Flames of the Dark Crystal

by J. M. Lee

  “We make our own destinies,” Kylan told the Spriton. “For every step we take, we claim our futures. And now, we must all step together. In time, toward a tomorrow we may only be able to dream of.”

  No one answered. Maudra Mera gazed upon Kylan the Song Teller, everything about her softening with some emotion Naia couldn’t fully understand. It was something like pride and something like concern. Worry and invigoration, all wrapped in one. Kylan put his hands on hers where they were still resting on his shoulders.

  “Call on the Spriton to put down their spears,” he said. “Call on the Spriton now to shun the order of the Skeksis. Rebel by refusing to fight one another—”

  The clamoring of armor interrupted him. Three guards, short of breath, burst into the edge of the pavilion from the woods.

  “Without the Landstriders, we couldn’t hold them off—Maudra Laesid and an entourage of twenty warriors, armed with bola and spear and net!”

  Naia bit back a chill. They had not won the Spriton over yet, and now . . . Maudra Mera glared at Naia and Gurjin. They were about to be put to the real test.

  “You say we make our futures. I want to be sure of ours. If I call on the Spriton to lay down their weapons against the Drenchen, we will be vulnerable. But you say you can persuade your mother to call off her attack on the Skeksis that will bring their wrath upon us all. Convince her to let go of her call to war and join the other Gelfling in resistance. Do you still think you can?”

  “Yes,” Naia said without hesitation.

  Maudra Mera raised her chin, regal and hardened. She let go of Kylan’s shoulders and faced the entrance of the village. Naia saw the shadows of the warriors coming through the wood and the great, serpentine back of an enormous flying eel.

  “All right, then,” Maudra Mera said through clenched jaw. “Prove it.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Naia and Gurjin stood at Maudra Mera’s side as the Drenchen warriors entered the Spriton pavilion.

  There were three phalanxes, the foremost two made of spear- and bola-throwers in thick leather armor, their hair tied back for battle in green and blue string. Unlike the female Spriton, Vapra, and Sifa warriors Naia had seen in her travels, the Drenchen women were dressed nearly the same as men, carrying heavier armament where a Spriton might have taken a lighter dagger or dart reed. Drenchen wings were not for flying, and there were no deep swamps or lakes in the Spriton Plains.

  The third phalanx was smaller, approaching last just ahead of a slithering beast Naia recognized. A giant flying eel, moving steadily across the soil of the wood and onto the stones of the pavilion, her front half raised with furred fins splayed to keep her balance. She was Chapyora, the maudra’s muski, and seated on her neck just behind her head was Maudra Laesid herself.

  The pavilion was still and quiet as Chapyora bore Maudra Laesid into the center, gently lowering her thick-maned head so Naia’s mother could dismount. One of the warriors in the maudra’s phalanx approached with a long spear, which Laesid used as a staff and crutch as she approached Maudra Mera, Naia, and Gurjin.

  She was tall for a Gelfling, though her height made her missing leg that much more noticeable. Her skin was a deep green, her bead-and-ribbon-wound locs brushing the back of her knee, glowing with bioluminescent moss in the dim firelight. Across her shoulders hung a cape of midnight, black and shimmering with violet, blue, and green. The maudra’s cloak, passed down through generation after generation.

  Her brow was stern, but it broke when she laid eyes on her children.

  “Naia,” she said. “Gurjin—you found her.”

  Naia wanted to embrace her mother, but now was not the time. Not in front of all the Spriton and their maudra who had just put an ultimatum on Naia’s shoulders: Convince her mother to call off her attack, and they would light the fire of resistance. Though she hadn’t seen her mother for many unum, she held back her impulse and bowed instead.

  “Mother. Gurjin found me indeed, off the coast of Ha’rar. I’m glad to see you.”

  “And what are you doing here?”

  “Maudra Mera agreed to speak with me. We were in the middle of coming to an . . . understanding when you arrived.”

  “Hm.”

  Maudra Laesid took note of Naia’s restraint, dipping her chin and waving her guard away. She cleared her throat and raised her voice.

