The Last Stand of Daronwy (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jeremy sat on the wide steps of the school while he waited for his mom. Eventually, the long sedan pulled into the circular driveway. As it crept closer, his stomach sank. He looked at the cement, at the trapped pebbles beneath its surface. Maybe they had once been part of a giant mountain, and then somebody took them and they ended up in this concrete, doomed to be part of a school's sidewalk forever. Jeremy doubted these pebbles ever had a fighting chance.

“Jeremy!” His mom jumped out of the car and ran to him. She swept him into an embarrassing hug. “Are you hurt? Are you all right? Why were you fighting?”

“I didn't start it. All I was doing was talking to Mira.”

“Honey, why didn't you hit him back?”

“I couldn't.” He stared at the concrete and kicked at the pebbles, wishing he could dislodge one and set it free. “I dunno.”

“Do you want me to talk to the principal about it? Maybe we should put you in a different class.”

“No, ma'am. Can we just go home?”

“Yes, honey. We can. Come on.”

She opened the front door and he climbed into the plush brown seat. She got in on the other side. “Are you hungry? It's almost lunch time.”

He nodded.

“How about Mexican food at Casa Olé? I have to go back to work, so you're going to stay at Mommit's until Dad gets off.”

“Casa Olé sounds good.”

It was the same set of questions when his dad arrived at Grandma's. They rode home in complete silence and Jeremy couldn't tell if his dad was angry or not. When they turned on Vermont Street, acrid smoke wafted in through the air conditioner.

“What's burning?”

Dad shrugged. “I dunno.”

They drove down the street and the bike trails slid into view—far too many of them. They had almost been entirely cleared. Half the trails remained, but half were just exposed dirt crisscrossed by tractor-sized tire tracks. All the underbrush had been pushed together into a pyre, and it billowed a gray smoke.

“Dad, I need to go to Twin Hills!”

“No, Jeremy. You need to stay in your room and think about why you shouldn't be getting in fights at school.”

Jeremy trudged to his room, slamming the door. Sitting on his bed, he stared across the street and watched as the October light faded and the smoke pooled into the darkening sky. His mind wandered and he was startled by the knock on his door.

“Jeremy! Come eat!” Rosalyn shrieked through the door.

He marched out of his room to take a seat at the table.

“So he hit you first?”

Jeremy looked at his dad. “Yes, sir.”

“Why didn't you hit him back?”

“I couldn't. He was too fast. And I was falling over backpacks, and then he grabbed on to me.”

His dad shook his head.

Jeremy stared at the homemade hamburger and fries on his plate. He really wasn't hungry. Twin Hills was burning.
Burning
.

“… library… ”

“What?”

His mom turned as though she were about to scold him for interrupting, but didn't. “I was saying that someone told me that they might be building a library in the woods across the street. Wouldn't that be nice? We wouldn't have to go all the way to Port Arthur for the library anymore.”

Jeremy blinked and ate a bite of hamburger. A library; that might be okay. Having a library across the street from his house would be really good. Well, not really good, but not terrible. Did this mean that he was wrong for fighting against them? Shouldn't he be helping them if they were building a library? Vexed, he pushed the plate away. It was too late to call Daniel, so he went back to his bedroom and stared out the window. The amber street lamps stretched their light toward the gaping hole of shadow that yawned where there had once been trees, but could not illuminate the destruction or the burn piles. They still smoldered, though. He could smell them.

If they built a library on Twin Hills, they wouldn't need to cut down everything; the Port Arthur Library would easily fit within Helter Skelter. That would leave the rest of the forest and the Tree intact. He wished the street lamps would pierce the shadow over Twin Hills so he could see how much they had already cut. He remembered the decision of the Elders to give the Dan'kir fortress to Kronshar in Eaglewing and Lightningbolt's world. He remembered the way Daniel had played Naranthor when he had proposed it. It had sounded safe; it had sounded logical. But not long afterward, Eaglewing and Lightningbolt were rescuing hostages from Dan'kir. This library could be the same sort of thing; he had to find out.

The next day, his mom took the day off and he stayed home from school. Just before lunch, two men arrived and started their tractors. They worked to push the remaining debris into a burn pile. The men would know if they were building a library. He could simply ask them and settle the question. But how? What if they realized he had been the one filling in their ditches? They could tell his parents, or worse, call the police. Jeremy watched them from his driveway, trying to decide what to do. There were three men now, moving about in the warm autumn sun. Two on the tractors and one with a shovel. He would never have another chance to talk to them—he would be back in school tomorrow. He had to find out why they were destroying Twin Hills.

