Emily Rodda - Deltora Quest #8 - Return to Deltora

Lightning cracked the boiling sky, streaking towards him. He threw himself aside, rolling, stunned, as it struck the place where he had been kneeling. With the shriek of splitting wood, the front of the platform collapsed as though a giant had smashed it with a mighty fist. Its two halves tipped towards one another like giant slides, and the nearest Guards toppled, scrambling, shrieking, into the yawning gap between, white hot coals spilling after them.

Lightning flashed again, and again. Roaring thunder shook the trembling earth. And out of the thunder swooped the seven Ak-Baba, their unearthly, wailing cries chilling the blood.

Lief clung desperately to the tilting boards. The crowd was screaming now, screaming to him …

But Fallow — Fallow had him. Fallow’s icy hand was on his neck, wrenching him upward. The hated, writhing face was close to his, lips drawn back in a snarl of triumph as Lief struggled to draw his sword.

Then, abruptly, the face jerked backwards, eyes bulging. Lief was hurled backwards once more as the icy hand loosened, flew to the thin throat, and clawed desperately at the strangling chains biting deeply into the flesh.

Did Fallow know who had seized him? Did he know who were behind him now, using the last of their strength to heave him, choking, away from his prey?

The ones he had thought too broken to be a threat. Whose chains he had dropped without a thought.

“Father! Mother! Beware!” Lief screamed, clawing his way up the slope towards them. Fallow was feeling for his dagger. He had found it! Lief lunged forward.

“No, Lief!” his father cried. “The Belt! You —”

His voice was silenced as Fallow struck. He crumpled and fell. Lief’s mother caught him, and together they crashed onto the groaning boards. She flung out a hand and clutched the edge of the platform to hold them both, her scream lost in the raging of the wind, the shrieking of the Ak-Baba.

Fallow was dragged down with them, caught by the chains wound around his neck. He pulled himself free, writhing on the tipping boards, struggling for breath, struggling to rise. Then he saw the red cone of light sliding slowly towards him. He grabbed for it, seized its base, then saw his danger.

Too late. Slowly, slowly, the cone tipped. Burning white liquid light poured over him, covering him, sizzling, sizzling as he screamed.

There was a roaring, rushing sound above. Lief looked up. Red smoke was gushing from the tower. Red smoke, thick and edged with grey, heavy with menace. Grey light circled and swirled in its depths. And in its center a huge shape was forming. Hands, reaching. Eyes, hungry for revenge.

Lief spun around. He saw Jasmine and Barda face-down on the other side of the platform, clinging on for dear life as the planks tipped more and more steeply. Above them flapped an Ak-Baba, talons outstretched. Kree was darting at the monster’s head, yellow eyes flashing as he pecked again and again. The Ak-Baba was screeching in fury, twisting its neck, trying to rid itself of its attacker.

Lief gritted his teeth. Prepared for the jump of his life. Could he do it? Jump that yawning gap and climb up those steep, slippery boards? With the sword in one hand, the Belt of Deltora clutched in the other?

Once, he would have tried it. Now, he had learned wisdom. Steadying himself, he sheathed his sword. He clasped the Belt around his waist …

And — time seemed to stand still.

What …?

A rush of heat swept through Lief’s body. There was a strange, crackling sound. Then the Belt seemed to explode with light.

A furious roar shook the palace to its core. Red smoke recoiled, hissing, into the boiling clouds. But the gems of the Belt of Deltora blazed like fire, their rainbow brilliance streaming outward, filling the air, banishing the night, dancing on the faces of the cheering, weeping people. And in the center of the light stood Lief. Lief, the true heir of Deltora, revealed at last.

Shrieking, panic-stricken, the Ak-Baba wheeled away, soared upward to the tower. But the tower was empty. And already the red clouds were rolling back to the Shadowlands, a raging malice growling in their depths. A malice that would not die, but which knew that this battle, at least, it could not win.

Astounded, Lief looked around him. Saw his mother smling, sobbing, cradling his father’s head in her lap, and Doom kneeling beside them. Saw Jasmine and Barda, clinging together, their faces wild with joy and relief while Kree screeched above them and Filli danced on Jasmine’s shoulder. Looked behind him at the shrieking, cheering Manus, Gla-Thon, Nanion, and Fardeep. Saw Zeean raising her head, her eyes shining. And Glock — Glock! — grinning all over his face.

They are safe, Lief thought, his heart swelling. All will be safe now.

The remaining Guards were tearing blisters by the dozen from the boxes and hurling them into the celebrating crowd. But the people had already learned that water and Boolong sap were not harmful. Soon, the Guards would realize their own danger.

For they had been ruthlessly abandoned. As had the Ols, who, their source of power withdrawn, lay with burst and shrivelled hearts in the market square, where at last Steven was climbing from the pit. As had Ichabod, sprawled like a drained sack of red skin over the gnawed bones of his last meal.

And so it would be now, all over the land. As the radiance of the Belt filled Lief, his eyes seemed to pierce darkness and distance. From Raladin to Rithmere, from Dread Mountain to the Valley of the Lost, from Broad River to Withick Mire, fear was vanishing.

Throughout Deltora people were seeing their enemies falling, the clouds of evil in flight. The people were throwing down their weapons in joy, creeping from hiding, embracing their loved ones, and looking up at the sky. Knowing that suddenly, amazingly, a miracle had occurred. And at last they were free.

Lief knew all this. He knew, he accepted, that he was the heir to Deltora. The Belt had proved it beyond doubt. But how? How could this be?

Dazed, Lief climbed to his parents’ side. As he knelt, embracing his mother and bending to his father, he met Doom’s eyes. Doom’s mouth twitched into a ghost of his old, mocking smile. Do you not yet understand? the smile seemed to ask.

Lief shook his head. Dimly he heard the crowd cheering still. He felt Jasmine and Barda, freed from their chains, sinking down beside him. But he could not move. He could not speak. He could only stare at Doom, his eyes filled with questions.

“The perfect hiding place,” Doom murmured. “Was it not? For whoever would suspect? Whoever would suspect that the man and woman who ran from Del that night nearly seventeen years ago were laying a false trail? That they were not the king and queen at all?”

His eyes warmed as he looked at Lief’s parents. “Who would suspect that the king of Deltora could live as a blacksmith? And a queen, a fine lady of Toran blood, could grow vegetables, and spin common yarn? Yet, what was Adin, but a blacksmith?

Then he turned back to Lief, and raised an eyebrow. “And what should be more fitting than that the heir to Deltora be brought up as a common boy, learning without trying the ways of his world, and its people?”

Then, in wonder, Lief saw it. Saw the plan in all its simplicity. A plan based on sacrifice. Based, also, on the confusion and chaos that Del had become. When neighbor lost sight of neighbor, friend lost touch with friend, and no face was familiar.

Doom’s plan … Doom, who was not Endon, but Jarred. Jarred who, with his beloved wife, had given his identity, his home, and his life to his friend, for the sake of the land they loved. Jarred, who had fled Del that dark night, with the little rhyme that had led him into the palace still in his pocket. No wonder Jasmine was as she was, with parents such as these!