Heartlight (17 page)

Kate clutched Morpheus’ neck more tightly. She looked toward Grandfather, whose eyes were filled with fear.

“That’s impossible!” he protested. “We should have plenty of time left.”

“But we don’t!” groaned Morpheus. “Something—is blocking—the PCL I need! It’s—draining—me!”

Grandfather shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t understand. Something must be interfering with the conductive property of the rings!”

Kate looked at her butterfly ring. A good portion of the right wing remained; Morpheus should still have plenty of fuel. Then she noticed something else, something that made her gasp: The ring was steadily losing its luster. Before her eyes, its iridescent gleam faded and hardened into a dense, dull gray, as if it had turned into stone.

Even as the butterflies strained to move ahead, their wings grew steadily thinner, lighter, until they looked like faded reflections of themselves. Patches of the wings became invisible, so Kate could see only empty blackness where once she saw iridescent blues and greens.

“There,” called Morpheus, his antennae indicating a flat, rectangular crystal, barely big enough to hold the two butterflies, floating to the left of them. “We—must—land—there.”

“I can go—no further,” moaned Orpheus, his entire body shivering with exhaustion. “I can’t—can’t make it.”

“It’s not far,” cried Morpheus. “You—can—do it.”

Ghosts of their former selves, Morpheus and Orpheus struggled to bring themselves and their passengers closer to the rectangular crystal. With a wrenching effort of their nearly transparent wings, they finally pulled near to the edge. Then, giving one last push, they toppled over onto the crystal, sending Kate and Grandfather skidding across its smooth, glassy surface.

Exhausted, the great butterflies lay prone on the crystal, legs splayed, breathing heavily. Slowly, to Kate’s horror, their wings grew more and more transparent until, finally, they could no longer be seen.

“Morpheus! Your wings!”

The antennae quivered weakly. “I am—fading, Kate. I can’t—”

“Morpheus!” she cried. “Come back!”

Grandfather stepped over to her side. Like the butterflies, his eyes also seemed drained of light. He watched helplessly as the two black bodies slowly faded away entirely. The last thing to disappear was one of Morpheus’ antennae, which quivered valiantly before it vanished.

“What happened, Grandfather? Can’t you fix it? The rings had plenty of PCL left: You said so. You said so. Now we’re dead for sure!”

Kate stepped to the edge of the flat crystal and peered dismally over the edge. “Stranded . . . just waiting for The Darkness to come and get us. We should have stayed down there with Ariella.” She turned again to Grandfather, and in a fearful whisper, she asked: “What’s going to happen now?”

Grandfather heaved a painful sigh. “I don’t know, Kaitlyn. I don’t know.” He studied the dull half-wing on the turquoise band around his finger. “I don’t even know what’s happened to our rings. Something’s blocking their conductivity. We’re still made of heartlight, or else we’d be dead already, frozen, suffocated and irradiated to boot. Somehow the rings still have enough power to keep our heartlights intact, but not enough to bring the butterflies to life. It doesn’t make any sense!”

He brushed a clump of hair off his forehead and focused his regretful eyes on Kate. “Never—not even in my worst dreams—did I think that I would end up putting your life at risk. I should never have made a second ring. My own life is one thing . . . but yours.”

He spun around to face the shining red mass of Trethoniel. Raising his fist, he shouted: “I came here for an answer! I came here for help! And what have you given me? The worst disaster I could ever imagine!”

Dejectedly, he looked at his own reflection in the mirrorlike crystal. “It’s my own fault, not Trethoniel’s. I’m such a stupid old fool. I never expected that Trethoniel’s gift would be death instead of life . . . And I must have botched the formula for making PCL. What a worthless excuse for a scientist I am.”

Kate felt a surge of sympathy for him. How could he have known the rings would fail? He never wanted her to come along in the first place: That was her own idea. He wasn’t to blame for that. All he had ever wanted was to stop the Sun from destroying itself—and life on Earth in the process.

She moved to his side and touched his arm. “It’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault, really.” She laid her head against his white lab coat. “Until this second I never really believed—down inside, I mean—that the Sun would die, and the Earth would die, and we would die. I guess I always thought you’d find an answer somehow. Oh, Grandfather! Now I’m so scared.”