Forcing his shaking knees to straighten, he took a breath. Halfway across the street, the tempest in his stomach drowned his courage. If he asked them, then it would be obvious that he was the one filling in their ditches. He would be in trouble for certain. But, how else was he going to find out? Taking another breath and balling his hands into fists, Jeremy pushed himself across the empty lot and into the decimated bike trails. The man with the shovel had disappeared, so Jeremy walked toward the man on the closest tractor—the green one. Jeremy stood in front of an uprooted bush and stared at the man, waiting to be noticed.

The tractor driver glanced up, then glanced again, startled. Leaving the matted pile of limbs and brush that he had been pushing, the man reversed his tractor, spinning it toward Jeremy. Jeremy forced his shoulders straight and curled his toes in his shoes, trying desperately not to run. His breath came in short gasps.

The tractor rumbled slowly toward him.

Cold sweat beaded across his forehead. His hands shook. His knees quivered.

The man steered the thing next to Jeremy and geared the engine down into a less noisy idle.

“Hey,” he said, leaning down. “Whatcha doin' out here?” The man's gaze registered the black eye. Jeremy felt it throbbing like a giant “guilty” sign on his face. “Are you okay, son?”

Jeremy wanted to speak, wanted to say something, but all the words caught in his throat. Taking a wheezing breath of diesel fumes, he shouted, “Are you building a library?”

The man sat back, blinking. Then he stared at Jeremy, cocked his head and laughed. “No, no; I don't think so. I mean, they don't tell us that stuff. But no, I don't think so.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Before the man could say another word, Jeremy bolted across the remaining yellow grasses toward his house. As he crossed the street, he steered toward Sy's house instead so that they wouldn't know where he lived. He ran onto Sy's porch and crouched behind the shrubs. The man had watched him go. As Jeremy spied from behind the shrubs along Sy's porch, the man took off his baseball cap, scratched at his unruly brown hair, and put it back on. The tractor swerved back to its previous task, piling the murdered brush of Twin Hills into burn-piles. The man's words rang in Jeremy's ears. “They don't tell us that stuff.” The man was just another pebble, trapped in just another sidewalk. Jeremy thought about his dad who hated waking up at four in the morning for his shift at the refinery. Everyone on this block did that, except Mira's dad; he was a professor at Lamar.

But all of them were trapped in these jobs, doing things that other people made them do. Except him. Jeremy could save Twin Hills, because he was still free. He was, after all,
chosen
. Jeremy repeated that thought until his nervous nausea passed.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

They were creeping along the canal embankment as it transformed into the stinking, crumbling shanty towns that surrounded Khazim. “Let's play that we got up to Khazim,” Daniel said, “but Niritan is still off in the rift valley somewhere.”

Jeremy nodded. “It's bigger than Hrad'din. There's a giant city of huts and ogres and selurks that live outside it in these mud-brick houses. The castle walls are up on a hill, they're tall and black, and beyond that is a large square pyramid with no point. Instead, it has a building on top of it, and that is where Kronshar lives, in the center of the keep.”

“Naranthor knows a way inside.”

“Right. Let's play that it's night and we fly over the city, almost up to the inner wall. We stay right on the edge of the clouds so that they won't see us.”

“Okay.” Daniel extended his arms.

“We have to dive. Dive next to the wall,” said Naranthor.

“But we'll be seen,” said Lightningbolt.

“Wait for the guards to cross each other. Watch the orbs. Once they cross, dive for the middle of the wall and make for the ravine in front of it. Go, now!”

They pulled their wings back, plummeting like dark shooting stars. The guards and the wall flashed past as they swept into the rocky gorge just outside the wall. Naranthor led them along the putrid stream in the bottom of the gorge for hours; the stink of sewage burned their eyes and choked their lungs. It was nearly dawn when they alit on a tumble of blocks from a collapsed escape tunnel. They crept inside silently, leaving the rancid stream behind them.

“And I thought the rift valley was the worst thing I'd ever smelled.” Kavarine suppressed a cough with her hand pressed against her chest.

They gathered in the tunnel. “Well, I can see why it isn't guarded. Who could stand next to that thing?”

“Quiet.”

We should walk up a little ways and then rest,
Naranthor said using his telepathy.

I can't rest with Kronshar this close,
said Eaglewing.

It will take almost two days to get through this tunnel undetected. Most of the beings in the castle live in daylight. Dawn is already breaking above.

Can we at least get a little bit away from the sewage? The smell is killing me.
Kavarine pressed her hands together in a prayer-like gesture.

I'm with her
, Lightningbolt said.

