Silent Hall (29 page)

“No dinner?” asked Narky. Their stomachs had been grumbling for at least an hour now.

“No dinner,” repeated Hunter. “You don't think those green mushrooms are edible, do you?”

“I'm almost willing to try,” said Phaedra. “If they're not growing out of corpses, that's good enough for me.”

“Maybe we should wait 'til tomorrow and ask the elves,” Hunter suggested.

“Maybe,” said Phaedra, looking hungrily at the floor. “No, you're right.”

But the fairies woke them so early the next morning that nobody had the wherewithal to ask. By the time Hunter even noticed his empty stomach, the elves had already marched off in two lines with the children huddled between them.

Phaedra splashed her face with water from the pool, then drank some. “Oh Gods,” she said. “It's awful here.”

Narky's stomach growled so loudly Hunter could hear it. “That's it,” he said. “I don't care if they're poisoned, I'm having mushrooms for breakfast. At least I won't die with an empty stomach.”

With that, Narky picked a small green mushroom off the ground by the pool and ate it. Hunter and Phaedra watched as he chewed the mushroom, swallowed it, stood for a moment in careful consideration, and then reached for another. So far, he seemed completely unharmed. And he was eating.

With their stomachs feeling the way they did, there was no more room for caution. Soon all three of them were plucking mushrooms from the ground by the handful and unceremoniously stuffing themselves with glowing fungi. Within minutes they were lying on the ground, clutching their abdomens and wondering if they'd been poisoned after all.

“Why are they so filling?” asked Narky miserably. “I feel like I just ate half a cow.”

“I know what you mean,” said Hunter. He thought his stomach might burst. How many mushrooms had he actually eaten, though? Ten? Twelve?

Phaedra rolled over with a groan. “It's the magic,” she said. “It feels like the mushrooms are expanding in my stomach. Ugh. This whole world is unbearably magical.”

“Unbearably magical,” Narky repeated, his words interrupted by a sudden loud belch. “You've got that right.”

“We shouldn't have more than a couple each for lunch,” Hunter said.

“Don't even talk about lunch,” Phaedra advised. “I think I might skip dinner.”

They almost did skip dinner. The children returned just when Hunter was starting to consider eating again, and their arrival put off all thought of edible mushrooms. As soon as the fairies left them alone, Delika suddenly turned and shoved Tellos to the ground.

“I should have won today!” she shouted, jumping on top of him and beating at him with her little fists. She was crying. “You killed me, you killed me!”

Hunter quickly pulled her off the boy, but he could see that the damage was done. The children were enemies now; the fairies had seen to that.

“Stop, Delika,” he said, holding both her wrists in one hand while warding the boy's sister off with the other. “Stop, all of you!”

Phaedra had reached them by now, and helped him by pulling the twins away toward the other side of the room. The others looked sullenly from one side to the other, wary of every little rival.

“What do you think you're doing?” Phaedra said. “We're all humans! Who cares what twisted games those monsters are putting you through? We have to stick together, don't you see that?”

“They'll eat the weak one!” Delika shrieked. “You're the weak one! You're the weak one!”

“That's it!” Narky shouted, standing up. The startled children went silent immediately. They hadn't heard Narky speak since he had lost his eye.

“If I see you fighting again,” he said, gazing down at the little ones with his one good eye, “I'll strangle you all and let the fairies decide which one's a dead servant and which one's a meal.”

The children's eyes widened fearfully. They believed him.

“There's a chance,” Hunter said, trying to de-escalate, “that we'll all make it out of here alive. But we have to be ready. We can't fight with each other. If our friends come to get us, we'll have to be healthy, and strong, and ready to run in whatever direction they tell us to run. You need to help each other whenever you can, so that we'll all be strong. Do you think you can do that?”

They all nodded, still looking at Narky. “We won't fight,” Tella said meekly.

“Good,” said Phaedra. “Now, did they feed you out there? Are you hungry?”

The children nodded again, more vigorously this time. “They gave us some,” Breaker said, “but they only had four plates.”

So the elves were making the children fight over scraps of food, without ever telling them that parts of their prison were edible. If only Hunter still had his sword…

“I might have thought something like that,” said Phaedra. “It's all right, though, you can eat here. These mushrooms are very filling, so you may each have one.”

They ate gratefully, and there were no more fights. Later, Hunter even saw Delika patting Tellos on the arm, though he never heard her apologize. Between the hope of escape and fear of the one-eyed Narky, the children made no more trouble. They passed the next evening in peace, and then the next. Hunter was relieved not to have to break up any more fights, but the passage of time worried him. It was hard to be completely sure how much time was passing, but he counted a new day each time the fairies brought the children back from the games. Four such days passed, and five, and six, and Bandu and Criton still made no appearance. Had they been captured? Hunter could not believe that they would have abandoned him and the others. It was not like them. Where could they be?

