Snared: Voyage on the Eversteel Sea

by Adam Jay Epstein

Roveeka smiled. “You’re right.” She gave the handles of the two knives on her waist a gentle touch with her forefingers.

  “There’s the campfire,” Odette whispered from just ahead.

  Beyond the last row of palm trees on the white salt beach, a fire of dried fronds and branches was burning. The steady plume of white smoke they had seen from a distance snaked into the sky before the wind blew it out to sea. Beside the fire, a small structure had been built of sticks.

  “Can you see anybody?” Wily asked the others.

  Not from up here, Moshul signed back.

  “Maybe they are taking a swim,” Roveeka said. “That would explain the shoes down by the water.”

  “Let’s hurry over and investigate before they come back,” Odette said.

  As the group moved through the brush, Wily heard a distinct snapping sound nearby. From the leaf-covered ground, a rope net lifted into the air. Moshul was enveloped and hoisted off the ground. The hidden trap pulled the moss golem into the tree, which bent under his giant weight. Despite Moshul’s great size, he was held aloft in the net.

  “A trap,” Odette said as she stepped backward. “There could be more—”

  Suddenly Wily heard another snapping sound. Odette looked under her foot to realize she had just stepped on a trip wire.

  “Whoops,” she said.

  A second net was pulled up from the ground. This one was just as large as the first that had snared Moshul, and it caught not only Odette but Pryvyd, Roveeka, and Wily too. Together they were lifted into the trees, their bodies tossed in the mesh of vine.

  “That was my fault,” Odette said timidly. “What? I’m allowed to make mistakes too.”

  “Righteous,” Wily called out. “Where are you?”

  “I think it’s under my butt,” Roveeka said.

  “Nope,” Odette answered. “That’s my arm.”

  “It’s down there,” Pryvyd said.

  Righteous, thin enough to slip through the holes in the net, had avoided capture and was hovering near the ground.

  “Go,” Pryvyd said. “Find where the rope is clamped and release us.”

  Wily watched as Righteous zipped up to the pulley hidden in the tree and then followed the path of the rope down to the ground. At the bottom, Righteous found that the rope was triple-knotted around a thick palm tree root.

  “Untie it!” Odette shouted.

  Righteous tried to pull the loops free, but untying a complicated knot with just one hand was proving rather difficult. It was a tight knot to start, and with the weight of all the heroes pulling it taut again every time Righteous managed to loosen it a little, the task seemed as if it might be impossible. Righteous gestured helplessly.

  “Someone made this trap,” Odette said, turning to Wily. “How would they get us down?”

  Wily considered. “A simple snare like this one would be cut with a sword or knife or some other sharp blade.”

  “That’s a problem,” Odette replied. “Ours have all rusted away in the salt air. What do we do now?”

  “We figure out some other way to cut the vines,” Pryvyd said. “Perhaps we can find a sharp leaf that will do the job.”

  “A sharp leaf?” Odette questioned aloud. “You got one of those, Moshul?”

  Moshul, hanging from the tree like a giant dewdrop of mud, shook his head as best as he could in the awkward position.

  “Or I could just use my teeth,” Odette said in a huff.

  “That was going to be my next suggestion,” Pryvyd said, sounding defeated.

  “Mum! Pops!”

  Wily twisted his neck, straining to look at Roveeka, who was pressed up against his back. She held in her warty hands her two knives. They were out of their sheathes, and to Roveeka’s and Wily’s surprise, they had not rusted at all. They appeared just as shiny as they had before they arrived on this island.

  “How is that possible?” Odette asked, glancing at them.

  “I guess they really are special,” Roveeka said. “Mum and Pops have never let me down.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” Pryvyd said. “My armor and shield were far thicker.”

  “We can try to figure it out once we’re down,” Wily said. “Roveeka, cut through the ropes.”

  “I’m already on it,” Roveeka said, hacking away at the vines beneath her. “Prepare yourselves for a pretty big—”

  The net tore open. Pryvyd, Roveeka, Odette, and Wily fell to the ground.

  “Ouch,” Pryvyd said. “A little bit more warning would be nice next time.”

