The Last Stand of Daronwy (27 page)

“No!” Eaglewing charged, but Lightningbolt caught his arm.

“Brother.” Lightningbolt's tone was calm, but hard as steel.

Control yourself.
Lightningbolt hammered the words into Eaglewing's mind.
She has been taken. Look through the Shadow World. There is something there, but it is not her.

He was right. It had her aura, but it was not her. A mere shadow of her remained; her mind had been obliterated by Kronshar. She was little more than a puppet now. Eaglewing remembered when he had reached for her through the darkness after the fall of Hrad'din.

“You've been tricked, Naranthor. Kronshar offers only slavery, not escape. You will not create the world you wish, but the world he wishes,” Eaglewing said.

She looked at Eaglewing. Her eyes were still hers. They overflowed with paralyzed terror; she was unable to escape whatever it was that he had imprisoned her soul inside.

Brother, it IS her. What did Kronshar do?

Concentrate.

“You are outnumbered by men, by skill, and by Stones. If you force this confrontation, you will not survive.” A thread of magic tugged at Eaglewing's Stone. He recognized Niritan's mind, pulling together energy to strike. Kronshar continued. “Hand over the Stones and I will see to it that you leave here alive. Or realize your folly and join me in remaking the world, as your commanding officer has. What do you choose?”

Eaglewing focused his mind on the creature that she had become. The mind that he touched was warped and cyclic, turning in a whirlwind of insanity, like a sparrow caught in a gale.
I love you,
he said. Her mind stopped a moment, almost rebalancing, and then pitched forward into the swirl. A single tear escaped one of the creature's eyes.

Eaglewing had barely focused when Niritan called the Stones. A blinding light shot forward from the other wizards. Rippling thunder broke through the room and the energy deflected into a far wall, exploding it into dust and marble chunks that catapulted through the air. Lightningbolt deflected the chunks toward Kronshar's wizards.

“
Move!
”
Niritan shouted. The adepts scattered, running through the large room, dodging laser-like shots of energy from Kronshar's Stones. Niritan controlled their Stones, firing volleys of white-hot energy back at Kronshar's wizards. One of the wizards fell, but Kronshar pulled that Stone into orbit around his body. Fire blazed up from the flagstones. Niritan fought it with a howling arctic storm. Snow and ice swept through the hall.

Lightningbolt threw a jump cloth into the center of the room, propelled by a shadow spinner. Kavarine added power from her Stone to his spell. When one of Kronshar's wizards tried to deflect the spell, it exploded on contact. Columns shattered to the ground and parts of the ceiling fell. Kronshar took the erratic energy and transformed it into thousands of steel blades that rocketed across the hall toward the adepts like a volley of arrows.

“Niritan! Don't shield! It's wild energy!” screamed Lightningbolt, watching his small shield disintegrate into a tiny supernova.

Niritan changed the arctic spell, transforming it into a massive, overgrown jungle. It grew quickly, vines wrapping around one another in the blink of an eye. The blades sliced through the tangled morass and slowed. One caught Kavarine in the leg and she fell.

A wizard materialized behind her and reached for her Stone as she tried to heal herself. Kavarine wrestled the Stone free and used it to send the wizard hurtling through the room. Naranthor vaulted across the distance toward her. Eaglewing rushed Naranthor, pumping his wings, but he was too slow. Kavarine gasped, then fell forward. Naranthor's knife protruded from her back. The Stone rolled out of her reach. She dragged herself across the floor after it.

An explosion from Niritan's direction rocked the hall. Eaglewing fell out of the air, sliding across the broken tiles toward Kavarine's Stone. Her Stone flew into the air, pulled by both Kronshar and Niritan at the same time. It hung there, captured between the wizards, each pulling in a different direction.

Naranthor jumped, trying to grab the orb. Eaglewing caught Naranthor's leg with one arm and spun, throwing himself and the traitor to the ground. Eaglewing's other arm swung his Stone into Naranthor's ribs, obliterating the traitor in a flash of blue light.

