Deltora Quest #1: The Forests of Silence (2 page)

A
fter hours of searching, Jarred finally found a book that he thought might help him. It was covered in faded pale blue cloth and the gold lettering on the outside had been worn away.

But the title inside was still very clear.

This book was nothing like the splendid hand-painted volumes that he and Endon read in the schoolroom. And
nothing like the many other weighty books on the library shelves.

It was small, thin, and very dusty. It had been tucked away in the library’s darkest corner among piles of papers, as though someone had wanted it forgotten.

Jarred carried the old book carefully to a table. He planned to read it from beginning to end. His task might take him all night, but he did not expect to be disturbed. No one would be looking for him. Endon would go straight from the great hall to the chapel, where his father’s body lay surrounded by candles. He would keep watch there alone till dawn, following the Rule.

Poor Endon, thought Jarred. It has only been a few days since he did the same for his mother. Now he is alone in the world, as I am. But at least we have each other. We are friends to the death. And I will protect him as best I can.

Protect him from what?

The question pierced his mind like a sharp knife. Why had he suddenly begun to fear for Endon? Who or what could threaten the all-powerful king of Deltora?

I am tired, thought Jarred. I am imagining things.

He shook his head impatiently and lit a fresh candle to brighten the darkness. But the memory of Prandine’s thin smile as he locked the magic Belt away kept drifting into his mind like the shadow of a remembered nightmare. He frowned, lowered his head to the book, turned to the first page, and began to read.

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In ancient days, Deltora was divided into seven tribes. The tribes fought on their borders but otherwise stayed in their own place. Each had a gem from deep within the earth, a talisman with special powers.

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There came a time when the Enemy from the Shadowlands cast greedy eyes on Deltora. The tribes were divided, and singly none of them could repel the invader, who began to triumph.

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A hero called Adin rose from the ranks of the people. He was an ordinary man, a blacksmith who made swords and armor and shoes for horses. But he had been blessed with strength, courage, and cleverness.

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One night, Adin dreamed of a special and splendid belt — seven steel medallions beaten to the thinness of silk and connected together with fine chain. To each medallion was fixed one of the tribal gems.

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Realizing that the dream had been sent to him for a purpose, Adin worked in secret over many months to create a likeness of the belt he had been shown. Then he traveled around the kingdom to persuade each tribe to allow its talisman to be added to it.

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The tribes were at first suspicious and wary, but, one by one, desperate to save their land, they agreed. As each gem became part of the belt, its tribe grew stronger. But
the people kept their strength secret, and bided their time.

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And when at last the belt was complete, Adin fastened it around his waist, and it flashed like the sun. Then all the tribes united behind him to form a great army, and together they drove the Enemy from their land.

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And so Adin became the first king of the united tribes of Deltora, and he ruled the land long and wisely. But he never forgot that he was a man of the people, and that their trust in him was the source of his power. Neither did he forget that the Enemy, though defeated, was not destroyed. He knew that the Enemy is clever and sly, and that to its anger and envy a thousand years is like the blink of an eye. So he wore the belt always, and never let it out of his sight …

Jarred read on and on, and the more he read, the more troubled he became. He had a pencil and some paper in his pocket, but he did not need to take notes. The words of the book seemed to be burning themselves into his brain. He was learning more than he expected. Not just about the Belt of Deltora, but about the Rule.

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The first to leave the belt aside was Adin’s grandson, King Elstred, who in his middle years grew fat with good living and found the steel cut sadly into his belly. Elstred’s
chief advisor soothed his fears, saying that the belt need only be worn on great occasions. Elstred’s daughter, Queen Adina, followed her father’s ways, wearing the belt only five times in her reign. Her son, King Brandon, wore it only three times. And at last it became the custom for the belt to be worn only on the day the heir took the throne …

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At the urging of his chief advisor, King Brandon caused the Ralad builders to raise a great palace on the hill at the center of the city of Del. The royal family moved from the old blacksmith’s forge to the palace, and over time it became the custom for them to remain within its walls, where no harm could come to them …

When Jarred closed the book at last, his heart was heavy. His candle had burned low and the first dawn light was showing at the window. He sat for a moment, thinking. Then he slipped the book into his shirt and ran to seek Endon.

