The Changeling (16 page)

Owen could tell that Burden was relieved to be out of the mountain. His steps quickened as they descended to a cavern with icicles hanging and a frozen pond. The ground was snow covered, and the prisoners shivered in their skimpy clothes.

Owen used his sword to heal the blind, then told them to wait while he went for help and clothes. But they did not want to stay, fearing an attack. Owen sent Burden through hip-deep snow to find his friends.

After an hour of grumbling (mainly by Connor), the group was met by a contingent of villagers Owen didn't recognize. Watcher popped through, her face bright. She asked Owen question after question as they headed toward town.

“I have one more job for you when we return,” Owen said. He pointed out the young, white-haired boy.

Watcher gasped. “Drushka's son,” she said. “Is his father with him?”

Owen pursed his lips. “I don't think his father made it.”

Watcher's eyes filled. “What should we do?”

“I'd like to get him back to his mother.”

When the group arrived at Yodom, the villagers rejoiced. Owen went straight to the Scribe's house, opened the pouch, and set the metal manuscript on a table.

“This is it,” the Scribe said. “And let me guess: you can't read a word of it.”

“Exactly,” Owen said. “I've tried.”

“A precaution by the King,” the Scribe said. “He used a special glass to project the words onto the page. I simply copied the letters.”

Owen studied the letters, then rummaged around until he found an old windowpane. He put a cloth over one side and held it up to the page. It made a crude mirror, and when he looked at it, he could read the writing.

“Be heartened and glad, for the King's plans will be accomplished. Not one stroke of the pen, not one word of the scroll shall go unfulfilled.”

Owen felt his heart would burst, the words filled him with such comfort and joy. His harrowing trip had not been in vain.

Toward the end of the first page, he read:

“In the days of the Wormling, the king of the west shall meet with the Dragon concerning an agreement. If he has not already discovered the Son, the Wormling shall travel to the Castle on the Moor and uncover the truth.”

“I didn't know there was another king,” Owen said.

“Many kings but only one King,” the Scribe said.

“And what truth does the writing describe?” Owen said.

“Perhaps to regain
The Book of the King
,” the Scribe said. “If the Dragon is there, he may bring it from the other realm.”

Owen held his head in his hands. “What about my home? What about breaching the other portals? When will all that happen?”

The Scribe sat and stared at the floor. “I remember once despairing about how much time the writing was taking. I had made several mistakes, and the pages had to be burned and begun again. The King reminded me that our task was not a simple walk by the lake. He said it was more like a row across an ocean. Discouragement would come. Mistakes would be made. But he told me not to be disheartened. He said such were part of the process of calling into being what was not.”

“I don't understand.”

“Making something out of nothing. Bringing life to a book.” He chuckled. “And the King was right. The mistakes actually made it all the more glorious when it was done, because we knew it was perfect.”

“And the King knew I would make mistakes?”

“Knew and planned for them. And the next leg of your journey may be the most important, for the king of the west has a daughter who is betrothed to the Son.”

“Of course!” Owen said. “Why didn't I think of it? Maybe the Son is already there. Maybe that's where he's hiding, and that's why the Dragon—”

Owen flew toward the door. “I have to find this castle. The Dragon may be going to destroy the Son.”

“You'll need this,” the Scribe said, handing him the metal scroll. On the back was a map to the Castle on the Moor.

“The King thought of everything,” Owen said.

Connor was planning a siege on the vaxors. Owen could not reason with him and only hoped he would be alive when Owen returned with the Son.

The young, white-haired boy rode Humphrey as Owen and Watcher headed back to Yuhrmer. He seemed glad to escape the mountain and be back in fresh air. Though his hands were gnarled from the workrooms, he giggled like a normal boy.

“Are you going to tell him before we get there?” Watcher whispered.

Owen shook his head. “I don't know how. Could he possibly understand that he has a mother waiting for him?”

