Xerxes rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Don’t sit there gawking—” His voice stopped short. He blinked hard. “You heard me?” he asked. Then he turned to Marcus. “They heard me! Only you and Zyll ever have before.”
“We heard you, all right,” said Lael, “though how, I have no idea. Then again, after seeing grocs, disappearing cave walls, and miraculous healings, a talking bird shouldn’t surprise me.”
While Marcus explained Zyll’s spell on the walking stick and Xerxes’ transformation, Rylan returned with three large quail, which he quietly plucked and skewered while Marcus spoke.
“When Xerxes was a walking stick, only Zyll and I could hear him speak,” said Marcus, finishing his story, “but it seems now anyone can hear him.”
“Well, I guess having a talking bird around could come in handy,” said Clovis.
Lael shook her head. “All this talk about magic spells is more than I can ever hope to understand.”
Having grown bored with the conversation, Xerxes flew off in search of his own meal. Rylan attended to the quail, setting them over the flame to cook. He didn’t give any of them so much as a glance. Marcus had learned by now that it was pointless to try to start a conversation with their guide. Rylan only spoke when he wanted to speak, and that was rare. Several minutes passed in uncomfortable silence, when Clovis suddenly spoke.
“Marcus, remember the time we sneaked out to the grain mill?” he asked.
“And cut holes in the bottoms of all the sacks?” Marcus laughed at the memory. “I had never heard half the words that came out of Old Man Peeder’s mouth that day. We would have gotten away with it, too, if you hadn’t burst out laughing.”
“He would have found out, anyway. You felt so guilty about it, I had to hold you down behind the woodpile to keep you from confessing!”
“Me confess?” replied Marcus with mock offense. “I’m not the one who borrowed Mrs. Archer’s best broom from her back porch to play sword fight with and then broke it!”
“But I had to replace it. Otherwise it would’ve been stealing.”
“Guess you didn’t steal that loaf of lemon bread from her windowsill, either.”
“I was six years old!”
The two boys laughed and laughed until they nearly forgot about the troubles they’d left behind in Dokur. Marcus could almost forget, for just a few moments, the pain of losing Zyll and of leaving Kaië alone in prison. But a few moments were all he could spare.
“You’ve been a good friend,” Marcus said once their laughter had died down. “I think you’ve been the best friend I could ever hope to have.”
“Well, we weren’t always friends,” Clovis reminded him. “I mean, we were friends when we were kids, but then we grew apart for a while. You were busy with your apprenticeship, I guess. That day when we left on our quest, I wasn’t so sure you wanted me to come with you at all, like I’d hold you back or get in your way. But even if you did think that, you let me come, anyway. I never thanked you for that.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Clovis.”
“But I do. Because of you I fulfilled the quest and gained the respect of my father. I guess that’s why it feels so wrong to go back to Quendel now, abandoning you when you need me most.”
The quail on the spit sizzled and popped as the skin turned to a deep golden crust. Rylan lifted the spit from the two supports that held it and tested the meat with the tip of his knife. Clear juices bubbled from the punctures and dripped onto the dirt below. The smell of it made Marcus’s mouth water.
“Done,” said Rylan, slicing his knife down the center of the first bird and separating it into two equal halves. Clovis was ready with his plate in hand. Marcus dug through his pack for his while Rylan served Lael and Bryn. Marcus thanked Rylan when he received his portion and then carefully peeled a piece away from the bone. He blew on the morsel until it was just cool enough to eat and popped it into his mouth. The meat tasted as good as it smelled. Still, he couldn’t help but feel resentful toward Rylan, but why? Was it that Rylan had gathered wood and hunted without being asked? Or was it that Rylan seemed to be so skillful at everything he did, while Marcus still fumbled at even the simplest task?
Marcus glanced across the flames to where Lael nibbled at a wing. Every now and then she dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a knuckle on her left hand, which she somehow managed not to get greasy from the meat. It was the way she held it, Marcus realized, balanced between the thumb and first finger of her right hand and just one fingertip from her left hand. He tried to think of a word to describe it, how it was different than Rylan or Clovis or himself—all of whom grasped their meat freely with both hands, wiping them clean on their trouser legs. No, Lael was different. She was . . . what was the word? Feminine.
