The Shaktra (30 page)

So they went right, and the cave began to twist and turn, and then they decided to backtrack, but they came to a fork in the road that they did not remember, and they went to the left. All the while their shackles jingled like pockets full of change, and the light of the lantern flickered like the rising and falling of their hopes.

Then they came to a sharp turn; they had to go right, no choice. Cindy held the lantern up high as they took the corner, but a flash of silver glistened in the dark, and the shadows abruptly wavered and then crashed into pitch black as Cindy let out a scream and the lantern disappeared.

A beam of white light exploded in their eyes.

Karl’s flashlight. Karl himself, grinning like a white ghost from a black grave.

He held his switchblade in his right hand, and it was stained with blood.

Although she gripped the injury, red fluid flowed from Cindy’s right wrist.

Without warning, Steve realized, he had cut her and she had dropped the lantern.

Reaching out, Karl pressed the tip of the blade close to Steve’s heart.

“Going somewhere?” he asked in his fiendish voice.

It was after dark when Ali went to visit Drash in the palace basement, in a storage area where sacks of grains and dried fruit were kept. From the look of the numerous torn burlap bags, it appeared he had helped himself to the fairies’ food—something she didn’t begrudge him in the slightest. Ali was both pleased and a little surprised that so many of the grains matched the ones on Earth. When Amma had fed her in her room, she had brought her a bowl of yogurt. Yet the berries buried in the yogurt had tasted like nothing she had ever put in her mouth before—sweeter than strawberries, more textured than blueberries, and possessing a soothing aftertaste that stayed with her long after she had emptied her bowl. Amma had called the berries jambis.

The hours had been long since she had seen Drash last, and he had already gone through his second change. His face had thinned out and lengthened, while his legs had grown and strengthened, and his tail was a wonder to behold—a long sharp sword that could decapitate a dozen scaliis with one stroke. However, it was in his eyes and nose that the biggest changes had occurred. Once again the red light had swelled in his pupils,
and now a steady orange flame burned in his nostrils. Yet he acted unhappy with his complex transformation.

“Drash can hardly blow a flame,” he said, tucked in the corner of the vast room.

“It will be there when you need it. These powers are like that.”

“You know this? You have
seen
this?”

Ali smiled. “You are doing well, you have nothing to worry about.”

Drash peered at her. “Have you found your mother yet?”

“No. We will have to go on, I warned you.”

“Drash is happy to go with Geea.”

“You like swimming now?”

“Still scares Drash, but exhilarating as well.” He added, “Drash would never have got in the water without your help. Not even with my father’s prodding.”

“Yes, you would have, had you not lost respect for your father. So much of your self-doubt comes from him. Don’t you see that?”

Drash nodded his dragon head. She could not even think of him as a koul now.

“Father mocked Drash when Drash failed the first test,” he said.

Ali patted his side. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Drash lowered his head. “Best to forget.”

“Have you had enough to eat?”

“Yes.”

Ali sighed. “I must go visit with the fairies who have been hiding here. They want to see me with their own eyes, so that they know that I’m still alive. Trae insists on it.”

“Why do you sigh?”

“I don’t know what to say to them to give them hope.”

“Is hope a good idea?” Drash asked.

The question stayed with Ali as she returned to the upper levels of the palace. But before she went to see the fairies, she stopped at an open window on the south side of the palace and stared out at the rest of Uleestar and got her first good look at Karolee itself—the fairy land surrounding the island. The soft blue light of the moon was enough to show that much of Uleestar was made up of simple white-walled structures that were arranged like vacation homes along the shore of a Greek island. In reality, Ah” had never been to the Aegean Sea, but she had always wanted to go and had studied several travel books on the area.

Yet she felt Karolee was even more beautiful than the Greece in the brochures, for there was space between the homes, and gardens everywhere with colored flowers from every part of the rainbow, and flowing water, and grass, simple grass, that nevertheless grew six feet tall. . . .

How lovely, she thought. How much like home.

