Shadows of the Dark Crystal (4 page)

The Nebrie let out a high pained cry and shuddered, startling Naia into stepping back. She kept her hands at her side, watching. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tavra was watching, too, having given up on escape. If the Nebrie lunged, they were done for . . . but it made no move, uttered no sound. The entire swamp was quiet save for the dripping of water, and then a low rumbling moan. The cry was so miserable and pained, it brought more tears to Naia's eyes. The Nebrie shuddered from fin to snout, then collapsed in a wave of flippers, whiskers, and flesh. It heaved a breath, but the sound was ragged, deep, and hollow.

All was silent. The Nebrie was dead.

T
avra helped Naia pull her father onto a bed of algae and moss. Naia could see that the wound, although deep, was not as bad as it had seemed in the water, surrounded by clouds and clouds of blood. Tavra heaved a sigh and fell to her knees, grasping her arm. Her shoulder seemed dislocated, and sharp pieces of daggered wood pierced her arm and parts of her torso. She must have collided with one of the many splintered branches or tree trunks that littered the Tall Pass. One of her wings looked crushed, but at least it was intact. Collapsed between two apeknots, the Nebrie was nothing but a mound of gray and black flesh. One flipper extended limply in the air, soon to be a perch and feeding ground for the scavenging animals of the swamp.

“Father,” Naia whispered. “Father, are you all right?”

“Oh hush,” Bellanji grunted, sitting up and pressing a hand to his side. “Of course I am.”

Naia searched the traveling pack that was buckled to his belt, looking for healing herbs. Tearing cloth from her tunic, she pressed it against the wound. Tavra found Bellanji's spear and laid it nearby in case of trouble, then searched the canopy for any more danger. All the creatures had fled, afraid of the monstrous beast the Nebrie had become.

Naia put pressure against her father's wound, closing her eyes and reaching with her heart, the way her mother had taught her. It was difficult to focus, every nerve on alert for new danger. She stared intently at her father's wound and bade the bleeding to stop. In response to her effort, the moss beneath them rustled, growing. A blue light glowed from her fingertips and from her father's flesh. After a moment, the bleeding had slowed, though he was still in no condition to stand.

“Amazing,” Tavra said quietly. “The songs of the Drenchen Maudra's healing ways are true, I see.”

“If she were here, it would be much better,” Naia said through a tight throat. She tried to push away the guilt she felt at not being able to do more. “I've only just started learning
vliyaya
from her.”

Bellanji coughed, then chuckled, sitting up. Though most of it was for show, his color was returning, and Naia felt a minor sense of relief.

“Don't look so worried, little leaper,” her father said. “You've done just fine. I'd worry more about our Silverling friend.”

Tavra was working on fashioning a sling from the sleeve of her tunic, her broken wing hanging bent at her shoulder. Naia wasn't sure if she should try to heal the Vapra's wing, or how to ask if it was even a wanted thing. Before she could bring it up, Tavra reached back and with a swift jerk and a hiss of pain, set her wing in place. She wouldn't fly any time soon, but the break would heal. She winced as she approached them, but kept any complaining to herself.

“Naia's healing is strong, but your wound is still very bad,”
she said to Bellanji matter-of-factly, her coldness almost certainly masking her pain. Or maybe she was trying to hide her concern for Naia's sake. “He needs to get back to the glen, and quickly. We'll have to postpone the journey to Ha'rar.”

“If your mother can lose her leg, I can be scratched by a simple Nebrie,” he said. For emphasis, he coughed a forced “ha!”

Naia felt more relief at his humor, but it couldn't overpower the apprehension in her gut. The Nebrie's behavior hadn't been natural, not at all. What if there were more? If one made its way to the glen, all of the tribe would be in danger.

“That wasn't a simple Nebrie,” Naia said. “It was ill, I think, or possessed . . . I saw something down under the mud. It looked like crystal, the same color as the light in the Nebrie's eyes. If they're connected, it might not just be that Nebrie. There could be more creatures affected.”

She half expected her father to make another joke, laugh it off, but the humor in his voice had run dry. Despite her healing, the wound in his side was taking its toll as he solemnly gazed upon the fallen Nebrie. With a grunt of effort, he braced himself with his spear and pulled himself up. It didn't seem like the best plan, but then again, they couldn't just lounge around until he healed. Tavra was right. They needed to get back to Smerth, where their medicine-makers could tend to their wounds, and Maudra Laesid could exercise her more experienced healing
vliyaya
. Naia was the only one who had suffered nothing but a few bumps and bruises.

“Tavra of Ha'rar,” Bellanji invoked, glancing at the
silver-haired Vapra. “What do you make of this? Is there anything we ought to know? Perhaps something more you haven't told us?”

