The Talismans of Time (Academy of the Lost Labyrinth Book 1)

by Stephen H. Provost

  “You will... essscape.”

  He didn’t know whether the Reaper meant he would escape this place or whether he would escape Death. He would be happy with either result.

  “How? How do I use these talismans?”

  “You will know,” the Reaper said. “In your moment of need, thisss will be revealed.”

  Alex frowned. It sounded like a trick.

  He stepped right up to within a foot or two of the dark, robed figure, which towered over him, its hooded head touching the ceiling. “What other talismans are there?” the boy demanded. “Where can I find them?”

  The Reaper seemed to swallow hard. “You have the Wild Card,” he began. “You mussst alssso obtain the Compassss of the Sssseventh Kingdom... the Map of Gildersssleeve... the Spectacles of Samwell Spink... the Pearly Pocketwatch... the Flute of Pan’s Third Daughter... and the Pathfinder of Destiny.” The staticky shadow at the fringes of the darkened figure were fluctuating wildly now.

  “Take me to them,” Alex said firmly.

  “I cannot,” the Reaper protested. “I cannot leave this placssse unlessszz I am called forth to claim a life from the realm of the living. Unlessszz it is that one’s fated time to die.”

  Alex realized this must have been why the Reaper had summoned him here: If he had been fated to die, the Reaper would have gone forth to retrieve him. Since he had not left this dingy almost-crypt, which seemed to be his dwelling place, the boy could only conclude that it had never been his fated time. The Reaper had been seeking to bend the rules by bringing him here.

  “Then tell me where they are,” Alex demanded, reaching up and shaking the card in his face.

  “Sssome of them are not even... in this world,” the Reaper said. “You will have to crossss over into another placssse to find them.”

  “How can I do that?”

  The boy was growing even bolder and more impatient, while the Reaper took upon himself the aspect of a coward, timid and uneasy. Though the dark figure still towered above him, Alex felt as though he were looking down on a once-dreaded figure reduced to a shadow of what he appeared to be. He held up the card directly before his Reaper’s eyes—and watched in astonishment as the robed and hooded figure dissolved into nothing before his eyes.

  The boy blinked once and then again. Had he cheated Death? Or had he simply stopped Death from cheating him? Either way, he was still alive... though his situation was no better than it had been before. He considered, for a moment, trying to rouse the kobold in the hope that he Goldemar might show him the way out, but he doubted the “king” would be inclined to do so after being tripped and knocked unconscious. He also doubted, furthermore, whether the kobold even knew the way out. He hadn’t exactly seen kobolds running amok out on Highway 5. He hadn’t even heard of kobolds, when it came right down to it.

  So, he stepped past the still-prone body of King Goldemar and back out the door into the cold, gray darkness, which was every bit as cold and gray and dark as it had been before. He stepped carefully down the stairs outside the tall, old building, careful to avoid the broken ones, and looked back over his shoulder to make sure the Reaper hadn’t rematerialized in order to follow him. Seeing that he hadn’t, Alex concluded that he himself was still not fated to die. At least not in this place. And not at this moment.

  He fingered the card in its plastic sleeve inside his pocket and thanked his lucky stars for Lou Gehrig.

  Then he went on his way, moving in the direction that seemed most sensible, down behind the building, where the space between the trees narrowed once more, and a dark mist settled in just above the top of his head once again. In a moment, he could see almost nothing, and he was forced to move forward slowly, zombie-like, with his arms stretched out in front of him to avoid bumping into some unseen obstacle. He was walking so slowly, he knew he’d never get anywhere like this, even if he was, by some happy circumstance, headed in the right direction.

  What was on the other side of this mist, the boy could only guess. He only hoped it wasn’t a dead end that would force him to retrace his steps and send him back the way he’d come.

  ...

  Chapter Seven

  Reindeer Ride

  Elizabeth’s bottom was getting sore. Riding on a reindeer without a saddle was not the most comfortable mode of transportation.

