by V M Jones
When the second knock came, Zaronel was sitting at the window, gazing at the rose. With the falling darkness its colour had bled away; it was a grey flower in a grey hand.
‘Enter,’ she called softly.
The dark shape of Zeel blocked the doorway.
‘One day,’ he hissed, ‘one day, Zaronel of Antarion, you will be mine — you, and the crown you bring with you. On that day every horse in Karazan will be butchered and the carcasses burned; the smoke will cover the sky and blot out the stars.
‘Wait … and watch.’
The Brimstone Caverns
We left Drakendale before sunrise, breakfasting on stale leftover bread in the foothills overlooking Marshall. The last time we’d looked down from here a wall of shroud had loomed up to touch the sky, blocking any view of what lay beyond. Now that was gone. Beyond the deserted town the endless swamp stretched like shattered shards of glass, and it was the white glare of the horizon that hid the fortress of Shakesh from view.
We saw no sign of life, either in Marshall or on the rough, marshy grassland that skirted the foothills. When Danon had talked of roads and routes I’d had a mental image of a track, or at least a path. But there was nothing. Taking turns with Rich to lead the way, I thought how strange it was to be so completely alone, our only guide the string of mountains we were following, and the slow journey of the sun as we followed it into the west.
At nightfall of the first day we camped in the shadow of a vast mountain that reared up to dwarf the rest, its peak lost in cloud. We could make out another, almost as tall, half-hidden behind it. Gazing up at them, I felt a sinking sense of despair: even with Danon’s help, how would we ever find a dragon in such vastness, if one existed — let alone a prince? And if we did — what then? Would Zephyr know what to do? Would he have an army in hiding, ready to come at his call? Most of all, would he be in time … would we?
That night there was no moon. A corrugated blanket of black cloud stretched across the sky; thunder rolled and rumbled round the mountaintops, sheets of lightning washing the plain with pale, bluish light. We huddled round the campfire, silent and exhausted, waiting for rain that never came. There was no mention of the diary or our quest; of dragons or princes, real or legendary. But I noticed that I wasn’t the only one who kept glancing up, wondering what might be wheeling, unseen, above the clouds.
Towards evening of the second day Rich gave a hoarse shout and broke into a stumbling run. Jolted out of the daze I’d been walking in I stared round me, wondering what he’d seen; then jogged reluctantly after him, tuning out Jamie’s familiar wail of ‘Wait up, guys — not so fast!’
The gentle foothills we’d been following had given way to steep cliffs — not the sheer, granite-like rock of the Cliffs of Stone, but rough pumice that spilled onto the ground under our feet like a rumpled sheet of sandpaper. Stubborn tufts of pale grass grew here and there, clinging grimly to invisible pockets of earth blown by the wind from whatever lay to the north. Ahead of me, Rich had disappeared round a rocky outcrop. I followed, panting, the lead weight of Blue-bum jouncing on my back; rounded the corner — and stopped dead in my tracks.
Danon had been right: there was no mistaking them.
The misty evening sunlight fell full on a massive steeply sloping cliff-face, wrinkled and pleated as if long ago the rock had been liquid mud. Where the cliff met the ground it cut sharply backwards into the rock in a deep, shallow gash almost like a low room, its roof as high as my head. A jagged barrier of strange, pointed rock formations straggled up from the floor of the overhang and down from the edge of the roof like snaggled teeth guarding a shark’s open mouth.
Above the shallow cave the cliff face reared up to meet the sky — and there, close to the top and side by side in the rock, gaped two huge caves. They stared out over the plain like great eyes looking endlessly into the distance, seeing everything — or nothing. Above the edge of the cliff I could just make out the distant tips of the two mountains we’d passed the day before, side by side, covered in snow.
Behind me, I heard Jamie groan.
I slipped Kenta’s pack off my aching shoulders and lowered it gently to the ground, loosening the top so Blue-bum could scramble out; found my water bottle and took a long swallow. Rich had been clambering about on the flange of rock above the low cave; now he jumped down and came over to us, dusting off his hands and holding them up for us to see. They were covered in tiny pockmarks like measles.
