Kendra Kandlestar and the Crack in Kazah (20 page)

GAYLA GRIFFINSKITCH had changed—a lot. Gone was her wild, unfettered hair adorned with beads and baubles. Gone was her loose-fitting robe hanging off one shoulder. Now her hair was more gray than brown, tied in two simple plaits. It was her eyes, however, that had changed the most. Once full of fire, now they were dull and dim and sagging with the weight of so many wrinkles.

Of course, to a certain extent, Gayla was supposed to look this way. She was exactly the right age for this present time, for we must remember that Kendra and Oki had jumped ahead almost thirty-five years after saying their farewells to the Teenling Gayla. Still, it spooked Kendra and she just stood there, as stiff and frozen as the iron bars that imprisoned them.

But her mother showed no such hesitation. She rushed forward and reeled Kendra into her arms. “Thank the ancients,” she exclaimed, kissing the side of Kendra’s head. “I thought you were dead.”

Her hands were so ice-cold that it sent a shiver down Kendra’s spine; she couldn’t help but to pull away. “Why does everyone keep saying that?” Kendra asked.

Her mother gazed into her eyes. “The Goojuns,” she replied. “They snatched you and Oki almost two months ago. How did you escape?”

Kendra fussed with a braid. “W-we didn’t,” she stammered. “It wasn’t us. I mean, I guess it was us . . . but not
us
.”

“What are you talking about?”

Kendra didn’t even know where to begin. She turned and stared through the prison bars at the rest of the caravan. She could hear the whines and moans of the captives, punctuated here and there by the cruel crack of a Dwarf’s whip.

It’s a nightmare,
Kendra thought. Then out loud she said, “Gayla?”

“Gayla?” her mother echoed in surprise. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long, long time. Since before you were born. What makes you call me that? I’ve always been ‘momma’ to you.”

“Always?” Kendra asked, looking back at her mother.

“Since you were little.”

Of course,
Kendra thought.
This is my mother after marrying my father and becoming Kayla Kandlestar. And if she never left Een, then I grew up knowing her. She . . . she truly is my mother in this timeline.

It was almost too much for Kendra to bear. But there was something not quite right, she realized, as she gazed into her mother’s face. It was her eyes. They were so dull, so . . . lifeless.

That doesn’t come from just growing old,
Kendra said to herself.
Winter Woodsong is over a hundred years old, and her eyes still sparkle like the stars.

“Do you remember me?” Kendra asked.

“Why, of course, Kendra! It’s only been two months.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Kendra said. “I mean from when
you
were young. From when Oki and I . . . .”

“Fell through the crack in Kazah and landed in my time,” Kayla finished. “Yes. I remember it. So that’s happened now, has it, from your perspective?”

Kendra nodded. “So you remember going to the Days of Een? You remember the letter I wrote you?”

“Yes, I cherish it. It saved our family. For a while at least.”

“What do you mean?” Kendra asked, anxiously tugging on a braid. “Where are they?”

“Kiro and your father were captured by Ungers. Almost one year ago.”

“And Uncle Griffinskitch?” Kendra could barely get the words out.

“Kendra, you know this. He died—”

Kendra’s hand flew to her mouth, trying to stifle a sob; but she couldn’t help it. The tears were surging down her cheeks.

Kendra’s mother pulled her tight, cradling her against her chest. “Kendra, what’s going on? Tell me.”

“I’m not . . . I’m not your Kendra, not really,” Kendra tried to explain through her tears. “I’m the Kendra that came to visit you when you were fifteen. But when I jumped back to my own time, I ended up here.”

“This
is
your time, Kendra,” Kayla said.

“No, it isn’t!” Kendra cried. “This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. It’s not right. In
my
time, where I jumped from, Uncle Griffinskitch is still alive, the curtain’s still there . . . ”

Kayla looked at Kendra intently. “Are you telling me there’s a life different from this one? One where the magic curtain yet stands? One filled with . . . hope?” Her eyes flickered; for a moment Kendra thought she saw her fire.

Kendra nodded, wiping at her tears.

“We have
no
hope here,” Kayla said quietly.

“But in the other time, it’s not all . . . I mean, you . . .” Kendra couldn’t finish her sentence.

“I’m gone,” Kayla finished for her. “Along with your father and Kiro . . . just how you described it in that letter.”

“And because I wrote it everything changed.”

Kendra’s mother looked at her steadily, then stooped to pick something from the corner of the cell. It was a tiny stuffed rabbit, faded and worn.

“What is that?” Kendra asked.

“It’s . . . it’s all I have left of you,” Kayla replied. “I was holding it the day the Dwarves captured me.”

