A Time of Darkness (The Circle of Talia) (20 page)

“I don’t know, lad, but I think we can assume it’s dangerous.” Arcese stopped talking for a moment before confirming: “Whatever it is, Verity is in there with it.”

“Do you know if she’s okay?”

“Her energy is strong, but there’s another symbol near hers, which has the markings of a realmist. I hope we get there in time to stop whatever is happening.” She stretched her neck down, head pointed sharply into the wind in an effort to streamline herself. Her great wings beat faster, and Arie leaned forward, trying to shrink as small as possible.

“We’ll get there, Arcese; we have to. Come on. You can do it.” The young realmist focused on the palace, which was now more than an outline in the night as Arcese descended. Arie anticipated what they would find and opened his link to the Second Realm in readiness to fight. He expected they would face soldiers and now a realmist. Surely they could beat them with Arcese’s great power?

Arcese circled the palace, assessing the situation. The beam pulsed through a smashed roof whose naked, curved girders looked like a skeleton of a long-dead giant in the etheric glow. This close, the green light looked as if it contained a foul, screaming face: a face not of this world. As they banked around, Arie saw a sinewy body, apparently swimming in the light, trying to inch downwards into the large room.

Arie heard Arcese gasp and felt her shiver under him. “What is it, Princess?”

“I can see Verity, and a monstrosity I had hoped never to see. Fight as long as you can; we have a promise to keep.” She dove down into the closest thing to an evil afterlife Arie had ever seen.

Arie gripped harder as Arcese dodged between the girders, leaning at such a precarious angle that Arie thought he would slide off. With frantic wing strokes, Arcese stopped suddenly and fell the last two feet to the debris-strewn floor. Arie hardly noticed the jolted landing when he saw what Arcese had understatedly called a
monstrosity
. “Steaming piles of dragon crap,” he said, not dismounting.

Ten feet away, twice as tall as Arcese, in the center of the room next to a skull, which appeared to be the source of the green beacon, stood a creature with mottled green-and-black skin—the coloring reminding Arie of a tiger slug. Sinewy limbs attached to a strong, spike-covered torso; veined wings folded at its back. A large forehead presided over red eyes and a drawn-out snout filled with gray teeth, each one longer than he remembered Agmunsten’s fingers to be, each one slightly wider at the base, thinning progressively until it ended in a point as fine as a needle. They gleamed in the green light, acidic saliva showing them to their best advantage.

Arie’s breath came faster, and he bit his tongue to stop himself from begging Arcese to get out of there.

“What is that?” he asked. Arcese didn’t answer, focused, as she was, on drawing as much earth power as she could.

“What am I?” It laughed, a discordant melding of different pitches. “I am Kwaad. Maybe I’ll let one of you go so you can tell your king who is coming for him. I am the god the gormons have cried out for. I will lead them to victory. I am the one who will eat your dragon for dessert after I finish what we’re doing here, which you have, most unfortunately, interrupted.”

“Arie!” Verity shouted. Arie noticed her standing near the
gormon, next to the table. Her delicate dress was ripped from one hip to ankle, and her hands and feet were stained with smears of red. Clumps of crimson-tinged hair had broken loose from her bun, and harsh lines of red lined her face where bloody fingers had brushed them back.

“Be silent!” Kwaad commanded. “Enough! Orphael, lay her hands upon the skull. Let it begin.”

Arcese, who knew what grabbing the skull meant, woke from her trance. “No!” she screamed, and Arie winced. Arcese launched well-placed fireballs at Orphael. He reacted quickly, throwing up an invisible shield. Two flaming missiles hit the shield and spread out, dissipating in a harmless trail of smoke.

“Run, Verity, run!” Arie shouted, preparing to jump down and help the princess climb onto Arcese.

Behind the shield, they could see Orphael mouthing words. He dropped the shield and shot a sizzling bolt of lightning. Arcese countered with her own bolt—the sparking electricity meeting with a deafening thunderclap. The room shook and rolled like a ship at sea. Verity stumbled and tried to run towards them.