  “Maudra Mera. What you see before you is only a portion of our full force. We have seen your Landstriders scattered across the plains in disarray, and so I see no further need to raise my hand against you. However, I will not hesitate to do whatever is necessary if you do not step aside and allow us passage to the Castle of the Crystal, where we will rain rage upon the traitorous Skeksis until they surrender their prisoners and the Crystal to its true keepers, the Gelfling of Thra.”

  Naia swallowed, though her mouth was suddenly dry. For as long as she could remember, her mother’s voice was one of immobile strength, as tall and sturdy as Great Smerth and with stubborn roots that grew just as deep. That voice was one that had kept her and her siblings safe—both from the dangers of the swamp and from each other’s squabbling—and the one that had taught her to use her healing vliyaya as well as to throw a spear from Chapyora’s back as she raced through the apeknot canopy.

  But it had always been her mother’s voice, not her maudra’s. One she knew to be full of love and devotion, loyalty and protection.

  Now she heard it as an outsider might. As Maudra Mera surely did, though to her credit the tinier maudra did not give any ground. Her back did not even tremble.

  “As she mentioned, your daughter and I were discussing this as you arrived,” she said. “And I believe, following that discussion, Naia has something to tell you.”

  Naia braced herself as the weight of every gaze settled on her shoulders, the heaviest of all being the blue-eyed one from her mother. She felt Gurjin and Amri beside her, Kylan nearby. Though she was glad for the three of them there, in that moment, strangely enough, the one she wished for was Tavra. Another daughter of a maudra, who had seen many a confrontation between Gelfling clan leaders. She would have known what to do.

  But Tavra wasn’t there. Naia drew in a breath, held her chin up as her mother did.

  “Mother. As you’ve probably heard, I was asked by Aughra to meet with each Gelfling clan and prepare them to unite against the Skeksis.”

  “And I bring my torch this night,” Laesid said, gesturing. The Drenchen warriors raised their flames in response, a chain of bobbing golden lights. “No harm will come to the Spriton if they let us pass. Our quarrel is not with them.”

  “If you bring it this night, it will only be to join the ashes of the one brought by Maudra Fara at Stone-in-the-Wood,” Naia said, and at least this time when she spoke, her mother sighed.

  “A sad day for all Gelfling, when Stone-in-the-Wood fell,” she said grimly. “But had the Drenchen been at her side when she brought her attack, perhaps we would be reminiscing a victory instead of defeat. But what’s done is done. The Skeksis expended energy to defend against Maudra Fara and the Stonewood; now is the best time for us to attack, before they recuperate.”

  “The Skeksis expended hardly anything defeating the Stonewood,” Maudra Mera replied hotly. “As you know, they still had Landstriders to send us in an effort to hold you.”

  “Landstriders, which you could easily turn north instead of south,” Laesid replied. “Join us, Maudra Mera. Light your fire of resistance, as my daughter has encouraged you. Think of what a force we could become if we added your strength to ours. Your flying spear-throwers and Landstriders, with my stone warriors and eels?”

  Naia stepped between the two, facing her mother.

  “We can’t,” she said. “The Skeksis cannot be killed.”

  Maudra Laesid snorted. “Anything alive can be killed. Or are you saying they are immortal?”

  “No,” N
aia said. “But their deaths come at an immeasurable cost. Killing them will not save the Gelfling. Violence will only bring more violence. Maudra Fara was defeated not because she was weak but because she went against them alone.”

  “Naia, we cannot wait for all seven clans,” Laesid replied, misunderstanding. “You may have traveled the world with words, but words are light and easy to bear. Swords and spears—warriors and soldiers—are not. We need to act now, while we can.”

  “That’s not what—”

  “You have never seen war,” Maudra Laesid interrupted, raising her voice. “And for that I am grateful! But you childlings know nothing of these things. Even if all seven clans agree to join us, it will be many unum before their armies can reach the Dark Wood.”

  Naia could hold back no longer.