Rylan sat beside Lael. He finished off his meal and tossed the remains into the fire. The flames hissed. Then Rylan turned to Lael and spoke. His lips moved, forming words, though his voice was too quiet for Marcus to hear, and Lael was looking at him, listening—and she was smiling.
Marcus stopped chewing. He watched the exchange between Rylan and Lael and felt annoyed at not knowing what was being said. Then for some strange reason, he was angry enough to want to throw his plate at Rylan. But he held tight to it instead, gripping it until his knuckles ached.
Rylan’s lips moved again, and Lael laughed. Marcus heard her laughter even over the sound of the fire. It was a light laugh, airy and gentle. The sound of it made Marcus’s skin tingle. And then suddenly Lael turned and looked at him—at him! And she was still smiling. Marcus’s heart sped up as if he had just been caught stealing red-handed. He quickly looked away, hoping she hadn’t realized he’d been watching her. But of course she had realized it. Why else would she have looked at him?
Marcus stared at the plate in his hand, his food growing cold. He swallowed hard, and his mouth went dry. She had smiled at him. Yes, she was smiling at Rylan and laughing when he spoke to her, but in that brief moment when she turned to look at Marcus, she was still smiling. And somehow Marcus knew that smile was meant just for him.
Sixty-one
The trees of the sparse forest north of Lake Olsnar were bare this time of year, offering no shade or protection from the sun overhead. Despite the cool air, Marcus felt the heat of it on his skin, and after a long day of walking in it, he was more than a little uncomfortable from mild sunburn.
The day had also been uncomfortable because of the continued silence from Lael, Bryn, and Rylan. Even Clovis stopped talking after the first hour. Only Xerxes provided some company, perching on Marcus’s shoulder from time to time to rest and making disagreeable comments about the dull scenery or the slow pace of the journey. The rest of the time, Xerxes flew overhead or hopped along the ground, scavenging for food.
As they emerged from the trees, a dirt lane lay before them, leading toward the mountains. An hour more along this road would take them to Noam, the village near the mouth of Vrystal Canyon, the only path through the Jeweled Mountains and to Quendel on the other side. The plan was for Clovis to hire a guide there to lead him safely through the canyon and back to Quendel. Marcus had made him swear not to go alone. The grocs that had taken them earlier could still cause trouble, but the Noamish people were known for their skillful hunting of grocs and would provide plenty of protection. Once through the canyon, the journey home to Quendel would take less than two days.
Marcus would not be going to Noam, however, nor would he be following the road. Voltana lay in the northern part of the island, which meant it was time they parted ways. Marcus had originally planned to convince Lael to go with Clovis but had since changed his mind. First, Marcus doubted Lael could be convinced to do anything she didn’t want to do. And second, he wasn’t so sure anymore that he wanted her to leave.
A pleasant breeze blew. Bits of golden fluff floated weightlessly in the air, changing course at whim. Marcus picked some out of his hair and let it go into a passing air current.
“The last o
f the willowstalks have shed their seeds,” he said. “Winter’s coming. It will snow any day now.”
Clovis, his bow clasped in his hand, stood with his back to Marcus, studying the landscape. The breeze tousled his hair.
“I can still come with you,” he said, turning to face Marcus. “My father would understand.”
“Clovis, you know as well as I do that in another week or two the canyon will become blocked with ice and snow. You wouldn’t be able to return home until it melts in the spring. Your father is expecting you. He needs you.”
“But you need me, too.”
Bryn, who had been several yards behind Marcus and Clovis, suddenly sprinted forward through the seed-filled air. Arms raised, he laughed with delight. He ran between Marcus and Clovis into an open field on the opposite side of the road. Lael called to him to be careful. Rylan looked on disapprovingly.
“I do need you,” said Marcus, watching the whole scene with amusement. “You’re my best friend, and I’ll miss you. But you have responsibilities to attend to at home, and I have mine. I will return to Quendel as soon as I can. In the meantime, please take care of Agnes and my cottage for me.”