The villagers rushed to welcome them, many of the children asking Owen about the dead iskek they had found in the forest. Several of the mothers recognized the boy and hugged him tight, though they had a hard time pulling him from the back of Humphrey; he was having such a fun ride. The boy looked overwhelmed at the attention.

When they brought him to Drushka's home, he sniffed the air and squinted. “I remember this smell,” he said. “Bread.”

The door opened, and Drushka looked down, hands on hips, as if he were a nuisance. Then a look came over her that Owen would never forget—joy at his return, sadness at the years lost.

Drushka lifted the boy and looked him full in the face, smelled his hair, inspected his hands. She hugged him and spun him, then led him inside. Moments later she rushed back out, dancing and laughing. The boy couldn't stop talking, telling her all that had happened.

Finally letting a friend take the boy by the hand, Drushka approached Owen. “Words can't express . . .”

“Your joy makes it worth everything.” Then he whispered, “I have less encouraging news about your husband. I believe he was on his way to find your son but did not survive the climb.”

Drushka's eyes left him, and she turned partly away.

Owen put a hand on her shoulder. “His act was selfless and brave. I only wish I could bring him back as well.”

Drushka loaded Owen and Watcher with enough bread and cakes to feed an army. Watcher munched on a pastry, and Humphrey couldn't get enough of playing with the children.

Soon it turned dark, and the three were again on their way. As they reached the crest above the town, Owen turned back to look at the stone house. Drushka stood in the doorway, watching her son chase two new friends.

“Why do you stop?” Watcher said.

Owen sighed. “Dreaming, I suppose.”

Traveling at night again, Owen rode Humphrey, ducking limbs, rolling the words of the missing chapter through his mind. It was his lone connection now with
The Book of the King
. His focus had been the section that spoke of the king of the west and the task ahead, but there were other encouraging words.

A man with faithful friends is blessed beyond measure. It is better to go to battle with friends than with hired soldiers.

Watcher had endless questions about the White Mountain and what Owen had seen. When Owen described the neodim and the movals, Watcher lowered her ears and asked him to stop. He couldn't help but think she was a little jealous of Burden. Owen had left him in Yodom to help the Scribe and be a sentry. “From blindness to watchman. That is a miracle!” Owen said.

As the days grew colder, it became more difficult to travel at night. Owen could see his breath as they walked, and he shivered against the cold and wetness. During the day they would find a cave or stay hidden in a thicket, sleeping or studying the map.

Watcher sensed invisibles, but they seemed less intense, which concerned Owen. It seemed they should be increasing. Could they have attacked his friends in Yodom? He recalled a passage from
The Book of the King
:

Continue to travel paths that are straight and turn neither to the left or the right. The King has prepared them for you.

Late one night, Owen was nodding off on Humphrey's back as a cold rain fell. Owen ran a hand through his hair and shook the water out. Lightning flashed, and a low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance.

They had come to a low area with moss hanging from giant trees and muddy bogs surrounding them. Owen heard movement in the water, and as a precaution against attack, he made Watcher walk single file in front of Humphrey.

The farther they traveled, the more difficult it became to find a hiding place during the day. Smelly swamps dotted the countryside. Watcher suggested they just keep going, that there was little demon flyer activity and the trees prevented them from being seen.

But Owen would not be lulled into complacency. “When we least expect it, they can hit us.”

Owen thought he heard something wafting over the wet breeze and had Watcher and Humphrey stop. “There it is again,” Owen said, pulling Humphrey's reins. “Do you hear it?”

“I hear crickets and frogs,” Watcher said. “And rain.”

Humphrey shifted under Owen.

“I could have sworn I heard something,” Owen said. “Almost like singing.”

They walked until first light showed orange and deep blue on the horizon. Just as Owen was about to suggest they find a place to rest for the day, he heard it again.

This time, Watcher stopped and her ears twitched. “It sounds like a lament.”

“I thought singing was outlawed,” Owen said.

The voice faded, and they continued along a narrowing path, dark water on either side lapping at the edges. From Owen's judgment of the map, they were less than a day from the Castle on the Moor.

