by Brandon Mull
“If you’re right, you just made a new best friend,” Warren said. He clambered up a slick boulder in front of the carved dragon, raised the spear-sized key over his head, and jammed it into the slot.
“Back away!” Kendra warned. “Dectus promised the storm would do the rest.”
Warren had already hopped down. “I remember,” he said. “Let’s get clear.” They all hurried sideways along the base of the cliff, squelching in mud and slipping on wet rocks. For a long moment, the wind whipped so furiously that Kendra fell to her knees and kept her head down until the gust relented.
Shortly after she stood, a searing bolt of lightning blasted the key. The deafening thunder hit like a physical blow. Kendra covered her ears too late—for a moment, all she could hear was a steady ringing.
As the ringing tone diminished and the roar of the wind became audible again, Kendra saw that the carved dragon had receded, leaving a doorway just over ten feet tall and five feet wide. Kendra and her companions scrambled back to the doorway, up the steps, and into the disquieting shelter of the Dragon Temple.
Are you sure you intend to leave the city?” the guard shouted from the top of the wall, his words barely audible over the rushing wind.
“Yes, thank you!” Seth called.
“You know the Perennial Storm is coming?” the guard checked, one hand holding his steel cap as the wind gusted. “Most folk are heading into the city and going underground.”
“We’re aware, thank you,” Merek responded.
“Gates will be locked and barred soon,” the guard called. “You may find some modest shelter on the far side of the eastern wall.”
Merek waved as they strode away from the gate. The guard squinted at the oncoming mass of dark, roiling clouds and then back at Seth and Merek, shaking his head.
Seth angled his head to keep the wind from blowing directly into his ear, because it was quite loud and uncomfortable. The relentless gale pulled at his clothing and threatened to push him off-balance. The front edge of the megastorm would be over Humburgh within minutes. Away to the north, lightning-laced thunderheads already blanketed more of the landscape, hovering above a gray blur of rainfall.
Leaving the road, Seth and Merek walked around the nearest hill outside of town. Seth knew it was crazy to brave the weather, but they needed the Unforgiving Blade and the Harp of Ages, and Merek had stressed that the Dragon Temple would only admit them during the Perennial Storm, so it was either win the Games in the next day or two or else wait seven years.
Around the backside of the hill, they found two figures huddled in oilskin coats, hoods drawn up to conceal their faces. The pair emerged from the partial shelter of a recess in the hillside to greet Seth and Merek.
“How considerate of you to show up!” Isadore yelled over the wind. “We were about to abort.”
“Serena?” Calvin called from Seth’s pocket.
“I’m here,” she answered.
“Can we fly in this mayhem?” Merek asked.
Basirus gazed up at the threatening clouds. “Into the storm? Not a chance. Away from it? I’m willing to try. It will be a rough ride. Don’t blame me if somebody gets dropped.”
“I need your word that won’t happen on purpose,” Merek said.
“You have it,” Basirus said. “Are you ready? If we’re going, it has to be now.”
“We’re ready,” Seth said.
Basirus swelled into a dark gray dragon with three rows of spikes down the back of his neck, a crown of sharp horns on his head, and a quartet of long spurs on his tail. Turning, he snatched Seth and Isadore with his forelegs and Merek with a hind leg. The scaly grip squeezed Seth’s chest tightly, but at least he felt secure. Seth couldn’t help noticing the black talons, each the length of a dagger and wickedly curved.
The dragon sprang into the air, and as his great wings unfurled, they took off like a kite in a hurricane. Twice they dipped dangerously close to the ground, but after some adjustments, Basirus stopped rocking and wobbling so much and gained altitude. Propelled by a mighty tailwind, they rocketed forward, relentlessly buffeted by crosswinds and other turbulence.
“This is an atrocious day to fly,” Basirus said. “I’ll take us high so that if I lose control, I’ll have space to recover.”