On the eighth day, he really started to worry. On the ninth and tenth he was sick with fear. On the eleventh day, the islanders fasted and prayed to every God they could think of, even though they knew that no God was listening.

S
he was not
glad to have her memories back. She had held them mostly at bay throughout their escape, but in the forest the horrors of her childhood sprang upon her all at once, clawing for her attention. It made her wish she had never opened the box.

She had been alone and starving when the fairies captured her and brought her to their castle. She had fought for her food harder than the other children had fought for their lives; in the end only she had emerged with both. They had made all the children attend the first feast, but after that, they had been allowed to stay away until their own times came – all except for her. As the winner she had been forced to go to every feast, to serve the queen her wine and amuse her with forced smiles and graceless dancing. The elves took a particular delight in the weaknesses of human children. It assured them that the Gods had made a mistake.

The cruel memories flooded Bandu's mind, vision after vision and sound after horrifying sound. This time as before, Goodweather was her anchor. She thought of the great den that had whispered to her in the dark, and her strength returned. It was Goodweather who had told her of the Gods' abandonment, Goodweather who had taught her how to speak to the world and how to listen. And it was Goodweather who had opened the gate for her, and told her when to run.

Bandu opened her eyes.

“Bandu!” Criton cried. “Are you all right? What happened?”

She shook her head. “I am here now. They are gone?”

“I think so. Should I climb a tree and check?”

She nodded, and soon heard what she already believed: the fairies had gone. They had taken the children and the other islanders and marched them off to Illweather. Criton wanted to follow them, but Bandu stopped him. They had eleven days before the fairies could slaughter their friends. It was time they might need to learn how to open the gate.

Criton was studying Bandu's face as they walked back toward the ruins of Gateway. “What happened when you were here before? When you were a girl?”

Bandu did not answer for a time. Where could she even begin? “My father takes me to trees,” she said, “and he leaves me there. I tell you before. The Kind Folk catch me then, when I am alone. They take us to Goodweather, and make us do… I don't know how to say. I live, but they make me work and they say I am wicked. Only Goodweather is kind to me. Goodweather opens gate and says run, so I run. After I go through the gate, I hear the wind's voice for the first time. It is kind too, and it tells me how to get home. It brings me to the sea, it tells me which water leaf to hide in. But I don't go back to father. I go to trees and live there.”

They arrived at the ruins, where they found Hunter's sword and armor lying on the ground, not far from Narky's spear. “Who
is
Goodweather?” Criton asked. “Why do you want to name the – our…
child
that?”

Bandu sat down on a stone and put her feet up on another. “I'm tired,” she said. “Goodweather is not a man, he is a big den where Kind Folk live. Very big, and old.”

“A den? Do you mean like Hession's cavern?”

She shook her head. “Like Silent Hall. But bigger, very bigger, and old and alive. I don't know how to say. But he talks to me, and teaches me, and tells me when to run. So now I live, and I want to name the young Goodweather.”

Criton sighed. “I guess we can talk about that later,” he said. “But if we're staying here instead of following them, what exactly do you think we should do?”

She was about to answer, but he stopped her before she could. “No,” he said. “I know you want us to find a way to open the Gateway again. But how? Where do we start?”

“I don't know,” she confessed. “I stay here and try things. You look inside. Maybe animal skins help, if you can find and read.”

“Oh,” said Criton. “All right. Good thinking.”

He wandered off to pick through the ruins while Bandu scratched her head and tried to decide how to begin. She had never witnessed the sky in between the worlds being opened – Goodweather had done it for her somehow, but she had not seen it, and the fairies had been on this side while she was on the other. All she knew was that the fairies' nets dissolved when the gate closed, and she thought that must be because the nets and the gate were the same thing. If she could only pull a net or two from the air, the gate would open.

She reached out her hand and tried to feel for a break in the sky-mesh, a place to slip in a finger and pull. There was nothing. She closed her eyes and tried again, but she already knew it was useless. If it were that easy, the elves would do it more often. They loved the taste of children.

The elves liked to speak in poetry before they did anything big. Would Bandu have to do the same? She didn't think she could. It was hard enough for her to speak
without
rhyme or rhythm. She did not have that word-music in her. What could she do then, besides keep trying and hope that Criton would find a way to help her?

Goodweather. Somehow, she would have to ask Goodweather. Was there a way to do that without the elves catching her?

