Scarlet and the Keepers of Light (22 page)

27

Jefferson’s Last Stand

The following day began the same as the first, with Brennan and the boys working on entrances. The only difference was that Dakota insisted Scarlet rest, and not try to close up another tunnel until she had fully recovered. In the evening they all met in the reading room for another canned meal. Despite the less than inspiring food, good spirits seemed to prevail—at least, until the first roar pierced the inner sanctum of the library. More disconcertingly, it was not a faint, far-off call, but the loud, clear yowl of a tiranthrope announcing his presence just outside the walls.

Brennan, Scarlet, Delfi, and Dakota all rushed to the third floor to look out the windows. What they saw sent their stomachs tumbling to the floor. Tiranthropes, Mortada, and creatures neither Brennan nor Scarlet had ever seen before thronged around the library.

“Incruetati,” Dakota said, answering Brennan and Scarlet’s unspoken question. “I haven’t heard of them being seen in Satorium in ages.”

Whatever behavior they might have displayed before, the evil beings outside did not appear to be the slightest reluctant to cross onto the library grounds now. The new creatures, which looked like crosses between bats and men, had taken posts above the rest, perched on unlit streetlights and the roofs of the adjacent buildings.

“We can’t possibly fight all of them,” Delfi announced with a slight tremble in his throat, although his face wore a determined expression.

“No, we can’t,” Dakota admitted, “but we’re going to have to.” He turned and put his head through the railing, calling down to Ms. Thandiwe. “Take all the food you can carry and get yourself and all the children into one of the vaults downstairs.”

Even though Ms. Thandiwe would have liked to protest and stand by Scarlet’s side, she could not argue with the fact that twenty children needed her. She began to gather up the children, giving each as much food as he or she could carry and ushering them down the steps toward the vaults below the building.

“I don’t understand,” Scarlet began in a rush. “Ms. Thandiwe said that the beasts stayed away from the library.”

Dakota looked at Scarlet and Delfi. “Maybe it’s the Mortada. Maybe they weren’t here before. I don’t know, but I want you to listen to me. You need to stay safe. I want you to stay inside.”

“No,” Scarlet protested. “You can’t go out there alone.”

“He won’t,” Brennan said quickly.

“I thought this was my destiny,” Scarlet pleaded. “To fight against the prince and his army,” Scarlet pleaded.

“Yes, but first you have to be ready for the prince.” Dakota didn’t mince words. “It does the world no good if you die first.”

“But I can’t lose you too, Dakota. I can’t!” Scarlet threw her arms around him, hot tears falling down her face.

“You have to be strong, Scarlet. Stick with Delfi. Take care of each other. Find a way to continue if I don’t come back—do you understand?” Dakota said, his voice trembling slightly.

“I don’t know what to do without you,” Scarlet said, burying her face in Dakota’s thick fur.

“You will, sweetheart, you will.” Perhaps it had something to do with the time he had spent as a puppy, snuggled beside her as she slept, perhaps it was just some deep-seated sentimentality he hadn’t known he possessed, but in that moment Dakota knew that he loved Scarlet. He loved her as deeply as any dog had ever loved his master, and that, he knew, was saying quite a lot.

Scarlet finally let go, and Dakota trotted off. Brennan extended his hand to Scarlet, who took it in both of hers. “I hope I see you again.”

“Me too,” Scarlet called out as Brennan ran off after Dakota.

Brennan and Dakota left through one of the entrances that had yet to be sealed. The sky above them was pitch-black, not a star in the sky. The moon hung eerily alone, full and bright, giving a pale silvery light to the scene in front of the library. Framed by the looming Capitol, which seemed to drink in the moonlight, was the army of Mortada, tiranthropes, and incruetati. Brennan and Dakota stood on the steps before the army, looking insignificant in the face of such overwhelming odds. The tiranthropes snarled at the odd pair of warriors, itching to attack, but for the moment stayed in place.

“Legend has it that your people have an inner power that gives you supernatural strength,” Dakota said offhandedly to Brennan, his eyes fixed on the army. “Any chance that legend is true?”

Brennan smiled. “It’s true. Problem is, I’ve got no control over when it comes and goes.”

“Well, at least that’s something,” Dakota quipped in a rare moment of frivolity—brought on, no doubt, by the fact that he was surely facing his death.

