Emily Rodda - Cavern Of Fear

‘I have called you weakling more than once, girl. But that—was sport,’ the dying man said huskily. ‘You have the heart of a Jalis. Take my talisman from my neck. It is yours now. May it serve you well.’

Jasmine’s eyes widened, but she did not stir.

A flicker of impatience crossed Glock’s face. ‘Take it!’ he muttered. ‘Take it now, so I may see it in your hands.’

Jasmine reached forward and did as she was told.

Glock stared at the small, faded bag, and again his mouth twisted into a smile. ‘You may think that it did not serve me so well,’ he said. ‘But remember this. The dearest wish of a Jalis is to die fighting in a great cause. And that I have done.’

The light in the cavern grew brighter, brighter, and suddenly it seemed to Lief that rainbows began to dance within it. Blinking, dazzled, he looked up.

His eyes had not been deceiving him. Visible at last, on the other side of the slowly collapsing body of The Fear, was the mouth of a tunnel. And from the tunnel streamed rainbow light that mingled with the cavern’s scarlet so that it seemed that the very air was shining.

‘The Glimmer,’ Jasmine whispered.

A faint sound reached their ears. The sound of the Plumes cheering wildly on the shore. They had seen the light.

‘Lief.’ Glock’s voice was very low. Lief bent over him.

Rainbows played on Glock’s ravaged face. ‘The way to the Shadowlands is open,’ he murmured. ‘Now—you can find my people. You can bring them home.’

Lief nodded. His heart was so full that he was unable to speak.

‘When you find them,’ the dying man said, ‘I would like you to—tell them of me.’

Lief found his voice. ‘I will tell them, Glock,’ he said. ‘I swear it.’

Glock nodded slightly with satisfaction. Then his eyes closed, and he spoke no more.

19 - The Hand of Fate

The island had been battered mercilessly by The Fear’s rage. But the Plumes were singing as their boats carried Lief, Barda, Jasmine and Glock to the shore, skimming over the water like brown leaves swept by the wind.

And as the boats landed, the song rose in joy until it seemed to fill the vast cavern. The words echoed from the glowing walls, rolling in waves of beauty over the scarlet sea.

Above our land the tumult rages

Struggle echoes through the ages

There the strife may never cease

But here below we dwell in peace.

Where timeless tides swamp memory,

Our sunless prison makes us free.

The gem-glow lights our rocky walls,

And dragons guard our shining halls.

‘It is not a song of death, but of life,’ said Jasmine softly as the last, pure notes drifted on the air. ‘I knew it was so.’

Lief and Barda glanced at her curiously, but did not question her. Her eyes were fixed on the boat which Nols herself had guided—the boat in which Glock’s body lay, shrouded in scarlet.

‘So Glock will remain here,’ Jasmine sighed. ‘It seems strange…’

‘Your friend will be honoured among us,’ said Nols, stepping forward and putting her small hand on Jasmine’s arm. ‘He will lie with the Pipers of Plume, and never be forgotten.’

Jasmine thought for a moment, then smiled slightly. ‘Glock would like that,’ she said. ‘He would like to take his place with chiefs.’

Nols bowed. ‘Our debt to him, and to you, can never be repaid. We have little enough to give, but whatever we have is yours. Boats for your journey. Food. Light, as far as we are able to supply it…’ She paused, waiting.

Lief took a deep breath. This was the opportunity he had been hoping for, but now that it had come he almost feared to take it.

‘There is one thing which only you can give us,’ he said slowly. ‘It is a treasure we dearly need—though only for a time. The mouthpiece of the Pirran Pipe.’

Nols stepped back, a stricken look on her face. The people behind her murmured and whispered.

Dismayed, Lief glanced quickly at Barda and Jasmine. Barda was frowning in angry disbelief. Jasmine, who still knew nothing of the Pirran Pipe, was simply confused.

‘I know we ask a great deal,’ Lief said, keeping his voice steady with difficulty. ‘But I beg you to consider our request. If we are to save our people from the Shadow Lord we must make the Pipe whole again. It is the one thing the Shadow Lord fears. The one thing that may give us time to—’

Nols held up her hand to stop him. ‘You do not understand,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘It is not that we will not give you the mouthpiece of the Pipe. It is that we cannot. It was lost long ago.’

It was like a blow to the pit of Lief’s stomach. He stared at Nols, unable to speak.

‘Not lost—stolen!’ said Worron’s sharp voice. He stepped forward, still an imposing figure in the long red robe and scarlet headpiece he had not yet put aside. ‘The symbol of the Piper’s leadership was stolen from the people by the Seven Traitors—the wicked ones who left the safety of our seas for the world above.’

‘It was in ancient times, when the Plumes’ time in the world below the world had not been long,’ said Nols, more quietly. ‘The people of those days were not accustomed to the caverns, as we are. It is written that the rebels planned to find a place of safety, then return and lead the Plumes back into the sun. But they never returned’

She sighed. ‘Doran the Dragonlover told our ancestors that they had all lost their lives. He knew a tale of it. It was an old tale often told, he said, by the members of a savage Longhair tribe called Jalis, whose own ancestors had done the killing.’

‘Yes.’ Worron’s eyes narrowed maliciously. ‘The Seven Traitors were destroyed, and the mouthpiece of the Pipe with them, no doubt. So if the Pipe is what you have come here to seek, Longhairs, your journey, your time, and your friend’s life, have all been wasted.’

Into Lief’s mind came the memory of Glock grinning over a mug of ale. Glock, the last of the Jalis. His eyes suddenly burned with tears, and he looked quickly away.

He saw that Jasmine had taken the little cloth bag from her neck, and was opening it. Plainly she, too, was thinking of Glock.

Lief turned back to Worron. ‘It is our loss, certainly, that the three pieces of the Pipe cannot be joined once more,’ he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. ‘But The Fear is dead, Worron. The Plumes are free of it. So nothing has been wasted.’

‘Indeed it has not,’ said Clef loudly. ‘We—’ He broke off, staring. Lief saw that Nols, too, was staring. And Worron. And all the Plumes crowding behind them.

But they were not staring at him. They were looking at Jasmine—or rather, at the dusty, oddly-shaped piece of wood that Jasmine was holding in the palm of her outstretched hand.

There was a moment’s stunned silence. Then Nols reached out and took the wooden object reverently. Slowly she crouched and dipped it into the water. The dust of centuries loosened and lifted away in a fine cloud. And when she stood up once more, the thing in her hands seemed to glow—a small miracle of shining wood and strange, carved patterns.

‘The mouthpiece of the Pirran Pipe!’ she whispered.

Worron’s mouth was opening and closing like the mouth of a fish. ‘Where—? Where—?’ he stuttered.

‘Glock had it all the time,’ Jasmine said calmly. ‘It was part of the talisman passed down to him by his family. He had no idea it was anything more than a lucky charm. Neither did I, until a few moments ago—and even then I only suspected the truth.’

Wisely, she said no more. She wanted Glock buried in state with the Pipers of Plume. She knew better than to admit how his ancestors had come by the object that the crowd was pressing forward to see.