Fablehaven: The Complete Series (201 page)

“Then we’d better get going,” Trask said. “Let’s not forget who is in pursuit. Keep your eyes open.”

Trask took the lead again, and the others followed in the same order as before. Seth slid his hands along the glossy wall. How might the creators of this vault have camouflaged the next keyhole? Could it be covered by a hatch? Or shielded by a distracter spell?

“Kendra?” he said.

“Yes?”

“If the keyhole is protected by some kind of distracter spell, you might be the only one who can see it.”

“That’s a good point, Seth,” Trask called back. “Keep a sharp lookout, Kendra.”

“I’m trying.”

They regressed slowly along the corridor for several minutes without finding anything suspicious. “This feels wrong,” Mara murmured.

“What do you mean?” Trask asked.

“This doesn’t feel like the reverse of the turns we took to get here.”

“The tunnel has no forks,” Trask reminded her.

“That’s what I don’t like,” Mara said.

“It just feels different because we’re going more carefully,” Vincent said.

“I disagree,” Mara replied.

Seth caressed the walls, searching for cracks, seams, anything unusual. He shuffled his feet to sort of feel the ground, even though Vincent was on his hands and knees examining the floor of the corridor much more carefully. There had to be something all of them were missing.

“Oh, no,” Trask said.

“What?” Elise asked from the back.

“Impossible,” Vincent complained.

“Another dead end,” Trask answered.

Seth felt the hair rise on the back of his neck.

“What do you mean, another dead end?” Elise challenged.

“This is an unnatural place,” Berrigan repeated, his voice unsteady. “We’ve left the real world behind. We should not be surprised. Is this any stranger than light coming from nowhere?”

Seth kept advancing until he had the same view as the others. Once again the corridor widened and then came to an abrupt, rounded conclusion.

While Vincent and Mara scoured the walls and ceiling, Trask stood surveying the area with one hand on his waist, the other holding his huge crossbow.

“Let’s not waste time here,” Trask said. “Stay vigilant, but let’s pick up the pace. Mara, let me know if the way feels different again.”

They proceeded with greater haste. Within a minute or two, Mara said that the way felt different. A few minutes after that, they arrived at another dead end, almost identical to the first two.

“I’m starting to have my first case of claustrophobia,” Vincent declared, his face shiny with perspiration.

“Great place to start,” Trask said.

“I think we’re making progress,” Mara said, sniffing the air. “Just not the way we’re used to.”

“Then on we go,” Trask urged.

They came to several more dead ends. An occasional steep slope or odd sequence of turns made it clear to Seth that the passageway kept changing, even though they seemed to be traveling back and forth between the same endpoints.

At last, Trask let out a relieved laugh. “Look here, it seems we have found someplace else.”

The passage widened again, allowing them to spread out once more, only this time it opened into an expansive chamber. They paused in the entryway, gazing at the huge room. As in the tunnels, a steady glow illuminated the room, still lacking an apparent source. The wall across from them was curved, the floor semicircular, the ceiling half a dome.

Directly across from them a large statue stood in an alcove, flanked by a pair of granite basins. Carved from a greenish stone, the figure had a long face with exaggerated features and wielded a flat, curved club. A smooth expanse of greenish clay dominated the near portion of the floor, bordered by blue and black patterned tiles. The rest of the floor was polished obsidian, unblemished except for a circular indentation near the center.

“No doors,” Vincent said, “but the keyhole in the floor looks to be the right size.”

Seth walked forward and used his finger to mark the greenish clay. “What’s with all the clay?” Seth wondered. “It’s wet.”

“Could it be for drawing?” Kendra guessed. “A huge, prehistoric doodle pad? Like for mapmaking?”

Vincent shrugged. “Who knows? I don’t see any instruments for drawing.”

“What do you suppose would happen if we backtracked from here?” Trask asked.

