The Third Age of Obsidian [Quest for Earthlight Trilogy Book Three]

by Laraine Ann Barker

  Bart looked around. There were few travelers in the inn's parlor. People didn't go on long journeys at this time of the year unless they had no choice. “I won't be long. I'd like to have a look in the public room—maybe have a drink with the landlord. You know your way up."

  Reluctantly Jamie went upstairs to the room Bart managed to get for them. It held only one bed, although this was large enough for two. Within minutes of making himself as comfortable as he could in one corner of it, Jamie slept.

  And he found himself back in that dark, evil tunnel, running for his life. The green light still bobbed in front and Peter's figure raced ahead. Now Peter and the light seemed further away. Jamie's legs started feeling weighed down. His throat was so parched his breath whistled from between his teeth in great rasping gasps. A hammering sound came from somewhere. Jamie saw Peter turn to glance behind. The green light briefly lit up Peter's face. The terror in his eyes made Jamie's heart leap. He turned his own head to see what was behind. Instantly, something clamped over his mouth and nose. His breathing stifled, Jamie kicked out wildly ... and woke up to find his face pressed into the filthy mattress.

  However, the hammering continued. Then, dazedly, Jamie realized it was someone beating at the inn door. He heard the landlord open the door and the man's grumbling at being disturbed so late. To Jamie's surprise, the voice of the late-night traveler was that of a woman. She wasted no time in greetings. Her voice rang out clear and loud. “I believe you are harboring traitors to my brother the King. He has asked me to deliver them to him. Where are they?"

  Jamie leapt out of bed and rushed to the window. In the moonlight a small group stood at the inn door—four or five men and one woman. As Jamie peered down at them, the woman raised her face in his direction. Framed in creamy-white fur, it was a face of great beauty. It repelled even while it attracted. She seemed to look straight at him. For a brief moment the moonlight touched her eyes. They gleamed up at him, reminding him of a cat's eyes in the half-light. Jamie's heart almost leapt from his ribcage. He jumped backwards as though stung.

  "It's the green-eyed witch—Morgause!” he whispered aloud. He turned and rushed over to the bed. “Bart!” The dryness of his throat made his whisper hoarse.

  But the bed was empty. Even as he realized this, he heard the inn door close as Morgause and her henchmen entered.

  Chapter 10

  The Evil One's Domain

  PETER LOOKED in revulsion and dismay at the face that was neither his friend's nor that of Sujad the Traitor, but a mixture of both. It took all the strength of his mind to force himself not to shrink back. Then he seemed to hear the Voice of the Earthlight again. “If you remember only one thing—that you will win the battle—all will be well. You must have complete faith in yourself.” I just need to find the key.

  "Who are you? Sujad the Great? The Evil One himself? A mixture of both? John Evans? Sylvia Evans's son? Jamie's brother and twin? Who are you?” His voice sounding harsh in his ears, he poured the questions out in a relentless stream.

  John's eyes wavered. His mouth opened and closed as he tried to answer.

  "I don't know.” The reply was no more than a whisper. His face contorted in agony. “I seem to be several people and I don't know which one is the real me. I have a twin. We can't get on without each other. We're bound inseparably together. We must work together or perish. But we hate each other."

  The stumbling, jerky whispers made no sense. Peter could determine only that John seemed to be referring to the Evil One as his twin.

  "Who is your twin?” he demanded.

  John shook his head. His eyes stared, unfocused, over Peter's shoulder. “I don't know—I can't say—the Absolute Law binds me—"

  "Who is your twin?"

  John whimpered. “Don't make me—please don't make me!"

  "Well, then, who are you? Who are you?” Peter took hold of John's shoulders and shook him. “What's your name? What is your name?"

  As Peter let his shoulders go, John seemed to make an effort to look at him. Gradually the unfocused look started to clear.

  "My name is John Evans,” he said simply.

  "Good. And who is your twin?"

  The blank expression returned to John's eyes. “I don't know. I can't tell you.” Misery twisted his face again.

  "You can; you can! Your name is John Evans and Jamie Evans is your twin. Jamie Evans is your twin. Say it!"

