The Last Stand of Daronwy (11 page)

“I can't believe that. We almost had the trailer finished!” Mira pounded her fist into her palm.

“Yeah.” Jeremy prayed that she wouldn't suggest they go back after Mr. Black went inside.

She didn't. “I guess that's not going to work. I couldn't understand the markings, anyway.”

“Me either.”

“We will have to think of something else to find the Old Man. Maybe your tar pit.”

Jeremy's eyebrows raised and he smiled. “Maybe.”

“Hey, you know what?”

“What?”

“Do you think that Mr. Black
is
the Old Man?” Her eyes sparkled at the prospect. She grabbed his forearm with both hands, shaking it. “Like in
Scooby Doo
. Think about it.”

“I don't think so. But I don't know.”

“Think about it. Why
else
would he want to keep us out of the trailer?”

Chapter Eleven

As he pedaled toward Daniel's house, Jeremy played out scenes in his mind between Eaglewing and Mayflure. He figured she should be almost healed by now. Jeremy dropped his bike in the front yard and went through the garage to the back door of Daniel's house. He knocked.

“Hi, Jeremy,” Mrs. McClain said. “I think Daniel is in his room.”

Hearing the interchange, Daniel came out. “Come on.” He led Jeremy back outside and up onto the embankment of the canal. The highway and cars and even the canal disappeared as Jeremy began.

“Let's play that Mayflure is almost healed.”

Daniel crossed his arms.

“She doesn't really know how she ended up in that pit in Dan'kir—”

Daniel interrupted him. “Let's say that she's hobbling on a crutch and standing with us in the room where the three Stones are. I'll play her.”

“We now have three stones, with the addition of the Des'an'dar Stone,” Eaglewing said to Mayflure, pointing.

“Yeah, the extra one, the Tillianfeld one, and the Des'an'dar Stone,” said Lightningbolt.

“And we don't know—”

Mayflure interrupted Eaglewing. “Eaglewing, do you think these adepts-in-training are enough of a guard?”

“Um…” Jeremy stammered, surprised by the question. “This room is really deep beneath Hrad'din. You'd have to get through a lot of guards to get down here. I think they'll be okay.”

“Mayflure, did you see any other Stones in Khazim?” Lightningbolt asked.

She shook her head. “We had barely made it through the inner keep before we were spotted and had to make our retreat. I don't know what went wrong.”

“It's okay,” said Eaglewing. “Lightningbolt, can we use these to find the others?”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “No. If Kronshar has any of them, he would know the second we tried it.”

The monolithic door that could only be opened with magic grated across the tiled floor. Eaglewing and Lightningbolt turned as one. The Midnight Wizard stepped aside as Rathian and the Edenkiri from Des'an'dar entered. Eaglewing's sword sang free, and Lightningbolt leveled his staff at them, ready to draw on the three Stones. The four adepts-in-training scrambled with their weapons. Mayflure gawked at the blue-skinned being, then belatedly shifted her weight off her injured leg and brandished her crutch like a spear.

“Stop! Stop, you fools!” The Midnight Wizard stepped between them, waving his arms.

Eaglewing lowered his sword, but did not sheathe it. Lightningbolt's hands remained ready. The adepts-in-training looked from one to the other, uncertain of what to do.

“They came to learn why we stole the Stone from them,” said the Midnight Wizard.

Rathian bowed, as did the Edenkiri. “I am Rathian. I was once an adept, but I lost my way. Now I have found it again.”

“And I am Niritan,” said the Edenkiri.

Without taking his eyes off either of them, Eaglewing asked, “Why are you here?”

“Because we can help you. I was deceived by the demon lord into attacking the Edenkiri and I want to amend that. From what we have heard, this Kronshar you are fighting sounds like one who would start the Great War once more.”

“And after such a long peace, it is a travesty we cannot allow,” said Niritan.

Lightningbolt looked from them to the Midnight Wizard, who nodded. “I am Lightningbolt Vindarin, Master Adept of the Wizards, and I am honored to serve with you both.” He bowed, releasing his spell and pointing his staff away from the intruders.

