Cyrion Read online

  “Is secret way. Also MataPerak need to say bye-bye to little friend.” G’hanjl gestured at the tiny dun mouse on Anya’s shoulder.

  “Why?” Anya asked.

  “Is secret, magic way. Is very danger to little friend. Then MataPerak is much fatness of saddings.”

  “But then,” Jon said, “she’ll be blind.”

  Saul scratched his blonde head. “And how do we get down? Seems too far to jump.” He studied the coils of rope beside their packs. “Maybe if we use the ropes…”

  “G’hanjl is sayings secret way. G’hanjl is never sayings easy way. Easy way is walkings.”

  “But walking would take months,” Anya said.

  “Is why G’hanjl is taking MataPerak and fat Watchers to secret way.”

  Anya let her mouse friend down with gentle hands. The dun mouse scampered a little way away, then turned around and appeared to hesitate. It gave a little squeak before disappearing into the bushes.

  “Anya, use my eyes,” Jon said. “You need to see. We need you to see.”

  “But—”

  “It’s all right. I’m asking you to. I trust you. You’re not going to control my mind. And you trust me, right?”

  She still hesitated.

  “Right?” Jon insisted.

  She nodded, still obviously reluctant.

  Jon squared his shoulders. “Okay, so how do I do this?”

  “Just relax, and don’t fight me.”

  “Should I close my eyes?”

  She giggled. “I think that would rather defeat the point, don’t you?”

  “Sorry. Okay. Trying to relax,” Jon said, feeling more than a little foolish.

  Jon looked at the forest, not resting his sight on anything in particular. The sunlight shone through the canopy in glowing spears. Following the bright shafts, his focus drifted down and roamed over the summertime grass, graced with a scattering of buttercups. Tiny gold coins on a bed of green. A buzzing betrayed a single bee circling purple towers of white-tongued foxgloves. Traces of mint in the air reminded him of his mum’s roast lamb with mint sauce. His mouth watered.

  Jon felt a little tickle in the corner of his mind, and then his eyes moved of their own volition. There was a momentary wave of choking panic as he instinctively tried to regain control. The gentle tickling faded before he could force himself to relax.

  “I’m sorry. It’s okay, Anya. Try again.”

  Frowning a little, she nodded.

  Jon let his eyes roam, watching the play of shadows on the grass, as a warm summer breeze caressed the branches of trees overhead. There was the gentle tickle again.

  “It’s okay, go on.”

  When his eyes moved on their own, Jon let them. Then his heart started to race, and his mouth went dry. Odd. I am relaxed and thinking of nothing more exciting than roast lamb in mint sauce. When he felt an alien surge of apprehension, he turned his head and noticed Anya worrying her lower lip, her face, tense.

  She’s nervous.

  “It’s okay. Go ahead. I trust you.”

  The apprehension melted away, replaced by relief, tinged with wonder and delight.

  “Oh, it’s so good to see red again. It’s good to see all these colors again. Mice are color-blind, you know.”

  Jon found his head wrenched to the side as Anya caught sight of a squirrel climbing up a tree.

  “Owowow-please-stop-that-hurts.” He felt her control over his head and neck slip away, followed by a wave of deep regret.

  This is going to be tricky.

  “It’s okay. You didn’t mean to. I understand. Next time though, a warning would be nice.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry.”

  Remorse continued to pulse unabated.

  She has to feel I mean it.

  Gripping her bony shoulders, Jon stared deep into her blank, silvery eyes. It had always been hard for him to feel anything. But this time, he really needed to. He summoned all he felt about their friendship, and put all that in the forefront of his mind, so she would understand. His gratefulness, warm camaraderie, and deep affection for a friend.

  “It’s really okay,” Jon said.

  The persistent, alien tug of remorse dissipated like early morning mist. Replaced by an overwhelming sense of relief and delight mirrored in Anya’s radiant smile.

  “Are you done? Can we go now?” Saul said. “It’s just that, you know, I think I’ve figured out how to go down the hole.”

  Jon turned and spotted Saul holding one end of the rope looped around a tree trunk. The other end dangled into the cave opening.

  “G’hanjl is already down and I got all our packs down there too.”

  “Nice work, Saul.” Jon turned to Anya. “You go first. G’hanjl can help you once you get down.”

