Beyond the Valley of Thorns

by Patrick Carman

  “Why did you close the secret door we entered through?” I blurted out. Come to think of it, I wondered how he’d done it as well.

  “This is a dangerous place you’ve stumbled into. You never know who or what might be lurking about in the Dark Hills, what might have found its way down here had I not sealed us in.”

  “Yes, but how did you close it from way back here?” I asked. I wasn’t sure I trusted John Christopher yet.

  “Let’s just say there is more than one way into this room, and I was aware of your arrival when you opened the door to get in.”

  Murphy let go of his tail, and it darted up and down again, casting shadows all over the room.

  “Murphy!” yelled Yipes. This time the squirrel jumped off the table and back into my arms, burying its head next to my elbow. There was a deep silence in the room. I watched in disbelief as John leaned over and blew out the candles, leaving us in complete darkness.

  There was no protection now.

  CHAPTER 5

  WHAT WARVOLD LEFT BEHIND

  A cold blackness enveloped the space. I was afraid, and I stepped back for a wall to lean against while I called into the darkness for Yipes. Murphy became restless in my arms and darted up to my shoulder, where he sat flicking his tail against the back of my head. I turned to look at him, my nose touching his, but I could not make out his face.

  “Take my hand,” said John. “Come on, reach out and take it. We’ve very little time, and certainly none to be wasted on meandering about like the blind.”

  I felt uneasy about putting my hand in his. I hardly knew him at all and he was much bigger than I was. In the dark of the cave I felt my hands shaking, and I felt trapped, as though I had no choice but to do as I was told.

  I kept one hand on the wall and reached out in the air of the cave with the other. When I touched John’s hand I realized how comparatively small mine was. The coarse texture of his skin felt like an old knotted rope. I held tight to his hand, and he pulled me along the wall of the cave until I was unclear where we were.

  “Sit down, Alexa,” he said. I felt the cool dirt floor beneath me with my free hand and slowly sat down. Murphy remained on my shoulder, holding my thick hair between his front paws and shivering with fright. Yipes was somewhere in the room, but he was quiet, so I couldn’t be sure where he was or what he was doing.

  I sat in the black cave only a moment longer, and I listened as the sound of rock sliding against rock came from a short distance away. Then, miraculously, the cave was aglow in watery light, much brighter than the candlelight had been. As the sound of sliding rock persisted, a kaleidoscope of fiery colors ran liquid all around us. I crawled over to the source as Murphy scampered onto my back, and I peered over the edge of a large boulder. Its top was flat, and the inside had been cut into a bowl. Within the bowl lay a foot of water, and at the bottom sat a glowing stone, pulsating red and yellow like embers in a fire.

  “A Jocasta,” I whispered.

  “The last one,” said John, his face aglow as he gazed over the edge of the pool looking as though he’d found the greatest of long-lost treasures.

  “It was placed here years ago under Warvold’s direction,” he continued. “The cave entrance used to be there, but it was easily seen, so he covered it up.” John pointed to a pile of rocks a few feet away, obscuring what had clearly been an opening at one time.

  “We are well past where the convicts dug their tunnels near Bridewell. They never came out so far into the Dark Hills. At least most of them didn’t.” Here John paused, reached over, and tapped Murphy on the head. “Warvold appointed me the task of digging the short tunnel that leads to this cave, as well as blocking the old entrance. It was me who chose the soft stone that would hold the last of the Jocastas, chiseled out its middle, and found a slab of rock that would perfectly cover the top of the secret pool. It was a task that required many years, as you might imagine.”

  Yipes leaned over the edge of the pool and looked into the water, the glow of the Jocasta shimmering across his face. He had a deep longing in his face, as though he’d found something he was sure no longer existed. It would take him but a moment to snatch it in his miniature hands.

  “This stone was appointed for you, Alexa,” said John. Yipes looked at me and nodded his agreement with a smile. “We don’t know why this is so, but it’s what Warvold told me to tell you both. There is something more to this stone, something more than all the rest.”