One of the Mortada stepped forward from the ranks. “Udd Lyall, is that you?” Multus, the Mortada with the strangely flaking skin who Brennan had attacked in the woods, called in a lilting almost whimsical voice. “We had heard rumors that you had . . . well, changed.” The Mortada laughed. “Lord of Wolves indeed.”

Dakota held his head high and said, “I am Dakota.” Thoughts of his father passed through his mind at that moment. The love and pride his father had shown him. The hope that one day, he, Udd Lyall, would succeed him as the leader of the Stidolph, and how after his father’s death, Dakota had shied away from such responsibility. Well, no more would he carry that shame. “I
am
the Lord of Wolves,” he added defiantly.

Multus laughed again. “You are revered in Satorium—although I must point out that we are not in Satorium.” Several of the other Mortada joined in the joke, laughing in a creepy, unnatural chorus. “All the same, our lord would wish that we uphold at least the ancient courtesies. If you leave the field and step aside, you may go in peace. We will not seek you out. You may live out your remaining days as a dog, doing whatever you please.”

“I know this Mortada,” Brennan whispered to Dakota. “He was the one Chosen was afraid of. Didn’t seem too eager to deal with me, though.”

“I know him as well,” Dakota whispered cryptically. Then he spoke boldly to the Mortada. “I will not stand aside. You will not have the girl, this night or any other.”

“I thought you might say that.
Hoped
is more like it,” Multus sang out, though his voice had lost a great deal of its whimsical quality.

Multus swept his arm toward the pair, and the tiranthropes sprang forward, quickly closing the distance. Brennan and Dakota ran out to meet them, and blood and fur flew as the fighting began. Dakota leaped and spun, snapping out at the tiranthropes and dodging most of the blows that came his way. Brennan, locked in a wrestling match with two of the tiranthropes, quickly failed under the weight and strength of them.

Scarlet watched the scene unfold with growing horror from the third floor of the library. It wouldn’t be long before both Dakota and Brennan were killed. The sound of voices and footsteps below brought Scarlet’s attention away from the window. Ms. Thandiwe and the children had come back up into the main lobby.

Scarlet rushed to the railing. “What’s happened? Why aren’t you in the vault?”

Ms. Thandiwe looked ashen. “They are coming through the tunnel from the Capitol. They’ll be here any minute.”

Scarlet had to do something—she just didn’t know what. She and her family hadn’t gone through all of this, hadn’t learned all this, to have it end here. Her first and most pressing thought was to do something to save Dakota and Brennan, and it took a tremendous effort for her to put that aside. Dakota had been clear. She needed to stay safe.

Scarlet ran to the reading room, where Ms. Thandiwe had gathered the children. Wide with fear and shock, their eyes pleaded with Scarlet. Not knowing what else to do, she lay on the floor, her cheek against the cold stone, and began to whisper to the earth. She prayed to it for understanding, for it to grant what seemed impossible. She remembered Jud-Byr’s warning about his magic: he could not create what wasn’t there. He could not speak to nothing.

But Scarlet was the For Tol Don. She had not wanted to fully accept that, but if it were true, as all her friends believed, then her magic—all magic—could come from within her. The legend was that she, unlike the dwarves, had the power to create what wasn’t there. She remembered Dakota’s explanation from what now seemed like ages ago.

Scarlet closed her eyes and rose to her knees, searching within herself for the power that must be there. She had to believe. She had to conjure forth something that would save them all.

For a terrifyingly long moment, nothing happened. Then the ground began to shake, the walls trembled, and hideous wails filled the air. And suddenly Scarlet knew what was happening, though she wasn’t sure how she knew. It was almost as if she could see it. Enormous roots were erupting through the floor of the tunnel, crushing the Mortada coming through the tunnel, killing or injuring many and cutting the rest off from the building. Across every entrance to the Thomas Jefferson Building, every door and window, roots were bursting violently from the ground, completely encasing the building in a thick woven armor of living wood. When Scarlet finally stood, dizzy and nearly fainting, the Thomas Jefferson Building had become an impenetrable fortress of wood and stone.

Delfi ran to Scarlet’s side, catching her as her knees buckled. “Help me to the window,” Scarlet pleaded, her voice weak and distant.

Delfi did not argue. He motioned to one of the eldest boys, and they helped her up the steps and to the window that looked out to the front of the building. Scarlet waved her hand, and the roots rearranged themselves, opening a small gap to allow them to see the battle below.