“More dead ends,” Mara said. “I don’t believe this place allows us to go back. Can’t you feel it? Each dead end cuts off our retreat, luring us in deeper, as if we’re being swallowed.”

“This isn’t helping my claustrophobia,” Vincent mumbled.

“We could double back to check,” Mara continued, “but I’m not sure we’ll get another chance to reach this room. The keyhole must be the way to proceed.”

Tanu shouldered forward. “The rest of you wait here.” He walked around the bordered field of clay to the recess in the floor. Squatting, he studied the iron key, considered the round indentation, inserted the key, adjusted it, and turned it halfway around.

A faint tremor made the floor vibrate. A pair of spouts thrust from the wall near the statue and began pouring water into the basins. The statue raised the curved club high, as if preparing to strike. Tanu discarded an empty shell of the key and tucked a smaller iron egg under one arm.

Everyone watched the statue, waiting to see if it would attack, but it had stopped moving after raising the club. Seth glanced down at the clay on the floor and saw words inscribed in unfamiliar characters. “Look at the clay!” Seth shouted. “Writing!”

“Create a champion,” Kendra read. “Time is short.”

“You read Sanskrit?” Vincent asked. “Or Chinese?”

“I see English,” Kendra said. “And some scribbles, too.”

“Must be a fairy language,” Trask said. “The message repeats in several languages. What does it mean?”

“The basins must be clepsydras,” Elise said. “Water clocks.”

“The clay,” Vincent said. “It has to be the clay.” He ran forward and plunged his hands into the moist clay up to his wrists, then started digging a hole, disturbing some of the writing in the process. “This is a pool of clay. A pit. I think we are to build a champion out of clay to contend with the statue.”

“I was a failure in art class,” Trask mumbled. “Who knows how to work with clay?”

“I have some experience,” Elise said.

“As do I,” Mara offered.

“Mara and Elise will shape our warrior,” Trask directed, voice tight. “The rest of us start digging out clay for them to work with and follow their instructions. How long do we have?”

Mara dashed across the room to look into the basins. Vincent was already vigorously scooping clay out of the pool and piling it nearby. Berrigan jumped onto the clay, sinking to his ankles. Dropping to his knees, he began heaving out armfuls. Mara considered the basins for a moment. “Ten minutes,” she called. “Maybe eleven. Assuming the water keeps pouring in at the same rate.”

Setting the iron egg aside, Tanu entered the clay pit, brown feet sinking deep. Seth waded into the clay along with Trask and Kendra. The top layer felt loose and slimy, but the clay got more solid about six inches down. He grabbed slurping handfuls of the mushy top layer and began hurling it toward Berrigan’s rapidly growing pile.

“What do we want him to look like?” Elise asked.

Nobody answered for a moment.

“Make him like Hugo,” Seth proposed. “Not pretty, just big.”

“I like that,” Trask agreed. “Build him sturdy. Thick arms and legs. Bigger than the other statue if we can.”

“We’ll have to make him lying down,” Mara said. “Otherwise he won’t hold together.”

Berrigan had cleared most of the squishy clay from his area and was now using his knife to carve out large slabs of the firmer material. As they delved downward, it soon became apparent that the clay went quite deep. Three piles grew quickly at the edges of the clay pit. Elise and Mara stole from the largest pile to work on feet and legs. Tanu started running heavy loads of clay from the other piles to the largest one.

After several minutes, arms gray-green with clay past his elbows, Vincent ran to check the basins. “Over half full,” he announced. “I better help mold the figure. Tanu, help me transfer more clay to our champion. Keep fresh clay coming!”

“You heard the man,” Trask growled, using a sword to carve out another huge greenish slab.

Seth noticed that nobody dug out clay faster than Berrigan. The young man moved in tireless silence, his thin limbs carrying larger loads than Seth would have pictured. Muscles burning, Seth continued to harvest clay at his best pace, reminding himself that each dense wad would add mass to their defender. He was not as effective as Berrigan or Trask, but he was moving more material than Kendra.

