Emily Rodda - Cavern Of Fear

She concentrated—searching, searching—and then, deep in the black core, she saw a face—a girl child’s face, surrounded by a tangled mass of black hair. Pointed chin, wide, frightened green eyes… It was like looking in a mirror, but a mirror that reflected her own image as it was years ago.

‘I am here,’ Jasmine said huskily.

‘You must hurry,’ the girl whispered. ‘We are to be put to death, all of us, very soon. The Shadow Lord has decreed it. It is revenge for what you and the ones called Lief and Barda did to him. Please—oh!’

The image in the blackness wavered and faded

‘I must go,’ the voice said rapidly. ‘I hear them.’

‘Wait! What is your name?’ Jasmine called.

‘Faith. My name is Faith.’ The voice was very faint now. The image had disappeared, overcome by swirling greyness, which was itself fading away.

‘I will find you, Faith!’ Jasmine shouted desperately. ‘Do not despair! I will find you!’

Jasmine was still shaking as she ran down the stairs to the ground floor and began pushing through the crowd.

People stared as she passed. Some called to her, but she did not hear. A dark, clever-faced man caught her arm. She shook off his hand, and hurried on.

She reached the doors and saw that the crowd had spilled onto the steps and down into the garden. She ran towards the gates and out into the road beyond.

She had to find a peaceful place where she could think clearly. But where could she go?

Then an idea came to her. Lief’s old home—the blacksmith’s forge! It was not far from the palace, and it would offer the peace she needed.

She set off, moving swiftly through the long grass at the side of the road. Her shocked mind was seething with wild plans. So it was that she did not hear the furtive footsteps behind her, or feel the eyes of the one who was following.

5 - Meetings

In a beautiful, light-filled room in the marble city of Tora, Lief took the hand of the gentle young woman whose great dark eyes were fixed on his own. There were three other people in the room, but Lief spoke to the girl as though they were alone.

‘You are willing, Marilen?’ he asked softly.

Half eager, half afraid, the girl glanced up at a tall man whose hand rested protectively on her shoulder. She looked so like him that he could only be her father.

The man hesitated. ‘Toran magic will not protect Marilen so far away in Del,’ he said at last. ‘She is my only child, and very precious to me.’

Doom, who had been standing behind Lief, stepped forward. ‘Marilen is precious to the whole of Deltora now,’ he said firmly. ‘She will be well guarded.’

‘Whatever I have will be hers,’ added Lief, more quietly. ‘And my mother will treat her as her own.’

The man bowed his head. ‘Her own mother would have been very proud, this day,’ he murmured.

Marilen turned back to Lief. ‘I am willing,’ she said. ‘It is a great honour. I will try to be worthy.’

‘You will not have to try, Marilen.’ A grey-haired woman moved to the girl’s side.

It was Zeean, the Toran leader who had nearly lost her life in the final conflict with the Shadow Lord in Del. Her scarlet robe shone like a jewel in the sunlight reflecting from the white walls of the room.

‘This day will do much to undo the evils of the past,’ she said.

She gestured at the scrolls of parchment scattered on a nearby table. ‘It is not the way of Torans to keep old writings. We left that to the librarians of Del. A mistake, perhaps. But we will study these carefully now.’

‘Indeed,’ agreed Marilen’s father fervently.

‘Thank you,’ said Lief. ‘And there is something more that—’

‘Perhaps we should leave Marilen to prepare for her journey?’ Doom interrupted smoothly.

Zeean smiled. Bowing to Marilen and her father, she led the way out of the house, and into a vine-hung courtyard where a sparkling fountain played.

‘And so, Lief?’ she asked, when she had settled herself by the fountain’s edge. ‘What did you want to ask me, that even Marilen must not know?’

Lief leaned forward. ‘The prisoners in the Shadowlands, Zeean. Is there a chance—any at all—that Toran magic could help us set them free?’

Zeean’s brow creased as she shook her head. ‘I am sorry. Our power within Tora is great, but outside our boundaries it is very limited. It could not aid you in a quest to the Shadowlands.’

She sighed as Lief’s face fell. ‘I fear you must accept that there is nothing that would do so, Lief. According to legend, the only thing the Shadow Lord ever feared in his own domain was the music of the Pirran Pipe.’

Lief’s mind was suddenly pierced with sound. A single, piping note, almost unbearably sweet. Tears sprang into his eyes. He gaped at Zeean, unable to move, unable to speak.

The sound died away, and he became aware that Doom was shaking his arm and calling his name.

‘I am all right,’ he managed to say. He blinked at Zeean. ‘This—Pirran Pipe. Tell me…’

‘The Pipe’s magic was a thing of legend, not truth, I think, and I know little of it,’ the old woman said, her face troubled.

‘Still—tell me, please!’ begged Lief.

Zeean glanced at Doom, then nodded uncertainly. ‘The Pirran Pipe is—or was—a flute, or pipe, of great magic and power. It is said to have existed in the lands beyond the mountains long, long ago. Before they became the Shadowlands.’

‘So—this Pirran Pipe existed before the rise of the Shadow Lord?’ Doom asked.

‘Indeed. I heard of it as a child. From a Jalis traveller I met by the river. It was part of a tale he told me as he caught fish for his dinner. But what the tale was…’ Zeean thought carefully, but finally shook her head.

‘I am sorry. It was so long ago. I remember only what I have told you, and the strange, rough looks and speech of the man. Also, that he said—’ She smiled. ‘He said that the tale was first told to a girl child of my own years, by a black bird.’

‘Then it was one of the Tenna Birdsong Tales!’ exclaimed Doom. ‘Ancient Jalis folk stories. I have heard Glock speak of them.’

‘I would not have thought Glock a very reliable source of information,’ Zeean said dryly. ‘But if these Birdsong stories are of the Jalis, you can soon find out about the Pirran Pipe. The folk tales of all the seven tribes are in the first volume of The Deltora Annals. Adin insisted that—’

She broke off as Lief groaned with frustration. ‘What is wrong?’ she asked.

‘All the volumes of The Deltora Annals were burned in the time of King Alton, my grandfather,’ said Lief flatly.

‘ Burned ? Zeean’s face, usually so calm, filled with startled horror. ‘But the Annals contained Deltora’s oldest history! It was the only record—’

‘Indeed,’ said Lief. ‘But it was burned, nonetheless, on the orders of King Alton’s chief advisor, Prandine.’ His face twisted as he spoke the hated name. ‘The palace librarian who was forced to carry out the order was a man called Josef. He threw himself on the flames, rather than live with the knowledge of what he had done.’

‘Terrible!’ Zeean breathed. ‘Why burn the Annals ?’

‘Because a land which does not remember its history can never learn the lessons of its past,’ said Doom soberly. ‘I fancy those old books contained things the Shadow Lord wanted forgotten. Among them, perhaps, the Tenna Birdsong Tales. One in particular…’

Lief looked up quickly. ‘The tale of the Pirran Pipe?’

‘Why not? There are those who claim that many of the old folk tales are based on truth,’ said Doom. His lean, sun-browned face was taut with excitement.