by M Norton
Closing the door, they joined Peter in the hallway, and continued down the passage.
A dozen steps past the last room, Navashay stopped and turned around. She stared at the heavy wooden door of the last room.
“What?” Krys asked.
“I feel like I’m supposed to return to that room, like I’m being drawn back.” She stared back up the passageway. After a moment, she exhaled and turned around. “It’s probably nothing. Let’s go.” She took a step deeper into the passage, stopped and spun around.
“I feel it too.” Peter gazed at the closed door.
“Well, I don’t feel anything.” Krys cocked his head and stared at the door.
“We’re supposed to go in there,” Peter said, then bolted up the incline toward the room they had just left. Navashay ran behind him.
“Wait!” Krys yelled after his friends. “I didn’t feel the urge.” He raced to catch them. “Peter, no!”
Peter yanked the door open and he and Navashay dashed inside.
Krys skidded to a halt outside. “Get out of there, quick!”
“We’re supposed to be here!” Peter reached out and pulled Krys into the room.
The door slammed and two of the torches blew out. Krys, Peter and Navashay jumped.
“Uh, oh!” said Peter.
Krys dropped his dead torch and ran to the door. The flush of fear raced over his skin. He turned the iron ring and pushed. It didn’t budge.
“Give me a hand,” he yelled over his shoulder.
Peter laid their only source of light on the stone floor. He and Navashay joined Krys and they pushed.
Beads of perspiration ran into Krys’ eyes.
“We’re trapped,” Navashay whispered.
A low rumbling sounded and the floor began to quake.
Krys and Peter each placed a hand on the wall, trying to maintain their footing. Krys steadied Navashay.
“What’s happening?” Navashay yelled.
The side walls vibrated. Krys looked up as a huge chunk of the ceiling fell. He tried to swallow, but his throat and mouth were bone-dry.
The vibrating walls closed in on them, as if pushed by unseen hands. “How do we stop them?” Krys tried to hold his hysteria in check.
They scrambled to the center of the shrinking room and dodged as more blocks fell around them, one barely missing the only burning torch.
Krys’ gaze darted around. Dust filled the air, swirling around them. He held his breath.
Peter extended his hand to one wall. “Clastaliad borimizod gindis.” But the walls continued to scrape inward.
Navashay looked at Peter. “Why didn’t it work? It worked on the lizardmen. Why not now?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because they were alive and this isn’t.” Peter’s voice shook. “Or, like the light balls, some magic isn’t working.”
Krys looked at his friend’s hands. They shook too. Krys’ heart pounded and chest tightened.
Peter’s gaze darted from Navashay to Krys. “I don’t know a spell for this!” His eyes were wide with fear.
They huddled closer in the center. The crushing walls moved nearer and rubble built up as they scraped forward, tumbling and preventing Krys and Peter from reaching them.
The rumbling drowned out their screams for help. Terrified, they clutched each other.
Being reduced to piles of flesh, blood, and splintered bone wasn’t the way Krys had imagined dying. He needed to find another way out. Looking up, he found only buckling stones as the walls pushed steadily inward. He glanced to each side. The intruding walls were a mere arm’s-length away. He dared not look into the panicked faces of Peter and Navashay any longer.
Images of his parents flashed through Krys’ mind. No one would ever know what happened to them. He held his breath as the walls squeezed closer. Closing his eyes, he waited for the crushing rock to end his life.
An odd thought struck. “Wait a minute—I don’t smell any dust, and it’s all around us.” He reached out again to touch a wall closing in on them, his fingers met only air. The deafening rumble stopped.
The encroaching walls shattered like exploding glass and the door popped open. The illusion of dust disappeared.
They stood in the empty room as it appeared when they entered.
Peter pressed a shaking hand over his heart. His chest heaved as he sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m beginning to not like this castle at all.”
“Why would someone do this?” Navashay’s voice cracked.
“It’s got to be the curse!” Krys said.
