But Jett relaxed a little too soon; just up ahead something hung from the chute line. It was an irregular shape . . . with many legs.
Tommy felt himself jerk to a stop. Not a complete stop. He was still spinning, but something grabbed at his legs. He screamed and kicked.
“Tommy!” called a voice. “Be still! I can’t help you if you won’t stop struggling.”
“Goldarrow?” Tommy opened his eyes, and as his spinning slowed, he saw the Sentinel directly ahead. “How did you—?”
“Brakes,” she said, smiling wide. She lifted her legs and showed Tommy her nearly shredded boots. Then she looked up abruptly. “Oh, Tommy,” she said. “Hold on.”
“LOOOOOK OUTTT!!” came a voice from behind. Something crashed into them, setting them to swinging every which way, and once more sailing along the chute line at full speed.
“Sorry about that!” yelled Jett. “I tried to slow down, but the cable kept burning my hands.”
“You use your feet,” Goldarrow said as she stopped her own spin. Scrutinizing Jett and especially Tommy, Goldarrow saw that both were unharmed. She laughed. “See,” she said, holding up her ruined boots once more. “Like me.”
Jett and Tommy joined in the mirth of the moment, but in truth Tommy felt a little nauseous.
Suspended together in one harness, Mr. Wallace and Kat streaked down the line.
“Do you miss your parents?” asked Mr. Wallace. He wanted to keep Kat talking, keep her thinking so she wouldn’t perceive his thoughts.
“You know, it’s funny,” said Kat, closing her eyes and letting the wind wash over her. “I missed them more when I was living with them . . . more than I do now.”
“What do you mean?” Mr. Wallace asked. He shifted slightly and reached for the handle protruding from his boot.
“It’s hard to explain,” she said. “But seeing their faces everyday at home . . . it just made me miss the way things used to be. We used to be close, used to go to Newport Beach . . . Dodgers games . . . Surreau’s Pizza Grotto. But more than that. It was the way they were around me: tender, caring. There was love I could feel—even if they were just pouring me orange juice.” Kat emitted a kind of laugh-sigh. “It was all before the poly.”
He had the dagger halfway out of his boot now. “The . . . poly?”
“I know what you’re trying to do,” said Kat.
Mr. Wallace froze. “Wha-aat?”
“You’re trying to keep my mind off how high we are . . . how fast we’re going.” Kat laugh-sighed again. “It’s okay though. Heights don’t bother me. But they seem to freak Tommy out.”
Mr. Wallace exhaled. “I am glad you are comfortable,” he said, his hand going back to the dagger. “But I am really interested. Why . . . why don’t you miss your parents now?”
“It’s not that I don’t miss them now,” she said. “But here, I don’t see them . . . and there are so many things going on . . . strange things . . . wonderful things. It all still feels like a dream.”
He hadn’t expected her to finish speaking so quickly. He’d been thinking dangerous thoughts. But had she noticed? He lifted the dagger, the point inches from her lower back, aimed at her kidneys. He didn’t know how long it would be until they reached the end.
“But you know,” she continued, her mind racing, “I worry about how much they miss me. They don’t know where I am, they don’t know anythi—AAAaaaahhhhhh!” Kat arched her back and screamed again.
The dagger fell away from Mr. Wallace’s hand. Beginning to shake, he looked down at the sword blade sticking into his gut. Then he looked up. “How dare you!”
Kat twisted the blade even harder, yelling just inches from his face.
“This . . . isn’t . . . over!” he hissed. Spasms wracked his body. Armor, clothing, flesh began to change . . . becoming coiling, luminous vapors. A mocking, jeering face appeared over Kat’s shoulder, then vanished. And like that, Kat sat alone in the harness.
10
Taking Stock
A WEARY and somber collection of Elves waited in a densely wooded dell at the bottom of the chute line. The Seven had survived. As had Goldarrow, Grimwarden, and Claris.
“I canna’ believe it,” said Jimmy, pacing. “Mr. Spero, the others, they died fer us.”
Grimwarden sat on a stump, shaking his head and muttering. “I failed you, Brynn. Poor Mumthers. And Mr. Wallace? How could I not have known?” As he spoke, fresh pain writhed in his words. “I should have seen it. I should have done more.”