Clovis’s head hung low. Marcus couldn’t be sure he wasn’t crying. But after a few minutes, he lifted his head, dried his eyes with his sleeve, and set his sights toward the mountains.
“You’ll come back soon? Before planting season?” Clovis asked.
“I will,” promised Marcus.
“And you won’t get into any trouble?”
Marcus laughed. “I’m going to a place where humans rarely go to search for what, I have no idea, and someone wants me dead. What more trouble could I get into?”
The two friends looked at each other. Marcus could see the concern in Clovis’s face. They had been through a lot together the past few months, and Marcus wondered if he had made the right decision to send Clovis home.
Clovis wrapped his arms around Marcus in a firm but brief embrace. Then he turned back to the road. “Goodbye, Bryn, Lael,” he said, waving. Bryn waved back with both arms. Lael ran up to embrace him and kissed his cheek.
“Be safe,” she said, “and may the gods watch over you, Clovis Dungham.”
Marcus and Lael stood together for a long time and watched Clovis walk down the dirt road. They stood there until he finally disappeared around a bend and over a grassy knoll. Neither of them spoke, but somehow Marcus knew their thoughts were the same. They would miss him, and though Rylan was with them, they did not know him well enough to trust him fully. For the rest of their journey, Bryn, Lael, and Marcus would have only each other to rely on for protection.
Sixty-two
Once they had said their goodbyes to Clovis, Rylan led them off the main road toward Voltana. They traveled across the center of Imaness for two days, saying little to each other. When the first snowflakes began to fall, Marcus was grateful Mrs. Peagry had packed a cloak for each of them. Still, he hoped they’d arrive at their destination soon and be able to rent a room in a warm tavern with a real bed.
On the third day, the ground, forested by barren trees, began to slope upward. As they went over a crest, the landscape changed suddenly. Marcus and company stopped at the top of the hill and gazed down onto the panorama before them. The rocky terrain was gray and bleak, void of life.
Marcus squatted and picked up a jagged rock, rolling it around in his palm. Then he handed it to Rylan.
“It’s warm,” Rylan said. “We’re getting close.” He threw the rock as far as he could. The stone landed with a hollow clack.
Bryn tugged on Lael’s sleeve. “I’m scared,” he whispered. Lael wrapped her arm around his shoulders.
“What are you talking about, Bryn?” said Marcus. He was about fed up with Bryn’s child act. “What could a groc possibly be afraid of?”
Bryn sulked like a scolded child, his lower lip quivering.
Lael grabbed Marcus’s arm and led him out of earshot of the others. “What is the matter with you, Marcus?” she said. “Hurting Bryn’s feelings at the lake wasn’t enough for you, is that it? Or are you determined to make him miserable the entire trip?”
Marcus pulled his arm free and rubbed it with his other hand. Lael had a strong grip. He was sure he’d get a bruise.
“You know I didn’t mean anything by it,” he said.
“I don’t know it, Marcus. Bryn didn’t have to come on this journey. He didn’t have to rescue us from the grocs. And you yourself have told me more than once how Bryn risked his life to protect you from Fredric’s guards. So what is it costing you, really, if Bryn wants to act human?”
Lael turned heel and returned to Bryn, kneeling beside him and drying his tears. Marcus watched the tenderness with which Lael touched Bryn’s pink cheeks and the gentle look in her eyes as she spoke to him. It occurred to Marcus that this was a side of Lael he had not known before. In Quendel he had only known Lael as the girl who could fight better and run faster than all the boys—and had resented her for it. But now seeing the compassion she showed to Bryn, his resentment faded.
“Down there,” called Rylan, pointing to a dark spot at the base of a distant mountain. Marcus walked over to where the other three stood and saw they were at the top of a steep, rocky slope leading to a wide, barren valley dotted with steaming vents and hot water geysers.
“We should reach Voltana by nightfall,” Rylan added. “But be careful. If you stray from the path, you will get burned.”
The four of them started down the slope toward the valley below. Their feet sent a waterfall of pebbles and sand down the hill. Marcus slipped twice as he struggled to find solid footing. Behind him Rylan and Lael stepped sideways, slipping and sliding, as well. But it was Bryn who lost his balance completely and slid on his backside past Marcus.