“Enough of these games.” Kwaad’s voice undercut the commotion the way a headsman’s axe silenced the condemned. The creature stepped towards Arcese. She turned her head towards Kwa
ad and spoke into Arie’s mind.
Stay on my back or you might get burned to a crisp
.

She opened her mouth, and a jet of fire shot out, reaching Kwaad. He jumped out of the way, ungainly but surprisingly quick. Warring indoors was not easy when you were twenty
feet tall.

“Hurry, Verity.” Arie wished he could use Second-Realm power to gather her up. He watched her limping run—torturously slow, Orphael behind her, catching up. In two more strides, he had her. Grabbing her around the waist, he dragged her back to the table as she clawed at his face, trying to gauge out his eyes.

Kwaad turned red eyes onto Arcese and lifted clawed hands. Arie felt the pressure change as power was sucked into the vortex that was Kwaad. Arcese, despite knowing something monumentally bad was about to occur, ran towards Verity—if they couldn’t save her, and Zim was already dead, there wasn’t much point going home anyway. She wove strands of power as she crossed the room, throwing a shield over Verity and immediately breathing another wave of fire over Orphael. The realmist was not quick enough. His screams stopped abruptly, amputated by roiling dragon flames that turned his body into ash that floated to settle amongst the shattered glass on the ground.

Before Arcese reached Verity, Kwaad attacked. Arie watched as the glass rose off the floor. It commenced a lazy circle around him and Arcese. Thousands of pieces of scalpel-like debris spun faster, creating a whirlpool of impending death around the dragon and the boy. Not knowing how much energy Arcese had in reserve, Arie constructed a shield. He had never made a shield before, and as it settled around them, he wondered if he had done a good job.
Oh well,
he thought, watching the swirling slivers,
if it hasn’t worked, I’ll find out soon enough.
When the first point made contact with the shield, it squealed in protest, scratching the surface in its rushed trajectory.

Arie felt a tickle of sweat run down from his temple as he waited for the shield to break. The cutting points made contact—a cacophony of corpses’ fingernails scratching down his spine. He felt his protection waver as a crack formed in the energy. As the shield collapsed, he squeezed his eyes shut: he never had liked the sight of blood.

***

It had taken no time at all for everything to go wrong. Boy had been enjoying riding on Zim, snuggled up behind Agmunsten—even though it was cold, it was invigoratingly so. But then Agmunsten had slumped forward, almost sliding off Zim. Boy’s arms had burned with fatigue while trying to stop the old man from falling, and then Arcese had flown next to them and, after communicating with her brother, shouted at him to hang on and flown off.

Her words had given him momentary encouragement. H              e could see, when he risked a look past the realmist’s limp body, a green shaft of light marking their landing place. But they never reached it.

Not far from their destination, Zim stopped the graceful rise and fall of his wings, and now they plummeted to Talia, Boy’s arms linked under Agmunsten’s arms, near his shoulders. The young man’s legs pointed to the sky, his body in a clumsy dive: the only thing holding them onto Zim’s back was Agmunsten’s foot, which was caught in the stirrup. One of the images Boy’s brain presented to him as they fell—and his life paraded in front of his eyes—was a day he had watched as an abusive patron was chased out of the brothel where his mother worked. He saw the overweight man fall from his horse and be dragged behind, foot caught as Agmunsten’s was now, body grinding through the dirt, leaving a trail of dust in his wake.

Up here there was no dust, just cold air, and even though Boy felt like he had time to count every scale on Zim and taste every breath he inhaled, the speed of the air hurt his cheeks and dragged him dangerously close to letting go of his anchor, although he wondered what it mattered whether he died on his own spot on the ground or whether his remains were mushed in with an old man and a dragon—death was death, after all.

There was no one to talk to, so he said a silent goodbye to his life.
I’m sorry I didn’t make up for my mistake, Verity. I hope you and Queen Gabrielle can forgive me. Goodbye.
His tears dried as soon as they emerged, buffeted by the wind.