Seth could hardly believe their breathtaking speed, or the shocking turns and dives that left his dangling legs swinging in the wind. With no warning, Basirus would plunge unexpectedly, swooping out of the dive only to be blown in a new direction. Occasional updrafts elevated them at rates that made Seth’s insides lurch, and violent gusts added haphazard bursts of acceleration. Sometimes the dragon spun, wings splayed helplessly, until he fully tucked them, righted himself during the free fall, then extended them anew to resume the chaotic flight.
As the winds impelled them farther ahead of the storm, the air currents became less blustery. For longer stretches they would bullet forward instead of tumbling into wild corkscrews and pretzels. The ground below became a barren wilderness of windswept ridges and prairies. At their outrageous velocity, Seth felt sure they would all be reduced to smears if they crashed.
Sometime after Seth had given up hope that the exhausting flight would ever end, a monumental pyramid of boulders came into view up ahead, the sides too steep and the apex too lofty to seem architecturally sound. The closer they got to the pyramid, the better Seth could see that the stacked boulders were a diverse jumble of irregular shapes and sizes, puzzled together with startling cohesion.
“Is that the reliquary?” Seth called, but either his words were lost on the wind, or else nobody bothered to answer.
The lower they flew, the more aware Seth became of their breakneck speed. Basirus started banking, first left, then right, back and forth, perhaps trying to slow, but whenever he turned too much, he began to lose control.
“This is going to be a difficult landing,” the dragon announced. “Wish me luck.”
Seth witnessed with horrified fascination their dive toward the ground, gaining speed when he thought they should be slowing. For a moment they skimmed above scrubby bushes and brittle grass until Basirus turned sharply into the gale, wings trimmed, and let the wind abruptly slow them. The dragon got one foot down and managed to fold his wings, flopping onto his side to avoid crushing the passengers he carried.
The huge claw gripping Seth receded as Basirus resumed his human form. Basirus stretched, rolling his shoulders. “My wings will be sore for weeks,” he said.
“Can you still feel them?” Seth asked.
“Only phantom sensation in this form,” Basirus said. “In my shoulder blades mostly. What would be the equivalent? Imagine hanging from a limb during an earthquake for an hour. No, better, imagine an hour with each wrist tied to a different horse as they run wild. How would your shoulders feel afterward?”
“Sounds painful,” Seth said.
“Good job getting here,” Merek said, gazing up at the pyramid, hair ruffled by the constant wind.
“The Reliquary of the Wandering Stones,” Isadore said.
“It looks ancient,” Seth said. “And weirdly tall. A pyramid shaped almost like an arrowhead. Who built it? Giants?”
“If so, they accomplished the feat long ago,” Isadore said. “I suspect not. Giants refuse to tread in this desolation.”
“I figured,” Merek said, hands on his hips, surveying the area. “You could have given us a clearer warning.”
“Would it have mattered?” Isadore asked.
“In truth?” Merek replied. “No.”
“We don’t relish coming here either,” Isadore said. “But since when was it easy to win the Games?”
Seth noticed many individual rocks apart from the grand pyramid, scattered on the dry plain. Some were huge monoliths standing on end, like giant dominos. Others were smooth and rounded, ranging in size from bowling balls to bulldozers. Large or small, irregular or symmetrical, the stones tended to exist alone, rather than in clusters, and many had furrows to on
e side of them, as if they had recently skidded to a stop.
“Do the stones really wander?” Seth asked.
“You see the trails,” Isadore said, clutching her oilskin coat as the wind tore at it. “Without wind erasing the evidence, the tracks would extend much farther.”
“They’re too big to slide around,” Seth said. “This wind doesn’t budge them and the ground is flat.”
“Exactly,” Isadore said. “These trovants seldom move when observed, though I know a wizard who claims to have watched from hiding as a large procession paraded across the prairie one night.”
“Those who venture to this part of the sanctuary rarely return,” Merek said. “Giants avoid this region, as do ogres and trolls. It is often repeated that to sleep here is to die here.”
The nearest hulking slab of rock suddenly seemed ominous to Seth. What would he do if it started to scoot toward him? How was a person supposed to fight a twenty-ton megalith?
