The Sword of the Wormling (15 page)

With Mucker tucked safely inside the initiation scroll, Watcher and Owen prepared for their journey off the island. One of Owen's training exercises had been to cut down a huge tree with a small ax. That came in handy, and Owen quickly fashioned a canoe from the fallen tree.

After a long, tight, tearful embrace of Mordecai, Owen and Watcher rubbed on jargid oil and put skins of the putrid animal in their new craft to ward off the Kerrol, then launched on the early morning tides from the south side of the island. Twice the beast slithered to the surface through the mists, and Owen wished it would get close enough for him to test his sword. But as if he had long since learned his lesson, both times the Kerrol plunged back into the depths with a kerthunk.

As Owen rowed he thought of Mordecai, and the more he thought, the sadder he became.
The Book of the King
contained many passages on forgiveness and restoration and said it was the glory of a King to overlook a mistake. Owen was sure the King still loved Mordecai and didn't hold his offense against him. Clearly Mordecai had never forgiven himself. Owen guessed it would take a visit from the King himself to free the man from his regrettable past.

Owen was soon glad to be back on the mainland, not surrounded by water, the canoe hidden in sea grass. His sense of mission—to find the King's Son so he could unite the two worlds and free the people—drove him.

His destination was the Son's prison, wherever he was held. Mordecai had offered several guesses as to where he might be, leaving Owen to dream restlessly every night, often awakening sweating and out of breath. Always it was the same: A young man in tattered, royal robes sat in the dungeon of some isolated stone prison, his hair and fingernails growing to enormous lengths. Watchmen on the walls bore hideous, scaly, horned faces. Torches lit every entrance. In his dream Owen got as far as the barred window that allowed him to see the Son just before he was discovered. He raced from the fortress, pursued on foot, on horseback, and in the air.

Owen was now in search of the prison—or one similar to it—of his dreams. As he and Watcher reached rocky soil, several musicians of Erol leaped from trees and high rocks, alighting all around them.

Owen grinned. “Friends!”

But it quickly became apparent that the musicians were not smiling. Was it possible they didn't recognize him? thought he was a trespasser? They surrounded and subdued Owen and Watcher before he even thought of defending himself. Two lugged his heavy sword to a cliff and pitched it down a ravine, where he heard it clanging on its way.

Soon Erol himself emerged.

“Why do you look at me that way, old friend?” Owen said.

The man's eyes were not filled with hatred but with tears. He pulled a dagger from his tunic, his fist clenched around it so tight that his knuckles were white. “I'm sorry, Wormling,” he said, clearly unable to meet Owen's gaze, “but I must kill you.”

Erol leaned close and whispered, “I must cut out your heart and give it to the Dragon. He has invaded. I have one chance to restore what I have known and loved all these years.”

“What happened?” Owen said.

“The demon flyers attacked our young ones picnicking in the glen. They took a dozen and carried them toward the Badlands. They have announced that your heart is the ransom.”

“But I can help you get them back. Killing me will only mean you lose them forever.”

Erol shook his head. “Their leader, a most hideous creature, said our children would die unless we did as he commanded. We are to kill the Wormling and present his heart to the Dragon. He held out
The Book of the King
and said it was written that you would die by our hands—”

“He lied!” Watcher screamed, her voice echoing through the valley.

Owen nodded. “The truth is not in him,” he said quietly. “The enemy seeks to make us fight those we love rather than our true enemies. If he divides us—”

“I cannot risk losing my children!” Erol said, moaning as he raised the dagger. “We must place your heart high upon the rock where he can see it.”

Owen closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and raised his voice. “Sword!”

From the ravine came a clang and a whirring.

Owen spread his legs and shook off the musicians, grabbing the sword from the air. “The fate of your children and the kingdom depends on me.”

Erol looked taken aback by both Owen's strength and his voice. The little man quickly held the dagger to Watcher's throat. “Consent or your friend dies.”

