The Changeling

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  Burden’s breath was heavy. “We must keep moving. The others are on their way.”

  “Where does this lead?”

  “To the Great Hall. Isn’t that where you wanted to go?”

  “Yes, but those four neodim—”

  “They’ll look for you in the tunnels. And there are more than four, you know. Soon the whole company will be here.”

  Horns blew through the underground, alerting others of the intruder. Neodim shouted their high-pitched howls that echoed off the walls.

  “Let’s start in the workrooms,” Owen said. “Some there may be able to fight with us.”

  Burden shook his head. “If you can free them.”

  Seven workrooms held prisoners who toiled while chained together in a long row. They worked in tattered clothes, faces and hands stained with dirt. They filled pitchers with the liquid flowing out of the mountain and transferred them to carts. When the liquid stopped flowing, they used picks and shovels to open the rock until it flowed again.

  Owen scanned the row of workers, then moved to the next room. When he and Burden reached the third room, he spotted the man he was looking for.

  Connor sat near the end of the row, his jaw set, pouring liquid and stretching at the chains. Connor’s ankles were raw and bleeding, his back bloody, and his face bruised.

  Owen slipped up behind the beast watching the workers, cracking a whip and poking a long, spearlike weapon that shocked them. Using the hilt of his sword, Owen conked it on the head so hard that it fell forward, bouncing on the ground.

  The men turned and cheered, but Owen quieted them.

  “Come to gloat, Wormling?” Connor growled.

  “The Wormling?” another said, falling to his knees and clasping his hands. “Please, sir. My wife is also here—”

  “This is not a rescue mission,” Owen said. “At least not yet.” He turned to Connor. “There is something in the Great Hall I need, so we must create a diversion.”

  “And then you’ll leave us to rot?” Connor said. “It figures.”

  Though Connor was a newcomer, along with Gunnar and others of his fighters, he had quickly earned the respect of the other prisoner workers. It had taken several beasts to secure Connor, and he’d had to be knocked unconscious.

  As one might suspect, Connor had been cooking up his own escape plan, which included using the explosive liquid to wipe out the enemy. If a few prisoners were also killed, Connor could live with that. And if things really went badly, he could simply blow up the whole mountain. The prisoners would die too, but a major battlefront of the Dragon would be destroyed.

  Those plans changed with the arrival of the Wormling. Connor was surprised the kid had made it this far. That he had killed a neodim was an impressive accomplishment but also a headache. The rest would become like bees around a disturbed hive.

  Connor did not expect the Wormling to understand this. All he seemed to care about was some writing hidden in the Great Hall, as if words on a page could change anything. Connor knew the only way to do that was to defeat the Dragon.

  Once the captives in the workroom were freed, Connor took the keys. “I have to find my wife.”

  “You agreed to help,” the Wormling said, fire in his eyes.

  “Do you know what will happen if you find that precious scroll? The neodim will crush you. And if you somehow escape, they will descend on us and make us pay for your victory.”

  “I do not want that.”

  “And yet you cannot deny it,” Connor said. “You know these beasts have no mercy.”

  “But they want you alive so you can work.”

  “They will find others, ones they can easily pick from the valley.” Connor seethed. “Your presence seals our fate—unless you allow us to fight. First we release all the workers.”

  “No, we must find—”

  “If we don’t release them now, we’ll never have another chance.”

  The Wormling pulled away to confer with the beast of burden who had accompanied him. After a few moments he returned. “Give your most trusted aide the keys and half the men to release the others. You and the rest come with me.”

  “Agreed,” Connor said.

  * * *

  Owen did not like negotiating when he should have been looking for the scroll, but he also did not want to leave dead people behind. His search had become a rescue whether he liked it or not, but he was content to leave that in other people’s hands.

  Connor and some others followed him and Burden through the snaking corridor that led to the Great Hall. Owen left them and crawled down a narrow entrance to find three neodim standing watch, talking among themselves.

  “I hope they don’t kill him before I get a piece of him,” one said.