Peter bolted for the door. “Let’s get out of here!”
Krys snatched up the torches, and he and Navashay followed Peter back into the passage. With trembling hands, he relit the two dead ones with the burning torch and handed them to his friends. He pushed the door shut with a slam.
They collapsed against the wall in the corridor. Krys drew in several deep breaths and willed his racing heart to slow. “The curse is really trying to keep us from Raven. We need to watch out even more now.”
Navashay and Peter both nodded.
Still shaking, Krys stood after several minutes. “We need to get moving again.” He led the other two down the sloped corridor.
They traveled in silence until the passage opened up into a dark room.
“This has to be the dungeon,” Krys said.
They held their torches out in front of them. “You go search the other wall,” Krys told Peter, pointing to their left. “We’ll go around this way.” Krys nudged Navashay to the right.
“Wait.” Navashay grabbed Krys’ arm and stopped him. “Do we even want to go in here?” She looked at Krys with wide eyes.
“We have to,” said Krys. “Curse or not, Raven’s hidden in here.” He looked around the darkness. “Somewhere.” He spied a snuffed torch on the wall behind Navashay. He stuck his torch to the charred end of it and a bright pool of light surrounded her. “We’ll light any torch we find.” He smiled.
Navashay gave him a feeble nod as Peter began his trek around the other side.
Krys ran his fingers against the rough stone as they explored their side, lighting each torch as they came to it, brightening the room more and more. Soon the whole dungeon came into view. He and Navashay continued around the room until they met up again with Peter.
Krys scanned the room. He shook his head.
“What’s wrong?” Navashay asked.
“This place looks, well—new, other than the fact that it’s over two centuries old.” Krys continued to survey the short, yet wide room. He picked up a leather restraint. “Nothing in here appears to have been used before.” He dropped it on a wooden bench.
Chains, shackles, and metal cages filled the room. Leather straps, embedded with sharp-looking spikes, hung from the walls on heavy metal rings and barbed hooks. A wooden table stood in the center with leather straps bolted at the corners. A raised fire pit stood near the table with irons of various sizes within. Huge metal hammers, dense wooden mallets, deep wooden buckets, and a variety of strange mechanical devices Krys couldn’t identify surrounded them.
“This stuff is disturbing,” Peter said, walking a few paces away.
“At least it doesn’t appear that anyone was tortured here.” Navashay scanned the instruments capable of inducing extreme pain.
“Not more doors!” said Peter from behind Krys and Navashay. Several of them stood embedded in the walls in a smaller section of the dungeon.
Krys walked to the nearest one. He placed his hand on the iron ring. His heart hammered in his chest, knowing he was getting closer to Raven. He pulled and the door creaked open.
Extending the torch into the room, Krys let out a ragged breath. “Empty.” But he didn’t relax. The rooms of the passageway had also been empty. He mentally braced himself for yet another trap.
He and Navashay checked half the doors, Peter walked away to check the rest.
“They’re all empty,” Peter said from across the room
.
“Just like before,” Navashay muttered.
“I have one more to check,” Krys said over his shoulder as Peter approached.
Krys pulled the last one open. Behind it, he found another door covered by heavy chains and three locks.
“This looks promising,” Peter said with a grin. “Raven has to be behind all these locks.” He pointed to one of them. “Quantajis oliastomar.”
Krys watched the chains with anticipation but the spell had no effect. He turned to Peter. “Are you saying the spell right?”
“You’re asking me that?” Peter raised his eyebrows at Krys. He extended his hand and tried again. This time he touched one of the locks. Again, nothing happened.
“The curse?” asked Navashay.
Krys shrugged, then grabbed the lock with both hands and gave it a violent shake. “Open, darn you!”
“What spell do you think would work?” Peter asked Krys.
Krys stared at Peter in shock.
Peter shook his head. “What was I thinking?”
Navashay let out an exasperated sigh behind them. “Are you two always this dim-witted?”
