A Hero's Curse (12 page)

I am about to say, “I don’t know,” when Tig flicks me with his tail. I stop with my mouth half open. I can’t see what other useful information we could get from the Urodela. I don’t even have anyone I can give the information to. Mom and Dad are in the camps or fighting a rebellion or worse, something I don’t let myself think about. No one I know will stop to listen about the theories a fragile salamander-like race have about what King Mactogonii was doing under the Valley of Fire.

“That sounds like that might be it,” I say, with as much conviction as I can muster. “I’ll take the news of an abandoned city under your marshes and tell the people in the Kingdom of Mar.” I try to make it sound official and daring, but when it comes out, it is flat and sounds like I am trying to cut the meeting short so we can leave. Which is exactly what I want.

“Anything else?” I ask. I am suddenly weary. The task seems insurmountable for a champion. What can I contribute?

“No, Lady Essie Brightsday. There is nothing else.” Cheep sounds defeated, too. More chirps. Cheep takes my hand and leads us out of the meeting room. I think idly about the king, my new pants, and magic. Cheep only mentioned the magic that gave him mastery of Lingua Comma, which makes me think of Tig again. How does Tig speak Lingua Comma? It sounds like the same spell, but by whom? The king? I wonder absently if there could be more. I wonder if we found the king could magic restore my sight?

I force myself to listen to Cheep. He issues several whistling chirrups to a passing Urodela and then switches to Lingua Comma. “I’m sorry for asking so much of you. We’re usually much more generous to guests. But our people don’t have enough to live on, and we’re grabbing at any ray of hope.” I don’t reply.

“You’ve sure kept me busy as interpreter for a couple of days anyway,” Cheep says.

“Glad we could make you feel important again,” Tig says.

“Tig,” I admonish. But it is a half-hearted rebuke.

Cheep doesn’t reply, but he grips my finger a little tighter. We are on the far side of the large cavern, opposite the lake. Now that I am aware of it, the moss here does have a slightly crisp feel, like grass in late summer, not dead yet but done growing.

“Tell me again how we are leaving tomorrow,” I say.

“We will escort you as close as we can to the Red Giants. Climb down the Watangua Falls gap and from there travel along the bottom of the cliffs and over the dunes. You should find low hills. Those are a part of your kingdom. Cross those and you will be looking into your own valley. It is a long way, but anything is safer than trying to go through the Valley of Fire.”

I don’t like it. But I am still stiff where the long scab runs down my arm and my left side. I know I nearly died in the Valley of Fire. I won’t go there again—ever. “Okay,” I say. “We’ll do it. We’ll climb down the cliffs and around the Valley of Fire. How long will that take us?”

“It will take you a day to climb the cliffs. From there, I don’t know. You humani walkers move differently than we move. We think it will cost you one night in the Gray Wasteland before you make it back to your own kingdom, but it could be two or three. Then perhaps another couple of days back to your valley.”

“Hmm . . .” purrs Tig from just ahead of us. “There’s a lot of ‘I don’t know’ and ‘we think it might be’ in those directions. That could be the difference between ‘happily ever after,’ and ‘oops, I’ve died a horrible death,’” Tig says in his dry monotone.

“Can you find out more?” I ask Cheep.

“I can try,” says Cheep. We make our way back and are shut into our room just after Cheep shuffles off, hopefully to get more information for tomorrow’s start. As soon as the door is closed I start pulling off the moss cast on my arm. It comes apart in tufts, and I spend the next half hour massaging the stiffness out of my arm.

“Too bad he’s not a pretentious know-it-all,” says Tig in a sad voice. He’s sitting in front of me, watching me work on my arm.

“Like you?” I ask.

“At least then we wouldn’t die in the desert somewhere between ‘one night—oh wait, its two—oh no, I mean three.’ You know, you should thank me that you haven’t ever died some ghastly death brought about by profound ignorance.”

I grab my little pack and go through the contents with my fingers. “I like Cheep’s humility and his honesty. It’s a rare and refreshing thing.”

Tig hops up on the bed next to me. “Yes, I’m a know-it-all. At least anything worth knowing. And you’re welcome,” Tig says in a hurt voice.

Hearing Tig call himself a know-it-all makes me laugh out loud. The rock basilisk’s screams and our run through the Valley of Fire seem far away. The tension of the morning and the weight of the Urodela’s request dissolve, at least for the moment. I can’t help myself; I laugh until my sides hurt. Whenever my laughing slows to a giggle I replay Tig’s injured tone, and the laughing starts all over. It’s good to have a cat that can make me laugh.

“If you lose one of your senses your other senses are enhanced, right?” I hiccup.

“They could be, yes,” says Tig suspiciously.

“I’m just trying to figure out what sense you’re losing since you’ve got such an incredible sense of self-importance.” I can’t even finish the sentence without cracking up again.

I
have dumped my pack out on the bed and am re-packing when Cheep returns in the morning. Two days. That’s what Cheep confirms as to how long it will take us to get home after we are down the Red Giants. I wonder if they took all of their numbers and averaged them. I don’t think any of them really know. They fled what was their home, now the Gray Wasteland, a long time ago. Many of them are a new generation who don’t even remember the marshlands or the cliffs.