  “You’d better hope they kill him before he comes down here,” another said. “He may be small, but you see what he did to our comrade.”

  “He was our best. He must have made a mistake—left himself open. . . .”

  “You’ve bought into the notion that there is power only in the one we serve,” the first said. “I also sense great strength in this Wormling. It is up to us to stop him.”

  Owen crawled back, bolstered—a strange place to get encouragement. He and the others were ready to attack when a runner—a young boy—flashed through the tunnel.

  “They need your help,” he said, breathless. “A neodim has them pinned.”

  Owen grabbed Connor’s arm. “We had an agreement.”

  “These are my people,” Connor said.

  “Your wife,” the boy said. “She’s hurt.”

  Owen followed Connor and the others and entered the second work area to find that half of the line of men and women had escaped. The others were bunched on the other side, where a neodim bent over a terrified woman, teeth bared, ready to pounce.

  “Dreyanna!” Connor shouted, rushing the monster.

  Its razor-sharp talons were at the woman’s neck. One move and the animal could take her life.

  Owen drew his sword and yelled at Connor to stop. “Anger is not our best ally,” he whispered. “Control your rage to defeat your enemy.”

  “Harm one hair on her head,” Connor spat at the neodim, “and you will face the same fate as your dead brother!”

  “Stay back, Connor!” Dreyanna called out. “It’s over for me.”

  Connor signaled Owen as he moved to his right, near the pool of liquid. Owen took the cue and moved left.

  “The human wants his wife back?” the neodim said. “In how many pieces?”

  Connor, now next to the pool of liquid, held up a hand. “You don’t have to die. Leave her.”

  “You offer me a reprieve?” The monster shook with laughter.

  “No one has to know this escape was your fault. And when the Wormling slays the rest of the neodim, he will allow you—”

  “That runt killed him?” the neodim said, turning. But Owen was now behind it. “Where is he?”

  Owen swung quickly and sliced the neodim’s arm holding Dreyanna. She fell as the neodim howled.

  “Temper, temper,” Owen singsonged, moving away. “We gave you a chance to surrender—”

  The beast called for backup as Connor gathered up Dreyanna and ran for a tunnel. The neodim swung its tail and sent them both to the ground, but Owen was just as quick, lunging and slicing three of the monster’s talons from its remaining paw.

  With great speed and force, the neodim sprang at Owen, jaws open, teeth dripping, and Owen thought he might have miscalculated. He jumped away just in time but felt the wind from the beast’s arm pass his face. Owen thrust his sword, piercing the neodim’s heart. Its arm went limp.

  “The neodim are coming,” Burden said.

  “Take the keys and release the others,” Owen said. He rushed to Connor and Dreyanna, still dazed on the floor. He helped them to their feet. “Hurry!”

  By the time Owen made it to the other workrooms, the neodim had blocked the tunnels.

  A pitter-pat akin to
soft rain on palm leaves echoed through the workroom. Connor picked up the shocking stick near the neodim’s body.

  “Here come the movals,” Burden groaned.

  What now? “Do they have talons? venom?”

  “Just ugly creatures no one can stand,” Connor said.

  The movals proved to be a sightless, faceless race used to herd humans. They poured through the openings like water.

  People backed away, repulsed by their smell and appearance.

  Owen stepped back and nearly turned over one of the pitchers of combustible liquid. He tossed some on the front of the line, and the movals screeched and retreated. Others flowed forward, and Owen doused them.

  “Careful,” Connor said. “You’ll blow the whole mountain.”

  “Great idea,” Owen said. He moved toward the main tunnel leading to the Great Hall, spreading the liquid and pouring it on his sword, creating a black plume.

  “Wait—you want to blow this whole thing and kill us all?”

  “No, but I want the neodim and the movals to think I’m willing to. Follow me.”

  * * *

  The movals retreated into the Great Hall, to the chagrin of the neodim. Their company had swelled and seemed just as repulsed as the humans. When the neodim saw Owen and the others carrying pitchers, they advanced.

