Anxiously he peered into the darkness. He could see nothing. He sent his mind probing the depths. As he did so Bart called out sharply, “Come away!” Even as Bart spoke, Peter's mind-probe found something. He ignored Bart's repeated cry but strove to identify the presence. Fierce denial rushed up at him. At the same time he received an impression of intense malevolence directed at himself. He sensed, rather than saw, something move. Then the water beyond the yawning mouth of the underground cave burst into violent movement. Peter backed quickly. Too late—something lunged out of the hole. It grabbed his leg. Before he could react it dragged him into the cave. He saw the hole above his head as he went down. Then something reached out and closed over his face, stifling his breathing.
Chapter 14
Battle in the Lake
PETER FOUGHT to breathe. He thrashed out with both hands and flippers; but the thing encircling him held him fast. He strove to release his face from the pressure on his nose and mouth. It merely pressed down harder.
The creature embracing him wasn't after prey. The swamping waves of malevolence and evil coming from it were enough to tell Peter that. All the same, its intention was to kill him.
He tried delving into the knowledge gained from the Book of Obsidian. There must be something there to deal with such things, his mind cried as it floundered around, almost paralyzed by the evil pouring over it. Moments later he received flashing pictures like the fluttering of autumn leaves. So there was something he could do. But his relief was short-lived—for his brain was too stupefied to make anything of the images.
He started to see flashing lights and knew he was about to black out. Despair swamped him. Then something nudged his mind, barely felt. Between the flashing lights of near-blackout his eyes caught a soft glow. Bart's torch!
"Bart—help!” But his mind-voice sounded to him more a whisper than a scream. Anyway, Bart couldn't help. All he had was a torch—useless as a weapon against a creature like this.
"The willow! The willow twig!"
Peter's senses barely caught Bart's mind-shout. The creature had already pinioned one of his arms. He reached down with the other hand to the belt at his waist. In doing so he touched some part of the foulness enveloping him What if it's got a hold around my waist and I can't get at the twig?
Relief flooded through him as he felt the buckle. He moved his hand along—and there was the willow twig. Frantically he tugged until it came away in his hand. Not sure what he was supposed to do with it, he held it up in the water. With his consciousness all but leaving him, Peter didn't see what happened next. He later learned that the leaves, ripped off in his desperate tugging, floated out into the water and drifted away from each other before beginning to circle the creature.
Then, like homing missiles, they rushed in. As they touched the creature's bulk Peter's befogged mind thought he could hear a loud, high scream of terror. It tore right through his body, jangling every numbed nerve. Then, in a great swirl of water, the monster released him and sped into the depths. A roar of malevolence and rage followed in its path.
But it was too late. Bart would never reach him in time. And when he lost consciousness he would stop being able to take oxygen from the water. So would Bart. They'd both drown!
Then he felt Bart's mind reaching for his, sensed Bart taking from the water as much oxygen as he could, knowing it would be his last chance until he reached air again.
"Peter, can you hear me?” Bart's mind voice was so faint Peter knew he was too far away. He tried to urge Bart to get up to the surface so they wouldn't both drown. But all he managed was Bart's name.
* * * *
"BAR—” WHEN Peter's call of his name was abruptly cut off, Bart knew he had a bare few minutes to get Peter to safety. And now he himself had only the air in his lungs.
Thank goodness for all those times he'd pestered his parents for scuba diving lessons, lessons that had also included training in saving divers in trouble. He grabbed Peter's limp form and propelled them both upwards.
Somewhat to his surprise, as Bart broke the surface he saw Jamie and John, stark naked, swimming towards them. In no time at all they brought Peter to shore.
"You two get dressed,” Bart said curtly as he laid Peter on the grass and prepared to do some resuscitation.
To everybody's intense relief and joy, Peter immediately coughed up the water he had taken in and struggled into a sitting position. “What—what was that?"
"I don't know. But whatever it was, it nearly killed you."
