He threw his arms around her and hugged her. “It’s all right, Elizabeth” he said.
“But I failed,” she said, crying softly. “You don’t understand. Carol trusted me to find her husband, and I thought I could. But I couldn’t. The compass said he was here. But he isn’t. And when I didn’t see him, I just forgot about him.”
“You didn’t forget about him. You just didn’t recognize him—which is perfectly understandable, since you’ve never met him before!”
Elizabeth stopped crying when she realized the little boy wasn’t talking like a little boy.
She pulled back from his embrace and opened her eyes.
There, standing in front of her, was a full-grown man with a long white beard, dressed in a wool-and-velvet maroon coat and gloves very like her own. A matching hat that looked like a nightcap with a white ball on the end of it topped his head.
Elizabeth blinked: “Who are you?” she said, puzzled. “Where did the boy go?”
“You still don’t recognize me, do you?” the man said. “As I said, it is understandable, since you’ve never met me!” He chuckled merrily: “Aha! A-ho-ho-ho!” Then he paused and said, “I am the boy.”
“I don’t understand,” said Elizabeth, fumbling inside her coat and pulling out the Spectacles of Samwell Spink. She was suddenly anxious. What if this was another one of Nigel’s tricks?
“Go ahead,” said the man. “We have time. Time, in fact, is all we have.”
She scowled, then strapped the spectacles on and adjusted them to reveal his aura. It was gold and sparkly, just like Carol Kringle’s.
“You’re not Nigel,” she said.
“No, I am most certainly not my brother.” His tone was one of mere certainty, and contained no hint of disdain.
“Your brother? That means...”
“King Nicholas, at your service.” He bowed graciously.
Now, it was her turn to throw her arms around him. She ran up and embraced him tightly. “But how?”
He chuckled his distinctive chuckle once again. “No matter how old we get—and I am very, very old—there is still a child inside each one of us,” he said. “And no matter how young we are, there is always a grownup soon to be. Time is an illusion that fools all of us, unless we know how to see past it with new eyes.”
“Like the spectacles,” said Elizabeth.
“Like that, yes, but not exactly. We already have the eyes we need to see the truth of things. We’ve just forgotten where they are.” He tapped his chest.
“But why did you appear as a child?” she asked him.
“I was scared,” he said simply. “Wouldn’t you have been, in my place?”
She nodded.
“The same way you have been scared for as long as you can remember. That’s why you’ve always appeared as a young girl. It is how you’ve always thought of yourself, so that’s just how you’ve been. But look.” He reached inside his coat and pulled out a small hand mirror.
“Why do you carry that around with you?” Elizabeth asked.
“I like to look my best when visiting strangers’ homes, and I do that quite a lot. It wouldn’t do to arrive all covered in ash and soot.”
Elizabeth laughed. It was the first time she could remember having done so in a very, very, very long time. She took the mirror and opened it, peering into its face. There, staring back at her, was a woman of middle years with golden hair, salted by streaks of silver over a high forehead. As she smiled, a dimple formed in her left cheek, the same as it always had. But otherwise, the image in the mirror looked much different—much, much older—than she herself had always felt.
Elizabeth’s laughter faded. “Who is that?” she asked.
“You, of course,” King Nicholas answered. “It would seem you have found your courage. You are no longer the scared child you always thought you were.”
Then, she remembered. She remembered living alone in Ridley Manor for many years after her parents died, slain on the road to York by a highwayman who was never caught. They had left her behind, in the care of her governess, while they had traveled to a Christmas Eve ball at a nearby estate. This, she now knew, was the true reason she never believed in Christmas. Her parents had left her behind, and had never returned. A stranger had arrived with news of their deaths, and she overheard him deliver the news to the governess as Elizabeth hid behind the door to the pantry. She had overheard everything, but she’d wanted to forget. In the end, she had wanted it so badly that she really did. She convinced herself that she’d never had any parents, because not having them was better than thinking they’d left her behind.
What they had left was enough money in their estate to pay for the governess to stay on at Ridley Manor and care for Elizabeth as long as she was needed. Her name was Miss Howell, but Elizabeth took to calling her Miss Owl as a form of endearment. Miss Owl had always made sure Elizabeth was fed, clothed and cared for, over the course of many years. She’s become the mother Elizabeth had forgotten she ever had.
Shortly after her parents died, Elizabeth remembered having the labyrinth planted in their memory. After that, she had refused to ever look at it again. It had been too painful. After a time, she’d made herself forget it was even there.
She’d made herself forget everything else, too, until all that remained was the little girl who had lived inside her before it all happened, staying alone inside that huge, dark mansion, with only Miss Howell for company. Most of the time, with just a single lamp lighting a single room by which she’d read and reread all the books her parents had kept in the manor’s library.
There were stories there of gypsies and kobolds, of tree-men and knights and Greek heroes. There were spooky stories of All Hallows’ Eve, and bright, cheery stories of Christmas, but she hadn’t wanted to hear bright cheery stories after she’d learned of her parents’ death. How could a world as cruel as this taunt children with tales of a kindly old man who gave good little children gifts on Christmas Eve? Such a man could not exist. Not in her world. Not in this world. If he did, she did not belong there.