“When can we leave?” I ask.

Cheep issues a sad squeak. “This is all you can do to save Crypta then?”

I chew my bottom lip. “I can’t save anybody, Cheep. I don’t even know if we can make it home.” He shuffles in front of me. “I’ll tell my Mom and Dad,” I promise. “He was Kingdom Champion and is a part of the rebellion. He’ll look into it.” I hope it doesn’t sound as flat as it feels.

Cheep shuffles again and then changes his tone abruptly. “Of course. I recommend you leave this morning. The sun will be coming up soon in the Valley of Fire, and it will be safest for you to get out of the lava flow and down the cliffs before night falls. The lassertilla like to hunt at dusk.”

He turns and shuffles awkwardly out of the room. I hear him hesitate at the door. “The queen has directed you be given provisions for your journey home. They will be brought shortly.”

I call out, “Thank you, Cheep,” but there is no response. He’s gone. A few minutes later several chirruping Urodela enter the room and drop off packages. They are as cheerful as ever, and I even get a couple of “hellos” called back to our room as they leave.

I smell the packages, wrapped in dry mossy cloth. They smell good. I can tell we have mushrooms, fruit, and maybe even spider legs. Those will be for Tig. I decide not to unwrap them—my wrapping skills are untidy, and I can tell this has been packaged to preserve as much moisture as possible. The boots are back. Inside they are made of the same soft leather as my leggings, but they are much lighter than they were two days ago. I feel them carefully and decide the Urodela have taken off much of the plate armor that was sewn into them to be able to cut them down properly. I push my feet into them and am surprised that they fit fairly well. The left one is a little tight on my toes. I make a mental note to dip both of my feet in water before we leave. The leather will stretch and mold to my feet during a long day of walking. I have loved being barefoot in Crypta. I sigh inwardly and try to wiggle my toes again.

I stow everything in our pack and turn to try on the leather and plate shirt again. It is still way too heavy and awkward.

“I can’t use this, Tig.”

“Well, let me try it on,” he says.

I give him a wry smile. “I wish I could wear it. I think all of it is laced with some kind of magic.”

“What could have given you that idea?” says Tig, a little bitterly.

“Careful! You’re dripping sarcasm everywhere,” I tease. “It’s making a mess.” I chuckle and shrug the leather armor off. “I’ll just leave it here, I guess.” I give it a half fold and put it at the head of the bed. Then I pull Tig to me, and we wait for our guides.

It’s Cheep. He pads back into the room with the Urodela’s distinctive gait. “Ready?” he asks. We are. We go around the city, passing the underground lake and the lazy ripple of the Mar’s outlet. Being under the Valley of Fire in the Kingdom of Crypta for the last time, my mind screams that there is so much to talk about, so many questions to ask but any kind of conversation just feels like we are avoiding yesterday’s issues, so I bite my tongue. The tunnel out of Crypta is damp and the stone hard after the soft moss of the city.

I miss Crypta already, but I miss home worse. I’m afraid I might have missed my parents. They might have come looking for me, and I wasn’t there to meet them. We have to get home. We have been gone three whole days. I feel my pack rubbing against my lower back. It’s heavy again. Most of the weight is from the Urodela’s packages and rusty, lava-tasting water from the Mar in dried gourds and a water skin.

Our directions are easy: drop off the Red Giants and head south, hugging the cliffs on our left, but not too close because of the numerous caverns at the base of the cliffs. When we reach the end of the wall of lava we’ll swing east. That’s where the cliffs turn into the broken teeth of the Valley of Fire. Then it’s a straight shot home, the Valley of Fire always on our left and the sea somewhere far to our right.

We travel steadily all morning. I can tell the tunnel is coming to an end. The air gets drier. I smell the tangy dust of the lava rock floating around us, which tells me some kind of air is moving through the tunnels. And then we’re there. At the mouth of the tunnel with a short walk to the Red Giants. We say goodbye to Cheep. Except it’s not “we,” so much as it’s just me.

Cheep is stiff and formal and barely says a word. He really is hurt that we aren’t doing something to save Crypta. Tig isn’t talking to Cheep because he thinks the Urodela are being rude cowards for asking me to do something they won’t do. His words, not mine.

“Goodbye, Cheep,” I say. “Thank you for—” I stop midsentence. I don’t want to say, “saving my life,” because then I’ll really sound ungrateful for not trying to do anything for Crypta.

“—for everything,” I finish. I pat him on the head.

“Goodbye,” says Cheep. I shrug my pack a little higher and slip out of the tunnel mouth.

We’ve only gone a few steps when Cheep calls out, his tone apologetic. “I know you can’t save Crypta.” He pauses as I turn to face him. “It’s just . . . we didn’t have much hope left before you came. And then . . . take care of yourself, Essie Brightsday. May you reach your destination safely.” I hear him slip back into the tunnel and his soft shuffling footsteps soon disappear. Tig flicks me with his tail, and I turn to follow.

