The Sword of the Wormling

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  Owen put an arm around the boy. “There is power and strength in the humble. Great armies are no match for the lowly, honest heart. The rulers of the darkness look on the outward appearance. The King looks at the heart. I perceive your son has the heart of a warrior.”

  “I don’t know,” Erol said. “His mother would never—”

  “But, Father! You must trust one such as the Wormling, who speaks with authority, though he is not much older than I!”

  “While his mother and I consider it,” Erol said, “you must tell the others of your time on the islands.”

  “Yes!” someone said. “Was the scarred one there?”

  “With the face of a lion and the skin of a lizard?” another said.

  “Who has married the Kerrol?”

  “And has spawned children who roam the land?”

  Owen held up a hand. “Enough! Yes, he is scarred, but all the rest is false! The King never had a truer friend.”

  Erol and his wife, Kimshi, eventually emerged. She wept and sang Starbuck songs from his childhood. The boy kept telling her in hushed tones to stop, but her son would accompany a Wormling into the most dangerous region of the land, and so she carried on. Owen had never experienced the tears of a mother. He watched, fascinated, as she held Starbuck like a baby, kissing him and repeating the songs again and again.

  The fathers whose children had been taken prepared to accompany the three, sharpening weapons, preparing nets for the demon flyers, and gathering supplies.

  But when darkness fell, Owen stood before them. “We will take no weapons, save my sword.” He held up a hand to quiet murmurs of protest. “There will come a time when you all will be asked to join in the battle. And anyone who fights with the King will be rewarded. But this mission is a rescue, not a battle.”

  “Promise our children will be returned to us,” a woman said.

  “I can promise only what has been revealed. The prophecies say there will be singing and jubilation in this world and in the other when the Dragon is overthrown.”

  The elders gathered around Owen, Watcher, and Starbuck and began a tune so soft and low that Owen couldn’t make out the words. The musicians sang in a glorious blend, without instruments. The notes seemed to spring from their very souls, echoing through the canyon.

  When they finished, the elders placed their hands on the three.

  Erol said, “Go with the urgency of the hawk. Run swiftly through the barren land. Train your eyes so that no attack from above or below will go unnoticed. And may our children be returned to us.”

  “May the King grant it,” Owen said.

  And the clan of Erol repeated after him.

  Watcher was plainly peeved at Owen for bringing Starbuck, probably because he had not consulted her. She strode ahead of him so there was no way he could miss her feelings.

  But Owen was resolute. As he had addressed the clan, a voice, still and small, told him, “Take the boy with you.”

  At first Owen had resisted. How would they control such a youngling? But Owen himself had been chosen as a Wormling. Nothing qualified him to be given the charge of saving these worlds. Someone must know something about the heart of this lad.

  Starbuck looked like his father, minus the rotund belly, with a long snout and a confident walk. The tender eyes were his mother’s. Owen envied the boy’s stories of the things his family did each night, saying good night and singing to each other.

  Starbuck skipped and climbed along rocks. As they neared the border of the Badlands, he sidled up to Owen. “I’ve been out here before. You knew that, didn’t you?”

  Owen knew nothing of the sort. “How far?”

  He pointed. “Past the Valley of Zior and halfway to the camp.”

  “How did you do this?” Watcher said. “Why?”

  “I used my legs. I wanted to see what was there. My parents thought I was on a picnic with friends. I begged them for weeks to let me go. I simply had to see what was so bad about the place. Our village is terrified of it.”

  “You deceived your parents,” Owen said. “You must not do it again.”

  “What did you see?” Watcher said.

  “Snakes as big around as me and twice as long as you, Wormling. Maybe three times. And the lizards of Zior protect the camp at the edge of the mines. I saw them through—”

  “Lizards?” Owen said.

  “Hundreds. Thousands. They hop with long tails and catch insects and fight with each other. I suppose they’re guarding the encampment for the demon flyers.”

  Watcher looked worried. “You knew about the lizards, but still you came.”

