Shadows on the Stars

by T.A. Barron

  “Stop,” commanded Lleu. “We’re wasting time.” He checked the water of the tunnel above their heads. Seeing no sign yet of dragons, he turned to Seth. “All right, jester. Give us a clear picture of this place where we’re going. And no rhymes, now.”

  The jester tensed ever so slightly, though no one else noticed. He didn’t like the way the tall priest ordered him around. Not at all. And yet, a jester’s lot was to be abused. So he’d just grin and endure it . . . at least for now.

  Bobbing his head on his hunched shoulders, he said agreeably, “But of course, kind sir. Imagine the highest portal in Fireroot, so high it’s starward of the tallest peak in the realm.”

  He scanned the anxious faces surrounding him, all tinted by the magical green fire. “No other portal will do, now. Not in Fireroot, nor any other realm. That’s the only portal that leads to your crystal.”

  Elli listened carefully. For her, the need to concentrate clearly on her destination held extra urgency. The last time she had ridden a portal, with Tamwyn, they’d been carried to Mudroot—the very last place she’d wanted to go. The place where gnomes had brutally killed both her parents, taken her prisoner, and kept her in slavery for six long years, before she finally escaped. And even though it was also the place where Tamwyn had saved her life—and she had been moved to save the life of a murderous gnome—Mudroot remained the source of her darkest memories, her fiercest nightmares.

  “Remember, now,” the jester cautioned. “To Fireroot’s highest portal. Nowhere else.”

  “Snow hare pelts?” asked Shim, his nose scrunched in confusion.

  “Fireroot!” shouted Nuic. “Concentrate, you dolt.”

  At that instant, an enormous leg, covered in shiny blue scales, swept through the air pocket. There was a loud roar from above, and several shouts from the companions, as everyone threw themselves into the flames. The green fire crackled, wavering just a bit more than usual.

  And then they were gone—swallowed by the flames.

  But not yet safe. Portals, after all, were notoriously dangerous. Some would say they had a mind of their own, occasionally taking people to unexpected places. Serella, the elf queen who was the first to master the art of portalseeking, would have gone even further, having lost many of her people in the paths of green fire. She once declared, “When I ride the portals, death rides with me.”

  Through the innermost heart of the Great Tree the companions traveled, down radiant rivers of pulsing green light. Resinous aromas washed over them; the breath of Avalon filled them. No longer creatures of body, they flowed like sap and flashed like fire. Small wonder, indeed, that they ever survived.

  But survive they did. Moments later, they shot out from another portal, far away from Waterroot. They landed in a twisted heap of arms and legs, cushioned by a soft bed of leaves. All of them were amazed to be alive. And even more amazed, as it happened, to be in . . .

  “Mudroot!” snapped Nuic, spitting a mass of leaves and twigs out of his mouth. “How the harshnazegth did we get here?”

  Lleu, lying underneath the sprite, peered up at him. “I didn’t know you could speak dragon.”

  “I can when I’m furious!” Veins of scarlet raced across Nuic’s skin. His very breath seemed tinted with red. Then, as he turned to Elli, his colors softened slightly.

  She sat at the edge of the heap, her head sagging between her folded legs. “Not Mudroot,” she moaned under her breath. “Not again.”

  Lleu sat up, which sent the little sprite spinning down into more leaves. “Are you sure that’s where we are?” asked the priest. “Seems awfully green here—a jungle, really.”

  He paused to look at the thick mesh of vines, leaves, mossbarked trees, and huge ferns that surrounded them. Catching his eye, Catha fluttered her wings from her perch on a leafy branch. “If this is Mudroot, where’s the mud?”

  “Under all the leaves,” muttered Elli. She raised her glum face. “We’re in the northern part of the realm, the jungles of Africqua.”

  “She’s right,” said Brionna, extracting her leg from her longbow. “I recognize it—all these smells. Catch that hint of guavas? And cinnamon? And vanilla?” She sniffed the air. “It’s the only place in the Seven Realms with as many smells as the Forest Fairlyn.”

  “And it positively stinks!” With a spray of leaves, Nuic finally righted himself. He spat out a shred of bark. Just as he started to speak again, though, Shim rolled over and stretched his twisted arm—swatting Nuic hard in the back. The sprite went tumbling into the leaves once more.

