Venom and Song (20 page)

The first hour was terrifying. And downright frustrating.

None of the Seven had experienced utter darkness; most people rarely do. The feeling pushed all of them into a state of claustrophobia. Kiri Lee and Johnny had mild panic attacks, and Jett—despite his manly gift of strength—remained absolutely quiet.

The pack followed Tommy's idea to a tee: the person in the rear ran up the side of the pack, each member of the line making a ruckus and reaching out to guide the runner, until he or she arrived at the front and took four more steps, arms held out. But the speech was far from encouraging, each individual spouting off about how this was stupid or how it would be easier if they were just left alone to do it by themselves. As soon as the leader tripped—effectively stalling the progress while the leader recovered from a bloody knee or a scuffed hand—the entire group bickered. And then the tirade of insults
really
began as each new leader passed by, fumbling toward the front.

“If you weren't so clumsy”—said Jett, picking himself up off the tunnel floor—“maybe we'd have found the clay pot by now!”

“Me?” cried Johnny, unable to see but glaring in the direction of Jett's voice. “You stopped without any warning. I'm not the mind-reader, you know.” He groaned aloud. “Mannn, I think I broke my nose on your back.”

“Ah, come on, it's probably just a scratch,” Jett grumbled. “If I was doing this alone, I'd be back in the kitchen already.”

“Of course you would,” said Autumn. “It takes a lot of food to feed that ego!”

And so it continued: the lords tripping, stumbling, arguing, yelling, insulting each other as they searched for the clay pot Grimwarden had hidden in the tunnel. Until finally, frustrated, tired, and hungry, Autumn pronounced, “This is pointless!” Five voices agreed. . . .

“Wait,” said Kat. “Where's Tommy?”

“Oh my gosh,” said Kiri Lee. “Tommy?”

“C'mon, Tommy!” yelled Johnny. “Quit messing around.”

“Guys, I think we lost Tommy,” said Autumn.

“You sure did,” Tommy finally spoke up.

“Tommy?” Jett asked. “You okay?”

“You know, Jett, that's the first caring thing anyone has said since we started this challenge.” No one replied. “Look at us!” Then he thought better of it. “Nevermind.” He shook his head. “Here we are, stuck down who-knows-how-far underground, given the simple task of returning a jar to the surface, and we can't even encourage each other. What's up with that?”

Again no one replied. For the first time in more than an hour, the Seven were utterly speechless.

“Yeah, what's up with that?” Kat finally admitted.

Though none of the others could see it, each of them nodded.

“Sorry, guys,” Johnny offered up first.

“Me, too,” said Jimmy.

Stepping on each other's words, they all apologized at once, offering hands blindly for high fives, handshakes, or pats on the back.

“Okay,” Tommy concluded. “We cool?”

“Yeah, we're cool,” said Jett on everyone's behalf.

“Now let's go get this done. No more slams, got it?”

“Got it,” they all said.

“If what they say about us is true—and I tend to believe it is— then we're like family. And we'd better start acting like it. And not the bickering kind.”

“We got ya, Tommy,” said Kat. “Family.”

“Family,” echoed all the others.

“All right then,” Tommy said. “We have a jar to find!”

In the next hour the Seven learned to work together, even encourage each other.

“Keep it coming, Johnny. You're doing great.”

“On it, Autumn,” he replied.

“Right here, Kiri Lee. I'm right here. Yu just give me yur hand.”

“Okay,” she replied. “Don't let me fall.”

“You all right, T-man?” asked Jett.

“Fine, thanks,” said Tommy.
T-man. That's kinda funny,
he thought.
But I like it
.

Under Tommy's direction, they formed a kind of chain of Elves, navigating the twists and turns as one. They began to eat up the darkened terrain, moving much faster than before and making much better time. Of course they weren't keeping track of the time, but someone else was.

Tommy was in the lead and felt the floor slope sharply upward. “Hold on, guys,” he said. “The floor shoots up here . . . I just want to check and make sure that—” His hand brushed up against the smooth lines of a glazed terra-cotta vessel, pushing it over. “Whoa!” he exclaimed, reaching out to keep the jar from crashing. “It's the jar!”

“Don't drop it!” Autumn hollered. “You got it?”

“Do yu got it?” Jimmy asked.

“I got it!” Tommy finally exclaimed, hugging the earthen vessel close to his chest.

The Seven gave up a mutual cheer and surrounded their friend. They patted his back and then reached out to feel how big the jar was. It was no more than two feet tall and about twelve inches wide. It was adorned with two handles below the mouth, one on each side.

“You did it!” Kiri Lee hugged Tommy.

“We all did it,” he corrected her. “Our team. Our family. To us! The Seven Elven Lords of Berinfell!” Tommy yelled.

“All right!” they all exclaimed, clapping loudly. All, that is, except Tommy, who clung tightly to the earthen jar.

When the revelry calmed down, Tommy took a few steps forward, back the way they had come. “All right, gang. Who's hungry?”

With victory sweet in their chests, and the smell of Mumthers's next meal swirling in their heads, the Seven made their best time yet, covering the same ground as before, but in less than two hours.

They took even more care to guard the precious prize this time. Not a single team member fell, and again the jar didn't endure so much as a scratch. By the time Kiri Lee first noticed the tunnel warming in both temperature and the faintest of glows, they were operating like an efficient machine. In less than five hours the team seemed just at home in the dark—relying solely upon their friends' voices—as they did in broad daylight.

Squinting painfully, they stepped into light. It was then that Grimwarden appeared . . . directly
behind
them.

“Well done,” he said, clapping slowly. “Well done, indeed.”

