class. He was preparing to knock again but paused when he looked through and realized that there was already someone inside.

He squinted through the textured glass, and his eyes found a shape to the left of the room. It was a figure, hunched over and dressed in dark clothing. Christian stared more intently and moved closer until his nose was touching the glass. Whoever it was, they were facing away, and they swayed slightly as though sitting in a rocking chair.

"May I help you?"

He leaped in surprise when the medical matron appeared behind him. "Oh, excuse me, Ms. Winters. Uh, I was . . ." He motioned to the door. "I was looking for you."

"Are you feeling unwell?"

"Yes. Well, no, not really . . . I guess you've already got someone in there, so I'll just go."

She cocked her head. "No. No one in today."

He turned to the door. "Yeah, I saw—" Now there was nothing but his own reflection in the foggy texture of the glass.

"You saw what?" she said, leaning closer with a look of concern.

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"I uh . . ."

"Yes?" Her voice was pointed.

"I saw someone in the waiting area outside," he lied. "Maybe they left." "Yes, they must have," she said, leaning back to see into the waiting

area. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her keys. "Come in." After a few moments of fiddling, she opened the door. Christian looked

to the right but found nothing but an empty chair and a small white bed. "Have a seat," Ms. Winters said. She opened a drawer and pulled out a thermometer, placing it under his tongue. "What's the ailment today? Is

your head aching?"

He shook his head.

"Feeling queasy?"

"Mith Hathow seh I wath lookin' pale," he babbled over the thermometer.

"Ah, that Ms. Hawthorne," she said, clicking her tongue. "You ought to consider yourself lucky to have a housemaster so caring. Why, when my son attended this school . . ." She began to relate the various discipline systems of years past, stories that the students had heard many times. Christian, however, was not listening. Something else caught his attention.

It was in the frame of a small picture mounted to the wall. He turned his attention to the painting and stared intently. Perhaps Ms. Hawthorne was right. Perhaps he wasn't feeling well after all.

His eyes were playing tricks on him.

When he looked into the picture on the wall, there was something on its surface, something that seemed to be moving. His eyes grew more intense, and as he stared, the moving became clearer. The framed picture was nothing more than a nature scene with a brook and a border of aspen trees. However, something else was spreading across the glass-pane surface, something thick and black. As he watched, his body tensed, his eyelids stretching wide.

"But of course you would know nothing of—"

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It wasn't until Ms. Winters abruptly ceased to speak that Christian realized he hadn't been listening at all. However, his eyes remained on the painting. She turned her silver head in the direction of his gaze and looked back with narrowed eyes. "You know, Mr. Bennett, you do look rather pale after all. Perhaps you could use some rest." She tugged at the thermometer in his mouth. "No need to bite down," she said with a hint of annoyance. Christian hadn't even noticed. He unclenched his jaw, and she removed the thermometer, pushing his shoulder down onto the paper-covered bed. "Close your eyes," she said. "I'll come back to check on you shortly."

She left the room, leaving him with a racing heart and sweaty palms. His eyes remained glued to the painting, and he was astonished that she had not noticed the blackness. It was right in front of her, and she had looked right at it. He remained silent, not daring to move a muscle as the darkness pulsated across the picture until it covered the whole frame. His face was burning, his breathing quickened, and his heart nearly ripped out of his chest when he heard the same whispery voice that had spoken to him outside.

"Christian," it whispered, "stay away from the mirrors." The lights flickered and the room went black.

He sat up, and almost involuntarily, a terrified cry escaped his throat. The door swung open and light flooded into the room from a window

outside the office.

"No need to raise such a fuss," Ms. Winters scolded. "It's just a power outage from the storm!" Christian leaned forward to see out the window. Steady rainfall streaked across the glass, and it reminded him of the inside of a prison cell.

"You're shaking," she said, taking his hand. "Lie back down, Mr. Bennett."

"No, I'm all right."

"Lie back down." Her voice was sharp and commanding.

Christian hated being told what to do, but he obeyed nonetheless. His heart continued to race, and he looked back to the painting. The blackness

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was gone, and the framed picture was back to normal. He swallowed hard, wondering if it would return. "I'd like to go back to class, please."

Her loosely pinned bun wobbled back and forth as she shook her head. "I don't think so, Mr. Bennett. Not in the condition you are in."

"Please, I feel fine." His eyes darted in every direction. "I need to go back to class . . . There's a big exam coming up."

She pulled her brows together. "I'd feel better if I could keep an eye on you."

"Ma'am," he begged, "please. It's really important, and I'll come back if I need to."

She sighed, scribbled a message on a notepad, and ripped it out. "If you insist on returning to class, give this to your professor." She handed him the paper with an uneasy expression. "Will you be able to make it with the power outage?"

He looked through the glass on the office door and could make out the glow of an exit sign. "Yeah, I'm all right."

Ms. Winters narrowed her eyes, but he took the note and hurried out of the office before she could speak again. All he wanted was to get away from the office and the voices, away from the prison cell that trapped him in their company.

He hurried away, barefoot like an inmate escaping from prison.

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Chapter 2

Reflections

"Stay away from the mirrors."

Early the next morning, much earlier than usual, Christian opened his eyes to the sound of voices echoing down the hall. He sat up and found that the other boys were still sleeping peacefully in their beds. Slowly, he lowered his head back to the pillow and closed his heavy eyes.

"Yes, Christian, back to sleep."

This time, he was sure there had been a voice, and his heart rate quickened. Cautiously, he peeled back his covers and swung his legs off the bed. The wooden floor paneling stung cold beneath his toes, and the early morning light shined through the drapes. It was a dim blue haze, but it was just enough to let him find his way through the dormitory.

Christian had always been one to awaken early, and he often found himself rising before his schoolmates. However, this day was different. Today he had not awakened naturally, and a cloud of foggy sleep still hung behind his eyelids. Perhaps it was unwise to leave his bed, but his mind was a persistent one, and he was driven to investigate. Yesterday was almost a blur, and he had gone to bed with a troubled mind. The voices and the shapes were indeed disturbing, but now that the initial shock had worn off, another feeling had taken its place.

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It was a feeling that found him often and had most recently been brought about by a closet on the second floor. For months he had passed the door, and it had always been shut and latched closed. Every day he looked at the door, and it practically begged him to see behind it. That same door had earned him a week in detention when Ms. Hawthorne caught him trying to pick the lock with a pin. She unlocked the closet with a key and swung the door open to reveal an upright stack of mops and brooms. "You always were just a little too curious, Mr. Bennett," she said, slamming the door shut and leading him away.

Christian pushed away the memory and inched toward the door, taking care not to awaken the sleeping boys.

The shadowy hallway had an ominous look in the morning light, and for a few waiting moments, he held his breath in the threshold. There wasn't a clock in the boys' dormitory, and it was possible that the housemaster could appear at any moment. She would surely disapprove of his early rising. After his brief hesitation, however, he pressed his lips together and took a step in the direction of the voices. He hurried over to the long floral rug that stretched down the hallway and was pleased when it muffled his steps.

Several doors lined the hallway, and at the end was a large rectangular mirror embellished with brass framework. He made his way over and stood still in front of it, still weary with sleep, and stared at his own reflection.

He shook his head slowly. The voices had warned him to avoid the mirror, yet here he stood, inches from the glass.

He sighed and began to turn, hoping he hadn't deprived himself of too much sleep. Before his gaze had departed from the mirror, however, a movement in the reflection caught his eye, and his head whipped back around.

It was a small edge of blackness, almost like a strip of material, resting in the bottom corner. He turned his head to the side, but there was nothing beside him but the swirled floral pattern of the wallpaper. Then his eyes returned to the mirror, and the blackness slid out of the frame.

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Christian stared for a few more moments, frozen in place. He had always been an imaginative person, and with a night's sleep still hanging on his consciousness, the sight was as equally intriguing as it was frightening.

Soon the seconds turned to minutes, until he finally turned around and crept back into the bedroom. Slowly, he lowered himself into bed, handling his blankets delicately and barely daring to breathe.

The strange occurrence played over and over in his mind, as did the ones from the previous day. He felt as though his eyes had only been closed for a matter of seconds before Ms. Hawthorne rapped on the door with her usual "Six o'clock, boys!"

The room filled with muffled moans and sleepy sighs, and the memory of the morning's strange encounter still clung to him as he stood and pulled on his robe. However, when the curtains burst open and dim light shined onto the bustling boys who were hurrying about the room, it grew distant. He allowed himself to put it away and dressed for the day.

The morning started out as a bit of disappointment to everyone. The sky was still veiled with heavy clouds, and a chilly breeze shook the trees.

Despite the dreary weather, the boys still managed to hurry about with excitement, anxious for the day's adventures at the fair.

Christian didn't speak as they walked along the soaked sidewalks toward the fairgrounds. Although a night's sleep had placed a fog over the morning and previous day's events, the happenings still lingered in his mind.

They passed through the ticket booth, and the other boys rushed off in various directions.

He sighed. A Christian from the past might have hurried to join the other boys in excitement and fun, but he remained calm, thoughtfully taking in his surroundings. He felt strangely out of place, and the feeling disappointed him after all the days of looking forward to this excursion. It was times like these that he truly missed the way things used to be.

Back home, he had been friends with many of his neighbors, schoolmates, and teachers. Upon moving to Fall Valley, however, he found

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it difficult to even want to make friends. He could admit to himself that he had become somewhat of a blank slate.

There were times when he questioned who he really was, questioned if the boy that he had been before coming to Fall Valley would ever return. He wondered such things but could not bring himself to believe that "Christian" was lost for good. He knew that his old self was deep inside, locked away from a place where he didn't belong.

For now, the real Christian had gone away, and unfortunately, "Mr.

Christian D. Bennett" was not sure when he would return.

He walked around the open field, watching the other boys play games and laugh at the clowns who were performing silly stunts. He had never been particularly fond of clowns. They didn't frighten him, but something about their jeering white faces and lined red lips made him uncomfortable. He watched as one of them put his thumbs into his ears and stuck out his tongue. The boys around him laughed, but Christian glared. His father's voice came to mind and boomed, Stop acting like a clown.

He turned away, and they walked deeper into the grounds. There was a colorful booth full of treats, and he decided to wait in line for cotton candy. He could scarcely remember the last time he had eaten it, and he wondered if he would enjoy it as much as he once had. Just as he had claimed his place in a line, he noticed that a large group of boys was hurrying toward a small travel trailer. He turned to face it, and then his curiosity pulled him out of line and toward the pressing group of boys.

On the top of the trailer, there was a large circular clock. The markings on the clock read from one to sixty, and the little red hand was now resting on fifty-eight.

"What's going on over here?" he asked as he approached a fellow classmate.

"It's a magician," said the little boy, standing on his tiptoes. "He performs every hour."

Christian smiled to himself. Obnoxious clowns with water balloons and cream pies were close to the bottom of his list of preferences, but

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illusionists, on the contrary, were very well near the top. Before he had passed away, Christian's grandfather had been a master of tricks. Some of them were easy to catch onto, but others were so incredible that a fascinated toddler-Christian could not help but believe in magic.

He relaxed and joined in on the anticipation for the beginning of the act.

The red hand clicked over the sixty, and a short bald man wearing a yellow vest waddled around from behind the trailer. He stood no taller than three feet. "Welcome, friends!" shouted the man as he raised his stubby arms. "It is with great pleasure that I present to you today, the one, the only, the amazing, Allesandro Leodini!"

A loud bang and a puff of smoke escaped from the trailer.

The boys gasped and then cheered loudly as a tall, muscular man with dark skin stepped out from behind the curtain. He wore a red vest, a black suit, and a long velvet robe. The magician smiled mischievously and stroked a long black braid, which ran down the side of his chest.

Memories from his childhood flooded his mind as Christian attended the magician's show. He performed entertaining card tricks, sawed his assistant in half, cast a spell to make her levitate, and caused a long rope to go stiff. Christian could almost hear his grandfather's voice as the magician announced each of his magical acts.

After he had pulled a rabbit out of his hat, the magician cleared his throat and announced, "And now for my most spectacular magic of all!" His assistant rolled a large, body-length mirror out from behind the trailer. A weight of despair hit Christian's stomach, and his body stiffened

as he looked at the ground.

He wished it wasn't a mirror. There was no telling what gloomy image might be caught inside of the reflection, and eerie memories kept his eyes strongly averted. The magician continued his act, and the boys continued to cheer. He knew that he shouldn't, but he peeked up, taking care to keep his eyes away from the reflection. The magician pulled a small

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red handkerchief out of his vest and held it up. "Keep your eyes on the handkerchief," he announced. Christian did not disobey.

The magician made a fist and placed the small piece of material over his hand. He used his left pointer finger to push the handkerchief into the opening in his fist, leaving a small tip of red poking out of the top. "You see that the handkerchief is still in my hand?"

They rumbled in affirmation.

"Now watch this."

They all watched as he brought his hand to the mirror, placed his fist on the surface, and flattened it out. He cocked his hand to the side and slowly brought his now-empty hand away from the mirror, showing it to the audience. The boys erupted with gasps of delight, and Christian's mouth formed a teeny smirk because he knew his grandfather would have loved the trick.

After the cheers had died down, the magician held out both of his empty hands and placed the right one back on the surface of the mirror. He cocked his hand to the side once again and pulled the handkerchief out of the mirror. The boys cheered even louder than before. He turned to the side and pulled another handkerchief from his mouth. Only this time, it was much longer. The children cheered as he pulled and pulled.

However, Christian was not watching the magician. He was staring at the mirror, where a change had caught his eye. There was something inside, but it was neither the magician's reflection nor the assistant's . . . In fact, it was not a reflection at all.

A feeling of horror filled him up. At first it started out in his stomach, but then it spread to his lungs, his heart, and finally his head. It glued his feet to the ground and his eyes to the glass. The image in the mirror was a tall figure with a black cape and a pale, gaunt face. The figure's dark-black eyes were staring straight into Christian's.

His frightened frame remained fixated, and the shouts of excitement and laughter seemed to fade into silence. The eyes lay fixed upon him, and they solidified the fear that numbed his body.

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With his eyes glued to the mirror, Christian finally found the strength to reach toward the boy standing next to him. The boy was still laughing as the magician pulled the cloth from his mouth. The other boys were doing the same, and no one seemed to notice what was inside the mirror.

"Look over there," Christian said, tugging at the boy's shirt.

He didn't seem to hear.

This time Christian raised his voice. "Look in the mirror!"

"Oh." The boy looked intrigued and leaned to see into the mirror. "What am I looking at?"

"That thing in the mirror," he said, pointing.

"I don't see anything," he said with a shrug.

Christian still hadn't broken his stare. "It's right there!"

"I don't see anything." He looked at Christian's face for a moment but then turned his attention back to the magician.

Christian tore his gaze from the figure. He scanned the crowd and found that not one of the boys was looking into the mirror. He returned his eyes to the reflection and found it empty this time.

He suddenly felt like he had just stepped on a patch of black ice. His shoulders slumped low and a knot formed in his stomach. The magician bowed repeatedly, and everyone applauded wildly; everyone except Christian. The noise was too much, far too much of a contrast to his disturbed terror.

He had to get away, but the crowd of boys seemed to be purposefully closing in on him. "Excuse me," he said, but his voice was nowhere near loud enough to exceed the excitement of the boys. He did not possess the will to raise his voice, so instead, he stuck out his elbow and shoved sideways past a group of bouncing boys. They stumbled and voiced momentary annoyance but moved out of his way and continued their cheers. Christian pushed past a few more children, nearly knocking a small boy to the ground, but finally, he was free.

Without another word, he sneaked away from the crowd. He walked quickly, further and further away from the group of boys. When he had

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turned a corner and was out of sight, he broke into a run. He ran to the edge of the grounds and couldn't help but feel like he was being chased. He ran faster and didn't stop until he had collided with the fence surrounding the perimeter. It knocked the air out of him and sent him stumbling backward.

While fighting to steady his breath, he turned around and leaned against the fence. Fear and denial were clouding his mind, and the image of the black figure repeated over and over in his thoughts. Sinking down to the ground, he covered his face. His mind was spinning as he struggled to make sense of what was happening.

He was able to blame the voices from yesterday on anxiety or confusion. The shape in the picture frame could be blamed on the fact that he had not been feeling well. The blackness in the mirror could have been the sleepy leftovers of a dream. Any previous encounter with the darkness could be blamed on his imagination. However, a full-embodied figure was most certainly not an image he could conjure up from thin air.

As a young child, he had often made himself believe that he was battling monsters, saving princesses, or escaping rivers of hot lava. His mind had embarked on countless adventures, putting himself in the shoes of Huckleberry Finn or Bilbo Baggins, and through these countless adventures, he had come to believe that he was really quite brave. The quests, however, did not seem to have paid off, and any bravery he thought he had was gone now. It had been replaced by a dread that his imagination could have never warned him of. His mind had done great things, but never before had it conjured up a figure so clearly that it could have been real. Either he was insane or something really was there. A chill ran down his spine, and he got the unhappy feeling that whatever was following him did not have good intentions.

He racked his mind, searching for a reason that something so terrifying would be following him. He wondered how long the encounters would last and could not help but consider the fact that if he kept ignoring them, they were likely to grow worse. After several minutes of mental debate, he came

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to a conclusion. The best way to get rid of . . . whatever it was . . . was to find out what it was.

Yes, he was afraid, but there was something deeper inside of him, something that urged him to learn more, even though his instincts told him not to. It was something that had always been a part of him. He did not know if it was weakness or strength, but it was there.

Curiosity.

Just like the broom closet on the second floor, if he was going to solve the mystery, he was going to have to take matters into his own hands.

Christian thought back to the morning and the day before. He had seen the darkness in the mirror in the hallway. He had seen it in the glass door of the medical matron's office and again in the picture frame. Then, of course, he had seen the figure in the magician's frightening mirror.

He brought his hands over his eyes, pondering the events. There were mirrors, a window, a glass pane . . .

He thought about the voice he had heard just before going down into the cellar. He pictured the concrete steps that led down into the darkness, a darkness that began just inches from the edge of a puddle of water.

Then it dawned on him, and his head shot up.

Reflections.

If he was going to find a solution, it only made sense that it would be found inside of a reflection. If this were true, he had some thinking to do.

He sighed, and just as he began to lower his head back to his knees, a glare of light flashed across his face.

He looked up again, and his eyes found a small circular puddle, just a few steps away. His heartbeat quickened. The puddle surely held a reflection; he could see it from here. The tall trees and clouded sky were mirrored clearly in the little pond. He almost moved toward it but lost courage at the last second. The mere thought of looking into the puddle's reflection petrified him. However, the thought of returning to the school tomorrow, full of mirrors and reflections, frightened him even more. He decided that this problem needed resolving, and the only way to resolve it

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was to discover just what the problem was. He needed to know . . . because the curiosity was eating him alive.

He stood up, summoning all the courage that his heart could muster, and walked over to the puddle.

Gazing inside its waters, he found nothing but a gray sky and the reflection of the tall trees.

He leaned over the water, his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. "Come on," he whispered, "show yourself." He had tried to make

himself sound brave, but even to himself, his voice was not convincing.

Nothing happened.

He crouched down, his hands shaking as he squinted into the water. He could see his own reflection staring back at him as he sank down onto his knees. "Hello?"

A small ripple fluttered across the surface, causing him to pull back, but he willed himself to regain confidence and drew closer. He brought himself lower and hovered his right hand over the puddle's surface. He bent his middle finger and moved it toward the water. Slowly, he inched his shaking hand closer and closer, until finally, the slightest tip of his skin made contact with the puddle.

What happened next was almost too sudden to comprehend.

Before he had a chance to react, a hand reached up out of the water, took hold of his wrist, and yanked him forcefully into the puddle. His face splashed into the water, and he braced himself for a collision with the ground . . . But there was none.

The hand pulled him deeper and deeper into the water until his body was fully submerged. He made desperate attempts to yank free, but the hand held firm on his wrist. It was a useless battle, and he did not possess the strength to win. Soon he was robbed of his strength, and he surrendered to the tugging. Now he focused his efforts on holding his breath. He squeezed his lips together until his chest burned with pain. He felt like a monstrous weight was crushing his lungs into deflated airbags. The thought of drowning or suffocating was something that he had considered

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from time to time. It had not ever been his greatest fear, but now that it was happening, he couldn't imagine anything worse.

After several seconds, he knew that he could not restrain himself any longer. He surrendered to the will of his screaming lungs and gulped in an enormous breath of . . .

Air.

21

Chapter 3

Through the Water

Christian opened his eyes. The sky was spinning, and his head was throbbing. He shut his eyes again and put his hands over his temples.

He lay there for several minutes, attempting to regain his senses. He did not open his eyes but reached his arms out to the side.

There were tufts of grass and dirt on the ground around him. He moved his hand across the ground and found a small pointed stone. Rolling it around, he brought it to his palm and then to his other hand. He pressed the rock into his skin but wasn't sure if he felt relieved or worried when he could feel the pain. If the feelings were, in fact, imaginary, it wouldn't be the first time that his dreaming mind had tricked him into believing in pain.

Through the course of his lifetime, he had lost himself inside the chasms of countless dreams. Sometimes his dreams were a chain of bizarre circumstances that had no end. Other times, they made sense, and they flowed with a sensible plot and gripping story line. He most often remembered the ones that ended in a tragic way or sent him plummeting to his death. No matter how realistic they seemed while sleeping, he always found it funny how ridiculous the elements of the dreams really were upon awakening.

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While lost in the depths of sleep, the idea that he could actually be dreaming very rarely crossed his mind. It was as though his mind was too stubborn to admit that the things it was conjuring up were false. On the other hand, he had often sat by himself, wide awake, and wondered, Could this be a dream? But the question had always been easy to answer. His rational mind would always tell him the truth, and reality did not require persuasion.

When he was awake, he knew where he was, he knew how he got there, and he knew what he would do next. When he was awake, he was in control. The dream world, however, was one where uncertainties were not considered and realities were irrelevant.

He took in a deep breath. Of course, it was possible that he had dozed off and that the last couple of minutes had been conjured up by his imagination . . . But his better judgment told him otherwise. This feeling was real, and this did not feel like a dream. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was a clouded sky and a thick blanket of trees. He sat up slowly, holding his forehead, and he rubbed his eyes and looked around. His heart was thumping like a drum because one thing was certain: he was definitely not at the fair. In fact, he didn't recognize anything around him.

Perhaps it would have been easy to lie back down and allow himself to believe that he was dreaming. He could have surrendered to the unknown and let himself float off into another scene. His dreams always carried on despite his will to end them. This scene, however, did not continue. This scene was still, and it carried forward in real time. Christian did not act, and so nothing changed. It didn't make sense, but somehow he knew this was really happening.

He looked about. There were trees everywhere, but not trees like the ones at home. These were thin, wispy trees that curved and bent in strange, knotted ways.

The old widow, Mrs. Kindly, had hands like these branches. She was the town librarian, and he had always tried not to stare as she turned

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and stamped the books' pages. Those shaking, arthritis-stricken knuckles covered with fragile skin were almost too much to look away from. He had always felt awful for thinking it, but the idea of being touched by those wrinkled hands, that mushy skin, and those twisted joints made his stomach turn.

He often reminded himself that no matter how unpleasant they may have been, her hands were her hands, and they served her well. Perhaps they were nearing their last page-turning days, but they were the only hands she had, and he himself was likely to have hands like this one day. Christian grimaced at the thought and continued to stare at the knotted trees.

Just like Mrs. Kindly's hands, the trees looked nearly dead. The thinner branches resembled skeletal arms with twigs of bony fingers. Their bark was gray and shined as though it were wet.

He stared at the trees, trying to forget about the widow's hands and make sense of what was happening.

Just seconds ago, he had been on the Fall Valley Fairgrounds, staring into a mud puddle, and now he was here.

But where was here?

He stood up, his legs shaking, and looked about. All around, in every direction, were the same wispy gray trees. Of course, he had heard the saying "If you are ever lost, hug a tree until someone finds you."

The rule did not seem applicable to someone who had lost themselves in a puddle of water. His heart skipped a beat as he remembered the hand.

He had almost forgotten about the hand that had pulled him into the water, the tightest hold that had pulled him down, down, down. He looked around cautiously, wondering if the owner of the hand was close by. He turned in every direction, but there was no sign of another person to be found. If someone had been here, they were no longer in sight.

He thought for a moment and decided he would not hug a tree after all. He didn't want to touch these trees any more than he wanted to touch the widow's hands.

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Surveying the surroundings, he now noticed a small patch of trees that were significantly thinner than the others. He wondered if it would be wise to venture into the trees or to stay put. If he were lost, he figured that he could be more easily spotted by a rescue team in a large opening, like a field.

He walked down a small hill and began to make his way through the forest. As he passed into the thin and bony trees, he noticed that it was strangely quiet.

It wasn't the usual quiet one finds in a forest, with nothing but the sound of calling birds and chirping insects. It was almost unnatural for a forest, and in fact, it seemed to be just as Mrs. Kindly would want her library.

He paused for a moment. Yes, the widowed librarian might have appreciated the quiet . . . but this? This was almost . . . too quiet. If it had not been for the sounds of his feet crunching the twigs on the ground, he would have been in utter silence. He began to walk on tiptoe, hoping not to create a disturbance.

A protruding branch caught his tie, so he took it off and stuffed it in his back pocket. He looked down at his shoes and decided that they were decent enough for walking. Besides, what choice did he have? He wondered how far he would have to go before he found anything that could point him home.

He didn't, however, walk far at all before there was a strange sound.

He stopped short and turned his head.

The sound was a disturbing cross between the cracking of old wood and a whisper—the kind of sound that sends an uneasy chill down one's spine. He held perfectly still, and his body was a statue with clenched fists.

Then a movement not far ahead caught his eye. At first he thought it could have been a small animal, like a rabbit, running past. He stepped forward but hadn't walked three paces before he saw it again.

This was no rabbit.

The earth rose, crumbled, and then lowered itself back to flatness. He stopped and stared, his heartbeat increasing as he strained his eyes. He

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took another step, and in the same place, the earth crumbled away and a muddy root poked up from the ground. He tried to step back, but his foot got caught and he stumbled. Another root had risen from the ground behind him. He regained his balance and backed away.

As though his movements were triggering the roots, they rose up all around him. Wet dirt splattered his face and stuck to his lips as they rose one by one. He spattered and dodged past the upheaval of erupting madness.

The silence was gone.

The trees groaned like an old man disturbed from an afternoon nap, and the roots came to life in a seemingly choreographed ensemble.

There was no time to think, no time for logical questioning. There was only the immediate instinct to survive.

His mind was in a frenzy, and his legs seemed to be losing their strength as fear spread through him. And as it spread, his mind slipped into a state of panic. Sure, he had felt what he thought was panic before. He felt it almost every time his teacher would ask him a question in front of the class. He felt it when he was late for room inspections, he felt it when the lights went out in a room with no windows, and sometimes he even felt it when his mind would too vividly wander back to things that had happened in the past.

He had always classified these feelings as panic, and he thought he knew what it meant to be afraid. But he had been wrong. Anything he had feared in the past had been a trivial matter compared to the dread he was feeling now.

A root lashed past his ear, just a millimeter from his head, and he stumbled to get away from it. It pounded the forest floor, and suddenly, he saw his father's fist.

It was a thick and callused fist. It pounded the wood of a rickety tabletop, the back of a chair, the edge of the countertop, and sometimes it pounded a confused and frightened young Christian. An attempt to escape

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only added fuel to the fire of those angry fists, just as his attempts to escape the roots only seemed to be making things worse.

In fact, the faster he dodged and tried to escape the roots, the faster they sprang from the ground.

Letting out a panicked cry, he held his arms in front of him and shoved past as many of the thinner ones as he could. He spit and was half blinded by the dirt flying through the air and showering his face.

He had never been so afraid, but a greater determination set in when he caught a glimpse of the edge of the trees. A dim light shined through their shadowy silhouettes. He lunged forward, but a thick root hit him hard in the back, knocking him to the ground. He moaned and opened his eyes to see a small patch of ground in front of him shake and crumble. He drew back as a thin root protruded out of the ground like a worm. Almost instantly, another jutted out beside it. Then three more came up, simultaneously reaching toward his face. All five of the roots were connected and formed what looked like a knotted skeletal hand.

His stomach dropped. Perhaps he had feared the old and withered hand of a well-aged librarian, but those hands remained where they were put. They opened, they stamped, and they closed.

On the other hand, he knew that like his father's fists, this root-appendage would not stay away. Perhaps he hated the librarian's hands, and perhaps he had grown to hate the shadowy memory of his father, but he could sense immediately how much this root-hand hated him.

He dodged the horrible root's attempt to grab his face and rolled to the side as several more handlike roots sprang from the ground. He cried out in alarm and swatted one off his shoulder.

"Get off!" he screeched, jerking a root away as it tried to wriggle into his ear. A root-hand took a strong hold of his arm, but he yanked free, leaving his jacket in its clutches. Again, he rolled over, pulling his feet underneath him, and stomped on a root that tried to grasp his ankle. He kicked at the prodding hands and ran for the clearing.

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As he ran, a thin branch whipped across his face, sending a searing pain across his right cheek. He drew back and covered his cheek, not noticing the root that had just risen up out of the ground to trip him. He fell to the ground fast, without catching his fall, and landed hard on his shoulder. Before he even registered the pain, however, he turned as an enormous root rose up and came crashing down toward him. He yelled and crawled desperately on all fours. Then he pulled his feet underneath his body mid-crawl and stumbled out of the way just as the root slammed down onto the ground with crushing force, shaking the forest floor. He released another cry of alarm but didn't stop running until he was far outside of the trees.

He knew they weren't there, but as he ran, he imagined that his father and Mrs. Kindly were on his heels the whole way. Finally, he collapsed, far from the horrible trees, and lay gasping for air.

"What is this place?" He panted up at the sky. His head was spinning, and his chest was burning. He let out a frustrated moan and then yelled louder. "I want to wake up!" He squeezed his eyes hard and opened them wide over and over. But as he expected, he opened them the last time and was still lying in the tall grass, completely alone in the forest.

He didn't move for several minutes but simply lay there baffled. What did a person do in these kinds of situations? He tried to think back, tried to remember a similar story that he could compare with, but nothing helpful came to him. Children's stories came to mind, silly fairy tales of little value.

A raindrop hit his cheekbone, directly on top of the welt from the branch. It stung profusely. He touched his cheek gingerly, inspecting the damage with his fingertips. The welt ran from the edge of his nose almost all the way to his ear.

He looked up at the sky, eyes squinted. Just as he did, another drop hit above his eyebrow. He drew back as it impacted his skin. The second drop caused an even greater pain than the first. He touched his forehead but found it completely smooth and wound-free. A larger drop hit his arm

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and was like a bee sting that left his arm with a pulsating pain. He looked at it closely, but there was no mark.

He was just sinking back into pointless contemplation when the sky released a downpour of raindrops the size of peas. As the drops pounded down on his exposed body, each one pierced his skin like a hot needle. He let out a panic-stricken cry, running for cover. The drops enveloped his bare skin with punishing pain as he ran toward another small gathering of trees.

Upon reaching the trees, he stood beneath the branches for shelter, rubbing his arms and face in bewilderment. The raindrops were like needles, and he hated shots. He would never have admitted it, but just the thought of a cold pointed needle piercing through his tender skin always made his stomach turn over. He closed his eyes, and for a moment, he was in the medical matron's office, sitting on the paper blanket and holding out an exposed arm that was glistening with cold alcohol. He shuttered and leaned against the trunk of the tree.

Before his body could relax, however, realization flooded his mind, and he pulled away from the tree abruptly. This one, however, looked fairly normal. It was tall and thick with a brown trunk and green leaves. No knots, no hands.

He sat down cautiously beside its trunk. It did not move or seem to be displeased by his presence, so he pulled his arms inside his shirt, crossed them tightly, and rested his head against the bark. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore his pain and wishing that the trees had not stolen his jacket. He almost smiled to himself when he thought that perhaps Mrs. Kindly had horrible hands, but she would have never stolen his jacket. He took a deep breath and then noticed that his shoulder ached from falling. He could also feel the spot where the skeleton tree's root had beaten his back. He shook his head. If this was a dream, it was certainly the most vivid one he had ever experienced.

Christian faded off to sleep. He thought that perhaps he would awaken and find himself in his bed or asleep on his desk. He hoped that this whole

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nightmare would just disappear, and he would awaken to find himself safe beneath his blankets.

As his thoughts faded into rest, the trees around him turned to bookshelves, and ceiling fans blew icy air through his shirt. He stood and walked through long rows of dimly lit shelving. No matter how far he walked, he didn't reach the end. The library seemed to be sloping uphill, but he did not stop. As the floor grew steeper, the books fell from their places and came crashing down around him. He dodged them as best he could but was unable to avoid them all. They crashed to the floor and shattered into pieces.

Then the magician was there. "Do you want to see a trick?" he asked. Christian did not speak but waited and watched as he pulled a saw from a briefcase. The magician chuckled and touched the rigid side of the

saw to his wrist.

Christian awoke with a start. He opened his eyes and found that he was still leaning against the same tree, only now, the forest was different.

The sky was black, and the trees were nothing but shadowy silhouettes in the moonlight. Their branches swayed in a silent breeze. He looked up and was thankful that the moon provided a dim light across the forest. Darkness had never been something he was comfortable with, but he found that being alone in the forest was forcing him to calm his emotions. If he allowed himself to be afraid, he knew that it would only escalate.

He took a deep breath, looked at the moon, and told his mind to ignore the darkness. Now that the sun had gone down, he realized that he hadn't taken much time to survey his surroundings before he had drifted off to sleep.

He shivered as a chilly wind blew through his shirt. He had never spent a night in the woods. His parents had never taken him on a camping trip, and he didn't know the first thing about building a fire or finding a shelter. Now he sat huddled under a tree in nothing but a thin shirt and slacks, shivering and wishing he had learned.

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He knew he would have to find shelter somehow. He needed to do something, anything to keep warm. So he stood up and headed off into the woods. Even if he had to walk all night, he knew he would eventually come across something. If not, he would keep warmer this way than by sitting all night. He headed deeper into the forest.

As he walked, things began to change. He was no longer surrounded by only trees, but he was also able to make out many other strange plants that he had never seen before. The largest of the plants, besides the trees, were all about the same height he was. He noticed a few that appeared to be taller, but as he approached them, they seemed to shrink down to his size and level with his eyes. They grew straight up from the ground and then coiled at the end like a snail shell. It was too dark to see the true color of the plants, but he guessed that they might have been red.

He enjoyed the color red. It reminded him of Christmas and race cars. It was a specific Christmas, in fact. He couldn't remember much, mostly flashes of happy faces and twinkling lights, but he remembered one thing with perfect clarity: he was sitting beneath the lighted tree, and his legs were covered with blue footed pajamas. The white foot pads were dirty, and they kicked with excitement. He couldn't seem to recall his father's face, but his mother was there. She placed a package at his feet and giggled at his excitement while he shredded the paper.

Christian never lost the little red race car he found inside. In fact, he kept it in the back of his sock drawer so he could look at it from time to time. He wondered what would happen to the little car if he never went back for it.

He continued on with a swift pace and did his best to keep his mind occupied. He was coming down the side of a steep slope when the crunching of leaves made him stop dead in his tracks. He crouched down, holding his breath. He scanned a small opening in the trees and then released a quiet sigh of relief when he discovered that it was only a small deer, not too far away ahead of him. The deer did not seem to notice his presence, so he held perfectly still and stared.

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The animal was a beautiful sight with the bits of moonbeams shining through the trees onto its silky fur. He moved quietly behind a nearby bush and watched in awe. It sniffed at the ground and nibbled the grass. It came a few feet closer and slowly made its way toward Christian until it was just yards in front of him. He held his breath again and hoped that the deer would not hear his pounding heart.

He had never seen a deer up close before, and now that he thought of it, it was the closest to wildlife he had ever been. Then a memory of a fenced zebra came to mind, and he remembered that his mother had once taken him to the zoo. But that had been years ago, and all the memories that involved his mother were more like dreams.

The deer turned its back to one of the tall spiraled plants and continued to nibble on the grass.

As he watched, a movement caught his eye. The plant behind the deer began to move, or rather, it began to shrink. He watched in amazement as it silently contracted until it was the exact height of the deer. The deer did not seem to notice and went on with its nibbling.

Then the plant made an odd clicking sound. It reminded him of a stiff joint being unbent, and Christian jerked with surprise. The deer's head snapped in the direction of the sound.

The second the animal was facing the plant, it uncurled its top and forced a pointed tip into the deer's mouth, all in one instantaneous motion. The deer struggled and let out a muffled, high-pitched cry as the plant wriggled deeper and deeper into its body. He watched in horror as the deer kicked and flailed its body. The plant swelled larger, and the deer slowly shriveled into a wrinkled heap of quivering fur.

Christian had never seen a horror film, but he imagined that it would have been something like this. He covered his mouth and did his best to keep quiet.

The plant removed itself from the animal with one long slurping sound and slowly curled back into its original spiral.

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Christian turned to the side, silently gasping for air. The plant had sucked the deer dry, leaving nothing but a mangled carcass. Christian had never seen anything so horrific in his life.

Sometimes the other boys from the school would stay up late telling ghost stories. He hated the way they described the monsters beneath the stairs and the bogeymen in the woods. He had always wondered where the stories had come from. The boys insisted that they were true tales passed down through generations, but he never believed them.

Now the horror was before his eyes, and he was beginning to wonder if perhaps the stories did have true origins. If Christian were doing the storytelling, this tale would be sure to top them all.

He turned away and shook his head back and forth forcefully, trying to get the image of the deer from his mind. He doubted, however, that the image would soon be forgotten. After regaining his composure, he stood and hurried away from the place where the deer's crumpled corpse lay, steering clear of all the spiraled plants.

He walked and walked, deeper into the woods. His pace was faster now, almost panicked, and his footsteps were not quiet. He spotted a fallen log that he thought could potentially be hollow. He was about to approach it but noticed that one of the spiraled plants grew directly beside it. He turned away from it quickly and continued to walk. He would walk all night if it meant avoiding those plants.

After what seemed like hours, his eyes grew heavy and clouded, and his legs were too limp to go any further. He sat down on a rounded rock and put his face in his hands. He sucked in a few deep breaths and then struggled to refocus his vision. His eyes were growing heavy, and his reasoning grew thin.

Then he saw a tall, thick tree with a branch that hung just a little higher than his head. He knew that a tree was not the safest place to sleep, but his exhausted mind convinced him that it was a good enough shelter. He went to the low branch and put his hands around it, weaving his fingers together. With all the energy he had left, he kicked his feet up and wrapped

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them around it. Then he hooked his heel under another branch and used it as leverage to pull his body upward.

He stood, balancing himself, and then continued to climb until he was high in the air. He straddled a thick branch and leaned forward on another. He shut his eyes, knowing that he was unlikely to sleep in this position. Despite the fact, he was far more comfortable in the tree, away from the spiraled plants and whatever else might be lurking in the dark forest below.

34

Chapter 4

Gafford

After a long, chilly night, Christian lifted his head from his folded arms. His position was not only uncomfortable but probably dangerous as well, being high off the ground. Even if he had been comfortable enough to fall asleep, he doubted that he could have done so, given the fact that he could not shake the feeling that he was being watched. He didn't doubt that this was true.

He looked around. He had expected the morning to be more pleasant than the night, with rays of sunshine and chirping birds. Instead, he found it cold and cloudy, and he shivered as he rubbed his arms.

Then an image came to him. It was one from a restless scene he had halfway dreamed in the night. The image was that of a young girl, only three or four years old. She had long sandy hair and a freckled nose. The girl squinted in concentration as she struggled to fasten the buttons of a doll's dress.

Then Christian was there. He took the little doll and did up the buttons, returning it to the girl's open arms. She smiled and caressed her toy.

It was not the first time that Christian had dreamed of Annabelle Jean . . . And it was not the only version of Annabelle he had ever seen.

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Sometimes she was a small baby, kicking playfully as she lay on her back. Sometimes she was brunette, other times blonde, and there were some times when he could see nothing but her outline in the distance.

He wasn't sure what Annabelle looked like because he had never really met her. Perhaps he had never actually seen the girl, but he could clearly remember his father's cries of despair that had urged him to sneak into the delivery room on the night of Annabelle's birth.

The desperate midwife, her face dampened with sweat, clutched at Christian's arms, begging him not to enter, but he shoved past her and burst through the door. His father sat hunched over in an armchair, clutching the stillborn child and weeping bitterly.

Christian's young heart had never experienced true sorrow before that moment. It was an aching that started deep down, in the very depths of his feeling, and spread like a venom until it filled his whole being with a sickly despair. He was quite sure that a heart could not experience a greater misery, completely sure . . . until he approached his mother, who lay in the bed across the room.

A small rustle of leaves interrupted the scenes in his head. He pulled his legs up onto the branch, hugging his knees and holding his breath. There was the disturbing sound of twigs being broken a short distance away, and then there was another sound that frightened him even more.

Footsteps.

He craned his neck in an attempt to see who was approaching and squinted through the thick leaves. Based on the rhythm and repetition of the footsteps, they seemed to be human, and he couldn't decide if this was good or bad.

Besides the sounds of the coming footsteps, the morning was silent and clear. And now that a dim light was shining through the trees, he could see that the tree he was hiding in was actually one of the smallest around. The others surrounding him were enormous, bigger than any trees he had seen outside of pictures. The morning also revealed that there was a slow-moving river just a short distance away. Its waters flowed quietly, and dim

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light reflected from the wavy surface. For a moment, he stared in awe, but his fascination was momentary. The footsteps continued, growing more distinct.

The seconds turned to minutes, and just when he was considering perhaps climbing a bit higher, the top of a head came into view. Christian's heart skipped a beat, and he shrank behind a tree branch.

He hadn't played the game in years, but Christian had always been decent at hide-and-seek. He quieted his breathing and hoped that his skills were not too rusty.

From between the branches of a thick layer of bushes, a man appeared. He was tall with shoulder-length chestnut hair and a short, scruffy beard. The man wore a long-sleeved shirt beneath a thick leather vest and belt. On his feet were brown leather boots that had certainly seen years of wear. Christian spied quietly as the man pulled a long wooden bow from his shoulder and sat against a nearby tree. He removed a tattered satchel and a quiver of arrows from his back before resting his head against the trunk.

Christian barely breathed as he eyed the man and his soft, rather fatherlike features. The bridge of his nose was straight, and he had a strong jaw. His features were mature but still held a hint of youth. Christian guessed that he might be in his mid-forties.

Finally, the man closed his eyes and sighed. Christian continued to stare, wondering if he should wait or climb down from the tree.

After a few short moments, the man opened his eyes, looking directly Christian's way. He stood quickly, pulled an arrow from his quiver, and aimed it up at the tree. Christian didn't have time to react before he released the arrow. He squeezed his eyes closed and braced himself for impact . . . But to his surprise, there was none. Instead, there was a high squeal, and the blur of a dark shape fell from the tree.

A flood of relief washed over Christian's body, and he leaned forward as the man walked over to the thing he had shot down.

Now that it lay motionless, Christian could see that it was nothing but a tiny bird. The man picked it up by the feet and put it inside his bag. He

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laid the bag on the ground and, once again, took his place against the tree, crossing his ankles and closing his eyes. Christian released a silent breath of relief. The man had not seen him, only the bird. Perhaps his hiding skills were still up to par.

Christian leaned closer and wondered where the man had come from. Then a thought occurred to him. Perhaps he was part of a search team out to find him. As Christian leaned forward, his foot slipped across the bark, making a light scraping noise. He bit his lip and seized his muscles tightly, silently cursing himself for giving away his position. The man opened his eyes and looked up, casually surveying the tree. He didn't seem surprised at all by the sound. In fact, he suppressed a smile as he said, "Hello there, boy. You needn't try and be quiet." The man spoke in a smooth accent that Christian had never heard before. "Won't you come down?"

Christian hesitated. This man was indeed a stranger, but he was also the first person Christian had seen since finding himself in the forest. The man seemed pleasant enough, and if he had planned to harm him, it was obvious that he would have already done so.

Christian climbed down cautiously and jumped off the last branch. He landed on his feet but fell to his knees. The man stood and pulled him to his feet by the crook of his arm.

"Climbing the trees, eh?" asked the man.

Christian wiped his hands on his pants. His ankles were prickling from the drop, and the feeling was familiar even though it had been years since he had climbed a tree.

The man raised an eyebrow. "Did you sleep up there, boy?"

"Not really," said Christian. "Did you know I was up there all along?" "Only suspected it." He chuckled. "Turns out my hunting skills are

still sharp."

Christian cocked his head suspiciously. "Hunting skills?"

"Indeed," the man replied. "You know, I once spent half a night in a tree. A pack of wolves showed up when I was headed home from town." He smiled and rolled his eyes. "Oh, what a soul-searching night it was.

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In fact, I might have never come down if it weren't for a passing band of merchants. They made quite the clatter you see, if I—"

"Sorry," Christian interrupted. "But . . . Who are you?"

"Oh, begging your pardon," said the man. "They sent me to see to it that you found your way properly." He smiled and patted Christian's shoulder. "But you were already headed in the right direction. Intuition, I like it." He held out a thick and dirty hand. "My name is Gafford."

Christian shook it cautiously. "Christian."

"A pleasure to meet you, boy," said Gafford with a meaningful look. "A pleasure indeed."

Christian eyed him suspiciously. There was something about this man. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something beyond his appearance was different. "Okay, Gafford . . . so . . . Are you part of the rescue team that's looking for me? How many are there?"

"It's just me," he said with a friendly grin. "One was enough, was it not?"

"I guess so," said Christian.

"Shall we be off?" His voice was calm and collected, as though leaving with Gafford had been in Christian's plans all along. "It wouldn't serve us well to be caught in a storm."

Christian didn't budge. Gafford certainly appeared friendly, but something inside of him was naturally cautious. He was a strange sort of fellow and looked as though he had been living in these woods for a long time. Why would he be sent on the search? Weren't there policemen on the lookout? He was dubious, but something about Gafford urged Christian to trust him. There was something in his eyes . . . They weren't deceitful.

As Christian pondered, Gafford seemed to notice his hesitation.

"I sense reluctance," he said, rubbing his beard. "Very good. One who is too trusting cannot always be trusted."

Christian blinked.

"If it is any consolation, I did stop that little vogel from attacking you." "You did what?"

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"The vogel," said Gafford, pointing up to the tree. "They're malicious little creatures . . . peck your eyeballs out if given the chance." Gafford picked up his satchel and pulled out the bird. "This one's fairly small, but it could still do its fair share of damage."

"Looks like a regular bird," said Christian skeptically. He reached out and touched its glossy black plumage.

"Of course it does," Gafford said, taking hold of its little head. "But look." He pried the bird's beak open with a fingernail, revealing two sharp, serrated edges. "This little beak is sharp enough to cut you to the bone." He let it snap shut.

Christian stared in amazement. "Well . . . thanks for that," he said. "Think nothing of it, boy," Gafford said, lightly slapping Christian on

the back. He placed the vogel on a nearby rock and pulled out his knife. "What are you doing?"

Gafford glanced back over his shoulder. "It's best that the bird isn't revived."

Christian scoffed. "I'm pretty sure it's dead."

"Ah, so you know best, do you, boy?" He knelt and stabbed the knife into the dirt. "All right, what do you know about this bird? About this forest for that matter?"

"Oh, I, uh . . .," Christian stammered. The man's voice had grown condescending, and Christian had always hated being treated like a child. He crossed his arms. "I just thought you already killed it."

"I shot it down, yes," said Gafford. "But no, it's not dead. Things like this do not simply die by the strike of an arrow around here. It is slightly more complicated than—"

"Wait," Christian interrupted. "Here? What do you mean? Where are we?"

A whistling wind blew through the trees and lifted the leaves around them. The wind was icy and Christian crossed his arms even more tightly.

"We'll talk later," said Gafford. "We best get moving."

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Gafford plucked his knife from the dirt and pierced the bird's chest. Christian grimaced but watched anyway. "The heart must be removed," Gafford said, digging the knife deeper into its body and splitting the tiny rib cage. His fingers reached in. "This bird is not dead. It is in cessation." Gafford looked up and saw Christian's confused expression, so he continued, "Its body has been damaged beyond repair, but its life force has yet to part with it."

A hundred questions swirled around in Christian's head, tying his tongue in knots. He struggled to find the words but finally settled with "So . . . How do you kill it?"

Gafford plucked out the little bird's heart. "I just did." He held up the heart and a line of blood ran down his hand.

Christian stared at the heart. "But . . . if you don't take out the heart . . . Do you think it can be brought back to life?"

"I do not think it can be brought back to life, boy." Gafford tossed aside the remains and wiped his hands on the grass. "I know it."

Christian narrowed his eyes dubiously. "How would you do that?" Gafford stood and pulled an apple from his satchel. "I shall explain

while we walk." He tossed the apple to Christian. "You must be hungry." With silent gratitude, Christian's thumb rubbed the apple. He was, in fact, famished. Gafford headed into the trees, and Christian hesitated only

a moment before he followed.

Gafford's pace was swift, and Christian took large steps to keep up with him. He hurried to his side and looked up. "So how would you bring it back to life?"

Gafford took a few more steps, his eyes fixed on the ground. "In order to bring a creature back to life, one must compensate for the loss that the victim has attained."

"Uh-huh," Christian said, biting into the apple. He was curious to hear the man's strange ideas.

"One must give of himself in order to bring another back from cessation. I suppose you could call it a sort of sacrifice."

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Christian was intrigued by the idea. "What would you have to sacrifice?"

"The very thing that was taken from the victim." Christian nodded. "What's that?" "Life."

"So you have to die?"

Gafford shook his head. "No, no, boy, but it's a very intricate process . . .

And it takes a great deal of time to learn." "But why do you—"

"Don't trouble yourself with the idea, boy . . . just know . . . that death is not something that is easily attained here."

There it was again. Gafford was referring to this forest as here. "Can you please tell me what is going on?" asked Christian.

Gafford didn't seem to hear him. He turned and said, "If we make haste, we may reach the caverns by tomorrow morning." He quickened his pace, and Christian almost had to run to keep up.

The word "cavern," of course, brought to mind the caverns where he and his fellow classmates took their school excursions. Although enticing, the caves were a dark and unknown place, and Christian shuddered to think what could be living inside. He stopped short. "Why are we going into the caverns? I thought you were taking me home." Gafford didn't stop but continued his hurried pace and called back, "It's the only way."

Christian considered abandoning the man and carrying on by himself, but just then, a loud crash of lightning hit nearby, and thunder shook the forest. He remembered the last time it had rained, the skin-piercing pain, and decided that a cave might not be a bad idea at all.

He hurried forward to join Gafford. Although his better judgment told him to turn away, the thought of traveling into a cave was exciting. The caverns in Fall Valley were said to be endlessly deep, but he had never ventured further than the first few feet. He paused for a moment but then came to the quick conclusion that if he was going to be lost, he may as well intertwine a bit of adventure into the experience. For all he knew, home

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was on the other side of the caves. Once again, he hurried to Gafford's side. "So caves, huh?"

Gafford gave him a nod. "The caves are a rather unfortunate place, but if we pass through quickly and take the correct passages, it is likely that our presence will go unnoticed."

"Unnoticed by what?" Christian asked, almost tripping over a root. "Everything," he replied. "Look around, boy. It's daytime now, and

that means that the creatures of the night have gone into hiding, burrowed themselves into darkness. However, inside the caverns, there is no night . . .

and there is no day. There is only darkness . . . and the dark ones are always awake." Gafford paused. "But you know a great deal about evil, don't you, boy?"

"Me?"

"Yes," said Gafford. "It is said that the world is covered with evil . . .

swarming with it, in fact."

Christian shrugged. "I guess it is, but we don't see it much. Fall Valley's a small town."

"Isn't it dangerous?" Gafford asked. "Living in small numbers with no protection?"

"Protection?"

"From the world," Gafford answered.

"No, not really," Christian replied. "The big cities have more problems than we do."

"One would think that with their large numbers, they would be able to keep it out," said Gafford.

Christian thought for a moment. The things he knew about the dangers of the world came from the stories and warnings given by others. He knew there were bad people in the world, and he had come to accept that bad people were bad. He didn't necessarily like it, but he didn't necessarily mind either. If they wanted to be bad, what could anyone really do to stop them? "Well," Christian said, "I guess some people don't care about keeping the bad out, you know?"

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Gafford's face grew serious, and he stopped dead in his tracks. "And you?" he asked, looking Christian in the eyes. "Do you want to keep it out?" Christian had not considered the question before, but regardless, he

knew the answer. "Of course," he said. "I would if I could."

Gafford looked relieved. "Very good." He turned and continued his fast-paced walking.

Christian kept up with him the best he could, and all the while, he pondered Gafford's words. He supposed that, in a way, the world was evil. He had heard of the terrible things going on in foreign countries. He knew that there were bad people in the world that wanted to hurt others. There were drugs and alcohol, kidnappings and murder. But could the world really be evil? Perhaps he didn't fully understand the wicked things happening around him. He was, after all, just a kid. Christian was completely lost in thought until he noticed that Gafford was humming a strange tune.

It was a slow, low-pitched melody with a sorrowful feel to it. He listened for a moment or two but then said, "Hey, Gafford, what's that song you're humming?"

Gafford blinked as though he had been awakened from a daze. "Oh, heard that, did you, boy?"

"Of course."

"Ah, well, that was just a little melody I came up with . . . long ago." "Oh." Christian smiled. "I like music too." There was a moment of

silence. "Does it have words?"

Gafford smiled. "It does indeed, but nothing to lighten the mood." "I don't think it could make things worse. Let's hear it."

"I thought you might ask." Gafford sighed. "I suppose I'll sing a bit." Gafford peered up at the sky for a moment and then began to sing. His voice rang deep and clear through the forest.

Once I walked a lonely road

Through a place I'd never known.

Darkness surrounding,

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Sorrow within.

Lonely and unwanted.

My dark mind was haunted

By a dream reminding me of my sin.

Through the lonely road I wandered.

Through my lonely mind I pondered,

Looking for an answer,

Searching for a home.

The darkness overtook me,

And the powers of hell

They shook me,

Lost in a world where I was utterly alone.

Gafford's voice broke on the last word, and he fell silent. When he finally spoke, his only words were "I can't seem to remember the rest."

Christian kept quiet, not wanting to spoil the calmness brought about by the solemn melody. Gafford had a wonderful singing voice, and Christian had always held a special fondness for music. He commented on how he liked the tune, but he didn't dare question the inspiration for the lyrics. From all that he had observed, Gafford was a cheery sort of fellow. The song, however, didn't seem to fit the role. Gafford hurried on ahead, and Christian stumbled behind him, suddenly even more curious to know more about this mysterious man.

