The Changeling (3 page)

Follow me,” Mordecai said, leading Owen above the cave to a switchback path overlooking the countryside. They reached a ledge above the tops of the pines, and the entire valley stretched before them. The stream looked like a pencil-thin line.

Though Owen felt unprotected here, Mordecai's step had lightened.

“Look, Wormling. A beautiful world, isn't it?”

“Almost as beautiful as the island,” Owen said.

Mordecai chuckled. “You know, you helped me understand something on the island. Life is worth living. I can't simply cower in the shadows any longer. I have to get back in the fray. And I would hate to think of not being here for that, not being able to counsel you all the way as you face the forces of darkness.”

Owen furrowed his brow. “What do you want me to do?”

“Make a truce with the Dragon, call for peace, and make him swear he will not attack. Think what it could mean! Our people could live in harmony again. You would be worshipped, Wormling.”

“It is not my desire to be worshipped, Mordecai.”

“Did I say worship? I meant venerated. Lifted up. Praised—but only for your wisdom and insight, which, of course, comes from the King. After all, the book says that peace rules with wisdom.”

Owen stared at Mordecai. Gone was the angry man he had known on the island, and in his place stood a man who spoke of peace. But at what price? A truce with his mortal enemy? “On the island, you said there could be no treaty with a prince of lies.”

Mordecai shrugged. “Difficult, I'll admit. But think of the advantages. Less death and destruction. More beings who can enjoy life. Makes perfect sense, does it not?”

“Mordecai! The Dragon would never agree to a truce! He would send his demon flyers and—”

“Oh, but he
would
agree,” Mordecai said. “He sees strength in you. He has to admire your courage and how far you will go in your quest for the Son. I would be glad to go ahead of you and negotiate this peace.”

Owen was thrilled to again be in Mordecai's company, but how could he have so drastically changed his position? Did he really believe a truce would bring peace in the land? Perhaps the loss of his son had clouded his vision. “What would I have to give up in such a truce?”

“Nothing of consequence,” Mordecai said. “Just some show of good faith. Perhaps your sword, but nothing of real—”

“My sword?! The Dragon already has
The Book of the King
!”

“Something that shows you are being earnest.”

Owen turned away. He loved Mordecai and trusted him, but the man was speaking nonsense. As he stared off, he noticed some sort of animal moving far below beside the stream.

“Pay no attention to the things of the earth,” Mordecai said. “They will be here when other things have passed.”

“ ‘Flowers wither and die and the grass disappears,' ” Owen said. “ ‘The King's words are the only things that last.' ”

“I suppose. Now, concerning the truce . . .”

Owen suddenly realized the figure below was Watcher. He called out to her just as Mordecai bashed him with a rock, sending him reeling toward the edge. Owen grabbed the root of a tree, but Mordecai was on him, stomping on his hands.

“Mordecai!”

“I could have given you everything you asked for, Wormling! Lands. Power. Authority.”

“Those are not yours to give! Nor the Dragon's. Only the King can bestow such. You know that.”

“Yes, I know that,” Mordecai said, imitating Owen's voice. He bent and hefted an even larger rock. “The King is all-powerful. The King is all-knowing. Well, the King is dead. And so are you.”

Mordecai held the stone over Owen's head and let go.

Owen snapped to reality as the stone dropped toward him. This was not Mordecai but an evil impostor!

Owen struggled to pull himself up but had to let go of a tree root to elude the rock, and he began to slide over the side of the ledge, his body teetering. The cliff angled so steeply that he had to fight his way up or else fall to his death.

“What have you done with Mordecai?” Owen raged, grabbing the root again.

The being mocked him, repeating his words and laughing. “How should I know where he is? Probably back on that island eating the disgusting meat you fed me.” The impostor bent to pick up another rock as Owen fought to hang on.

“The Dragon sent you?” Owen said.

“Oh, you're a genius, you are. Of course the Dragon sent me. I convinced him I could talk sense into you, but obviously Wormlings are more worm than brain.”

Hundreds of feet below, Owen saw Watcher move into the open, struggling to free herself from constraints. He felt alone, as if the arm in the night, his unseen protector, had left him.

With another gigantic rock hoisted over his head, the impostor smiled. “Enjoy the view while it lasts.”

“A word, if you please,” Owen said. “You are good. You had me believing you were my friend.”

“I do pride myself on my work. It pains me to have to resort to violence when a simple agreement would have saved so many lives. But you would not listen.” The impostor inched closer but not close enough so Owen could reach his leg.

Owen was slipping, and strength ebbed from him as he hung there.

“Sad,” the impostor said. “Anything you'd like to say before you smash what little brains you have on the rocks down there?”

“Just one word.”

“I can grant that.”

“Sword!”

The impostor smirked, clearly confused. “Whatever. Have a nice fall—and a wonderful spring. Good-bye, Wormling.”

A silver object flew from the cave, turning golden and twinkling in the light. Before the impostor could drop the rock, Owen lurched, reached high to catch the sword, and in one motion swung it toward the impostor, catching him just above the ankle.

The impostor yelped and fell back, the rock thudding behind him. His boot had been sliced through, and blood spurted.

Owen stuck the sword in the earth and used it to pull himself up as the impostor writhed.

“Think a little flesh wound will stop me?” the being yelled. He scooted backward, pushing with his good foot, and stopped against a wall of rock.

Owen watched the impostor's eyes roll back in his head, the beard and bushy eyebrows of Mordecai sink into his face, and the being change into a scaly, green gecko with a slithering tongue and his foot restored.

As the impostor tried to skitter away, Owen plunged the sword through his tail, trapping him.