“Bryn!” shouted Marcus. He shot out his hand, attempting to stop Bryn’s descent, missing him by mere inches. Bryn rocketed down the hill, screaming all the way. Lael tried to go after him, but Rylan grabbed her by the arm and held her back.
“No point in all of us falling,” he said.
Marcus scowled at the comment, but he knew Rylan was right. So he maneuvered down the hill as quickly as he could without endangering himself. Bryn had gone from sight, but of more concern was that they could no longer hear him screaming.
“Bryn!” Marcus and Lael kept calling his name as they neared the bottom of the hill. Every inch they traveled sent more gravel raining down. When they finally reached level ground, they searched frantically for the boy. Xerxes circled high overhead. After a few eternal minutes, he swooped down past Marcus.
“There!” he called, “beside that larger stone!”
Marcus followed Xerxes to the spot. At first he could not see anything, but then he spotted Bryn’s thin hand and arm jutting out from a pile of rubble.
Sixty-three
He’s here!” Marcus shouted. Lael was beside him in an instant, scooping away the hot debris with her hands. She was in tears as she dug. Marcus dropped to his knees and used his arms to push the rubble away. Soon Bryn lay before them, his eyes closed, his face and arms covered with bloody scratches.
Xerxes perched on the large sandstone boulder nearby. He wagged his beak from side to side, repeating “Poor, poor thing” over and over.
“Is he breathing?” asked Lael.
Marcus held his ear to Bryn’s mouth. “Yes, he’s breathing!” He took his water skin from his belt and poured some into his hand, using it to wipe away the layer of dust from Bryn’s face.
“You’re all right. Just open your eyes,” said Marcus. To his relief, Bryn moaned softly.
Lael slipped her arm beneath Bryn’s head, cradling him gently. “Bryn, please open your eyes.”
Bryn’s eyelids twitched, and then one lid lifted. Bryn stared up at Lael with one big, brown eye.
“You’re so dirty,” he said and then opened his other eye. Lael wiped her tears with the back of her hand, though all she managed to do was smear wet dust acros
s her face.
“You’re pretty dirty yourself,” she said, laughing. She helped him up, but when he tried to stand, he cried out in pain.
“What is it?” asked Marcus.
“My leg hurts,” said Bryn.
Lael felt along his left leg. “It’s not broken, but he’s twisted his ankle. He can’t walk like this, Marcus. What should we do?”
Rylan stepped forward and scooped up Bryn in his arms. Bryn whimpered.
“We continue on,” said Rylan and started walking. Then he paused, looking back. “Are you two coming?”
Lael touched Marcus’s arm. “Come on, Marcus,” she said and then hurried to catch up with Rylan.
For a single moment, Marcus wanted to turn back. He wanted to go back to Quendel, back to his cottage, back to Agnes and the grazing fields. But he realized if he did go back, the one thing that meant the most to him would not be there. Zyll was gone, so what would be the point of returning home?
Marcus gazed out at the seemingly endless sea of rock and knew he must keep going. He must continue on, no matter what. He owed it to Zyll.
* * *
Marcus wasn’t exactly sure what he expected Voltana to look like, but certainly not this. For one thing, it was flat, at least mostly flat. The ground was unlike anything he’d ever seen before—hard like rock, but porous with millions of sharp pits and holes. And the edges of it were curved with layer upon layer formed from countless lava spills from the volcanic mountains nearby as well as the steaming vents scattered throughout the area. The actual town of Voltana had been constructed on the flattest area farthest from the central vent that loomed like a deep, black sea. Even when they had shed their traveling cloaks, the heat from it was unbearable, and Marcus’s clothing was soaked with perspiration within minutes. From the looks on everyone else’s damp faces, he was certain they were as miserable as he. The only one who seemed unfazed by the heat was Rylan.
“So this is it?” asked Xerxes, landing clumsily on the ground at Marcus’s feet. “I flew all the way across Imaness for this?”
The Last Enchanter Page 16
