Kingdom Keepers VI

by Ridley Pearson

  Tia Dalma turned a page in the journal. She nodded and raised her right hand, then placed it across her chest.

  Chernabog walked ploddingly toward her. The ground shook. Finn’s animal instincts told him to run.

  This thing was more than a monster. It was a creature; a bull/bat creature with huge eyes, a wet snout, and the pointed nose of a bat broken by sharp saw teeth. Granted, it behaved as if drugged; but if anything, that enhanced the threat.

  Tia Dalma barely looked over at the beast. Finn couldn’t see her face, but he could hear her mumbling.

  The Evil Queen unzipped the duffel bag. In the gloomy darkness of the eclipse, Finn would have sworn it was his twin coming out of the bag.

  Dillard’s hands were bound behind his back. His eyes were crazed with fear.

  Dillard had once begged Finn—begged him—to allow him to become a Kingdom Keeper. Finn had gently turned him down. Dillard was not cut out for it.

  Apparently Dillard had convinced Wayne otherwise.

  Finn briefly closed his eyes. He hated Wayne at that moment.

  A few milliseconds passed—more like a blink. But in that fraction of time, Finn attempted to summon the speed and strength he’d demonstrated intermittently throughout the voyage.

  Caw! Caw!

  Diablo. Finn knew the bird’s identity before he spotted the raven, because like Philby’s pigeon cry, that particular birdsong had no place in a jungle. Perched near the Evil Queen, Diablo clung to a vine over the empty duffel bag.

  Exactly where Maybeck and Philby were hiding.

  Maleficent walked in that direction: toward the Evil Queen and Dillard.

  Chernabog marched for the sacrificial table.

  Finn couldn’t breathe. The beast grew bigger with every step. The four crewmen backed up, sensing something awful.

  Where were the girls and their distraction?

  Willa was a genius. Rather than stand up and shout or do something overtly obvious, she and Charlene slipped in and out between the rocks on the far side of the courtyard. A girl’s leg appeared and then disappeared.

  Maleficent signaled the four crewmen, who dashed off in pursuit.

  With any luck, Finn thought, the two girls were sprinting toward the road by now. For a moment it looked as if Maleficent would pursue them as well, but her nasty crow continued signaling—for all Finn knew the thing was talking to her. She moved toward Dillard, toward where Philby and Maybeck were hiding.

  It had to be now.

  Finn darted toward the stone table like he was going for the prize in Capture the Flag. Tia Dalma, distracted by sight of the girls and by Maleficent’s swift crossing to Diablo, never saw Finn coming. He careened into her, throwing her to the ground. He reached for the journal.

  His legs were trembling. But it wasn’t his legs; it was the ground, as Chernabog dragged himself toward the table. The beast was clearly at half speed; Finn didn’t want to see him supercharged.

  Up close he was a hideous combination of wild bull, rabid bat, and human giant. Drool leaked disgustingly from his partially-open mouth, which was lined with hundreds of triangular teeth. His coal-black eyes, so bloodshot as to look otherworldly, locked onto Finn. He grunted, his nostrils snorting fluid.

  “Hey, buddy,” Finn said, backing up, the journal tucked under his arm.

  Chernabog swiped out at Finn, his reach extraordinarily long, his black, bear claws coming incredibly close. Much closer than Finn thought possible.

  A fireball ripped through the air by Finn’s left ear, sounding like a jet engine at takeoff. The surprise of it pushed Chernabog back and off Finn.

  Maleficent took a step toward Dillard. The Evil Queen stepped out of the jungle, dragging Maybeck with one hand and Philby with the other. The boys were conscious but dazed.

  “Stop!” she called to Finn. “The book, young man. Put it back on the table, or your friends die.”

  Tia Dalma clawed herself to her knees. Her eyes played across Finn like a meat inspector’s. She was going to end him.

  Willa and Charlene had broken from the plan, doubling back. Out of the corner of his eye, Finn saw them dip into the mouth of the cave entrance that bore the pictograph.

  Cackling evilly, the Evil Queen pulled a vial from her cloak and force-fed Maybeck and Philby its contents. The boys slumped to the jungle floor.

  Dead? Asleep?

  “The book!” she cried out.

