“Extraordinary,” said Granddad. “Most folks in Tenby say Dragon’s Mouth has no entrance—unless you scale the cliff, hah! A real eye-opener, this is, a special tour indeed. Well done, Stokes.”
“Bron!” Pippin shouted. “Hey, Bron!” There was no reply, so she shouted again.
Zoé, more nervous than ever, began chewing on her lower lip. What if the Scravens had taken over Bron?
“Is that you lot?” came a disembodied voice.
Hearing Bron, Zoé felt a rush of relief—she was a little less frightened now. A light flickered from inside a low entrance, and Bron emerged holding a storm lantern.
“I was afraid you— Hold on.” Bron doubled over, taking deep gulps of air. “Got to catch my breath. Took a steep shortcut.”
Bron straightened up, her jaw tightening as she caught sight of Stokes. Zoé saw him cringe as he shambled a few steps back, arms hanging at his sides.
“What are you doing here?” demanded Bron, scowling.
“Stokes helped us find a phone kiosk to call you,” said Ian. “He brought us here through the tunnels.”
“We’d never have found Dragon’s Mouth otherwise,” said Pippin. “Stokes is on our side, Bron.”
“I knows about the Scravens, I knows what they’re up to,” said Stokes, keeping his distance from Bron. “Zival’s spies are on the move, hunting down these kids. Zival wants them got rid of.”
“Zival’s The First!” cried Zoé. “The Scraven mastermind!”
“Zival, eh?” said Bron, still throwing toxic looks at Stokes. “Good to know who we’re up against.” For a moment she stood silent and intent, and Zoé thought how fearsome she looked. “And the runestone?”
“We took ever such good care of it,” said Pippin, unzipping Zoé’s backpack. “Here you go.”
“The Runestone of Arianrhod must be returned to its rightful place in Dragon’s Mouth. We took a risk, removing it from the cavern.” Bron set down her lantern.
“What d’you mean?” asked Pippin. “Spirits will haunt us?”
“No telling what the theft of a runestone might stir up.” Bron turned to Zoé. “Remember me telling you it was yours until the time came to return it? Go on then, put the stone back.”
Mounting the wide steps, Zoé stood before the carving of Arianrhod, watching the runestone’s unearthly symbols begin to glow. With a gesture of deep reverence, she set the runestone inside the shallow gap, feeling a tug at her heart, knowing a part of her didn’t want to let it go. She watched as the markings deepened into bold colors, the stone looking as if it had been part of the rock for centuries.
Bron unclasped a leather bag slung over one shoulder. “The incantation,” she said, handing them papers. “Printouts.”
Ian’s face fell. “Er, we can’t read runic Ogham, Bron.”
“No problem,” said Bron. “I’ve printed the words out phonetically.”
Ian grinned. “Stellar.”
“You’re brilliant, Bron,” said Pippin.
“I know,” said Bron, snapping the bag shut.
“All we have to do now is find Zival,” said Zoé. “Otherwise known as … The First.” Ironic that her name and their enemy’s name both began with a Z. Too creepy, she thought, remembering Ian telling her that there was no letter Z in the Welsh alphabet.
“The game plan’s changed now,” said Ian. “We were supposed to stay at the cottage and fight Zival, but now everything’s in a mess because the goddess fell off the roof and Dr. Marriott’s turned into a Scraven and—”
“And Zival’s probably down here already,” Pippin cut in.
“We can’t just sit here twiddling our thumbs,” said Ian. “We’ve got to hunt him down.”
“Yeah, but it ain’t just you looking fer Zival, don’t forget,” said Stokes, his thin upper lip curling as he spoke. “Zival himself is out there, not far off I reckon, and he’s looking fer you.”
“He’s right, Stokes is. We needn’t go looking for Zival,” said Bron with a disquieting smile. “Zival will come to us.”
Zoé felt her skin go clammy. This was what she’d been dreading: a head-on clash with Zival, the Scraven mastermind.
“Right, then,” said Bron. “We stand near the goddess and whisper the incantation.”
“And we don’t stop until the goddess wakes up,” added Zoé. “Then the fireworks begin.”
“Oh no, the puzzle—we forgot to seal it!” said Ian, digging the silver box out of his messenger bag. “We have to do this first!”
“Isn’t that the box I gave you, the one with the antique glass inside?” asked their grandfather. “Why on earth have you brought that?”