The animal squealed. “Why are you doing this?”

“You tried to kill me!” Owen said.

“I wouldn't have gone through with it. Besides, I was only following orders. Now release me.”

Owen used his tunic to wrap the animal and carry it, squirming and wriggling, down the mountain. “Hold still or I'll slice you in two,” Owen said.

The gecko went suddenly rigid.

As soon as Owen reached Watcher, he cut her gag and bindings.

“He's a Changeling,” she said, gasping. “Came to me in the form of Bardig.”

“But I didn't hurt you, did I?” the Changeling whined. “See, Wormling, I didn't—”

“Quiet,” Owen said with authority. He carried the Changeling to the cave and tied him up.

“The demon flyers will be near,” Watcher said. “We should leave.”

“Not until we find out what he knows,” Owen said.

But the Changeling quickly turned into a snake and was crawling away when Owen again used his sword to pin him to the ground.

“Return to your original form,” Owen said, “and I'll remove my sword.”

“And whom would you prefer?” the Changeling said, turning back into Bardig. “An old friend?” He rolled his eyes again. “Maybe a competitor?” Now he was Connor, Bardig's son.

“Stop it!” Owen said.

The Changeling smiled. “Someone more regal?” With a nod, he was the Queen, shoulders back, wearing a dress with puffed sleeves. “I'm rather enjoying this, Wormling.”

Watcher growled, and Owen raised his sword. “Be careful, Changeling.”

But the creature had done it again. “Perhaps someone from your past.” And there stood Owen's father. “So nice to see you again, Son.”

Owen nearly dropped his sword. “How could you know about . . . ?”

“I'm just getting started.” Next he was Gordan Kalb, the bully at Owen's school. Then Clara Secrest, the pretty girl Owen had taken to a movie.

Owen stared, dumbfounded. When the Changeling turned into his young friend Constance, Owen held up his sword. “Stop or I'll have to hurt you.”

The Changeling turned back into the gecko and crossed his stubby arms. “Satisfied?”

“How do you know the people in my world?”

The Changeling smiled. “Certain memories are stronger than others. I simply tap into yours.”

“I need to know something. Does the Dragon know where the King's Son is?”

“And why should I tell you?”

“Because my weapon is sharp.”

“Good reason.” The Changeling crossed his gecko legs. “I hear he has escaped.”

Watcher nudged Owen, but he shook her off. “Can you become the Son? Right now?”

“I've never seen him, but . . .” He closed his eyes and turned into a dark-haired hunk, strong as an ox, face chiseled from stone.

“Is that him?” Owen said.

“It's your perception, as I suppose you've never laid eyes on him either.” The Changeling leaned forward, hair changing to brown, nose growing bulbous, and shrinking several inches. “This is
her
perception.”

“Really,” Owen said.

Watcher made a face. “It's just the way I thought he would look,” she said.

Owen turned back to the Changeling. “Did the Dragon have a book?”

The Changeling studied his fingernails. “
The Book of the King
. He was poring over it, unable to make sense of it as far as I could tell. Fire, brimstone, destruction, the end of the world, blah, blah, blah. Sounded dreadful. I have enough trouble with what
is
without worrying what
might
be.”

“What else did he talk about?” Owen said.

The Changeling looked around the cave.

“Don't worry,” Watcher said. “No invisibles here.”

“Well, you can't blame me for being careful. You know what the Dragon would do if he knew I was giving you information rather than bringing you back to the castle? Can you say ‘toasted Changeling'?”

“You were supposed to take me there?”

“And broker a truce between you two. I try to be a bit more subtle.”

“They thought
you
were the best way to get to me?”

“Don't act so surprised. As you said, I'm good.”

Watcher moved closer to Owen. “Which means they're afraid of you. Afraid of your power.”

The Changeling frowned. “I don't know about that, but they're upset about something missing from that musty old book.”

“Missing?” Watcher said.

“The Dragon was all in a tizzy about some missing chapters and how they've looked for them. You'd think the fate of the world hung on those pages.”

Something passed between Owen and Watcher.

Quickly Owen turned back to the Changeling. “Can you tell what we're thinking or just who we're thinking about?”

The Changeling rolled his eyes. “Why would I want to read your minds? Even if I could, I wouldn't waste my time.”

“He's lying,” Watcher said.

“How dare you!”

“This is why he was sent, why he's cooperating. He wants to read our minds and tell the Dragon.”

“If I could read your mind, I would have known you were going to think that and changed the subject. Maybe
you
can read
my
mind.” The Changeling sighed and waved. “Think what you will. I'm done talking. It does me no good to be of service to your side or the Dragon's.” He put a hand to his forehead. “I'm simply alone in the world.”

Owen pulled Watcher to the other side of the cave. “We can't let him go back to the Dragon. We'll have to take him with us.”

“What? And alert every demon flyer between here and the invisible kingdom?”

“What choice do we have, Watcher?”

“Kill him.”

Owen tilted his head. “And you're the sensitive, loving one?”

“Doesn't the book say something about rooting out the enemies of the King and destroying them utterly?”

Owen closed his eyes and recalled a passage. “ ‘There is no middle ground. Either you are for the King or you are against him.' ”

“Exactly. And if this one—”

“He's an opportunist,” Owen said. “Someone who takes advantage of both sides. He's harmless.”

“How can someone the Dragon trusts be harmless? Everything in me says we cannot let him report to the enemy—”

“All right,” Owen said, smiling. “We'll take him with us and keep him out of sight. He can turn into a donkey, and I'll ride him. Better still, a motorcycle.”

“What's a motorcycle?”