The Shaktra

by Christopher Pike

  “You did not see the Shaktra?”

  “No.”

  “It was here.” Ali swallowed. “Amma has been marked.”

  “I know.”

  “She’s my mother, isn’t she?”

  Trae nodded. “She could not tell you, you had to discover it for yourself.”

  “Why couldn’t she tell me?”

  “You had to see the truth with your own eyes to know the truth. You had to see yourself, so that you could know that there are two sides to the same coin—human life and elemental life.”

  Ali nodded. “We are all humans, and we are all elementals. At one time we’re on Earth, at another time we’re here. We cycle back and forth.” She paused. “But I knew that already.”

  “Did you?”

  “Well, not clearly. But I still don’t understand how Amma could not tell me who she was. I mean, she was my mom, she is my mom, and all this time I’ve missed her so much, and I was with her, and. . .” Ali could not finish; a spring of fresh tears would not let her. Trae spoke gently.

  “Perhaps you knew the truth with your head, but not your heart. That is key to understanding this great mystery. The elemental is the magical side of each individual, the heart, while the human being is the intellectual side, the head. One is not complete without the other and yet, so far, few humans—or elementals for that matter—realize that.”

  His words were profound, but did nothing to dispel her grief.

  “Amma still should have told me,” she whispered.

  Trae stared at her with his own pain. “She did not expect it to end this way. She thought this moment, up here on this kloudar, would be the greatest moment of your life. That it would be magical.” He added, “It was our hope that magic would enable you to regain your complete memory of Geea.”

  “She thought the shock of what I saw in there would trigger the memories?”

  “Yes. That it would act as a catalyst.” Trae paused, to cough, and the faint but explicit hope in his next remark could not be disguised. “Do you remember more now?”

  Ali heard an unspoken level to his question, sensed the desperation in it, actually, buried beneath the words. “What are you asking?”

  Trae hesitated. “Do you know how Geea planned to defeat the Shaktra?”

  Ali hung her head. “No. I don’t. . .nothing is there.”

  Trae took time to absorb the bad news. When he spoke next, his voice was very weak. “At least now you can see why it’s hopeless for the elementals to invade the Earth. Neither side can win. They would just be killing themselves.”

  “Then why does the Shaktra want this war?” she asked.

  Trae sighed, and closed his eyes. “It must be insane.”

  She went to ask another question, but Trae had blacked out. Worried about the cold, she pulled him farther inside the cave, beside Amma, and did the same with Ra. Her favorite warrior did not appear wounded, but her touch failed to wake him, and she could see that he would not live much longer at this altitude.

  Ali went in search of Drash, found him lying so near the rim of the kloudar that a strong wind could have pushed him over the edge. His side was badly burned—many of his scales had been melted away—and his right wing lay shattered beneath him, his broken bones sticking through his torn skin and into the bloody snow. His blood was a dark red, as she had noted before, so much like a human’s.

  Yet he was alive, his red eyes opened as she put her hand on his side.

  “How do you feel?” she asked.

  He tried to smile. “Like a dragon,” he said.

  “Did you recognize the one you fought?”

  “My uncle, Chashar.” He added softly, “He did not hesitate to strike me.”

  “Did you see the Shaktra on its back?”

  “There was something there. . . Drash did not get a clear look.”

  Ali examined his broken limb. “You’re not going to get off this kloudar without two healthy wings,” she said.

  Weary, he closed his eyes. “None of us is going to get off this kloudar.”

  Ali shook her head, and sat in the snow by his side, so near the edge of the cold mountain that she could see practically the entire elemental kingdom in one glance. From her pocket she drew out the gold box of stardust, and poured the blue material onto her palm. For a long time she studied it—their salvation, or her death. Drash opened one eye and stared at her.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Playing our last card,” she said, and with that she swallowed the lot.