  If Nuic had been furious before, he was doubly so now. Scarlet blotches covered his body, pulsing with rage. He was so angry he couldn’t speak, only sputter.

  But there was one person even more angry. The jester leaped up from the bed of leaves, shaking a wormy clump of dirt from his bald spot. “Mudroot?” he shouted, his face contorted in a most unjesterly expression. “Mudroot?”

  Grabbing the cherry wood cane by his feet, he started beating the ground violently. Each blow sent up a small fountain of leaves, bark, and broken twigs. He then slashed a vine in two, which sent a pair of monkeys, who were clinging higher up, into a tizzy of their own. As their angry chattering rose from the branches, the jester exploded in curses as he battered the ground.

  “Skull slime! Fried fairies! Troll wipes and bog bottoms!”

  The others turned to watch his uncontrolled outburst. Just then, he swung his cane at a thin, bumpy stick that was leaning against the trunk of a tree. The stick, almost as tall as Seth himself, seemed certain to burst into bits from the force of his blow. But a split second before contact, the entire stick twisted sideways. Seth’s cane smacked the tree instead, jarring his bones and showering him with nuts, twigs, and loose chips of bark.

  Out of the dozen or so bumps on the stick, gangly legs popped into view. A single red eye opened wide near the top end, above a jagged mouth, while a triple forked tongue flitted over the bark of the tree. With an ear-piercing squeal, the stick creature’s legs started churning. It shot up the tree trunk and vanished in the greenery.

  Caught by surprise, Seth suddenly remembered how he was acting. And how unjesterly he must have appeared. You fool! he raged at himself. Lose control like that again, and you’ll ruin everything.

  He tittered nervously, twirling his cane in his hand. “Eh-heh, eh-heh,” he chuckled with some effort. “Plenty of good props for a jester here in the jungle.”

  “So you knew that stick was alive?” asked Elli. She pulled some twigs out of her curls.

  “But of course,” he replied, taking a deep bow. “Always a crowd pleaser, those stick beasties.”

  Above his head, Catha whistled doubtfully. Lleu, who was also eyeing the jester skeptically, rose to his feet. He nodded to the falcon. She took off from her branch and drifted down to his shoulder. Brionna stood as well, then gave Shim a hand. Meanwhile, Elli picked up Nuic and brushed the leaves off his skin, which helped his remaining scarlet blotches fade away.

  “So,” demanded the sprite, “what do we do now?”

  Uncertainly, Elli fingered the amulet around her neck. She waved at the portal, whose green flames rose into the air between two gigantic ferns, licking some tangled vines. “We don’t go back in there again, that’s for sure! We might never get out alive.” She turned to Brionna. “Do you know of any other portals—reliable ones, that is—around here?”

  The elf maiden tossed her braid over her shoulder. “None. When Granda brought me here, we arrived in southern Mudroot, then walked all the way to this jungle. But that took two weeks, since we wanted to avoid any gnomes.”

  Elli’s jaw clenched at the word. “Always a good idea.” She glanced over at Lleu. “Papa once traveled from here to Airroot over the Misty Bridge.”

  The priest raised his thick eyebrows. “Brave man, your father. The Misty Bridge, from what I’ve heard, is not for the frail-hearted.”

  “A whale farted?” asked Shim, shaking his head. “Howly disgusting!” />
  Lleu paid no attention. “Still, it could be our quickest way out of here.”

  “And away from the gnomes,” added Elli.

  “Once we cross the bridge,” Lleu cautioned, “we’ll still need to travel through the northern part of Airroot to reach the nearest portal, which could take us to upper Fireroot.”

  Elli nodded. “And from there, we can walk down into Shadowroot.” Grim determination filled her face. “To find the corrupted crystal.”

  “An excellent plan,” declared the jester. He bobbed his head eagerly. “Quite excellent.”

  Lleu peered at Elli. “Are you sure you want to do this, my dear? That route—starting with the Misty Bridge—could be dangerous.”

  “It’s still better than going south into the gnome lands.” She ran a hand through her curly hair. “I’ll never go anywhere near those beasts again if I can help it.”

  “Well then,” growled Nuic. “Are we just going to stand here jabbering all day? Or what?”