  "Jamie Evans is my twin,” John replied like an automaton.

  "And Jamie is sick with worry at the moment because of your disappearance. He cares about you very much. You're coming home with me."

  "Home?” John's eyes looked blankly over Peter's shoulder. “Where's home? Which place is home? I can't find my way."

  "I'll find it for you.” Peter put his hand on John's shoulder, this time in a protective manner.

  John looked at him in bewilderment. “Who are you?"

  "I'm your friend Peter."

  John continued to look bewildered. “Peter? Peter who?"

  "Simon Peter FitzArthur."

  Peter wasn't really sure why he gave his full name like that. It always sounded stilted and rather pompous to him.

  "The Son of Arthur?"

  "Yes. And I've come to rescue you from this dreadful prison of misery and despair. I'm going to take you home—to Jamie and your mother.” John looked around. Awareness of his surroundings seemed to be dawning on him. Peter pressed harder, sending mental images of Jamie and Mrs. Evans into his friend's mind. “You want to see your home again—your mother and Jamie—don't you?"

  "Where am I?"

  "In the domain of the Evil One. We've got to get out before he knows I'm here."

  Even as Peter spoke they heard a rumbling sound. It set Peter's heart pounding. Fear dried his throat and made his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. The noise came from somewhere in the chasm over which they hovered. The fetid air vibrated with evil power. Despite the dense cloud around them, Peter could see blue light sizzling in the depths. Quick as lightning he sent a message to the Power of Obsidian. Next moment both he and John were surrounded by the invisible bubble.

  But Peter knew even the “crystal ball” couldn't save them on its own. For this was the territory of the Evil One. In his own domain the Evil One held the balance of power. In his own domain his power exceeded that of all others combined.

  Peter reached out and grabbed John's hand. “Jump!"

  Both boys put everything they had into that leap into near darkness. They left the evil cloud and soared over the chasm. A tremendous bolt of blue lightning surged up at them. Its noise shook the very foundations of the maze of tunnels. It just missed them. They landed heavily on the edge of the precipice and fell in a heap. The rocklight tumbled from Peter's hand. More blue fire blasted from the chasm. Peter felt the earth convulse beneath him. He snatched up the rocklight and scrambled to his feet.

  "Run!"

  He could barely hear his scream above the shattering echoes. He paused only long enough to make sure John was all right. Then, using the rocklight to light the way, he took to his heels. John followed. Peter could hear his friend's footsteps right at his heels. Another explosion came from behind. The blue light lit the black tunnel for a split second, sending their shadows lurching eerily ahead. Peter heard part of the roof cave in behind them. Something hit his right shoulder. He felt some of its impact but none of its effect. They ran on, their breath tearing through their teeth in parching gasps in the stifling atmosphere.

  The third explosion's last echoes died around them. The rattle of displaced stones came from behind. It was several moments before Peter realized the explosion hadn't caused the sound. Someone was following! His mind visualized the only form he associated with the Evil One—that of the huge, evil-smelling spider. The image sent his heart pounding anew. He knew they would have no chance escaping from a creature with such long legs.

  A glance behind proved him wrong about the nature of the pursuit. The Evil One had sen
t servants after them. The rocklight couldn't reach as far back as the pursuers with sufficient strength for Peter to see them properly. His probing mind told him they were the gremlins that once served Sujad the Great—at least a dozen of them. Subconsciously he noted they seemed to carry no lights of their own, but his conscious mind had no time to wonder why.

  The boys pelted on, and the gremlins’ footsteps pounded relentlessly behind. The uneven ground appeared to pose no problem for the evil creatures. They neither gained nor lost ground. However, Peter felt sure the stifling atmosphere wouldn't affect the gremlins, who would be used to it. They only needed to run Peter and John to exhaustion.

  Then he sensed John beginning to flag. Desperately he reached into his friend's mind, sending him the vision of the grotto, emphasizing the water's coolness. John spluttered his thanks aloud as water poured into his mouth from nowhere. Peter then heard him make a sudden spurt. Next moment they were running side by side again.