He was grinning. ‘The rock’s hard on your hands, but dead easy to climb — there are heaps of hand-and footholds. How about that? We’ve found them — the Brimstone Caverns! That bottom one’s a dud — it just slopes lower and lower till it meets the ground right at the back — but the top two are made to measure. What was it again? In empty sockets seek the prize …’
‘That’s hidden in the dragon’s eyes,’ quavered Jamie.
‘If those aren’t empty sockets,’ said Gen, ‘I don’t know what are.’
‘Which means …’ said Kenta.
‘Which means …’ gulped Jamie.
‘Which means the dragon’s in there! Way to go, Danon!’ whooped Rich. ‘So up we go — sooner the better, while it’s still light. What d’you say, guys? Coming?’
I glanced at the sun, hesitating. It was very low now, almost on the horizon. In an hour at the most, it would be dark. But on the other hand, in a few minutes the sun would be shining almost directly into the caves. If we went quickly and made use of the natural light, it would be easier than trying to make do with torches.
‘I guess so,’ I said, but there was a hollow, slightly sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. ‘Jamie? Girls? How about it?’
Jamie stared up at the cliff. So did I. I thought of him way high, flattened against the rock, his chubby fingers clinging to the holds. Thought of his voice drifting through the stillness into the listening depths of the caves: Wait up, guys! Wait up!
The silence stretched thinner and thinner, like a piece of chewing gum.
‘Though we need to find some wood for a fire,’ I said slowly, as if I was thinking aloud. ‘I don’t know about the rest of you, but Barbecue Beef with Beans sounds good to me. So if you’d like to stay and help the girls with dinner, Jamie …’
Two minutes later we’d thrown the few remaining bits and pieces out of Kenta’s pack and loaded it with climbing essentials: water, torches, rope.
While the girls weren’t watching, Rich slipped in his pocket knife, ‘just in case.’
If he meant ‘just in case we meet the dragon’, I sure hoped it turned out to be a small one.
Standing in the soft warmth of the evening sun, it seemed impossible. But boosting myself up onto the floor of the cavern, it felt very different.
From the ground I’d imagined the cave like an enormous hall, bright and open, the sun beaming in right to the very back. But the climb took longer than we’d expected, and by the time we finally reached the cave the sun had almost disappeared. It was still light enough to see our way, but it was a dusty, diffused kind of light, as if the ordinary sunlight had been crumbled into dust and mixed with darkness.
Slowly, cautiously, Rich and I picked our way across the lumpy, uneven floor. Stubby stalagmites poked up here and there, casting crooked shadows like bony fingers pointing the way. It wasn’t long before the cave began to narrow and darken, buttresses and bends blocking out the remaining light. ‘Look,’ whispered Rich. Echoes of his voice came back at us from every side, as if there were mocking watchers in the shadows. He pointed. A tunnel led off to the right, leading back the way we’d come. ‘I bet that leads to the other cave. They join up, then go deeper into the mountainside. Awesome, huh?’ His eyes gleamed in the gloom.
Huh — huh — huh — huh — huh. The echoes eddied round us like hollow laughter.
Ahead the tunnel narrowed, stretching on and downwards into the darkness.
I wanted to go back. ‘Rich,’ I began; ‘d’you think —’
‘Shhhh. We don’t want hi
m to hear us. No more talking. We use hand signals from now on, OK? And when we find him, we’ll creep as close as we can …’
I felt as if my guts were melting. As we groped in the bag for our torches, I wondered if Rich was completely crazy. Or maybe to him, it was just a wonderful game. I trailed miserably after him, my hands slick with sweat, my heart thudding in a slow, painful rhythm, wishing I was half as brave.
Into the darkness
Soon it was pitch dark. I shone the dim beam of my torch on Rich’s feet and followed, treading as softly as I could. The heels of his boots were worn right down, and the stitching in the leather was starting to come away. I found the sight of the worn rubber and frayed thread oddly comforting.
