World's End (41 page)

The woman stood over him with a heavy branch in her hand. Kiril swept her feet out from underneath her and she landed heavily on her back. He looked up and saw the others were about fifty feet away.

A massive rumbling noise came from the razor hedges. One section of the hedges, perhaps twenty feet long, was swinging open like a giant door. The dagárgala had worked! Before him lay the maze to Jasber.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Resuza was now shooting at Kiril, but after several shots she appeared to be out of ammunition.

Kiril crouched down for cover and hid himself beside the unconscious body of the young woman. He gripped his khopesh and waited for his attackers. Hill arrived first, charging forward at great speed. Kiril lunged into the air like a missile, catching Hill off-guard, and slashed the blade of his khopesh across Hill's chest. Blood coated the blade and spattered Kiril's face. Hill uttered a deep groan and sank to the ground.

Just as Kiril anticipated, Alfonso went directly for Hill, dropped to one knee, and checked to see if his uncle was okay.

At that moment, the rumbling stopped. The gateway leading into the labyrinth was now fully open. Kiril was tempted to flee through it, but he knew he had to hold them off for a few seconds more.

Resuza dashed toward him, followed by Bilblox and an oversize wolf. Kiril swung the khopesh in a powerful arc toward Resuza. She leapt into the air and avoided the khopesh's blade, but landed off balance. In this moment of vulnerability, Kiril floored her with a roundhouse kick. The wolf snarled and leapt at Kiril's neck, but Kiril escaped the wolf's jaws at the last second. At that moment, Bilblox arrived, swung his club at Kiril, and struck the white-eyed man squarely in the chest, sending him backwards almost ten feet. Kiril landed inside the maze itself. Bilblox roared and followed him into the maze, with Kõrgu at his side. The rumbling sound restarted, and the gate to the labyrinth began to close.

"Where's Kiril?" gasped Hill. Alfonso had turned his uncle over so that he was lying face-up on the snow. Blood covered his entire chest and turned the surrounding snow a bright red. Hill tried to wipe his face, but his arm faltered halfway up and then dropped to the ground. "W-Where is he?"

Alfonso looked up and saw that Kiril was lying face-down in the snow, with Bilblox closing in.

"He's inside," explained Alfonso, "on the other side of the hedges. Bilblox is after him."

"Go after them," whispered Hill. "This is your chance; the door is closing."

Alfonso glanced up and saw that the gate was already a quarter of the way closed.

He shook his head.

Hill raised his head slightly off the ground. "GO," he said with as much strength as he could muster.

"It's okay," Resuza told Alfonso. She had just staggered back to her feet but was bent over, coughing violently. She had gotten the wind knocked out of her, but she seemed okay. Her eyes shone as she spoke to him. "Go on," she urged. "I'll take Hill back to the lighthouse and wait for you there."

The gate was now halfway closed. A noise nearby caught Alfonso's attention. It was the young, redheaded woman. She had regained consciousness and was crawling through the doorway into the maze.

"Hurry now," whispered Hill. "Stop Kiril. Find my brother."

Alfonso took a deep breath and darted through the doorway into the maze.

S
NOW FELL THICKLY
on the scene where the battle had just taken place. Resuza sank to her knees in the snow next to Hill and examined his wound. It was not deep, but it was long, stretching from the top of Hill's rib cage all the way down to his hip. There was a great deal of blood on Hill's clothing, but it did not appear as if any major veins or arteries had been severed. The real danger, Resuza concluded, was infection and loss of blood. She needed to treat the wound and then patch it up as quickly as possible.

"Can I get up now, my dear?" asked Hill, with a faint smile. "A man my age really shouldn't be lying in the snow. I'm bound to catch a cold." His smile disappeared. "It's so quiet. I'm worried about Alfonso and Bilblox. Even wounded and old, Kiril is a terrible enemy to have."

"We need to get you back to the lighthouse," said Resuza. She glanced up at the sky. Even darker storm clouds had moved in, and the wind had begun to pick up. Visibility would only get worse. They would have to find shelter, and fast. "Do you think you can walk?" asked Resuza.

"Of course I can walk," said Hill indignantly. "Let's get going."