  It didn’t make her feel any better that it was getting colder, too. She couldn’t remember it ever being this cold in Yorkshire, and she shivered and shook in her light dress, teeth chattering as she pulled her arms in close to her—as close as she could while keeping hold of the caribou’s antlers.

  “I know you’re cold.” Cary’s thoughts invaded her mind. “It can’t be helped this far north. Think of it this way: At least you’re not carrying someone on your back.”

  He could certainly seem out-of-sorts at times... but what did he mean by “this far north”? The caribou was not the speediest of creatures, by any standard, and they couldn’t have come very far in the time they’d been trudging along. Elizabeth was as certain as she could be that Yorkshire never got this cold.

  “We’re not in Yorkshire,” Cary said.

  Not in Yorkshire? This was not possible. There was no way, in the wildest of wild imaginations, that they could have gone as far as Durham.

  “We’re not in Durham,” Cary declared.

  Northumberland?

  “Keep going. You’re getting warmer, but only a little bit.”

  We’re actually getting colder, Elizabeth thought, and if he says we’re as far north as Scotland, I’ll say he’s daft.

  The caribou grunted, and the girl took it for a laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You are. Have you ever heard of the Arctic Circle?”

  “Of course I have, you dullard.” It wasn’t a very nice name to call him, but she didn’t appreciate being laughed at.

  “We’re inside it,” he said.

  Now it was Elizabeth’s turn to laugh. “We couldn’t be.”

  “Oh, but we are. I’d like you to meet someone.”

  Elizabeth squinted to see through the white mist, which swirled around above the even whiter snow. She could also see three small figures up ahead of them—although, in fact, they weren’t small at all. The closer they got, the larger they seemed: larger even than the reindeer who was carrying her.

  “Polar bears!” she cried in excitement. She had heard that such creatures existed, living in the great far north, but of course, she had never seen them. They did not live in Yorkshire, or Durham, or Northumberland, or Scotland. They lived in places where the ice didn’t melt and snow fell during summer.

  They kept moving toward the bears across snow-covered tundra, until they were not a hundred yards away from them. Elizabeth wondered whether they would retreat at Cary’s arrival, but on the contrary, they began moving toward the reindeer and the young girl on his back.

  “These are my friends Sasha and Olga, and their cub Katriana,” Cary said. “I know they are very large and fierce looking, but do not be afraid. They are some of the kindest bear-folk I have ever known. And they can speak your tongue. If you are considerate and cordial, they will more than reciprocate your courtesy.”

  Elizabeth clapped her hands. She was very cold, and her teeth were chattering, but she was also very excited. She was going to talk to polar bears!

  The three of them approached Cary and bowed, each in turn: the largest among them first, then the other grown bear, and finally the cub. “Welcome to the North Pole. Well, the magnetic North Pole,” said one of the adults. From the voice, Elizabeth guessed that it was Olga.

  “Is there more than one North Pole?” said Elizabeth. She paused, then remembered her manners and hastily added. “Thank you for your welcome! It’s so good to meet you!”

  “We are glad to meet you, as well,” said Sasha. “It isn’t often your kind are seen this far north. By your kind, I mean the young of your species. We have, on occasion, seen humans who have come of age. B
ut they only seem interested in hunting our kind, and in slaughtering our brethren, the harp and hooded seals.”

  Elizabeth lowered her head. “I am sorry.”

  “We do not blame you,” said Olga. “In fact, we are happy to see someone who is not interested in hunting and targeting our kind.”

  Elizabeth smiled shyly, and Olga saw she was shivering. She ambled forward and held out her arms, and the girl stepped forward, hesitant. The large bear put her arms around Elizabeth, and the girl was amazed at how warm she felt inside her arms. It was a real and true bear hug!

  Her teeth stopped chattering.

  “Is there really more than one North Pole?” she said.

  The cub laughed merrily, and her father joined in.

  “Of course!” Sasha said. “There is one North Pole at the top of the Earth that stays where it is no matter how many years go by. And there is the magnetic North Pole that moves around from year to year. This year, it is here on King Edward Island—at least that’s what your kind call this place. In my youth, it was on a different island, a bit to the south of here.”

