The Mirror of Fate (16 page)

Center of the swamp,
By a flaming tree,
Lies the missing treasure:
Ever precious key
.”

Gingerly, I touched the center of my chest. “Let’s hope your father was right about its powers.”

“He was right, I’m sure of that.” She squinted at the thorny ceiling. “I wish I could remember what else he said. It was about how to use the key, I think.”

I tapped her shoulder. “No matter. I’m glad you remembered as much as you did.” Turning to the spot, still shadowed, where Ector had slept, I said, “I’d better wake up—”

My whole body went rigid. “Hallia! He’s gone.”

“No!” she cried, slapping the sides of her face. “He wouldn’t . . .” She turned to me and scowled. “I knew we should never have let him join us.”

Still stunned, I slowly shook my head. “I can’t believe he’d betray our trust like that. Maybe he just left early to continue his own search.”

She continued to scowl. “Without bothering to say farewell? No, young hawk, I’ll tell you where he went—and what he’s searching for. The key.”

Grimly, I nodded. “I’m afraid you’re right. But I really thought he gave more value to friendship—the way Shallia did, in your story.”

“Apparently not.”

I rolled over and started crawling into the thorn-rimmed tunnel. “Come. He could have a sizeable lead.”

As we emerged from the jumble of branches, a cacophony of howling and chattering greeted us. Much as I disliked the notion of going back into the swamp, I felt a wash of relief that, at least, we would not have to face the marsh ghouls. And that their new aggressiveness hadn’t prompted them to terrorize by daylight. Even so, something that Shim had said still troubled me. Or perhaps I just hadn’t heard him correctly. But he had, I thought, said something or other about the marsh ghouls in the day. Whatever—they were nowhere to be found right now.

Standing at the edge of the rise, I discerned a slight yellowing of the vapors in one direction. It gave a golden hue to everything, even the large, burbling pool where I had nearly drowned last night. Of course! The rising sun.

Hallia, following my gaze—and, as usual, my thoughts—swiveled and pointed toward a stretch of twisted shrubbery and steaming pools. “There,” she pronounced. “The treeless ridge lies over there.”

Just then I spotted a glint of moisture on the ground near the base of the trees. Gleaming gold, it snaked down the slope before disappearing into the muck. Hallia and I ran over to the spring and knelt by a small, clear pool formed by a curved root. We thrust our faces into the water, drinking eagerly, slurping and gasping in turn. At last, we looked at each other, hair dripping onto our shoulders.

Hallia glanced anxiously toward the marsh. “If only Gwynnia were with us now! She could carry us straight to the Flaming Tree.”

“We could turn ourselves into deer,” I suggested.

She shook her head, spraying me with droplets. “No, in this kind of muck, any legs are a problem. Four would, in many cases, be even worse than two.”

“Then let’s go.”

Together we rose, and plunged again into the swamp. Thick mud oozed into my boots; moss-coated branches tore at my legs; clouds of vapor, smelling of sulphur, swirled so close at times that it seemed more like dusk than early morning. I felt a strange sense of foreboding—something in the air, or the sopping terrain, or perhaps the depths of my own chest. Even my shadow, stepping alongside me, seemed shrunken and subdued.

A circle of questions ran over and over through my mind: Would we arrive at the hiding place of the key, only to find that Ector had already taken it? How could that boy who had affected me so surprisingly, who had felt such loyalty to me that he gave me his precious elixir, do such a thing? And how much longer would the elixir be able to hold off the bloodnoose?

For two or three hours we trekked, through murky shallows and desolate flats. The marsh seemed endless, the misty light unvaried. Yet Hallia’s sense of direction never wavered, just as her pace never slowed. Whenever I wondered how she could possibly judge distance and direction on such a landscape, I remembered the continual ache between my shoulder blades. Perhaps her own people’s curse, and her vision of our destination, remained equally constant.

As we struggled across a wide pool, trying to keep to stones and mounds of grass—anything more solid than bogwater—I noticed a single, wide-leafed lily growing on the surface. Its pointed white petals thrust upward, ringing the bright yellow bud in its center. In the hazy light, it looked almost like a crown, resting upon the water.