The Tempest had come to Brennan, and given him the strength to keep himself and Dakota alive. They were both weakened by grave wounds, however, and now the Mortada had joined the fight, casting their dark spells as the incruetati began circling over Brennan and Dakota’s heads.

“They won’t last much longer,” Delfi cried. “I should go. I should go and help them.”

Scarlet put a hand on his shoulder. “No. You’ll die.”

She felt so weak, so drained. But she had to do something. Charging out of the building wouldn’t help—the Mortada would be on her before she got a foot out the door. And Delfi had been just as susceptible to their dark magic as she was; he wouldn’t last any longer. She suddenly realized what she had to do. Dakota would be furious; it went against his wishes directly. It risked everything. However, For Tol Don or not, she was not a person who could let her friends die. She just couldn’t.

Scarlet allowed herself to fall to her knees. Delfi went to help her up, but she bade him back with an upraised hand. Closing her eyes, she drew deep within herself . . . deeper than she had ever gone before. She searched not just for her inner light but for the very origin of that light. She allowed it to build, adding her rage, her fear, her love, her sorrow. It was a living thing, wild and untamed, unlike the restrained and controlled magic Xavier had taught her to master. When at last she could hold it in no more, she raised her hands to the sky and let it out, falling to the ground as darkness overtook her.

And now a sphere of light exploded out from her, so bright and powerful that it penetrated everything in its wake in concentric rings as it spread. It passed out of the Thomas Jefferson Building and into the night, illuminating all of DC in a light brighter than the sunniest of days. The tiranthropes, Mortada, and incruetati cowered in the intolerable glare. Some attempted to flee. All were swallowed up in its brilliance.

When the light faded, they had all vanished.

28

The Sorrowful Return

For a week Charles had been wandering over the plains, hoping against hope for a miracle—for any sign of his daughter, any hint at how to get to her. Finally, starving and dehydrated, he decided with a heavy heart that his best chance at finding Scarlet was to return to Xavier. If anyone would know what to do, it would be the wise Keeper of Light.

The hike back to Illuminora was excruciating. His mind could not turn off the grief. It hollowed him out, made every step an agony. He made no attempt to disguise his presence as he trudged through the forest. If any Mortada had been left in the area, they would have captured or killed him as easily as an orphaned cub. Looking back, he would never understand how he made it back to the great oak at all.

After all the time Charles had spent underneath the oak tree, it amazed him how small the opening in the trunk now seemed to be; it seemed a lifetime ago now that he had come here for the first time with his family. With Scarlet. He fell down at the base of the tree, crying out for Xavier.

Moments later, the dancing lights of the Tounder surrounded him, and he began to shrink. Once he’d reached the right size, the Tounder gathered him up and whisked him quickly away to the castle in Illuminora. They carried him to the room he had shared with Allie and sent for Xavier at once.

Charles was near delirium by the time Xavier arrived with Allie, Melody, and Cricket. Seeing the state he was in, Xavier asked Cricket if she could take Melody downstairs for a while. Although Melody nearly pitched a fit at being taken away from her father, she eventually followed Cricket out, leaving Xavier and Allie to tend to Charles.

“Charles,” Allie sobbed. “What’s happened? Where’s Scarlet?” She was doing her best to hold off hysterics, but they weren’t far away.

Xavier was checking Charles over, whispering chants, and occasionally bathing him in light. He examined Charles’s right hand especially carefully, then called for a Tounder waiting outside the door to bring water. “He has a fever and is severely dehydrated,” Xavier said to Allie. “His hand has been exposed to a powerful bit of dark magic.”

After the Tounder returned, Allie raised the glass of Tounder water to her husband’s lips while Xavier performed a series of light incantations over his hand. Finally, Charles lapsed into an uneasy sleep.

Xavier took Allie to the side, away from the bed. “He’s going to be fine. In a couple of hours he’ll be able to speak to us. I won’t lie to you—something has gone very wrong.”

“Is Scarlet . . . is she . . . oh God!” Allie wailed.

“No, no. Scarlet is alive. We are connected now, through the magic we share as student and teacher. I would know if she wasn’t. I promise you.”

Xavier’s promise seemed to give Allie a small degree of peace. It didn’t help explain where her daughter was and why her husband had returned without her, though. She went back to the bedside and sat down in a chair, taking her husband’s hand as she wept.