Elise and Mara were now working on the arms, Tanu was adding bulk to the torso, and Vincent appeared to be fashioning a large hammer. The clay warrior might actually take shape!

“Check the basins, Kendra,” Vincent called.

She ran across the floor. “Getting really full. Like seven-eighths. We only have a couple of minutes left.”

“Berrigan can keep digging out clay,” Vincent cried, placing the handle of the huge war hammer onto the crude right palm. “Everyone else should work on the warrior. We have lots of clay piled, get it over here! We’ll want a shield for the left arm, and thicken up those legs. Make the feet bigger for stability. Hurry!”

The clay pit had already been excavated to waist deep in most places. Seth boosted himself out and started transferring clay from the piles to beef up the legs. As he packed new clay against the existing clay, Seth wondered how long their warrior could survive. After all, the other statue was solid stone. Wouldn’t its club slash apart the clay champion without any trouble? What use was a clay hammer against stone?

Kendra remained beside the basins. The statue loomed over her, almost twice her height. “Almost full,” she called. “Maybe fifteen more seconds.”

“Get away from the statue,” Trask ordered.

“Don’t stress about the head!” Vincent directed fervently. “I like him without much neck. More sturdy. Add to the shoulders! Quickly!”

Kendra raced back across the floor from the basins. Seth added another small slab of clay to the left foot. Mara crouched over the face, hollowing out eyes and shaping a nose.

As Seth heard the water lapping over the sides of the basins, a sudden wind swept through the room with surprising force. Staggering, Seth found himself leaning against the gale to keep his balance.

The wind died as quickly as it had risen, and the statue on the other side of the room stepped out of the alcove. The bulky figure on the ground sat up, no longer composed of clay. Like the other statue, the champion they had sculpted was now made of solid, greenish stone.

“He should have a name,” Mara said.

“Goliath,” Elise suggested.

“I like it,” Vincent said.

“What should we call the other statue?” Tanu asked.

“Nancy,” Seth said quickly.

Vincent and Trask chuckled.

Goliath tottered to his feet. He had a squarish head with no neck. One bulky leg was a bit shorter than the other. The toes on the right foot were too long and shaped like carrots. Now that Goliath was standing, his arms looked a little stubby, but they were thick, with a rectangular shield attached to one forearm and a heavy stone hammer in the opposite hand. The clay had not been properly smoothed, so irregular bulges and slabs covered his surface, contributing to his rough-hewn look. Goliath was not quite as tall as Nancy, who had a long jaw and a high forehead, but his shoulders were just as high and somewhat broader.

While the statues approached each other, Trask herded everyone back toward the entryway. Tanu scooped up the egg-shaped key. Walking backwards, Seth stared as the opponents seemed to measure one another, moving cautiously, weapons held ready. As an art project, Goliath was a failure. He looked slapped together by some careless kid. But as a combatant designed for smashing enemy statues, he had potential.

“Can we help Goliath?” Seth asked.

“I don’t think arrows and swords will do much,” Trask replied. “If I had brought a sledgehammer, it might be a different story.”

“Couldn’t we provide distractions?” Elise asked.

Trask shrugged. “We might end up as the wrong kind of distractions. The guardian statue could use our welfare to bait Goliath and force mistakes. Let’s see how our champion fares. His bulk might give him a shot.”

As the statues circled each other, it became clear that Nancy was more balanced and therefore moved more fluidly. The enemy statue tested Goliath by switching direction several times and making little feints. Given his somewhat lopsided construction, Goliath did not change direction very smoothly. The first strike by Nancy came as Goliath teetered momentarily on his short leg. The enemy statue darted forward, swinging the curved, flat club in a vicious arc. Connecting fiercely with Goliath’s head, the top two-thirds of the club snapped off. In retaliation, Goliath swung his shield, which landed with a tremendous crack of stone against stone. Nancy stumbled backward with Goliath in pursuit.