Secret of the Giants' Staircase (13 page)

“Don't tell me,” Owen said, sighing loudly. “We're going back to those statues of dead people.”

“Yes, we are,” Jesse said, “because those dead people could save your life.”

Castor was already climbing the stairs that led to the wine cellar. Zora, cawing loudly, followed them, still staying a distance away from Owen.

“Wait,” Jesse said, and Castor paused, looking curiously back to see what the delay was. “The words in the stone said that one of the three statues had to be a son of Westlund.”

“One is,” Castor said. He frowned and corrected himself. “Was.” He turned again. “Hurry, please. Night comes.”

Jesse didn't need any reminder of what would happen when night came. There were still several empty compartments in the Westlund crypt. He wanted to keep it that way.

There was no sun to be found in Lidia. Jesse had been looking forward to seeing the sun again after a day in the tunnels, but instead, a fierce storm raged in the swamps. As soon as they stepped out of the palace, raindrops advanced against them like an attacking army, driving them back and pounding a steady, even beat into the stone of the ruins. Thunder sounded, and lightning tore across the sky.

To Jesse, it seemed like all of nature was violently protesting the coming of night—the night of the circle moon, when he, Castor and Owen would be sacrificed in a ritual to find the lost treasure. That thought made him work even harder to keep up with the others as they hurried through the city to the citadel. Between Owen's boundless energy, Castor's long strides and the driving rain, it was a difficult task.

Jesse felt tense, nervous. It was the Watchers, he knew. He never saw them—even in daylight, they knew the ruins well enough to keep hidden—but he felt their eyes on him.

Zora had stayed with them only a few moments after they left the palace. Even in the heavy rain, she had managed to fly away, letting out one parting screech as she fled Lidia forever. Jesse wished they could leave so easily.
But even if we could fly, we couldn't leave the others behind
.

“North,” Castor said, pointing toward the street that led to the citadel, sounding proud that he remembered his new Amarian word. Although Jesse was sure Owen, at least, remembered exactly how to get to the citadel, they let Castor lead the way.

By the time they were inside the main hall, Jesse was soaked to the skin.
At least my clothes are cleaner
, he reasoned, though the thought was not very comforting.

“Son of Westlund,” Castor said proudly, pointing to the statue of Jardos, sovereign of Lidia. “King for ten and ten and six years.” Apparently, he had only been taught numbers up to ten.

Now Jesse realized that the impressive height of the statue hadn't been an illusion caused by its position on a pedestal. Compared to Vincent and Hyram, Jardos was exceptionally tall. Suddenly, other details began to fall into place in Jesse's mind. The furniture in the palace—the tall chairs, the massive table—had been sized for a Westlunder. The height of the tunnels also made sense. After all, a giant had been the one to commission them.

That left only one question. “Why was a Westlunder the king of Lidia?” Jesse asked.

“No,” Owen said, before Castor could try to explain it. “We don't have time for that. We'll get Castor's book translated and read all about it later. Once we escape certain death.”

“Jardos was my father father father father father,” Castor said. “Is why I was chosen as son…as the son of Westlund.”

That made sense to Jesse. Jardos was tall, yes, but he was much shorter than some of the Watchers, just like Castor.
Maybe Jardos tried to pass as a Lidian
, Jesse theorized.
Or maybe he was exiled from Westlund and banded together with the people living near the swamps, and eventually emerged as their leader
.

There was a story there. He could see it in the gleam of excitement and pride in Castor's eyes when he looked at the statue.

Focus
, he commanded himself.
Find the treasure
. He paused.
Unless….

Owen ran over and pulled one of the axes on the wall. His thin arms strained until it came loose, nearly throwing him backward. He dragged it over to the base of Jardos' statue. “Maybe the statue is just a layer of stone around a lump of gold.”

Castor yelped and grabbed the handle of the axe, jerking it away from Owen.

“Not you too,” Owen said, rubbing his sore hands. “They're
dead
. They wouldn't want us to die too, not for a stupid treasure.”

“What if there is no treasure?” Jesse asked, finally putting his thoughts into words.

“There
is
treasure,” Castor insisted. “History—many people speak of the treasure.”

“But that could be nothing but a legend.”

“Legend?”

Jesse sighed and tried to think of a way to explain it. “A legend is a story that isn't true.”

“All legends have true,” Castor said, frowning. “No, truth. All legends have truth. Small truth, large truth. But first people say truth, and truth makes into legend.”

