Quest for the Sun

by V M Jones

  The flash was gone; dark descended. But the burning after-image of the shattered shape with its splintered tentacles remained stamped on my mind, black on blinding white, all stark angles and silent pain.

  If you drew a picture of a scream, that’s how it would look.

  The Cauldron of Zeel

  We slid and scrambled down the mountainside, zigzagging to lessen the steepness of the slope. The sense of height and nothingness below us was dizzying, and it wasn’t long before I threw pride to the winds and lowered myself to my bum, using hands and feet to feel my way down, and the seat of my pants as an emergency braking system.

  A stream of loose stones skittered around me as I descended, larger rocks bouncing past every now and then as one of the others momentarily lost their footing behind me — along with a frightened gasp and the slithering rush of a body temporarily out of control. I’d hang onto whatever I could find and brace myself for the impact of a sliding body; if one person lost control, they could easily take all of us with them.

  At the steepest parts I waited, anchoring myself as securely as I could and giving the others a hand down. Jamie and the girls were pale, their faces set and stony with determination. Blue-bum had either taken pity on Kenta or decided he’d be safer under his own steam: he was picking his way downwards at the back of the group, using his tail for balance and muttering to himself. For once I was glad I didn’t understand Chatterbot.

  Slow though our progress was, with every flash of lightning our destination grew closer. At last we were level with the topmost pinnacles of the castle, then below them; and finally we were just above what I’d thought was the drawbridge.

  What had looked like a narrow gangway from high above was a steep-sided ridge of natural rock: a long spur linking the western flank of Dark Face to the isolated crag on which the Stronghold of Arraz was built.

  We were huddled on a small platform of rock slightly above the ridge, tucked behind a rocky buttress. Here, lower on the mountainside, there were vestiges of vegetation: dry tufts of grass; stunted thorn bushes; even an old tree with a few crumpled grey-green leaves clinging to its branches, its trunk gnarled and bent, twisted roots like arthritic fingers holding grimly to cracks in the rock.

  At the edge of our platform the ground fell away in a perpendicular cliff face, curving round as far as the eye could see in both directions. This must be the Cauldron of Zeel, I realised; and like Dark Face the name was no accident: it was a steep-sided witch’s cauldron with no way down that I could see … and the Stronghold of Arraz as its centre-point.

  Above us to our left a dark ribbon of track wound down from the mountains to join the ridge. I couldn’t follow it far: it climbed steeply southeast, narrowing into distance and darkness before being swallowed by the cleft of the mountains.

  This would be the link between Morningside and Dark Face used by King Karazeel’s men — the route Danon of Drakendale had warned us to stay well clear of. I could see why. Even in the poor light it had the look of a well-used thoroughfare … and as we watched, a straggling caravan of dark, shambling shapes appeared in the gloom and wound its way slowly towards the ridge. Glonks, bound for Arraz.

  The caravan was lit by flickering torches, the clank of armour and the scrape of hooves carrying across the darkness between us. We watched its progress in silence — if we could hear them, they would hear us if we made the slightest sound. I found myself checking the direction of the wind like an animal sensing the hunt; the air had the heavy stillness that comes before a storm, but the faint stirring of a breeze was on my face, bringing with it the scent of hot animal hide and leather. And something else …

  The rotting, maggoty reek of them — the Faceless. I saw them, almost invisible in the darkness, drifting alongside the solid, clanking figures of the soldiers. A greasy sheen of sweat broke out on my skin. I glanced at the others — a warning glance I knew wasn’t needed.

  In absolute silence, hardly daring to breathe, we watched as the convoy made its slow progress along the ridge. The rock, wider than a road at first, gradually narrowed to a slim finger that fell away steeply on either side like a knife edge. Illuminated by the flickering light of the torches, the track hung in the air like a tightrope of light suspended over a chasm of swirling darkness. The animals, forced into single file, plodded stoically forward, the shadowy shapes of the Faceless between them.

  At last, when the shuffling figures were dwarfed by the towering darkness of the fortress, the natural rock gave way to a bridge of stone, lights set at intervals into its balustrade. We saw the flash of steel as their pale glow played over the armour of the guards flanking the bastions, two by two. The convoy crawled to a halt. There was a distant whirring as the drawbridge was lowered, any sound its landing might have made drowned by a crack of thunder as lightning split the sky.

