World's End (49 page)

But it was too late.

Green ash landed on Alfonso's face, and some of it dissolved in the moist film of his eyes. His heart rate slowed. His vision faded. His mind tumbled into darkness as he fell heavily onto the steps. In a matter of seconds, Alfonso transformed into a shriveled ninety-year-old man.

Not long after this, a young woman who appeared to be in her early twenties emerged from the smoke and flames. She was moving quickly, agilely, and with a great sense of purpose. The woman had red hair, green eyes, and a freckled face. She knelt down beside Alfonso's old, wizened body and felt his pulse. It was slow but steady. The young woman picked Alfonso up in her arms and, as best she could, ran through the burning debris toward the exit.

When the young woman emerged from the armory—and out into the safety of open air—she set the old man gently onto the ground. Just seconds later, she morphed into the form of a young girl. Several people noticed this phenomenon.

"Behold," cried an onlooker. "She's an ageling. It's Marta the Seer!"

The girl nodded curtly. She glanced down at Alfonso. He was deep in an ash-induced coma. "I'm no longer alone," Marta whispered into his ear. "We are both agelings now."

A
S
THE WILD CURRENT
of the river whisked Bilblox downstream, he struggled to keep his head above water. When he wasn't gasping for air, he was calling out in the dire hope that someone, anyone, might rescue him.

"HEY! Hallo!" Bilblox yelled. "HELP!"

No reply. Bilblox began to feel desperate. To make matters worse, he felt a new headache coming on, and somehow he sensed that this one would be the most excruciating one yet.

"Help!" he yelled.

A few seconds later, Bilblox felt a strong, sinewy hand grab under his arm and effortlessly pull him into a boat. Bilblox rubbed the water from his face.

"Thanks, buddy," gasped Bilblox. He instinctively shielded his white eyes, conscious that whoever this Jasberian was, he or she would see them. "You really saved me!" exclaimed Bilblox.

The person in the boat laughed in a strangely familiar way.

"My good fellow," said the other person in the boat. "What's the matter with your eyes?"

"My eyes?" said Bilblox, cautiously. "Uh ... er ... What about them?"

"Oh, nothing in particular," replied the voice. "Just that they are entirely white."

Bilblox said nothing.

"Blind are you?"

"Yes," said Bilblox quietly. His headache was suddenly coming on strong and Bilblox felt as if someone were poking red-hot needles into his brain. Currents of pain radiated down his spine and he lost all feeling in his feet.

"And how would you like to see again?" asked the voice.

"What are ya talkin' about?" asked Bilblox weakly.

"Come now, don't you know who I am?"

Bilblox felt his legs weaken. It wasn't possible. After all that happened, he had been rescued by Kiril.

"No," whispered Bilblox. "NO!"

He lunged at Kiril with full force, his fists swinging wildly at the man they had pursued for so long. Kiril released the oars and wrapped his arms like a vise around Bilblox. They tumbled heavily to the bottom of the rowboat. Despite Bilblox's immense strength, Kiril had him in a hammerlock that was impossible to break.

"I may be about to drown, but so will you," muttered Bilblox.

"Not so," grunted Kiril. "You see, we're about to enter a whirlpool. It will knock us about, but ultimately we'll arrive at the Sea of Clouds. And, after that, I have a little rendezvous planned."

Bilblox struggled against Kiril's iron grip, but it was no use.

"My friend, I just took a pinch of Jasberian ash," remarked Kiril, as if they were sitting on a porch having a casual conversation. "At this point, I'm much, much stronger than you. Just relax. Soon we'll be through the whirlpool. Then, if you behave yourself, I may even offer you a pinch of ash to help ease your pain. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Bilblox stopped struggling. Water furiously churned around the boat. As the boat entered the whirlpool, it pitched downward and the stern rose almost perpendicular to the water. Kiril braced himself. As the boat plunged into the spiraling waters, he caught one last glimpse of his birthplace in flames.

I
IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL,
sun-streaked morning in the Sea of Clouds. Clink woke up in the master's bedroom—a vast space on the top floor of the lighthouse occupied by a canopy bed, a thick bearskin carpet, and a bay window with a perfect view of the Ferramentum Archipelago. He heard a series of excited shouts and the sound of doors slamming from the floors below. Perhaps Misty had discovered Second-Floor Man's buttermilk and cheddar pancakes, complete with a dollop of wild blueberry preserves. Clink smiled. He climbed down from bed, put on a mink bathrobe twice as wide as he was, and opened the door. It was going to be another perfect day at the lighthouse.

Clink walked down the corridor and became aware of a slight crick in his neck. He looked down at the vast array of gold and diamond-encrusted pendants hanging around his neck. Eventually, he'd probably have to wear less jewelry, but for the time being, he was determined to wear these baubles everywhere. He had spent his entire life trying to steal finery that was a fraction as valuable as this.

Misty appeared on the staircase, out of breath.

"Now seriously, dear cousin," said Clink jovially. "I know Second-Floor Man is skilled in the culinary arts, but you should pace yourself. There's an endless supply of top-notch food."

"So ya don' stop talkin' even when weighed down with half yer weight in gold?" said Misty with a sigh and a roll of her eyes. "Shut yer trap fer just a second 'n' listen! Colonel Treeknot—she's here! Half dead, a-course, but she's 'ere."

"Colonel Treeknot?" asked Clink. His heart raced. How could she possibly be alive? Clink ran downstairs behind Misty and found Nathalia Treeknot unconscious on the same couch they had laid Josephus on. Her eyes were swollen shut, and her skull shone through in several places, as if clumps of her hair had been yanked out. Her right leg was bent at an angle that meant it was broken in at least two, maybe three, places.

