“However,” he continued, turning his attention back to Alex, “if you do not succeed in finding your way home, the veil will become a barrier, severing past from present and present from future. There will be chaos, and the entire world will be trapped in this maze of yours forever.”
The entire world. The words echoed in the boy’s young mind.
The boy looked at Likho, trying to figure out what the tree-man was up to. It seemed unbelievable that the fate of all the world depended on him finding his way home. But if it were true...
“Why not give me the map and compass, then?”
Likho straightened his back and rose again to his full height. “Because,” he said, “you broke the rules.”
“I didn’t know the rules!” he protested.
“That doesn’t matter,” Likho answered. “But, given the gravity of your present predicament, I might be convinced to give you this”—he sneered—“mechanical instrument, and the map you seek, as well. But know this: that in doing so, you will condemn an innocent little girl to be lost forever in a labyrinth.”
Django whispered earnestly in his ear: “This is a stroke of luck!” he said. “Likho never violates his own rules. You must take him up on this offer. It will not come again.”
Alex turned to him and whispered back. “What about the girl?”
“She is only one person. What is the fate of one person when measured against the entire world?”
The boy thought for a moment. Something about this was not quite right. It didn’t make sense that Likho would refuse to give him the map and compass—then suddenly change his mind. The tree-man appeared to have known about this girl all along; if she needed the two talismans so badly, why hadn’t he simply given them to her himself? Or, if the entire world depended on him finding his way home, why did he even mention the girl?
Likho appeared to have been reading his thoughts. “Because,” he said, “the decision must be yours. I only took the talismans for safekeeping, to guard them from him.” He nodded toward Django.
Django stood up ramrod straight. “Me?” he said, looking shocked.
“Yes, you,” the tree-man said, a hint of disdain in his deep voice. “Do not feign innocence. I have seen your kind before. Young men who believe they know everything, when they have experienced next to nothing. Tell me you were not indignant that your mother should have bestowed the compass upon a stranger. It has been in your family for... how many generations?”
Django shook his head vigorously. “No! I...”
“It doesn’t matter,” Likho continued. “What matters is that you and your ancestors have long used the compass to enrich yourselves. It has guided you to treasures forgotten in the forest; to naïve travelers you might trick out of their fortunes; to roe deer and boar, to hare and pheasant that you might slaughter and feast upon them!” His voice grew fierce and angry as he spoke this last, rising from a low rumble to a roar.
Django cowered before him. “But I swear, none of those creatures were taken in your realm!” His voice quavered. “I swear it on my honor.”
“Honor?” Likho shouted. “You think it honorable to use the Compass of the Seventh Kingdom to line your pockets and take innocent lives? Are those lives less worthy because they live beyond my realm?”
Django was silent. He did not know what to say.
“Is he telling the truth?” said Alex. “Were you really going to take the compass from me?”
Django shook his head vigorously, but it was Likho who spoke, his voice dropping again from its indignant fury. “He does not matter,” the tree-man said. “His mother will deal with him. She, at least, has honor, and he appears to have forgotten that she was watching him, though I did do him the courtesy of reminding him...”
That explained why he’d sounded worried.
“He does not matter,” Likho repeated. “What matters is your decision: Will the talismans go with you, or shall I send them to the girl?”
The boy thought, and thought again. He turned the matter over in his head, then spun it ’round and pulled it inside out. He still could not quite believe that the fate of the entire world might rest upon his shoulders. But there was something about knowing that someone else, a girl perhaps close to his own age, might be lost forever if he did not help her. Could he live with himself if he allowed that to happen? He decided, at the end of all his thinking, that he could not.
“Give them to her,” he said.
Django gasped.
“Are you certain?” asked the tree-man. “If I do this, I will not be able to get them back.”
The boy nodded.
“Very well.” Likho waved his hand, and the map and compass both vanished.
Alex’s shoulders slumped. He was more certain, once he uttered the words, that he had done the right thing, but with that certainty came the realization that the chances of finding his own way home had almost certainly slipped through his fingers.
Likho leaned down again close to him, and his tone, for the first time, seemed sympathetic. “I know this forest better than my own beard,” he said, stroking the tangled strands with a gnarled, woody hand. “And I can direct you to one of the other talismans, which lies within my realm. It is the Flute of Pan’s Third Daughter, and with it, you may yet find your way back home.”
The boy’s face brightened. “Why didn’t you say so?” he asked.
“I had to be sure that you were worthy,” Likho answered.
Alex was starting to get tired of all these tests. First the scarecrow, then Alamina, and now the tree-man. The least they could do would be to tell him he was being tested. The way things were going, he worried he might fail one of these tests eventually and be stuck here for all eternity.
Likho’s voice, however, was reassuring. “You made the right choice, boy,” he said. “I spoke the truth when I said the girl could not get home without the talismans. But I never said it was impossible for you.”
The boy’s eyes grew wide as he remembered what the tree-man had said. He had not understood it at the time; now, he did.
“But do not think the road ahead will be easy,” the tree-man continued. “Without the map and compass, your path ahead is much more difficult. Indeed, you will not be able to find your way back alone; you will need to rely on the heart of another. If that heart is pure, and its owner wise, you may yet find your way home, and the world may yet be saved. But if not...”
