The Passage to Mythrin 2-Book Bundle

by Patricia Bow

  “Look — what are you going to do with this? Ammy says ….” He stopped and stared into Pier’s face. She wasn’t smiling. Her eyes were like silver lamps.

  “I am going to save my people,” she said quietly.

  “Yes, but …”

  “A sword in the heart. In all their hearts. That is what Wayland Smith made it for.”

  “But ….” He heard running feet in the street again and glanced that way, and that was all Pier needed. She punched him in the nose hard enough to make him loosen his hold on the cup. While he was clutching at his nose, she leaped up and away.

  Simon surged up into the pathway beside the house just as Ike ran past. They crashed and fell into another heap. The base of the trophy, which Ike had been carrying, slammed into Simon’s stomach and drove all the air from his lungs. He lay there wheezing for ten precious seconds. Then he staggered to his feet and burst out of the path and into the backyard with Ike so close at his heels they were tripping each other.

  Pier stood at the edge of the stone patio, a few long strides in front of them, with the cup clutched to her chest. She was looking into Mr. Manning’s huge, green-shadowed backyard.

  Bits of pink sky winked through the trees, but here it was dark. Someone tall was bending over a bank of orange lilies.

  “Um, Pier,” Simon murmured. She didn’t move or speak.

  “What’s happening?” Ike whispered.

  More footsteps behind them. Amelia trotted up behind Simon, breathing hard. “Why are you just standing ….” She caught her breath.

  The man straightened up and turned around. It wasn’t Mr. Manning. It was the man from the tattoo parlour, but without the sunglasses. And it was the big, grey figure they’d glimpsed at the games field. He looked even bigger here, in the dark garden. All in dark, silky grey, even his skin. His tilted eyes glowed yellow-green.

  “Do not look at its eyes,” Pier breathed. “Do not speak to it.” She took one step back from the edge of the patio, at the same time moving both hands to one handle of the cup. She began to raise the cup at arm’s length.

  Simon had just figured out what Pier was trying to do when the patio stone she was standing on popped up and flung her through the air. She landed hard on her side near Simon and the cup bounced and rolled to his feet. He snatched it up.

  “Yesss,” purred Zephrinarrinaden. “Another carrier.”

  Carrier, Simon thought. He means me!

  The cup dragged his arms down as if it was made of lead, not silver. It felt heavier than any shot he’d ever put. His mind felt leaden, too. People were whispering at him, but he couldn’t make out the words.

  Behind Zeph an archway of sapphire light was forming, like a movie projected onto the dark leaves beyond. So that was why they were here. Pier knew about this; she must have felt it when she came here looking for the Prism Blade this morning. Another gate to Mythrin.

  “Walk forward.” The voice was like cool silk. The eyes were … No! Don’t look at its eyes! someone said. Too late for that.

  Zeph’s eyes. They made him think of the time he and Ike and Oscar had taken a trip to the Metro Toronto Zoo and he’d exchanged a long look with a Siberian tiger.

  “Walk to the gate.”

  He took a step. The voices whispered at him again. Use it! Was that Ammy? Use what? Wield it! That was Pier. Wield the cup! The cup? His eyes jarred downward.

  “Like a sword!” Pier yelled from near the ground. “Wield it like a sword!”

  “But ….” Simon looked up again, then closed his eyes tight against the shining stare.

  “Hold it like a sword!” That was Ike.

  “But it’s a cup! How can you …”

  Then he saw. He wrapped both hands around one handle, the way Pier had done, and raised the cup stiff-armed, and pointed the other handle. The paving stone under his feet tilted and tried to toss him aside. He jumped off it and kept pointing the cup at Zeph.

  But pointing the cup wasn’t doing anything useful that he could see. It felt heaver and heavier, and his arms shook, and Zeph, without moving, seemed to be growing larger and larger, and still nothing was happening and …

  “The shingles!” Ike yelped, and at the same moment something went clunk on the patio behind Simon. Hard, sharp bits of something stung his arms. He jumped forward to avoid them.

  Then another fell and splintered, and another, and still the silly, silver cup stuck out in front of him, no use at all, and still the yellow-green tiger-eyes smiled and waited. And then came a crash and rumble up above, and Ike yelled, “Simon! The chimney! It’s coming down! Get out of the way!”