“Not a thing,” Tavra replied. For once, her voice was steady and her cheeks didn't flush with an incriminating red. She was telling the truth. “Though if what Naia is saying is true, that she saw a crystal light within the earth . . . it was no mere illness that drove that Nebrie into a rage. The veins which pulse from the Heart of Thra stretch to even the furthest reaches. Something is amiss.”

Naia didn't know exactly what Tavra meant, though she did agree that something was amiss. If something had hurt Thra—injured it, put poison in its veins—had the Nebrie been poisoned, too? Bellanji jostled himself back together again, beard-locs shaking with droplets of swamp water. He shrugged out of his traveling pack—waterproof, as all Drenchen commodities were—and put it across Naia's shoulders. She suddenly realized what he was about to ask of her. Tavra noticed, too, and reached out as if to stop it.

“You can't possibly be thinking of sending her to Ha'rar alone,” the Vapra exclaimed. “She's barely more than a child!”

Naia resented the implication; she could take care of herself just fine, and she was certainly more than a child, even if her wings had not yet bloomed. But there were more important things to deal with now than arguing with the Vapra. She took her father's pack, but only because she was uninjured and could bear it more easily than either of the two adults.

“Father, no,” she said. “I'll help you back to the glen. When
you're both healed, we can go to Ha'rar together. The All-Maudra will have to wait.”

She tried to take his arm across her shoulder and turn them back toward Great Smerth, but Bellanji would not go.

“The All-Maudra cannot wait for this news,” he said. He gestured with his chin at Tavra. “You, of anyone, should know that. If Naia saw flickers from the Crystal and felt something was wrong—we all saw that Nebrie, felt how out of harmony it was with Thra! And now it's dead, and we're hurt. It could be unum before I'm fit for travel, and I fear by then . . .”

No one wanted to hear the end of Bellanji's words, so he didn't bother uttering them. Naia glanced at what remained of the Nebrie. She hoped it was not an omen, but her mother had taught her all things were connected.

Tavra shrugged, grimacing.

“I will heal faster. With help of the Spriton Landstriders, I can reach Ha'rar quickly and bring the news of what Naia saw.”

Other thoughts were sliding behind the Vapra's eyes, but they didn't surface in words, or even more than the frown that was deepening on her thin pink lips.

“And if you go alone, then who will represent Gurjin?” Naia asked.

Tavra snorted.

“If word finds him that his father was injured trying to defend his honor before the All-Maudra, perhaps he'll show some nerve and step forth to defend himself.”

Naia sucked in a deep breath through her nose, biting her lip
to control her temper. Tavra met her eyes only a moment before turning away, making to return to the canopy and begin the trek back to the glen.

“Come on, then,” the Vapra said. “We don't have much time with Bellanji's wounds. We'll need to hurry to make it back by night. Naia, help your father—”

“No.”

The word was clear in the awakening swamp, slowly recovering from the moaning of the Nebrie. Tavra turned, her good wing flicking in irritation. Bellanji shifted his weight, saying nothing; this was between Naia and the Vapra soldier.

“Excuse me?” Tavra said.

Naia stepped forward, resolute. She held her hands in fists to keep them from shaking, and forced her voice to be calm and controlled, but with no room for compromise.

“No,” she repeated. “You're going to help my father back to the glen. I'm going on to Ha'rar. To see the All-Maudra and represent the Drenchen and my brother.”

Tavra put her uninjured hand on her hip, sizing Naia up with a seasoned soldier's gaze. At first, Naia thought the Silverling might simply laugh at her. But she held firm, refusing to let her determination be made a joke. She would one day be the Drenchen Maudra. This was no time to be treated like a child, especially with Gurjin's honor on the line, and if she trusted her instincts about the crystal vein.

Tavra's appraisal ended, and she let out a sigh.

“Very well,” she said. “But I assure you, it will not be easy.”

Naia resisted the urge to grin. The victorious elation was short-lived, though, and in its wake was a knot and tangle of worry. For her father's safety, and for the journey she had just volunteered to take—alone. She refused to show the hesitation, though, calming herself by tightening the straps on her father's pack. Tavra raised a brow, but slid under Bellanji's arm to help support his weight. Naia's father accepted the help, though the smile on his face was not one of gratitude but rather one of pride.

Once Bellanji was stable, Tavra held out her hand. When Naia looked at it suspiciously, the Vapra sighed and gave a rare smile.

“You've never left Sog before, have you? I will show you the way.”

The dreamfasting was intentional and vivid this time, so much more intense than when she had accidentally intruded during the feast. Naia saw the northern stretch of swamp end at a long ridge of forest. Beyond that were open grasslands, abutted on the west by the sea and on the east by wild woods. In her mind, Naia heard Tavra's voice:

Head north across the Spriton plains and the highlands until you meet the Black River. Avoid the Dark Wood as much as you can; speak not to spirits within it. Follow the river north to Stone-in-the-Wood, then further north to Ha'rar.