“It’s a puzzle, Granddad,” said Zoé.
“What’s that, Magpie? What did you say?”
Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea after all, keeping things secret to protect their grandfather. But how could they have known Granddad would be with them in Dragon’s Mouth as they prepared to face Zival? That hadn’t been part of the plan. Ian was right, everything was in a mess. And now there was zero time to explain anything.
“Those pieces of glass fit together to make a puzzle,” she went on, but her grandfather’s gentle blue eyes, so similar in color to her own, gazed back at her in confusion.
“We’ll explain later,” promised Ian. “Okay, Granddad?”
Their grandfather gave a weak smile and Zoé thought, Poor Granddad. He probably thinks we’ve all gone crazy.
“Bring the puzzle over here!” shouted Pippin from the mouth of the cavern. “The light’s better!”
Handing the goddess to Bron, Zoé joined Ian and Pippin beneath the archway overlooking the sea. She could hear the distant crash of waves, and when she looked down to the water below, a drop of hundreds of feet, she felt queasy. Ian, sitting across from her, was acting jittery, and his face looked ashen. Not surprising, she thought, since he was terrified of heights. But there was no time to worry about that now.
Zoé watched, almost hypnotized, as the puzzle took on its ancient round shape, and she gasped at the beauty of it: a circle of blue glass, eerie and enchanted, glowing with a fierce inner light. It was, she thought, the most mysterious thing she’d ever seen. She had a sudden fantastic feeling, as if the spirit and essence of the puzzle were taking hold of her.
“Do you have it?” whispered Ian. “The Thirteenth Piece?”
Zoé rummaged through her pockets, faint with fear, worried that Zival might appear before they could seal the puzzle.
“Hurry!” said Bron from the depths of the cavern.
“Got it,” said Zoé, dropping the glass piece into Ian’s hand.
She watched light glance off the Thirteenth Piece as he held it between his shaking fingers. “Okay,” he said, leaning over the puzzle, “we need to apply some logic here.…”
Zoé could tell that Ian had no idea where the Thirteenth Piece should go—nor did she.
“Just get on with it,” said Pippin, sounding anxious.
Hearing a noise behind them, Zoé felt her skin crawl. A fearful silence closed in. She sensed a presence—something malevolent, savage, unspeakable—and she stared wildly into the cavern, seeing Bron’s lantern swing, making shadows jump.
She saw a figure moving toward them.
All at once something shot past with alarming speed, knocking her aside: a gnarled hand, talons silted with dirt, snatching the Thirteenth Piece from Ian’s grasp.
“I’ll take that, if you don’t mind,” said a voice as cold as death.
Rigid with fright, she gazed up at Zival’s spare, illusory shape: hands fused into claws, a reptilian face, and a body that was light-years away from human. The Thirteenth Piece, pincered between Zival’s talons, went black; all of its light had gone out.
“Hey!” shouted Ian. “Give it back!”
“Ah yes, I’ll take this as well.” Zival went for the puzzle.
“No!” screamed Zoé, throwing herself on top of it, kicking wildly as he tried to claw his way to grab
it.
Dripping seaweed and foul-smelling water, Zival appeared to be part reptile and part monstrous bird, his neck marked by gills, with a glistening sheen on his skin, like a newt or a salamander. Black scales fell from his leathery wings, scattering across the cavern floor.
Sprawled over the puzzle, staring up at him, Zoé realized that Zival the optometrist was simply a myth: Zival the person had never existed. Zival’s not an optometrist, she thought, he’s just a Scraven! He’d obviously come straight from Wythernsea, the first Scraven through the puzzle, and he’d remained a Scraven, taking charge of all the others, masterminding the invasion of Tenby.
“He took the Thirteenth Piece!” yelled Ian. “Get it!”
Everything seemed to happen at once. Ian and Pippin threw themselves at Zival, scratching, biting and kicking, trying desperately to wrench the Thirteenth Piece from his claws. Shouting in Welsh, Bron thundered across the cavern, and from a dark corner Zoé heard Stokes hurling out pirate curses.
In a fury Bron leapt at Zival. Brushing aside Ian and Pippin, Zival lunged forward, lashing out with his wing, flinging Bron backward onto the ground. Zoé watched him pivot on clawed feet and slither off, clutching the Thirteenth Piece, moving eel-like across the cavern. He looked like an amphibious vampire as he vanished into the wall.
