The Black Reckoning Page 2

  And everywhere they went, they delivered the same message: the Dire Magnus has returned, you must beware.

  And everywhere, they asked the same questions: Have you seen our sister? Have you seen our parents?

  And everywhere, they received the same answers: No. No.

  Then, the day before—or was it the same day? It was so hard to keep track when you leapfrogged across the globe and noon became deepest night in the blink of an eye—they had been in a small town on the Australian coast where waves broke in long, blue-white crescents onto a golden beach and the inhabitants seemed equally devoted to magic and surfing; they’d come to see a friend of Dr. Pym’s, a lean, sun-wrinkled wizard who went everywhere barefoot and called Michael “little mate,” and they’d asked him the same questions they’d asked everyone and received the same answers, when suddenly a horde of black-garbed morum cadi had appeared in the center of town, swords drawn, blood-chilling screams erupting from their throats. Dr. Pym had immediately opened a portal in the man’s living room, a shimmering curtain of air through which he yanked the children even as they protested that they could help—

  “No. Indeed, your very presence here makes it more dangerous for others.”

  —and a moment later, they’d been standing beside the dark blue waters of the Danube.

  Exhausted and shaken, they’d gone to the house of another of the wizard’s friends, a grim-faced witch with short black hair combed flat to her head, and after several cups of strong tea and the usual questions and answers (No. No.), Kate and Michael had been sent to wander in the woman’s garden—with the warning that “some of the plants bite”—while Pym and the woman spoke. But they hadn’t been there an hour when Pym had hurried out of the house, calling their names.

  “Why’re we running?” Michael now asked. “Can’t you open a portal anywhere?”

  “No,” the wizard replied. “But this is not really the time to explain.”

  “So why don’t I use the Atlas?” Kate said. There was no longer any question that the magic of the Atlas resided within her and she could call it up at will to travel through both time and space. “I can—”

  “No! Only when there is no other option. It is too dangerous!”

  Kate was about to argue that their present situation seemed pretty dangerous when a Screecher’s cry ripped apart the air, and she and Michael froze in their tracks. They couldn’t help it. They both knew how to control the fear that gripped them when they heard the shriek of a morum cadi, but they needed time to prepare, to ready themselves.

  This cry had taken them unawares, and was close by.

  Then Kate saw the wizard turning, his hands moving in patterns, and the street behind them seemed to rise up like a wave just as two Screechers charged around a corner. The morum cadi were only yards away, close enough that Kate could see their glowing yellow eyes, but the stones of the street were now stacking themselves into a wall that stretched to the roofs of the houses on either side, and just when the creatures would have been upon them, Kate and Michael found themselves safe behind the wizard’s wall, listening to the clang and crunch of the monsters’ swords against the stones.

  “Come along,” Dr. Pym said, and pulled them away.

  A block farther on, Kate, Michael, and the wizard burst from the warren of streets, and there was the river before them, there was the footbridge stretching across it, and there, standing at the head of the bridge, was the dark-haired witch, looking even more grim and humorless than before.

  “Is it ready?” Dr. Pym asked.

  “The portal is open,” the witch replied. Her English was accented, and she spoke with great force, spitting out every word like a cannonball, as if determined to get it as far from her as possible. “It will take you to San Marco. You can get a boat from there.”

  “That’s fine. And I will see you tomorrow.”

  “Yes.”

  “And don’t forget—”

  “To close the portal when you cross. I know. Quickly. They are almost here.” Then, for a moment, the woman’s eyes moved to Kate and her brother, and her face softened a very, very, very small amount. “We will find your sister and your parents. Your family is not lost. Now go.”

  And then Dr. Pym was pulling them up the slope of the bridge, and Kate could see the rippling in the air that was almost like the rippling of the water below, and she reached out and took her brother’s hand; she had been through so many different portals in the past days, stepping through smoke that didn’t choke her, through fire that didn’t burn, through waterfalls, through a ray of light, but she always made sure to hold Michael’s hand. She had lost so much, she was not going to lose him.

  The shrieking of the Screechers was louder now, and closer, but Kate didn’t turn to look; she kept her eyes on the shimmering curtain in the air; then Dr. Pym was ushering them through, and she gripped Michael’s hand even more tightly, closed her eyes, and felt the familiar stomach-churning swirl, the loud, rushing, going-through-a-tunnel sound, her ears popped, and then, silence.

  Or not silence exactly, for there was the gentle slap of waves on the shore, the cry of a gull overhead. Kate felt the sun on her face and opened her eyes. A blue expanse of water stretched before them, and for a moment, she thought they were back in Australia. Then she saw they were standing on a beach of smooth gray and black stones.

  She looked over at Michael. “Are you all right?”

  He nodded and pulled his hand from hers. “Yes.”

  “Any idea where we are?”

  He shrugged. “I guess Dr. Pym will tell us.”