Watcher's eyes darted and Owen heard her whimper.

“I promise on my life I will get your children back,” Owen said. “But you must listen to me, not this being from the Dragon. He means only to devour you and your kind.”

“Our women weep,” Erol said. His voice was pitiful and weak.

“I will turn their mourning to dancing and their cries to shouts of joy. But you must—”

Before Owen could finish, Watcher tried to escape and Erol's blade sliced her foreleg, blood pouring on the ground. “Wormling,” she gasped.

Owen stepped forward with the sword.

“Wait!” Erol said. “Do not end her life! This wound is not fatal.”

“Stand back!” Owen commanded.

Watcher wobbled, clearly weakening.

Owen pressed the sword to her wound, and immediately the cut closed, completely healed.

Erol and the others fell back.

“My power is not my own,” Owen said. “It comes from the King.”

“Our fate is in your hands, Wormling,” Erol said. “But how will you save the children? The Badlands are forbidden territory.”

“
The Book of the King
says, ‘Whatever you put your hand to do, do it well and do it with all your heart.' The King will prepare the way. And he will show us the way to his Son as well.”

“We dare not doubt you, Wormling,” Erol said. “Forgive me!”

“You are forgiven. I understand.”

“Now, how can we help? Shall you take our most trained?”

Owen looked at the sky.
He
had been chosen, though weak and afraid.
He
had been entrusted with
The Book of the King
, though just a boy. “Was your son taken?”

“No,” Erol said. “Why?”

“I am here,” Starbuck called, bounding out from behind a rock.

Owen caught Erol's eyes with his, eyebrows raised.

“Him?”
Erol said.

Owen put an arm around the boy. “There is power and strength in the humble. Great armies are no match for the lowly, honest heart. The rulers of the darkness look on the outward appearance. The King looks at the heart. I perceive your son has the heart of a warrior.”

“I don't know,” Erol said. “His mother would never—”

“But, Father! You must trust one such as the Wormling, who speaks with authority, though he is not much older than I!”

“While his mother and I consider it,” Erol said, “you must tell the others of your time on the islands.”

“Yes!” someone said. “Was the scarred one there?”

“With the face of a lion and the skin of a lizard?” another said.

“Who has married the Kerrol?”

“And has spawned children who roam the land?”

Owen held up a hand. “Enough! Yes, he is scarred, but all the rest is false! The King never had a truer friend.”

Erol and his wife, Kimshi, eventually emerged. She wept and sang Starbuck songs from his childhood. The boy kept telling her in hushed tones to stop, but her son would accompany a Wormling into the most dangerous region of the land, and so she carried on. Owen had never experienced the tears of a mother. He watched, fascinated, as she held Starbuck like a baby, kissing him and repeating the songs again and again.

The fathers whose children had been taken prepared to accompany the three, sharpening weapons, preparing nets for the demon flyers, and gathering supplies.

But when darkness fell, Owen stood before them. “We will take no weapons, save my sword.” He held up a hand to quiet murmurs of protest. “There will come a time when you all will be asked to join in the battle. And anyone who fights with the King will be rewarded. But this mission is a rescue, not a battle.”

“Promise our children will be returned to us,” a woman said.

“I can promise only what has been revealed. The prophecies say there will be singing and jubilation in this world and in the other when the Dragon is overthrown.”

The elders gathered around Owen, Watcher, and Starbuck and began a tune so soft and low that Owen couldn't make out the words. The musicians sang in a glorious blend, without instruments. The notes seemed to spring from their very souls, echoing through the canyon.

When they finished, the elders placed their hands on the three.

Erol said, “Go with the urgency of the hawk. Run swiftly through the barren land. Train your eyes so that no attack from above or below will go unnoticed. And may our children be returned to us.”

“May the King grant it,” Owen said.

And the clan of Erol repeated after him.