  For an instant, the castle seemed to blaze an impossible, fluorescent blue; instinctively, I flung up one hand to shield my face. Head ringing, dazzled, I lowered my hand and blinked into the darkness, trying to focus.

  The convoy was gone. All that was left was the swimming emptiness of the chasm, the black bulk of the castle almost invisible above. The lights lining the bridge were pinpricks, tiny glow-worms in the vast darkness.

  We had a problem.

  The only way to get to the Stronghold of Arraz was the one we’d just seen — and crossing the narrow, heavily guarded link between the mountains and the fortress would be suicide.

  The mysterious cylinder

  The first drops of rain splashed down on our perch, exploding on impact like miniature bombs. The others huddled together against the rock wall as far from the edge as possible, taking what little shelter they could from the twisted tree. Three miserable faces peered from beneath their hoods, another, smaller one peeking out at me from the folds of Kenta’s cloak. It seemed as if they were all looking to me for answers … and I had none. My heart, already close to rock bottom, clunked down another notch.

  I couldn’t see a way forward. Even under cover of darkness, and assuming the rain continued, there was no way we could get across to the castle unseen. And even if we did, the guards weren’t about to open the gates and lower the drawbridge for five strangers, no matter how bedraggled and harmless they might look.

  Richard was beside me; I slid a glance at his face. Deep in the shadow of his hood it looked stern and grown-up … and something about the determined set of his mouth gave me courage. We might look like five helpless kids, but we were much more than that. We’d come this far, and nothing was going to stop us now. Like Hannah always said, there had to be a way. It was just a question of finding it.

  The thought of Hannah with her sparkly confidence put a smile into my mind, and with it came another thought — Jamie’s watchword, and one that finally got me moving: When in doubt, eat.

  I shuffled cautiously over to the others and reached for my pack. Dug inside, feeling for the packet of energy bars I knew was in there somewhere. My fingers brushed the softness of leather — Zaronel’s diary — and the smooth surface of the mysterious cylinder I’d found with it. Below it I could feel the crinkle of cellophane … impatiently I pulled the cylinder out and set it to one side.

  I’d forgotten about the slope. The second I let go, it began to roll … and everything sped up like a movie on fast forward. I grabbed at the moving blur, but it hit a bump and twisted away from my clutching fingers; another flash of lightning blinded me and I spun round, off balance, one hand still jammed into the neck of my pack. As I turned I caught a flash of the others’ faces, mouths open in shock, eyes staring … then I was throwing myself forwards in a desperate lunge, fingers scrabbling for the tube before it vanished over the drop. Too late. Time crunched from super-fast-forward into slow motion; spread-eagled on the brink of the void I watched the shining shape slowly spinning as it fell.

  Then the flickering flare that had lit the disaster was doused in darkness. I lay staring uselessly downwards, cursing my clumsiness, liste
ning for the distant crash of the cylinder shattering on the rocks below.

  None of us had the faintest clue what the cylinder was — I’d come across it by chance, hidden in the wall of the exit from the Summer Palace — but the simple fact that it had been there, secret and safe, told us it was precious.

  Squeezing my eyes tight shut I could picture it as clearly as if it wasn’t in a zillion pieces on the valley floor below: bluish-grey, with a strange metallic lustre; as thick as my thumb, and rounded at both ends. Like a test tube at school … And suddenly I knew. It hadn’t seemed heavy enough to be solid because it wasn’t. It wasn’t a cylinder, it was a tube. It was hollow, and it held something.

  We’d been blind not to see it before. It had been right there in front of us; I’d read the words myself, written in Zagros’ bold handwriting.

  … a secret passageway through the wall of the palace … a hidden store of potion that will render us invisible as we make our way to the forbidden depths of Shadowwood …

  The cylinder had held the potion of invisibility. The one thing that might have got us into the Stronghold of Arraz. And now it was gone, thanks to me. The old Adam Equinox stirred and shuffled shamefacedly in the dark recesses of my mind. My fault — again. But one good thing: the others don’t know what we’ve lost … and if I don’t tell them, they never will.

