CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER
11
It took Peter an instant to react. He stared in horror at the guards, and then, just as one reached out to grab him, he bolted out the door and fled behind the Captain’s tent into the dark woods. He ran and ran, ran for all he was worth, but more than once he felt the brush of hard fingertips against his shoulder blade. Two sets of heavy footsteps matched his every step, never seeming to tire.
Peter couldn’t see much in front of him—just the dark outlines of trees and rocks in his path. He ducked over and under branches, desperately sucking air into his lungs as he forced his tired limbs forward. And then, all of a sudden, the ground seemed to fall out from under his feet. He stumbled clumsily down a steep ravine, his feet tripping over themselves and the mess of branches on the forest floor. He grappled to find his footing, and, to his relief, heard the guards trying to do the same. Their stumbling bought him another few moments. At last he found the bottom of the ravine and tripped into a few inches of water.
The river was shallow but swift. He splashed straight through to the opposite bank, listening for the splash of the guards as they too fell into the river. They were a second behind him, but only a second. Reaching the bank, Peter clambered up the side of the ravine, using his hands and feet to grab at anything that would hold him. The guards were falling further behind now: Peter was slight and athletic, and despite their strength the guards’ weight was slowing them down as they climbed. Some sixth sense in Peter understood this, and knowing that they weren’t directly on his heels he swerved sharply to the left.
Even through the dark of the night he could see the shape of a huge tree coming up in front of him—the trunk so large it would take four men to circle it. Peter ducked to its opposite side and leaned back against it, holding in his breath and trying not to pant. He closed his eyes tight, squeezed his hand around the roll of parchment, and breathed a silent prayer to the Lord of Hosts that he would not be seen.
The guards had seen him run to the side and had followed, but they soon became disoriented. Ten yards beyond the tree where Peter was hiding they stopped, confused.
“Where did he go?” one asked the other. “We just had him—he was right here.”
“Search the trees,” the other replied. “He’s got to be hiding somewhere near here.” In the half-light of the moon that filtered through the trees Peter could see him put his fingers to his lips, and as he waited the guard let out a shrill whistle.
The sound of it pierced the air, and Peter knew that whatever it signaled would not be kind to him. He watched and waited, listening hard into the darkness.
As he waited the guards split up and began to comb the area. Peter slowly and cautiously edged his way around to the other side of the tree, still holding his breath. He waited there for what seemed an eternity but could only have been a few minutes, and gradually realized that the guards had moved on, searching deeper into the woods. He breathed a deep sigh of utter relief and turned back the way he had come …
… Only to be confronted by the hulking form of a Gul’nog.
It towered over him, its lips curled into a snarl over rotting teeth and its meaty arms poised to kill. Each arm ended in a fist the size of Peter’s head. Peter stood still, not moving, not breathing, clutching the scroll of paper that was crinkled tight in his hand. And then, almost without thinking, he turned on his heel and sprinted off between the trees.
Peter could feel the hot breath of the Gul’nog on his back, hear the thunderous weight of its feet crashing toward him through the underbrush. Peter ducked under low-hanging branches and leaped over bushes, ducking this way and that between the trees, trying with all his might to stay ahead of the monster. He zigzagged through the woods, turning abruptly to the left or the right to evade the Gul’nog’s claws. His lungs were on fire but he forced himself forward, forced himself to stay those few steps ahead. There was no time for thought, no time for planning. Only one word was left in Peter’s mind: run.
He ran for what felt like miles, the Gul’nog always close behind. The creature never seemed to tire, swatting aside tree limbs as if they had been nothing more than a tiresome insect. Peter could only be thankful that he was alone—that he didn’t have to wait for the girls to keep up …
The girls. Julia and Louisa. He was leading the Gul’nog straight toward them!
Peter spun to the right and sprinted away. There was no path to follow and some corner of Peter’s mind told him that in a few moments he would be hopelessly lost, but still he kept on, steering the Gul’nog away from the place where Julia and Louisa were camped.
And then, just as Peter felt that his lungs were about to burst, he saw his escape.
Up ahead a sheer cliff towered over them. The moonlight illuminated its craggy face—the spiny outcroppings, the caves cloaked in shadows, the —
The cave. Peter could see one, just ahead. It was small, maybe just large enough for him to stand up in, and hidden just at the foot of the cliff. If he could only reach it before the Gul’nog saw it …
Peter sprinted forward, gaining a stride’s worth of ground on the monster. They came up to the cliff and Peter ducked down into the cave’s opening, looking back just in time to see the Gul’nog running past.
Peter watched as the creature slowed, then came to a stop as it realized that it had lost its prey. It raised its face to the air and breathed in long and deep, trying to smell him out. Peter shrank back into the recesses of the cave, trying to slow his gasping breaths, certain that the monster would be able to hear the pounding of his heart. But as he watched the Gul’nog started forward once more, heading off into the trees.
Peter collapsed against the cave wall and buried his face in his knees, trying not to think of what the Gul’nog might have done to him had it caught him. And then, after a long moment, Peter looked down at the scroll that was still clutched tightly in his sweaty hand.
He unrolled the long piece of parchment on the floor of the cave, squinting down at the lines of ink that made this paper so important to the Khemians. They’d spoken of some sort of prophecy—there, at the top, was that some sort of writing? But the shadows of the cave made it impossible to see: moonlight could not penetrate here. So Peter hurriedly rolled the parchment back up, stuck the roll in his belt, and sat back to wait.