Charles woke several hours later with a start, calling out for Scarlet. It took him a minute to realize where he was, and before he could say anything, Xavier had appeared beside Mrs. Hopewell.

“Where’s Scarlet?” Mrs. Hopewell asked, unable to wait a second longer.

Tears pooled in Mr. Hopewell’s eyes as he looked from his wife to Xavier, his face contorted with sorrow and guilt. “I should never have left her,” he cried. “I walked ahead to find us some shelter from the storm, and it came for them—for her. I had her—the strap tore off.”

“What storm?” Xavier asked a rising panic in his voice.

“Black. Endless black clouds that sucked them away. I waited for days. There was no sign of them. They just disappeared.”

“Black clouds. Like a fog. It took them away,” Xavier repeated. Charles nodded. “I’m sorry,” Xavier said suddenly. “I must go. I’ll be back soon, or if you feel up to it, meet me later in the library.” And with that he vanished, moving more quickly than Charles had ever seen him move.

Allie leaned down and wrapped her arms around her husband, holding him tightly as they both wept.

***

An hour later, although he still felt weak and emotionally drained, Charles forced himself to get out of bed and go find Xavier. He was in desperate need of answers, and he couldn’t wait any longer to get them. Wherever Scarlet was, she was alive; Charles had gathered that much from Allie. What mattered now, more than anything else in the world, was finding his little girl and keeping her safe. The weight of guilt that bore down on him as he made his way to the library was crippling. Regret over letting Scarlet go on the quest, letting himself be sucked into the idea . . . He couldn’t help but feel that he had failed her as a father. He hadn’t protected her.

Xavier was sitting in his high-backed chair when Charles found him, desperately searching through the enchanted leather-bound book. The patience he’d developed with old age, the ability to let the passages he wanted come to him, had failed him, it seemed. Not until Charles had come all the way into the library and was standing before him did Xavier notice his presence.

“You look much better.” Xavier’s voice was full of weariness. He looked as if he had aged considerably in the past few hours. “You’ll need more rest, though.”

“Where is Scarlet?” Charles demanded. “Where is my little girl?”

Xavier sighed. “She is back in your world, with Dakota and Delfi.”

“How is that possible? I thought . . . I don’t know what I thought. What is going on?” Mr. Hopewell’s voice was full of desperation. Unable to stand still any longer, he began to pace feverishly in front of Xavier.

“I have made a horrible miscalculation,” Xavier admitted, his eyes deeply apologetic. “Prince Thanerbos has played me for the old fool that I am. The attack on Leona, the Mortada he stationed around Illuminora, it was all a ruse. A misdirection.”

“What do you mean, a misdirection?” Charles demanded.

“To distract me from what he has done to your world, Mr. Hopewell. He is still imprisoned—I’ve had word from the king confirming as much—but his powers are far stronger than I had guessed. He has sent an army to your world. He has torn the very fabric of time. Only months have passed here in Satorium, but fifty years have passed in your world. While we were training for the coming battle, preparing for his eventual escape from prison, he has destroyed that world.” For a moment, Xavier looked completely vanquished. He bowed his head, as if to accept his defeat. But the moment passed. When Xavier looked up, his face was set in a determined smile—more to reassure Charles, he thought, than a reflection of his true feeling.

“How do you know all this?” Charles asked.

“Some of the pieces fell into place when I reread old texts of the prophecy. Others I have received from the Doran king. Lastly”—Xavier shrugged—“well, I guessed.”

“You guessed?” Charles was incredulous.

“We have some catching up to do,” Xavier announced briskly, avoiding Charles’s question. He stood and began to make his way out of the library.

“Catching up?” Charles followed Xavier as the old Tounder strode out of the library.

“We will leave in the morning. He may have won the first round, but the war is not his. We will defeat him.” Xavier briskly led the way through the castle’s mazelike passages, stopping every so often to issue orders to a castle Tounder.

***

Ten minutes later, Charles found himself in the conference room with Xavier and the rest of the Tounder council. This time there was no grumbling or heated debate; all, even Thaniel, sat in silence, waiting with bated breath to hear what Xavier had to say.

“It has come to my attention that Prince Thanerbos has succeeded in mounting an attack on the human world. While we have been preparing here over the course of the past months, a fifty-year battle has been waged in the land beyond—a battle that has been lost. Minions of the dark prince have overrun the world of Mr. Hopewell and his family. Those humans that remain do so in hiding, or in small pockets of resistance.” Xavier took a moment to let his words sink in.

