Quest for the Sun (25 page)

From above me came a chitter as urgent as machine-gun fire — and then something was falling, dropping like a furry hailstone faster, way faster than the black javelin forging so slowly through the dense air. I caught a momentary flash of blue, a glimpse of a face clenched tight and eyes squeezed shut.

In that last fraction of a second time flicked forward into super-fast — and it was too late. Too late for me to do anything except cry a single, choking sound without words and launch myself a desperate dive towards him.

I didn't even get close.

There was a flat smack, as if some invisible watcher had clapped his hands just once. Blue-bum thudded into me, turning as he fell, something long and black and shining sticking out of the centre of his back.

In the same instant the moonlight burst the black armour apart. It blew to pieces with a crack that tore the air like an explosion, chunks of metal flying in all directions and raining down onto the stone floor with a ringing clatter.

And the moonlight was released. It leapt outwards in a tide of brilliance, flooding every corner of the arena with dazzling light, surging like a tidal wave over the terraces where the Faceless clustered, obliterating them as if they'd never existed. For a second a pale haze like sea-mist drifted in the air; then even that was gone.

But all I cared about was Blue-bum. Ears ringing, squinting against the dazzle, I struggled to my knees, his limp body cradled in my arms. The fierce determination had vanished from his little face, leaving a look of faint surprise. A vast hilt bound with oily-looking leather reared like some grotesque ornament from his skinny chest. I wanted to cuddle him close, but the cold steel skewering his tiny body stopped me. Instead I held him with a terrible gentleness as if he might break, terrified of hurting him, though in my heart I knew nothing could hurt him now.

His button eyes met mine, his monkey mouth moving as if he was trying to say something, or even smile. But as I watched the brightness of his eyes began to fade, as if they were looking far, far beyond my face at something only they could see. I held him, saying nothing, my tears falling through the brightness onto his soft fur like rain through sunshine, until the last light died from his eyes.

On every side the radiance grew. Bright and unstoppable as a full moon rising it pushed back the shadows, squeezing into cracks and crevices and banishing the dark. A shuddering vibration was growing, as if the hugeness of the light was too great to be contained even by the bounds of the underworld.

And still I gazed at Blue-bum. As I watched, the sword-hilt embedded in his chest began to change, its elaborate carvings vanishing like the ridges on a barley-sugar being sucked smooth. Beneath his small, still body I could feel the sword itself dwindling, shrinking, its dead weight lightening to nothing. For a second my heart lifted with wild hope … but his shuttered face and blank eyes told me it was too late.

All round us every manifestation of darkness was cracking, crumbling, shattering into a mosaic of bright-edged fragments swallowed to nothing, vanquished by the brilliance of the light.

I sank to the ground, closed my eyes against the dazzle and cuddled the body of Blue-bum close at last as the Realms of the Undead fell to ruin around me.

 

It could have seconds or hours later that I felt a hand on my shoulder and opened my eyes. The face of my brother swam into focus, grimy and creased with concern. Blue-bum's body, cold and lifeless, was still cradled in my arms.

I was sitting in a clearing in a forest, dappled sunlight sifting through shifting leaves. Fine, soft grass carpeted the ground; birds twittered and chirped in the branches above. There was another sound too, a rhythmic munching … slowly, numb and dream-drenched as a sleepwalker, I turned my head towards it.

The winged colt lifted his head and met my eyes with a thoughtful, measuring stare, then plodded across to nudge me with his nose and breathe grass-scented breath into my hair.

On the far side of the clearing a great tree trunk lay, patterned with dappled sunlight. There was no sign of the two birds who had once stood sentinel there. On one side of the fallen trunk a braided arch of roots and vines opened to a tunnel beckoning with shifting sunbeams; on its other side a dense, impenetrable tangle of undergrowth held no trace that any path had ever been there. I laid Blue-bum's body down on the soft earth and covered it with my cloak.

Zenith reached out his arms. We held each other, heads bowed. I felt the slow, steady beating of his heart in time with my own; his strength soaking into me. On the ground Blade lay watching us, eyes huge and shadowed but luminous with life. I managed to smile at her. ‘Blade. Welcome back.'

Beside her was my pack; next to that, my sword. I buckled it
into place with clumsy fingers. ‘Whistler — what happened?' Blade was asking. ‘We heard voices, and suddenly the world was shaking apart around us … then everything was brightness, and when it cleared …'

‘… we found ourselves here.' Zenith shrugged and smiled. ‘Whatever passed between you and Zeel, it seems you have completed our quest, my brother.'

‘It has been completed.' I slipped his off his amulet and handed it back to him. ‘Thanks to this — and you. Our parents' gifts … the answer — or part of the answer.'

He frowned. ‘What do you mean?'

‘
When twain is one and one is twain …
at first I thought I had to find a way of combining my larigot and your quill to defeat Zeel. Symbols of you and me, I suppose Jamie would say. And then I realised it was more: the light of the twin moons, gold and silver, together as one. But you'd already worked it out — tried to tell me, in the few seconds you had.
Take it, use it
, you said. It took me a while to realise what you meant, but …'

He was looking at me oddly, his mouth twisted into a half-smile. ‘I meant nothing. I said that, yes, but I didn't mean anything by it — or no more than the words themselves. All I could do was give you the only thing I had: my talisman. I had no idea if it would help, or how. What you made of it was yours alone. And as for luck — in this life we make our own, just as you have done.'