Two bushy eyebrows lifted hesitantly, as if to say: “So am I.”

Wordlessly, they gazed across the starscape of Trethoniel, watching the shifting, seamless sea of colors. Bursts of bright light and floating crystals seemed to dance around them in an elegant minuet. Stellar winds buffeted them, tousling Grandfather’s white hair.

Gently, he put his hand upon Kate’s shoulder. Despite everything, the two lost voyagers felt nudged by a growing awareness of the immense beauty surrounding them.

“Whatever happens,” said Kate softly, “I’m glad I got to see this.” She looked up at Grandfather. “And if something bad has to happen to us, I’d rather it happen while we’re together.”

“So would I, Kaitlyn.” He stroked her braid tenderly. “I just didn’t think it would happen like this. Or so soon! I suppose this is just a lesson in how small and unimportant we are in the grand scheme of things.”

“But you’re always telling me how every living thing is important.”

“Right you are,” replied the old man. “Thank you for reminding me. Every piece of the universe, even the tiniest little snow crystal, matters somehow. We can’t forget that. I have a place in the Pattern, and you do, too. An important place.”

Kate frowned. “I still have trouble swallowing all that.”

“Why?”

“I just don’t—I just don’t feel like I matter much to the universe, that’s all. Morpheus tried to tell me the same thing. I know I matter to you, and to Mom and Dad, and maybe to Ariella—but that’s different. Why do I really matter to anything else?”

Grandfather shrugged despondently. “I suppose—”

A violent jolt interrupted him.

“Hey!” shrieked Kate. “The crystal! It’s moving!”

“My God!”

XII: The Voice

As they held each other tightly, the mirrorlike crystal on which they stood began to buzz with vibrations. Slowly, its once-defined edges became silvery blurs and began to curl upward around them.

With every passing second, the vibrating grew more intense, until they could barely stand upright. The sea of floating crystals was now just a blur.

“We’re trapped!” screamed Kate, as the rim of the crystal closed around them.

“Dear God!” exclaimed Grandfather.

The vibrations increased to the point where Grandfather and Kate toppled over in a pile. As the crystalline mass extended itself, the hollow in the middle where they stood began to deepen, like a bowl. At the same time, the crystal grew more and more clear, until finally it was perfectly transparent. Eventually, the edges joined above them in a seamless unity.

Suddenly, the vibrations ceased.

Slowly, cautiously, they regained their feet.

“It’s a globe,” said Kate, incredulous. “A big globe.”

Indeed, they found themselves standing inside a large, transparent sphere. The great sea of mist around them whistled ominously.

“I’m scared,” said Kate.

Then came the Voice.

From all around them, made from the deepest tones in the universe, came a bass-bass voice. It sounded as if someone had begun to play a titanic cello, whose strings were as long as a galaxy, and whose reverberations rolled out of a bottomless black hole.

“
You need not fear.
” The words echoed across the starscape. “
I am the Voice of Trethoniel.
”

Trying to regain his composure, Grandfather stood erect and tall in the middle of the great globe. He bowed slowly and respectfully.

Kate glanced at him worriedly. How could they be sure this was really the voice of the star? How could they know it was not really The Darkness or some other nightmarish creature?

“I am glad you have arrived. I am glad you have come to me,” rumbled the Voice like a thundering storm.

“We are glad to be here,” Grandfather replied, with more than a touch of fear in his voice. “I am Doctor Miles Prancer of the planet Earth, and this is my granddaughter Kaitlyn.”

“You have come just in time,” reverberated the reply.

“Yes,” answered Grandfather. “How did you know? Our Sun is on the edge of—”

“No!” bellowed the Voice. “I speak not of your Sun. You have come just in time to save another star.”

“Another star?” Grandfather’s brow furrowed. “What star is that?”

The winds swept around the globe before the Voice spoke again, answering the question with a single word: “Trethoniel.”

“Help Trethoniel?” cried Kate. “Are you really in danger? Is it because of The Darkness?”

“Patience, young one,” commanded the Voice. “At the appropriate time, everything will be explained to you. If Trethoniel can be rescued from its current danger, it may even be possible to save that insignificant star you call the Sun. A strong Trethoniel can do many things. First, however, you must prove your worth by helping me.”

