Quest for the Sun (24 page)

I crawled away on hands and knees, dry-retching, gulping air in giant, agonising gasps. All I wanted was to be away from there, away from the horror of what I'd seen and done. Was this victory?

Above my wrenching sobs I heard another sound: a sound I'd heard once before and never wanted to again. Zeel was laughing. When the last demented echoes died I raised my head and stumbled to my feet. Whatever came next I'd meet it standing, face to face.

At last he spoke, the hollow voice wheezing with mirth. ‘Well, well — poor Tallow. Who would have guessed you had such a capacity to entertain? Your brother was right: such pleasure is too rare to squander on minions. Go back to your cell; rest; gather your spirit. It has been too long since my sword tasted fresh blood. When next you are summoned, it will be to face the King of Darkness himself in the arena — and this time you may be certain there will be only one outcome.'

I turned and walked as steadily as I could towards the exit
to the cells. I'd nearly reached it when he spoke again. ‘Do not forget your sword, little nephew — for without it, however will you fight at all?'

I crossed to where it lay, picked it up and left the stadium without looking back. One glance at the sword had shown me all I needed to know. The hilt was intact, but all that was left of the blade was a stump, blackened and charred, still smouldering and reeking of charcoal.

It didn't matter. Zeel had said nothing could harm him, and for once I believed him. When next we met, he'd have immortality, full armour and a freshly sharpened sword on his side … and I'd have nothing.

Worst of all, I didn't even care.

 

When the door to the cell was opened, I saw to my horror that Zenith, Blade and Blue-bum were gone. It was completely empty except for a single musty blanket, a tin plate holding a stale crust of bread, a bowl of water … and my pack, crumpled forlornly in the corner. There was no sign of my sword.

I swung back to the guard, fists clenched. ‘The others — where are they?' But the door clanged shut, leaving my question hanging in the cold air. Sinking down onto the hard stone floor, I made a half-hearted effort to gather my courage and focus on what lay ahead … maybe even try and find a way out. But I couldn't — not on my own. I'd have given anything for Rich and Jamie, Kenta and Gen, with their grit and guts and bulldog determination to find an answer … even when there wasn't one, like now.

What was Jamie's great saying?
When in doubt, eat …
with a half-smile I took a sip of water, then a gulp … then I was glugging it down like a camel. I'd forgotten how thirsty I was, and the water, warm and metallic-tasting, was washing away the acrid tang of smoke. But I wouldn't let myself think about that. I tried a nibble of bread — and next thing I knew it was finished.

Suddenly I was shivering and exhausted. When was the last time I'd slept? I'd woken to the drum of hoof-beats on the high moor. It seemed a lifetime ago. I wrapped myself in the blanket, trying to ignore the fusty smell; lay down on the floor and closed my eyes.

My hand crept to my talisman, feeling for my ring through the soft suede. Sleep lapped at the fringes of my mind … then I felt something else nestled against my hand, something unfamiliar. I explored its outline with my fingers, then remembered. Of course — Zenith's amulet. His luck.
Take it … use it.

I wrapped my hand round them both and squeezed my eyes shut. But it was no use — I was wide awake.
Take it … use it.
Four simple words: round and round my mind they went, refusing to be ignored. Well, I
had
used it. I'd worn it, and it had helped. I'd wear it again … keep on wearing it. I'd never take it off. If Zenith and I couldn't be together, at least our talismans could. Maybe that would count …

I jerked upright. Hands shaking, I took Zenith's talisman from round my neck, then my own. Opened them and tipped the contents out onto the rug. There lay the two halves of the Sign of Sovereignty, one silver, one gold. Carefully I slotted them together. A twist and a click, and there it was: one ring, heavy, solid, complete.

When twain is one and one is twain …

I slipped it on. The last time the two halves were joined had been on my father's hand: King Zane of Karazan. The ring fitted me perfectly. Now I knew for sure I wouldn't sleep — my mind felt clear and super-sharp. I crawled over to my pack and found my larigot; settled myself back-to-the-wall, pulling the blanket over my legs for warmth. As I tucked it in something caught my eye: something that glowed with a pale luminescence in the dark. It must have fallen out of Zenith's amulet along with his ring. I picked it up. I'd seen it before, but I'd been so focused on the revelation of Zenith's identity I'd barely noticed it. Now I held it in my palm and stared at it.