Second-Floor Man was tending to her. At the moment, he was gingerly feeling up and down her leg, trying to determine where the breaks had occurred.

He looked up at Clink and Misty.

"This is a friend of yours, Master Clink?" he asked.

"I'm not sure she's a friend," Clink carefully replied. "But we ought to help her."

Second-Floor Man nodded somberly. "This soldier has been through terrible ordeals. It will take several months of recuperation, and it is unclear—perhaps unlikely—that she will walk again."

Nathalia moaned softly. Her head turned to the left and right, as if in her dreams she was still warding off attackers.

"How did she get here?" asked Clink.

"Jus' like us," replied Misty. "Somehow she found 'er way outta the Fault Roads and at the island picked up the same kinda rowboat and made 'er way 'ere. Poor thing. The things she musta seen. The boat washed up onshore, overturned, and First-Floor Man found 'er layin' there unconscious, 'er leg crushed by the boat."

"Well of course she will stay here," Clink replied magnanimously. "And when Alfonso, Hill, and the others return, Colonel Treeknot here will be able to provide them information about Kiril's plans. I'm sure she saw something that will help them."

"MASTER! MASTER!! MASTER CLEEENK!"

Third-Floor Lady suddenly began to yell in her loudest, most piercing voice.

"What now?" groaned Clink. The day had begun so beautifully and now there was excitement going on everywhere. Even though he was a pickpocket, he was not fond of excitement.

Clink and Misty rushed upstairs to find Third-Floor Lady in the alcove study, just off the staircase. She was looking through the tower's large spyglass, which could easily spot even tiny objects dozens of miles away.

"Whaddya see?" asked Misty.

"I am just walking by and then I decide to look for one minute only," explained Third-Floor Lady. "Then I point the spot-glass to the islands, the Ferramentum islands, and I see boat. Little boat made strangely."

"My catamaran!" yelled Clink excitedly. "I knew they'd come back! Let me see!"

He ran to the spyglass and peered out, barely daring to breathe. He adjusted the magnification and an object snapped into focus. It was a boat. Unfortunately, it was not the catamaran. The Dormian pickpocket groaned.

"What is it?" Misty demanded. "Is it them?"

"No," replied Clink in a most uncharacteristically sober voice. He stood up and let Misty look. Misty peered into the spyglass and gasped. It was a rowboat on the horizon, heading away from the lighthouse. Bilblox was at the oars, propelling the boat forward in a muscular, steady fashion. Sitting opposite him was Kiril, who was staring at the sun-flecked water and looking quite content.

THE END

Verse 2
Every year since I was born
I've heard the story of a labyrinth of thorns
They say it protects us from strangers and thieves
But they've caged us in where no one enters and no one leaves
They've caged us in; where no one believes

 

To listen to the music recording, go to
www.celiarosemusic.com
.

As translated from the original Aramaic,
Russian, Hebrew, Latin, and Greek
BY
F
RANK
K
UJAWINSKI

Matthew Canna—southwest Mesopotamia
Isabel Chobor—Zululand
Ryan Kish—greater Hibernia
George Rusu—Byzantine Empire
Adara Bochanis—Romanian Village (Northeastern section)
Logan Miller—Polynesian Protectorate
Lauren Carroll—Gaul
Fiorabella—Roman Empire (North African section)
Alisala—Aztec Empire
Nikolas Gupta—Thebes
Brelan Zittelll—Longest Island (Greenland)
Leif Perplexon—United States of America

We owe enormous debts of gratitude to so many. Let's start with our families...

 

Peter:
I'd like to thank Nancy Celia Rose, Jo Kujawinski, Arlene Weinsier, Adele Prince, David, Charla, Lauren, and Brock Weinsier, Steven, Lauren, Ryan, and Gil Weinsier, Dan Kujawinski, Elizabeth Kujawinski-Behn, Mark Behn, and Alex Behn. And to Frank Kujawinski, Roland Francis Kujawinski, Tiana Kujawinski, and Clementine Kujawinski, in the soft breeze of summer, in the bite of winter, in the rain and snow and sleet and in the creak of a sleepless night, you are always with me.

 

Jake:
First, to my two little sons, Sebastian and Lucian Halpern, as my own father once wrote:
You are the lights of my life.
You remind me of all that is good and wondrous in this world. To my wife, Kasia Lipska, I love you and admire the good work that you are doing as a doctor. To Greg Halpern and Witold Lipski, you are the best of brothers. Stephen Halpern, the archetype of a good father, thanks for always, always being there. To my mother, of course, this book is for you. And to Barbara Lipska, your indomitable spirit personified courage in the face of adversity. And, finally, thank you to Elizabeth Stanton, Mirek Gorski, and Paul Zuydhoek for your steadfast love and companionship.

 

Peter and Jake:
The Dormia series owes no greater debt than to Svetlana Katz, our agent and greatest ally, as well as to Tina Bennett and Sally Willcox. Enormous thanks to our editor, Julia Richardson, to Jenn Taber, our publicist, and to Karen Walsh, Linda Magram, and Lisa DiSarro. For their work on the Dormia national anthem, "Marta's Song," and all other Dormian music, special thanks to the following exceptional musicians: Celia Rose, Chris Camilleri, Jessie Reagen Mann, and Jan Farrar-Royce.

Finally, we want to thank a number of people who have contributed to the success of the Dormia series. Thanks to our extraordinary intern Drew Shikoh. Also, over the past two years, we have visited more than two hundred schools and met tens of thousands of students.