The Burning Shadow (19 page)

“I
t's not true,” Hekabi said fiercely. “The Mountain's been angry before—but She would never destroy Her own people!” Her arms were tightly crossed, as if to keep out the dreadful suspicion that Hylas might be right.

Pirra felt wrenchingly sorry for her, because she knew that he was. “The red river swallows Thalakrea,” she said.

He shot her a glance.

“I just remembered. Hekabi said it when she was in a trance.”

“I say lots of things in a trance,” spat Hekabi, “that doesn't make them true! We
know
the Lady of Fire, we've worshipped Her for thousands of years!”

“The Crows haven't,” cut in Hylas. Swiftly, he told her about the restlessness he'd observed in the wild creatures at the mines. When she brushed that aside, he described the bulge in the Mountainside.

At that, the spirit seemed to go out of her. She was shaking her head, but Pirra could see that the truth was sinking in.

“Hekabi,” said Pirra. “Your people need you more than ever.”

Hekabi stared at her in a daze of shock.

“Go to your village,” Hylas told her. “Warn them, warn the slaves at the mines. Tell them to get off the island!” Then to Pirra, “You too, you go with her.”

“No! I'm going with you, you can't do this on your own.”

“Yes I can, there's no sense in your staying.”

“Hylas, if we can find just one of those fiery cracks and throw in the dagger, we can be back at the village before the last boat leaves!”

“Like I said, there's no sense in your staying—”

“And like
I
said, yes there is, because
you
don't know the way to the village.”

He chewed his lip. “Come on, we're wasting time.”

The Mountain was spewing columns of smoke that towered above the plain. Lightning split the darkness. The horse squealed, nearly bucking them off.

Hylas clung to handfuls of mane and dug in his heels. He smelled the beast's terror, and felt Pirra clinging to his waist. He strained for the sound of hoofbeats behind them. So far, nothing.

Thanks to Akastos' seal and a story about making an offering to the Mountain, Pirra had talked the guards at the Neck into letting her through, and while she distracted them, Hylas had sneaked into the horse pen and stolen a mount. Now its hooves struck sparks off the obsidian trail as it flew across the plain, and the Mountain loomed closer with astonishing speed.

They reached the edge of the thickets and slid off to let the horse catch its breath. Pirra had persuaded the guards to give her a waterskin, and they both took a pull; but when she poured some into Hylas' hands for the horse, it shied, too frightened to drink.

“Not much farther,” he told it, stroking its neck.

Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. Hylas and Pirra exchanged glances. The Lady of Fire had woken the Earthshaker, and now She was calling on the Sky Father too: Commanding both Her immortal brothers to help fight the Angry Ones, and rid Her of these upstart mortals who'd been gnawing at Her innards.

From where they stood, the Mountain's flanks were dark with broom. Pirra pointed to a shadowy outcrop just above the thickets. “I remember those rocks; weren't there fire spirits just beyond?”

“That's good,” said Hylas, “they're closer than I thought.”

The horse sidestepped and rolled its eyes, but he managed to scramble back on. As he pulled Pirra up behind him, the earth shook and the obsidian trail heaved like a snake. The horse reared—flung them off—and galloped into the murk.

Hylas got to his feet, and saw Pirra rubbing her elbow. “You all right?”

She nodded. “You still got the dagger?”

He gripped the hilt.

The earth's growls died away. The smoke venting from the summit thinned, and a weird calm descended. The Mountain was holding Her breath.

The obsidian trail cut a swathe through the thicket, which made climbing much easier, and they emerged above the broom sooner than they'd expected. Hylas cast about him in the eerie red glimmer. No crusted yellow rocks, no hissing cracks. This part of the Mountain had utterly changed.

“Where have they gone?” said Pirra.

He shook his head. The fire spirits had fled. In Pirra's eyes, he saw his own dread. What if they couldn't find any?

She jerked her head at the summit. “There were lots farther up.”

He didn't reply. What was that pattering? Something was falling from the sky: softly, like gray snow. But it was
hot
.

Pirra coughed. Her dark hair was speckled with gray. Hylas picked a flake off her shoulder. “It's ash,” he said.