Eaglewing nodded and motioned for Naranthor to lead. They walked uphill, picking their way over the fallen stones. They made a small camp, ate some of the last of their rations, and tried to sleep. When they awoke, Naranthor was missing.

“Where's Naranthor?” asked Lightningbolt.

Eaglewing looked about. “I don't know.” He drew his sword quietly. “I'll head down back toward the ravine. You and Kavarine head up the passage, but don't use too much light.”

Lightningbolt and Kavarine crept up the broken tunnel, taking care to not step on loose rocks. A steady drip fell somewhere in the dim shadows. Something scurried across their path. Kavarine almost incinerated it.

Just a rat.
Lightningbolt shrugged.

I hate rats.

A light scattered the shadows ahead; someone was coming.
Take the right side of the tunnel. I'll take the left. Hurry.
Steady footfalls echoed through the cavern and the light grew brighter. The wizards waited. Lightningbolt prepared a spell of ice, the quietest thing he could think of. The intruder's light crept toward them. Lightningbolt's hands sweated and he exhaled a long sigh to calm his mind.

Naranthor stepped around the corner and froze. The light intensified to illuminate the two wizards waiting in ambush. Kavarine sighed.

What are you two doing?

We could ask you the same question,
said Lightningbolt.

I was checking on my magical wards to be certain the tunnel had remained undiscovered.

Lightningbolt glanced at Kavarine, and even in the gloom he could see her raised eyebrows.
Isn't it dangerous to leave wards down here, this close to Kronshar?

Naranthor waved a hand in the air
,
walking past them.
Nonsense, these have been here since I started sneaking into this castle. He's accustomed to them now. He probably thinks that they were here when he first took over Khazim.
“What's for breakfast?” he said aloud.

Surprised by Naranthor's sudden lack of caution, Lightningbolt glanced at Kavarine.

She crafted a thought only he could hear.
Something is not right.

He's been acting odd since Hrad'din fell.

“Maybe it's just stress,” Jeremy said in his Kavarine voice, shrugging.

“I don't know about this. It seems weird.”

“Think about it. Naranthor was the only survivor from the last time he broke into Khazim. And he was the one that wanted us to stand and fight at Hrad'din too, and you know how that went.”

Daniel nodded, switching to his Lightningbolt voice. “Naranthor, I think we should contact Niritan, see if he's been able to make a new Stone.”

Jeremy mimed looking for breakfast in an imaginary backpack. He stood, whirling toward Daniel. “Are you out of your mind? If you contact Niritan now, then Kronshar will certainly feel it! It'd be far better to wait. Wait until we get closer. Wait until we are nearly to Kronshar.”

Daniel cocked his head, opening his mouth to say something.

“Boys!” Mrs. McClain stood on the back porch. “It's getting dark. Y'all need to come inside.”

The blue doors opened to a dismal hall decorated with orange and black bulletin boards that had been populated with ghosts and pumpkins. The cliques gathered in front of each classroom chattering endlessly about nothing. Daniel glided to one of them, sitting down and taking out a deck of cards to show off a magic trick he learned from his brother. Jeremy slunk along the wall until he came to Mrs. Livingston's room. He kept his head low, but his eyes scanned the hallway for any sign of Josh. He sat outside the classroom, opening
Return of the King.
He kept reading the same sentence over and over, because his eyes darted up each time someone walked past.

“Hey, Jeremy.”

It was Mira's voice, but he didn't look up. He didn't even move the book. “Hey.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.” He glanced down the hall for Josh.

“Hey.” She knelt, pushing the book aside with a gentle hand. He had held that hand once. Josh had probably held her hand too. Had Josh kissed her? He tried to look away, but the blood rose in his face, throbbing around his eye. “Does it hurt?”

“I'm fine.” Where was Josh? He wasn't in the hall. If he caught them… Jeremy shuddered. He met Mira's eyes. “What do you care, anyway?”

She rocked back on her heels. “I… I just wanted to say I'm sorry.”

“You should be.”
Twin Hills is burning and Mira doesn't even care
, he thought
. She was too busy chasing after people like Josh. It serves her right.
“You never talked to me after we found the Old Man. After that night.”

“I didn't—”

“We sat out on my dad's truck, remember? But you never really cared did you? You never cared. It's about your Pink Ladies now, isn't it?”

“What are you talking about?”

The bell rang. Everyone grabbed their backpacks and swarmed toward their classrooms.

“I gotta go.” Jeremy stood, shouldered his pack, and glanced down the hall one last time.

Mira grabbed his wrist. “Look, I said I'm sorry.”

“Who cares?” He ripped his hand away and marched into the classroom.