Beyond the Valley of Thorns Page 4

John stood and scanned the horizon, and then he spoke a single word that sent a chill down my spine.

  “Bats.”

  CHAPTER 7

  CLUES IN THE DARKNESS

  “Everyone, against the rock!” John shouted. He was leaning all his weight into the large stone he’d been touching. It was tilting up off the ground a few inches, then crashing back down with a thud.

  Yipes was the first to join him, then Odessa placed her head against the stone, pushing with her legs. A moment later the three of them had the large stone rolled over on its side, revealing the entrance to an underground space. It looked awfully dark and small from where I was standing.

  The bats shrieked once more, and I turned toward the sound. But in the darkness of night I could not make out shapes in the air. They were closer — close enough to see us if we didn’t hide quickly.

  “In you go,” said John, looking at me.

  “When was the last time you were down there?” I asked. “Maybe something crawled in, and it’s waiting for the first of us to step inside.” I was reminded of the first time I’d gone into the tunnels in Bridewell, how it felt like walking into the mouth of a giant.

  Murphy scampered past me and down into the space, then squeaked from inside.

  “It’s no problem,” he said. “Just a barren space, nothing much to look at.”

  The shrieking of the bats was very close, and I was sure anything would be better than being chewed apart by them. I descended, and the others followed quickly behind me.

  I found that I could not stand upright, so I crouched down against a wall, where Murphy jumped into my lap. At the bottom of the small opening to the space was another large stone, this one rounder in its shape than the other had been. John immediately put his shoulder against the stone and began rolling it in front of the opening. As it covered the last of the entrance I could hear the flapping of leathery wings and the deafening sound of bats flying in a swarm overhead. It sounded as though some of them were beating their wings against the other side of the rock, swirling around in the space just above us. And then they were gone, the sound of them nothing but a shrill whisper. I realized how very dark it was.

  Everyone remained quiet, still afraid a lone bat was hanging behind the stone, waiting to hear us so it might chase after the swarm and bring it back. But there was nothing, only the sound of our breathing and the flit of Murphy’s tail as he tried to keep still.

  I heard John fumbling for something, and then the room was aglow with soft blue light, cast from the Jocasta he held in his hand. He held the light out in front of him, and I was able to see for the first time the place where we’d arrived.

  It was a small, low, covered room without furnishings of any kind. There were, however, two oddities I immediately spied — a wooden cup, chipped and scuffed, resting atop a neatly folded blanket. These items sat alone in the middle of the room.

  “We can talk now. They’ve passed on,” said John. I could see Yipes as I crawled over next to the cup and the blanket and sat down. He, Odessa, and Murphy were the only ones who could stand upright in the room, and Odessa just barely.

  “This is my kind of place,” Yipes joked. “Cozy, and the ceiling is just the right height.”

  He smiled and looked around the room happily, the watery blue light from the stone dancing in his eyes.

  “We’ll have to stay here for the night,” said John. “I can move the stone back a little to let in fresh air, but only after we’ve put the Jocasta away.”

  Yipes removed the wineskins from Odessa’s back, and John began setting out nuts and fruit and dried meat. I took the old cup that was sitting on the blanket in my hand and turned it, wondering who might have left it behind.

  “Warvold journeyed here,” said John. “More than once is my guess. He told me of this place a long while ago. I’m a bit surprised I was able to lead us here without too much trouble.”

  Sometime in the distant past, Warvold had drunk from this cup. He’d been here, sitting in this very spot, hiding from the black swarm just as we were.

  I took the corner of the folded blanket and began wiping the dust from the inside of the cup.

  “What’s this?” asked Murphy. He’d been scampering all around the room, running up and down the walls, sniffing everywhere he went. He’d arrived at the blanket, his nose beneath where I’d lifted the corner to clean the cup. When he emerged he held pieces of paper between his teeth. I snatched them out of his mouth and set down the cup.

  It was a marvelous discovery, and everyone gathered closer to see them, excited about what the pages might contain. I flipped the pages over in my hands and realized what a treasure Murphy had found.

  “This is Warvold’s writing!” I cried out. Murphy could hardly contain himself, flipping and scuffling all around. There were five pages, covered in words on both sides, all in Warvold’s familiar scrawl.

  John held his Jocasta closer and everyone crowded together. Odessa lay down next to me, gnawing on a chunk of dried meat, and Murphy jumped onto her back.

  I filled the wooden cup with water and took a long drink, then cleared my throat and read what the pages said so everyone could hear.

  CHAPTER 8

  CASTALIA

  “There is only one other person, alive or dead, who I’ve told about this secret place. I made this shelter many years ago, and I’ve taken refuge here often as I’ve traveled between the far reaches of The Land of Elyon. I fear this is the last time I will ever see these walls, and there are things I must write down, should I meet unexpectedly with my demise.

  John Christopher, I do hope you’ve managed to find this letter. More important, I hope you have Alexa with you and that she carries the last stone.

  Have patience as I tell you a brief history of the places beyond the Valley of Thorns.”

  I looked at the faces glowing blue all around me. Everyone had stopped eating, even Odessa.