Watcher was plainly peeved at Owen for bringing Starbuck, probably because he had not consulted her. She strode ahead of him so there was no way he could miss her feelings.

But Owen was resolute. As he had addressed the clan, a voice, still and small, told him, “Take the boy with you.”

At first Owen had resisted. How would they control such a youngling? But Owen himself had been chosen as a Wormling. Nothing qualified him to be given the charge of saving these worlds. Someone must know something about the heart of this lad.

Starbuck looked like his father, minus the rotund belly, with a long snout and a confident walk. The tender eyes were his mother's. Owen envied the boy's stories of the things his family did each night, saying good night and singing to each other.

Starbuck skipped and climbed along rocks. As they neared the border of the Badlands, he sidled up to Owen. “I've been out here before. You knew that, didn't you?”

Owen knew nothing of the sort. “How far?”

He pointed. “Past the Valley of Zior and halfway to the camp.”

“How did you do this?” Watcher said. “Why?”

“I used my legs. I wanted to see what was there. My parents thought I was on a picnic with friends. I begged them for weeks to let me go. I simply had to see what was so bad about the place. Our village is terrified of it.”

“You deceived your parents,” Owen said. “You must not do it again.”

“What did you see?” Watcher said.

“Snakes as big around as me and twice as long as you, Wormling. Maybe three times. And the lizards of Zior protect the camp at the edge of the mines. I saw them through—”

“Lizards?” Owen said.

“Hundreds. Thousands. They hop with long tails and catch insects and fight with each other. I suppose they're guarding the encampment for the demon flyers.”

Watcher looked worried. “You knew about the lizards, but still you came.”

Starbuck nodded. “The Wormling will keep me safe. I wouldn't miss this.”

Three times Watcher's hair went up, and she pushed Owen and Starbuck behind rocks or covered them in the sandy soil. All three times demon flyers screeched overhead, flying toward the mines. Watcher shook each time, but Starbuck seemed excited.

“Those things took two of my best friends,” Starbuck said. “How many are we going to kill?”

Watcher looked at Owen. “You brought him; you answer him.”

“You heard what I said at the camp. I don't intend to kill anyone or anything.”

Starbuck frowned. “I thought that's what you'd say. But what if they attack? We have to defend ourselves!”

Owen shook his head. “I'm hoping they never see us.”

In the Valley of Zior the three scrambled inside an abandoned cave before the sun rose to the edge of the horizon. As the orb climbed, a sizzling sound made Owen realize the sun was literally baking the valley floor. Tiny shoots that had budded in the night withered and collapsed. The dew on rocks bubbled, hissed, and evaporated.

“Why is it so hot here?” Owen said, curling up to nap.

“They say the Dragon set up an unseen desert boundary,” Starbuck said. “Those who travel into the valley are said to have abandoned all hope, because death is sure.”

They slept through the day until the sun seemed to lose intensity in the long shadows. As they made their way out of the cave and into the dry and cooler air, animals were beginning to peek out of their holes, skittering among the sparse bushes and tumbleweeds.

Watcher stopped Owen just before he would have stepped on a huge snake slithering through a gully. Its head was as large as Starbuck's.

The valley was filled with the bones of animals. The moon finally appeared, softly glowing, and Owen was glad they didn't need a torch.

They came over a rise, and Starbuck stopped. “Yipping. The lizards must know we're coming. They can sense us.”

“Is there any other way to the mines?” Owen said.

“They surround the camp all the way to the entrance,” Starbuck said. “I saw it through the viewing circle.”

“When the sun rises, they must go underground,” Owen said.

“Yes, to live,” Starbuck said. “You're not thinking of walking across there in daylight, are you?”

“Wormling,” Watcher said, “no one can withstand the searing sun here.”

“Unless we go underground,” Owen said. “Or simply walk straight through the enemy horde.”

“I'd like to see you do that without killing any of them,” Starbuck said.

Owen felt the hilt of his sword. He whispered, “Follow me.”