  Starbuck nodded. “The Wormling will keep me safe. I wouldn’t miss this.”

  Three times Watcher’s hair went up, and she pushed Owen and Starbuck behind rocks or covered them in the sandy soil. All three times demon flyers screeched overhead, flying toward the mines. Watcher shook each time, but Starbuck seemed excited.

  “Those things took two of my best friends,” Starbuck said. “How many are we going to kill?”

  Watcher looked at Owen. “You brought him; you answer him.”

  “You heard what I said at the camp. I don’t intend to kill anyone or anything.”

  Starbuck frowned. “I thought that’s what you’d say. But what if they attack? We have to defend ourselves!”

  Owen shook his head. “I’m hoping they never see us.”

  In the Valley of Zior the three scrambled inside an abandoned cave before the sun rose to the edge of the horizon. As the orb climbed, a sizzling sound made Owen realize the sun was literally baking the valley floor. Tiny shoots that had budded in the night withered and collapsed. The dew on rocks bubbled, hissed, and evaporated.

  “Why is it so hot here?” Owen said, curling up to nap.

  “They say the Dragon set up an unseen desert boundary,” Starbuck said. “Those who travel into the valley are said to have abandoned all hope, because death is sure.”

  They slept through the day until the sun seemed to lose intensity in the long shadows. As they made their way out of the cave and into the dry and cooler air, animals were beginning to peek out of their holes, skittering among the sparse bushes and tumbleweeds.

  Watcher stopped Owen just before he would have stepped on a huge snake slithering through a gully. Its head was as large as Starbuck’s.

  The valley was filled with the bones of animals. The moon finally appeared, softly glowing, and Owen was glad they didn’t need a torch.

  They came over a rise, and Starbuck stopped. “Yipping. The lizards must know we’re coming. They can sense us.”

  “Is there any other way to the mines?” Owen said.

  “They surround the camp all the way to the entrance,” Starbuck said. “I saw it through the viewing circle.”

  “When the sun rises, they must go underground,” Owen said.

  “Yes, to live,” Starbuck said. “You’re not thinking of walking across there in daylight, are you?”

  “Wormling,” Watcher said, “no one can withstand the searing sun here.”

  “Unless we go underground,” Owen said. “Or simply walk straight through the enemy horde.”

  “I’d like to see you do that without killing any of them,” Starbuck said.

  Owen felt the hilt of his sword. He whispered, “Follow me.”

  The eyes of the lizards gleamed green in the moonlight as Owen peeked over the crest of rock, 50 yards from the swarming creatures. He had told Watcher and Starbuck to stay behind, wanting to see what they were up against. The reptiles’ snouts were long and thin with razor-sharp teeth, and that would have been enough to turn most people back, but it was the eyes that penetrated Owen’s heart. They reminded him of the Slimesees’.

  The lizards looked prehistoric, antsy and chattering in their own language. Tails as long as baseball bats twitched and patted the ground like unruly snakes. They stood on their back legs most of the time, unless they wanted to go faster. Then they dropped to all fours and skitter
ed quicker than Owen’s eyes could follow.

  If only he had The Book of the King and could simply wave it before them, these creatures would crawl back in their holes and he and Watcher and Starbuck could pass. They could wait until the blistering daylight when, hopefully, the lizards would be forced underground, or figure some way to get past them before the sun rose.

  At first the pack looked like nothing but chaos, but the more Owen watched, the more he became certain there was a method to the creatures’ running and jumping. They hopped and squeaked and caught glowing insects and bit each other and squeaked some more. With their tough skin, they looked like an armored cavalry.

  Owen waved Watcher and Starbuck forward and got out his water bottle, which was about a third full. He had another full bottle in his backpack, and though it was a risk to use water for anything but drinking here, he had an idea.

  Watcher thought it a waste of water, but Owen pulled out his sword and told Starbuck what to do. The youngling listened; then a strange look came over him. Owen heard skittering and chattering lizardspeak and turned in time to see two green eyes bouncing over the sandy ridge ahead.