Overhead, Kavarine's Stone stretched, its spherical form deteriorating between the pull of each wizard. The blue light receded to the ends of the orb, revealing a white-hot star rotating and crackling in the center. Kavarine crawled beneath it, glanced at Lightningbolt with desperate eyes, and stretched her hand to it. Golden light streamed through her eyes, her mouth, her hands, pouring her life's energy directly into the breaking Stone. Determined she not die in vain, Lightningbolt distracted Kronshar with a frenzied lightning storm that struck every angle of his shields.

Kavarine collapsed. Niritan released his hold on the unstable Stone and it surged toward Kronshar, exploding on contact. Eaglewing felt his body flying through the air and then he slammed into a wall. His vision filled with a painful, white light. The explosion reverberated through his skull. A firestorm consumed the hall, incinerating Niritan's jungle. Eaglewing fought for a shield to protect himself.

He blinked in the sudden murk. His ears rang. The ceiling and the southern wall had disappeared, revealing the burned courtyard, where the surrounding buildings had crumbled as well. His eyes adjusted enough to see the rotating spheres in their dizzying circuit around a prone Kronshar. Every bone in Eaglewing's body ached; his left leg throbbed with pain. He had landed on one of the blades. Eaglewing pulled the blade free. Lightningbolt stood on wobbly feet near the center of the room. Blood covered half his face. Eaglewing lurched across the room, dragging his left leg with every step.

Lightningbolt held three blue Stones and Niritan's Red, which glowed a deep sanguine hue and had doubled in size.

“Niritan?” Eaglewing said, but realized he couldn't hear with the ringing in his ears.
Niritan?

Lightningbolt nodded to the crimson sphere.
He protected us.
Lightningbolt handed Eaglewing two blue Stones.

Eaglewing stared at the limp figure of Kronshar.
Let's finish this.

Together they hobbled across the endless blackened tiles toward Kronshar's crumpled heap. Kronshar pushed himself up as they neared. Stones still circled him. Eaglewing could see Mayflure lying behind Kronshar. Her chest still moved; alive, but barely. Lightningbolt and Eaglewing charged. The older wizard staggered backward, creating a shield. The adepts pushed forward, pouring their energy into the four Stones and assailing them against the shield in wave after wave of blasts.

Kronshar condensed the power into a shimmering, violet plane of electricity between them. Sparks crackled through the air. Eaglewing's hair stood on end, his muscles and his mind strained, struggling to push either Stone through Kronshar's shield. Lightningbolt called Kronshar's Red Stone and it broke its orbit, erupting into an inferno on the inside of Kronshar's shield. Flames covered him. But his power responded, healing him even as he burned. Energy began to fray in snapping explosions and tiny shadow spinners at the edge of the shields. Lightningbolt struggled to hold the spells together.
Push him back, Eaglewing! Help me focus!

A movement behind Kronshar pulled him backwards. Power shot straight up, exploding into the sky.
Now, Eaglewing! Now!
The brothers lunged toward Kronshar's figure, bringing the four Stones down with all their strength and energy. Kronshar's shield splintered into an array of golden sparks. Lightningbolt's last spell eliminated the four Stones, combining them with the fraying magic into a piercing blue light that ripped through Kronshar. Thunder cracked through the room, followed by a hot, swirling wind. The brothers collapsed onto the charred tile.

Eaglewing lay face down on the ground, eyes open, but only seeing white. There was no pain anymore. Lightningbolt's hand managed to find his brother's. Eaglewing could feel Mayflure nearby.

Eaglewing, It was Mayflure. When his shield faltered… she grabbed him.

I know. She's right here.

I love you too,
said her weak voice in Eaglewing's mind.

We did it, Lightningbolt. We did it.

Aye, we did. We did.

Jeremy stared at Daniel as they lay on the sand of the Mini Desert staring up into the ashen November sky. Jeremy's skin felt electric, his shoulders lighter. “The Midnight Wizard felt the power charging out from Khazim and amassed what remained of the army to attack the fortress.”

“But there weren't many people there. When Kronshar died, many of his spells ended; the walking dead became dead again. When the living creatures saw the temple explode that morning, many of them fled. So they were able to easily get into the fortress and find us,” said Daniel.

