Scarlet and the Keepers of Light (7 page)

“Well, at least you’re a big dog,”
Fael added cheerfully, though Dakota didn’t look that big next to the two Stidolph.

Just then Scarlet felt something rub against her leg, and she jumped, making Melody squeal. Looking down, she saw Cricket standing next to her. When she looked up again, the Stidolph had gone. Dakota nodded to the girls but didn’t come over, leaving instead through another passage out of the hall.

What was all that about? Scarlet wondered. What had Dakota sacrificed? Had he once been a Stidolph like the other two, and why did they call him Udd Lyall? He had obviously changed into a dog so that he could come to live with her family, but if he had changed into a dog, why couldn’t he change back? And what was it that dogs don’t? It had certainly made Ulrich look sad enough. Her list of questions seemed to be growing exponentially with each passing hour. She would have to find out later, though; today she was going to explore the land of her dreams—only this time she’d be awake.

“You want to come exploring with us?” she asked Cricket, feeling a little funny talking to the family dog.

“Can I?”
Cricket asked excitedly.

“Of course,” Scarlet responded, and the three of them set off out of the castle and into the village.

Unlike Lindi, every Tounder they saw seemed overjoyed to meet Scarlet as they walked down the main street. Everyone waved and pointed. To Scarlet, it felt a little like being a movie star rather than a guest. It was hard to decide where to go first, it all was so weird and wonderful.

Melody was drawn to a shop with carts sitting out front bearing strange but succulent-looking fruit. She stared wide-eyed at the multicolored assortment, finally focusing on what looked like silver grapes.

“What are those?” she asked boldly, when the shop owner approached her.

“Those are guildagrapes,” the shopkeeper answered pleasantly. She removed a bunch from the stand and handed them to Melody, who wasted no time plopping one into her mouth, her eyes lighting up with pleasure. “Try one, Scarlet. They’re so good!”

Scarlet took a couple from the bunch and ate them slowly, savoring each one. It was difficult to describe the taste—like the sweetest grapes Scarlet had ever eaten, but with a hint of something else that she had never tasted before.

“Thank you,” she said.

“It is my pleasure,” responded the shopkeeper. “It is such a happy day that sees you here and safe with us.” The shopkeeper bowed slightly and went back into her store.

The store across the street drew their attention next. It was filled with glowing objects of every imaginable shape and size. As they entered the store they were bathed in the soft illumination of hundreds of these objects. It was difficult to figure out exactly what they were, but if Scarlet had to guess, she would have said that they were decorations or trinkets.

“They are toys,” the shop’s owner said, appearing from a back room carrying a small orange ball pulsing with light. “You have that look of curiosity that I welcome in my store. We haven’t had any visitors to Illuminora in quite a while,” he explained.

“They’re beautiful!” exclaimed Scarlet. “What are they made of?”

The toymaker turned his head quizzically. “My, you are from far off, aren’t you? They are made of light, sweetie.”

“
Made
of light?” Scarlet asked, puzzled. “How can that be?”

“When you know the secrets of light, it is no more difficult than building something out of wood or stone, which of course is to say that it’s quite difficult if you’re trying to create something truly art-worthy. But not impossible.” The toymaker laughed. “Would you like one?”

“Oh, thank you, but we don’t have any way of paying you,” Scarlet answered bashfully.

“Paying me?” the toymaker rebuked. “I could never accept payment from the For Tol Don.”

“What’s a fortoldon?” she asked, confused.

A look of worry crossed the toymaker’s face. “You mean to say you don’t know?” he said in a hushed whisper.

“I’ve never heard those words before,” Scarlet admitted.

The toymaker looked around his shop, his eyes shifting guiltily. He came very close to Scarlet, lowering his voice to an even softer whisper. “You are the hero of a great prophecy that we Tounder have known all our lives. And now you’re finally here. Just in time, if you ask me—not that anyone is, mind you. Only a matter of time before the dark prince will be ready to challenge us . . . well, you. It is a glorious day, but please—I should not be the one telling you this. I would appreciate you not telling anyone I told you.”