“Not always,” Owen said. “My sister told me the old lady who lived next to us turned into a monster every night and ate goats. None of
that
was true.”

But Jesse was starting to realize what Castor was saying. Jesse had thought the legend of disappearing travelers was foolish, but it was based on truth. Parvel had thought the giants didn't exist, but the stories about them, though wildly exaggerated, were based on truth.

“Besides,” Owen said, “the other giants only let us out so we could find the treasure on our own, without a sacrifice. They're probably watching us right now. We can't get away. This is our only chance.”

Jesse nodded. Owen was right.

“Great,” Owen said, trying to grab the axe back. Castor wouldn't let him have it.

“Let's search the statues first,” Jesse said. “If we have to, we'll cut one open, but this is history, Owen.”

“Apparently, that's pretty important around here,” Owen grumbled. “More important than my life.” But he jumped up and grabbed Jardos' leg, clambering up the side of the statue and tapping on it here and there. Castor knelt and ran his hands along the base.

Jesse felt himself drawn back to the inscription. He read the lines again and again. There was nothing unusual about them, except that the first line was ‘High was my reach,' instead of the more common expression, “long was my reach.”
Maybe a reference to his unusual height and Westlunder background
.

He eventually started searching what he could reach of the statue from the ground. Unlike Owen, he couldn't climb very well even with his staff. That left him Jardos' feet and legs to examine.

“What are we looking for?” Owen asked. “A secret message in his beard that says, ‘Look for the treasure here?' I thought the Westlunders searched this whole city. No hiding place would last through all that…unless it's
inside
these statues.”

“A key,” Castor said.

“Yes,” Jesse said. “These three are supposed to conceal the key to the treasure, or the treasure's location. We don't know which.”

Castor just laughed. “Jardos conceals…concealed the key for years. No Watcher finds….finded?”

“Found,” Jesse corrected. “No Watcher found the treasure.”

“No Watcher found the key.
This key
!”

Jesse stuck his head around the corner and saw Castor holding up a delicate silver key. He pointed to a thin, barely noticeable crack at the base of the statue, in the back. Owen jumped down from Jardos to see and immediately ran to the next statue. “It was here all along,” Jesse said, shaking his head. “All these years, and the key really did lie with the three founders of the city. The three sons.”

“Vincent's got one too,” Owen said, already crawling over the second statue. He popped up, swinging the key around his finger. “Those Lidians were smarter than I thought.”

Castor went ahead of Jesse to the third statue, the one of Hyram. Instead of crouching to get the last key, though, he gestured to Jesse. “Find the key, Jesse, son of Lidia.”

“I told you, I'm not a son of Lidia, Barnaby is,” Jesse said. He bent down anyway, feeling along the back of the statue.

“The boy with the bird?” Castor demanded. Then his face registered understanding. “The bird on the token. The same?”

Jesse came out with the third key in his fist. “I told you that already. It was all a misunderstanding. I'm as Amarian as Owen is.”

“I thinked you was not say the truth,” Castor admitted. Jesse tried not to wince at his attempt at grammar. “When Watchers say they will kill you, you lied, I thinked.”

“No. It was true,” Jesse said.

“Well, now that we've got that cleared up, what are we going to do?” Owen demanded, walking to the coat of arms in the center of the tower's floor. Jesse and Castor joined him. “We have three keys. What do they unlock?”

Suddenly, Jesse felt deflated. Owen was right. They were back where they started. He stared at the key. In its handle was a scrolled
S
, the same design as the three
S's
in the crest beneath them. Sovereign, Scholar, Shipbuilder—the three founders of Lidia. But there was no clue about where the treasure they had accumulated was hidden.

Castor sat down on the tile floor in front of Jardos, as if waiting for his ancestor to speak and give them guidance. Jesse sat down next to him, reading the poem on the base again.

“There's nothing there,” Owen said, standing over him. “We already figured out why Lidia was called ‘the Noble Hill.' It's because of the tunnels.”

“Noble Hill,” Castor said. “‘
Those who dare to pay the cost will shout this from the sky: Not all who vanish are truly lost. The Noble Hill will never die!'”

Jesse recognized the quote from the stone inscription in the tunnels. “Interesting,” he said. “In my mind, I thought it said, ‘Those who dare to pay the cost will shout this
to
the sky.' But ‘from?' That doesn't make sense.”

“It's poetry,” Owen said. “It's not supposed to make sense.”

