Shadows of the Dark Crystal (18 page)

What was she to do? Tavra was a seasoned soldier and the All-Maudra's daughter, and the Skeksis had treated her no better than an insect. If the lords thought that much of one of Mayrin's daughters, what might they think of Naia? How could she do anything to save Tavra, let alone Gurjin? Even now that she knew he was in the castle, somewhere, it was possible he wasn't alive, and she had no idea exactly where he was. Despite being so close, he might as well have been on the other side of Thra.

Why are they doing this?

Naia felt a desperate tear escape and wiped it away. She thought of the broken light of the Crystal—the milky eyes of the Podling slaves—the hungry look in the Emperor's eyes. There was a connection between it all—she could feel it. It all came back to the Crystal and the Skeksis Lords who had been charged with its protection, but how, and what exactly, she still couldn't divine. The frustration was maddening, and she put her face in her hands in anguish.

Naia sucked in a deep hard breath. She didn't have time for misery, and she didn't have time to wait for answers. The fact was,
Tavra was in danger, and Gurjin, if he was still alive, was likely in danger as well. Either way, they were both captive now, and if Naia didn't act quickly, she knew she would be caught and face the same end. It was death in the wood at the hands of the Hunter, or the possibility of rescuing her brother and her friend if she remained here.

Is that what Gurjin had been trying to do?

Her heart lurched at the thought, nearly toppling out of her chest, caught only by the web of intense guilt that surrounded it like a net. The rumors and the lies he'd been accused of telling—it wasn't that he hadn't told them, it was that they weren't lies.

But guilt would not solve the problem. Gurjin's knife firmly in her grip, she faced the Crystal once more.

“My brother,” she pleaded. “Show me where he is? Please, I must save him!”

The Crystal moaned with its ghostly song, turning once again. In the walls of its body she saw a dark figure slumped near a window, and through the window she saw stars and the tops of trees. It was somewhere high in the turrets of the castle, and so without another moment's hesitation, she dashed back into the maze of corridors, searching for a way up.

T
he Skeksis' voices faded in and out as Naia scurried from hall to hall, searching for a passage that would take her upward. The castle's hard walls seemed made for echoes, amplifying and distorting the lords' crowing so that it seemed everywhere at once. At every corner, Naia braced herself for a confrontation, heart hammering with relief every time there was none.

At one such junction, Neech let out a chirp and launched from her shoulder, gliding quickly up an inclining corridor and disappearing into the dim staircase.

“Neech!” she hissed after him. If she called too loudly, her voice would surely echo—but Neech didn't respond, chirping to himself as he glided farther and farther away upward. Naia gritted her teeth and followed before she lost track of him, hoping he had caught something she had missed and wasn't just chasing some tasty-looking critter that scurried through the shadows. Neech's black body made him hard to spot in the poorly lit ascending spiral passageways, but he gave intermittent chirps that let her track him even in the dark. The higher they climbed, the tighter the spiral stairway wound, and the louder the storm outside became. Glancing out windows as she passed, Naia could see they were climbing one of the turrets of the castle, and the view overlooked
the storm raging across the Dark Wood.

Neech finally settled on a big iron bar set across a set of heavy doors, eyes wide and entire body vibrating with anticipation. Did he think this was where the Skeksis were headed? Listening, she didn't hear them approaching. No, Neech was waiting here for a different reason, gnawing at the heavy wood in a vain attempt to gain entrance.

Naia braced her hands below the iron bar and pulled, sliding it horizontally out of the latch with a groaning
creeeak
that she hoped would be drowned out by the many other grumbling noises that lurked throughout the dark halls. Lock disengaged, Naia carefully pressed her weight on the heavy door, pushing it open wide enough to see a dim cell inside. From the warm sour scent that met her nostrils, she knew she didn't want to see what lay within, but she had no choice. Neech chirruped and darted inside, and so she followed, knowing with a rotten gnawing expectation what she was going to find.

Iron cages holding Gelfling lined every wall within the cell. Most captives huddled in the cramped space with their arms wrapped about their knees, while others leaned against the rusty bars. Some were alive—she heard shallow, labored breathing and quiet little whimpers. Some lay so still they were certainly unconscious, if not gone altogether. She saw a palette of skin tones, from the dark umber of the Spriton to the pale, almost white of the Vapra. One of the Gelfling had no hair upon her head, only inky black tattoos along her scalp and neck. Another had matted auburn curls that had long since lost their luster. None moved
but a twitch when she entered, and she thought perhaps they were sleeping, but when the faint light from the hallway touched the face of one prisoner nearby, she saw his eyes were milky and vacant, like the Podling slaves . . . like the Nebrie.

“Naia?”