“I don’t belong here,” said Elizabeth softly.
She realized why it had hurt her so much to hear that Carol had lost King Nicholas, that Dreqnir had been separated from his mother, that Nicholas, when he had appeared as a child, seemed so alone.
It was because she had lost those she loved, too. It was because she, too, felt alone, though she had grown so accustomed to it she almost had forgotten.
Nicholas hugged her tightly. “You do belong here, child. But this is not your time. And I fear that unless you find it, you will not solve the riddle of the labyrinth, and you will not find your true home.”
...
Chapter Twenty
Labrys
Illian returned from exploring the tunnels to be sure that all of Nigel’s men had gone. She had found no trace of them, but they had clearly departed in haste, she said, because they had left a large cache of weapons behind them. One of these she had retrieved to replace the spear that had been destroyed by Captain Prometheus’ fireball. It was not, however, another spear, but rather, a handsome double-headed axe.
“A pelekys,” Dreqnir said when he saw it. “The first great weapon of the Greeks.”
“Or labrys,” said Taradreq. “According to legend, the god Zeus used it to bring forth lightning by cleaving the heavens in two.”
“Labrys,” said Elizabeth. “It sounds like ‘labyrinth.’”
“It comes from the same word,” Taradreq said.
Elizabeth wondered if that meant anything. She thought it probably did, but she didn’t know what. Just as interesting, she found, was the fact that no one seemed to be treating her any differently, now that she appeared as a grown woman rather than a young girl. It was as though everyone had seen her that way all along—everyone, that is, except she herself. She suspected they had probably seen King Nicholas that way, too, even though he had appeared as a young boy to her. That would explain why no one seemed
to have been worried about failing to find him: They had found him, and they knew it. Elizabeth wondered what else she might be seeing differently than it really was.
Or hearing, for that matter. She was still hearing that faint music in her ears from somewhere far away, but no one else seemed to hear it. The tune changed from time to time, and sometimes it fell silent altogether. There were times when she recognized the music, and others when she did not. She mentioned it to the others, but they seemed less concerned about it than they were about returning home—Dreqnir and Taradreq to Dragehjem, and King Nicholas to his North Pole Village. Not only did he miss Carol, but Dreqnir had told him what had befallen his factory, and he was eager to return and oversee its reconstruction.
They were also concerned about something else: The evernight had still not ended, even though Lord Nigel had been defeated and the king had been rescued. They all wondered what it would take to end the unending darkness and bring the sun back to the vault of the sky. She remembered something Carol had said: that the village’s high counselor was convinced that the one who possessed the talismans of time could restore the world to sunlight. She knew the spectacles and the pocketwatch were two of the talismans, and she had found two more—the compass and the map—at Dragehjem. That would mean she had four of the talismans, but she didn’t know how many others there were, or whether all of them were needed in order to lift the curse.
Perhaps King Nicholas would know.
“Have you heard of the talismans of time?” she asked.
He nodded.
“How many are there, and where can I find them?”
Nicholas scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Well,” he said, “you already have five of them.”
“Five?”
“The pocketwatch, the map, the compass and the spectacles.”
That was four.
“The fifth is the Pathfinder of Destiny.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “The axe!”
Illian fingered the weapon. “Are you saying this is the Pathfinder of Destiny?”
“Well...,” said Nicholas.
Illiana stepped forward and offered the axe to Elizabeth. “If you are meant to use these talismans of which you speak, you should carry all of them.”
But Elizabeth declined. “You should hold it for now,” she said. “I think you are better equipped to use it than I.”
Illiana nodded and stood at attention: “I will wield it only in your service. You have my word.”
Elizabeth looked down, feeling embarrassed. Part of her wanted to object; she didn’t feel qualified to have anyone serve her, even less so having seen the plight of the slaves aboard the Tranquility. She even felt guilty, now that she thought about, at having allowed Miss Howell to look after her so completely all those years. But when she looked back up into Illian’s eyes, she saw not the shame of servitude, but the commitment of one who took pride in offering service. That was different, she supposed, and so she said, simply, “Thank you.”
Then, she turned back to Nicholas. “How many other talismans are there?”
“Two,” he said.
“Where are they? Can we use the compass and the map to find them?”
But Nicholas looked down, a troubled expression on his face. “They are not here,” he said simply.
“Yes, but can we get to them?” said Taradreq. “Our wings are at your disposal.”
Dreqnir nodded in agreement.
“I fear you cannot help us, dragon friends,” said Nicholas. “When I said they are not here, I meant they are not here anywhere. They do not exist in this time. The Flute of Pan’s Third Daughter was cast into the River of Time and is locked inside the labyrinth of Daedalus, a place outside of time. The other is the Wild Card, a keepsake that depicts a baseball player who will not be born until the next century.”
“What is baseball?” asked Elizabeth.
“They play it in America,” said Dreqnir. “It’s a little like cricket.”