“I’ve never seen it before,” Kendra said.

“I made it for you . . . when you were little,” her mother explained. “I suppose what I mean to say is that I made it for the Kendra that I knew. I’m guessing that you, in your timeline, never had an Een doll.”

“I grew up with Uncle Griffinskitch,” Kendra said. “He wasn’t much of a seamstress.”

Kayla smiled sadly. “No, I suppose you’re right.” She stared down at the tiny ragdoll rabbit. “You know,” she said, “I stuffed it with cotton from the cloudtail plant.”

“What’s that?” Kendra asked.

“It’s an Een plant, rare and very magical,” Kayla explained.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Kendra asked.

Kayla clutched the doll tight to her chest. “
My
Kendra is gone,” she said. “Just as
your
mother is gone. My Kendra . . . I fear I shall never see her again. But where you came from, there’s still hope for us, for our whole family. Isn’t that right?”

Kendra nodded.

“Do you still have the ring?” her mother asked.

“The Dwarves took it,” Kendra said, fidgeting with a braid.

“We have to get it back,” Kayla said. “Here, stop that tugging. How many times have I told you?”

Kendra looked at her blankly. “Never.”

Kayla shook her head in confusion. “Of course . . . see, even I get confused. That’s what I used to tell
my
Kendra. And now
you
are here. But you shouldn’t be.”

“Oki said we have to go back and steal back the letter before you read it,” Kendra said.

“He’s right,” Kayla said, slowly nodding. “If I don’t read that letter, then I’ll end up leaving Een, just like you said.”

“But then I won’t have you!” Kendra exclaimed. “At least in this timeline you’re here. You’re safe.”

“Kendra,” her mother said softly. “Look around you. Our world is in shambles. Our entire family is gone.”

“But you’re here.”

“Kendra, look at me. What do you see?”

Kendra gazed at her mother’s face and shivered, but it wasn’t just from the cold. Her mother’s eyes were simply dead. Once they had been flaring with passion. But there was no trace of it now.

I see . . . I see a dream that’s died,
Kendra thought. But she didn’t say it out loud. Instead she said, “I see my mother.”

“Kendra,” Kayla said, squeezing her close. “You have to do what is right for Een. Not just for me and you. Don’t you see? The world is bigger than us.”

BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR. It’s an expression we’ve all heard, and for Kendra it was never more true than now. She had finally found her adult mother, but it had come at a devastating cost. Her brother and father were still missing, Uncle Griffinskitch was dead, and the land of Een was no more. As for her mother . . . well, Kayla Kandlestar was hardly a magnificent sorceress. Her spirit vanquished, she was a mere shell of the fiery fifteen-year-old girl who had witnessed firsthand the curse of the Wizard Greeve.

Little sleep came to Kendra that first night in the prison cart, but when she did finally drift off it was only to be rudely awoken early in the morning by the crack of a whip and a brutish song:

Freaks, freaks, beautiful freaks,

I love ta hear thar groans and eeks!

Claws, tails, horns, and beaks!

How I love me beautiful freaks!

Kendra gave her mother a startled glance and scrambled to the front of her cage to see a fat and vulgar figure strut into the circle of prison carts. He was a Dwarf, but unlike his fellow, he was dressed in a garish coat trimmed with gold, a top hat, and a pair of dark boots. He might have looked glamorous if his costume had not been so tarnished and torn. Worst of all was his beard, for it was scraggly and red and crusted with scraps of food. In one grimy hand he carried a whip, which he cracked with malicious zeal at the bars of each cage as he passed.

Kendra rubbed her eyes. “It can’t be . . . ,” she thought aloud in disbelief.

She knew this Dwarf—and if you have followed Kendra’s adventures at all, then you know him too. This was none other than Pugglemud, that raffish fiend who seemed to torment Kendra at every turn. He had been a treasure hunter, a king, a pirate—and now here he was, ringmaster of a terrible circus of atrocities. That was Pugglemud for you. He was like a tenacious weed; no matter how many times you plucked him, he kept coming back, each time stronger than the last.

When he arrived in front of Kendra, Pugglemud came to an abrupt halt. “Why, lemme have a look-see at yer hair,” the Dwarf proclaimed, scratching his beard to release a shower of moldy bread crumbs. “Yer a fine freak! I reckon ye be one of the new Een-weenies what my boys caught yesterday.”

“Don’t you know me, Pugglemud?” Kendra asked. “I know
your
foul stench—all too well.”

The Dwarf glared at her. Then, raising his whip, he warned, “I don’t know how ye know that name, Eenie—but it ain’t one I be goin’ by these days. I be Ringmaster Ratbaggio and ye best be callin’ me by it, don’t ya know.”

