The Shadowlands (3 page)

Lief thought of his own most precious possessions—the sword forged for him by his father, and the concealing cloak woven by his mother’s hands. How could he survive in the Shadowlands without them?

He waited in hideous suspense as Tirral turned to him, her eyes glittering. At last she spoke. ‘I ask for… that pretty jewelled belt you wear, King of Deltora,’ she said.

‘Mother!’ cried Emlis, aghast.

A great, dizzying wave of heat swept over Lief. He heard Jasmine and Barda crying out in amazed anger and the watching people exclaiming, but he felt only sick—sick with relief. He hung his head, knowing that he must not let Tirral see his eyes.

Finally he allowed himself to look up. ‘Very well,’ he said. Ignoring Barda and Jasmine’s startled protests, he unclasped the gleaming belt and handed it to Tirral.

The watching people gasped in awe. Many jumped to their feet and rushed to crowd around their leader, eager to see the famous belt more closely.

But Tirral’s face was a study in baffled rage. Never for a moment had she thought Lief would agree to her demand. Like all Kerons, she had grown up with Doran’s tales. She knew how vital the Belt of Deltora was to the safety of the world above.

‘Lief, what are you thinking of?’ Jasmine whispered furiously.

‘Three things,’ Lief whispered back. ‘First, we will be in the Shadowlands very soon. Second, the gems in the Belt of Deltora cannot be taken beyond Deltora’s borders—a fact that Tirral clearly does not know. And third, this is the safest place I can think of to hide something of great value.’

Jasmine’s expression changed abruptly. She had been living in the present for so long that she had actually forgotten that if Lief was to go into the Shadowlands he would have to leave the Belt of Deltora behind.

But Barda’s face was like thunder. ‘Lief,’ he
muttered. ‘Are you saying that you actually intend to cross the border with us?’

‘Of course!’ Lief stared at him, astonished. ‘Have I not always said so?’

Barda shook his head furiously. ‘Whatever you said, I was sure that when the time came you would come to your senses. Are you mad, Lief? You cannot go into the Shadowlands! You and the Belt are the only things that stand between Deltora and the Shadow Lord. Have you no sense of duty?’

Duty
? Lief’s fists clenched.

What had his life been over the past months, but a rigid devotion to duty? Had he not worked till his eyes were burning, hidden himself away from everything and everyone he loved? Had he not kept secrets, suffered being criticised, misunderstood—even hated—because the safety of the kingdom was his first responsibility, and enemies were everywhere?

Passionate words trembled on his lips. He longed to unburden his heart at last.

No! You must not weaken now. Especially now…

Lief clenched his teeth, fought the hasty words back. ‘The Pirran Pipe first called to me when I did not even know of its existence, Barda,’ he said. ‘I know that I was intended to find it, and carry it on this quest. I will not abandon it now.’

‘Then I wish we had never seen it!’ snarled Barda.

Jasmine was looking worried and uncertain. ‘Truly, the risk is very great, Lief,’ she murmured. ‘Perhaps…’

‘Jasmine, do not join Barda against me!’ Lief cried. ‘I cannot act against my nature!’ Or my heart, he thought miserably. Jasmine, do you not see? Pirran Pipe or no Pirran Pipe, how could I let you go, and not follow?

He became aware that the people clustered around Tirral were drawing back. Tirral was weighing the belt in her hands, bitter contempt mingling with the anger on her face.

‘This is not a fair exchange!’ she exclaimed loudly. ‘The belt is all but powerless!’

‘Mother, that cannot be!’ Emlis burst out, blushing with shame for her. ‘Doran told us! The Belt of Deltora is as powerful as the Pirran Pipe!’

‘In the world above, perhaps,’ snapped Tirral. ‘Here, it is just a jewelled trifle.’

But the crowd murmured restlessly and, as Tirral looked around, biting her lips, Lief breathed a sigh of relief. Much as she might want to, the Piper could not go back on her bargain now without seeming dishonourable and losing her people’s trust.

Stiffly, as though every movement was paining her, Tirral took from the folds of her robe a small shell box. At the same moment, Lief lifted the red cloth bag containing the mouthpiece and stem of the Pirran Pipe from beneath his shirt.

Tirral opened the box, and held it out. The endpiece of the Pirran Pipe lay inside, nestled on a bed of silk. It was very small. Its strange, carved surface gleamed faintly green in the emerald light.

She looked up at Lief and their eyes locked as the music of the Pipe flowed around them.

The people fell silent. They, too, could hear the music. But Jasmine and Barda fidgeted, glancing at one another, for they could hear nothing at all.

Dazed by the music, Lief drew the partly completed Pipe from its covering. Then Tirral handed the endpiece to him, and he fitted it into place.

The music stopped abruptly, as though shut off by a tap.

‘It has ceased to mourn,’ whispered Tirral, and suddenly glistening tears sprang into her pale, cold eyes.

Stunned by the sudden silence, Lief stared at the magical object in his hands. It was shining with a subtle radiance, as though lit from within. Here, at last, was the Pirran Pipe—whole and perfect for the first time since the warring tribes of Pirra divided it and stilled its voice. And complete, it was transformed.

‘But, it has changed!’ Jasmine breathed in awe. ‘It glows! And surely it is bigger than it should be.’

It was true. The endpiece of the Pipe had been the smallest part of all, and should have added very little. But now, complete, the Pipe seemed far larger and stronger, far more strange, more beautiful, more thrilling than it had before. It was as though it was greater than the sum of its parts.