“Boring,” said Elizabeth, and the dragons both laughed. But she was thinking about something else. They had mentioned a labyrinth, and she was in a labyrinth. Or, at least, she had entered one. What if her labyrinth and the labyrinth of Daedalus were one and the same? She thought of the talismans. Each of them had served her at a particular time. Without the map and compass, she could not have found Nigel, and without the pocketwatch, she could not have defeated him. Without the spectacles, she would not have known whom to trust. The only talisman she hadn’t used so far was the one she’d just discovered: the labrys. The Pathfinder of Destiny. Why should an axe be called a pathfinder, she wondered?
“This pathfinder. How is it used?”
“If Zeus used it to cleave the heavens in two and create light, maybe we’re supposed to do the same thing,” Illiana said. “If one of the dragons can take me close enough to the sky, maybe I can use it to rip the veil of darkness in two and let the sun back in.”
“I don’t think the sun works that way,” said Elizabeth. “I don’t think there’s an actual veil in the sky that can be torn in two.”
“Oh,” said Illiana, disappointed. “It would have been fun.”
“Yes, it would have,” said Dreqnir. “But she’s right. The story is a myth, and myths tend to deal in symbols, not actual things.”
“Dragons are supposed to be myths, too,” Illiana protested.
Dreqnir said nothing. She had a point.
Each of the other talismans had given her some idea of how they should be used, but she didn’t get any sense of that from the labrys. Instead, she kept getting distracted by the music that had started playing in her head again.
This time, it was a song she knew well. It had been playing on the gramophone, a device her parents had bought a few years earlier, on the night she learned of their deaths.
An old folk tune, it went like this:
Tell me the tales that to me were so dear,
Long, long ago, long, long ago,
Sing me the songs I delighted to hear,
Long, long ago, long ago,
Now you are come all my grief is removed,
Let me forget that so long you have roved.
Let me believe that you love as you loved,
Long, long ago, long ago.
Do you remember the paths where we met?
Long, long ago, long, long ago.
Ah, yes, you told me you’d never forget,
Long, long ago, long ago.
Then to all others, my smile you preferred,
Love, when you spoke, gave a charm to each word.
Still my heart treasures the phrases I heard,
Long, long ago, long ago.
Tho’ by your kindness my fond hopes were raised,
Long, long ago, long, long ago.
You by more eloquent lips have been praised,
Long, long ago, long, long ago,
But, by long absence your truth has been tried,
Still to your accents I listen with pride,
Blessed as I was when I sat by your side.
Long, long ago, long ago.
It made her think of her parents, and how they’d left her: the thing she’d never wanted to think of again.
The others were all staring at her.
“What’s wrong?” asked Illian.
Elizabeth couldn’t speak. She had felt all the blood drain from her face, and still the tune kept playing in her ears.
“Make it stop,” she said finally, desperate. “Please, dear God, make it stop.” She started crying.
“Make what stop?” Taradreq asked in confusion.
“Don’t you hear it? That music. It’s coming from... it’s coming from over there!” She pointed to the end of the tunnel where they were standing, at an oddly placed wooden closet, like a wardrobe or armoire. She didn’t remember seeing it there before, and evidently, none of the others did, either.
“Where did that come from?” asked Illian.
“I didn’t see it there befor
e,” said Dreqnir.
But Elizabeth didn’t care about that. All she cared about was the music, which seemed to be getting louder, even if no one else could hear it.
“MAKE IT STOP!” she shouted.
But nobody moved.
Her mind was racing, in a frenzy. She only knew she had to stop the music from playing. She couldn’t wait any longer, or it would drive her mad.
In instant, she lunged at Illian and grabbed the labrys away from her. The spearmaiden was taken so completely off her guard that she released it before she realized what was happening.
Wrapping both hands tight around the handle, Elizabeth sprinted toward the armoire, tears streaming from her eyes as they narrowed and focused on the object of her fury. As she ran, the music seemed to grow louder. It sounded like it was being played on a flute. How could the others not have heard it?
She didn’t stop to think about what King Nicholas has said: that a flute was one of the two missing talismans.
She just knew that she...
Had.
To.
Make.
It.
Stop.
She was nearly upon it now. She raised the axe above her head and brought it down with a vengeance on the closet, sending wooden shards and splinters flying. She stopped and planted her feet and squared her shoulders. She lifted the axe above her head and brought it down again. And again. And again. Until the doors to the armoire were shattered and ruined, with almost nothing was left attached to the hinges.
She stopped, breathing hard, and stared.
What lay beyond was more than a clothes closet. A whole lot more.
...
Chapter Twenty-One
Timeswitch
Isis jumped and yowled, and Ruffus began barking excitedly. Alex dropped the flute, as something came crashing through the wall that had seemed solid and impregnable just a moment ago.
Isis leapt onto the boy’s shoulder, her nine tails twirling like rotors on a helicopter. They lifted her into the air, and she lunged, claws extended and flaying the empty air. The cat literally flew toward the breach in the wall, which had been created by the two-headed axe wielded by the woman who stood there.
The Talismans of Time (Academy of the Lost Labyrinth Book 1) Page 18
