The Fire Chronicle (47 page)

“My people came to this valley thousands of years ago,” the
princess whispered, “when all was ice and snow. Have you not wondered why we chose to make such a wasteland our home?”

Michael thought about saying that he couldn’t begin to fathom the workings of an elf mind; then he decided that the correct answer was “Yes.”

“We came,” Wilamena said, “because our race is drawn to the places where the mortal world and the spirit world overlap. Imagine two circles, their edges touching, and a narrow space that belongs not to one world or the other but to both. That is what exists in this valley. What exists here.” And she nodded at the crevice in the wall.

“You mean,” Michael said, “that cave takes you into the land of the dead?”

“Yes and no. The true land of the dead is a place the living do not venture. The cave leads to the in-between place, where the circles touch. And there the dead can come to us. Did you not feel this when you first entered the valley? A presence you could not explain?”

And Michael realized that he had felt it, that when he and Gabriel and Emma had come into the valley, he’d had the sense that they were not alone, that something was looking over their shoulders, but he’d dismissed the feeling as nerves.

He watched as a cloaked elf extinguished her candle and entered the crevice.

“What are they doing?”

“They go to say farewell to those who died in battle. None can stay long in that place, but there is time enough to say the
things that must be said. Then each will return to their own world, the living to the living, the dead to the dead.”

Michael looked at the elf princess. “I should have tried to bring them back. The elves who died. I should’ve used the
Chronicle
. I wasn’t thinking. I’m so sorry.”

Wilamena shook her head. “Death is part of nature. This was their time, and they died bravely. Your sister is different. Her journey among the living is not yet finished.” She looked toward the crevice. “And if the enemy will not allow her to come here, then you must go there.”

Michael understood. He swallowed and tightened his grip on the
Chronicle
. “Does Dr. Pym know about all this?”

“Certainly, he knows of this place, but he does not know I have brought you here. Indeed, in counsel with my father and the elders, he has spoken against sending you into the Fold.”

“The Fold?”

“That is what we call the place where the worlds overlap. The wizard knows you must travel there alone, and that he would have no power to protect you. He is searching for a safer way to free your sister; but there
is
no safer way.”

“Why do I have to go alone? What about the elves who’re already in there?”

“You will not see them. Even if you and I were to enter side by side, we would find ourselves far apart. You might discover yourself in a city, while I would be on a vast, empty field. The Fold changes for each of us and is always different.”

Michael felt that the more she told him, the more confused
he became. He just wanted to know one thing. “How do I find Kate?”

“Simply hold the idea of your sister in your mind, and she will come to you. But be warned: others have stayed too long and been unable to find their way back. You must be quick, Michael.”

“That’s the first time you’ve called me by my name.”

Wilamena smiled. “I think you are not a rabbit anymore.”

Michael looked at her, and the memory of that brief time when he had shared her life came back to him. He remembered the darkness and despair she’d suffered during her long years as a prisoner, but he also recalled the deep, unquenchable joy she took from the world around her; and he knew that given the choice, Wilamena would suffer through all she had and more rather than sacrifice one day of being alive.

It was just as his father had said. She chose life, all of it.

Then Michael did something that surprised even him. He leaned in and kissed the elf princess. Her lips were soft, and he couldn’t tell if it was magic or not, but he felt a warmth spreading over his cheeks and ears, down his neck, and across his chest. He said, “Thank you,” and turned and walked past the gathered elves and into the cave, taking the warmth of the kiss with him.

After only a few feet, he could see nothing but blackness. He stumbled repeatedly on the rocky floor but continued creeping forward, one hand held out before him, the memory of Kate clear and strong in his mind. Then, in the distance, Michael perceived a dim gray light. He made for it, and the darkness around him faded, and the floor became smooth. He realized he was no longer in a cave, but a corridor of some kind.

Then Michael stepped into the light and gasped.

He was standing in the great hall of an old stone church. He took in the rows of columns, the stained-glass windows, the vaulted ceiling. Strangely, instead of pews, there were lines of cots running down the center aisle. The church appeared to be empty.

Then Michael heard, faint and echoing, the sound of a violin.

Emma woke and knew that something was wrong. She sat up and looked about. Her room was similar to her sister’s, but in a different tree, several hundred feet away. Pulling on a pair of soft leather shoes (a gift from the elves, as she had lost a boot in the volcano), Emma walked out onto the branch that served both as a balcony and a bridge to the rest of the forest. Water was pooled all about. More dripped from the trees. Clearly, there’d been a rainstorm. How had it not woken her? Emma had the terrible thought that she’d slept through an entire day and into the next night.

She started off toward the tree where she’d left her brother and sister. She forced herself to go slowly, as the branches were slick with rain and the night was murky and black. Arriving in Kate’s room, she found her sister exactly as she’d left her, and Michael nowhere to be seen. But standing beside Kate’s bed was Gabriel. He looked to be completely recovered from his injuries, and as he turned, Emma ran forward and hugged him. She said his name over and over, and he held her and she felt safe in a way she had not felt since she’d arrived at the elf village; and even the darkness about them seemed to recede just a little.

Emma stepped back and wiped her eyes.

“What’re you doing here? I thought you were still asleep!”

“I woke and was much better. When I heard about your sister, I had to come.”

Still holding Gabriel’s hand, Emma knelt beside the bed. Her sister’s brow was smooth. Death had erased the furrow of worry.

“Where’s Michael? He’s supposed to be here.”