  CHAPTER

  24

  Karl had locked them back up against the wall in the cave, this time using long bolts that were hammered through their shackles into the crusty stone walls, and it had made them both think—for certain—that they were never going to see the light of day again. But then Karl had left them alone for the night, and to Steve’s surprise, as well as Cindy’s, the pain in their arms never returned to the previous level, although they were far from comfortable. It was as if Nira’s healing had staying power. The blisters on Steve’s palm never came back, and Cindy’s cut had looked worse than it was. It had bled for only a few minutes.

  During the night they both managed to doze, and when they were awake they mostly talked about inconsequential stuff: where they had gone on holidays, what movies and books they had liked, people at school. They scarcely mentioned Ms. Smith at all.

  The dim cave disallowed any clear concept of time, but Steve figured at one point that the night had to be long over, and that it might even be late the following day. He was confused why Ms. Smith had not returned to question them further, but who knew what a witch like that got up to in her spare time? He hoped he got to see her once more before he died. He wanted to spit in her face.

  Cindy felt the same way. They comforted themselves that they had not given Ms. Smith any useful information that could be used against Ali. That was one good thing. Their fairy friend had been wise not to share with them her deepest thoughts. They just prayed, even if they were doomed, that Ali was able to return and kill Ms. Smith. If the witch was not the Shaktra, she was still bad news. Most of all, they hoped Nira got away from her evil mother, if the woman was indeed her mother. They both loved the girl, they hardly knew why.

  “Oh my gosh!” a voice cried out in horror while they were in the midst of one of their mutual dozing attempts. Opening their eyes, Steve and Cindy were thrilled to see Rose, with Nira in tow. The nanny rushed toward them, anguish on her face, and pulled on their chains. Of course she got nowhere, but that was not the point. Someone knew they were being held captive!

  Steve smiled. “We are so happy to see you, you have no idea.”

  Rose was on the verge of tears. “Nira’s been trying to drag me down here all day, I didn’t know what had gotten into her. But I should have listened, you poor dears. How long have you been here?”

  “If it’s evening, it’s been more than thirty hours,” Cindy said.

  Rose was a mass of nerves, she kept pulling on the chains. “We’ve got to get you out of here! We’ve got to get you out now!”

  Steve sought to calm her. “Relax a second. Is Ms. Smith upstairs?”

  “No. Is she the one who put you down here?”

  “It wasn’t the Easter Bunny,” Cindy muttered.

  “It was her, but let’s worry about that later. Is Karl upstairs?” Steve asked.

  Rose grimaced. “Who’s Karl?”

  “A kid our age, he carries a mean switchblade,” Cindy said.

  Rose shook her head. “The only people in the house are Nira and me. This is criminal! I have to get you out of here!”

  “We’re lucky the house is empty,” Steve said. “These chains have been hammered into the wall. They’re not coming off—they’ll have to be cut. Do you know if Ms. Smith keeps a chain saw or heavy duty clippers in her garage?”

  Rose nodded anxiously. “The gardener has these clippers that can cut through anything. I saw him use them on a fence when Ms
. Smith expanded the backyard. The fence was down in minutes.”

  “That sounds perfect,” Steve said. “Hurry and get them. You can leave Nira here.”

  Rose appeared dazed, touched the little girl’s head. “Will she be safe down here?”

  “We’ll keep an eye on her,” Cindy said.

  Nira did not speak, or show any emotion, while Rose was gone. But Steve and Cindy sure did. They could not stop smiling, they could not stop blabbering. They were not going to die! They were going to be rescued!

  “You saved us!” Cindy beamed at Nira.

  The little girl did not return the smile, nor did her dark eyes brighten.

  Rose returned in five minutes, and her clippers lived up to their promise. They were big for her to handle, but it was clear to Steve the blades were made of an alloy that was capable of cutting even stainless steel. He had to carefully guide Rose as to where to place the blades, but the second she clamped down on the wooden handles, the shackles snapped. In two minutes he was free, and he had Cindy loose seconds later. Cindy took Nira’s hand as they limped upstairs behind Rose. The circulation in their limbs was poor, but at least Rose knew which ladders to take.

