The Changeling (17 page)

Owen fell back toward the wall as the rocks exploded around the crocodile. In his massive craw was the sword, glistening in the muted light.

“Sword!” Owen yelled and held out his hand, but it stayed inside the croc's mouth.

The Changeling laughed. “You should have listened to your Watcher. She knew something wasn't right.”

Owen ran, sloshing through the bog, sinking in mud, then fighting his way out. The croc had disappeared, but now Owen felt the wing flaps of some invisible flyer. He stepped into a deep hole just as a gust of wind whipped his wet hair and a screech passed overhead.

Owen had been frightened of water since he was young, but after the rigorous training from Mordecai, it was his best friend. If he could make it to whatever lay beyond this wetland, he could escape.

Watcher and Humphrey weren't on the path. Owen called for his sword once more but to no avail. When the wings again flapped above him, he ducked and fell into cold water. He swam right, along the edge of the bank, until a splash sent a spray over him.

He dog-paddled to the edge among tree roots and branches and crawled into the tangle, his head just above the surface.

Something moved near him, and Owen brought his legs up, scanning the water. Had the Changeling become the crocodile? a giant python?

Owen climbed branch by branch. Just as his feet left the water, a fish with sharp teeth jumped at him, gnashing and biting.

Piranha!
He had seen one in biology class. He'd been there when they fed it steak and watched it tear the meat apart. This was a gigantic one with teeth as big as Owen's hands, and it chewed through the tree roots. Owen tried to kick its head, but as the piranha rose, pulling itself up by biting and lunging through the limbs, Owen jumped down and ran through the swamp.

The Changeling's brain capacity changed each time he morphed into another being. He shied away from becoming a fish or a bird—never an insect or a tiny animal like a squirrel or a rat. So after munching through the branches as a piranha, it had taken him a while to realize his prey was not in the tree.

He slipped back into the water, closed his eyes, and turned into a black panther. With a shot he was out of the water and shaking it from his fur, his body sleek and muscular. The Changeling ran his tongue over sharp teeth that could tear the flesh of any animal. All he had to do was find this Wormling, as the Dragon had directed, and bring him to the ground. One twist of his mighty jaws around the puny being's neck and it would be over. Since the Wormling did not have his sword, his friends, or that wretched worm, he was defenseless.

What the Changeling lost in brainpower as a piranha he had gained in ferocity. And now, as a panther, he gained the skill and cunning of a hunter. Nearly impossible to see in this dark terrain, the panther moved with stealth, its eyes sharp, sniffing the scent of the enemy.

With each form he took, the Changeling marveled at the different strengths and weaknesses of animals. While some could speak and reason, others were endowed with great strength or speed. He'd detested being that Erol character, with such a short nose and small body. It had been limiting, for sure, but he did enjoy making music. He tapped into the creature's own musical ability, though he had to make up the sad song, for Erol's family and clansmen had not been killed by the Dragon. The Changeling had merely used the story to exploit the Wormling's concern for others.

Scanning the bog, hugging the ground, the panther sniffed at a few jargid dens and was tempted to run after a deer in the distance, but he stayed on task. He caught a human scent and angled left, snarling, picking each footfall carefully. He came to a knoll in the moor and tensed, sniffing one last time to make sure. Then he sprang over the edge and leaped on the form that lay at the bottom of the dip.

Owen ran, shivering, having shed his cloak in the moor and hoping the Changeling would be thrown off by the scent. He made as little noise as possible slogging over the wet ground, finally reaching the path, where he gained speed. He wished he could somehow soar above the land so he could search for Watcher and Humphrey. He couldn't imagine life without them now.

Behind him a growl and a scream sounded like a 500-pound wildcat. The closest he had been to one of those was watching on television.

Eerie flashes of lightning lit the path. At the next flash, Owen expected the jaws of some huge cat in front of him. Instead he saw the opening to a cave and dashed inside. The back was smooth with a small ledge. He crawled in as far as he could, pulled his legs close, and waited.

His heart still beating wildly, breath coming in gasps, Owen's eyes adjusted. With each flash of light he thought he saw another monster—an iskek, a neodim, a moval.

* * *

Owen Reeder was alone, unless you counted the invisible being next to him—the one looking fondly down at him, the one who witnessed the loss of the missing chapter, the seizing of Watcher and Humphrey, Mucker's kidnapping, and the sword now devoured by the Changeling. The one who had followed Owen this entire time, helpless to intervene until now.

Owen had come to the end of his strength, the end of himself. He had lost the friend who had helped him get to the Lowlands. He had also lost the two best friends he had met, Watcher and Humphrey. He had lost the scroll,
The Book of the King,
and the very thing that gave him confidence in battle—his sword.

In short, he had lost everything.

Crouching in this cave, alone, wet, and shivering, as low as he had been since the death of Bardig, Owen had lost something more: the very desire to continue. Part of him wished that whoever or whatever was chasing him would make a quick end of him.

This despair enveloped Owen as wholly as the cave's darkness. He did not weep; he merely shrank into a tiny ball and sat against the cold stone.

All that was left were Owen's memories.

Memories of friends.

Memories of victory and self-confidence.

Memories of a few words from
The Book of the King.

In view of the King's mercy, I strongly advise you to surrender yourselves—mind, heart, soul, and body—as an offering to the one who has called you. By this, you show the King you are willing to serve him fully.