  “It’s not about armies!” she cried. It didn’t sound grown-up, or maudra-ly, but she didn’t know what else to do. “Mother! Warriors and soldiers cannot cleanse the darkening or heal the rifts that divide us—killing the Skeksis will not save the Crystal!”

  Maudra Laesid paused, and Naia tried to still the pounding of her heart. She waited for another argument, but one didn’t come. At least, not immediately. Had something she’d said finally gotten through? Before the moment slipped away, Naia appealed one last time.

  “Please. You taught me that the Drenchen are healers as well as warriors. In one hand we hold the knife that cuts, in the other the light that heals. In this moment, on this night, be the light that heals.”

  Gurjin stepped to Naia’s side, finally finding his voice. “At least hold off and give us a chance to find another way,” he said.

  Laesid’s cheeks dimpled as she clenched her jaw. A long breath passed between them, as if she held Naia’s and Gurjin’s pleas in her hand. Weighing them, pondering their meaning.

  “Maudra Laesid, if I may,” Kylan spoke up. “You were perhaps the first to believe the Skeksis had turned against the Gelfling . . . because of your unwavering love for your children, because you trusted them without question. If not for your faith in them, you wouldn’t be here, willing to risk everything to protect them.”

  “Remember that belief in them,” Amri added. “And believe in them now.”

  Maudra Laesid sighed, and Naia realized even the staunchest of boulders could be moved. Far away, she heard the distant grumbling of thunder as a cold wind raced across the trees that surrounded the pavilion.

  “Very well,” Laesid said. “We will fall back, and I will listen to what you have to say. But know that if I am not satisfied by your alternatives, I will press on.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Maudra Mera said. She drew herself up, sucking in breath so sharp, Naia thought she might spit. Maudra Laesid had agreed to hold her attack; now would Maudra Mera uphold her part of the bargain?

  Maudra Mera turned toward the hearth and waved her hand with a decisive, swift gesture. Then, with far more authority and volume than Naia thought could be contained in her little body, she called out, “Spriton! Come to the hearth we have kept alight for countless generations. Come! Now! Swiftly!”

  The Spriton did as she commanded, as quickly and with as much diligence as could be expected from a clan with such a shrewd and discerning maudra. They murmured to one another around the hearth, abuzz with hushed conversation.

  “Go,” Naia said to Kylan. “Join them. Lead them.”

  The firelight surrounding the pavilion danced against Kylan’s shining hair and the bone firca hanging at his breast. He was no longer the timid bard she’d crossed paths with so many days and nights ago.

  “Come with me,” he said to Naia, Gurjin, and Amri. Naia glanced back to her mother once, trying to reassure her that this was the way. Then she joined the Spriton around the hearth, as Maudra Mera climbed to the spot on the hearthstone where Kylan had told his song.

  “It has always been my duty to protect you all,” Maudra Mera began. “And you know that I will do whatever it takes to find our success. In the field, in the wood. Once, in the courtyards of the castle palace for the favor of the Skeksis Lords. But no longer that. This night we saw a vision of what could be. We saw a vision and proof that it is not a cloud in the sky, but a flower petal on the wind. Difficult to catch, but not uncatchable. So now, my beloved Spriton. Lay down your spears and hold each other tightly. If you believe, then I will believe. We have seen the path, and I will lead you down it as surely as I am able, to where it joins the seven clans in victory, as the seven fires rise and the Skeksis fall.”

  The Spriton hesitated at their maudra’s command, glancing over their shoulders at the Drenchen who stood at their backs, armored and armed.

  Kylan was the first to step forward, holding out his hands to show his empty palms. He took Maudra Mera’s hand in his and squeezed when Naia stepped beside him to take his other.

  One spear lowered, set against the stones of the pavilion. Then another. Amri grabbed Naia’s free hand as the Spriton warriors threw down their weapons in a cascade of steel and wood, joining hands at last.

  Blue fire exploded from the hearth, ascending into the sky three hundred times as high. Its tongues rippled in every color of the rainbow, across the night like a magnificent pillar, as if a star had erupted from the earth and was shooting into the heavens.