“He found Eaglewing and Lightningbolt and Mayflure lying across the melted tiles in the ruins of Kronshar's pyramid. The only thing left of Kronshar was one single red orb and a scattered set of charred bones.” Jeremy and Daniel stood and walked with reverent steps onto the rise of Twin Hills. They sat down and faced the long swath of sand and the pond alongside it.

Jeremy painted the picture. “They carried the bodies of the adepts and Niritan to the ruins of Oseir, the last city. They marched down the road in the center of the old fortress, our caskets in the front, carried on a litter. People from balconies and rooftops threw flowers. It was a rain of flowers; all colors, all types. You couldn't see the sky, there were so many. It smelled like a garden. The people cheered, raising their hands and shouting, ‘Eaglewing, Lightningbolt,' until the sound echoed through the valley. People would always tell the story of how the twin adepts fought against all odds and won the world its freedom.”

Daniel nodded, eyes distant. “I can see it, I can almost hear it.” A soft drizzle began to fall, dimpling the surface of the pond.

“I can hear it. All colors of banners are flying from flagpoles and roofs and windows. People are playing music and dancing. There are tears in people's eyes and smiles on their faces. Because they know that in the end, they won. That we won.”

Daniel smiled at Jeremy. Daniel said, “And the Midnight Wizard hid the last Stone in a deep dungeon and assigned a specific sect of the adepts, who remained secret even from other adepts, with its protection. That way, its power would never be unleashed upon the world again.”

The weeping rain fell faster, cooling their sweat-slicked hair. Jeremy nodded and held up his hand, thumb up, fingers outstretched. Daniel clasped it.

“We did it,” said Daniel.

“Yeah. This is the best feeling in the world. I think my heart is floating. You know? I think I know what I believe.”

“What's that?”

“That we can save Twin Hills.”

“What? How?”

“Tell everyone to meet at the fallen tree over there.” Jeremy pointed. “Tell everyone to meet there after school on Tuesday. Tell your brother.”

“My brother won't come.”

“Yes, he will.”

“Why?”

Jeremy shrugged. “I dunno, I just think he will.” For a moment, Jeremy could see the green-haired being moving through the shadows of Twin Hills, then the rain shifted and it was gone.

“Why do you think that we can save Twin Hills?”

“Because of this.” Jeremy extended a hand to the flapping banners, the tears of joy, and the falling flowers in an invisible world that mirrored the whispering rain in their own.

Chapter Thirty-Three

It was not sadness that angered Daronwy. He knew that all life was mournful and joyous at turns. What he could not accept—what he would not abide—was complacency, the paralysis of apathy. Before Jeremiah had sensed his magic, Daronwy knew that he and his tree-brethren had pushed their roots deep into that sickness. They had not done enough to keep the humans out of their boughs. They had not cultivated enough terror to prevent the humans from making their forest into a dumping ground. Had they done that, had they done more, perhaps Daronwy would not have to put all his faith into this young sapling. Smoke choked Daronwy, and he longed for the fire just so he would never again hear the raspy screams of burning trees on the wind.

The sapling climbed up Daronwy's trunk. He had gathered all the children: the kind ones, the cruel ones, those that could almost hear the wind, and those that would never hear it. The brethren awoke; they had never seen a gathering like this. And in all his long seasons, neither had Daronwy.

“So, hey.” Jeremy stood on the trunk of the old, fallen Tree. “I'm glad y'all came.” He looked down at Loren, Sy, Roland, Lee, Marcus, Paul, Daniel, and two boys he didn't know from the other end of the street. His stomach jittered. They all looked up at him, waiting for him to say something. “So, well, we all know why we're here. We have to stop the bulldozers.”

“We should shoot them,” Loren said.

The other boys laughed and cheered.

“We should dig big trenches that they'll fall into.”

Jeremy's head swiveled, watching them talk to one another.

“No, you can't dig a trench that big.”

“Yeah you can, I saw it on a movie.”

“I like Loren's idea, man. You get a 4-10 and just blast them.”

This wasn't what he wanted. He needed to say something, but the army of butterflies in his stomach strangled his throat. His ideas vanished. How could he steer them from trenches and guns, to something he could believe in?