Instinctively, I fingered my empty scabbard. Would I ever know the heft of that bright blade again? And, more important, would I ever be able to fulfill my promise to Dagda, to deliver the sword safely to the virtuous king who would call it his own? At this point, that promise seemed more a dream than a destiny.

Finally, we reached higher ground. We started ascending a steep hill, covered with stubby brown grass and jagged stones that rose sometimes to our shoulders. As we pushed through an immense cobweb strung between two of the stones, Hallia stopped abruptly. She stood, poised, for a frozen moment. I said nothing, listening to the chattering and wailing of the marsh.

She turned to me at last. “Do you smell it?”

I sniffed the pungent air, but found nothing new. “Smell what?”

“Smoke.”

Without waiting for me to answer, she started off again, leading us higher on the slope. A few moments later I, too, caught the scent of something burning. And, though I couldn’t be sure, the fleeting aroma of rose blossoms once again. The mist, heavier and darker than before, swallowed us, obscuring any view.

As the terrain began to level, the smoky smell grew stronger. Then . . . a glimmer of light appeared. We drew closer, hearing an unfamiliar sound: a wavering, unsteady roar, loud enough at times to overwhelm the other noises of the swamp. Pressing ahead, we found ourselves gazing at a whirling circle of flames.

Pouring out of a ring of vents in the ground, the fire blazed forth, licking the clouds. Every so often it would sputter, choking back, only to rise again with still more fury. Even from a distance, the intense heat burned my cheeks. I fell back a step, remembering the flames in Gwynedd that had scarred my face forever. Those flames had cost me my own eyes—and another boy his life.

The fire dropped down again, releasing a burst of black smoke. The smoke billowed forth, then suddenly parted. There, in the center of the blazing circle, stood a single, contorted tree. Its wood long since replaced by glowing coals, it remained standing somehow, whether by the force of gases from the vents, or by some peculiar magic of its own.

With awe, I watched the blackened form disappear behind a rising wall of fire. “The Flaming Tree.”

Hallia bit her lip. “It looks impossible to reach.”

“You’re right about that.”

We whirled around to face Ector. His robe, even more shredded than before, showed many charred threads. One side bore three or four holes eaten by fire. His face, somehow, had lost its youthful air; his blue eyes seemed blank.

Averting his gaze, he shifted from one foot to another. “I’m sorry I left without you,” he said remorsefully. “But I couldn’t wait.”

My brow knitted. “You mean you didn’t want to wait. You wanted to find the key before we did.”

He glanced at the circle of flames, making half his face glow like a fire coal. “Yes, that’s true. And I wanted something else.”

“What else,” demanded Hallia, striking the ground with her foot, “would justify betraying us?”

“I wanted . . .” he began, then swallowed with difficulty. “I wanted to save my master.”

“Save him?” I asked skeptically. “Just how?”

His head drooped forward. “He is locked up—imprisoned. If he isn’t set free, and soon, terrible things will happen! And, though my master hasn’t said so directly, I’m sure that he will also die.” His expression hardened. “When I left him, his command was clear: Find the key, and let no one else use it for any purpose.”

Hallia slammed her fist into her hand. “If young hawk doesn’t get to use the key, then
he
will die.”

The boy turned to me, his face twisted with anguish. “It’s what . . . what I feared would happen. This is the choice I’ve been wrestling with ever since last night.” He drew a ragged breath. “But I think—no, I’m sure—my first loyalty must be to my master. If I could do something for you, believe me, I would.”

Feeling so much pain in him, as well as in myself, I said nothing.

“The vial,” he went on, “was mine to give. The key, though, is my master’s.”

“No!” cried Hallia. “The key belongs to no one! Where was this master of yours when my father stole deep into this marsh, risking his life to keep the key away from Stangmar’s soldiers?” Her eyes narrowed. “Who
is
your master, anyway?”

Ector hesitated, working his tongue. “I can’t say. I promised.”

“Well your promises—and your master’s commands, for that matter—aren’t worth someone’s life.”

“Wait now,” I announced. “I have the solution.” Squarely, I faced Ector. “You will not violate his command. But I will.”

“But—”

“This will work, I tell you!” I grabbed him by the arm. “You can still bring the key to your master. He can do whatever he likes with it! But first, I shall use it to save myself.”

“My master said . . .”