  “Didn’t think Pops would still be so sharp,” Roveeka said, “but he was. Never should have doubted him.”

  “No metal can survive the salt,” Pryvyd said as he got to his feet.

  “Unless Mum and Pops are eversteel,” Roveeka said brightly. “Even when I don’t polish them, they’re always shiny.”

  Wily had often noticed the picture delicately drawn on the blades, which depicted what appeared to be a large sleeping lizard. When he was in Carrion Tomb, he thought the other markings along the blade were glowing torches. Since then, he had realized they were made to resemble the stars in the sky. Was it possible that these blades were made in the mythic Eversteel Forge?

  Up above, Moshul was signing something to the effect of I’m still up here and I don’t want to be.

  Roveeka moved to the spot where the moss golem’s snare was tied to a tree stump. With a quick slash of her knife, the rope was cut and Moshul fell to the ground with a thud. When the moss golem got to his feet, Wily could see that Moshul’s head was dented and big chunks of mushrooms were smashed on top.

  “From here on,” Wily called to the others, “make every step a careful one.”

  Everyone nodded in agreement.

  Wily approached the simple campsite, scanning the jungle floor for trip wires and drop pits. If there was one trap protecting the area, there were bound to be others as well. A few feet closer to the campfire, Wily found a patch of leaves laid out on the ground. With his foot, he carefully pushed them aside to reveal a pit with spikes made in an almost identical fashion to the trap they had made. There was just one major difference. The spikes in the pit pointed up, making the trap deadly rather than merely protective.

  “Walk around the leaves,” Wily called back to the others as he moved closer to the fire and the small wooden structure.

  Odette walked up alongside him and peered into the flames.

  “The fire won’t last much longer without more wood,” she said. “We should collect some before it goes out. It is far easier to keep a campfire burning than start a new one.”

  “Moshul,” Pryvyd said, “stay here. Guard Wily. We’ll be back with wood.”

  Righteous, Pryvyd, Odette, and Roveeka moved for the jungle. Cautiously, Wily peeked through the open door of the structure. There was nobody inside, just a collection of leaves that had been laid out on the floor like a carpet. Wily stepped underneath the roof of twigs and he found a few more items placed in a neat pile: a map scrawled on parchment, a pair of lenses that looked like they might have been from reading glasses, and the wooden handle of a tool. Wily was particularly interested in the map. He studied it closely, his fingers moving along the carefully drawn lines.

  It appeared as if a small portion of the island had been explored and recreated on the sheet in black ink. Wily couldn’t be certain, but he guessed it depicted places he and his companions had yet to pass. There was a drawing of a large plant near a stone temple, and along the shoreline a spot labeled “Grizzler Teeth.”

  By the time Wily stepped out of the small structure, Pryvyd and Odette were approaching the still-crackling fire, each with an armload of firewood. Moshul was scanning the area, both by using his jeweled eyes and by sending out a line of ants from his belly button to go exploring the nearby bushes.

  “Hey, everyone,” Wily said. “I found something that might be very helpful.” But before Wily could tell the others what he had discovered, Odette interrupted him
.

  “Where’s Roveeka?” Odette asked.

  Moshul shrugged.

  “I thought she was with you,” Pryvyd said.

  “She was,” Odette said. “But she was tired so I told her to head back.”

  “On her own?” Pryvyd was mad.

  “She’s the only one with weapons,” Odette said defensively. “I thought she would be fine. It wasn’t that far.”

  “Roveeka!” Wily shouted with growing alarm.

  From the shrubs, Wily heard a muffled voice cry out. Righteous leaped to attention. Even in the most spectral form, the enchanted arm was ready for a fight.

  “Stay where you are,” a man’s voice shouted, “and the hobgoblet won’t get a spear to the back.”

  Wily raised his hands in the air, as did the others.

  “Let her go,” Pryvyd shouted back. “We’re not here to hurt anyone.”

  Roveeka took a few hesitant steps out of the bush. A sharpened bamboo pole was pressed to the base of her spine by a figure still cloaked in the shadows of the trees.