  “Yeah,” Saul said. “Then you. And I’ll go down last.”

  “Saul,” Jon said. “You must be tired after all that. You go after Anya, and I can lower myself down.”

  Jon felt an alien surge of impatience. He turned to Anya, her head cocked, arms crossed and left foot tapping.

  “Anya, go,” Jon said. Saul pulled up the rope and Jon tied it around her slight frame. They both lowered her down, and waited for the tug to show she was done with the rope.

  “Right. You’re going next, Saul. We don’t know what could be down there. I need you to protect us while I get down.”

  Saul nodded and went down without complaint. When Jon felt the tug, he pulled up the rope and tied one end around himself. He took one last look around before he began his descent.

  No turning back now.

  There was a surge of warmth and comfort.

  She senses what I feel.

  A now familiar impatience replaced the sense of warmth and comfort.

  “Jon, come on,” Saul said.

  “I’m coming,” Jon said. He lowered himself into the hole.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THROUGH THE PORTAL

  Jon studied the interior of the cavern as he stowed the rope. Eldritch orbs of garish violet light, like exhibitionistic fireflies, illuminated the walls, which extended from floor to ceiling in a uniformly smooth, seamless arch. Except in one spot, where his friends stood waiting. Like its opening, this cavern was not natural. Jon crouched and trailed his fingers over the cool, dry cavern floor.

  Volcanic rock. His eyes roamed over the room. It’s all volcanic rock. But Grampa said this is limestone country.

  The black glassy floor was littered with the bones of animals that fell through the opening and failed to find their way back out.

  Or else, killed by the wards in this place.

  His focus returned to the opening far above his head.

  “Jon, come on,” Saul said. “I think we’ve found the way. What are you doing?”

  “He’s been looking at the floor and walls,” Anya said.

  “Why?” Saul asked.

  “Wondering how we can get out later,” Jon said.

  Saul sighed. “Like you usually say—We’ll think of something then. For now, let’s just go.”

  Jon felt traces of Anya’s amusement, mingled with her ever-present impatience. He rose from his haunches, shouldered his pack, and made his way to his friends. They were waiting for him in front of a natural limestone opening. As they made their way through the elongated tunnel, Jon felt Anya’s growing discomfort. He realized she was sensing something unnatural at the end of the passage. Water dripped slowly from the tips of over-hanging stalactites into stagnant pools dotting the pocked and pitted floor. The floating orbs of garish violet light cast strange shadows on irregular walls.

  “G’hanjl,” Anya said, “why are your people mean to their own kind?”

  “Humans have heroes and tyrants, yes?” G’hanjl ducked his head to avoid a stalactite. “So do we. Humans have great leaders and madmen, yes?”

  “Sometimes they are one and the same,” Anya said.

  “So do we. Humans want peace and fatness, yes?” G’hanjl skirted a pool of water. “So
do we,” he said with an emphatic nod.

  “Your common tongue is better,” Saul said.

  Jon felt the glow of Anya’s pride.

  “MataPerak teached—”

  “Taught,” Anya said.

  “Taught me to speak better.” G’hanjl made a quick bow to Anya, and then continued ahead.

  Saul skirted a pool of water. “Don’t you have Watchers or guards or something to stop the bad people?”

  “Yes, but they no help G’hanjl clan. G’hanjl clan Ha’rani”

  “Ha’rani?” Saul frowned, his tongue stumbling over the word.

  G’hanjl made an impatient clucking sound.

  “You come. You see,” G’hanjl said, bobbing his head. “We is here.”

  They had reached a dead end.

  The blank wall they faced made a striking contrast to the knobby surface of the natural limestone passage. Like the entrance chamber of the other end of the passage, this wall was of smooth, black volcanic rock.

  Jon leaned in and peered at the wall’s mirror-like surface. “Anya?”

  “Stinks of magic,” Anya said. “Worse than your weapons.”

  “G’hanjl, this is the key?” Jon lifted the bloodstone pendant out of his shirt.

  G’hanjl bobbed his head. “Yes.”

  With the pendant in one hand, Jon reached out and ran his other hand over the cool, smooth surface of the wall. It was dry and perfectly flat.

  So how do I use the bloodstone?

  “Anya?”