  Elizabeth felt confused. “If there are two North Poles, and one is always moving around, how do you know where the real North Pole is?”

  “It’s wherever his Majesty says it is,” Sasha answered.

  “In fact,” said Cary, “at the moment, it’s right here.”

  He nodded his head slightly forward, jostling Elizabeth—who was still on his back—as she tried to keep hold of his antlers.

  Once she had steadied herself again, she looked in the direction Cary had indicated and saw a small gatehouse with a gabled roof, alongside which stood a rotating red-and-white column inside a clear vertical cylinder.

  “A barber pole?” she said aloud, incredulous.

  “Yes, a barber pole. Congratulations for such an astute observation.”

  Elizabeth scowled behind his back.

  “Not just any barber pole, though. This was the first one in the world. His Majesty needed someone to keep that beard of his from becoming a bird’s nest and all that hair from getting in his eyes.”

  His Majesty? Sasha had said that, too. But Queen Victoria was a lady.

  “I told you, we’re not in England anymore. Weren’t you listening?”

  “Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean I believe you,” she said in her thoughts.

  “Even after you saw the North Pole?”

  “That’s not the North Pole. That’s a barber pole at a little building for some imaginary king you made up out of your head.”

  “You’re not the first person to say that about him,” Cary scoffed. “He doesn’t care, as long as you’re nice.”

  Elizabeth didn’t think she’d ever been mean to anyone, at least, not so far as she could remember. Even if she had, it wasn’t possible to be mean to an imaginary person. Or was it? No, of course, it wasn’t! And even if there was a Santa Claus, she wouldn’t be mean to him.

  “Is there really a barber here?” she said aloud.

  “Of course there is!” Olga said, sounding offended. “I am the barber! And the hairstylist. I also do manicures, but I’m a little rusty. King Nicholas doesn’t really go in for fancy nails.”

  Sasha laughed.

  But his laughter was cut short by the arrival of a penguin, who came waddling up, then dove onto the ice head-first and slid the rest of the way. He was clearly in a hurry.

  “I thought penguins were at the South Pole,” Elizabeth said.

  “Most of them are,” said Cary. “But humans seem not to realize that some of us like to travel, too. And some of us prefer to relocate if we don’t like where we happen to have been born.”

  Elizabeth had never thought of it that way, and she didn’t have time to think on it any longer, because the penguin was speaking very quickly and energetically, flapping his little wings in animated fashion to punctuate what he was saying. And what he was saying seemed very disturbing—even if Elizabeth didn’t know exactly what he was talking about.

  “The Village is being attacked!” he said. “A sky demon has descended upon us! Come quickly! The Village is under siege!”

  “Village?” said Elizabeth. “What village?”

  But Cary wasn’t waiting to hear any more. Before Elizabeth could even say goodbye to the polar bears, he was taking to the sky again, and she found herself holding on to his antlers for dear life.

  “What happened?” she said. “Where are we going?”

  He didn’t answer, perhaps because he was distracted by the sight of dark smoke rising from somewhere just beyond a high snowdrift a fair distance ahead. The clouds had parted and were rapidly fleeing the north wind, revealing the bright moon almost directly overhead. Elizabeth noticed that they were on a cobblestone road now, and realized there was no sign of the high hedgerows that had formed the labyrinth. They were out in the open. On either side of the cobblestone path stood a row of lanterns, oil-flames dancing, spaced at regular intervals until they disappeared behind the snowdrift that lay in front of them.

  The smoke was too heavy to be from a chimney. Something was burning.

  “This does not look good.” Cary’s thought wasn’t directed at Elizabeth in particular. It was an observation, behind which lay more than a hint of worry.

  The girl wondered what was up there.

  “The Village,” Cary thought, but he was less focused than usual, seeming distracted.

  A village at the North Pole. Wait a minute. It couldn’t be...

  “Of course it is,” the caribou said, irritated. “I thought the name Comet would have given it away. But I know, you don’t believe in Christmas. Just because you don’t believe in something, that doesn’t mean it isn’t so.”