I have surrendered everything,
Owen thought.
I did all the King asked, and where has it gotten me? No closer to his Son. No closer to being back in the Highlands. Chased and nearly killed and now utterly alone.

“But you are closer to the king of the west.”

Owen jumped, hitting his head, staring at the darkness. “Who are you? Show yourself.”

“As you wish.”

Gradually, as sand drips through an hourglass, a man appeared. He looked familiar in strange, shimmering clothing that reached his sandals. He had a short-cropped beard, salt-and-pepper hair, and a pleasant face. But Owen had learned the hard way not to trust a pleasant—even familiar—face.

“Stay where you are,” Owen said, feeling for a small rock. “I don't want to hurt you.”

The man smiled. “You would if you had to, for you are a fierce warrior, committed to the King. But I have come to help.”

Snarls from outside snapped their heads around. A panther prowled at the entrance, its teeth gleaming.

The man raised a hand, and an opening appeared in the cave wall. “Hurry,” he said.

Owen had only one choice.

The supernatural exit closed behind him, and Owen found himself in chocolate darkness. He heard the panther through the wall and knew that if he had stayed in that cave, all he would have had to defend himself was the rock in his hand, and he would surely have been eaten.

“Are you here?” Owen said.

“Yes, I'm sorry,” the man said, opening his hand to produce a bit of light. The chamber had just enough room for both of them.

“If you're the Changeling, I'll fight you to my death!” Owen said.

The man laughed. “I am not.”

Owen wasn't convinced and was prepared to fire the rock between the man's eyes from point-blank range. “How did you know about this exit?”

“I didn't. I created it for your safety when the panther appeared.”

Owen shook his head. “How?”

The man moved toward Owen, hands out, the glow increasing.

Owen raised the stone. “Stay where you are.”

The man stopped. “I understand your reserve. The Changeling tricked you, and now your friends have been taken.”

How could the man know this if he
wasn't
the Changeling? “Where have they been taken?”

“Moving toward the Castle on the Moor when last I saw them. The Dragon's forces were marshaled to intercept you.”

“How do you know all these things?”

“I am Nicodemus, messenger of the King. I have known you for some time. Even in the Highlands.”

“Known me?”

“It was my job to follow you, make sure you were safe, ensure you would survive. I knew you were a Wormling before you did.”

Owen lowered the rock. “You were the arm in the night that kept me from falling.”

“And I was in the school when you were attacked.”

“What about here? I've cried out for help a thousand times.”

“I was there when you faced Dreadwart, with you on the islands of Mirantha, in the Badlands, and at the White Mountain—”

“I was nearly killed by the iskek. Why didn't you help?”

“Believe me, I wanted to, but I was not allowed. I shudder to think what might have happened had it not been for your Watcher.”

“Why would the King not allow you to help?”

“Mine is not to understand but to obey, the same as you.” Nicodemus sat and Owen joined him. “Perhaps it was so you could grow, Wormling. Though you have not yet completed your mission, you stood up to the Dragon, injured him. He sees you as the primary threat to his plans.”

“He's afraid of
me
?”

“He fears the King and those who follow him. And he fears the Son. You are the key, and he wants you dead. But you aren't, are you? In fact, you are close to reaching your goal.”

“How can you say that?” Owen said. “I've lost everything I was given.”

Nicodemus leaned close. “The King himself told me to wait until you had lost the book, the missing scroll, Mucker, your sword, and your friends. Only then could I intervene.”

“The King knew all this was going to happen?”

“He knows everything. The beginning and the end. Even the Dragon's next move. He sent me to your father long ago.”

“What? You spoke with my father?”

“Yes. And he was just as frightened as you when I spoke.”

“What did you say to him?”

The being smiled. “I cannot tell you now. But the words were from the King himself. You see, Wormling, it is up to us to follow and obey him. If we do, we can be on only the winning side.”

“Are you an angel?”

The man shook his head. “I have powers you might think angelic, but everything I do is subject to the King's approval.”

“Where is the Son?” Owen said. “I'm desperate to know.”

“Even if I knew, I could not tell you, as the King has forbidden it.”

“But the Son is alive?”

Nicodemus cocked his head, as if surprised at the question. “Of course. The King wants you to find him. That is your mission.”

“What about my father? my mother? Can you tell me the truth about them?”

Nicodemus frowned. “I regret that I cannot.”

“Because you don't know?”

“Because I cannot.”

“What good are you if you can't answer my questions?”

“Instead of lamenting what I cannot divulge, focus on what I can.”

“Such as?”

“The meeting you discovered between the Dragon and the king of the west will take place. Soon. The Dragon is on his way.”

“What else?”

“You must go back to your world, for the darkness encroaches it just as it does here.”

“But how can I if I've lost Mucker? And isn't finding the Son my priority?”

“Yes. And discovering him will be next.”

“In this world?”

“Yes.”

“Is my mother alive?”

Nicodemus stared at the ground, and when he lifted his head, he had a smile. “She is.”

Owen's heart leaped. “In this world or the other?”

“That I cannot say. But she is eager to see you.”

Owen drank in the news. “And what about my father?”

“Eager to see you as well. But that is all I am at liberty to say. You must not tempt me to go against the King's wishes.”

“How do I know you're not just another trick of the enemy to send me off course?”

“Can a house be divided against itself? Would I use the Dragon's trickery to tell you how to defeat him? Courage, Owen. You have been given a great task, greater than you yet imagine.”