The Rock of Ivanore (16 page)

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Authors: Laurisa White Reyes

BOOK: The Rock of Ivanore
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“We'll never find our way through this,” said Kelvin, handing Marcus the rope. “Why don't you use that key of yours?”

Bryn was already digging in Marcus's pocket for it. He fished it out and held it up like a trophy. “Shiny!” he said.

Marcus took it from Bryn and rubbed it clean on his cape. “How can you tell what it looks like in
this
?” Marcus asked, indicating the cloud in which they were standing.

“Grocs can see even better than we smell,” replied Bryn proudly.

“I can believe that,” Kelvin retorted. “Do Grocs
ever
take baths?”

Marcus rubbed the key between his palms and tried to decide the best plan of action. He wished he could speak to Xerxes, but with Kelvin and Jayson near, that was not an option. As though he could read Marcus's thoughts, Xerxes' eyes fluttered open.

“I couldn't help but overhear your conversation,” he said with a wide yawn. “I know you cannot speak, so just listen. Squeeze the staff if you understand.”

Marcus gave one long squeeze with his hand.

“Not too tight. I'm not made of iron, you know! So how should we deal with this fog? You could condense the vapor into water, but that much water would turn the ground beneath us into a swamp.” Xerxes clicked his beak rapidly, and Marcus imagined the look of concentration that must be on his wooden face. “You might heat the mist so that it would rise. No, no. Where could you harvest enough energy to warm that much water? I will have to think . . .”

Marcus decided to do what would take as little effort as possible. He held the key in front of him and focused his attention. He was about to utter a single command, but thought better of it. Remembering the snake in the forest, he chose instead to try giving his command in silence. I must choose wisely, he cautioned himself, or it might backfire and end up causing a hurricane or something.

He settled on the word
divide
and repeated it in his mind. The key heated up more quickly than he expected.
The mist began to churn like a small cyclone, which split into two halves, each spinning in opposite directions. The fog parted before him as though invisible hands had reached down and split a bale of cotton in two.

Marcus tested the nearest patch of mist with the tip of the walking stick. It had not changed its composition but curled about the staff like angels' breath.

“Not what I would have done,” said Xerxes, “but effective nonetheless.”

Marcus grinned with pleasure at Xerxes' half-hearted compliment. Then, pocketing the key, he led Kelvin and Jayson along the straight, clear path until, several hours later, the fog finally lifted.

They continued walking in silence, the hours passing slower than Marcus ever thought possible. Ahead of him, Kelvin followed Bryn, who trudged wearily several paces behind Jayson.

“I'm hungry,” said Bryn finally. “When are we going to stop?”

Using his crossbow, Kelvin prodded Bryn from behind. “Keep walking,” he said.

“Didn't you hear him?” said Marcus. “He said he's hungry.”

“We're all hungry,” replied Kelvin, giving Bryn another nudge. “The only difference is we humans don't eat each other.”

Bryn stopped suddenly and turned toward Kelvin. “I told you before—I won't eat you.”

“And what if I don't believe you?” said Kelvin. “All we
have to do is close our eyes for a second, and you'll turn into that monster thing and we're through.”

Bryn did not reply. Instead he bit his bottom lip to keep it from trembling. Tears pooled in his eyes. “You hate me,” he said, “don't you?”

“Of course I hate you! You tried to chew me up and swallow me for lunch!”

At this point Marcus thought it best to intervene. He placed his arm around Bryn's shoulders and urged him gently forward. The three of them began walking again.

“And why does a Groc travel with humans, anyway?” asked Kelvin. “Don't you have a herd or brood of other Grocs to go home to? Won't they miss you?”

Bryn glanced down at his feet as they walked. He was quiet for several moments before speaking. “No one misses me,” he said. “And I do not miss them. I left because I do not want to be a Groc anymore. I want to be—” Bryn hesitated. He looked up at Marcus, who gave him a reassuring smile. Then Bryn spoke again. “I want to be human.”

Kelvin burst out laughing. “A Groc wants to be human! Did you hear that, Jayson?”

Jayson, who was now several yards ahead of the others, called back. “I heard him.”

“If you want to be human,” continued Kelvin, “why did you attack us in the canyon?”

“I was so hungry,” answered Bryn defensively. “I try not to be a . . . a monster . . . but sometimes I cannot help it.”

The road on which they traveled grew steeper. Soon it bent through a densely wooded area. Marcus heard the
sound of bubbling water nearby and hoped they would stop there to rest.

“If you cannot help being who you are,” continued Kelvin, “how can you expect us to trust you?”

Bryn stopped walking once again and looked directly into Kelvin's eyes. His expression was solemn. “Because,” he said in as serious a tone as Marcus had heard him use, “I promise. And unlike most humans, I keep my promises.”

Thirty-five

he day grew unusually warm, and Marcus wiped away another trickle of sweat from his forehead. He gazed at his reflection in the spring from which he had just filled his water skin. The surface was in constant motion, making the image of his face distort in humorous ways, and he laughed at himself.

“Are the fish telling jokes now?” asked Jayson, sidling up beside him and dropping to his knees in the soft mud. He cupped his hands and dipped them in the cold water, drinking from them repeatedly. When he had finished, he sat down on a flat boulder and stretched out his legs. “After lunch we'll continue. We should reach Dokur by midday tomorrow,” he said, scratching the stubble on his chin.

