“The ones from Madam Varga.”
After cutting his hand he’d almost forgotten about them. He tugged the photographs from his pocket. The first one showed a mountain, the second a creepy looking cemetery and the third a peaceful meadow. Something about the lush field looked familiar. But he couldn’t place it.
Fane took the one with the mountain from his hand. “Keep the other two with you at all times. There’s good reason Madam gave them to you.”
“Like what?”
Fane set the photo of the mountain onto the wet boards of the raft. “For taking shortcuts. You must not use them in a place of great evil, for they might not take you where you want them to. Now that the waters are healed it’s safe to use one here. Everyone please take your turn. Step onto the picture. Angus, you go first. Be sure to close your eyes.”
“It’s getting wet. If I step on it I’ll ruin it completely.”
“Yes, of course. It’ll dissolve on its own after we use it anyhow. It’s only good for one shortcut per group. And it’s a good thing, because we wouldn’t want our enemies to find it and know where we are going.”
The corners of Vanora’s mouth quirked upward. “You mean we step on a photo of a place and that’s where we will end up?”
“Exactly,” Fane said. “But they must be used in proper order. If used out of sequence, it could cost us our lives.”
Angus rubbed his chin. “So we can’t just use the photo of the graveyard to take us directly to the Guardian of the Dead?”
“Only as a last resort, as we could end up in a grave as well as standing on one. These photographs are not to be taken lightly. They can also have double meanings. A shortcut photo of a graveyard can be symbol of death.” Fane cleared his throat. “Now let’s be off, Angus you go first.”
Angus held tight to the straps on his pack, clamped his eyes shut, and stepped onto the face of the old photograph.
17
Angus spiraled downward and fell into a pool of rubbery goo. The elastic gunk gave way and he landed with a thud in soft grass, his backpack and shield at his side. When he stood, the towering mountain range from the picture loomed before him, with steep crags and emerald pinnacles shrouded in wispy clouds.
With a whoosh, Oxton and Fane landed beside him, while Vanora floated onto her tiptoes.
Angus dusted off his knees. “Why was I the only one to have such a rough landing?”
Fane examined the mountain. “Sorry, but the first one has to break open the portal.” He stabbed his walking stick into the ground and leaned on the knob. “And unfortunately, it hasn’t been used for over a hundred years.”
Angus swung the pack and shield onto his back and wiped specks of black and white film from the front of his tunic. He rubbed his neck, glaring up and up to the top of the towering peaks blanketed in a shimmering haze. A sinking feeling filled his gut. “Are we climbing up there?”
“No,” Fane said, still examining the mountain. “Of course not. We’re going through it.”
Vanora groaned. “Great, more dark caves and creepy places.”
“Nothing of the sort. It’s a very pleasant ride.”
Vanora frowned. “Ride?”
Fane ignored her and hiked twenty paces to the base of the mountain, ducked around a large boulder, and disappeared inside a gaping crevice.
“Move along, kids,” Oxton said. “We don’t have all day.”
Angus ducked inside. Tiny lights hung on thin wires on each side of the hollowed-out walls; bright red and blue bulbs that reminded him of Christmas. Angus’ heart sank. He wondered if he’d ever see another holiday again or get to spend one with his mother.
A dozen mining carts stood ready on a set of steel rails. Fane climbed into the first one and sat down. He left the side door open for the rest of them to board. Vanora and Angus followed, sitting opposite of Fane and Oxton. They all crammed tightly together in order to close the door. As soon as the hatch slammed shut, the mining car took off, zipping down the railway, screeching against the tracks as it gained speed.
The rock walls were a blur as they whizzed past.
“We’re going too fast!” Vanora shouted.
The cart swayed dangerously around a corner. Its cast iron wheels wobbled and flicks of red-hot sparks sprayed into the darkness.
Angus gripped the side rails. Vibrations jarred painfully into his fingertips. He shot a glance into the darkness below and crouched down. “It’s gonna jump the tracks!”
Oxton yawned. “Thank goodness because I’m getting sleepy.”