  “And just because you believe in something doesn’t make it so, either.”

  Before the reindeer could respond, their attention was drawn to the sky, where a giant winged creature rose from beyond the snowbank. Ascending in front of the moon, it let loose a scream that, even at this distance, was piercing, breathing fire—yes, fire!—in the next moment from its nostrils.

  “A dragon!” the caribou exclaimed in his thoughts. “I did not believe they existed!”

  He believed in Father Christmas but not in dragons?

  “I’ve met Father Christmas, as you call him, but he prefers Nicholas. That would be King Nicholas to you, young woman.”

  Elizabeth snorted. It was bad enough when grown-ups called her “young woman.” To hear it from a four-legged furry animal felt downright insulting.

  Cary responded by jouncing her a little more than usual, but the thoughts she sensed from him had little to do with her. As they both watched, the dragon soared high, then swooped low again beyond the snowbank. An orange glow flared, followed by a new, dense plume of smoke.

  “It’s burning the Village!” Cary said. “That beast is burning the Village!”

  And in that moment, something remarkable happened: The girl felt herself being lifted into the air and noticed that Cary’s feet were no longer touching the ground! They were moving faster, too. A lot faster. As they rose, the chill air bit savagely at her face. She held on tight to the reindeer’s antlers as he banked sharply right, around the snowbank, and the village he had spoken of came into view. It wasn’t a large settlement: A few dozen cottages and farms scattered across the snow-covered landscape. But at the center of it was a large clocktower and a village square lined with shops. None of these, she saw, was on fire. The flames were rising from a bit farther on, from a huge complex at the outskirts of the village that looked like a factory of some sort.

  The dragon wheeled high in the air, then dove directly toward the complex, fire shooting in straight, yellow-hot streams from his nostrils.

  To her horror, Elizabeth realized that the flying caribou (flying caribou!) was headed directly toward the dragon, as though intending to intercept it. She closed her eyes tightly and clung to Cary’s antler’s for dear life. “This is madness! We’ll be killed!”
<
br />   “Not if I can help it!”

  Cary flew toward the dragon with such speed the still air whistled like a hurricane in the girl’s ears. She opened her eyes just enough to see them rising at the last moment before they reached the dragon, which she saw in that same instant was surmounted by a single black-clad rider. In his right hand he held a whip adorned with barbed steel spikes—a whip he was using to flay the dragon’s scaled skin mercilessly. Each time he brought the scourge down on the creature’s flesh, it screamed in pain and released another stream of molten fire. Elizabeth realized that the great dragon was not acting of its own accord, but was in the thrall of this black rider who somehow had somehow subdued it.

  When he was almost on top of the beast, Cary rose suddenly just above it and kicked violently with his back legs, striking the black-clad rider in the back. Elizabeth heard him shout above the howling wind and saw him topple in from his perch and plummet toward the earth. But in almost the same moment, she lost her grip on Cary’s antlers and felt his body falling away beneath her. Then she herself was falling, tumbling through the air and downward, ever downward, toward the earth. The last thing she saw was Cary flying nearby. Or was it Cary? She would have sworn she saw two flying caribou. Or three. Or four. But maybe her panicked imagination had just multiplied them amid her tumbling-turning fall.

  She heard a voice in her head: “Open your arms!” and somehow, she complied. She felt a thud! against her chest and felt her arms close in front of her, almost by instinct, around a soft and furry something.

  Then, she blacked out.

  ...

  What she awoke to seemed almost as much like a dream as what she’d left behind.

  “Where am I?” Elizabeth said, her eyes fluttering open.

  She lay on a goose-down bed, wrapped in a warm quilt, in front of a raging fire. It reminded her of the flames she had seen unleashed by the dragon. The poor dragon! It wasn’t his fault. The black rider who had tortured him with that awful whip was to blame. “What happened... to the dragon?” She shivered at midsentence, and realized she had caught a chill traveling, as she had, through rain and snow and the freezing night.