The Last Enchanter (23 page)

“You'll come back soon? Before planting season?” Clovis asked.

“I will,” promised Marcus.

“And you won't get into any trouble?”

Marcus laughed. “I'm going to a place where humans rarely go to search for what, I have no idea, and someone wants me dead. What more trouble could I get into?”

The two friends looked at each other. Marcus could see the concern in Clovis's face. They had been through a lot together the past few months, and Marcus wondered if he had made the right decision to send Clovis home.

Clovis wrapped his arms around Marcus in a firm but brief embrace. Then he turned back to the road. “Goodbye, Bryn, Lael,” he said, waving. Bryn waved back with both arms. Lael ran up to embrace him and kissed his cheek.

“Be safe,” she said, “and may the gods watch over you, Clovis Dungham.”

Marcus and Lael stood together for a long time and watched Clovis walk down the dirt road. They stood there until he finally disappeared around a bend and over a grassy knoll. Neither of them spoke, but somehow Marcus knew their thoughts were the same. They would miss him, and though Rylan was with them, they did not know him well enough to trust him fully. For the rest of their journey, Bryn, Lael, and Marcus would have only each other to rely on for protection.

Sixty-two

O
nce they had said their goodbyes to Clovis, Rylan led them off the main road toward Voltana. They traveled across the center of Imaness for two days, saying little to each other. When the first snowflakes began to fall, Marcus was grateful Mrs. Peagry had packed a cloak for each of them. Still, he hoped they'd arrive at their destination soon and be able to rent a room in a warm tavern with a real bed.

On the third day, the ground, forested by barren trees, began to slope upward. As they went over a crest, the landscape changed suddenly. Marcus and company stopped at the top of the hill and gazed down onto the panorama before them. The rocky terrain was gray and bleak, void of life.

Marcus squatted and picked up a jagged rock, rolling it around in his palm. Then he handed it to Rylan.

“It's warm,” Rylan said. “We're getting close.” He threw the rock as far as he could. The stone landed with a hollow
clack
.

Bryn tugged on Lael's sleeve. “I'm scared,” he whispered. Lael wrapped her arm around his shoulders.

“What are you talking about, Bryn?” said Marcus. He was about fed up with Bryn's child act. “What could a groc possibly be afraid of?”

Bryn sulked like a scolded child, his lower lip quivering.

Lael grabbed Marcus's arm and led him out of earshot of the others. “What is the
matter
with you, Marcus?” she said. “Hurting Bryn's feelings at the lake wasn't enough for you, is that it? Or are you determined to make him miserable the entire trip?”

Marcus pulled his arm free and rubbed it with his other hand. Lael had a strong grip. He was sure he'd get a bruise.

“You know I didn't mean anything by it,” he said.

“I don't know it, Marcus. Bryn didn't have to come on this journey. He didn't have to rescue us from the grocs. And you yourself have told me more than once how Bryn risked his life to protect you from Fredric's guards. So what is it costing you, really, if Bryn wants to act human?”

Lael turned heel and returned to Bryn, kneeling beside him and drying his tears. Marcus watched the tenderness with which Lael touched Bryn's pink cheeks and the gentle look in her eyes as she spoke to him. It occurred to Marcus that this was a side of Lael he had not known
before. In Quendel he had only known Lael as the girl who could fight better and run faster than all the boys—and had resented her for it. But now seeing the compassion she showed to Bryn, his resentment faded.

“Down there,” called Rylan, pointing to a dark spot at the base of a distant mountain. Marcus walked over to where the other three stood and saw they were at the top of a steep, rocky slope leading to a wide, barren valley dotted with steaming vents and hot water geysers.

“We should reach Voltana by nightfall,” Rylan added. “But be careful. If you stray from the path, you will get burned.”

The four of them started down the slope toward the valley below. Their feet sent a waterfall of pebbles and sand down the hill. Marcus slipped twice as he struggled to find solid footing. Behind him Rylan and Lael stepped sideways, slipping and sliding, as well. But it was Bryn who lost his balance completely and slid on his backside past Marcus.