 

We rested a while in the leafy stillness, talking quietly, breathing the fresh, sweet air and listening to the song of the birds and the soft sighing of the wind in the leaves. The colt grazed peacefully nearby.

I felt the cool essence of the surrounding forest soak into my soul like balm. The glade was the same, yet utterly changed. The wild, spicy smell and soft patterning of leaf and shadow reminded me of Shadowwood, and I had a growing certainty that our journey's end was closer than we thought; that through
the arch and round a few bends we might come across a distant view of the ochre walls, turrets and pinnacles I already thought of as home.

Blade was still far too weak to walk. We tried to lift her onto the colt's back, but he tossed his head and circled his hindquarters away, clearly not comfortable with the idea. ‘Perhaps if you rode him, and carried Blade in front of you …' Zenith suggested at last.

I shouldered my pack for the last time and turned with a heavy heart to the shrouded form of Blue-bum. He would come with us on this final journey, to be buried with every honour beside the singing fountains of the Summer Palace.

I bent to gather the small body into my arms — and stopped, staring. Before, my cloak had swamped the tiny chatterbot. But now, it barely covered what lay beneath. Hardly daring to breathe, I reached out a hand and drew the cloth away from his face.

I saw a tangle of filthy hair and a skin grey with grime; a straight nose with a faint sprinkling that could have been either freckles or dirt; level sandy-coloured brows over eyes closed in what looked like peaceful sleep. A jaw that had squared and strengthened; a quirk almost like laughter in one corner of the wide mouth …

As I stared down at him his eyelids flickered and opened. Brown eyes met mine for a puzzled second, then flicked down to the long boy-body under the cloak and cleared to instant understanding. He'd always been smart.

Not me, though. I goggled down at him, a bewildered grin spreading itself over my face, my mind reeling as I battled to figure it out. What had Evor said?
There is one way he can be restored to his original form … but from what we have come to know of William Weaver, it might as well not exist.

He'd been wrong. This wasn't William Weaver — the Weevil I'd once known. It was someone new, someone who had done without hesitation what Evor thought he never would: willingly given his life for a friend.

A faint flush was appearing beneath the dirt on his face. When he spoke, his voice was slightly croaky, as if it hadn't been used for a while. ‘Adam … Zephyr … there's something I've been wanting to say to you for ages.'

I opened my mouth to tell him I already knew what it was — and it was OK, he didn't even have to say it. But then I closed it again. I knew that this was what he'd tried to tell me in the amphitheatre; what I'd seen in his eyes countless times along our journey. And I realised he needed to say it, so we could leave it behind and move on together.

‘I … I'm sorry. For everything I did — but especially …' the blush deepened, his voice dropping to a whisper, ‘for your gladiator project. I'm ashamed to think I could have done that to you — to anyone.'

‘Apology accepted,' I told him. ‘We've all done stuff we regret — me as much as anyone. But I've done a lot of thinking, and I wouldn't change any of it. I've figured you can use bad things kind of like stepping stones when you cross a river: as long as you move past them and they help you go forward, it turns them from bad to good — sort of like magic. And now I've got something to say to
you
: two things. First: thank you — for everything. And second: we'd be honoured if you'd agree to stay and help us put things right in Karazan — wouldn't we, Zenith?'

‘Yes, of course,' said Zenith, looking confused. ‘And since he's staying, can you please explain who he is? Or who he
was
, before …' he paused delicately.

‘That doesn't matter,' I said with a grin. ‘To us, he'll always be Blue-bum.'

The colt banks and turns, the wind whipping through my hair and my eyes watering as I stare downwards. The whole of Karazan revolves below me in a slow circle: purple smudges of forest, their outlines already familiar; silver strands of rivers whose courses thread my dreams. Gliding low, I feel the colt's legs gather into the first stride of a canter-on-air that catches and settles into a drumming rhythm as we land, steadies to a trot and then a walk.

The early morning is grey and damp, only the lightest breeze stirring the mist that veils the surface of Lake Stillwater. Water birds call across the silence, their plaintive notes questions hanging unanswered in the still air. The Dark Citadel floats on the mist like a phantom; above it, the dawn streaks the sky with gold. The colt drops his head and drinks, then nuzzles me, dribbling icy water down my front.

I shrug off my pack: weather-beaten and stained, the seams beginning to fray. There's only one thing inside. My hand finds it easily, though it feels smaller than I remember.
The microcomputer. Not long ago there were five of these computers, all loaded with the VRE Interface that was the passport between the worlds. Now there is only one — this one. I stare down at it, remembering …

Q had removed the software from the others and destroyed the code that took him so long to write. ‘You and your brother are the only ones with the right of passage between this world and Karazan,' he told me the last time we spoke at Quested Court. ‘In times past, the door between the worlds has been the salvation of them both. But that may not always be so. The key — and the decision on whether and how to use it — should be in your hands alone.'