It wasn't long before Christian began to feel the effects of a restless night set in on him. They walked for what felt like hours, and Christian's legs grew weary.

The forest, he was beginning to notice, was changing. He could see that they were reaching the outskirts. The trees were smaller and thinner and were replaced with limestone and chunks of boulders. Christian found himself wishing they could go back into the forest. This new place was even gloomier, with its gray rock and blowing bits of dry brush. The rocks were harsh on his tired feet, and the clouds grew darker by the minute.

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Gafford climbed over a flat rock with a slight incline. Christian followed but slipped and fell.

"You all right there, boy?" Gafford asked, hurrying over to Christian's side.

"Yeah," Christian said, brushing a bloody scrape on his elbow. "No big deal." Gafford pulled off his satchel and took a leather pouch out of his bag. He pulled a cork out of the top and poured water over Christian's elbow. Then he handed him the pouch.

"Drink," he said firmly, and Christian did not object. He took the water and gulped down several swallows.

"We'll camp here for the night," Gafford said, looking up at the sky. "Underneath that little overhang." He motioned to a rock that Christian had not noticed before.

"But the day is only half over," he said. "I thought we were going to the caves."

Gafford shielded his eyes with one hand and looked to the sky. "The storm will be here soon. It's best not to travel in the rain."

Gafford pulled a gray blanket from his bag and spread it out beneath the overhang.

"I'm sorry, but I do not have much food," he said, pulling out another apple. "I didn't expect that you would be so far away." He handed the fruit to Christian. "I am, however, relieved that you did not lose yourself all alone in the caves."

"Are you kidding? I wouldn't go into a cave alone." Christian took the apple and ate it slowly, savoring the feeling of food in his mouth.

They settled down under the crevice with Christian on the inside and Gafford lying with his back turned to him, propped up on his elbow, and chipping at a stick with his knife. Gafford hummed the sad tune, and it was only a matter of minutes before Christian drifted off to sleep.

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Chapter 5

Around the Ground

When Christian awoke, the night had fallen and the rain was beating the rocks overhead. Gafford hummed quietly but distinctly, and he muttered strange words.

Christian rolled over. "Did you say something, Gafford?" Gafford turned to him and was silent for a moment before he said:

Silent and still,

But their presence I feel,

Those eyes beside me watching,

I lie in my bed

As still as the dead

As those eyes beside me watch me.

Some gazes will hold,

But none are as cold

As those eyes beside me watching,

I don't fear them, no,

But I wish they would go,

Those eyes beside me watching.

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Christian sat up and stared at Gafford's dark face. He had always hated how the darkness could contort one's features. He looked away and scanned their surroundings but found nothing out of the ordinary. He decided not to question the disturbing words, but instead, he asked, "Gafford, how did I get here?"

"You walked," he answered in a monotone voice, staring out into the rain.

"No, I mean how did I get here?" Christian said, pointing downward. "How did I leave home?"

He did not respond.

"Gafford, do you—" Before he could finish his sentence, Gafford twisted around and covered his mouth tightly. Startled, he made an attempt to break free, but Gafford tightened his hold.

"Silence," he said in an almost inaudible whisper. "We're in danger." Christian's heart leaped. He quieted his breath and reached up for Gafford's hands, nodding. Gafford slowly released his hold on Christian's mouth and pulled him against the back of the overhang. There was nothing to be seen but blackness and rain, but Gafford's alarm was frightening. His bearded jaw was clenched, and his eyes were searching the darkness. They

darted back and forth . . . and then, dramatically, they froze and grew. His grip tightened on Christian's arm. Christian followed the direction

of his eyes, out into the rain.

A strike of lightning hit nearby, and Christian jerked in alarm. The flash from the lightning revealed a shadowy silhouette standing just feet in front of them. The thunder echoed through the rocks, and they both covered their ears.

Seconds later, another strike of lightning hit, and this time, the light revealed that the figure was closer. Christian's pounding heart grew deep and sharp, and it echoed loudly in his ears. His body locked up as he saw, to his horror, that it was the same gray-hooded figure from the magician's mirror. It had returned. Only this time, there was no reflection, there was no mirror, and it was clear that Gafford had seen it too.

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He wanted to scream out, but his jaw was locked in place. The sounds of the falling rain disappeared, and all other surroundings became clouded. Silence followed, and it was somehow the loudest thing Christian had ever heard. Fear set in full force, and the only thing he could see, the only object he could comprehend was the hooded figure and its menacing stare.

With sickly twitches, the figure began to move toward them, gliding eerily across the earth without disturbing the ground. It grew closer and closer, and Gafford's grip on his arm grew tighter and tighter.

When the figure stood just feet in front of them, Gafford released his arm, only he did not attempt to protect him. Instead, he gripped Christian around the waist and pushed him out from under the overhang, directly in front of the figure.

Christian stumbled forward light-headedly as the sting of the rain and the stabbing of fear overwhelmed his senses. He was about to cry out in terror, but another sound cut him off.

It was a low, beastly moan erupting from the creature's direction. The figure shrank away and continued its moaning until it had disappeared into the trees.

Now Christian screamed, and with shaking legs, he leaped beneath the overhang, rubbing his wet, stinging arms.

"How could you do that to me!" he shouted at Gafford. "I thought you were here to protect me!"

"It was the only way!" Gafford yelled back.

"Yeah, the only way to save yourself !"

Gafford opened his mouth to reply but stopped himself and took a deep breath. "Trust me, boy," he said in a calmer tone, "I knew what I was doing."

Christian crossed his arms. "You pushed me right in front of that . . . thing!"

"It was the only way," Gafford insisted. "I wouldn't have lasted a second against the nasty beast. Notice how it disappeared once it had taken a proper look at you?"

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Christian furrowed his brow. "Why?" "Because you're . . . different." "What?"

"I'm not like you, my boy. None of us are. We're weak." He paused. "At least while we're trapped here." His expression was sour. "As long as we're prisoners in this hell-ravaged place."

"What do you mean trapped?" Christian prodded. "What is this place?" Gafford stared at Christian as though trying to decide if he wanted to speak. But finally, he said, "This, my boy"—and motioned all around

him—"is not your home. At least, not as you know it." His eyes met Christian's. "I promise, all shall be explained once we have reached safety, but your presence has been discovered. If we don't get into the caves soon, they may return . . . with stronger numbers." He stood, pulling the blanket off the ground. "We'll have to get under this until the rain stops. It won't be foolproof, but it will be better than walking uncovered."

"The rain feels like needles," said Christian irritably. "Why?"

"It's because of the—" Gafford stopped, drawing in a breath. "It's not safe to speak of it here. Once we are protected by the boundaries of the kingdom, all shall be explained."

"The kingdom?" Christian strained to see Gafford's face in the darkness. "What's the king—"

"Here, put this over your head." Gafford handed him a corner of the blanket, and they spread it over their heads.

"Why won't you give me any answers?" Christian complained. "Patience," said Gafford. "The answers will come, but now is not the

time."

Christian sighed and knew he had no choice but to wait.

They hurried out across the rocks, using the light of the moon as their guide.

Christian did his best to keep his footing, but with the restrictions of the blanket and the slippery rocks, there were several times when he had to take ahold of Gafford's forearm or shoulder to avoid falling. He had

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always considered himself a fairly agile person, but now he was beginning to doubt if this were really true.

He was about to leap off a flat rock when Gafford stuck out his arm, hitting him hard in the chest. He leaned forward and then stumbled backward.

"Careful, boy," Gafford said, eyeing the ground. "This part gave me trouble last time."

Christian looked down at the ground. It looked like normal muddy earth to him, but of course, he knew better by now.

Gafford leaned down and touched the tip of his boot against the ground, pulling back quickly. Nothing happened, so he did it again and waited.

"It seems to be all right," he said and stepped down into the mud. "Could be the rainstorm. Go ahead, boy."

Christian hesitated but didn't question Gafford. He stepped off the rock. However, his foot did not touch the ground. Instead, a hole opened up, and his foot fell in, all the way up to his knee. He fell forward, but Gafford caught him by his left hand. Then the ground disappeared beneath his right hand. He called out in shock and struggled to get his feet back under him. Just as he bent his other knee, another hole opened up, and he fell further into the ground.

"Just as before!" Gafford roared. He fell back onto the rock, pulling Christian with him. The mud slurped as Christian's body came free of it.

They both let out groans of pain and fumbled to replace the blanket as it slipped off their bodies.

"It's cursed," Gafford said. "We'll have to go around." He pointed across the stretch of muddy ground to a small patch of trees. "I tried to walk across over there, and I had the same dilemma with the ground."

Christian shook his head in bewilderment. "Do you think it's like this the whole way?"

"I'm not sure," Gafford replied. "Would you like to go out there and see?"

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"No, thanks," he scoffed.

"Let's go," said Gafford with a sigh. "It only took me a few extra hours to make it around."

As they walked, the sun rose over the mountains, and the rain eventually stopped. Christian looked out across the land. In the distance, there was a border of monstrous mountains framed by a thick line of trees. The distant land looked more lively and luscious than the dry, barren rocks they hopped across. The "cursed ground" stretched long and brown for miles. There was not one plant, not even a rock on that large opening of barren ground. Eventually, however, the earth seemed to fade into green before turning into forest.

He looked over at Gafford who was replacing the blanket in his bag when Christian's stomach let out a monstrous growl.

Gafford gave him a sympathetic look. "Once we've reached those trees, I will find some food, all right, boy?"

"Yeah, thanks," Christian said, not even bothering to hide his unpleasant mood. His stomach was aching tremendously, and his head was pounding. He noticed, however, that Gafford did not seem to be affected by the hunger and hopped along the flat stones with ease.

"Aren't you hungry, Gafford?" Christian asked with a furrowed brow. "How long has it been since you ate?"

"Oh, do not trouble yourself with me, my boy," he said with a wave. "I can go quite a time without food. I've been trained to resist hunger."

"Trained?" This sparked his curiosity.

"Of course." He nodded. "Everyone receives survival training here. It's necessary in these conditions."

He was pondering this when Gafford stopped walking and turned toward him, holding his finger against his lips. Christian did not speak but raised a questioning eyebrow. Gafford pulled him behind a rock and pointed to a small puddle of water that had formed inside the crevice of the limestone.

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At first he saw nothing but the vacant rocks, but then a small movement caught his eye. At first glance, he thought it was a large insect sitting on the edge of the water. They slowly approached, concealing themselves behind the rocks, and then Christian's heart leaped.

A tiny person sat next to the puddle, dipping and drinking from its cupped hands. Christian's mouth dropped open in awe as he stared.

It was a little woman, not much larger than his hand. She had wavy long black hair and skin so pale that it had a bluish tint to it. She was clothed in a worn cloth and had two vein-covered translucent objects on her back. Wings, Christian thought. A smile spread across his face, and he turned toward Gafford.

"It's a fairy," he whispered.

Gafford looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "Fairy?" "Yes," he said with an enthusiastic nod. "I don't believe it."

Gafford leaned forward. "Well, boy, I don't know what you call them where you come from, but I can assure you that those little creatures are nothing like the ones you have at home."

"Oh, we don't have them at home." Christian almost laughed. "They're not real."

Gafford tilted his head with a skeptical expression. "Not real?" Christian sighed in defeat. "So if it's not a fairy, then what is it?" "It's a fade," he said, narrowing his eyes. "Weren't so bad before, but

I've heard stories . . . heard they've turned nasty."

Christian tilted his head, looking at the little creature again. It certainly appeared harmless, but he had experienced enough to know that things were not always as they seemed around here.

"Shall we capture it?" Gafford asked with a mischievous smile. "Capture it?" This surprised him. "How?"

"Ought to be easy enough. All we need is something to hold it in and . . ." Gafford looked around. "Something to lure her in with."

Christian looked around. "Well, what should we use?"

Gafford's eyes fixed on Christian and his smile spread wider. "You'll do."

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"Me?" Christian touched his chest. "No, that's not fair. I don't even know what that thing is."

"Exactly," Gafford said. "Just walk over to it and hold out your hand like this." Gafford held out his fist, palm up, with his fingers relaxed. "Make it believe you have something to offer it, and lure it in."

"And then what?"

"I'll take care of the rest," Gafford said with a wink.

"I don't know, Gafford. I—" But before Christian could finish, he felt himself being shoved out from behind the rock, and he was stumbling toward the fade. He looked back, but Gafford had already disappeared.

Christian was flustered, but he composed himself as he inched closer.

His palms were sweating, and he wiped them on the front of his slacks.

As he approached, the fade turned her little head. Christian's throat tightened when she turned her face toward him, and he found that she had no nose, only two enormous eyes and one large white-lipped mouth. The fade let out a low, breathy growl as he drew closer. Her bottom eyelids pulled upward into an angry slant, and she pulled her lips back to reveal a circular mouth completely rimmed with teeth, almost like a human lamprey.

Christian wanted to turn around and run, but instead, he pursed his lips and held out his hand like Gafford had shown him.

The fade cocked her head, and her large eyes blinked rapidly. She pulled her knees underneath herself and crawled toward him slowly. She crept over to the edge of the rock and then sprang into the air. Her wings buzzed to life and blurred as she hovered over to Christian's fist. He watched in fascination and almost forgot how afraid he was for a moment.

When she was just inches from his hand, he could see deep into her large eyes. Her pupils glowed bright blue and were rimmed with dark-brown irises. She opened her large mouth, and a long white tongue slipped out from between her lips. She closed her eyes and sucked in the air around her tongue.

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Christian took a step backward, and she opened her eyes, looking angry. He held out his hand once again, and she hovered closer. Christian continued to walk backward. The fade let out another breathy growl and seemed to be growing impatient. Christian opened his hand slightly, letting his fingers bend upward but still restricted the fade's view from the inside of his hand. She flew a little closer, once again closing her eyes, and stuck out her tongue.

"Ah-ha!" Gafford shouted as he suddenly appeared. He snatched the fade inside his satchel with one lightning swipe.

Christian started and then exclaimed, "I didn't even see you!"

"Of course not!" he said with a boyish excitement, hugging the shaking bag to his chest. "If you had seen me, do you think the fade would have missed anything? They've excellent eyesight."

"Yeah, I could have guessed that," Christian said. "Her eyes are huge." "They don't, however, have a very strong sense of smell," Gafford said, tying the top of his bag tightly. "That's how I knew our little deception would work. It wasn't sure if there was really something in your hand." He

laughed. "I suspected she'd be curious enough to investigate."

Christian released a single laugh of relief. "It looked like it was trying

to smell with its tongue."

"Ah," Gafford responded. "If they are up close, they can use their tongues as a way to smell, but it's not as effective as smelling with a nose." He nodded. "So what are we going to do with her?" Christian had often fantasized about having a small lizard or mouse to keep for a pet. He liked the idea of something small to watch after. Maybe the fade was a bit

unfriendly, but all undomesticated animals started off that way.

"Well, when I saw it there, I realized that the fade will become quite useful once we have reached the caves." Gafford smiled. "You shall see."

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Chapter 6

The Caves

After a long and exhausting afternoon, they finally reached the patch of trees that encircled the mountains. Christian had been walking behind Gafford, as usual, watching his bag bulge and bounce as the fade attempted to escape. He pitied the creature, and after watching her struggle for hours, he almost regretted having captured her.

As they continued, he noticed that the ground had turned from rocky gray to green, and it was then that Gafford suddenly pulled out his bow and released an arrow in one swift swish.

Christian jerked in surprise and followed Gafford's eyes over to a small bush. He held still as Gafford walked over and picked up a rabbit by the feet.

"Here you are, my boy," he said pleasantly. "This ought to fill your belly."

Christian had never eaten rabbit before, but he was not about to turn down food. He wasn't a picky eater to begin with, but even if he were, he felt like he could have eaten just about anything right now. His stomach did an excited flip as Gafford presented the food.

Christian watched as he pulled a knife from his boot and removed the heart. He then skinned the rabbit, cut off its feet, and slipped the hide

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from its body like a fur jumpsuit. He started a small fire with two stones from his satchel and cooked the meat on the end of a sharp stick. Christian thought of Boy Scouts, something that he had, unfortunately, never had the chance to participate in. Boy Scout skills would have come in handy in the present circumstances. He observed Gafford's actions closely and watched hungrily as the meat sizzled and let off a pleasant aroma.

Finally, Gafford removed a large chunk of meat from the rabbit's bones and handed it to him. Christian thanked him and devoured the food in enormous bites.

Gafford chuckled. "Finish eating this," he said, handing him the stick. "I'm going to find another."

With Gafford out of sight, Christian was free to eat even more ravenously than he had before. Now that he thought about it, he realized that he had never before gone longer than a day without food. The only times he had missed his meals was during the unfortunate times that he had come down with the stomach flu. Eating now brought back memories of recovering from illnesses. Waking up the day after a sickness was like being born again. Suddenly, the aching was gone, food was desirable again, and the rejuvenation of finally refueling his body always seemed like the best feeling in the world. He felt this way now as the juicy meat slid down into his gaping stomach.

As he finished, however, he could not help but wish that he had something to drink along with the rabbit. He looked around but found nothing but the rabbit's mangled remains. His eyes glued themselves on its unattached head, and he found that the mouth had fallen open to reveal a long brownish-colored object inside. He had never been so close to a rabbit before, so curiosity set in, and he grabbed a nearby twig. After rolling the head closer, he poked the edge of the rabbit's lip and pulled it upward gently.

He almost felt like a dentist doing an examination, and he thought of the metallic tools that had always made him uneasy. He paused. There were few things in life worse than a trip to the dentist. He chased away

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the guilt, however, by reminding himself that the rabbit was dead, and it wouldn't be disturbed by the oral exam. He leaned closer.

Inside its mouth, there were two rows of enormous and pointed brown teeth. They reminded him of snake fangs, perhaps vampire fangs. He stared for a moment, mesmerized, but released the twig when a chill ran through his body. Suddenly, the pity he felt for the rabbit was gone. He kicked the head away from him in disturbed disgust. The head bumped a rabbit foot, and four long claws turned upright.

Just then, Gafford returned with another rabbit. This one was meatier and larger than the first, but Christian doubted if he would be able to eat any more. Gafford prepared the rabbit just as he had the previous one and set the meat over the fire to cook. Christian decided not to say anything about the rabbit remains. After all, Gafford was not very helpful when it came to answering his questions. He could not help but wonder, however, if it was normal for a rabbit to look like that. His instincts told him otherwise. The rabbits he had read about and seen in children's books were all dainty creatures with fluffy fur. He had never seen them portrayed as dangerous rodents with sharp teeth and pointed claws.

He didn't look at the rabbit remains again.

After they had eaten their fill, Gafford opened a tiny hole in the bag and gave a handful of scraps to the fade. "Heard they'll eat just about any scrap of meat or bones," he said. "But no plants or fruit."

Christian nodded.

"Well, we best be getting inside." Christian looked around. "Inside where?" "The caves of course."

"Oh," said Christian. "Are we close?"

Gafford chuckled and pointed to a large gray rock. "There."

He looked, but all he could see was a large, rough-surfaced rock with tall grass growing around the base of it. He gave Gafford a puzzled look.

"I'll show you, my boy," he said with a smile.

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Gafford walked over to the rock. There was a thick bunch of tall grass growing at the base of it. He bent and pulled the grass to the side like a curtain. This revealed a small dark hole that was just large enough to fit a person through.

"Can you fit through there, Gafford?"

"Of course," he laughed. "I came through this very way." "Is that the only way to get through?"

"No," Gafford replied. "But it's the safest way, in case we were followed." Christian stared into the small hole. There was nothing to be seen inside of it, nothing but a vacant and gaping darkness, much like the cellar

where the kickball had gone.

This, however, wasn't just the dark. This was pitch-black. He could manage to keep calm in the darkness, but pitch-black had never been something he liked. He could hold back his fear of the dark as long as there was a little light to guide his way, but complete darkness was a completely different thing. The thought chilled him to the bone.

He could still vividly remember the day he had shut himself inside his father's work shed. With the tin shed having no windows, it was completely pitch-black. He was only locked in for a matter of minutes, but it felt more like hours before his father returned and let him out with a scolding holler and smack to the head.

It was enough to put a permanent fear in the back of his mind. Anytime he was in complete darkness, his mind went into a frantic mode, and he would fumble for a light switch or stumble over to an exit.

"Gafford?" His voice caught, so he cleared his throat. "Shouldn't we light a torch or something?"

"Don't worry, my boy," he said, patting his bag strap. "We have everything we need."

Christian was still hesitant, but he wasn't about to let Gafford know he was afraid.

"You first, boy," Gafford said, gesturing to the hole in the rock.

"Uh, why don't I come in after you?" Christian said with a weak smile.

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"Who'll protect you while you're out here without me?"

"Who will protect me when I'm in there without you?" Christian shot back.

Gafford narrowed his eyes and said, "Well, I suppose it'll be the same either way." He sighed. "Very well, I shall go first, but you'll come in immediately after."

Christian nodded once and said, "Where else would I go?"

Gafford chuckled. He got down on his belly and army-crawled into the small hole in the rock. Christian looked up at the sky. He had always imagined that he would enjoy nothing more than to venture into an unsearched tunnel and let his curiosity be satisfied as he searched its unknown passages. But excitement became fear when he was directly faced with the reality that this cave was sure to be dark—pitch-black, in fact.

He took one last look at the daylight, sucked in one last breath of fresh air, and then crawled in after Gafford.

Immediately, the darkness pressed down on him like a thousand pounds. It seemed to seep into every opening in his body and pour into his very soul. He turned back, hoping to see a few strands of light, but the thick grass had completely covered the opening, and all he could see was complete and utter darkness.

He reached up and found that the cave was too low to stand up in. He stared into the blackness, wide-eyed. "Gafford?" his voice broke on the last syllable.

"I'm here, boy," he said, gripping Christian's shoulder.

Christian took ahold of his wrist and squeezed. "Do we have any light?"

"Of course." Gafford let go of his shoulder. "Are you all right, boy? You're shaking."

Christian clenched his teeth and let go of Gafford's wrist. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's cold in here, don't you think?"

Gafford did not respond. There was a ripping of material, and he wrestled with his bag. "Ow! Little vermin . . . hold still!"

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And then an unexpected flood of light shined through the cave, and Christian squinted in surprise. The little fade was tied around the waist by a shred torn from Gafford's clothing and was struggling to escape from him. Her whole body was producing a soft blue light that filled the cave with just enough glow to light their way. The glow started deep inside her chest and spread out through her whole body, stretching the tips of her tiny fingers. There was a halo of strong blue light around her, and a hazy glow that brightened a great deal of their surroundings.

Christian stared. The fade was a lovely sight to see. Not only was she glowing but the strands of her hair and the ripped pieces of her clothing also floated around her as though she were underwater. The darkness revealed her beauty in a way that the light could never do. Finally, the fade ceased to struggle but dug her pointed fingernails into Gafford's thumb. He chuckled and wrapped the loose end of the leather around his wrist. "Beautiful, isn't she?"

Christian nodded, his eyes growing larger. "Very." The fade glared at him, but he smiled nonetheless. He was quite relieved to be saved from the darkness. Without the light of the fade, he wondered how Gafford had previously ventured through the caves. "What did you use for light before you had the fade?" he asked.

Gafford raised an eyebrow. "I know these caverns quite well. Light is a luxury, not a necessity." He held up the fade, and when he pointed her around the cave, the loose strands of her hair trailed behind her weightlessly. Her glow revealed that the walls were black, like igneous rock, and as the light revealed more, Christian could see that the walls were lined with small dark tunnels.

Now that the darkness was lessened, his fear turned to excitement. The uncertainty of what might happen inside of these caves was almost breathtaking. Of course, it frightened him, but at the same time, there was no way he was going to give up a chance like this. He was undoubtedly confused, but he knew that everything would make sense as soon as he discovered just how he had managed to get lost. Perhaps it made sense that

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he was confused. After all, if he knew how he had lost himself, then . . . he wouldn't be lost. It made sense, at least enough sense to put his doubts at ease.

As they stared into the tunnels, he realized that he was actually beginning to enjoy his time away from reality. Sure, the normality of life was a comfort, but adventure and deviation were delights from his dreams.

It made him feel like he was deep inside of one of his books. He smiled when he remembered a particular children's storybook that his mother had read to him long ago. He couldn't recall the exact details, but he remembered a young boy in an animal suit who found himself inside of an unknown world of beasts who became his friends. He sighed quietly when he remembered that in the end, the boy had returned safely to his home.

"It's this way," said Gafford after a short silence. He stooped lower and crawled toward one of the nearby tunnels.

Christian stayed close behind, keeping his eyes toward the light of the fade. They crawled for several minutes through the dark and narrow tunnel. There were spiderwebs on the sides of the tunnel, and although most of them were swiped away by Gafford's head and back, Christian avoided what was left of them. He hoped that the spiders had already fled. The tunnel, however, was tight, and he wasn't sure where they would be able to run to. The spider thought was unnerving, but thankfully, Christian had never been prone to claustrophobia. In fact, tight spaces were almost comforting to him.

Just ahead, there was a large opening. He was relieved to be coming to the end of the tiny space, but Gafford stopped about five feet before the tunnel ended. Christian looked over to him, puzzled, and then Gafford pulled his feet underneath himself and stood up.

Christian was caught off guard. He would not have even noticed the opening in the top of the tunnel had Gafford not stood up.

"You really do know these caves," he said.

"I've studied the layout for years," he replied. His legs left the ground as he lifted himself upward. Christian hurried forward to stay in the light.

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He stood up and found that the opening led to another room that was much larger than the first. Gafford put his hands under Christian's arms and pulled him up out of the tunnel.

They both stood and moaned softly as they stretched.

Then Gafford turned and whispered, "Come over here."

Christian followed him across the stony floor, and they didn't walk

far before he heard a sound that was like a beautiful symphony to his ears.

Water.

It was close by, he could tell, and it sounded like a steady stream. He hurried forward, and Gafford directed the light of the fade over to a small puddle that was forming inside a dip in a rock. A little stream was trickling down through the cracks of the rocks and filling the hole like a kitchen sink.

He rushed over to the water and cupped his hands, gulping down handfuls and handfuls of water. It was like a flood spreading out across a dry and cracked desert, soaking in deep and dampening the soil. Gafford drank as well, and even the little fade had some.

As he drank, Christian grew very tired. His eyes grew heavy, and his head seemed to be clouding up. It had been days since he had had a good night's rest. "Could we maybe stop and rest awhile?" he asked, his eyes drooping halfway closed.

"You tired, boy?"

"Very."

"Well"—Gafford looked around—"I suppose we could rest here for a time."

Christian sat down at the base of the rock and leaned his head back. Then Gafford emptied his bag and handed it to him. "Here, rest your head on this."

"Thanks" was all Christian could take the effort to say before he flattened his body on the floor and drifted off to sleep.

It was a deep sleep, full of swaying trees and walking feet. He strolled through a grassy meadow with yellow flowers. The air was chilly, but not

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too uncomfortable, and although the sun was bright, his eyes were open wide.

Then a large rock was rolling along beside him. It was round, about the size of a watermelon, and the flowers bent beneath its weight. Eventually, the rock slowed down, and when it stopped, Christian looked down to realize that he had been dragging it by a rope. The fallen rope lay limp and lifeless on the ground, much like the rope of the magician before he had made it go stiff. Christian thought about retrieving the rope, but just before he bent down, he realized how much lighter he felt without the rock dragging behind him. The rock was much larger than he had thought; in fact, it was a boulder as tall as he was. He turned his back to the rock, feeling relieved, but just as he did so, the sky went dark and thunder boomed.

Christian awoke with a start, and when he opened his eyes, the flowery meadow was gone. There was nothing but blackness.

He sat up. "Gafford?

"Christian, how do you feel?" It was the first time Gafford had called him by his name. His voice sounded different. It was stern and unwelcoming, but Christian scooted himself closer to it anyway.

"Why isn't the fade glowing?"

"She's asleep," he said. "Now tell me, Christian, how do you feel?" Christian's heart began to pound and his ears grew hot, as they often

did when he was nervous. The sensation, however, seemed more profound without his eyesight to balance his feelings.

"Gafford, can you please make the fade glow again?"

This time, Gafford's voice was more demanding. "Tell me how you feel, Christian."

Christian squeezed his eyes shut, trying to convince himself that he didn't notice the blackness, but he could see it seeping through his eyelids and pressing down on his chest. He could not take it. The darkness was too much, and there was no escaping, no light switch to flip, no door to open. He knew it was silly and childish, but there was no denying it.

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"How do you feel, boy?" Gafford repeated.

Christian glared into the darkness. He knew the answer. He was afraid, possibly more frightened than he had been since he left home. But his pride kept him from answering.

"Say it," said Gafford as though he were reading Christian's mind. He crossed his arms tightly. "I don't have anything to say." "Say it, boy."

Christian sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. The air was colder now, and it stung his nostrils.

"You have to say it."

"Say what?"

"You know." Gafford let his words hang in the air for a moment. "Tell me what you're feeling."

"Why?" Christian snapped. He felt like a toddler having a fit over bedtime, but he couldn't help it.

"I already know, boy. Just say what you're feeling so we can sort things out."

"How will that help?"

Now Gafford's tone changed from stern to sharp. "Do as I say, boy." "What do you want me to do, Gafford?" Now his voice sounded

younger, desperate. He was embarrassed by the sound of it. "Tell me why you are afraid, Christian." Christian's jaw clenched. "I'm not afraid."

"Don't make a liar of yourself, boy. What are you afraid of?" Christian sat in a stubborn silence, but he knew there was no way out.

Gafford already knew he was afraid, and although his lips were fighting the words, he knew that Gafford wouldn't give up until they were out.

There was an uncomfortable quiet that seemed to last for hours, and then he finally swallowed hard and said, "It's the dark." His voice was barely audible, and the tightness in his throat was threatening to bring shameful tears. However, he was more pleased with the way these words sounded. They were more like anger than fear.

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"And why are you afraid of the dark?" Gafford asked calmly. "I hate it."

"Why?" Gafford's voice was softer, almost kind.

"It's just . . ." He clenched his fists. "It's just that I can't see. I don't know what's out there."

"But there is nothing here," Gafford replied. "Just you and I." Christian's fists tightened. "How do you know that, Gafford? There

could be anything out there. We can't see." He pulled his knees against himself and buried his face in his hands. Even in the darkness, instinct urged him to hide his moistened eyes.

After a few moments, Gafford moved closer, stroking the back of his head. "Christian, no harm will come to you," he whispered. "I'm here. I'll protect you."

Christian did not reply. He couldn't now, not when the burning lump in his throat would choke out his words. Gafford went on stroking his head, and Christian thought of his mother. How he longed for her now.

A dagger stabbed his heart. He always missed his mother more when he was upset, and he wished she were here to comfort him.

"Do not despair, my boy." Gafford's voice was back to its normal pleasant tone. "You fear the darkness because it is something you have never been forced to face. You have always been able to escape it, to shed light on your fear . . . literally. You must face it, boy. You must overcome this fear or it will overcome you."

Christian pulled up his head and took a deep breath. "What if I can't?" "You can," Gafford said firmly, "and you must." "But how?"

Gafford's voice returned to sternness. "Answer this question." Christian waited.

"Do you fear the darkness?"

He swallowed hard. "Yes."

Gafford scooted closer. "Do you fear the darkness, Christian?" "Yes, Gafford."

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"Christian," he said his name as though it were a command then his voice rose in volume, "do you fear the darkness?"

"Yes!" he burst out. "Yes, I do!"

"Wrong!" Gafford's voice echoed through the cave, bouncing off the walls and into Christian's ears, over and over until the last sound wave was followed by silence.

Then his voice was soft. "I'm going to ask you again, boy." He paused and took in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "Do you fear the darkness?"

Christian's fingernails bit the skin of his palms. He hated being here, hated that Gafford was forcing him to be in the dark, but most of all he hated that Gafford was right. He knew it was foolish, and he knew he had to let it go, but the fear was like venom spreading through his veins. The fear was real, that he could not deny, but like the imaginary venom in his veins, it could do nothing to hurt him. He was too ashamed and probably a bit too proud to admit it, but he knew that it was time for him to let go. Christian glared and then took in a deep breath. "No."

"Repeat it."

"No."

"Again."

"No."

"Louder!"

"No!"

"No, what, Christian?"

Pride struggled to pin his mouth shut, but he shoved it aside and mumbled, "No, I'm not afraid of the dark."

"What was that, boy?"

His forehead prickled. "I am not afraid of the dark!" "Once more!"

"I am not afraid of the dark!"

Again, the words echoed and hung in the air.

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Then a surge of energy ran through his body. He touched his forehead and found it damp with sweat. He wiped his face with his hands and then dried them on his pants.

"Now how do you feel, Christian?" Gafford asked.

He was silent for a moment. His heart was still beating a mile a minute, but it seemed as though a weight had been lifted from him. A wave of comfort swam over him, and he let out a sigh. "I think I feel all right."

Gafford put his hand on Christian's shoulder. "You see, my boy, your mind is in complete control. Anything you think or say controls your destiny. If you believe you are intelligent, you will open a passage for knowledge to flow into your mind. If you say you are successful, success will inevitably find its way into your life. If you say you are unwell, then you permit your body to submit to the illness. If you say you fear the darkness, you are surrendering to your fears." Gafford took a deep breath. "And they will never leave you until you change your mind."

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Chapter 7

Across the Bridge

After a long stretch of darkness and earsplitting silence, Christian finally spoke. "Gafford, should we be going now?"

"Would you not rather continue when there is light?"

Christian knew that Gafford was hoping that he would feel comfortable enough to continue on in darkness. Although Gafford's words had strengthened his courage against the dark, the fear was still inside of him. "Well . . . why don't we wake the fade?"

"Ah, no, my boy," Gafford chuckled softly. "You can't wake a fade." "You can't?"

"No. A fade has the ability to completely block out all sounds and feelings." "Well, why doesn't it glow when it's asleep?"

"Well, you see, a fade can deactivate its ability to recognize all its senses or surroundings." He paused. "Save one: darkness. The darkness brings about an inevitable outcome, as you saw before, the glow. However, the only time darkness can be blocked from the fade's consciousness is, of course, when it is asleep. As we speak, the fade is blocking out all senses." Gafford sighed. "Smart little creature. Knows we are using her, so when she found the opportunity to fall asleep, she knew she could shut off the light so we would not be able to wake her and use it."

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"Whoa," Christian whispered. "And there's no way to wake her?" "No. But she'll awaken naturally, soon enough." "What if someone were to harm her while she slept?"

"I'd bet the fade knows that we don't intend any harm, knows we're using her light."

"When will she wake up?"

"Well, she's been asleep for hours," Gafford said. "It's hard to say. Fades can sleep a long time, but not forever."

Christian was about to respond when a sound interrupted his words. It was a dull scraping, and it came from the back of the cave. Again, his fingers rolled into balled fists, and he noticed soreness in his palms that

he hadn't felt until now. "Gafford," he hissed, "did you hear that?" "Shhh" was all he said.

Christian put his hand over his own mouth and tried to breathe softly. His heart was pounding hard inside his chest, and it was a struggle to keep quiet.

Another sound echoed off the cave walls, and this time, it was louder. The scraping continued and pounded the cave floor in swift, repetitive patterns.

Something was walking, no, crawling toward them.

"Gafford, I think something's—" But before he could finish his sentence, Gafford let out a startled grunt. Christian leaped in fear, but he did not have a chance to react before Gafford was jerked away from him. A sudden rush of cold air swept over his side, and Gafford let out an alarmed cry as he began a blind struggle with some unseen . . . something.

"Gafford!" Christian cried. "What is it?" His eyes were stretched wide, but he couldn't see a thing. He pressed himself against the wall and again yelled, "Gafford!" His eyes searched desperately, but to no avail. There wasn't a chance of seeing in the blackness.

He stood still, too petrified to act, and too caught up in the moment to realize that he might have been able to help. The tussle died down momentarily, the seconds stretched long, and then there was a sound that made his stomach turn.

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It was the sickly cracking of bone, and Gafford released an animalistic bellow as the unpleasant sound carried through the room. The struggling continued, and then there was the sound of a fist beating upon flesh.

Christian had never been in a real fight, but just a few months earlier, a couple of his classmates had started a memorable brawl. The other boys closed in and chanted as though the fight was a sport, but Christian kept his distance. He hadn't seen the blow, but he heard the hollow thump as a boy was punched in the face. He had never heard anything like it before, and he never forgot the sinking it brought to his gut. The fight he was hearing now brought back those same sickly feelings.

A terrified heat spread through his body. He hated the sounds of Gafford's struggling, hated that he could not see and could not help. What he hated the most, however, was that he could not seem to find the courage to do anything useful. His mind was telling him to act, but all that his body wanted to do was stand there with arms pulled in tight, pressed against the wall.

Perhaps staying out of the fight between the schoolboys had been the right thing to do, but this time was different; this time he felt a tugging need to act. Perhaps there was nothing he could really do against the giant bear, rodent, or beast whose home they had invaded, but standing by idly was like letting a perfectly good rope go to waste while a friend falls to their death.

Christian dropped to his knees and searched the ground. If he could find a rock or a stick, that would be a start, but his hands had hardly moved when another sound made his skin crawl. It was a deep, throaty growl that reminded him of phlegm in the back of a throat. A greenish-yellow glob of mucus filled his thoughts, and the struggle between Gafford and the beast escalated.

With an effort that felt like bravery, Christian reached over to where Gafford had been sitting. He found his satchel and was fumbling through its contents when, suddenly, he was able to see the folds of a blanket and the tip of a small knife. He looked up, blinking wildly, and saw the little fade

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with her wings pressed against the wall, glowing and staring wide-eyed at Gafford and the—

Christian's heart nearly ripped through his chest.

This was no bear. A bear would have been horrifying, yes, and it would have made sense, given the fact that they were in a cave. Christian, however, had experienced enough during the last few days to know that the attacker had to be something worse.

His imagination had been running wild, and it had flipped through a vast array of possibilities. Any large creature would have been surprising, but nothing could have prepared him for what he was seeing now.

Gafford's head was drenched with sweat, and his face was wrinkled with tension. His body was straining, and his arms trembled beneath the clutches of a massive and horrifying creature.

Christian's mouth fell open. Nothing his mind could have conjured up would have amounted to the sheer horror of the unnatural sight before him.

The creature had rough, pale skin that covered its body and eight long legs. Its body resembled a spider, but its hairless head was supported by an unnaturally long neck. One of its legs was broken and bent backward in an unnatural manner. This explained the cracking sound. Its torso was long and thin with ribs protruding from its sides. The creature's legs and chest were thin and bony, like a skeleton with skin stretched over it. Its head was turned away, but Christian could see two massive fangs sticking out of its face.

The creature's five unbroken legs held Gafford pinned to the ground. It was pushing its head closer and closer to Gafford's face, its fangs threatening to slice him. Gafford's elbows were locked out, but they continued to shake with effort as he struggled to keep the creature's face from his.

Christian wished he could move, but a cold shock was holding his body in place. The sick and heavy feeling in his stomach was one that he had only ever experienced in his nightmares.

The creature's fangs were an inch from Gafford's face when his arms unlocked and he abruptly released the creature's head. The head sprang

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forward, and Gafford punched it between the eyes. The creature drew back, letting out a gurgling cry, and then sprang forward again, shoving Gafford against a wall.

Christian let out a scream of shock that was like cracking ice. He fell to the floor, feeling as though he had awoken from a daze. There was something soft beneath his hand, and he turned over to see the satchel. His hands were shaking, and he struggled to keep them steady as he fumbled through the bag. His fingertips found the knife, and a tingling passed through his hand as it gripped the hilt. "Gafford!" he shouted, or at least attempted to shout. He took a deep breath and tried again. "Gafford, over here!"

Gafford, however, was not the one who looked first.

His attacker stopped mid-struggle and turned its head around slowly. The head turned and turned, and when Christian thought it could turn no more . . . it kept turning.

He had never seen it, but he had always imagined that it would be quite intriguing to see an owl's head turn around 180 degrees. Now that it was happening right before him, however, he didn't like the looks of it at all. The skin of the creature's neck stretched and twisted, and the head turned all the way around to face Christian eye to eye.

His hand fell open, and the knife clattered to the floor. The creature had one red-rimmed white eye and another bloody socket where its second eye had been recently plucked out. The blood from the empty socket dripped down its bony cheekbone and into its enormous mouth.

Its bottom jaw hung far below its face and held a row of large, jagged teeth. The top lip pulled back to reveal another row of daggerlike teeth and two enormous fangs.

Christian thought of centipedes, beetles, and earwigs. He had never been too troubled by insects in general, but seeing them had always flipped a switch that tricked him into believing they were crawling beneath his clothes. A similar feeling of itching fear spread through him now.

It was true that the creature's body resembled an insect, but that alone might have been bearable. The thing that was the most unnerving about

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the beast was that its face was disturbingly humanlike. The pale skin on its head pulled back in fury and its eyelids opened wide.

What happened next was a mixture of slow motion and high speed. The creature whipped its body around and lunged forward. Christian flattened himself against the wall, bracing himself for impact and squeezing his eyes shut. In the split second that he readied himself for the pain that was surely coming, he realized that he had never experienced a great amount of pain in his life. In fact, he had never even broken a bone. This was sure to be worse.

Before the creature could reach him, however, Gafford sprang up and tightened his arm around its neck. Christian opened his eyes as it let out a strangled gasp for air and reached back for Gafford's head.

It was then that Christian noticed something else entirely unsettling about the creature. Instead of pinchers or bug-like claws, its two front legs were equipped with thin, bony hands. The hands grasped desperately at Gafford's head, yanking strands of hair from his scalp. Gafford, however, did not budge but continued to squeeze the creature's neck tighter and tighter. Its legs flailed back and forth, and its one eye rolled back into its vein-laced forehead.

Finally, the creature ceased its struggling and fell forward. Its mouth dangled open as it fell, flinging a string of saliva at Christian's feet. He scrambled out of the way as its face came smashing down on the cave floor.

They stood above it, panting and staring at the large immobile body. Christian wondered if it was dead or only hurt. "Gafford." He panted. His alarm was still heavy, but the petrified part of his mind seemed to be thawing out. "What in the world is that?"

Gafford looked up at Christian through dangling strands of sweaty hair. He had a long cut on his left cheek, and the eyelid above it was beginning to swell. "That, my boy . . .," he said, lightly kicking the creature's side, "has gotten much stronger since my last encounter with it."

"You've seen it before?"

"Yes." Gafford sighed breathlessly. "But never in these parts of the cave . . . never near the outskirts."

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"What is it?"

"Scalpmonger," said Gafford. "That is what we call them." "Scalpmonger?"

Gafford nodded and exhaled loudly.

Christian continued to stare at the lifeless body. "Where did it come from?"

Gafford walked over and scooped up the contents of his fallen pack. "We'd best be going now."

Oddly, Christian found himself wishing they could stay a little longer. Although the sight of the creature sent chills down his spine, he was fascinated, and curiosity was begging him to find out more.

He stared at the lifeless body for another moment, wondering why Gafford had not removed the heart. After all, Gafford was the one who had insisted that the only way to kill a creature was to remove its heart. But he did not dare ask to stay any longer. Instead, he turned and said, "You know, if I had known this thing was here, I wouldn't have said that I wasn't afraid of the dark."

Gafford chuckled dryly. "I was as surprised to encounter the creature as you were, my boy. But remember, keep your fears at bay, and in due time, they'll leave you."

Christian nodded. He wondered if he would ever reach the point where he was completely fearless in the dark, but he liked the idea.

They both turned toward the fade who was sitting on top of a high rock, hugging her knees to her body. Gafford chuckled and reached his hand upward.

"Come on, little one," he said softly. "It's safe now."

The fade did not move but hugged her knees even tighter.

"Well, all right," Gafford said, turning toward Christian. "I suppose we'll be going on without her." He looked back over his shoulder at the lifeless scalpmonger and began to walk away. "I sure hope that none of his friends come along and revive him, eh, boy?"

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Christian gave Gafford a knowing grin and looked back as well. "Oh yeah, me too. I don't know if a little fade could defend herself against two of them."

Before Christian could finish his sentence, the fade sprang up and flew over to him. She hovered next to him for a moment, narrowing her enormous eyes and snarling at him. She showed her teeth, and blue light shined through the cracks. Then Christian gave her a sunny smile, and her face relaxed.

Gafford muffled a laugh, and her face took on its normal unpleasant expression. Christian laughed as well, and the fade tilted her chin up and turned away.

"It's that way," Gafford said, nudging her to the left of the cave.

She whipped around and hissed at him, again showing her circle of pointed teeth. She flipped her floating hair and flew in the direction Gafford had suggested.

He and Christian exchanged amused glances and followed the fade into a long, dark tunnel. As they walked, Christian realized that it was the first time he had felt like laughing in a long time. In fact, in his time here with Gafford, he had smiled more than he had in months. It seemed almost unnatural, like the muscles around his mouth had nearly forgotten how to form the expression. The irony of his thoughts brought a little smile to his face. Of course, there was truly nothing to be smiling about. They really were in a great deal of danger. Just minutes ago, they had nearly been killed by a bloodthirsty beast.

"Gafford, do you think we'll run into any more creatures like the one back there?"

"I couldn't say for sure," he whispered. "But you needn't fear. I'll protect you, boy." He held up his bow and lifted his shirt to reveal the knife tucked into his belt. "I have had encounters with the creatures before, but they generally do not emerge unless they are disturbed. It was indeed surprising that it sought us out when we had not entered its territory."

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"Hmm" was all that Christian said. He wanted to point out the fact that they had been shouting just moments before, surely awakening the angry beast from sleep, but he thought it best to leave it alone.

They continued down the tunnel, talking only when necessary and keeping their eyes alert for any movements. Time stretched on, and Christian realized that he could expect just about anything to appear in these caves. However, he was almost certain that after the encounter with the scalpmonger, nothing would surprise him. It would undoubtedly frighten him, but not surprise him. Christian stumbled over a stone, and his foot splashed through a puddle of water. "How much farther is it?" he whispered, shaking his soaked foot.

"It's hard to say for sure," Gafford replied. "But I am fairly certain that we shall arrive before nightfall."

Christian's heart did a little flip. "Really?"

"Yes," he said. "Although it will not matter once we are safe inside the walls. Nothing has ever breached our barrier."

"Well, that's good news."

Gafford nodded and then snapped his fingers toward the fade. "It's this way."

She turned around and flew back to him. Then Gafford turned and faced a long crack in the cave's wall. "Good," he said. "This is easily missed." He reached up and touched the top of the crack with his pointer finger. Then he ran it down the crack, all the way to the floor and back up again.

He turned around and pointed to a place behind Christian and the fade. Christian turned around, and his eyes moved down to the floor of the cave. One of the puddles of water was slowly draining out. As the water disappeared, the bottom of the puddle opened up and revealed a small passageway. Christian smiled at Gafford. "After you."

Gafford lowered himself into the hole and then helped Christian down as well.

As his feet came down, they landed on a surface he had not expected. It was unsteady and moved back and forth. "Whoa," he said, grabbing

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Gafford's forearm. His first thought was of a boat rocking back and forth on the water, but he looked down and found that they were not standing on a boat but on a narrow wooden bridge with ropes on the sides. "Whoa," he said again. "How high are we?"

"I don't know for sure," Gafford said. "Like to go down there and found out for me?"

Christian scoffed and peered over the edge where there was nothing but blackness. As they walked, his mind created a slide show of possibilities as to what might be below. The bridge stretched for several feet before they stepped onto flat stone ground once again. Gafford reached forward and caught his shoulder. "Would you mind flying ahead a bit?" Gafford asked the fade.

She narrowed her eyes and glared but turned around and flew forward a few feet. She hovered with her arms crossed for a few moments, then looked down and jerked in surprise when she realized that she was hovering over a deep dark split in the rock. Her eyes widened, and she flew forward another few feet, looking back in horror.

Christian stepped forward and peered over the edge of the hole. It seemed to be endlessly deep, but the light only reached a few feet below two wooden stakes in the ground. The stakes had broken bits of rope tied to them, and it was apparent that a bridge had once been here. The crack was not very wide, only four or five feet, but Christian still wished that the bridge was intact. He got a sinking feeling and looked over at Gafford.

"I have to jump it, don't I?"

"It's not far, my boy," Gafford assured him. "You'll make it." Christian tried to remember a time when he had jumped a far distance,

but the only thing that came to mind were wide puddles that splashed his pants when he wasn't able to make a jump.

"I don't know if I can jump that far, Gafford." His hands were growing sweaty, and he rubbed them over his pants.

"You can make it, boy," he said. "Do it like this." Gafford stepped back a few feet. "Just take a running jump and push off hard on the edge."

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Gafford took three quick strides and sprang over the crevice with ease. He turned around. "Here, boy," he said, leaning forward with his arms stretched out, "I'll grab you."

Christian took a few steps back. His heart was pounding, but he certainly didn't want Gafford to know he was afraid. Gafford already knew enough about his fears, and he didn't want to make it a long list. Christian gave his sweaty hands a shake and took a quick step forward. His heart leaped again, and he stopped himself inches before the hole. He let out a flustered breath of air.

"Boy, just—"

"I got it, Gafford." Now pride was setting in. Once again, he gathered himself and took a few steps back. From his distant vantage point, the hole looked as though it were only a couple of feet wide. He collected all the courage he could muster and sucked in a deep breath.

Maybe a giant scalpmonger could scare him stiff, but he wasn't about to let a measly little hole get the best of him. He sprang forward again, this time much faster, and pushed off the edge of the rock as hard as he could. His right foot scraped the other side of the ledge and slipped back, but his left foot caught the floor, and Gafford's hands secured themselves on his shoulders.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it, boy?" Gafford chuckled, patting him on the back.

Christian's heart was still pounding, but he shrugged and said, "Yeah, no problem . . . but someone ought to fix that bridge."

Gafford laughed and wrapped his arm around Christian's shoulders as they headed into the dark once again. Christian sighed as they left the gaping hole behind them. He was relieved to have made it but hoped there wouldn't be another.

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Chapter 8

The Garden of Light

There was a neighbor boy with red hair. Christian could not remember his name, but peeking around his mother's legs, he could see his fiery locks shining in the sunlight. There were no words, only images of scraped elbows and grass-stained jeans. There were long sticks that banged together like swords and an old cereal box full of pirate's treasure. The adventures were endless that day, and Christian wondered why it had been so long since he had recalled this memory. The sun was setting, and when he shaded his eyes with his hand, he saw his mother in the doorway. One of her hands was waving him home, and the other was resting on her rounded belly.

"Excellent."

Gafford's voice awakened Christian from his daydream, and his head shot up. He refocused his vision and found that several feet ahead the passageway seemed to come to an end. There was an enormous rock wall that must have been over thirty feet high. Its surface was flat and smooth. Christian looked around, but there were no other passageways, just a continuous stretch of gigantic wall.

"Here we are," said Gafford. "The first gateway." "Oh," Christian said, taken aback. "Where?" "Here. Step aside."

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Christian moved over and Gafford walked over to the wall. He bent down and slipped his hand beneath the base of it. As he lifted himself back up, the wall wrinkled and came with him.

Christian gasped. What had appeared to be a massive rock wall was actually a large flowing curtain. It wrinkled and swayed as Gafford lifted the material over his head and gestured for Christian to enter. The curtain-like passageway made him think of the theater before a show, the anticipation of waiting for the stage to be revealed.

Christian gave Gafford an astonished smile and ducked beneath the curtain. The fade flew under as well, and when the curtain dropped, it took its original position, once again taking the form of a gigantic rock wall.

They continued through the cave, and as they turned a corner, the fade's light revealed a cluster of pointed rocks growing from the ground. The base of the rocks illuminated as they approached and sent a faint orange glow to the tip. The stalagmites sprouted from the floor and stalactites hung down like pointed teeth. As they continued, the rocks completely covered the floor and ceiling of the cave. There were hundreds of them. Christian stared in awe and reached out to touch one, wondering if the light was warming the rock. His fingers were inches away, however, when Gafford snatched his hand away and pulled him back.

"You wouldn't want to be touching any of these, boy."

Christian gave him a curious look, so Gafford took the edge of his shirt and tore off a small strand. He took the piece of material over to the stalagmite and brushed it against the side. Instantaneously, the material smoked and withered. He dropped it to the floor, and it turned to ash as quickly as a burning parchment.

Christian folded his arms. "Oh."

The glowing rocks stretched on for quite a distance, and all the while, Christian stared at them in awe. He stayed close behind Gafford who seemed to know exactly where to walk. They did have to squeeze carefully between a few, but for the most part, there was distance between them. After a while, the stalactites and stalagmites began to grow thin. They

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reached the end of the room, and the pathway forked off into four different passageways.

Without hesitating, Gafford took the path farthest to the right. It led them to a small circular room with a small circular door. Next to the door were three tubelike levers. They were wooden and cracked with age. Gafford took the first one in his hand and pushed it upward. He waited a moment and then began to pull the levers up and down in an obviously strategic pattern. Christian lost track after the first few pulls, but after he had pushed the middle lever down for the last time, there was a clanking of metal, and the door swung open.

Christian walked over to the doorway and found a large wooden ladder just inside. Gafford nudged him inside of the room. Then he and the fade flew through, and the door sealed itself shut behind them. Once inside, Christian found the room to be no larger than a closet. He didn't wait to be told before he began to climb the ladder. Gafford was just behind him and the fade just above him. The ladder was high, and he lost count of the rungs. Their feet padded the wooden rungs in a satisfying rhythm, and Christian's lips spread into a smile as he embraced the rush of rising higher and higher.

As they neared the top, however, there was another sound, one that he had not expected. It was the sound of rushing water, and it was not far away. He reached the top of the ladder and stepped over into the next room.

They were standing in another small space with only one exit: a little wooden door. The sound of the rushing water was even louder, but Christian couldn't seem to locate where it was coming from.

"How far is the water?" he asked, turning to Gafford. Gafford smiled and pointed upward. "Not far at all." Christian looked up and nearly fell over.

The water was right above them, rushing along the ceiling and spilling into a dark crevice in the rock. The swift pace of the current made his head spin, and it appeared as though it was running over a glass ceiling or some kind of force field. However, he could feel the drops of water sprinkling

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his face, and it was then that he realized that the water was on the ceiling. It was impossible, Christian knew that, but somehow the impossible had a habit of becoming reality these days. The water was attached to the roof of the cave, and it was running as though gravity did not exist.

"Uh, Gafford—" Christian began.

"It's a mind trick," Gafford said. He kicked a small rock, and it was lifted up into the flowing water. Christian looked from the floor to the water in amazement. Then he did the same to a pile of dirt, and the bits immediately flew up into the stream.

Christian let out a bewildered laugh. "How does it get sucked up into the water?"

"It doesn't get sucked up," Gafford said, shaking his head. "It's falling down."

"Falling down?"

Gafford nodded. "The room is upside down . . . But like I said, it's a mind trick. Don't try to find sense in it because you won't."