Krys and Peter turned to her and said at the same time, “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re idiots,” she snapped, glaring at each of them, her brows knitted. She pressed her lips together. Her expression told Krys that she felt he and Peter had to know what she was talking about. “The journal,” she said to Krys. “Norris Anderwood’s spell.”
Krys felt a rush of relief course through him. “Oh, yeah!” He pulled the old book from its pouch and opened it to the proper page.
The face of Norris Anderwood coalesced out of vapor once more. “Only my descendent can evoke the spell to release the good Wizard Raven.” The face disappeared.
Krys gulped. “B-But—” he stammered. “I-I can’t do a spell this important.” He turned to Peter, his guts tying in a knot.
Peter stepped toward Krys and said in a soft, calm voice, “Sure you can. You’ve done plenty since we left the village. And a lot of it big magic.”
Krys stared at Peter, not knowing how to make him understand. The spells were becoming more and more important.
“Come on, Krys.” Navashay placed her hand on his arm. “You can do it.”
“You’re just going to have to believe you can.” Peter looked at the door covered with locked chains. “Because you’re the only one who can.”
Sweat rolled down Krys’ face.
“Raven can’t free himself,” Navashay said.
Peter took Krys’ elbow and steered him to the door.
With the journal open in his hand, Krys stood in front of the chains. He looked at the cryptic words in the old tome. He ran his finger across them. “Hmmm, there seems to be something else here.” He held his face closer. “The spell that was there before, then two more lines.” He held the journal out for Peter to see.
“The last line contains elements of an opening spell.” Peter tapped on the page. “But the middle one is totally different. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Navashay looked at the page. “It seems to be made up of some sort of musical notes. Maybe you should sing them.” She looked up at Krys. “Then incant the last line.”
“Ha!” Peter said. “He couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket! Believe me.” He grinned at Navashay. “I’ve heard him sing.”
“Well, the notes appear to be part of the second spell.” Then the meaning of the notes hit him—the ocarina. He heaved his pack around and opened it. He dug around and pulled out the battered terracotta instrument. He held it in his hand and peered at the only object to survive the fire.
Peter stared at it, and then Krys. “It all makes sense, now.” He smiled. “Let’s concentrate on the first spell and get through those chains.”
Krys handed the journal to Peter. He drew in a deep breath and pointed at a lock. “What’s the wording?”
Peter read the spell to Krys, who mumbled it several times before he tried it. “Alsoor mes-choris reslomar toszanicor.”
The lock popped open and a chain fell in a heap on the floor.
Krys then released the other two locks and chains, confidence bubbling inside him.
It took all three of them to move the heavy chains out of the way.
The sound of howling wind filled the room and the door began to shake. It blew off its hinges, knocking Krys, Peter and Navashay on their backs.
Krys felt battered all over, but was still able to roll out of the way and throw his arms over his head as the wooden door crashed into a stone pillar nearby.
When the shower of wooden splinters subsided, he looked up at his friends. They both lay on the floor, their arms held over their heads. “You two okay?” He crawled to his feet and helped Navashay up. Peter stood up a few feet away.
On wobbly legs, Krys approached the opening, stepping over the splintered remains of the door. A faint glow emanated from the room.
He crossed the threshold, Peter and Navashay in his wake. An explosion of light burst outward from the center of the small enclosure, making him shield his eyes from the brightness.
Raven had to be in this room. He was so close to victory, Krys could taste its sweetness.
Intense energy pushed past Krys like strong wind, blowing his hair and clothing backwards, and making him stumble back into the doorway. He fought to stay standing.
A high-pitched sound pierced the air, making Krys’ ears hurt. He flung his hands up to protect them. He looked at Peter and Navashay, whose hands also cupped the sides of their heads.
Krys turned, his head down, and pushed forward, fighting the energy’s current.
As the initial release of power subsided, Krys peered at the middle of the room. A large, shimmering globe floated in the air. Krys blinked. A man clad in shimmering opalescence floated motionless within the orb.