  “This ought to be interesting,” said Yipes. Then he tossed a nut into his mouth and leaned forward like a child about to hear a wonderful story. I drank again from the old wooden cup and began reading once more.

  “Some three hundred years ago there arose a small kingdom at the edge of a wide lake. The lake they called Castalia, and soon after, the kingdom itself took the same name.

  The Castalians thrived for a hundred years. The water from the lake fed their crops, and their numbers grew until many thousands lived along the shore. But then the Castalians had an unfortunate bit of bad luck.

  They were visited by a man named Victor Grindall. Though of average size and modest appearance himself, he had with him a band of a hundred men very large in stature, more than twice the size of anyone in Castalia.

  The Castalians were a timid people, never having been bothered by anyone, and they knew little of weapons or war. Grindall’s men, though pleasant in appearance, were intimidating because of their size. Grindall gave the Castalians a choice: either make him their ruler or his giants would overrun the city and take it by force.

  Many years later, the descendants of Grindall and the giants remain, and even now Castalia lies in the hands of an evil man and the dark forces that guide him.”

  I looked up, confused by the strange story Warvold had begun.

  “Warvold was a teller of tall tales,” I said, trying to lighten my own mood. “This sounds like something he would write.”

  But even as I said it, I somehow got the feeling that this story was not like the others.

  “Would you like me to finish reading it?” asked Yipes. “Whether it’s true or not, I want to know what happens!” He reached out his hand and I gave him the pages. Then I took the wooden cup in both hands and held it, running my thumb along the chipped edge, hoping to feel Warvold’s presence in the room.

  Yipes continued on at a merry pace, his high voice bouncing off the walls.

  “Not so long ago, two sisters lived in Castalia. The elder was named Catherine and her younger sister was named Laura. The two of
them lived in secret among the poor of Castalia, during the ninth reign of Grindall. Few can tell of how they came to live in hiding and what they discovered in the dead of night, but I will tell you a little of the story.

  The girls were orphans. Catherine was thirteen and Laura was eleven, and they were forced to take care of each other and find food and shelter amid the poverty of the town square. Castalia had long since become a sprawling peasant village. The Dark Tower loomed high above — an ominous, dark spire in which generation after generation of Grindall men had forged their cruelest intentions.

  The girls were determined to escape Castalia and find a new home, even though the gates were guarded by giants. Catherine was a crafty girl, always watching, and she discovered a way out. Together the sisters hid within the confines of a garbage cart and were rolled through the gate and out of the city to the dumping grounds.

  The girls found themselves in a space overgrown with trees and brush, and most of the structures around them had walls that had fallen in and were now filled with rubbish. A terrible smell haunted the air. They had been dumped into an area once inhabited by Castalians but now used as the place where all the refuse was thrown. This place had long been called the City of Dogs, because large packs of wild dogs roamed there, living off what they could find among the mire in which the girls now found themselves.

  They came upon an old, vine-covered clock tower — a stone relic at the corner of a forgotten street near the edge of the dump — that had long since been left in ruin. The clock tower was to become their home.

  On that first night they remained on the ground floor, too afraid to climb the ladder on the wall and push on the door in the ceiling. But the next morning, hungry and bored, the girls climbed the seven steps and pushed on the wooden door that led to the clock tower. The door was blocked and would not move, and though I was not there and only heard the story secondhand, it was told to me that at precisely this moment a pack of wild dogs began sniffing around the base of the old structure, growling menacingly at the smell of new inhabitants.”

  “Slow down, Yipes,” said John. “I can hardly make out what you’re saying.”

  Yipes was breathless, reading at a frantic pace, overcome with anticipation as the story became more and more perilous. He stopped and held the pages out to me.

  “You’d better finish it, Alexa,” he said. “I won’t be able to stop myself from racing to the end. But don’t go too slowly, all right?”

  I nodded and took the pages in my hand, scanning them until I found the place where Yipes had been interrupted. I was frightened of where the story might lead, but I was also terribly curious about a great many things. What would happen to Catherine and Laura? Why did Warvold leave a note about them? Who were they? And what of these giants and Victor Grindall — were they real or imagined?

  I steadied my shaking hands, took a deep breath, and read on.

  “The girls looked down from their perch on the ladder and realized the stone they had removed to enter the building had not been replaced. The wild dogs were coming in, a pack of them, frothing and snarling as they approached the ladder. And then something very curious happened.

  The door at the top of the ladder opened.

  Seeing no other choice, Catherine and Laura scampered inside and stood against the wall. There was only a faint light in the space, but it was clear that something was hiding there. A match was struck and a fat old candle was lit in a corner. A creature sat hunched against the wall, arms folded around bent knees.

  It was a giant.”

  CHAPTER 9

  WHAT THE GIANT TOLD

  We had read half of what Warvold wrote, the room turning stale from lack of fresh air. But that didn’t matter. We were all caught up in the story.

  “Wait just a moment while I let in a bit of air,” said John.

  He crawled over to the stone, unable to stand upright in the room, and then he put his Jocasta back inside its leather pouch.