The contrast with Karolee only added to the beauty of the area, for the majority of the fairy kingdom appeared to be a redwood forest. With the aid of Anglar’s enchanting rays, she could see the trees stretching for miles up and down valleys, around dozens of meadows. And these redwoods were not a thousand feet tall, but maybe three times that, and their branches, as they climbed toward the stars, were like wise welcoming arms.

Unfortunately, in more places than she could count, the trees had been crushed.

“The Shaktra attacked our land first, coming in force over the sea from the Isle of Greesh. The scaliis, the dragons, the crashing ice
—
they were an irresistible black wave.”

Sighing, Ali went in search of her people.

Trae had gathered the fairies in a windowless inner room that was filled with sofas and rugs and some of the finest paintings in
the palace. There was one of a sheltered blue-green lagoon surrounded with soft sand and haunting trees that made her chest ache for simpler times. Yet Trae said it was a painting of the far side of the Isle of Greesh, from whence the Shaktra had come.

The faces of the fairies shone as she entered and sat on a silk-draped seat at the front of the room. Candles burned in the corners, she smelled incense. So many green eyes, so much red hair, and the love—she could feel their devotion pouring over her like a wave. Unfortunately, she felt so unworthy. She could not even remember them. She was but a thirteen-year-old human girl, and times were desperate. She had brought nothing back from the yellow world to save them, except perhaps the Yanti, which she had so far failed to master.

They didn’t care. They just wanted to look at her and thank her for the sacrifice she had made when she had decided to become human. That troubled her as well. She did not know that her being human helped anyone. The subtleties of Geea’s plan eluded her, and she was Geea. Could anything be more maddening?

What was she to say? She told them about her life in Breakwater, and how she came to meet Paddy, and how the trolls almost killed her when they buried her with an avalanche of rock and gravel, and how she passed the first trial and the subsequent tests. She told them in detail about her friends, their adventure climbing the mountain, her battle with Radrine, and how she finally managed to turn back Lord Vak’s army. The longer she spoke, the more comfortable she felt, and the fairies smiled and sighed at every turn in the tale, but mostly they just gazed at her with unblinking eyes, and let her voice travel deep inside them. Not once did they interrupt to question her. Not once did they look away.

At the end of the meeting she went around the room and hugged everyone, and the fairies were astounded. They had
never touched their queen before. What hope she gave them, she was not sure, but the way they held on to her when she put her arms around them—she felt as if their faith in her would never waver. They
knew
that she
knew
what she was doing.

And here she hadn’t a clue. . .

By this time her friends were asleep in rooms Trae had found for them, and so she returned to her own bedroom. She knew the next day would be long, and she wanted to get as much rest as possible. The cream Amma had applied to her palm continued to work its magic. She could honestly say the pain was less than a quarter of what it had been.

In her room she went through her things, hoping they would trigger old memories, but she was disappointed how little came back to her. Her hairbrush she remembered—it had only to be pulled through her hair once and all the knots and tangles disappeared. And there was a special drawer in her closet where she kept her jewels, but the diamond necklaces and the emerald bracelets held no attraction for her. She thought of giving the whole collection to Paddy. Trae had told her earlier that the leprechaun had insisted on sleeping with his ten pots of gold.

It was the stardust that drew her the most, and frightened her as well. Clearly she had left it in such an obvious place for a reason. Geea—the real Geea—had wanted her to find it. Yet Ali sensed truth in Amma’s warning. The blue powder could bring back all of her old powers, or it could kill her.

How it tempted her!

Eventually, she laid down on her bed, under the blankets. The room was a fine temperature, and she had only to think that she wanted the light to lower, and the crystal cubes in the corners emitted less light. Her right hand continued to throb quietly, but she was able to ignore it. Yet with her eyes closed, in the dark,
she saw vague but disturbing images of Cindy and Steve that were not so easy to push away.

They were in a cave, also in the dark, and they were in danger. Karl was near, as was Nira, and a third person—but this last individual she could not see at all. She only sensed their disturbing presence, as she might sense a perilous hole in the center of a nighttime path. Yet Ali did not know if the whole thing was just her imagination. How could Cindy and Steve be in a cave?