He should have been tired. He hadn’t had a full night’s rest since Christmas Eve, after all. But Peter couldn’t shut his eyes. There was too much to wonder about, too many strange new noises to listen to, and too many questions to ponder. So he stayed wide awake, looking out into the dark forest and breathing that stagnant air, waiting until he could be quite sure that the guards and the Gul’nog had gone back to their camp.
When he was certain that he was safe, Peter crept out of the cave on his hands and knees, looking all around to be certain that nothing sinister was waiting for him. Seeing nothing but long shadows, he rose to his feet and began the long journey back to the camp.
He had become disoriented in the long flight from the Gul’nog, and he might never have found his bearings in the dark had it not been for the volcano. Looking up through the trees, looking for anything familiar, Peter could see the giant plume of smoke, punctuated by bright flashes of lightning, rising to the sky.
Noting the direction of the volcano, Peter put a hand into his pocket and took out his father’s compass. He flipped open the top, realizing as he did so that it was still too dark to see. Finding a patch of moonlight between the trees he squinted at the tiny dial. West, he decided. He would have to head west.
He crept along, keeping to the shadows and trying to keep as silent as he possibly could. He trod slowly when he reached the brook, barely lifting his feet above the water and trying not to splash. He climbed back up the sloping side of the ravine and, after a long walk through the trees during which he lost his way not once but twice, found himself back at the camp.
From there it was simple to find his way back to Julia and Louisa, and found his sister sitting upright with her back against a tree as she waited for him, her eyes wide as she tried to see into the darkness. Louisa, it seemed, had finally been able to get to sleep.
“I thought you’d left us,” Julia said simply. “Are you … what happened?”
“The guards woke up,” said Peter. “They chased me, and then they called one of those Gul’nog creatures, and … well, I had to run.”
“Did they follow you?” Her voice was urgent, frightened. Peter shook his head.
“Not this far. I got away.” He paused and grinned. “And I got something else.” He held out the roll of parchment, wrinkled and sweaty where he’d been grasping it.
Peter rolled out the paper on the ground, and he and Julia both knelt over it. The dawn had just begun to touch the sky after the endless night, and there was just enough light for them to make out what tales the parchment told. It was a map — a map of the whole world. Khemia, its volcano drawn in detail, was at the center of the map, and Aedyn lay near it, marked by its citadel and the King’s Garden. But there were other islands too—more than a score of them. There was Melita, with its great cliffs, and there was Tunbridge, with its acres of vineyards.
“I had no idea their world was this big,” murmured Julia.
“Neither did I,” said Peter. “It’s a whole world—and maybe a whole universe beyond it. Look here — there’s something written on the volcano.”
They both strained to see what it could be but the light wasn’t strong enough, and they resolved to wait until the morning. And then, just as Peter was about to roll up the parchment, Julia pointed to some words at the top.
“Wait. This here—these words. What does it say? The script is so old-fashioned; I can’t quite make it out.”
Peter leaned forward. The letters were slanted and highly designed, like something out of a Bible from hundreds of years ago. He squinted his eyes and peered a bit closer.
“The two come … something. The two … something one. With something comes power, control something … something.”
“Well, that’s tremendously helpful,” said Julia with a sound that might have been a snort had she not been trying to keep quiet. “Here, let me try.” She leaned over the parchment, tilting her head to let what little light there was fall on the words. “The two come … something.”
“Together!” cried Peter. “You see? That right there—that’s a g.“
“That’s a g?” Julia seemed skeptical.
“Yes, and here”—Peter pointed as he read. “'The two come together; the two … become one. With—what’s that, a u? — union! With union comes power, control over all.’ “ He leaned back and rubbed his hands together, obviously quite pleased with himself. “You see, my dear sister? Nothing to it!”
Julia’s brow was furrowed.
“That’s the song Louisa was singing when we got back from the mine. Part of it, anyway. How would she have known those words?”
“It can’t be the same words.” Peter sat back and considered for a moment, then shook his head. “You must be mistaken.”
Peter knew perfectly well that Julia had a stubborn streak, and he should have known better than to awaken it. Her back stiffened and her eyes squinted as she glared at him.
“I am not mistaken, Peter Grant. She’s been humming that song ever since we got to Aedyn, and I heard her singing the words when that horrid guard was marching us to the volcano yesterday afternoon. You heard it yourself—you stopped, and then he whipped you. I know that was part of it—that bit about unity and power and control. I’m certain of it.”
Peter looked over at Louisa. She was sleeping peacefully, her hands curled up under her head in place of a pillow and the threadbare blanket hunched up around her shoulders.
“What does she have to do with this place?” he asked, bewildered.
“She can’t have been here before. No one but us has been here,” said Julia.
There was a long moment as they watched their stepsister sleep. Finally, Peter reached out and rolled up the long piece of parchment. “We’ll ask her about it in the morning,” he said. “Look—morning’s not far off. Try to catch a few minutes’ sleep before then.”
He tucked the roll under the crook of his arm and lay down against a tree. Julia gave an unsatisfied harrumph! and did the same. But the thoughts that occupied her mind that night, in the minutes before she fell into an exhausted sleep, were not of Louisa and the song. They were of the talisman that had lain against the Captain’s chest. She knew she had seen it somewhere before.