Peter heard the unintentional reproof in Bart's voice and had the grace to look abashed. “Yes. I'm sorry, Bart. I should have come away when you said. But for your quick wits and prompt action I'd have drowned—or been suffocated. I can't thank you enough."
The stricken look on Peter's face went straight to Bart's heart. He remembered his own feelings as his senses became aware of the vast evil bulk lurking in the darkness. I didn't even want to know what it was. All I wanted was to get away as fast as I could. But this boy immediately used his gifts to try to find out what was there, regardless of the danger. He thought if he could only find out what it was he might be able to do something about it. And he was right. In order to defeat an enemy you need to know what you're fighting.
Bart sighed. He thrust one of the towels at Peter.
"Better get dressed, lad,” he said heavily and started peeling off his own wetsuit and drying himself. “I'll tell Merlin what's happened. He'll know what to do."
As Peter took the towel, he noticed he was still clutching the willow twig. Funny, he thought in surprise. I wonder how come I didn't let that go when I lost consciousness. He held it out to Bart in silent enquiry.
Bar looked surprised. “Oh, yes. I'd keep that if I were you, but I don't know whether it's of any use without its leaves. As far as I could tell it was the leaves that saved you from the monster. They sort of homed in on it like a lot of little missiles. I don't know whether they hurt it or just frightened it into letting go."
Peter looked thoughtfully at the twig.
"Powerless while in winter's grip. Break off only the greenest tip,” he said to no one in particular.
Bart looked up from buckling his belt. “Because it's now leafless doesn't mean to say it's useless. It wasn't in winter's grip when you broke it off."
"No,” Peter thrust the twig into his trouser pocket and continued drying himself.
Jamie and John waited until Bart had gone, taking the wetsuits and damp towels with him, before bombarding Peter with questions. As accurately as possible Peter related what had happened.
"What did the monster look like?” Jamie asked. By this time they were well on their way to the farmhouse. The sun had risen and the air already felt warmer. They were still cold but too engrossed in Peter's experience to notice.
"I didn't really see it. But it was like being held by a giant squid or octopus. It definitely wasn't a natural creature—I mean, you don't get things like that in the open sea let alone in a small lake. Also, it didn't just drag me down to drown. It deliberately blocked off my nose and mouth, which suggests a certain amount of intelligence. And besides, it gave off the most horrifying aura of evil. It must have been placed there expressly to stop the Earthlight regaining the statue."
"Why would the Evil One—or more probably Sujad the Great—want to remove the statue and go to so much pains to stop the Earthlight getting it back?” Jamie pondered, frowning. “I mean, I know the first statue was special because the Book of Obsidian was hidden in its base, but I sort of took it for granted the new one was—well, just a statue."
"It could never be ´just a statue'. To begin with, it had the same face as the original one. Don't you remember, I placed the face from the broken statue on the empty plinth in the new cavern and suddenly the statue was there as though it had never been broken?"
There was a short silence as the twins remembered with envy Peter's account of the renewal of the statue. Peter had been on his own at the time, bu
t the fact that a statue identical to the one in the original grotto had suddenly appeared in the second grotto was undeniable.
Peter spoke his thoughts aloud. “I'm wondering if there wasn't something in that dream I had after all."
The others looked at him in blank enquiry. They spoke together. “What dream?"
Peter related his dream about Aunt Angela on his first night in Auckland.
"Well, it doesn't tell us anything,” Jamie grumbled. “If Merlin says the grotto and the caverns of the City of the Reborn are inaccessible, then they must be. He should know."
"Yes. When I suggested maybe only the entrances were blocked and the caves might have been just partially buried, he said something like, ´Come now; you know me better than that', as though he had investigated further and had been convinced of their total ruin."
Until now John had said little, apparently listening to what the others had to say. When he spoke, however, it was obvious his thoughts had been moving along different lines. “That—that thing can't come out of the lake can it?"
Peter and Jamie stopped in mid-stride and looked at him, aghast. Peter could feel the blood draining from his face. “I never thought of that. If it was some type of ordinary creature that lives in fresh water I would say no. But that's not an ordinary creature by any stretch of the imagination."