“We have about an hour before the storm pummels us,” Isadore said. “If you get the blade before the storm catches up, we can fly southeast until we find shelter.”
“To sleep here is to die here,” Seth quoted.
“Few know of this place,” Isadore said. “You are benefiting from arcane knowledge I worked hard to acquire. If tales are true, the reliquary shifts position as well.”
“Are you coming inside with us?” Merek asked.
Isadore grinned and chuckled. “This is your quest. We’re the transportation. We’ll wait out here.”
“What if the storm hits before we’re out?” Seth asked.
“We’ll be gone,” Isadore said. “We can’t ride out the storm in the open, and we daren’t seek shelter behind rocks or in the reliquary.”
“I’ll go inside with them,” Serena volunteered.
“It might be dangerous,” Calvin warned.
“It will be dangerous,” Serena corrected. “Which is why you need me.”
“Hurry, whatever you do,” Isadore said. “The storm will not wait.”
“Should I take Serena?” Seth asked.
“I’ll go with Merek,” Serena volunteered. “Divide and conquer.”
Merek accepted Serena from Isadore. The wind intensified, peppering them with bits of dry brush and grit.
“I need cover,” Isadore said.
Basirus returned to dragon form, wings tucked, and curled around her. Seth started toward the one gap he could see in the improbable pyramid, weaving to avoid the larger solitary stones in his path. At the base of the pyramid, he scrambled up interlocked boulders using his hands and feet until he reached the gap.
“Check your motives,” Serena warned. “Legend has it that anyone with evil intentions will be crushed upon entry.”
“What if my motives are good, but yours are sour, and I’m carrying you?” Merek asked.
“Put me down,” Serena said. “Calvin too. Just to be safe.”
Seth set Calvin down. He hoped wanting his memories back would be considered an acceptable intention. And he didn’t mean anybody harm. Since time was not on their side, Seth quickly ducked into the triangular gap. The tunnel extended ahead about fifteen yards. The sheer volume of boulders above staggered his imagination, and the air was so saturated with the smell of stone that he could almost chew it.
The tunnel ended in a grand trapezoidal chamber within the center of the pyramid. Daylight filtered in through several shafts.
“Someone has produced an interesting paradox,” Merek said as he crouched to light a small lantern. “A person cannot enter with sinister intentions, but no being of light could wield the Unforgiving Blade. It’s a rare person who could do both.”
“Why can’t you?” Seth asked.
“The power that preserves me derives from light,” Merek said. “However, a shadow charmer should be a different story.”
“I can’t hear the wind from here,” Calvin said, coming into the chamber beside Serena.
Seth noticed that the air was unnaturally heavy and still, especially considering the nearby turbulence of the oncoming storm. At least there should have been a strong draft from the tunnel.
“What have we here?” Merek asked, examining a pedestal on a raised stone slab in the middle of the room.
Seth trotted over to him. The slot in the top of the pedestal seemed the right size to hold a blade. “Do you think somebody already took it?”
“Looks that way,” Merek said.
“There has to be more to it,” Serena said.
“Tell me about your friends outside,” Calvin said to Serena. “Did they stay out in the wind because the entrance would have crushed them?”
“It’s a delicate situation,” Serena said.
“Suppose we find the Unforgiving Blade and exit,” Merek said. “What happens?”
“I don’t know,” Serena said. “Can you trust Isadore? Absolutely not. When she sees the right opportunity to betray you, she’ll take it. She’s here to get the Wizenstone.”
“And she’s your friend?” Calvin asked.
“It’s why I didn’t want you involved,” Serena said. “Isadore helped me learn essential information, but she’s dangerous. Partnering with her is a deadly game. I wanted to protect you from it.”
“You told me to go home,” Calvin said. “That hurt.”
Serena smiled and hugged him. “I would rather you were home because I love you! It took time to learn to swim in these waters. I endured experiences I would never want you to have, and almost lost my life.”
“All the more reason I should be here to help,” Calvin said.