"Upside down," Christian whispered the words and looked around the cave. As his eyes searched the dark corners, he found several large boulders holding tight to the ceiling and a few plants growing downward from cracks in the rock. The only part of the room that was not upside down was the wooden door whose handle was facing the way it should be. "Do we go through there?"

Gafford shook his head and pointed to the other side of the room, exactly opposite to the small door. There was another wooden ladder against the wall. "No, we climb."

"Oh," Christian said, looking back to the other door, "what's through there?"

Gafford raised an eyebrow. "I don't know . . . don't really care to find out either. Do you?"

Christian shook his head but didn't really mean it. He hated closed doors. There could be anything behind it, and he wished he could find out what it was.

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"After you," said Gafford, motioning to the ladder.

"What's the point of all this?" Christian asked, eyeing the ladder. "Why are there so many barriers? Who made them?"

Gafford placed his hands on his hips. "You saw what was out there, didn't you? Do you think we want any of those things getting into our kingdom?"

Christian shook his head.

"Even with the extensive barriers we have in place," Gafford continued, "there's always a risk. We can never be too careful."

Christian nodded and waved his arm toward the fade. She hovered over to his side as he reached up and began to climb the ladder. He was halfway up when Gafford took hold of his ankle. Christian looked back expectantly, but all he said was "Keep going, boy."

Christian raised his eyebrows in question but continued to climb up the final two rungs of the ladder. The moment he had reached the top, a strong force pulled him toward the ceiling. It was almost like falling, and if his eyes had been closed, he would have thought it so. His body was pulled toward the water, and his cheeks tightened as the blood rushed to his face. He grunted and expected to be pulled into the water, but Gafford's hand held firm on his ankle.

"Take my wrist," said Gafford in a raised but calm voice.

With great effort, Christian folded himself in two and reached for Gafford's arm. Once he had a secure grip on Gafford's wrist, Gafford let go of his ankle and hooked his hand on Christian's wrist as well. His body swung around, so his legs were now being pulled toward the water.

"Good. Now I'll let you go, boy," Gafford said, loosening his fingers. "Wait, what?" Christian said, gripping tighter to Gafford's wrist. "It's a short drop," he said calmly. "Just didn't want to drop you on your

head. The water's not very deep.

Christian looked down at the rushing water. "Is the current very powerful?"

"You'll be fine. Just keep your footing."

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Christian nodded. "All right, let go."

Gafford released his wrist, and he fell into the stream, splashing into the waist-deep water. His feet hit the bottom hard, and he was glad he had not gone head first. The fade hovered a few feet above his head, looking at him with a very confused expression. Then they both looked up. Gafford was a strange sight to see. He was upside down, clutching the ladder with one hand and securing his bag on both shoulders with the other. He stretched up one of his legs in an awkward manner, turning himself sideways. Then he pulled himself upward onto another rung, and his body was whipped around. One of his hands slipped off the rung, but he quickly regained his grip. Then he let go of the ladder, and Christian turned his face away as he splashed down next to him.

Gafford swiped his hair from his face. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Christian almost laughed. "That was weird."

The truth was that, for the moment, Christian was astounded and completely content. He was beginning to like Gafford more and more, and if the others in the kingdom were anything like him, he could not wait to meet them.

For a moment, he lost himself in anticipation, and a kingdom scene of excitement and happiness flashed across his imagination. He didn't know what kind of strange society might call itself a kingdom, but his curiosity to find out was stronger than his caution.

Only a few seconds of hopeful wondering passed before reality came back and Christian remembered that the unknown could, in fact, be very dangerous. There was no knowing what might happen.

They continued down the stream, bracing each other against the power of the current until they reached the edge of the wall. The water was flowing into a dark crevice. "Can you hold your breath, boy?" Gafford asked.

"Sure," Christian said. "Not long though."

"Oh, it will only be a minute or two," Gafford said casually.

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"Uh . . ." Christian looked at the water. He couldn't even remember a time when he had held his breath longer than a minute. But once again, his pride kicked in, and no matter how fear prodded, the pride kicked harder, and it was forbidding him from objecting.

Gafford seemed to sense the mental dilemma. "You can do it, boy. I'll do most of the swimming."

Christian shrugged. "Yeah . . . No problem." His face grew hot, and he hoped it wasn't pink.

"I shall do my best to swim quickly," Gafford said, taking hold of his wrist.

"Wait, Gafford, wait," Christian said, yanking his wrist back. "You all right, boy?"

Now Christian knew his face was pink. "Yeah . . . Just give me a second."

Gafford put a hand on his shoulder. "Just relax. You'll last longer if you're calm."

Suddenly the air around him seemed incredibly valuable. He took in steady breaths, savoring each intake as they walked to the edge of the crevice.

Gafford turned to him. "Just relax and hold tight to my belt," he said. "Try to keep your mind off your need for air, and please, do not panic. That'll drown us both."

"Okay," was all he said, and then he clenched his jaw tight. Gafford took off his bag and, looking at the fade, pointed inside. She glared but flew over and seated herself on top of its contents.

"Ready, boy?" he asked.

Christian nodded, although he was nowhere near ready.

"One, two, three." Gafford ducked his head under the water and Christian, sucking in one last giant breath of air, took ahold on Gafford's belt and went under. The moment his head was submerged, Gafford kicked off the side of the rock and propelled them forward, pulling them through the dark water.

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Christian had once heard that the secret to holding one's breath is to take the mind off the need for air. He did his best to focus and created an image of the shining assortment of stalactites and stalagmites. He pictured their luminous glow. A small pressure began to rise in his chest. He pushed it aside and searched his thoughts. After a short search, they rested upon a memory of his first night here. He remembered the poor little deer and tall red plants with their spiraled points.

The pressure rose higher until it was squeezing his throat. Gafford turned a corner and, once again, kicked off a wall. Now they were going down, deeper and deeper. Christian squeezed his eyes tighter and tried to focus. Another pressure grew in his ears as they descended.

He thought about the vogel bird and the rabbits with their long pointed teeth. He tried to remember the beautiful trees he had seen right outside the cave's entrance, but the pressure in his chest and throat was no longer a pressure but a burning. The burning was growing stronger and stronger. It threatened to push past his pursed lips and escape, but he knew if he let out his air, the need for breath would be even stronger.

His head began to spin, and he tried to swallow the knot in his throat. His abdomen jerked, and his chest pulsed with a need for oxygen. He squeezed Gafford's belt tighter and tried, once more, to think of something besides his need for air, but the effort was in vain. The overpowering thought in his mind was air. It was like a dark cloud, occupying his entire existence. A tiny burst of air forced its way past his voice box and made a small sound as a tiny bubble passed his lips. He reached up and covered his mouth, trying to keep the air in, but it pushed with more force than he could hold back. Another bubble escaped from his mouth, and with it came a whole burst of air that he struggled desperately to hold back. Now the burning was unbearable.

He opened his eyes and saw light. It was a small circle of blue shining down on them, and he could almost feel the warmth. He kept his eyes focused on that light, reassuring himself that the misery would end soon. He was not even certain if this light was their destination, but it was the

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only hope he had to keep him focused. He fought back the spastic pulses of his lungs, and he tried to keep his attention focused on that circle of light that was growing closer and closer, but his vision was starting to blur. Suddenly, his body seemed disconnected from him. His head was light, and he thought he might fall asleep here in the water. He closed his eyes and almost drifted off to sleep. His mind fell deeper and deeper into a relaxing rest.

A splash of warmth covered his face, and his body was jerked upward. He coughed and was almost upset that he had been awakened from his sleep. A mass of liquid rose up in his throat, and he opened his eyes to see water pouring from his mouth into a patch of grass. Christian turned over, sucking in a lung-stretching gulp of air and saw Gafford's face.

"You all right, boy?" he asked, shaking his shoulders.

Christian squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to clear the fogginess from the water. "Yeah," he said, sucking in deep breaths. His head was still light, and his fingers tingled, but his relief to be out of the water overpowered his weakness. He doubted if he had never experienced such misery in his life, but it was over now. He was free, and the slightly clouded rays of sunshine were warming his chilled skin.

He looked around. They were in a large bright cave covered with small white flowers, rocks, and grass. The rock walls rose up several feet to an open ceiling that was pouring sunshine down on their faces. The sun was behind a cloud, but it was still gloriously warm and brought warming goose bumps to his chilled skin.

Gafford fell to his back and closed his eyes, and Christian did the same. They stretched and sighed, spread out in the grass, and took in the fresh air and fragrances around them.

After a few moments of relaxation, Gafford sat up. "It's that way," he said, pointing to a small stone staircase leading to a wooden door with a beautifully carved design and border.

He stood and pulled Christian up as well. As they walked toward the staircase, Christian noticed a small black door that he hadn't seen before.

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It was disguised behind a tall patch of grass. "What's through there, Gafford?"

Gafford looked the way that Christian had motioned and shook his head. "Black doors cannot be opened."

Christian cocked his head. "Then why is it there?"

Gafford sighed. "What I mean, boy, is they cannot be opened from the side that is black."

"Oh," Christian nodded. "So it's a one-way door."

"Precisely."

"What's in there?"

Gafford started up the steps with a shrug. "Never been through," he said simply.

Christian gave it one last thoughtful glance before following him up the staircase.

They climbed up to the wooden door, and upon closer look, it became clear that the intricate swirls of the carved wood disguised several shapes and designs. There were a number of animals, plants, and tools he recognized but also many shapes that were unfamiliar to him.

Gafford leaned forward with his hands outstretched. He placed one hand over a small wooden dagger and the other on a tiny scroll, which was tied closed. Gafford wore a look of concentration, and after a short moment, a burst of dust escaped from the door's hinges. It creaked as it swung open.

Immediately, Gafford stepped in. He whipped around quickly, yanking Christian through by the front of his shirt. The motion was so swift that Christian didn't have time to react before his head whipped back like a rag doll. He stumbled forward into the darkness, and the moment they were over the threshold, the door closed itself quickly behind them.

They were without light for just a moment before Gafford opened his bag and released the fade. She glared angrily and wrung out her dripping hair.

"Sorry, little one," Gafford said with a chuckle. "We're almost there."

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The fade shook her scolding head and flew off down the tunnel ahead. Her light spread out to reveal that the hall was red brick lined with occasional spiderwebs. It continued for a short while before it forked out into two passageways. Both were void of light, but the one to the left seemed darker somehow, and Christian was silently relieved when Gafford took the right. "What's down the other one?" he asked.

"Another entrance to caves," Gafford said over his shoulder. "It's a path far less traveled . . . far more risky."

Christian looked back at the other passageway, and his stomach fluttered at the thought of what might be found there. Then he hurried along to catch up with Gafford's swift pace. "What if something comes through?" he asked.

"There's a door," Gafford replied. "It's black on the outside, so nothing comes in."

Christian nodded.

Just ahead, there was another large wooden door with a golden knob and knocker. Gafford reached up and took hold of it. However, instead of knocking, he pulled upward, and it came off its hinges. He reached into his bag and pulled out a much smaller golden knocker with the letter "G" engraved on it. He secured the knocker and hit the door twice. He then replaced the former knocker on the door and knocked again.

Christian shook his head in amazement. "I highly doubt that anyone would be able to break into your kingdom, Gafford."

"You'd be surprised, boy," said Gafford, returning his bag to his shoulder. "Trust me. Every security is necessary."

The door clicked and swung open on silent hinges. A flood of light burst into the cave, burning Christian's eyes. He squeezed them shut and shielded his face with cupped hands. The light was much warmer than the dim sunshine, and although it had been alarming at first, he took pleasure in the way the gentle heat was seeping through him.

Peeking through his fingers, he saw that the fade was also covering her eyes. Gafford, on the other hand, stood wide-eyed, smiling and holding

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out his hand. He took Gafford's hand and then reached over and took the fade around the waist. She struggled for a moment but then submitted.

Gafford led them through the light-filled tunnel and no one spoke. Christian squinted in awe at the space around him. The bright walls were covered in thick golden vines. They emitted a glorious glow and curled tight spirals around clusters of beautiful rocks. The rocks were a variety of whites, yellows, and translucent grays. The ceiling was a multitude of sparkling white jewels. Christian also noticed that the smooth floor was sprinkled with glittering flakes of gold and silver.

Along the edges of the tunnel, there were small glowing flowers growing in orderly lines. He felt a soft nudge and looked down to see one of the golden vines wrapping around his arm. The fade drew back but relaxed when she realized that it meant no harm. The vine was silky and warm on his skin, and he smiled, letting go of Gafford's hand. He touched the vine gently, and it reached up to spiral itself around his finger.

Gafford walked over to one of the walls. Reaching up, he plucked a small white rock from the wall of the tunnel. Then he motioned to another rock on the floor next to a glowing flower. Christian carefully removed the twisting vine from his arm and picked up the small glowing rock.

Gafford took the fade from Christian's hand and held her up to a pebble that was wedged inside a larger rock. She used two hands to pull it out of the wall. Gafford nodded and then led them to another large door. When he opened it, Christian was disappointed to see the darkness waiting on the other side. Gafford gave him a sympathetic look and led him out. The moment the three of them had exited the brilliant room, the door swung shut, and they were, once again, in darkness, with the blue glow of the fade to guide them.

Christian opened his hand and stared at the little white rock. It had a silver vein running down the middle and let off a soft white light. The fade was also examining her rock. She bit it and held it against her lips.

"You'll want to keep those safe," Gafford said. "You won't get far without them."

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Christian closed his fingers around the stone. "What was that place?" "The Garden of Light," said Gafford. "No enemies of the kingdom may pass through alive. Even if a foe managed to outsmart the other barriers, they would never survive the garden. When we enter the kingdom, those stones will prove that you have passed through the garden and that you may be trusted." Christian nodded and slipped the stone into his pocket. They continued down a dark corridor and turned a corner. There was daylight. It was leaking through the cracks of two enormous brass doors.

Gafford sighed. "Here we are."

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Chapter 9

The Kingdom

A large man with a glossy beard approached them, and Christian was slightly startled. This was the first person he had seen since meeting Gafford. The man squinted suspiciously through the darkness. "Gafford, is that you?" He had a deep voice and the same smooth accent as Gafford.

"Yes, Sargus," Gafford replied, extending his arm in a friendly gesture. "It's me."

The man's stern look was melted away by an enthused smile. "You have returned already?"

"Did you expect any different?"

The man laughed. "Of course not!" He took Gafford's hand and shook it warmly. Then his eyes wandered over to Christian, and his eyes grew large.

"Is that him?"

"That's him."

The man approached Christian, stooped over, and rested a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Thank you for coming," he said in a warm and gentle voice. "I am Sargus, and you are most welcome."

"Uh . . ." Christian was unsure of how to respond, so he settled with "Well, thanks?" It came out sounding like more of a question than a reply. He shot Gafford a puzzled look, and of course, he pretended not to notice.

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"We'll speak again soon," Gafford said, giving Sargus a friendly smack on the back.

Sargus smiled warmly and took a large brass key from his pocket. "We best," he replied. Sargus walked over to the door and slipped the key into the lock, turning it over three times. Then he removed the key and stood back, extending his arm toward the entrance in a welcoming gesture. His delighted demeanor made Christian wonder how long it had been since Sargus had welcomed visitors through his doors.

Christian smiled weakly, and Gafford stepped forward to pull the large circular handle.

The burst of light, warmth, and sunshine leaped through the doors, and Christian blinked as a large stone courtyard came into view. Before they even took a step forward, however, the fade slipped through the door and flew out of sight.

"Hey—" Christian stretched his hands forward.

"Ah, don't worry about her, boy," said Gafford, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"But, Gafford, the fade, she—"

"She can't go far."

Christian nodded, but he could not help but feel disappointed. Maybe the fade was stubborn, but he liked having her with him. She was helpful, and although she seemed bad, he didn't believe it.

They passed through the doors, and after his eyes had adjusted to the daylight, Christian found that they were standing at end of a short grassy pathway lined with aspen trees. Just ahead, there were a handful of wide stone steps that led up to a stone pillar-framed entrance. As they approached the steps, two bearded men in long blue robes appeared at the top of the steps. They, like Sargus, were stone-faced until they came closer and recognized Gafford.

The larger of the two men placed his hand on Gafford's shoulder. He had dark-brown eyes and a chest-length beard. The other leaned down

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and smiled at Christian. He had kind eyes and white teeth. "Welcome," he whispered. "Come with me."

They ascended the steps, which led to a small courtyard in front of a single stone-gray building. In the center of the courtyard was a simple circular water fountain, and a handful of sturdy trees framed the borders of the yard. The stone building, like the stairs, was framed by a set of enormous pillars. It almost reminded Christian of the old post office downtown. He had always loved the archaic feeling of that building.

They stepped through the doors of the building, and a rush of cool air ran through his hair. It was refreshing, but he was still a bit damp from the swim in the cave. He shivered, and the kind-eyed man leaned down and whispered, "We shall get you into some dry clothes shortly."

Christian nodded and looked around. The room's décor was very simple. The walls were smooth stone, and there was a soft-colored painting above a circle of brown cushioned chairs. On the other side, there was one arched entrance without a door.

The room had an orderly feel, almost like a doctor's office, except instead of latex and alcohol, it smelled faintly of plants and wet stone. And unlike the anxiety of a doctor's visit, Christian was curious and had the will to explore.

The two robed men guided them through the archway into a small room with a table and two open doors. He looked inside the first door where there was a stool and a large bucket of water.

"Wait here," the bearded man instructed.

He and Gafford stood silent for a few moments, and then Christian could not wait any longer. "Gafford?"

"Yes, boy?"

"What are we waiting for?"

He leaned against the wall. "Couldn't say."

Christian joined him and sighed. Not wanting to be a nuisance, he stared at the wall and counted to ten before asking, "Who are those men?"

Gafford closed his eyes. His expression was serene. "Gatekeepers."

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"Where did they go?"

Gafford did not answer, but he held still and seemed to be resting.

This annoyed Christian. He straightened up and faced Gafford.

"Gafford, you said that I would get answers once we reached the—"

Just then, the first bearded man entered holding a small leather pouch. His hand wobbled as it bounced up and down. "What is this, Gafford?" The man's face was calm, but his voice held an edge of concern.

Gafford raised his hand. "Worry not, my friend. The creature's harmless."

"It came from the outside, Gafford." He gave the bag a little shake. "How do we know it isn't—"

"Open it," said Gafford.

The man raised an eyebrow and handed the bag to Gafford. "Open it yourself."

Gafford chuckled and took the bag. He loosened the drawstring, and the fade flew out. For a moment, her expression was confused, but she hissed at the sight of the bearded man.

The man raised a finger and poked her in the chest, pushing her away from him. This obviously upset her even more, but Gafford caught the hem of her dress before she could move. She struggled aimlessly, snarling and showing her teeth to the bearded man.

He crossed his arms. "It's dangerous, Gafford. We'll have to get rid of it."

Christian shoved past Gafford. "No!" He shot the protest at the man before he even had a chance to think. "Well, I mean . . .," he stammered, blinking rapidly. Then he clasped his hands together. "Please, sir, don't take her. She helped us. She's not bad. She's just—"

The bearded man shook his head. "I assure you, dear child, we do not intend to hurt the creature. But we will return her to the outside."

The fade squirmed more violently, but this time, it was not in an attempt to attack the bearded man but to flee from him.

"See?" Christian said. "She doesn't want to go."

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"She doesn't know what she wants," said the bearded man. "The fades can not be reasoned with."

Christian looked at her little face, which was twitching nervously. "Do you want to go back to the outside?" he whispered.

The fade did not respond but narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"You could stay here with me," Christian continued in a hushed tone. "I'll watch out for you . . . and find you food," he added. "It's bad out there. You could get hurt."

The fade's features did not smoothen, but something vulnerable grew deep inside her eyes. They weren't friends yet, but Christian couldn't help but long for a companion who was just as new to this situation as he was.

Gafford released the fade, and she flew to hide behind Christian's back. "See?" he said. "She doesn't want to go back."

The bearded man opened his mouth to protest, but Gafford interrupted with "Look in her hand."

"Do what?" asked the man.

"Take a look at what the creature is holding."

When Christian stepped to the side, the fade had her hands behind her back.

"Show it to him," Gafford commanded.

The fade glared, but she raised her arm. Clutched between her tiny fingers was the small white stone from the Garden of Light. The man's expression softened, but he was still flustered. "You'll have to keep a sharp eye on it, Gafford."

Christian stepped forward. "I'll watch her . . . She likes me." He looked at the fade. "Don't you?"

She glared at him but resumed her position behind his back.

"Very well," said the bearded man, but his expression was wary. "I don't like it, but very well." He paused. "Consider it a welcome gift." Then he shook his head and left the room.

Now the kind-eyed man entered the room. "Please empty the contents of your pack," he said.

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Gafford nodded, and as he was dumping it out, the man turned to Christian. "And what about you? Did you bring anything?"

Christian shook his head and turned out his pockets. The small white rock fell to the ground.

The man reached down and picked it up. Holding it up to examine it, he said, "The Garden of Light." He pocketed the stone. "You are fortunate to have made a visit."

He turned to Gafford. "And your stone?" Gafford dropped his pebble into the man's hand and looked to the fade. She too handed over her pebble.

"All seems to be in order," the robed man said, rolling the stones around in one hand. "You may use these rooms to wash and change into fresh clothing.

"Thank you," said Gafford.

"Thank you," Christian repeated.

The fade followed Christian into one of the rooms, and he shut the door. There was a large wooden stool with a pile of clothing and a towel on top. He picked up the clothes, and to his surprise, they resembled the casual school uniform he had been wearing. He stripped off his damp clothes, picked up a washcloth that was draped over a large bucket, and dipped it in. The water was lukewarm, soapy, and smelled like fresh citrus. He washed and dried himself with the towel. Then he looked at the fade and pointed at the water, but she wouldn't go near it. "Had enough water for the day, have you?" He laughed, running his fingers through his hair. Now he realized it hadn't been washed in several days, so he dunked his head under the water as well. He rubbed his hair dry and pulled on the fresh slacks and button-up shirt. Then he opened the door.

The kind-eyed man smiled and gently took his chin. He pulled a comb from his pocket and picked through Christian's hair, carefully placing his sandy locks. Christian furrowed his brow because his mother was the only person who he had ever allowed to touch his hair. The man was gentle, but his touch was wrong.

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Then Gafford emerged from the room, also wearing clothing similar to what he had worn before. They finished preparing themselves, and the kind-eyed man instructed Christian, Gafford, and the fade to follow him. He led them down a long hall with a glass ceiling.

Through the glass, the sky shined a bright blue. The clouds seemed to be thinning, and the sunbeams warmed their bodies. They came to a set of metal doors, and the kind-eyed man wrapped his fingers around the handle. "Welcome to the kingdom," he said.

Christian looked at the fade who was hovering next to his shoulder. "You need to stay with me, okay?" He gave her a reassuring nod. "If you don't, they'll catch you again and make you leave . . . Do you want to go back inside the bag?"

The fade showed her teeth.

"Then don't fly away."

She crossed her arms and perched herself upon his shoulder. Christian nodded, and the kind-eyed man leaned back to pull open

the door.

The doors swung open, and once again, fresh air and bright light swam over him. The open doors revealed two lines of beautiful, high-reaching trees that framed a wide stone pathway. The pathway led up to a distant hill, and his eyes continued to follow it until they were drawn up to an enormous and magnificent white building.

He gasped quietly and mouthed the words "A castle."

The gigantic castle was covered in countless towers and battlements. Its bright walls seemed to glitter in the sun, and its silver gates reflected rays of sunshine in all directions. The tops of the spiraled towers held billowing flags and blazing torches of fire. The sharp contrast between the bright radiance of the castle and the glowing green of the grass was almost unreal.

Even from a distance, the castle's vast beauty and design were marvelous. Its sheer brilliance seemed to demand his constant attention.

"That is where you shall meet the king and queen," said Gafford. "They will be most pleased to find that you have come."

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The doors slammed closed, and Christian swallowed hard. "King and queen?"

"Indeed."

Now Christian was at a loss for words. Just how far was he from home? He had been with Gafford every step of the journey, but he was still completely unaware of how he had ended up away from home in the first place. The sun was at his side, and he shaded his eyes to get a better view. Although he had shaded them to see the castle, what his mind saw was his mother in the doorway—one hand waving him home, one resting on her rounded belly. The red-headed boy went away, and then dinner was ready.

There were flashes of dishes, spoons, and dinner . . . and then there was falling water. It covered his mother's bare feet and left a puddle on the floor. He had not seen the water spill, but his mother was clearly upset and confused because she continually repeated the words: "My water broke. My water broke. Oh my goodness, my water broke! " He supposed that what she had meant to say was "My glass broke," but this still confused Christian because the glass in her hand had not even fallen.

Christian removed his hand from his brow. "I don't know what to do," he finally said.

Gafford gave him an odd look. "You don't know what to do?"

"I'm really confused, Gafford." The statement could not have been more accurate. With the unclear memory still floating on the brim of his mind and the enormity of the kingdom before him, Christian was more lost than he had been in days. He took a deep breath and turned to Gafford. "I'm not complaining, but can't you tell me where I am? What's going on?"

Gafford turned to him. "We're almost there. They'll explain better than I can."

Christian's hands began to sweat. His mind searched desperately for an explanation of how he had come to this. It was not long ago that his biggest worries had been schoolwork and studies. Now he was facing monsters, caves, darkness, confusion . . . and a kingdom. And it wasn't

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some cooked-up location full of confused strangers. It was an actual society that Christian knew nothing about.

Not only did he know nothing about them but he also knew nothing about why he was here, how he had gotten here, or why everything was the way it was. He supposed that before he had been able to brush it aside and convince himself that he was still dreaming, but not anymore. The things he had seen were all too real. This place was much too vivid, and he was much too conscious to be dreaming.

It all hit him like a hundred pounds dropping into his stomach. He had somehow traveled to a place where the impossible was taking place before his eyes. Whether he liked it or not, this was really happening to him, and he knew no way out of it.

It was a sinking feeling, not as dark as doom, but definitely as empty. There was a flash of his mother's bare feet resting upon the mattress on the night that Annabelle Jean had been born. He recalled the empty feeling, and he realized that it was almost familiar.

He looked up at the sky and blinked several times. Then he sucked in a deep breath of air and tried to calm himself. If this was really happening, then he was going to try to make the best of it. What other choice did he have? He had gotten himself in too deep to back out now, and besides, what did he have to lose?

They continued on, and the memories made a fair attempt to continue. An anxious father and heavy-breathing mother rushed about, but Christian pushed them away. The rest of the memory was rusted and dusty—and he wanted to keep it that way.

Not far ahead, the path came to an end and widened out into a large street. From a distance, Christian could see small buildings lining the sides of the street with brightly colored signs and beautiful craftsmanship. The sight was cheery, and it lightened his mood a few notches.

As they moved closer, there was a short brick building that had been whitewashed and decorated with swirls of green paint. On the front, there was a sign that read Bricolage. Another had a wooden frame that curled

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and tangled together to create what made him think of an Indian hogan. Its sign read Gilded Armor. The little shops and buildings reminded him very much of a renaissance fair, and he had always been a fan.

As they walked past a little wooden shop with a cherry-colored door, he caught a whiff of a sweet fruity smell that made him realize that he was more than a little hungry. He pushed the feeling aside and tried to remember that there were more important things to worry about—for instance, the clusters of interesting people who were not only walking the streets but also stopping and staring at him as he passed. They were dressed similar to Gafford, in homemade clothing of animal skins and soft leather. He looked down at his slacks and shirt and realized that this had to be why the people were staring. Almost every person would stop and look him up and down, then whisper to someone close by.

He looked at Gafford who was wearing a casual smile and giving a wave now and then.

They passed several more interesting buildings and shops, but as they drew nearer to the castle, the structures began to change from brick and wood to stone and marble.

There was a tall outer wall, which opened as they approached it. They entered, and as the gates swung closed, there was a line of log buildings and a large circular well. There were guards stationed every few feet along the walls, holding spears and sheathed in shiny armor. He stared at one of the guard's faces. His features seemed to be solidified in place, and if it weren't for his color, Christian might have mistaken him for a statue.

As he stared into his stony face, he felt as though he had lost himself inside one of his fantasy novels. The thought was not a bad one. If he had to be lost, perhaps a fantasy was the best place to be.

Then he shook his head because fantasy novels were already written. The fate of the characters was determined, and although a reader would have to wait to discover what lies on the last pages, a reader can always be assured that no matter which pages he reads, which day he reads them, or which mood he reads them in, the plot will never go astray.

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On a normal day, Christian was a reader, but today, he would be the writer of his own fantasy. Unlike most authors, however, he had no idea how his own story was going to end.

A glint of light passed his eyes, and some feet ahead, there was another towering wall, similar to the first, but this one had two large towers framing a tall iron gate. They waited only a matter of seconds before one of the guards approached. He fit a key into the door and pulled it open.

The sun's light reflected off the castle walls as soon as it was unveiled. Christian had to blink and squint through one eye until both could adjust themselves to the structure's extreme radiance. The castle was much larger than he had thought, and the sight was more magnificent than any building he had ever laid eyes upon.

Back at school, the outdoor courtyard was framed by dozens of shade-giving trees. Sitting beneath them with a drawing pad and charcoal, he loved to sketch his own ideas of what the castles from his storybooks might look like. He had been satisfied with the designs that his mind had conjured up, but looking upon the castle now, he realized that nothing from his imagination could have done this castle justice.

Now that he was up close, he could see tiny flakes of silver glistening inside the marble walls, and there were intricate designs etched into the surface. His mouth dropped open, and he tilted his head up to see the immense height of the castle. The astonishing sight caused him to lose his balance, and he stumbled backward. Gafford took him by the arm and led him toward the castle entrance.

Just ahead, there was another stone path, which was bordered with thick shrubbery and colorful flowers. Christian loved the sight of flowers. Fall Valley was cloudy, and the busy streets with stomping feet left no room for plants like these.

The castle's main entrance was a pair of thin silver doors that stretched several feet higher than his head. As they approached, two guards nodded and walked over to pull them open. Their armor clanked and clattered when they moved.

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At the sight of the door, his heart began to race faster than ever. The familiar sinking feeling prodded at his stomach, but this time, he pushed it away.

The castle doors were like a closed book, a closed book without a proper synopsis. He had always lived by the rule of not judging a book by its cover, but this time, he was going to allow himself to break that rule and believe that because the castle was so exquisite, what waited inside was sure to be pleasant as well.

However, when the door swung open, the prickles of nervous sweat were brushed away as a rush of cool air sifted through his hair. The castle doors revealed a grand and beautiful entryway.

The first things that Christian noticed were the glorious rays of light floating down from the ceiling. The ceiling was covered in patterns of colorful stained glass. It made him think of a Catholic cathedral. The designs swirled around and layered over one another to create an astonishing collage of colors. He continued forward, but his eyes remained fixed on the windows until they came to an end.

Then the glistening light shined down on several rows of gigantic pillars, which ran along the sides of the room. The wooden floors were covered by long, elaborately woven rugs, and the walls were embellished with inlaid flowers. Strands of silver vines swirled around the floorboards and up the pillars. There were dozens of high circular windows pouring light into the room, and it shimmered across the crisp stone walls.

Christian looked about the room in awe, taking in all the beauty and almost forgetting where he was.

It all came back to him, however, when a tall man in a long robe approached them. He carried himself very much like the kind man from inspection. His face was smooth, but it was more vacant than kind. His hands were large, and his fingers were the longest ones Christian had ever seen. He imagined that they would quite easily fit around his own robed waist to form a belt.

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Christian watched his hands as they twined themselves together and pressed themselves against his flat belly. "Hello," he said with a polite smile. "My name is Edwin. You may come with me." He turned, and his endless fingers beckoned.

Christian was lost in a thought about extra-long gloves, and Gafford had to give him a nudge in the back to get him moving. He hurried forward, and as he followed the long-fingered man, he was almost so full of emotion that he did not understand what he was feeling.

Perhaps it was a mixture of curiosity, anxiety, nervousness, and excitement. And perhaps most of those emotions were the same thing. Whatever his feelings were, he welcomed them in a reluctant kind of way. He followed the long-fingered man, and they left the light-filled room. Another door led into a second room.

This room's walls were multicolored brick covered with interesting and wonderful artwork. His eyes were particularly drawn to a painting of a young man riding a horse through the water. The lad's build was youthful, but his features were mature, and his hair was black. The horse was also black, a powerful beast with sculpted muscles and protruding veins.

The painting was a perfect depiction, and he watched in awe as the detail allowed his mind to complete the action of the scene. The horse charged forward, water sprayed like two rising walls, and the lad drew his sword. They were a mighty team, and Christian almost envied them. He wondered if he could ever be like them, if he could ride a horse of that magnitude and wield a powerful sword. He almost scoffed at the thought because he had never ridden a horse in his life. Facts such as these, however, did not dampen his fantasies.

He was still staring at the painting when Gafford made a small coughing noise. Christian looked away and saw that Gafford and the long-fingered man had continued forward, and they were standing in front of another closed door. He nearly tripped as he hurried over to join them.

"They already know you're here, and they'll be expecting you," said the man, wrapping his extensive fingers around the handle. He pulled the door

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open, and a low rumble of voices came through. The room was well lit by several high windows, and the air that escaped it smelled of cedarwood and wine. The smells were pleasant, and they almost triggered a memory. However, the thought slipped away before Christian could catch it. He was far too intrigued by the contents of this room.

In the center, there was a stone-topped, rectangular table that seemed to stretch on forever. It was covered by an elegant table runner with endless designs. The table was lined with dozens of hefty chairs.

The furniture was impressive, but it only held his attention for a spilt second. This was due to the fact that every embellished seat in the enormous room was occupied . . . and all eyes were on him.

The low rumble of voices that had filled the hall was replaced with silence.

The silence only lasted a few moments, however, and then it was transformed into a sea of hushed whispers and discreetly pointed fingers. Christian looked down the long-stretching table and his cheeks grew hot. He was about to make an inquiry directed at Gafford, but a sound interrupted him before he could speak.

Every chair lined along the great table scooted backward, and every person in the hall stood. Two tall doors in the end of the room swung open, and the guards standing at the doors turned to face one another. Then every person turned and looked toward the door.

Christian looked most intently.

In walked a man and a woman. They were dressed in soft, flowing fabric. The man was large with very broad shoulders, and his shoulder-length hair hung wavy and dark. He had a well-groomed beard and thick eyebrows. He stood erect and commanding, but his expression was cool.

The woman wore a simple but elegant green gown embellished with white gems. Her honey-blonde hair was tied into one glossy long braid with strings of pearls woven through it. She had defined cheekbones and full berry lips.

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Christian knew immediately who they were—who they had to be. If this was a kingdom, then these were the king and queen. They walked gracefully to the table and took their seats. As they sat, every person followed their example.

The king and queen's eyes made their way over to Christian, and his stomach did a flip. Then the eyes of the congregation returned to Christian, and his cheeks burned.

The king stood and, in a booming voice, said, "Come forth."

His voice was so commanding and direct that Christian would have gone forth without hesitation were it not for the fact that his feet refused to budge. He had never been one to disobey orders, and the natural urge to obey was begging him to go.

The imaginary glue beneath his shoes, however, was strong, and it was not until Gafford gave him a not-so-gentle nudge in the back that his feet broke free. His legs began to move by themselves, and they carried him quickly. Gafford followed, and as he approached the king and queen, he bent down on one knee. Christian looked at him and quickly did the same.

"Arise, Gafford," said the king. "You have done well." Gafford nodded and rose to his feet.

"And you," the king said, speaking to Christian, "welcome to our kingdom."

Christian peeked up.

"I am King Sable," he continued, "and this is my queen, Alexandria." Christian nodded. King Sable wore a calm expression, and Queen Alexandria was smiling. "Please arise," she said. "Come and sit. You must

be starving."

Christian pushed off his knee and stood. They approached the only two empty chairs, next to the king and queen. The chair was taller than he was, and Christian tugged at it twice before Gafford reached over and pulled it out for him. The fade left his shoulder and perched herself on the back of his chair. After they had seated themselves, the low rumble of voices began again.

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The doors opened and a line of simply dressed people entered. They were holding platters, dishes, and water pitchers. They covered the table with silver platters, and when they pulled off the lids, a rush of delicious smells flooded Christian's nostrils.

Juicy meats of every sort covered the platters. There were biscuits, large buttered rolls, and sliced breads sprinkled with seeds. Unfamiliar fruits were stacked in decorative patterns, and there were several kinds of steaming vegetables covered in a sweet-smelling glaze. Days without proper food would have made any meal enjoyable, but Christian was quite certain that this feast would have been appealing even if his stomach were already filled.

His mouth watered at the sight of the food, and he ached for sustenance. The rumble of voices grew louder, and a small group of musicians played a pleasant melody in the corner of the room.

Every person reached forward hungrily and began to fill their plates. Christian was sure that he was far hungrier than anyone here, but he acted timidly, handing pieces of meat to the fade and placing small bits on his plate. Then the king leaned over to him.

"You must be starving," he whispered. "Eat more."

Christian was slightly relieved, but regardless, he had never been fond of eating in front of strangers. This was a king, however, and he would not do well to disappoint him.

Nodding, he pulled two fluffy rolls, a chicken breast, and a large buttery potato onto his plate. The king smiled, and they began to eat.

Christian had, without a doubt, never tasted a meal so delicious in his life. He began slowly, but after what seemed like seconds, his plate was empty, and he was reaching for more. He now realized that it had been years since he had thoroughly enjoyed a meal. The meals from school were so repetitive, so . . . dull—porridge without sugar, ham on unbuttered bread, watery beef stew, and dry beans without salt.

Eating had become robotic, but now the hearty goodness that was filling his belly seemed to be feeding his soul right along with his body.

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It wasn't until the queen spoke that he realized he most likely resembled a ravenous beast devouring prey.

"So, Christian," she smiled and revealed a row of white teeth that outshined the pearls in her hair. "How was your journey?"

He swallowed hard and reached for a cotton napkin.

"I do hope that the forest and caves were not too terrible," she said. "I myself have not left the kingdom's walls for many, many years."

"There are few who have," the king said, setting aside a clean chicken bone. "It is most unsafe."

Then the queen smiled at Gafford. "We are most fortunate to receive the aid of those who are brave enough to venture outside the protective walls of the kingdom."

Gafford gave Christian a single pat on the back. "The boy handled it quite impressively."

The queen smiled warmly. "Of course he did."

Christian pulled his eyebrows together. His throat was still tight and his heart still pounding, but his curiosity was threatening to kill him if he did not get some answers soon. He swallowed his food and looked the king directly in the eyes for the first time.

"I don't . . ." His voice broke, and he hesitated. He did not know how to address the king.

"Yes," the king said. His expression did not change. "Is there something you wish to say?"

Every person who was sitting within hearing distance quieted and looked his way. Again, Christian swallowed hard. He had never been one for public speaking. "I don't know why I'm here," he said. Then he remembered he was talking to a king. The characters from his novels always used the same phrase. "Your Majesty." He finished.

The king let out a friendly laugh. "I apologize, lad, you must have a thousand questions." He motioned to the food. "Please, finish eating, and then we shall tell you all that you wish to know."

109

Chapter 10

The Great Aldrics

Christian gulped down his food, motivated by both hunger and curiosity.

He had already finished two helpings, but he filled his plate again and ate it greedily.

After swallowing the last bite of food, he looked up at the king and queen and found that they were watching him with satisfied smiles. Again, he wiped his mouth with the cotton napkin.

"Are you satisfied?" asked the queen.

Christian nodded. He was, in fact, bursting at the seams, and the feeling was glorious.

The king spread his arms and raised an eyebrow. "All right, then, what would you like to know?"

The king's arms were large. His apparel was loose, but the muscle definition was obvious beneath his clothes. His chest was wide, and Christian was doubtful if he himself would have been able to support the weight of the enormous livery collar that the king wore around his neck.

Christian had many questions for the king but could not seem to bring his mind into focus enough to recall them. A thousand doubts had passed

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through his head over the past few days, but his mind drew a blank as the king's searching eyes waited beneath a heavy and questioning brow.

For a moment, he was silent, and his mind wandered into the past . . .

perhaps a bit too far.

There was an odd clarity and inside of it was Arnold Winston. The boy had never spoken to Christian, and Christian had never felt inclined to speak to him. But somehow Arnold still managed to sneak his way into Christian's wandering mind from time to time. This was not because Arnold had ever said or done anything of value, and not because Arnold made a habit out of nudging the smaller boys and stomping their feet.

No, he thought of Arnold because he was the largest teenager that Christian had ever seen. He knew it was silly, but Christian could not stop himself from seeing a kingly Arnold Winston sitting before him now. Just as he had always avoided the gaze of the overgrown boy, he avoided the eyes of the king.

The moment his eyes had wandered away, a twinge of guilt came. If Gafford trusted the king, then Christian should have been able to trust him as well. Gafford had been so insistent on bringing him here, and there had to be a good reason. The king had given him food and treated him with kindness, and he felt childish for fearing him.

He could feel the king's stern eyes bearing down on him, but he knew that his time was limited. If he didn't ask questions now, he might lose his chance. He thought back, trying to remember the questions that had tortured his curiosity over the past few days.

He thought of the caves, the forest, his encounter with Gafford, and then lastly, he thought of the shadowy figures that had haunted the reflections back home. There was uneasiness in this thought, but it seemed like it might be a good place to start.

He took a deep breath and looked the king in the eye. "I guess it all started with . . . the dark shadows . . . dark figures in the mirrors."

Nobody said a word, but their faces grew tense.

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He swallowed hard and continued, "What . . . or, I mean . . . who were they?"

The king nodded and then folded his heavy arms. All eyes were on him, and his brow furrowed even more strongly than before.

The hall was silent, and every person was now facing their direction. The king cleared his throat and closed his eyes. He seemed to be sorting through thoughts that did not want to be gathered. A few long seconds passed by, and Christian wondered if he had asked the wrong question. He knew the idea made them all uncomfortable, but he could not bring himself to dismiss the inquiry. He needed to know.

The seconds stretched long, but the king finally opened his eyes. He focused his gaze on Christian and spoke. "Since the beginning of time," he said in a bold and clear voice, "the Skathes have walked the earth."

Christian did not break eye contact with the king, but he could sense tenseness in the others around him.

The king continued, "With relentless consistency, they have gone about, befriending the foolish and preying on the weak. With promises of rewards, they lure the innocent into their clutches, molding them into slaves." He paused here for a moment, but Christian did not dare speak.

The king's face grew distant. "There has never been a soul who has not encountered their presence or felt their influence. They are known by all, even those who claim they do not exist. They are ever waiting for an opportunity to take hold of the hearts of men, to melt black hatred into their souls and cause them to burn with blazing fires of anger, jealousy, lust, or revenge. Their influence is great and terrible . . . but necessary nonetheless."

The king paused again, and this time, Christian did not hold back. "Why is it necessary?"

"A fair question," said the king, raising a finger. "But I believe you already know the answer."

Christian blinked. "I do?"

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"Indeed," said the king. "Think. If it weren't for evil, what good would we have?"

"Right," said Christian. He'd heard this before, and the idea made sense.

The king sighed. "The Skathes' influence is indeed unfortunate, but all in the Mirallantic know that their existence is a necessary part of natural life."

"Mirallantic? What's that?" Christian asked.

"The Mirallantic," the king replied, "is the name we have given to this realm. We chose this name due to the fact that this new residence is an ancient reflection of our old home, or rather a copy of the place where we previously resided."

"What do you mean?" asked Christian, "Where did you live before?" "The Mirallantic," the king replied with a knowing smile, "is nothing

more than a geographical copy of the small town known as Fall Valley." "Fall Valley?" Christian paused, blinking in confusion. "But . . . it

doesn't look like Fall Valley."

"Naturally," replied the king. "The new realm has remained unaffected by time and human influence. The only aspects that have been changed are those that have been altered, rather twisted, by the Skathes."

Christian puffed in amazement. "So this place is what Fall Valley looked like . . ."

"Many centuries ago," said the king. "But time is different here, lad. Here in the Mirallantic, neither we nor the Skathes are affected by it." He continued before Christian could respond. "You have seen them . . . have you not?"

"Seen what?"

The king lowered his voice. "The Skathes."

Christian's mind flew back to that morning when he had seen the figure in the mirror from the traveling magician. Then he remembered the rainy night beneath the overhang when the hooded figure had terrorized them. He knew that these were the beings to which the king was referring.

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He could sense it in his voice, in the atmosphere of the room. It was the same as that night when Gafford had seen the hooded figure.

"Yes," said Christian.

The king nodded knowingly and then continued, "The Skathes have always been, since before the world began. There was a time, however, when men allowed their forces to grow so powerful that they walked freely among men, ever hovering over shoulders and whispering into vulnerable ears." The king narrowed his eyes. "They can do things, you see, things that mere mortals are incapable of. When fully unleashed, their influence can practically control a human being . . . almost like a puppeteer." He stroked his beard. "Soon their influence was so great that the world was nearly overcome. The Skathes had molded the world into a place that it was never meant to be—covered with violence, the delight of the Skathes. Theft and dishonesty ruled. Hatred reigned."

Christian nodded, and his thoughts were so busy he barely noticed the silence in the room. "You said there was a time that they walked freely among us."

The king nodded.

"When?"

He leaned in. "Ever heard of the dark ages?"

Christian swallowed hard. "And now it's happening again?"

He clasped his hands together. "Not exactly . . ." He brought a finger to his upper lip. "At least, not yet."

"Not yet?"

"After ages of darkness," the king continued, waving his hand through the air, "the increasing evil of the Skathes awakened the need for an even more powerful counterpart."

Christian leaned in closer.

"The world was never meant to be a place of evil," the king continued. "But the best of intentions will always be opposed by equally unpleasant ones. Evil is strong, but good will always fight back. Therefore, an army was born, an army built of the most noble," he said. "The Great Aldrics."

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"The Great Aldrics," Christian repeated.

"Yes," the king said with a heavy blink. "It was an army of . . . peacekeepers, you could say, souls with much to give. After accepting their mission, they were given one sole purpose: to maintain balance among the forces of good and evil. The Aldrics were extremely powerful beings and, as a whole, had the power to counteract the evil of the Skathes."

Images of knights in shining armor, swordfights, and adventure came into Christian's mind. He almost felt like he was losing himself inside of King Arthur and His Knights of the Round Table, which was among his favorite novels. The king's tale was a thing of his dreams, an excitement that his boyish mind yearned for. He could not help, however, but notice that the king referred to the Aldrics in the past tense. "What happened to them?" he asked.

The king drew a deep breath. "In a legendary battle, greater than ever before, the Aldrics defeated the greater part of the Skathes. They intended to banish the remainder of them forever into a separate universe. It was a place where the Skathes would only be allowed to influence the mortals from a reasonable distance, giving mankind the power to reject their influence if they should choose. This separate universe was conjured up by one of the most powerful of the Aldrics—Malika." The king stroked his beard. "Her plan was to cast an irreversible spell that would keep the Skathes locked in the separate realm forever." Now he sighed. "The spell was great, complicated, and one that Malika had never before attempted. As an unfortunate result, Malika inadvertently locked the Aldrics in the separate reality as well, right along with the Skathes. Try as they might, the Aldrics could not find a way to reverse the spell and free themselves from their prison."

"So that's where we are now?" asked Christian. "In the place that the spell created?"

"Yes," said the king. "The plan was to start new, wipe the world clean of the influence of the Skathes, banish them and everything they had created to the new realm, and start anew. This did happen, but along with

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this, any evidence of the Aldrics and the prosperous kingdom they had created was also lost." He exhaled heavily. "And contrary to our plan, the Skathes only grew more powerful while harnessed in the depths of the new realm."

Now Christian's eyes were wide. "Then what did they do?"

The king frowned. "The Aldrics, instead of becoming more powerful, as was intended, they lost their power all together. The Skathes discovered our weakness and attacked."

Christian leaned back in his chair. New images of falling horses and retreating warriors appeared. They lowered their swords and fled from a blackness that they could not withstand.

"Eventually," said the king, "the Skathes overtook the Aldrics, and they were forced to seclude themselves into their tiny kingdom in the center of the Mirallantic. It has been recently discovered that the Skathes have become so powerful that they have found ways of returning to the world of men, despite the spell."

Christian did not respond but sat in silence as dark figures with billowing capes floated across the familiar scenes of his home. These were surroundings that normally held a sense of knowing and ease, but now they were crowded with hovering stares and dark presences. He had no reason to doubt what the king was saying, but his logical mind was still fighting the idea. If this really was a separate reality and there really were tangible forces of evil trapped here, he was going to have to rethink everything he knew. He had a feeling that everything he had ever learned about nature, science, time—and life itself—was about to turn around.

"Well, you must be entirely exhausted," the queen said, breaking the silence. The fine lines around her eyes seemed deeper than they were before. "You've had a long day."

Christian heard her, but the words did not register before she continued. "Before Edwin takes you to your bed chamber," she said, "the Aldrics would greatly enjoy the pleasure of meeting you." She motioned to the

people at the table.

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Christian looked up, and once again, his eyes widened. He had not been aware that he was actually in the presence of the Great Aldrics. The king rose to his feet, and immediately, the whole table stood as well.

The Aldrics formed a long line that led up to Christian and the king and queen. It reminded him of a receiving line at a wedding.

One by one, each of the Aldrics approached him. Most were men, but there were a few women as well. The men were large and the women strong. With firm hands, they shook his, voicing their appreciation and welcoming him. He did not understand why he was appreciated, and there were still hundreds of questions on his mind. However, he dared not interrupt the order of the meeting, and as more and more people introduced themselves, he felt like he might be sick to his stomach.

"We are glad you made it safe," said a man with golden hair.

"We are thankful that everything went well," said a bright-eyed woman.

"Enjoy your stay."

"Thank you for coming here."

"It's wonderful to meet you."

"Make yourself at home."

"Worry not, and rest well."

An elderly Aldric with a long white beard was lifted in his chair by two men on his sides. "The visitor welcomes you," he said with a grin.

Christian gave him a questioning look.

"Sorry," said one of the men lifting his chair. "Sometimes old Rothgor gets confused."

The other man lifting the chair chuckled and said, "What he meant to say is that he welcomes the visitor. He welcomes you."

The old man smiled again, and his wrinkled face stretched to reveal several missing teeth.

Christian nodded. "Thanks." Although the old man was smiling, there was something unsettling about him. In fact, there was something unsettling about this whole situation.

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It was seemingly endless, and their repetitive greetings were beginning to blur together. Christian had almost lost himself in it all when a tall man with wavy curls knelt down and whispered, "Welcome, lad."

Christian nodded and looked back, hoping that the line was coming to an end.

Then the man continued, "You know, if the queen had not foreseen it, I would have never believed it were possible."

This caught Christian's attention, and he looked the man in the eye.

"Foreseen it?" he whispered back.

The man stood. "Indeed." He nodded. "And it seems that the king has not entirely lost his touch."

He smiled and walked away, but another stocky man approached, clearly having overheard the curly-haired man. "He's right, you know," he said. "It has been long since the king has worked with the mirrors, but it seems now that his preparations have paid off."

"Wait, he—he what?" Christian asked with wild eyes, but the man continued on, and the greetings continued.

Now Christian was not listening to a word that the oncomers said. He shook their hands and accepted their greetings, but his thoughts were unclear. Between each of the Aldrics' welcomes, he turned his head and searched for Gafford.

Finally, the line came to an end, and the last few Aldrics finished their greetings. Christian was overwhelmed, and the things he had recently learned had not nearly satisfied his curiosity but made it terribly stronger.

Finally, he spotted Gafford and gave him one threatening shake of the head. Gafford, of course, returned him an innocent raise of the eyebrows. Christian looked away, fighting a frown and continuing on with the last of the handshakes.

At last, the final Aldrics left the room. Christian walked over to Gafford. "We need to talk," he whispered. Before Gafford responded, the long-fingered man approached them again. The king nodded to the

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man and said, "Edwin, you shall escort Christian and Gafford to their bedchambers."

Christian's name was a foreign sound on the king's lips, and he now realized that he had never even given it to him.

Gafford bowed down low, and Christian followed his example. Then Gafford put his arm around him, and they followed Edwin out of the great hall.

Christian was so confused that he couldn't even take in the enormity and splendor of the castle around him. He stared silently at the hem of Edwin's cloak as he led them up a long flight of stairs.

119

Chapter 11

The Figure Dressed in White

Edwin led them to a very neat, very elegantly furnished bedroom that, like the great hall, smelled of cedarwood. The room was bordered with brown trim, and the walls were painted a warm crimson color. There were two large beds with canopies and fluffy pillows. On one of the walls, there was a giant rectangular mirror framed with golden trim.

The fade flew up to a high corner and sat on the molding, while Christian went to the bed and sat down on top of it. This was, without a doubt, the most elegant and comfortable mattress he had ever sat upon, but he was unable to fully appreciate it at the moment. Gafford followed and sat down on the bed next to him.

"Gafford." His voice was a bit more cutting than he had planned.

"Yes, boy?" Gafford avoided his eyes.

"You said I could have answers when we reached the kingdom."

"I did," he said with a nod, "and the king answered every question you asked."

Christian's prickles of annoyance grew stronger. "But it wasn't enough, Gafford. I wasn't done, and I still don't even know what I'm doing here!"

Gafford pinched the bridge of his nose. "Boy, the—"

"One of the Aldrics said that the queen foresaw something."

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"She did, and—"

"He said," Christian interrupted, "that the king could do something with mirrors. What did he mean?"

Gafford did not say anything for a moment. His eyes seemed to be searching the floorboards for some lost item, and then he replied, "Like the king said, after a short time here in the Mirallantic, we lost our power." "Then what did that man mean about the king?" asked Christian,

cocking his head.

"We lost the power to defeat the Skathes, boy," he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "There were some things, however, that the Aldrics did not lose."

Christian too leaned forward. "Go on."

"When the spell was cast," Gafford replied, "we soon discovered that the only power we still possessed were our own personal abilities."

"Personal abilities? Like what?"

Gafford sighed. "They're all different, boy."

Christian narrowed his eyes. "So the queen can foresee the future?" Gafford barely nodded, blinking heavily. "And the king? What does he do?"

Gafford crossed his arms. "It's a complicated thing, boy. I myself know very little of it."

Christian too crossed his arms. "What do you know?"

Gafford raised a brow. "Perhaps you ought to ask the king, if you're so curious to know."

Christian wanted to pry further, but Gafford's face held a stony absolution. He glowered and then fell back onto the mattress. His weight sank in comfortably, and for a moment, it almost brought him peace. He sighed and turned his head and looked over to the mirror on the wall. The blackness from the other reflections came to mind, and he wondered if it were possible that the evil could see him here. He then wondered if the leftover power in the kingdom was enough to keep it out. This triggered another question. "Gafford," he said, still lying down.