  All of this had been done for me? All the careful planning and work to protect this one stone. It was hard to imagine. Warvold had trusted John Christopher with quite a lot, and suddenly I felt I could trust him as well.

  “If you don’t take it soon, Murphy’s head will explode,” said Yipes. “He must be very excited to talk with you.”

  The last Jocasta. Yipes and I had been back to the glowing pool upon Mount Norwood many times hoping to find one. And all this time one had been waiting, hidden by Warvold in the cave. Murphy began scratching at my back, and I reached down into the clear, cold water. I put my fingers around the smooth, plum-sized stone and pulled it out into the air.

  “Murphy the brave, at your disposal!” said the squirrel on my back.

  The magic of the Jocastas remained. What followed were a few minutes of chatter between old friends, mostly catching up on where we had been and what we had been doing. Murphy had been sitting down to a nice walnut for supper when John came calling.

  “John has lived in the wild since before the walls went up, and he visited the glowing pool quite a long time before you did,” Murphy told me.

  John opened a leather pouch around his neck and removed a glowing blue stone.

  “It’s not the last stone, but it will do,” said John. We both looked at Yipes and wished he could go back in time and have his own Jocasta restored. But he seemed perfectly content to have us do the translating for him.

  “I’m just happy to be a part of the adventure,” he said.

  “There’s no more time to waste yapping in the cave,” John broke in. “You two can talk all you want aboveground.”

  By the light of the Jocastas we walked the length of the tunnel, John in front.

  “How did you know we would arrive here today?” I asked our guide.

  John laughed out loud.

  “You can’t imagine how many times I wanted to tell Yipes to give you the letter. It’s been my sole duty to watch and wait for him to deliver it to you. The boredom was excruciating. As soon as he went off to get you, I gathered Murphy and another friend as Warvold had instructed and came straight here. We’ve been waiting for you since last night.”

  We arrived where the secret door had been thrown shut. I had brought my first Jocasta with me, now dull and lifeless in its pouch around my neck. John instructed me to remove the old stone and place the new Jocasta inside. This command I obeyed, and when John placed his Jocasta back in its hiding place, all was dark once more.

  I heard a pop above my head, the sound of a stone hitting against the bottom of the wood door. A moment later the door flew open and stinging bright light enveloped the space. I had to shield my eyes before looking up through the opening. A silhouette peered over the edge, but it wasn’t that of a person.

  “She’s grown quite a lot. Not the little girl she once was.” It was a gentle growling of words, the mystic voice of a wolf, the outline of its huge head glaring down upon me.

  “That she has,” said John, pulling a ladder from the shadows in the corner and placing it against the wall of the tunnel.

  “Darius, is that you?” I asked as I scampered onto the edge of the opening, and Murphy jumped free of my shoulder.

  “I’m afraid his adventuring days are over, so you’ll have to settle for the likes of me.” It was Odessa, Darius’s wife. She was every bit the hulking figure Darius was, with piercing blue eyes and massive white teeth. She was a powerful creature, and even though I knew instinctively that she was my ally, her presence was so frightening I had
trouble standing next to her. Not so for Murphy, who had already leaped onto Odessa’s back and was busy jumping up and down and squeaking for no particular reason. (Odessa seemed not to care.)

  Yipes came up the ladder and stood beside me, then John slammed the door shut and sealed off the cave below. As we stood in the ravine, the wind began to blow, and a hawk drifted down to earth and sat upon Yipes’s shoulder.

  “I was wondering when you would return, you rascal. Out hunting again, are we?” said Yipes. “And stop looking at Murphy like that. He’s not a meal, he’s a member of our party.” Murphy clung tightly to Odessa’s fur, and his tiny eyes were wide and dark.