  Slowly, stiffly, I peeled myself off the rock, turned my back on the abyss and shuffled back to where the others were waiting. ‘That’s it, guys — it’s gone.’ I shrugged. Took a deep breath. ‘It gets worse. I’ve just realised what it was: invisibility potion. Zagros told about it in the diary. Would’ve been pretty useful, huh?’ I looked from one face to the next, meeting their eyes, and saw nothing there but sympathy. What was there to say? ‘I’m sorry.’

  I shared out the energy bars and we munched in gloomy silence. Everyone kept well away from the edge of the platform — except Blue-bum. I watched as he sidled to the edge and peered over, bum in the air, tail twisted tight round a protruding knob of rock for safety.

  ‘Do be careful …’ cautioned Kenta.

  There was a brilliant flash of lightning right above us, along with an explosive crack of thunder that made us all jump. Blue-bum jumped highest, giving a shrill chitter of fright and landing perilously close to the edge. ‘Come back here right now!’ Kenta yipped in alarm.

  I couldn’t help agreeing: the sight of him so close to the drop was making me dizzy. ‘Kenta’s right, Blue-bum — it’s a long way down, and it’s not as if there’s anything to see.’

  I was wrong. Blue-bum was chittering and capering and pointing downwards … he had seen something. I crawled to the edge, lowered myself gingerly beside him, and waited for the next flash. It wasn’t long coming — and then I saw it too, caught in the tangled branches of a thorn bush way down out of reach, almost hidden by the overhang of the cliff.

  The cylinder of potion, safe and sound. My first thought was that it might as well have been on the moon. But then I had an idea … and I felt myself begin to smile.

  A vanishing act

  ‘I’ve made up my mind.’ I’d never thought Kenta would remind me of the dreaded Miss McCracken, but now she did — right down to the thin line of a mouth and flashing eyes. I felt a familiar urge to back off, the only thing stopping me the sheer drop two paces behind.

  ‘But —’

  ‘Adam Equinox …’

  I looked helplessly at Rich, who gave a resigned shrug. ‘Kenta has a point, I guess. She’s the littlest and lightest … and if anyone can be guaranteed not to let Blue-bum fall, she can.’

  So the only person left to convince was Blue-bum, the reluctant hero of the rescue mission. Hunched in Kenta’s arms he looked anything but keen, and who could blame him — I’d have had doubts myself about being lowered by my tail over a bottomless chasm. But Blue-bum was the only one with a built-in rope, and none of us were happy to rely on Jamie’s scout knots.

  ‘Adam will be holding onto my legs, and I won’t let go of you, I promise,’ said Kenta. ‘You know you can trust me.’

  ‘And it’s our only hope of getting into the fortress,’ added Rich. ‘I’d do it like a shot, if only I had a tail.’

  I watched Blue-bum’s face. I was betting he’d refuse. It wasn’t easy to read his expression, but it wasn’t enthusiastic. Yet it didn’t seem to be fear tightening the little monkey-face … he looked almost insulted, as if he was being asked to do something totally beneath his dignity. Yeah, that was it: the kind of expression a school principal would have if he was asked to strip to his boxers in front of the entire school …

  I shook my head impatiently. I was imagining things. Since when did a chatterbot worry about dignity? It was a waste of time trying to guess what was going on in Blue-bum’s furry head … and we weren’t at school now: we were dithering on the edge of a cliff in the rain.

  Just as I was about to step forward and try my hand at persuading him, Blue-bum did something that took me completely by surprise. He shrugged his skinny shoulders, stretched his slit mouth into a determined line, pulled up his dangling tail like someone hauling a bucket out of a well … and solemnly wound the end of it tightly round Kenta’s hand. And then he gave me a sly little glimmer of a glance that said louder than a chitter — or even real words — could ever have done: You see, Adam? You’ve misjudged me again.

  Five minutes later the precious cylinder was safe in Kenta’s pocket and we were edging our way along the crumbling ledge that linked our platform to the ridge.

