The Rock of Ivanore (6 page)

“Why is it impossible?”

Xerxes clicked his beak impatiently. “Enough questions. Time for your lesson.”

Marcus leaned Xerxes against the nearest tree. He wanted to know more about the limits of his magic, but he dared not irritate his new teacher.

“You will liquefy that stone over there,” directed Xerxes. “Take out your key. Harvest your energy and bring it into focus.”

The stone was unimpressive, just a round rock about the size of a bread loaf. Marcus held out the key and closed his eyes. He tried to form an image of the stone in his mind, tried to see it softening and melting upon his command. He could not, however, locate the energy he needed for such a feat—at least not in the dark.

“I can't do it,” he said, shaking his head, annoyed with himself. “There's no energy here.”

“There is always energy,” replied Xerxes. “As long as your heart is beating and your lungs take in air, there is energy.”

“Maybe that's true, but I can't even light a fire.”

“That will come in time,” said Xerxes, though the exasperated tone in his voice was far from comforting. “Try it again, but first you will need to douse the key's glow so that it can work the other spell.”

Marcus let the key dim. He turned his thoughts outward. Once again Marcus imagined the stone transforming into a pool of liquid granite. He reached deep inside himself, drawing on his own life force for the energy he needed to perform the task. The key's temperature rose slightly in his hand. Marcus grinned in spite of himself, for he sensed the stone's core absorbing heat.

Without warning, the stone exploded. The loud blast resounded off every tree and boulder. Bits of rock and soil shot out in all directions and rained down around Marcus. When the dust began to settle, Marcus brushed fragments of his failure from his hair, face, and shoulders. He was just wiping Xerxes free of it when Kelvin burst through the trees gasping for breath. Marcus was relieved that Kelvin had had the sense to bring a lighted stick with him.

“What was that?” Kelvin asked, his eyes scanning the area for signs of danger. “It sounded like an explosion—or thunder.”

Marcus shrugged dumbly, too shocked to speak.

“A storm must be gathering in the mountains,” continued Kelvin, though his expression was one of uncertainty. “We should try to reach Noam before it rains.” Kelvin turned and headed back toward the camp, kicking aside several small pebbles as he went.

“Thunder?” asked Xerxes once Kelvin was out of earshot. “Why didn't you answer him?”

“I panicked,” replied Marcus. “What should I have said?”

“There is no need to hide your magic from him,” Xerxes explained. “He knows you are Zyll's apprentice.”

Marcus placed the key back in his pocket and started for camp. He felt weary and out of breath. “I'm sorry about the stone,” he said, shaking off the feeling. “I'll do a better job of transmutation tomorrow.”

Xerxes fluffed his wooden feathers and shook his head. “Perhaps, for the time being, you should concentrate on something less complicated,” he said, “like staying out of danger for at least one day!”

arcus, Clovis, and Kelvin reached the mouth to Vrystal Canyon a few hours after sunrise. They set down their packs on a large moss-covered boulder and ate a bit of cheese for breakfast. When they were finished, Marcus stood at the canyon entrance and stared into the dark, narrow passageway flanked on either side by towering granite cliffs.

“Is there any other way around these cliffs?” Marcus asked, tucking the remainder of his food into his satchel.

Kelvin sharpened the edge of his dagger against a bare patch of stone. “Along the shoreline, maybe, but we would have to go through the forest.”

Marcus surveyed the dense tangle of forest undergrowth. “Impossible,” he concluded with a shake of his head.

As Kelvin sheathed his dagger and bent to adjust the scabbard at his waist, Marcus glimpsed what appeared to be some sort of pendant tucked just inside Kelvin's shirt. When Kelvin noticed his gaze, he quickly pulled up his collar around it.

“This is the only route,” said Kelvin. “So if we want to reach Noam today, we'd better get going.” He hoisted his pack to his left shoulder and disappeared into the canyon. Marcus let his eyes wander upward to scan the heights of the jagged skyline gaping open like a set of hungry jaws. The sight made him shiver.

He turned to Clovis, who was nursing another bloody nose. “Ready to go?”

Clovis shook his head. “I'll be here a while, I'm afraid,” he said apologetically. “Why don't you go on ahead? I'll catch up later.”

Marcus felt almost guilty for accepting the offer. He was anxious to reach Noam before nightfall. And Clovis would soon follow, he reasoned. After a quick good-bye, he hurried to catch up to Kelvin.

Daylight seemed to vanish the moment Marcus entered the canyon. A strange whooshing sound echoed off the canyon walls as a gust of wind shot through with a powerful force. Kelvin waited just inside. The boys covered their faces with their capes until the air grew still. Then they ventured forward slowly, steadily.

The walls were so close together Marcus could stretch out his arms and brush his fingers along both sides. They felt smooth, like the flat, round stones he had found in the
old riverbed near his home, and they were covered in a thick layer of green algae.

“Zyll said this canyon is nearly as old as the island itself,” Marcus said. “Legend has it the mountain shook one day and split wide open like a melon.”