“I won’t,” Scarlet promised reluctantly. She wanted desperately to ask the Tounder what he had meant, but the worry in his eyes told her to leave it alone. A dark prince? A prophecy? It all sounded surreal, and at the same time so ominous. “Besides, I don’t even understand what you did tell me,” she added.

The toymaker backed up and laughed, his expression lightening. “You will,” he said. He took a small cube of light, about the size of a board game die, and placed it in Scarlet’s hand. “Until the day you create your own light,” he added cryptically and then hurried back to the room from whence he’d come.

The rest of the day passed quickly, with one wonder-filled moment after the next. It was difficult to take in all the glorious sights of Illuminora, as each and every thing the girls saw was new and exciting. When finally they decided to call an end to their explorations, they headed back to the castle, feeling hungry and sleepy. Scarlet’s first thought was to find her mother and father and ask them what they had learned from Xavier.

Her questions, however, would have to wait. A large group of young female Tounder met in the entrance hall, and informed them that they had to hurry and dress for the feast. A grand celebration had been prepared for Scarlet and her family.

Forget feeling like a movie star. Now Scarlet felt more like royalty.

8

The Tempest

Brennan was cold, hungry, and exhausted. He and Chosen had been walking all day and well into the night. His ordeal in the jail cell had left him weakened, and the pace Chosen kept was unrelenting. Making matters worse, they had now entered the Southern Wildlands, which, aside from being extremely difficult terrain physically, was also some of the most dangerous territory in all of Satorium.

Brennan’s mother had told him many stories of the dark creatures that inhabited these lands. Once when their travels
had taken them near the edges of the Wildlands, she had become visibly nervous, a trait his mother never displayed without good reason. Chosen, on the other hand, plodded straight through this sinister landscape with no more concern than a man on a Sunday stroll through the park. When Brennan mentioned that he’d thought it dangerous, Chosen’s only reply had been that it would take ages to walk around.

The Wildlands’ dense forest and swampland were bisected by a fast-moving river whose treacherous currents rendered it nearly impossible to cross. Upon entering the Wildlands at the delta, a traveler was forced by the impassable marshland to the river’s east to instead negotiate the formidable forest along the west bank. Eventually, however, the terrain would flip, and the traveler would have to cross the river again at the southern border of Leona, the kingdom of the Dorans—an impossible task for anyone without an intimate knowledge of the river and the surrounding terrain. Brennan wasn’t sure how well any man could know the Southern Wildlands, but Chosen certainly seemed familiar with it as he moved effortlessly over the rough terrain.

Brennan tried his best not to think about how tired he was, instead concentrating on what would be waiting for him on the other side of the Wildlands. The Dorans ruled over the greater portion of Satorium beyond the Wildlands, and at the heart of Leona was Caelesta, their capital city. Brennan’s mother had told him about the city, which she had once seen as a little girl. In her stories it was a place of such beauty that all other sights paled in comparison. Brennan was smart enough to realize that part of her description was more than likely based on a child’s wonderment, from a time when his mother was happy and innocent, and therefore to be taken with a grain of salt. This realization didn’t dampen his desire to see it himself, though, if only to have something that he could share, even posthumously, with his mother.

But despite his best efforts, fatigue eventually got the better of him, and he began to fall behind. Soon Chosen had gotten so far ahead that Brennan lost sight of him in the thickness of the trees. As troublesome as this was, Brennan had to stop; he just couldn’t continue without rest, even if just for a moment. Slumping against the trunk of a large willow tree, he tried to catch his breath.

He paid little attention to the rustling in the brush at first, figuring that Chosen had realized he was no longer right behind him and doubled back. His eyes closed, and as he took in deep, desperately needed breaths, Brennan felt that if he wanted to, he could fall asleep right there beneath the willow tree. After all, what was the worst that could happen? Chosen would scold him. Tell him he needed to wake up. A small price to pay for some long-overdue rest.

But then a dreadful thought occurred to Brennan, making his skin crawl as if a thousand spiders had began creeping under his clothes. Chosen was ahead of him; the rustling sound was from behind.

