Emily Rodda - Shadowgate

‘Kirsten is—protected,’ Jasmine was shouting. ‘The dagger barely scratched her. We—’

Her eyes widened in horror.

Barda roared in warning. Bede gave a sobbing, despairing cry.

Lief spun around.

Where Kirsten had stood, a huge black figure was rising—a black-robed being whose face was a shining emerald mask. Eyes burned through the mask’s eye slits. Long white fingers oozed from the sleeves of the flowing robes—fingers without nails, lengthening, clutching, reaching…

The Masked One .

Lief did not hesitate. He ran through the doorway, into the darkness.

They stumbled along a pitch-black passageway, Barda half-carrying Bede who was hardly able to walk.

‘Mariette!’ Bede choked. ‘Kirsten—has—Mariette.’ His breath was sobbing in his throat. After years in chains, it was a miracle he had been able to get this far. Lief guessed that Barda would soon be bearing his full weight.

‘Kirsten will concentrate on us for now,’ Barda growled. ‘Hold on to me! Keep moving!’

Lief realised that he was still clutching the locket in his hand. He shivered, and thrust it deep into his pocket.

The passage began climbing steeply upward. Stairs carved into hard rock wound around and around in a dizzying spiral. The walls were raw, rough stone, slimy to the touch. Plainly they were climbing up through one of the castle’s towers.

Echoes of their hurrying steps, their laboured breath, floated eerily from above and below. They could hear no other sound. But The Masked One was pursuing them. They could feel it. They could feel its cold menace behind them, like an icy wind.

Lief glanced behind him, as he had so often before. He saw nothing but inky darkness. No glimmer of white. No eyes burning through the gleaming mask.

It knows it can take its time, he thought. There is only one way to run. No way out. And the closer it gets to the Sister of the North, the stronger it will become. Our only chance is to destroy the Sister before it reaches us.

‘The phantom—the creature of the night—was Kirsten!’ Jasmine panted. ‘She killed Otto. And Fern—’

‘In mistake for one of us,’ said Lief. ‘I am sure of it. Somehow she sensed us—sent her phantom out—to destroy us. But the distance was too great. The phantom was weak—it struck out, wherever it thought we were—killed whoever it found.’

The stairway grew even steeper and more winding, and still they stumbled up, up, their legs aching, their knees trembling with the strain.

The air was thick and dead. It was faintly tinged with a sickening, musky odour that Lief had smelled before, though he could not remember where.

Filli whimpered in the darkness.

‘This place smells like the City of the Rats,’ Jasmine muttered.

Snake .

Lief’s stomach churned. Barda gave a muffled groan.

The musky smell became stronger. The sense of evil grew. All of them were fighting for breath. And little by little they became aware of a sound—a faint, ringing sound that seemed to seep into their souls, and fill them with despair.

The song of the Sister of the North.

It seemed to Lief that the passage was growing narrower, pressing in upon them more closely with every step.

And every step was an effort. He felt weighed down. Weighed down by the heavy, musky air. Weighed down by dread.

They rounded yet another turn. The ringing sound grew louder. And there, in front of them, rose a straight, narrow tunnel, impossibly steep, with stairs that stretched like a ladder to a dim, distant point of light.

Groaning, they began to climb, heaving themselves up from one step to another, struggling towards the light. Up… up…

The patch of light grew larger. Lief realised that it was daylight. They were nearing the top of the tower.

Then Bede groaned—a terrible sound of anguished despair. A chill ran down Lief’s spine.

Gripping the step above him, he turned and looked down.

He saw Jasmine behind him. Below her, Barda was clinging to the rock one-handed, his other mighty arm gripping Bede. And below them, floating in the darkness, was an emerald mask lit by two burning eyes, and white, tube-like fingers, snaking upward.

The eyes seemed to flame. The slitted mouth hissed. The fingers seemed to stroke the walls of the tunnel.

There was a flash of brilliant light. And then it was as if the rock walls around Barda and Bede were melting, bulging into the centre of the tunnel.

‘Barda!’ Jasmine screamed.

Grimly, Barda began scrambling upward, heaving Bede after him. But the swollen rock was reaching out, covering Bede’s legs, covering Barda’s. Like vast, bubbling arms the rock enfolded their struggling bodies, greedily taking them in.

Barda raised his head. His teeth were bared, his eyes staring. ‘Go on!’ he roared at Lief and Jasmine. ‘Go! Do not—’

And then his head was covered in a groaning, billowing mass of rock. The rock surged upward. Jasmine screamed again, kicking and struggling as it flowed over her ankles.

‘Jasmine!’ shouted Lief in terror. He began to scramble downward, recklessly turning to reach for her.

‘No!’ Jasmine shrieked. ‘It is too late! Lief, go on!’

The rock had enfolded her to her waist. Desperately she pulled Filli from beneath her jacket, whispered to him, and pushed him onto the stair above her.

Wailing but obedient, Filli bounded up the stairs towards Lief and leaped onto his shoulder.

‘Go,’ Jasmine shouted. ‘Lief, you must!’

But Lief could not leave her. And when she saw that, Jasmine lifted her hands and let herself fall back, disappearing into the mass of rock as if it were quicksand.

Lief gave a cry of anguish. Below him the groaning rock bulged and surged upward. He heard the hissing laughter of The Masked One.

A white rage such as he had never felt before boiled up within him. He flung himself back to face the stairs, looked up at the light, and climbed.

He no longer felt pain in his legs or hands or face. He no longer felt fear. He felt only that white-hot anger. It was as if it had burned everything else away. As if all that remained within him now was the will to destroy.

He reached the top of the stairs and hauled himself up into a round, stone-floored room. Only then did he look back.

Filli wailed, clinging to his shoulder. The little creature was grieving. Lief raised his hand to comfort him. He knew that was what Jasmine would have wanted. But he could barely feel Filli’s fur. It was as if his fingers were numb.

He stared down into the tunnel, dry-eyed, feeling only a vast emptiness. It was like looking down a chimney—a chimney that was now almost completely blocked, about halfway down, by a misshapen lump of rock.

The tunnel wall had been released from its enchantment. The swollen rock had shrunk back as far as it could, then hardened once more. Its surface was oddly smooth, and it gleamed like a newly-healed wound.

Through the narrow opening that remained of the tunnel, something green, black and white was oozing like slime.

Lief stepped back and looked around. The musky smell was very strong. Through small, round windows he could see storm clouds boiling around the snowy peaks of mountains. He could hear the sound of thunder, and howling wind.

But neither of these was as loud as the song of the Sister of the North, ringing from the bottom of a pit which yawned in the centre of the room.

Lief approached the pit and looked down.

The pit was writhing with snakes, hundreds of them, hissing and spitting, coiling one upon the other.

And the Sister of the North was among them. Lief could hear it. He could feel it.