Kelvin shifted his pack from one shoulder to the other. “That's why it's legend. Look here.” He scraped away some algae with his knife, revealing a patch of smooth rock. “A sudden rift would have left rough surfaces, like when a stone heats up in the fire. Pour water on it, and it'll crack and break open. The inner surface is always coarse and uneven.”

“A ravine, then, made over time by moving water?” suggested Marcus.

“Maybe,” replied Kelvin, though his face expressed doubt. “But we're walking on dry ground. And there's no evidence of any river, even a dry one.” Kelvin replaced the dagger in its sheath. “The moisture seeps in through the cavern walls themselves. I believe we're passing through an underground reservoir. I just hope we make it through before sundown. Soon this place will be swarming with Grocs.”

“Grocs?” Marcus shuddered. “They wouldn't bother us, would they?”

“As a rule, they hunt in the mountains. But last week a merchant from one of the coastal villages was attacked not far from here.”

“Did he say what it was? What it looked like?” asked Marcus.

Kelvin shook his head. “The creature struck once, but it ran off before the merchant could get a good look at it. He showed me where it bit him, though,” added Kelvin. He held up his clenched right hand. “It took a chunk out of his thigh as big as my fist.”

The boys continued on, and though they were certain it was approaching midday, the air around them grew darker with each passing moment. Marcus's thoughts turned homeward. He tried to imagine what Zyll might be doing at that moment. Probably drawing water from the well, he realized, or preparing supper.

A little wave of melancholy passed through Marcus. “Do you think they'll miss you?” he asked Kelvin, more from a need to redirect his own thoughts than a need for an answer.

“Who?” Kelvin asked.

“Your mother and father. I saw you with them at the ceremony.”

Kelvin's pace remained steady. “They're not my mother and father.” His words were spoken as if stating a fact, no hint of emotion in his voice.

Marcus recalled that in all the years he had known Kelvin, the first time he had ever seen Mr. and Mrs. Archer was at the ceremony. Even at that momentous event, there was not the same affection between them as was visible between the other boys and their families. He had never considered the possibility that there might be another orphan beside himself in Quendel.

“If they aren't your parents, who are they?”

Before Kelvin could reply, a sharp and sudden cry stopped them in their tracks. Their hearts pounded so fast from the scare that Marcus thought they could almost hear one another's heartbeats.

“What was that?” he whispered. Kelvin held up a hand to silence him. Several yards ahead from where they stood, the walls curved so that their path was blocked from view. Neither boy dared to guess what might await them around the bend.

They did not have to wait long to find out.

elvin drew his dagger. Marcus placed his hand on his walking stick, preparing to draw the sword. They advanced slowly until a figure stepped into view.

The being that stood before them now was not at all the fierce monster Marcus had expected. Rather, it was nothing more than a little boy with hair black as ebony and eyes the color of amber. His face was gentle, beseeching, his clothes rags. The boy stepped forward, his hands held out in front of him. Kelvin's dagger remained poised.

“Stay there!” Kelvin demanded.

The child shrank back in fear. Marcus, embarrassed by Kelvin's behavior, started toward the boy, but Kelvin held him back.

“Who are you?” said Kelvin roughly.

The boy bowed his head in an expression of servitude. “I am sorry,” he said. His voice was soft and pleasing, like the gurgle of a gentle brook. “I did not wish to startle you. My name is Bryn. I have run out of food and water. I have no money, but I will work for it if you'll let me.”

There was something unusual about the boy, something Marcus could not quite put his finger on. He told himself to be wary, that these parts were known to be swarming with undesirable creatures. But despite his anxiety, he also felt drawn to the child's pitiable countenance and wanted to help him.

“Kelvin,” Marcus said, “we can spare a little food. He looks hungry.” But Kelvin remained rigid as a stone, a look of utter contempt in his face.

“We don't have enough for three,” Kelvin replied. “Move on, boy. Try your begging on someone else.”

Bryn threw up his hands in a pleading gesture and dropped to his knees. “Do not send me away, I beg of you! Here . . .” and the boy scrambled froglike past them to where a heap of dried moss lay in the dirt. “It makes good kindling! Let me gather it along the way for your evening fire.” He swept the entire bundle of moss into his arms and made as if ready to follow his new masters to the ends of the earth.

Marcus stepped between Bryn and Kelvin. “He's just a child,” he reasoned. “How much would he eat, really? Why not let him come along? He might be useful to us.”

Kelvin, grumbling, nodded his consent and sheathed his dagger. “Marcus, give him some bread if you like, but
if there is any trouble, any trouble at all, or if he slows us down—”

Bryn bowed so low to the ground that his breath disturbed the dust at his feet. “Thank you, good master. I will be no trouble, I promise.”

The three of them now continued their journey in the direction from which the boy had come. They had not gone far when another sound pierced the air. Xerxes' now-familiar shriek from the night before echoed against the canyon walls.