They looked back at the line of willows on the skyline that marked the edge of the lake. Peter almost expected a huge dark shape to lurch over the horizon and come lunging towards them. It can't reach me from here, surely. He sent his mind probing out past the willows, across the water and down into the depths. Something was still down there, for his mind came up against a violent barrier. Whatever it was resisted his probing with all its considerable might. He could feel its malice—like an almost tangible force—from where he stood.
When they arrived back at the house Susan was busy in the kitchen. She looked around as they entered. Dreyfus rushed forward to greet Peter.
"Oh, I thought—” Susan broke off. “Is anything wrong?” She was looking with concern at Peter.
Peter started guiltily and felt himself redden. He kept his face down, accepting Dreyfus's ecstatic licking. Was the terror of his recent experience really so obvious? he wondered.
"Oh, no—no,” he hastened to assure her. “We were just wondering about going riding after lunch and I thought it might make a change if we went for a walk this morning instead of spending the whole day riding. It'll save you having to make us a picnic lunch."
Susan frowned. For some reason Peter sensed she had been expecting him to say he had been involved in another accident.
"Oh!” She looked at him critically again. “Well, don't overdo things. You still look a bit pale from your fall into the lake. Are you sure you're all right? Why don't you go and lie down for a bit? Someone will bring you up a cup of tea when I've made a pot, and the others can go for a walk on their own if they want to."
Peter felt himself flush again under her scrutiny. “I do have a bit of a headache. A lie-down might be a good idea."
He went upstairs. Jamie and John both commanded Dreyfus to stay. The dog's ears and tail drooped, but he turned back to the kitchen.
Peter hadn't told a lie. His head had started thumping painfully when he was greeting Dreyfus.
He took off his shoes, pulled the duvet down and scrambled between the sheets. Lying down seemed to make his head feel no better, but at least he felt warmer. When Susan entered the room with tea and a painkiller, she said worriedly, “You look even whiter than you did downstairs. If you're not better by dinner-time I'm getting the doctor in to look at you."
"Thanks, Susan; you're a real brick.” Peter gave her a watery smile and sat up to swallow the water in which she had mixed the painkiller. “Yuk! Why is it medicines always taste so foul?"
Susan chuckled and took the glass from him. “My mother always told me the nastier it tasted the better it worked. The tea will help take the taste away. If you want anything give us a shout. I'll pop in later to see if you're feeling better.” And she left, gently closing the door behind her.
Peter pulled the duvet up to his chin and snuggled down. I don't think I've ever had a headache before. I wonder what could have brought it on. He sat up abruptly, climbed out of bed again and went to the mirror. He looked at his whey-faced reflection. Oh dear, I do look awful, I don't feel too good, either—sort of dizzy.
As he gazed at himself in the glass, the image seemed to waver as though he saw it through a heat haze. A strange humming filled his ears. Puzzled, he looked around and moved across the room, trying to work out the location of the sound. It seems to be coming from my head.
Then suddenly the humming stopped and a voice shouted, “Pukling!"
Peter started and winced. “There's no need to shout! I can hear you."
"And there's no need to talk out loud!” the voice shouted in his head. “I can hear you quite clearly if you just think your answers. Now get back to the mirror, Pukling!"
"Only if you stop shouting, Sujad the Traitor."
Sujad's voice lowered itself to a hiss. “Just do as you're told and get to that mirror—or I'll make your head hurt even more!"
"Oh, so you're responsible for that. I might have known—I thought there was something odd about it."
"Pukling!"
Peter put his hands to his worsening head. “All right—all right!” Unwillingly he turned back to the mirror. He had moved some way from it by now and the pain in his head made the reflection look shaky. Reluctantly he approached the glass.
"What do you want?” Deliberately he looked everywhere but at his reflected image.
"Look in the mirror."
"What for?"
"Do as I say!"
"I won't if you insist on shouting."
