The White Fox (22 page)

Jack hardly knew what he was doing. Before the rational side of his brain had had time to react, he was charging forward and jumping under Hakim’s outstretched arm. Arching back his arm, he threw his sword upwards with all his might.

Time seemed to slow down. He was dimly aware of something shining bright white at his chest, but his gaze was fixed on the spinning blade. It cycled through the air, turning over and over, and struck the beast directly in the throat.

Time returned to normal in a flash. The creature screamed (adding an aircraft carrier to the cars) as more white light burst from its throat, scouring a deep gash in the rock above. It writhed and screeched, and the inferno at its center seemed to intensify. The exoskeleton was melting away, sinking back into the lava like disease-ridden treacle. With a final, almighty roar, blackness engulfed it, and it imploded into nothingness. Jack’s sword extruded itself from the vanishing darkness and dropped like a falcon to land on the platform, the blade driven impressively deep into the rock.

No one moved.

“Good throw,” Adâ said weakly, picking herself up.

Jack just stood and stared at the space where the creature had been. There was no indication that it had ever existed. What was more, the air seemed somehow cleaner, as though purged from an unhealthy spore. He was dimly aware of people moving around him and dragged himself back to reality. “Is it dead?” he said bluntly to Hakim.

“I highly doubt it. We’ll just have to …” He trailed off, staring at something above him.

Jack followed his gaze and immediately recognized what was strange. Twisting out of the air into existence was a thick, charred chain.

As Hakim had already guessed, the presence of such a powerful demon had caused reality to warp around it, some things appearing and others disappearing. The cage now conjuring itself out of the steam had originally been forged by ancient dwarves to imprison their most heinous criminals, and therefore was not Dark alchemy in and of itself. Of course, modern-day dwarves were much more civilized and did not suspend their victims over lava pits for days on end until their internal organs failed from excessive heat. No dwarf of the contemporary age would dream of performing such a heartless punishment—hanging, drawing, and quartering the condemned and then dropping their remains off a mountain for birds of prey to devour was seen as much more humane.

The chain swirled onwards, and out of the clearing steam something resembling a giant birdcage loomed.

“Can you get it down?” Adâ said, turning to Hakim.

“That shouldn’t be a problem.” He raised his staff and intoned a few words under his breath. The symbol on the wood glowed, and the cage began to rattle along the chain towards them, apparently of its own accord. As it drew closer, Jack could see something hunched in the corner. Shocked, he realized it was a body.

The cage creaked to a halt on the edge of the pit, and Hakim and Adâ hurried over, followed by Jack and Lucy. The door had no lock, but ash and blackened, warped metal had welded it to the side. Hakim gestured them to stand back and placed his hand on one of the bars of the door. Searing golden light flashed over the frame, and it whiplashed open with a small explosion.

They all peered inside. In the opposite corner was the huddled figure. His clothes—what could have been a fine cloak and tunic, though Jack couldn’t tell—had been scorched and reduced to rags. His dark hair was matted and reached his shoulder blades. As he raised his head, Jack recognized the iconic pointed ears and Middle Eastern complexion of an elf.

The prisoner struggled to stand, gripping the cage door for support. Hakim grabbed his hand, hauling him out of the cage and onto the rocks. The elf swayed, looking dazed, but righted himself and looked around. Grime covered his fine, angular face, though his bright blue eyes were alive and alert.

“Sardâr,” Hakim said, awed, and pulled him into a hug. The man’s face broke into a grin as they split apart and Adâ immediately took Hakim’s place.

“I knew you’d do it,” he said, wheezing, easing Adâ off him. “I knew you’d come through. A little earlier would have been nice, though,” he added but only half seriously.

The dwarves had made their way over and were standing a respectable distance away, watching him. Slowly, Sardâr’s gaze moved around the circle until it came to rest on Jack and Lucy. “So, here you are. You must be Lucy Goodman.” He inclined his hand to her, and, a little surprised, she took it. He kissed her softly on the knuckles, and her already scarlet face pinked slightly more. “And you,” he said, turning to Jack, “you’re Jack Lawson. Alex has told me all about you two.” He offered his hand to Jack.

“We’d like some answers, please,” Jack said a little coolly, ignoring his outstretched hand. The raging river of adrenaline pumping around his body had not drained in the slightest, but he was feeling oddly clearheaded considering what he had just done.

“Now, Jack, is that really reasonable?” Hakim reprimanded him. “He’s just come from—”

“No,” Sardâr interrupted, “he deserves them.”

“I do?” Jack said, a little surprised.

“Of course you do,” Sardâr replied, almost quizzically. “You’ve been carted from one world to another, come into contact with the Cult, faced down, I presume, a growing number of adversaries that you could have never contemplated only days ago, and you don’t know what’s happened to you. Of course you deserve to know!”

Adâ avoided both Jack and Lucy’s eyes slightly sheepishly.

Sardâr took a step forward but staggered and was caught by Hakim. For the first time, Jack noticed that his leg was twisted the wrong way under him. “However,” he said weakly, “I would appreciate it if we could get back down the mountain first.” Jack nodded.

Bál led the dwarves and Lucy out. Hakim followed, beckoning Jack with him. They hoisted Sardâr onto their shoulders, and, with Adâ in tow, returned up the tunnel.

The journey down the mountain was much harder than the way up. The heat of the volcano had faded, but the uncomfortable rubbing of the armor was still there, coupled with a new soreness. Jack’s adrenaline seeped away, and he found himself exhausted.

He and Hakim had to support Sardâr all the way down, something made far more arduous by Jack realizing that his helmet had become a permanent addition to Mount Fafnir when he’d fallen off the rock. He flinched every time a few pebbles scattered down, though no one seemed to notice.