  CHAPTER 18

  A SWORD IN THE HEART

  “Simon! The chimney!” That was all he heard. The rest cut off. Amelia and Ike and Pier were gone, and so was Mr. Manning’s garden. Simon stood alone inside a shell of rainbow light. Something sang faintly around him, the way crystal sings when you stroke the rim of a glass.

  The heart of a diamond might be like this. So beautiful, so cold, so deadly.

  The silver cup had become a sword. Its hilt was silver, he thought, but he couldn’t see it because the blade was so bright. All the rainbowy light came from the blade. It was still heavy, which wasn’t surprising since it was about four feet long.

  “Where is everybody?” His voice echoed back at him. It sounded small and young.

  Everybody was gone, except for him and the dragon. Funny, he wasn’t fuzzy-headed anymore. And only slightly terrified. And now that he’d got a good look, it wasn’t an actual dragon that faced him. It was a dragon outline cut from the rainbow shell: a dragon-shaped hole into darkness.

  “Now what?”

  The dragon silhouette began to shrink. It was getting … not smaller, but farther away. Zeph was running!

  “Yes! We’ve won!”

  Not yet.

  “Who’s that?” It wasn’t Ammy or Ike or Pier, and certainly not the dragon. It was a high, glassy voice. It sounded like the singing of the diamond light. And that was what it was, he realized. It was the Blade. The Prism Blade had a voice of its own.

  “So, um … what … what do I do now?”

  A sword in the heart, it sang. An opener of doors. An unguessable riddle.

  “I … I have to go in there, don’t I?” He looked, and the dragon silhouette had shrunk almost to nothing. Now it was just a black speck in the radiance. Maybe it was already too late.

  He began to run, with the sword held out in front of him, point leading. The black speck grew larger, began to look more like a dragon. And now he was flying, the diamond walls flashing past all around. The dragonshaped hole into darkness grew and grew, and became a huge chasm.

  When it couldn’t get any bigger, the darkness lunged and swallowed him.

  The rainbow radiance dimmed. It didn’t snuff out, though. There was light enough to see dark walls flowing past. No straight lines here. The tunnel, if that was what it was, curved and curled back on itself, and looped and spiralled out again. The passage branched constantly, gaps opening left and right. Blank walls loomed far ahead, swept near, and at the last instant cracked into doors, which folded open as Wayland’s Prism flashed through.

  Simon held on tight. Slimy-looking things slithered away from the stabbing light. On and on the Blade flew through the dark labyrinth, and just as he was starting to think there would be no end of it, one last gigantic door swung back and the Blade shot out into a vast cavern. In the centre of the space it stopped and sank until Simon’s toes touched the floor.

  He stood holding up the Prism like a lamp. Its light pressed all the darkness into the corners and crevices. More things with or without legs scuttled and oozed into the cracks. Wherever he looked, eyes glittered hate at him.

  A sword in the heart, an opener of doors. And what should come out of all the doors and cracks and crevices, but a mob of voices, wailing and growling and hissing and screaming. The darkness in the corners clawed towards him.

  Simon nearly lost his grip on
the Blade as he listened. His knees went watery and his stomach churned. He forced his arms to stay strong, to hold up the Blade with its scouring light.

  “All right!” he whispered. “Now we know. Now we know everything. Can I go now?”

  With one last blinding burst of light, the Prism Blade leaped upward. Someone howled.

  It happened so fast Amelia barely had time to shout, no time to move. The chimney crashed onto the patio inches behind Simon. Chunks of brick sprayed everywhere. Pier covered her head. Amelia shielded her face with her arms.

  When she lowered her arms, Simon stood in a haze of coloured light. He had raised the cup like a sword. Zeph changed shape. The haze of light grew brighter and brighter, so bright that Amelia had to cover her eyes again. The dragon howled.

  Then, suddenly, it was over. The light faded to nothing. Simon fell to his hands and knees and a sword — an actual sword — clanged on the patio stones. It looked to be made of plain steel, nothing like a prism.

  It all happened inside thirty seconds.