  “Stop,” Owen said. “These are full and we’ll use them.”

  “We do not negotiate with prisoners,” the largest neodim said. “Seize them!”

  Owen splashed the pitcher on three neodim. They wiped at the liquid, looked back, then kept coming. Owen scraped his sword on the stone, sending sparks onto the three, making them burst into flames as they screamed and rolled.

  Several other neodim threw dust and sand on them to put out the fire.

  “We know the Dragon’s plans,” Owen said. “He will not be able to use this mountain and its resources if it no longer exists.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Mountain goes kaboom and your lives are over. So is the Dragon’s plan.”

  “You would kill yourselves to thwart the Dragon?”

  “For the good of the land and the people we love.”

  “The alternative?”

  “Release us. Let us go back to our families and live in peace.”

  “We know of you,” the neodim sneered. “You have no family here.”

  Owen lifted his sword over his pitcher. “All the more reason to end this now and send you howling back to where you belong.”

  “Wait,” the neodim said. “Let our council meet.”

  “Quickly,” Owen said. “And leave the hall.”

  Others rose behind him, glaring, but when another spark flew from Owen’s sword, they recoiled.

  “Leave us,” Owen said.

  As Owen had hoped, the neodim retreated through the largest tunnel, grumbling.

  Finally alone, Owen recalled Rachel’s words and searched the front of the hall. He plunged his sword into the crumbling earth until he hit something solid, then dug with his hands and uncovered a leather satchel.

  “Excuse the intrusion,” Connor said sarcastically, “but do you have a plan? Or are you just on a scavenger hunt?”

  Owen opened the satchel and pulled out a long piece of metal. Though dirty, it looked in perfect condition. He slipped it back inside and put the satchel in his backpack. “All right, are you ready to fight?”

  “We have no weapons save your sword and this shocking stick,” Connor said.

  “True. But we have the greatest weapon of all.”

  “The exploding liquid?”

  “The King’s blessing. It is his wisdom we must rely on now.”

  “And what would the King suggest in an instance like this?”

  Owen turned to Burden. “The lowest point of the tunnels. Where would that be?”

  Burden nodded. “The last chamber where your people are held.”

  Owen wished he knew exactly how far underground they were or that he had Mucker with him to help. He moved toward Burden and plucked a tuft from his long tail.

  “Ow!”

  Owen examined the hairs. “It just might work. Then again, we could all be killed.”

  “What are you muttering about?” Connor said.

  “I’ll explain on the way.”

  * * *

  The entire company moved to the last workroom, which had been sealed off by a huge boulder. Owen’s cries were answered by the people. “They’ve left us alone—we can’t breathe!”

  “Stand back from the opening!” Owen said.

  With Burden’s help, Owen and the others moved the boulder enough to get through.

  “The neodim retreated,” a young worker said, “talking of releasing gases to immobilize us.”

  Owen stared at the boy. He looked about nine and had long white hair and ears that stuck out. A wave of compassion swept over Owen, but he had a job to do.

  “Hopefully they won’t have the chance to use it,” Owen said.

  When they reached the last workroom, far beneath the other two, Owen gave the order to seal the next room. Using boulders and smaller rocks, the people went to work. Connor looked skeptical as Owen twisted Burden’s hairs into a tight strand.

  “You said yourself we have no weapons,” Connor said. “And we can’t leave anyone or the neodim will make them pay. The only alternative is to leave with everyone. And how are you—?”

  “If my calculations are correct,” Owen said, “we may be deep enough to hit the sealed part of the back of the mountain.” He explained what Rachel had told him. Then, dipping the hair into liquid, he ordered workers to place several pitchers full of liquid near the back wall of the cave.

  “How do you know how much will make a hole in that wall and how much might bring the ceiling down on us?”

  “I don’t,” Owen said. “But if my chemistry class in the Highlands taught me anything, it is to err on the side of less rather than more.”

