Shadows of the Dark Crystal (10 page)

By the time Kylan lowered her to a patch of soft grass beneath the shadow of the tree, her wits were returning, but she still felt tired. She stayed quiet while he settled their packs and kicked grass aside to make a fire.

“I can't help but feel like there's something you aren't telling me,” he said, mostly to himself, as if he didn't expect a response at all. “You didn't seem surprised at the way the ruffnaw was behaving.”

Naia was half inclined to let his words become lost on the cool wind, but maybe he was right. They had been in danger—real, dire danger, and for Naia, it wasn't the first time since setting off. Kylan wasn't her ward, but they were companions now. Maybe even friends. Maybe she owed it to him. Making up her mind, she held out her hand to him. Recognizing the gesture, he clasped her hand in his, and she felt the link of the dreamfast warm again. At first it was a trickle, like water drops gathering on a broad leaf, but soon the memories flowed like rain filling a river.

Naia showed Kylan her home in Sog, the sunlit apeknots and the lush, living wood of Great Smerth. She showed him the morning Tavra had arrived, the feast that had followed, and
the
hearing they'd had in her mother's chamber. Their departure and their confrontation with the Nebrie—the crystal veins buried in the swamp bed, and the haunting loneliness and rage in the Nebrie's heart. She showed her father's wound and Tavra's message, but through it all, she kept back her secret about Gurjin—that her brother was accused of treason and that she was going to Ha'rar in his stead.

Kylan showed his parents, raising him in a little hut on Spriton land near the Dark Wood, tending the crops that fed their bellies, and playing in the rolling hills of the grasslands. She saw Kylan's father teaching him to play the lute, his mother harvesting the tall, wide grass and weaving it on a loom to make their roof. She saw a winter night with no moons, so cold, little Kylan had gathered two quilts and wound them tightly around his body. He jumped when the shutters flew open, banging against the inside wall with a startling clatter, freezing wind gusting in and bringing all the black of the night with it. His mother went to close the shutter, but it was too late. The dark wind extinguished every candle in moments, and then
he
was there. The Hunter, in a cloak so black, he was one with the night, pierced only by hateful red eyes behind a bone mask. He snatched Kylan's parents in his inky embrace. His claws muffled their screams as he disappeared, leaving Kylan alone in the howling night.

The dreamfast ended, and Naia felt Kylan's hand draw away from hers. They sat in quiet and stared into the fire, letting the silence be. The memory of the black wind that had taken Kylan's parents stuck in Naia's mind, the phantom chill of the winter
night clinging to her skin though a warm breeze blew upon it. No wonder he had feared the dark tunnel in the Podling burrow.

“The crystal veins . . . they're a sickness in Thra,” Naia said. “They darken the hearts of creatures. I worry what might happen if the sickness reaches the Castle of the Crystal. That's why I've got to reach the All-Maudra, whether or not I find my brother.”

“The Skeksis will protect the Crystal,” Kylan assured her. “Ancient gods gave them the power to protect it when the castle was entrusted to them.”

Naia nodded. She sighed and turned her eyes to her present surroundings, stroking the top of Neech's head where it rested on her knee. The great waves of grass around them looked afire with gold, and they stopped to watch as the flickering of night bugs sparkled across the horizon.

Though it was beautiful, above and all around, Naia couldn't help but wonder what else hid below and up ahead, waiting in the shadowy arms of the deep.

W
hen the morning fog cleared the following day, Naia raised her hand to her brow and squinted. Under the quickening daylight, she could make out a ridge of stony highland within the day's distance, lying like the back of a serpent between them and the still-distant mountains. It had been invisible in the dim of the previous evening, but now it was unmistakable. Kylan, following her line of sight, let out a quiet sound of astonishment under his breath.

“What is that?” Naia asked.

“The Black River's Spine. Were you not expecting it? That's where we'll meet the river that will lead us to Stone-in-the-Wood . . .” Kylan's voice faded as he realized what Naia was just understanding. Her cheeks warmed, and he said it, out loud. “You didn't think we were traveling all the way to those big purple mountains, did you? Those are the misty mountains! It would take unum to get there if we didn't ride the river!”

She pressed her lips together and gave him a sock in the arm.

“I've never been this far north! How was I supposed to know one ridge of mountains from another?”

Kylan held his arm and laughed. It wasn't mean-spirited, though. He was only enjoying
not
being the embarrassed one
for once. She let him have the moment. Even if she felt silly now for thinking the mountains were their midway destination, the relief of knowing they would reach the prickly ridge within the day was worth it. They might even touch toes with the legendary Black River in the evening. Naia's mouth watered, thinking of the swimmers that they might roast for dinner and how much Neech would enjoy the well-missed moisture of running water.

“We could reach the river by evening, I think,” Kylan said, and Naia agreed, picking up her pace in anticipation.