“Bryn!” shouted Marcus. He shot out his hand, attempting to stop Bryn's descent, missing him by mere inches. Bryn rocketed down the hill, screaming all the way. Lael tried to go after him, but Rylan grabbed her by the arm and held her back.

“No point in all of us falling,” he said.

Marcus scowled at the comment, but he knew Rylan was right. So he maneuvered down the hill as quickly as he could without endangering himself. Bryn had gone from sight, but of more concern was that they could no longer hear him screaming.

“Bryn!” Marcus and Lael kept calling his name as they neared the bottom of the hill. Every inch they traveled sent more gravel raining down. When they finally reached level ground, they searched frantically for the boy. Xerxes circled high overhead. After a few eternal minutes, he swooped down past Marcus.

“There!” he called, “beside that larger stone!”

Marcus followed Xerxes to the spot. At first he could not see anything, but then he spotted Bryn's thin hand and arm jutting out from a pile of rubble.

Sixty-three

H
e's here!” Marcus shouted. Lael was beside him in an instant, scooping away the hot debris with her hands. She was in tears as she dug. Marcus dropped to his knees and used his arms to push the rubble away. Soon Bryn lay before them, his eyes closed, his face and arms covered with bloody scratches.

Xerxes perched on the large sandstone boulder nearby. He wagged his beak from side to side, repeating “Poor, poor thing” over and over.

“Is he breathing?” asked Lael.

Marcus held his ear to Bryn's mouth. “Yes, he's breathing!” He took his water skin from his belt and poured some into his hand, using it to wipe away the layer of dust from Bryn's face.

“You're all right. Just open your eyes,” said Marcus. To his relief, Bryn moaned softly.

Lael slipped her arm beneath Bryn's head, cradling him gently. “Bryn, please open your eyes.”

Bryn's eyelids twitched, and then one lid lifted. Bryn stared up at Lael with one big, brown eye.

“You're so dirty,” he said and then opened his other eye. Lael wiped her tears with the back of her hand, though all she managed to do was smear wet dust across her face.

“You're pretty dirty yourself,” she said, laughing. She helped him up, but when he tried to stand, he cried out in pain.

“What is it?” asked Marcus.

“My leg hurts,” said Bryn.

Lael felt along his left leg. “It's not broken, but he's twisted his ankle. He can't walk like this, Marcus. What should we do?”

Rylan stepped forward and scooped up Bryn in his arms. Bryn whimpered.

“We continue on,” said Rylan and started walking. Then he paused, looking back. “Are you two coming?”

Lael touched Marcus's arm. “Come on, Marcus,” she said and then hurried to catch up with Rylan.

For a single moment, Marcus wanted to turn back. He wanted to go back to Quendel, back to his cottage, back to Agnes and the grazing fields. But he realized if he did go back, the one thing that meant the most to him would not be there. Zyll was gone, so what would be the point of returning home?

Marcus gazed out at the seemingly endless sea of rock and knew he must keep going. He must continue on, no matter what. He owed it to Zyll.

* * *

Marcus wasn't exactly sure what he expected Voltana to look like, but certainly not this. For one thing, it was flat, at least mostly flat. The ground was unlike anything he'd ever seen before—hard like rock, but porous with millions of sharp pits and holes. And the edges of it were curved with layer upon layer formed from countless lava spills from the volcanic mountains nearby as well as the steaming vents scattered throughout the area. The actual town of Voltana had been constructed on the flattest area farthest from the central vent that loomed like a deep, black sea. Even when they had shed their traveling cloaks, the heat from it was unbearable, and Marcus's clothing was soaked with perspiration within minutes. From the looks on everyone else's damp faces, he was certain they were as miserable as he. The only one who seemed unfazed by the heat was Rylan.

“So this is it?” asked Xerxes, landing clumsily on the ground at Marcus's feet. “I flew all the way across Imaness for this?”