He left the rest unsaid.
...
Chapter Twelve
Stew and Cider
The dragon seemed far larger up close than he had from a distance in the sky.
Dreqnir was curled up outside Chris and Carol’s home, because he couldn’t have fit inside. As Elizabeth looked at the village around her, she was certain he couldn’t have fit inside any of the other buildings, either. She would have felt bad for him, lying outside in the freezing polar air, had it not been for a warm quilt, as thick as the wall of a house, draped over him so completely that it covered everything from the top of his head to the tip of his tail.
Carol told her that Chris’ staff of workers had sewn it in just a few hours; they were known not only for their quick work, but for its quality. Elizabeth imagined that no one would have been cold under that quilt. Only Dreqnir’s nose peeked out from beneath it, with puffs of steam escaping like balls of cotton with each new breath. Occasional sparks flew out, as well, and Elizabeth couldn’t tell whether the steam was being formed by the dragon’s breath condensing in the cold air or whether it was actually smoke issuing forth from within. She imagined the inner fire helped keep him warm, as well.
Elizabeth had no such natural source of warmth, and she shivered a little in the cold, even underneath the warm wool-and-velvet coat Carol had given her. Swirls of golden hair peeked out from underneath a matching woolen cap that fit snugly over her head, complete with side flaps that shielded her ears from the winter cold. Matching gloves warmed her hands. On the bridge of her nose rested the Spectacl
es of Samwell Spink, which were attached by a tight band around the back of her head to ensure that they wouldn’t fall off again.
Dreqnir lifted his head as she approached.
“Hello, Dragon,” the girl said.
“Dreqnir,” the dragon said.
“I beg your pardon, Dreqnir,” Elizabeth said, smiling.
Dreqnir smiled back, and Elizabeth’s smile vanished as she stared wide-eyed past two parallel rows of gleaming, knife-point teeth. Had she wished to, she could have stepped into that mouth with plenty of room to spare; the dragon would have had no difficulty in swallowing her whole. Past the tongue and toward the back of Dreqnir’s throat, the girl could see the faint golden glow of molten fire shining up from his belly.
“Dreqnir Dreqsson Flammel,” the dragon announced, raising his head proudly. “Forty-fifth of his name and Duke of the Northern Reach.”
Elizabeth recovered her wits as questions flooded her head. Dragons could speak? Dragons had dukes? She’d never even seen a dragon before; she’d thought they existed in myths and fables.
“I do not wish to be rude,” the girl said, “but how many of you are there?”
“That,” said Dreqnir, “is a secret. If I were to say that we are few, men would hunt us, believing our teeth and scales to be rare and, therefore, valuable. If I were to say that we are many, men would fear our numbers and train their weapons on us whenever we might appear. Knowledge is power, little one, and men cannot be trusted to use it wisely.”
It was here that Carol spoke up: “Not all humans are foolish and self-centered. If they were, who would there be to celebrate Christmas? Without nice children to reward with stockings full of gifts each winter, Poor Nicky would have nothing to do! He would have no reason to make any toys.”
The dragon sniffed. “Nice children can turn into very mean grown-ups,” he said. “Tar Kidron was a nice little boy, once upon a time. He was ‘nice’ when I bound myself to him. But once upon a times become second thoughts as years move past us, and second thoughts become foul deeds. The little boy I knew would never had done the things he has done.”
“There are other little boys,” said Carol, “and little girls”—she smiled at Elizabeth—with good hearts...”
“That can just as easily be corrupted.”
Carol nodded. “What if I were to tell you that the fate of Christmas and the world itself rested on the shoulders of just such a little girl?”
Dreqnir shifted his gaze to Elizabeth, and appeared to be eyeing her more closely. “Then I would pray to all of my ancestors in Dreqinholl that she completes her task before she can be corrupted.” He paused, then turned back to Carol and said: “How is it, exactly, that you expect her to save Christmas... and the world?”
Carol shook her head. “I don’t know. The high counselor doesn’t know, either. I know my Nicky would be able to tell us. But Nigel is holding him somewhere. That is why we need you to find him.”
“That, and you miss your husband,” Dreqnir said with a laugh.
Carol responded with a sad half-laugh of her own. “And that, yes.”
Snow began falling then, flakes fluttering down and settling on the dragon’s nose. He curled his bottom lip upward and blew at them, then shook them off.
A few feet away, a street lantern flickered and went out.
“It’s getting harder and harder to keep them lit,” Carol remarked. “The evernight is getting darker.”
“It’s like a heavy veil is falling,” the girl said.
“Yes,” said Carol, her head bowed. “Just like that.”
She looked up again at the dragon. “We need your help, Dreqnir Dreqsson Flammel,” she said solemnly. “Will you allow yourself to be bound to Elizabeth? Will you help her find my Nicky?”
But before he could answer, Elizabeth said: “I don’t want Dreqnir to be like a slave. I don’t want him to feel like he has to do what I say, the way Tar Kidron made him burn your village and fight with Cary. I never want anything like that for him.”