Even farther north, past the thousands of grassy hills, a ridge of mountains spanned east to west like the wedged spine of a slithering snake. At its foot was a black river that turned sharply—north again—through wilderness and wood, until it
finally reached the Silver Sea. There, the river spilled into the bay upon which a dazzling, glittering stretch of Gelfling villages faced the ocean like a crust of sapphires. Seated at the crown of it was Ha'rar, the home of the Vapra All-Maudra Mayrin.

Tavra withdrew her hand.

“I will make sure your father returns to the glen safely. I hope to meet you again in Ha'rar.”

Bellanji gave Naia a tight hug, though she could tell from the flinch in his eye that it pained him.

“Go to the All-Maudra in Ha'rar,” he said. “Tell her about what you saw today, both above the water and below. Defend your brother's honor.”

“I'll find the truth and bring it to the All-Maudra,” she said.

Her father smiled, and even Tavra's eyes softened.

“Take care of my little girl, Neech,” said Bellanji.

Neech burbled, hugging Naia's neck. She wiped away a tear, then darted up the nearest apeknot to the north, anxious to begin her journey.

N
aia passed into the thinning marsh that marked the final perimeter of Sog. The early evening air was already drier and cooler. As she walked, she plucked stones from the hardening mud and wound them with the stock of rope from her pack, replacing the pair of
bola
she'd lost in the confrontation with the Nebrie. When the suns set, she pulled a cape from her pack and wrapped it over her shoulders and around her neck to ward off the night's chill. She wanted to make it out of the swamp before her first camp, both because it would give her a sense of progress . . . and because she worried that, should she wake in the morning and still find herself in the comfortable, familiar surroundings of the swamp, her courage might fail her and her parents might find her back home in time for supper.

Although the changing environment kept her body busy, the physical exertion left her mind to wander. She thought of Great Smerth, and how she already missed her mother, her father, her sisters, and the hammock in her little chamber. It annoyed her that she missed it all, after so short a time away and after she had longed to leave for so long. Still, with no one else to be witness to the embarrassment, she at least admitted to herself that she was lonesome.

She felt Gurjin's dagger at her side and hoped he was safe. She hoped she might find him, and that when she did, he would have some sort of explanation for all that was happening. Together, they would stand before the All-Maudra and the Skeksis Lords and show that the Drenchen clan was loyal, and that Gurjin was worthy of his post at the Castle of the Crystal.

She thought of Tavra, and their dreamfasted visions—both intentional and accidental. She thought of the feral Nebrie, hearing echoes of its cries in her memory, and she felt the helpless pulses of guilt tingle in her fingers and toes. Every time something stirred in the trees around her, her heart beat quicker, expecting another roaring monster to come crashing toward her . . . but one never did. Aside from the usual fliers, creepers, crawlers, and swimmers, she and Neech were alone. Neech nibbled on the glow moss that felted the trees, absorbing the plants' luminescent aura so he, along with the glittering, flickering nighttime flora, lit their way. Endeavoring to think ahead, Naia stopped once or twice to pluck the glowing lichen and store it in her pack.

The apeknots receded along with the swamp, and within a few short miles, Naia trudged atop the spongy ground of a marshland that would soon disappear altogether, evaporating into the great plains ahead to the north. The Three Brother suns had vanished by the time the last of the marshland dried beneath her exhausted feet, giving way to an open field. She stood at the threshold and looked across it all, trying to comprehend the breathtaking scape of golden-green grass speckled with red flowers, undulating like waves in the wind. Far off in the misty sky were the sloped gray
backs of the mountains Naia had only seen in her dreamfast with Tavra, just a ripple of color on the horizon that could almost have been a trick of the eye. Two moons were in the open heavens, one pale and mauve and the other higher, smaller, and silver. Here in the grasslands, no apeknots stood between her and the sky, and she felt dizzy looking up, realizing how big it was and how small she felt.

An intense yawn interrupted her amazement, bringing her attention back to her tired body. It was time to make camp. But where? In the swamp, any big branch would do, but she couldn't rely on apeknots any longer. Instead, she spied a small thicket only a short distance off, a cluster of bushes surrounding a trio of flowering trees. She made quick work of scaling the tree and found a bite to eat stored in her father's pack. Though there seemed to be plenty in the pack, she rationed herself. She wasn't sure how easy it would be to locate food in these new places.

“Guess we'll find out in the morning,” she told Neech. She scratched him under the chin, and he gave a little purr.

That night, Naia dreamed she was lying atop a tall hill, staring into the dark heavens. Her hands were linked with another's on either side, grasping tightly yet gently as they dreamfasted together, sharing visions with each other and with Thra, below and all around. The stars twinkled like gems, arranged in constellations Naia had never seen. Only on the horizon could she make out the familiar ringed constellation of Yesmit, Aughra's Eye.