Angus gaped at the giant and slid down even more in his seat, bracing for a traumatic crash. Ahead, he expected the tracks to stretch into the blackness of the tunnel. But no. About twenty feet away, the tracks ended. He shot upright in the seat. “Stop!”
Too late.
The car hit the end of the rails and took off airborne. It careened through the hand-chiseled tunnel into solid darkness at a furious speed. It burst forth into daylight, hundreds of feet above the tops of cottages tucked into a lush valley hidden in a circle of mountains. Instead of falling straight down, the mining car flew as if it had wings.
Angus gulped down the fear burning in his throat and studied the strange site below him. “Where are we?”
Fane leaned over the side and peered down. “The village of Zephandale. In order to trap Dragomir, we need to find out how he escaped his rocky prison.” Fane scratched his beard. “It’s really quite puzzling. But we shall find out soon enough. Nobody knows more about geology than the dwarves.”
The mining car slowed, hovered over a wide street, then took a gut-wrenching dive downward. Everyone hung onto the sides tightly. But no one hung on as hard as Angus, eyes clamped shut and heart ramming against his ribcage.
“Wee,” Vanora exclaimed as the cart descended to the ground and slammed onto a set of tracks that wove like a crooked ribbon through the cobblestone streets. The cart rumbled down the rails through the center of the town, taking wide sweeping corners around thatched cottages, stout brick buildings and street peddlers. The vehicle stopped in front of a dark stone pub. Thick vines and plants grew from its roof made of rushes and straw. Poking out from beneath the foliage a black sign with red lettering read, The Miners Inn.
Oxton leaned into them as he wrenched opened the cart door and heaved his massive frame out. The mine car jolted to one side then sprang upright again. Angus scrambled out, glad to leave the contraption behind.
The village chimed with busy sounds. The pounding of a smith’s hammer, the clomp of cart horses, chickens cackling, and tinkers advertising their goods. In the distance the somber ringing of church bells filled Angus with a sense of peace he hadn’t felt for a very long time.
The serene moment passed when a stumpy creature wearing knee-high knickers, striped socks and a black top hat wobbled out of the pub.
Fane stood behind Angus and lowered his voice. “Don’t make eye contact. It’s a leprechaun, greedy creatures with harsh and twisted desires.”
Angus dropped his gaze, but it was too late. The leprechaun swaggered toward him, an ugly smile smeared across his hardened face.
“Travelers! After me gold, are you? Or are you after something else?”
“Just ignore him.” Fane pushed Angus and Vanora toward the pub door. Oxton stepped between them and the creature. He stabbed his spear into the dirt in front of the leprechaun and glared at him.
The creature smiled and sidestepped the giant, leering at Angus. “That boy, there’s something special about him, eh? Something special enough to warn the Dacian knight? Something that a few coins could pay to keep a humble creature quiet. Something shiny like that amulet?”
The creature jabbed a stubby finger at Angus’ dragon charm. Angus slapped a protective hand over it.
The leprechaun scowled and stumped closer, his cloven heeled boots clicking on the cobblestone roadway. “Give it to me or else I’ll tell the Dark One. I’ll tell. I swear on my last silver shilling I will.”
Vanora gasped and the creature narrowed his raisin-like eyes at her. He studied her for a moment and his lips curled into a sneer. “I’ll keep quiet if the girl child gives me one of her golden mermaid combs. In trade, I’ll grant you my silence and I’ll give her one precious coin.”
Vanora raised an eyebrow at Angus. “I just hate a tattletale, don’t you?” She slipped a gold comb from her hair. A thick bundle of blonde curls escaped down her back.
She tossed the trinket to the leprechaun and he caught it with the tips of his grimy fingers. The creature examined the ornament and stuffed it into a pouch at his side.
Vanora tapped her foot impatiently and held out her hand. “Now where’s that coin you promised?”
Fane pulled her hand away. “Don’t count on getting anything in return, my dear. His word is no good. In his leather bag is a magical coin that will return to the pouch each time it is paid out. Whoever receives it will be left with nothing but ashes.”
“A deal is a deal,” the nasty creature said, reaching into his pouch. “I promised one coin and that is what she will get.” He tossed a coin into the air, and spun in a tight circle and vanished. Vanora caught the gold piece before it hit the cobblestone. And, just as Fane said, the currency disintegrated to ashes in her hands.