  The room was suddenly dark, so dark that I couldn’t see the pages in my hand as I heard the rock move against the opening. Warm air crept slowly into the room, whipping tiny specks of dust on a soft evening breeze. We sat silent in the darkness, waiting for the light of the Jocasta to return.

  John Christopher was as curious as we were to finish the story Warvold had left for us, and we didn’t wait long to hear the stone rolling back and see the room aglow once more in blue light.

  “Only a few pages to go,” I said, flipping the papers in my hand. “Shall I continue?” Everyone nodded eagerly, and my voice filled the room with the rest of Warvold’s tale.

  “And here we find ourselves before a creature with knowledge of things no peasant of Castalia or ruler of Bridewell could know. On that first evening, Catherine, Laura, and the giant became acquainted, and in the days that followed, the giant told them a great many secrets about himself, his race, and the history of the Grindalls. What I am going to tell you now will draw you into a conflict from which you cannot turn. Your enemy, who prowls as close as the Valley of Thorns, will become clear as crystal on this very night.

  When Elyon created the world and the human race he also created something else — a hundred powerful beings he called Seraphs. These beings were made to protect The Land of Elyon from within the realm of the Tenth City, a secret place where Elyon made his home and everything could be seen. While the Seraphs were created to oversee the human race, they were forbidden to ever leave the Tenth City.

  One of the Seraphs was called Abaddon, and he was more powerful than all the rest. Abaddon was overcome with jealousy and wanted to rule The Land of Elyon. In secret, he convinced the Seraphs that they must enter the realm of men and women to protect them. When the Seraphs arrived in The Land of Elyon they took the form of giants, larger than normal men, stronger, and still with some lingering powers.

  When Elyon discovered what the Seraphs had done, he was enraged and he banished them from the Tenth City forever. Abaddon, his power growing uncontrollable, was harder to contain than the other ninety-nine. A great battle ensued between Elyon and Abaddon, and in the end Abaddon was chained down in a great pit at the edge of the Tenth City.

  Elyon uses a great deal of his own strength to keep Abaddon in the pit. Still, even though Abaddon cannot leave the pit, he is able to assert his will in various ways. He is able to corrupt men from afar, encouraging their evil for his purposes. And then there are the bats. Innocently present in the pit when Abaddon arrived, they are now poisoned by his will, swarming The Land of Elyon.

  Abaddon wants to destroy The Land of Elyon along with the Tenth City, so he can rule everything and drive Elyon away.

  To do this, Abaddon must prey on the evil and the weak, using them to achieve his goals. Victor Grindall is the most powerful man to have fallen under Abaddon’s spell. Abaddon can bend Grindall’s will to do his bidding.

  In this case, he is using Grindall to search for the stones.

  Where, you may ask, do the stones come from? There once was a place in The Land of Elyon that no longer exists, a place that was only known by Elyon and the Seraphs. This was a magical place, where creation began and the first voices were heard. Long ago there was only one language between the animals and humans, and even Elyon’s voice could be heard and understood by a few. Unable to return to the Tenth City, it was in this place that the Seraphs first made their home, hidden from people.

  This place was supposed to be a secret. But Abaddon used Grindall to make his way there, saying things the Seraphs seemed to understand. Something about Grindall made them follow. Little did they know it was the voice of Abaddon, calling them from the pit to do his bidding.

  Through Grindall, Abaddon instructed the giants to gather the stones that lay in a pool in this secret place, stones that would contain the power to hear the original language of Elyon. And then the Seraphs left, following the only voice that sounded anything like home. And Victor Grindall led them to Castalia.

  But Abaddon was deceived, for
some of the stones were enchanted by Elyon so that they might only fall into the hands of those he chose.”

  “There’s only one more page,” I said. Everyone in the room looked as confused and amazed as I felt.

  “Read the last of it, Alexa,” said John. “I have a feeling we haven’t heard the most important part yet.”

  Somehow I felt the same, like something dreadful was about to happen. I held the last page closer to the light of the Jocasta and started reading.

  “Two hundred years after the first Grindall was dead and gone, Armon the giant was appointed keeper of the stones. The line of Grindall was in its ninth reign, and the remaining stones were kept in a pool in the deepest part of the Dark Tower, in the darkest corner of the dungeon, where Armon guarded them.

  Day after day, Armon watched the stones as they sat quietly in a pool of water, until one day a single stone began glowing faintly. Overcome with curiosity, Armon picked up the stone and for a brief moment heard the forgotten sound of Elyon’s voice, distant but clear, coming from the Tenth City. From that moment on, Armon was compelled to protect the remaining stones, to remove them, and to leave Castalia. He escaped into the City of Dogs, hid in the clock tower, and was discovered by Catherine and Laura.

  When Armon touched the stone, Abaddon at last realized what Elyon had done. He understood that the remaining stones had the power to destroy him if they were carried to those Elyon had chosen. And so Abaddon infected the reigning Grindall with all his might, giving him an unquenchable thirst for the stones.

  We find ourselves now in the depth of the tenth reign of Grindall, and if things have gone as I’ve hoped, Alexa holds the very last of the stones. From the beginning Elyon has chosen her, and he has left the fate of the world in her hands.