Yet she had not forgotten what she had glimpsed in Nira’s eyes.

I was walking toward the bus, and I turned and saw something, inside her mind. . .
.

Like a record of someone who was meant to die.

No, she told herself, no death was destined. Her friends were fine.

Ali eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.

And she dreamed a piece of the beginning, and a portion of the end.

Jira, son of Lord Vak, elven prince, and her lover, was excited to be on the Isle of Greesh to see the ancient ruins the others had spoken of, but for Geea, as they slowly descended the long shaft that led deep into the island’s solid underbelly, she felt only dread. Jira knew of her intuition, and normally respected it, but today he brushed off her concerns as unimportant.

“This is the discovery of our time,” he said, standing tall and strong in the center of the creaking elevator that the fairies above were slowly lowering into the heart of Greesh’s only peak. Jira was handsome, a powerful warrior, and it was for neither of those reasons that she loved him. Jira had earned her love because he
was
love—he would do anything for her.

Geea pointed to the black walls of the shaft. “The ground is hard here because there is an exceptional amount of iron in it. Does that tell you something?”

“That this peak was once volcanic?” Jira said.

“No. Whatever volcano existed here, it was millions of years ago, when the island formed. This iron did not come out of the ground. It came from the sky.”

He grinned. “Is this a joke?”

“No.” She tapped the dark wall of the shaft. “A large meteor must have crashed here long ago. The hill at the center of this island is built on top of it.”

“That’s only a theory of yours.” Jira added, “The meteor would have incinerated itself when it hit here.”

She held his eye. “But it didn’t. Nor did it incinerate what Doren has discovered. So maybe it did not crash-land here. Maybe it landed gently.”

“Are you suggesting your sister’s discovery is from . . . elsewhere?”

“Yes.”

Jira chuckled. “You have an imagination, Geea, I grant you that.”

She did not laugh. The shaft was warm but Geea shivered. “This place does not feel good. Many people lived here once, but when they died, it was not in a natural way.”

“What do you mean?”

“This place is alive with pain, but it is the pain of the dead.” Geea paused, feeling the cold going deeper inside. It did not come from the air, but the walls themselves, and it was not related strictly to temperature. She added, “Right here, long ago—I think many people killed themselves.”

“That’s impossible, no one would do that.”

Geea shook her head. “Look at what is happening in the yellow world and tell me that is impossible.”

They reached the bottom of the shaft. A narrow cave, lit by torches and dusted with black soot, waited for them. Jira went first—there was hardly room for one—and she followed closely. Their goal was a temple that had recently been uncovered in the last few weeks, and which they had heard was filled with magical artifacts their own civilization could not duplicate. So far, it was said, only a few fairies had been inside, and they spoke about it in hushed tones. Geea had no real idea what they were going to see.

They came to the massive stone door of the temple, and Geea saw the ropes and pulleys that had been set up to allow them to pull back the heavy gateway. But then she saw that the door had markings on it, a circular mandala with an unusual design. At first it reminded her of the Yanti, but it had six sides, not seven, and the inner triangle had been sliced down the middle with a splintered line. There was no central dot, no perfect place to hold the attention. To Geea, it was as if the temple’s symbol had been designed using pieces of what was sacred to all elementals, but the pieces had been altered, if not corrupted. A troubling weakness entered her chest as she stared at the strange mandala. She pointed it out to Jira.

“A monster made this,” she said.

Jira smiled. “There are no monsters, Geea.”

She spoke in a soft voice, still staring at the mandala. “You haven’t explored the seven doors—especially what lies beyond the red door.” She added, “There are things there you could not imagine.”

Jira lost his smile. “You have seen them with your own eyes?”

She did not want to answer his question because she did not
want to lie to him. Besides, it was not her place to speak of the dark fairies to any elf—even the one she loved. She nodded to the mandala. “The fairies who work and dig here did not tell us what’s in this temple because they couldn’t,” she said.