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"Yes, my boy?"

"What's your power?"

"My power?"

"You are an Aldric, aren't you?" he asked, raising his head to look at him.

Gafford did not answer, but Christian knew he was right.

Christian let his head fall back and spoke to the ceiling. "You said that you all have your own special abilities."

Gafford sighed again. "It's common among the Aldrics." Christian sat up quickly. "Well, what is it?"

Gafford shrugged dismissively. "Nothing spectacular . . . heightened endurance in battle, weaponry, and agility. Exceptional strength."

"That makes sense. So that's the only power you have left since you became trapped here?"

Gafford made a low grumbling sound and shrugged.

"What else can you do?" Christian asked eagerly.

Gafford raked a rough hand through his hair. "There is one other small ability I possess." He scoffed. "But it has never proven useful in battle."

"What is it?" asked Christian, now smiling with expectancy.

Gafford looked uncomfortable.

"What is it, Gafford?"

He sighed in defeat. "Verse.''

Christian looked confused, and Gafford continued.

"I spontaneously create lyrics—poetry, you could say. Happens when emotions are running high."

Christian's face lit up. "Oh, that night under the overhang . . . when you saw the . . . Skathe."

Again, Gafford shrugged. He stared at the floor and scratched his beard.

Christian smiled playfully. "I'm sure the ladies like it." Then Gafford laughed dryly. "Some more than others." "When did you find out that you had that ability?"

"It was after . . ." Gafford stopped and his face went blank.

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"After what?"

Now he looked uncomfortable. "I was not always the way I am now, boy."

"What were you like?"

He was thoughtful for a few moments, but finally, he sighed and said, "Would you like to hear the story? It's rather long."

Christian turned and faced him, clasping his hands in his lap and nodding once. He had always been one for a good story. "Let's hear it," he said.

Gafford sighed and looked up at the ceiling. Then he began.

By the light of a candle, in the dark of the night, I followed the figure that was dressed in white. He beckoned me closer, with a smile so snide. He curled his finger, gestured to his side. He whispered cruel things into my mind. There was someone he desperately needed to find. He stood in a corner, the one he searched for. He screamed, and he shook, and he clawed at a door. His face was in shadow, and I couldn't see the victim of my vision's cruelty.

I watched in horror, and tears filled my eyes

as I listened to his tortured, pitiful cries.

Then I woke with a jerk; I was still in my bed.

But the dream I had dreamed lay fresh in my head.

I took in a breath and started to sigh.

But then something startling caught my eye.

The cloaked figure was there at the foot of my bed.

For a time he stood there, and nothing was said.

Then he turned around, headed for the door, and I noticed something I hadn't seen before.

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His clothing was different, in a subtle way.

It was no longer white but a light shade of gray.

But once he had gone and left me there,

the lack of his presence was too much to bear.

In anxious pursuit, I rushed to the door,

for my questioning mind longed to know more.

He was waiting there for me; I could see where he stood.

With his back turned to me, facing the wood.

And then without notice, he disappeared.

He went into the forest; I'd lose him, I feared.

I dragged my bare feet through the rough forest floor; soon tattered and ripped were the clothes that I wore. Then I finally found him on top of a hill.

For minutes we stood there, perfectly still.

Then he turned to me slowly; the moon hit his face.

And what I saw next made my weary heart race.

His sunken-in face was cold gray and dead.

He had deep, dark-black eyes and a cape over his head.

His thin white lips covered a mouth never found.

But he had no need for it; he spoke without sound.

He spoke of great riches and power and fame,

and how he'd bring glorious praise to my name, if I would complete the one task he assigned, if I'd find the one person he needed to find.

He explained the conditions and what he would need.

There was some hesitation, but in time I agreed.

And then it was morning, light shined through my room, but I shivered; the place was as cold as a tomb.

I stood up, walked outside, and gazed into the trees.

Then a quick recollection dropped me to my knees.

I hadn't been dreaming; I'd spoken with him there.

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His familiar presence hung fresh in the air. I remembered his voice, remembered his face, and the things he had spoken to me in that place. I sucked in a breath of the thin, crisp, spring air, then gasped even further when I saw him there. He stood in the shadow of a low-bent tree, with his head cocked sideways, staring at me. And then his small voice came into my mind, to remind of the one he needed to find.

Of course, I remembered; I understood well.

But then all of a sudden came the chime of a bell.

"The Sabbath," I whispered as I gazed to the east.

Three Sundays had passed since I'd gone, three at least.

I turned back to the place where the cloaked figure stood.

But he had already retreated into the woods.

Without hesitation, I went on my way.

I walked into town where the small chapel lay. On my way up the steps, he appeared once more, with a furrowed brow, blocking the door.

He crossed his thin arms and said, "Today you will search." "I'll search later," I answered. "I'm going to church." "They will not accept you," he spoke quietly. "You have failed to attend, now come, follow me." I wanted to pass him, to put up a fight, but in the back of my mind, I knew he was right. He led me away to the edge of the town.

As I followed, I studied him up and down.

His cloak had changed to a different hue.

It had somehow darkened a shade or two.

Curiosity nudged, but I pushed it away.

I thought, It must be due to the light of day.

Then he stopped abruptly and pointed his hand

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at an old poor fellow with a small fruit stand. "Take them," he said in a cold, hollow voice. "Take them. I'm leaving you no other choice." As I looked, I realized I'd not eaten that day but said, "No, I cannot. I've no way to pay." I looked his way, into those dull, dark eyes.

"Do it," he said. "Or you shan't claim your prize." I remembered his promise of wealth and gold and realized I must do as I was told.

As I took it and ran from the small fruit stand, the cloaked figure was no longer close at hand. I quickly walked home, pushing guilt aside. I went into my room and locked me inside.

Each day continued like the one before.

The cloaked figure came and stood by my door.

He'd bid me to follow, and he'd lead me away.

I'd steal something of value almost every day.

Soon the stealing was easy, and the guilt ceased to sting.

It no longer mattered; I'd steal anything.

I started out small, mere trinkets and things,

but soon I was stealing fine diamonds, gold rings.

The cloaked figure approved, through and through.

And soon I was stealing without being told to.

Then one morning he came and said, "You've done well, my good friend,

but your stealing days have come to an end. You've another task you must work toward, if you still wish to gain your final reward." We walked for a distance, then came to a stop.

And he pointed his hand to my old friend's meat shop.

"You remember what happened," he spoke into my mind.

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"You remember the treaty your good neighbor signed."

It had been two years since my neighbor and I had both signed a contract, and then he had died. His wife had neglected to follow through with the plan he had foolishly bargained into.

I had paid a great portion of his debts on his shop.

In return he had promised the coming year's crop.

I had grown to forget, to forgive and let go, but now a small fire was starting to grow. At first it was warm, small beads of regret, and then it grew larger, a cold, angry sweat.

"You suffered in vain," he spoke again in my head.

"That crop is yours, even if he is dead.

That dishonest wife, that lying twit.

She meant not to pay you. She meant to forget."

The wrath inside me started to grow

from a place deep down that I did not know. It began in my chest and slowly stretched out until it made its way past my mouth in a shout.

I yearned for revenge for the pain they had caused.

But before I lunged forward, I turned and I paused.

The cloaked figure stood there, nodding his head.

I knew he approved, although nothing was said.

I burned down the store, destroyed their whole crop.

It was so rewarding, I could not stop.

This was not the end of my revenge-filled days.

And for each act of fury, I received endless praise.

I no longer listened to my conscience inside,

but I let the cloaked figure my decisions guide.

My heart turned to hatred, and envy clouded my mind.

I had left all my goodness and mercy behind.

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I was finally ready, the cloaked figure said, to find the one person he most wanted dead. I was ready to gain the reward I deserved. The one he had promised for me was reserved.

He gestured to follow, and I understood, as he led me away, deep into the woods,

that this night was special and this night would be the night when I would finally be allowed to go free.

As he led me for miles deep into the woods, I kept up with his pace the best that I could.

Then we finally arrived at the very same place where I had first laid eyes on his gaunt, hollow face. He ceased to walk forward with his quick-paced stride, and he pointed to a structure with a small well inside. We entered the building, and he closed the small door. And now I'd receive my reward, I was sure. He came even closer, and I saw into his eyes.

"And now," he said, smiling, "you shall gain your great prize."

Then I heard a sound that chilled my soul.

It came from the gaping, deep, dark hole.

It was a scream so bloody and filled with pure fear.

It was almost unbearable, a torture to hear.

Then another scream echoed, and another still.

A hundred death-screams rang awful and shrill.

The cries came from the hole of the well in the floor.

I covered my ears, I could stand no more.

I looked into the well and saw a sight

that still haunts my soul to this very night. Hundreds of bodies, all starved and frail, clung to the sides of the deep, dark well.

I turned to the cloaked figure in alarm and fear,

and his pale, sickly face held a malicious sneer.

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I sensed grave danger and backed away from the well, which I was undoubtedly certain was the gate to hell. He laughed out loud as I shrank back in fear,

and then everything was so very clear.

I was the one he'd shown me in my mind.

I was the person he needed to find.

And now everything was so plain to see.

The face I had seen in the shadows was me.

Fear overtook me like never before.

I screamed and I shook and I clawed at the door.

He took me by the hair, dragged me to the hole.

I had to surrender; I'd lost all control.

But as my face approached my final doom, a sudden bright light filled the dark room.

The cloaked one shrank back, hid his face from the light.

Even I could not bear it, try as I might.

As we turned from the brightness and shielded our eyes,

the hem of his cloak caught me by surprise.

Had it ever been white? I tried to think back.

For his cloak was now nothing but purely pitch-black. The light only grew stronger and brighter until his cloaked ceased to tremble, then went silent and still. The great light had saved me from a hellish fate.

But inside I still wondered, Had it come too late?

Could I still turn around and become a new me?

Did I still have a chance to choose who I'd be? A soft voice from the light whispered into my ear.

But this voice was not wicked, and it caused me no fear.

It promised that I would be allowed to live, if for the rest of my life, to others I'd give. Of course I agreed, I was glad to comply,

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and I grew increasingly happier as the days flew by.

I promised I'd serve others and give in every way.

And I still keep that promise to this very day.

Although the cloaked figure still haunts my worst dreams, and I can still hear those awful, heart-piercing screams, my memories help me to learn from my past

and guide me through struggles and ever stand fast.

Gafford ceased to speak, and his hands were clasped in tight fists, knuckles white. Christian then became aware that his own hands were clasped extremely tight, and they were damp with sweat. He stood and joined Gafford on his bed, resting his head against his shoulder. They sat silent for a few short minutes before Gafford stood and left the room. Christian returned to his own bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. He closed his eyes but lay there a long time before finally falling asleep.

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Chapter 12

Three Princesses

Christian awoke late the next morning. Once again, he had been dreaming of Annabelle Jean. Fear had sneaked into his dream and turned her pretty face into something contorted and frightening. He squeezed his eyes tight and tried to forget.

Rolling over, the first thing he noticed was that Gafford's bed was unmade, but he was already gone. He sat up, and the second thing he noticed was that he hadn't even changed out of his clothes last night.

Somewhere in the middle of the second thought, the recollection of Gafford's story flooded back into his mind. Gafford had been under the power of a Skathe. He knew this without a doubt. Ever since he was a child, he had been taught the difference between right and wrong. He had always thought that it was just human nature to have a desire to do bad things.

It was the Skathes. They were the ones responsible for leading people to do evil. Of course, it was clear that everyone had a choice in the matter, but if it weren't for the Skathes, would there be evil in the world? The Skathes were lying, deceiving, evil creatures that had the power to lead even the greatest of people down, if given the opportunity. What disturbed him the most was that he was certain that most people did not have experiences like Gafford's. No, the Skathes had learned to be more subtle

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than that. They had somehow learned how to convince people to do wrong without saying a thing, without even being seen.

He knew that the world was becoming more and more corrupt by evil, but he had always assumed that it was just the natural order of things, that people were becoming desensitized and gradually learning to love the bad in the world. He remembered what the king had said the night before.

The Skathes were on the loose. The Aldrics could no longer protect the world from their evil as they had protected Gafford and, undoubtedly, countless others. The only way to stop the evil was to stop the Skathes. This was impossible, however, while the Aldrics were trapped here in the Mirallantic. He sighed and rubbed his sleepy eyes. He didn't want to think about it anymore.

He stood and found a neat pile of clothes stacked on top of a plush red-cushioned bench, so he changed and attempted to tame his sleep-tousled hair. Looking in the mirror, he was pleased to see nothing unusual reflecting inside of it. Perhaps the king had the power to protect him from the reflections inside of the kingdom. He wanted to know and decided that today he would find out.

The fade hovered over and gave him her usual glare. "Nice to see you too," he said with a suppressed smile.

She rolled her eyes and sat down on the edge of a shelf.

Cautiously, he walked over to the door. He turned the handle and peeked through the crack. Just outside, there were two guards standing at attention. He opened the door and gave one of them a little wave. Just as he had expected, the guard did not move a muscle.

He stepped over the threshold, pausing to see if the guard would respond, but he remained motionless, a statue with color. He turned back to the fade and waved his arm through the air. "Come on."

She looked reluctant, but Christian was not going to ask twice. He left the room and was pulling the door closed behind him when the fade rushed through and hovered next to his face. He gave her a mischievous smile. "I'm going to go find the king. Want to come?"

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She shook her head but sat on his shoulder regardless, balancing herself with the collar of his shirt.

He looked about and saw that there was a stone staircase that spiraled downward. It was the way they had come last night. He was about to head down them when a glint of light caught his attention. He turned around and saw another staircase, which was leading straight upward. There were streams of light shining down and reflecting off the steps.

He smiled. The castle was a storybook come to life, a Shakespearean tale within his grasp, and his curiosity begged him to find out what was up those stairs.

Now he was at a loss. The king was somewhere downstairs, and if he could manage to find him, he only hoped that he would have answers. The stairs, however, were readily available, practically begging him to climb. Now his smile grew wider. "Want to explore first?" he whispered to the fade, even though he knew she would object. She leaped from his shoulder and hovered in front of his face with her arms crossed.

Christian had to repress his smile. "What's wrong?" he said playfully. "Wouldn't you rather go up there than back to the crowd of people down there?"

The fade glared and rolled her eyes.

He laughed and dodged around her. He started up the steps but paused a moment to peek through the windows. Outside, the morning was bright and the sky was blue. He suddenly felt younger, like a toddler at a candy store, and he did not even feel guilty for embracing the boyish excitement.

The fade caught up and plopped herself down on his shoulder. He smiled, quickened his pace, and flew up the winding stairs. As he climbed higher and higher, his excitement only grew. He reached a large opening into a wide hall and found dozens of doors lined the high-reaching walls. His heart flipped, and he continued forward with eagerness. Perhaps he should have been more cautious, and perhaps he should have asked permission before heading off on a personal exploration, but the day was

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new, he was rested and rejuvenated, and there was a medieval castle at his fingertips.

The feeling of boyish excitement reminded him of the happy days he had spent with his mother. They had often ridden bicycles together, eaten picnics by the pond, and explored the countless busy shops downtown. He embraced the sunny recollections and hurried forward with a smile.

Tingling with excitement, he went over to the first door and tested the handle. He was not too surprised when he found that it was locked. He continued on, testing the doors, and finally found one whose handle turned smoothly to the right. The smile on his face stretched wider. He pushed it open, poked his head inside, and almost gasped at the glorious sight before him. Hundreds of books filled dozens of bookcases, and their colorful covers reached from ceiling to floor. The sight was delightful, and if the circumstances were different, he would have halted right here. He would have sat himself down in one of the plush green chairs and lost himself in adventures until the sun went down.

But not today. Today he would create an adventure of his own. He closed the door, but counted the doors before it, so he would be sure to find it later. It was door number 8.

He tried a few more doors and found a room lined with windows and full of plants. There were a few more elegant bedrooms, like the one he had slept in, and a room with a small circular pool of water. It glistened beneath a large overhead window.

Every room was interesting, and if he could have slowed down his excitement, he might have been able to stop and enjoy each one. His curiosity pulled him forward, however, further and further, and he knew he wouldn't be able to stop it until every inch of the castle had been explored.

He came around a corner and found another large hall lined with similar doors. He was about to continue his door-testing when something even more intriguing caught his eye.

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At the end of the hallway, there was a wide marble staircase. It was lined with carved pillars, and there were two guards stationed at the top. He lost interest in the other doors and headed for the staircase.

He began up the steps, keeping his eye on the guards. As usual, they stood steady and unchanging. He even stopped in front of one and waved his hand in front of his face, but nothing changed, so he shrugged and continued.

At the top of the stairs, there was a large white door. It was decorated with flowers and swirls and bordered with silver leafing. He walked up to the door and tested the handle. To his surprise, it turned easily, and the door swung open. The smell of cinders and sweet tea leaves filled the air.

This room was a bit simpler than the others had been. The furniture was white and light blue, clean and plush, but it was not overly decorative or fancy. On one end of the room, there was a tall white bed with blue floral blankets, and on the other, there was a simple white dresser, a small vanity, and a mirror. Next to the mirror there was another white door, which Christian assumed to be a closet. He looked to the center of the room where a plush bench and a small table were illuminated by a large circular window on the ceiling.

He enjoyed the feel of this room. It was cozy and calm. He and the fade made themselves comfortable on the bench. He decided that he would let his mind rest here for a moment before continuing his exploration. They closed their eyes and soaked up the sun from the window in the ceiling. He was loving this day already, and with the warm beams of sun bathing his skin, he was satisfied and fulfilled. The worries of his circumstances were distant, and he sighed peacefully.

"Hello?"

Christian jumped so high that his backside nearly left the bench. Startled, he sprang to his feet and whipped around, knocking over the footstool in front of the bench. The fade dove behind his back like a coward.

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The door by the mirror was open, and a young woman had appeared in the room. She wore a simple cotton dress with a blue sash around the waist. Her hair flowed down, shiny and thick, all the way to the sash. It was a chocolate-mahogany color that shined like a velvet waterfall. She had large green eyes rimmed with dark eyelashes and full berry lips, much like the queen's.

At first, she sounded alarmed, but once Christian had turned around to face her, her expression calmed, and her lips formed a smile.

"Who are you?" Christian asked.

"I should be asking you that very question." The girl giggled. Her voice was soft and amiable. She walked over to the stool and straightened it out. "You are the one in my bedroom."

"Oh"—he looked around—"I'm sorry. I didn't know, I swear."

The girl laughed again. "Don't worry, Christian, you are most welcome here."

"You know who I am?"

"Of course," she said. "My mother has told me all about you." "Your mother?"

She nodded. "The queen."

"Oh, so you're, like, the princess?"

She laughed softly and held out her hand. "My name is Ardella." Christian stood and shook her hand, which was soft and cool. He

didn't have the nerve to make direct eye contact with her because although she was kind, he had never seen a girl so beautiful in his life. Back home, the boys and girls attended separate schools, and even when he did see girls at school field trips, he had never been close to one.

Suddenly, he became aware that his hair was undoubtedly sleep-tousled. She smiled and, as though she had read his mind, reached over and brushed a stray piece of his hair out of his eyes. A nervous rush ran down his neck as her fingers came in contact with his skin. He blushed and tried to repress his smile.

"You seem younger than I expected," said Ardella. "How old are you?"

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"Thirteen. Almost fourteen," he said, even though his birthday wasn't for another six months. "How old are you?" he asked.

"Technically, I'm about seventeen." She giggled. "Almost eighteen." "Technically?"

Ardella nodded, and her eyes wandered over to the fade. "Oh, and who might this be?"

The fade growled and showed her teeth.

Christian's gaze broke free from Ardella, and he glared at the fade. "Stop that."

She glared back and flew behind him.

"Sorry," he said. "That's my fade. She's not very friendly."

Ardella's lips puckered, and she peeked around Christian's back. "What's her name?"

He was so captivated by the way her lips formed the prettiest little "O" when she spoke that he almost forgot to answer.

"Oh," he shook his head a little. "Uh, I don't know." "You didn't give her a name?"

Christian scoffed. "I don't see the point." She tilted her head. "And why not?"

"She doesn't listen to me anyway," he said with a shrug. "She's not all that nice."

Ardella looked amused. "Then why do you keep her?"

He opened his mouth but then realized that the true answer was complicated. The bottom line was that he liked his little friend, even if she pretended not to like him. "Well, I just like her, I guess," he said with a shrug. "I take care of her."

Ardella smiled and held out her hand to the fade. "Don't be afraid," she said. "I won't hurt you."

Another low growl rumbled from inside the fade's throat. Ardella's eyes grew more intense and her voice became commanding. "Be calm," she said definitively.

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At her words, the fade's eyes grew soft. They closed halfway, and a peaceful look overcame her face. Christian had never seen the fade with that expression before. Ardella looked satisfied and once again held her palm upward.

The fade flew over and gently set herself down in her hand. Ardella smiled up at him in triumph.

Christian's eyes grew. "How did you do that?"

Her smile spread wider. "Oh, it's nothing," she said, waving her other hand through the air. "I always have an easier time calming small children and animals, so something as small as a fade is simple to control."

"So you can control people?" he asked in awe.

"Oh, no," she said, shaking her head quickly. "I can only create a sense of calm, and I am often unsuccessful."

"Still," he said with a shrug, "I'd like to have a power, even something small."

Ardella's face became more serious. "You have more power than you know."

He looked up. "What do you mean?"

"When we were trapped here in the Mirallantic, we lost almost all our abilities." She straightened the fade's little dress as she spoke. "The only thing we were left with was our own special abilities." She paused. "But you, Christian, you are not bound by the restrictions of the spell. You have the capability to grow as powerful as you desire."

"But I'm not like you," he said. "I don't have any abilities." Ardella raised her eyebrow. "Not that you know of."

He pondered her words for a moment. "When will I know?"

She set the fade down on the edge of the couch, smoothed the top of her tiny head of hair, and then rested her hand on his shoulder. "When the time is right, you will know."

Christian sighed. "When did you discover yours?"

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She looked off to the right, and her eyes grew distant. "It was not long ago. I discovered it when trying to calm my youngest sister who had awakened from a nightmare."

"You have sisters?"

"Oh yes!" she said, her eyes snapping back to life. "I have two younger sisters and an elder brother."

"Do they have special abilities too?"

"Well, Gwinn and Luanna are still very young, so my brother, Ramus, and I are the only ones so far." She tilted her head a bit. "You may have met my brother last night. He was at dinner with the other Aldrics."

He did not recall being introduced to a prince. "I didn't know your brother was an Aldric."

"Oh yes." She nodded, looking proud. "He became an Aldric at nineteen years of age."

"But you're not an Aldric?"

"Not yet," she said with a little sigh. "But I will be someday . . . if we ever escape from this realm."

"How long have you been trapped here?"

Her eyes looked distant again. "Hundreds of years."

Christian's mouth dropped open. "So you're hundreds of years old?"` She nodded. "That is why I am only technically seventeen years of age.

When we were trapped here, we ceased physical progression. My body and mind have been seventeen for ages."

"What about your little sisters?" Are they trapped in children's bodies forever?"

"Well, yes," Ardella said. "But since their physical progression has ceased, their minds have remained in a child's state. They still have the ability to learn and grow mentally, but their minds do not function beyond a child's capability."

"Wow." He stared in amazement. "When can I meet the rest of your family?"

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"Right away," she said pleasantly. "Come, let's go down to the great hall. Are you hungry?"

He touched his stomach. "Yeah, I am."

Ardella held out her arm, and he slipped his through it. She led him out of the room, and the fade hovered behind them. They went down the same hall he had explored, except instead of going back the way he had come, she turned sharply and went through a small arched doorway. It led down a tiny spiraling staircase and opened up into the room just outside of the great hall.

Christian could hardly believe what was happening. Somehow he had not only found a girl but he had also talked to her and even managed to make friends with her. They had their arms hooked together and were heading off to eat breakfast together. His head was in a daze, but he was not complaining. Something was sparking inside of him, and it was pleasant . . . in a foreign sort of way.

Just as Ardella reached for the door to the great hall, Christian spotted another entrance across the hall. It was another arched doorway, which led down a short hall with a wide metal door at the end. He found it odd, given the fact that all the other doors were made of wood. There was something different about this door, and he almost felt as though it were calling out to him. His curiosity was nudging, but he quickly averted his gaze from the door when Ardella looked at him. She opened the door to the great hall. "After you," she said cheerily.

Christian was still thinking about the metal door, but when the smell of fruit, sweet bread, and cinnamon filled his nostrils, he forgot all about it. This morning the great hall was filled with a much smaller table and, certainly, a smaller number of people. Two girls—one with loose blonde curls, the other with sleek light-brown hair—sat with their backs turned to him. On the other side of the table there was a man with a clean-shaven goatee and broad shoulders, much like the king's. He recognized the man from yesterday. He had been sitting across from Gafford, next to the queen.

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As they approached the table, the man stood and gave them a nod. "Good morning," he said. "I trust you slept well, Christian."

Before he could answer, the little girl with the light-brown hair whipped around and jumped out of her seat. She was wearing a knee-length cotton dress, similar to Ardella's, and her hair was pulled away from her face with a gem attached to a pin. She looked like she might be close to seven or eight years old.

"Christian!" she exclaimed. She reached out as though she was going to embrace him but then stopped short and gave him a little curtsy. "Hello," she said with an enthused smile. "My name is Gwinn."

He smiled back at her. "Hi."

Then the other little girl climbed down from her seat. She too wore a white cotton dress with a blue sash. Her blonde curls swayed as she walked over and gave Christian a curtsy as well. He was surprised at her gracefulness. She couldn't have been any more than three years old.

"Hello," Christian said softly. "What's your name?"

She blushed and turned her face away, resting her chin on her shoulder.

Gwinn laughed and stooped to put her arm around the little girl. "Sorry, Christian," she said, stroking the child's head. "This is Luanna. She's quite shy."

Luanna blushed and gave him a little smile. The child was precious, and Christian felt an immediate fondness for her.

"Oh!" Gwinn exclaimed, pointing at the fade. "What is that?"

The fade flew a bit higher, showing her teeth and growling. Gwinn took a startled step back, but her expression grew in excitement.

"That's just my fade," Christian said. "She's not very nice." Gwinn smiled widely. "She's marvelous!"

The fade's expression softened for a moment, but then she stuck her nose in the air and flew up to the chandelier.

Gwinn giggled and turned back to him. "We saved a place for you, Christian." She walked over and pulled out a chair next to hers.

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"Thanks," he said. He sat down and filled his plate with watermelon, berries, and two little cakes.

"How was the journey?" Gwinn asked.

He swallowed hard. "It was . . . interesting."

"Interesting?" she said with a very curious edge to her voice.

He looked up and saw that all four of them were staring intently. "It was like nothing I've ever done before."

"What was it like out there?" Ardella asked, lining up an assortment of fruits on her plate.

"Wait," Christian said, looking around at their anxious faces. "You've never been out there?"

Ramus spoke up for the first time. "When we were first trapped here, we barricaded our women and children here to keep them safe. Then we created the blockades inside the caves and built the kingdom walls to keep the dangers out."

Ardella sighed. "And we have not seen the outsides of these walls since."

"Consider yourselves lucky," Ramus said.

"Yeah." Christian nodded. A flash of darkness, bony fingers, and crumpled carcasses flew across his mind. "There're a lot of scary things out there."

Gwinn's face lit up. "Tell us about it!"

"No, no, no," Ardella said. "I don't want you two to wake up with nightmares again."

Little Luanna stared at Christian, her eyes growing large.

Ardella shook her head in frustration. "You see, Gwinn, she's frightened just imagining it." Ardella held out her arms and Luanna ran over to her lap. She stroked the child's hair, and Luanna buried her face in the folds of Ardella's dress.

As Christian ate, Gwinn chattered on about how she had been waiting and waiting for him to come, but he was not listening. He stared at the three princesses and imagined what their lives must be like here in the

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castle. He examined their features and mannerisms. All the princesses had the same large eyes, full lips, and smooth complexion, but somehow, Ardella was more beautiful than her sisters. She shined with a radiance that he could not quite put his finger on. She was simply lovely. The way she moved, the way her lips formed her words, and the soft gentleness of her voice were beyond perfect. He had never been so captivated by a girl before, especially one who was so much older than him. He tried to pull his gaze away from her face, but his eyes insisted on going straight back.

Ardella looked up at him and gave him a sweet smile. "Have you had enough to eat, Christian?"

"Oh . . . yes." He now realized that he hadn't eaten anything for the last few minutes but was sitting idly with one last bite of cake in his hand. He ate the last bite and pushed his plate forward a bit. "Thanks."

He stood, and the fade flew down from the chandelier, landing on his shoulder.

"Oh! Can I show him the castle?" Gwinn asked with excitement. She was practically bouncing up and down.

Ardella laughed, patting her head. "I suppose that is up to Christian." Gwinn's eyes found Christian's with an eager smile. "I'll show you

everything you want to see."

"Yeah, sure," Christian said with a friendly shrug. Then he looked at Ardella. "You'll come too, right?"

She smiled pleasantly. "As you wish."

Gwinn took him by the hand and practically dragged him out of the great hall, chattering the whole way. In fact, she did not stop talking for the next couple of hours. Christian did not mind; he was just pleased that Ardella had come with them. He found himself staring at her more often than looking at the castle. The castle, however, was incredible. The halls filled with suits of armor, heads of beasts, and beautiful portraits were far more incredible than any one of his novels could have led him to imagine.

Ardella was about to unlock a door that led to a large balcony when a clamoring of metal from behind froze them all. They whipped around and

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saw a young woman with long hair that was tied up with a rag. Her dress was smudged with dirt, and she was holding a mop, looking alarmed. A puddle of spilled water ran across the floor. "I beg your pardon!" she said, her face turning red as she rushed forward to clean up the mess.

Gwinn hurried over to the turned bucket and set it right side up. "No harm done," she said. "It's just a bit of water."

The girl looked flustered but relieved. "I don't know what came over me," she said, wiping her forehead with her sleeve. "I was just—" She stopped short when her eyes met Christian's.

Ardella placed her hand on his shoulder. "Rachel, this is Christian." "Oh." She gave a little curtsy. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Rachel is our favorite handmaiden," Gwinn said. She cupped her hand around her mouth and whispered loudly. "She never told when we would stay up late."

Rachel brought her hand to her chest dramatically but then laughed. "If I had told, I too would have been sent to bed." They all joined her in laughter and then bid her farewell as they continued on in their exploration. Christian looked back at the girl and gave one last wave. There was something pleasant about the handmaiden, something interesting, and he liked her immediately.

Ardella unlocked many doors and allowed Christian's curiosity to satisfy itself inch by inch.

Hours passed, and soon the castle became familiar. He did notice, however, that the one place they did not explore was the room across from the great hall with the metal door. In fact, they did not even walk by the doorway again. Somehow, seeing the rest of the castle made his desire to know what was in that room grow even stronger than it had been before. He couldn't stand the thought of a closed door, and his persistent mind was begging him to find out what lay behind it.

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Chapter 13

Fire of Winter

After a long afternoon, Christian found himself walking through a warm, marble courtyard laced with vines and overflowing with colorful flowers. The fade had floated off to a nearby fountain. She was dipping her hair in the water and running her fingers through it like a comb.

Ardella had somehow convinced Gwinn that Christian was tired and in need of solitude. This was partially true. Christian was tired, but he was in need of a break from Gwinn more than solitude. After Gwinn had reluctantly gone, Christian had insisted that Ardella stay with him. She didn't seem to mind. In fact, he thought that she seemed rather flattered.

She walked along beside him, twirling a long blade of grass around her finger. She twined it gently, let it fall into a spiraled coil, and then twined it again. "Are you afraid, Christian?" she asked, still looking at the grass blade.

He looked up at her. The sun was casting a shadow from her nose across her face, and thin strands of her hair were floating around her head.

"Afraid of what?"

She looked down and smoothed her dress with one hand. "Well, of what will happen . . . should you choose to follow through?" She continued to twirl the grass blade.

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"Um . . ." Christian was staring at her working hands. "Follow through with what?"

She paused and looked up casually. "With the plan, I mean." Now he looked at her face. "The plan?"

"I know it's a great task, Christian, but I only hoped that you would—" Now he stopped short and interrupted her. "What are you talking

about, Ardella?"

Her face tore away from her hands, and she looked puzzled. "You mean you don't . . ." She stared at him for a moment, and then realization flooded her face. She brought her hand to her mouth. "Oh," she said, looking troubled. "I'm so sorry. I thought that yesterday, in the council, they would have told you . . ."

"Told me what?" His voice was low, but his tone was sharp.

Her hand dropped, and she pursed her lips. "They didn't tell you why you are here?"

"No, they didn't," Christian said, his emotions on edge. "Why are you the only other person who thinks that's strange?" He let out a frustrated laugh. "Nobody will tell me!"

She bit her lip. "I-I don't know what to say, Christian . . ." The grass blade fell to the ground. "I should really leave the explaining to my father."

"Ardella, please," he said, stepping forward. "Just tell me." "I-I don't—"

"I'd really rather hear it from you."

She sighed and looked around uncomfortably. "You ought to know, Christian . . ." Her voice was a whisper. "But I ought not to tell you."

His shoulders dropped, but his eyes grew more intense. "Ardella, please. I promise I won't tell anyone."

"Well . . ." Her eyes were distant.

"Please," he begged.

She looked down. "Really you . . ."

"I what?" He could feel his patience growing scarce.

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She seemed to be pondering, but finally, her head shot up. "You know, you can guess it yourself, Christian." Now her eyes were brighter.

"I can guess it?"

"Yes," she said, folding her arms. "And I won't have to tell you a thing." "How can I guess?"

"What did my father tell you about the Mirallantic?" she asked, raising both eyebrows in question.

Christian thought back to the evening before. "He told me . . . he told me that it was cursed, and that you were all trapped here."

"What else?" she asked, bending down to his level.

"He said that the Aldrics lost the power to beat the Skathes." "Shhhh," she said, holding a finger to her lips. "Yes, the Aldrics lost the

power because they are trapped here." Her eyes held a meaningful stare. Christian nodded. "Right . . ."

She took in a deep breath, looking a bit defeated. "Christian"—now her voice was almost too quiet to hear—"you are not trapped here."

"What do you mean?"

She looked over her shoulder. "You're supposed to be guessing."

But his mind was far too intrigued to think straight. "Ardella, I don't—" "You were brought here intentionally," she said, straightening up. "Why

do you think that was?"

He took a deep breath and did his best to ponder. The pieces were scattered, so he gathered them up one by one.

The Mirallantic was cursed by a spell gone wrong. This was obvious. The Skathes were regaining power, and the Aldrics lost their ability to defeat them when they were trapped here. However, according to Ardella, he was not trapped here. The Aldrics needed to escape the Mirallantic . . . and they brought Christian here intentionally.

Ardella was right. It was an easy puzzle to solve. The Aldrics had brought him to the Mirallantic because they obviously believed that a person from the outside world would not be affected by the limitations of the spell. If they believed that he was not affected by the spell, then they also

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believed that he would be able to aid them in escaping the Mirallantic . . .

in defeating the Skathes. He almost scoffed. "It's ridiculous," he said.

"What's ridiculous?" she asked.

"The Aldrics want me to help them break the spell, don't they?" Ardella sighed and gave a little nod.

Now Christian did laugh. "Why would they think I can do that?" Ardella's eyebrows drew together. "You're a mortal, Christian." "Um, yeah . . ."

"You're a clean slate," she said. "The spell does not affect you, and therefore, you have the capability to grow as powerful as you wish."

He gave her a questioning look. "I'm just a normal person . . . I'm a kid."

"For now," she said, with a nod. "But with time and the proper instruction . . . there are no limits."

Christian did not respond. He had no idea what the Aldrics really expected from him. The fact that they had withheld the news thus far probably meant that it would not be an easy task to accept. In fact, it would probably be terrifying . . . quite possibly painful. He wiped the sweat from his hands on the front of his pants.

He had never considered himself a coward, but that was before he had come to the Mirallantic. Standing here now, with Ardella's large and expectant eyes bearing on him with the weight of an entire kingdom's desperation, he doubted if there was an ounce of bravery left in him. He swallowed hard. "What should I do, Ardella?"

Her expression smoothed over, and she took his hand in hers. His heart fluttered as they remained clasped together. The sun was shining directly on her face now. The yellow glow of the late afternoon radiated from her skin and sparkled in her eyes. "None of us know exactly what to expect, Christian." She smiled and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. "But you can expect my support and friendship every step of the way." She leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. Her lips lingered on his

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skin for a second or two, just long enough for him to take in a silent breath of her sweet-smelling hair, which had fallen over his face.

His stomach was tying itself in knots, and he was sure that his cheeks had gone pink. He smiled and managed to say "Thank you."

They continued through the courtyard, not saying a word to each other. Ardella began to hum softly, but the notes faded in and out. He wondered how she could be so calm. In fact, he did not understand how any of the kingdom people could be treating the situation so lightly.

The king had withheld very important information from him. He wondered if perhaps he meant to tell him at a later time, when he believed that Christian was ready. But why did he think it was a good idea to keep Christian here without an idea of why he had come? Perhaps the king had thought the plan would be obvious to Christian, that it went without saying. Still, did they just expect him to automatically accept it? Yes, they had treated him with hospitality and welcome, but in reality, he had been brought here against his own will.

Technically, he was being held captive, and the Aldrics had no right to do it. Of course, he had no family or friends to miss back home, and to him, being here was an adventure, not an inconvenience. But the Aldrics had no way of knowing that, and they had not even apologized for ripping him away from his home and forcing him to venture through the greatest dangers he had ever known. He crossed his arms and decided that the next time he saw the king, he would tell him just how lucky he was to have kidnapped such a cooperative kid.

They turned a corner and came to a dead end that was covered by a tall hedge. Christian was still submerged inside of his mental frustrations, but they melted away when Ardella brushed aside a patch of leaves to reveal a small metal gate. He almost smiled, looking at her expectantly. Ardella, however, did not look at him, but instead, she glanced around casually, still humming tunelessly. She pulled a small silver key from her sash, pushed it inside of the keyhole, turned it twice, and then pushed the door open.

"I want to show you something," she whispered.

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He nodded and smiled, not even trying to hide his excitement. If there was one thing that could get his mind off his worries, it was the chance to explore something mysterious.

Ardella lifted her foot, but before it could cross the threshold, they were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. The steps were not particularly rushed but still came with haste.

Quickly and carefully, Ardella pulled the gate back, and it latched with a soft click. Then she turned and strolled away casually. Christian followed with a quickened heart rate.

The footsteps were upon them. He looked in the direction of the oncomer, expecting to see a guard or unwanted visitor. However, Christian was pleased to see a burly man with a slightly wild beard come around the corner. He was holding a small book and a sharpened piece of charcoal in his large solid hands.

"Gafford," Christian said pleasantly.

Gafford looked up from the book, surprised. "Oh, hello, boy," he said pleasantly. Then he gave a slight bow. "My lady."

Ardella curtsied with her hands behind her back. The little key was still clenched inside her fist. "Hello, Gafford. What have you there?"

Gafford tucked the small book and charcoal into his shirt. "It's nothing, really . . . just a sketchbook."

Pretending to smooth the front of her dress, Ardella slipped the key into her sash and walked over to Gafford. "May I see?"

Christian's shoulders slumped as he followed her, looking back longingly at the gate. He didn't want to wait. The mystery of the gate was calling for him, and the fact that Ardella was being so secretive about the key made it even more intriguing.

Gafford laughed. "As you wish, my lady." He pulled out the book and handed it to Ardella. After wiping a smudge off the leather-bound cover, she opened it to the first page. There was a light sketch of a woman's face with long flowing hair.

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"Beautiful," she whispered, carefully turning the page. The next sketch was of the same woman. This time, her features were blurred, but her long hair was drawn with excellent attention to detail. As Ardella flipped through the pages, the same woman appeared over and over. Each sketch portrayed her in a different pose or from a different angle, but each drawing had perfect, long, shiny hair.

Ardella sighed. "I miss her."

"Who is she?" Christian asked.

Gafford's eyes grew sorrowful. "Seraphina." "What happened to her?"

His shoulders rose. "She . . . disappeared." "Disappeared?"

"Seraphina has been gone for years," said Ardella with a sorrowful frown.

Gafford stroked the edge of the page. "She had something they all wanted . . ."

Christian and Ardella were silent.

"In fact, she could have sold it for a fortune." He chuckled. "And she would have, had I not stopped her."

After a brief silence, Christian asked, "What was it?"

Gafford looked at the sketchbook and smiled warmly. His eyes darted back and forth between the confines of the page, but it was clear that they were far away. "Her hair," he finally said. "Many a merchant offered her a pretty price for the length of it."

Ardella sighed. "It was truly beautiful—long, thick, and glowing red." "Like fire," Gafford said with a nod. He looked at Christian. "We shared one lovely long winter together, long ago . . . and then she was gone." There was a silence. Gafford walked to a bench beneath a tangled hedge and patted the space next to him. His mouth held a pleasant little smile, but his eyes told a different story. Ardella brushed aside a few fallen leaves, and they sat beside him. Gafford took in a soundless breath and

then spoke. His voice was barely above a whisper.

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Dancing and twirling in the chilled winter breeze.

Ribbons of fire glowing with ease.

Curling and twirling, spread out on my chest.

It's when her fire of winter looks its best.

Entwined in my fingers, tied up with white lace.

Her fire of winter frames her pale face.

Like a mass of spun silk, a soft bundle of twine.

This fire of winter was made to be mine.

It falls over her shoulders, bounces free as she laughs.

It splits down the middle and drapes down in two halves.

One is a soft gentle caress as we sit.

Another an aggravated, anger-plagued fit.

Long strands whipping out, flames biting my skin.

But soon they'd be smooth, a soft embrace once again.

He paused here and took a breath, as though he wanted to say more but decided against it. He reached up, pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, and finished with:

I kindle our fire and feed it with care.

This fire of winter . . .

My love's lovely hair.

They sat quietly for several seconds before Christian spoke. "Why don't you look for her, Gafford?"

He looked up, seemingly startled. "Look for her?" "Yeah, why don't you go out there and find her?"

Gafford chuckled. "One does not simply go out there, my boy." "Why? You went out there to get me."

"Yes, and that trip was carefully planned . . . I knew where I was going. The queen saw your location."

Christian blinked. "The queen saw my location?"

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Gafford nodded.

"Like in a vision?"

"Indeed," said Gafford.

This was interesting, but Christian decided that he would address that question later. For now, he shook his head and said, "Well, all right, then let's make a new plan. The queen can help us."

Gafford shook his head vigorously. "It doesn't work that way, boy. Seraphina could quite possibly be one of . . ." His voice trailed off, and he said no more.

Christian was confused. "Isn't it worth a try?" "It cannot be done, boy." "But Gafford, we could—"

"It cannot be done!"

Both Christian and Ardella jolted as his voice echoed through the courtyard. He was clearly upset, but Christian could not make sense of it. Gafford was a strong and powerful man. If he really loved Seraphina, what was stopping him? He had already risked his life to save a boy he had never met, so why not the woman he loved? Gafford was no coward.

Christian furrowed his brow and stared at Gafford's stony profile.

Something was missing here.

Finally, Gafford sighed. "I am sorry, my boy. Passing through Skathe territory quickly and quietly is much different than actively seeking out danger. We have no direction, no hint where to begin."

Christian lowered his head and stared at his hands. "I just thought—" "I know, my boy. I wish there was a way it could be done." He sighed.

"We're just not strong enough yet."

Christian looked up. "Yet?"

This time Ardella spoke. "The spell limits our powers. We can do nothing against the evil."

"Oh yeah," Christian looked back down to his hands. "Unless you . . ." "Find an escape from this place." Ardella sighed.

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The three of them sat motionless for a few moments, and Christian felt the weight of their dependence on him. He had allowed himself to be lost in the excitement of the kingdom, the castle, and the princesses, even though it was clear that there was a deeper reason he had been brought here.

Now that he knew what was on everyone's minds, the weight was real. Ardella was right to offer her aid and support because he was going to need it. Heaven knew that he could not help them on his own. The only battles he had ever conquered were the ones against his racing heart while tearing through the climaxes of his storybooks.

Gafford cleared his throat to break the silence. He stood slowly and closed the sketchbook.

A rush of cool air swept past them, and Ardella hugged her arms close to her body. "We best go inside, Christian."

"Wasn't there something you wanted to show me?" She looked confused, tilting her head. "No." "But the—"

Ardella cleared her throat and shook her head vigorously.

Christian paused and looked over at Gafford who was idly tracing the design on the cover of his sketchbook. He hadn't seemed to notice their words.

Ardella stood. "Good evening, Gafford."

He looked up briefly from his sketchbook. "Good evening, my lady." Christian stood as well. "See you, Gafford."

Gafford nodded, pasting on a smile, and looked away.

Ardella headed away with a swift pace. Christian had to speed-walk to keep up with her. When they were a safe distance away from Gafford, Ardella collapsed on the edge of a water fountain, resting her cheeks in her palms.

Christian sat beside her. "What was behind that gate, Ardella?"

She let out a long breath, sitting up straight and turning toward him with a smile of relief. "Do not ever speak of this to anyone," she said,

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looking around suspiciously. Her voice lowered to a whisper. "That gate used to be the entrance to a watchtower. Many years ago, it was the best place to keep watch for approaching danger. More recently, new towers with more effective vantage points have been erected. This one was supposed to be removed and relocated, but I begged father to leave it." She reached into her sash and pulled out the small key. "Now I'm the only one who has a key to the tower. It's the place I go when I want to be alone."

"But you were going to let me go up there?"

Ardella smiled. "Of course. My mother asked me to look out for you, stay with you, and make sure that everything—"

"Wait, the queen asked you to watch me?" She blinked. "Yes."

Christian's shoulders slumped. It made sense. Why else would she be with him? He understood but couldn't help but feel disappointed. He knew that her affections toward him were nothing but friendship. She was, technically, a full-grown woman. However, it stung to know that she was only with him to fulfill her mother's wishes.

She seemed to sense his disappointment. "I like being with you, Christian. It's not—"

"I know." He looked up and gave her his best smile. "Don't worry. I don't mind."

Before Ardella could respond, the fade floated over from a nearby tree and landed on Christian's knee. She clutched at her stomach and wore an expression of expectancy.

"I think she's hungry," he said.

"Oh, the poor thing." She reached out, but the fade launched herself away from Ardella's touch. "There's a grapevine on the fence, little one."

"Oh, she won't eat that," said Christian. "Only meat."

The fade turned to Ardella and growled, showing her circle of pointed teeth.

Ardella let out a short, nervous laugh. "I see. Let's see what we can find."

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As they stood, another chilly gust of wind blew past them. Christian noticed immediately that there was a difference in the atmosphere. The temperature dropped, and the sky darkened. He looked up, expecting to see that the sun had been covered by a cloud. What he found was that the sun had indeed been covered . . . but not by a cloud.

Ardella made a sound that was something between a whimper and a sigh.

"What is it?" Christian asked in alarm.

She brought her hands to her cheeks, which had suddenly lost their color. "It's the plague."

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Chapter 14

The Plague

Moments after the words had left Ardella's mouth, a loud and high-pitched horn sounded. She took hold of Christian's arm with an uncomfortable pressure. "Hurry, Christian, we must get inside now!"

He was barely able to snatch the fade out of the air by the edge of her dress before Ardella yanked him toward the castle.

He looked up at the dark shape covering the sun. It was a grayish-brown mass that seemed to be quivering and twitching back and forth. It changed shape and swirled around in the sky.

"What is it?" he shouted over the screaming of the horn.

Her voice was panicked as she yelled over her shoulder, "Just hurry!" He quickened his pace and soon they were sprinting toward the castle entrance. The guards at the door were frantically waving their arms as

they approached.

Once safely inside, Ardella collapsed against a wall, exhaling loudly. A sharp pain stung Christian's left hand. He looked down to see the fade struggling and sinking her teeth into his skin. It was then that he noticed how tightly he had been squeezing her frail little body, and he had surely shaken her violently as they rushed inside. He opened his hand, and

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she flew up to a high wooden rafter. "I'm sorry!" he called after her. Then he whipped around. "What is going on?"

Ardella looked up, breathing hard. "It's the plague." "You said that. What's the plague?"

She stood up straight, pulling her brows together. "They're sent from the outsiders."

"What are they?"

She thought for a moment, breathing hard. "Locusts, I suppose . . . but different. They are mutated somehow, not as they should be . . . worse than they should be."

Christian wiped the sweat from his forehead. "How do they get in? I thought the kingdom was supposed to be safe."

Ardella sighed. "It has been years since the last attack, but the kingdom does have its weaknesses. The caves provide a barrier but only to those things that travel on foot. The Garden of Light cannot be passed through by anyone who is unfriendly to the Aldrics. However, we haven't a proper barrier to protect the skies." She touched Christian's shoulder. "What a relief that we were able to get you inside safely. If we had not been in the courtyard, so close to the castle entrance . . ." Her eyes grew distant, and a look of horror came over her. "I certainly hope that everyone else made it in safely."

Christian's head whipped up. "Ardella!" "What is it?" She looked around, startled.

"Gafford! What if he's still out there?" He stood and ran to the door, clutching at the guard's arm. "Someone may have been left out there!"

Ardella rushed over and put her hands on his shoulders. "I am sure he made it in safely," she reassured him.

"But what if he didn't?" He tried to push the guard aside, but he easily picked Christian up and carried him away from the door. Christian let out a cry of frustration, struggled, and kicked at the air.

"Release him!" Ardella demanded, lunging forward.

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The guard did not object. He freed Christian but stood in front of the both of them, blocking the doorway.

Christian groaned and glared.

Ardella pulled him in toward her. "I am sure he made it inside, Christian. Come, let's look for him." She stared deep into his eyes, wearing an expression of concentration. "Just calm down."

As Christian looked back at her peaceful expression, he almost forgot his cares. The air around them was cool, and his muscles relaxed. He took in a deep breath and then glared at the guard whose face had solidified. "Yeah, let's go."

They walked down the open corridor and into the great hall. The hall was dim, and orange light from the wall torches danced over a large gathering of Aldrics, servants, and children. They were chattering nervously and shouting things at each other. The large wooden doors that led to the room with the stained glass were barricaded by thick rounds of wood, and the windows were locked closed with wooden shutters. Ardella drew in a deep breath and took Christian's hand. "Come on, let's find Gafford and my sisters."

They weaved through the crowd, asking if anyone had seen them. Christian's heart sank lower as more and more negative responses were given. While sorting through the crowd, they spotted Gwinn and Luanna huddled together. Their faces were soaked with tears. Ardella rushed over to them, dropping to her knees and taking them into her arms. "Thank goodness you are safe."

"Where were you?" Gwinn demanded.

Luanna was whimpering through her tears. "I couldn't find you, Della." Ardella stroked Luanna's hair and held them both close, "Shhhh, all is well. We are safe." Then she looked up at Christian. "Did you see Ramus

anywhere?"

He shook his head. Christian hadn't seen Ardella's brother since breakfast.

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Just after the words left Ardella's lips, a sudden eruption of poundings covered the outside of the walls. It sounded as though rocks were being thrown at the outside of the castle. The windows were locked with wooden shutters, but the wood shook and flexed under the pressure of the pounding.

There were shrieks and cries, and soon the whole room had exploded with noise. The crowd huddled closer together and shrank back from the walls. As the pounding grew louder, the voices escalated until the hall was booming with panicked cries. Christian covered his ears and did his best to remain calm. Luanna peeked up at him with her tear-stained face, and he patted his ears. She covered her ears, and Christian pressed himself closer to the girls.

He had never witnessed an earthquake or tornado, but from time to time, the school would put them through a drill to teach them the procedures. The practices excited him, and sometimes he almost wished that a natural disaster would pass through from time to time, just for a change of routine, a chance for adventure. He found himself regretting the wish for disaster now that it was upon him. The panic and insecurity frightened him, and he wanted nothing more than peace and calm, not only for himself but also for the poor terrified children next to him.

He looked up and saw that the fade had once again perched herself high on a chandelier. Her eyes were wild, and her trembling arms held the chandelier with a death grip.

The pounding and the screaming continued for several minutes, and the children's crying did not cease until, finally, as though by cue, there was an abrupt hush over the crowd.

Christian looked up. The king was entering the great hall with his arms outstretched. He wore a calm expression despite the pounding that raged outside.

The queen entered next, followed by the long-fingered Edwin who was holding a large mirror.

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The crowd calmed at their appearance, and all eyes were fixed upon them. The queen covered the sides of her head with her fingers spread. She rested her pinkies on her temples and closed her eyes.

The king stood next to the servant and rested his hand on the edge of the mirror. The moment his fingers touched the glass, the image in the mirror began to distort itself. Not a sound escaped the crowd. Christian rose to his tiptoes and craned his neck to see the mirror.

The reflections of the crowd began to swirl and become misshapen. The colors in the reflection whipped around and slowly melted to the bottom of the mirror. As the present image disappeared, a new one began to form.

It was the blurry silhouette of a figure, gray and translucent. The queen peeked through her lashes and took a step closer to the mirror. The image changed and became a bit clearer, revealing the outline of the white castle, covered by the black obstruction of the plague eclipsing the sun. Then the image melted and switched to the forest.

Christian recognized the gray skeletal trees he had seen days before. The silhouette from the first image came into focus. It was a hooded figure with its back to the crowd. Its cloak was the deepest black, and it swayed in the wind. The image focused closer into the figure until the whole mirror was filled with the image of the back of its head. Its head began to turn.

Someone in the crowd screamed. There was a panicked outburst of shouts, and the king yanked his hand away from the mirror. The queen's head snapped up in surprise, and the volume of the crowd lowered to a dull roar. The queen shook her head, wearing an apologetic expression and blinking wildly.

King Sable raised his arms again, and the crowd became silent. He dropped one of his hands but left the other halfway in the air, with a single finger pointed upward. He looked to the queen who nodded and returned her hands to her head. The king touched the mirror, and again, the reflections swirled around and became a new picture. This time, it was the stony castle courtyard. As the image grew clearer, there were several

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sighs of relief, and a hushed cloud of voices carried through the room.

Christian pushed past a couple of tall men and strained to get a better look.

The picture in the mirror was drawing in closer to a cluster of small dark shapes at the base of the castle. As the image grew larger, the voices in the crowd began to escalate once again, except this time, there were outbursts of joy and celebration.

Christian looked at Ardella. She had one hand on her chest, and the other was reaching out to him. Her lips formed the words "We are safe." Christian still did not understand. He moved closer to the mirror, now shoving past several more people who had been standing in front of him.

He came to the front of the crowd, just feet away from the mirror. Inside the frame, there was a picture of a small, lifeless creature. It

was dark brown with large translucent wings and long, spiderlike legs. Its lidless eyes shined a wet, glaze-covered red. He understood immediately.