Kendra’s mother scooted forward to pull Kendra away from the bars. “Excuse her insolence, Master Ratbaggio. She means no disrespect.”

Kendra gave Kayla an incredulous look. This was definitely
not
the mother she had come to know. She glared back at Pugglemud. “Do you have my ring,
Master Ratbaggio?
” she asked in a sarcastic tone.

Pugglemud reached inside his cloak and pulled out the Kazah stone. “This little shiny?” he grunted. “It’s purty—though I like gold better. Tee hee!”

“Its cracked and useless,” Kendra said, staring at the stone with envy. “You should give it back to me.”

“Jus’ the fact ya want it means it’s worth somethin’,” Pugglemud tittered, tucking the stone back in his coat. “So I’ll be keepin’ it anyhoo. Maybe I can sell it fer a gold coin or two. Tee hee!”

Then he turned and waddled off, cracking his whip in Kendra’s direction for good measure.

“Kendra!” her mother hissed. “Watch your tongue; you’ll get us both a lashing.”

Kendra sighed and shook her head. She began to wonder if there was even a tiny part of Gayla Griffinskitch left in her mother.

The next few weeks were some of the most miserable of Kendra’s life. The caravan was endlessly on the move, pulled by horse, mule, or—in some cases—magical creatures, like unicorns. The ride was rough, for the carts bounced and bumped over the frozen roads until Kendra’s teeth rattled.

Still, these were the moments of relief, for it was when the caravan pulled into a town or settlement that the true horrors began. Pugglemud and his cronies would erect their tents and here the prisoners were forced to perform for the amusement of the crowds. The unicorns jumped through hoops of fire, the mermaid somersaulted in her tank, and the Eens juggled balls and walked across tightropes suspended high above the ground. There were no safety nets, of course, and all the while Pugglemud cracked his whip. The crowds loved it. They came in abundant numbers to leer and gawk at the so-called freaks. Given the chance, they would poke and prod and even throw stones and rotten apples.

These performances were the only times Kendra had a chance to communicate with Oki; otherwise he was kept in a tiny birdcage in Pugglemud’s personal sleeping carriage, mostly because the fat ringmaster delighted in snapping him with his whip and hearing him squeal. It made Kendra’s braids burn with rage; she spent many an hour desperately trying to hatch a plan of escape. But without her wand or the Kazah stone, it all seemed so hopeless.

Whenever he could, Pugglemud would add new creatures to his carnival. One day, when the caravan had camped for the evening, Kendra heard a clamorous scuffle and looked out of her prison cart to see that the Dwarves had captured the most beautiful creature: the magnificent winged deer known as a peryton.

“I know him!” Kendra told her mother. “It’s Prince!”

“Who?” Kayla asked, shuffling to the front of the cage.

“He’s my friend,” Kendra explained excitedly. “We’ve been through a lot together.”

Yes, it was the prince of the perytons, the noble animal who had fought side by side with Kendra in that terrible gladiator arena known as the Rumble Pit. Together they had escaped to freedom—but that had been in Kendra’s own time. In this timeline, the peryton was very much a prisoner, bound with ropes from the points of his magnificent antlers to the tips of his long white wings. Even so, the formidable beast fought his captors, pounding his heavy hooves against the snow and swinging his antlers. Pugglemud arrived on the scene, cursing and cracking his whip until they were able to tug the obstinate peryton into an empty cage right next to Kendra’s. The last thing Pugglemud did before slamming the door on the peryton’s cage was to pluck one of his glistening white feathers and stick it in his hat.

“Now that’s a fancy-schmancy sight, Ratbaggio,” one of Pugglemud’s minions said, but the ringmaster’s only response was to lash him with his whip.

“Prince!” Kendra called over to the giant winged deer, after the Dwarves had disbanded to go about their carnival chores. “Are you okay?”

“Leave me be, underling,” the peryton snorted. “I know you not.”

“Yes, you do,” Kendra insisted, craning her neck to see if she could catch a glimpse of the noble beast in the adjacent cart. And then, because Kendra knew it, she spoke the secret name that the peryton had once told her. A name is a very precious thing to the great winged creatures, and they tell them only to those they trust the most.

“Fur and feathers!” the peryton huffed in response. “What magic is this, that you can speak my name? I would pierce your tongue if my horns could reach you. Be gone, underling—and take your devilish sorcery with you!”

Kendra slunk back to the corner of her cage. A tear trickled down her cheek.
Everything in this time is completely wrong,
she thought.
Things just can’t get much worse.

But they could, of course—for, as Kendra was about to find out, the caravan was headed straight towards a place of almost certain doom: the Rumble Pit.