It was the shape of an arrowhead: a deeply angled V-shape made of silver, about the size of my fingernail. Or was it silver? The metal had a strange, almost coppery warmth … I gazed down at it, remembering the words Zaronel had written.
This Book of Days was given to me by my father as a parting gift, the quill by my mother. Though it looks at first sight to be a silver arrowhead, it draws out into a finely crafted feather whose magical filaments pull the moonbeams from the night sky onto the page before me.
I had been given our father's larigot, Zenith our mother's magic quill.

There was a tiny protrusion in the angled indent. With the sharp tip held firmly between finger and thumb, I pulled gently. After a momentary resistance it pulled smoothly out into a long shaft. I'd imagined a quill like a feather, but this didn't look anything like a feather. But as soon as it touched the air two flat, shimmering vanes unfurled, one on either side. Now it
was
a feather: the parallel filaments even linked together like a bird's, to make a smooth, unbroken surface. Strangest of all, the entire quill glowed with its own strange light. Moonlight … moon-ink! The quill was just like a real pen filled with ink! On the night of Sunbalance, when we'd been born, both the silver and gold moons had been high in the sky, and full. The twin moons. I'd seen them on that same night years later, when they'd lit our way in the desperate race to the portal. The light in the quill was tinged with gold like the moonlight had been last time it was used — that was why the last entries in the diary had that strange, coppery warmth.

Take it … use it.

I thought Zenith meant the talisman. But maybe he'd meant the ring. I heard his voice in my mind as clearly as if he was standing beside me:
Every strength has a weakness, and even the creatures of darkest nightmare may be vanquished by the light.

I sat for what seemed a long time staring at the two gifts, Zenith's from my mother, mine from my father: the quill in my left hand shining with its strange silver-gold light, the larigot in my right.

And then, finally, I knew what I must do.

Much later I heard a scuffle and a scratch and saw two bright eyes peering at me from between the bars of the window. Before my heart had time to start beating again there was a chitter, a squiggle and a squeeze, and a scrawny armful of chatterbot was giving me a furry hug.

With jibbers and gestures, Blue-bum told me he and Blade and Zenith were safe in a neighbouring cell. Zeel had separated us deliberately. He might not know about the
twain
of the prophecy, but he guessed I'd draw strength from my brother — and that's why he'd decided to keep us apart. But he'd reckoned without Blue-bum. We settled down, sharing the rug. But still I couldn't sleep.

My mind was full of my plan. I wanted to tell someone, even Blue-bum; to talk it through and convince myself it would really work. I knew it could. But would it? Two vital factors would have to fall precisely into place. And if they didn't … I'd find out soon enough. That wasn't what was keeping sleep at bay. It was something else, something looming in my mind like a monster, huge and forbidding: something that had been stalking me like a shadow ever since the moment I realised my true identity. In the mountains above Arraz I'd faced it and given it words, and now it must be faced again.

I was going to have to kill Zeel.

After all that had happened — after my gladiator training, the things I'd seen — after Blade and Tallow — it should have been easier. I felt way older now than I had then; ages old. That should mean I was stronger, tougher, surely? But it didn't. There was a strange new tenderness deep inside me, a longing to turn away from bloodshed and find a different way forward. What had been hard before now seemed impossible; issues that had once been simple were now as complex as a tangled ball of twine.

There were a million reasons why he deserved to die. He had killed my father, stolen the kingdom, brought torture, death and misery to thousands. Now he was planning to kill me — and Zenith, Blade and Blue-bum would be next.

If I didn't kill him, the entire kingdom of Karazan — along with the rest of this world, and others beyond — would almost certainly be doomed. If the task rested with someone else, how easy it would be. To another boy lying awake on the cold stone floor I'd have said without a second's hesitation:
Do it. Kill him.
But this wasn't another boy. It was me.

The question loomed huge and unanswerable in my mind: is it ever right to kill, to take another human life? Maybe if I told Blue-bum, got him to help … No. If killing was wrong, getting someone else to do it had to be way worse.

