The Passage to Mythrin 2-Book Bundle (26 page)

“Huh?”

That was Zephrinarrinaden. I name him because I despise him.
Contempt blew through Amelia's mind — and a trace of fear, as well.
He is a friend of the chief's brother, the usurper, only he never followed him into exile over sea. He would gladly carry fire and death to the two-legged invaders. And do it now, he says.

“But why?”

He says they have things that can pierce dragon skin. Soon they will make even stronger things. That is what ardini do, he says. They are weak, so they make things to kill people stronger than they are. Is that true?

Amelia couldn't think of an answer. “Ask me again later. What is Mara telling them?'

She is the chief. Why do you cut her name short? Bad enough you even know it.

“She told me herself!”

Even so. You show no respect!
He snorted a sulphury-smelling gust.
She says it is her will to deal fairly with these humans. Don't kill without warning, she says. Give them
time to leave. Give them until the rise of the full moon. After that, if they are still here, bring fire and claw. That is fair, she says.

The valley might have been paved with stones shaped like dragons, they held so still. Then the stones glittered as they stirred. The big grey dragon arched back his neck and spat flame at the sky. More flames spouted up from the dragons close to him, and a few farther away.

The dragon beside Amelia hissed softly.
Only a few would go against her, if they could. Most are with her. But none are happy.

The valley was dark again, but no longer still. It shimmered and broke apart and emptied upwards. The first to go was that big dark grey one, Zef-whatshisname, and half a dozen around him.

When they were all gone, Mara turned and surged off her perch and over the ridge. She changed shape as she came. In passing, she grabbed Amelia by one arm. Amelia stumbled after her down the hill.

“That snake, Zephrinarrinaden, I do not trust him not to crawl back here and spy. I think he picked something from your mind, kinsman. Amelia, go now!”

“But — but what can I do?”

“Tell those humans they have until the full moon to leave Mythrin.”

“But what if they don't listen to me?”

“Then they will all die. Tell them that.”

“But Mara —”

Mara's eyes were harder than emerald now. “Listen! That old snake is right. Your people are too good at making things that kill. If they stay, then someday, many years ahead maybe, they will destroy us. We saw it coming on your Earth, and so we came to Mythrin. We will not let it happen here. This is our world.”

“I guess I can see your point.” Amelia kicked at the grass. “'Course, this wouldn't be the first time, right? There were those water people.” A face filled her mind: bluish skin, big purple eyes: a strange face, but human. “What happened to them?”

“Water people?” Mara stared. “They are a thing out of legend.”

“But I met one, in the Book of Lands! You know, last year when you —”

“If they ever lived, they are ages gone. This is our world now. We will not vanish like them!”

Amelia met her eyes and wished she hadn't. Eyes sharp as knives, hard as stones. Where was the laughing Mara she'd run with — to the ends of the Earth, it seemed — that winter night in Dunstone?

“One more thing. The most important. That small one, pale like a turtle egg. I fear her. She holds a terrible danger in her mind.”

“I don't understand.”

“Something she seeks. It makes me think of old tales.” Mara gave herself a shake. “If she finds this thing, the Urdar are destroyed — not in some far future, but now. You will stop her.”

Not “must,” not “can,” not “should.” “
Will.
”

“You really have changed, haven't you?” Amelia looked up at Mara, and felt she was looking up an awfully long way. “I know what it is. You've turned into a grownup!”

“A chief cannot stay a child.” Mara tapped Amelia's nose. “Nor can a fighter. Such as you.” She flashed a smile, then turned her head. “Kinsman! Take her back.”

“Then I guess it's goodbyeee ….” The rest merged into a scream. Claws caught Amelia by shoulder and hip and plucked her like a daisy. Mara's upturned face and waving arm dropped and swung backwards into the darkness. The ground streamed past below, too close, too rocky.

Hey! This hurts. Next time can I ride on top?

No. You are not a hatchling. And stop shouting.

Listen — if they see you bring me —

I know, they will never listen to your words. Don't worry. Just be ready.