The chapel was below ground level, in a quiet corner of the palace. It was still and cold. The old king’s body was lying on a raised marble platform in the center, surrounded by candles. Endon was kneeling beside it, with his head bowed.

He looked up as Jarred burst in. His eyes were red from weeping. “You should not be here, Jarred,” he whispered. “It is against the Rule.”

“It is dawn,” Jarred panted. “And I had to see you.”

Endon stood up stiffly and came over to him. “What is it?” he asked in a low voice.

Jarred’s head was full of everything he had read. The words came tumbling out of him. “Endon, you should wear the Belt of Deltora always, as the ancient kings and queens did.”

Endon stared at him in puzzlement.

“Come!” Jarred urged, taking his arm. “Let us go and get it now.”

But Endon held back, shaking his head. “You know I cannot do that, Jarred. The Rule —”

Jarred stamped his foot with impatience. “Forget the Rule! It is just a collection of traditions that have grown up over the years and been made law by the chief advisors. It is dangerous, Endon! Because of it, every new ruler of Deltora has been more powerless than the one before. This must stop — with you! You must get the Belt and put it on. Then you must come with me outside the palace gates.”

He was speaking too fast and too wildly. By now Endon was frowning, backing away from him. “You are ill, my friend,” he was whispering nervously. “Or you have been dreaming.”

“No!” Jarred insisted, following him. “It is you who are living in a dream. You must see how things are outside the palace — in the city and beyond.”

“I see the city, Jarred,” argued Endon. “I look out at it from my window every day. It is beautiful.”

“But you do not talk to the people. You do not walk among them!”

“Of course I do not! That is forbidden by the Rule!” Endon gasped. “But I know that all is well.”

“You know nothing, except what you are told by Prandine!” shouted Jarred.

“And is that not enough?” The cold voice cut through the air like sharp steel.

S
tartled, Endon and Jarred spun around. Prandine was standing in the doorway. His eyes, fixed on Jarred, glittered with hatred.

“How dare you tempt the king to turn from his duty and the Rule, servant boy?” he hissed, striding into the chapel. “You have always been jealous of him. And now you seek to destroy him. Traitor!”

“No!” exclaimed Jarred. He turned again to Endon. “Believe me!” he begged. “I have only your good at heart.” But Endon shrank away from him, horrified.

Jarred plunged his hand into his shirt to get the book — to show it to Endon, prove to him that he had good reason for what he said.

“Beware, your majesty! He has a knife!” shouted Prandine, leaping forward and sweeping Endon under his cloak as if to protect him. He raised his voice to a shriek. “Murderer! Traitor! Guards! Guards!”

For a single moment Jarred stood frozen. Then he heard bells of warning ringing. He heard shouts of alarm and heavy feet thudding towards the chapel. He saw Prandine’s mocking, triumphant smile. He realized that Prandine had been given the chance he had been waiting for — the chance to rid himself of Jarred for good.

Jarred knew that if he valued his life he would have to flee. Pushing Prandine aside, he ran like the wind from the chapel, up the stairs and to the back of the palace. He plunged into the huge, dim kitchens, where the cooks were just beginning to light the fires in the great stoves. Behind him he could hear the shouts of the guards: “Traitor! Stop him! Stop him!”

But the cooks did not try to stop Jarred. How could they think that he was the one the guards were pursuing? He was the young king’s friend, and they had known him all his life. So they only watched as Jarred tore open the kitchen door and ran outside.

The grounds were deserted, except for a ragged old man tipping food scraps into a horse-drawn cart. He took no notice as Jarred plunged under the cover of the thick bushes that grew against the palace walls.

Keeping low, Jarred crawled through the bushes to the front of the palace. Then he ran, dodging and weaving, till he reached the tree near the gates, where so often he and Endon had hidden from Min in the old days.

He crept into the tree’s hollow and huddled there, panting. He knew that the guards would surely find him
in the end. Perhaps Endon would even tell them where to look. And when they found him they would kill him. Of that he had no doubt.