Very shakily, Hill rose to his feet, leaving behind a puddle of blood-soaked snow. He stumbled a bit, and began limping back in the direction of the cliff. Resuza followed closely behind Hill, giving him support whenever he needed it, and watching with dismay as a steady trail of blood dripped after him.

When they reached the cliff, Resuza took a coil of rope out of her pack and fashioned a sling for Hill to sit in. "I am going to lower you down the cliff," said Resuza. "Are you ready for this?"

Hill nodded, winced in pain, and then stepped into the sling that Resuza had made. He maneuvered himself over the edge of the cliff and then Resuza began to lower him as slowly as she could. The whole process took almost an hour.

By the time Resuza made it to the bottom of the cliff as well, a true winter storm was raging. The snow was falling so heavily that Resuza could barely see Hill, who was standing just a few feet away. Sailing would be impossible, especially given that she'd have to sail by herself.

Leaving Hill sitting under a cliff overhang, Resuza searched the area and found a small cave about a hundred feet away, just above where the waves lapped against the shore. She struggled through knee-high snow and helped Hill to the shelter.

The cave was deep, narrow, and well protected from the wind. Best of all, the floor of the cave was covered with several long pieces of dry driftwood. At one point some kind of animal had probably made a nest here, but the animal appeared to be long gone. Resuza helped get Hill comfortable and then she built a fire. The heat felt wonderful and the cave warmed up rather quickly.

As the fire crackled, Resuza rummaged through her backpack and took stock of what she had. Hill must have been pondering the same question because, as she searched, he smiled wanly and asked about their supplies.

"Well," said Resuza. "We have a pot, a knife, honey, a bit of tea, a wool blanket, a needle and thread, some cooking supplies, and a small bit of salted pork."

"What kind of cooking supplies?" Hill whispered.

"Flour, salt, pepper, vinegar, garlic, and oil."

"Wonderful!" said Hill. "And do you have any lint in your pockets?"

Resuza nodded.

"Good, we can proceed," said Hill. He instructed her to boil a pot of water. Next she cut half a dozen strips of cloth from her blanket and then placed these strips of cloth in the boiling water in order to sterilize them. Once the strips were sterilized, she used them to clean Hill's wounds.

"Okay," said Hill. "Now I want you to spread that honey thinly across the length of the wound—it's a natural antibiotic. And then I want you to take the vinegar and garlic, mash it up, and cram that into the wound as well. Finally, stuff in a bit of lint. It'll help the wound seal."

"Are you serious?" asked Resuza.

"Quite serious," replied Hill. "Variations have been used since ancient times to fight the bubonic plague. I learned it in an air force survival course. Can you do it?"

Resuza nodded. It took her the better part of an hour to do everything Hill asked. Hill passed in and out of consciousness. Resuza tried to be as gentle as she could, but still Hill winced quite often.

"Thank you, my dear," said Hill with a kindly smile, when Resuza had finished. "Now I think I shall go take a brief nap and, perhaps, when I wake, we can have a spot of tea." Hill's eyes looked watery and feverish.

"All right," said Resuza. She was worried.

As Hill closed his eyes, Resuza walked to the mouth of the cave to peek outside. The wind was howling, snow was blowing sideways, and visibility was nil. They weren't going anywhere anytime soon. She threw a few more pieces of driftwood onto the fire and then reached into her pocket and pulled out Alfonso's sphere. She doubted that she would be able to use the sphere nearly as well as Alfonso did, but it was comforting to have it, especially given that she had run out of bullets during the fight with Kiril.

Resuza aimed the sphere toward the mouth of the cave and tossed it gently in that direction. It shot out of her hand, veered off to the left, ricocheted off the walls of the cave, caused several large rocks to fall—one of which nearly hit Resuza in the head—and then came back to her outstretched hand.

"Try not to kill yourself," whispered Hill. He was feverish and drifting in and out of sleep.