Eaglewing's eyes darted from one to the other.

Rathian's yellow eyes focused on the sword. “If we are not about to fight each other, can you sheathe that sword, warrior?”

“How do we know we can trust you?”

“Because you'd already be dead if you couldn't.”

Eaglewing remembered the room in Des'an'dar and the incredible power of the Edenkiri. He sheathed his sword. “My apologies. Master Adept Eaglewing Vindarin, at your service.”

“I am Mayflure Kranta, Master Adept of the Warriors.” She leaned back on her crutch. “It is an honor to meet both of you. You're both legendary.”

“That's what happens when you spend a few millennia as a statue,” Rathian huffed. Niritan smirked.

“So you have three Stones.” Rathian stepped toward them. His horns were gone now, leaving only scars on either side of his head. His narrow golden eyes were little more than slits. Both he and Niritan stood almost seven feet tall, but unlike the wizard, Rathian had broad, thick shoulders.

Niritan put one pair of hands on his hips and nodded to each Stone. “Aganite, Denonite, and Carmenela.”

“You can tell them apart?” Lightningbolt stared from the Edenkiri to the shining blue orbs that seemed to float above the table behind their guards.

“Anyone that can use the Stones must be able to tell them apart.”

“Do you know where the other Stones are?”

“No, master warrior, I only know where they were.”

“There is one at the bottom of Tamilik Bay,” said the Midnight Wizard.

“Yes, I know where it is,” said Rathian. “My men dropped it there to keep it safe.” He nodded toward Niritan. “An Edenkiri can raise it.”

“How did you all get transformed into statues?” asked Lightningbolt.

Niritan's cheeks glowed a subtle purple. “It happened when two spells collided and backfired on me. We'll speak no more of it.”

Rathian chuckled. Niritan ignored him. “We need to find the Renith Stone. Besides the Capstone, it is the most important.”

“Renith?” asked Eaglewing.

“During the Battle of Milkrane Bluffs, the Stone Arunite was destroyed.”

“Which created the Wasteland,” muttered Eaglewing.

“They can be destroyed?” Lightningbolt stared at the Stones pulsing with energy on their table.

“Yes. We used the Renith Stone to destroy Arunite. Renith took Arunite's energy and is now almost two Stones.”

“Where is it?” asked Mayflure.

Rathian nodded to his willowy companion. “The Edenkiri took it after that battle.”

“In a dragon cave on Fractured Mountain. I was with them when my commanders put it there,” said Niritan.

Eaglewing started for the door. “Let's ride. That's a day's flight by dragon.”

“Ride?”

He stopped. “Yeah, it beats walking.”

“I did not hold a Stone for two thousand years to learn nothing. If I have been to a place, nothing will keep me from it. Come here, adept. Join hands and hold on tight.”

Eaglewing, Lightningbolt, Niritan, and Rathian formed a circle. A hot wind blew their hair and garments. The all-too-familiar pain of using a jump cloth was absent in this spell. The wind tugged at the contours of the room, swirling around them in a vortex as the colors bled together. Eaglewing's stomach lurched; they seemed to be spinning, but their feet did not move. He caught a flash of green and yellow, what seemed to be trees and mountains, and then the colors changed. Shades of yellow, brown, and orange rock moved around them, slowing. As the swirl stopped, he realized they flashed across the Wasteland. A distant sun beat on his head and then everything was dark.

“Where are—” Blue light blinded them as an explosion rang in their ears, echoing through the cavern. As his eyes adjusted, Eaglewing could see Niritan standing before them, four hands outstretched, creating a magical shield. Eaglewing, Lightningbolt, and Rathian ducked behind him. A harsh voice laughed in the darkness.

Kronshar's bald head was lit from below with the light from the large blue orb he held, making his grin appear even more evil. Six wizards stood on either side of him, staffs ready. “So, it is true that you Edenkiri are as incredible as the legends claim. Welcome, Child of the Mountains.”