“Raven!” Peter whispered. “Do you think he’s alive?”
Krys moved to get a closer look. “I’m not sure.” He stepped within inches of the globe and looked in. The man inside appeared to be asleep. His long, white robes fluttered in an unfelt current. He had a kind face and long salt-and-pepper hair and beard. Reaching out, Krys touched the surface of Raven’s prison. It felt cool, but solid.
Krys stepped back and gazed at the scratched ocarina in his hand. Butterflies erupted inside him. “I guess it’s time,” he said with a slight shake to his voice. “Can you hold the journal open for me?” He felt a rush of excitement and his hands trembled as he handed the book to Peter. He brought the old ocarina to his lips and played the strange notes from the journal.
An eerie, yet beautiful tune drifted through the room.
The glistening sphere shook. The wizard’s emerald green eyes snapped open, staring unfocused ahead.
Krys jumped. His heart felt like it would burst from his chest.
“Say the second spell!” Krys barely heard Navashay’s whisper.
Peter held the old book out and he and Krys studied the strange words on the page. Peter instructed Krys in the proper pronunciation of them.
Krys lifted his hand and opened his mouth. Before he could utter a syllable, the floor vibrated violently and knocked all three off their feet again. A large crack in the rock floor opened near Peter. Intense light streamed from its depths and the air in the room rushed toward it.
The crack widened to a large crevice. A gnarled hand with raised veins and burnt tissue emerged from the hole and wrapped long, yellowed nails around Peter’s ankle.
[Back to Top]
Chapter 19 - Grimm’s Desire
“Help me!” Peter yelled, terror skewing his features.
Krys and Navashay scrambled to their friend’s outstretched hand.
The head and torso of a black-cloaked figure emerged from the crack in the floor, its face shrouded in shadows under a heavy hood. Krys gasped and jumped back. As Peter tried to crawl away, the figure dug its nails into his back and dragged him deeper into the
jagged-edged hole. He screamed in agony, the color draining from his face. “Help me,” he yelled again, his fearful breaths coming in gasps. Clawing at the stone floor, he left lines in the residual dust layer.
He lost his grip on the journal and dropped it. It balanced precariously on the edge of the crack.
Navashay dove toward him. She slid across the floor on her belly and grabbed for his outstretched hand. It slipped from hers and she reached out and grasped his forearm.
Krys eyed the teetering journal, but helped his friend instead, taking a large handful of Peter’s tunic. He and Navashay began to haul Peter up.
The material of the shirt tore and Krys watched in horror as Navashay was dragged across the floor by Peter’s weight. Both she and Peter almost plummeted into the crevice.
In the instant that followed, Peter slipped his fingers into the space between two floor stones, stopping his downward plunge, while Navashay locked her hands around Peter’s wrist and arm. She scooted away from the hole, pulling him as she inched backwards.
Scrambling back to his friends, Krys stole a glance at the journal, balanced on the edge of the dark abyss. He tried to think of a spell to use to save it, but his mind tumbled with fear for his best friend, leaving no ability to concentrate on anything else.
A thundering voice rattled the stone walls, making it hard to know whether it came from deep inside the belly of the castle or from the figure. “You will not proceed!”
The journal tipped further, wobbling on the precipice.
Perspiration drenched Peter’s face.
Terror coursed through Krys as he grabbed another handful of Peter’s tunic and his other forearm. He and Navashay pulled hard. Peter’s sweaty arms slipped in their grasp and he slid deeper into the hole.
The journal lost its battle against gravity and, as if in slow motion, plummeted toward the darkness, its pages fluttering through the air as it fell. Peter pulled his arm from Krys, reached out and made a grab for the book. As he did, Peter sank even deeper.
Krys couldn’t see whether his friend had saved the book or not. He dried his hands on his trousers and grabbed for Peter again. He dug his heels in the space between floor blocks and clenched is jaw. He yanked harder on Peter’s arm.