  “A scout,” Starbuck whispered. “He’ll report us.”

  The creature’s head bobbed, slithering over the ridge and back down.

  Owen sensed danger even greater than the flood from Mountain Lake. He remained still, not even breathing as the scout scanned left and right. Summoning the skills learned in his quickness drills, Owen grasped the sword by the hilt.

  The scout immediately stopped to look at the hulk hiding behind the dip in the sand. He looked surprised, and before he could call out to his friends, Owen swiftly brought his sword forward.

  Any ordinary person faced with the prospect of being overrun by a horde of lizards might have squished this lizard like a bug or sliced him like a block of cheese. But it should be no surprise to you (though it obviously was to Watcher and Starbuck) that Owen did not cut his head off or splatter his insides against a rock. Rather, he simply brought the flat blade down on the lizard’s head sharp enough to knock him senseless.

  The lizard swooned, head lolling, tongue sticking out, and he collapsed in the sand, lips curled around sharp teeth, a strange look on his face.

  “He’ll be up soon,” Owen said. “Take your places.”

  Owen crouched and moved resolutely toward the lizards. He imagined them attacking, life draining from him and making him just a stain on the desert floor. By morning he would be nothing but bones, another sad statistic in the life-and-death cycle that was this valley.

  But no. When he was within a few yards of them, he stood tall and held his sword straight in front of him. Deafening screeches and chattering nearly unnerved him enough to jam his hands over his ears, but he simply took in the sight. The lizards began hopping atop each other, biting and clawing as they advanced toward him. The lizards that had been at the perimeter joined the others in the middle, and Owen flashed Watcher and Starbuck a signal.

  When the lizards were almost upon him, Owen spat a stream of water onto his sword. The blade glowed and emitted a burst of white mist that enveloped him and mesmerized the swarming horde. They shrank back, then gathered around the sword and followed like children at a carnival.

  As the right flank of the lizards moved toward Owen, Watcher and Starbuck slipped past Owen and up the rocks toward the camp. Owen kept moving toward a narrow crevasse, still surrounded by lizards chattering and clucking, gazing intently at the sword.

  He moved more quickly now, and the lizards parted in front of him. At the crevasse, he poured more water on the sword, stuck it upright in the sand, and hurried into the narrow opening that led to the camp. At the top, he met Watcher and Starbuck, panting, watching the horde circle the sword.

  The three moved silently uphill toward flickering campfires. The soft clink of chains and the muffled cries of children mixed with snores from the edges of the camp.

  In the moonlight, Owen spotted a guard, spear in hand, wearing a helmet and a breastplate. Huge nostrils emitted a ghastly sound that turned Owen’s stomach. This was no human, and it certainly didn’t look like any animal he had seen. It was sort of a rhinoceros-ape mix with a hairy body and a head that didn’t seem to want to end.

  The camp was dotted with structures made of animal skins stitched together and stretched over wooden stakes. Limp bodies scrunched up for warmth lay under animal skins. Each had a chain attached to a wide silver buckle fastened around the ankle and hooked to another person or to a metal stake in the ground.

  The encampment covered the plateau to the edges. Every 30 yards or so a fire burned, making it easy for the guards to see their prisoners.

  Starbuck motioned Owen and Watcher toward holding pens and pointed at the sleeping forms. Owen recognized several from Erol’s clan, younglings too large to crawl through the openings in the pen and too small to break through the lid fastened at the top.

  Watcher started to speak, but Owen put a hand over her lips and gestured above them to a narrow path before the mouth of a cave where a guard was slumped sleeping. They moved to the ledge, where they could talk. Below, Owen’s sword still shone with lizards hopping and jumping around it.

  “Psst.”

  Owen spotted an old man with gray hair sitting up under his tent. He scooted quietly across the sandy ground and ducked under the tent flap just as a guard stretched and belched.

  The old man grabbed Owen’s tunic and pulled him close. His breath was sour and his eyes dim. “Have you come for us?”