The great Spriton plains began to give way to a more arid region, though nestled against the Black River's Spine, Naia could make out a dense line of lush trees. The clouds were full of white sweeps and vapor as the humidity from the Dark Wood beyond fell in sheets of rain and rainbows, leaving little left as the winds blew south. Naia was ever thankful for the shoes Maudra Mera had given her. As the grasses gave way to drier weeds and shrubs, the earth became salty and golden. Walking it barefoot, or even in her first set of bark sandals, would have made the journey near impossible. Even the little Pod people had worn shoes, she reflected. It seemed Sog might be the only place in the Skarith Land where shoes were more a burden than a blessing. Then again, Naia had never seen a Podling before she'd left. Perhaps shoes were common to all but the Drenchen.

“Are there many Podlings in this area?” she asked, and Kylan brightened at the question, eager to share the overflowing trivia he had stored in his mind.

“There used to be dozens of communities, all throughout the
area. But their numbers have been dwindling, and many families end up living with Spriton communities when their colonies become too few. Some say it's poor crops.”

From the abundance of wildlife around them, both in the wide grasslands and even here in the deepening highlands, it seemed strange to hear of failing crops. Although Naia was used to the bounty of the swamp, even she could tell there was plenty to eat and build and live off in the Spriton plains. How were they struggling in a land of such natural wealth? The answer was what Kylan wasn't saying, which was that the troubles the Podlings were facing might not have to do with crops at all.

“I believe the Hunter hunts more than Gelfling,” he said quietly. “Though Maudra Mera would not have it said aloud.”

Naia shivered.

They ate lunch on foot—dried fruit and the tender sweet cores of thick red grass. By the onset of evening, the ground began to slope upward into the smooth, layered rock of the ridge highlands. There, the path split: one way down into the wooded valley and the other ascending into the ridge. Up they went. Between boulders and steep cliffs, their path narrowed until only one of them could fit abreast, winding through carved stone arches and along wide steps that took them higher and higher. At first, Naia worried about Kylan slipping and falling, but he fared well, occasionally more nimble even than she. Though he couldn't throw a
bola
, his balance was keen, and the two of them made their way through the warm reds and oranges of the ridge, overgrown in places with woody vines and tangled overgrowth. As they climbed higher into
the steppes, Naia marveled at the forest teeming with foliage and the calling and squabbling of fliers and buzzers. Once, when she set a hand down to steady herself, a tentacled shrub leaped up in alarm, rapidly rolling away and down the slope before disappearing into the wood below.

When the Great Sun eased downward, they paused to watch its vibrant descent. Clouds mottled the sky, heavy with rain that reflected the wash of colors with added iridescence. From the high spot where they stood, Naia could see south across the huge area they had already crossed. The plains so wide, Sog was not even a spot of black on the horizon.

“There,” Kylan exclaimed, grabbing her shoulder and pointing. “There, see that?”

Up ahead, to the west, a sparkle of reflected sunlight glittered amid the dense wood. Naia strained to follow it, and as the Great Sun's last light struck at just the right place, she could see it: a snaking line of dark water that carved its way through the shelves of the highlands. Rushing from its origin in some spring high in the ridge, the river flowed to its—and Naia's—final destination to the north.

“The Black River,” she said. A smile came over her face. “We're so close! We'll build a raft and ride it all the way to Ha'rar. Are there any falls?”

“Ha! How would I know?” Kylan asked. “This is new to me, too.”

“No songs about Jarra-Jen and the Black River?” Naia was teasing, but when he shook his head, she felt some disappointment
even so. She knew how to build a strong raft, but no raft would be strong enough to carry them over a waterfall. She sighed, dreaming of how easy it would be to reach Ha'rar if they could simply float there on the easy current of the river. She'd be before the All-Maudra in no time.

“Not aside from the one I already told, back in Sami Thicket.”

“I guess they'll tell songs about us, then,” Naia teased. “Come on!”

Energy renewed by the sight of the river, the two treaded on, using the numerous bulky roots and branches that tangled with the earth as hand- and footholds. The large viny growths were all of the same green-brown color and rough woody texture, though they were covered on top and in every nook and cranny with other plants, flowers, and grumbling, crawling, squeaking critters. The huge vines snaked up from the forest below like tentacles, gripping the highlands and rocks as if the wood itself were climbing over the ridge. It reminded Naia of an apeknot, in a way, and she hummed to herself as she hopped over the roots with a hand and a gentle jump.

Their path abruptly ended, some way down the ridge. The highland dropped off in a steep cliff, the opposite side much more than a leap or vault away. The constant thick vines that wrapped around every corner of the bluffs ended here, too. Though one large branch, big enough for two Gelfling to walk side by side, jutted out over the ravine just a few steps before it ended in jagged, broken splinters. Across the ravine were the remains of the other end of the branch, broken just the same, the length of the branch
dangling at the break by the last remaining fibers of old wood.

“It was a bridge,” Kylan said as they stared at it. “But . . . it's not anymore.”

Naia stepped closer to the cliff, out onto their side of the broken branch path. The valley below, between them and the other side and so, so far down, was flooded with dense forest, so overgrown, she could only see the tops of the trees. The calls of fliers and other wildlife echoed through the red stone ravine, carried along by the face of the cliff and the steady buffeting wind.

“We have to cross to get to the river,” she said. “I can't believe this! We're so close, I can practically feel the river's water on my toes. I wanted to make it there by night.”