  “I don’t know, Jon. I can tell you the wall is made with magic, but I don’t know how to make it work.”

  “G’hanjl?”

  “I take to secret way, fat Watcher. I not know actual secret.”

  “Saul?”

  “You’re asking me?” Saul said, his eyes open wide. “I don’t know. How about we smash it open? But what if it blows up instead? Or causes a cave-in? Maybe there’s a magic word or something.”

  Anya ran her fingers over the wall. “Then Grampa Naeem would have found some way to tell us the word.”

  Jon nodded his head. She’s right. Frowning, he examined the stone pendant in his hand, deep in thought.

  This is a bloodstone. Wait… Jon’s lips stretched into a grin. The answer can’t possibly be so simple.

  He let go of the pendant and reached for the Slayer. Jon hesitated for a moment. No way to tell what, if anything, will happen. Better be safe than sorry.

  “Everyone step back.”

  “Jon, what are you doing?” Saul said, grabbing his arm.

  “Trying to figure things out.” Jon pricked the ball of his thumb with the Slayer’s razor point. He returned the Slayer to its sheath and squeezed his thumb, watching the tiny bead of blood slowly swell. Jon touched his bloodied thumb to the stone pendant before lightly placing the tips of his shaking, wounded hand on the chill, smooth surface of the wall. His muscles tensed, ready to spring away in a hurry, should he need to. A smear of crimson spoiled the flawless, mirror-like finish of the volcanic rock.

  As soon as his bloodied thumb made contact with the wall, the bloodstone began to pulsate in his other hand. The chill wall grew warm under his fingertips. He pulled his hand away just before it became scorching hot. A shape emerged with glacial speed from within the glossy darkness.

  A door.

  A large, battered, wooden door emerged out of the solid volcanic rock, and stopped a few inches in front of the wall, hovering above the passage floor.

  In place of the handle and keyhole was a depression, shaped exactly like his grandfather’s bloodstone pendant.

  Jon fit his pendant, still tacky with blood, into the depression. The door swung open. A cold wind blew on his face, carrying with it the unmistakable, chilly kiss of snow.

  Jon looked at his companions with a triumphant grin. “I think we can go through now.”

  He stepped through the door, and was nearly overcome by the heart-stopping cold. As one, they dropped their packs and wrapped themselves with the bundles of fur Gramps had the foresight to provide.

  “G’hanjl,” Anya said, “aren’t you cold?”

  Jon felt Anya’s concern for the small, thin goblin. All G’hanjl had on was a torn leather shirt and a pair of worn breeches. His head and feet were bare. Newly formed ice crystals sparkled in his scant tufts of white hair.

  “If you are,” Anya said, “I can Shift into a bear or something, and you can wear these furs the Gramps packed for me.”

  “Is a bit chilly for summer,” G’hanjl said. “But no, not so cold. If G’hanjl cold, G’hanjl—” he spat on his arm.

  “And that keeps you warm?” Saul said.

  “Yes,” G’hanjl said, beaming. “Goblin spit thick, strong. Keep warm. Traditional goblin welcome. You want G’hanjl keep you warm too?”

  “No, no,” Saul said, stepping away from the goblin as fast as he could. “I am quite cozy, thank you all the same.”

  Stamping his feet to keep warm, Jon looked around and noticed a frost-lined passage, which seemed to lead upward. “Let’s get moving. We’ll stay warmer.”

  The four of them made their way through the freezing passage and out of the portal cavern.

  A barren landscape of snow-covered hills greeted them as they emerged.

  “Welcome to Goblin homeland,” G’hanjl said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  WELCOME TO GOBLIN HOMELAND

  Jon stared at the small fire as he snuggled into Anya’s soft, white fur. Exhausted by their mad dash from Linwood and desperate for a place to rest, it was fortunate they stumbled on the small cave. Insistent that they would not turn some poor innocent creature out into the mercies of a tundra night, Anya made a careful examination of the cave before declaring it uninhabited by any local wildlife.

  At this point, all Jon wanted to do was to go inside, curl up in his furs, and drown himself with sleep. However, Anya insisted it was dangerous for humans to sleep when they were all so cold. She charged all three of them with the task of collecting firewood so they could start a small fire. By the time Jon stumbled back to the cave with his armful of unidentified vegetation, they found Anya had shifted into the form of a white snow bear.