"I'm afraid I won't be much good with this," replied Resuza. She then held the sphere in the palm of her hand and spun it slightly, just as she had seen Alfonso do. The ball began to glow, and moments later the image of the one-eyed monk flickered across the surface of the sphere. At first the monk was engaged in completely normal activities. He peeled what looked to be an orange, and threw the peels into a nearby fire. However, he soon did something that commanded Resuza's rapt attention. The monk took a blue sphere out of the folds of his cloak that appeared identical to the one she held. The monk paused, nodded as if he had just made an important decision, and then tossed the sphere into a raging fireplace. Resuza let out an audible cry of disbelief.

"What did you see?" asked Hill softly.

"The monk was holding a sphere like this one and tossed it into a fire!"

"Hmm," said Hill. He stared up at the ceiling and pursed his lips.

"What is it?" asked Resuza.

"I just remembered a bit of verse," replied Hill.

"Verse?"

"Yes," said Hill. "The verse that was inscribed on the statue of the Cyclops where Alfonso found the sphere. In the Straszydlo Forest."

"How did it go?" asked Resuza. "Can you remember?"

"I can," replied Hill. He then cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and recalled the ancient words:

 

This old sphere may be pried.
Many a clever person has tried.
Remember how the Cyclops died.
Through the ear and not the eye.

What exactly does the future hold?
Its many secrets remain untold.
Hidden in the burning hot and biting cold.
Is the key to a future foretold.

 

"What do you suppose it means?" asked Resuza.

"Well, the first stanza provides the clues needed to unlock the sphere from the statue," replied Hill. "And I suppose the second stanza also provides clues, perhaps clues to revealing its true power."

"Do you think that we are meant to toss the sphere into the fire, just like the monk did?" asked Resuza.

"And then perhaps toss it into 'the biting cold'?" asked Hill as he raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, that must be it!"

"Hmm," said Hill. "My main concern is that the sphere is our only effective weapon. It's a gamble. If we destroy it, we would be defenseless."

Resuza looked at the sphere. She burned with curiosity but had no interest in returning a broken weapon to Alfonso. After all, it was the Great Sleeper's personal weapon. "I don't think we should try," she said.

"I agree," said Hill. "There's no reason to do so, and we're certainly not desperate." He smiled tiredly. "Not yet."

K
IRIL STAGGERED
down the narrow, snow-filled pathway. On both sides of the path loomed massive walls of razor hedges. He glanced backwards again and was relieved to see that no one was there.

It had been snowing for many hours and even though the maze was protected by branches overhead, quite a bit of snow had gotten through and accumulated in high drifts. Now at last the storm had eased, and in the hours before sunrise, a deep calm had fallen over the maze. It was a calm so complete and so enticing that Kiril was tempted to sit and rest. But he knew he couldn't. If he did so, it would only be a matter of time before he bled to death.

The puncture from the thorn was deep and bleeding steadily. Kiril had knotted a cloth tightly around his hand to cover the wound, but even so, he was steadily losing blood. In what seemed like only minutes, the cloth had turned red. Under other circumstances, if he were able to visit a modern hospital, he could simply get an infusion of a clotting factor that would quickly stop the bleeding. There were other remedies as well, remedies that he'd been using for centuries. There were certain herbs—like bilberry, grape seed extract, scotch broom, stinging nettle, witch hazel, and yarrow—that could be used by hemophiliacs to help them make their blood congeal. But none of that was available. The only thing that would save him now was the green ash of the Founding Tree of Jasber.

There was also another matter. Kiril was fighting off the temptation to eat one of the red lotus berries that grew on the hedges. Of course, he had taken some Uralian nightshade with him—and this herb could be used to break one's addiction to lotus berries—but it was an unreliable remedy. Kiril had neither the time nor inclination to take chances.

As he walked onward, he felt near death. The fight at the gate had taken a serious toll. Still, he was disciplined enough to sop up the blood to ensure he wouldn't leave a trail. His fevered mind thought of the person who taught him everything he knew about the razor hedges—his father, Kemal Spratic.

As a young man, Kiril's father had served as a labyrinth sweeper. Being a labyrinth sweeper was a highly coveted position in Jasber. These were the elite, the hardy few tough enough to fight off snow snakes and clever enough to deal with any intruders who had found their way into the maze. Kemal had distinguished himself in his service as a sweeper and this seemed to prove to everyone, especially the elders of Jasber, that he was capable of running the Jasber Gate, which he ultimately went on to do.