It was the plague. And it was dead.

He too breathed a sigh of relief, but his curiosity held him in place. These were nothing like any locusts he had ever seen. In fact, they resembled spiders more than grasshoppers. This was indeed intriguing, but the greater question in his mind was how the queen and king had accomplished this revelation.

He was about to step forward and make an inquiry when, suddenly, the beating on the outside of the walls became louder and faster. The crowd's reaction, however, was much different than before. There were a few startled gasps and small noises of alert, but the group remained calm.

The king raised his arms for the third time. "All is well," he reassured them. "It may persist for several days, but the plague will not survive if they cannot eat. We must wait it out patiently. No one is to leave the castle under any circumstance until the plague has expired."

After a few moments of silence, the people began to converse in low tones.

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Suddenly, Ardella's voice whispered into Christian's ear, startling him slightly. "Come." She slipped her hand into his. "Let's find Gafford and Ramus."

Christian wanted to stay and question the king, but he was also very concerned about Gafford. He nodded, and Ardella led him away from the crowd. She walked slowly, kept her head down, and avoided eye contact with anyone in the room. She guided him to the back where there was a small wooden door that led out of the great hall. She opened it the smallest crack and squeezed through. Then she reached back and pulled Christian through the door by the front of his shirt. When they were through, she closed the door, taking care not to make a sound.

Ardella waved her arm and tiptoed around a corner. Christian glanced back at the doorway and then hurried in her direction. "Ardella, why can't we leave the castle? They're just locusts right?"

"It's not as it seems, Christian."

"They're going to make it bad, aren't they? They'll eat all the crops and—"

"No, no, no," she interrupted. "These locusts do not eat crops." "What do you mean?"

She sighed and closed her eyes. "If you must know, Christian . . . they eat . . ." She wrinkled her nose.

"What do they eat?"

She frowned and shook her head.

Now he just had to know . . . although a twisting part of his stomach already had a fairly good idea. "What do they eat, Ardella?"

Her voice was a whisper. "Flesh."

"Flesh?"

Her face grew dark. "Human flesh." "No way . . ." He covered his mouth. "That is exactly what you should be doing." He lowered his hand. "What?"

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"Covering your mouth, closing your eyes, plugging your nose . . . they eat our insides, you see?"

"Our insides?"

"They can't get inside if you don't let them," she continued. "But they can enter you from any opening in your body." There were creases forming between her eyebrows.

Christian leaned against a wall and held his stomach.

"The process is slow," she said, joining his side. "If they can be stopped before reaching the heart, it is possible for the person to be saved."

They were silent for a moment, and this was one of the times when Christian wished his imagination was not so strong. He fought it for a moment but finally surrendered to the visions of the man-eating locusts that were invading his thoughts.

There was a shattering sound as the plague broke a window behind a closed shutter, and they both leaped in surprise.

Ardella sucked in a deep breath. "Let's go."

Christian hurried forward, but before he could take two steps, Ardella gasped, and he crashed into her back.

"Oh!" Ardella's voice lowered and seemed to change. "Kreemul, I didn't see you."

Christian didn't like the way her voice sounded. It lacked its usual calm and melodic ring.

He looked up and saw a tall pale man holding his hand to his chest and stepping back apologetically. He had a slightly pointed, slightly squared, bald head covered in thin skin through which several blue veins could be seen. His beardless face, however, was proportionate, and his eyes were so light blue that they were almost white. He was clothed in a long gray robe covered by a dark-brown cape. Christian did not recall seeing this man among the Aldrics.

"Forgive me, my lady," he said with a slight bow. His voice was smooth and low.

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"No harm done," she said in an airy tone, but Christian could tell she was uncomfortable. The man's eyes lingered on her face.

He decided to break the silence. "I'm Christian," he said, stepping out from behind Ardella.

The man's eyes lingered on Ardella for a moment longer. He blinked very slowly, and when he opened his eyes, they were looking at Christian. They looked but somehow seemed to go right through him.

Before Christian spoke, Kreemul closed his eyes, turned his head, and opened them to look at Ardella. His lips pursed, opened, and then closed again. He exhaled slowly and then said, "One would assume that a bright and young individual, such as yourself, would find it among her top priorities to follow the king's orders . . ." His voice faded and then regained uncomfortable volume when he said, "By remaining in the great hall." His words echoed and carried down the stone hallway.

"You mean, by remaining inside the castle," Christian said with faint annoyance.

For the first time, a smile stretched across Kreemul's lips. It did nothing, however, to improve the man's looks. His lips drew back into a thin line, and the skin around his cheekbones tightened. He drew in a sharp, long breath, and his eyes remained on Ardella. He tilted his head and spoke, "I just heard the strangest sound, my lady. Did you hear it as well?"

Ardella remained silent and looked away.

"I suppose it could have been the wind." He lifted his hands and twitched his fingers. "Or perhaps the rustling of the trees . . ." He looked about as though playfully searching for a child. He scanned the room with his eyes, taking care to overlook Christian. Finally, he stopped and brought his eyes back to Ardella. "I suppose I was wrong."

Now Kreemul's head turned abruptly toward him, and his icy blue eyes bore into Christian's face. "I heard nothing."

A chill went down Christian's spine, and he could do nothing but stare back into those shallow eyes that shined like wet glass.

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Christian held his breath for several seconds before a nearby sound melted Kreemul's icy stare.

"Ah, there you are, my boy. What're you doing?"

"Gafford!" Christian exclaimed, dodging past Kreemul and rushing over to him. "Where were you?"

"Came in through the side entrance," he said casually.

"We've been looking all over for you," Christian said.

"You needn't worry about me, boy," he said cheerfully, swiping his hand through the air and turning to Kreemul. "Ah, I see you've met Kreemul." Christian narrowed his eyes before turning to Kreemul, "Yeah, we

met him."

Gafford slapped Kreemul on the back . . . perhaps a bit too hard. "How good to see you're safe."

Kreemul flinched and stepped away from Gafford without a reply. "Did you see the good news, boy?" Gafford said in a jolly tone. "It may

take longer than last time, but eventually, the plague will die."

Ardella put her arm around Christian. "We best return to the great hall now before my father notices that we have gone . . . Gafford, have you seen Ramus?"

Gafford shook his head. "I had assumed he was with you." They shook their heads.

Gafford's brow furrowed. "Come on then. Let's find him."

Leaving Kreemul without a farewell, they headed back toward the great hall.

They opened the doors, and Christian was pleased to find that the lack of their presence seemed to have gone unnoticed.

They sat themselves at a nearby table, and moments later, the king and queen joined them.

"It seems as though the Skathes' plan has failed this time." The king said upon approaching their table.

"Or has it?" said the queen. "This is still a loss on our part."

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"Yes." Gafford rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "The kingdom shall be uninhabitable for several days yet."

"Not to mention the damage," said the queen.

"Wait a minute," Christian interrupted.

They all looked at him as though startled that he had spoken. "Will somebody please explain this to me?"

Still, their faces were blank, and Christian had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. "Oh, you know what I mean," he said, crossing his arms. "The king and the mirror, the queen with her . . ."—he brought his hands to the sides of his head like the queen had done—"her vision things."

The queen looked at Ardella, who held up her hands in innocence. "I didn't tell him a thing."

"She didn't have to," said Christian, almost laughing. "I saw it just now." "Of course," said the queen, looking to the king for approval. He stared at her for a moment but finally nodded. She took a deep breath and looked

Christian in the eye. "You see, Christian, I have the power to foresee events in the future. These visions allow me to see certain glimpses of lives and events."

Christian nodded, and with a hint of annoyance, he said, "I figured that part out already."

The queen raised an eyebrow, looking offended.

"I'm sorry," said Christian, "it's just that nobody will give me straight answers around here." It had not been his intention to offend the queen, but he could not help but feel entitled to a few answers, at least. He stared at the table, hoping he had not blown his chance.

"All right." She nodded. "What is it that you would like to know?" Relief spread over Christian, and he took a deep breath. "How did I

get here?"

Now the king and queen looked at each other as though unsure how to answer, but after a few moments, it was the king who responded. "Every Aldric, or person who aspires to become such," he said, "when they have proven themselves worthy, receives their own special kind of ability . . . or

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gift. Some may only have one great gift, while others have several combined. These were the only bits of power that are left inside of us when trapped inside the Mirallantic. When Queen Alexandria reached the proper age, she revealed her ability to foresee select events in the future."

"This is a power that has taken decades to master," the queen said. "Over the years, I have found that my visions are triggered by . . . something. However, I have yet to discover what that something is." Now she smiled, and her eyes grew distant. "Nearly two years ago, in the midst of our studies, I received a vivid vision of a child. The child's face was somehow familiar to me . . . yet I did not know who he was. As time went by, I thought more and more about the vision of the child. In fact, I thought the child to be mine, a child I would bear in the future." Her hands clasped together gently. "The visions began to regularly reveal themselves, and of course, they were highly intriguing to me. I thought of the child often and even grew affectionate toward him." Now her eyes refocused. "The child, however, was not mine." She paused and gave Christian a meaningful nod. "The day I received the vision was the day you arrived in Fall Valley."

Christian had no other response except for a faint "What?"

The queen looked to the king. "Thanks to the king's ability," she said, "we have all been able to watch as well."

The king nodded. "When I was seventeen years of age, I discovered that I had my own unique ability."

Christian leaned forward.

"I found," the king continued, "that I could manipulate, or even control, the images inside of reflections. I discovered that I could look into a mirror and alter the things inside of it. As time went on, I was even able to put my own thoughts inside of the reflections and show them to others. It has taken me several years of self-mastery, but I now have the capability to put others' thoughts into the mirrors as well. That is how we have been able to watch you: through the queen's visions, which I have placed inside the mirrors."

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The queen spoke again. "For years we did not know why I was receiving these visions of you. But then I received another vision, and we realized that you may be the answer to our problem . . . I received a vision of you here, in the Mirallantic, and I knew that it would be possible for a being that was not under the spell to exercise the power . . . the power that we have lost."

"But why me?" Christian asked, his voice almost a whisper.

"All that I know," the queen responded, "is that my visions of you began just after we discovered that the dark ones had found their own ways of returning to the real world. It has to be you, Christian."

Christian thought for a moment. "But out of all the people in the world—"

"We don't have the time to reach out to the world," the king said. "The skill necessary to transport you here from Fall Valley took years to master. Summoning a person from a more distant part of the world would take far longer. Even if we wanted to choose another, we simply wouldn't have the time."

"Why not?" asked Christian.

The king's face was grave. "The spell was intended to enslave only the dark ones. If every Skathe escapes the Mirallantic before we are freed from the curse, the Mirallantic will disappear . . . along with everything inside."

Christian's mouth dropped open. "So you'll all die?" "Worse," the queen said quietly. "We shall cease to exist." Christian's frown deepened as he stared into their gloomy eyes, and

his heart pounded with a sorrowful pain.

"And if that happens," the king continued, his bearded jaw tensing, "there will be no stopping the Skathes. And the world will fall . . . into irreversible darkness."

The room was so quiet that Christian was sure he could have heard a pin drop. He opened his mouth, almost afraid to break the silence, but he did not have to.

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A sudden eruption of outside poundings startled every person in the room. They gasped and then sighed in frustration. Grumbles faded out into whispers, and then there was silence once again.

Christian could not stand the despair in the room. It only made the weight of their reliance on him stronger. After a long moment, he finally decided that it was time to flip the subject around. "So you said"—he began, not sure how he would finish—"that it took a lot of skill to get me here. How did you do it?"

When the king finally responded, his tone was unpleasant. "I had previously transported small objects through reflections by visualizing them, materializing them inside of the mirror, and pulling them through . . .

but I had never done it with a human being. I began to practice with larger materials, reaching through reflections and drawing them out. Despite my effort, they very rarely came all the way through to me and almost always ended up somewhere else in the kingdom."

"However," said the queen, "we finally decided that we would attempt the endeavor with a person."

"Yes," said the king, with a look that said "I'm telling the story." "We experimented with several villagers who were willing to volunteer. Alexandria would envision them, and I would create the image in the mirror. Then I would reach inside, take ahold of them and make an attempt to pull them through." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Every time, however, they would end up somewhere I had not intended, sometimes even outside the kingdom's walls." Now he looked at Christian. "We were unsure of what would happen if we tried to pull you in . . . but we knew that you were our only hope . . . so we made plans to follow through with the endeavor. We concluded that when Alexandria had her next vision, I would pull you through the mirror and bring you here."

"Unfortunately," the queen said, "the Skathes somehow caught ear of our plan. They tried desperately to keep you away from every reflection in hopes to frighten you away and prevent you from being able to cross through a mirror."

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The king laughed dryly. "What the Skathes do not know, however, is that you are far too curious a boy to stay away from something as frightening as a cloaked figure or gaunt face in a mirror."

Christian faked a little laugh.

"So thanks to your undying curiosity," the king said, "I was able to reach out through the reflection of that puddle and pull you in."

"Thankfully, everything went just as planned," said the queen, weaving her fingers together. "You arrived inside the Mirallantic, just miles away from the kingdom. I saw where you were, and we sent Gafford to seek you out and bring you back to us."

"And you were already headed in the right direction when I found you," Gafford said.

The queen smiled. "We were unsurprised but pleased by your natural sense of survival."

"And you did a fair job of handling yourself out there," said the king.

His mood seemed to be lightening.

Christian remembered his panic attack inside the cave, when he had awakened to find himself in complete darkness. "I didn't do so well."

Gafford patted him on the back. "You did well enough, boy."

So there he had it. His question had been answered. So why, then, did he still feel a large empty spot in his understanding? He considered what they had told him, laying aside the fact that none of it was possible in the world he knew and tried to make sense of it all.

The blackness in the mirrors was the Skathes, and they had wanted to keep him away from the Mirallantic. The hand in the puddle was the king's, and the king had known his location because of the queen's vision. It was all coming together, and although it seemed impossible, the pieces fit into place. Perhaps it was impossible in his own reality, but in a place where the impossible was real, he couldn't deny it.

Another explosion of sound echoed through the room, and this time, Christian had to cover his ears. Ardella reached out to him and mouthed

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the words "It's okay." This gave him momentary relief, but he could not shake the feeling that the plague seemed to be getting worse.

"We're lucky, aren't we?" Christian said after the sound had faded.

"Lucky?" said the queen, tilting her head.

"If it weren't for your vision of the plague, we'd probably be stuck in here for a long time."

"Right you are," said the queen. Then she furrowed her brow and

lowered her head. "However, I must say—among trusted ears—that the

vision did not end there."

Every eye was on her.

The queen leaned in closer, and her voice lowered to a whisper. "After we had conjured the image in the mirror, I had another vision." Her eyes turned his way. "A vision of you, Christian."

"Of me?" He leaned in as well. "What was it?"

"It was a vision of you returning to the castle . . ." She closed her eyes. "You were returning something to me, something of great importance." The queen looked as though she might continue but then opened her eyes and said, "That was the end."

The king took her arm. "What was he returning?" She looked into his eyes. "You wouldn't believe it." "What was it?" he demanded.

Now she sighed, and her voice lowered to a whisper. "It was . . ." Nobody dared interrupt but anticipation was thick.

"It was . . ."—the queen sighed—"the Quondam Crystal."

Whispers flooded the room, and the king rose to his feet. "The Quon—you know where it is kept, my lady? Are you certain that this was the object you saw?"

She nodded once, her jaw tight. "I am certain."

The king stared down at her for a few seconds before he finally sat down with clenched fists. "We do indeed know where it can be found."

"Or rather, with whom it can be found," the queen whispered.

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There was a silence, and every person seemed to be on the same page except Christian. He waited, but when no one spoke, he finally said, "So . . . who has it?"

They all exchanged uneasy glances before Gafford answered the question. "The Hollow Holders," he said.

"The Hollow Holders?"

Gafford ignored Christian's question. "The endeavor would be very dangerous. If such a journey were made, I would insist upon accompanying the boy."

"Wait," said Christian, turning to the queen. "I don't mean any offense, Your Majesty, but how do we know what your vision really meant? I mean, can we really trust such little information?"

Before she could respond, Gafford chuckled and rolled his eyes slightly. "You don't understand, boy. The queen's visions are never misinterpreted. If the queen says it, we do it."

Christian furrowed his brow. They had just finished a conversation that had unavoidably ended with Gafford's refusal to leave the kingdom's walls . . . and now Gafford wanted to go? "Why do we need this crystal anyway?" Christian asked.

Again, Gafford ignored his question and returned his eyes to the queen. "As I was saying, Your Majesty, I will accompany the boy."

"Of course, Gafford." The queen nodded fervently. "We would certainly not expect Christian to venture through the caves alone."

"The caves?" Christian surprised himself by the alarm in his voice, but he continued, "I thought we were through with those caves."

"Shhh," said Gafford.

Now Christian was glaring. The group continued, but he was not listening. He imagined the vast blackness, the empty cold, and the overwhelming feeling that he was being watched, not to mention the horrible, bloodthirsty beast that could have potentially destroyed them. The thought of returning made his stomach turn.

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"This journey shall be different, however," said the king. "You shall not be slipping through silently. You shall have to search . . . I do not expect it to be easy." He looked at the queen. "Are you certain that it must be done, my lady?"

"It will be difficult," she said. "But yes, it must be done."

Gafford looked troubled. "I am uncertain as to where in the caves this object can be found."

The king nodded. "It is indeed a risk . . . but what more do we have, Gafford? The boy was brought here for a purpose." His eyes were intense.

Christian's face grew hot, and he leaned back in his chair. He was about to bring his hands to his face when a cool hand touched his.

"Look at me." Ardella slipped her hand into his and whispered, "Calm, Christian. Everything will be all right."

He welcomed her soothing words, and the knot in his throat loosened with a cooling wave of stillness.

She smiled confidently, and Christian realized what she had just done. Her ability. She had used it to calm him. He had nearly forgotten. Had it been the first time? After they had escaped from the plague, he had felt the same thing . . . just seconds after Ardella had asked him to calm down.

He smiled back at her weakly. He wished that she could have been with him when he and Gafford had been outside of the kingdom walls.

Suddenly, a light flashed inside of his head and he rose from his chair. "Your Majesty!"

Both the king and queen appeared startled and the king said, "Yes, Christian?"

"I'll do it."

The king's eyebrows rose. "Very well . . . We—"

"But only if you'll let Ardella come too," Christian interrupted. His voice was steady.

Ardella tugged at his shirt. "Christian, you don't know what you're saying."

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"Yes, I do, Ardella, if you come with me, I can do it. Gafford will protect us. It will be—"

This time the queen interrupted, "Christian, the caves are no place for a young lady. Gafford may be able to protect you, but I would hate to burden him with—"

"It would be no burden whatsoever, Your Majesty," Gafford interjected. "I would be glad to protect them both if it would guarantee Christian's confidence."

Christian gave Gafford a triumphant smile.

The king shook his head. "I will not allow it. She is simply not ready for such a—"

"Father"—Ardella's voice was commanding with a hint of annoyance— "if I may be so bold, I believe that I am."

Both the king and the queen were surprised by her words.

"You said so yourself," she continued, "if it weren't for the spell, I would be an Aldric already."

"But you're not." The king's fists closed tightly. "Not yet." Ardella frowned.

"Please let her come with me, Your Majesty," Christian pleaded. "I can't do it without her."

Now Ardella smiled sheepishly.

The queen leaned forward and took Ardella's hands in hers. "No, I'm sorry, my dear." She shook her head. "I simply can't allow it."

There was a long silence, and Christian sank back into his chair.

Gafford looked at him. "You can do it alone, boy. I will protect you."

Christian folded his arms stubbornly. He could feel all their eyes beating down on him. He wanted to help, but he did not like the thought of returning to the caves. Sure, it had been an adventure, but he was through with it. Without Ardella, another trip into the caves would be a nothing but a dark and gloomy repeat.

Gafford touched his shoulder. "You can do it, boy."

Christian shook his head, his expression stony. "I don't know, Gafford."

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The king sighed. "I will not ask the boy to do anything he is not willing to do. There must be some other way."

"Father"—Ardella spoke up—"there is no other way. Mother's visions are always accurate. He must retrieve the Quondam Crystal."

Christian looked up. The king was shaking his head. "The boy is clearly unwilling to make the journey."

"He is more than willing, Father." She brushed her hair back nervously. "Please, Father, we're asking Christian to follow all our conditions . . . won't we grant him this one wish?"

The queen shook her head. "No, Ardella. You mustn't go."

"I respect your opinion," Ardella said, touching her mother's arm, "but shouldn't this be my decision?"

The queen went silent, and her eyes filled with tears.

Ardella wrapped her fingers around her mother's arm. "Mother, I may look like a young girl, but we both know that isn't true. I am more than capable, I assure you." She turned away from the queen and placed her hand under Christian's chin. "Christian," she said softly, "if I accompany you, will you venture into the caves willingly?"

Christian looked into her eyes and swallowed hard. "Yes."

"Will you be brave?"

He nodded.

"Give everything you have?"

"Yes."

She nodded and touched his shoulder.

Then the queen took a firm hold of Ardella's hand. "Are you sure this is what you want, my dear?"

Ardella stared at their clasped hands for a moment, then lifted her head and looked into her mother's eyes. "Of course, Mother. It's the very reason I have been training to become an Aldric."

"But you're not an Aldric yet," she said. "You do not understand the dangers outside of the walls. They are greater than you can imagine."

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"I know, Mother." She looked solemn. "But Christian needs this . . . and I need this."

The king and queen looked at each other. "We shall discuss the matter," the king said, stroking his beard.

The queen still looked uncomfortable. "Ramus will not approve." The king nodded, scanning the crowd. "Where is Ramus?" Everyone looked about the room, but Ramus was nowhere to be found.

The queen's eyes widened. "Search the castle!"

Before anyone had a chance to move, however, the entrance of the great hall swung open and Kreemul stood panting in the doorway, an unconscious Ramus dangling in his grasp. Kreemul's eyes were wild. "Your Majesty," he cried, "the plague!"

The king, along with several of the other Aldrics, rushed forward and carried Ramus away.

Ardella and the queen sat motionless in their chairs, their faces drained of blood.

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Chapter 15

The Box

The next morning was slightly calmer than the day before. The poundings of the plague had decreased significantly and were now nothing more than an occasional thump.

Christian and Ardella now sat on the white bench in her bedroom, sipping tea and trying to ignore the sounds of the dying plague. The windows of her room were now boarded up, and slivers of morning light shined through the wood and streaked across the elegant space.

Ardella had been very quiet since discovering that Ramus had been attacked by the plague. Christian guessed that she was still in shock, trying to cope with the loss. After what he had learned yesterday, he felt as though he were the one who should be in shock, but it was refreshing to be able to set his own worries aside and think of Ardella.

For several minutes, he struggled to find the words to say, but finally, he found the courage and settled with "Ardella, what will happen to Ramus?" She seemed to be awakened from a daze. "Ramus . . ." Her voice trailed off. "Well . . . the creatures were removed from his body, and thankfully,

his heart is intact."

"Will he be okay?"

"Someday," said Ardella. "For now, he is trapped in a state of cessation."

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Christian thought of the vogel bird that Gafford had killed. "Can't he be brought back?"

Her eyes filled with tears, but she looked up and blinked them away. "Yes, Christian. After the spell has been broken, we shall have the power to bring him back."

Christian was silent. This was yet another stone on top of the ever-growing weight on his shoulders. He frowned and looked at his hands.

Ardella, as usual, sensed how he was feeling. She placed her hand on his shoulder. "We will break the spell, Christian. I will not allow Ramus to remain trapped forever."

He gave her a sympathetic smile. "I'll do my best to help." She tucked her legs up underneath her dress. "Are you afraid?"

It was worthless to pretend. "Yeah, a little . . . but not nearly as afraid as I would be if you weren't coming with me." A pounding shook the floorboards and turned a spoon on the tea tray. "You're still coming with me, right?"

"Of course. I've been aching to escape this place for years," she said, straightening the spoon. "But now I wish to leave more than ever. Ramus needs me."

Christian nodded.

"After my mother discovered Ramus' state, she demanded that I stay, but I insisted upon accompanying you. I will not lie in wait and surrender Ramus to the confines of cessation. It's time I save him for a change."

"He saved you?" Christian asked.

Ardella gave him a sad smile. "Ramus is more than a brother to me . . . He's a friend. He has a simple way of doing things, a quiet way. In fact, he's never been a man of many words. But anyone who knows Ramus cannot question his goodness." Her eyes grew distant.

"I wish I could have known him better," said Christian.

Ardella nodded, and he could see the wheels of time turning back in her head. Christian longed to know what was happening inside. Like many of the kingdom people, she surely had a dark and difficult past. He wished

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he could discover her secrets the way he unearthed the motivations of the characters in his novels. If only he could read a prologue to her life. Then maybe he could—

"Many, many years ago," Ardella said, interrupting his thoughts, "I remember waking up to a burning throat and stinging eyes. There was something amiss . . . I could feel it."

Christian leaned forward. Perhaps he would get a taste of her prologue after all.

"All I could see was thick gray smoke," she said. "I panicked . . . I was just a girl." Now her eyes filled with tears, and her lips formed a tiny smile. "I can still remember how I felt, reaching into the blinding smoke . . . Then there was a firm hand that gripped my wrist. I was swept off my feet and carried out of the house faster than I thought possible. The sun was just beginning to rise when we finally made it outside. Ramus was covered in cuts and burns." She released a single puff of laughter. "One eyebrow was completely singed off."

Christian smiled softly.

Then her expression was somber. "But I was completely unharmed. He held me tightly, even after I had stopped crying."

Christian felt a desire to touch her arm, but he lacked the courage. "I just want to be brave for him," Ardella said. "Like he was brave

for me."

Christian's lips retained the little smile. "You are brave, Ardella." She looked down at her hands. "What makes you say that?" "Look what you're doing for Ramus . . . and for me."

A stream of light shined across her face and created a shadow that stretched her eyelashes longer. "It's frustration more than bravery."

He scooted a little closer. "Well, even if you aren't brave, I still want you to come with me."

She looked up with a sideways grin, wiped a tear from her eye, and pushed her hair behind her ear. "Why is that?"

Suddenly, his hands grew sweaty. "Well, you're . . . you're a real friend."

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Christian could see her white teeth smiling through the dim light. "We met yesterday."

"Doesn't matter."

She giggled and brushed his cheek with the back of her hand. "You're sweet."

He looked away, trying to fight back a smile. He wasn't even sure why he was smiling. Ardella really was a true friend. Being with her made him happier than he had ever been in his years at the boarding school. In fact, the last time he remembered being so happy was back when his mother was alive. Perhaps that was why he adored her so much. She reminded him very much of his loving mother.

"You know, Christian, I—"

A soft knock on the door interrupted her words.

Ardella stood and walked over to open it. "Good morning, Edwin," she said pleasantly.

"Good morning, my lady," he replied, weaving his long fingers together. "Your father has requested your presence in the great hall."

She nodded and closed the door. "Let's not keep him waiting," she said, straightening her shoes with her toes before slipping them on her feet.

They left the room, and as they walked down to the hall, Christian spotted the fade sitting inside a high windowsill. She fluttered down and hovered next to him, raising an eyebrow.

"Where have you been?" he asked.

She shrugged dismissively and sat on his shoulder.

As they approached the hall, he stole a quick glance at the metal door. The light of the torches danced across its glossy surface in a beckoning sort of way. It quivered in his peripherals until Edwin blocked it with the opening door.

They went into the hall and found the king, the queen, Gafford, and several of the other Aldrics sitting along the edge of a large wooden table.

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As they entered, the king, followed by everyone in the room, rose to their feet. Gafford stepped away from the table and stood next to Christian and Ardella.

"We have reached a decision," the king announced.

They all stood in silence.

"The quest for the Quondam Crystal shall begin in one fortnight from this day. The plague has already begun to expire, and the kingdom will soon return to its usual state." The king turned his attention to Ardella. "You, my daughter, shall accompany them. The moment that you set foot outside of the kingdom's walls, you shall be Christian's constant companion."

Ardella nodded.

Then the queen spoke. "We would like to present the three of you with tools, which shall aid you on your journey."

One of the Aldrics stooped below the table and returned with a wide wooden box. He carried it around the table and laid it before them, opening it on silent hinges.

The three of them leaned forward and saw that inside there were three luminous swords, several sharp knives, and a long silver bow. Gafford was the first to reach into the box. He retrieved the bow and let it rest in his hands, his fingers flattened. Christian looked at his face and saw that his lips were parted in admiration.

"But . . . Your Majesty . . .," he mumbled, clearly at a loss for words, "I thought . . . I mean to say, I had assumed that I would—"

The king cut him off. "It is time, Gafford. Silversmite is yours. The quest demands its aid."

Gafford's fingers wrapped around the bow with gentle care. He nodded solemnly and hooked it over his shoulder.

Christian looked at Ardella. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the gleaming bow. Then she too stepped forward and reached into the box. She picked up a small trinket that Christian had not noticed before. She turned her hand over and released it, but it did not fall to the ground. A little piece

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of gold fell and dangled from a thin chain. It was an oval with a sparkling emerald in the center. She smoothed the chain and gently stroked the gem.

"It was my mother's," said the queen. "It has brought me good fortune over the years. I had hoped that it would bring the same for you."

Ardella smiled and clasped the little necklace around her neck. Christian could not help but notice that the green jewel matched her eyes almost perfectly.

Ardella then reached into the box and pulled out the swords and extra knives. She handed two of the knives to Gafford, tucked one into her belt, and handed one to Christian.

Christian's knife was smaller than the others, and it was covered by a leather casing. He too tucked the knife into his belt. Then Ardella handed one of the swords to Gafford and the other to Christian.

Christian stared at the reflective blade, realizing he had never held an actual sword before. Like much of the decor he had seen in the castle, the hilt was embellished with inlaid leaves and swirls that resembled vines. In the center was a small white stone. He immediately recognized it as the one he had picked up in the Garden of Light. He admired the sword, running his thumb over the smooth white stone.

Ardella nudged him gently with her elbow. He looked up, and she nodded toward the box. Looking up at the Aldrics, he could see that they were all staring expectantly.

Carefully slipping the sword into his belt, he approached the box and looked inside. At first he thought it might be empty, but upon looking closer, he saw a small glass vial, no larger than a thimble. He reached down and pinched it carefully between his fingers. The vial was filled with a translucent purple liquid. Christian looked up in question.

The king said, "It was made for mortals. Use it only if you must." Christian nodded and stared at the bottle curiously. "What is it for?"

he asked.

The king seemed not to have heard the question. "You will spend the next two weeks preparing yourself in every way possible," he said. "Get plenty

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of rest and plenty of food. And you, boy"—the king waved his hand toward Christian—"you shall spend a great deal of time preparing with Gafford. Even the finest sword is useless in the hands of an inexperienced swordsman."

Gafford nodded to the king and then at Christian.

Christian pocketed the vial and squeezed the hilt of his sword. He imagined a knight in shining armor bravely battling a dragon to save a princess. He wondered if he would ever be able to use the sword the way the warriors from the storybooks did. Then his eyes wandered over to Ardella. Looking at her now, the way her full lips pursed when she was deep in thought, the way her long eyelashes fluttered, he thought that perhaps he did have it in him.

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Chapter 16

The Metal Door

Over the next two weeks, Christian spent most of his days training with Gafford. The majority of their time was spent in swordplay. Although Gafford mumbled the words "Not that two weeks of practice will get you very far" every few minutes, Christian found hope when he said things like "Not bad for your first time" or "You're getting there."

By the middle of the second week, Christian had familiarized himself with the weight, reach, strength, and grip of his sword. Even while Gafford was not looking, he was constantly moving and swinging his sword in order to become familiar with its balance. He did as Gafford had said, keeping his feet shoulder-width apart, and practiced unsheathing his sword as quickly as possible. He kept his fingers loosely gripped around the hilt and made sure to use caution when retrieving and replacing the sword in his belt.

Perhaps the thing that Gafford said the most was to relax. "If you keep your composure," he would say, "you'll be ready to pounce on your opponent's smallest mistake." Christian always smiled to himself when Gafford would remind him to remain relaxed. That's what Ardella is for, he would think.

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The days were tedious, but when he wasn't cramming information into Christian's brain, Gafford spent his time in the library searching for clues that might help them in their journey. This gave Christian some free time to spend with Ardella. She had a few of her own hints and tricks to offer, but he enjoyed every moment no matter what subject they were discussing.

On the day of their departure, Christian awoke earlier than he had been expected to. This was partly due to the fact that he had retired to bed so early and partly because he was so anxious to leave. After staring at the dimly lit ceiling for at least fifteen minutes, he rose from bed and walked over to the mirror. Once again, he was happy to see nothing in the length of the mirror, nothing but his own reflection and the bedroom behind him.

He dressed himself, and after a few minutes of pacing the bedroom, he decided that he would go downstairs. The fade was still curled up on top of a shelf, sleeping peacefully, and so he pulled the door open quietly and peeked out. As usual, there was no one except the two guards stationed outside. This was the earliest he had risen while staying in the castle, and the stone walls and floors were shadowy and cold.

He crept down the staircase and tiptoed toward the great hall, hoping that perhaps he would find someone who had already awoken. Just as he was about to pull open the door into the great hall, a memory flashed across his mind. The metal door. How had he forgotten? He immediately turned around to face it. As usual, it was closed, and the short hallway leading up to the door was dark.

He knew he should stay away. It was obvious that there was a reason that the door had not been mentioned, that everyone had pretended like it did not exist. However, once again, his curiosity was threatening to get the best of him.

After looking around cautiously, he hurried over to a torch near the entrance of the great hall. He took it from the wall and tiptoed over to the metal door. After a moment of hesitation, he glanced once more over his shoulder and then tugged at the knob. To his surprise, it slid open easily. In

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fact, the door was much lighter than he had imagined. He leaned forward and peered inside.

The door opened up, and the light of his torch danced across the stone walls. A narrow passageway led to a small stairway leading down. The stairway was dark, but he could see a faint light flickering from somewhere deep inside. He guessed that there would be another torch below to light the way. Silently, he slipped through the metal door and closed it carefully behind him.

Reason told him not to, but he hesitated only a moment before hurrying down the stone steps before him. The stairway wasn't too long, and before he knew it, he had found the source of light at the bottom. Another small torch attached to the wall burned bright as though it had been very recently lit.

At the base of the staircase, there was a small room with three large doors identical to the one he had just opened. For a moment he stood still, staring at the three doors, and the torch handle grew moist in his sweaty palm.

After a short pause, he decided to start with the door on the farthest side of the room and test the doors as though reading from left to right. He walked over to the handle, took in a deep breath, and pulled. It didn't budge, and even when he pulled harder, the door remained in place. He knew he should not have been surprised that the door was locked. In fact, he guessed that the others were probably locked as well.

Preparing himself for disappointment, he walked over to the middle door. Expecting the same outcome as before, he did not hesitate before giving the door's handle a vigorous tug. His heart leaped, however, when the door opened effortlessly and swung wide open. He smiled, and his curious head peered inside.

The room was dark, but his torch offered just enough light for him to vaguely make out the room's surroundings. The floor was white marble with a long pathway. The pathway was a darker shade of gray, and it led

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up to two tall marble pillars that were framing a stone staircase. This was all he was able to make out through the dim light.

Cautiously, he inched forward, leaving the door cracked open behind him. As he walked along the marble pathway, he noticed that the tops of the walls were covered in a variety of intricate carvings. He strained his eyes, but he was unable to clearly identify any of the figures.

When he reached the staircase, he found that it led up to a small stone altar and a water basin. Just as he stepped onto the platform that held the altar, his stomach did a strange, uncomfortable flip. His forehead began to sweat, and he stumbled backward onto the stairs. The moment his feet had touched the steps, a comforting relief spread over him.

Once again, he stepped forward onto the platform. To his surprise, the unpleasant feeling in his stomach returned, only this time, it was much stronger, and he felt as though he might vomit. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he backed away from the altar. His head was spinning, and he sank down onto the steps.

However, the moment he sat down, the unpleasant feeling had completely left him, and he felt normal again. He wondered if his stomach was acting up because of something he had eaten. But it had been hours since dinner, and he had not experienced discomfort during the night.

Still sitting down, he turned around and faced the altar. Christian knew he was trespassing. He knew that there was a reason that this room had been avoided, but something even deeper told him that he shouldn't be here. Perhaps that was the reason why he had felt so unwell when he had touched the altar.

Cautiously, he stood up. His foot hovered over the platform, and he inched his toes closer and closer to the floor. The moment his foot had touched the ground, a sinking sick feeling rushed through his body. He pulled his foot away, turned from the altar, and quickly hurried down the steps toward the door.

He toppled through the exit and closed it behind him, leaning against the door. Breathing hard, he hurried over to the original metal door,

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prepared to leave. Sure, he had been curious, but it was obvious that he had overstepped boundaries that were not meant to be crossed. He placed his hand on the knob and was about to depart when he remembered something that he almost wished he hadn't: there were three doors.

He told himself to go, to proceed through the exit and leave the other door alone, but he simply couldn't. If he didn't find out now, he might never know what was behind the third door. Before he could stop himself, his feet were carrying him toward the third door. And before he knew it, the door was open and he was peeking inside.

As his eyes adjusted to the light, he found that the room was much larger than the previous. The dim light could only reach as far as the first fifteen or twenty feet, but the atmosphere and echo of the room proved its vastness.

The room was filled with dozens of narrow tables covered in white sheets. He closed the door halfway, worried that these were beds and he would awaken whoever was lying in them. But as he peeked through the small crack in the door, the sliver of light revealed that the stands could not have been full of sleeping people because the sheets were all pulled tight and covered the length of the tables.

Now his interest had reached an even higher peak. Before he knew it, he was tiptoeing over to the nearest table. He stretched out his hand, letting his index finger brush the top of it. Nothing happened. He reached further, taking hold of the edge of the sheet. He took in a deep breath and pulled.

As the cloth dropped from the table, his stomach dropped as well. When he was a small child, maybe two years old, Christian had crept

down from his bedroom. It was early in the morning or perhaps late at night. He was unsure of what he would do downstairs but uninterested in staying in bed any longer. After finding that the television had been left on, he stood in front of the flashing screen, transfixed by the images inside. His little eyes had widened in terrified awe as a group of rotten-faced zombies invaded a small farm home. It was the first, and last, horror film he had ever seen, but the faces of those lifeless beings still haunted him to this day.

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What he now found beneath this cloth brought these images back with full force. Below his clutching white knuckles lay a gaunt face whose eyes were pulled open in a vacant stare.

He gasped and stumbled away from the table. Looking around him, it was now apparent that the tables were filled with hundreds of lifeless bodies. The blood drained from his face, and a chill ran down the length of him. It began at the base of his neck and slithered down his chest until it hit his stomach and made him shiver. Just when he thought he could not be any more afraid, there was a sound that frightened him even more.

Footsteps from behind.

Now he was certain that his doom would come. The living dead had come for him. They had finally found their way out of the television program and into a nightmare come true. He was about to surrender himself to panic when yet another sound came.

Voices. They were rumbling from the back of the room. He crouched and stomped on the torch, extinguishing its fire. Then he rushed to one of the nearby tables and concealed himself beneath it.

"This time we were lucky." The first voice belonged to a man. It was low and even, and it took Christian a moment to recognize it. However, when the man continued with "There were only a few villagers who could not make it to shelter in time," Christian was certain to whom the voice belonged. Kreemul.

"And the children?" came the second voice. This voice came from a man who sounded much older. Christian had never heard this voice before. "Were the children able to make it inside safely?"

"Yes . . ." There was a sound of a distant thudding door. "No children lost this time."

There was a moment or two of silence before the footsteps approached closer. He held his breath and remained as still as a statue.

Then the voices were a mere feet away from him. The older man spoke again, but Christian was unable to discern what he said. He peeked from beneath the table and saw that Kreemul was standing just inches from the

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extinguished torch. He took a sideways step, and his foot nudged it gently.

Christian's heart sank. He would surely be discovered.

Kreemul, however, did not pay heed to the torch. "Strange . . .," he said, "I was sure I closed this door behind me." Neither Kreemul nor the old man seemed to notice the torch. They exited the room and the door swung closed, muffling their voices. Then there was a loud click, and he was alone.

It took a moment for the severity of the situation to fully sink in. The first thing that hit him was the darkness; the overwhelming blackness pressed down on him like an enormous weight. He tried to remain calm and even managed to steady his breathing.

But somewhere in the middle of trying to catch his breath and remembering what Gafford had told him about the darkness, he remembered just where he was. Not only was he in utter darkness but he was also trapped in a room full of hundreds of tables—tables that just happened to be full of . . . dead bodies. One of which happened to be lying inches above his head.

The edge of the sheet caught the back of his head as he hurried out from under the table. The sheet pulled away from the body, and it fell in front of him. He fought desperately to remove the clinging fabric, which had entangled itself around his feet. He kicked it away from himself and stumbled backward in the dark.

In his panic, he crashed into the table behind him, knocking it over. He turned around and caught the table, but he was not quick enough to save the limp body from falling to the floor. It hit the ground with a sickly thud.

And then there was utter silence.

His eyelids were stretched wide as he tried to make out something, anything in the stark blackness. He stretched out his arms and took a cautious step forward in the direction that the metal door had been. He found the edge of another table and carefully maneuvered around it.

Although he was almost certain that the door had been locked, he still found himself heading toward it, a sliver of hope begging him to try. He

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finally reached the wall and slid his hands across the stone until he touched the metal doorframe. His hand rested on the knob.

He knew the door would be locked, but somehow, when his attempt to open it failed, his heart sank even lower than it had before. Now it was certain. He was trapped.

His instinct was to run, to get as far away from the darkness and bodies as possible, but he had nowhere to run, no way to escape. He had been wrong before. This was his worst nightmare. In fact, it had to be worse than his worst nightmare. In a nightmare, he could wake up and find himself safe in bed, but here he was trapped, and here his fears were real.

Without giving it much thought, he raised his arms and pounded his fists on the door, yelling for help. He knew he shouldn't. He knew that he would have no valid explanation as to why he was in the room, but his emotions had taken control of his body.

After several minutes of carrying on this way, it was obvious that no one would hear him. With a final scream for help, he turned and sank the floor. His voice carried through the room, echoing softly until it faded into silence.

Up to this point, he had successfully repelled the images of his mother's last day. He had effectively stored them away in a place with a lock, and he could almost believe they never happened. But now the dreadful scene was returning with a powerful vengeance. The blackness of the room provided an upsettingly perfect backdrop for a crisp and vivid reliving. And try as he might, he could not sweep it away.

His mother clutched her stomach and cried, "My water broke. My water broke!" An anxious father and heavy-breathing mother rushed about while a wide-eyed Christian sat petrified in a dining chair. There was shouting and moaning from behind a closed door. It carried on for what seemed like hours. After unsuccessfully banging on the door and not being heard, little Christian surrendered and sank to the floor.

It was all so ironic, all too similar. A scared and innocent Christian had spent many long and unhappy hours alone, completely oblivious to what

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was happening behind the closed door. Now an older but equally naive Christian sat alone on the floor. No one would heed his cries, and he was all alone in the darkness.

All he could hear were his mother's cries, and all he could see was her pale bare feet on the mattress.

His ears were on fire and tears were beginning to form. He blinked them away and rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. It seemed that the memories always attacked at the worst times possible. He hated this place, hated these thoughts. He had done nothing to deserve the misery and loss that he had experienced that night, but although a mourning mind had often tried to convince him that the tragedy was somehow his fault, he knew it wasn't true. He had been a victim of fate, and he needed to accept it.

He found temporary comfort in the thought, but the feeling washed away when he realized that the situation he presently found himself in was very different. This time it was, in fact, all his fault. If it weren't for his darned curiosity, he would be safe in his bed now, or in the great hall, probably eating some toast and sipping a warm drink. He had, without a doubt, been in the wrong place at the wrong time. This was due to his own foolishness, and this time it had gotten him into the worst situation he could imagine.

He wondered how long he would be here until someone noticed he was missing. Would they assume that he had run away out of a fear of returning to the caves?

He sat with his knees pulled up to his chest, covered his face, and listened to the pounding of his heart. This was a time when he desperately needed Ardella.

He pictured her face, her beautiful loving smile. The thought brought momentary comfort. Then he thought back to the last time he had been in darkness. In the black of the caves, Gafford had told him that his mind was in control, that he would not be afraid if he could simply convince himself that there was nothing to fear.

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Normally, when he found himself in darkness, he was able to find a tiny light source, cling to it, and tell himself: there's nothing in the dark that isn't in the light. Usually, this method worked because, usually, this statement was true.

But this time it was different. There was something in the dark, and that thing was also in the light. Darkness or not, he would have been terrified by the thought of being alone among the dead.

His mind went back to the graveyard across from the church at home. He had seen it through the window so many times. He remembered the tall pointed fence that encircled the hundreds of granite gravestones and marble statues. The thought of the dead remains beneath the grass had always made his skin crawl. Their bodies were rotting, and worms ate their flesh. The strangers' corpses, right along with his mother's, molded and rotted beneath the dirt. Now they were all around him, filling the room with their lifeless presence.

Unfortunately for Christian, these corpses were not covered by six feet of dirt. They were raised aboveground, fully exposed other than a thin sheet draped over them. He did not know where the bodies had come from or why there were so many, but he wished that he had never found them.

It was now apparent why everyone had avoided the room, and he wondered why Kreemul would carelessly leave it unlocked. He also wondered why the two men had been in the back of the room, talking about . . . what had they been talking about? He tried to relax and concentrated on what he had heard. He remembered that they had discussed children, and Kreemul had said, "There were only a few villagers who could not make it to shelter in time."

He thought for a moment.

The plague. His breath caught. Now he knew where the bodies had come from. The thought seemed a bit unrealistic, however, given the fact that there were so many of them filling the room. Unless, he realized, the other bodies had been here much longer.

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He thought back to the day when he and Gafford had walked through the woods. He had mentioned something about death, about how it was different for people here in the Mirallantic.

His head lifted in realization.

"They're not dead," he whispered into the darkness. "They're in . . .

cessation." Ardella had mentioned it too.

He stood up, looking around blindly. As he rose to his feet, another thought of realization crossed his mind. The two men had appeared from the back of the room. They had not noticed him when he first came in, which meant that there had to be another passageway in the back of the room.

A twinge of hope rose up in his chest. Once again, he stretched out his arms, taking a cautious step forward. He moved forward blindly until his toe nudged the edge of a table. A small chill ran through his body, but he pushed the fear aside, trying not to think about the bodies around him. He kept his arms outward and carefully felt his way through.

He ran his shaking hands along the edges of the tables, carefully trying not to touch any of the bodies. He had gone several feet when he reached out to find the edge of the next table, and his hand was caught. He tried to pull his fingers back, but they had become entangled in a thick piece of . . . he pulled back in horror, realizing that his hand was caught in a thick strand of hair that hung from the edge of the table.

He shook his hand vigorously, trying to free himself of it. The dull sickness in his stomach escalated when his pulling caused the head to rise up and then thud loudly on the table. His hand was pulled free from the hair, and he stumbled backward, yanking several strands of hair from the scalp.

He only fell backward a few feet before his fall was broken. He had landed flat on his back, flat on a surface that was soft but sickeningly stiff as well. In a panicked rush, he rolled over and pushed himself off the body. One of his hands found the curve of a nose, and the other a soft indention of a belly as he shoved himself away.

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After he caught his balance, he shook his hands again, wiping them on his pants and struggling to untangle the strands of hair caught between his fingers. He was sweating, shaking, and breathing heavily.

He crouched down and again covered his face. He felt safer on the floor, and for the time being, it was as far away from the bodies as he could be.

Finally, he quieted his breathing but remained crouched, silent in the dark. He wondered how far the door was . . . wondered if there was any door at all. He knew one thing for sure. He did not want to stay here, and the only possibility of escape was somewhere in the back of this room. However, he could not bring himself to stand up. He did not want to level himself with the bodies again, the bodies that somehow, although inanimate, seemed to know how to get to him.

He decided to continue on all fours, hoping that he was heading in the right direction. The floor seemed like a safe place, and he figured he was not likely to touch or stumble over one of the bodies down there. He moved very slowly and very carefully. Although his heart was still beating a mile a minute, he found it easier to move directly toward the back of the room when he could crawl between and beneath the tables, rather than weaving between them.

After several minutes of cautious maneuvering, his fingertips found the stone of the back wall. He slid both hands up its rough rocky surface, rising to his feet.

He began to move sideways, keeping his body close to the wall. He walked for a big stretch of space, but found nothing but the left corner of the room. He turned and headed to the right.

This time, he walked for what seemed like miles before his fingertips bumped the thick wood of a doorframe. His heart pounded with hope, and he slid his hand over to the handle. Without a pause, he gripped the handle and pulled backward forcefully.

It didn't move. He moaned and leaned against the wood. In frustration, he slapped the door with his hand and then let it slide down slowly. As it

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fell, his hand touched something else . . . something he had not noticed before. There was a latch above the handle. It was cool and metallic beneath his fingers. He fumbled with it for a few moments, and then, like music to his ears, the click of the latch echoed through the room. He took ahold of the handle and pulled gently.

The door swung open.

Christian was so pleasantly surprised that a breath of excited laughter burst from his mouth. He practically jumped through the door, and it swung closed behind him. The morning sun shined down a steep staircase before him. He shut the door behind him and raced up the steps. As he reached the top, the light and air of the early morning spread across his face and seeped into his skin. The sun was just starting to come up, and the gray sky was beginning to turn yellow around the edges.

He was so thankful to be outside, away from the darkness, away from the fear, that he nearly forgot that he was still in trouble. He looked about and vaguely recognized this part of the garden, but he was still uncertain which way he should go.

He knew if he went to the right, there was nothing but a water fountain and a path that curved around to the back of the castle. He also knew, however, that if he went left, he would end up at the entrance to the great hall. By this time, there was bound to be someone there.

He thought that perhaps, if he was quiet, he could sneak back up to his room unnoticed. He started to walk forward, but only took two steps before he stopped abruptly.

Something cracked beneath his foot. He looked down, squinting through the dim morning light. Moving his foot to the side, he saw a dark lump of foreign matter. He bent down and was examining it closer when he found another, just inches from the first. Only this one was not a squished lump of matter.

Six long brown legs bent upward in a lifeless clutch of death, and two large damp eyes shined red and lidless, empty and cold.

The plague.

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His eyes grew wider as his eyes searched the grounds around him. There were dozens, no hundreds, of the dead creatures scattering the stone floor. He stood paralyzed, barely breathing. He wondered how long the plague would have lasted if they had been able to eat. Would they have ever left? How many people had these creatures killed? He knew that this was not the first time they had attacked the kingdom. He shook his head in frustration. Somebody had to put a stop to this, but how?

His thoughts were interrupted by a rather unpleasant sound. It was a crackling mixed with a dull buzzing. His head whipped around, and there was movement near a small bush. His arms locked up, and he stared.

Then it moved. One of the little creatures began to quiver, slightly at first. It wiggled around until it had turned itself over. It was now on its legs, facing Christian and staring at him. This creature's eyes were not blank, not clouded over by a glossy sheen. They shined bright and lively, full of energy . . . full of hunger.

Christian did not wait a second longer. He turned on his heel and ran as fast as his legs could carry him, disregarding the sickening cracking and crunching beneath his feet. As he sprinted toward the great hall, he saw another door. It was a great distance closer than the entrance to the great hall.

With another wave of determination, he sprinted forward. The buzzing of wings was just inches from his head and just a moment's distance from attack. He lunged forward and yanked the handle of the door. To his relief, it was unlocked, and he threw himself through it, toppling to the ground. He kicked the door closed behind him, and a split second later, his pursuer thudded against the other side.

He scrambled to his feet, resting his hands on his knees and breathing heavily. The words "curiosity killed the cat" played over and over in his mind, and the voice was that of Ms. Hawthorne. No matter how many times he had been told, or how many times it had proven true, it was never until after the cat had been killed that he remembered this saying. Christian sighed fervently. His nine lives were running low.

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He looked up and surveyed his surroundings. He seemed to have come in through one of the servants' entrances. There were several large buckets of water and piles of clothing. He was about to sneak out of the room when there was a light pair of footsteps from outside. He scanned the room desperately for a hiding spot. His eyes found a large cupboard door, so he opened it, shoved a pile of folded cloth to the side, and squeezed himself inside.

The moment he had pulled the cupboard closed, a woman entered the room. Peeking through a crack in the door, he could see that her hair was tied back with a rag, and she was holding a large pitcher of steaming water. Christian held his breath as she walked by. Then she turned to his direction, and he recognized her immediately. It was the handmaiden he had met on his first morning in the castle. She was a friend to Ardella and her sisters. He could not seem to remember her name, but he remembered her kind face and long dark hair. She was pouring the water into a metal tub when another person entered the room.

He also recognized this person immediately. However, the recollection was not a pleasant one. The man's vein-covered head seemed to glow in the dim light of the morning, and his gray cloak swayed silently as he approached the maid's turned back. She did not seem to notice that he had approached her. The man leaned forward and brought his face close to her hair, taking in a deep breath.

Christian's brow furrowed as the intruder reached up and lifted a strand of the woman's hair.

She whipped around and dropped the pitcher into the tub, splashing them both with water.

"Kreemul!" she exclaimed, placing her hand on her chest. "You surprised me."

He did not reply but reached forward and held up a finger. She watched it cautiously as it floated down and ran across the length of her collarbone. She frowned and lowered her head as she tried to move away from him. Kreemul smiled and took a firm hold on her arm. Her face made it obvious

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that he was hurting her. He pulled her closer and took ahold of her chin. She struggled and let out a whimper, but Kreemul smiled and effortlessly held her face close to his. His lips parted, and he whispered something that Christian could not hear.

The maid squeezed her eyes shut and pursed her lips tightly. He did not want to, but Christian felt that he had no choice but to come out of the cupboard. He had just begun to push it open when there was another sound it the doorway.

A broom fell and Christian looked to see a gray-haired maid standing in the doorway. Kreemul took one look at the old woman, shoved the young maid to the side, and then marched out of the room.

Christian pulled the cupboard door closed tighter again. Through a crack, he saw the second maid rush over and take the girl's hands in her own. "Are you all right, Rachel?"

That sparked his memory. Rachel.

Rachel sniffled and nodded. The maid put her arm around Rachel, and they both left the room. Christian waited a few minutes before emerging from the cupboard. Nobody entered, so he decided that the coast was clear.

He crept out of the room, peeking up and down the hall. He could see the staircase that led up to his bedroom. He took one last breath, in an attempt to quiet his breathing, and hurried across the hall. He raced up the steps and walked to his room with a quick stride. He did not even look at the guards as he approached the bedroom.

Before he could go inside, however, there were voices nearby. They were coming from the opposite end of the hall and were growing steadily closer. He rushed over to his door, pulled it open, and tripped twice as he fumbled through the dim light toward his bed. He yanked back the covers and jumped up onto the mattress.