The members of the council all looked somberly at Charles, and a few offered their condolences.

Brynn placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We may be divided by magic, but we are all creatures of the earth. We will do whatever we can to help your world.”

“That we will,” Xavier chimed in. “I see only one way to do that now. The two worlds must be no more.”

There was a series of gasps from the council. Thaniel huffed so loudly that he had to look away in embarrassment when Xavier’s flashing eyes locked on him. The council member managed to gather enough courage, however, to add incredulously, “You mean to undo what the great Hulpric brought to pass eons ago?”

“T
imes change, Thaniel,” Xavier said sternly. “What was right then is not always right now. The few that remain in Mr. Hopewell’s world are defenseless against the plight they face each and every day. They have fought for fifty years against hopeless odds, and it is time that we come to their aid.
”

“I agree,” Brynn interjected. “I must ask, however, what this means for our plans against Prince Thanerbos.”

“It only strengthens them, old friend. And in our current circumstance, the two goals are one. Lady Scarlet, the For Tol Don, is trapped in that world. Without access to Satorium, she cannot hope to complete her preparations. Prince Thanerbos now controls the ability to cross over. Our only hope is to take that control away from him by making it obsolete.

“Before this new development, I had plans to ask Morelpis for his help in repelling the prince’s army from invading Caelesta. I will still make this trip, and I hope that Mr. Hopewell will agree to accompany me.”

Charles was taken aback. “You want me to go and see the dragon?”

“Yes. He was once a father, like you, and I believe that your story and your anguish over Scarlet will appeal to him in ways that I cannot. Morelpis is the only creature living now who was alive in Hulpric’s time. If anyone can help us merge the two worlds and reach Scarlet, it will be he.”

“What of Hulpric’s book?” Brynn asked. “Does it say nothing of this?”

“I’m afraid that if Hulpric wished us to know how to join the two worlds, he made the information difficult to find. Perhaps he did not want the venture taken too lightly.”

“Perhaps he didn’t want the venture taken at all,” Thaniel snapped.

“There is no choice left to us,” Xavier responded. “He separated the two worlds to protect those without magic. His goal is now being threatened by the very means he used to achieve it. The separation only serves to keep the human world in eternal danger now. I will speak to Morelpis. I—
we
—will not let our worlds fall to Prince Thanerbos.”

***

In the early morning light, Charles knelt beside Melody’s bed, running his fingers through her thick blond hair. She was safe here with the Tounder and her mother. With all the things that he didn’t understand, with all the things that overwhelmed his emotions and his senses, for some reason this one known fact brought him a small measure of peace.

It had been such a short time to spend with his wife and youngest daughter that when morning came, Charles had felt as if it were no time at all. For the second time in a week, he was saying good-bye with no real knowledge of when he would see his family again. Everything seemed so wildly out of control. He wished that he could freeze time and catch his breath, try to wrap his mind around it all.

He debated now whether he should wake Melody; her sleep seemed so serene. He did not want her to wake and find him gone, though, and so he lightly rubbed her shoulder until she stirred.

“Daddy,” she whispered, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Hi, baby. Daddy’s got to go.” A lump rose in his throat.

Tears came instantly to Melody’s eyes, but she did not sob. She reached out her small arms, and Charles picked her up, holding her tight to his chest. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, baby.”

He held her for a long time before setting her back on the bed. “I want you to listen to me,” he said firmly. “I’m going to bring your sister back, okay? I’m going to bring her back.”

Melody nodded, a few tears running down her cheek.

“You be good for Mommy and take care of Cricket, okay?” Charles added. “I’ll be home soon.” Home. A strange concept. Illuminora had now become their home.

He picked up Melody again, and she began to sing. As Charles held her, listening to her soft voice, he felt a peace deep in his heart he had not known since losing Scarlet. When she had finished, he laid her down and tucked her back into bed.

“That was beautiful,” he said, leaning down and kissing her cheek.

“It’s a healing song, Daddy,” Melody said, letting out a big yawn, her eyelids heavy.

“That it certainly is.”

Cricket was sitting at the foot of the bed, looking solemnly at him with her big brown eyes. “You take care of her, you hear,” he said to her.

“I will,” she replied simply.

Charles and Allie’s good-byes were longer. Charles held Allie as she sobbed, her head buried in his chest. Letting her go was one of the most difficult things he had ever done.