  Zeph’s coiling tail and glinting body filled the darkness under the trees. The gate’s blue archway still glowed behind him. So, Simon had used the Prism Blade, or tried to, and the dragon was still here. And he was far from dead.

  Nothing had changed, except probably they’d made him really mad. Maybe you had to be a special person, a hero, to use Wayland’s Prism.

  The side wall of the house might be some protection. If they could get there. “Simon,” she whispered. “Crawl backwards. Back towards the house.”

  He staggered to his feet, took a couple of breaths, and made a horrible face at the dragon. Amelia thought he was trying to smile bravely. “Can’t touch me now,” he muttered.

  Zeph’s eyes narrowed. “No, riddle. Not you.” His double-bass voice made Amelia’s backbone vibrate. Then he grinned. He seemed to have twice as many teeth as Ty, and they were twice as long and sharp. “But these others are not proof against dragon fire.” He looked at Pier. His grin widened.

  Pier scuttled backwards, still in a crouch. Ike stepped back and tripped over one of the popped-up paving stones and sat down hard. Amelia backed away.

  Only Simon — dear, brave, clueless, stubborn Simon held his ground. He raised the Blade, just as if he really thought that was going to do any good.

  We’re toast! She wished it was just a figure of speech.

  Then came a distant scream in the sky, and Zeph looked up, and the screaming kept on and grew louder and louder, and nearer and nearer, and a blue-green streak bashed straight into him and together they hurtled through the gate. It flared and faded.

  “Ty!” Amelia yelled. The gate was gone before she could take a step.

  Still holding the sword, Simon sat down hard on the patio and put his head on his knees.

  Ike knelt beside him. “You okay? What’s all that gunk on you?”

  “Oh, blood, I guess.”

  “Blood! Are you hurt?”

  “Uh ….” He felt sick to his stomach, his ribs hurt, his nose ached, and he thought one tooth was chipped. Both hands were tingling as if he’d stuck a screwdriver in a light socket. Alive, though. “No, I’m good.”

  “So, what just happened?”

  Amelia sat down on his other side. “You two don’t get it, do you?” She rubbed tears off her cheeks. “Ty saved our lives, that’s what just happened.”

  “Ty will be okay, he’s a dragon. I mean with the sword.” Ike touched the Blade with a cautious fingertip. “Why didn’t it work?”

  “It did work. Just not the way you’d expect.” Simon searched for words to describe what he’d seen and done. Just his luck — the most amazing thing that had ever happened in his whole life, and nobody had seen it but himself. And Zeph, of course. Nobody else would believe it.

  “Tell us later. No time now,” Amelia said. “Give me that sword.” She whisked it out of his hands before he had a chance to grab it. “I’ll need it. I’ve got to get to Mythrin before Zeph kills Ty!” She scrambled to her feet.

  Pier stepped in front of her. She had a hand in her jeans pocket and was fingering something there. “So, the Prism Blade works? But not to kill?”

  Simon shook his head. “It’s not that kind of sword.”

  “Then you have no use for it, do you?” Pier held out both hands.

  Amelia swung it behind her. “As if!”

  Pier gave Simon another of those piercing looks. “You are lying, is that not so? You could have killed the dragon and you did not.”

  “Look, you had it all wrong.” He pushed himself to his knees, then staggered up.

  Amelia waved her free hand. “Why should we even talk to her?” She swerved around Pier and stepped onto the grass. It was dark back here under the trees. “Where was this gate? Was it in this trellis thing?”

  “Why?” Pier shrugged. “You have no way to open it. Unless you really are a dragon.”

  “I kind of hoped … you ….” Amelia looked at Pier then turned away, shaking her head.

  “I will give you this for free,” Pier said, cool as the morning dew. “That gate is broken. The dragons must have done it. You will never get back that way.”

  “Um, Ammy?” Simon said cautiously.

  “Amelia!”

  “Uh, right.” Ammy — Amelia — was like a stick of fireworks sizzling and about to go off. Pier, though, was a whole truckload of rockets lying quiet, waiting to be fired. Simon looked from one to the other and the hair stood up on his neck. He caught Ike’s eye. “Maybe we’d better go home and, um, plan.”