She motioned him to silence.

Through the pattering of the ash, he heard it too. Many hooves clattering on obsidian. The Crows.

Together they raced higher, but soon reached a dead end. A landslide had buried the trail. Above them, steep slopes of black rock gleamed in the weird red light.

“We'll have to climb,” muttered Hylas.

He'd scarcely started when Pirra yanked him sideways. A heartbeat later, a giant slab of rock broke off and slid over where he'd been standing.

They watched it crash into the thickets and disintegrate in clouds of dust.

Pirra broke a chunk from the slope and crumbled it in her fingers with startling ease. “It's not stone,” she said in disbelief. “It's sand. How can we climb sand?”

Hylas craned his neck. If that slope came down on them, they'd be buried alive—or sent hurtling to the plain. But the hoofbeats were gaining on them. “We'll have to try,” he said.

To spread the load, they separated. Hylas took a step up. His foot sank and slid, sending sand hissing down the slope. He waited till it had settled, then tried again. This time, he managed to climb a little higher. He went on sinking and sliding, climbing with nightmarish slowness. He saw a boulder jutting from the sand, and hauled himself onto it. He saw Pirra do the same. From there, he worked sideways to a patch that looked firmer . . . And still the ash fell, speckling the slopes with deathly gray.

At last he reached a ridge of solid rock. He hauled himself over and lay gasping. Pirra had reached it too, she was on her knees not far off. They were back on the obsidian trail.

But where were the fire spirits?

“They
can't
be much farther,” panted Pirra.

Hylas lurched to his feet and started up the trail.

They hadn't gone far when it came to an abrupt end. They had reached the summit. Only here it wasn't a knife edge, it was ten paces wide, and jagged with huge black boulders like broken teeth. Peering between them, Hylas glimpsed the far side of the crater, and the bulging spur. It had swelled to a huge canker, and was spewing smoke. When it burst, it would destroy Thalakrea.

“Where are the fire spirits?” cried Pirra.

Hylas tried to reply but his mouth had gone dry.

Between the giant teeth, he could see down into the crater, and it was no longer a cauldron of cold gray stone, but a blinding red glare. He felt its heat, he saw how it heaved and rocked, spattering the sides with liquid flame.

The hollow heart of the Mountain had become a lake of fire.

Pirra came to stand at his shoulder, and he heard the hiss of her breath. “Throw it in,” she said. “Forget about the fire spirits, the Lady will destroy it!”

She was right. But first he had to reach the crater's edge, and to do that he had to find a way between the giant teeth.

They were clustered too tight, he couldn't get through.

“Maybe I can do it from here,” he said, drawing the dagger from its sheath. If he threw with all his strength, it might clear the boulders.

Behind him, Pirra cried out.

He glanced over his shoulder, but she wasn't there anymore.

“Don't move!” shouted a voice.

Telamon stood five paces away, legs braced, arrow nocked to his bow. “One move,” he said, “and you're dead.”

“W
here's Pirra!” shouted Hylas.

An arrow struck the ground by his foot, forcing him sideways. “I kept my word to you!” Telamon yelled. “I had a boat waiting!”

“And I would have gone, but I had to warn you, he was going to kill you!”

Another arrow thudded into the dust. Again he leaped sideways.

“You're making that up,” snarled Telamon. “You just needed time to destroy the dagger! Throw it over here!”

In the red glare they faced each other, while the Mountain shook and the ash hissed down like poisonous snow.

Telamon was clever: Hylas saw how he'd been driving him with his arrows away from the rocks. Now he was too far from the crater; if he tried to cast the dagger from here, it would clatter harmlessly to the ground.

“I will do it,” said Telamon, taking aim at his heart.

Hylas rearranged his grip on the hilt. A few paces to his left, a clump of boulders offered cover and maybe a way through to the crater's edge.

“No,” he said.

Telamon's arrow trembled. “Hylas. Throw me the dagger.” His features were set, but his voice shook. “It belongs to
us
! It's got nothing to do with you!”

“Or Issi? Or Scram? Or all the Outsiders the Crows have slaughtered? They're evil, Telamon. This ends here!”