“It may be insignificant to you,” protested Kate, “but it’s the only Sun we have. And we don’t have much time!”

“You have time enough to help Trethoniel. My need is far greater than yours.”

“But—”

“Quiet, Kate!” said Grandfather, squeezing her hand. “How can we help you, Great Star?”

“Soon enough, I shall explain. All you need to know is that the music of Trethoniel is in grave danger.”

What kind of danger? wondered Kate. From The Darkness? From the same disease that had stricken the Sun? She had hoped that Trethoniel would harbor the solution to their problems. Why then did this voice make her feel so afraid?

She turned anxiously to Grandfather. He stood in rapt attention, lost in thought. His face showed great anticipation, as if a long-awaited dream had finally come true.

A deep, full laughter rolled through the mists like a tsunami. “The young one does not yet believe I am Trethoniel.”

Grandfather looked at Kate with surprise. She squeezed his hand fearfully.

The Voice came again, but more gently this time. “Very good. Such independence is one reason your little species has survived as long as it has, despite its other qualities.” Then it grew serious, almost threatening. “But I am what I say I am. I do not have time to explain myself to small minds. And I hold you both as mere specks of dust in a bubble of my own creation.”

“Kate,” whispered Grandfather urgently. “Don’t upset the star. It may be quick to anger, and its anger could be terrible. Remember that without our butterflies we have no escape!”

“But—” Kate objected faintly. “I was just feeling—”

“Feeling what?”

She looked into Grandfather’s eyes. “I don’t know exactly. Afraid, I guess.”

Grandfather pulled her nearer. “Don’t worry, Kaitlyn. I’ll do what is best for us. You know I will.”

He turned to the swirling mist. “She is only a child,” he apologized. “She means no harm to Trethoniel.”

They waited for a reply, but no reply came. Instead, a strange tenseness filled the air, a tenseness which brewed and bubbled until it felt like struggle, and pain. Then came a faint sound, or combination of sounds, welling up in the distance. A healing, joyous sound, like the celebration of birds at dawn’s first light. Could it be? Yes! It was the music!

Then suddenly, without warning, the fair melody faded away. Deep in her chest, Kate felt again the touch of deadly coldness. She gasped. It was as if The Darkness had just flown past, brushing her heart with its poisonous tail.

“The music!” she cried. “Bring it back!”

“I am trying,” declared the Voice, its unfathomably deep tones weighed down by an ancient sadness, too old and too immense to be comprehended by younger beings. “I am trying to save the music from total destruction.”

The lovely sounds had vanished completely. All that remained was the empty whistling of the winds.

“How can we be of service to you?” Grandfather called into the starscape.

“I shall explain soon enough,” bellowed the Voice. “But first, I wish to show you some of my greatest marvels. I wish to show you the beauty that gives birth to the music you have heard.”

Grandfather’s eyes flamed brightly. “We would be honored to see any marvels you care to show us.”

“But we have no butterflies,” objected Kate meekly. “How will we—”

“You will need no butterflies,” boomed the reply. “I shall carry you, and you shall see some of my finest treasures. And perhaps you who are so young and full of doubt will eventually come to show me your trust.”

Kate flushed with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to—”

A sudden jolt cut her short.

“The globe! It’s moving!”

Grandfather reached for her arm and steadied her. “Stay close to me, Kaitlyn. I know you have your doubts . . . and so do I. But we’re now at the mercy of this star, and I don’t want to upset it. It could even be Trethoniel’s energy that’s keeping us alive as heartlight, now that our rings have failed. I’m afraid we must do as it says.”

“But, Grandfather—”

“No, Kate. If you don’t trust the star, then at least trust me. I’ve made some bad mistakes, but I still know what is best for us.” His eyes held hers for several seconds.

At last she lowered her gaze. “I don’t know why I’m being so difficult. Maybe it was getting swallowed by The Darkness that did it. That whole experience still feels so . . . so . . . close. I’m sorry. Of course I trust you.”

Grandfather’s expression softened. “And I trust you. Your instincts aren’t all wrong. I’m not completely comfortable with our host, either. But I know enough to be sure this is the only chance we may still have to find a way to help the Sun. And right now, we have no choice.”

XIII: Trethoniel