Jane and the Raven King (12 page)

B
ack at the castle, Jane and Manali ate dinner in silence. The mechanical crabs served steaming, homemade pizzas—some with extra gooey cheese, others with pepperoni and sausage, and still others stacked with pineapple and anchovies—but the dining hall was subdued. Children were leaving. Every few minutes, Gaius came in and called someone’s name: “Erica?” or “Jason? It’s time to go.” The kids said good-bye quietly and then left. Animals escorted them through the swamp and back across the plains to the bobbin ruins and the elevator home.

It was over. They had arrived at Castle Alsod ready to make friends and pass the tests, and just like that, it was time to return to the real world.
Soon maybe we’ll wonder whether this was even real,
Jane thought.
I’ll never see Manali again. Somehow Thomas or Gaius—someone—will defeat the Raven King, and everything will go back to normal. I’ll have to go to school again, and Mrs. Alterman will still be waiting for that overdue library book. I’ll still have to take spelling tests and—

“Jane?” Manali was watching her. “You should eat something, yeah?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“It was a bad fight with Gaius?”

“Yes,” Jane said. “In front of—everyone. Gaius picked Thomas. He didn’t believe me…or he didn’t care. Anyway, maybe he’s right. Thomas
did
beat me. I wasn’t strong enough.”

“He
kicked
you,” Manali said, then more quietly, “and he did the other thing too.”

She means he killed that African girl,
Jane thought.

Gaius came in and called, “Phillipe? It’s time to go. Come with me, please.”

A boy at the other end of the hall followed Gaius into the entry hall. Kids said good-bye, and when the door shut, the room was quiet again. Any one of them could be next. No more Hotland or dragons or Castle Alsod; time to go.

At the end of dinner, Finn called Manali, and she said to Jane, “Maybe I’ll see you again, yeah? Stay yourself, Jane.”

“Okay.” Jane swallowed. “Bye.”

Manali left.

Soon the dining hall was empty except for Jane and a scattering of other kids. Back in Jane’s room, Finn said, “I can keep you company tonight if you want.”

“Thank you,” Jane said. “But do you know what the worst part is? I really thought I might be the one who’s supposed to save everyone. Gaius almost had me convinced.” She got into bed.

“It’s no big deal,” Finn said. “You’ll see.”

“You’re right,” Jane said, her stomach still jittery with emotion. “I guess I’m ready to go too.”

Later, with Finn settled on the carpet, Jane stared at the gray
ceiling and thought about Thomas, Gaius, Grandma Diana, the Name of the World.
I’m forgetting something important,
she thought.
Someone told me something…
She was getting sleepy—too sleepy to think anymore.
I’ll remember in the morning,
Jane told herself.
Now, it’s too late and…

A shadow was growing on the wall, like an ink spot. Jane stared, suddenly wide awake. Her heart pounded as the shape stretched—it was coming through a crack in the stone—and she opened her mouth, but her tongue was too dry to speak. The shadow grew larger and became humanoid, with deep black holes—like skull sockets—in its head and giant, amorphous hands. It was a stickman, a sansi, like the things that had come after them at her house when the Raven King fought Grandma Diana and—

Wait. Stop,
she told herself.
Slow down. Breathe.

F
inn! Finn, wake up!” Jane whispered, but the dragon didn’t stir. “Finn!”

The sansi oozed across the wall, and now a second shadow started to squeeze through the crack. The first sansi reached for Jane. She jerked backward and fell off the bed onto Finn. Finn said, “Wh-what?” Then he saw the sansi and shouted, “Jane, come on!
Now!
” They scrambled out the door, and Finn said, “Get on my back!”

Finn ran down the steps, past one door, then stumbled to a halt: another sansi was rising—slowly, like a balloon—up toward them.

“Finn…!”

“Don’t let go!” Finn shouted, and he kicked open the door with the hands painted on it.

Inside, a three-story library—with walkways and ladders around each level—led to a room with a massive table surrounded by silver suits of armor. Down a corridor of black torches, they stopped: a dead end. A stained glass window filled the wall with pictures of bobbin knights, dragons, and a girl with curly hair.