But it was silent. Waiting. Waiting for warm breath to bring it fully to life. Waiting for the skilled and loving touch that would call its music back from the ghostly
realms in which it had grieved for so long, and let it sing in the present.

And I cannot do it, Lief thought, with a pang of sadness. I would not know how to begin. And even if I had the skill, it is not fitting that I should be the one.

He looked up at Tirral. Saw the longing in her glistening eyes. Suddenly knew what should be done. He held out his hands, the glowing Pipe held loosely between them.

‘You are the Piper, Tirral,’ he said softly. ‘Will you play?’

And so, for the first time since the world began, the pure notes of the Pirran Pipe rang out in the caverns of the secret sea, while the people of Keras listened, their rapt, upturned faces wet with tears.

The music caressed the rippling waters, echoed from the gleaming rock, echoing, echoing until the air itself seemed to quiver with its beauty and no walls could contain it.

It flowed into the Forbidden Way, where the leeches heard it, and cringed in the darkness. It sang in the opal sea, where the great eels raised their dripping heads from the water and swayed to the sound.

The Aurons building on their island looked up from their work, transfixed, as the sound drifted to their ears. Their Piper’s ancient face did not change, but his body trembled all over, as if shaken by an icy gale. And Penn, packing manuscripts in her little hut on the rafts, clasped
her hands in joy and wonder.

The song of the Pipe echoed through the rainbow caverns where the mud grubs burrowed deep to escape it, and the sea moles leaped and played. It filled the Glimmer with its beauty and flowed on to the ruby sea, and Plume.

Nols, tending the grave of the warrior Glock, gave a cry when she heard it. She scrambled to her feet and ran to the shore where awed, silent people were wading knee-deep, waist-deep, into the scarlet water, gazing towards the sound.

The music floated on, faint and haunting, till it reached the furthest corner of the golden sea, where Clef and Azan, fishing in their tiny boat, dropped their nets and sat spellbound. Then the last, tiny shadow of sound rose high above their heads, through the topaz haze. And carried by the cool, soft breeze, it stole into the golden dragon’s enchanted sleep, bringing with it soaring dreams of sunshine, great winds and high mountains, magic and vanished glory.

T
irral sat silently through the celebration that followed her playing of the Pipe. There was food, drink and laughter around the fire, but she joined in none of it. Only when the Kerons brought out their small pipes of fungus wood did she raise her head.

The sweet, breathy music was worth listening to, indeed. And to the companions’ surprise, the sweetest tunes of all were played by Emlis.

When they congratulated him, as he put down his instrument and came to sit beside his mother, Emlis bit his lip. ‘Playing has always brought me joy,’ he said. ‘But now I have heard the Pirran Pipe I know that the sounds I make are just a pale reflection of what music can be.’

Awkwardly he wiped his pipe on his sleeve and held it out to Barda. ‘Perhaps you would play for us now?’ he asked. ‘I long to hear above-worlder music.’

Barda laughed. ‘It is very like your own. But, I am sorry, I cannot play for you—and neither can my
companions. None of us is musical.’

‘What?’

Tirral’s high-pitched exclamation cut startlingly through the music and laughter. Silence fell.

‘Are you saying,’ cried Tirral, ‘that you cannot even
play
a pipe?’

‘We cannot play music as you do,’ Lief agreed, with sinking heart. ‘But it is the magic of the Pirran Pipe that counts, not the skill of the player. A single note will be enough to stay the Shadow Lord’s hand.’

‘You cannot know that!’ Tirral cried. ‘In ancient times the Pipe was only played by Pirra’s finest musicians!’

Her face glowing with renewed hope, she appealed to the silent people around her. ‘Our beliefs do not require us to give or lend to a cousin if the cause is pointless, Kerons! Is that not so?’

Heads nodded reluctantly.

‘Well, then!’ Tirral cried. ‘What could be more pointless than to give the Pirran Pipe to those who cannot even
play
it?’ She gazed around triumphantly.

‘It does not matter!’

Everyone jumped as the high, nervous voice broke the silence. Everyone stared as Emlis stepped forward, blushing to the roots of his golden hair.

‘It—it does not matter if our cousins cannot play the Pipe,’ Emlis stammered, meeting his mother’s angry stare defiantly. ‘It does not matter because—because
I
can play very well. And I am going with them!’

Much argument followed, but there was no point at all in Tirral’s raging, or the companions protesting. For the people of Keras, Emlis’s announcement had removed the last objection to the Pirran Pipe’s being taken to the Shadowlands.

‘So you have won, and I have lost,’ Tirral said bitterly, as she returned the companions’ weapons to them. ‘I have lost not only the Pirran Pipe, but my son. You have won the right to destroy them both, as well as yourselves. I hope your victory brings you joy.’

Her face was ashen. The moths around her head were barely moving.

‘Tirral—’ Lief began. But already the Piper was turning and walking rapidly away.

‘It is not
our
fault that her son is coming with us,’ hissed Jasmine. ‘It is all her own work! If she had let us go in peace Emlis would never have thought of the idea.’

‘Yes he would,’ Barda said shrewdly. ‘That young man is as anxious as we are to escape this island. I think he saw his chance and seized it with both hands.’

‘But he does not realise what he is doing!’ muttered Lief.

‘No,’ growled Barda. ‘And do we?’