Vanora wiped the cinders from her fingers. “That little creep!” She wrapped her loose hair into a bun and secured it with the remaining comb.
“Thanks for doing that,” Angus said. He felt bad that she had to give up one of her gifts from the Mer-people. “At least you still have the other one.”
Her eyes watered. “No big deal,” Vanora said, her voice breaking.
“Please don’t feel bad,” Angus said, his heart aching for her. “Someday I’ll get you something even better to replace it.”
Vanora’s lip trembled. She threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Angus, but you don’t have to.”
Angus didn’t pull away. He liked the feel of her arms around him. It’d been so long since someone hugged him this way.
Oxton glanced at Fane. “Shall I go after the creature?”
“No, don’t bother, it’s like chasing your own tail. He’ll tell all he knows for a simple speck of gold. Nothing we can do, except complete our task here and make haste to battle Dragomir.”
Oxton gripped the door handle and the heavy pub door rumbled open. Inside the noisy tavern, at least a dozen dwarves dressed in gold belted, knee-length, tunics in shades of russet and moss, turned to stare at the travelers. Smoke charred beams crisscrossed the ceiling and dark paneled wood framed dingy windows. From high up on the walls, portraits of dour looking dwarves stared down at them with a stern greeting.
Something skittered around an open hearth. Angus spotted pixies roasting bits of mushrooms and warming their tiny backsides. He pointed them out to Vanora who giggled and said something about how cute they were. Angus didn’t see anything endearing about them. They looked mischievous and the way they were fighting over every bit of food reminded him of spoiled children.
A bulky dwarf with bare, muscled arms and steel shod boots rose from a crowded table and thudded across the flagstone toward them. A war hammer swung at his side; a bristly gray beard that reached his knees was tucked neatly in the heavy belt at his thick waist. He smiled at them, but Angus didn’t get a warm, fuzzy feeling in his gut.
“Come weary travelers, sit, drink and be merry,” the dwarf said.
“Domnall, my old friend.” Fane said, smiling. “Don’t you recognize me?”
The elderly dwarf studied him for a moment. “The great enchanter. After all this time, could it be?”
Fane nodded and the innkeeper grabbed his arm, almost knocking him over as he shook it vigorously. “My old friend has returned. Time for a celebration!” The twinkle in the dwarf’s eyes suddenly turned hard. “For you to return after all these centuries, confirms the rumors. Dark times are upon us indeed.”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.” Fane released a ragged sigh. “We heard that Dragomir escaped.”
The innkeeper’s rosy face, blanched, and he nodded. “We’ve kept the stronghold safe at the base of the mountains. Come, let’s sit and I’ll tell you more.”
They followed him to a dark corner table lit only by a faint flicker of candles. Fane sat down and lowered his voice. “We haven’t much time. We’ve been spotted by a leprechaun.”
Domnall’s eyes hardened. “I saw the crafty creature in here. I knew he was up to no good. I’m sure the dark one has other spies here as well.”
“What I would like to know is how in goblins gorb did Dragomir escape? You and I and many of the great leaders oversaw his imprisonment. There seemed no possible way for him to get loose.”
The dwarf signaled to a scrawny human waitress, clad in a gauze blouse, skirt, and a snug fitting corset. She hurried to the table balancing tall glasses of honey nectar, thick slabs of bread, and cheese on a silver tray. She passed a plate to each person, then set the glasses of sweet nectar before them. The waitress paused and gave a wide grin. “Enjoy,” she cackled. “While you still can, young king.”
As she hurried off to serve another table, Angus’ stomach fluttered with nerves.
Domnall gripped the glass before him and took a long drink then wiped his whiskers on his sleeve. “What we did not take into consideration was our un-doing.”
“What do you mean?” Fane asked.
“Somehow the tides changed. Old Mother Nature herself turned on us, causing the plates in the earth to shift just enough for the earth to shake apart.”
Angus interrupted. “You mean like an earthquake?”