Maybe she could ask another tree to take a message – an old tree, with roots deep enough to touch the roots of the world. It was worth trying.

Back out to the woods she went, leaving Criton where he was, consumed with his search. The plants around Gateway were all too young, but the deeper into the woods she went, the older the trees became. She wondered if any of them remembered her, from when she had been here as a girl.

“Do you remember,” she asked the tree beside her, “when a little girl runs here before, all alone?”

The tree, a big solid elfinoak, said nothing at first. Bandu did not give up. “Many seasons ago,” she told it.

Finally, the tree made a low groan and roused itself.
A little girl?
it asked.
Like you?

“Yes, me,” she said, “but smaller. This small.” She lowered her hand, guessing at her size then.

Hmm,
said the elfinoak,
I have seen many like that, I think.

“This one is alone,” she said.

A lonely girl,
the tree pondered.
Other than you? I can't remember.

“Goodweather asks you to help her.”

My children will protect you
, the castle had said. And indeed, when she thought of it, she could remember the trees coming to her aid as she ran. There were animals in this forest, animals that had wanted to eat her. There had been a big blue cat with teeth longer than Bandu's little arms, and it had made no sound at all until a dead branch had knocked it to the ground in mid-pounce. Remembering it now, Bandu put her back against the tree and looked around nervously. Maybe she should have brought Criton with her.

The oak rustled its leaves thoughtfully.
Goodweather, you say? I know that name. But from where? A relative, maybe?

Oh, thought Bandu. This tree had no memory. It might be better to ask a younger plant, but would a younger one be able to deliver her message?

“Do you touch the roots of the world?” Bandu asked. It was a phrase she had heard the fairies use, and she did not think they were only being poetic.

The roots of the world? Yes, I believe I do.

“Then Goodweather can hear what you say to him,” she said hopefully. “Can you say his friend is here, the girl who runs away? Say I need help with open the gate again.”

I can say those things,
the tree assured her, but she repeated her message anyway.

She went back to Gateway feeling a little better. If anyone could help, it would be Goodweather. She hoped the message reached him.

C
riton picked
through the ruins looking for something, anything, that could be useful. It was hard to know where to look – Gateway did not really resemble a tower anymore. Without its foundations, it must have collapsed immediately upon entering this world. The fallen stones were already overgrown in places, covered in lichen and ivy and dead leaves. Once, he saw a scrap of parchment peeking out from under a rock, but upon struggling to retrieve it, found that it was only a shred of scroll containing a few scribbled words.

“…of the syllables suggests fairy influence…” said the longest string of words, and below that, “to request his opinion.” At the bottom of the scrap was the single, half cut-off word, “ight.” Criton threw the parchment back on the ground and kept looking.

Goodweather. She wanted to name their child Goodweather. And why shouldn't she? Criton hadn't even wanted the baby. What right did he have to argue with her about names?

Still, Goodweather? What sort of a name was that? His baby, a Dragon Touched baby, should have a dragon's name. Hession, maybe.

Wait, what was this? Some pieces of splintered wood, rotting among the rubble – the remains of a bookshelf! Criton knelt on the ground, picking at the scraps. Yes, there were books underneath, leather-bound codices that flaked when he touched them. He carefully lifted one of the covers…

An enormous centipede scuttled out of the book and onto his hand. Criton yelped and shook his arm, and the book tore through the middle, its contents falling to the ground in a pile of dust, mold and insects. The centipede had disappeared. Criton swore and stood up, frantically brushing his hands across his skin and trying to reach his back to make sure that the bug hadn't gotten back there somehow. His hands found nothing, but his whole body tingled as if completely covered in tiny legs. Had he flung it off without seeing it fall?

He shuddered, wondering if he dared try another book. He stuck out his foot gingerly, poking at the other covers with his toe. They must all be bug-infested, he thought. Time and the elements had caused the pages to disintegrate.

Still, it must be possible to salvage some of the writing. The area he was standing in now seemed to contain part of a library; surely
some
of these books must be intact. He knelt again, and began to dig. Most of the stone blocks around here were far too heavy to lift, but by clearing the dirt away from underneath them, he could try to recover anything that had been trapped when the tower fell.

After some twenty minutes of digging, his efforts finally bore fruit. With a final tug, he pulled a sealed copper scroll tube from where it had been wedged underneath a gigantic building stone. The case was green with rust and terribly bent, but he managed to tug the end off and retrieve the scroll, proud to have found anything of value among the ruins. He had begun to wonder if Psander had somehow gathered every single useful book that remained in existence. This find gave him hope.