Eaglewing unsheathed his sword. Rathian loosened his axe. Lightningbolt leveled his staff toward the wizards. Niritan grinned, shaking his long black braids. He put one pair of hands on his hips. “It has been a long time since I was called ‘Child' of anything. I have come seeking what is mine. I would like it returned.”

“Not anymore, Ancient One. Join me. I will bring back the glory of your race.”

“You only seek your own glory!” said Lightningbolt, hands tightening on his staff.

Kronshar's eyes flicked to Lightningbolt. “Adepts. I should have known. So it begins, then.” Kronshar lifted the Stone.

Niritan charged forward, crafting a swirling black spell while redoubling his glittering shields with others. Eaglewing and Rathian dove into the shadows on either side of the wizards. Lightningbolt streamed violet electricity from his staff. Shadows danced in the frantic strobe light as spells collided and exploded.

A wizard swept his staff toward Eaglewing. Eaglewing parried, slicing his sword across the wizard's shoulder. The wizard crumpled. In the next flash, Eaglewing stepped over the fallen wizard as another one charged. Shards of granite sliced through the air; percussive explosions boxed their ears. He felt the force of the wizard's spell rip through his own shields even as he deflected most of the energy. He rammed his shoulder into the wizard, knocking him backwards. In the next flash, he saw Rathian on one side of the cavern, then on the other, crossing distance with preternatural speed.

“After Kronshar!” shouted Rathian.

Blue light flickered through the depths as Kronshar ran with the Stone. Niritan chased him, his long legs barely touching the ground. Eaglewing and Lightningbolt pumped their wings, trying to keep up. With each twist of the passageway, the cavern began to lighten. As they rounded the last corner, fire consumed the tunnel. Eaglewing ducked back, stopping Lightningbolt behind him. Niritan stood his ground, four arms crossed as fire bent around his shields. He made step after struggling step against the inferno.

When the barrage of fire ceased, Eaglewing, Rathian, and Lightningbolt charged around the corner. A massive dragon stood silhouetted against the blinding daylight of the cavern's mouth. And in the shadow of the dragon, Kronshar bowed his head over the Renith Stone. Niritan reached Kronshar first. As the Edenkiri lunged for the Stone, luminous blue light pooled at Kronshar's feet, circling the wizard once and then surging upward like a thousand radiant serpents. Niritan back flipped through the air, landing among the adepts as they skidded to an uncertain halt. The tidal wave of blue energy crested against the roof of the cavern and plummeted toward them with an electric froth of sparks. Three of Niritan's hands grabbed the other adepts.

The adepts tumbled onto a sand dune, facing the spire-like mountain as its middle erupted into brilliant blue light. The crushing roar of an avalanche deafened their ears as a cloud of orange dust swept from the base of the mountain, covering them in sand and pelting them with rock chips. From the destruction, they watched a dragon with a lone rider soar against the sun, fleeing south and east toward Khazim.

Niritan's eyes narrowed to slits, glaring at Eaglewing and Lightningbolt. “You said that Kronshar did not know how to use the Stones.”

“He doesn't…” said Lightningbolt. “At least—”

“You know the Stones react based on the holder's desires,” said Rathian. “Let Lightningbolt heal you; your shoulder looks out of place.”

Niritan gestured with one of his uninjured arms. “It couldn't flood by itself! You saw that, Rathian. You know what that was.”

Eaglewing and Lightningbolt exchanged a perplexed glance. “What are you saying?”

Rathian shook his head. “He's saying you'd better hope the Renith Stone did that by itself. Or else—”

“Or else you have already lost,” finished Niritan.

Chapter Twelve

Blue bonnets, Indian paintbrushes, and cottony wish-makers taunted Jeremy through the glass of Mrs. Rochard's classroom. They gloated in the sunlight, wavering on a warm wind that descended out of an impeccable blue sky. Soon, he would be free. In three weeks, another school year would be over, and the wet, hot summer days would be his and his alone. Mrs. Rochard still trashed their homework, Coach Penicillin still switched the traffic light to red at every lunch, but the prospect of summer kept Jeremy going. He had already started celebrating the lengthening days with an hour's walk in Twin Hills after school hunting that elusive, tantalizing magic that would free him from this world. If he could get through these last weeks, he would be free to find it—and to escape.