I could hear the soft huff of Richard’s breathing and smell him ahead of me in the darkness: a familiar, comforting mixture of sweaty feet and unwashed skin. I was sweating too. It was getting hotter. Down and down we went, deeper and deeper into the heart of the mountain. I wondered how far Danon had come, all those years ago when he was a boy …
Something brushed against my hair. I flinched, biting back a yell, and shone my torch upwards. It was the tunnel roof; I could feel its enormous weight pressing down on me. The beam flashed into a deep fissure just ahead and I glimpsed a clump of bony, hunched shapes clinging like dried carcasses to the rock, shuffling and twitching in the light. I jerked the torch away, ducked low and hurried on.
Soon we were stooped almost double. My back was on fire; I would have given anything just to stand straight and stretch and feel the sun on my skin. Up ahead, Rich had dropped to hands and knees; I caught a momentary flash of white as his grin lit the darkness. Yeah, Rich: fun and games, I thought grimly as I crawled after him. One good thing: if there is a dragon down here, it can’t be much bigger than a parrot.
We must have been nearly back at ground level when Rich stopped, so suddenly I knocked into him. It was boiling hot and so stuffy I could hardly breathe. The trapped, claustrophobic feeling was worse. All I wanted was out of there. I waited, panting, shining my torch on his broad backside, praying he’d give whatever hand signal meant dead end — head back.
Instead, I heard a sound: a peculiar liquid lapping. My heart roller-coastered, skidding on adrenaline. What was down here, licking at Rich in the dark? The dragon?
Then Rich spoke: a whisper of sound harsh as a shout in the closeness of the tunnel. ‘It’s water. Hot.’
Relief coursed through me. We’ve reached the end. We can go back. But then there was a sloshing sound. Rich, crawling forward into the water.
I followed him. There was nothing else I could do.
He was right, the water was hot. Like bath water, but with a tinny, rotten-egg smell that made me think Rich had done a fart. It got steadily deeper, the tunnel roof lowering to meet it. And still Rich crawled on.
At last, when the water was up to my chest, he stopped again. I’d been holding my torch in my mouth like a dog with a bone; it was covered in spit. I shone it forwards. That was it. Dead end. A stubby wall of black rock dipped down to meet black water. Goodbye, Brimstone Caverns.
Rich was patting away at the rock face, like he was hoping to find a hidden switch that would open a secret door. I shook my head, not knowing whether to feel angry or frustrated or admiring, or all three. The guy was nuts.
He handed me the pack. ‘Wait for me here, Adam. I’m going in.’ What? In where? Before I understood what he was on about — way before I could even begin to stop him — there was a splash and a gurgle, a stream of rotten-egg bubbles, and Rich was gone. I was staring at the fuzzy splodge of torchlight on rock, completely alone. I said the worst word I knew three times, loudly. I didn’t give a toss if the dragon heard.
I turned off my torch and shoved it into my pocket, and put the pack on a rocky ledge safely above the water. Felt my way to the wall, down into the water. The floor dropped into nothingness; I could feel a sharp angle where the roof began again a ruler-length down. Like a gigantic step … a vertical kink in the tunnel, taking it underwater — and then where? A step up again into the dragon’s lair? Another step down, and down, and down, into drowning blackness? Or just on and on, under the water, breath burning and lungs bursting, till you couldn’t hold your breath any more …
What if Rich gave up and turned back, and met me head-on in the tunnel?
What if there was something down there in the black water?
What if Rich needed help?
I took a deep, deep breath, closed my eyes on the blackness, and squiggled forward and under the rim of rock, down under the water, and into the tunnel.
I swam with both hands at full stretch, feet kicking along behind. The water was hot — so hot I could feel my eyeballs swelling and my eardrums bulging. My head was bumping against the roof; the toes of my boots scuffed the bottom with every kick. My heart pumped huger than the tunnel, squeezing me along like toothpaste in a tube. I felt my lungs starting to burn, a steel fist gripping them tighter, tighter … Where was Rich? Should I turn back? Could I — was there room? If I did, would I have enough breath to get back? Now panic was fluttering at the base of my brain — beating its wings harder, faster — a frantic drumming in time with my heart …
Then the roof was gone; my head burst up through the water, and red light blinded me. I squatted knee-deep, my arm shielding my face, sucking in air.
Slowly I lowered my arm and looked.
