Deltora Quest #8: Return to Deltora (9 page)

T
he forge was dark, desolate. The Shadow Lord’s brand was on the gate. But there was shelter, heat, water. And, for the moment, there was safety.

They lit a fire and wrapped Doom in blankets. They gave him Queen Bee honey and bathed his wounds. At last he seemed to rouse. His eyelids flickered, opened. He stared blankly at the flames leaping in the fireplace.

“Where …?” he mumbled huskily. He put his hand to his throat, and then to the swelling on his forehead.

“Do not try to speak,” Lief whispered. Doom turned his head to look at him. His eyes were confused, without recognition.

“The blow on his head was severe,” said Jasmine, pacing the room restlessly. “He needs to recover.”

“Time is what we do not have.” Barda moved to the window and peered cautiously through the curtains.
“When they realize we have escaped, they will look here, for certain. We must move very soon.”

But Lief was watching Doom. The man was staring around the room, his brow creased in a puzzled frown as his gaze lingered on tables, chairs, cushions. It was as though the place was somehow familiar to him. Then he caught sight of Jasmine. His face lightened. His lips moved.

“Jasmine!” Lief hissed. “Come, quickly.”

Jasmine hurried to the fire and crouched beside Doom. He raised a hand and touched her cheek. His lips moved again. The words were faint, so faint they could hardly be heard.

“Jasmine. Little one. You … have grown so like her. So like … your mother.”

Jasmine jerked away from him, shaking off his hand as if it was a spider. “How would you know this? My mother is dead!” she cried angrily.

“Yes. My dear love … dead.” Doom’s face creased with grief. His eyes filled with tears. Lief’s heart gave a great leap.

“Jasmine …” he whispered.

But Jasmine, half sobbing, had turned away.

Doom’s eyes had closed once more. But again he spoke. “They … refuse refuge, dear heart,” he mumbled, his fingers curling as though he were crumpling a note in his hand. “We … must turn back … go east of Del, instead of west …”

Lief held his breath, realizing that Doom was
reliving a time long forgotten. The blow to his head had unlocked the door in which memory had lain.

“We must,” Doom murmured. “The news … Guards … waiting on the western road. All the women with child — killed. We will go east … to the Forests. They will not think of looking for us there.” He paused, and seemed to listen. His mouth curved into a tender smile as a beloved voice spoke to him in memory.

Jasmine had turned around. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. Filli made tiny, worried sounds and Kree clucked unhappily. Absently, she put her hand up to her shoulder to soothe them, but her eyes were fixed on Doom.

“Danger?” Doom sighed. “Yes, dear heart. But all is danger now. We will take care. We … will survive. Our child will be safe. Grow strong, until it is time …”

Lief’s heart was hammering in his chest. He could scarcely breathe. He saw that Barda had turned from the window and was staring in wonder.

Doom’s head moved restlessly. “Little one … Jasmine …”

Jasmine put her hand in his. “I am here, Father,” she said softly.

Doom tried to open his eyes once more, but his lids were heavy. “Poor, brave little girl child,” he murmured. “No playmates but the birds and animals. No playthings but the ones the Forests could provide. No books, no comfort. And fear … always fear. So many times we wondered if we had done right. We did not regret our
choices for ourselves. But for you …” His voice trailed off. He was slipping once more into sleep.

“I was happy, Father,” Jasmine brushed angrily at her tears. “I had you and Mamma. I had games, songs, rhymes.” She tugged at Doom’s sleeve, trying to rouse him. “One rhyme I loved especially, because it had pictures,” she babbled. “You gave it to me, Father. Remember?”

Doom made no reply. Desperately she released his hand and began rummaging in the pockets of her jacket. Her treasures spilled upon her lap — feathers and threads, a broken-toothed comb, a scrap of mirror, coins, stones, bark, scraps of paper … At last, she found what she was looking for. The oldest paper of all — grubby, and folded many times.

Carefully she unfolded it, and shook it in front of Doom’s unconscious face. “I still have it,” she cried. “See?”

Scarcely able to believe what he was seeing, Lief looked up to meet Barda’s eyes. Endon’s childhood rhyme. The rhyme that told of the secret way into the palace. Repeated in this very room by Lief’s father when the story of Endon and Sharn’s escape was told. Here was the one proof that could not be denied. And Jasmine had been carrying it, all along.