  Glancing up at the few stars that she could see through open spaces in the canopy, Elli pointed to the east. “The Misty Bridge is that way. When we get closer, we can climb one of these trees, or a high hill, to locate it exactly.”

  “Off we go, then,” said the jester in a cheery voice. He danced a little jig, then added, “To the Misty Bridge, then on to find your crystal.”

  And also something else, he said to himself. Something you don’t expect. His eyes glinted with satisfaction. Your death.

  The glint brightened. For this disguise as a jester was really one of his best—at least as long as he kept his temper under control. But even with the change of plans caused by that infernal portal, things were now falling into place quite nicely. Better than he’d expected. And he was always someone who expected good results.

  For the results depended on him, and him alone. And he didn’t get to be Deth Macoll, the most successful assassin in Avalon’s history, just by accident. No, he’d gotten there by his consummate skill, his supremely calculating mind, and one thing more: his love of the chase.

  And how he loved the chase! The strategy, the patient waiting for just the right moment, and then the kill—and that final instant when he could feel his victim’s life bleed away. In that instant of death, he held all the power. Immortal power.

  He sighed contentedly. This particular job would be among his most rewarding. How long since he’d had the pleasure of killing not just one person, but several at once? Too long. And to pick up a pair of precious crystals in the bargain—not to mention the one he’d steal from Kulwych, after killing him, too—well, that made this practically a holiday.

  For now, though, he would wait. He’d bide his time, looking for the perfect opening to satisfy his sense of drama. He would allow this ragtag bunch of fools to feel hopeful, even successful—and then he’d end his disguise, as well as their lives.

  The jester smiled more broadly than he had all day.

  22 • Ruins

  Into the jungle they plunged, with Elli and Brionna in the lead. Nuic rode in the crook of Elli’s arm, grumbling with every jostle. The jester followed, with Lleu always nearby. Last of all came Shim, trying his best to keep up.

  Even when Brionna steered them to an animal trail that ran generally eastward, the trekking was not easy. With every step, they had to push through a thick webbing of fern fronds, draping vines, and branches heavy with leaves, nuts, and ripening fruit. Birds with brilliantly painted tailfeathers, copper and turquoise and emerald green, whistled overhead, causing Catha sometimes to whistle back. Lime green snakes slithered down the trunks of gargantuan palm trees, while heavier snakes speckled with scarlet looped themselves around cedar boughs.

  Much as the aromas of ripe papayas, moist breadfruit, sunwarmed almonds, cacao leaves, and vanilla floated through the air, so did butterflies. They glided everywhere, their blue and gold wings flashing as they met the beams of starlight that sliced through the canopy of leaves. Moths also fluttered overhead, or gathered on colorful flowers dripping with nectar. Purple-backed beetles crawled over twisted roots or laid eggs on fern fronds; blue ants marched through the ground leaves, tugging chunks of fleshy fruit or dead crickets twenty times their size; glowing light fliers hummed in the air.

  And these were only the creatures that could be seen. High in the branches, monkeys chattered and howled in long, descending scales. Other beings, hidden by the flowering boughs, twittered, barked, piped, and rattled. Even underfoot, Elli sensed the movements of small creatures scurrying or slithering beneath the leaves.

  Suddenly she stopped short. Grabbing Brionna by the elbow, she nodded to the left, her face grim. There, adorned with a crown of rust-colored vines, stood a gray, pyramidal stone no bigger than Shim. But one glimpse was all it took to see this was no ordinary stone.

  It had eyes. Carved roughly into the top of the pyramid were a pair of deep sockets. An unpolished ruby as big as a fist had been set into each. This gave the statue an eerie look, its huge, bloodshot eyes glaring at anyone who passed.

  “Who made it?” asked Elli.

  “Someone who didn’t want any visitors,” Brionna replied.

  “Someone in the same mood I’m in right now,” muttered Nuic from his seat on Elli’s arm.

  They kept walking, veering to one side to avoid a mass of thorny grasses as tall as Lleu. Just then Brionna spotted a flat patch of moss at the base of a rock-strewn hill. Curious, she led them over to look more closely. With elvish grace, she bent down to touch the reddish moss, as thick as a sheep’s woolen coat, and then turned to the others.