Just as he had pulled the blankets up to his chin, the door swung open, and a figure appeared in the entryway.

"Wake up, boy. We have quite the day ahead of us." Gafford pulled open the curtains and light filled the room. Then he was by Christian's

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side. "You feeling well, boy? You're sweating . . . In fact, you look as though you've seen a ghost."

Christian wiped the sweat from his brow and mumbled, "Something like that."

"What is it, my boy?"

"Oh, it was nothing, Gafford." Christian sighed. "Just . . . a nightmare."

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Chapter 17

Back to the Black

"Is it just the three of you?" He saw the fade. "The four of you?" Sargus was standing just outside of the kingdom's entrance scanning the three of them skeptically.

Gafford nodded. "Correct."

Sargus looked as though he was going to protest but decided against it. "I wish you luck," he said.

They thanked him and continued down the shadowy hallway. They turned to the left, and Christian recalled that the right led back into the sunny room with the water.

The other had been the room that led to the depths.

Christian was not terribly surprised when Gafford turned and headed down the passageway to the left.

The brick corridor was long and dim. The darkness grew stronger as they drew closer to the exit. The fade began to glow, and Christian was now able to make out a simple metal door that had been painted white. Its metal hinges were rusted, having been scarcely used for years. Gafford motioned toward Christian. "Your sword, boy."

Christian did not hesitate to remove his sword from his belt. He handed it to Gafford with a questioning look.

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Gafford took the sword and slipped it into the crack of the door. He pushed it through until the hilt rested against the large brass padlock.

Christian wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him when he saw the little stone from the Garden of Light glow for a second or two. Gafford removed the sword from the door. The large lock fell from the door and hit the stone floor with an echoing clatter. He reached for the handle and pulled the door wide open.

Ardella reached down and retrieved the lock, which had fallen by her feet. One of her hands was in a fist, her fingers wrapped around the little green gem on her necklace. Then she tucked the necklace inside of her collar, squared her shoulders, and dropped the lock in Gafford's hand as she walked through the door.

Christian's heart pounded as he saw her shape disappear into the darkness. Gafford tilted his head toward the exit in a beckoning gesture.

Christian nodded and looked over to the fade. "Let's go."

The fade looked at him with an unpleasant expression and flew forward reluctantly. Christian took a deep breath, staring into the blackness. The darkness of the room with the bodies flashed through his mind. He did not know when he would once again see the light of day, and the darkness loomed in front of him like a thick cloud of doom. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and moved forward with his arms outstretched.

He and Gafford passed through the door and it swung closed behind them. Christian took another step forward, and Ardella's fingers wrapped around his outstretched hand. He gave her hand a little squeeze before she let go, and his heart fluttered.

Their silence was as profound as the darkness, and it continued for several moments before Gafford finally spoke. "I've studied the layout of this part of the cave, but I have never before ventured here. We'll be sure to reach uncharted territory soon." His words hung stagnant in the air, like the gunshot at the beginning of a race that nobody wanted to compete in.

Christian looked around the cave. There was no telling what they might find in the depths of the darkness. Their last venture to these caves

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had been carefully planned, and they had passed through silently. Even then, they had encountered life-threatening danger. This time, however, they were intruders, blindly fumbling through the vacancy. There was no way of knowing what may lie ahead.

Suddenly, Christian's back was shoved hard. It knocked a puff of air out of him and reminded him of the jolt after waking up from a nightmare. He let out a startled gasp, and as he stumbled forward, the ground sloped downward steeply. Ardella also gasped and toppled after him. They struggled in an attempt to control their stumbling footsteps but finally lost their footing and fell to their backsides. Just then, Gafford slid past them, also on his backside. He took hold of Christian's arm and pulled him swiftly down the smooth rocky floor. Gafford was clutching the fade, and his arm was wrapped around Ardella's waist. The four of them slid down, and Christian fought back the urge to shout out in alarm.

The slope grew steadily steeper as they continued to slip downward. They slid for several seconds before Christian's body left the rock beneath him. Both he and Ardella let out shocked cries as they fell down to their landing. He braced himself for a rough landing, but when his behind collided with the ground, it was not at all what he had expected.

Instead of slamming against a solid stone floor, a mass of strange springy cushioning broke their fall. Christian remained on his back, stretching his arms out to the side. He patted the floor around him. The cushioning was soft and thick. It tickled his ears and prickled his neck.

He sat up and saw that Ardella was holding a clump of the cushioning in her hand, picking through it curiously. Gafford was stretching his hand outward, also inspecting the strands that had woven themselves between his fingers.

Suddenly, a look of realization spread over Ardella's face, and she gasped, shaking her hand vigorously. She stood and looked around in disgust. "Gafford," she gasped, covering her mouth as her eyes widened.

Christian picked up a strand and held it in front of his eyes. "Is this . . . hair?"

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Gafford stood as well. "Seems to be."

Once again, the room with the bodies came to Christian's mind. It was as though the tangled hair from the lifeless head had returned. He sprang to his feet and tried to kick it away from him. The floor was unsteady, and he swayed and fell over again. He looked up at Gafford. "Where did it come from?"

Gafford wore a knowing expression, but he said, "It doesn't matter now. We must leave."

He waved his arm through the air and headed away into the dark, struggling to keep his footing in the spongy entanglement of hair. The pieces clung to their shoes, and they all had to fight to stay on their feet.

Finally, the light of the fade revealed the edge of the hair. Christian hurried forward and was about to step off when something strange touched his foot. He stopped short and looked back. The light was growing steadily dimmer as the fade continued forward, but Christian was barely able to catch a glimpse of what looked like . . . a skeletal hand. It was tiny, like a baby's hand. He saw it for only a brief second, and then it moved. It clutched at the hair before burying itself deep within it. The hair quivered and shifted for a moment, and then it was still.

Christian stared at the spot intently, his eyes stretched wide, but the fade's light was gone.

"Christian"—came Ardella's voice—"what are you doing?" Christian turned around. "I-I thought I saw . . ."

Ardella stepped forward, craning her neck to see behind Christian.

"It looked like a . . ." Christian flexed his fingers in a clawlike manner.

"Like a little hand or something."

Gafford's eyes narrowed. "Let's move on."

Christian nodded. "Which way should we go?"

Gafford took a look around. His lips were pulled into a tight line. "I don't know."

Christian had not expected this reply. It was apparent that Ardella was puzzled as well.

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"You don't know?" she asked with a tilt of her head. "You said you had studied the layout."

"Indeed, I have . . . I know the layout well," he replied. "What I don't know is where our destination lies. The Quondam Crystal could be anywhere."

"Very well," said Ardella. "What do we know?"

"One thing is for certain," said Gafford, "the Quondam Crystal lies with the Hollow Holders . . . The Hollow Holders cannot be found."

There was a twinge of annoyance in Ardella's voice. "If they cannot be found, what do you propose we do?"

"You misunderstand," Gafford said calmly. "You cannot find the Hollow Holders . . . The Hollow Holders find you."

Ardella looked around. "What are we to do when they find us?" "I've a couple of ideas," he said. "Leave the details to me. For now, we

need to move. You, boy. Decide which way."

"Me?" Christian raised his eyebrows. "You want me to choose?" "Your guess is as good as mine."

Christian looked around. He could not see much through the dim light of the fade, but he was able to make out a few tunnels leading into darkness.

"Let's just go forward," he said, motioning to the tunnel in front of him.

"Good plan," Gafford said with a single nod. He started forward, and the three of them followed closely behind.

They entered a tunnel that was low and narrow. Christian was able to stand upward, but Ardella had to duck her head, and Gafford had to stoop over.

After walking for several yards, Christian looked back and saw that Ardella was rubbing her neck.

"Gafford, do you think we should stop for a minute?"

"I can see the end," said Gafford. "Soon we'll be on all fours." "Don't worry about me, Christian," Ardella said quietly.

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Although Christian was fairly certain that she couldn't see his face, he glanced back and gave her a sympathetic smile. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as he saw a smudge of dirt on her cheek, a rip on the hem of her dress. He looked at his feet. Although he was still entirely certain that he would not have had the courage to return to these caves without her, he wondered if he had given Ardella a fair chance to oppose to coming on the journey. He knew that she would not have done so. At the time he had not felt like he was taking advantage of her kindness, her true devotion and sincerity, but looking back, he felt rather selfish for asking so much of her.

Suddenly, Gafford stopped walking. Christian was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly crashed into the back of him.

Gafford crouched down. "It's here. We'll have to flatten ourselves out to make it through." Christian stepped back, and Gafford lowered his chest to the ground. "Come in straight after me, boy."

He nodded, and Gafford's head disappeared into the low passageway. After his whole body had descended, Ardella gave Christian a soft nudge in the back, and he followed after.

He hurried through the tight crevice and scraped the skin on his elbows. His hand reached out, and Gafford took hold of it, pulling him forward. His head bumped against the top of the crevice as he was yanked free, but he ignored the pain. He was glad to be out of the tunnel. Gafford patted him on the back and crouched down again. "Are you coming, my lady?"

There was a muffled groaning from inside the crevice.

Christian returned to his hands and knees. "Ardella, are you okay?"

Before he could finish his sentence, Ardella's face appeared from inside.

Gafford moved closer. "Here you are, my lady, take my hand."

She reached forward gratefully. As he pulled her forward, there was a small rumbling sound behind her. They paused, straining their ears.

The rumbling grew louder, and Ardella looked up in realization, panic all over her face. None of them had time to react before the rumbling grew to an echoing pounding of rock, and the crevice began to cave in. Gafford

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gave Ardella's body a desperate tug, but neither one of them budged.

Ardella gasped and let out a pain-stricken cry.

Neither of them moved until the rumbling ceased. It echoed through the tunnel until there was silence.

"Gafford, my foot," she moaned through coming tears. "My foot is stuck!"

"Don't move," he said, keeping his voice even. He looked up and glanced around.

Christian took Ardella's hand. "Are you okay?"

"Quiet," Gafford hissed. He held one finger up and stared into the darkness. Christian looked at his face. It shined clear and blue in the light of the fade. He brought his finger to his lips and then said, "They're coming."

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Chapter 18

The Hollow Holders

"I would feel justified in assuming that three kingdom people, such as yourselves, would be sensible enough to avoid venturing into these parts of the caves . . . without invitation."

Christian whipped around. The cool voice rang clear and quiet in the blackness. He squinted in the darkness but saw nothing.

"Who goes there?" Gafford asked.

"Ah, but this is the very question we ought to be inquiring of you" returned the voice.

"We're travelers . . . sent by King Sable," Gafford announced.

There was a silence followed by an indistinct whisper. The three of them held perfectly still, and the fade cowered behind Christian's back. He strained his ears, but the whispers faded into silence. It was an eerie silence, as dark as the blackness around them, and he knew they were in trouble.

Suddenly, something took a strong hold on his arm. He turned and saw that a large figure loomed above him. He struggled and tried to pull away, but the grip was firm, and he could not budge.

Then there was a grunt, and another large form was holding Gafford's arms behind his back. Gafford did not struggle but said, "I assure you, we are no threat to your people."

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The men did not respond, but a third figure appeared and snapped his fingers. "Free the girl," he commanded.

There was a scraping of rock from behind the crevice, and Ardella let out a startled cry. Christian caught one last glimpse of her face, and then her body was pulled backward into the hole.

"Ardella!" he shouted.

After a commotion on the other side of the crevice, Ardella's muffled voice came from behind the wall, demanding that the men release her.

Christian took the man's forearms and pulled desperately. "Let me go!" he yelled. "Let go of me now!" He yanked his body backward and unintentionally knocked the fade against the wall. She hissed and flew up to the ceiling, shedding light on the group.

The three men were very large and lean. They wore animal hide loincloths, and their skin was a sickly pale white. Their bodies appeared healthy, but their faces were sunken and weary, much like the face of a person who was recovering from illness. As the light rested upon them, they shielded their eyes and turned their faces away from the fade.

The cool voice came again. "Take them away."

The moment the words had been spoken, the man wrapped his arms around Christian's chest and lifted his feet off the ground. The smell of sweat and old meat filled his nostrils. The other men seized Gafford, and one sprang up and snatched the fade out of the air. Before she had a chance to fight back, he stuffed her inside of a bag and tied it closed.

The tunnel went black, and the only sounds were the shuffling and scraping of feet against the stone floor. The large man dropped Christian to his feet, took a strong hold of his shoulders, and nudged him in the back with his knee. Christian stumbled and then hurried forward without a word.

As they ventured deeper and deeper into the caves, the floor grew steeper, and the air grew colder. Christian took in slow, steady breaths and fought the urge to struggle as the men carried them on and on. The situation seemed grave, but all he could think about was Ardella. It was

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likely that the men were taking them someplace unpleasant, probably to torture and question them, hold them captive. But these things were hardly important while Ardella was away. Of course, she was no weakling. She could handle herself just fine, but she was a woman, and if these men were strong enough to retain Gafford, Ardella didn't stand much chance. He hated to imagine what they might be doing to her.

He turned to the man holding his arms. "Hey, where did you take my friend?" He had tried to make his voice sound bold, but it was hardly convincing.

The man did not respond.

Christian glared, and this time, to disguise the fear in his voice, he shouted, "Hey, you! Tell me where they took her!" He dug his heels into the ground and stiffened his knees. The man, however, did not stop, but once again shoved Christian forward with a rough knee in the back. He grumbled in annoyance. If there was one thing that could pluck at his angry strings, it was being shoved around. He hated the feeling of being inferior in strength, and being a young boy, this was all he had ever known.

The feeling was all too familiar, and it was not the first time since leaving home that he had been reminded of the beatings he had received from his unpleasant father. Time after time, curious little hands had emptied the contents of a chest, scattered the papers of briefcase, and tested the products of a toiletry bag. Then time after time, large and anger-driven hands would push, shove, and unmercifully strike a confused and frightened Christian. Heated sweat sprouted from his hairline, and he glared into the darkness.

The man continued his shoving, and Christian's annoyance escalated with every step. They walked down a small flight of stairs, and although he was still completely blind in the dark, he could sense that he was now in the presence of several more people. He could hear hushed voices and hoarse breathing all around him. The air was thick and warmer here.

"Give me the bag," said a voice in the dark.

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The fade's light shined clear and blue. There was a squeal of rusty hinges and a clanking of metal as the light revealed a large trapdoor open into the ground. The two men that were holding Gafford appeared next to the door. "Take their weapons," someone said. Christian was swiftly stripped of his sword. He looked up and saw that Gafford was being shoved forward, just inches from the hole. Then one of the men gave him a hard kick in the back.

Gafford did not make a sound as he fell forward through the trapdoor, but Christian heard his body thud onto the ground below.

"Gaff—!" He tried to lunge forward, but his cry was cut short when his shirt collar was yanked and choked his neck.

"Shut it, you," the man said, yanking his collar again. Christian coughed and swallowed hard.

Then another man spoke up. "Ah, leave him alone. He just wants to join the other." He approached Christian, crouching down to his level. "Don't worry, lad," he said with an evil grin. "You may." Several of the men laughed as he took Christian around the waist and carried him to the hole.

"Put me down!" he cried. He kicked and punched at the man, but his grasp remained firm.

"As you wish," he replied, and Christian's stomach rose up as he fell backward. He braced himself for a collision with the ground, but his fall was broken as he landed hard against Gafford's body. They fell to the ground, moaned, and rolled over.

Christian pulled his feet underneath him and rose up, holding his hand out to help Gafford up. "Not the friendliest welcome, was it, boy?" Gafford said, clearly attempting to put him at ease.

Christian scoffed and pulled him up. "You can say that again." Gafford chuckled halfheartedly, and then they both looked up. There

was a small light coming through the hole, and they could see several shadows moving back and forth. They were silent as they waited for what would come next, and Christian's neck grew sore from looking upward.

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The air in the pit was thick, and the ground was soft and damp. He had just begun to wonder how long they would be held prisoners here when a familiar sound scattered his worries.

"Stop it. Stop it now!" came Ardella's voice. Christian's ears perked up, and he rose to his tiptoes. There was a ragged edge to her voice, as though she had already repeated these same words one hundred times. There were sounds of a struggle, and her voice grew louder. "Get your hands off me, all of you!"

"Ardella!" he shouted.

There came no answer, but after a few moments of hushed words, the voices rose to a mocking rally, and Ardella released a cry of shock as her body toppled through the hole. Gafford lunged forward and caught her before she hit the ground. He stumbled and grunted as they both fell to the ground.

She was panting. "Gafford?" she said, her voice unbelieving. "I thought they had taken you."

"They did," he said with a laugh, rising and pulling Ardella to her feet. Christian rushed over to her. "Are you all right?" he asked, taking her

hands in his.

"Oh, Christian." She took his face in her hands. "Yes. Yes, I'm all right. Are you?"

He could not see her face, but he could feel the cooling effects of her presence already. He sighed and said, "Yeah, I was just worried about—" Before he could finish his sentence, another voice interrupted from above. "Get rid of that wretched light!" it shouted. The men grumbled. There was a small struggle, and the fade was tossed down into the hole. Christian reached out but missed, and her little body bounced twice before

it slid along the floor.

Christian let go of Ardella's hands and hurried over to her. Her little light was flickering, and she had curled into the fetal position. As he reached toward her, she let out a high moaning sound that she had never

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made before. Her wings fluttered like an injured moth, and he reached out to calm them with a gentle finger.

It made him feel sick to see her in pain, and a hard knot of sympathy formed in his throat. "Are you okay, little fade?" he whispered. The moment his finger touched her wing, she rolled over and gave him an angry glare through large, tear-filled eyes and then fluttered away from him.

Her light spread through the small space, and Christian could see that the ceiling was low and overgrown with thick spiderwebs. The only place where they were able to stand up straight was just below the opening, which led to the trapdoor on the ceiling. Looking down, Christian saw that the floor was covered with soggy weeds that smelled of rotting vegetation.

Ardella gasped, and Christian turned to see a large furry creature scurry across her feet. She kicked at the ground and backed away.

"You okay?" Christian asked.

"Of course," she said breathlessly. "It was just a rat."

Christian frowned at the flickering fade and then walked over to join Ardella. He took her hand, and the three of them looked up at the door.

Christian's voice cracked when he said, "Gafford, what do we do now?" "We wait," he said.

"But what will we do when they come back for us?" Gafford sucked in a steady breath. "I've got a plan."

Christian couldn't help but wonder if he was telling the truth. "How long do you think they'll keep us down here?"

Gafford shrugged. "Could be hours . . . could be days."

"Days? " Ardella asked. "Do you really think so? What do you suppose they'll do with us?"

Gafford did not respond, and Christian sensed that he had a pretty good idea but wasn't going to say. Perhaps this should have been frightening, but for some reason, he was neither surprised nor upset by the idea. This dungeon was indeed unpleasant, but he was not alone. He had Gafford and Ardella by his side, and if they were with him, being brave wasn't impossible.

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Just then, an odd sort of tickle touched his cheek. It was a soft, repetitive feeling, gentle but strangely heavy at the same time. He reached up cautiously and touched it. The second his fingers came in contact with the plump hair-covered creature, he shook his head vigorously, batting it off his face as though it were on fire.

There was just enough light in the dungeon for him to see a large brown spider hit the wall, quiver for a moment, and then hastily creep away.

He wrinkled his nose and rubbed his cheek. Insects had never been too bothersome, but spiders were different. Spiders were arachnids, more like animals . . . creatures rather than insects.

He was about to express his distaste for the unpleasant creatures when a movement next to Ardella's head caught his eye. Two more large hairy spiders hung from their webs, flexing their spindly legs and rotating slowly as they floated downward.

Christian yanked her away from the spiders and the grasp of their horrible, knobby legs, those long, treacherous things that reminded him of arthritic witches' fingers wrapping and grasping. He wasn't sure why the spiders disturbed him so. He had certainly encountered worse things inside these caves.

Ardella turned and frowned at the spiders, watching them tremble and cling to their webs. "Don't worry, Christian," she said, wrapping her other fingers around their clasped hands.

"Don't worry?" he asked, doing his best to keep a steady voice. She did not answer but pulled him closer. "Gafford?"

Gafford pulled a knife from his boot. "I'd get back if I were you." Christian stumbled backward, attempting to pull Ardella with him,

but she didn't budge. "Get behind me," she said, also revealing her hidden knife.

Despite the fade's desire to mope in the corner, she hurried over to them, a look of panic and disgust on her glowing face. She perched herself on Christian's shoulder, clutching wildly.

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Gafford reached out and knocked the coming spiders off their strings. These ones were bigger, with bodies the size of golf balls. They fell to the ground, struggled on their backs for a moment but quickly flipped over, ready to attack.

Christian stumbled backward, almost too disturbed to think straight. Had the men forgotten to take his spare knife as well? He reached for his belt but was disappointed. Next time he would be sure to conceal it in his boot as the others had done.

More spiders were coming, steadily growing in numbers, and seemingly preparing for an attack. Gafford stepped over to join Ardella, and both stood with knives at the ready.

"Are they poisonous, Gafford?" Ardella asked, pointing her knife around the room. There were now hundreds large spiders encircling them.

"Most likely," Gafford said, kicking away an oncomer.

The fade hissed and batted away a spider that was creeping up Christian's shoulder. He shuddered and pressed himself against Ardella's back. "They're going to kill us!" he moaned loudly, shaking a spider from his shoe.

"They might be unpleasant," Gafford said, jabbing at the belly of a dangler. "But chances are they're only interested in protecting their territory. Just try to keep calm."

"Keep calm?" Christian shot back. "How will that—" "That's it!" Ardella cried, her body stiffening.

Just then, the thick border of approaching spiders parted in the middle, and an enormous set of legs, three times the size of the others, emerged from the darkness.

"Ar-Ar-Ardella," Christian stammered, staring into the angry eyes of the thick-bodied beast. "You're right . . . You'd better calm me down!" Ardella shook her head. "Not you, silly," she said, stepping forward and stooping down to level herself with the giant spider whose body was the size of a lapdog. It shrank back for a moment but then moved forward boldly. Christian could have sworn he could see a glare on its terrible face.

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"My lady," Gafford warned, reaching out to stop Ardella.

She pulled away and kept her eyes on the spider. "Be calm," she said, looking straight into the monster's countless eyes.

The spider froze but threatened with a clicking of its finger-sized fangs. The smaller spiders were creeping up the sides of Ardella's kneeling legs, and one wriggled beneath the folds of her dress.

She dropped her knife. "We won't hurt you," she said, leaning lower and holding out her hands in submission. "Now, all of you, be calm."

The giant spider lunged forward, just inches from Ardella's face, and a low hissing escaped its threatening mouth. Christian gasped and almost sprang forward, but Gafford stopped him. He had a single finger held to his lips.

"Calm," Ardella repeated, easing in slowly. Her nose was almost touching the spider's face.

A shiver ran down Christian's spine. He was sure that the beast would attack. Had Ardella ever tried to calm a spider before? How did she know it would work? He leaned forward desperately, but Gafford held firm.

"Calm," said Ardella.

The giant spider did not move forward, but its thick legs slackened a bit, causing its body to sag lower to the ground. The little spiders that had been making their way up to the exposed skin of Ardella's neck slowed and then stopped. Some held still, and others began to change their course as though they had forgotten why they were there. "Be calm . . . Be still," Ardella chanted. Her voice was now less commanding and more tranquil. "All is well," she whispered.

The spiders left her, their legs crawling down the sides of her body with fingerlike movements. The largest spider was the last to go. It gave Ardella one last click of its pinchers and then scooted backward into the darkness.

As soon as the biggest spider had gone, Christian swatted what was left of them from his body and knocked the others from their dangling webs. They tumbled across the floor, and their rounded behinds bounced as they fled into the darkness.

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Christian rushed to Ardella's side. "That was amazing!" he exclaimed. "I thought it was going to bite your face off."

"For a moment, so did I," she replied breathlessly. "And that's why it nearly did."

"Did they bite you?" Christian asked, running his fingers up her arms and pushing back her hair to see her neck.

"I don't think so," she said. "You?"

"Don't think so," he replied. "Gaff?"

"Didn't feel a thing," he said with a smile of relief.

"Thanks, Ardella," said Christian.

Gafford nodded. "Quick thinking."

She gave them a humble smile. "I hope it keeps them away."

"I believe it will," said Gafford. "Long as we keep quiet and don't disturb them."

Ardella pulled her kneeling legs out from under her and sat on the floor. Christian joined her. Reaching into his bag, Gafford sat across from them. He pulled out three pieces of dried meat. He tore off the edge of his own piece and threw it toward the fade. The light flickered as she moved toward it.

Christian bit into a piece of meat. "What should we do now?" Gafford paused. "Suppose we can only wait."

"What do you think they'll do to us?" he asked, rubbing his chilled arms.

Gafford shrugged thoughtfully, and Ardella's arm rose up and wrapped around Christian. "Do not worry, Christian. We'll protect you."

He nodded. There was peace and assurance in her words.

Gafford nodded too. "In the meantime," he said, placing his bag on the ground next to him, "we may as well get comfortable."

Christian scoffed. "I don't know if I can, knowing those spiders are watching."

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Ardella laughed quietly and Gafford opened his sack. He pulled out the same gray blanket they had used the rainy night under the overhang. "I'll keep watch," he said, holding it out.

"Thanks." Christian spread it out on the damp floor and motioned toward Ardella. "Go ahead."

"There's enough room for two," she said, sitting on the edge and patting the space next to her."

His face grew hot as he sat down beside her. She removed her own bag and placed it under her head, lying down and smoothing her skirt. Christian also used his bag as a pillow, lying down as close to the edge of the blanket as possible.

Ardella fiddled with the collar of her dress and then pulled out the

golden chain with the little emerald oval. She held it in one hand and

rubbed the surface with her thumb.

"It's pretty," said Christian.

She nodded.

"What does it do?"

Her head turned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, is it magical?" he asked, turning toward her.

"Well, I don't know if I believe in magic," she replied, still rubbing the emerald, "but I'd like to believe that it possesses some kind of power."

"Well, that's what I mean," he said, "magical power."

She turned to him, still clutching the necklace. "Illumination is not magic, Christian. It's a real power."

"Illumination?"

She tucked the necklace back into her dress and whispered, "It is the power that the Aldrics once used to defeat the Skathes."

"Oh. Illumination . . ." He nodded. "But now they can't use it because of the spell, right?"

She nodded and leaned in closer. "Only someone who is not restricted by the powers of the spell may use the power of illumination."

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Christian could not see her features clearly, but there was meaning in her voice. He pondered this for a moment, wondering if it were possible that he himself could possess such a power.

He had accomplished and overcome many things since entering the Mirallantic. He now believed in things that were beyond his wildest imaginations, but could he believe this? Could he believe that it was possible to learn to have the powers that the Great Aldrics possessed?

They sat in silence for a few more moments, and then Christian finally said, "How's your leg doing? Did the rocks smash it very badly?"

Ardella lifted it. "It'll be bruised, but nothing more."

"That's good." He looked around the cave, feeling a sudden loss for words. "It's . . . it's pretty disgusting in here, isn't it?"

She sighed and turned toward him. "It could be worse." He nodded. "Yeah, I guess so." "It could be much colder."

"True."

"It could be darker."

Christian's eyes looked in the direction of the fade's light. "I'm really glad it's not dark."

Now her voice held a hint of humor. "There could be more spiders." Christian laughed falsely. "I hate spiders."

Ardella's laugh was genuine. "They're not so bad, Christian. We just happened to come across the worst ones."

Christian had no valid explanation for his general disgust for spiders, just as he had no valid explanation for his fear of the dark. He decided it would be best to change the subject. He sighed. "Sorry you have to be here, Ardella."

"Oh, do not be sorry, Christian," she said with a swipe of her hand. "I want to be here."

"You don't have to say that."

"I do not think you understand," she said, propping herself on her elbow. "I need to be here."

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He rolled over to face her. "I know I said I needed you . . . to keep me calm, but really, I just wanted . . ."

She waited silently for his response.

"Well, I do need you to calm me, but I just . . ." "You what?" she asked.

"Forget it," he said, returning to lie on his back.

She was quiet for a few moments before she replied. "You know, Christian, to be honest, I really did not come for you."

His head turned quickly. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I suppose it was for you, but . . ." She hesitated. "Well, you're our only hope of breaking the spell. We need you to complete your quest. In doing so, we secure the fate of the kingdom."

He nodded but did not reply.

"Would you have returned to the caves if I had not agreed to accompany you?"

He thought for a moment. "No." He knew it was true, but he hated himself for even thinking it.

"That may be true," she continued, "but either way, I cannot sit idly and wait. I have been trapped inside of those kingdom walls for ages. I'm done with it. I must do something . . . for myself, for my people . . . for my brother."

She took his hand. "I do care for you."

Her hand was cool and soft against his. Cautiously, he tightened his grip, expecting her to pull away, but their hands remained clasped.

The seconds turned to minutes, and the touch of her hand was the fuel to his racing heart. It felt like hours before his emotions finally calmed and his eyes closed. His thoughts dimmed, and soon, he found himself inside of a distant familiar scene.

There was a scarceness of light, but he still managed to make out the recognizable corners of his housemaster's office door. There were hushed voices behind the door, and although he could not hear what was said, there was a feeling of dread in the air.

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With heavy feet, he paced in front of the door, rolling and unrolling an orange yo-yo. No matter how many times he tried, the little toy would not return to him. It merely fell, bounced, and then spun on a long and worn-out thread. He took the toy in his hand but then drew back in surprise as another hand appeared and swiped the yo-yo from his grasp.

He woke with a start, not having realized that he had fallen asleep. The room was dark, and the fade was nowhere to be found. He was about to call for Ardella when the sudden clanking of metal interrupted his thoughts. He sat up straight, wide-eyed in the darkness. His head was still heavy from sleep, and his hand was now unclaimed by Ardella's. He couldn't see her, but her breathing told him that she was sitting up beside him.

The next sound was a muffled grunting as Gafford was lifted out of the dungeon. Ardella stood quickly, and he followed her lead. She stuffed the blanket into her pack, and Christian stumbled light-headedly. Then a forceful voice echoed down through the room.

"Up the rope, you."

Ardella nudged him forward, and Christian held out his arms and fumbled in the darkness. His hands found the rough twine of a rope, and he was pulled upward. His palms burned as he struggled to hold tight.

Christian's feet hit the ground, and he was immediately seized by several large hands. His head was spinning as they took ahold of his arms. Once again, he was carried down a pitch-black tunnel. In the distance, he could again hear a steady commotion and the sound of several muffled voices.

He called out for Ardella, but she did not reply, and the guard demanded that he shut his mouth.

As they continued further, he was slowly able to make out his surroundings. They came closer to the end of the tunnel, and he could see the flickering light of several torches that were beginning to line the walls.

The tunnel opened up into a spacious room. Its vast space became apparent by the echoing of a variety of different voices. The firelight illuminated the figures of several stern and pale-faced men.

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He scanned the dim light and found Ardella and Gafford among the multitude. They too were restrained by the large men. Ardella looked worried, but Gafford seemed unaffected by the situation.

As more men piled into the room, the crowd began to jest Ardella, pulling her hair and ruffling her skirt. Soon their prodding escalated, and Christian fought desperately to break free. Gafford shoved himself past a couple of the men, but he was promptly detained and held captive. Ardella kept her head down and turned away from the cutting remarks of the men.

They took ahold of Ardella, and she stumbled as they passed her back and forth like a rag doll. She finally fell over backward and was caught under the arms by a gaunt man with missing teeth.

"What's the matter, girly?" he hissed into her ear with a sickening grin. He touched her cheek with the back of his hand and then ran his fingers down the side of her arm. She grunted, forced her elbow into his side, and slammed her foot on top of his. He let out a frustrated groan and whipped her around. His expression grew fierce, and he sucked in a fiery breath as he raised his arm in fury.

Just then, there was a resounding clang of metal as the hinges of an unseen door swung open. Every head in the room turned in the direction of the sound, and all the men stood at attention. The gaunt-looking man flung Ardella to the side with a definitive grumble and then took his place among the other men.

Gafford shoved past the men and stood next to Ardella. He whispered inaudibly, and she nodded, searching the room with her eyes. Christian was released, and he hurried over to join them.

Ardella looked relieved to see him, and he was relieved to be with her.

"You okay?" he whispered.

Before she could answer, they were interrupted by a powerful and commanding voice. The voice was that of a woman, but it was low-pitched and reverberating as it echoed through the cavern. "Why have you come?" she said.

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The room was entirely void of sound. Christian looked up and beheld the woman who had addressed them. What he saw was not at all what he had expected.

The woman was certainly the tallest he had ever seen, and his eyes flew straight up to her face. His stomach dropped, and an icy chill ran through his body.

Her long, narrow face was terribly disfigured, sickeningly so. Christian had to fight to keep his expression vacant when he saw that the bottom of her left eyelid hung low and loose, exposing the lower half of her eyeball and draping over her bony cheek. A row of large white teeth and gums could be seen through the left side of her top lip, where the skin was missing all the way up to her nose.

"Why have you come, kingdom people?" she continued, clearly growing impatient. "You have no place here."

Gafford stepped forward. "We have been sent by the Aldrics to request your aid. We are—"

"No." She cut him off, holding up her hand. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath through her nose. "Never again."

Gafford stepped closer. "We merely seek an item that we know to be in your possession."

The woman scoffed. "And what makes you think, dear Gafford, that I would give anything to you?"

Christian was surprised. He had not expected that the woman would know Gafford by name.

"Malika, my lady," Gafford said. "We had hoped—"

Malika. Christian had heard this name before, and it was apparent that the two had met before.

"Your hopes are of no significance to me," said Malika. "I swore to never aid the Aldrics. Never again."

"I know what happened," Gafford retorted.

She did not reply, but her eyes narrowed.

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"I know how to preserve your people. Please, grant us the aid we need . . . just one last time."

She was silent for a moment or two, and the whole room seemed to sway closer to her, anxiously awaiting her response. She turned and whispered into the ear of a nearby man. As she turned, Christian noticed that the right side of her face was completely flawless, smooth, and rather beautiful.

"What can you possibly have to offer me, Gafford?" she asked, once again turning her face to him.

"I know what you need."

Several of the men scoffed.

"Is that so?" she said with a condescending raise of the brow.

"Yes." Gafford looked around, pursed his lips, and then said boldly, "The heart of a scalpmonger."

A hushed ripple of voices carried through the room and then faded back to quiet.

Malika blinked and cocked her head in a mocking manner. "It cannot be done."

Gafford crossed his arms. "You're wrong."

"And what makes you so sure?" she replied hastily. "If my memory serves me correctly, you have never proved yourself against . . . them."

"I do not speak of them," Gafford said, waving his hand. "I speak of the scalpmongers."

The woman let out a mocking laugh. "It does not matter. You know nothing."

He pursed his lips. "Please. Enlighten me."

The right side of her mouth pulled into a half smile. "There is only one way to defeat a scalpmonger."

"Go on," Gafford replied.

She tilted her chin. "The beast is not impossible to defeat. They are known to have several weaknesses. Of course, like any opposing force, their true strength lies in numbers . . . and they multiply at astounding rates."

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No one said a word, and Christian inched a little closer as she continued. "Scalpmongers are easily thrust into cessation . . . but not so easily killed. Their greatest strength is in the protection given to their hearts."

There was silence before Gafford said, "The rib cage."

"Yes," she returned. "The rib cage. You know as well as I do that it is impenetrable by every weapon we know."

Gafford crossed his arms. "Every weapon you know."

Now her expression changed. She leaned forward with a skeptical look. "What are you telling me, dear Gafford?"

The whole room seemed to be holding their breath.

Gafford's lips turned up in a smile, but his expression was not pleasant. "I know of a weapon."

Her expression mocked him. "You know of a weapon?"

Gafford nodded once. "It's out there, just days from these caves. We can retrieve it for you."

Her body went still, but her eyes scanned him up and down. Her exposed teeth glistened in the dim light. "Oh, will you?" The corner of her lip turned upward. She stared at him for several long and uncomfortable seconds, and Gafford's eyes did not stray from her gaze.

Finally, she pursed what was left of her lips and narrowed her eyes. "Very well, Gafford. I'll send you for it." She raised her hand and inspected her long fingernails. "What better way to execute my prisoners?"

There was a wave of dark laughter.

Then she joined in. "I'll send you to your death!"

Christian's heart leaped, and he looked back and forth between the woman and Gafford, eager to hear his reply.

"We shall leave at once," Gafford said simply.

She smiled a playful grin. "And just where might you be going, dear Gafford?"

His expression was void. "To the Shifting Lands."

Ardella let out a little gasp, and her eyes grew large. The laughter in the room transformed into a low commotion.

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The woman, however, laughed mockingly. "It's perfect."

Gafford crossed his arms. "We will do this, but only in exchange for the object we require."

"And what might that be?" she asked.

His eyes narrowed. "The Quondam Crystal."

The volume of the crowd rose again, and several men voiced disapproval. Malika smiled and raised her hand, silencing the room. "As you wish, dear Gafford." She looked about as though she knew some terrible secret. "If you are bluffing, you are a fool to think it will enable your escape." Now her smile was truly genuine. "And if you speak the truth . . . you shall perish

in the Shifting Lands. A fool all the same."

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Chapter 19

The Unintended Curse

Once again, after being escorted away by tightly gripping men, Christian beheld a wonderful sight.

Daylight.

It was just a sliver, running down the jagged edge of the wall, but it looked very warm and yellow against the dark rock. The beam was coming down through a small crevice at the top of the cave. The men shoved them forward, tossed them their weapons, and motioned toward the light. Gafford climbed up first, peered through the hole for a moment, and then wriggled through. He reached his arm inside and motioned with his hand. Ardella nudged Christian, and he too climbed up through the opening. After Ardella had emerged, the three of them stood silent, blinking in the daylight.

They had come through at the base of a narrow waterfall. The water sparkled and danced through the air. It splashed into a large pool below, sprinkling their faces with cool droplets. Gafford walked over to the water and cupped his hands, drinking from the falling water. He splashed it on his face and let it run over his head. Christian and Ardella did the same.

After being refreshed, Christian wiped his face on the front of his shirt. "Where do we go now, Gafford?"

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Gafford brought his hand up to his beard, looking at the ground and stroking it thoughtfully. "To the Shifting Lands."

"So you were telling the truth?" asked Christian.

Gafford nodded. "Indeed."

"Are we really going to do it?" Ardella asked breathlessly.

Gafford looked up. "It's the best plan we've got."

She nodded with a frown.

Christian sadly looked back at the cave's exit. "I guess we lost the fade, didn't we?"

Ardella put her hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, Christian. We'll get her back."

Christian nodded. He had not realized how attached he had become to the little creature. He imagined the way she looked when she glowed, so simple and lovely. And now she was trapped, most likely still lying in some dark, abandoned dungeon. A twinge of guilt stung his chest as he realized that it was his fault. She was trapped in the dungeon because he had selfishly taken her captive for his own uses. He frowned and looked at Gafford. "Will we come back to look for her?"

"We shall try." He looked out across the forest before them. Turning to Christian, he put his hand on his shoulder. "As we venture forth, I must warn you, boy . . ." His voice became a whisper. "The Skathes will no longer fear you as they once did. They are well aware of your presence now. They likely know who you are, and that you are, indeed, a mortal. They don't know what you are capable of, but it is doubtful that they will shrink at your presence as they did before."

As Gafford spoke, Christian's skin began to tingle with nervous energy. His eyes were wide and his jaw clenched tight. "What will happen if we see one?"

Ardella touched his cheek. Her skin was cool and her expression calming. "Fear not, Christian . . . You are more powerful than you know." Christian looked at her soothing features, her peaceful smile and loving eyes. His nerves relaxed, and he took in a refreshing breath of air.

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He swallowed and gave them a reassured nod. "Is it true what the woman said?"

Gafford raised a brow.

"Was it true what she said about the Shifting Lands?" Christian continued. "I mean, how dangerous is it?"

Gafford inhaled deeply. "Do not trouble yourself with what you heard back there. Just stay focused." He gave Christian a reassuring nod. "Everything's under control, boy."

Christian forced a smile and did his best to believe him.

Now Gafford brought his flattened hand to his brow and surveyed his surroundings. "Follow me." He stepped off the flat stone and into the knee-deep water. Christian followed after him, and Ardella waded through close behind them. The water was very cold, but Christian found it refreshing. He managed to keep his footing fairly well, despite the slime-covered stones at the bottom of the river.

They had nearly crossed halfway when Gafford stopped short. He held perfectly still for a moment and then quickly drew his arrow, pointing it at the water. Christian followed his eyes and searched the waters. A movement caught his attention. It was a long dark shape moving through the water with slow repetitive motions.

"I think it's a fish, Gafford," Christian whispered.

Gafford craned his neck and took a tiny step forward. The dark shape moved into Gafford's shadow and then went still. They all leaned in closer, not moving or making a sound.

Suddenly, the creature whipped around, and before Christian could even comprehend what was happening, it leaped up out of the water and plunged toward his face. He dodged out of the way and then stumbled backward, falling into the water. Ardella took ahold of his arm, and when she pulled him up out of the water, Gafford was shouting, "Run, now!"

Christian reached for Ardella and turned toward land. Just as he took another step, there was a splash followed by a pinching pain on his right forearm. His vision was blurred by the splashing water, but he could see

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well enough to know that an enormous fish had latched itself on his arm. Its skin was a smooth greenish brown, and the long whisker-like strands that hung from his mouth told him that it was a catfish. Christian's eyes widened as he realized that it was almost as long as his arm was. He shook the fish vigorously, but it did not release its hold.

Ardella, however, was already pulling him along toward land, using her sword to bat away several of the large jumping catfish. They finally reached the edge of the river, and Ardella pulled him out of the water. She sat next to him panting and wiping her slime-covered blade on the grass. Gafford splashed through the water slowly, swinging away at several fish with his sword and pulling their clamped jaws from his skin.

Christian looked at the catfish on his arm. "Uh . . . Ardella . . ."

She looked at his arm and then let out a startled cry. "Oh, Christian," she said with an open-mouthed frown. She scooted over to his arm and touched the fish. It wriggled and whipped its tail to the side. She drew back in alarm but then reached for the fish. She wrapped her fingers around its clenched jaw and attempted to pull it apart, but the fish's jaw held firm. Her shoulders dropped and then reached for her sword. "Lay your arm on the ground," she ordered.

Christian did as she asked. She raised her sword, and he could not help but flinch as it came down on the fish's head. Its body fell away from his arm, but its jaw remained clamped to his skin for a moment after she had cut it in two.

Fascination took the place of the nervousness Christian had been feeling, and when the fish's head finally fell away, he looked at its mouth in awe. He was unsurprised to find that it was lined with a row of tiny jagged teeth. Looking at his arm, he saw a large circle of bloody punctures.

Gafford climbed out of the river, and Ardella ripped a strip of her skirt. She took it to the water and dipped it quickly, then wrung it out over Christian's arm and wiped it clean. She dipped it again, keeping her eyes on the water, and then tied the cloth over the wound.

"Thanks," he said with a smile.

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She smiled back and straightened the little tie she had made with the cloth.

Gafford pulled him to his feet and sighed heavily. "That'll be the least of our worries, I'm afraid." He adjusted his pack and walked forward without another word.

Christian and Ardella exchanged nervous glances and then followed closely behind him. He didn't look back, but the image of the dead fish was clear in his mind as Christian hurried forward. The Mirallantic always had a new way of surprising him, sometimes good, sometimes bad. As always, the unknown excited him, but he knew better than to look forward to what awaited them in these woods.

They had only gone a matter of feet before Christian heard a sound that made him groan with displeasure.

Thunder.

The clouds rolled in quickly and covered the shining sun. Christian took off his backpack and fumbled with the drawstring, but the sky released a downpour of raindrops before he could get anything out. The drops, as always, were merciless, and they hit his arms like pelting bullets filled with venom. They ran desperately toward a patch of trees, and Gafford pulled out the gray blanket. They huddled beneath it, releasing sighs of frustration. Then Gafford peeked out from under the blanket.

"The clouds are rolling in," he said in a bleak tone. "It could be hours before the rains cease. We best keep moving on."

However, only seconds after he had said the words, the rain intensified, and the beating of the drops grew stronger than ever before. Large drops fell down through the branches and splashed the blanket.

"Perhaps we should wait it out," Ardella said, inching closer to them. Gafford did not look pleased. "Perhaps."

Christian looked around. If there had been one advantage to being in the caves, it was the fact that they were completely sheltered from the rain. He thought that perhaps that was why the Hollow Holders chose

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to conceal themselves inside of the deep caverns. The thought made him wonder. "Gafford, where did the Hollow Holders come from?"

Gafford seemed startled by the question. They all stood silent for a moment before he said, "Do you remember what the king and queen told you about the Aldric who cast the irreversible spell?"

He nodded. "The spell that trapped you here."

"Yes," Gafford continued. "The spell was cast by another Aldric's daughter, Malika."

"Right!" said Christian, his eyes growing large. "I knew I had heard the name before."

Gafford nodded. "You can imagine that Malika certainly felt remorse for her great blunder."

"I remember," said Ardella, her eyes distant. "She was not herself." "She could no longer bear to show her face in the kingdom," said

Gafford. "And she could not forgive herself for her mistake."

Ardella frowned. "She, her family, and many of her followers, retreated into the caves. They disappeared in the night, never to be seen inside the kingdom again."

"So that woman . . . the leader of the Hollow Holders . . . that was the same Malika?"

Both Gafford and Ardella nodded.

"You see," said Gafford, "Malika cast the spell that locked us here in the Mirallantic. She was the most powerful of all the Aldrics, save one: her mother, Mithra. Her mother had, for centuries, been one of our greatest allies. The Skathes knew this, of course, and she was captured and kept captive from us. Our only choice was to turn to her daughter, Malika, for help. We knew she was capable of everything her mother could do. We were uncertain, however, if she was ready to perform such powerful spells."

"Although they were unsure," said Ardella, "Malika was our only hope of freeing Mithra from the Skathes . . . so Malika cast the spell."

Gafford gazed into the falling rain. "At first, we thought nothing had happened. Our surroundings looked the same and seemed unaffected.

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However, we soon realized that our powers were becoming ineffective. Only a short time passed before we grew weak and unable, and without our skills, we were defenseless." He sighed. "You see, what Malika had not told us was that she knew she was not strong enough to create a spell so powerful. In her desperation, she had turned to a power more easily attained . . . a dark power known as dominion." His face grew serious. "It must never be tampered with, boy. Dominion is the power of the dark ones, and it brought Malika . . . and ourselves to the dark place we are today."

Christian blinked in realization. "So that's why the Mirallantic is so . . . so bad?"

Gafford nodded. "This reality was created by the forces of evil. Perhaps Malika's intentions were pure, but one evil cannot correct another. The intent was to make the Skathes captives, but instead, they thrive here." He glanced around cautiously. "No sooner had we secluded ourselves into the kingdom than the dark ones overtook everything in the new realm. Every creature, every plant, even some inanimate objects became their slaves. The Skathes rule everything outside of our walls."

"So what happened to Malika?" Christian asked, motioning to his face.

Gafford's expression was grave. "I knew it the moment I saw it. The scalpmongers. Malika and her followers have dwelt inside the caves for hundreds of years . . . but the scalpmongers have only grown stronger over time. My guess is that Malika battled the scalpmonger queen . . . perhaps in an effort to gain superiority over the creature, but evidently . . ."

Ardella touched her face. "She failed."

Christian looked back and forth between the two of them. "So why does she need the heart?"

Gafford sighed and looked around suspiciously. "As you may have already inferred, the scalpmongers were created by the power of the Skathes—created, but not perfected. They still haven't been able to create an indestructible heart. That's why they reinforce the rib cages, so the beasts can always be revived." He fell silent.

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"Why can't they make the hearts indestructible?" Christian knew Gafford did not wish to speak of such things out here in the open, but his curiosity was piqued.

Gafford thought for a moment. "I figure it's because they don't have a proper model to shape a heart after. The Skathes are creatures whose hearts have been . . . changed, transformed into something unnatural. Might even say that their hearts have been . . . solidified."

Ardella spoke next. "Every person and creature here is immortal, but with one inevitable weakness: the heart. That is why nothing truly dies until the heart has been destroyed."

"And as you now know, the heart of a scalpmonger is not easily reached," Gafford said. "We must hold the proper tool."

"Does it really exist?" asked Christian.

"Oh, it exists, my boy." He smiled knowingly.

"How do you know?"

"I know who it is that created it," he replied.

"The Skathes?"

Gafford shook his head.

"Then who?"

Gafford's voice was almost inaudible. "A person with the power to manipulate moonbeams."

Ardella's head whipped up. "The Moon Blade!"

Now Gafford held a finger to his lips, and Ardella's cheeks turned pink.

"The Moon Blade?" asked Christian.

Gafford nodded.

"How can we be certain that the Moon Blade can be found in the Shifting Lands?" Ardella whispered.

"Because that's where they took her." "Who?" Christian asked.

"Took it . . ." Gafford's face was stern. "That's where they took the Moon Blade."

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Christian narrowed his eyes suspiciously but nodded. "So Malika wants the blade to—"

"Gain superiority over the scalpmonger queen." Gafford finished. "If she can conquer the beast that has wronged her, the effects of the scalpmonger's wrath will disappear."

"Then what will happen?"

"It is difficult to say," Gafford stroked his beard. "But one thing is certain: she will gain superiority over all the scalpmongers . . . She will become their new queen."

"Are you sure we should be doing this for her, Gafford?" asked Ardella. His eyes did not move. "It's the only bargaining chip we have." They were all silent. Ardella sighed and crouched down. They joined

her and sat motionless until the rain died down.

After what felt like hours, the drops grew sparse, and the clouds began to slip away, leaving the forest sunny and wet.

"Let's carry on," Gafford said, laying the blanket over his shoulders to dry. Christian stood and stretched, surveying his surroundings. The end of the strong rainstorm made him feel like he was starting a new day. Everything was fresh and new.

Gafford leaped over a narrow mud puddle and hurried away.

As they followed, Christian noticed that the trees were growing steadily thinner. He watched the ground in order to avoid a loss of footing. Soon the muddy forest floor changed to a terrain he recognized. He looked up. A large stretch of mud-covered ground spread barren and empty. The angry ground.

"We're back," he said.

Gafford did not reply but turned his head to the side and nodded once. His pace increased, and Christian almost felt like he was running as he struggled to keep up. Ardella, on the other hand, seemed unaffected by the lively pace. She hurried along the uneven ground with ease.

Christian's legs grew weary, but he did not dare ask for rest. He forced his feet to carry on, telling himself that they would stop once they had

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reached the limestone rocks in the distance. As the rocks grew larger, he grew more and more fatigued.

Finally, when the rocks were just feet away, Gafford turned and looked at them. "We'll rest here for a moment."

Christian was so overjoyed that they would be resting he rushed to the rocks, turned around, and practically fell to the ground. His legs tingled as the blood rushed through them. He sighed and leaned his head against the rock behind him, closing his eyes. When he opened them, however, he did not see what he had expected.

Gafford and Ardella were frozen in their tracks, staring at him with cautious eyes. He tilted his head in question but then realized that they really weren't staring at him. Their eyes were fixed on a spot just inches above his head. His heart sank, and he turned around slowly, expecting the worst. But before he could even see what was behind him, there was a low buzzing of wings, and a small dark object flung itself toward Ardella's head. She let out a little scream and ducked just in time. As it turned around, another burst of air rushed past his head, and this time, he was able to make out the identity of the flying object.

A fade.

The first one whipped around and hissed loudly. Like his fade, it had a toothy circular mouth and two enormous eyes. The eyes were different, however. These eyes were not clouded with alarm or defense but hatred. His fade had been an unpleasant one, but she had been unpleasant out of discomfort or inconvenience. It was apparent that these fades were fueled by something far worse than aggravation.

A second fade also launched itself at Ardella and took a strand of her hair in its teeth, yanking it violently. She shouted and reached for her sword. As she drew it, the fade let out a low growl and yanked a thick strand of hair from her head. Ardella stumbled backward, holding her head. Then Gafford lunged forward and knocked the fade out of the air as it flew forward to attack again.

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The other fade flew in and sank its teeth into Gafford's neck. He let out a grunt of frustration and snatched the fade out of the air, throwing it to the ground. It bounced up, seemingly unharmed, and flew toward Christian with its mouth open and its hands stretched forward. Ardella jumped forward and knocked Christian out of the way as Gafford swung his sword through the air, once again knocking the fade to the ground. This time she lay motionless, her eyes rolled back in her head.

Ardella had fallen on top of Christian, protecting him from the attacks. His heart was racing, but he could not help but enjoy the moment of shielding pressure as she lay across his chest. She looked at his face but then drew back quickly, looking apologetic. "I am sorry, Christian." She blushed and pushed herself away.

"It's all right." He propped himself on his elbows. "Thanks for that." She stood and helped him to his feet. Gafford was crouched next to the fallen fade. He stroked his beard. "I have never encountered a fade so aggressive," he said, eyeing it suspiciously. "Some fades are worse than others, but these are the most terrible ones I've come across." Christian and Ardella walked over to join him. He looked up at them and said, "They're

getting worse."

Ardella bent down, brushing the fade's hair away from its tiny face and smoothing its clothing. It was quite beautiful despite the fact that it was gaunt and sickly looking. The other fade lay at the base of a rock, its face to the ground. Gafford walked over to it and turned it over. There was a trickle of blood escaping from one of its large eyes. He picked it up and placed it next to the other. The little creatures almost looked like sleeping children, peaceful in rest.

"We best keep moving," Gafford said, wiping his hands on his clothing. "There's no telling when they'll wake up."

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Chapter 20

Screaming Trees

They continued on through the limestone rocks and were soon passing through another long stretch of green forest. Christian recognized a great deal of the terrain, but it was much different now that the light of day was illuminating their surroundings.

There were hundreds of brightly colored plants and rocks. Thick moss grew on the sides of the trees and over the faces of large boulders. There were hundreds of wildflowers and patches of tall, lush grass. The leaves of the trees were also very vibrant, large and green. The sun was shining, and the sky was vacant of clouds.

Just as he was thinking how beautiful and wonderful the forest could be, a sight caught his eye that made his throat tighten up.

It was the spiraled plant.

In the light of day, he could see that the plant was indeed a deep brownish red, and its skin was glossy and smooth. He had assumed that the plants had been playing tricks with his eyes before, but now he could see that the plants really were shrinking down and leveling with his eyes as he approached them. He frowned and tugged at Gafford's shirt.

Gafford did not stop but turned his upper body toward Christian. "Yes, boy?"

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"Gafford, what are those? " He pointed to the large red plants. Gafford followed his finger, and his eyes narrowed when they found

the plant. "You'll want to stay far away from that plant, my boy. Those are Welters. If you're not cautious they will—"

"Suck out your insides?" he interrupted.