His mind flew back to that moment at Withick Mire, when the seven tribes had sworn on the Belt. He had known then,
known
, that the heir was present.

And he had been right.

With shaking fingers he took the Belt of Deltora from his waist. He touched Jasmine’s arm. She turned to him, her face anguished. He held out the Belt.

Her eyes widened in shock as she understood him. She shrank away, shaking her head.

“Jasmine, put it on!” Barda thundered. “Doom is Endon. You are his daughter. You are the heir to Deltora!”

“No!” Jasmine cried. She shook her head again, scrambling away from Lief as Kree screeched, fluttering on her shoulder. “No! It cannot be! I do not want it! I cannot do it!”

“You can!” Lief urged. “You must!”

She stared at him defiantly for a single moment. Then, her face seemed to crumple. She crawled to her feet and stood waiting. Lief went to her and, holding his breath, looped the Belt around her slim waist, fastened it …

And nothing happened. The Belt did not flash, or shine. Nothing changed. With a great, shuddering sigh Jasmine pulled at the clasp and the Belt dropped to the floor at her feet.

“Take it back, Lief,” she said dully. “I knew it was wrong.”

“But — but it cannot be wrong!” Lief stammered. “You are the heir!”

“And if I am,” Jasmine said, still in that same, dead voice, “then all we have been told about the Belt is false. Doom — my father — has been right all along. We have pinned our lives, and our hopes, on a myth. An old tale made for people who wanted to believe in magic.”

Barda slumped into a chair and buried his face in his hands.

Lief stooped and picked up the Belt from the floor. As he fastened it about his waist once more, he felt numb. Why had the Belt not shone? Was it because Jasmine was unwilling?

Or — was the Belt itself at fault? Could one of the gems be false? No. The Belt had warmed to each of the gems in turn. It had sensed them. It knew them.

He moved away from the fire, away from the silent Barda, and Jasmine kneeling beside the sleeping Doom. He wandered out of the room, into the darkness beyond. Then he felt his way to his own small room, and lay down on the bed, hearing its familiar creak.

The last time he had woken in this room, it had been his sixteenth birthday. The boy who had lain here then seemed a stranger …

He leaped up, shocked, as there was a crash and a shout from the front of the house.

“I have him!” bawled a rough voice. “Now, the girl! The girl!”

Lief stumbled blindly towards the bedroom door, drawing his sword, hearing with horror the sound of smashing glass, cursing, the thumping of heavy boots. Kree was screeching wildly.

“Mind the bird!” roared another voice. “Ah — you devil!”

Desperately, Lief hugged the wall, feeling his way towards the sound.

“Keep away!” shrieked Jasmine. “Keep away! There are only three of us here, and there are ten of you! Ten!”

Lief froze. Jasmine was warning him that it would be useless to try to interfere. Warning him to keep away, and at the same time making the Guards think that only she, Doom, and Barda were in the house.

He heard a grunt of pain, then the sound of a sharp slap. “That’ll teach you to bite!” a Guard snarled. “Three of you, yes! Just where Fallow said you’d be. And one of you out cold. Easy pickings!”

There was a shout of laughter, and the sound of bodies being dragged across the floor. Then … there was silence.

Lief waited a few moments, then crept to the living room. The fire still crackled brightly. Warm light flickered over a scene of ruin. Furniture had been thrown everywhere in the struggle. Both windows had been smashed.

Kree hunched on an overturned chair. As Lief approached him, he turned his head and squawked hopelessly.

Lief gripped the hilt of his sword till his knuckles turned white. Suddenly, he was full of a cold anger. “I could not save them, either, Kree,” he said. “But it does not end here.”

He held out his arm, and Kree fluttered to him. At almost the same moment, through the broken windows came the sound of loud, clanging bells. Lief’s stomach churned. He knew what that meant. He had heard the bells before.

“The people are being summoned to the palace, Kree,” he said grimly. “And we must go there, too. But not to stand outside the walls with the rest. We must get inside.”

He walked to the fireplace and picked up the worn scrap of paper that Jasmine had dropped on the rug. Carefully he refolded it and put it in his pocket.

It was time for the bear to be woken once more.

T
he chapel was cold and empty as Lief crawled from the secret tunnel and slid the marble tile that had concealed it back into place. Shivering, he pushed open the chapel door and climbed the dark steps beyond, with Kree perched firmly on his arm.

Lief had no plan. No plan at all. But somehow it seemed right that he was here. Where this story began, so it will end, he thought. One way or another.