Naia woke with the Great Sun, when her body was rested. The tree's leaves provided ample shade, though through the pinpricks
and rounded cracks, she saw streams of warm early light. The blossoms speckled across the branches had bloomed with the morning, twin buds opening into beautiful yellow fist-size balls of fluffy tendrils. Each was tended by an eight-legged flier with spiraling twin proboscides that perfectly matched the conjoined flowers of each bloom. The fliers buzzed back and forth between the blossoms, ignoring Naia and Neech completely. Naia watched them while stretching, massaging her feet before hopping down from the arms of the tree to the dry meadow earth.

Though she had Tavra's verbal instructions and the intense dreamfasted mental map, it would have been easy enough to head north even if she hadn't. The mountains were a constant to the grassy landscape, and at no point were there trees enough to block her view of them. Still, they were so distant yet that it was hard to believe anything—even Ha'rar and the Silver Sea—could exist beyond them. Sog was all Naia had ever known. Now, after seeing the prairie, if someone had told her it was all of Thra, she might have believed them. Smaller fliers drifted between field flowers, some stopping to pollinate while others were snapped up inside the trapdoor petals as soon as they landed. Every third step, the knee-high grass rustled nearby as something scampered away.

When the Great Sun reached its apex and no shadows could be seen, Naia stopped to climb a smooth warm rock to pluck thorns and pebbles from her sore feet. In some places her soles were cracked or even bleeding. The terrain here was so dry and rough compared to the forgiving sponginess of the swamp. The Dying Sun, just a dim purple speck within the Great Sun's light,
was grazing the distance where the sky met the land, a place hidden from view within the depths of Sog. She had often heard of the tiny dying sun, and seen it drawn in calendars, but had never seen it with her own eyes. Now she watched it skim the surface of the horizon like a water bug on a still pool of water. Neech was asleep beneath the shade of her locs and cloak, and she wished for once they might trade places and
he
do the walking. This long walk was not the adventure she wanted. She was hungry and irritable, and the day was growing hot and arid.

Naia sighed, then shook out her shoulders and arms. Giving her heel a last rub, she slid down the sitting rock, wishing she could keep the smoothness of the stone under her feet even as she walked through the meadow— Wait! With a spark of hope, Naia opened her traveling pack. Out came a length of woven rope, soft to the touch yet strongly made. She coiled it in her hand and headed for the nearest outcrop of trees that punctuated the land, ignoring the stinging in her feet in the hopes that it wouldn't last much longer. Drawing Gurjin's dagger from her belt, she stooped at the foot of a tree with thick ridged bark and made two swift cuts. Off fell slabs of bark, rippled and rough on one side and smooth as the back of her hand on the other. She cut the pieces to the size of her feet, then pressed the smooth side on her skin and tied it fast with the rope.

Standing wasn't easy, but she got the hang of it. She had excellent balance, after all. Pleased with herself, Naia marched on . . . only to find that, in a few strides, the bark wriggled loose from the rope and slipped out from under her feet. The slack rope
that followed got tangled and untied, and Naia kicked at the bark, rope and all, until one flew off her foot, lost in the tall grass.

“Knots-in-a-rope!” she cursed. “Now what?”

All that answered was the soft wind and the rustling of the field. There was no one to hear her frustration. No one except Neech, who merely yawned and tucked his face back under his wing. Even the mountains gazed on with seeming aloofness. With no blister-covered feet of their own to care for, they hardly had reason for sympathy.

Swallowing her frustration, Naia waded into the grass, standing over the sandals when she found them lying in a tangle in the brush. For a heartbeat, she fantasized about leaving them there and turning back. If she hurried, she could be at Great Smerth by sunset, have dinner in the great hall with her family, and tend to her wounded father all before curling up in her own hammock at the end of the night. She let herself imagine it briefly, plopping down in the grass and dirt, and drawing Gurjin's dagger.

“If I go back, then who will go forward?” she asked it, half hoping it might connect her to her brother somehow. It didn't reply, except to glint in the sun—and then she had it. Scooping the sandals into her lap, she used the knife to carve notches along the sides of the wood, just big enough to hold the rope in place. The fit was snug against her foot and ankle when all was done, and she stood and kicked, walked in a circle. Even after a lazy jog, the sandals stayed put.

She looked south toward Sog. Then, decisively, she headed in
the other direction, new sandals
click
ing and
clack
ing against the earth.

“Vas! Tamo, vas!”

Naia halted at the sound. No, words. Most definitely, but from where? She looked in all directions but saw nothing except grass and darkness. Then it came again, this time with a word she knew.

“
Vas
, Gelfling!”

The grass on her right rustled, then parted, revealing a round brown face with big black eyes.