  But the wizard had already walked away down the beach, heading toward a pier where a dozen or so boats—small, battered-looking vessels with black nets strung over their sides—were moored. Kate studied her brother. Michael had taken off his glasses and was cleaning them on his shirt. He had been unusually silent the last few days. She understood, of course. Michael blamed himself for the Dire Magnus’s return and, by extension, for Emma’s abduction. Kate had tried to tell him that he had only done what he’d had to do, that what had happened was as much her fault as his.

  “Yeah?” he’d said when she’d suggested this. “How’s that?”

  “Well, I’m the one that died.”

  She had died, and Michael had used the Chronicle, the Book of Life, to bring her back. But in order to do so, he’d first had to resurrect the Dire Magnus, who had promptly, with his servant Rourke’s help, kidnapped Emma. So he’d only done what he’d done because she’d gone and gotten herself killed. That was what she’d meant.

  There’s enough guilt to go around, Kate had wanted to say.

  But she couldn’t stop thinking that there was something else. Something he wasn’t telling her. What was this barrier he’d created between them?

  —

  A few minutes later, they were on a boat, the hull smacking—thap—thap—thap—against the small crests in the water, both sails full and straining. On all sides of them, islands studded the surface of the sea. Kate’s hair kept whipping her face and she had to use both hands to hold it back. She and Michael were sitting on a bench amidships, their feet resting on the thickly folded nets. The wizard sat across from them, while the captain was in the stern, one hand casually holding the wheel. The boat smelled of dead fish and sea salt. Dr. Pym had said that their journey should not take more than an hour, and from the relative calmness of the sea and the way the boat skipped across the water, Kate suspected that the wind filling their sails was the wizard’s doing.

  “I want to thank you both for your patience,” Dr. Pym said, lifting his voice to be heard over the rush of the wind. “I know I haven’t been very forthcoming of late, but it was important that we move quickly and cover as much ground as possible. It was for that reason that I sent the others.”

  By “the others,” he meant Gabriel and the elves. The night that Kate and Michael and Dr. Pym had left Antarctica, Gabriel and two parties of elves had also left to search for Emma and spread th
e word throughout the magical community that the Dire Magnus had returned. Kate wondered if any of them had had news of Emma.

  “But now,” the wizard said, “it is time to begin the next phase.”

  “What do you mean?” Kate said. “The next phase is rescuing Emma!”

  “Of course. That is our first and most important goal. But even once we rescue your sister, the return of the Dire Magnus requires action. That is part of the message I have been delivering. In the next day or so, all the members of the magical world who support our cause—elf, human, and dwarf—will send representatives here, so that we may plan our strategy.”

  “You mean you’re going to start a war?” Michael asked.

  The wizard looked suddenly very old and tired. “My boy, if recent events tell us anything, it is that the war has already begun.”

  “So where’s here?” Kate asked. “Where’re we going?”

  “This”—the wizard stretched out a long arm to encompass the sea and the islands all around them—“is the Archipelago, a collection of some two-score islands that sits, unseen to the outside world, smack in the center of the Mediterranean. The islands themselves are all different: there are dwarf homelands and elf homelands, there are islands with nothing but fairies or trolls or dragons.

  “But we are going there.” And he pointed to a green lump in the distance. “Altre Terros, also called Loris, also called Xi ’alatn. It is our greatest city, home to the largest magical population and, in many ways, the true heart of our world. Hopefully, there we will find the answers and the help we seek.”

  They fell silent. Kate gave up trying to control her hair and focused on steadying herself against the motion of the boat. She also tried, as she had whenever there’d been a quiet moment in the past two days, not to think about Emma, not to wonder if she was hurt or scared, not to wonder when she would see her sister again, for to do so was to go down a rabbit hole of worry and guilt that led nowhere except to more worry and guilt.

  Instead, she thought of their parents, and the message Michael had received saying that they had escaped and were hunting the last Book of Beginning. Their parents had been prisoners of the Dire Magnus for ten years. How had they escaped? Had someone helped them? If so, who? And why were they off looking for the last book instead of trying to find her and her brother and sister? Did it have something to do with their father’s warning that they must not allow Dr. Pym to bring the three books together? The children had no way of knowing, because the warning had not come from their father himself, but from a ghostly projection of him contained in a glass orb that Michael had smashed, and the ghost had faded away without explaining the reason behind its warning. The children had not conveyed this part of the message to Dr. Pym, but between themselves, they had debated endlessly, and fruitlessly, about what it might mean. Kate was for asking the wizard directly, but Michael refused, saying they needed more information, and as he had been the one to receive the message, she had deferred.

  Kate looked at the old wizard. He was still wearing the same fraying tweed suit, his tortoiseshell glasses were still bent and patched (their lenses now speckled with sea-foam), his white hair, always somewhat messy, was blowing wildly in the wind. Just looking at him, she felt comforted. He was Dr. Pym; he was their friend.

  So why didn’t she try harder to convince Michael to tell the wizard what their father had said? Was there, in fact, some part of her that doubted him?