“I would probably feel the same way if our roles were reversed,” Serena said. “Even so, I wouldn’t want people I care about dealing with Basirus and Isadore.”
“We wouldn’t be here without her,” Merek said. “But I can tell she’s no friend of ours. I’m not going to let her hijack the Wizenstone.”
“Keep her in the dark,” Serena said. “She would rather not make her move until she knows what to do with the blade. I think she was bluffing about flying away. Until she knows your secrets, I don’t think she’ll let you out of her sight. She has been trying to gain the Wizenstone for centuries.”
“It’s a complicated situation,” Merek said. “We need to go somewhere else before the storm ends, but our only hope to get there in time depends on the dragon.”
“He won’t be able to fly in the storm,” Serena said.
“Dragons are strong,” Merek said. “With enough motivation, he might be able to run.”
Closing his eyes, Seth reached out with his shadow-charming senses, trying to discern a dark blade. Instead, beneath his feet, he immediately perceived a chattering chaos of entities. The sudden discovery was such a shock that he unwittingly withdrew from his power.
“What’s the matter, Seth?” Calvin asked, looking up at him. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“Maybe I did,” Seth said.
“What do you mean?” Serena asked.
“There are beings underneath us,” Seth said. “Lots of them. Gibbering in confusion.”
“Can you still hear them?” Calvin asked.
“If I try,” Seth said. “Give me a second.” He engaged his senses and again was assailed by a confusion of words and feelings. Were they wraiths? Phantoms? Patient listening revealed a mix of voices. Definitely some wraiths. A few phantoms. And uncountable presences.
“What do you hear?” Merek asked.
“Many voices,” Seth said. “They seem unaware of us. Some are undead, but mostly I hear presences. Like when I first met you.”
“Disembodied memories?” Merek asked.
“I think so,” Seth said. “A host of them. They sound confused. The majority are asking about themselves. Their advisers are wraiths and phantoms. It’s the blind leading the blind.”
“Sounds terrible,” Serena said.
Seth concentrated on the voice of a single wraith.
Alone, the voice lament
ed. Surrounded and alone.
That struck Seth as a sentiment he could work with. Can you hear me? Seth projected to the wraith.
You speak to me?
I hear you and I’m speaking to you, Seth affirmed. You must feel lost.
Forever alone, the voice mourned.
Not right now, Seth said. I hear you. Can you come see me?
No way out, the wraith bewailed. The Old Ones forbid it.
Who are the Old Ones? Seth inquired.
Ancient and immovable, the wraith declared. I am trapped. We are all ensnared. So alone.
I can hear you, Seth said.
You are living, the wraith affirmed. You hear me.
I need to find the Unforgiving Blade, Seth communicated.
Above us, the wraith said. The blade can harm us. The blade can end us.
Is the blade gone? Seth asked.
Above us, the wraith repeated. Above you. High above. The blade remains.
How do we get to it? Seth asked.
I am trapped, the wraith grieved. Find your way up. Beware the blade.
Seth took his focus from the wraith and zeroed in on a forlorn phantom.
It never slows, the phantom complained. Broken minds shattering into ever smaller pieces.
I can be patient, Seth assured the phantom.
You hear me? the phantom asked.
It’s noisy, but I hear you.
The ceaseless babbling haunts me, the phantom shared. You are an island in an agitated sea.
Can you help me find the Unforgiving Blade? Seth asked.
That edge is sharp! the phantom warned.
I need a sharp edge, Seth stated. Can you help me?
I cannot rise to where you stand, the phantom moaned. The blade is higher still.
How do I reach the blade? Seth asked.
Find the gaps, the phantom suggested. Climb.
Seth targeted a couple more wraiths and one more phantom, but the first two he had spoken with proved to be the most coherent. He tried to focus on some of the presences, but none could hear him.
“The blade is still here,” Seth said.
“According to the memories?” Calvin asked.
“According to a wraith and a phantom,” Seth said.
“Do you think your memories are down there?” Calvin asked.