“As for Brynn and Mumthers,” said Goldarrow, “you did what you could. You cannot be everywhere at once, no matter how hard you try. Brynn and Mumthers will be sorely missed, but not in a thousand years would either want to be a burden to you. And as for Mr. Wallace, the Wisp must have slain him in Scotland,” said Goldarrow. “Then he came through the portal with us. You could not have known.”
“Ah, Elle,” he replied. “But so much might have been avoided had I but interpreted the clues. In the Dark Veil, on Daladge Falls, and the ambush here—how clear it seems to me now.”
Kat sat next to Tommy on a fallen tree. “You mean, in the Dark Veil, when Mr. Wal—when that thing killed the Gwar . . . he was actually going to kill me then?”
“Yes,” said Grimwarden.
“I knew it!” exclaimed Kiri Lee. “I saw him from above. It didn’t seem like he could have seen the Gwar, but then, well . . . it seemed different.”
“And on the falls?” Jimmy asked. “He caused that, too?”
“If he had his way,” said Goldarrow, “he would have killed all of you. He had chances. I wonder. But he must have had a change in plans.”
Grimwarden stood up, grunted ferociously, and heaved a stone into the woods. “He knows the location of Nightwish Caverns . . . and Whitehall . . . and he knows our plans.”
“But I killed him, right?” asked Kat.
“Your sword thrust was well aimed,” said Claris. “But you cannot slay a Wisp with steel alone.”
“They are altogether evil creatures,” added Goldarrow. “You must combine your blade with the word of Ellos. Only in this way may a Wisp be dispatched.”
It grew very quiet. Jett had his broad back turned to the group. He made no sound but trembled like a mountain quaking. Kiri Lee placed her slender white hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Spero was your teacher, wasn’t he?” she asked.
Jett didn’t turn around, but she heard his answer.
“I’m so sorry, Jett,” she said.
No one replied.
“You—you know what I’d like to be doing right now?” Jett asked, his chiseled square chin trembling. “I’d like to be home with my ma and dad, sitting on the big old couch in the den, watching a movie, and eating a big bowl of popcorn with real butter! Thing is, I can’t. I can’t even hop on a plane and go home. None of us can. We’re in some other world! We’re trapped. Who is this Spider King anyway? Why’s he have to go stirring all this up? Why all the hatred? Why?” Jett reared back and kicked a fallen log twenty yards into the wood. He crouched low and fell to a seat on the leaf-strewn forest floor. He put his head in his hands. “I’m tired,” he whispered. “So tired.”
“Jett,” said Jimmy, standing behind the strongest member of their team. “Yu spoke well, my friend. Yu spoke for us all, I think.”
Tommy wasn’t sure why he got up. He was spent. Every part of him wanted to just fall over and sleep forever, but he went over to Jett. “Look at me, Jett,” he said. Jett looked up, his violet eyes rimmed by red lids. “You’re so right that all this—ALL OF THIS—is messed up. But Earth’s no better. Every time you turn on the news, all it is . . . is someone got shot, this plane went down, some politician got caught doing something illegal. But look, we’re here to do something about it.” Tommy looked from face to face. “Right now, we need to take all of this pain and let it burn itself in. ’Cause we’ve been given a mess of power . . . and good leaders.” He looked for a moment to Grimwarden and Goldarrow. “I feel funny quotin
g my dad—I mean, the one back on Earth—but he would always say to me, ‘To whom much is given, much is required.’ We’ve got something to do here, something big. And if this Spider King is bent on messing things up, then I say we take him out.”
Grimwarden leaned over to Goldarrow. “We’ve found their leader,” he whispered.
“I should say so,” said Goldarrow.
Before Tommy knew what was happening, the other lords surrounded him and Jett.
“We’re in this together,” said Kat.
“Together,” said Johnny.
One by one they all said it. And they all meant it. “Together,” Jett said at last, nodding.
“Oooooohhhhhh, deeeeeeeeaaarrrrrrr!” came a voice from somewhere above and behind. “Look out below!”