Marcus held out his arm. Xerxes hopped up.

Lael stepped in front of them both. She pulled at her tunic, trying to cool off. “Where is everyone?”

“Looks abandoned,” said Marcus.

“Couldn't imagine why,” Xerxes added sarcastically.

Rylan shot them an amused look, and Marcus could almost swear he saw the older boy laugh. Rylan now carried Bryn on his back in a makeshift sling he had fashioned earlier from a blanket. He continued walking without speaking. Lael and Marcus still stood, gazing out over the barren terrain.

“Maybe we should keep moving,” said Lael. “We're getting hungry, and by the looks of it, we're not going find anything to eat out here.”

Lael started forward, hesitantly, following Rylan and Bryn toward the town. Watching them go, Marcus tried to shake the uneasy feeling that had settled on him.

“What do you think, Xerxes?” he asked. “Any advice for an old friend about to get himself into a heap of trouble?”

“You could go back,” answered Xerxes.

“If only I could,” Marcus replied. “If only I could.”

Sixty-four

A
s they neared Voltana, Marcus was even more concerned at the stillness. A hot wind blew a fine, black dust through the air. The buildings looked like extensions of the rock itself, jutting out from it in strange formations. The only way Marcus could tell they were structures at all was by the doors and windows carved into them. He continued to search for signs of life and thought he saw movement between two buildings. He squinted in that direction.

“There,” he said. “I saw something. Xerxes, could you scout out the area?”

Xerxes rolled his head back, a sign he was not pleased to use his newfound freedom to do Marcus's bidding. Still, he did not refuse.

“Very well,” he said and then took off, flapping his wings unsteadily into the air. Marcus watched as Xerxes' black figure traveled in a crooked path over the town. After a few minutes, he returned.

“Quick! Hide!” he shouted. “They're coming!” Then in a burst of speed, the crow flew off in the opposite direction. Marcus scanned the lifeless buildings. What could have frightened Xerxes?

Marcus noticed that Bryn, too, seemed more anxious than usual. Slung across Rylan's back, Bryn stiffened as though sensing danger. His eyes had an aggressive look in them that Marcus hadn't seen in many months, not since Bryn first transformed into a monster and attacked Kelvin in Vrystal Canyon during their quest for the Rock of Ivanore. Marcus glanced at Lael to see what her reaction was to Bryn's strange behavior, but her eyes were fixed on Voltana, as well.

“What is it?” Marcus asked Bryn.

Bryn curled his lips back and growled. “I smell something,” he said, “something not human.”

Then Marcus saw them and understood why he hadn't noticed them before. Small, not much taller than Bryn in his human form, three of them emerged from between the buildings. Even then it was difficult to distinguish them from the rocks; their deep gray color camouflaged them well. They approached slowly, upright on two oddly bent legs with long, bare toes and sharp, curved claws. Their arms, though shorter, were just as menacing. Each had a broad tail that tapered to a point and swayed back and forth
through the air as they walked. As they neared, Marcus could make out the rough, gray scales covering their bodies.

They each wore a sash across one shoulder, one red, the other two blue. From the strange designs embroidered on them, Marcus guessed they stood for each one's position, or job, in the town. The two with blue sashes carried loops of rope in their hands.

The one with the red sash came forward, its gray eye-slits widening with curiosity. It spoke in sharp, quick syllables punctuated with a series of whistles and trills. It was a language Marcus had never heard before. When no one responded, the creature repeated its message more forcefully.

“Rylan, do you have any idea what he's saying?” Marcus asked.

Rylan stepped forward and placed both of his hands in the air, level with his chin, palms out. The gesture seemed to put the creature at ease. It set down its tail and leaned back on it, resting.

“You can relax,” said Rylan. “These are the Pey Wey, native inhabitants of Voltana, but they do speak our language—when they want to. The one in red is what you might call the administrator. Pey Weys are generally wary of outside visitors, but my father comes here every few months to trade. I've come with him a few times.”