Marcus was glad the journey would not be long. On the eastern side of the Jeweled Mountains, the weather was cold, and frost would soon be garnishing the fields each morning. Yet here in the open valleys of the west, the air was near sweltering. A weak breeze and the cool water of the spring were their only relief.

“Are there many villages along the way?” asked Marcus.

“There used to be, but most moved out long ago,” Jayson explained. “Like the Cyclopes, my people once inhabited this entire valley, but when the humans migrated here from the mainland, things changed.”

“But you're part human . . .” Marcus let his voice drift off, afraid he might offend his companion.

Yet Jayson appeared to take no offense. “Yes, my father is human. By the time I was born, the Agoran tribes had been removed to a reservation in Taktani, a piece of marshland fit only for frogs and flies. My mother died there. Things got so bad that eventually they sent me to petition Lord Fredric for aid. Because I was half human, they thought he might listen to me. They were wrong.”

Marcus watched Jayson, waiting for more.

Jayson sensed his interest and continued. “That's when I met her.”

“Ivanore?”

Jayson smiled at her memory. “She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Long silky hair the color of autumn wheat. Eyes as blue as the sky. And her skin . . .” Jayson held up his hand and stroked an invisible cheek with his fingers. Then he dropped his hand on the rock
beside him, becoming melancholic. “It was a long time ago,” he finished.

Marcus dug his toe into the mud. He sensed Jayson's reluctance to go on with his story, but it intrigued him so that he dared to press him further. “You said your mother died. What about your father? Is he still in Taktani?”

Jayson's countenance hardened. “I haven't seen my father since I was a boy. The Agorans do not trust humans and vice versa. My parents were forced to separate. Ivanore was taken from me—all because we are different from each other.”

Marcus thought of the isolation he often felt because of being different. While the other boys learned the art of hunting from their fathers, Marcus spent his time with books. How he had longed to join in their games, and at times he had resented his station. But as he grew older, he came to accept who he was—though feelings of resentment still surfaced now and then.

Jayson slapped his hand into the water, upsetting the reflection there. As he rose to his feet, a sudden ear-piercing squeal sounded in the distance. Jayson and Marcus looked at each other as though reading one another's thoughts. Both of them scrambled to their feet and took off running.

“Bryn!” shouted Marcus as he neared the grove of trees where they had stopped earlier to rest. “Kelvin! Where are you?”

Marcus and Jayson found Kelvin leaning against a tree, gasping for breath. He held his dagger in his hand.

“What happened?” asked Marcus. “We heard something cry out.”

“Bryn,” began Kelvin, trying to catch his breath. “He attacked me. I was resting against this tree when I heard a low growl. I opened my eyes and saw him coming toward me, his figure changed into that beast from the canyon. He lunged at me. I hardly had time to think. I swung my dagger blindly at him.”

“Where is he?” asked Marcus, but Jayson was already heading deeper into the woods.

Kelvin pointed to a large clump of bushes nearby. “He landed past me in that thicket over there.”

Marcus hurried to the spot and arrived just as Jayson began hacking through the shrub. A moment later they found Bryn, a boy once again, lying face down on the earth, half buried in vines and vegetation.

Seeing Bryn's still form, Marcus wondered what had prompted Bryn to break his promise. He had been so certain that Bryn would not harm them. How could he have so misjudged the Groc's character?

Kelvin stepped up beside Marcus and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I told you he couldn't be trusted.”

Jayson grasped Bryn's arm and carefully rolled him onto his back. Beneath him, a young warboar, nearly as big as Bryn, lay dead, a large gaping wound at its neck.

Marcus spoke first. “He . . . Bryn was trying to protect you,” he said to Kelvin, a quiver in his voice. “He wasn't attacking you at all.”

Jayson poked the warboar with the tip of his sword. “It would have ripped you to shreds with those tusks.”

Kelvin stood motionless, staring at Bryn's body. Then he turned and walked away. Marcus wanted to go with him but sensed that Kelvin needed to be alone. Before Kelvin took three steps, however, Bryn moaned.

Kelvin turned back as Marcus dropped to his knees beside Bryn. “You're alive!” said Marcus. “We all thought you were dead. Are you hurt?”

Bryn sat up slowly. “I don't think so,” he replied. “I saw a warboar charging toward Kelvin. I threw myself at it but must have smacked my head against a tree. The next thing I know I'm sitting here with you.”

Jayson helped Bryn to his feet. “Good,” he said, laughing. “You can scout out the next several miles of road while we prepare this warboar for lunch.”

Bryn brushed the leaves and twigs from his clothes and rubbed the tender spot on the back of his head. Kelvin stood nearby, a contrite look on his face. “What I said before,” he began, “I was wrong about you. I hope you'll forgive me.”

“You don't hate me anymore?” asked Bryn.

Kelvin shook his head. “I don't hate you anymore.”

Kelvin held out his hand to Bryn, but Bryn did not take it. For a moment Kelvin hesitated, not knowing how to respond should his apology be rejected. But when Bryn stepped forward and embraced him, it was clear that Kelvin had been forgiven.

Thirty-six

errid Zwelger spent the better part of the day crouching beneath a bush far off the main road. The mist that had rolled across the lake provided the cover he needed to escape from the Mardoks, but when the air cleared, he had to settle for the cramped hiding space embedded with thorns. He stayed there for as long as he could bear. But finally, at the urging of his empty stomach, he ventured out.

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