My mind kept coming back to Tallow. That had been an accident … sort of. I should be glad he was dead, and I was. But I kept remembering him as Shaw, as the Masked Man, and wondering: was it possible for anyone to be completely evil? This time my mind knew the answer, though my heart didn't want to believe it.
Yes.
But the question still remained: even if it was right, even if it would work …
could I bring myself do it?

 

The endless night wore on. Blue-bum was awake, twitching and fidgeting; at last he clambered up and peered into my face with a worried chitter, then stationed himself beside my head, picking through my filthy hair with nimble fingers. ‘Stop that monkey-stuff, you darn chatterbot,' I grumbled half-heartedly — but the truth was it felt wonderfully soothing. I gave myself up to his gentle, probing fingers, and gradually felt the tension drain away and my thoughts slide towards oblivion. One last waking thought drifted through my mind:
Hope he's not actually finding anything in there …

And at last I slept, Tallow dancing like a fiery marionette through my dreams.

I was jerked from sleep by a metallic boom that shook my cell to its foundations. Another followed it, and another: a giant gong was being beaten in the amphitheatre beyond my window. I sat bolt upright, my heart thudding with adrenaline overload. The last echo died away, leaving the air fragile and trembling.

I clambered shakily to my knees. Blue-bum must have slipped away; there was no sign of him. But someone had come in while I was sleeping. There was a new bowl of water, a new crust of bread; an empty wooden bucket.

Long years of orphanage training had taught me well. I shook out the blanket, planning to leave it tidily folded in one corner — and something fell from its crumpled folds: a tiny greyish cube with a few wispy chatterbot-hairs sticking to it. I knew that Blue-bum had left it for me. Something about it was familiar … picking off the hairs, I touched the tip of my tongue to the surface.
Peppermint
. It was the piece of chewing gum I'd shared with him on the boat; I remembered him stashing it away behind his ear. He must have kept it all this time — and now he'd given it back to me.

I used the bucket, drank the water, ate the bread. Then draped the blanket neatly over the bucket, and allowed myself a grim smile. Matron would have approved. I was ready. The ring was on my finger; the two talismans hung over my heart, side by side. My larigot was safely in my pocket.

I looked round the tidy cell. My pack lay in the corner. I picked it up; opened it. There wasn't much inside. Zaronel's diary; the two parchments, tightly rolled. Meirion's magic sail; my microcomputer; my shawl. An empty water bottle. Nothing that would help me now.

And yet … whatever happened, I doubted I'd be coming back. After a moment's thought I pulled out my shawl and slipped the charred sword hilt in with the rest of the stuff, then shrugged the pack onto my back, feeling it settle into its familiar place between my shoulder blades. I folded the shawl into a triangle, then over and over into a flat strip, like a wide bandanna, then tied it round my waist. It felt good — firm and warm, like a hug. Best of all, it helped stop the quaking.

There was nothing left to do. I sat down with my back to the wall, staring at the door and chewing my gum. And waited.

 

At last the key squealed in the lock and the door opened. Two of the Faceless stood outside. For the last time I ducked under the low doorframe and into the passage; glanced along the wall at the row of closed doors. There was no way of telling which was Zenith and Blade and Blue-bum's. I walked slowly towards the open gateway. The only sound was my footfalls on the stone, measured and slow as the beating of my heart.

I stopped just inside the amphitheatre. Everything was the same as before: the dim grey shapes clogging the terraces, the central fire, the bare stone floor. But now the dark air seemed to tremble with something new: a tension that ran like an electric current round the galleries and flickered like invisible sheet lightning above us in the still air.

I flicked a glance sideways and up, knowing he'd be there.
Just above me, on the narrow stone sill outside his window, crouched Blue-bum.

I turned away, my whole being focused on the creature that stood before me. He was waiting between me and the pit of fire. Even at this distance he towered over me like a giant, a mountain of metal blocking the light. Standing in the cold spill of his shadow I could feel the force of evil pulsing outwards in invisible waves … at the same time the darkness behind the black helm sucked at me like a vacuum, draining my strength and filling me with confusion and uncertainty. A sour, burnt smell hung in the air: the smell of victory — or guilt? I longed for certainty, for forgiveness in advance of what I planned to do. A wave of dizziness swept over me; I took a stumbling step sideways to stop myself falling … and I was out of his shadow, and my head cleared.

