Emily Rodda - The Shadowlands

At first, all Lief could hear was the rattling of the cage, but after a while he began to pick up voices from below.

‘We deserve more respect,’ a Guard was grumbling. ‘We gave the alert! We were the ones outside, fighting the vraal. We were the ones who heard those wrecks on the scrap heap calling.’

Lief felt his scalp prickle. He listened intently.

‘The Ol said we should be on the scrap heap ourselves, Bak 3,’ another Guard said.

‘The Ol is a fool!’ snarled Bak 3. ‘You know we don’t have a fail date like other pods, Bak 9. We were told that from the first, and warned not to boast of it to the others. Have you forgotten?’

‘No,’ Bak 9 mumbled. ‘But the Ol said—’

‘Forget what it said!’ Bak 3 snapped. ‘The master would never dispose of us! Why, we gave him the news he was waiting for—the news of the girl and the black bird. Why else are we going to the Arena now?’

Lief’s heart thudded violently. The Shadow Lord had been waiting for Jasmine. He had been expecting her. It was news of her that had caused this haste.

The suspicion Lief had been fighting ever since they arrived in the Shadowlands reared its head once more, and this time he faced it squarely. Jasmine had a secret—a dangerous secret. She had led them to the Factory. She had refused to escape, when escape was still possible.

He burned to turn his head, to whisper to Jasmine, ask her to explain. But he did not dare. The slightest sound or movement might betray them.

Through a gap in the cloth he could see that the cage was rounding the hill he had seen from the Factory. The Guards panted as they hauled the grating wheels into the curve.

Then, all at once, the road had straightened again. Now it was running right beside the mountains. Ahead was a vast, lighted Arena. There was the sound of a great, murmuring crowd.

‘Faster!’ shouted Tira from behind, her voice sharp with excitement. ‘Stop in the tunnel, 3-19! The Project is to go into the Arena first. Do you hear me?’

‘I am not deaf!’ barked 3-19. ‘Guards! More speed!’

‘We are not deaf either, Ol,’ growled Bak 9.

The cage began to move faster. The noise of the crowd grew louder. Then suddenly the light dimmed, and the cage creaked to a halt. Lief saw dark stone and guessed that they were in the entrance tunnel that led through the walls of the Arena.

He felt a wave of sickness, heard the sound of heavy wheels, and realised that the metal box was being moved past the cage so that it could enter the Arena first.

‘Wait here until you are summoned, 3-19!’ Tira’s voice echoed from somewhere ahead.

‘Is the woman in red the slave Faith?’ 3-19 asked curiously.

Lief felt Jasmine tense.

‘Of course not!’ Tira snapped. ‘She is the way of the future, as I am. The slave is chained below the platform. Perns! Forward!’

A drum began to beat—a deep, throbbing sound like a great heartbeat. The crowd fell silent.

Lief had to see what was happening. Cautiously he tweaked a little more of the cover aside.

The metal box, with Tira walking before it, was being pushed through a vast archway not far ahead. It was moving from darkness into blazing light. The light of the Arena.

Lief knew that there must be tiers of seats circling the Arena, but he could not see them from where he was lying. Neither could he see the vraals, whose growls were mingling with the beating of the great drum. But he could see the ground clearly. Everything within the frame of the arch was as clear as day. It was like looking at a vast, moving picture.

Grey Guards holding sparking rods lined the path along which the metal box was passing. The path led to a huge platform ringed with white columns. Someone wearing a long red robe was standing there, too far back for Lief to see clearly.

Behind the Guards were ragged people, pressed closely together. The peoples’ shoulders were bowed, their eyes haunted and despairing. Most bore the Shadow Lord’s brand on brow or cheek. They stood dully watching as Tira and the metal box passed them by.

Lief’s eyes burned as he saw among them the black-clad people of Noradz, the hulking figures of hundreds of Jalis, some palace guards. Others he did not recognise. But he knew who they were. Farmers from the northeast, the west and the Plains, gladiators from Rithmere, fishing folk from the coast, Resistance fighters, citizens of Del…

Deltorans, all of them. Beaten, worked and swept by the wind of despair until they had no heart or hope left. They believed they had been brought here to die. For many, perhaps, death might seem a relief from the misery of their slavery.

But they will not die, Lief thought grimly. And they will be slaves no longer. They will not!

But there were so many. Uneasily Lief fingered the Pirran Pipe beneath his shirt. The Pipe’s moment of testing was near. Would its magic give them time to rally the people? To get so many thousands out of the Arena? Would it break the shutting spell blocking the mountains?

The box had nearly reached the platform. And the light in the Arena was changing to a dull, angry red.

Dawn.

A movement caught Lief’s eye. The Baks were stealing closer to the archway. 3-19 was looking resentfully after Tira. No-one was watching the cage.

‘This is our chance to get down!’ Barda muttered.

‘No!’ Jasmine whispered urgently. ‘We must stay here. How else are we to reach the platform safely?’

‘The platform?’ exclaimed Barda, aghast. ‘Why—?’

Lief was sure that Jasmine had her own reasons for wanting to get to the platform. But he, too, believed that the centre of the Arena was where they should be.

‘The Pipe must be played where the Shadow Lord can hear it clearly,’ he whispered. ‘And the people must see us. Emlis, as soon as we reach the platform, I will pass the Pipe to you. Be ready!’

Emlis squeaked frightened agreement.

‘This is a reckless plan, Lief,’ Barda growled. ‘The people have had no warning. They will not know—’

‘Shsh!’ breathed Jasmine.

Lief froze. Then he heard what Jasmine had heard before him. At the back of the cage there were tiny noises. Whispering voices. A clink as someone lifted the cage lock. A grunt of effort and a muttered curse.

Then something tapped Lief’s foot.

‘Get down, you fools!’ rasped a harsh voice. ‘We cannot release Pi-Ban, but you at least we can save.’

Claw!

‘No. We are staying with the cage,’ Lief whispered. ‘Are you mad, boy?’ Claw hissed. ‘There is no time to explain,’ said Barda rapidly. ‘If you wish to help us, get into the Arena. Tell the people—as many as you can—to be ready to fight their way out. When it is time, they will know it.’

‘If we try to save them all, they will be slaughtered,’ rasped Claw. ‘And we with them. A few we might—’

‘Tell them to make for the pass behind the Arena!’ Barda broke in. ‘Now move away, Claw, for pity’s sake. The Guards will turn and see you!’

‘The pass is sealed by the shutting spell,’ Claw said. ‘Leave that to us,’ said Barda. ‘Just tell them!’ ‘You are mad!’ muttered Claw. The talon resting on Lief’s foot tightened briefly, then slipped away.

They heard more whispering. Then silence. Claw, Brianne and Gers had vanished into the shadows. ‘Will he do it?’ Jasmine murmured. ‘Who can say?’ said Barda grimly. ‘And I fear we are as mad as he claims! For all we know the Pirran Pipe will trouble the Shadow Lord no more than a buzzing fly.’

‘Look!’ Jasmine whispered.

A red-clad woman was walking forward on the platform, her strong face and smooth silver hair now clearly visible. ‘Hellena!’