“Not here,” Jesse said. “Every word is important. Every word has truth.”

And so does every legend
.

“The Giants' Staircase,” Jesse said. “Owen, you were sent here to look for the Giants' Staircase. Where did that legend come from? What truth was it built on?”

“Maybe it's the staircase that leads into the tunnels,” Owen tried. “That was a pretty important staircase.”

“No, it can't be,” Jesse said. “The legend clearly talks about a staircase that reaches to the heavens. Like the underground carving said, ‘from the sky.'” He pointed to Jardos. “This poem talks about Jardos' reach being ‘high'—maybe a reference to some sort of tower or staircase.”

“This tower?” Castor asked.

“Three stories isn't exactly reaching to the sky,” Jesse said, frowning. “And this would be one of two places the Westlunders would have looked first: the citadel and the palace.”

“Well, we're in the middle of a swamp,” Owen said. “It's not exactly the best place to build a tower. It would sink into the ground. Besides, if it existed, we'd be able to see it over the trees.”

“That's it!” Jesse cried, jumping up so quickly his bad leg throbbed, but he didn't care. “Owen, you've done it. It has to be.”

“Great. Cut me in on part of the treasure,” Owen said, clearly not convinced.

“Owen, what's the tallest structure in Lidia? One that reaches to the skies?”

But it was Castor who answered. “The Lidia Tree.”

Even Jesse, with his poor sense of direction, could find what Castor called the Lidia Tree. Visible from any point in the city, it was an impressive sight, especially when a streak of lightning seemed to carve its dark silhouette into the sky.

Castor pointed to the swamp beyond the city walls. “Smoke,” he said.

“Clouds,” Jesse corrected. He could see why Castor would confuse the two words. These clouds were as dark as any thick smoke.
But no one—not even Captain Demetri and his party—could make a fire in this weather.

Jesse kept his hand on the key in his pocket, afraid it would somehow slip out and fall into the ancient sewer grates.
The Westlunders searched the whole city—every obscure hiding place—for the treasure, and it was in the most obvious location of all. Right above them
.

Standing underneath the tree, Jesse felt as he had expected to feel when seeing one of the Westlund giants: small, powerless and insignificant.

The tree looked older than the ruins, older even than the swamp spreading out around it. It had seen generations come and go and kingdoms rise and fall. Even with the few scars and burn marks on its outer layers, the tree had hardly been touched by the destruction of Lidia. Bare branches stretched out over the ruins, like a mourner dressed in black. The tree had been dead for many years, though its deep roots kept it standing firm.

If Jesse were right, the reason the mighty tree had died was not from disease or disaster. Not a natural disaster, anyway. It had been hollowed out to hide the legendary treasure of Lidia.

“But there's nothing here,” Owen said. He had run all the way around the trunk as soon as they reached it. “No way to get inside.”

“I doubt they would place a large lock right at the base where all could see it,” Jesse said, trying to sound confident.
If I'm wrong….
“It must be up higher.”

Now he realized why the Westlunders hadn't found the hiding place in the tree. The branches started just above Jesse's head, but the tree was so wide and solid it would take many days of labor to fell it.

We don't have many days
, he realized. Somehow, he doubted that the giants, especially the Head Watcher, would be impressed by a vague idea about treasure inside a tree. He looked up at it until rain drenched his face. There were no signs of a lock, a door or anything unnatural.

“We must climb,” Castor shouted, over a sudden rumble of thunder.

“I knew I liked you!” Owen cheered.

Just looking up at the tree made Jesse feel sick. With the wind and the rain, it couldn't be safe. Then again, he doubted a ritual sacrifice would be very safe either. “Castor…” he began.

“Owen first, then Jesse,” Castor said. He held up his key. It looked very small in his large hand. “Three keys. Three sons must climb Lidia Tree.”

Jesse was about to protest that he wasn't even one of the sons in the poem when Castor picked Owen up with a grunt of effort, placing him on the lowest branch. “Here I go,” Owen said, scrambling to the next.

“Be careful,” Jesse warned.
But that looked simple enough
. He couldn't deny that he wanted to see the Lidian treasure for himself.
Besides, Owen isn't a very thorough searcher
.

Jesse remembered the words of the poem: “Those who dare to pay the cost will shout this from the sky….”
Do I dare to pay the cost?

Yes. For Silas, Rae and Parvel, I will climb.

“Jesse?” Castor asked, waiting.