A large shadow came tearing through the canopy above them, and with a loud “Ooomph” and a thud, Mumthers was there among them. She got up, picking leaves out of her hair.
“Mumthers!” yelled Jett. “You’re alive!”
“Yes, me lad,” she replied. “Spider bit me in the leg. I passed out straightaway. The beastie probably thought I was dead and moved on. Thought I was dead meself. But when I woke up among a bunch of dead spiders, I figured I must still be in Allyra. Weren’t no heaven leastways. Good thing I hung around, too, as me family spices were littered about. Wouldn’t do for the Spider King’s minions to go off enjoying those, now would it.”
Jett coughed out a laugh, ran to Mumthers, and hugged her.
11
Seeing in the Dark
DEEP IN the northwestern corner of the Thousand-League Forest, carved into the living rock of Mount Mystbane and shrouded by the fearless cliffhanging trees, Whitehall Castle stood as a monolithic achievement of carved stone. Its various arches bounded down the slope and through the woods like the trails of skipped stones, racing to intersect smooth columns and suspended porticos. Ivy scaled the walls and wrapped the towers, further folding the ancient architecture into the forest. Abandoned for an age, well-camouflaged, and far away from the Spider King’s stronghold in Vesper Crag, Whitehall was the one place the Elves thought it safe to conduct the secret warfare training of the returning lords.
Tommy was still exhausted from the arduous journey and the ambush the night before last, but seeing this place in the morning light and after some sleep energized him. Whitehall held a power, he felt, something left behind by Elven warriors of ages past.
And now, as Tommy stood at his window and watched the morning fog drift slowly through the valley below, he could hardly believe such a place existed. A babbling stream ran just beneath the railing and rushed out into thin air, dropping into the mist far below. The stonework all around his room had been carved with the antediluvian pictographs of the Ancients, the Wise Ones who had first constructed this place. Fashioned as a place for reflection and solace, Whitehall was still a marvel despite centuries of neglect.
Tommy walked slowly down the staircase that led from his bedchamber to a large chamber. Adorned with dusty paintings and cobweb-encrusted fixtures, the room was capped by a domed ceiling of glass, now hazy from lack of cleaning. Stretching his arms, Tommy continued through the chamber to yet another hallway that opened up to a columned courtyard on one side. It was here that he found Grimwarden twirling a long staff and looking thoughtful.
The famed Elven warrior followed the age-old forms of his people, moving the wooden weapon through the air in perfect rhythm to the counts of an invisible drum. Left and right, legs bending and stepping, the staff flipping over and under his arms—it was an act of beauty to behold. The motions would culminate in a sudden thrust in front, succeeded by a jab behind and a swift about-face, jarring an unseen enemy with the length of the wood.
When the exercise had reached its end, Grimwarden addressed Tommy, who stood awestruck beside a column.
“Good morning, Lord Felheart.”
“Morning,” he replied out of habit, a glazed look of fascination still in his eyes. “Just Tommy is fine.”
“Tommy. Right.” Grimwarden winced at the Earth name. “Did you find your bed comfortable?”
Tommy didn’t answer the question. “Can you teach me how to do that?”
Grimwarden smiled. “In time. All in due time. But first, your bed?”
“Oh, sorry.” Tommy took a step forward. “Yes, it was fine. A little musty smelling, but I guess I should have expected that.”
“The long, hollow years weigh heavily upon this place . . . it is as you say.” Grimwarden laid the staff against a stone bench and walked forward. “Shall we eat? The others are in the refectory.”
“Sure thing! I’m starving.”
Grimwarden looked at him curiously. “Tommy, I know our path was not the easiest, but did you not sup yesterday, and the day before?”
“Uh, right. It’s just an expression.” Tommy rubbed his face. “Let’s go eat.”
The two walked back into the corridor Tommy had come out of and continued farther down the hall before turning left at an intersecting hallway. Fingers of light worked through a large filthy window at the far end, accenting an open door. It was in here that Tommy and Grimwarden greeted the rest of the lords, all assembled at the large board in the center of the room.