Ready for what?
Amelia squinted up at the moon, which winked in and out with each beat of the dragon's
wing.
Oh, wait a sec. That moon. The rise of the full moon. It's about full now, right? How long does it take to, you know … I mean, our moon goes around the Earth in thirty days, or is it twenty-eight?

A circle of the moon? Twenty days. Far enough, now. Down you go.

Amelia shrieked as she dropped. She hit ground fuzzed with long grass and slanted like a roof, and rolled. At the bottom of the hill she lay panting.
You could've killed me!

I'm not that clumsy.
The voice in her head was fainter now.

“Wait!” She lurched to her feet. “Where am I now? Where do I go? And anyway, I can't walk. My ankle's hurt!”

Towards the sea.

“The sea. Where's that?” Amelia glared into the darkness. It was the same inky black all over.

From the sky, the barest whisper:
Use your nose.

“Yeah, big help!”

She sniffed. Turned her head. Funny, the breeze did smell like the sea, faint as if from very far away, and mixed with odours of green things and wet rock and fish. It made her think of home, of Vancouver Island, picnics on the beach, running along the edge of the surf, picking up driftwood for the fire.

“All right!” Amelia clawed dead leaves from her hair, knocked dirt and pebbles off her knees, and licked a bleeding scratch on her hand. She wiped her hands on her shirt. Then she set off at a limp, following the smell of the sea. “Oh, man. Who knows what's happened to Simon by now?”

She felt guilty that she hadn't thought of him at all until this minute. “I'd better hurry!” She quickened her pace, and didn't notice how soon the limp went away.

“Half brothers,” Simon murmured. “That's very interesting.” He opened his eyes. Funny thing, he had the feeling he'd been asleep sitting up.

He was still sitting on the soft cushion with a silver cup in his hands. It was still half full of warm mint tea. The slice of cake sat on the silver plate with two bites out of it. The Triad — Weaver, Warrior, Seeker — still looked down on him from their carved and gilded chairs.

The last thread of story drifted in his mind. He grasped at it. “‘Until now.' So you've found it, this world where Wayland's Prism is?” He looked at Pier. “
You
found it?” He couldn't get over it, this little kid sitting there with the other two rulers, or leaders, or whatever they were.

“Yes, I.” Her cheeks went pink. “It was Seeker Kwan
who found the gate to
this
world, and opened it, and scouted it —”

“But not well,” Yulith snapped.

“No blame to him. There was no time.” Pier looked at Simon. “This is what happened, back on our Earth. The dragons came at us in a great wave. They were numbered in the thousands. Seeker Kwan had opened up the gate, and the people began to pass through. But in that last battle only a few hundred of the Casseri survived, and Seeker Kwan and all the other seekers were killed. All except me.” She studied her fingers, threaded together in her lap. “I am the only seeker left. And so I became ‘Seeker' by name. And it was me who held the gate as the people passed, and after, me who broke it.”

“And it was you that found the gate to the Prism World,” Gram said gently.

“Yes, and … and me that can't open it.” Her eyes locked on Simon's again. “That is why we need you.”

“I don't get it.” Something else nagged at the back of his mind. Several things, in fact, that he didn't understand. Like, why Ammy was keeping so quiet. She always had plenty to say.

“Your Earth is the world we have been seeking: the secret place where Wyrm hid Wayland's Prism. And you can open the gate for us.”

“
My
Earth? You mean ….” Then he thought of something else. “But I can't open the gate! I'm not a … a seeker. And I don't have a special ring or anything, like ….” Like Mara's ring. At the thought of Mara, a cool wind blew through his mind. The brightness of the room dimmed again.

Things changed. Even the cup in his hand felt different. He looked at it and it wasn't silver after all, it was some kind of dull brown china with a chipped handle. It was empty. The plate on the floor was a wooden disk, and the cake was — he prodded it — a crust of very dry bread.