He cursed himself for being impatient. For scaring Endon with wild talk while he was still confused, tired, and grieving. For playing into Prandine’s hands.

There was a squeaking, rattling sound not far away. Peering cautiously out of his hollow, Jarred saw the rubbish cart trundling around the side of the palace, heading for the gates. The old man sat at the front, urging his tired horse on with sad shakes of the reins.

Jarred’s heart leapt. Perhaps there was a chance of escape from the palace after all! But how could he run away, leaving Endon alone and unprotected? He was sure now that Prandine was evil.

If you stay, you will die. And then you will never be able to help Endon. Never.

The thought brought him to his senses. He pulled out his pencil and paper and scrawled a note.

He tucked the note into a hole in the tree’s trunk, wondering if his friend would ever see it. Perhaps Endon, believing what Prandine said of him, would never come to this place again.

But he had done what he could, and the cart was coming closer. Soon it would pass under the tree. That would be his chance.

As he had done so many times before, he climbed up through the hollow trunk of the tree and squeezed out of the hole that gaped just above its lowest branch.

From here he could see that there were guards everywhere. But he was used to hiding. He lay on his stomach, flattening himself against the branch, being careful not to make it sway.

The rubbish cart was underneath him now. He waited until just the right moment, then dropped lightly onto the back, burrowing quickly into the sticky mess of scraps until he was completely covered.

Bread crusts, apple peel, moldy cheese, gnawed bones, and half-eaten cakes pressed against his face. The smell nearly made him choke. He screwed his eyes shut and held his breath.

He could hear the sound of the horse’s feet. He could hear the distant shouting of the guards searching for him. And at last he could hear the sound of the first pair of great wooden gates creaking open.

His heart thudded as the cart trundled on. Then he heard the gates closing behind him and the second pair of gates opening. Soon, soon …

The cart moved on, swaying and jolting. With a creak the second pair of gates slammed shut. And then Jarred knew that, for the first time in his life, he was outside the palace walls. The cart was trundling down the hill now. Soon he would actually be in the beautiful city he had seen so often from his window.

He had to look. His curiosity was too great. Slowly he wriggled until his eyes and nose were above the mound of scraps.

He was facing back towards the palace. He could see the wall, and the gates. He could see the top of the hollow. But — Jarred squinted in puzzlement — why could he not see the turrets of the palace, or the tops of the other trees in the gardens? Above the wall there was only shining mist.

He thought his eyes were at fault, and rubbed them. But the mist did not disappear.

Confused, he turned his head to look down towards the city. And his shock, dismay, and horror were so great that he almost cried out. For instead of beauty he saw ruin.

The fine buildings were crumbling. The roads were filled with holes. The grain fields were brown and choked with weeds. The trees were stunted and bent.
Waiting at the bottom of the hill was a crowd of thin, ragged people carrying baskets and bags.

Jarred began struggling to free himself from the rubbish. In his confusion he no longer cared if the driver of the cart heard him or not, but the old man did not look around. Jarred realized that he was deaf. Unable to speak, too, no doubt, for he had not uttered a single word, even to the horse.

Jarred leapt from the back of the cart and rolled into a ditch at the side of the road. He lay, watching, as the cart moved on to the bottom of the hill and stopped. The old man sat staring ahead of him while the ragged people swarmed onto the pile of rubbish. Jarred saw them fighting one another for the scraps from the palace tables, stuffing old bones, crusts, and vegetable peelings into their baskets and into their mouths.

They were starving.

Sick at heart, Jarred looked back at the palace. From here he could just see the tips of the palace turrets, rising above the shimmering mist.

Endon might be looking from his window at this moment, staring down at the city. He would be seeing peace, beauty, and plenty. He would be seeing a lie. A lie created by pictures on a misty screen.

For how many years had this evil magic blinded the eyes of the kings and queens of Deltora? And who had created it?

Words from the book came to Jarred’s mind. He shuddered with dread.

… the Enemy is clever and sly, and to its anger and envy a thousand years is like the blink of an eye.

The Shadow Lord was stirring.