  "Keep the image in your mind,” Peter said in mind-speech. “I need to be free to find the way out."

  He held the rocklight as high as he could, trying to light the tunnel ceiling. We should come to it soon. I only hope I can see it.

  His heart gave a bound when he saw what he sought: a hazy circular outline in the roof. He reached out and grabbed John's jacket. They both skidded to a halt.

  "What's up?” John gasped.

  "Shut your eyes and don't dare open them until I say."

  John instantly obeyed. Peter moved to the center of the faint circle. With the rocklight cupped in both hands, he then lowered his arms and hurled the rocklight upwards as hard as he could. At the same time he shouted with the full force of his lungs, “Vega!” Instant and total darkness descended. Then, for a split second, he saw all the stars in the universe wheeling above them and knew John could also see them.

  Behind them, the gremlins ground to a halt. Several collided. They screamed in pain and rage as they stumbled over one another and fell.

  Peter turned his blind eyes in the direction of their shrieks.

  "Keep your eyes shut and give me your hand!” he shouted into John's mind.

  John extended his hand and Peter clasped it tightly. Then the great stream of light from above hit him. It sucked them both helplessly up. They heard the gremlins regain their feet and come charging after them. Their shrieks rushed up the Lightwell and died out as Peter and John hurtled upwards. They heard a great rumbling as the bottom of the Lightwell closed beneath them.

  It seemed like ages to Peter, but eventually he saw the mouth of the Lightwell far above their heads. Concentrating fiercely, he slowed their ascent. With perfect timing from Peter, they reached the top. Still clutching John's hand, Peter leapt lightly onto the floor of the Hall of the Lightwell. John, still with his eyes shut tight, stumbled. Peter just managed to stop him falling.

  "You can open your eyes if you keep them turned away from the Lightwell."

  John did so. He had no time to examine his surroundings; something slammed into his back and sent him sprawling. At the same time, horrendous shrieks filled the air. Peter, his hand torn from John's, turned back to the Lightwell. He saw one gremlin sprawled on top of John, who strove to get free. Another two landed heavily on the edge of the Lightwell, while two more followed. Their shrill cries rent the air.

  He ran to help John. The gremlin had its claws firmly hooked into John's jacket. Peter brought his fists smashing down on the raking claws. The gremlin squealed and instantly let go. John staggered to his feet. The gremlin made no attempt to attack again. It stood gibbering, nursing bruised claws.

  In the meantime the other gremlins had lurched upright. They now staggered around like drunken old men. Their cries were more terror-filled than terrorizing. They held their claws out in front as though reaching for something unseen.

  Relief flooded through Peter. “Of course! They're blind!"

  He moved quickly away from the nearest groping gremlin and glanced wildly around the room. Eleven of the twelve walls had a candelabrum set within them. The other was empty. That had to be the hidden door. Peter grabbed John's hand again and made for the blank wall. As soon as they were just outside its opening area, the huge pair of doors swung inwards. Peter sensed the gremlins groping towards the sound. As soon as there was sufficient room to get between the doors, he pushed John through first and then himself. The doors, still only partly opened, crashed shut behind them, instantly silencing the gremlins’ terrified cries—and leaving Peter and John with only the inadequate rocklight to guide them.

  Peter put his hand down to the pocket in his robe and sighed with relief. The candle was still there. As he pulled it out he heard a rattling sound as the candle touched something else in his pocket.

  "What was that?” John said, a catch in his voice.

  "Matches. I didn't know I had them. Someone must have taken them from my trousers and put them in here when—when they dressed me in this thing. Can you hold this for me while I light the candle?” He thrust the rocklight into John's hand. To their dismay, the light from it instantly went out. After some fumbling Peter managed to light a match. John took the candle and held it while Peter put the flame to it.

  "It's not much better than the rocklight is it?” John said as Peter handed him the candle and took the rocklight back. Instantly its light returned.

  "That's because these are the Great Halls of Draining Light. Most of the light is being drained into the obsidian from which the halls were created. It's then channeled into the Lightwell where it's processed in some way and used by the Earthlight."