  Both furious and terrified, Finn returned the journal to the stone table. But something in him snapped as it clunked to the stone. He raced toward his fallen friends. Maleficent badly misjudged his superhuman speed. Her first two fireballs missed.

  Seeing more power in Finn’s emotions than anything with which fire could contend, she wave a crooked finger at Dillard and drew the boy to her.

  Finn was three steps from Maleficent when the two girls screamed.

  A cloud of fruit bats flew from the mouth of the cave. They were the size of flying squirrels. They swirled around the courtyard like smoke escaping a chimney. A black fog, so thick that wings licked the faces of everyone gathered there, forcing them to recoil.

  All but Chernabog, who spread his arms in welcome. The bats formed a funnel over his head and spiraled up into the dark sky.

  Chernabog roared so loudly Finn would have sworn the trees shook. And this thing’s at half speed?

  Maleficent crossed her arms in front of her face to shield herself. Taking advantage of her distraction, Finn attacked Maleficent, grabbing her from behind and spinning her in the direction of Tia Dalma just as the witch doctor threw her arm forward, intending a curse for Finn.

  Maleficent buckled over. Finn kicked her to the dirt and kneeled by Maybeck’s side.

  A fireball grew from Maleficent’s palm. Finn abandoned Maybeck and struck the fairy’s arm, sending the fireball in the direction of the Evil Queen, whose cape caught fire. The burning Evil Queen dove to the dirt and rolled.

  Chernabog roared yet again.

  The moon slipped fully in front of the sun, blotting out all light.

  The fallen Maleficent, writhing from the pain inflicted by the curse, looked to the sky.

  Tia Dalma had Dillard by the throat. She produced a large knife—bone or ivory—from her waistband and leveled its blade across Dillard’s throat. She pulled on the blade, cutting Dillard’s neck, spilling his blood.

  “Stop!” Finn shouted. He couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t allow it. It was worse than anything he’d ever imagined.

  To his surprise, the witch doctor paused.

  “Me, for him,” Finn said. “You would much rather have me.”

  “Blood is blood, lad,” Tia Dalma said in her lilting voice. She could have been talking about vegetables in the grocery store. “He,” she indicated Chernabog, “is not picky.”

  Finn saw an exchange of some sort between the Evil Queen, who guarded Maybeck and Philby, and Tia Dalma. Tia Dalma’s hand tightened on the knife handle. Chernabog bellowed and snorted, waiting by the stone table.

  The bats descended in a swirling blanket, engulfing the beast. The vortex of flapping wings shifted across the terrace, throwing up a tornado of dust that consumed Finn, Tia Dalma, and Dillard.

  Blinded, Finn shielded his eyes. He fought forward, swiping at the bats with his bare hands, knocking them aside.

  They lifted.

  Tia Dalma was hauling Dillard toward Chernabog and the stone table. “Coming, my lord.” She stretched out an arm to pull the open journal closer.

  My lord. The words registered with Finn.

  Finn dove and rolled, leaping to his feet in time to catch Tia Dalma’s back-stretched arm as she wrestled to lift Dillard onto the table.

  An excited Chernabog snorted and stomped. The ground shook.

  Finn yanked Tia Dalma’s arm and knife back a few inches, away from Dillard’s throat. The witch doctor released Dillard, leaving him laying half-on, half-off the sacrificial table. Finn redirected the knife, turning her wrist so the tip of the blade fac
ed her, surprised by her formidable strength.

  “You…should…have…taken…me,” he said. “I would have gone willingly.”

  “For the King!” the witch doctor said, reversing the tip fully toward Finn.

  Anger flashed through Finn, making him ten times as strong. He and Dillard had played at Knights of the Round Table using palm tree fronds as swords, battling for the virtue of princesses and the valor of the King. How dare she know that! How dare she quote that?

  It gave him the final blast of strength, the pump of adrenaline he needed. He bent her wrist—snapped its bones—and plunged the knife into her chest.

  Finn relished the shock in her eyes, the way he felt her resolve flag. There was something else in her eyes as he twisted the blade within her: betrayal? How could she possibly accuse him of such a thing?

  The life went out of her eyes.

  The bats swirled.

  Dillard sagged on the end of the knife.

  Dillard.

  Not Tia Dalma.

  Finn looked at the table. The witch doctor lay there, arms crossed over her chest, laughing coldly.