“Forget what he said.” I glared at him. “He’ll just have to share it.”

“But he must have had a reason,” protested the boy.

“Silence!” I jabbed my staff into the stony ground. “I’ll hear no more about your master. As far as I can tell, he has the courage of a newborn hare and the wisdom of a jackass! Sending a lad your age into the middle of this swamp! If the stakes were so high, he should have sent an army.”

Ector started to respond, but my severe look silenced him.

Turning to Hallia, I declared, “The real problem is how to get it out of there.” I winced as the wall of flames swelled higher, towering over our heads. “No mortal could pass through such a blaze and survive.”

She cocked her head in puzzlement. “Yet my father was mortal. How did he get in there?”

My face brightened—from more than reflected flames. “He didn’t.”

“How then did he hide the key?”

I slid my hand down my staff. “Through his own power of Leaping.”

She started. “He did know some magic. But enough to do that? It’s possible, yes.” Her expression darkened. “Do you think, though . . .”

“That I can do it?” Pensively, I watched the blaze. “I really don’t know. Leaping is hard to control. I might send it—well, somewhere else by mistake, as I’ve done before. All I can do is try.”

She touched my cheek and turned my face toward hers. “Then try, young hawk.”

My attention turned back to the circle of flames, and the twisted tree within it. Using my second sight, I probed the charred soil at the tree’s base. Finding nothing there, I moved to the vents, lined with rocks that had been burst apart by the unending heat. Again, nothing. I scanned the tree itself—roots first, then trunk, then limbs. Still nothing.

Where in this inferno was the key? Carved from an antler, Hallia had said. With a sapphire embedded in its crown. I kept searching, following every contour of the tree—until at last I spotted an unusual shape. It was a small, contoured object, resting on a burl on the trunk. Peering closer, I spied a flash of bright blue, as bright as a sapphire.

Concentrating, I focused on the key. Somehow, I sensed that my powers were not as strong as I remembered. But this was no time for self-doubts. I trained all my senses upon the object, grasping it with hands of magic.

Leap to me.

The flames surged, forcing all of us to step backward. Hands of heat slapped my cheeks. The very air crackled, while the roar swelled, assaulting our ears. Still, I kept my focus.

Leap to me. Through the flames.

As if sensing my intrusion, the inferno grew even greater. The blast of heat singed my eyebrows; the raging flames of heat groped at my tunic. And at my memory of other flames—so relentless, so deadly.

I felt my strength fading rapidly. My legs wobbled. It was all I could do just to keep standing. Whatever I held in my grasp would surely fall, surely burn as I had done. With a final effort, I tried to heave my powers through the conflagration.

Out of the writhing flames, the key appeared. The polished white form glowed from the fires that surrounded it, and from an inner light of its own. Borne by invisible wings, it sailed through the blazing wall. Sizzling fingers tugged at it, trying to hold it back, but it pulled free. Even as I sank to my knees on the ground, struggling to catch my breath, it fell into my open hand.

Hallia, trembling, reached to touch it. She moved her fingers from the finely wrought base, up the shaft, over the looping crown adorned with a sapphire. “You did it,” she whispered. I could tell that she was speaking both to me—and to her father.

At that instant, something whizzed just over my head. Some sort of weapon! I glimpsed it slicing into the circle of flames. Then, to my horror, I saw that it had left behind a dark trail—not of smoke, but of emptiness. Nothing, not even light, remained along the path of its flight.

It was, I knew with a shudder, an arrow. Not a traditional arrow, but one with special properties. One that could, as Shim had warned, pierce through the day.

18:
R
OSE
B
LOSSOMS

Leaning heavily on my staff, I struggled to stand. Carefully, I avoided touching the dark ribbon that the arrow had cut into the air—a void where nothing, not even light, remained.

Hallia, looking ashen, backed up until her shoulder touched my own. Ector stood next to us, his eyes wide with terror. Together, we watched as a vast phalanx of warriors strode out of the vapors. But for the dark shimmerings in the air that were their bodies, and the vague glimmers of light from their eyes, they remained almost invisible. Yet they could not be missed, for each of them wore a stout, curved sword, hung from the waist with a belt of woven vines. And each of them bore a heavy wooden bow, nocked with a charcoal-black arrow that was aimed directly at us.