“That’s Zival’s hiding place!” she cried, pulling Bron to her feet. “He’s been spying on us from inside the wall!”
Bron winced as she rubbed her elbow, but otherwise she seemed unhurt.
“We’ve got a problem,” said Ian. “The puzzle’s not sealed!”
“Leave it, we’ve no time,” said Bron. “When Zival returns, we’ll weaken him by reciting the incantation. We’ll take back the Thirteenth Piece and seal the puzzle then. End of story.”
“I guess so,” said Ian, throwing worried glances at Zoé and Pippin.
“We must act fast—he’ll be here any moment,” said Bron in a take-charge voice, gathering the three children around her. “This is serious stuff, so pay attention. Philippa and Ian, you’ll whisper the incantation using the printouts as I read off the stone.”
Ian’s resolute expression reminded Zoé of a knight preparing for battle. He was a combination of all the heroes she’d ever read about, both modern and old-time. Wow, she thought, Ian’s come a long way.
“Get Stokes and Mr. Blackwood well away from the fracas,” Bron continued, shoving her leather jacket at Pippin. “Give this to Mr. Blackwood; he needs to rest, and it’ll ward off the cold. Keep a close eye on them both, in case.”
Before Zoé could ask In case of what? Bron pointed to an alcove on the other side of the cavern, directly opposite the carving of Arianrhod. “See that hollowed-out niche? A powerful space, riddled with lost enchantments. Go up there and I’ll pass the goddess to you. Believe me, Arianrhod will respond as she did in Wythernsea. But you’ll have to focus.”
“I can do that,” said Zoé, trying to sound confident.
Bron makes everything sound so easy, thought Zoé, running to the alcove, wondering how they were going to take the Thirteenth Piece from Zival. Ian and Pippin caught up with her and, linking hands, secured a foothold, hoisting her up.
“Your grandfather fell asleep,” said Pippin, and Zoé felt a rush of relief.
“That’s the best we can do, right? Hope that Granddad sleeps through this,” said Ian, looking up with a solemn expression. He seemed so small and vulnerable, yet she could see on his face an expression of hope, which seemed to lift her spirits. “Don’t worry, Zoé, we can beat Zival. We’ll drive out the Scravens! Think of the Messengers and what happened in Wythernsea. Don’t be afraid.”
“Yeah, remember Wythernsea,” said Pippin encouragingly.
“Remember Wythernsea, remember Wythernsea,” Zoé whispered to herself as they ran off. But in Wythernsea there hadn’t been any Zival.
Gazing at the symbols in the walls, some she’d never seen before, Zoé sensed the lost enchantments beginning to stir, and she felt a little braver. The stone was wet underfoot and for a moment she nearly slid off the edge; regaining her balance, she tried to keep focused.
“When Zival appears, raise her high into the air. Believe in what will happen,” said Bron, handing the goddess to her. “It is the goddess that matters. Take care of her.”
Alarmed, Zoé noticed that Bron was trying to keep her quaking body still. Oh no, she thought, Bron’s scared, too! She’d always admired Bron’s remoteness, her cool self-control. Yet nobody was immune from fear, she realized, not even a seeress. Was Bron tough enough? Zoé wasn’t sure—especially now that Zival had the Thirteenth Piece.
The air grew colder, as if the sacred spirits were being sucked right out of the cavern. Zoé watched Bron step up to the runestone. The flame inside her lamp guttered. Blinking through the gloom, Zoé felt suddenly all alone, watching the stone walls fade into shadow.
A dark flailing shape dropped down, landing on the floor, and a numbing fear cut through her. Breathless, she watched the hideous entity that was Zival slither across the cavern, dragging leathery wings, its shallow a whirling pit rimmed in green fire.
Flattening herself against the wall, not daring to move, Zoé watched Zival loom over the puzzle. “Mine,” he whispered in a gloating voice, sounding powerful, triumphant. “All this is mine.”
“No! It’s not yours!” Ian shouted, startling Zoé with his bravery. “Forget it, you don’t own the puzzle. It doesn’t belong to anyone.”
What was he trying to do, reason with Zival? She silently willed him to be quiet, yet at the same time she was proud of her cousin’s courage.