"Yes." Gafford looked puzzled.

"I saw it happen."

Gafford stopped. "You saw it happen?"

"Yeah, it was the night before you found me. It attacked a deer." "Ah." Gafford nodded in realization. "It was sad."

"Sad?" Gafford asked as though the word were foreign.

"Yeah, I just felt bad for the deer."

Gafford looked from side to side. "I don't know if you realize this, boy, but everything outside of the kingdom walls is evil."

"But it was just a deer."

"Nothing is as it seems, boy."

Ardella placed her hand on his shoulder. "It may have looked like something you recognize, Christian, but you're lucky that the plant got to the deer before the deer got to you."

He thought about the way the deer had looked that night. It had seemed so tranquil and harmless, nibbling the grass in the beams of moonlight. Gafford was right. Nothing was as it seemed in this place.

They continued their journey, walking in single file and speaking only when necessary. The terrain was rough, and the floor was covered in roots and rocks. As they trudged along, Christian lost himself deep in thought for a great deal of time. He thought about his life back in Fall Valley. It was strange to think that he was so far away yet so close at the same time. He thought about his schoolmates and Ms. Hawthorne. He wondered if they had been alarmed by his disappearance. He had no idea how he would explain his disappearance when he returned. Then a thought came to him that he had not previously pondered. When would he be going home? Or

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for that matter, would he be returning home at all? He had not considered the possibility that he could potentially be trapped in this strange world . . .

forever. The strange thing was, however, that the thought did not upset him. After all, what did he truly have back home? He did not have any real friends, and he certainly did not have any family that would miss him. But here, here in the Mirallantic, he was important. Here he was wanted, no, he was needed. Here he had friends; he had Gafford. Gafford was the closest thing he had ever had to a father. Gafford cared for him and watched over him.

And he had Ardella. Ardella with her sweet gentleness and loving care. He had grown very fond of her over the past weeks. He had never met any person so kind or beautiful in all his life. Of course, she was countless years older than he was, but he found himself wishing that he were old enough for Ardella to see him as . . . He blushed and found himself embarrassed by his own thoughts.

He shook his head and forced his mind to change the subject of his thoughts. He wondered what part of modern-day Fall Valley they were in now. The caverns were just a few miles outside of town, and then there was the river and, of course, the thick green forest. However, back at home, there was always a rather unfortunate patch of forest that was never green.

His schoolmates had spread rumors of a strange sort of bark beetle that prevented the trees from thriving. He was just beginning to wonder about the bark beetle when a chilly gust of wind blew through his shirt. He looked up, feeling as though he had suddenly awoken from a dream, and saw something that made his heart skip a beat.

Just feet ahead, a thin line of hazy fog hovered inches above the dry, prickly grass. The air seemed to grow thin, and the sky had darkened to a translucent gray.

And then there were the trees, those horrible, wispy skeletons that had terrorized him so violently upon his arrival. Their shiny bark reflected the dull, gray patterns of the cloudy sky. His stomach turned over and his heart skipped a beat at the same time. He remembered the spindly fingers

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and pounding of the angry roots. It made his heart race. The trees now stood perfectly still, like wild beasts waiting to attack. He felt as though if he were to move, the horrible trees would pluck up their roots and crush him to a mangled pulp.

Gafford turned toward them. "We shall have to venture around this part of the forest. These trees are different, they—"

"They'll crush you," Christian said with wide eyes.

Both Gafford and Ardella gave him a surprised look. "How do you know that?" Ardella asked.

"That's the way I came through."

Gafford look astonished. "You mean to say that you passed through the Bone Trees . . . alive?"

Christian nodded. "Barely."

Gafford and Ardella exchanged looks of amazement.

"Bone Trees?" Christian asked.

Gafford nodded. "I wouldn't risk an encounter with a Bone Tree unless I had no other choice." He shook his head, releasing another astonished puff. "Despite your excellent fortune during your travels past, boy, we shall venture around this part of the forest."

Christian nodded in agreement.

Gafford gave him one last astounded look and chuckled before he continued forward. The air was getting colder by the minute. Christian hugged his arms to his body.

They walked along the edge of the skeleton trees, staying far enough away to avoid a disturbance. Christian averted his eyes from the trees, hoping that they would not remember him. However, when he would occasionally peek over at them, the deep darkness of dense wood brought a chill down his spine.

As he stared at the ground's passing rocks and tufts of grass, he thought of the dream from the dungeon. The dream had not displayed any particularly disturbing images, but the chilly feeling of dread had made the dream unfortunately memorable. The more he thought, however, he

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realized that perhaps it was not the gloomy atmosphere of the dream that had made it memorable, as much the eerily familiar aspects of its scene.

Christian's mouth turned down in a heavy frown as the office, voices, and yo-yo returned to him. The yo-yo fell, never rose, and the voices rumbled, ever rising.

This was no dream.

"Mr. Bennett," said Ms. Hawthorne's tired voice. "Please sit down." There were two other men in the room, police officers, standing beside

the desk. Their hats were tucked under their arms, and their faces were tired and drawn down in exhaustion. Christian could see that they did not want to be here any more than he did.

Ms. Hawthorne sank down into her desk, but the officers remained standing. Their heavy faces bore down onto his, and his nervous hands squeezed the sweaty yo-yo . . .

"Finally," said Ardella, and Christian's head shot up.

"What?" he asked in alarm. The faces of the officers faded away. "The end of those horrible trees," she said, pointing to a clearing ahead

of them.

The shadows of the skeleton trees stretched past them and entangled with new green trees on the other side of the clearing. Christian drew in a silent breath and took in his new surroundings. The day was beginning to grow too dim to clearly see, but he was still able to make out something on the ground that had not been there before. It was a refreshing sight to see.

Dozens of small white flower buds covered the dry grassy floor. Christian squinted through the dim light and almost smiled. The flowers were very similar to the one that grew along the streets and inside the cracks of the sidewalks at home. Their little clean petals seemed to smile up at him. He did not know why, but he stopped, and before he knew it, he found himself reaching out toward the flower.

He was just inches from the little stem when a hand took his wrist. He looked up. Ardella had her eyes fixed on the flower. "Be careful, Christian," she said cautiously. Christian was taken aback, but he stood and stared

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wide-eyed at the little plant. Gafford walked over and looked at the flower. He hesitated for a moment but then lifted his shoe and kicked at the plant. His boot dug deep into the soft ground, and there was a high-pitched squealing sound. The little bud was lying on the ground, quivering and clawing at the dirt with its dislodged roots.

Christian's mouth fell open and he took a step closer. He pitied the little plant. It certainly appeared harmless, but he was not so sure. "Gafford, what kind of—"

But before he could finish his sentence, the little flower shrieked and turned its little white head toward him. Its petals opened to reveal a row of green pointed thorns. A trickle of liquid poured from its center and formed a small puddle beneath it. He and Ardella drew back, startled.

Looking around, he became overwhelmed by the number of flowers surrounding them. They appeared so harmless, so lovely and pure in contrast to the brown grass. The plucked flower was now motionless on the ground.

The sun was now a mere glow at the base of the sky. However, the white buds stood out in the dim light. As they walked, he looked back over his shoulder and saw that the flowers were reaching out hungrily toward them as they passed. He shuddered and steered clear of their reach.

Before he knew it, the forest was dark. The moon was shining faintly, but it was not enough to fully shed light on the forest. He walked closer to Gafford and kept his eyes alert. They came to a patch of grass below a tree that was vacant of flowers, and Gafford turned around.

"We will rest here and eat," he whispered, looking around cautiously. "But then we'd best press forward until dawn. The night is when we are most vulnerable . . . should we let our guard down."

The effects of the long day's walk set in even stronger than before. Christian sat down and, immediately, his eyelids grew heavy. Gafford handed them both bits of dried meat and fruit. He chewed on the food, barely tasting it, and washed it down with a single swallow of water. He was quite hungry, but his desire to sleep overwhelmed him. He pocketed

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the rest of the food and crossed his legs, letting his head fall forward. He closed his eyes for what felt like no more than thirty seconds.

Annabelle Jean smiled at him. She was wearing a white dress, much like the one Ardella wore the first day he met her. She giggled as she ran into a thick grove of trees.

A hand touched his shoulder, and his head shot up. "We need to keep moving, Christian." Ardella's voice was soft and gentle. She pushed the hair away from his forehead. He nodded, but kept his eyes shut as he rose to his feet. Ardella took his arm, put it around her waist, and wrapped her arm around his shoulder.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head against her side as they walked. The ground was uneven, and he stumbled now and then, but her grip on his shoulder remained firm, and she kept him on his feet.

Christian's alertness faded in and out, and the faces of the officers returned from time to time. He could see a name on one badge: Cottle. The other name was blurred because he couldn't remember it.

At times, he had to struggle to keep his legs going, and other times he felt as though they were moving involuntarily. However, as the hours passed, his body began to grow truly fatigued. Even the weary officers in his head were too tired to speak to him. He kept quiet for as long as he could, but finally, he felt as though he might literally fall over. He let out a tired sound that was half sigh, half moan and fell to his knees.

Ardella stopped and tried to pull him up, but his legs were numb. Instead, Gafford bent down in front of him, took him by the wrists, and pulled him onto his back. He did not have the energy to oppose. He rested his head gratefully against Gafford's shoulder and fell into a light sleep as they continued forward.

He knew it had never really happened, but instead of staying to hear the dreadful news that the officers had brought, he stood and made a run for it.

His legs had plenty of energy.

He busted through the doors of the office and raced down the steps into the main foyer. The front door was locked, but he knocked it down

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with one strong kick. The pieces fell and shattered into a million wooden splinters on the sidewalk. He smiled and crushed them into even smaller shards as he trampled across the door's remains.

Now he ran with full speed, and a full moon guided his path. He leaped over the gate and splashed through the puddles in the dark road before him. He could hear the sound of police sirens behind him, but he was too fast. The wind rushed through his hair, and the sirens faded away into silence.

His excitement was so high that he almost felt like giggling. He opened his mouth to laugh, but his breath caught when he heard a sound beside him. It was faint and almost too quiet to hear, but his running slowed to a brisk walk, and his ears perked up.

His walk slowed even more, and he suddenly realized that he was no longer walking but being carried. He could hear Gafford's breathing beside his ear.

Then the sound came again, and it brought his consciousness to a higher level. This sound was one that was familiar to his heart, but not his ears. He had heard it before, but years had passed since he had heard it anywhere outside of his dreams.

It was the scream of a woman. It was very faint, but he knew it was real. It sounded as though it was miles away, but he opened his eyes slightly, and his ears perked up. He waited for a few more moments, and just as his eyelids were drooping, it came again.

This time it was unmistakably clear. The scream rang shrill and clear through the air. He raised his head. "Gafford," his voice was groggy, so he cleared his throat. "Gafford, did you hear that?"

"Hear what, my boy?"

"That screaming," he squinted into the trees. "There was a woman screaming."

Gafford was silent. The scream came again, and this time it sounded closer.

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"I hear it too," Ardella said, pointing to the trees. "It's coming from in there."

Now the voice sounded as though it were just on the other side of the trees. It was disturbingly frantic and screamed, "Help! Please, someone, help me!"

Gafford stopped and turned to Ardella. The dim moonlight shined on her face, and Christian could see that her tired eyes had grown very large. "Who is that?" she whispered, her voice uneasy.

"Disregard the voice," Gafford said sternly. "It is nothing."

The scream came again and Christian winced. "Gafford, shouldn't we do something?"

He shook his head, "It's evil."

"How do you know?"

"Only evil resides here, Christian. It's trying to lure us in."

He squeezed his eyes shut. Something beyond the words, the volume, the pitch, and the terror of the voice disturbed him. As the voice continued to cry out in agony, Christian found that it was uncomfortably familiar to him. His mother's face, the match to the voice, materialized inside of his dreary mind, and try as he might, he could not push it away.

Finally, the voice grew faint and eventually faded away. It continued, however, to echo in his head. He opened his eyes and found that the sky was a light shade of gray with a layer of orange peeking at the edges. The trees were now covered in green leaves and the gray skeleton trees were nowhere to be found. He let out a sigh of relief and lifted his head. Gafford stopped and lowered him to his feet.

Christian's legs were unsteady, and he was thankful when Gafford sat on the ground, leaning against a tree. He closed his eyes, and Ardella followed his example. They were silent for a few moments, and then Gafford opened his eyes. "Can you keep watch for an hour or two, boy?" Christian looked around. They were in a fairly confined section of the forest and he did not see anything frightening. He didn't like the idea, but

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the idea of looking like a coward was worse. "Of course," he said with a shrug. "No problem."

Gafford leaned forward. "Keep your eyes alert and wake me if there is even the slightest hint of a disturbance."

He nodded and looked at Ardella. Her eyes were weary, but she gave him a loving smile. Her long eyelashes floated up and down as she blinked heavily.

Christian blushed and looked away. Instead of thinking of the Skathes, the officers, or his mother's horrible cries, he decided that he would think of Ardella and her beautiful face. He did not want her to see, so he repositioned himself so that he was facing the opposite direction and smiled dreamily to himself.

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Chapter 21

The Shifting Lands

His eyes grew heavy, but Christian refused to let himself sleep. He had a job to do, and besides that, he wanted Gafford and Ardella to be well rested for what the day had in store. The sun had risen hours ago, but his friends slept on. He could tell by their breathing that it would be long before they awakened naturally.

Christian picked up a glossy stone and was rolling it around in his fingers when there was a faint rustling in the trees, just beyond the small clearing before them. He clenched the stone, and his ears perked up, expecting more. Seconds of silence passed by before he finally relaxed, once again rubbing the stone with his fingers.

Then came the sound of a snapping branch. Christian rose to his feet, squinting to see into the thick layer of trees beyond the clearing. "Gafford," he said cautiously, not wanting to awaken him with a false alarm. But then the snapping of branches returned, and with it came a feeling of sickly dread. Christian spoke up. "Gafford," he said more firmly, "wake up."

Gafford's soft snoring ceased, and he sat up quickly, eyebrows drawn together tightly. "What is it, boy?"

"There's something out there," Christian whispered. "I heard footsteps."

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Ardella sat up too. Blinking in the sunlight, she whispered, "What's going on?"

Christian raised a single finger to his lips just as a deep and throaty growl broke the quiet of the peaceful breeze.

Both Gafford and Ardella rose to their feet, weapons drawn. Christian also drew his sword, and Ardella motioned for him to get behind them. He did not object.

The coming creature let out another unsettling growl, one that was more agitated than before. Christian guessed that it was the growl of a beast that was either defending its territory or looking for breakfast.

The trees shook, and in the moment before the creature came through them, Christian's imagination was running wild with possibilities. His heart thumped heavily, and the wood cracked loudly as the branches were mercilessly snapped. The head came through, and the beast looked at them with accusing eyes, ready to attack.

At any other point in his life, Christian would have been overwhelmingly petrified by the monstrosity that presented itself before him. Strangely enough, he felt an odd twinge of relief upon seeing that the creature emerging from the trees was one that he had often found inside the pages of wildlife magazines.

His relief was, however, short-lived. His breathing halted as he came to terms with the fact that he was standing at a highly perilous distance from the most enormous black bear he had ever seen.

The bear pulled its haunches through the thick branches, and when Christian beheld the full size of the approaching animal, his mouth dropped open in horror.

The bear's dark eyes were vicious, full of a consciousness that was far too alert to be animalistic. Its oversized fangs prevented it from closing its jaw and large quantities of slimy drool dripped from between its pointed teeth. The bear snarled in warning, and when Gafford raised his bow, it released the loudest and most chilling roar that Christian had ever heard.

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The dripping drool flung forward with the force of the roar, and the bear's jaws opened wide enough to see deep inside its gaping throat.

Without another moment's warning, the bear charged forward. Ardella shoved Christian hard, and he stumbled backward into a tight bunch of leafy bushes. He knew it was cowardly, but he ducked behind the bushes and made himself as flat as possible.

From behind his leafy hiding place, he winced as the bear's giant claw slashed mercilessly at Gafford. Gafford dodged the swipe with a quick duck and stood with his dagger in hand. He tossed the dagger at the attacking bear as Ardella came in from the side. As she charged with her sword held high, the bear let out another earsplitting roar and knocked the sword from her hand. The sword flew far and landed somewhere several feet into the forest. The bear growled angrily and rose to its hind legs, spreading its enormous arms in threat.

Christian's eyes were bulging from their sockets as he beheld the full height of the monster. Its ears brushed the higher branches, surely standing at least twice the height of Gafford.

Ardella dove between its legs, and Gafford backed away quickly, aiming an arrow at its heart. He released the arrow as the bear came crashing down, and the pointed tip pierced through the top of its shoulder. The bear did not seem to notice. It snarled and bore its pointed teeth at Gafford.

"Christian!" Ardella cried.

Christian jolted as though awakened from a bad dream. "Christian, your sword!" she shouted. "Toss me your sword!"

He became suddenly aware that he was, in fact, still clutching the sweat-covered hilt. He stood quickly and, without a second thought, tossed the sword in her direction.

The bear had been rearing up in preparation to attack Gafford, but the glint of light from the flying sword caught its attention.

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The bear turned to Ardella, and Christian felt foolish for having tossed a sword when she was ducked to avoid being sliced by its momentum. She quickly scooped up the sword, however, and stood ready.

Now that Christian had been awakened from his daze of shock, he knew that he must take action. Without hesitation, he hurried off in the direction where Ardella's weapon had been flung. The sounds of the battle raged on, but try as he might, Christian could not locate the sword. He found nothing but moss and vines, sticks and stones, and he feared that if he ventured too much farther, he might find himself in a worse situation than he was dealing with now.

Christian hurried back to the clearing, not even sure what he would do next. As he peeked from behind the bushes, he found that Gafford had latched himself onto the bear's back in attempt to choke the creature. This only seemed to be aggravating the beast even more. Its claws were alternately swiping in an attempt to reach Gafford, and Ardella was prodding defensively from the front.

Christian tore his eyes from the dangerous scene and searched desperately for a solution. He considered using himself as a distraction, but the thought was not only terrifying but also seemed a bit useless.

The bear inched closer and closer to Ardella, snapping its jaws violently, and Christian decided that, useless or not, it was the only plan he had. He rose from his hiding spot, stepped around the bush, and used a thick protruding branch to steady his shaking legs.

He was about to lunge forward when, suddenly, he stopped short. He looked up at the thick piece of wood between his fingers and realized that it stretched several feet long, rising at an upward angle and coming to a rather severe point at the end. "Ardella!" he hollered, forgetting for a moment that calling her name would also alert the bear. "Ardella, over here!"

Her head snapped in his direction, and he pointed desperately at the branch. Again, Ardella's sword swiped at the bear, and then she returned her eyes to Christian.

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"Ardella, lead him over here!" Christian yelled, his voice squeaking on the last word.

Her eyes found the branch, and she understood. With a quick roll to the side, Ardella escaped the snapping jaws of the bear and stood, backing away slowly toward the protruding branch.

The bear roared ferociously, clearly determined to finish what he had started. Gafford slid carefully from the bear's back and drew an arrow. But Ardella raised her hand. "Wait," she commanded. "Not yet."

The bear drew nearer, and Christian could see deep into its malicious eyes. Its nostrils flared in anger, and a black tongue twitched from behind its pointed teeth. Ardella's hands were still raised, and each step was carefully placed until she was just inches from the pointed branch.

The bear's lips drew back, and Christian could have sworn that the expression resembled a wicked grin. A chill slithered down his spine, and despite the warmth of the sunshine, he shivered.

The bear reared up on its hind legs, spreading its arms their full triumphant span, and Ardella shouted, "Now! "

Gafford released the arrow, and it lodged itself deep into the creature's spine. The bear's back arched, its black eyes squinted in fury, and its enormous body came crashing down on top of Ardella.

The world moved in half time as Christian watched Ardella stand her ground. She stood tall and erect, keeping her place until the moment was opportune. The bear fell down, not with the speed of a massive monster, but softly, like a tree-fallen leaf.

And then time returned. Ardella sprang to the side, rolling out of harm's way and coming to a sliding halt. The roar that ripped out of the bear's throat put the others to shame, and Christian covered his hands with his ears.

The protruding stick served well, lodging itself deep inside the creature's chest and resurfacing on the other side. The bear flailed in agony, but the branch was unyielding.

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Christian pulled his eyes away from the terrible scene and turned to Ardella. He had expected a look of relief, possibly accomplishment, but instead, he saw a mixture of fascination and disgust on her face as she stared at the defeated bear.

"Ardella, what's—" He began as he followed her stare. "What's . . . what . . . what is happening?" he cried as his eyes found the body of the bear. The bear was struggling even more desperately than before. In fact, its claws were digging into the ground, frantically attempting to push itself off the branch. It managed to pull itself up to the end of the branch, but the tip did not leave its body. The branch stayed put as though literally holding the bear in place. It wailed deeply, and suddenly, its eyes rolled backward, and its body began to swell. At first Christian wondered if the swelling was his imagination, but as it continued, it became unquestionable. The sight reminded Christian of a balloon on a water faucet. The swelling began in its chest, where the branch had been lodged, but soon spread to stretch out the bear's belly, its legs, and, finally, its frantically moaning face. The bear's eyes bulged in their sockets, and its swollen tongue flailed.

When Christian was sure that the bear could stretch no more, that the swelling would have to stop or its body would burst, the bear's struggling ceased. It fell slack on the protruding branch and slid down to rest against the trunk. Christian still wanted to look away, but his eyes held on as tightly as ever as a sudden burst of blood bubbled out from behind the bear's eyes, dribbling down its gaping mouth. Its ears also released a flow of blood, followed by its nose, and, finally, its throat.

Christian had never seen so much blood in his life. It flowed out free and strong, coating the bear's fur until it was glossy and wet. What seemed like gallons of blood flowed out of the bear's body and soaked the ground around the tree. As the blood drained, the carcass deflated more and more, until finally, it hung limp like a giant sack of furry bones.

It wasn't until Gafford's grip tightened on his shoulder that Christian realized his hand had been resting there for quite some time now. "We best leave," Gafford whispered. "As quickly as possible."

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"Gafford," said Christian breathlessly, "what just happened?" Gafford exhaled heavily. "Blood Tree."

"A Blood Tree?" Christian replied, his voice shaky with fascinated horror.

"Indeed," said Gafford. "These trees feed on blood. Once penetrated by a limb, the victim is pumped with pressure until they finally burst."

"Then what happens?" Christian asked, eyeing the puddle of spilled blood.

"You shall see," said Gafford darkly. He pulled his eyes from the dangling carcass and headed off to gather his things.

Christian looked at Ardella. Her face was white, but her eyes were calm. "You okay?" he asked.

She tore her gaze from the bear to give him a nod, but her eyes returned quickly. "Look, Christian," she said in a whisper that was almost inaudible. "The ground."

Christian's eyes widened as the enormous puddle of blood began to sink into the soil around the tree. Just like water lowering in an unstopped bathtub, it soaked quickly into the ground, leaving the forest floor dry with nothing but a faint red tint to the plants.

They exchanged looks of unpleasant understanding and hurried off to join Gafford who was gathering the rest of the camp equipment. He stroked his beard, his eyes distant, and then looked up at the sky. "We should have about two nights to retrieve the Moon Blade and return it to Malika," he said, again exhaling heavily. "As of today, the moon is at the waning crescent, and the Moon Blade only materializes when the moon is visible in the night sky. Soon the moon will phase and become invisible. When this happens, the Moon Blade will also disappear."

Christian and Ardella nodded.

"Are we getting close?" Christian asked.

"An hour or two that way," Gafford said, pointing into the distance. "I caution you. The Shifting Lands may be very difficult to venture through. I myself have never been there, so there is no telling what might await

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us." He glanced back in the direction of the bear, and his expression was grave, his voice low. "There is evil there . . . evil that has not been faced for hundreds of years."

Knives of nervousness bit at Christian as he wondered what could be worse than the nightmare they had just faced. Gafford put his arm on his shoulder. "There will be evil there that the princess and I will not be able to withstand, my boy. It's evil that we do not have the power to resist."

"Then why send me?" Christian asked, clasping his hands in hopes of hiding their shaking. "What can I do?"

"You are not powerless as we are," Gafford answered. "We lost our strength . . . many years ago. And now our only defense against true evil is to keep away from it." Gafford's gaze drifted off into the distance, and then he said:

The darkness of those who oppose us,

That great power we once withstood,

The emptiness of misery and evil,

Fuel the forces opposing the good.

It is far more cunning and vicious.

It is darkness unseen by the eyes.

It beckons you come, and it promises

Great rewards that turn out to be lies.

But this darkness is not all powerful.

It was easily conquered by some.

Many resisted and many prevailed,

And the light would darkness become.

Until something changed within us

And we were no longer as we had been.

We were frightened and weak, powerless, frail,

Easily tempted by sin.

Many were taken away in the dark,

And many were lost in the deep.

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They went wrong; they were changed,

no longer themselves.

They were lost in a clouded sleep.

Something was stolen; something was changed,

So the truth that cannot be missed

Is that evil is something we must avoid,

Not something that we can resist.

Gafford sighed and stroked his beard again.

"You see, Christian," Ardella said softly, "we don't have the power to withstand the evil of the Skathes. That's why we were forced to conceal ourselves inside of the kingdom's walls for so many years. We cannot resist it. We have to avoid it."

Christian frowned. "But look what you did with that bear. I'm sure that you could—"

"It's not the same," Ardella said. "The beasts we can handle if we're lucky. But you're the only one who stands a chance against the dark ones." His frown deepened. "But what if I can't do it? What if I'm not able to

withstand it? I don't even know how to fight. I'm not—"

The tips of Ardella's fingers touched his lips and stopped his words. She looked into his eyes. "You can do it, Christian. I know you can."

Christian sucked in a deep, fresh breath. Her focused eyes bore deep into his, and his body relaxed. He thought about his previous encounters with the Skathes. The images of the blackness in the mirrors played across his memories, and the icy chill of their presence loomed in the back of his mind.

He wondered how the Aldrics could have such faith in him. What had he done to prove that he was strong enough to withstand the power of the Skathes? How could he be trusted to overcome a force whose power he could not even comprehend?

Thankfully, Ardella was still holding his hand, radiating her calming emotions. If it weren't for her, Christian was sure he would have been

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overcome with anxiety. He took in another deep breath and tried to swallow, but his throat was dry.

Ardella gave him an encouraging smile and touched his cheek. "I trust that you will succeed."

Christian smiled weakly, sure that his cheeks had turned pink. After a short pause, Gafford said to Ardella, "We ought to find your

sword. Wouldn't want to go too far without it."

"I looked for it," said Christian with a shrug. "I didn't see it anywhere." Fortunately, however, the search turned out to be easier than Christian had anticipated. With the three of them combined, they located the sword in a matter of minutes and headed off into the trees. Ardella took Christian's

hand, and they followed after Gafford.

As they passed through the trees, the temperature began to drop significantly. A strong gust of wind blew past them. It was followed by a constant icy breeze. Fallen leaves flicked their ankles and danced in sporadic circles.

The trees were dense and covered in dark moss. The dirt was soft, and there were puddles scattered across the ground. There was silence, and if Christian had not known that it was midday, he would have thought that it was nearly nightfall.

The trees were soon so thick that they had to walk in single file and turn to the side to squeeze through them. He thought they might have an easier time going around, but before he knew it, the trees opened up into a small circular grove.

On the other side of the grove, there was a tall, leafy hedge. It reminded him of the one in the garden, the one guarding Ardella's secret gate. He frowned as he wondered if he would ever make it back to see inside her special tower.

In the center of the hedge before them, there was an opening just tall enough for a man to comfortably walk through. The moment Christian's eyes rested upon the opening in the hedge, his teeth clamped together, and an overwhelming feeling of dread came over him. It was almost like

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sickness, but it was not in his stomach . . . it was in his heart. His mouth pulled into a frown, and he looked at Ardella. She too looked unpleasant, and her face had gone pale.

Gafford turned around. He took an arrow from its quiver and rested it against his lowered bow. For the first time since Christian had met him, his face held an expression of fear. Christian only saw it for a brief moment before it took on its usual expression, but it was there long enough for him to know that he was indeed frightened.

Despite this, Gafford squared up his shoulders, glanced back with a final nod, and proceeded through the entrance. Christian and Ardella hurried behind him with their swords drawn.

Once he was through, Christian looked out across the land. As far as he could see, there was nothing but flat, dry dirt sprinkled with rocks and small dead plants. In the distance, there was a thick layer of fog, making it impossible to decipher what lay ahead.

Not only was the scenery bleak and uncomfortable but there was also silence—silence that was so ear-piercingly quiet it was disturbing. The only sounds to be heard were the padding of their footsteps and the rhythm of their steady breathing.

They exchanged uneasy glances and walked along quietly. Christian listened to the sound of their footsteps and fought back the urge to ask questions. Normally, he was okay with silence, but there was something about this silence that was all too uncomfortable, almost like the calm before a storm.

They had not taken more than thirty steps when there was an odd sort of movement beneath his feet. It started out as a gentle vibration in his toes, and he thought he may have imagined it.

However, as it grew steadily stronger, it was apparent that the ground was, in fact, moving. He looked over at Gafford and Ardella. It was obvious that they too had felt the movement. "Um, Gafford?"

Before any of them had a chance to speak, the ground erupted in a surge of forceful tremors. They all wobbled and struggled to keep their

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balance as the unstable floor shook them aggressively. Christian fell to the ground and gasped loudly as a crack opened up in the dirt. It started out as a sliver but quickly grew to an enormous split. It divided inches in front of his feet and opened up into an endlessly deep crevice. It gaped before him like a hungry mouth, anxious to feed.

Christian cried out, and his body bounced and slipped toward the opening. He turned over onto his stomach and clawed desperately at the dirt as his feet fell into the hungry mouth in the ground. His fingers found a crack in the dirt, and he struggled to pull himself to safety, his muscles straining with effort. The earth trembled for a few more moments, and then everything went quiet once again.

The wind whistled in the distance.

Looking up, Christian found that the crevice was several feet wide, but this was not the sight that caused him great distress. Gafford and Ardella were now on the opposite side of the gaping split, several feet away. They stood wide-eyed, leaning over the edge. They were clearly as concerned about the depth and distance as he was.

He looked to the right. The split stretched on endlessly into the fog.

"Are you hurt, boy?" Gafford shouted across the hole.

Christian stood. "No, I'm fine." Their voices echoed across the barren surroundings.

Gafford was standing at the edge of the crack, surveying the distance. "If the crevice narrows out, you may be able to jump it."

Christian thought back to the dark crevice in the caves. His jump had barely allowed his feet to scrape the edge of the hole, and that one was much narrower than this. Unless this opening narrowed significantly, he was certain that he would not make it. He peered into the hole. The terrifying drop made his stomach lurch, and he had to pull his eyes away from it.

"Let's continue," Gafford said. "The opening may end or grow narrower as we move forward."

Christian's voice broke as he shouted, "All right!" His call echoed across the crevice and faded to silence.

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They walked along the side of the hole. Christian looked across occasionally to find Ardella staring at him with a worried expression. She and Gafford were exchanging words in low voices, their faces troubled, but he could not hear their words.

He had already been more than a little worried, but he was more so now. He looked around cautiously, feeling rightfully paranoid. He could still feel bits of Ardella's calming emotions wafting through his body, but they were steadily growing dim. She was too far away. He needed her near, needed her comfort and reassurance.

He looked her way, hoping that the mere sight of her would calm his nerves. But she was not looking at him. In fact, both she and Gafford had their eyes fixed on something in the fog.

He followed their stare.

Some distance ahead, there was a large dark shape on his side of the hole. The fog made it impossible to decipher what the shape might be, but it was obvious that whatever it was, it frightened them.

"What is it?" Christian shouted.

Neither of them answered but furrowed their brows and continued to stare.

He tried again. "Gafford, what is that thing?"

Gafford started as though awakened from a deep thought. He looked at Christian, to the shape, and back. "I don't know."

Christian looked at Ardella. She wore an uneasy expression.

"Press forward!" Gafford called. But his voice was less commanding than usual. It held a certain uneasiness that was unsettling. He looked at Gafford for another moment and then stole another glance at the shape.

It was tall and thin, stooping over in the mist. He studied it long and hard and found that the longer he looked at it, the more he wanted to look at it. All around him there was nothing, nothing but the fog and the deep crevice in the ground. But there, there was hope, there was change. Despite the fact that it frightened him, the large shape was strangely appealing to him. He found himself hurrying toward it, anxious to discover its potential

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secrets. He knew that he should be afraid, but somehow the emotion was nowhere to be found.

"Slow down, boy," Gafford barked. "We ought to stay together." Christian's shoulders slumped, and he slowed his pace. However, he

kept his eyes fixed on the distance. Steadily, the shape grew closer and clearer. As they neared it, it grew in size, and Christian was soon able to make out just what the shape was. It was a rock—a broad pointed rock that stuck out of the ground and curved over like a crescent moon.

He stopped just feet away and looked up at it. It rose several feet into the air, and its surface was jagged and rough. The rock was very dark, a stark contrast to the cloud-laden sky.

"Boy!" Gafford shouted. "I can see the end of the crevice. We must stay together."

A twinge of annoyance bit at him. "Go around then, and meet me back here."

"Christian, please." Ardella's voice rang clear through the stagnant air. "Don't stop."

The distress in her voice brought a sting of momentary guilt, but Christian still could not bring himself to turn around. His eyes remained fixed on the rock, and he had no desire to move. He found it beautiful; in fact, it was perhaps the most intriguing thing he had seen outside of the kingdom's walls.

Gafford and Ardella's voices called out to him over and over, but he had no desire to go to them, no desire to even look at them. Something had taken over him. He knew it was true, but whatever it was, he welcomed it. He was not threatened by his sudden urge to stray; in fact, it was wonderful. He found it was quite refreshing after so many days of obeying Gafford's orders.

He had just begun to smile when there came a pounding of footsteps. He turned and furrowed his brow as Gafford and Ardella ran toward him with frantic expressions.

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He raised his arms in an annoyed gesture but dropped them when their faces changed. Their expressions went blank, and then their eyes grew. The blood drained from their faces, and their mouths hung open in fear.

The feeling of contentment was gone. In fact, Christian could not even remember ever feeling well at all. And there was silence—silence that was so entirely vacant of sound that he almost thought he had gone deaf. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he slowly turned his head.

All around him was Ms. Hawthorne's office, and the dark faces of two police officers stared down at him.

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"We came to give you the news," said the first officer, Officer Cottle. His voice was much deeper and much darker than Christian had remembered.

"You're a brave kid," said the second . . . but the word coward echoed through the air.

Cottle leaned forward. "It's your father." Now his heavy expression was changing, and it was not as Christian had remembered. Instead of a sorrowed frown and a heavy brow, the officer wore a sinister grin.

"What about my father?" Christian asked. He surprised himself by the youthfulness of his own voice.

The men began to laugh. Cottle rested his arms on his round belly, and the other perched his hands on his narrow hips. Ms. Hawthorne joined in on their laughter.

Cottle was grinning widely, and he wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. "Your father," he said, struggling to hold back his laughter. "Your father, he's—" Then he burst into laughter and stooped over, resting his hands on the desk.

His partner was now smiling sadistically. He leaned down and leveled his eyes with Christian's. "Serves the worthless scum right," he said with slanted eyes.

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"What are you talking about?" asked Christian flatly, although he knew exactly what they meant. They were delaying the reveal for their own pleasure, and this pinched his nerves with irritation.

"If you ask me, the old fool had it coming," Cottle responded.

Now his partner piped in. "And he deserved what he got . . . In fact, I couldn't imagine anything worse."

Christian squeezed the yo-yo with all his strength. "Just tell me what happened to my father."

They exchanged amused glances.

"Set fire to his apartment," Cottle said with glee.

The other nodded slowly. "It's a slow and painful suicide, if you ask me." Cottle smiled and pulled out his pistol. "Heck, if he had wanted to die,

I could have given him a smoother passing."

The men laughed hysterically, and Ms. Hawthorne joined in mercilessly.

Christian sat in silence. The news did not come as a surprise to him. He knew his father was dead. This scene had happened over a year ago. Although the real officers had shown sympathy and support the first time around, Christian had thought it all in vain.

He didn't care if his father was dead or alive. In fact, the news of his death had come as somewhat of a relief to him. They had never been close, and the night of Annabelle Jean's stillbirth marked the end of their scarce associations with one another. Christian would, at times, purposefully fall over or drop something in front of his father in an effort to gain his attention, but the man remained in his emotionally immobile state.

Consequently, it came as no surprise to Christian when his father blatantly announced that he would be sending Christian far away, off to boarding school. His father's words had been "I need to get my life sorted out, but I wouldn't want to put you through the trouble." Christian was smart enough to know that what his father had really meant was "I want to get away from this place, but I don't want to trouble myself with you."

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The news of his father's death was not upsetting. Perhaps a bit of a shock, but grief never came. The true officers had expressed their condolences, tipped their hats, and left the room.

However, these officers were different. They smiled cruelly and crossed their arms mockingly. Christian glared as their detestable faces threatened to set him over the edge. His temperature was now rising, and he could feel his annoyance growing into anger.

"He was a coward!" exclaimed the unnamed officer.

"A downright failure," added Cottle.

Now Christian's blood began to boil. The yo-yo creaked beneath his squeezing hands.

They laughed in a manner that almost seemed rehearsed, almost melodic.

"Yes, yes!" said Ms. Hawthorne, gasping for breath. "Just like his miserable son. What a wretched waste of—"

The yo-yo broke in half. "Shut up! " Christian screamed, rising from his chair. "Shut up, all of you!"

Their laughing continued, and it only grew louder. "He's dead!" they chanted. "He's dead, dead, dead!"

He covered his ears. "I don't care!"

"Dead and gone, Christian! Dead and gone! "

"Good! " Christian exclaimed. "I'm glad he's gone!" His words echoed through the office before fading away. Then he crossed his arms and took a deep breath. "I don't care. He wasn't even a parent to me."

Ms. Hawthorne and the officers exchanged glances of realization. Their expressions spread into three devilish smirks, and then their laughing returned with a vengeance.

The scene faded away, but the laughter did not dull. Christian's irritation had reached an all-time high, but as the office surroundings faded away, his annoyance was replaced with another feeling.

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It was a strange transition of emotion, one that he had never experienced before. His anger smoothed over and changed into something worse, something deeper.

It was dread.

And soon the dread was so profound it melted into pure fear. It was a fear so distinct that he became petrified by it, so petrified, in fact, that his body seemed to have gone numb all over.

His eyes sank down to his feet, and he found that they were no longer planted on the plush floral rug of Ms. Hawthorne's office, but stood, once again, on the cracked dry ground of the Shifting Lands.

The laughing grew distant and was drowned out by two distinct cries of desperation. His eyes followed the sounds, and he found Gafford and Ardella lying on the ground with their hands over their ears. They were calling out to him, and their frightened eyes were fixed on something behind his back.

Christian turned around, but he knew what he would see before his eyes even found it. The fear escalated, and it spread through his body like venom.

A dark hooded figure stood just feet in front of him, reaching forward and curling its finger.

He had expected it to spring forward, to attack viciously and perhaps ensnare them. However, the figure did nothing of the sort . . . On the contrary, it did nothing at all.

The Skathe stood silent, its arm raised, and its finger beckoned him to come closer. Although the gesture was unsettling, Christian did not feel threatened by it. The initial shock of the Skathe's appearance wore off, and he began to feel more and more at ease. He was no longer in fear, but he still did not dare to move. Instead, he turned his head to Gafford and Ardella. They had both fallen to the ground and were lying on their stomachs, covering their ears.

Christian thought it very odd. He even considered calling out to them and telling them not to be afraid anymore. He decided, instead, to confront

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the Skathe directly. The figure was indeed disturbing to behold, but he found that he was now overcome by some unexplainable assurance. He took a step forward.

The moment he had done so, the Skathe dropped its hand. Through the vacant silence, Christian heard a sound. It was distant yet distinct, and he thought it sounded like two metal pans briefly clanked together.

Christian gathered all the courage he could muster. "What do you want?" He had tried to sound confident, but his words were more timid than he had planned.

The Skathe did nothing. It only continued to stand frozen, vacant of any expression. Christian waited for a few uncomfortable moments and then tried again. "What do you want?" This time he was more pleased with way his voice sounded.

Slowly, the Skathe raised its cloaked head. Christian had not heard the creature take in a breath, but it exhaled loudly, and a small burst of murky light spread across its chin. Its skin was a sickly white color, and its lips were thin and pale, covered in cracks and scabs. Its mouth stretched into a narrow line, and it gave him a chilling smile.

Then a voice came. It was a smooth whisper, clear, but almost like a hiss. "The question is not what I want . . .," the voice said. Christian looked at the Skathe. Its lips were locked in a tight line, but the voice came again. "The question is what do you want, young mortal." The words echoed as though they were spoken inside of a large and spacious building.

The Skathe's head was now tilted up enough for Christian to see all its features. Its face was very thin, and it had sunken-in cheekbones. Its flesh looked as though it had been dead for quite some time. But these were not the features that Christian found the most disturbing. The Skathe had deep dark eyes—eyes that were so black they looked more like vacant holes.

"I can give you what you want, dear mortal." This time the voice was even clearer. But the sound did not echo through the land or ring in his ears. Christian now realized that the voice he had heard had been spoken inside of his head. It continued. "I can give you anything that your heart desires."

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Christian hesitated but then replied, "I-I desire the Moon Blade." The Skathe smiled widely, revealing a row of jagged teeth. A breathy

laugh echoed through Christian's mind. "Are you sure?" The laugh was joined by echoes of the officers' laughter.

Just then, there was another voice. He could tell that it belonged to Gafford, but the tone was unfamiliar. "Don't listen to it, boy!"

The Skathe's cocked its head. Its eyelids narrowed, and it turned toward Gafford. It did not speak, or even move, but Gafford squirmed and yelled in agony, "No! Get out! Get out, I say!"

The Skathe's stare returned to Christian. It appeared to be amused by the situation, and its lips still held a sadistic smile. Christian looked at Gafford, who was gasping and holding his chest. Christian turned back to the Skathe with a heavy glare. "Leave him alone."

The Skathe nodded dismissively, and its voice came into his mind again. "You, my dear mortal, shall receive the thing you desire."

An image of his father's happy face came into his mind. It looked like his father, but it was wrong. His father never smiled at him.

"No!" shouted Christian. "That's not what I want!"

Now the Skathe's laugh was louder. It grew louder and louder until Christian covered his ears. "Stop it!" he shouted. "Shut up!"

The laughing did not cease, but a sudden burst of light materialized before him. It was small and dim, much like the glow of the moon. As the light grew larger, a dark shape appeared in the midst of it. The shape stretched longer and grew darker. Finally, it bent over and took the form of a large crescent-shaped knife. Its blade was a metallic white, and its handle was a deep gray.

Christian took a tiny step forward. The moment his foot had touched the ground in front of him, the strange sound came once again. This time it was higher pitched, but it was, unmistakably, the sound of clanking metal. He looked around but could not seem to spot the source. There was only the crescent rock, and now the newly conjured image of the Moon Blade. "Is this what you desire?" asked the Skathe.

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Christian looked at the Moon Blade. It was hovering just feet in front of him, easily available, and of course, it was tempting, but he was smart enough to know that something was amiss. He had heard enough about the lies of the Skathes to know that the Moon Blade would have to come with a price. "How do I earn the blade?" Christian asked, gesturing toward the floating light.

The airy laugh echoed through his head again. "Oh, what a noble one you are. I offer the Moon Blade freely, yet you question your right to receive it." The Skathe raised its arm, and the blade moved closer to Christian. "Take it. Take it now."

Christian did not move.

The Skathe dropped its arm. "Take your reward." "What will happen when I do?"

It raised its chin. "Take a look at yourself, young mortal. Take a look at your body, your arms, and your legs."

Christian hesitated but then looked down at himself, surveying his limbs.

"What do you see?"

Christian did not understand. "I don't see anything."

"Precisely. You see nothing." The Skathe smiled. "But . . . there could be more."

Christian raised his head suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"You could be great," the Skathe said. "You could be mighty, strong . . .

all-powerful."

Christian did not respond. He knew that the Skathe was lying, but he thought of being strong, of being able to stand his ground in a fight. The thought was enticing. But he pushed it away.

"What are you thinking?" the Skathe asked.

Christian glared. "Nothing."

The Skathe scoffed. "Of course not . . . but you could be." Christian narrowed his eyes.

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"Your mind could be flooded with thoughts. You could be the wisest, the most learned, a genius among your peers. You could be the youngest philosopher of your time. You could outsmart even the wisest of the wise. You could excel at each and every one of your endeavors . . . You could be unstoppable."

As the Skathe spoke, images filled Christian's mind, images of him coming out on the top of his class, of being able to remember countless facts and equations. He imagined being able to create music, poetry, and art with ease. But just before he lost himself in his thoughts, he realized what was happening. "No! I don't want any of that," he said, shaking his head vigorously. "You're lying!"

"Lying?" the Skathe said the word as though it were hurt. "Why would I lie, my dear mortal?"

Christian let out a scoff-like laugh. "Because that's what you do. You're a liar."

"And just how do you know that?" The smile had left the Skathe's lips. Christian's eyes wandered over to Gafford and Ardella, but he quickly

returned them to the Skathe.

"I see," it said with a frown. The Skathe went silent, and its shoulders fell slightly.

He had not expected the reaction. "You see what?"

The Skathe looked up at him. For the first time, Christian found that its face appeared almost . . . vulnerable. Its eyes were heavy, and its mouth drooped into a frown of defeat. "I see . . . that once again, my efforts have been wasted." The Skathe lowered its head. It turned its body as though it were going to walk away.

"What do you mean?"

Just when Christian had finished speaking, the metal sound came again. This time, however, he was able to identify where it was coming from. The sound echoed from behind the large crescent rock. He looked its way, and his eyes found a small black chain lying on the ground. He thought it strange, and he did not know why he had not noticed the chain before.

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The Skathe did not seem to notice his distraction. "It has always been our desire to give the Aldrics what they want," it said in a tone of defeat. "We have done nothing but offer them good . . . but they do not desire good."

"That isn't true," Christian said defensively. "The Aldrics want good. It's you that wants evil."

The Skathe narrowed its eyes. "Let us be careful at whom we point fingers, young mortal."

The chain made another clanking sound. He glanced for just a moment, and its form made him think of a snake caught in the presence of foe, waiting to either strike or flee.

"It was not I who selfishly sought after the Moon Blade this day." Christian shook his head. "I didn't—"

The Skathe grew louder in volume. "It was not I who sought after the power and glory and dominion that comes from possessing such an object! It was not I who ventured into uncharted lands in search for personal gain! It was not I who—"

"That's not true!" Christian's voice rang loud and clear.

The Skathe looked amused. "Oh, isn't it?"

"No, I don't want any of that . . . I don't want power." The Skathe scoffed. "Oh, no?"

Christian crossed his arms. "No, I don't. I just came here to help my friends."

This angered the Skathe even more. Its face pulled back in a vicious glare, and its hands clenched tightly. Its cloak billowed, and a strong gust of wind whipped through Christian's clothes. The Skathe raised its arms, and the wind began to swirl faster and faster, picking up the dirt and spinning it around in circles. The black chain rose up into the air, twisting and tangling in the whirlwind. Above the roaring of the wind, Christian heard the voice in his head once more. "You are foolish, young mortal, a fool and a pretender!"

The winds were furious, but Christian stood his ground. He planted his feet firmly and yelled back, "No, I'm not!"

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"You do not need them, foolish mortal. You can be so much more than them. Forget them! Forget them, and you shall receive more than you ever imagined possible."

Christian shook his head furiously. "I won't do it! I'll never betray them, no matter what!" His ears were growing hot, but this time it was not out of fear. It was out of frustration, and it was building greater and greater by the second.

The voice came again, but this time it was calm. "Just think of the reward. Think of the power and the—"

"No!" Christian screamed the word with absolute surety and reached for his sword. He had not even thought to use it before. He gripped the handle firmly and held it high.

The Skathe smiled.

The expression aggravated Christian even more. Without giving it much thought, he swung his sword furiously. It cut through the air and collided with the cloudy glow surrounding the Moon Blade.

As his sword collided with the glow, there was an even brighter burst of light followed by an explosion of metallic sound. The light grew brighter, and the Skathe shrank back, letting out a low shriek.

The whirlwind ceased, and the black chain fell to the ground. The Skathe was pushed further and further away from him, all the while withering in defeat. The ground began to shake and another large hole opened up in the earth.

Christian held his ground but the Skathe stumbled backward. It clawed desperately at the vacant air before falling into the gaping hole.

Then the whole ground began to shake and tremble even more violently than before. Christian wobbled and stumbled backward. Then, like a cracking pane of glass, the dry ground split in a hundred different directions. There was a loud cracking sound, and Christian looked over his shoulder to see the ground open up behind him. Only this time, the opening was small, no larger than the mouth of a well.

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The hole was deep and black, and the tips of his toes were the only things keeping him from tumbling into the depths. His arms swung desperately, but as though in slow motion, his body eased backward. He released a loud puff of air, and with a final outburst of energy, he tightened his midsection, bent his knees, and hurled himself forward.

To his surprise, the maneuver was a success, and he caught himself hard on his hands, his feet still dangling over the pit. His elbows bent, and he let himself fall to his stomach. His heart was racing as he turned over and lay on his back. There was a gust of wind, and a dry piece of brush batted his cheek. He sat up quickly, but the Skathe was still nowhere to be seen.

He took in a heavy breath and started to sigh. The Skathe was gone, hopefully gone for good. Relief began to spread through him . . . but it was momentary. Before he had the chance to exhale fully, a pale bony hand reached out of the pit and took him by the ankle.

He didn't even have time to fight back before it yanked his body into the blackness.

Christian screamed as he fell down, down, down, deeper and deeper into the dark. There was nothing but blackness, the sensation of falling, and the weight on his ankle. He fought the grip on his ankle and flailed his arms in an attempt to stop himself. His mind was in a frenzy, and his own panic manifested itself in a scream that he barely recognized.

And then . . . as though someone had flipped on a light switch, he could see. He looked down and found his ankle to be free. His feet were planted firmly on a cement floor. He was not falling, but instead, standing in a large, well-lit room. His head was spinning, but he drew his sword and turned around sharply, ready for an attack.

But an attacker did not come. In fact, the only things in the room were a small empty bed and a closed white door. He recognized the room immediately, but it was different . . . it was wrong. A chill ran down his spine.

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"Hello?" his voice echoed off the vacant walls, and then all he could hear was the buzzing of the light. "Hello?" he said again.

There were whispers from outside the door, and then the knob began to turn.

Christian stood motionless as the door clicked and then swung open silently. He raised his sword, holding it with two sweaty hands. The door stood wide open, but the light from the room did not spread to the outside. Instead, the darkness seemed to creep inside, and the light became dim.

Christian's breathing grew louder, and he could feel prickles of sweat forming on his brow. His mind might have floated off into unpleasant recollections were it not for the fact that he was living them right now. He opened his mouth to speak, but his words caught as a sound came from around the corner.

He looked in the direction of the sound, and the bed creaked ever so quietly before going silent again. He squinted through the dim light and saw that the bed was no longer vacant. The shape of a body lay under a white blanket, its back turned to him. The bed squeaked again as the body readjusted itself.

Christian tightened his grip on his sword. "Hello?"

The body went still for a moment as though caught off guard. It did not turn to face him but, instead, raised an arm and let the blanket fall from its hand. It swiped its cupped hand through the air once, motioning for him to come closer. Christian did not dare get close but took a cautious step forward. "Who are you?"

It did not answer but swiped its hand again, this time a bit more aggressively. Christian remained where he was. "What do you want?"

And then there was another sound. It was small and muffled and came from his side. His eyes tore from the body on the bed and whipped toward the muffled sound.

Just inches away, there was now an even smaller bed. This one, however, was lifted high off the ground. It was surrounded by wooden rungs and bordered with a layer of white lace. The sound came again, and Christian

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knew exactly what it was—the cooing of a baby. He leaned forward and frowned when his eyes found a little head peeking from beneath the blanket. He took another step closer and placed his hand on the cradle.

The bed in the corner creaked, and Christian's head shot up.

His body stiffened, and he watched in horror as the figure in the bed sat up, swung its feet off the bed, and stood up slowly . . . very slowly.

His already bulging eyes stung with intensity. He wanted to move, wanted to scream and run away, but his body was a statue, and he seemed to have no control.

The figure walked forward, all the while keeping its head down. When it finally reached the edge of the baby cradle, it placed a hand on the edge, right next to Christian's. His eyes found the hand. For a moment, he thought he saw the hand of the Skathe, bony and pale, but he looked closer and found that the hand was that of a woman. In fact, the hand looked soft . . . It looked pretty.

He knew this hand.

His eyes shot up to the woman's face, and he was unsurprised to see that she was already looking at him. Her eyes were pooling with tears, and she smiled warmly.

"Mom?"

She smiled and held out her arms, "Hi, baby."

Christian dropped his sword and lunged forward, falling into her arms. Tears filled his eyes as he basked in her embrace, her warmth, and her smell. "Mom," he whispered into her bosom, "Mom, I—"

"Shhh," she said, stroking his hair. "It's all right now. I'm here." He let out a sob, and she repeated, "I'm here."

The room went back to silence, but the light buzzed softly. Christian opened his eyes and looked up at her face. She was healthy and strong, beautiful in her own simple way.

For a moment, he was in tranquility. For a moment, he let himself bask in the satisfaction of her presence. He sucked in the air around her,

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tightening his hold on her shoulders, and took in the simplicity of her features. She looked like herself, beyond perfect . . . so effortlessly mother.

There was only one problem.

"No," he whispered.

"What's the matter, baby?" she asked, gently touching his cheek. He pulled back slightly. "Mom . . . it isn't you."

She smiled playfully. "Whatever do you mean, sweetie?" Christian frowned deeply. "Mom . . . you're dead."

She blinked twice and tilted her head. "Of course I'm not." He did not reply.

His mother turned to the open door and then looked back with an even wider smile. "It's right through there."

He furrowed his brow. "What is?"

"We can be together there."

Christian looked over at the open door. The darkness was thick and deep.

"Come with me, baby . . . I've been waiting for you." "What's through the door?"

She placed her hands on his shoulders. "Christian, just trust me, okay? It's everything you've ever wanted: Happiness, peace . . . family. Won't you come with me?"

He looked into her eyes. They were just as he remembered, big and green, with little creases on the edges. They smiled from the inside.

But somehow, her eyes, no matter how lovely, did not comfort him. They were his mother's eyes, and this was his mother's face, but he did not see his mother.