  The Spriton fire was lit.

  CHAPTER 17

  Spriton and Drenchen alike stared at the tower of flame ascending from the Sami Thicket hearth.

  As its ever-changing light fell upon the stones of the pavilion and the clay and rock of the Spriton homes, the air smelled of cosmic smoke and stardust. Etchings—dream-etchings, like the ones that had been burned into the deck of the Omerya, across the walls of the Dousan cloister, and even on the Vapra citadel—spilled across the pavilion.

  The pictographs told the tale that Kylan had already sung: the previous three fires lit and how. Added to the end of the unraveling story were Spriton warriors, spears in hand in the saddles of the gallant Landstriders. Gathered in a circle around their hearth fire, listening to a song teller with a forked firca hanging at his breast.

  Kylan stared at his image when he saw it, touching the real firca with his hand. Naia grinned until her cheeks hurt, shaking him gently by the shoulder.

  “You did that,” she said.

  Naia waited to see if the shadows of the other Gelfling would appear, as they had before. Glimpses through the fires, out into the places across the world where the other ones were burning. It was part of the magic of the flames; she didn’t understand why or how, but that was the way of Thra. It had given them this gift, and she hoped they would be able to use it to unite.

  “There!”

  Silhouettes materialized. Gelfling faces, moving in and out of the rippling tongues of multicolored flame. The burst of smoke and fire settled, like boiling water falling to a simmer, and as it calmed, the faces started to come into focus—

  Naia and the others jumped back as a new explosion of fire erupted from the hearth, charging the burning spectacle with a rush of renewed color, as vivid and dazzling as if it had just been lit.

  “What’s happening?” Amri cried, shielding his eyes.

  The light from the fire burned across the pavilion, revealing new pictographs: An enormous stone tree, with petaled branches withering above and stone roots growing deep below. A small group of Gelfling huddled deep in a crypt below the mountains, surrounded by crawling, multi-legged shapes.

  “The Sanctuary Tree?” Amri gasped. “Then . . .”

  Chills raced up Naia’s back.

  “I think another fire was just lit,” she said. “In Domrak.”

  “Look!” Kylan called.

  In the haze of the flames, the figures reappeared. One familiar figure in particular. More solidly than ever before, as if he were right there on the other side of the screen of fire. He was standing in a dark cave, with a fe
w other Gelfling beside him.

  “Rian!” she called, heart pounding.

  “Aughra’s Eye!” he replied. That was Rian’s voice, all right. “Naia? Kylan—Gurjin!”

  “Hey!” Gurjin called with a wave. “So you’re alive, after all!”

  “Rian, where are you?” Naia asked. “And tell us quickly—the last time we saw through the fires, it didn’t last long!”

  As they stood across the fire from one another, Naia began to feel the presence of others. In the streaks of light blue flames, she saw the sails of a majestic coral ship, a scarlet-haired Sifa captain. In the gold, she saw the shadow of the Dousan Wellspring Tree, heard the voices of monks calling the others to the fire. Something had happened.

  “We’re in the Tomb of Relics,” Rian said. “It’s a long story—but I found it. The weapon Aughra sent me to find.”

  “Weapon?” Amri breathed.

  Rian held something up. It looked like a sword, but Naia could barely make it out. The fire was already fading. They didn’t have much time left.

  “If we’re seeing you—then you lit the Grottan fire?”

  “Yes!”

  Where one moon had been in the sky, shedding its light upon the night, suddenly there were two. Gurjin let out a whoop.

  “We’re here with the Spriton!” he said. “We lit the one here, too!”

  “Only two left,” Rian said with a smile. The fire ebbed for a moment and Naia thought it had gone out. It returned, still rippling with shifting jewel tones—but it was fading fast.

  “We go next to Sog to light the Drenchen fire,” Naia shouted, hoping he could hear her. “Are Tavra and Onica with you?”

  But the fire’s colors washed away, burning back into red and gold and yellow. Whatever magic connected the fires of the Gelfling resistance, that doorway was closed again. At least until the next fire was lit.