They came to a low, jagged stone wall that ran along the edge of the water. A plaintive sound came over the water.

“Sunshine flees; it's cold today,

Cold and wet, they've gone away.

Gone from this world, away from me.

Away, away, away from me.”

The voice sounded familiar, but it wasn't until lightning flashed and he saw the face that Owen gasped.

“Erol,” he whispered.

Owen slipped down from Humphrey and approached Erol.

“Don't bother coming here,” Erol said. He looked sad and weary, eyes red, shoulders sagging. “It will all be over shortly.”

“What do you mean?” Owen said, stepping into the bog.

“I wouldn't suggest that. There are gators in these waters. That's what I'm waiting for.”

Owen stepped back. “You
want
to be eaten?”

“Not so much that I want to be as that I've lost any reason
not
to be. I've lost everything, Wormling. My only song is a dirge for my children, my wife, and my clan.”

Humphrey stomped and fidgeted as Owen stepped closer to Erol. “What happened?”

“The Dragon wiped us out, sent his scythe flyers to open our caves, and then the Dragon himself poured fire down.” He closed his eyes and waved a foreleg in front of his face. “My wife tried to protect the children and was cut down.”

“Starbuck?” Owen said.

“Fought valiantly but he, too, was consumed.”

Owen sat in the dirt by the dark water. Lightning flashed in the distance.

“How did you escape?” Watcher said.

“I have asked that a thousand times,” Erol said. “Perhaps the Dragon allowed me to live as my ultimate punishment. To die would have been sweet release. But to be the only survivor, that's the worst—knowing I did not protect my loved ones.”

“I'm so sorry,” Owen said. “I can't help but think I was somehow to blame. We did hear the news, but I didn't want to believe it.”

“It's not your fault, Wormling. Of course, if we hadn't met you and helped you, none of this would have happened, but you must not let it trouble you.”

“I would have to be dead for it not to trouble me.”

Erol groaned. “Another of your strong traits. You are able to enter into the pain of others.”

“I'm coming,” Owen said, peering into the darkness of the water.

“You might want to plant your sword and jump.”

Owen stuck it in the middle of the shallow bog and swung over to the rock wall. But his sword sank.

“Sword!” he called, but it hissed and bubbled and gurgled under the surface.

“Must be quicksand,” Watcher said.

Erol waved. “Probably stuck on the bottom. Wait for morning light and you'll see it.”

Humphrey backed away, ears twitching, and Watcher seemed uneasy, but Owen concentrated on Erol. “Come with us. You can avenge your clan's death by helping us find the Son and defeat the Dragon.”

“You've been looking all this time. What makes you think you'll ever uncover him?”

Owen pulled out the scroll. “This says there will be a meeting—”

“Wormling!” Watcher said. “Protect the words.”

Owen looked back at her, brows furrowed. “We have nothing to fear from our friend. He means us no harm.”

“I do not take offense,” Erol said. “You have both been through so much. The battle with the iskek and then being trapped inside that mountain . . .”

“Yes,” Owen said.

“Did you use the Mucker? Is he still with you?”

Owen took Mucker from his shirt pocket. It was taking the worm longer to recover, but he seemed much healthier than when Owen had left. “Watcher kept him while I . . .” Owen's voice trailed off. He looked up at Erol. “How did you know about the iskek? And the mountain? We didn't tell you about that.”

Sudden as a poisonous snake, Erol grabbed Mucker and the scroll and flew off the wall into the water. He quickly became a ravenous crocodile, bigger than Owen had ever seen, and snapped at Owen's leg.

“The Changeling!” Watcher said.

Out of the shadows came cloaked figures that surrounded Watcher and Humphrey, grabbing at them with skeletal hands. Owen couldn't breathe—these beings looked like the same ones who had met with his father!

“Run!” Watcher yelled. She and Humphrey galloped back the way they had come. But the beings subdued them.

“Get out, Wormling!” Watcher yelled.

The crocodile rose, jaws open, teeth glistening.