  “Wily, I’m okay,” Roveeka shouted, her voice trembling with fear.

  “Well, well,” the man’s voice said. “This is getting ever more interesting.”

  Exiting from the foliage was a slight, middle-aged man with torn clothes and no shoes. Wily thought his eyes were playing a trick on him: the man was his father, Kestrel Gromanov, the Infernal King.

  9

  THE LOST KING

  “I don’t understand,” Wily said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Same as you,” Kestrel said. “I’m stranded. I was made to walk the plank.”

  “By who?” Odette asked. “Your own crew?”

  “It wasn’t my crew,” Kestrel said. “Stalag did this to me. He’s responsible for all this. I didn’t blow up the prisonaut. It was one of his spells.”

  “I found springs and gears all over the ground,” Wily said. “There was no spell residue. You’re lying, like you always do.”

  Wily’s head was spinning. Why was his father here? What possible reason did Stalag and he have for making it seem like he was left here too?

  “You have every reason not to trust me, son, but Stalag framed me,” Kestrel said. “I had nothing to do with it. He was waiting for me outside the prisonaut with a snagglecart. He told me he discovered the coordinates of Drakesmith Island, home of the Eversteel Forge. He said we should travel there. That I could live a peaceful life far away from Panthasos if I helped him build a new army of gearfolk.”

  “You still escaped from prison,” Wily said. “You didn’t have to leave. You could have stayed in your cottage.”

  “That’s true,” Kestrel said, pressing the spear harder into Roveeka’s back, “but I’m also not a fool. You would have kept me locked up forever.”

  “Then why are you here?” Pryvyd asked.

  “Because Stalag lied,” Kestrel said. “When we first left, he had me draw up plans for a new ubergearfolk. But it was all a ruse. He was distracting me from his true purpose. After we sailed around the Drecks, he and his men forced me to walk the plank. I barely managed to swim to shore.”

  “I don’t understand,” Wily said. “Why’d he stage the breakout only to dump you here? What was the point?”

  “You followed me, didn’t you?” Kestrel said. “Stalag knew you would. He left clues for you. He wanted you to come after me so he could dump you right here on the Salt Isles too. He wanted to get rid of everyone who could pose a threat to his plan to conquer all of Panthasos. He never hoped to find the Eversteel Forge. He doesn’t even think it exists. He was just tempting me with something he knew I was interested in. He’s been secretly rebuilding the old gearfolk with his magic. I saw one in person on the ship. It’s wields a blade of dark energy. That’s all he needs to take over Panthasos.”

  “He left the journal in the snagglecart on purpose,” Odette said. “He wanted us to find it. To come after you. I’m such a fool for having fallen for it.”

  “You and me both,” Kestrel said. “I thought he had just carelessly left it behind. He is far more clever than that. He was staging the whole situation. The old cavern mage has always been jealous of me. My life in the palace. My rule over Panthasos. I never realized just how much he wanted it all. Just how far he would go to get it.”

  “He seems to have pulled everything off perfectly,” Pryvyd said morosely.

  “We are trapped on the Salt Isles,” Odette added, and for once her cheerfulness seemed to have deserted her. “Where no metal tools work and no machines can be built. We’re stuck here, with no means of warning anybody in Panthasos of what Stalag has in store for them.”

  “All is not lost. Stalag underestimates my”—Kestrel eyed Wily closely—“our ingenuity. Machines can be made of wood and leaves and sand and stone. I am getting off this island and teaching that translucent old wizard a lesson.”

  “Did I hear you say ‘our’ ingenuity?” Odette asked. “I hope you don’t think for even a fraction of a second that we are going to help you. Because I would rather eat a mouthful of sand— No. A whole beach of sand before I helped you.”

  “We want the same thing, elf,” Kestrel said. “For Stalag to fail. We don’t have to be fond of one another … just assist one another.”

  “Like we’re going to trust you?” Pryvyd said. “You cut off my arm, remember?”

  Righteous clenched its fist.

  “Let bygones be gone,” Kestrel said with a hint of a smile. “The past is in the past. Besides, your arm and you seem to be doing quite well apart. Perhaps I did you a favor.”