  Jon was desperate for sleep. He was never so tired in his life. The cave was so cozy. The little fire tickled his nose with smoke, the animal pelts tucked around Saul and himself was so thick and plush, the soft warmth of Anya’s fur against his back, neck and cheek. He was just about to drop off to sleep, when he felt a little niggle tugging at the back of his mind. Something G’hanjl said which didn’t quite fit.

  “G’hanjl, how big is your family?” Saul sounded half-asleep.

  Wait a minute. Anya said goblins were neither born nor hatched. So how could he have a sister? Jon’s fatigue drained in an instant, replaced by a familiar coldness borne from his grumps’ training.

  He is still a goblin. Are we in danger?

  A surge of adrenaline burst through his body, leaving his mind sharp and crystal clear. He sensed Anya’s renewed alertness despite the snow bear’s deceptive languor. She was still sharing his eyes.

  How should I ask this without alerting him, if he does, indeed, mean us harm?

  Jon casually pulled his pack to his chest, as though he wanted something soft to cuddle as he fell asleep. Under the shadows cast by the flickering campfire, he unsheathed and retrieved the Slayer from his pack. He felt the vibration through his back as Anya tensed and gave a low, almost inaudible, rumble.

  Here goes. I’ll simply ask him.

  “G’hanjl,” Jon said in what he hoped was a sleepy voice. “Anya said that goblins are neither born nor hatched. She said they are created somehow.”

  “Is be silly. G’hanjl has mother and father, and sisters and brothers.”

  Jon heard Saul snore beside him and felt a twinge of annoyance.

  He always expects me to do these things.

  His ribs vibrated again with Anya’s low rumble.

  Right. Focus on this now, yell at Saul
later.

  “But she said she read it in a book.”

  G’hanjl looked at Jon with his large, yellowed eyes. Jon thought there was a sadness in them.

  “Books be lying.” G’hanjl sighed. “A long time ago was war between humans and goblin kind.”

  “Why?”

  G’hanjl shrugged. “G’hanjl is not to be knowings. G’hanjl is only to be knowings that another MataPerak on goblin side then. At first, we is to be winning. Later, we is not. Then MataPerak went boom.”

  “Boom?”

  G’hanjl nodded. “Boom. Much humans, much fatness of land, gone with boom. Is salty water now.”

  “What’s that got to do with the books lying?”

  “Books made by young of humans who went boom. They is to be hating us.”

  G’hanjl frowned as he studied the flickering campfire.

  “G’hanjl is not be blaming them. G’hanjl is not to be likings us very much sometimes. And G’hanjl is us.”

  “Still doesn’t make it right,” Jon said, frowning. “What they did, I mean.”

  Saul gave a quick snort, turned to his other side, and went back to snoring.

  G’hanjl shrugged again.

  “Is common. Goblins lose war. So goblins evil. If goblins win war, humans to be evil.” He looked at Jon dead in the eye. “Always happen.”

  Should we trust him? Jon mentally projected this as clearly as he could.

  “G’hanjl is to be knowings fat Watchers and MataPerak think all goblin bad. But G’hanjl not be bad. You come. You see. For now, G’hanjl be sleeping.” He laid down, turned his back on them and went to sleep.

  Well?

  The snow bear snuffed the air. Then Jon felt a sense of reassurance from the internal presence he recognized as Anya.

  Yeah. I get the sense he’s telling the truth too.

  The snow bear closed her silvery eyes, and Jon felt Anya’s presence fade as she drifted into slumber.

  Good night, my friend.

  Jon tucked the pelts a little closer to Saul and himself, before closing his own eyes. He soon lost himself to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  THE HA’RAN QUARTER

  Jon could barely feel his fingers and toes, while his nose and ears hurt from the cold. He hunched his shoulders and kept his head down, hoping to conserve more body heat as he trekked along the twisting dirt trail, treacherous with random patches of black ice. Saul seemed equally miserable, with his reddened nose and cracked wind-chapped lips. Only Anya and G’hanjl were comfortable. Anya shifted into an arctic fox earlier that morning. She padded alongside them, camouflaged and warm in her plush, silver-white coat of winter fur.