The croaking voice was almost lost in its fragility, but the timbre in it brought tears to Naia's eyes. Crouched in a wood crate in the far corner, nearly hidden by shadows, was a haggard Gelfling with gray-tinged Drenchen skin and thick locs pulled into a bun at the back of his head. So much of his natural bulk was gone, leaving him thin and bony like a child. He twisted, holding on to the thick wood and pressing his face between the slats to get a better look at her. His voice was muffled and weak, but it was definitely Gurjin.

“Naia? Is that really you?”

“Gurjin,” she breathed. “You're all right. You're all right!”

“All right?” he repeated with a little cough. “I've been tossed in a bin like a noggie husk.”

Naia wasted no time, finding the clasp that held the top of the crate shut and hacking at it with her dagger. The wood was thick but old; the knife's blade took steady bites out of the plank, slowly loosening the metal plate to which the latch was bolted.

“We have to leave,” she said in between strikes. “The Skeksis . . . they have my friend—Gurjin, what's happening here?”

When the latch-plate had separated enough, Naia jammed the dagger between the plate and wood, and leaned with all her weight. With a creaking whine, the wood splintered and the plate
popped off. Naia threw the top of the crate open and grabbed her brother to help him up. The breadth of his shoulders hadn't shrunk with his weight, and she threw her arms around them and hugged him tightly.

“I'm not sure I can walk,” he said. “I've been in there for days—no food, and they've put moonberry in my water—”

“I'll carry you if I have to.”

Gurjin wiped her cheeks with his fingertips. His face—the face she shared with him—was changed, sallow and hollow, his eyes unfocused. The moonberry was to blame for the latter, Naia guessed. The effects of the sleep-flower would wear off eventually, but she worried there was no remedy for the other nightmares her brother had endured.

“They'll be coming soon,” Gurjin said.

“I know. That's why we have to leave. Can any of the others walk?”

Naia hoisted Gurjin up, bearing most of his weight against her side when his legs nearly failed to support his body. She felt overwhelmed with a wave of hopelessness when she looked around them. She could barely support her brother's weight. There was no way she would be able to carry out all the Gelfling in the cell—even if she had the time to free them. A wood crate was one thing, but the metal bars and chains . . .

“What should we do?”

Gurjin shook his head. His voice was so soft, it was hardly recognizable.

“They're already drained. It's too late.”

Naia didn't know what he meant by
drained
, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. The awful fact was, they didn't have time. If she wanted to help the silent dull-eyed Gelfling, she would have to save herself first.

“We'll just have to come back for them,” she said, determined. “We'll come back.”

Swallowing her guilt, Naia hobbled out of the cell with her brother's feet stumbling along. Together, they made a slow escape into the outer hall. Naia pondered the long stairway down and tried not to think about the distance back to the exit and how long it would take them at this pace. She tried not to think about how easy it would be to find them, if the Skeksis had not been preoccupied with whatever they were doing to Tavra.

I'll have to come back for her, too
, Naia thought miserably.

“The Skeksis have betrayed us,” Gurjin breathed.

“I know,” she said. “What's happened—what have they done? You said the others were drained—did they drain you, too?”

Before Gurjin could answer, a cold wind billowed around her ankles as something moved in the stairway below. With the way the stairs spiraled, she couldn't see far, but she could feel it . . . hear it rustling and creeping and breathing . . . and then she smelled it, that terrible blue scent of Gelfling—of Gelfling
essence
, she realized, with a horrible shudder. She backed up the stairs, one at a time, but she knew she was only putting off the inevitable. There was nowhere to run in the narrow corridor, and nowhere to hide but in the dank cell that would become a prison as soon as the heavy door was shut once again.

“Some
scampabouts
in Skeksis tower,” came the lisping, reedy voice. Footsteps followed, one after the other, and the cloaked figure that emerged from the shadows seemed to bring the darkness with him. It was the Skeksis with the burning eyes, the one that had watched her from the banquet. Across his shoulders was a mantle of liquid night, boiling about his feet like black smoke, bulging under one side where he carried something. Though Naia had now seen all the lords, as dark and towering as they were, on this night she knew that this one was to be most feared.

“One and one,” he purred. He jabbed a finger first at Naia and then at her brother. “Two, but one. Two, one . . . twin. Had the one and been waiting for the second. Now we have her! Oh, have been waiting for this wonderful night!”

“skekMal,” Gurjin whispered. “No . . .”

“Now, come. Closer. End this now, skekMal will do. Time for special draining of twin Gelfling. Waited so long! skekTek the Scientist says may make a special
essence
for Emperor. Ha! Not if skekMal make and take it for
himself.
”

The idea that they had been saving Gurjin like some rare holiday treat was bad enough, but knowing the Skeksis had known he'd had a twin—that they'd been
waiting for her
—was dizzying and revolting. Cornered, betrayed, Naia felt her fear ignite into anger, and she planted her feet and raised her voice.

