‘My replacement… mine, mine…’
Lief shrank back as the grasping fingers felt around the edge of the pit, close, so close to his feet that he imagined he could feel the cold breathing from the scraps of flesh that still clung to the bones.
He did not dare speak. His ears were filled with the sound of his frantically beating heart.
He longed to run from the evil-smelling pit, the seeking, clawing hands. But looking out into the darkness, he knew that traps like the one before them must riddle the floor of the room.
He and Barda could not move. One false step, and they would be lost.
He touched the Belt of Deltora. The topaz, the gem of faith. The lapis-lazuli, the heavenly stone. The amethyst, for peace, and truth.
Faith. Truth…
Verity’s words seemed to ring in his ears.
I may die, but the truth will live for those who wish to see it, and the truth will set them free.
Slowly, carefully, Lief turned to face the painting. Without comment, Barda turned too. Barda knew, now, that this was their one hope.
They were so close to the wall that their faces were almost touching the image. It was hard to see it. But…
Seven errors. Seven… There must be…
The road!’ Barda whispered suddenly. ‘The road to the lighthouse is missing! It was neglected and overgrown when we saw it, but surely in the time of Red Han it was—’
‘Of course!’ Lief pressed his finger on the place where the road should have wound from the hills.
His fingertip grew hot. The painting seemed to shimmer as the road appeared, a snaking, glowing ribbon leading away to the distant hills. And the Light… the Light was suddenly blazing like a beacon.
I will shine like Truth through the darkness…
Lief spun around. The Light pierced the dark. Its broad, brilliant beam made a bright path over the red carpet, lighting up the black squares that squirmed with grasping fingers. The path led directly to the sealed, carved door.
And the door was opening!
Howls rose from below.
‘Run!’ Barda roared.
Together they ran along the path of light, dodging the pits filled with claws reaching up to seize their ankles. They reached the doorway and hurtled through it, pounding up onto the deck.
The angry cries of the cheated rowers floated after them. The deck trembled beneath their feet as unseen hands beat it from below. At the prow, just visible through the mist, the figurehead that had been Verity stared forward gravely, hands pressed to its heart.
Both heard the soft voice in their minds at the same time.
Flee this place. Trust the clean sea.
And without hesitation both of them ran to the side of the ship and leaped overboard—plunging recklessly into the cold, dark water.
11 – In the Dunes
Afterwards, Lief and Barda remembered nothing but that desperate leap into the sea, and black water closing over their heads. When they regained their senses, they were lying on a golden shore in a tumble of shells and seaweed.
They could see by the sky that it was early dawn. Dimly they could hear waves rolling in, regular as a great heartbeat. But where they lay, all was still. The sea had cast them up in the night, and left them to sleep.
Stiffly they sat up, staring around them, then at one another. They could not believe that they were alive.
The shore stretched away on either side of them, marked only by the shells and weed of the tide line and the stick-like tracks of birds. Before them was the open sea. Behind them were sand dunes, rising one behind the other as though mimicking the waves.
‘We have been swept south, I think,’ Barda said after a moment, his voice rough with salt. ‘Far south of Bone Point—beyond the Maze of the Beast, beyond the mouth of the Tor. How could this be?’
‘Before we leaped into the sea, the ship was moving,’ Lief rasped in reply. ‘It was moving for quite a time. It…’
He scrambled unsteadily to his feet. Now that he was fully awake, he was aware of an uneasy, prickling feeling—like a warning of danger. Perhaps he had felt it even as he slept, he thought. He seemed to remember the scraps of dreams, urging him to wake.
He scanned the sea, but saw no sign of The Lady Luck. He looked left and right. The shore was deserted. He turned towards the silent dunes. And at once the uneasy feeling grew stronger.
But it was not warning him away from the dunes. It was calling him towards them. Calling him…
Quickly he glanced down and even in the half-light saw red and green gleams in the Belt at his waist. The ruby and the emerald were undimmed. They sensed no danger.
And the call was urgent.
‘We must go,’ he muttered. Without even waiting to make sure that Barda was following, he almost ran to the base of the first dune, and began to climb.
The dry sand slipped beneath his feet with a squeaking sound as he struggled upward. By the time he reached the top of the dune, his legs were shaking.
There was nothing ahead of him but another hill of sand, even higher. He ran awkwardly down the first dune and began climbing the second, again not stopping till he reached the top.
Bewildered, he stared ahead.
Dunes, nothing but sand dunes, pink, mauve, deepening to purple, rising against the brightening sky. There was no sign of movement anywhere. But the call was even stronger.
A wave of dizziness swept over him. His knees buckled and he half fell, half stumbled down the side of the dune, tumbling at last into a heap at the bottom.
He lay there, his head swimming. Sand showered over his legs as Barda slipped down after him. Then he felt a hand lift his head and a water flask was pressed to his lips.
He drank gratefully, then opened his eyes. Barda was crouched beside him, replacing the flask’s cap.
‘Tell me what you are doing, Lief, and I will follow you more willingly,’ Barda said wearily. ‘These dunes remind me unpleasantly of the Shifting Sands. Who knows what lurks within them?’
‘I am sorry,’ Lief muttered, pushing himself up so that he could prop his back against the base of the third dune. ‘I… I felt a call. Very strong. I thought of—Jasmine.’
Barda shook his head. ‘Jasmine could not be here. The wind that swept the Kin away from the lighthouse was blowing west, not south. If Jasmine and the Kin survived the storm, they would have returned to Bone Point, to search for us there.’
‘If they survived,’ Lief repeated dully. He turned his head away to stare sightlessly along the shadowed cleft that lay between the dunes.
Barda’s own heart was very heavy, but doggedly he pressed on.
‘We can do nothing for Jasmine. Our task is to take care of ourselves now,’ he urged. ‘This call you feel—it may be a trap. The Shadow Lord…’
His voice trailed off as he saw that Lief was no longer listening. Lief’s eyes had widened. His mouth had dropped open.
Into the sudden silence came the soft sound of falling sand. Barda’s scalp prickled. He put his hand to his sword and slowly turned to follow Lief’s eyes.
Something was rising from the shadows of the cleft—a huge and terrible head, swaying on a twisting, grey-scaled neck that was still half-buried in the third dune. The beast’s fangs were bared in a silent snarl. Its eyes opened—dull, flat dragon eyes.
‘Do not move,’ Barda heard Lief breathe, his voice almost as soft as the whisper of the falling sand.
The dragon’s head swayed. Sand showered from its murky scales, and poured from between the sagging spines around its snarling jaws.
‘Come closer, king of Deltora,’ it rasped.
Lief climbed to his feet, his face haggard with shock.
‘No, Lief!’ Barda whispered. ‘Keep back! This is no real dragon, but a copy, like the false, twisted beast at Dragon’s Nest! Its colour is proof of it.’
Without speaking, Lief looked down at the Belt of Deltora. Following his eyes, Barda saw first the bright gleams of the ruby and the emerald. But then, just before Lief’s hand closed over it, he saw that the great amethyst, gem of truth, was flaming like purple fire.