  They were nearing the island now, and Kate pulled herself from her reverie. The island, wrapped by a band of imposing white cliffs, seemed to rise up high above them. Past the cliffs, the island was covered in greenery, and at its center there was a single steep mountain, with sharp spines radiating down its sides. Kate could see no sign of a city or town.

  “We are coming around the windward side,” the wizard said. “Loris, the city, is on the leeward, where the cliffs reach to the water.”

  As he spoke, the small boat tacked, and Kate and Michael both held to the gunnels. They began seeing more boats, old fishing boats like the one they were in, small boats piloted by no-nonsense dwarfish sailors, one very fast boat painted with elaborate floral designs piloted by an elf who appeared to be singing to a school of dolphins, combing his hair, and steering all at the same time, and who waved to them airily and offered the somewhat strange greeting “La-la-lo!”

  Kate waited for Michael to make a comment about elfish ridiculousness, but her brother remained silent.

  Rounding the island, the children saw that the cliffs did indeed begin to slope down toward the water, and a harbor opened up. It was as if the island was stretching out a pair of long, rocky arms, and they entered its embrace, passing into a swath of calm blue water. Stone and wooden docks jutted into the harbor like jagged teeth, and there were dozens of boats, either docked or weaving about. The whole feeling was one of bustling commerce, as boats brought in huge catches of fish and others appeared loaded with boxes and cargo, and the air was filled with the shouts and calls of people at work.

  Past the harbor, there was a narrow beach, and then high white walls that stretched up and around the city, no doubt built long ago for defense, but now the gates were wide open and the tops of the walls were festooned with explosions of flowers. The city itself climbed up the slope, a staggered collection of tightly packed, white-stone houses, but what drew Kate’s attention was a single structure up at the farthest reaches of the city and backed against the cliffs. While the rest of the city was made of the same identical white stone, this building was rose-colored and massive; it loomed over the city, as if it were the refuge of giants.

  Kate had no doubt that the rose-colored fortress was their destination.

  By now, the enchanted wind had dropped from their sails, and they were gliding toward a stone pier where a single empty berth remained among the boats. As they drew closer, the children discerned a short, stocky figure standing on the pier and shouting at a fisherman who was attempting to dock his boat.

  “Who am I?! I’m the fella that’s gonna sink that rotten bathtub you call a boat if you don’t shove off! This here’s reserved!”

  As if to press the point home, the figure pulled a gleaming ax from his belt and brandished it at the fisherman, who was now hurriedly oaring backward.

  Kate, recognizing the short figure’s face and voice, experienced her first real happiness in days.

  At the same moment, Michael leapt up, nearly swamping the boat, shouting, “It’s King Robbie! King Robbie! King Robbie!”

  By then the dwarf king had seen them, and he waved his stubby arms and grinned.

  —

  “Ah, you two are a sight for sore eyes! Let me get a good look at you.”

  The children were standing on the pier, and Robbie McLaur, king of the dwarves near Cambridge Falls, had already hugged them tightly and given them furry, bearded kisses on both cheeks.

  “You’re more beautiful than ever,” he said to Kate, “if such a thing were possible. And you”—he turned to Michael—“are not the same dewy-cheeked whelp I saw at Christmas! I’d bet my beard something’s happened! Tell the truth now!”

  “Well, Your Highness,” Michael said, clearly pleased to be reunited with their old friend, “we have had quite an adventure. I had a tussle with a dragon, though it was nothing really to speak of, and there was a siege that I had some small part in—”

  “You’ve fallen in love, haven’t you? Don’t lie to me, lad!” King Robbie waggled a finger in his face. “Don’t try to hide it from Robbie McLaur! What’s the lucky dwarf maiden’s name?”

  Kate watched Michael turn red and stammer, “Oh—well—I—”

  The dwarf laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m only ribbing you. No shame falling for a human girl. It’s not like you fell for an elf, am I right?”

  Kate, who knew some of the story of Princess Wilamena and knew that Michael had a lock of hair the color of sunlight tied with a silk ribbon and tucked in his bag, watched her brother turn e
ven redder.

  “An elf,” he said. “Pshaw.”

  The dwarf king then placed one small, strong hand on each of their shoulders, gripping them in a way that was almost painful. “I know you know this, but I’ll say it all the same, for there’s meaning in speaking something aloud. We will find your sister. I, Robbie McLaur, will not rest till she’s free. Nor will any of my dwarves.” He thought for a moment, then added, “Except Hamish. That worthless lump does nothing but rest. And drink and eat. Anything except work and shower. Anyway”—and he gripped their shoulders even more tightly—“we’ll bring her home. You have my word.”

  Kate felt tears coming to her eyes, and she hugged the dwarf king fiercely.

  “There, there, lass,” he murmured, patting her on the back.

  Dr. Pym, who’d been silent during this reunion, now spoke. “Your Majesty, we have been traveling without pause for some time, and I’m sure the children are exhausted. We should get them to their rooms.”