  Thus the group was assembled: Yipes, John Christopher, Murphy, Odessa the wolf, the hawk (named Squire), and me. It was a strange assortment of animals and humans, and it struck me then that Warvold saw far beyond what the eye beholds in its view of a creature. For who would think to leave this world entrusting a grand unfinished quest to a mere child, a former convict, a grown man no larger than a five-year-old boy, and an odd assortment of animals?

  John had prepared well. There were three leather packs, one large and two small, along with a supply of water held within four good-sized wineskins. The wineskins were laced together, two on each side, and the whole water supply was set upon Odessa’s back and secured around her waist and neck. The skins held a gallon or more of water each, but dangling at Odessa’s enormous sides they seemed more than manageable. She would have no trouble with her duty.

  I found my pack to be quite heavy and hot against my sweating back. Murphy added a pound or two by making his home in the leather where the drawstring was pulled behind my head. Squire was off again, flying in front of us in the clouds, and my two human companions appeared ready to depart.

  “Just one more thing, Alexa,” said Yipes as he pulled a small magnifying glass from a pocket in his vest. “You know the stones are inscribed with a message for the person they choose. Shall we take a look and see?”

  I had a strange, uncertain feeling about the stone now in my hand, and for reasons I can’t explain, I didn’t want to know what it might say.

  “I think I’ll wait, if you don’t mind,” I said.

  Yipes puzzled over my decision, shrugged, and began gathering the last of his things. When he was ready he ran his fingers over his mustache and looked around at the group of us.

  “Now what?” he asked, and we all looked at John, hoping he had some idea what we were meant to do next.

  CHAPTER 6

  THE BLACK SWARM

  Standing in the open space of the Dark Hills was uncomfortable, with the sun beating down and a growing fear that someone might come looking for us.

  “Yipes,” I said, “do you think that guard would come all the way out here trying to find us?”

  Yipes thought a moment and replied, “I don’t imagine so. They’re probably busy searching through the tunnels. They won’t think we’ve gotten so far out into the Dark Hills.”

  We were all standing together, wondering what we should do now that I’d accomplished the task Warvold had set out for me in his letter.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “Why would Warvold send me here to get the last stone and then leave no other instructions? Do you suppose he just wanted me to have it?”

  John and Murphy exchanged glances, and then John knelt down and inspected his pack to be sure everything was secure.

  “There are a few things I know,” he said. “Things that Warvold shared with me over the years — clues to why we’re here and where we’re meant to go.”

  He looked up at us and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. Then he spoke.

  “Somewhere past the Dark Hills lies the Valley of Thorns. At the end of the valley is a lake of unusual depth and darkness, and at its distant shore sits the Dark Tower.”

  This sounded like the start of one of Warvold’s spooky stories. John took a long breath and continued.

  “Though no one from Bridewell Common ever travels there, more than once Warvold journeyed to the Dark Tower and the poor town it rules. He spoke to me in whispers of these places and their history. There is more I can tell you about it as we make our way, but we can’t stay here any longer. There are unseen dangers in this place.”

  He rose once again and threw his pack over his shoulder, then pointed deeper into the Dark Hills.

  “What I can tell you right now is this: We must travel beyond the Valley of Thorns, to the places where Warvold ventured. Only there will we find the answers we’re looking for.”

  For the first time I began to wonder what I’d gotten myself into. This sounded far too dangerous for a girl of thirteen, especially without the permission of her parents.

  “Are you sure about this?” I asked. “I can’t imagine what my father would say if he were to find out I’d gone off so far from home. He’d be furious.” But even as I said it I remembered the letter from Warvold. This is a secret journey that he can have no part in. He is aware of certain facts, certain situations, and you can be sure he will understand why you must go into the Dark Hills.

  “It’s your decision, Alexa,” said John. “Either way, we have to be moving along. We can’t stay here any longer.”

  My hand instinctively went to the leather pouch around my neck, and I felt the Jocasta hidden inside. The last Jocasta. It was in my possession, and Warvold wanted it taken somewhere for some purpose. If I returned to Bridewell, that something would be left unfinished, with terrible consequences I couldn’t begin to understand.