In his eyes I'd seen wisdom, warning, love, regret … and unshed tears for something I didn't understand.

Now I weigh the tiny computer in my hand. It feels strangely heavy for something so small, as if an entire world is really contained inside its plastic casing. And I suppose it is, in a way. If I press the keys now, I'll be there.

ALT CONTROL Q.

I think of that world and everything it contains. Richard, Jamie, Kenta, Gen. Silver sports cars and skyscrapers; television and hamburgers. Pollution, overpopulation and corruption; greed and starvation. My friend Cameron … and Matron.

I think of Q, of Hannah, of Tiger Lily and Bluebell. I think of Karazan: of what it is now and what I dream it will become. I think of the door between the worlds. Would it be better for it to be open, closed … or locked forever?

I'm already so used to wearing the twisted crown I barely feel it. Zenith and I each have one, his the original gold part and mine the silver, each with a newly forged piece added to complete it, as with the Sign of Sovereignty we both wear. Now suddenly my crown feels heavy and cold.

I think of Usherwood's crisp words to us both after the coronation, in her self-appointed role of governess and adviser-in-chief: ‘Remember, both of you: no one ever said it would
be fun being King of Karazan. There will be right choices and wrong ones — and the right ones will often be the hardest to make.'

I draw back my hand, hesitate for one final second … and throw. The microcomputer soars away in a long arc, out, out, out over the water; then down to vanish without a sound into the mist blanketing the lake. Closing my eyes I imagine it sinking down, rocking slightly as it drifts through the green water into the darkening depths and wavering weed, then settling at last in the silty mud of the bottom. Perhaps a few tiny bubbles rise, the last breath of a world lost forever … perhaps not.

It's a long time before the first faint ripples appear, chasing each other with little lapping chuckles onto the beach. Slowly, then faster, then slowly again and slower still … until at last, like faraway laughter, they dwindle to nothing.

 

The colt follows me into the fragrant gloom of the stables. A soft whicker greets us, a pale face appearing over the door of the stall beside his. She and the colt touch noses; then he clops on into his stable, wanting breakfast. I give Starlight's neck a gentle rub and smile at the tiny face peering inquisitively from the safety of her flank. Her smudged star and the colt's blaze have combined in their foal to form a perfect shooting star and give her a name that chose itself: Wish.

All round me the palace is stirring to life. I smell breakfast — and suddenly I'm ravenous. I run up the stairs two at a time, heading for the morning room where we have most of our meals. But before I even reach the door I hear an impatient squeal. ‘Adam! Is that you? Come and see what's happened!'

‘I have told you before, young lady, the King's name is not Adam but Zephyr.
King
Zephyr, to commoners like you.'

‘You're a commoner too, Usherwood, don't forget. Anyhow, Adam's the King of Karazan and
he
says I can still call him Adam.'

I can't help smiling as I shoulder my way in and the familiar
scene opens out in front of me. Sun streaming through a wide casement opening to a distant view of the sea. My mother in her rocking chair, murmuring to herself as she counts the stitches in her knitting, while her new husband Zagros stokes the fire. Zenith slouched in a chair, grinning at me through a mouthful of toast and honey.

Two men at a table, locked in silent combat over the chess set between them. One has long grey hair, deep smile lines and a studied expression of seriousness; the other, a raggedy scarecrow with smeared spectacles, shakes his head distractedly. ‘Why, I do believe you might be right, Meirion,' he's saying. ‘Checkmate indeed — however did that happen?'

Only three of us are missing: Blue-bum — now officially Sir William Bluebottom, Blue for short — Blade and Kai; they'll be joining us after breakfast for the first meeting of the newly formed Knights of the New Dawn. When Zen and I dreamed up that name, even Usherwood had been impressed.

Now old Usherwood's doing her best to frown severely at the little figure in pink-and-grey Eeyore pyjamas tugging at my hand.

Obediently, I follow her over to the huge carved dresser where the brocade table linen is kept. Everyone in the room is watching us now, even Meirion with his sightless eyes. They're smiling. Starting to smile myself without knowing why, I watch as Hannah kneels and opens the door. There's a strange sound coming from inside.

I bend and peer in.

There in the darkness is Tiger Lily. She's made herself a nest among the tablecloths and napkins and is lying in it with her back to us, purring thunderously. She looks up when the door opens and narrows her golden eyes at me smugly. Impossibly, the volume of the purring increases. As usual, I'm lost. ‘What …'

‘Shhhh. Look,' Hannah is whispering. She reaches in with careful hands, scoops something up and holds it out for me
to see. It even looks small in Hannah's little hands: the tiniest pastel-coloured kitten — all velvet tummy, scrunched face and pincushion claws. ‘There are four of them.'

I gaze down at Hannah's bright face, at the tiny kitten cradled in her hands. And then, for no reason at all, Meirion's words of long ago come into my mind:
For you, Child of the Wind, your destiny lies where you least look for it — the beginning will be the end, and every end a new beginning.

I see Hannah's name as an endless circle, with no end and no beginning:

She laughs up at me, and the future shines from her eyes.