In a flash Brennan was on his feet, searching the trees for any sign of movement. The problem was that everything moved. The slender, drooping branches of the willows caught even the slightest of breezes. Looking out into the forest, Brennan saw a constantly shifting landscape of dappled greens and darker shadows. Panic struck, in a dizzying onslaught.

“Chosen!” he called out, not bothering to hide the fear in his voice. There was no answer.

Brennan started to run over the uneven ground in the direction he thought Chosen had gone. The ground was matted with a tangle of underbrush and roots, and each step Brennan took threatened to fail beneath him, sending him sprawling headfirst onto the forest floor. The sound was growing louder as whatever was in the trees behind him also picked up its pace. Throwing all caution to the wind, he plunged headlong through the trees, running as fast as he could, dodging tree trunks and limbs, leaping over roots and brush
.

He barely had time to notice the bramble sprawled across his path before he’d tripped over it and went flying, sprawling on his hands and knees into a small clearing, his clothes torn and his skin bleeding from numerous cuts and scratches. He rolled out of the way just in time, as a massive creature leaped over the brambles behind him and landed feet first right on the spot where Brennan had been.

On his back, deeply shaken, Brennan looked up at the enormous figure, only a few feet away. Easily twice the size of a normal man, the creature was covered with thick orange and fawn fur. Although its arms and legs resembled those of a man, thickly muscled and bulging, its most striking features were its long, sharp claws and catlike face. As Brennan watched helplessly, paralyzed by fear, the fangs that already protruded over its bottom lip lengthened until they reached past his chin.

“Long way from home, aren’t you, boy?” the creature growled.

Horrifying as the creature looked, that it could speak was even more shocking to Brennan. Should he talk to it? Reason with it? It was so difficult to reconcile the savage appearance of the creature with the notion that it could speak, that it was even . . . intelligent?

“I’m just passing through,” Brennan fumbled, searching the area around him for something he could use as a weapon.

“No,” the creature said, taking a step forward. “You
were
passing through.” It crouched, ready to spring.

Suddenly it froze and then righted itself again. Chosen had emerged into the clearing from the far side and was now standing, as relaxed as ever, against one of the trees on the clearing’s edge.

“Just like an animal, waiting until your prey was separated from its pack before you could get up the nerve to attack,” Chosen chided. If the size and viciousness of the creature worried him at all, he didn’t show it.

He’d obviously struck a nerve. The creature’s eyes narrowed. “I just don’t bother with tainted meat,” it seethed, snarling at Chosen.

“Ah, so that’s why you waited until the boy had fallen back and was alone. I figured it was just that you were a coward,” Chosen responded, removing the dark root from his tunic and biting off a piece.

The creature let out a deafening roar, its muscles flexing as it raised its massive arms to the sky. “Others might tremble at the sight of you, dark one, but not me,” it raged.

“You’re probably right, although you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself, not me. Besides, it’s not me you should concern yourself with.”

The tension in the creature’s muscles eased as it looked at Brennan and laughed. “Is there a third with you? A scentless figure.” The creature made a dramatic pantomime of sniffing the air. “No, I don’t think so. Just a dark twisted soul and a sizable fresh boy. Fresh . . . meat.”

Without any further warning, the creature pounced, landing on top of Brennan with a crushing force. Brennan just had time to seize the creature’s wrists, its claws inches from his face. It bared its snarling teeth as it bore down with its full weight and strength. The force was tremendous, and Brennan could already feel his own strength failing him. The claws edged closer to Brennan with every second.

Then Brennan felt it, that warm tingling sensation all over his body, from his core to the tips of his fingers. It was the same feeling he had felt when he’d found his mother murdered. Brennan knew what it was, and it gave him little comfort. The Tempest was buried too deep to actually help him, and this hint of its presence was more torment than grace, taunting him with the knowledge that had he only known how to harness what was inside, he could save himself . . . could have saved his mother.

Visions of his mother filled his mind, and the creature faded away. Now she was all he could see. She was smiling at him, trying to act happy and brave, but he knew better. She was lonely. It was her people’s way to accept fate and make peace with it, but she couldn’t accept such a life for her son. She had taken him and run, and in rebelling against her people’s beliefs, she’d lost the man she loved. Risked everything—and for what? So he could die, eaten by some horrible creature in the middle of the Southern Wildlands?