He peered from the darkness of the steps into the huge space beyond. The ground floor of the palace seemed deserted. But echoing down the vast stairway which wound up to the top floors was a distant, murmuring sound. The sound of a huge crowd.

Lief knew where the sound was coming from. It was floating through the huge open windows of the great hall on the first floor. The people of Del were thronging the hill beyond the palace garden. They were looking up
at the Place of Punishment. This was a wooden platform supported on great poles, stretching all the way from the windows of the great hall to the wall that ringed the palace garden. The flag of the Shadowlands, a red hand on a grey background, hung from a flagpole directly above it.

The Place had been built when the Shadow Lord came. The sight of it, even from a distance, had chilled Lief from babyhood. For even tiny children were forced to witness the executions that took place there, and forbidden to turn their heads away. The Shadow Lord wanted all in Del to know the price of rebellion.

And so they did. Once or twice a year they saw terrible sights at the Place of Punishment, and in between those times it remained a constant reminder. The ground below it was heaped with bones. The wall was spiked with skulls. And the edge of the platform itself was hung with a thick fringe of dangling, rotting bodies, each branded with the Shadow Lord’s mark.

“People of Del! Behold these traitors!” Lief gripped his sword as the thin, penetrating voice echoed faintly down the stairway. Fallow himself was standing on the Place, addressing the crowd. Usually, one of the Grey Guards conducted the executions. But this, of course, was a special occasion.

Running the secret way, Lief had reached the palace very quickly. Toiling the long way, up the hill, the Guards who had raided the forge could not yet have arrived. But Fallow had six other examples to show the
crowd while he waited for news of the capture of those he wanted the most.

Rapidly, Lief looked around him. He knew that there was no chance of reaching the Place from inside the palace. Guards and palace servants always clustered in the windows that edged the platform.

But from what his father had told him, he knew that the kitchens were near. And they would be empty, for all the servants would be upstairs. He could run through the kitchens, outside, and around to where the Place towered. He could climb one of the poles that supported the stage from below.

But — the Place was always well lit. The Guards who stood at the platform’s edge would see him the moment his head appeared. They would all have blisters ready in their slings, too, and plentiful supplies in boxes behind them. It was their task to hurl blisters into the crowd at any sign of disobedience.

“If only I could fly like you, Kree,” he muttered, glancing at the bird perched rigidly on his arm. “Then I could surprise them from above.”

Kree blinked, and cocked his head. Then Lief saw what he must do.

In moments he was in the open air. The dark red clouds hung heavily overhead, casting an eerie glow over the earth. He could hear Fallow’s voice clearly.

“… joined in a plot to overthrow our great leader. A plot doomed to failure, as all such evil is doomed.”

Lief shut the sound from his mind.

Hurry!

The palace loomed above him. Dark, but with plenty of windows, ornaments, and other footholds.

He began to climb. Up, up, past the first floor windows, then up again to the narrow ledge that ran under the windows on the second floor.

The servants who cleaned the windows sat on the ledge often, no doubt. But Lief was standing, and his stomach knotted as he carefully turned until his back was to the wall. Then he began to move, edging along to the corner of the building, around to the side …

And below, far to his left, the Place of Punishment stood in a blaze of light.

He edged close. Closer …

The Place was thick with Guards. Torches flamed, lighting the darkness. Large red cones stood on each end of the platform. Lief had never seen their like before, and could not imagine their purpose. To one side was a huge metal pot of burning coals. Lief gritted his teeth. He knew
its
purpose only too well.

Fallow was in the center of the stage, holding two chains that were fastened to the necks of a pair of prisoners sprawled at his feet. Six more chained figures stood in a ragged line behind him. Glock. Zeean. Manus. Nanion. Gla-Thon. Fardeep. All were wounded. Zeean was swaying. Glock could barely stand. Fallow stabbed at them with a bony finger.

“See them, people of Del?” he shrieked. “See these strangers? See their ugly bodies? Their twisted, evil faces? Monsters! Invaders of Del! Double branding, and death!”

A sickening wave of dizziness seized Lief. He pressed his back against the wall, panting. His throat had tightened so that he could hardly breath.

Six Guards strode forward and plunged iron branding rods into the pot of coals. They laughed and spat on the heating metal. Their turn for amusement had arrived.

The Guards facing the crowd raised their slings threateningly.

“Double branding and death!” chanted the people.