Kylan curled his lips in, quiet. There was nothing to say, anyway. Naia kicked a pebble over the side of the cliff and tugged at her locs. If only she had wings! Yet there was nothing at her back but soreness and a heavy traveling pack that would probably weigh her down too much to make the crossing, even if she had been able to fly. And what would become of Kylan, then? She pushed down her frustration and turned away from the broken branch pass. Heading back from the direction they'd come, they searched for a way down the side of the cliff.

Backtracking led them eventually to the fork they'd passed much earlier, and Naia swallowed any words about the time they'd wasted. She stopped when Kylan's footsteps halted behind her, turning to see him standing before a flat boulder face and holding out his hands. Before she could ask him what he was doing, he showed her. The blue dream-etching
vliyaya
lit from his fingers,
burning words that stayed into the face of the rock. When he was done, he stepped back to inspect his handiwork before jogging to catch up.

“Warning any other travelers about the pass,” he said.

Naia held her tongue, though she wanted to remind him no one else was likely to come this way any time soon, and even if they did, most Gelfling could not read. Then she realized there was no harm in it and she was only frustrated with their unexpected detour. The bridge wasn't Kylan's fault, nor was it anyone's, really, and so as they began their descent, Naia left her frustration on the cliffs of the highlands.

By the time they reached lower ground, the vines had grown thicker and taller, sprouting up into leaved trees in more and more places. In the darkening evening, the forest was alive with the hoots and hollers of nocturnal creatures, resounding with the song of night. Neech coiled again and again on Naia's arm in anticipation as they stood where the trees grew in a weaving line, dividing the bluffs from the wood. Though their eyes had already adjusted to the night, Naia stooped and went into her pack, drawing a pouch of glow moss. She held it out to Neech, who devoured it eagerly. After a few moments, the glowing green of the moss saturated his oily skin, the light shining from his body brightly enough to illuminate their path. Kylan watched with delight; she was sure he would record it in his scrolls later.

Tavra's warning about the Dark Wood and its dangers came once more to Naia's mind, but she pushed the words away. She couldn't afford to lose more time after their day-long detour.

“Ready?” she asked. Kylan met her eyes, and she saw memories in them. Memories of his parents and the Hunter and all the songs of the Dark Wood. But though she saw fear, she also saw courage.

“It'll be all right,” she assured him.

“I just wonder if it would be better to go during the day. You know, once the Brothers are out and it's not quite so . . . dark.”

Naia looked back into the wood, her friend's words changing how she saw it. It was dark indeed. The Dark Wood had certainly earned its name. Though she wasn't afraid of the dark, she knew the wood could be dangerous if they entered it carelessly . . . but even so, she was no stranger to wilderness and they had wasted too much time.

“Just think what Jarra-Jen would do,” she suggested.

“I don't know if you were listening, but the Dark Wood at night is when Jarra-Jen met the Hunter and was chased until he had to leap off a cliff into the Black River,” Kylan retorted. The huffiness crept from his words into his posture, and he put his hands on his hips. Naia grinned. That was the attitude he needed. Sometimes, a little confidence was all it took to chase away uncertainty.

“But wasn't he also alone? That isn't the case for us.”

Kylan peered into the wood for a long time. Naia waited, watching his ears rise from a wary flatness to a more determined form, pointed forward. She smiled. Though she had been eager to write him off as a soft-talking song teller in the beginning, she was glad she had let go of the thought. He had a spark of courage in him, and she was pleased to see it.

“I guess if I never see him, I can never confront him,” he said with a resolute nod. “Let's go.”

And so together, using the two rising Sisters as guides, into the Dark Wood they went.

As a Drenchen and a Spriton, and of course as Gelfling, neither Naia nor her friend were unfamiliar with forests. Still, the density of the trees was unlike anything Naia had ever seen. The strong pillars of ebony bark and dark turquoise leaves were interrupted only by thick brush, shrubs, spiny rocks, and flowering land corals with huge white night blossoms. The earth was padded with layers and layers of leaves and moss, rippling over the forms of the ever-present roots that sometimes arched from the land in swooping forms that created hoops and arches under which they walked. Though Neech's body, glowing with his dinner, lit the way, there were other night flowers with their own sources of light, breaking the darkness with dreamy spots of blue, white, and green. Though it was beautiful, Naia reminded herself, it was also dangerous, endless in its mysteries. A twig snapped nearby, and Naia looked—but nothing was there except shadows and quiet.

“Do you know the name of these large vine roots?” she asked quietly as they made their way through the bramble. Kylan ran his hand along one of the big hulking trunks, shaking his head.

“Maybe you could ask?” he suggested, nearly whispered, as if there were someone listening—and in the wild wood, there probably was. “Have you always been able to dreamfast with creatures beyond other Gelfling?”

“I don't know. It's never happened until recently . . . Until the
Nebrie in Sog. Though sometimes I have trouble controlling my dreamfasting. Makes for some embarrassing encounters with soldiers of the All-Maudra, I'll tell you that much.”

“I envy you. I'd love to be able to share dreams with the trees, with the furry beasts and the scaled ones. See what they've seen—share what I have! But I guess I'll have to settle with learning as many languages as I can.”