Jeremy turned away from the window and dove into the golden woods of Lothlórien, mesmerized by the world Tolkien had created with long, unending sentences. He felt eyes on him and knew that he would soon be called back into the dreary cinderblock-walled schoolroom. Jeremy glanced up, trying to avoid Mrs. Rochard's scrutinizing eye. She was staring in his direction, but not at him. Everyone in the room was quiet, backs still bent over the assignment Jeremy had already finished. Jeremy followed her gaze to Travis' desk. It was empty. Jeremy tried to remember the last time he had seen Travis at school—or even home, for that matter—and found that he couldn't. Had Travis moved away? No, he'd never get that lucky. Jeremy sighed and returned to the Elven lament for Gandalf.

At lunch, he asked Mira and Daniel, “Hey, have you seen Travis around?”

Mira shook her head.

Daniel leaned close over the table. “I heard that he got sick from swimming in the pond in Twin Hills ‘cause it's polluted.”

Jeremy shrugged. “It's no dirtier than the canal.”

“As if that's an improvement,” Mira laughed. “I don't see you swimming in the canal either. Oh, I didn't tell y'all. Mom says we might get a swimming pool this summer. If we do, you have to come over and swim.”

Somehow, he miraculously had no homework. He dropped his backpack on the floor of his room and turned to head out to the woods. His mom stopped him in the hallway.

“Where are you going?”

“To the woods.”

“Do you swim in that pond out there?”

“No, ma'am. Never. It's gross.”

“Don't you ever touch it.”

He nodded.

“Do you remember Travis?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“He has leukemia.” His mom, forever the nurse, shifted into technical descriptions when talking about things she didn't like.

“Leu… what?”

“It's a type of cancer affecting bone marrow.”

“Oh.” Jeremy remembered his Granny Jean. She had died from cancer on a day when it snowed in southeast Texas. He was convinced the snow was God's way of saying He was sorry. “Will he die?”

She swallowed. “I don't know. I don't think so. They are fighting it. I just got a call from his step-mom today. She wants everyone to know. Don't go swimming in that pond. You stay away from it.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Jeremy walked to the pond, staring at the rainbow-slicked black water covered in fluorescent green algae. What was in the pond that caused leukemia? How did they know that the pond had caused it? Both his mom and Daniel had said it. How did people fight cancer? How did they fight something they couldn't see or touch?

He found his feet at the base of the old Tree and climbed up into the oak's branches. Sitting on the tilted trunk, he pulled his knees to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and stared into the green space of the other trees' branches and the smaller tallows that grew in their shadows. Jeremy didn't know how to feel. Travis hadn't been a good person to him. Of course, he hadn't been a good person to Travis either. Had that caused the cancer? If cancer was in the pond, how could he be sure no one else caught it?

The questions settled into a calm quiescence, like a pool smoothing its ripples to more accurately reflect the sky. Warmth exuded from the Tree, tickling the back of his neck as it enveloped him. His breathing slowed and then stopped, and he exchanged air through his skin, through his hair—the way a tree breathes. Golden stalks of light like ephemeral reeds grew up the trunks of the trees, along their branches, until the forest was clothed in a translucent, dancing light. He absorbed the air, then pushed it out, as though a giant hand were squeezing him like a sponge. There was no pain; only a calm, perfect peace.

A black tarry mass appeared in the center of the clearing, sucking away all the tendrils of light that it touched. The heavy stuff rolled toward him; it oozed up the bark of the tree, pushing a terrified, icy wind before it. Jeremy's toes curled inside his shoes and he pressed against the branch at his back. He didn't know what it was, but he knew that he didn't want to touch it.