Zival gave a harsh laugh. “Stupid child, of course it is mine. Have you never heard of the spoils of war?”
Despite the hopelessness of the situation, Ian held his ground. “It’s nothing to do with war. The puzzle’s not something anyone can own!”
Zoé felt a glimmer of understanding pass through her. The puzzle was a gateway and, as with certain kinds of magic, no one person could lay claim to it: it belonged to everyone and no one.
Without warning, a clot of darkness shot up through the puzzle, flapping into the air. Her stomach churned as more Scravens appeared in a flurry of claws and teeth, wings unfurling as they hung suspended above the puzzle in a hushed, menacing cloud.
Zoé slumped against the wall, consumed by a black dread. We can’t defeat Zival, he’s too strong and so are the Scravens, she thought. This is the end of everything.
A single note rang out: Bron’s deep, husky voice, precise and clear, not quite chanting yet not singing either, joined by the whispery voices of Ian and Pippin. Zoé heard fragments of oddly familiar sounds echoing through the cavern, the same words and phrases whispered by the Messengers when they’d stood beside the Wythernsea wall.
She felt the goddess grow warmer in her hands. The symbols inside the niche flared luminescent gold, as if they’d caught fire, filling the cavern with a soft brilliance.
The Scravens hung motionless above the puzzle and Zoé could almost see them shrinking inside themselves, their malefic strength leaking out of them. Zival, licking his fishlike lips, assumed an arrogant stance. The incantation seemed not to have touched him.
Then everything happened fast: Zival turned to Bron, Ian and Pippin with a predatory smile, the sharp points of his teeth glistening. Zoé gasped in horror as his leathery wings wrapped around her beloved cousin.
Zoé’s heart stopped beating as the air went out of her lungs. She felt the inside of her body go hollow. With a crazed, terrified wail, she jumped from the ledge, still holding the goddess, managing somehow to land on her feet. “No!” she roared. “Get away from him!” Half blinded by tears, she launched herself at Zival, gripping the weathervane with one hand and pounding her free fist against his slimy skin, while Ian struggled to break away.
“What were you saying about the puzzle? Who does it belong to, eh?” shrilled Zival. “The puzzle is mine, and you cannot drive me away. None of you can
defeat me. I am The First!”
Zoé could see Ian trapped inside two massive wings. Spreading beneath his skin was an eerie green light: his fingers looked translucent. It was as if the pattern of his bones had changed, shifting from human into something else. Ian was turning into a Scraven!
“Let him go!” she screamed, seeing the ring of green fire dancing at the edges of Zival’s shallow. “Get your disgusting claws off my cousin!”
She looked up to see an enormous black wing sweeping toward her, then felt it slam her onto the floor, knocking the breath from her and sending the goddess flying. Disoriented, she tried to stand, but her legs gave out and she sank to the ground.
“You are nothing. Nothing!” said Zival with a sneer. “You cannot defeat the Scravens. We are far too powerful.” He held the Thirteenth Piece in his hooked claw, taunting her. “The end has come at last; our battle is over. Tenby belongs to the Scravens.”
Staggering to her feet, Zoé was too devastated to say a word. Ian had stopped moving beneath Zival’s wings, his body gone limp and lifeless. She felt her heart clench like a stone inside her chest. I’ll fight to the death for Ian. Nobody, not even Zival, is going to turn my cousin into a Scraven!
High whispers filled the cavern; this time it was Bron, Pippin and Stokes. Zoé’s heart pounded wildly as she remembered the quest Miss Glyndower had sent them on, the Messengers scattering across Wythernsea, the goddess weathervanes creaking to life. Her strength nearly gone, she dove for the goddess, hugging the luminous figure to her chest, recalling Bron’s words: It is the goddess that matters.
Zoé could see waves of silver, gold and crimson rising off Arianrhod, shifting and changing before her eyes, mixing with light from the puzzle, infusing the cavern with an unearthly glow.
An expansive feeling came over her, giving her fresh courage. Whatever it took, she would save Ian. If we defeated the Scravens in Wythernsea, she told herself, we can defeat them in Tenby.
Lifting the goddess with both hands, she hurled herself at Zival, The First, the pure evil Scraven mastermind. Summoning the last of her strength, she brought Arianrhod down hard against his wing.
The Glass Puzzle Page 22