No. Brennan wouldn’t allow it. That was not how her sacrifice—her love and devotion—would be repaid. If he was to die, so be it, but it would be for something. For someone. His mother’s face faded from his mind’s eye, replaced by the snarling creature, smiling like the Cheshire Cat down on what he thought was his next meal.

What had only been a warm tingling sensation now burned through Brennan’s body like wildfire. He felt a deep and primal stirring from within, and then slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the claws were receding. Unbelievably, he was pushing the creature back. He lifted his chest off the ground, then got his legs underneath him.

Straining under the weight of the creature, Brennan began to rise to his feet, still pushing the creature back. His legs wobbled beneath him, but they did not fail. For a long moment they faced each other, neither giving any ground, but the vicious sneer on the creature’s face was now a grimace of shock and fear. With a second surge the Tempest raged through Brennan, and with a swift, effortless movement, he released the massive beast’s wrists, seized it by its shoulders, and flung it into the trunk of a tree, where it fell motionless at Chosen’s feet.

For a moment Brennan couldn’t comprehend what he had just done. He couldn’t take his eyes off the crumpled figure lying motionless on the ground. Then the Tempest began to fade, and he felt his weakness and exhaustion flooding back in. The trees and shadows began to shift again.

“Take deep breaths,” Brennan heard Chosen say. He looked up from the dead creature and locked eyes with the man, who was smiling broadly.

Brennan sank to his knees, unable to hold himself up any longer. He was filled with rage and confusion. Chosen had just stood there, not raising one finger to help. Not that Brennan was under any illusion that they were friends, but he couldn’t have just watched while another person was killed and eaten right in front of him. Suddenly he wanted to walk over to Chosen and knock him out, hit the man so hard that he would feel as weak and frail as Brennan did now. But it was no use. All he could do was lie down on the earth, his consciousness fading.

Chosen walked slowly to Brennan and crouched beside him. “We’ll camp here,” he said mockingly, as Brennan’s world went dark.

***

When Brennan woke, the sun was filtering through the trees, warming his skin. He could smell a fire burning and the savory aroma of food. He rose onto an elbow and looked around the clearing. Chosen sat by a small campfire, dropping vegetables into a pot suspended over the flames.

“Good afternoon,” Chosen said, his voice welcoming and cheerful. He leaned over the pot and inhaled deeply, clearly pleased with his cooking. “Not much to work with, but I think I’ve managed to make something of it.”

Slowly Brennan rose to his feet, walked over to the fire, and sat down across from Chosen. He wasn’t sure what to say to the man; he still felt confused, and more than a little betrayed. The rage that had consumed him before he passed out had abated somewhat, but an undercurrent of anger remained.

Chosen ladled the soup into two bowls and passed one to Brennan, who took it and immediately began to drink the broth. The taste was earthy but good, and Brennan realized that he was starving.

“I’ve added something to help with your fatigue and put a little weight back on you. I underestimated how much your time under the jailers’ care had taken out of you.” Chosen paused to drink some of the broth. “I should have been making this all along, but I wanted to put as much distance between us and the jail as possible.”

Brennan concentrated on the soup. He could feel his weariness fading with each sip. Only after he’d drained the entire contents of the bowl did he finally speak to Chosen.

“I could have died,” Brennan said, as levelly as he could.

“But you didn’t,” Chosen said casually.

“You just stood there,” Brennan objected, trying not to sound as betrayed as he felt.

Chosen ladled more soup into Brennan’s bowl. “And what would you have had me do?”

“Help me!” Brennan cried in exasperation.

“You are obviously very naive when it comes to the world around you. This was no doubt your first encounter with a tiranthrope. They are one of the few creatures that are quite immune to any gift I possess, and you can attest firsthand to how vicious they are. I would have only been a hindrance to what, I have to say, was an amazing display of strength and perseverance.” Chosen motioned for Brennan to drink more of the broth. “You should be thanking me.”

“
Thanking you?
For watching me nearly get eaten alive?”