The tunnel mouth doesn’t open up at the cliffs. We have to trek another half hour to the edge. It might not sound like much in theory, but this is rock basilisk country, these are lava fields, and I’m blind. Ten feet can be a long way. With every step my heart is in my throat. I hear scrambling, but it is my own new boots in the lava rock. I wiggle my toes in the boots. Like my leggings they feel made for treks through the Valley of Fire: soft skin on the inside, tough hide on the outside. They feel good, but then I’ve only been wearing them for an hour. Also, I can’t feel through them like I could my soft leather shoes. I am a bit awkward, and I even lose my balance once. Even though it’s only been a few minutes it feels like we have been trekking for hours when we reach the edge.

I haven’t sensed anything around us. No hunters. Except for a group of arcus vultures a long way off to the east and north, Tig hasn’t spotted anything. We’re safe for the moment. When we reach the Red Giants we pause on a ledge. It feels good to have the hot sun on my face again. I enjoy the feeling of the wind whipping my hair and tunic, trying to throw me off balance.

“We’re too high to feel it here, but down in the valley the dust looks terrible,” says Tig. “I can’t even see the floor in a lot of places.”

I groan inside. Yay. Just what I love: dust in my nose, grit in my mouth, and dirt caked around my eyes. Maybe I finally have an advantage over those who can see, though. I can’t see the terrifying nothingness between myself and the ground, far, far below. I can’t see the dangerous dead ends, the crumbling shards at precarious angles, the dark and menacing shadows tucked in the red-black rock that might house creatures unknown. I can’t see the dangerous winds that alternatively suck and push against the cliff face, blowing arcus vultures off their course. I can’t see the floor of the desert far below, strewn with house-sized boulders, fallen from the cliffs in terrific rock slides. I could be facing a field of wildflowers. Tig assures me that I’m not and describes every detail.

We sit for a while on the edge of the cliffs, just getting used to the feel of being out in the open again. The sun gets uncomfortably warm on my back. It’s still rising, meaning we must have left earlier this morning than I thought. I can feel the breeze change temperature and shift as the hot air moves in for the day. I taste the dry saltiness of the desert and the bitter taste of lava dust. It tickles my nose and hints at ash. “Is something burning?”

“The whole plain in front of us was burnt a long time ago,” says Tig. No sarcasm. “It’s just gray now. I welcome you, Essie Brightsday,” he says in a triumphant voice, “to the Gray Wastelands and the Cliffs of Utter Despair.”

“The Urodela called them the Red Giants,” I say.

“Hey, the Kingdom of Mar doesn’t have a name for them, I think we can name them whatever we want, and they’ll sketch it into the maps as soon as we get back.”

“Okay,” I concede. “In that case, how about, The Giant’s Step?”

“How about Death Rising?” says Tig.

“How about Red Fire Cliffs?” I ask.

“How about Suicide Turn?”

“I think I’m done.”

“Right,” says Tig.

“The sun and the wind feel good,” I say.

“The sun is rising,” says Tig. “It’s a red ball of fire behind us, and the dust below is scattering the rays in a hundred different patterns and swirls. It looks like there were trees down there at one time.”

I try to imagine that much of the color red by amplifying the blur of red from Mom’s dress. It must be incredible. “It sounds beautiful.”

“It is.”

“Deadly though,” I say.

“I’m sure. I’m glad we have the hard part behind us.”

“Really?” As soon as the word slips out I could kick myself for responding. I know better. I can feel his smirk.

“Tig, stop being irritating.”

“Can’t.”

“Oh, that’s right. So what
do
you see? Spare no detail, and don’t go easy on me.” I hear Tig stop licking his paw.

“Okay. It’s an oasis—without the water, flowers, or birds. We’re in luck as far as sand and trees. Unfortunately it looks like the trees have all been burnt or something, they almost look like stone—”

“The Stone Forest,” I whisper, recalling Uncle Cagney’s stories told about the battle of the same name.

“I don’t want to give you the wrong impression,” continues Tig, “there probably are animals there. Just not the kind we want to meet. The cliff itself is a work of art. A dark wall of red and black stone that juts up out of the desert like a shipwreck. I would be cautious on this deathtrap, and I’m a cat.”

“Thanks, Tig. That’s better. Although you shouldn’t color everything to make it sound nice for me. Just tell me how it is in the future.”

“Right,” says Tig, “no pampering the girl. Got it. It’s a burning sand and petrified rock wasteland with terrible creatures, and you wouldn’t last a day trying to cross it.”

“Well, we better not try to cross it then.” I think back to the Urodela’s request—it probably would have involved trying to trek this thing if we knew that was how to find the king. I still feel guilty. The desert proves we can’t do anything about it. It makes me feel better, but only slightly. I think of the long way down the cliff, and how much easier it would be if I could see. I shrug off the feeling. It can’t be helped, and I can’t let myself think that way.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I say.

“I’m not,” says Tig.

That makes me grin again. “Let’s go. I don’t want you to get sunburnt.”

“Me first,” says Tig. So we go over the edge. A little slowly, but then, I don’t think I want to take the quick way down these cliffs.