There was an aching in his heart because he knew this was not her. His mother was dead. He saw it happen, saw her eyes close, saw her chest fall with her final breath . . . saw her casket lowered into the ground, right along with the tiny casket of Annabelle Jean. It hurt him to see his mother here. It hurt because he knew it was false, and he knew it would not last.

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"Come with me, Christian," she continued, pushing back a lock of her own sandy hair. "I want you with me."

He frowned. "No."

She shook her head as though amused. "Oh, Christian, always so stubborn . . . won't you listen to Mommy? I only wish to give you that which you desire most. I only wish to—"

"Stop!" Christian shouted.

She looked hurt. "Baby, what—"

"You're not my mom."

Her eyes clouded with coming tears, and a guilty pain stabbed Christian's heart. He pushed it away. "You're not my mom . . . you're the—"

"It's me," she whispered.

"No! You're the—"

"It's me!" she wailed.

"You're the Skathe!"

She took a step back, and her eyes narrowed. Christian took a deep breath. "Get away from me." "Why would you say that?" "Get away!"

Her eyes grew dark, and her face twisted in anger. He could see the clocks of frustration ticking inside in her head, the anger burning in her soul. "You're a fool!" she shouted, but her voice was not her own. It echoed through the room, deep and cold. Christian stooped down and retrieved his sword. His mother lunged forward, knocking over the cradle. The baby fell, but instead of crying, it released a chilling laugh.

He held up his sword and closed his eyes tightly as her body fell on top of the pointed blade. It pierced effortlessly, all the way through her vulnerable midsection. Her weight pushed him down, but he did not release the sword.

And then her lips were by his ear, uncomfortably close, brushing his lobe. Her blood dripped over his gripping hands, and her chilled breath tickled his skin. "I'm not through with you, mortal . . . Not even close."

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Christian opened his eyes. Before him was the large crescent-shaped rock, dark and stooping. The earth was crackled and dry. He stumbled as he realized that he had escaped the room. His head was spinning and lifted his sword, turning in a sloppy circle. There was no one to be found.

What he did find was the metal chain. It lay motionless on the ground. The end led off into the hole where the Skathe had fallen. As he stared, it began to glow. It seemed to be heating to an extreme temperature because it shined bright orange, then yellow, and let off a gray smoke. Finally, the chain lost form and melted into a line of steaming matter. There was stillness in the air.

In the midst of the chain's remains, the Moon Blade lay gleaming in the dirt. Christian hesitated but walked over and picked it up. The blade was sturdy yet lightweight and elegant. Turning it over in his hand, he found that the handle was carved with images of the phasing moon. The little carving at the base of the hilt was a picture of the waxing crescent, and it was illuminated by a dim light. This was the last carving on the blade, but the small space below the image was blank, clearly representing the new moon.

Christian turned to where Gafford and Ardella were lying. They were still on their stomachs with their hands cupped over their ears. "Are you two all right?" he asked upon approaching them.

Neither of them responded. Christian knelt down and placed his hand on Ardella's shoulder. She winced and peeked through her eyelashes. Relief flooded her expression when she saw Christian's face. She removed her hands from her ears and sat up, looking around cautiously. Christian also touched Gafford's arm. He opened his eyes and sat up as well. Sympathy twisted in his stomach. They did not look well. In fact, they looked awful, as though they had been sick and suffering for several days. Their eyes were sunken and bloodshot, rimmed with dark circles and drained of life. Gafford's lower lip was bleeding, as though he had bitten it in his pain, and Ardella's cheeks were still soaked with fresh tears.

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"Where did it go?" Ardella asked in a faint voice. She blinked away the tears, but the corners of her mouth were pulled down in a heavy frown.

"It's all right," Christian said, placing his hand on hers. "It's gone." Gafford's strained eyes grew wide. "However did you manage to defeat

it, boy?"

"I'm not sure." Christian shrugged.

"What did it say to you?" Gafford's eyes were more intense now, and they were outlined with creases of worry.

Christian hesitated. "He offered me power." Gafford nodded. "What else?" "And strength . . ."

"And . . . ?" Gafford leaned in closer.

His prodding was beginning to make Christian uncomfortable. He did not know why, but something inside him did not want to tell them about the encounter with his mother. He couldn't bring himself to put it into words. It would be too painful, too horrifying. He shrugged again. "And . . . he offered me the Moon Blade."

"Was there nothing else, boy?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Gafford's shoulders and face relaxed. He looked at Ardella who closed her eyes and let out an exhale of sincere relief.

Christian did not understand. "Why do you ask?"

Ardella opened her eyes but did not speak. Instead, she looked at Gafford. He stroked his beard with narrowed eyes. "Because, my boy, a Skathe always offers a person the thing they desire above all else . . . the one thing that they would give anything to have."

Christian stared silently into Gafford's eyes.

He stared back for a moment and then said, "You have no such desire. The one thing you truly wished was to receive the Moon Blade. I'm

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guessing that you were able to defeat the Skathe because the one true desire of your heart . . . was completely unselfish."

Christian felt sick, and Gafford's words were like knives in his stomach. He couldn't bring himself to admit it out loud, but Gafford was wrong. The thing he desired above anything else was to have his mother back, to be with her and feel her love surrounding him. This desire was greater than his desire to retrieve the Moon Blade. He had not defeated the Skathe, not if what Gafford had said was true.

Ardella brought her hand up to her mouth for a moment and then placed it on Christian's shoulder. Her eyes bore into his for a moment that seemed to last forever. Her loving, calming emotions swept over him, and his sickness became a dull ache. She blinked, and her lips parted as though she was going to speak, but Gafford spoke first.

"In your hand, boy"—he motioned to the knife—"is that . . . the Moon Blade?"

Christian held it up. His wrist relaxed. "Yeah, I think so."

Gafford held out his hand, and Christian gave him the blade. Gafford stroked it admiringly and surveyed its features. "Ah, yes, the waxing crescent," he said, touching the illuminated carving. "We must return to the caves at once."

Christian nodded. He wondered how long it would be before the Skathe returned and hoped desperately that they would escape before it did.

Christian stood and then took Ardella's hand. She wobbled as she struggled to stand up. Gafford also had to fight to get to his feet.

"What's wrong?" Christian asked.

"It's because of the Skathe," Ardella said, resting her hands on her knees.

Gafford nodded, adjusting his satchel. "I still feel it strongly, even though it was defeated."

Christian's ears grew hot. "Let's get out of here."

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Chapter 23

Finding the Nest

The journey back to the caves was mostly in silence. Except for a few pestilent storms, they were untroubled by the forest. And despite the fact that it was raining when they reached the pool that led to the passageway under the waterfall, Gafford guessed correctly that the catfish would not surface during a storm.

So with the blanket over their heads, they hurried across the water and climbed out on the other side, thankful to be sheltered by the overhang beneath the falling water.

Gafford gave them both a boost and then pulled himself into the hole as well. Christian turned and stared sadly into the dark tunnel that lay ahead.

Gafford patted him on the shoulder and then headed off into the darkness. Ardella hesitated, giving Christian a sympathetic look and then took him by the hand. "It will be over before you know it, Christian."

He let out a little sigh and glanced back at the narrow stream of light one last time. Giving her hand a little squeeze, he turned and followed Gafford into the tunnel.

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The air was still and warm, much warmer than it had been during their last visit. Beads of sweat began to form on his hairline. The sweat, however, was only partly due to the heat.

Now that the Shifting Lands were far behind them, he had had a great deal of time to reflect upon what happened there. He had hoped that the memory would fade, but instead, the more he thought about it, the more it disturbed him.

The Skathe had created an illusion so vivid, so perfect in detail that Christian had not even stopped to wonder if he had been dreaming. Of course, he knew that it was no dream. Perhaps the things he had seen were a conjured-up farce created by the Skathe, but what he had experienced was real, hallucination or not. He knew it was true, and the thought was unsettling.

They had only walked a short distance when there was a rustling of feet in the distance. Christian strained his eyes but saw nothing. However, he was unsurprised when a pair of strong hands took ahold of his shoulders.

A deep familiar voice rang through the darkness. "Who goes there?" He knew that they were, once again, surrounded by the band of Hollow Holders who patrolled the caverns.

"We have returned," Gafford said.

The men scoffed and snickered among themselves, their bodies shoving and their hands prodding.

"Take them to Malika," said the deep voice again. "We'll let her have her way with them."

As they were escorted away, Christian could hear the men's loud whispers of mockery. "What do you think she will do to them?" One voice said, "She'll surely not allow them to return to the kingdom."

Another voice responded, "She'll likely throw the fools into a pit. She hasn't any use for them, so they may as well be fed to the creatures of the deep."

"Better them than us," another said.

The men laughed viciously and shoved them along through the tunnels.

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When they reached the large open cavern, Christian was relieved to see that its walls were lined in blazing torches, which filled the room with an orange glow. There were a small number of men, and this time even a few women gathered around. They all wore the same smug expression, as though they were unpleased yet unsurprised to see that they had returned.

He looked to the front of the room and found that Malika was already present. Standing behind her was a line of large men. She sat upon a grand stone chair but stood as they approached her. "You have returned," she said, crossing her arms. The light of a nearby torch cast an odd shadow across her face, intensifying her distorted features.

Gafford nodded. "We have indeed."

"I find it difficult to believe that you would have the audacity to return to my place of dwelling . . . without the promised trinket." She narrowed her eyes. Malika scoffed and tilted her head back with a mocking smile. "Do you think me a fool, Gafford? Do you truly expect me to believe that you, a woman, and a child ventured into the wild, through the Shifting Lands, and retrieved the Moon Blade . . . in two days' time?" Now she was laughing, her fingers wrapped around her midsection. "You could not do this if you were given two weeks . . . nor two years! "

The volume of the room rose and was filled with mocking voices. The men pointed their fingers and let their heads fall back in scornful laughter. One of the women in the crowd stepped forward and cried, "Throw them into the pit!" The men cheered louder and shook their fists in the air.

Ardella pulled Christian closer as the crowd began to close in on them. Christian, however, was far more frustrated than frightened. He pulled his pack from his shoulders and reached in. Once he had found the hilt of the Moon Blade, he tore himself away from Ardella's arms and pulled it from the bag. He held it high above his head, glaring at the riled crowd. As he held it, a soft white light shined around him. He looked up and saw that the blade was letting off a dim glow. The room went silent.

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Christian lowered his arm and turned to face Malika. Her mouth had fallen open, and her eyes were large. They stood motionless for several soundless moments.

Finally, Malika's eyes narrowed once again. "I see," she whispered. "You have joined them."

Christian tilted his head in question.

"What reward have they promised you? Surely you must know that they can offer you nothing of lasting value."

"No," Christian said, shaking his head. "They didn't give me anything." She motioned to his hand. "They gave you the blade."

Christian looked at the blade. "They didn't give it to me . . . I took it." Her eyes grew dark. "That is impossible. Illumination has been lost."

She took a step closer. "There is only one answer." Christian raised his eyebrows.

"He used dominion."

The whole room was filled with gasps and shocked voices. Malika stared intently at Christian, her eyes bearing down on him. Finally, she raised her hand to silence the crowd. "Is this true?"

Now Gafford stepped forward. "No, it is not, my lady. His encounter with the Skathe was—"

"Do not use that word so lightly!" Her expression grew angry. Gafford raised his hand apologetically. "The boy knows nothing of

dominion."

"How am I to be sure?" she said skeptically.

Gafford crossed his arms. "I do not know, my lady. One would think that someone like you would be more equipped to decipher the products of such power."

Her teeth clenched tightly. "What are you saying, Gafford?" "You know very well what I am saying, Malika."

Their eyes remained locked for several fiery moments before Malika exhaled and crossed her arms tightly. "I do not believe it."

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"He has the blade," said Gafford. "You know very well that the princess and I do not have the power to withstand the dark ones."

She let out a little laugh. "And the child does? You know as well as I do that our children are also bound by the restrictions of the—"

"But he is not our child," Gafford said. Malika looked at Christian. "Not your child?" "He is not from this world."

Malika's eyes grew large. "You mean to say . . ."

"Yes." Gafford placed his hand on Christian's shoulder. "Yes, he is mortal."

The room now erupted with voices. Malika stood still as a statue as the crowd shouted and pressed, attempting to get a closer look at Christian. As they inspected him with their eyes, Christian kept his eyes fixed on Malika. He knew that it had indeed been quite a feat for the Aldrics to bring him into this world. But there was something more. There was something in her expression that made him think that the news meant something more for her.

"Bring forth the blade." Malika's voice echoed loud above the volume of the group.

Christian looked at Gafford, who gave him a nod of approval. He approached Malika cautiously, holding the blade at an arm's distance.

Her eyes found the blade and remained fixed upon it until it rested in her grasp. She held it gingerly and turned it over in her hands, inspecting its craftsmanship. After a thorough examination, she tucked it into a belt on her waistline.

Christian did not move but stared up at her expectantly. Looking down her nose at him, she said, "Well done, young mortal," and swept her hand through the air dismissively.

Gafford stepped forward. "We had an agreement."

Malika pursed the side of her mouth and ran her finger along the hilt of the Moon Blade. "Although the blade does seem to be of genuine quality, I shall not know of its true validity until I have tested its power."

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"Such a blade cannot be synthesized, my lady . . . You know that." "Do you know what else I know, dear Gafford?" She looked at her

fingernails. "I know that no one leaves the Shifting Lands alive." Gafford did not reply.

She lifted her chin. "I shall make preparations immediately. In the meantime, you three shall remain in the dungeon."

Gafford shook his head. "There is no meantime, my lady. The blade will phase with the new moon."

Malika stared at him for a moment and then turned her head. "Taurus, when is the new moon?"

The large man who had escorted them into the room stepped forward. "The moon will phase this evening, my lady."

Malika's expression grew uneasy, and she pointed at Christian. "You." "Me?"

She gave a single nod. "You will come with me." "Come with you where?"

Gafford moved in front of Christian. "The boy will go nowhere with you."

Malika laughed. "Oh, won't he?"

Gafford glared.

"Very well, Gafford. Then you too shall also accompany me, if you are foolish enough to do so." She waved her arm toward Ardella. "And your little princess will come as well. The scalpmonger queen will very much enjoy her." She gave Ardella a devilish grin.

"I can hardly see how our company will benefit you," Gafford said coldly.

Malika held up her hands in a gesture of innocence. "If your words are true, it is obvious that there is more to this young mortal than meets the eye. If he truly conquered the evil of the Shifting Lands, a scalpmonger will be a simple obstacle to overcome." She looked at Christian and her expression grew dark. "If his story is untrue . . . he deserves what fate the creature will bring him."

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Gafford's voice was flat. "This was not a part of our agreement." "Very well." She waved her hand. "Then rot in the dungeons."

The guards moved forward, but Gafford raised a hand and said, "When shall we leave?"

She smiled maliciously. "Immediately." Malika waved her arm, and the large man came forward. "Make the preparations for our journey, Taurus." He nodded and headed off into the darkness. Malika also moved toward the exit, but before making her departure, she paused and turned to the large men lined up behind her. "Retain them."

She left the room, and three men came forward and seized them. The room was filled with boisterous cheers of approval as they were carried away after Malika.

They were taken through a long dark passage and into a small torch-lit room. The men shoved them forward and commanded them to wait.

Gafford stood silent and stern, his jaw clenched tightly. This worried Christian. "Gafford, why does she want us to go with her?" he asked.

He shook his head slowly. "She just wants the upper hand, boy." "What?"

He sighed and brought his hand to his brow. "She does not care what happens to us but believes it unlikely that we shall survive . . . If we are killed by the beast, she keeps the Quondam Crystal . . . However, if we do survive, then she too will benefit from our success."

Just as he said the words, Malika entered the room. She was sheathed in thick armor and wore a helmet that covered all but her mouth. The corner lifted in a smile. "We shall pass through the tunnels of the deep." She looked to the men. "Bring the fade."

Christian's heart leaped, but his joy was momentary. A man came into the room holding a small metal cage. Inside, the fade sat with her legs drawn up to her chest, her face buried in her knees. Her glow was faint and weary.

Christian rushed forward and put his hands around the sides of the cage. She did not budge. "Hello in there," he said in a gentle whisper,

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bringing his face closer. The man released his hold, and Christian took the cage. He put his finger through the bars and touched her back. She started and then raised her head, showing her circle of teeth. However, when she saw Christian's face, her expression grew softer. She still looked angry, but this was normal. "Are you all right?" The fade frowned and then hid her face. "Please let her out," he pleaded. "She won't fly away. She'll stay with me, I promise."

Malika scoffed and motioned for the men to release the fade. When they had done so, the fade lunged forward and bit the man on the back of the hand. He shouted and swatted the air, but she flew high above his head and glared down at him. He gave her a sympathetic smile, and she moved to hover above his head.

The men nudged them forward, and they proceeded into the shadows once again. The fade stayed a safe distance away from the prodding men at the back of the group, and her light was barely bright enough for Christian to see ahead of himself. He looked up at her. He did not know what had happened to her in the days past, but she certainly did not display her usual energized spite. Her expression was vacant as she floated along wearily.

He put his hand in his pocket and retrieved the small piece of meat. Reaching up, he held the food in front of her. At first, she drew back defensively but then sprang forward and snatched it out of his hand. As she ate, her light grew brighter, but it was still not enough to completely illuminate the passageway. He was impressed by how easily Malika maneuvered through the tunnels.

They came to the end of a short tunnel, and Christian watched the outline of Malika's head descend downward. After Gafford, he and Ardella came forward and saw that they had gone down a steep flight of rocky stairs.

They went in single file, bracing themselves with the walls of the narrow stairway. The stairs went deeper and deeper, spiraling downward for hundreds of steps. The combination of poor light and the uneven shapes of the steps made it very difficult for Christian to keep his footing.

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He stumbled several times, causing Ardella to fall forward and crash into Gafford's back.

As the stairs continued downward, Christian could feel the effects of the tiresome journey setting in strongly. He struggled to keep his focus and fought to ignore his aching hunger.

After walking downward for quite some time, he wondered if Malika had been down these stairs before. She glided gracefully down the jagged steps and didn't seem to have any problems keeping her balance. Even Gafford occasionally lost his footing and had to grip the wall for support.

His legs had begun to ache with pain long before they reached the end of the winding staircase. To his relief, the ground finally leveled out after one long step downward. Malika turned around, her hands on her hips. "We seem to have diminished in numbers."

Christian looked back at the winding staircase. They waited a moment, and finally, the guards came bustling down the stairs, their faces wearing expressions of uneasiness.

Malika rolled her eyes and mumbled something about "spineless imbeciles." She turned and ran her hands along the side of the rocky cave wall. "Here it is," she said, holding out a thick rope. She turned to one of the guards. "Up."

He gave her a questioning look but then frowned and obeyed her command. He started up the wall and had climbed several feet when she called up after him. "There is a small opening in the rock, just above your head." The guard grunted, and the rope went limp.

Malika handed the rope to Gafford. "Up, Gafford."

He did so without an argument, easily pulling himself up the wall. When he reached the top, he called down to them. "I'm up."

"You go next, Christian," Ardella said softly. She took the rope, smoothed the fraying ends thoughtlessly, and handed it over to him.

He took the rope, and as he looked up at the seemingly endless rock, his hands began to shake. He took a deep breath, however, and began the climb.

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The fade hovered next to him and directed his attention to crevices where he could place his feet. He rose higher and higher, all the while keeping his attention directed toward the task at hand. Although his arms grew weary and his hands began to ache, he found that the climb was not nearly as difficult as he might have expected.

Christian was so focused on climbing that he was slightly startled when Gafford's hand reached out and took ahold of his wrist. "Well done, boy," he said, pulling him upward.

Christian scooted himself away from the wall and looked at the fade.

"Fly down to Ardella," he said, kneeling down and peeking over the edge.

The fade floated down into the darkness, and Christian was amazed by how far down her little light descended. He lowered himself to his stomach and kept his eyes fixed on her glow. Slowly, her light moved upward as Ardella climbed swiftly up the rope.

When she was close enough to reach, Gafford helped her over the edge. The three of them looked over and saw that the second guard was now nearly to the top of the rope. Malika had also already ascended up the wall and was doing so with even greater swiftness than Ardella. By the time the fade had flown down to hover next to her, she only had a short distance left to climb.

Gafford pulled her up over the ledge, and she did not seem even slightly affected by the physical exertion. She pulled her knees beneath herself and cleared her throat. "It's just through there."

She crept forward into the darkness, followed closely by the rest of the group. The opening widened, and they rose to their feet. Just ahead, the fade's light revealed a rusted steel gate, much like the bars of a prison cell. The large latch was sealed closed by an even larger padlock. She unlocked the gate and motioned for them to enter.

Cautiously, Gafford stepped through. He pulled an arrow from his quiver and held it against his bow. Ardella unsheathed her sword, and Christian followed her example.

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The moment he walked through the gate, there was a distinct difference in the feel of the new space. The air was thick and warm, and an awful rotting smell filled his nostrils.

Malika turned to them, placing a single finger over her lips and then stepped forward quietly. They followed her around a corner and climbed through another low tunnel. Turning sideways, she slipped between two rock walls and then waited for them to join her. She looked at them gravely and then pointed at the ground just ahead.

They all squinted through the darkness. Christian was unable to make out what lay ahead, so he looked at Gafford. His lips were pulled into a tight line, and he looked unsettled.

Christian looked at the fade and motioned forward with his head. She looked hesitant but flew forward slightly, hovering low to the ground. As her light spread, Christian's nose crinkled in disgust. The whole floor was covered in a vast entanglement of hair, much like the one they had seen upon first entering the depths of the cave.

"What is it?" Christian whispered the question to Gafford, but Malika answered.

"A scalpmonger's nest."

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Chapter 24

The Scalpmonger Queen

No one said a word. They all stood wide-eyed, staring at the mounds of matted hair. Malika motioned toward the nest. "Search it."

Christian was puzzled. "Search it?"

"We must draw the scalpmonger queen from the darkness." She prodded at the nest with her sword. "Find an infant."

Nobody moved.

"Do it!" she exclaimed, her eyes fiery.

Christian was the first to obey. He fell to his knees and plunged his hands into the mass of hair. It tangled and clung to his fingers. Gafford and Ardella joined him, digging into the nest and pulling through the endless heaps. There were a variety of different shades, lengths, and textures of hair. He was not even sure what he was looking for, but of one thing he was certain: it was likely to be unpleasant. Malika had been pacing back and forth but finally dropped down and joined them in their hunt.

As they sorted through the strands, Christian began to notice something strange. He found that many of the ends of the hair had thin, dry strips clinging to them. He picked up a chunk and inspected it closely.

As he leaned toward the light, there was a sudden movement beneath his hand. It was a rapid, squirmy pulsation that almost reminded him of

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a fish out of water. He did not even have time to pull his hand away from the nest before something took a strong hold of his fingers and yanked him downward.

His face pressed into the itchy pile, and it tangled around his head. He opened his mouth to cry out, but immediately regretted it when a clump of hair stuck to his tongue. He spit out the majority of the hair, pressed his lips together, and tried to pull free. Despite his struggling, the grip held firm, pulling him deeper into the hair. Gafford and Ardella were above him, shouting at one another and calling out his name.

Right along with the prickling of hair, a prickling of fear set in heavily. The air grew thinner and then left altogether. Nothing but tangled globs of hair entered his sucking nostrils. He struggled but could find no leverage in the malleable mass. Panic set in, and although he knew there was no point, he fought the hair with everything he had.

After the frantic seconds that were more like hours of endless battle, there was a strong hold that tightened around his kicking ankle. The hold on his wrist did not lessen, but the hand on his ankle was more powerful. It pulled him upward and yanked him free from the matted nest. He opened his eyes and found that Gafford had removed him from the hair and was pulling him over to the stony floor.

After gasping and spitting hair from his mouth, the first thing Christian noticed was Malika. She was standing over him with a wicked grin. The grin, however, was not directed toward him. He followed her stare, which led to his right hand, and he gasped in alarm.

The fade had flown up to the top of the cave, but her light was still able to reveal the small spiderlike creature that clung to Christian's hand. The creature had eight thin legs and a pale, bony rib cage. It wrapped around Christian's arm and its large mouth was clamped on his palm. Although the creature bit with great pressure, there was no pain, and it was obvious that it had not yet grown teeth. He shook his hand in an effort to unlatch the eerily humanlike head, but it only clamped tighter and let out a threatening hiss.

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He took it by the back and attempted to remove it, but Malika sprang forward and ripped it from his grasp. The creature wailed and twisted around, attempting to squirm free. Ardella pulled Christian to his feet, and they all backed away from Malika as she wrestled with the infant scalpmonger.

She took it by the back of the neck and held it in the air. "Come forth!" she shouted into the darkness, "Come forth from the depths!" The infant wailed even louder than before. Christian covered his ears as its shrill cry pierced his eardrums. The cries echoed through the cave and were undoubtedly heard by every living creature within miles.

Then a new sound echoed in the distance. It was a deep rumbling that sent a vibration through the rock floor. No one moved a muscle as the reverberation grew louder. They could hear rocks smashing to the ground and bouncing across the floor. The commotion grew closer and closer until finally . . . it stopped.

The infant scalpmonger took in a long breath and then let out a final cry.

There was silence.

Their ears were perked up, and their attention was fixed on the dark tunnel that lay ahead. Christian was desperately trying to decipher a shape in the darkness, but it was the fade who saw it first. She hissed and flew away from the tunnel, staying close to the top of the cave. The guards retreated cowardly and hurried away into the darkness behind them.

Gafford took Christian by his shoulder and pushed him behind his own back. "Stay back, boy." Ardella also stepped backward. Gafford readied his bow, and Christian and Ardella drew their swords. Malika laughed and stepped forward daringly.

"Show yourself!" she cried, raising the Moon Blade above her head. The first thing Christian saw was a thin pale hand in the darkness. It

reached around the side of the tunnel and rested its fingers on the wall, one by one. The skeletal fingers were eerily similar to the legs of the dungeon spiders. Christian tightened his grip on his sword.

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Then came the long bony legs. They stretched forward with an elderly pace, and the great appendages quivered. They did not quiver, however, with age . . . but with wrath.

The head of the scalpmonger queen came lastly into the light. Christian swallowed hard and could not stop himself from stepping

backward.

The scalpmonger's narrow face was thin and skeletal, worn by centuries of malice. The skin around her white eyes was rimmed with dark circles and covered with creases of age.

She crept forward, her bony hands gripping the sides of the walls in fury, her eyes fixed on Malika. As the length of the creature's body came into the light, Christian could see that she was easily double the size of the scalpmonger that Gafford had defeated.

The infant let out another wail of despair, and the queen's expression changed from a threatening stare to a vicious snarl of attack. It sprang forward, but Malika tossed the baby aside before the queen could reach it. Malika raised the Moon Blade in an attempt to attack the queen, but the creature shoved her to the side, lunging toward the infant.

Unfortunately for Christian, the tiny scalpmonger had fallen directly in front of his feet. Gafford raised his arrow, but Malika screamed in protest. "Don't you dare! That queen is mine!"

The scalpmonger shoved Gafford to the side and reached for Christian. He raised his sword, but the beast knocked it out of his hand in a swift swipe. She took the infant in one hand and gripped Christian around the neck with the other.

Gafford sprang forward in an attempt to aid him, but the queen's back leg knocked him over and pinned him to the floor. Ardella rushed forward, but before she could reach him, the scalpmonger lifted Christian into the air and tossed him into a large pile of hair.

He sank into the springy mound and was thankful that the nest had broken his fall. He sat up, and the queen tossed the infant into the mound of hair. It bounced across the surface and immediately burrowed inside.

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Ardella stood wide-eyed with her sword in hand, ready for an attack. The queen, however, did not attack. In fact, she did not seem to notice Ardella's presence at all. Instead, her large head rotated to face Malika. Her expression was nearly vacant, but her eyes were slanted in aggravation.

The queen's head turned around 180 degrees, and she glared furiously. Her large mouth opened wide, and her bottom jaw rested on her bony spine as she let out a scornful shriek.

"Now you die!" Malika shouted. She lunged forward, still screaming, with the Moon Blade raised high above her head. The queen whipped her own body around and knocked Malika to the floor.

As they wrestled with the blade, two more scalpmongers came into the room. Christian flattened himself on the hair, but the other beasts attacked Gafford and Ardella, pinning them to the wall.

Malika continued to struggle with the queen, and the Moon Blade was sent clanking across the floor.

Christian felt powerless as he ducked behind the barrier of hair. He searched the hair for his sword, but it was nowhere to be found. His head whipped back and forth between Malika and his friends, trying to decide what to do. In that moment, he was helpless, and the memory of the first scalpmonger attack came to mind. Gafford had battled the beast bravely, although blinded by the dark, and he had stood by idly, too petrified to act, too much of a coward to be of use. In fact, since coming to the Mirallantic, Christian had been forced into situations that had made him feel like he lacked any bravery at all.

Now it was happening again, and now he had a chance to act. He thought of the dangers he had faced since coming here: the Bone Trees, Welter plants, scalpmongers, the Hollow Holders, the spiders, the giant bear, and finally . . . the Skathe. All these things were stronger than him, and all these things frightened him.

His racing heart and shaking hands might have led him to believe that the only monsters he had the bravery to conquer were the ones in his storybooks, but his itching need to act and inward determination to destroy

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the monster before him were telling him otherwise. If he could face the power of the dark ones and come away unscathed, then wasn't it possible that he had more bravery than he thought?

Perhaps he was uncertain of his next move, but this time, he would not stand by and do nothing. Just as he was about to lean forward and inch toward a large rock beside the nest, a glimmer caught his eye.

The Moon Blade was lying on the ground, entangled in a mound of hair, just feet from the scalpmonger queen. Malika had her own sword in hand and was prodding at the beast. Slowly, Christian inched forward, doing his best to stay in the shadows. He pressed himself against the wall and readied himself to spring toward the blade.

Just as he was about to take action, Malika let out a cry of pain. The queen was holding Malika in the air above her head and blood was dripping from her body as she struggled to break free. The queen's back was turned from him, so Christian took the opportunity to rush forward and seize the blade.

He picked it up and held it forward. "Hey!" he shouted, but the beast did not seem to hear him. Then he remembered his original plan and searched the floor.

A cluster of rocks were gathered at the base of the wall. He hurried over and picked up the largest one he could see. The beast was now holding Malika's head, clearly preparing to break her neck.

Christian took a step forward and hurled the rock at the back of the scalpmonger's head.

She stopped short, lowering Malika and turning her head. Once again, she turned it around completely. Her face first showed annoyance, but when her white eyes rested on Christian, her expression changed to fury.

One of the scalpmongers that had been struggling with Gafford now came forward to attack Christian, but the queen hissed loudly as it approached. It seemed that she wanted Christian for herself. Gafford lunged forward and tackled the smaller beast.

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The scalpmonger queen dropped Malika to the ground and turned her body around, opening her mouth to reveal her large set of pointed teeth. Her eyes slanted and she raised her skeletal arm. His eyes glued themselves on her bony hand as she raised it slowly and curled it into a tight fist. He did not move a muscle but remained frozen as she turned her fist palm up, outstretched her pointer finger, and curled it toward herself in a beckoning manner.

His heart sank when he saw the gesture. The summoning hand seemed to gleam in the darkness, and Christian felt as if the whole room had gone silent. It was then that he knew, he knew with a complete surety that this creature was in league with the Skathes. It was certain in the way he felt, in the way the scalpmonger's icy stare seemed to seep blackness into his very soul.

He looked back at the scalpmonger's face and found that her beastly mouth now almost resembled a smile. It seemed that the creature was doing it in an attempt to frighten him, but on the contrary, it somehow filled Christian with a greater determination. He had somehow been able to withstand the power of the Skathes before, and he would not shrink at a chance to do it again.

For a split second, the scalpmonger almost appeared human, and he felt as though he might be able to reason with the creature. However, she quickly took on her usual aggression and growled as she sprang forward to attack.

Christian did not have time to think but followed his first impulse. He leaped forward and ducked between the scalpmonger's legs, sliding across the rock floor. Malika, who had now risen to her feet, reached down and plucked the blade from his hand. She charged forward and sprang onto the queen's turned back. The queen flailed around in an attempt to remove Malika from her back. However, Malika held firm, her arms and legs wrapping around the creature's body.

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Finally, the queen slammed herself against the rock, smashing Malika between her massive body and the wall. Malika let out a bold scream, raised the Moon Blade, and forced it deep into the scalpmonger's chest.

The creature let out a shrill cry of agony and fell forward. The scalpmongers that had been tormenting Gafford and Ardella stopped short and looked at the queen. Their faces took on expressions of terror, and upon seeing the Moon Blade, they fled the room.

Malika leaped up and pulled the blade from the queen's body. She stood above her and gave her one last look of disdain before plunging the blade into her body once again.

Christian turned his head but was still able to hear the loud snapping of bones as Malika cracked the creature's rib cage. He turned to Gafford and Ardella.

They were both panting and wearing flustered expressions of relief. Gafford's eyebrow was bleeding, and Ardella's top lip was beginning to swell. He rushed over to Ardella, throwing his arms around her waist. He looked at Gafford. "I'm glad you two are okay!"

But Gafford's face was not on Christian's. His eyes were fixed on Malika and the fallen scalpmonger queen. Ardella was also staring at the pair.

He turned to see Malika reach into the queen's chest and pull out her heart. She tossed the heart aside and stood up straight, removing her helmet. She dropped the helmet and stepped forward into the fade's light. Her disfigured face was covered in sweat and blood. She reached down and pulled the top layer of her dress upward to clean herself.

As the fabric fell away from her face, Christian could not help but gasp.

His mouth fell open and his eyes stretched wide.

Her face was moving, rather, it was changing. Her warped features stretched, flattened, and reformed themselves. The skin around her left eye tightened, and her top lip grew to cover her teeth. The lifted scars smoothed themselves and faded into a flawless complexion. Her sunken

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eye sockets and cheekbones filled out, and her face shined with a perfect radiance. She was beautiful.

Malika smiled, her eyes shining through the darkness. She reached up and ran her hands over her unblemished face. Christian returned her smile, but as he did so, her expression hardened, and she pursed her lips.

"My lady"—Gafford stepped forward with his hand held out—"the crystal."

Malika narrowed her eyes and stared at him for a long moment. Finally, she reached into the folds of her dress's neckline and pulled out a clear rectangular crystal with a pointed tip. She held it out to Gafford. As he reached for it, she drew back for a moment, giving him one last icy stare, but then handed it over.

"Thank you, my lady," Gafford said graciously.

Christian looked up at her face, expecting some sort of gratitude, some acknowledgment of their aid, but she merely nodded once and folded her arms. "You must leave. The creatures will soon return."

Gafford cocked his head slightly. "The queen is dead, my lady. The creatures will follow your command."

A wicked smile spread across her tightened lips. "Indeed they will, dear Gafford . . . and I will not deny my servants the pleasure of exterminating unwanted trespassers from my caves."

Christian stepped forward. "We helped you! If we hadn't given you the—"

Gafford shoved Christian backward. "We will depart at once, my lady." She nodded. "Make haste." Before any of them could respond, she

turned on her heel and marched away into the darkness.

They were silent until she was out of sight, and then Ardella let out a sigh of relief. She pressed her hands to her cheeks. "We have it." Her voice held an airy tone that was almost disbelieving.

Gafford held up the crystal and examined it closely. "Indeed. Now let us leave . . . quickly." He placed the crystal deep in his pocket and started toward the tunnel.

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As they headed out of the room, Christian stepped over the scalpmonger's lifeless carcass. A sudden glint of light caught his eye and he saw that the blood-covered Moon Blade was lying on the ground beside the creature's remains. He thought that perhaps he should take it but then remembered that the blade would return to its original place of residence when the moon phased.

He stole one last glance over his shoulder, and as though he had willed it to happen, the blade faded away and disappeared from sight.

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Chapter 25

The Quondam Crystal

Christian found that the long climb up the stairs was much easier to conquer when there were a group of vicious beasts pressing close behind. The winding steps seemed to go on forever, but Christian ignored the burning in his calves and the beads of sweat on his brow.

They came to a small metal door. When the fade's light rested upon it, Christian could see that it was painted white. Gafford turned the large handle and pushed it open. As it swung open on rusty hinges, the three of them grunted and shielded their eyes. A downpour of intense sunlight penetrated the deep darkness. They hurried through the door, and Gafford closed it behind them.

Christian recognized their surroundings immediately. The whole room was filled with colorful flowers and tall green grass. There was a small pool of water and a staircase that led up to a door that was covered in various designs and carvings. He turned back and looked at the door. It was the black door that Gafford had said could only be opened from the inside, the white side. "Gafford, what if the scalpmongers come through the door?"

Gafford stroked his beard. "I doubt that they would, but let us make haste." He pointed to the carved wooden door. "Either way, they won't get through there . . . or the Garden of Light."

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Ardella hurried toward the staircase.

They followed behind her and hurried up the steps. Gafford touched the carving of the scepter and the picture of the scroll. The door swung open, and they slipped inside.

The fade hovered close behind them as they walked speedily down the brick corridor. Gafford led them down the correct passageways, and then they came to the large stone door with the golden knob and knocker. Gafford completed the knocking combination with his own knocker, and the door swung open on silent hinges.

The moment the light had illuminated the corridor, a rush of warmth covered Christian's body. His heart was filled with peace as he entered the garden, and the light covered his skin. He sighed with contentment and looked around at the bright and beautiful vines that grew on the sides. His eyes explored the design and layout of the orderly lines of brightness. He smiled and looked at Ardella.

Her face was tilted up toward the glittering ceiling, but as he looked at her, she lowered her gaze to his level. The soft yellow glow of the garden washed over her features. Her face was smudged with dirt and scrapes from battle, and the whites of her eyes were still tinted pink, but her beauty could not be lessened. Her eyes were strained and tired, but he could detect the lively sparkle behind her stress. She smiled and looked down at Christian affectionately. Then she carried on, reaching out to the vines and letting them entwine around her arms.

Christian looked down at his feet, once again feeling embarrassed by his own thoughts. He could not stop his feelings. What he felt when he looked at Ardella was more than friendship, more than admiration . . . It was deeper than that. He knew it was absurd. She was a woman, and he was a boy . . . It could never be right. He had known this all along, but somehow, it stabbed at his heart with a greater weight than ever before. The light bounced off the walls and reflected into his face, but he did not indulge in the beauty of the room. He hurried forward to join Gafford and

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Ardella. They each took a new stone from the garden and proceeded into the kingdom.

Although there was plenty of excitement and relief at the news of their swift return, Christian could not bring himself to feel happy. During inspection and throughout their journey up to the castle, he felt as though his mind was in a daze. It didn't make sense, and maybe it wasn't right, but he loved Ardella, and his heart could not deny the feeling.

They were escorted to the great hall where the king and queen awaited them. Christian was still fighting to keep himself focused when Gafford reached over and slipped the crystal into his hand. He looked down at the crystal, looked up at the expectant king and queen, and felt as though he had just awoken from a dream. His head was spinning, and his heart was racing. He cleared his throat. "Here it is, Your Majesty."

He looked up at the queen, not knowing what to expect. She stood silent and still. Her brows came together, and she looked around the crowded room with a twitching mouth. Christian looked down at his hand where the Quondam Crystal still lay and then back at the queen with a look of expectancy. "Here it is, Your Majesty." He looked around the room. "What do I do?"

The queen's shoulders lifted, and her reply was not what he had expected. "I do not know."

Christian furrowed his brow in confusion. "What?"

A man from the small surrounding crowd stepped forward. "Forgive me, Your Highness, but is this not the Quondam Crystal? I propose we use the crystal to leap backward in time. We can reverse the evil that has befallen us!" The king shook his head. "I wish that were possible . . . But you see, the Quondam Crystal is an object of illumination. You know as well as

I . . . that we have lost that power."

The man's expression went blank. He took a step backward and brought a finger to his mouth.

"Worry not, dear Christian." The queen placed her hand on Christian's, closing his fingers around the crystal. "We shall discuss the matter."

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Gafford put his arm around Christian's shoulders and led him out of the room.

After he and the fade had rested and gotten something to eat, Christian set out to find Ardella. He first looked in her bedroom, then the great hall, but eventually found her sitting on a stone bench in the outdoor courtyard. He smiled and hurried over to join her.

She lifted her head, and a smile spread across her sunny face. She was looking much livelier. "Oh, hello, Christian."

He blushed. "Hello, Ardella." He touched the sleeve of her dress. "You look pretty."

She pushed the hair away from his face. "Thank you."

His heartbeat sped up, and he searched his mind for something to say. "Do you think your mother will have another vision?"

"Another vision?"

"Do you think she'll have a vision that will tell her what we're supposed to do with the crystal?"

"I hope so," she said with a tiny shrug.

He looked at the ground. "Hmm. I just thought she already knew . . .

thought she had a plan."

"As did I." She sighed. "Don't worry though. She'll think of something." Christian nodded.

"You were very brave out there, Christian."

His face grew hot. "Oh . . . Well, I don't know . . . I think you're brave. Probably the bravest girl I've ever met."

She narrowed her eyes and cocked her head playfully. "I mean it!" he said, nodding assuredly. "You really are."

She opened her mouth to protest but closed it and sighed. "Thank you." They were silent for a brief moment before he piped up. "Ardella?" "Yes?"

His courage faded. "You . . . you really were great out there." She looked down at her hands. "I didn't do much."

"You were the only reason I was even able to . . . do anything."

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She let out an airy laugh and smoothed her dress. "I almost felt like a burden."

He gathered all the courage he could muster and reached for her hand. His heart leaped the moment he touched it. "I could not have done it without you."

Her smile was appreciative, but not fully convinced.

Christian held her hand firmly, afraid she might pull it away. "I . . ." His hairline began to prickle with tingles of nervous sweat. Somehow his mouth was saying, and his body was doing, things against his better judgment. He wanted to make it stop, but at the same time, stopping would have been unbearable. "Ardella, I . . ." His face tore away from hers, and his cheeks burned even hotter. The words were heavy, caught in his throat like a dry leaf stuck to water.

"What is it, Christian?" She took his chin and gently turned his face to hers.

Her expression was overwhelming: slightly squinted eyes of concern, framed by gentle brows and lips that puckered in question. Her goodness spread over him, and his affection toward her spread back. In this moment, she was his, and at this moment, anything could have been possible.

He loved her, and being close to her now, basking in her closeness, he wanted nothing more than to express it. He wanted her to know that even though she was a woman and he was a thirteen-year-old boy, he cared for her deeply. But his mouth was holding back. He struggled for a moment, and Ardella's brows drew together. She was about to speak. Her lips were opening, but he could not allow it. He needed to speak while his emotions were heightened. If not, he knew he would never find the courage. Before her lips could move to interrupt him, he took a deep breath and his tongue was set free. "Ardella, I love—" But it was too late. He had just missed the peak of his bravery. It diminished, and his mind would not allow him to finish. "I loved being with you these last few days." His hopes spiraled downward, and he felt like a failure. "You're my best friend," he

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continued, pulling out a smile. He hoped that she could not detect the frown beneath it.

Ardella's eyes were searching, almost puzzled, and then for a ridiculous moment, Christian truly believed she had read his mind. Her eyes were soft and full of emotion, and he could have bet anything that they too were holding an unspoken love inside. But then her expression smoothed, and she seemed relieved as she pulled him close. "And you are mine," she said softly.

Christian's shoulders slumped, and his head rested against her chest.

He sighed, the disappointment sank in, and he felt like a coward.

Ardella held still, and a silence stretched on for what felt like eternity.

Finally, she pulled away, and her fingers clenched the side of the bench.

Just as Christian was about to stand and leave, go to a place where he could curse himself in private, the repetitive pattern of swift footsteps came their way. They both looked up and saw Gafford hurrying toward them, his eyes wild.

"Hello, Gafford," Ardella said.

But Gafford did not say hello. Instead, he dropped down in front of Christian and took ahold of his arms tightly. "Listen, Christian." His forehead was damp with sweat and his stare drilled into Christian's eyes. "Listen very carefully, my boy."

Christian began to stammer, but Gafford held a finger to his lips and said:

Two are one and one is the other.

One alike is another one's brother.

He is there inside, but outwardly stands

While the way to return lies there in his hands.

It was always there, though he never knew.

Each time he used it, it only grew.

He peered inside and put forth his will

And leaped to the place where time stood still.

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Gafford fell silent, and he panted, his eyes searching Christian's face. "Did you hear that, boy?"

"Yes, Gafford, but—"

Gafford shook his head. "Listen, boy, listen! " Gafford took in a breath and repeated the words again and again, his eyes intense. Christian focused all his energy. The words soon became familiar to him, but he could not fully decipher the meaning. "Did you hear it, boy?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Gafford, but what does it mean?"

Gafford's eyes grew distant. "I do not know for sure, but I have never before been so compelled to share my words."

Christian nodded, his eyes wide.

"You must remember the words . . . Now tell them to me."

Christian recited the verse what seemed like a dozen times and was beginning to wonder if Gafford would ever be satisfied when Edwin appeared in the courtyard. "The king and queen have requested your presence in the great hall."

Gafford looked at Christian. "Remember, boy."

Christian nodded. As they followed Edwin, Gafford took Christian by the shoulder and casually slipped something into his pocket. He looked down at it and began to reach inside, but Gafford shook his head. "Keep it." Christian nodded and obeyed.

Upon entering the great hall, the fade flew up to the chandelier, and the king and queen rose to their feet. The room was filled with a large group of people. Christian looked around and recognized the faces of many of the Aldrics.

The king took a step forward. "Come forth, Christian." Christian swallowed hard and walked to the front of the room.

The king's expression was stern. "We have come to a decision." The room filled with a sea of whispers. The king held up his hand. "We believe that you are not yet ready to break the spell."

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The volume of the room rose again, but this time the king waited patiently for the voices to fade. "There is something you must do before the spell can be broken . . ." The room was silent. "You must use the Quondam Crystal."

Gafford stepped forward. "But, my lord, how are we to know that the—" "See for yourself, Gafford," said the queen, motioning toward a large mirror. She closed her eyes, and the king placed his hand on the surface. The image in the mirror distorted and swirled before taking the form of

another scene.

In the mirror, Christian saw himself standing before a large group of people. His fist was clenched tightly, and his eyes were wild. A cloud of sparkling dust swirled around him, and then he disappeared from sight. The king removed his hand, and the mirror and the glass returned to normal.

Gafford spoke up again. "How is this possible? We haven't the power." The queen nodded. "We haven't . . . but the boy does."

The whispers continued, and Christian was puzzled. "I don't understand."

"He must go," said the king.

"But my lord," said Gafford, "how will that be possible? You know as well as I do that the crystal will only allow a traveler to visit places he has already been."

The king nodded. "Exactly."

Christian was puzzled. He looked at Gafford who seemed baffled as well. "Where will he go, my lord?"

The king looked at Christian. "Home."

Christian had not expected the reply. "Home?" he asked as though the word were foreign to him.

The king nodded.

Christian's mind whirled around in confusion. "Home . . . to Fall Valley?

"Yes."

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Christian's heart twisted painfully. "But . . . but why? I thought you said we were running out of time to break the spell."

"Yes," the king said. "Time is important. But there are far greater factors in play here."

Now the queen stepped forward. "As long as you are here, Christian, the Mirallantic will inhibit your physical progression, just as it inhibits ours. None can deny that you have proven yourself profitable to us . . . but you are, nonetheless, a child."

Christian crossed his arms, more than a little offended. "I'm thirteen years old."

The queen nodded quickly. "Yes, Christian, but—"

"If you didn't think I was capable," he said with a frown, "then why did you bring me here in the first place?"

The queen looked apologetic. "The unfortunate side to my visions is that they do not always show the whole picture. I saw you here as a child, Christian. But now . . . I am beginning to understand the true reason you were brought to the Mirallantic in your earlier years."

The room was silent, and Christian's mouth had gone dry. "What is it?" She took in a breath, seemingly searching for the words, and said, "The task ahead of you is great, Christian. It is not something that just anyone would agree to. Your intentions must be rooted in something much deeper than goodness . . . deeper than determination or compassion. You came here to gain that intention, Christian . . . you came here to gain a motive."

He cocked his head. "A motive?"

"Yes." She nodded. "It is not by chance that you were brought to the Mirallantic at this time. A young mind is far more malleable than an experienced one that has been set in its ways."

Christian nodded, waiting for her to continue.

"So, Christian," she said, entwining her fingers nervously, "do you feel you have gained this motive?"

Christian felt the weight of hundreds of eyes bearing down on him. He cleared his mind the best he could and considered the question. He

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knew that he had been brought to the Mirallantic for one specific purpose: to break the spell and free this people from their prison. With the fate of the Aldrics on his shoulders, he rarely gave thought to the fact that he did have a choice in the matter.

If he chose, he could, in fact, tell the king and queen that he was unfit to aid them, that he was not willing to take the fate of an entire kingdom on his shoulders.

However, from the moment he had first met Gafford, there was something inside of him that whispered trust. This same feeling continued when Christian came in contact with the Aldrics and the kingdom people. It felt good to be important, and yes, these things were all part of his motive in wanting to redeem the Aldrics. As he pondered, however, a new light illuminated his mind.

Perhaps his affection toward the Mirallantic had nothing to do with kindness, acceptance, or a thirst for adventure. And perhaps it was not rooted in his need to feel needed. No, in his first days in this new realm, a higher purpose had sprouted, and as the days went by, it had progressively given drive to his efforts.

As he pondered, an image of an easy and relaxing room, full of blue-and-white furnishing filled his thoughts. Then there was the outdoor garden, the halls of the castle, the brightness of the great hall, the high-reaching gates of the kingdom, and, finally, the Garden of Light.

It was true that all these scenes were pleasant ones, all givers of joy, but this was not due to their beauty or tranquility, nor their comfort and familiarity. These scenes were beautiful not for the scenes themselves but, instead, for the kind and angelic face that brightened their surroundings, escalated their excellence.

This face was one that was not only lovely to behold but also somehow filled Christian with an unquestionable feeling of belonging. It was a belonging that stretched, reached deep into his being, past his insecurities, and sank into the very essence of who he was. It was a feeling that he

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trusted with everything that he was, a feeling that he would be willing to give anything to hold on to.

However, a motive strong enough to urge a person to put their life on the line would have to be something stronger than trust, stronger than friendship or loyalty, and stronger than interest or admiration. There was only motive strong enough to will a person to put their life on the line for the sake of another.

It was a thing that he scarcely knew how to describe and a version of that thing that he would not have known if it weren't for the tugging and molding that it had done to his heart since the very first time he had laid eyes on that simple yet glorious face.

The only motive that could have given him the courage to dive into the depths of his most abhorrent fears and face the perils of a truly life-threatening task was his drive toward his heart's deepest wish, a wish that he had only just recently come to realize. He loved her undoubtedly, he would do anything for her, and this love was the only motive he needed.

"Christian" came the queen's voice. It was barely above a whisper, daring, as though she was afraid to disturb his thoughts. "What is it that gives you the will to aid us?"

Christian raised his head, and the whole room looked at him with expectant eyes. He turned his head slightly and found Ardella in the crowd. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and her expression matched the anticipation of the others in the crowd. She met his gaze and gave him a nod of expectancy. He smiled weakly, and although he was addressing the queen, his eyes remained fixed on Ardella. "It's . . . love."

The queen blinked twice. "Love?" Christian nodded, now looking at his feet.

A hush went over the crowd, and a smile spread across the queen's lips. "That love is most surely returned by the people of the kingdom."

Christian glanced up, and Ardella's eyes were shining with coming tears. Of course, it did not matter what the queen had assumed. It was true that he loved the kingdom. However, his love for Ardella was pure and

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deep, and although he could not bring himself to tell her, he hoped that her glistening eyes meant that she knew.

"Do you have the crystal?" the queen asked.

Christian nodded and reached into his pocket to retrieve it. In doing so, his hand also touched the object that Gafford had placed in his pocket. It was cool and metallic.

He brought forth the crystal and held it out to the queen. However, she shook her head and took a step away from him. "You must return to the exact place that you were before you were brought into the Mirallantic," she said.

Christian's mind flew back to his last moments in Fall Valley. The memory was somehow faded and foggy, as though that world no longer existed. He thought back to the moment when the king's hand had reached through the puddle and pulled him into the water.

"Just imagine the place as clearly as possible," said the queen.

He created an image of the scene: the clouded sky, the cool breeze, and the busy, crowded fairgrounds. He even remembered the nervous pounding of his heart as he prepared himself to confront the blackness of the reflections.

"Focus, Christian. Imagine the place as clearly as possible." Christian cleared his mind of all distractions, closed his eyes, and

focused wholly on the scene. As his memories formed the scene, he found that bringing himself to that recollection was almost as dreary as actually being there. The dead-end road of his prosaic life was not a happy thing to imagine, and he did not want to go back.

It was true that the Mirallantic was cursed, and everything outside of the kingdom walls was a ruin of evil and malice, but he dreaded the dreary exhaustion of his former life more than any evil he had encountered here. He did not want to return, and it pained him just to imagine it. Before he knew it, however, he had lost himself in thought, and the crystal sent a surge of energy through his body. It started in his hand and then spread

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through him, strangely smooth and slightly electric. He gasped, and his eyes and hands opened in shock.

The moment his fingers had loosened, the crystal began to vibrate, and then it burst into a million pieces. The shards of rock flew into the air and floated all around him. They sparkled and sent glints of light bouncing off the walls.

"Wait!" Christian shouted above the whirling sounds of the crystal shards. "I don't want to go! Please, let me stay here!" He could see their apologetic faces through the swirling crystal. Nobody spoke, and a feeling of dread dropped into his stomach because he knew it was too late.

He was going back home whether he liked it or not. Somehow the power of this crystal was going to carry him away, back to a place where time ticked like a slow death march. He would go back in time, before any of this had ever happened, and . . . a panic spread over him. "Wait, if I go back in time, will you all forget me?"

"Our time cannot be altered," said the queen, shaking her head. "Worry not, Christian, our memories shall be unaffected, yours included."

The pieces of crystal began to whirl around faster and faster.

Soon they were flying so quickly that they were nothing but a blur. Christian's legs grew weary, and he was sick to his stomach. The figures in the room began to fade, and as they did, so did his consciousness. He felt himself slipping away, but before his senses were blurred beyond function, another question came into his mind. He fought to refocus and shouted above the whirling wind of the crystal, "When will I come back?"

The queen raised her hand in a gesture of farewell. "You shall return in five years' time."

In the last few seconds before Christian lost consciousness, his mind came to the realization that in five years' time he would be eighteen years old . . . the same age as Ardella!

He found her face, and though blurred by the swirling pieces of crystal, their eyes locked for the briefest of moments.

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He knew Ardella well enough to see that the same realization that had flooded his mind was written all over her face.

Her mouth dropped open, and then her face, along with the rest of the Mirallantic, disappeared from sight.

END OF BOOK ONE

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