Telamon's face worked. “They're my
kin
!” His arrow sang as Hylas leaped for the boulders, and he heard it strike the rock a hand's breadth behind him.

“
Coward!
” roared Telamon. “Come out and fight!”

Hylas scrambled between the rocks. Spotted a gap. Too narrow, he couldn't squeeze through . . .

“Hylas, above you!” screamed Pirra from somewhere he couldn't see.

Glancing up, he saw Telamon crouching on a boulder and reaching into his quiver for another arrow. Hylas turned sideways and forced himself through the gap, shot out the other side, and landed on his knees.

A thud behind him. Telamon had jumped down. Ahead of them, more rocks were wreathed in smoke. As Hylas lurched to his feet, the fumes blew hot in his face, engulfing him in the choking breath of the Mountain. He heard Telamon coughing. Then the smoke sucked back and he saw it, just beyond the rocks: the throbbing red glare of the abyss. He drew back his arm . . .

“
No!
” screamed Telamon.

. . . Hylas threw the dagger as hard as he could.

Time stopped as it flashed over the rocks—struck the last one—and clanged to rest on the edge.

Hylas stared in disbelief.

Telamon's jaw dropped.

The dagger of Koronos refused to be destroyed.

The rocks sloped steeply down to where it lay on a boulder that jutted over the crater like a broken fang. Hylas started toward it, pebbles rattling past him to the burning lake far below.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and hauled him back. He hit the ground with a thud and Telamon was on him, crushing the breath from his chest. Hylas tried to squirm free, but Telamon was too strong. Grabbing Hylas' hair in one hand, he drew his knife with the other. Hylas gripped his wrist with both hands and fought to keep the point from his throat. It came steadily closer. With a supreme effort, he boosted himself sideways with his legs, bucking off Telamon and knocking the knife from his hand. It clattered across the stones and Telamon lunged for it—but Hylas seized his long locks and dragged him out of reach.

Still holding Telamon by the hair, Hylas bashed his head against the ground, but Telamon dug both thumbs into his throat, cutting off his air. Hylas clawed at his hands. Telamon kneed him in the belly, then flipped him over and knelt on his upper arms. Hylas felt the grip tighten on his throat. Black dots darting before his eyes, hot ash raining into his mouth, everything going black . . .

Telamon howled in pain and rolled off his chest.

Pirra saw Hylas taking great heaving gulps of air. She saw Telamon clutching his thigh in disbelief as she scrambled away.

She staggered, nearly dropping his knife. She was still dizzy from the blow he'd struck her earlier, but if she could distract him for long enough, Hylas might be able to get to the dagger.

“Call yourself a warrior?” she sneered. “Squealing like a girl at a pinprick like that?”

Still on his knees, Telamon swayed. Blood trickled between the fingers clamped to his thigh. Squinting in pain, he looked from her to Hylas, who was making his way down toward the dagger.

“Coward!” taunted Pirra, waving Telamon's knife in his face.

Suddenly he stiffened. Pirra glanced behind her. The insults died in her throat.

Out of the whirling smoke came a man, a warrior in black rawhide armor. Swift as a lynx, Pharax raced down the rocks, flung Hylas aside with one thrust of his hand, and snatched the dagger from the brink.

Hylas lost his balance and slid off the boulder.

Pirra rushed to help him, but Telamon grabbed her and yanked her back.

In triumph Pharax held up the dagger of Koronos, its blade flashing scarlet in the glare. At his feet, Hylas clung desperately to the edge.

“Kill him, Pharax!” shouted Telamon. “He's the Outsider in the prophecy!”

Pirra struggled and kicked, but Telamon was too strong. In horror, she watched Hylas fight to haul himself back onto the boulder. She saw Pharax towering over him. She heard his cold voice ringing out above the thunder of the Mountain:

“If an Outsider wields the dagger, the House of Koronos burns . . . But if
Pharax
wields the dagger—it's the Outsider who burns.”

With his heel, he stamped on Hylas' hands.

“
No!
” screamed Pirra.

But Hylas was gone.