Jane and the Raven King (11 page)

B
e careful.” Jane’s palms were clammy, and her pulse was fast. “Wait, maybe you shouldn’t—”

“It’s easy.” He grunted and pulled himself up, one arm, then the other. Gerhard paused, hanging over the pit. He was five feet away from Jane and thirty-five feet from the other side. He huffed again and grabbed another handhold—and again. Then he went slack. He was eight feet out.

“Jane?” Gerhard called.

“Yes?”

“I don’t think this was a good idea. You know?”

“Come back!”

“I can’t climb backward!”

He was right, she realized. The only way to return now would be to make it to the other side and turn around. Why hadn’t she thought of it before?

“You can make it!” she called.

Gerhard grunted and kept moving. Left arm, right arm, over and over, and then he sagged again, his legs kicking, fists on the handholds. He was twelve feet away.

“How far down do you think it is?” he asked.

“Keep going!”

He did. Fifteen feet. Farther and farther. When he was halfway there, Gerhard stopped again.

“I can’t,” he said. “My arms are too sore!”

“You have to!” she shouted. “Go! You can do it!” There were tears in Jane’s eyes.
I don’t want to watch him fall,
she thought.
Can’t I help him? Can’t I do anything? Did Thomas make it across?
“Go, Gerhard!”

He continued over. Twenty-five feet away, almost thirty, and his right hand slipped. He shouted something in German and found his handhold. He was crying with exhaustion and terror and murmuring in German.

“Don’t stop!” Jane yelled.

He pulled and groaned and fell slack again. Then again. Each time he grabbed a new handhold, his arms slumped from the strain. She could see his muscles trembling. He was five feet from the other side.
Don’t fall,
she thought.
Please.
Another handhold. A pause. Another, and his fingers slid again—found the grip. He was almost there. Two more.

“I have to stop!” Gerhard called. “I have to—”

“No!”

“I can’t—”

“
Go!
” Jane shouted.

He found another handhold and then, with his legs bicycling from the exertion, he had the last one and was across. Gerhard dropped onto his back on the second platform.

“You made it!” Jane said. “You’re there!”

He crawled away from the edge and dragged himself up. “Thank you, Jane.”

“What do you see?”

He walked in a slow circle around his platform. At last, he said, “Nothing.”

N
othing?”

“I can see another wall and a platform with a door, but it is too far away, and there are no handholds.” Gerhard slumped to the ground. “But even if there were,” he said, “I can’t climb anymore.”

“There must be handholds,” she said.

“Nope.”

This doesn’t make sense,
Jane thought.
Why is that platform there? Is this a joke? A trial by fire without fire—just a long, long drop…

Wait.

Jane dug the envelope out of her pocket. The writing glowed.

Three Spells Inside,

One for Fire, One for Escape,

And One to Make the Evil One Break.

One for fire,
Jane thought, and she took out the papers. There was shiny writing on one of them. Just two words:
Ignatio vate
. That sounded familiar for some reason. Jane put the two blank sheets and the envelope away again, and she raised the
Ignatio vate
paper.

Gerhard called, “Jane, what are you doing?”

She waited. Nothing happened. “Um…”

“What is that in your hand?”

Grandma Diana said these words,
Jane thought.
She said them when she fought the Raven King in our living room.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “It’s a spell, I think. It says,
Ignatio vate
—”

Fire burst from the paper in tendrils that splashed along the walls and swirled like a river of fast-moving lava. The spell paper burned to ash, but the fire didn’t go away.

She saw the path.

A narrow glass walkway extended from the left side of the platform, zigzagging along the walls, all the way to the opposite door. Even in the swirling heat and light, Jane couldn’t see the bottom of the pit. It might go all the way to the center of the world and out the other side.

Curled in a fetal position, Gerhard yelled, “Jane, what are you doing?”

“It’s okay,” she said.

The fire streaked over their heads, rushing to flow along the walls. Jane followed the path—turning when it turned, slowing at the narrow curls, and hopping over two brief gaps—all the way to the opposite platform and door. The fire went out.

“J-Jane…?” Gerhard said.

“Yes, Gerhard?”

“Good luck saving the world.”

“Thank you,” she said and opened the door.

Inside, a golden hall led to steep stairs and a final door at the top with white light coming out of the edges, as if there were a huge lamp on the other side. Thomas was two steps from the door.

“There you are,” he said.

Thomas was already there.
No!
Jane wanted to scream.

“You beat me,” she said.

“This is funny,” he said. “Only one of us is supposed to be here.”

She reached the stairs and started up. “Why don’t we work together?”

“Did you listen at all to what Gaius said? He only wants one savior.”

The hall flickered black, as if Jane had blinked—but she hadn’t blinked.

“We’re both here,” Jane said.

“I can see that.
I’m
not blind.”

He killed that girl,
Jane thought, only three steps below Thomas now. “What do you want to do?”

“What do
I
want?” Again the light sputtered, as if someone were playing with the blinds. But there were no windows. “What I want doesn’t matter,” Thomas said. “It’s what
he
wants that’s important.”

“I think Gaius will—”

“Not Gaius, stupid. Gaius is a blind old cat with a farting dog that pretends to be a dragon. Gaius doesn’t matter, and anyway, he’ll be dead soon. I’m talking about
him
.”

Jane felt cold. “You’ve seen the Raven King?”

“Of course I have,” Thomas said. “And you know what? He doesn’t like you.”

He kicked Jane hard in the chest, and she went tumbling and crashing and rolling down the stairs. Her left ankle twisted, and she banged her head at the bottom.

“Good-bye, Jane.”

Oh, no!