The cobwebby singing rose again. It was all around his head, clinging. It was
in
his head. But now he could hear it plainly.
Soft, soft, soft,
went the words.
Sleep … sleep … sleep … listen … hear … believe ….
He could almost see the words, like grey clouds drifting through his brain. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head hard.

Memory crashed back. That dragon dropping out of nowhere, Ammy yanked up into the blackness and gone, and then …. Then nothing.

“Ammy!” He was on his feet.

“Weaver!” Yulith growled, but Pier said, “No! Wait!” Simon heard the voices in a distant way. He was too busy trying to match up what he remembered with what he saw around him now.

Nothing matched. The carved pale walls were gone, the silver-veined floor was gone. This place looked like a natural cave, with rough, rocky walls and a ceiling only a few inches above his head. The soft cushion he'd been sitting on was a folded-up brown blanket with burrs stuck in it.

The light came from little clay dishes on the floor with candle flames in them, floating in something that looked like oil. Even in that flickering light he could see that the carved and gilded chairs the Triad had been sitting on — they were all standing now — were two wooden boxes and, for Gram, a folding stool.

Their clothes were different, too. The Weaver's silky grey robes were just grey, and might have once been white. The Warrior wore brown leather, but it was stained and patched, not steel-studded. And Pier's gold-trimmed white clothes were plain cotton or some such rough fabric, rather dirty, and frayed at the cuffs.

Only their faces were the same. Still not smiling.

“Which way's out?” Simon backed away and spun around. He guessed where the exit was by the dozen men and women with crossbows who barred his way. Each crossbow was armed with a bolt, and each bolt was pointing at him. All that sharp steel aimed at his stomach … he felt like throwing up.

He turned around and looked at the Triad. “Y-you
said you wanted me to help you. If-if you shoot me I can't help you, can I?”

“That is truth,” Pier said. “I said that he was sent here to help us, yes? He is no use at all dead.”

“Unless we follow my plan instead,” Gram said. “Or at the least … like so ….” He moved his fingers in a cupping gesture. A soft humming rose from the shadows near the walls of the cave. Simon felt suddenly sleepy.

“No,” Pier said. “Not that either. He needs to have his mind and his will free, or he can never open the gate.”

“You are sure of this?” Yulith sounded doubtful.

“Of course! I know these things.” Pier lifted her chin. “I am Seeker. Am I not?”

Yulith and Gram looked at each other. Then Gram opened his fingers, as if letting something trickle away, and the singing died. “You are Seeker.”

The sick feeling in Simon's stomach ebbed. He took a shaky breath. “Okay, so, if — if you'll let me out, I can g-go and …”

“Yes?” Yulith grinned fiercely at him past a missing front tooth. “And do what?” She thumped down again on her wooden box.

“I have to do something! I can't go back without Ammy!”

“Then you must find the dragon that took her and you must kill it. Good luck to you!”

“Kill it?” He'd been thinking more of, well, talking to it. Persuading it.

“Do you even know how to use a pike? Or an arbalest?” She pointed at one of the crossbows.

“Arbalest? Is that what you call it? Well, no. I'll think of something.”

Somebody behind him laughed. He felt his face heat up.

Yulith stared at him. He made himself stare back. Then she jerked her chin.

“Let him pass, then. His blood will be upon his own head.”

The arbalests went down as he walked between them. The way out was rocky underfoot and almost pitch dark, made darker by pools of wavering lamplight. As Simon shuffled along, keeping his head low to avoid beaning himself on the rough ceiling, he saw eyes gleaming at him out of the shadows behind the lights. Faces peered at him, then ducked away. Many of them were small and oddly close to the ground. He wondered if most of these people were tiny like Pier, and the tall warriors were the odd ones out.

And then it hit him.
They're only little kids! There must be dozens of them!

Simon came out of the cave into a different darkness. The air moved, and smelled of grass. He felt and heard
space around him. A cool wind tossed his hair into his eyes. He pushed it back and looked up at the sky. Over to one side it seemed a bit lighter. That must be the east.

He wiped his sweaty palms on his shirt. “Did — did anybody see which way it went?”