  We’d checked the contents of the tube, and as far as we could tell I was right: the two halves unscrewed to reveal a crystal phial containing a familiar-looking milky-blue liquid that glowed with a pale fluorescence in the darkness. It looked identical to the potion of invisibility we’d drunk in the Temple so long ago — but there was more of it. ‘We shouldn’t use it before we really need to,’ said Jamie. ‘We don’t want to suddenly become visible again right in front of the sentries.’

  ‘And whatever happens once we’re inside, no one must tell about Adam being Zephyr. Even if we get caught …’ Gen gulped.

  ‘Especially if we get caught,’ growled Rich. ‘We tell no one — and I mean no one. A long time’s passed since Shakesh, especially in Karazan years, and we don’t know who we can trust.’

  Though he didn’t say so, I knew he meant Kai, the oldest and best friend we had in Karazan. Friends forever … Kai had insisted we leave him behind when we’d made our escape from the dungeons of Shakesh. Despite the danger, he was determined to continue his undercover work for the Believers, to gain the trust of King Karazeel and work towards his downfall from within the walls of the Stronghold of Arraz. They say it will be mightier even than Shakesh, and that none — not even the True King — will be able to storm it …

  Part of me couldn’t suppress an ironic smile at the memory. But another part, new and strange, seemed to stir inside me like an invisible muscle flexing and feeling its strength. Oh yeah? that part said. We’ll see …

  We were prepared to wait hours for the next convoy — the whole night if necessary. None of us liked the idea of camping out in full view of whoever — or whatever — might appear round the bend of the track, but we had no choice: even invisible, tagging onto a party of Karazeel’s stooges was our only hope of getting across the drawbridge and through the gate, so we needed to be close enough to join the rear of the next caravan.

  But we were lucky. A rocky outcrop at the side of the road gave us cover, and almost as soon as we settled ourselves behind it we heard a low rumbling I thought at first was thunder, and a span of glonks appeared out of the gloom with a covered wagon behind them. It must be part of the previous convoy, I realised — heavy and slow, it had lagged behind.

  It was better than we could have hoped for. Not only was it drawn by glonks, whose smell would cover our scent, but the rumble of its steel-rimmed wheels was loud enough to mask any sound. Out of the corner of my eye I saw first Blue-bum, then Kenta
, then Gen, sip from the phial and vanish. Jamie was next; then Rich. An invisible hand groped for mine and pressed the cool smoothness of crystal into my palm, alive with the prickle of magic.

  I lifted the phial to my lips and sipped, feeling a tingling nothing-taste on my tongue … swallowed. A flickering chill rippled through me. I held one hand in front of my face to double-check it had worked, though I knew it had. The transparent double-outline of my nose, the shadow of my cheekbones, the curve of my lashes were all gone; the friendly bulk of my body below, so familiar I wasn’t usually aware of it. Everything looked different, as if my eyeballs were floating in space. I closed my eyes, and could still see the wagon trundling toward me.

  Kenta’s slim hand felt for mine and gripped it tight. I gave an answering squeeze: we’d agreed that holding hands was the only sure way of staying together. In complete silence, ghosts floating weightlessly in the nothingness of our bodies, we crept to the edge of the track and watched the cart rumble towards us.

  Then it was on us: hot-horse smell, the creak of leather harness, the scrunch of hooves on the wet track, a huffing snort and the jangle of a bit. A whip snaked out and cracked over the glonks’ backs. I caught a flash of a swarthy face shadowed with stubble, of rheumy eyes staring straight through me; the driver hawked and spat, the glob of phlegm missing me by millimetres.

  Then they were past and we were hustling after them, keeping as close as we dared to the swaying tailgate of the cart.

  It was just as well the cart was so noisy — a herd of elephants would have moved more quietly than we did. Stumbling along in the dark was hard enough, but when the track began to narrow things got really tricky. Someone kept standing on my heels; someone else was constantly moving in front of me and then slowing down so I cannoned into them. But at last we sorted ourselves out into single file and shuffled along in the wake of the cart with me in the lead, still holding tight to Kenta’s hand. I focused on the creaking wood and rattling chains of the tailgate, trying not to think about the sheer drop on either side.