  Dillard looked down at the knife, then into Finn’s eyes. Betrayal! Finn should have known! He pulled out the knife. Dillard collapsed and fell, eyes open. Tears ran down his cheeks. If he was crying, he was alive!

  “The bloodshed of friendship is so much thicker,” Tia Dalma said, off the table now and catching Dillard before he hit the ground. She lifted Dillard’s hand, which hung limply in the air.

  “Life is because of the gods; with their sacrifice they gave us life…. They produce our sustenance…which nourishes life.”

  Chernabog leaned forward.

  “Nooooo!”

  Finn punched Tia Dalma in the face with all his strength. Her head snapped back and she collapsed, unconscious. Before he could think, Finn pivoted and broke Chernabog’s grip on Dillard, putting himself between the beast and his friend. He jumped straight up and landed, squatting on the stone table, facing Chernabog. He waved the knife.

  The beast swung, but to Finn it registered as slow motion. Finn ducked the blow, but lost the knife. He rotated and kicked out, connecting with the beast’s chest. It was like kicking a wall.

  Chernabog dropped his fist like a hammer. Finn lurched aside. The eight-inch-thick stone table cracked with the blow.

  The beast’s jaw opened and snapped at Finn’s head, narrowly missing. Finn backed up and fell off balance. He tumbled into the dirt, the table between him and the beast.

  Chernabog roared, pounded down angrily on the table, and split it in two.

  The knife flew up, spinning tip-over-grip. The beast snatched it out of the air. It looked like a toy in his hand as he brought it to his maw and licked the blood hungrily from the blade.

  Dropping the knife, Chernabog raised his head toward the ever-lightening sky. His flesh rippled as he seemed to grow, or swell, or increase in some indefinable way. A chrysalis in catharsis—a butterfly’s drying wings ready for flight.

  The demon—no longer merely a beast—gazed down at Finn and cocked his head.

  Finn reacted primordially. He grabbed for the fallen knife and plunged it into Chernabog’s thigh.

  Chernabog roared in pain. The jungle canopy shook. Startled birds erupted upward.

  Finn scooped up Dillard and ran for the tunnel entrance. He could see death flicker behind Dillard’s eyes with his every step.

  “Don’t you leave me!” Finn told him, his own tears starting now.

  Dillard’s eyes floated open. He stared up at Finn, who could not take his eyes off his friend.

  “Don’t…you…dare,” Finn said.

  “‘If you don’t take a chance,’” Dillard said, a weak grin sweeping his lips, “‘you don’t have a chance.’”

  “You’re a Keeper. Always a Keeper!”

  Dillard’s eyes brightened, then eased shut; and Finn felt the life leave his friend’s body. It was sickening and magical, disgusting and vile.

  Finn cried out.

  Chernabog followed the sound, the knife still in his leg. He’d tasted the boy’s blood. He wanted more.

  Finn caught sight of the writhing Maleficent, distant now, still under Tia Dalma’s twisted spell. The dark fairy managed to squirm to her knees.

  “He awakens!” she called out.

  Finn carried Dillard’s body into the dark tunnel.

  Behind him the jungle erupted in a deafening chorus of savage sounds: hissing, licking, sucking. Finn felt the world driving him deeper into the tunnel.

  * * *

  “Psst!”

  Finn stopped, but the trembling of Chernabog’s feet pounding the ground from behind gave him chills. There was faint light flooding through joints in the overhead stones, just enough to see, but not clearly. Two shadows stepped forward.

  Finn recognized Charlene’s voice. “The tunnel splits ahead.”

  “And again after that. It’s a labyrinth,” Willa said, “designed to defeat tomb robbers.”

  “Like Escher’s Keep,” Charlene added.

  “You’re saying we can’t go in?”

  “It’s designed so you never come out.”

  Chernabog plugged the far end of the tunnel. He crouched and heaved himself forward, narrowing the distance.

  “But if I could find my way back out,” Finn said. “If you two took Dillard and hid in one tunnel while I led it down another…”

  “You can’t,” Charlene protested. “Seriously, you can’t.”

  “But if I could find my way out and he couldn’t?” Finn hoped to appeal to Willa’s sense of challenge, to Charlene’s sense of adventure. He understood what perhaps they did not: the four of them were not getting past Chernabog. They had to come up with some kind of plan. “I need a string. A really long string.”