“Naw, dude, you'd want a .22 at least. It'll penetrate that metal.”

“Hey!”

Every single head turned toward Mira's voice. She stood at the edge of the clearing with her older sister, Kelly. The boys stepped aside as Mira walked up the slanted tree trunk. “I brought you a present.” She extended her arms, offering Jeremy a big piece of sheet metal.

Jeremy took it, turning it over. The “No Trespassing” sign stared back at him with its angry red letters. Jeremy laughed. The boys cheered. It made all the sense in the world. “We can't destroy the bulldozers,” he said.

Heads swiveled, eyes stared at him, mouths opened, ready to argue.

Swallowing the butterflies, Jeremy spoke louder. “We don't have bazookas. We don't have grenades. You can shoot it with a .22, Loren, but what's that going to do? How long will it take them to repair the bulldozer and bring it back? And how much of Twin Hills will you dig up with your trench, Marcus?

“I'll tell you what we should do. The only way to stop those dozers is to change the minds of the people that drive them. We have to show them what Twin Hills means to us. We have to show them what we believe, and how much we believe it. We have to put up our own ‘No Trespassing' signs. We have to build a wall to protect our forest. They have to know that bulldozing Twin Hills is like bulldozing our homes. And when they see what we're doing, then they will realize, and they will stop. That's how we stop the bulldozers.”

The heavy silence of their stares weighed on him. His knees shook, and he worried he'd fall off the Tree. His pleading eyes found Daniel's.

“What are you talking about?” said Loren.

“Building a wall,” Daniel said. “He's talking about building a wall across what's left of Twin Hills, along this side of the pond.”

Jeremy smiled. “And I'm talking about putting this sign on it.” He shook the sign in the air. “I'm talking about building something to show these people why they cannot destroy Twin Hills. If we can make them realize that they aren't just cleaning out a dump, if we can show them that bulldozing this is like bulldozing our homes, then they'll think twice. We have to build a wall to protect what is ours.”

The boys began nodding to each other; cautious smiles crept through the crowd.

Loren clapped his hands, whooping. “All right, Mr. J!”

“Okay,” Jeremy said. “Let's start getting materials out here tomorrow. Any spare wood you can find, if you can pull some of the dead trees from the burn piles, we'll need to move them over here. Who can get us some spray paint?”

“I can,” said Roland, “I work at Wal-Mart.”

“I can get us hammers and nails and a bunch of rope,” said Marcus.

“Bring everything you can find here, to this grove. We'll start building on Friday after Thanksgiving.”

On Friday morning, Jeremy and Daniel arranged a line of survey stakes from the street swamp to the twin hills, demonstrating where the wall should go.

“What should we do next?”

Jeremy motioned, walking toward the Trash Clearing. “Help me pick up that old washing machine. Let's put it at this end.” They half-carried, half-dragged the rusted carcass to the line. When Sy and Loren showed up, Daniel and Jeremy were trying to hammer old panels of metal into the ground next to three washing machines, two dishwashers, and a refrigerator door.

“We should stack those appliances. Give me a hand,” Loren said.

They lifted one rusty hulk and set it atop the other. Marcus and Paul arrived with several sheets of plywood and three boxes of tenpenny nails.

“We ought to nail that plywood to the front of everythin' so that we have somethin' to write on,” Marcus said.

“We'll need braces to get the plywood to stand up. Hammering stuff into this sand doesn't work.” Jeremy demonstrated, pushing the panel he and Daniel had hammered in. It fell flat. “I have an idea. Be right back.” He ran home and returned with his dad's crosscut saw.

“Sy, Daniel, let me show you.” They picked long, fallen branches. Jeremy showed them how to cut the tops of the branches at an angle, to make a flat surface to nail the plywood to.

Lee arrived dragging three warped, twelve-foot two-by-fours. “Hey y'all, I got a bunch of these, come help. They might work better than those branches.” Behind Lee's house was an old burn pile where his dad burned trash. They pulled a dozen planks of lumber out of it. Some of the boys Jeremy didn't know came with hammers and saws. Jeremy had them all making braces while he and Sy scavenged through the remnants of Helter Skelter, finding old tires and rusted oil drums. They pulled these to the pond, stacking them along the line of the wall.