“Right,” Finn said, turning about. “It’s too bad my fire breath won’t hurt these guys. I guess we have to go back…” Three sansi entered the corridor, blocking their path. “Or not. Ideas?”

The sansi moaned liked sick children.

“The window,” Jane said. “Can we go through the window?”

But the last time, Gaius was waiting on the other side,
she thought.
What if he’s still asleep? He may not even know he’s in danger.

The sansi crept closer, their hands reaching.

Finn backed up. “Right,” he said. “Cover your eyes, this may—”

The window exploded.

The blast of sharp glass knocked them onto the stone, closer to the sansi, and Jane shouted, “Finn, get up! We have to—oh, no!”

Thomas was outside the window, riding a leathery beast with the face of a diamondback snake and round insect wings. The winged snake flapped closer, and Thomas jumped inside through the broken window. There was fire behind him. Outside, the swamp was burning—flames crawled up the trees and spread across the water—and the sudden rush of smoke stung Jane’s eyes. Thomas was wearing the armor—Grandma Diana’s armor—that the dodo had given him.

Jane crawled backward. The sansi were close behind them, and now Finn groaned and tried to stand. His scales were streaked with blood and broken colored glass.

“Your dragon is hurt,” Thomas said. “That’s a shame. I’m going to kill him first…”

Jane raised her right hand and yelled, “
Ignatio vate!
”

When nothing happened, Thomas laughed. “I’m sorry, was that—”

She took out the envelope—
One for Escape
—and found a second paper with new writing on it:
Aven saat
.

“
Aven saat!
” she yelled.

“—supposed to hurt me or—?”

A bolt of lightning snapped from the paper into Thomas’s chest plate in a white blast that kicked him into the wall. The second spell paper shriveled to dust in Jane’s hand.

“Up!” Jane said to Finn. A sansi reached for her. “Come on!”

Finn staggered to his feet.

Thomas shook his head as if he’d been tackled and said, “How did you…?”

Jane jumped onto Finn’s back, and as he ran to the window, she said, “You’re not too hurt to fly, are you?”

Finn shouted, “We’ll see!”

They cleared the jagged glass. When the flying snake hissed, Finn whipped it with his tail. The dragon beat his wings faster, and they were rising up, up—through the burning trees and over the swamp. Behind them, Castle Alsod was burning. The Purple Marsh—all of it—was on fire.

“We have to go back!” Jane said. “We have to help Gaius!”

“You can’t do anything for him,” Finn said. “We are lucky to be alive, and Gaius can protect himself.”

“Where are we going?” Jane asked. The fires had faded behind them, and they were flying in complete darkness.

“To the bobbin ruins,” Finn said. “It’s the only safe place.”

Jane said, “No, we have to—”

“
You can’t
,” Finn said again. “Without the Name of the World, you can’t stop them. If you go back now, you’ll be killed. I’m sorry.”

I can’t just leave Gaius,
Jane thought. But there was nothing she could do.

They flew all day and night, and when they reached the ruins—still full of animals—Jane thought about Grandma Diana’s spells.
There’s something else,
Jane thought.
Something I’m forgetting. Grandma Diana gave me…
She remembered the purple stone.
Grandma Diana told me to smash it or something,
Jane thought,
but I put it under my pillow. It’s probably still there.

“I have to go back to our house,” Jane said. “On topside Earth, I mean.” She told Finn about the stone and then said, “I have to find it.”

As he landed at the elevator doors, Finn said, “Good luck.”

“What?” she said. “You can’t come with me?”

“I have to go back for Gaius now.”

Jane said, “But I thought you told me that was pointless! How will you—?”

“I thought Gaius would meet us,” Finn said. “But he isn’t here. There’s no time to argue! Go!”

When Jane started to protest, Finn took off, flying back the way they had just come.

I hope my family is okay,
Jane thought as she got in the elevator. The stone might not be the Name of the World, but it was a place to start.

The elevator went dark, and when the lights came on, she was alone in a cramped, rickety elevator. It stopped at the top.

O
ut of the elevator, Jane walked through blackness—her shoes loud on the stone floor—then abruptly stumbled into daylight. She was back in the park, and the sun was just coming up. The soft yellow light cast long shadows. She was almost home.