Sujad's answer was to make the pain in Peter's head so bad he thought he was going to be sick. He put his hands up to his face and peered into the mirror through his fingers. He expected to see this in the mirror but received his first shock—for standing where his own reflection should have been was the figure of Sujad the Great, surrounded by his evil black cloud.
"What do you want?"
"For a start, you stole some power from me. All power obtained from obsidian belongs to the Lord of Obsidian. The Monster of the Lake failed to get retribution for me so I'm taking it for myself. You're becoming too much of a nuisance and I want to get rid of you. Look at yourself in the mirror!"
Peter winced as Sujad's voice rang distortedly in his head. He put his hands down to his side. The image of Sujad started to fade and he found himself looking at the reflection of himself.
For the first time in his life Peter seemed to find his own face fascinating. He was unable to drag his gaze away from it.
"That's better!” Sujad hissed.
Peter suddenly felt as though his brain was being manipulated from outside. The feeling was extremely weird. He gazed at himself in the mirror and his mind told him how dull and uninteresting he looked. Gray eyes and mousy hair. How colorlessly dreary. A round face like a baby's. With all the power I've got surely there's something I can do to make myself better looking. After all, what's the point of being an important member of the Earthlight's cause if I don't look the part? Even Sujad the Great looks like what you'd expect the Lord of Obsidian to look like. I should make myself look more like Sujad the Great.
Peter's gaze bored into the eyes in the mirror. Change, he commanded. And the reflected eyes started to darken until intense black orbs looked at him from the glass. The pallor of his skin disappeared. He was looking at a dark olive complexion. The drabness of his brown hair began to look like a raven's glossy wing. The roundness of the face slowly turned to a high cheek-boned oval. Surely he had seen that face before? Whose was it? That can't be me surely? Sudden panic swept over him. I look like somebody else, but I can't seem to remember who.
He stared hard at the reflection. The black-haired boy in the mirror stared back. Suddenly he
began to feel uneasy. He wasn't really sure that he wanted to look like someone else. It was much better to look uniquely oneself. Ah, yes, of course, he suddenly remembered. Jadus looked like that when he was about my age. Jadus, son of Sujad the Great himself. Who wouldn't want to be the son of the Lord of Obsidian—to be heir to all that power?
He blinked at the image in the mirror—and black-lashed eyes blinked back at him. What am I talking about? I don't want anything to do with the Lord of Obsidian. Why would I want to look like Sujad or Jadus? What's the matter with looking like myself?
The image in the mirror opened its mouth and spoke with what sounded to him like his own voice. “Aren't you tired of looking and being so ordinary? You just called yourself dull and uninteresting. Maybe you are. You must be, because you've never had many friends, have you? Aren't Jamie and John the first real friends you've had?"
"What would you know about it? Who are you anyway?"
"I'm you, Peter,” his own voice replied insistently.
"No!” Peter shouted his denial, but it came out in a croak.
The band of pain around his head tightened. He cringed, putting his head in his hands.
"Keep quiet! And get back to that mirror."
Reluctantly Peter took his hands from his head and turned his eyes back to the mirror. The pain instantly subsided and he found himself looking into the eyes of the boy. The reflected eyes looked back at him with compassion and sorrow.
"I'm not so bad,” the image said sadly in his own voice. “I'm just an ordinary boy like yourself. Can't you learn to like me? Can't I be your friend?"
"I've already got friends."
"But they won't be with you after the holidays when you get back to school. They'll be in Auckland while you're in Wellington. I'll be with you any time you need a friend because I'll literally be you."
"Go away."
"Please! Please!” The eyes in the mirror overflowed with misery.
Peter felt himself relenting as he examined the face. Apart from the head, he seemed to be looking at himself, for the boy was dressed exactly as he was—even down to the slightly rumpled look from getting into bed fully clothed. All the gestures Peter made were also copied by the boy in the mirror.
The Lord of Obsidian [Quest for Earthlight Trilogy Book 2] Page 16