Lief gazed desperately over the sea of upturned, shouting faces. He saw no grins of glee or scowls of anger. The faces were absolutely blank — the faces of people beyond hope, beyond despair.

Suddenly, Fallow glanced behind him, at the windows of the great hall. Guards were moving there, stumbling out of the way of another Guard hurrying through. The newcomer signalled to Fallow, nodding excitedly, pointing behind him. Fallow’s face changed. A triumphant smile spread over his face and he glanced upward. Lief caught his breath and flattened himself even further against the wall.

But Fallow did not see him. He was looking much higher — to the tower. Seven huge birds perched on the
tower roof, their cruel, curved beaks outlined against the scarlet sky. Inside, where once the Belt of Deltora had lain in its glass case, red smoke swirled. And a shadowy figure stood motionless. Watching. Waiting …

Lief sidled further along the ledge. Now he was exactly where he wanted to be — on a small stone platform directly above the Place of Punishment, and beside the metal pole that bore the flag of the Shadowlands. Forcing his shaking hands to do his bidding, he pulled his coil of rope from his belt and tied one end of it to the flagpole. He tugged it gently, and knew it would hold.

Fallow swung back to face the crowd. He gestured, and the Guards pulled the six condemned prisoners roughly back, to stand against the palace wall.

“Their punishment can wait!” Fallow cried, his voice cracking with glee. “I can now announce, that, by my orders, our three greatest enemies have been captured! I knew it would be so!”

His face dark with spite and anger, he bent to heave up the crumpled figures at his feet.

And Lief’s breath caught in his throat as he saw that the helpless couple were his mother and father. Ragged, gaunt, they sagged in Fallow’s cruel hands.

He shook them by their iron collars, as a dog shakes a rat, then set them back on their feet. They stood, swaying. “These two wretches will see their son before they die!” he snarled. “Behold them! The father and
mother of treachery! Now they will pay for the evil they have caused, the lies they have told!”

There was a terrible roaring in Lief’s ears. He saw the crowd staring at the prisoners. He saw many of the blank faces crease with pain as they recognized the kind, quiet man and the sweet, lively woman from the blacksmith’s forge. Some, perhaps, did not even know their names. But they knew their natures. And so they grieved, hopelessly, for what was to come.

And Lief — Lief slowly unclasped the Belt of Deltora and put it down at his feet. It would have helped him in the fight ahead, but he knew that this was a fight that in the end he could not win. If he was to die, he would not die wearing the Belt. He would not allow it to be part of his defeat and pain. Or let his parents see it trodden into the dust.

He stared down at the precious, mysterious thing that had brought them all to this. It was complete. And it was powerful. Powerful enough to kill Dain. Powerful enough to feel the presence of the heir. And yet … somehow it was not perfect. Somehow, they had not discovered its final secret. He was tormented by the feeling that the answer was before his eyes, if only he could see it.

The gems lay gleaming in their steel medallions. The topaz. The ruby. The opal. The lapis lazuli. The emerald. The amethyst. The diamond.

Lief remembered the winning of every one — what he had felt as each stone was added to the chain in turn.

Added … in turn …

His scalp began to prickle. Well-remembered words from
The Belt of Deltora
swam into his mind:

†
Each gem has its own magic, but together the seven make a spell that is far more powerful than the sum of its parts. Only the Belt of Deltora, complete as it was first fashioned by Adin and worn by Adin’s true heir, has the power to defeat the Enemy.

… complete as it was first fashioned by Adin …

… together the seven make a spell … a spell … SPELL!

Lief pulled out his dagger, crouched over the Belt. His fingertips tingled as quickly, quickly, he used the dagger’s tip to lever the gems from their places, one by one. It seemed to him that they came easily, helping him. Helping him again as he replaced them — but this time in a different order. The right order.

Diamond. Emerald. Lapis lazuli. Topaz. Opal. Ruby. Amethyst.

DELTORA.

With a great sigh, Lief stood up, the Belt of Deltora gleaming in his hands. His breathing had slowed. His hands were steady. He knew, beyond doubt, that at last the Belt was as it should be. Now it was as it had been when first fashioned by Adin, who had used the first letters of the seven tribes’ talismans to form the name of
their united land. Now it was ready to be claimed by Adin’s true heir.

And Jasmine was coming. At any moment she would be dragged onto the platform. Now Lief knew why he had been led to this place. Now he had a plan.