This is what kills the brethren
, said an ancient voice in his mind.
This is what your kind have inflicted upon us. If you look for a way to begin, stop this
. The stuff flowed around his ankles, capturing his legs with an icy grip, freezing his muscles in place. He fought for air and pulled at his feet. In a moment, he was falling. He caught the branch behind him with a white-knuckled grip as air flooded back into his lungs. He coughed, shaking his head. It felt as if one of the shadows of Helter Skelter walked behind him, but there was nothing there. The black ooze had vanished. The stalks of light had vanished. The same old clearing stared back at him, empty, as he steadied himself on the tree.

Jeremy looked around, but there was definitely no one else in the clearing. What had that been? He summoned his courage and asked, voice cracking, “What am I supposed to do? I'm just a kid.”

A savage wind swirled through the clearing. He scrambled behind the branch at his back, holding on with both arms. The Tree bowed in the wind as the harsh, God-like voice pummeled words into his mind.
This is what your kind have inflicted on us. Stop this
. The heavy residue of black goo clogged his veins, rolling in its amoebic flow toward his heart.
Stop
this
.

Ice crept through his convulsing muscles and his hands slipped on the branch. “Okay! Stop it! Stop it! I'll do it!” The wind disappeared, the frigid weight vaporized, and he clambered down the Tree in a mad rush of limbs, only to crumble onto the pine needles at the base of the upended roots. The clearing spun around him, dizzying shifts of color from green to brown to green. He vomited on the needles and collapsed.

The sapling lay at Daronwy's roots, prone and unmoving in the fallen leaves. Was it too much, too heavy a touch? Had Daronwy misjudged the boy's abilities when he forced his energy onto him? He lay there, not unlike the tree, staring at the blue sky above, taking refuge in that great expanse that neither of them would ever be equal to, breathing in panicked gasps. Daronwy could feel the boy's minuscule mind racing with questions; Daronwy was alternately God and the Devil, then, even more terrifying, something else entirely. The brethren around Daronwy had awakened when he touched Jeremiah, aware of the new member in their midst; aware of a new party in the eternal conversation of the wind; aware of the tiny voice and the troubling uncertainty that it brought. On the warm wind they pondered what Daronwy had done, touching this inconsequential being.

Daronwy answered, “I do not believe this boy to be an inconsequential being. I believe he has ability, great ability even, to change his kind's destructive ways, if only his thicketed mind would open enough to accept that fact.”

“Pollution: The contamination of soil, water, or the atmosphere by the discharge of noxious substances.” Pictures of pipes vomiting brown sludge into surly red rivers vied with spewing smokestacks for space on the page. In the last weeks of school, encyclopedias replaced the
Fellowship of the Ring
. How bad was pollution? The canal and Twin Hills overflowed with ancient tires, barrels, washing machines, and dishwashers, all in varying states of decay. The marshes and bayous oozed black, rainbow-slicked water. Refineries billowed steam and hydrogen sulfide. So, if everything was already polluted, it became a question of time. How fast was it happening? How long would it be until there was no turning back? Jeremy needed to know if he had enough time to grow up or if he had to act now.

He dedicated a new section of his spiral notebook to the figures he would need. The number of tons of sulfur dioxide released in a year, the number of gallons of sewage leached into waterways, the estimated pesticide runoff in the rivers. But staring at the numbers, he couldn't put it together. Regardless of how he added, subtracted, multiplied, or divided, the numbers would not tell him the number of years he had to stop pollution. The encyclopedias taught him about types of pollution, about remedies like recycling, but did not have any information on how fast things were happening. Jeremy scoured the school's library, but there was even less there than in the encyclopedia. He would have to go to the Port Arthur Library. They had more books there than he had ever seen. The answer would be there, if anywhere.

When Mrs. Rochard forced him to close the encyclopedia and pay attention to her science lesson on convection—how a spoon left in soup gets hot because heat travels through the metal of the spoon—Jeremy started doodling. He drew a flag and wrote a motto for a pollution club. That would be a start at least, until he could figure out what else to do. He wondered if he could convince Daniel and Mira to join.