  “Just as I thought,” she explained. “This moss grows in El Urien, as well. Stonebeard, we call it, because it only grows on rock. By the flatness of this patch, and its rectangular shape, I’d wager it’s part of an old . . .” She pushed aside a thick cluster of ferns, revealing several more flat stones that climbed up the hillside. “Stairway.”

  “No doubt about it,” said Elli, gazing at the mossy steps. Vines had wrapped around some, and bushes had rooted in others and split the stones, but most of the ancient steps looked intact. “Where do they lead, do you think?”

  “I think we don’t want to find out,” suggested Seth. He glanced furtively over his shoulder. “Unless you’re in no hurry to find your crystal.”

  “I am in a hurry,” Elli replied crisply. “And the best way to save time is to find the Misty Bridge as fast as possible. Whatever was the purpose of these old stairs, they make it easy to climb this hill—and from the top, we should be able to see the bridge.”

  Without waiting any longer, she sprang up the steps. The others bounded after her—all except Shim, whose body wasn’t exactly built for bounding. As they climbed higher, more stones revealed themselves in the jungle growth. A trio of tall pillars, wrapped in vines, stood to one side; a raised platform sat on the other. Next came a fallen tower, and some sort of mound with a slab of white quartz on its side. A pair of scarlet birds with wondrously long, flowing tails took off from the mound as the group approached. Then, as they neared the top of the hill, they saw a ring of columns rising out of the trees. Great stone tablets, scrawled with petroglyphs, sat atop the columns. And within the ring sat a foundation of immense blocks whose edges had been carved to fit together perfectly. They supported a large pyramidal structure made of translucent quartz. Though part of it had collapsed, leaving a hole in the lower part of the roof, the overall structure was still intact—and its original purpose seemed clear.

  “A temple,” said Lleu, gazing in awe. “What sort of people built this, here in the middle of Africqua? And how long ago?”

  “Who knows?” answered Elli. “But if I go inside the temple and then out that hole in the roof, I shouldn’t have much trouble climbing up to the top. It’s probably the best view around.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Nuic, his colors shifting to shadowy gray.

  “No . . . but sighting the bridge would help. And besides, when was the last time we were completely
sure before we acted?”

  Before the sprite could answer, she had started climbing the final steps. Directly ahead, a pair of stone pillars with a crossbeam marked the entryway into the temple. With the others close behind, she stepped inside. Milky white light bathed everything within, turning her hands pale.

  Just as the others entered, a guttural grunt sounded above their heads. Suddenly a horde of burly, squat bodies dropped on top of them, knocking them all to the floor. Three-fingered hands grabbed them roughly, while deadly spears aimed at them from every side. Even Brionna’s lightning-fast reflexes weren’t quick enough to allow her to grab her bow.

  “Gnomes,” wailed Elli in disbelief. “Why gnomes?”

  A grunted command was her only answer. The band of gnomes shoved the companions to their feet, confiscated Brionna’s bow and arrows, and marched them across the floor. There must have been at least thirty of them, all scarred, grimy, and hairless but for the ragged tufts on their heads. They herded the companions around a quartz partition, then led them into the structure’s central chamber.

  The chamber sat directly underneath the point of the pyramid. White light poured down, revealing a stone basin and ax—the equipment of sacrifice—as well as some broken statues, carved bowls, and a long granite table. Next to the table sat an immense throne, carved of gleaming quartz with inlaid amethyst. And on the throne sat the person who was undeniably the gnomes’ leader.

  The sight of that person made Elli’s heart freeze in her chest. Lleu, for his part, stumbled backward in surprise. And then the leader spoke.

  “Welcome,” said Llynia, still wearing the robe of a Drumadian priestess—and the dark green stain on her chin that Elli had given her at the Baths. “I have been expecting you. Oh yes, ever since my latest vision.”

  23 • The Moth

  Deep in the underground caverns of Shadowroot, Kulwych paced along a dimly lit corridor, his pale white hands clasped behind his back. Torches flickered on the dank stone walls, illuminating the scars and burned flesh of his mutilated face. The jagged scar that ran from his missing ear down to his chin, the chunk of his nose that was no longer there, and the hollow hole that was once his right eye, all glowed eerily in the torches’ flames.