Elven Numerology
, read the scroll's top line. “Bandu!” Criton shouted. “I found something that might be useful!” He sat down on yet another mossy block and began to read.

“In studying the numbers most significant to the fair folk,” he read, “no number matches the number eleven in frequency. The number appears everywhere: in the years between elven raids, in the syllabation of elvish poetry, even potentially in the number of children kidnapped in each raid.

“While child disappearances have been attributed to elves all throughout history, the only sightings ever confirmed by multiple reliable witnesses were recorded in 7382, in the waning years of the War of the Heavens; in 7503; and most recently in 7569. The intervals between these confirmed raids, as Zaradon points out, are all multiples of eleven. It is possible, of course, that raids have been much more frequent than recorded. Zaradon has posited that fairy raids may occur as often as every eleven years, although he has so far been unable to produce solid evidence to that effect.”

Criton rubbed his eyes. Whoever had written this scroll had tiny, cramped handwriting that forced him to strain his eyes to decipher every word. There were even smaller notes scribbled in the margins, and combined with the obtuseness of the sentences, it made for very slow going. He wished Phaedra were here. She would have pored over this scroll and picked out all the useful parts. Without her, he had no choice but to soldier on.

“Besides the question of raids,” he read, “the number eleven also appears in poetry attributed to the Kindly Folk, generally in the syllabation of each line. However, the authenticity of all such fairy poetry has been called into question of late. Mage Saphon has suggested that what was once credulously termed fairy poetry is an invention of bards and minstrels, an opinion that has gained some standing in recent years.”

Criton's mind was going numb. He yawned and skipped ahead.

“While the number eleven is by far the most prominent, three and its multiples also appear to be relevant numbers to the Fair Folk, much as they are to humans. It is a strange fact that although accounts of fairy kidnappings – including those not confirmed by reliable witnesses – contain significant variation, the rare tales of a child's return always follow the same pattern: a child formerly thought kidnapped by elves returns to his bed precisely three years later with no recollection of the time spent away from his family. Although only four unique variations on this tale have been recorded, the cases bear such a striking similarity to each other that the three-year timeline of return cannot readily be dismissed.”

Enough – Criton could read no more. He was getting a headache. He stood up, scroll in hand, and went to find Bandu.

Bandu was standing at the edge of the rubble, repeatedly thrusting her arm into the air, curling her fingers around nothing, and yanking her hand back to herself as if burned.

“What are you doing?” Criton asked her.

She sighed and sat down. “I try to take sky net from the air,” she said, frustration in her voice. “No good.”

“I found a scroll,” Criton said, showing it to her. “It's awful to read, though. It's all about numerology.”

Bandu looked at him blankly. “What is nume, nume, what?”

“It's about numbers,” he explained, “but I don't think it's said anything useful yet. I guess I'll have to read to the end to make sure I don't miss anything important before I go looking for more. The thing is, I don't think I even want to find any more scrolls at this point. This stuff is so hard to read, Bandu!”

She reached for his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “You can read,” she said. “You are strong and good.”

He squeezed her hand too, and sat down next to her. “How do you feel?” he asked.

“Hungry.”

Criton nodded. He was hungry too, now that he thought of it.

“This gate is not the same,” Bandu said.

“How has it changed?”

She shook her head. “Not changed. It's a not-same gate. The gate I come through before is another place.”

“So they have different gates? If this one won't open for us, should we try another one?”

“No,” Bandu answered. “How do we find other one? If we are lost, our friends do not live.”

Criton nodded, and they sat a moment in hungry silence. Not all the hunger in his belly was really his, Criton realized with a start. The feeling was radiating so strongly from Bandu that he could feel it in his own stomach. It tasted of her.

“I'd better find you something to eat,” he said, standing up.

Bandu nodded. “I find Hunter's things,” she said, pointing. Sure enough, Hunter's sword, dagger, armor and shield were gathered in a small pile alongside Narky's spear. “I move them here, so we don't forget.”

“Oh, good.”

“The reading helps?” she asked.

Criton sighed. “Maybe,” he said. “As I said, it's all about numbers. It talks about some discussions between wizards about the timing of the fairies' raids and that sort of thing. One of them thought that the fairies kidnap children every eleven years. The author didn't agree with him, I think, but if the elves kidnapped you when you were the same age as those kids, and they're back again now, the eleven year thing might be right. I don't see how knowing that really helps us, though.”

Bandu thought about it. “Read more,” she said at last. “But first bring food.”

He stood to go, but for a moment, Bandu held his wrist. “Be careful,” she said. “Animals here look almost same, but they are not the same. Don't let them eat you.”