  “I’ve come for the children,” Owen whispered.

  “How did you get past the lizards?”

  “Never mind. Where do they take you when the sun comes up?”

  “Into the bowels of the cave.” The old man stared at Owen’s face. “Who are you?”

  “I have come to free the captives. And when my mission is complete, I will come back for you.”

  “Did the King send you? How else could you have gotten through the lizards?” He leaned closer. “His wife is here, you know. Yes, the Queen is in this wretched place.” He pointed and said, “Over there. Extra guards day and night. We expected a rescue mission someday, but . . . you are such a young one.”

  “What happens here?”

  The man scowled. “The Dragon works us to death in his mines and throws us away when we’re used up.” He nodded south of the camp, where bodies lay stretched in piles, birds picking at the seared flesh in the moonlight. Owen had to look away.

  “We have heard rumors of rumblings in the kingdom. A great tremor was heard not long ago, and the Queen has said something about a Wormling.”

  “She is wise,” Owen said.

  The man perked up. “It is true?”

  Words from The Book of the King came to Owen. “‘The King knows the burdens of the weary and hears the cries of the oppressed. His army is coming. His deliverance is near. He will lead his captives from the depths and bear their burdens.’”

  The man trembled and his eyes widened. “Have you seen the Wormling? Do you know if he is here?”

  “I know this,” Owen said. “The rumbling you heard was the Wormling. The King’s forces are moving. When the Son is found—”

  “The Son! The Queen was overheard talking of the Dragon’s council held just days ago!”

  The threatening pink of daylight caused a stir. Chains clinked as people sat up and the guards made the rounds to release their leg-irons. The prisoners trudged through the chow line, eagerly receiving a bowl of pasty mush they ate with their fingers. Heads down, shuffling, they plodded up the dusty path single file to the cave.

  The old man with the long silver hair, however, smiled at the guards, chuckled as he shoved the food into his mouth, then quickly handed the bowl back. As he began the steep incline, he craned his neck and looked to the holding pen of the Queen. “Good mornin’, my lady,” he cackled. “Nice day for the Son to come, isn’t it?”

  The guards had to assume he was saying “sun.
”

  The Queen, dark haired and with olive skin, did not even turn her head. She merely stared at the ground.

  “Keep moving, you old buzzard,” a guard said, poking him in the ribs.

  The old man just smiled.

  * * *

  Owen, Watcher, and Starbuck sat on a ledge high above the room where precious metals were separated from the mined rocks, watching people shuffle by and the guards treat them cruelly.

  Owen’s heart broke at the sight of a mother weeping for her child, separated at the previous tunnel. The guards had snatched him from her arms and thrown him into the elevator operated by pulleys. All the way down the shaft the child screamed and cried, and Owen had to close his eyes and breathe slowly, so great was his anger.

  Finally a woman with black hair, an olive complexion, and less-tattered clothes strode regally into the hall below. Owen could hardly keep his eyes off her. People bowed until she sat.

  Owen waited until the line dwindled to a trickle and the guards took their positions. One of the biggest stood outside, carefully watching those who brought in wooden boxes filled with rocks. A blast of hot air hit Owen, and a bright light shone through the cave. The guard below him moved down the tunnel, yelling orders to block the entrance and the searing heat of the sun.

  Seeing his chance, Owen motioned for Watcher and Starbuck to stay where they were and dropped to the ground, rolling into the separating room.

  The dozen people around the table recoiled. A man stood, lips pursed. “Bow before royalty.”

  Owen put a finger to his lips and spoke to the Queen. “I mean you no harm, Your Highness.”

  The Queen stood. “Guard! Guard! Return here immediately!”

  “I tried to send you a message this morning. The old man who spoke to you—”

  Another woman stood and glowered at Owen, holding a black rock above her head.

  “Wait!” the Queen said. “What message?”

  Owen told her what he had told the old man to say.

  A guard was coming, huffing and puffing.

  “Please, Your Highness,” Owen whispered, “just hear me out.”