  Howls and cries from the neodim reached them.

  “They’re coming!” someone cried.

  “I hope this works,” Burden said.

  Owen told everyone to hide in the second chamber and laid the crude hair fuse on the ground. He placed heavy rocks around the pitchers and retreated to the second cave. The young boy with white hair huddled close to the women.

  “If I don’t make it,” Owen said, “take this backpack to my friend Watcher. She’ll know what to do with what’s inside.” With that, he swung the sword on a rock until a spark ignited the wet fuse. It sparked and fizzled, then whooshed into the next room.

  “Everybody down!” Owen yelled.

  * * *

  The neodim had assigned two beasts with clinking canisters to enter the small tunnel above the workrooms. They were to open the canisters as soon as they saw the humans, but they had no idea what was inside.

  They never had a chance to release the canisters because a bone-jarring explosion rocked the tunnel and quickly filled it with dust. The two finally made it to the workroom, coughing and sputtering. The humans were gone. They checked each of the rooms until they found a new passage at the end of the third. They continued until they came to two jars full of liquid.

  “Why would they have left these?” one of the beasts grunted.

  A hiss raced up the opening, sparks flew, and a line of fire streaked to the jars. With a flash, the jars exploded, sending a wall of rock and debris on top of them and closing the opening.

  Owen could tell that Burden was relieved to be out of the mountain. His steps quickened as they descended to a cavern with icicles hanging and a frozen pond. The ground was snow covered, and the prisoners shivered in their skimpy clothes.

  Owen used his sword to heal the blind, then told them to wait while he went for help and clothes. But they did not want to stay, fearing an attack. Owen sent Burden through hip-deep snow to find his friends.

  After an hour of grumbling (mainly by Connor), the group was met by a contingent of villagers Owen didn’t reco
gnize. Watcher popped through, her face bright. She asked Owen question after question as they headed toward town.

  “I have one more job for you when we return,” Owen said. He pointed out the young, white-haired boy.

  Watcher gasped. “Drushka’s son,” she said. “Is his father with him?”

  Owen pursed his lips. “I don’t think his father made it.”

  Watcher’s eyes filled. “What should we do?”

  “I’d like to get him back to his mother.”

  When the group arrived at Yodom, the villagers rejoiced. Owen went straight to the Scribe’s house, opened the pouch, and set the metal manuscript on a table.

  “This is it,” the Scribe said. “And let me guess: you can’t read a word of it.”

  “Exactly,” Owen said. “I’ve tried.”

  “A precaution by the King,” the Scribe said. “He used a special glass to project the words onto the page. I simply copied the letters.”

  Owen studied the letters, then rummaged around until he found an old windowpane. He put a cloth over one side and held it up to the page. It made a crude mirror, and when he looked at it, he could read the writing.

  “Be heartened and glad, for the King’s plans will be accomplished. Not one stroke of the pen, not one word of the scroll shall go unfulfilled.”

  Owen felt his heart would burst, the words filled him with such comfort and joy. His harrowing trip had not been in vain.

  Toward the end of the first page, he read:

  “In the days of the Wormling, the king of the west shall meet with the Dragon concerning an agreement. If he has not already discovered the Son, the Wormling shall travel to the Castle on the Moor and uncover the truth.”

  “I didn’t know there was another king,” Owen said.

  “Many kings but only one King,” the Scribe said.

  “And what truth does the writing describe?” Owen said.

  “Perhaps to regain The Book of the King,” the Scribe said. “If the Dragon is there, he may bring it from the other realm.”

  Owen held his head in his hands. “What about my home? What about breaching the other portals? When will all that happen?”

  The Scribe sat and stared at the floor. “I remember once despairing about how much time the writing was taking. I had made several mistakes, and the pages had to be burned and begun again. The King reminded me that our task was not a simple walk by the lake. He said it was more like a row across an ocean. Discouragement would come. Mistakes would be made. But he told me not to be disheartened. He said such were part of the process of calling into being what was not.”