“Good of you to join us, Master Felheart!” came a loud voice from the other side of the mammoth kitchen. It was Mumthers. Already beloved by the Seven, she was jovial in speech and action, a whirlwind of activity—in and out of the kitchen. She was as wide as she was tall. Perhaps a little too fond of testing her own food, Tommy thought. And who wouldn’t be with cooking like hers? Her apron was permanently stained by any number of ingredients, and despite her largish form, she carried herself in her blue dress much like a ballerina, light on her feet and twice as nimble. Her effusive hand gestures and waves of her spatulas kept people out of her way and eagerly awaiting whatever sumptuous meal she had prepared.
“Come, child! Sit! Sit!”
“Thank you, Mumthers.” Tommy dipped his head. “Hey, everyone.”
The others gathered around the table greeted him and made room on one of the benches. Goldarrow gave him a warm smile.
“You, too, old Grimwarden,” Mumthers added. “Warriors need to eat as well.”
“No quarrel with you there, Lady Bathers.” Grimwarden smiled, his eyes dancing with anticipation. “What have you cooked for us this morning?”
“Considering no one has stocked this hole for a wee while, I was forced to use some of our rations. But the garden, though profusely overgrown”—she waved a spoon through the air in a grand arch— “still had a number of goodies that the rabbits overlooked.”
And whatever it is, Tommy noted, it smells wonderful!
She turned to the hearth where a large cauldron bubbled, and beside it an iron pan sizzling with, well, something. Sausage? Tommy wondered.
“Been up since well before dawn to gather what I needed for these scrumptious goodies, I was.” Mumthers produced a lined basket with two loaves of freshly baked bread, and poured everyone a mug of springwater and honey warmed by the fire. Next, she scooped the meat out of the skillet and onto a trencher proclaiming it to be rabbit sausage. The seven young lords winced.
“Thus the reason the rabbits have left the garden alone?” Grimwarden laughed. Everyone chuckled.
“Don’t mock me until you try it. I added my family goods,” she said. Her family goods—Tommy would come to find out—were the secret spices of her great-great-grandmother that she had rescued from the flet during the ambush, a concoction that could turn even a piece of bark into a delicacy. After this, she produced a stack of bowls, passed them out, then filled them with soup from the steaming cauldron. “Asparagus, leek, and a little of the leftover ham. An egg and some cream to thicken it.”
“Where’d you get the cream?” Tommy asked.
“It would be wiser not to ask, Tommy,” Grimwarden whispered. “Just let your mouth enjoy and your mind relax.”
Tommy smiled and look
ed at his bowl, his spoon hanging over it. But Grimwarden couldn’t have been more correct; his mouth enjoyed it, every mouthful. Mumthers had made a feast out of a famine, and every bite seemed better than the previous. He had never had rabbit before; even the thought made him a bit queasy. But as Mumthers had prepared it, he wondered why he had never tried it before.
“Watch the biscuits,” said Jimmy without looking up from his bowl.
“What?” asked Kiri Lee. “What bis—?”
Just then, Mumthers tripped, launching more than a dozen biscuits into the air. They descended like meteors, exploding with flaky goodness all over the table and all over Kiri Lee. One biscuit hit the back of Kiri Lee’s spoon, catapulting a glob of gravy right at Jimmy. Again, without looking up, Jimmy lifted a cloth napkin, perfectly intercepting the gravy that would have splattered him in the ear.
“Okay,” said Kiri Lee, “a little earlier warning would have been nice.”
“The question is,” said Kat, “did Jimmy know what would happen earlier but just waited to warn you? Other than Jimmy, only I know the answer to that question.”
Much like the biscuits beforehand, the table exploded in laughter.
When the kids had cleaned the trencher of sausage and had exhausted their capacity for bread and soup, Mumthers declared their first meal in Whitehall a success and hugged each of them, including Grimwarden. Everyone else stifled laughs as she slapped his back like a baby being burped.
“I’m so full I don’t think I could eat again for a day,” Tommy finally said.
“That’s spectacularly good to hear,” Grimwarden said when he had broken free of Mumthers’s embrace, “because you won’t be.”
The kids looked up to him in shock. “What do you mean?” Autumn inquired hesitantly.
“Your training starts now. And your first lesson is to learn how to master your appetites. First physical, then emotional.”
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