Jesse took a deep breath and set down his staff. It would be of no use in a tree. “All right.”

It was a strange sensation, being lifted through the rain into the shelter of the dense tree branches. Castor's grip was firm, but not threatening. Still, Jesse was glad when he was set down on solid wood. Even though the tree had stopped sending nutrients to its branches, they were still thick and strong where they met the trunk.

Owen was moving far too quickly for Jesse's liking. The boy was already two stories high. “The branches are wet,” Jesse reminded him, speaking loudly to be heard over the rain. “And they're brittle at the ends.”

“I'm not going to the ends,” Owen said, jumping over to another branch with an ease that made Jesse wince. “That's not where the lock would be.”

Suddenly, the branch shook wildly, and Jesse grabbed at the trunk. Castor, his powerful arms straining, was pulling himself up.

“You could have warned us,” Jesse grumbled. Already, the ground looked very far away.

“I'm sorry,” he said, but his face gave him away.
He's having as much fun as Owen
. “Go!” he said, pointing.

To his surprise, Jesse found he was able to pull himself up by his arms, at least to the next branch. A month in the Youth Guard had made him stronger. Still, he let Owen dart around the width of the tree, knocking on the wood and feeling it carefully for any cracks.
No sense in taking unnecessary risks
.

He almost laughed, realizing how much like Silas he sounded. They were not with him, but they had left their impact: Silas' caution, Parvel's love of history, Rae's spirit. He had missed not having them with him for the past few days, but he had unknowingly picked up some of their traits in their absence.

“Nothing yet,” Owen said. “Higher?”

“Higher,” Castor said, in a tone much more confident than Jesse could have managed.

The higher they went, the more exposed Jesse felt. The thunder seemed to get louder, the lightning closer—like the fury of the heavens was closing in on them. They began to feel the tree sway, as the wind beat against the narrower middle branches. It was as if they were climbing into the storm.

But, although Jesse was surprised at what he could do, using only his arms and his good leg, each branch became harder to get to. Once, he felt his foot slip, and he dangled from his arms until he found another foothold.

He leaned against the trunk, clinging to a branch and tried to slow his heartbeat. The top was still a long distance away. “This is as far as I can go,” he managed. The rain had slowed a little, but he clung to the tree, cold, wet and exhausted.

“We're not there yet,” Owen protested from a few branches above him.

“We don't even know where ‘there' is,” Jesse countered. “There may not be anything up here at all. What's the sense in getting killed for that?”

“But—”

“Jesse is right,” Castor said. “I and Owen climb—say if we find…what?”

He had a point. They weren't exactly sure what they were looking for. “A knothole disguising a lock,” Jesse said. “Or a panel of some kind that looks like it's hiding a lock.”“Or just a lock,” Owen said.

“Well, yes,” Jesse said. “But I doubt it would be that easy.”

“You say this
easy
?” Castor grunted. Jesse noticed that although Castor had managed to go a few branches higher than Jesse, he was breathing hard. Probably sweating too, although they were all so soaked by the rain it was impossible to tell.

“Well, here it is,” Owen insisted. “A lock with three keyholes.” Jesse tried to look up. It was better than looking down, anyway. Owen had his legs tucked around a high branch, close to the top of the tree. He was eye-to-eye with something that, even in the dark, gleamed silver.

“That's it?” Jesse asked doubtfully. “I thought it would be hidden better.”

“It's three stories up in a tree, hidden by branches,” Owen pointed out. “Who's going to see it here?”

It was a good point. Apparently, the Westlunders hadn't, even though they had searched the entire city for the treasure.

“My key works!” Owen cried.

Jesse felt like cheering.
Maybe this is it. Maybe we've really found the lost Lidian treasure.
He smiled as he recalled the second line in the underground inscription. ‘
Not all that is missing is gone.' Not gone for good, anyway.

“Now mine,” Jesse said. He struggled to stand, clutching a branch tightly with one hand, and with the other passing his key to Castor, who easily reached up to Owen. There was a pause, and Jesse winced as a roll of thunder shook the ground.

The key turned. “Give me yours, Castor,” Owen called. Castor did, and Owen turned the third key in the lock.

Then Owen pulled on the keys like he would pull on a handle, and a door came away from the tree, a thick slab of wood nearly as tall as Owen. “There's an opening inside!” he crowed.

But, instead of hurrying in like Jesse thought he would, Owen looked down. “Let's go,” he said.

Jesse glanced up, measuring the distance.
It's not so far….