  Once again, they were opening the front door when they ran into Karl.

  He came off the porch like a madman, slamming the door at his back, pinning Rose to the wall, his blade at her neck, drawing a tiny drop of blood, which traced a thin red line down the nanny’s neck. A wave of black despair descended over Steve. It was not easy, no it was really very hard, to go from ecstasy to terror in the space of two seconds.

  Karl sneered. “Don’t move an inch or I’ll cut her throat!”

  “Oh God, oh God!” Rose gasped, trembling in his hands.

  Steve held up his palms. “Calm down. You don’t have to cut her.”

  Karl was a maniac. “Don’t tell me what to do!”

  “What is your problem, anyway?” Cindy demanded.

  “Please, please!” Rose cried.

  “What do you want?” Steve asked.

  Karl grinned, he appeared possessed. The pupils of his eyes were three sizes too big, and he could not speak without panting. Steve honestly believed that Ms. Smith had cast some sort of spell on him. For all his wickedness on top of the mountain, he had at least acted coherent. Now he was like a wild beast.

  “Information!” he swore. “If you don’t give it to me, I cut her throat! Right now, right in front of you!”

  “Boy, you need to chill,” Cindy said, but she was as white as Rose.

  “Ask what you want. We’ll try to answer,” Steve said.

  “How did Ali activate the Yanti?” he demanded.

  “We don’t know,” Cindy replied. “We told your witch boss as much. I was near Ali and Lord Vak when she activated it, and I heard her whisper something into it. But I don’t know what that something was. That’s the truth.”

  “You’re hurting me!” Rose moaned.

  Karl shook her, turned back to them. “Not good enough! What did she whisper?”

  Cindy gestured. “It was some kind of chant.”

  “Was it one word? Two words? Three words?”

  Cindy shook her head. “It might have been one word, said over and over again. So much was going on right then, I couldn’t hear it. Ali was careful, I doubt Lord Vak heard what she said.”

  “Tell me more!” Karl cried, the veins on his neck bulging.

  “If she doesn’t know, she doesn’t know,” Steve pleaded. “Let Rose go.”

  “Does Ali think Ms. Smith is the Shaktra?” Karl yelled.

  “She suspects! The last time we saw her, she didn’t know anything for sure!” Steve said. “We told Ms. Smith that! There’s nothing more we can say!”

  Karl glanced at Rose, then suddenly relaxed his grip on the nanny. The change in his demeanor was drastic—he went from a psychopath to an easygoing thirteen-year-old in a heartbeat. Rose, too, appeared to relax quickly. Wiping the line of blood from her neck, she went so far as to smile, and Steve began to get a sick feeling deep inside. Especially when Rose stood taller, and the air around her changed, and the room grew cold.

  Her voice, when she spoke next, was not her own.

  “That is most unfortunate, that you have nothing left to say,” she said.

  Steve stared, suddenly having trouble focusing on her face. “Who are you?”

  In reply, Rose took a step closer, slowly removed her gloves, and yes, she wore black gloves, as Ms. Smith wore white ones—a coincidence he should have paid more attention to from the start. He studied her hand as she brought it near, and the skin was Caucasian, not typical of many Colombian nannies. The fingers were long and graceful, the nails were painted a lovely red. For a second he could have sworn he was looking at Ms. Smith’s hand.

  Then she touched him, brushed his chin, and her skin was like one hard scar.

  Steve blinked. In between the instant his eyes closed, and opened, he saw it.

  Her hand—a purple and red monstrosity. The disfigurement was total; the fingers looked as if they had been boiled in tar and bandaged with rags and left to heal in a desert. In that brief glimpse, he saw so much agony that he recoiled in the fear that it might enter his own body and drive him insane. That was the answer, of course, even though he was seeing only a piece of the puzzle. The burnt hand was insignificant. Her whole body had been roasted that night she and Hector had crashed into that tree.

  He was looking at Lucy Pillar, Rose, Ms. Smith—they were all the same.

  He could not stop looking at her. “You are the Shaktra,” he said.

