Emily Rodda - Deltora Quest #7 - The Valley of the Lost

“Look at the cord around the waist,” Lief urged. “In one picture it is knotted on the left side, in the other it is knotted on the right.”

“And the bird!” Barda exclaimed. “In one picture it has a crest, in the other it does not.”

“There are more bees coming from the hive in one than in the other,” Jasmine added, drawn into the search in spite of herself. “And look — one tree has berries, the other has flowers.”

“The toadstools on one side are spotted, the others are plain,” Barda pointed out.

“That makes five differences,” said Lief. “And there is another. One tree has a branch of leaves on the top left-hand corner, the other does not. Six differences.”

“The hermit is holding three stems in one picture, and only two in the other! Seven!” whispered Jasmine.

They looked carefully, but could see nothing more.

“The number is seven,” muttered Barda, his voice harsh with relief. “The letter we are looking for is S.”

“No!” Jasmine was pointing again at the rug. “Wait, I see something else! The sack beside him. One sack has a tie. The other does not.”

“You are right!” Lief exclaimed. “Eight! So the letter we are looking for, the second letter of the Guardian’s name, and the last, is not S, but E.”

“We have already had an E,” hissed Jasmine.

“Ah, he is cunning,” growled Barda. “He thought we would be tricked by that. And we nearly were!”

Lief scribbled on his diagram, then showed them.

“Eedoe. His name is Eedoe.” Jasmine collapsed on the couch behind her. “Oh, we have done it!”

In the relieved silence that followed, Lief suddenly became aware that the soft music that had filled the air the night before had begun again. No doubt that meant that the Guardian had woken.

He glanced at the candle. The wick was flickering uncertainly, swimming in a pool of melted wax. The flame was about to go out. But that did not matter now.

The hermits on the rug looked up at him with sad eyes. No reason for sadness now, my friends, he thought. We have nearly …

And then he saw it.

One hermit’s arm, the arm on which the bird sat, was held above the tie of his robe. The other was not.

Lief stared stupidly at the paper in his hand. His chest grew tight. He was finding it hard to breathe.

“Lief, what is the matter?” hissed Jasmine. But Lief could not answer. He walked stiffly to the glass door.

“Say it!” Barda urged. “Say, ‘Eedoe’!”

Lief wet his lips. “The name is not Eedoe,” he said huskily. “There are nine differences, not eight. The missing letter was N. The name — the Guardian’s secret name — is — Endon.”

The door swung silently open. The glass table, the golden casket, lay waiting. But Lief, Barda, and Jasmine stood where they were, gripped by horror.

“It cannot be!” Jasmine whispered. “The Guardian is too old to be King Endon! He looks as old as time!”

“He has lived as the servant of evil for sixteen years,” said Lief drearily. “Evil has eaten him from within. Even Father would not recognize him now.” His heart ached as he thought of what his father would feel, if he ever had to know what his friend had become.

“Jarred always said that Endon was weak,” Barda growled. “Foolish and weak. Protected from the world, and used to flattery and power. But still he loved him, and tried to protect him. He saved Endon from the palace, and certain death. And for what? For this!”

“How could Father know that Tora would refuse to help?” cried Lief. “How could he know that Endon would turn to the dark side, to regain all he had lost?”

“Do not call him Endon,” Barda muttered. “He is not Endon any longer, but the Guardian. And he has regained nothing! He is deceived and used. He is unloved, alone …”

Jasmine gasped, her eyes wide and alert. “He is alone,” she repeated. “Alone! Where is the queen? Where is the heir?”

The others were silent. Their shock had for a moment driven all other thoughts from their minds. But now they saw that Jasmine had seized on the really important question.

“Father said Queen Sharn was strong,” Lief said. “Strong — and brave. Not at all the spoiled, petted palace doll she appeared. Perhaps she refused to stay with Endon, once he began to listen to the Shadow Lord, once he began to become the Guardian. Perhaps she took the child, and fled.”

He turned to them, his face alight with hope. “And if that is true, if Sharn and the heir are living safely somewhere else, it does not matter what Endon has become. The heir has always been the one we had to find.”

At that moment, somewhere in the palace, he heard footsteps and low, growling sounds. Coming closer. His skin crawled.

“Quickly!” he muttered.

He hurried into the small room, with Barda and Jasmine close behind him. Together they approached the table and stood before it.

But before Lief could lift a hand, there was a sound at the door. The Guardian was standing there, his seamed, ruined face writhing with astonishment, fury, and baffled pride. Behind him, the monsters snarled.

“So,” spat the Guardian. “You discovered my name. Did it surprise you?”

“A little,” said Barda evenly.

The Guardian sneered. But Lief thought he could see, deep in the red eyes, a gleam of reluctant respect.

“Only one other has ever done so,” he said. “And he — he found the truth so hard to bear that he refused to enter this room and claim his prize. He left the valley, cursing me. Saying that he and his cause, whatever that may be, wanted nothing that had been tainted by my possession.”

With a jolt, Lief realized who that man must have been. The man who had travelled far and wide across Deltora, seeking allies for his cause and money for arms and supplies. The man who had warned them so earnestly against coming to the Valley of the Lost. Who had always said, so bitterly, that the battle for Deltora must be fought without the king, without magic. Who had told them so firmly that their quest was pointless.

“Doom,” he murmured, and felt Jasmine and Barda stiffen beside him.

The Guardian laughed mockingly. “I never knew his name, though he, at last, knew mine. It is a shame that he did not stay. There was a bitterness and hatred within him that warmed my heart, and made my creatures glad.”

He stroked his beard, looking at the companions slyly. “Will you follow his example, and run?”

“No, we will not,” said Barda boldly. “We will take our prize.”

Lief put his hands on the golden casket. His neck burned as the Guardian’s red eyes stared from the door. The Guardian. His father’s friend Endon, hideously changed.

And Doom has known it all the time, he thought angrily. Yet he did not tell us. No, he kept it to himself. As he keeps everything. Trusting no one. No one but himself. Whatever the cost.

The beasts at the door whimpered and growled. Lief knew they could feel his anger. It was like meat and drink to them. This was not the time to think of things that did not matter. He pressed the catch. The lid of the casket flew up.

And inside, nestled on a bed of black velvet, a great diamond gleamed.

Lief snatched up the gem and whirled around, clutching it tightly.

“Get out!” the Guardian hissed. “Take your prize, and go!”

The door leading into the valley swung open. Mist billowed into the room, mingled with the sound of soft, sighing voices.