  Charlene tore her shirt and pulled at the frayed ends trying to start a run of thread, but it wasn’t going to work.

  “How are you with spiders?” Willa asked.

  Finn could barely see her finger pointing out a delicate spiderweb.

  “I don’t love them,” he confessed.

  Chernabog was close now—too close.

  “If you squeeze a spider gently, it lays its silk.”

  “I don’t think I want to know that,” Finn said.

  “You follow the silk back,” she said. “He…it isn’t smart enough to do that.”

  “You’re crazy!” Charlene protested. “What if it breaks? Or runs out?”

  Clomp! Clomp! Chernabog was no more than twenty feet away.

  Finn widened his eyes, admitting more light. He saw the large black spider, the size of a lemon, at the lower edge of the web. He cringed, thinking of actually taking hold of it.

  The image of Dillard’s eyes, of the light slowly going out of them, flashed through his mind, strengthening his resolve. Finn held his breath and snatched the spider from its web. It wiggled in his hand. He dropped it.

  Willa scooped it up and returned it to Finn.

  “You’re set,” she said.

  “Protect him,” Finn said.

  “Go!” Willa said. “We can handle it. Go!”

  “Good luck!” Charlene added.

  “Nothing stupid,” Willa said, quoting Philby.

  Finn squeezed the hairy spider. He felt sick to his stomach. But Willa was right—as always. The silk played out like a whisper of silver thread. Finn stuck the end of it to the nearest wall.

  A giant hunchbacked troll in the form of Chernabog stood twenty feet from him. The demon sniffed the air. And again.

  It had poor eyesight. Finn realized. Chernabog not only didn’t fit in the tunnel, but he could see only a few feet before him.

  Finn dragged his running shoe across the stone floor to make sure Chernabog followed him and did not head toward the girls. The beast sniffed the air again. If he sensed Dillard’s blood…Finn made sure he heard him, made sure to lure him in his direction.

  Chernabog grunted and lunged forward with surp
ris- ing speed and agility, his hand—the size of a catcher’s glove—swiping the air mere inches from Finn’s face.

  Attaboy, Finn thought.

  Giving the spider a gentle squeeze, Finn touched the silk against the wall of the left tunnel and continued deeper into the darkness.

  Chernabog followed.

  THE CREATURE WAS a quick learner. He was moving faster now in his pursuit.

  Finn arrived at another Y in the tunnel—the third since he’d left the girls. This time he faced descending stairs and more darkness to his left, level and light to his right. He touched the spider silk to the wall, and descended.

  Chernabog was no climber. His cloven hooves slipped on the stairs and kicked Finn, sending him flying. Finn held on to the spider, but landed awkwardly, spraining his right wrist while attempting to break his fall.

  Chernabog swiped at Finn, connected, and plastered him to the wall.

  Finn dropped the spider. It scurried away before Finn could recover it.

  The beast struck out again—a cat toying with a mouse. He sent Finn to the bottom landing, then slid down the stairs after him.

  His head aching, Finn tried to navigate the darkness. There was no light at all. It sounded as if Chernabog was groping around in the dark for him. With each blow, the beast loosened the rocks. Sand and dirt rained down. Dust spread. Finn coughed.

  Some faint light seeped through.

  Chernabog roared. The tunnel shook. Finn covered his ears. Chernabog lowered his horns and lunged at Finn but missed as Finn dove to his left into a pile of bat guano.

  Finn spit the disgusting taste from his mouth and crawled away from the beast in a crab-walk. He needed to take advantage of his smaller size, agility, and speed; he also possessed an enormous reserve of anger-derived strength eager to be released, a power that filled him to bursting.

  Standing, Finn darted left to right, causing Chernabog to slug the stone wall with his fists and groan with each miscalculated blow. The blows were delivered with the force of a pile driver, cracking the rocks and undermining the thousand-year-old construction. An overhead stone dislodged several inches.

  In the dim light, Finn saw Chernabog more clearly. If he’d been a child before the ceremony, he was a man now. His grotesque head, all bull and bat, looked massive, a pink tongue dangling from his jaw. He kicked out and caught Finn, smashing him into the opposing wall.