I closed my mind, straightened my back, locked my knees so they wouldn't wobble. Took a deep breath and stood watching him, waiting.

‘Well, Zephyr: going on a journey? Indeed you are — a one-way journey.' The helmeted head tipped back and once again hollow laughter rang out over the arena, making my flesh crawl. Round and round the curved walls it rolled like a great steel ball, endless and unstoppable, till at last it ground down to a rasping chuckle and then silence.

He took a slow step forward. The armour gave his movements a stilted awkwardness that reminded me of a robot, or some clumsy mechanical toy. I could almost hear the stone floor creaking under his weight. Now I could see the thickness of the steel, the joints and flanges and rivets. There were no chinks; only the narrow eye-slit gaped, dark and empty. One gauntleted hand held a black sword, unsheathed, reflections of the firelight dripping from its blade.

I took a deep breath and spoke, willing my voice to be steadfast and strong. ‘Before we begin, I have one request.'

‘A last request? How touching.'

‘My gladiator name is Whistler …' I slid my hand into my pocket and carefully withdrew my larigot, holding it up so he could glimpse its silvery gleam.

He gave a soft hiss: a low, menacing sound that made my skin crawl. ‘Zane's larigot! Curse him and all who carry it — and curse that which you wear on your hand!' I was wrong, he wasn't slow and cumbersome. Without warning he lunged forward in another giant stride. His sword swung in a whistling arc that missed me by millimetres as I sprang back, brushing my face with a gust of air that reeked of cold metal and emptiness, and catching in my throat like a sob. My heart gave a painful hobble, but I kept my voice steady.

‘I would like to play a final song, to bring me courage.'

‘A final song? Your funeral dirge: a lament for one about to die … why not? The thought pleases me. But my sword's bloodlust must soon be sated. Let the tune not be too sweet, nor too long.'

‘It won't be sweet — and you'll wish it was longer.'

As I raised my larigot to my lips time seemed to slow. I saw my hands were trembling; saw how the heat from my fingers printed misty crescents on the bright silver. I positioned my fingers over the holes … and suddenly everything I'd felt, seen, smelled, flew together in my mind like a bright flock of birds. The hollow echo of the voice … the empty laughter … the metallic non-smell. The nothingness behind the helm.

It won't be killing … because he's already dead. He isn't human. He was — once. But now he is darkness — only darkness. He said so himself. Darkness and a voice: the force of evil.

And finally I knew without doubt that what I was about to do was right. I fixed my eyes on the slit in the black helm, took a last deep breath, closed my lips over the smooth silver — and blew.

Blew a single, discordant shriek that split the air like the wild call of a sea-bird — a blood-curdling primeval battle-cry.

Blew a single, ferocious blast that propelled Zenith's quill
from its hiding place at the heart of my larigot like a dart from a blow-pipe, an arrow whose wings unfurled as it flew. It carried its own pale light with it like a shooting-star: the silver-gold light of the twin moons. The two shining vanes carried the quill straight and true towards its target. As the discordant note died I could almost hear the whisper of its wings through the air, though they were silent as an owl's.
When twain is one and one is twain …

Straight and true the arrow flew, on and on through the dark air.

To me its journey seemed to take forever, as if I could have stepped forward and plucked it from the air with my bare hand at any moment I chose. But in reality it was as swift as thought. The great armoured head never had time to turn away. Through the slit in the black helm the bright arrow flew, and into the bottomless darkness beyond. And even then, as a dazzling radiance blossomed and grew within the helm, the giant figure stood as if turned to stone.

A great weariness settled over me. It was done. My knees buckled and I fell forward onto the stone floor; knelt there, watching. As blinding brightness welled from its eye-slot into the thick murk of the arena, the creature gave a single wordless shriek of rage. The hand holding the sword lifted, drew back — threw.

I couldn't have moved if I'd wanted to. But I felt nothing more than a wondering curiosity as the black sword hurtled towards me through the dark air like a javelin, its speed both swift and slow, as if it was suspended in some strange dreamtime I wasn't part of and didn't understand.

I only knew that it was over — the dark force of Zeel was vanquished, finally and forever. I had completed my quest. And whatever happened next just didn't seem to matter … didn't seem to matter at all.