Richard was crouched at the edge of the water. He put the finger and thumb of one hand in a circle. What did that mean? Put the other index finger to his lips. I knew that one, but I didn’t need telling. Then linked his thumbs and flapped his hands. Dragon. Gave a wobbly grin.
The tunnel was wide, washed with the faint, reddish glow that had blinded me when I’d first emerged from the blackness of the water. It angled away from us, up and right, round a sharp bend and out of sight.
The dragon was all round us. Its breath fanned my face with a fiery flush I could see mirrored on Richard’s, dripping and steaming. Its stench caught in my throat like smoke: the same sulphur, rotten-egg reek of the water. Its breathing echoed everywhere — hoarse, snoring breaths interspersed with deep belches and hiccupping, bubbling gulps. Jamie had been wrong. The dragon was real. I’d been wrong too. It wasn’t as big as a parrot. It was as big as a mountain.
Richard and I looked at each other. I didn’t need hand signals to know what he was thinking. I was thinking it too. We can go back right now, and no one will ever know.
Round the corner, the dragon gurgled and slurped.
As softly as I could, I straightened and stepped out of the water, leaving wet footprints on the rock behind me. Moved up beside Rich, in utter silence. Pointed at my chest; then at the bend in the tunnel. Thumbs-up. Tried to smile. I’ll go — I’ll be fine. Can’t wait. But my face had turned to cardboard, so maybe the last part of the message didn’t get through. A hot, wet hand gripped mine like a vice. Rich grinned back — more of a snarl than a grin. The ultimate hand signal.
We’re in this together.
Hand in hand like kindergarten kids, hearts thumping like drums, we crept to the corner and peered round.
The belly of the beast
Heat hit me in the face like a fist. I reeled, groping for my cloak with my free hand and clamping it over my nose and mouth. It was sodden and dripping, cool as a forest stream compared to the burning air searing my lungs.
The dragon — where was the dragon?
I stared wildly round the cavern that had opened out before us. It was vast as a cathedral, every corner lit by a pulsating red glow that ebbed and flowed like the beat of a massive heart. There were no shadows; nowhere for even the smallest creature to creep away and hide.
Where was it?
It was everywhere — yet it was nowhere. Reflections of its fiery breath flickered on the walls and licked the roof with crimson. Its choking stink scorched my throat. Its breathing echoed from every corner, rolling round the colossal hall like thunder. But it wa
sn’t the snoring of a creature asleep: it was the gulping slaver of a monster devouring its prey.
The heat was searing my brain; I couldn’t think. I squinted down the length of the cave. It extended away from us into the distance, at least four times as long as it was wide. Down its centre, in the rock floor, gaped a gigantic fissure. It was as if a pair of giant hands had gripped the floor and ripped it open: an irregular rent stretching from one end of the cave to the other.
The bubbling sound and the red glow — hot and bright as a hundred suns — was coming from the crack. As I stared at it, eyeballs frazzling, a spray of brilliant sparks, white-hot, burning-blue and gold, shot up like a fountain and fell back again, a few droplets splashing to land like liquid rubies on the jagged rim of rock.
And then I knew.
I tightened my grip on Richard’s hand and drew him back into the tunnel; back to where the water waited for us, spilled ink on the dark rock. He stared at me, eyes puffy and bloodshot, hair sticking up in crazy tufts. ‘Where is it?’ he croaked. ‘The dragon?’
‘There isn’t one. What we found … it’s the heart of the mountain. Its molten core.’ My throat felt raw; tasted tinny, like blood. ‘I guess people would have thought — long ago — a dragon lived in the mountains. Because of the fire and stuff. There be no legend without the seed of truth at its beginning. But that’s all it is: a legend.’
‘It can’t be just a legend!’ objected Jamie in a furious squeak. ‘There must be some kind of dragon, somewhere. The poem — the prophesy poem — it can’t be wrong: it’s magic!’
I couldn’t help smiling to myself as I scraped the last smears of gravy from my plate with my finger and sucked it clean. For someone who hadn’t believed in magic a short while ago, Jamie had developed a touching faith in it.
‘Are you absolutely certain there wasn’t a dragon anywhere in that cave?’ asked Gen for what seemed the millionth time. ‘A tiny one, maybe — hiding away in a corner?’