As the sun rose past noon, a motor thundered through Twin Hills.

“What is that?” Daniel looked at Jeremy, who looked at Loren.

“Hide! Everyone, take the tools, it might be the cops!”

The motor came closer. The boys scooped up hammers, nails, and saws as they scrambled into the trees behind the wall. Jeremy ran to the Tree. He laid a hand against it. “Please don't let them catch us… not yet. Not yet.” The gashes on his back burned with a frigid anger, making Jeremy catch his breath.

The engine stopped. Loren's laugh echoed over their hiding places. “Come out, y'all. It's just Roland.”

Jeremy smiled at the Tree and tried to shrug off the prickly tingling in his back.

Roland sat on his three-wheeler. “Didn't mean to scare y'all. Here you go, Mr. J.” He dropped a shopping bag full of spray paint into Jeremy's hands. He patted the machine. “I figure we could use this to pull some of those logs out of the burn piles.”

Jeremy turned. “Marcus, do you still have that rope?”

They walked to the most concealed burn pile. It was still smoldering, and the air shimmered over the logs. Loren walked to it, squinting into the heat. He tied the rope to the first tree he could reach.

“No, you can't put it on that lower one. Ain't gonna be able to pull that out, man. You gotta put it higher.”

“I ain't climbing up there, dude.”

“I'll go.” Sy climbed up onto the burn pile. Everyone watched as he moved up the outer edge, grabbing from root to root. He was three logs high when a branch snapped. He fell, but caught his hands on another root. His legs dangled in the hot air.

“Be careful, Sy!”

He got his feet back on a root and tied the rope around a medium sized log on top of the smoldering pile. He came down carefully and jumped to safety, coughing. His big brother slapped him on the back. “Good job, good job.”

“All right, get out of the way, everyone.”

Roland climbed on the three-wheeler. He drove slowly, letting the rope stretch taut. Jeremy swallowed, eyeing the three-wheeler, the rope, and the massive tree it was tied to. Roland gave it some gas. The engine whined. Roland gave it a little more gas. The log shifted and the three-wheeler jerked forward. Roland flinched. He tried a little more gas. The wheels started to spin and then he let off. Easing into it again, the log shifted farther, then a little more. The engine complained; the rope tightened. The end of the log turned toward them.

Jeremy held his breath.

The wheels started to spin on the chewed dirt, then caught; the machine lunged forward. The log tumbled down the pile, thunking against several others and knocking them free. Roland lurched on the seat but managed to squeeze the brakes. He stopped before the rope went taut and he went over the handlebars.

Everyone cheered. Roland laughed, shaking his head. Loren clapped people's shoulders hard enough to leave welts. “Oh yeah! Let's get another one!”

They rescued eight massive tree trunks from the burn piles. Using the three-wheeler and a ton of pushing, they dragged the logs to the wall. Loren directed them to put the smaller logs next to the larger ones. Once they had the large logs staked in, Loren called them.

“All right, boys. We're gonna lift this small one up and put it on top. The minute we get it up there, Lee, you take one of those two-bys and nail it to both trees, you got that? Make sure the end of your two-by is on the ground. That way it doesn't roll off the other side.”

The boys squatted around the blackened trunk.

“On three.” Loren squatted. “One… two… ”

Jeremy dug his hands into the dirt beneath the log.

“Three!”

They strained. They groaned. They gritted their teeth. The log rose about four inches.

“I'm gonna drop it!” said Marcus.

“Everyone drop, now!” The log thudded back into the sand. Loren wiped the sweat off his brow. “Crap.”

After another try and more cursing, Loren proclaimed it was time for lunch. They would meet up in an hour. Jeremy went home and ate a turkey sandwich, gazing into his backyard. As he stared at his dad's old cache of steel pipes and cinderblocks laid against the back fence, an idea surfaced in his mind. He found Loren heading out with a boom box, talking in his driveway with Kelly and Mira. Jeremy called them. Together, they carried several of the old cinderblocks and pipes to the wall.