Dreqnir curled back his lips. It looked like a grimace, but the girl saw a smile dancing in his eyes.
“The bond is not like that,” he said reassuringly. “It is a bond of trust. It only becomes a burden when that trust is abused. That is what Tar Kidron did. I will never be anyone’s slave again,” he said firmly.
Carol’s expression was downcast, but then the dragon continued: “Your concern for me is noted, little one, and it is welcome. Because of it, yes, I will consent to be bound to you.”
Elizabeth thought she heard Carol breathe a sigh of relief.
“Are you sure?” the girl said.
The dragon nodded and leaned forward, laying his head on the ground very close to Elizabeth. For the first time, she noticed something about him: A stone redder than a ruby was embedded in his scales, gleaming with a starburst on his forehead just above and between his eyes. She pointed, then pulled her hand back, realizing it was impolite. “What is that?” she asked.
“It is my heart, little one. A dragon’s heart is what some humans might call his third eye. It sees inward and is connected by a cord to the center of his mind. For a dragon, heart and mind are always unified, unlike in you humans, for whom they often seem to be at war. Go ahead and take it.”
“Take it? But...”
“If we are to be bonded, you must take it and place it next to your own heart. It is how we will communicate our deepest wishes and most profound dreams with one another. It is how I will know your intentions and how you will know mine.”
The girl had to climb on Dreqnir’s nose to reach the heart-gem, and he chuckled a low dragon chuckle as her small feet tickled his shiny scales. When she reached down toward the heart, it seemed to glow more brightly, as though the dragon fire within him had enveloped it with red-gold aura. She was amazed at how easily it came loose in her hand, and at how warm it felt, even in the frigid polar chill.
“We can sew it into the lining of your coat,” Carol suggested, and the dragon nodded in agreement.
“We fly in the morning,” Dreqnir said.
“But first, a hearty meal and a good long sleep are in order!” Carol said.
As if on cue, four villagers appeared, all dressed in the same kind of warm woolen coat that Carol and Elizabeth both wore. Slender and lithe, they were shorter than average but seemed, despite this, uncommonly strong. This was evident, because each of the four held one end of a sturdy rope, the other end of which was tied to a massive wooden bowl of... stew! It was as deep and wide as a tiny house, and steam rose in wisps and curls from the center of it.
The girl wondered that such a thing might have been simply lying around, waiting to serve the next dragon who happened to pop in for supper. It was too big, its rim too high, for any other creature to make use of: Not even the tallest draft horse could have reached its chin and muzzle over the edge. Then, she remembered that Carol had told her the Kringles employed the world’s best craftsmen at their factory.
“Are they your craftsmen?” she said, pointing to the four.
Carol smiled and nodded. “A few of them. They are from a race spread across the northern lands and polar reaches. The Danes call them the Nisse, and the Finns know them as the Keijukainen. In Iceland, they are the Alfur. In an earlier age, they ruled these lands peacefully, and their realm stretched from Siberia across to the Baltics and as far as Hudson’s Bay here in the New World. But while their realm was vast, their numbers were never many, and when your race, the race of man, began to multiply, they moved north with dreams of conquest.”
Dreqnir looked up after loudly slurping up a mouthful of stew. “The race of man,” he scoffed.
Carol looked briefly at the dragon, and the girl saw a tinge of sadness in that look.
She continued: “The Vikings in Scandinavia and the Mongols in Siberia drove northward to stake their claims, but rather than defending their land, the Alfur withdrew, much as Dreqnir’s dragonfolk did. They built this village here, and helped us wi
th our task of crafting the gifts Nicky delivers to good children every year. In days of old, when there were far fewer children on the earth, he crafted all these gifts himself, but as more children came into the world, their help was more than welcome!”
“How old are you?” the girl blurted out, then clapped a hand over her own mouth on realizing the temerity of the question.
Carol laughed aloud. “I don’t discuss my age,” she said, but did not seem offended. Instead, there was a light dancing merrily in her eyes. “Let’s just say that I’m old enough to know things that the Alfur’s ancestors had long forgotten.”
“But not my ancestors,” Dreqnir said. “Their lore is inscribed there.” He tapped a long, sharp toenail against the heart-gem Elizabeth held, then took a long, deep draught from the bowl of soup.
“Ah! You should try it,” he said to Elizabeth. “It’s very good.”
...
The snow had stopped falling by the next morning, although it didn’t seem like morning, of course, because it was still dark. It was not quite as dark as it had been before, however, because the clouds had cleared away. They had been peeled back to reveal a velvet-black sky, inset with tiny ice-blue diamond stars twinkling merrily overhead.
Elizabeth climbed into a sleigh-shaped seat, which the Alfur had crafted to fit perfectly on Dreqnir’s back. And she, in turn, fit perfectly into the seat, which had been designed to her specifications. Leather straps held her snugly but comfortably in place, and an invisible barrier had been installed all around her, so that even if she somehow came loose, she was still protected. Sturdier than glass but also entirely transparent, it rose like a bubble just over her head. She was sure she wouldn’t have even known it was there if Carol hadn’t pointed it out to her.
The Talismans of Time (Academy of the Lost Labyrinth Book 1) Page 10