All that was
real
, Jane thought. But now, walking on the sidewalk past familiar suburban houses, she began to wonder. The porch lights were lit on every doorstep.
There’s nothing odd about that,
she told herself.
It’s early in the morning—no one’s had a chance to switch them off yet.
In the early sunlight, Jane couldn’t tell whether the lights were on inside the houses.
So what if they are?
she thought.
They’re just lamps and light bulbs—nothing to be scared of.

She walked in silence for a long time. This felt wrong. There were no birds.
They’re in Hotland,
Jane thought.
I saw them.
But that wasn’t what was bothering her. It was the lack of cars; the streets were empty. Sure, it was early, but
someone
should have been out, going to work or school or the grocery store. Where was everybody?

Several corners later, she spotted her house at the end of the block. It looked the same as it always did. The porch light was on, just like all the others.

She stopped at the edge of the front yard. The neighborhood was as quiet as if it had just snowed. But it was springtime.

Maybe I shouldn’t be here
, Jane thought.
Maybe the stone is just an ordinary marble. But what else can I do? I don’t have food or money, and for all I know, it might be like this everywhere. The Raven King is doing this,
she thought.
He’s distracting the adults with electricity and machines so they don’t even notice that all the birds are gone.

“This is not a good idea,” she told herself softly.

Jane went up to the porch. The front door was open.

T
he television was still on, along with all the lights in the front hall and the lamps—everything was the same…except that Jane heard only a metallic drone from the TV and static on the radio upstairs. She looked into the living room. The television screen displayed colored, vertical lines. The remote control was missing, so she turned it off manually.

“Hello?” she called. “Mom? Dad? Michael?”

Something rustled, and Jane spun: Michael was cowering behind a chair in the corner.

“They won’t look at me,” Michael said. “Jane, Mom and Dad won’t…”

She ran to him and took his hand. Michael was trembling. “Stay with me,” she said. “Come on.”

With Michael behind her, Jane went to the hall. She was about to turn for her bedroom when she saw something in the kitchen out of the corner of her eye. A thin, gray-eyed man sat at the table, cradling a cell phone in both hands. His chin stubble and the dark lines around his eyes made him look lost and old. A fragile woman sat beside him, so pale and motionless that she might have been made out of cardboard.

“Dad?” Jane called. “Mom?”

Her parents didn’t stir. Michael squeezed Jane’s arm harder as they approached the kitchen.

“Mom? Dad?” she said again. “Are you all right?”

Her father squinted at the phone as if he thought her voice might be coming from it. As they entered the kitchen, Jane could see that her dad’s lips were cracked and chapped. Her mother’s eyes were half-closed, as if she’d been drugged.
Haven’t they eaten?
Jane thought.
Haven’t they had a drink of water in all this time?

Jane went to the cabinet and found two glasses. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She turned on the sink faucet. Nothing happened. She jiggled the handle and tried again. No water came out.

“I’m sorry,” Michael said. “I was scared. I didn’t know…”

“It’s okay,” Jane said. “Dad? When was the last time you had something to drink?”

When their father didn’t answer, Michael said, “We have to get out of here.”

Jane tried the refrigerator. There was leftover broccoli casserole, burritos, ketchup, and milk. She grabbed an orange juice carton and poured two glasses, then returned to the table and placed the glasses in front of her parents. They didn’t move.

As Jane got the casserole out of the fridge, a big cockroach crawled across the kitchen table. She stared at the roach. It was fat with long antennae.

Still her parents didn’t move.

Michael said, “I don’t know what’s wrong with them.” He
jumped away from the sink. There were centipedes, roaches, pill bugs, and silverfish crawling out of the pipe.

“I shouldn’t have come back,” Jane said, but her legs were shaking. She smelled something sweet and sick, as if the casserole were covered with mold. But it wasn’t rotten.

All the lights went out—even the daylight. A man in a torn, bloody cape was standing in the room. It was as if he’d been there all along, and now that the light had changed, she could see him. Jane tasted acid-fear.
We have to run,
she thought.
Why won’t my legs move?
She heard something beating, like drums or wings. She dropped the casserole dish and heard it smash on the floor.

“Hello, Jane,” the Raven King said.