Criton smiled weakly. “I'll be fine.”

He wandered into the forest, more afraid than he liked to admit. Every noise sounded menacing to him; even the wind on his back made him spin around nervously. He thought he heard the sound of water up ahead – that at least was promising. He and Bandu would need fresh water, and so would the animals.

There were also fish in the stream. Criton could see them darting this way and that, and though they were mostly small, fishing did seem a good deal safer than hunting. Criton knelt down by the water, slowly dipping in his hands and waiting for a larger, unsuspecting fish to pass between them. This might take time, but at least it wasn't especially dangerous.

At least so he assumed until the fish noticed him. Within seconds, a crowd of them were swarming around his arms, biting him with their tiny teeth. One of Criton's scales was ripped off, and then another, drops of his blood running into the stream in little clouds. He stumbled back away from the water, and still the fish clung to him. God Most High, they could bite!

He breathed fire at his own arms, anything to stop those little teeth. To his relief, the fish fell off him in a small pile. There were a good ten to fifteen of them, but he still thought they would be less of a meal for him and Bandu than he had been for them.

He glanced back into the stream, where his blood had caused a frenzy. The remaining fish were ripping each other to shreds. Then a larger fish came by and swallowed them all, drifting away placidly. Criton picked up his catch and fled back to Bandu, feeling sick.

They spent several days at Gateway, and each day Bandu insisted that they should stay a little longer. Goodweather would help somehow, or perhaps Bandu would have a breakthrough and find a way to open the mesh herself. The scroll on numerology, when he finally finished reading it, did not help matters. She kept insisting that the barrier would be easier to open on the third day after their capture, then on the sixth day, then surely on the ninth, and when that passed, on the eleventh. Finally, Criton told her she had to stop trying. Ten days had passed since their triumph in the riddle game. If they didn't rescue their friends soon, it would be too late.

“You go,” she said. “Maybe when you bring them here, then I know how to open.”

“Bandu,” he said, as patiently as he could. “I can't go by myself. I need you, and so do they. I don't know anything about this world. If I go alone, I'll be caught and killed right along with the others.”

“No,” said Bandu. “You are strong and smart, you can help them. I need to stay. If we go together and help them and we all run, how that helps if I don't know how to open gate?”

“I do understand what you mean,” he answered, “but if I track those elves down to their hall without even a plan for what to do when I get there, I'll just get myself killed. You think I can rescue everyone on my own? How?”

She looked at him silently for a long time. “They go to Illweather,” she said. “I am sure. They are so angry when they see I name young Goodweather. I never go to Illweather before, but if Illweather is like Goodweather…” She trailed off.

“Yes?”

She took a deep breath. “Goodweather tells me once, he has only one seed every many many years, eleven and hundred and thousand I think. If Illweather is like him, he does anything to save seed. You steal and say you burn it, and I think Illweather is afraid and does what you say him to do. He helps you and shows you others and keeps elves away. If he doesn't, you burn.”

Criton frowned. “Illweather and Goodweather have seeds? I thought you said they were fortresses, like Silent Hall?”

“Like Silent Hall, yes,” Bandu said, frustrated, “but not same. They are also trees and thorns and mushrooms and parts of sky also. Seeds are important for them.”

“I'm sorry, Bandu,” he said, “but I don't understand you at all. If they're fortresses, how can they also be plants and sky? Are you saying they're fortresses made out of trees and mushrooms?”

“Yes,” Bandu sighed. “Is not really right, but almost. Right enough. If you take seed, then Illweather wants it back and maybe will help you.”

Maybe. “And where would I find this seed?”

Bandu looked uncertain. “I think up very high. Goodweather says his seed falls when he is ready, so it has to be up.”

“All right,” said Criton. “That's something to go on, at least. If Illweather has only one seed, and if I can find it, and if Illweather doesn't betray me somehow. Is there something you were planning to do in case that didn't work?”

Bandu shook her head. “If that doesn't work, then I think some other thing when I am there.”

“I thought so,” he said, sitting beside her. “That's what I'm worried about. If I don't have you there with me, who will think of a backup plan? I'm afraid, Bandu. You know this place, and I don't.”

He was finally getting through to her, but that only seemed to make her sadder.

“You need to go,” she said, “and I need to stay. Or they die.”

“I know,” he told her. “I know. I just wish I had you with me, and I'm… afraid.”

“Take Hunter's sword,” she said. “I love you.”

Luckily, the fairies and their prisoners were not hard to track, even after a week and a half. The group had made such deep and wide impressions in the greenery that Criton simply followed their path until he came to a hill that overlooked the castle Illweather.