Then he looked down. “I'm staying here,” he called up to Owen. “Go in without me.”

Instead, Castor lowered himself until he was on the branch next to Jesse. It shook under his weight, but he didn't flinch. “Come, Jesse,” he said. “With us.” When Jesse still didn't answer, he added, “Promise.”

What Jesse wanted to say was, “When I promised not to leave him, I didn't mean climbing up a tree in a storm.”

But then he remembered what Castor had said about the compass: “Promise means I always will, or I never will.”
No matter what
.

Besides, think how Rae will mock me if she finds out I came so close to the treasure, but stopped short
.

“Help me,” Jesse said, grabbing onto Castor's hand.

“In Amarian, good to say please,” Castor said, looking down his nose at him.

“Please help me,” Jesse amended. Gideon, whoever he was, had certainly been careful to teach Castor manners.

Castor grinned. “Yes. We go together. The three sons.”

Slowly, carefully, they made their way up, with Castor leading the way and pulling Jesse up after him. A few times, Jesse was afraid a branch wouldn't hold their weight, but Castor stayed calm, testing the branches to find the strongest, never panicking no matter how close the thunder seemed to get.

“Stay there,” Owen warned, once they were just below the lock. “This branch can't hold all of us.”

Jesse inspected it. He was right. It seemed like a flimsy thing.
And so far off the ground….

He started to look down, but Castor saw and tilted his head up again. “Not down,” he said firmly. “Up.”

“Up” was the door, with Owen standing right in front of it.

“Wait for us,” Jesse said. He pictured Owen stepping off a ledge and falling down the center of the hollow tree.

But Owen had already disappeared into the darkness. Castor jumped up to the door, shaking the branch wildly. He crawled though the opening—it was too low for him to stand—but then turned around and held out his hand for Jesse.

This is it
. Jesse took Castor's hand and pushed off of his branch, grabbing the door as soon as it was within reach and finding a secure place to stand on the branch beneath it.

Before following Castor through the door, Jesse took all three keys out of the lock and put them in his pocket.
We don't want to get locked in when the door blows shut
, Silas' voice in his head told him.

Inside, they were standing on a kind of platform. The compartment in the tree was wide enough for perhaps six men.
Or, in our case, a comfortable fit for two Youth Guard members and one giant
. It was lit with rings of glowing stone around the top and bottom of the compartment.

But, as far as Jesse could see, there was nothing else there.

“Where's the treasure?” Owen demanded. He started tapping on the walls, as if the Lidians might have carved another secret compartment closer to the outside of the tree.

“Look!” Castor said. He reached a hand into the darkness. Jesse squinted and could see the vague outline of a shelf carved into the wood. Castor held up a green leather book. The silhouette of a tree was embossed on the cover in gold, and Jesse recognized a simplified version of the tree they had just climbed.

“I don't believe it,” Owen said, shaking his head. “Another
book
?”

“May I see it?” Jesse asked. Castor nodded and gave it to him. Jesse sat down to be closer to the glowing stones, then opened the book. The slim volume seemed to be a list of treasures that Jesse assumed had once been stored in the Lidia tree. There were weapons, carvings, jewels and other valuables. But, more important to Jesse, were pages listing the titles of books.

So this was where the library of Lidia was hidden,
Jesse thought, remembering that the other squad hadn't found any books in the city.
Immediately, his disappointment became even greater.
Someone must have found it before us
.

“What does it say?” Owen asked impatiently, trying to read over Jesse's shoulder.

“Not much,” Jesse said, flipping quickly to the end.
Better if he doesn't know
.

On the last page, though, the list ended. Instead, these words were written in the same careful handwriting.

I, Nolan, last son of Hyram, seal these stairs for the last time. Who knows when they will open again? It has been nearly three months since the siege started. Our fortress, which we thought could outlast any attack, has proven to be our undoing. We can last no longer.

The keys are hidden. The city is abandoned. I will join the others soon, f leeing by way of the tunnels. Our destination is unclear. There is no place for us from now on, yet we must leave the Noble Hill.

Our current sovereign, half the man that Jardos was, both in height and in wisdom, has declared that we will return to Lidia after the Westlunders leave, and rebuild the city. He is a fool. The Westlunders will leave nothing behind. All that we have labored to create will be destroyed. Perhaps even this hiding place, so cleverly devised, will be discovered and looted. The sweat and blood of the founding generation-my father,s generation-will be lost forever.