  “Lead the way,” I said to John.

  It wasn’t long before we all realized why the Dark Hills was a place that, once visited, was rarely returned to with fond memories. Only an hour into our journey, we were forced to stop as the sun pounded us with crippling heat. I felt most sorry for Odessa and Murphy, who was out of my pack and walking now; covered with thick fur, they were almost certainly suffering from exhaustion. But neither of them complained, and though our conversations lagged, they continued on in good spirits.

  The real problem with the Dark Hills was the lack of shelter. The farther we traveled, the more desolate the terrain became. Other than the occasional boulder casting a droplet of shade, it was a dead stretch of dry dirt and gnarly underbrush that cut and grabbed at your legs like sharp claws. Amid all of this uninhabited bleakness we found a rather large rock, and this we sat next to, opposite the sun. The ground had been heating up all day, as had the rock, and these facts, as well as the meager shade the rock provided, gave our moment of rest a sense of hopelessness. We did enjoy a drink of water and a bite of dried fruit, and these were taken with great pleasure and a measure of relief. But the reality of the situation was beginning to set in: Our adventure would be hard and dangerous work that would push us beyond our limits.

  “How are you holding up, Alexa?” Odessa asked. “This is difficult terrain on four feet — I can’t imagine how hard it must be on two.”

  I was reminded of the journey I’d taken up Mount Norwood when I’d first met Yipes, how that journey had ended at the glowing pool with my feet blistered and sore.

  “I think I’ll manage,” I answered. “I only wish it wasn’t so very hot.”

  “We’re nearing sunset,” said Yipes. “Things will cool down soon.”

  John looked at the lot of us, weary from the day’s travel.

  “Have any of you heard of something they call the black swarm?” he asked.

  We all looked at one another, wondering what he was talking about. It was clear we’d never heard of such a thing.

  “We have a ways to go before we reach shelter,” he continued. “I’ve been out past here before, and there is a place we must find.”

  John paused and took a quick drink from one of our wineskins of water.

  “I haven’t been there for a very long time, but I think we can reach it by nightfall. Best we do — the swarm comes out at night.”

  “John,” Yipes began, nervous fear growing in his v
oice, “what’s the black swarm?”

  John took one more drink before answering.

  “Bats,” he said. “But not the kind that feed on bugs. These bats stay together in a giant, swirling mass, and they look for prey to devour. I’ve only seen them once, from a distance, but Warvold was familiar with them. If they find us, our journey will come to a quick end.”

  We were all on our feet then, ready to make for shelter before nightfall without another word of encouragement from John.

  The next two hours were hard fought against the elements. Though my body was drenched in sweat and my back was sore, it was my ankles that really began to bother me. I had brushed against countless sharp, dry bushes and thistles. My legs burned and itched from my knees all the way down to my feet, and within my sandals, dirt and tiny stones grated and stung as I walked.

  Night was falling as we arrived at a large dead tree, broken in the middle and charred from a past fire, its top section fallen against a grouping of fat red stones.

  Murphy hopped to the top of the broken tree, scanning the horizon for Squire, who we hadn’t seen for over an hour. She was the aloof one of the group, partly due to her natural tendencies as a hawk, but probably more because none of us could talk with her. For whatever reason, the Jocastas had no effect with birds.

  “Over here,” said John. He had gone around the other side of the tree and was crouching in the dirt. I came around the corner and bent down next to him. There on the ground was a large rock, John’s hand running along its smooth surface. I was beginning to have trouble seeing as the night crept in.

  I heard Squire shriek from the air, a long way off. I turned to look for her, but she was lost in the darkening sky.

  “Squire has rejoined us,” said Murphy, and he jumped off the tree onto Odessa’s back, shivering with fright.

  “That’s not Squire,” said Yipes. “That’s something else.”