Once or twice, Hakim had to change his grip on Sardâr, and on those occasions Jack noticed just how underweight Sardâr was. Out of the crimson light of the volcano, he looked extremely pale and worn, as though he’d had to keep a permanent level of stress on himself all the time he’d been imprisoned.

They arrived in the valley through the same wrought-iron gateway as they had come. Under the purple-streaked orange sky, the miners were wrapping up their day’s work and returning to the fortress for a well-earned dinner. Another crowd of bedraggled refugees was clustered around the open gate. Many of them paused in the midst of their slow influx to gaze, puzzled, at the disaccorded party of charred-looking elves and dwarves pushing past them into the entrance hall.

Bál and the other three left for the barracks soon after—one to report to the king—and Hakim told Jack and Lucy to go and get cleaned up, then meet them in Sardâr’s room.

Almost an hour later, after they had showered, changed, and eaten a quick dinner, they knocked on the door.

“Come in,” came the tired reply from inside.

Jack pushed on the wood, and it swung inwards. The interior chamber was slightly larger than Jack’s room, with another door leading into a bedroom on the left. The wall to the right was dominated by an oak bookcase, whilst the one opposite held a large window, showing the pitch-black valley below and the slightly lighter sky. No lamps were lit. Instead, to their left, Sardâr, Adâ, and Hakim sat in armchairs next to a flickering grate beneath an ornate fireplace. As Jack and Lucy walked over to them, the latter two elves stood.

“Oh, don’t leave because of us,” Jack said hurriedly, but to his surprise, Adâ did not look angry or disdainful. Surprise quickly turned to astonishment as she smiled at them and patted Jack on the shoulder.

“You did well today. Sardâr is going to explain things to you. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Hakim nodded at them, and the two elves left.

“What happened to her?” Lucy whispered as they continued to Sardâr’s chair. Jack shrugged, perplexed.

“Sit down, please,” said the elf kindly. He was wrapped in a light robe over a soft snowy tunic, bright against his desert-darkened skin. He looked something like a Zoroastrian prophet, seated next to the sacred fire at the heart of a temple. A flagon of a steaming drink was clasped in his hands. He still appeared gaunt and tired, but most of the volcanic grime had gone, and his shoulder-length dark hair was sleek and clean. “Now, you will understandably be wanting an explanation for everything that’s happened.”

“Yes, we’ve been waiting for quite a lot of time,” Lucy said. Jack got the impression that she didn’t want this opportunity to slip away. He shared her anxiety and leaned forward slightly in his chair.

“Of course, you deserve one.” In an opposite motion to Jack’s, he settled more comfortably in his armchair. “Well, where to begin? Adâ has already filled me in on what has happened to you in the past few days, and I must say you have held up valiantly. Not many people could cope with the Cult of Dionysus, let alone young Vincent’s flying skills.” He smiled encouragingly.

Lucy, however, seemed to feel that they were getting nowhere. “Yes, but what does that
mean
? Who
are
the Cult of Dionysus? Why are they still after us? Why did we have to leave Earth?”

Sardâr surveyed her for a moment. “You must understand, I tell you this in the deepest confidence. This information is only known, bar a few scholars and traders, to the Apollonians and the Cult of Dionysus. Before I tell you, you must swear to me that you will not disclose it to anyone.”

Jack and Lucy looked at each other and nodded in unison.

“What about Adâ and Hakim?”

“They both belong to the Apollonians. They have known for quite some time, as does Thengel. However, the vast majority of the dwarves in this kingdom have no idea. It would be extremely irresponsible to jeopardize their ignorance.” Sardâr paused, apparently aligning his thoughts. Then he picked up an ancient-looking book off the top of the pile next to him, and, flicking through, found a page with a piece of parchment leafed in. “Sorry about the basic translation,” he explained before reading off the parchment.

You must, my people, understand that we live in
an essentially dualistic universe. We are caught
between two opposite poles of reality: the Light,
the positive, the logical, the ordered; and the Dark,
the negative, the primal, the chaotic. Light and
Dark exist within all things and are in constant
opposition. It is an age-old battle. For in the
beginning, the exemplar of Light, Elysia, fought
her opposite, the Dragon, and the universe was
born from their struggle. My people, you do not
know what your ancestors sacrificed for you. The
Light fought the Dark again, and the supporters
of Elysia were driven back to the ancient kingdom
of Tiberisa to make their last stand.

When all hope seemed lost, in their hour of need,
salvation arrived. A fallen Star named Risa. It
shattered into seven Shards as it landed. Envoys
from each of the races under the Light—dwarves,
elves, fairies, men, and zöpüta—were sent to find
these Shards. They returned, imbued with great
power, and partitioned the Light and Darkness,
separating the two. We reside in the Light, and
the Dark Realm is separate. Be thankful, my
people, that fortune and Elysia have smiled
upon us so.

“That,” finished Sardâr, “is from the
Testament
of Arafat, who was a priest active in my home kingdom eighteen hundred years ago. There are similar tales from almost every world.” He began taking books off the pile and depositing them on the table. “
The Gospel of Prorok
,
Tiên Tri’s Reading of Ultimate Truth
,
The Divine Message of Yeeonja
…”

“But it’s all just a myth, isn’t it?” Lucy didn’t sound very convinced. “It’s etiological, a prescientific explanation, like the plagues of Egypt.”

“We thought so too,” Sardâr replied darkly. “We thought it was all a fairy tale from some ancient religion, long since dead. We
thought
we’d narrowed our existence down to complete rational understanding through science. But we were wrong. We never thought that a war—
one
war—could draw in so many different worlds and peoples. The more we dug, however, the more we came to realize our distant ancestors established links between worlds long before we originally thought—we thought
we
first discovered them. But being able to travel between worlds isn’t the worrying part of the legend. The worrying part is the existence of Darkness as a real, substantial force in our world.”