  “No time!” Amelia headed past the house and towards the street, with the sword across her shoulder like a garden rake. “There’s still the other gate, the one that used to be in the library. We’ll just have to find a way to get to it. And open it.”

  Simon fell into step behind her. “But we don’t have anything from Mythrin. That’s the third way to get there, remember? We don’t have a seeker or a dragon, so we need —”

  “But we do!” Ike leaped into the air, waving both hands. “The book!”

  “The …?” Amelia stopped and stared at him, and then her face lit up. “Yes!” Six months ago, exiled on Earth, Mara had asked them to bring her a special book from the other side of the passage to Mythrin. It was called the Book of Lands. Dragon fire had burned out most of it, but a shell remained.

  “It’s in a box under my bed,” Ike said. “I’ll get it!” He sprinted across Mr. Manning’s front lawn. The streetlights came on.

  They started across the lawn after him, Amelia leading, when Simon thought of Pier. I promised to help her and I totally messed up. What will she do now?

  He turned around and saw blue light reflecting off the windows of the neighbouring house. “Ike!” he shouted. “Come back! Quick!” Amelia pushed past him and rushed back into Mr. Manning’s backyard.

  Halfway up the garden, the outline of a small figure dissolved in an archway of blue light. The gate faded. It was gone two seconds before they skidded to a stop on the grass.

  Amelia stabbed the sword point-down into the ground. “So, the gate wasn’t blocked after all. Pier lied. Why?” She fanned her fingers through the space inside the trellis, but it stayed dark and empty.

  “Obvious. To keep us from getting to Mythrin. She thinks there’s no way for us to get there now. She doesn’t know about the book.”

  The trellis stood in the middle of Mr. Manning’s garden. It wasn’t really a trellis. There was another word for it. It was like a doorway made of two trellises that arched together at the top, and you grew roses or grapevines — no, it was roses, she could smell them — up and over it. Arbour, that was it.

  “Lucky she’s wrong.” Amelia paced and kicked at the grass. “Ike, hurry!”

  “Relax! He’s a fast runner. It’ll take him only, um … ten minutes to get home. Five to get the book, maybe a bit more if his father sees him and he has to talk his way out of the house. Another ten to get back here.” Simon nodded reassuringly.<
br />
  “Twenty-five minutes! Maybe thirty!” She clutched her hair. “That’s five hours on Mythrin!”

  “Am— Amelia, take it easy. We’ll still get there before moonrise, if Ike is right.”

  “Maybe too late for Ty.”

  “Ty’s not the only one in danger,” he said, but she hardly heard him. She sat down cross-legged on the grass in front of the arbour. It drove her crazy knowing that the gate was there, and she couldn’t touch it or see it. A white moth fluttered in the space between the trellises. A mosquito zinged through.

  It’s like nothing’s there, but I know it is. If only I could feel it!

  She gripped her ankles and tried to be patient. At least there’d be no problem seeing the arbour. Got my night eyes now. There was a lot to see, if you looked. The moths were scraps of white gauze. And hey, a bat — click, chirp, skitter, swoop — one less moth. Over there under those bushes, two lights shone at her. Cat’s eyes. They made her think of Ty. Then the lights winked out as the cat turned its head to stare at the bats.

  “The mosquitoes are eating me alive,” Simon said.

  “Mm.” Her fingertips in the grass felt another kind of life. Something tiny walked over her hand. The grass stirred as it grew, each blade unsheathing upward, roots fingering downward.

  “Look, fireflies!” he said.

  Amelia opened her eyes and looked for the tiny yellow lights blinking in the dark. Zap! Bat got one. “Listen to the bats!”

  “You can’t hear bats,” Simon said kindly. “Not when they’re hunting. See, they make these sounds humans can’t hear, they make them echo off —”

  “I can hear them.”

  “But …”

  And now that she listened really hard, there was another sound in the air: a high, faint, far sighing.

  “Ammy, what’s the matter with you?”

  When she listened to the distant sighing with her eyes closed, she could see it: blue light branching and weaving in the air. But so dim, a ghost of a hint of a memory.

  “Ammy!” A hand grabbed her arm.