The innkeeper nodded. “As the world of mankind warmed and the polar caps started to melt, it caused changes that we at one time thought would never affect our world. Unfortunately we were wrong. At any rate Dragomir, after centuries of rotting in that rocky cairn, no longer possessed the body of a man. He had long ago turned to vapors, and a few of those evil wisps seeped through the fine cracks in his rocky tomb. At his command those rocks transformed into giants, who then dug him out, freeing his evil upon the world. Now they serve his every whim.”
The dwarf stared hard at Angus. “I guess it’s all up to the boy now to see if he can persuade the Guardian of the Dead to give up King MacBain’s sword. I know others who have died trying. The longer Dragomir is free the more powerful he becomes.”
Angus’ stomach churned. He glanced at Vanora, who gulped like she had just swallowed a giant gumball.
The dwarf set down his cup. “Hope the boy’s a good talker. If he can keep his head on his shoulders that long.”
Fane gave Domnall a stern look. The dwarf quickly changed the subject. “You must be weary. Since the leprechaun has seen you, it’s best that you don’t stay here. Journey to the end of the village, to the dairyman’s cottage. They’d never think to look for you there. I’ll send someone ahead to let them know you’re coming.”
“What if the giants come here looking for Angus?” Vanora asked.
Domnall scowled and slammed his fist on the table. “Never would they dare. But the Dacian knight has many spies and you are all in grave danger.”
The travelers hurried from the pub and down the busy lane. They took a left onto a street named Ironwood. Peddlers lined the avenue, selling pick-axes, whetstones, and blasting caps. At the outskirts of town they passed into lush, cultivated fields. A villager, busy at work, stood behind a fat team of oxen plowing the fertile soil. Other dwarves tended gardens with hoes.
Behind a wooden sheepfold they came to a stone dairy. Cheese presses and settling pans crowded the small interior. A plump woman stood with her back turned, stirring a pot suspended over a fire in the hearth. A skinny black tail protruded from her generous backside. The tail wagged back and forth. Angus, staring at the oddity…tripped on a milk bucket, sending it clattering across the floor. The woman whirled and planted her stubby hands on her wide hips, her soft brown eyes filled with concern. “Oh, my dear,
are you all right?”
Angus got to his feet, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see the tail—pail! I mean.”
Her somber face brightened and she dismissed him with a gentle wave of her hand. “Not to worry my dear, no worry at all. I told Brosha not to set it there.” She tucked a strand of yellow hair behind a pointy ear. “But he’s always leaving things laying about.” She wiped her hands on the front of her apron. “Anyhow, please do come in, the others will be here soon.”
“Others?” Vanora asked.
“Yes, kitten. The mapper, the spotter, and perhaps others as well. But do come and sit down and make yourself at home.”
“She’s got a tail, did you see it?” Angus whispered to Vanora.
“Yeah, and whiskers too.”
Angus studied the strange woman again, trying not to be rude. Rows of whiskers protruded like fishing line from the sides of her chubby cheeks.
Fane shook his head. “Whiskers and a tail are really nothing unusual. Dwarves generally marry women of the feline persuasion.”
A stocky dwarf with great fuzzy sideburns and a puffy red face shuffled just inside the doorway. Two buckets hung from a wooden yoke across his back. He slipped the burden from his shoulders and set the buckets near the fire. “Welcome friends to our humble home. I see you’ve met my wife Katherine, or Kat as I call her.”
Vanora giggled and whispered into Angus’ ear. “Her name is Kat? Can you believe that?”
“Of course it is,” Angus said, rolling his eyes. “And his name must be Dopey or Sleepy or whatever. And they probably have kids named Sylvester or Garfield. This is just getting way too weird.”
Fane shook the dwarf’s hand. “Thank you for having us.”
“Excusez-moi,” spoke a voice with a French accent.
Fane stepped aside. A man hurried past wearing a wool beret, a paintbrush tucked behind his ear and a long tunic splattered with paint. Under his arm he carried a spool of canvas which he took to the kitchen table and started to unroll. At his heels, an old dwarf hobbled, squinting through a pair of thick bifocals. He held a bright lantern in front of him even though it was broad daylight outside.
Angus MacBain and the Island of Sleeping Kings Page 15