Gabriel shook his head. “There was no one here when I arrived.”

“Something’s wrong. I knew it. Michael should be here.”

Gabriel was silent for a long moment. It was as if he were listening to something far away; though all Emma could hear was the steady dripping of rain. “I think he has gone to try and bring back your sister.”

“But he already
did
that! He tried writing her name in the book and he couldn’t!”

“There is another way. A dangerous way. He can seek out her spirit directly. The wizard could have shown him how.”

“What? Why wouldn’t he tell me?”

“No doubt he was trying to protect you.”

“But she’s my sister too! We gotta find them!”

“Come then. I know where to look. It may be they need our help.”

Emma leaned down and whispered to Kate that she loved her and would be back soon, then she rose, and she and Gabriel hurried from the room.

Michael followed the music down the nave of the church past the rows of cots and through a door in the back wall. He found himself at the base of a tower. In the middle of the floor, a large bell lay on its side, its iron shell cracked in two. A rickety-looking wooden staircase spiraled upward along the walls. Michael stood there, listening to the song of the violin echoing through the tower; then he began to climb.

The elf princess had said that the Fold was different for everyone. But where had this old church come from? And what did it mean? Was he right in following the music? Would it lead him to Kate? And who, he wondered, was playing it?

The staircase ended, and Michael found a ladder leading through a trapdoor in the ceiling. Tucking the
Chronicle
under his arm, Michael headed upward, emerging onto a wide wooden platform atop the tower. Stone columns around the edge of the platform supported a peaked roof, and three iron bells hung suspended in the rafters. There was a hole in the center of the floor where, presumably, the fourth bell had fallen through. The church stood in an endless field of mist.

Am I still in the cave? Michael wondered. Or am I somewhere else?

He felt confused and frightened and very alone.

Kate was nowhere to be seen. But he had found the source of the music.

A boy, a few years older than Michael, with unruly dark hair and dressed in worn, vaguely old-fashioned clothes, stood at the edge of the belfry, playing a battered violin. His fingers were dirty,
but he played with an easy, fluid precision, and his eyes were closed, as if he was lost in the music. Michael stood there, unsure, waiting.

The song died away; the boy lowered the violin.

“My mother taught me that. I used to play it for her. My name’s Rafe.”

“I’m Michael.”

“I know.”

“What … what is this place?”

“The church?” The boy reached out to one of the columns supporting the roof. There was something sad and loving in the way he touched it. “This is a place that no longer exists in the living world. It was where I came to know your sister. The Fold—to use the elves’ word—can be manipulated if one has the will and power. When I felt you coming, the church seemed an appropriate choice. But perhaps it’s merely sentimental.”

He looked at Michael; his eyes were a startling shade of green, and Michael knew then who he was, and that he was not a boy at all; he was their enemy.

“Where is she?”

“Behind you.”

Michael turned. A large desk stood where none had stood before, and his sister lay upon it, wearing the same high-necked, white lace dress that Michael remembered. Her eyes were closed, her face pale, and her hands were folded on her chest. He walked over and touched her arm. It was solid; she was real.

“You’re keeping her here, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I am.”

“Why?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

Michael said nothing. He sensed the boy had come up behind him.

“My followers in the living world have preserved my physical body for decades. They are waiting for it to rise. For me to rise. As Keeper of the
Chronicle
, you have the power to restore me to life. Release my spirit, and I will release your sister. Otherwise, she stays with me.”

Michael felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. This was why Dr. Pym hadn’t wanted him to come here. He’d known that Michael would be faced with this exact choice: either to bring his sister back and also bring back the Dire Magnus, or to leave Kate trapped in the land of the dead, forever.

Only there was no choice, not for Michael. He didn’t care if the Dire Magnus returned to life and regained all his old power. He didn’t care that he would be responsible for all that happened afterward. Kate was what mattered; she was all that mattered. Michael would bring back the Dire Magnus a hundred times over if his sister would just open her eyes and speak to him.

And perhaps that was what the wizard had truly feared.

It seemed to Michael he could hear another violin in the distance, playing a different song from before, one that was both faster and more haunting, less human.

“Come. Make your decision.”

“I already have.” Michael opened the
Chronicle
on the desk and snapped the stylus free from the brackets.

“Your hands are shaking. There’s no need to be scared.”

“I’m not.” It was true: he wasn’t. The shaking was nerves, the knowledge that he was doing something both momentous and wrong, but which he couldn’t help. He wanted his sister back and he would pay any price. And letting the Dire Magnus return to the world was only part of the cost. Michael knew that everything he’d experienced before—Emma’s feelings of betrayal, the elf princess’s despair at her long imprisonment, the Guardian’s guilt and madness—was nothing compared to the darkness and hatred he would find inside the Dire Magnus; and the moment he called on the magic of the
Chronicle
, all that darkness, all that hatred, would become his. There was no way he wouldn’t be changed.

Michael knew all that, and again, he didn’t care.

He held his thumb on the table and pricked it with the stylus. He turned to the boy. “Release Kate. Then I’ll bring you back.”

The boy smiled. “This isn’t a negotiation. I go first, or I take your sister away to a place where you can’t follow, and that will be the end.”

“How do I … how do I know you’ll let her go?”

The boy who called himself Rafe reached out and gently moved the hair off Kate’s forehead. “Because I want her to live just as much as you do.”

And Michael looked at the boy’s shining green eyes and believed him.

The boy gripped Michael’s arm, his voice suddenly cold and commanding. “Now write my name.”