“Hey!” Autumn pointed. “How'd you get back there?”

“Yeah,” the others joined in.

“Back here? Why, I've been behind you the entire time.”

“The entire—” Tommy thought it through. “So you heard—”

“Everything,” finished Grimwarden.

The revelry the Seven had felt just moments ago suddenly vanished, replaced now by the smothering grip of shame.

“I was deeply moved by how much you care for one another,” he added. The Seven were sure he was being sarcastic. “Your encouraging words no doubt made all the difference. To date—as I have been training Elven soldiers for some time—you have accomplished this task in record time.”

“Wait, so you're serious?” Kat asked.

“Absolutely. I always put the jar in the same place. You were the fastest to bring it back.”

Johnny decided to ask what they were all thinking. “But what about all the bad—?”

“Yes, but when that strategy didn't work, you tried a different path. You are my greatest pupils yet. And will make fine leaders in battle when you are through here at Whitehall.” Grimwarden strode forward and took the jar from Tommy. “You picked it up, eh, Tommy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good. Very good indeed.” He studied the boy's face a moment longer, withdrew something from within the jar, and stuffed it inside his tunic next to his chest. “Now, to Mumthers's hearth fire!” He swung his hand at them. “Off with you!”

And as they raced back up through the sprawling halls and staircases of Whitehall, they each reveled in the valuable lesson they saw in Grimwarden's praise: it's anyone's game to criticize, but it's kingly to see only the good in others.

12
The Art of Discipline

THE SEVEN found their first few days in Whitehall spent much like the first. Grimwarden had them embark on various exercises that he called team building, each of them holding the same reward: more of Mumthers's delicious food. It was a trivial tactic, but it worked nonetheless. Quite well, as a matter of fact: a hungry stomach was good motivation for budding teenagers . . . especially the boys.

The pupils slept in two rooms, boys in one, girls in the other. The furnishings were sparse—just a bed for each teen, two chairs beside a dusty writing desk, and a wardrobe shared by all. Large windows provided a commanding view in at least two different compass directions, overlooking the thick forest treetops that surrounded their mountaintop hideaway.

The Seven found themselves awakened each morning by the sound of the most annoying forest bird they had ever heard. Much like a rooster crowing at the first rays of the sun, the
stunted pigmy albatross
—a much smaller and uglier cousin to the famed, large-winged flyer—cackled. And cackled. And cackled. The Seven thought the sound resembled something of a laughing hyena they'd seen on the Discovery Channel combined with a cat choking on a hairball. The irritating sound was unpleasant enough to rouse anyone from slumber, no matter how deep.

They stumbled from their beds only to find themselves led down the barracks corridor by the aroma of freshly baked bread and frying bacon from a wild boar Mumthers had killed earlier that morning. They convened as before in the refectory and shared in light conversation, settling into the routine that the first week demonstrated. Each morning after breakfast, they were met with a new challenge by Grimwarden, testing their ability to work together—and to follow orders without compromise—while simultaneously developing their physical stamina and strength.

They had races around Whitehall's grounds, pairing off into teams and searching for hidden objects; they carefully maneuvered through the treetops in elaborate ropes courses, assisting one another and coming close to falling on more than one occasion; they even took a few trips to a nearby waterfall, swimming back and forth across the rapids just above the headwater. But in each exercise, they learned a little more about the history of their people, and about one another.

In the mornings Goldarrow sat the Seven down after each challenge and debriefed them, talking them through the finer points of the exercise—where they had excelled, where they had failed, and most importantly where they had overcome their fears and worked together. But always the conversation came back to lessons learned by the greater race of Elves, with Goldarrow sharing one of a thousand stories from the rich heritage of their people, most often setting a heavy tome of a book on the table and turning its ancient pages. She would read a passage, cite a particular tribe, and then point to a young lord and explain how he or she was related to the tribe in the story. The students grew more deeply connected with the history and the land than they ever could have imagined.

The afternoons were not so exciting. Whitehall hadn't been inhabited for almost a millennium, abandoned with the Fall of Berinfell and left to the hand of nature. Vines had crept into every available nook, splitting rock and allowing water to run its course, eroding mortar, and inspiring mildew. Heavy dust covered nearly every facet of the sprawling castle, and bird poop and rodent feces adorned places of prominence in every room. Grimwarden saw fit to make this the Seven's post-lunch, pre-dinner ordeal. He passed out lye soap, buckets and bristles, spades and cement, and makeshift wheelbarrows, then sent the Seven on their way.

For what felt like weeks, the teens worked their fingers raw, scrubbing and rinsing, lifting and dumping, hauling and fixing. It was tedious work, and eventually their complaints reached Grimwarden's ears.

“It's just that we thought we were training to be warriors,” Jett protested in a group meeting. “Not janitors.”

Grimwarden looked at him silently for a moment.

Now you've done it,
thought Tommy, feeling a little angry himself. He well remembered Mr. Charlie.

When Grimwarden finally spoke, his voice was low and powerful. “Never mistake service for anything less than the highest form of nobility, Jett. Dictators and tyrants lead without serving; only true kings use their place of power to lead in the most humble of ways.”

The subject was never broached again.

While the days were consumed with constant lessons and active labor, the evenings were the lords' refuge. After cleaning the grime from their hands and clothing themselves in fresh linen tunics, the Seven would meet in the dining hall and feast on whatever exquisite repast Mumthers had thrown together for them. Except on the rare occasions that Mumthers would point out their reliance on comfort as a crutch and bring them some grainy, dry food they might find on the trail in times of battle, or give them an ancient nutritional supplement when other food sources couldn't be found, which one would only eat in desperate situations.