  Her face transformed into that of Ms. Smith.

  “And you are dead,” she said sweetly.

  CHAPTER

  25

  The inner sounds had gone away and left her behind on a barren plain. The sky above her was the same as the ground below—gray and featureless. But in the emptiness she heard a distant roar that seemed a compilation of all the music and words she had ever heard in her life. The roar seemed to encompass every thought she had ever had, every desire she had ever dreamed, and she moved toward it with the hope that it sprung from a place of love and light. Yet the truth was, she did not know where she was going—only that she was lost. Why, she could not even remember her own name. . .

  The plain disappeared, the roar became her mind, and it howled like the wind, and crashed like the waves of the ocean. And yet there was a silence in the center of it that was so perfect, so complete, that she was willing to be with the roar for eternity as long as she could stay near the stillness. How she craved it! Not because it could teach her things, or show her visions, or grant her powers. All it did was comfort, and that was all she wanted right then. . .

  She did not know how long she stayed in that glorified state, listening to the roar and seeking the silence, but as she once again became aware of time, she realized she had a body. It was in a cold place, where the air was thin, and there was misery all around—people hurt, elementals suffering. And oh how she hated to leave her newfound peace to attend to them, but it was as if the love she had discovered in the center, beyond the roar, told her to go back. Yes, Alosha, it is time to return and heal the pain of the worlds, and when you have, you can return. . . .

  Ali opened her eyes atop the highest kloudar and looked out on the green world.

  The sun would set in an hour, in both realms. She did not have much time.

  Slowly, she climbed to her feet, taking stock of her body, her energy. There was no wound to her right hand—it had healed. Every cell in her body felt as if it were on fire, but it was a cool fire, one that could draw unlimited sustenance from the snow, and the air, and the stars, even from Anglar itself. Ali felt as if there was no power of Geea’s she could not command. . .

  She was practically a fairy now. Queen of the fairies, with the strength to save her kingdom from the enemy. But did she have the wisdom to rescue them? The stardust had given her much, but Ali knew wisdom could not be gained by swallowing a powd
er. It was an issue she would have to worry about later.

  Ali stepped to Drash, who still had one eye open, put her hands on his head, and let her field expand out to such a distance that she might have been able to heal an army of dragons. Then she focused on her friend, and the warm light that pulsed through her was as blue as it was green. There was yellow, too, bright as the sun above the Earth, and she felt a part of both worlds, and even a kinship with Anglar, where the ice maidens came and went as they pleased. To heal the dragon required only a fraction of her immense power, and yet she would have given her life for him. That was the deep secret of Geea’s healing—her empathy.

  Drash opened both eyes two minutes later, noticed his wing was restored. A tear slipped over his burning nostrils, before turning to steam. “You are the one,” he said.

  She patted him on the head. “You are the next king of the dragons.”

  Ali healed Ra and Trae in quick succession, and they sat up together and huddled in the cave beside Amma, and Drash was close when she kneeled beside her fairy mother and put a hand on her head and one on her heart and called upon the light and grace that flowed through her body. But even her tremendous power rebounded as it hit a thin halo of darkness that Ali could now see encased Amma’s head. Crushed, she sat back on her knees, staring at Amma’s dazed expression, and her tears were no different than the ones she had shed when she had found her mother marked. Her newfound power had changed many things, but not that.

  “Keep trying,” Ra said. “You can do it.”

  Shaking her head, Ali stood, stared down at Amma. “She is beyond my help. . .for now,” she said.

  Ra jumped up. “You don’t know that for sure.”

  She looked at him. “I know.”

  Ra searched her eyes, worried. “What are you going to do?”

  She spoke to Trae. “Drash will fly the three of you to the secret stronghold. Go there now, take care of Amma. I’ll come when I can.”

  “You don’t know where it is,” Ra protested.

  Ali nodded. “I remember.”

  Trae stood, spoke hesitantly. “Since Amma is marked, it might not be a good idea to take her there. The Shaktra might find us through her.”