Thomas went up the stairs to the door and went inside.
I’ve got to stop him,
she thought,
I have to—

Before the door closed, Jane heard Gaius say, “We have our champion! Congratulations, Thomas!”

T
he hall and stairs bled like a painting in the rain. The light and colors smeared and then reformed: Jane was back in her bed at Castle Alsod. Finn stuck his head in the door and said, “Welcome back, Jane! How did it go?”

“I’m okay.” As Jane stood, pain flared in her left ankle. “Ow!”

“You don’t look okay. Sit back down, and tell me what happened.”

“No. We have to stop him. We have to warn Gaius. Help me to the door please.”

Finn let her lean on him on the way out. “What happened?” he asked. “You didn’t win…?”

“No. I was at the end—I almost…but he stopped me.”

In the firefly-lit hall, Finn said, “Jane, I’m sure Gaius sent you back here to rest for a reason.”

“I can’t rest,” she said. “Didn’t you hear me? I have to stop him.”

“Who?”

She steadied herself on Finn’s side.
My ankle hurts too much when I walk,
she thought.
I have to catch my breath.
“Thomas.”

“He passed the trials?”

“Yes,” she said. “But I did too. So he kicked me down the stairs.”

“What?”

“He knows the Raven King—I think Thomas is working for him.”

Jane felt the muscles in Finn’s shoulders tense, and he said, “Climb onto my back.” She did, and Finn kicked open the door to the castle stairs. “Gaius and Thomas are at a ceremony with the animals—hold on…”

T
hey’re at a place called the Soldier’s Forum,” Finn said. “It’s not far.”

They burst out of the swamp and were soaring low over a wheat field that rippled like the ocean in the wind. On a distant hillside, Jane saw a mass of animals. The animals covered the grass like giant ants, and above the hill, the sky was clouded with birds. Something was already happening.

“Is that it?” she asked.

“Yes,” Finn said. He flapped his wings harder, and they jerked in quick spurts, like a car trying to switch to a higher gear. As they rushed nearer, Jane realized that it wasn’t just one hill; three hills formed a valley, and all three were completely packed with elephants, horses, dogs—and every animal imaginable—all in a tremendous, orderly gathering. They were listening to someone.

When Finn flew over the heads of the animals at the back, Jane heard shouts of “Hey, no pushing to the front!” and “Don’t block the view!” They cleared the summit of the hill. The valley below was even more jammed than the surrounding hills. And there, at the center of the valley, standing on the open grass, were Gaius, Thomas, and a flightless bird with an enormous head. The bird was maybe three feet tall, and as Finn dove closer, Jane realized
that it was a dodo bird.
They’re extinct, aren’t they?
The dodo was offering Thomas a slender, armored chest plate that had been made to fit a girl like Jane.

Gaius’s voice echoed through the valley, as if he were using a microphone (he wasn’t) or the valley itself were designed to carry speeches (it was):

“…has saved the life of the champions who have come before you, this armor will also protect you, Thomas. It protected Diana Starlight…”

Thomas accepted the armor, and it grew and changed to fit his body.

“Stop!” Jane shouted.

Finn barreled closer and then swung into a spiraling dive. They landed at Gaius’s feet. A group of hippos and nearby hyenas started muttering, and soon the entire valley was talking.

Jane jumped off. “He is working for the Raven King!”

Gaius said, “Jane—”

“Please, I’m not making this up! Don’t—”

“Stop!” Gaius raised his stick. “What are you doing here, Jane? And you, Finn? I’m very disappointed.”

“I had to warn you,” Jane said. Thomas’s face was bright red. Was that embarrassment or anger? she wondered. “Thomas cheated. He only won because he kicked me down the stairs.”

Gaius asked, “Is that true, Thomas?”

Thomas said, “Of course not.”

Gaius sighed. “You’re lying. You
did
kick her. Why?”

Thank you!
Jane thought.
Gaius gets it—he won’t let Thomas hurt anyone else.

Thomas seemed to shrink a little bit, and he stared at the ground as he said, “I’m sorry. You said only one of us could win.”

“Did you tell Jane that you work for the Raven King?”

Thomas swallowed. “I’m sorry. I don’t…”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

The animal chatter grew louder, and Gaius said, “Quiet, please.” His voice carried; the talking stopped. “Why did you say that, Thomas?”

“I wanted to scare her,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. But you’re right. Only one of you can win. And it is you, Thomas.”

“But he kicked me!” Jane said.

“You’re right, Jane. I don’t approve of that,” Gaius said. “But let me ask you this: If you won and then you found the Name of the World—as Thomas will do—what do you think the Raven King would do to stop you? Do you think he would kick you if he could?”

“What? I don’t believe this! Thomas just said he works for the Raven—”

“No. He said that he told you that he works for the Raven King to scare you. My dear, there are good and evil, and there is also fate. Thomas comes from a great family, just like you. We all have a destiny, Jane. This is not yours.” Thomas was still scowling at the ground, but she imagined that his eyes were laughing. “Take her back, Finn,” Gaius said. “Tomorrow, you’ll go home.”

Jane squeezed her frustration and sadness into her fists. “What about all the other bobbins?” she said. “Was it their
destiny
to die? Was that
fate?
”

Gaius closed both hands on his cane. The dodo backed into the crowd, and the birds scattered overhead.

Behind her, Finn said, “Come on, Jane.”

“Fine,” Jane said. Thomas met her gaze as she walked away. He looked like he wanted to punch her. “I don’t care,” she said. “I’ll leave.”

Finn helped her onto his back, and they took off.

“At least you get to go home,” Finn said, and Jane burst into tears.