“What have you done with Tavra?” she demanded. She wanted to know, but more than that, she needed to buy time. Gurjin was bearing more of his own weight, beginning to shake off the haze of being trapped in the cell, but he was by no means ready to flee
on his own two feet. Lightning crackled outside, illuminating the interior of the whorled stairway through one of the windows that opened into thick stormy air high above the Dark Wood.

“Silverling wanted to know what we does with Gelfling. Wanted to see for itself. Stinking Silverling. Got what it deserves. Just a little drain tonight. . . the rest tomorrow.”

Skeksis Lord skekMal held one arm out, spreading his cloak, and Naia's mouth went dry. Clasped within was Tavra, limp and unconscious, eyes wide and misty like fog on a summer morning. She fell from where she was held, suddenly, dropping to the stairway with a broken
thump
, and Naia spied what had held the soldier's body while skekMal's talons had been occupied. Folded tightly against the sides of the Skeksis's torso was a second pair of clawed black arms.

Four arms . . .

“He's no lord,” Naia said. “He's the Hunter.”

skekMal chuckled and gave an extravagant, patronizing bow with all four arms as he reached within the endless bulk of his cloak. He withdrew a mask of bone, though it had a crack in the temple from a rock the size of a
bola
stone. With a toothy, fanged grin of smugness, skekMal the Hunter placed his mask upon his hooked face.

“Even stupid Gelfling figures it out,” he cooed. “So stupid, Gelfling.”

“Naia. I'm sorry.”

Tavra's voice was little more than a breath, but seeing the Vapra reminded Naia of how determined she had been to bring
Naia out of Sog. How much she had already seemed to know about Naia and her twin brother. Even skekMal paused when the Vapra spoke, steepling the fingers of his two larger hands and watching, as if for sport. Tavra pushed herself up enough to meet Naia's eyes.

“You knew?” Naia whispered.

“I knew they wanted you. I didn't know why. When I found out, I tried to make it right. I tried to stop you, in the wood, but you followed me here anyway. I'm so sorry.”

Despite the distant sense of betrayal, Naia felt the pain in the soldier's confession, and then the urgency in the three words that followed:

“Warn the others.”

The fog cleared from Tavra's eyes for a moment, and Naia understood. They knew the Skeksis' secret, now, and it would all be for nothing if they couldn't reach the other Gelfling, the other clans, Naia's parents, her tribe, the All-Maudra.

“
No one warns anyone!
” skekMal screeched, swiping a claw down and snatching Tavra from the steps. He held her by the neck and shook her like a beast worrying its prey, daring her to defy him again. Tavra withstood the abuse in silence, only looking at Naia and, with a stern and selfless clarity, said the words again, though her voice was strangled by skekMal's grip.

Warn the others . . .

Then skekMal dropped her, and she did not rise again. Stepping over her with all his skirts and cloak, the Hunter growled a refrain:

“No one warns anyone.”

Tears on her cheeks, Naia backed away, taking Gurjin with her, pleading a silent apology to the fallen Vapra. A cold storm wind blew rain in from the window, and she looked out, seeing the long drop into pitch blackness below, knowing behind her was only the top of the turret, a dead-end path leading straight to the dungeon cell she wanted with all her life to avoid.

Satisfied with his disposal of Tavra, skekMal climbed the stairs, four arms spread wide, clawed black hands ready to slash, and fanged beak ready to bite. Naia looked to the dagger in her hand, its solid blade heavy in her palm.

“Hard to fight while carrying stone,” skekMal cackled.

It was the grim truth: There was no way she could carry Gurjin and fight at the same time. Letting go of the knife would leave her defenseless, but she would not let go of her brother. But perhaps . . .

Now the Hunter waits behind him . . .

He knows not what lies below him . . .

Glancing out the window, a bolt of hope charged her body. She gave the dagger's hilt a last squeeze for luck, saying good-bye before she flung it out the window. The move startled skekMal into silence long enough for Naia to listen, hard, through the howling storm beyond the window.

Splash
.

Naia pulled Gurjin onto the windowsill and, giving skekMal a last look of defiance, turned toward the open sky beyond, and leaped. With a shriek of dismay, skekMal dived forward, his claws
brushing her ankle as she cleared the sill, holding Gurjin in her arms and taking him with her.

She felt a rush of wind and a blossom of pain in her back and shoulders as the updraft hit them. Naia closed her eyes and prayed, bracing herself for the impact of the water, hoping it could cushion their fall enough to save their lives. Expecting freefall, she clung to Gurjin and prepared for the fast drop to the castle moat. Its thick waters were quiet—save for the single wet splash it had offered when Gurjin's knife had struck from above.