But then …. Had he imagined that Zim’s limp body was not as limp as it had been? Were his wings moving? As the ground neared, and Arie could make out tufts of leaves on the tops of trees, Zim beat his mighty wings and employed Second-Realm energy to lift him back into the sky. Boy landed in the saddle with a thud.

Collapsing against Agmunsten’s body, he tried to brace himself to stop from falling off again, but his strength was depleted. His thighs, trying to grip the saddle, shook with exhaustion and shock—they hadn’t died!
Oh, my gods, I’m alive.
He sobbed into the realmist’s back and waited for the jolt that would signal the next catastrophe. But it never came. Boy felt the realmist’s muscles tense under his coat, and he lifted his head.

Agmunsten blinked, surprised he still lived. He flexed fingers in his gloves, savoring the feeling of feeling. “Welcome back,” said Zim, loud enough for Boy to hear.

“It’s good to be back. What happened while we were gone, lad?” Agmunsten’s weakened voice carried back to Boy with the wind.

“Nothing much, except almost dying. You almost fell off and I tried to hold you on and then Zim stopped flying and we were plunging to the ground and I didn’t think I could hold on but then Zim woke up and started flying again.”

“Take a breath, lad,” Agmunsten said with a laugh. “So you’re saying we had a close call?”

“Very close.”

“Well, we survived this one, eh?” In his mind he spoke to Zim,
Thank you, my friend. You saved me from being an ugly symbol’s dinner. I very much appreciate it
.

It was nothing. I didn’t fancy having to explain to an irate Avruellen and Arcon why their head realmist didn't make it back. Anyway, enough chitchat; I think we’re here
.

I’m afraid I won’t be much good if there’s a problem: I can barely hold on as it is
.

Well, whatever you do, don’t get off, and tell Boy to stay put too
.

Will do
. They stopped talking as they descended into Kwaad’s domain. Agmunsten involuntarily pinched Zim’s scales between tense fingers at what he saw:
Klar’s balls! We're too late.

Gabrielle yawned
as Sarah bustled about the room. The queen heard the clink of her breakfast tray being deposited on a table and the soft creak of opening shutters. Crisp morning air cooled Gabrielle’s face, and sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the dust motes Sarah had set dancing with her activity. The queen rolled over, burying her face into the pillow.

“Come on, my queen. There’s a lot to do today
, and Hermas has been hanging around the kitchen all morning pestering the cook for leftovers he can feed the ducks. I think he’s just waiting to see you.” Sarah tilted her head to the side and smiled.

Gabrielle’s muffled voice came through the pillow. “But I’m tired. I had trouble falling asleep with Edmund gone. Can’t I have just a few more minutes?”

Sarah gathered the queen’s gown and stood at the foot of the bed. “I’m patient, my lady, but I don’t think the rest of the court will be so forgiving.”

Gabrielle sighed and rolled over, swinging her legs over the edge of
the bed. Looking at the tray, she shook her head. “I won’t be having breakfast today. I’m not in the mood to eat.”

She managed
a stern look at Sarah to ensure there would be no argument, before rinsing her face at the vanity in the corner of the room and undressing. As Sarah placed the peacock-blue dress over her head, the queen yawned again. “Excuse me. Oh, today is going to be so long. I wonder how they’re going. I wonder how Verity is. You don’t think that horrible pig of a man would hurt his own dau … niece, do you?”

The familiar weight of dread settled like a mantle of iron around her shoulders
, and she lowered her head.

“I know it’s hard, but try not to think about it. King Edmund, the realmists, and the dragons are doing everything they can. We’ll get her back soon
; you’ll see.” She squeezed the queen’s shoulder before tightening and tying the golden ribbon that laced the back of the queen’s dress. “Come and sit so we can make you presentable.”

“I’m afraid with the bags under my eyes, you’ll have quite the job.” Gabrielle
sat on her stool in front of the mirror and waited while her maid brushed and braided her long, dark hair before tying it with another golden ribbon. Sarah looked into the mirror at the queen. “Okay, done. You always look beautiful, even with dark circles under your eyes.”