  "Why does the Lightwell lead to the Evil One's domain?"

  "I don't know.” Peter spoke abstractedly, almost impatiently, as he moved the rocklight from left to right, trying to work out which way they should go.

  "What's that?” John swung round so abruptly the candle flame lengthened, veering to his right and smoking madly.

  It was a light from another candle in the distance that attracted John's attention. Peter turned just in time to see it go out, as though the one holding it doused the flame on realizing someone saw it. Then, where the flame had hovered, they both thought they saw a vague gray shape. Peter held the rocklight out in a vain effort to pierce the gloom. He sent out a mind probe. Relief flooded through him again.

  "It's Judita!” The echoes sent his whisper back and forth across the vast cavern.

  Too impatient to wait, he moved towards the fluttering gray shape. John followed. As the gap closed between them, the shadow unfolded to reveal itself as a woman in a flowing white robe. Her smile encompassed both boys impartially.

  "Greetings. Well done, First Chosen, and welcome, John, back to the land of the living. I've come to guide you on the next stage of your quest."

  "Oh! Aren't we going home?"

  At the plaintive disappointment in John's voice, Judita bent a sympathetic smile upon him but gently shook her head—the only answer she would give. She took the candle from John and blew out the flame. Then she turned back the way she had come.

  "Some gremlins managed to follow us into the Lightwell,” Peter ventured after a short silence as they followed her, with Peter doing his best to light the way. “The light blinded them and they're shut in the Hall of the Lightwell. What will happen to them?"

  "I don't know. But we can't do anything about it, Peter, simply because we can't open the doors. Even the Lady can't open them at her own will."

  John snorted. “Don't feel sorry for them, Peter. They're very cruel. They treated me without mercy down there."

  They walked on in silence, wrapped in their own thoughts, until Judita stopped abruptly and turned to face them. “This is as far as I can take you. Only the fortifying bower lies ahead, and you may not enter it."

  As she spoke she held up the candle. Instantly its wick caught light. She placed the fingertips of her right hand over the candle flame. Each fingertip sprouted a yellow flame. She reached over to John's face and spread her fingers
to touch his eyes with her thumb and little finger. John instantly slumped into sleep. Before he could hit the ground two women of the Reborn appeared, apparently from nowhere, and caught him. Peter saw no more because Judita's flames were now approaching his own face. Golden yellow light shot with red filled his whole vision. He felt Judita's thumb and little finger on his eyelids. Despite the blaze shooting from her fingertips, her touch was cool and gentle. Then darkness replaced the golden light against his closed lids. He felt himself falling and was aware of being caught before he hit the ground. Then he knew no more.

  * * * *

  "AUNT ANGELA, come back!"

  Peter stood near the stairs leading to the lower cavern in the ruined City of the Reborn. A pile of rubble hid from his view the black hole that was the top of the staircase. His voice echoed around him, merging with the sound of footsteps clattering down the stairs.

  I'm dreaming again. I must be dreaming. I must wake up! Wake up! Wake up!

  However, nothing changed.

  The place looked much the same as in his other dreams, he thought critically, looking around. Behind him lay the mass of broken stone coffins, mud, rocks and earth of the cavern that had housed the Lady and Merlin as well as the bodies of half the Reborn. He dodged around the pile of debris, and there lay the black hole leading to the lower cavern. He could still hear the clatter of his aunt's footsteps. For the third time he hadn't been able to stop her going down to search for the statue.

  Peter slipped several times in the mud as he made for the stairwell. By the time he reached it he could no longer hear the footsteps. He flashed his torch down the stairs. All that showed up in its beam, part-way down the slippery-looking flight, was the dark surface of the trapped floodwater. It lay like a sheet of polished black glass under the probing of the torchlight. Nothing had disturbed its surface for a long time.

  Peter bent the beam of the torch down to the steps. His heart leapt—for there, clearly defined in the layers of mud filling the hollows in the surface of the stairs, were several footprints. Slowly he descended to the nearest one. He stooped, training the beam full on the imprint—a small, narrow footprint. No man could have made it. It was fresh.