  “I’ll do you a favor and remove your head from your neck, see how you like that,” Pryvyd said, and Righteous gave his suggestion a big thumbs-up.

  “You’re a hero now,” Kestrel said. “Heroes don’t do such things.”

  “They do things like that to dragons and beasts,” Pryvyd growled.

  “I’m not a beast,” Kestrel said. “And my time in the prisonaut has made me reconsider many of my choices.”

  “You’re full of lies,” Wily snapped. “You just said you promised to build Stalag a new army of ubergearfolk.”

  “I was never going to actually build him an army,” Kestrel said. “I just told him I would. I figured once I got to Drakesmith I would disappear in the night.”

  Wily tried to read his father’s expression.

  “Aren’t we all allowed second chances?” Kestrel said. “I am a different man.”

  To prove his point, Kestrel dropped the spear from Roveeka’s back, allowing her to run to Wily’s side. The two embraced as Kestrel stood with his pointed stick, watching.

  “There,” Kestrel said. “See? Different.”

  Wily was glad his father had freed Roveeka, but that didn’t mean he was going to start trusting him all of a sudden.

  “Different from four months ago when you stole my screwdriver so you could use it to escape?” Wily asked with an angry sneer.

  “I admit it was a mistake,” Kestrel said. “But I ended up returning that screwdriver to the warden.”

  “Whatever story you tell is not good enough for me,” Odette said. “You were responsible for my parents’ deaths.”

  “I know,” he said. “I did terrible things. There is no reason for you to trust me. I wouldn’t trust me either. But think how many more people could lose their families if we don’t get off this island and stop Stalag.”

  Odette listened only briefly to his words before cutting him off. “Nope. See this?” Odette drew her foot across the sand, making a long indentation. “That is my line in the sand. There are some things, no matter how logical they may be, that I can never do. Helping the Infernal King is one of those things.”

  “I suppose a line is a line. If you all feel that way, we should just continue on our separate paths.” Kestrel pulled out a satchel of mussels from his bag. “But if you happen to be hungry, I can’t possibly eat all these myself.”

  Wily could feel his stomach gr
umble at the thought of food. Yet no matter how hungry he was, he would never accept food from his father, never mind dine with him.

  “I should thank you for collecting the firewood,” Kestrel said as he put the mussels in the flames.

  “If we had known the fire was yours,” Odette replied, “we would have let it go out.”

  “Is she always this cranky?” Kestrel asked Wily.

  “The prisonaut was too good for you,” Odette spat back.

  Kestrel sat down by the now-raging fire and rotated the mussels with a stick.

  “I know how to build a boat,” Kestrel said. “I’ve done it before. Can you?”

  “Wily built an engine from scratch once,” Roveeka said. “And a mechanical bird.”

  “He is quite skilled with metal and gears,” Kestrel said. “But I know how to carve and bend wood. Waterproof it. It was a hobby I had before Wily was born. I’m sure in a few years you all will figure it out on your own, but right now, you might need a little help.”

  “I don’t need your help,” Wily said, even though he felt foolish saying it, because his father was right: he had never built anything from wood. Then he turned to his companions. “Let’s go.”

  Odette didn’t need much convincing. She was already walking down the beach. The rest of the group followed her, walking quickly across the hot sand. Wily continued away from his father’s camp, marching swiftly without looking back. Once they had made it past the next outcropping, Pryvyd raised his hand to the others.

  “Let’s talk,” Pryvyd said.

  “About what?” Odette said, still fuming.

  Pryvyd held his shoulders high and took a long calm breath before speaking again.

  “I hate him more than anyone in Panthasos,” Pryvyd said. “For what he did to you, Odette. And what he did to Wily. And Lumina. And all of Panthasos. Removing his head from his shoulders would be well deserved.”

  “Couldn’t agree more,” Odette said. “I’ll help sharpen the sword.”

  “But I also know that working with a snake is better than being bitten by one,” Pryvyd said. “He has knowledge that we lack. We need his help to build a boat swiftly.”

  “Are you crazy?” Odette nearly screamed. “He’s the Infernal King!”