this forest survives, so will I.”
As the priestess hurried off, Atlanta pulled the small girl closer. Wrapping one arm tightly around the girl’s waist, Atlanta gave a sharp tug to the vine still wrapped around her other forearm. Instantly, the vine retracted, pulling both of them up into the tree’s highest branches. As they vanished, petals of blue iris drifted down to the ground.
Grukarr, finally free of his bird, forced himself to stand. Blood still oozed from the cut on his forehead, spattering his white robe. Dry leaves and needles stuck to his ears and eyebrows. Shakily, he bent to pick up his battered turban.
Most of his men rushed forward and tried to steady him, but he shoved them away. Angrily, he glared at all the heathens who were swiftly disappearing into the forest.
“Kill them!” he shouted, eyes ablaze. “Kill them all—except for that young woman. Find her and bring her to me alive!”
He donned the turban, brushed off his silk robe, and stomped out of the grove. Catching the arm of one of his torch bearers, he pointed at the old yew and commanded, “And burn that cursed tree to the ground.”
Shouts and screams erupted in the once-peaceful grove. Dense smoke filled the air, blotting out everything else.
CHAPTER 10
Shadows
You didn’t understand the essence of light, Promi—that it makes not only bright visions, but also dark shadows. Things you can see . . . and things you cannot.
—A passage from her journal
At last you understand! But now, I fear, it’s too late.
—Also from her journal, added later
T he pain in Promi’s head woke him up. Not the throbbing ache from the clubbing, just above his right temple, though that seemed to swell as soon as he opened his eyes. No, this was a sharper pain in the back of his head.
A rock!
He rolled aside, moving off the pointed stone that had been under his skull for however long. Hours? Days?
Then he felt another sort of pain, this one in his stomach. Hunger! How long had it been since he’d eaten that smackberry pie on the hillside?
Too long, that’s for sure. I’m so hungry I could eat a wagonload of goats.
He reached to grab the rock and throw it away. But he stopped abruptly. Not because he’d changed his mind about throwing it, but because his arm simply couldn’t budge.
What’s this?
Suddenly he realized that both his wrists were tightly bound together. And that rope also wrapped around his waist, leaving his hands dangling useless atop his belly. Just to make sure he couldn’t go anywhere, the rope’s longer end was tied to an iron ring in the stone wall beside him.
“Sizzling snakes, seeping sores, and skulking scourges!” he swore, so angry that he didn’t even bother to finish the curse. “Tied up like a bundle of firewood! And I’m in . . .”
He paused, squinting into the darkness. As his eyes adjusted, he scanned the shadows between the few sputtering torches affixed to the stone walls. Huddled within those shadows were bodies—dead or alive, he couldn’t tell.
A sound like a muffled groan came from somewhere down a distant corridor. And he could also hear something dripping on the stone floor. Otherwise, no sound but his own ragged breathing.
Dead as a tomb. That’s how this place seemed. Where was he?
Except for the flickering light of the torches, he saw no movement anywhere. Then he noticed something large—a rat?—near the opposite wall. It was gnawing on something that looked suspiciously like a detached finger. The rat’s black eyes glistened while it nibbled on a hunk of flesh attached to a fingernail.
“A dungeon,” Promi said in a stunned whisper. “I’m in a dungeon.”
He sighed miserably. Continuing to look around, he noticed, for the first time, that the stones of the walls and floor shone red in the wavering torchlight. At once, he remembered the gory legend of a dungeon that lay hidden, long ago, beneath the City’s outer wall. A place so frightful and
As the priestess hurried off, Atlanta pulled the small girl closer. Wrapping one arm tightly around the girl’s waist, Atlanta gave a sharp tug to the vine still wrapped around her other forearm. Instantly, the vine retracted, pulling both of them up into the tree’s highest branches. As they vanished, petals of blue iris drifted down to the ground.
Grukarr, finally free of his bird, forced himself to stand. Blood still oozed from the cut on his forehead, spattering his white robe. Dry leaves and needles stuck to his ears and eyebrows. Shakily, he bent to pick up his battered turban.
Most of his men rushed forward and tried to steady him, but he shoved them away. Angrily, he glared at all the heathens who were swiftly disappearing into the forest.
“Kill them!” he shouted, eyes ablaze. “Kill them all—except for that young woman. Find her and bring her to me alive!”
He donned the turban, brushed off his silk robe, and stomped out of the grove. Catching the arm of one of his torch bearers, he pointed at the old yew and commanded, “And burn that cursed tree to the ground.”
Shouts and screams erupted in the once-peaceful grove. Dense smoke filled the air, blotting out everything else.
CHAPTER 10
Shadows
You didn’t understand the essence of light, Promi—that it makes not only bright visions, but also dark shadows. Things you can see . . . and things you cannot.
—A passage from her journal
At last you understand! But now, I fear, it’s too late.
—Also from her journal, added later
T he pain in Promi’s head woke him up. Not the throbbing ache from the clubbing, just above his right temple, though that seemed to swell as soon as he opened his eyes. No, this was a sharper pain in the back of his head.
A rock!
He rolled aside, moving off the pointed stone that had been under his skull for however long. Hours? Days?
Then he felt another sort of pain, this one in his stomach. Hunger! How long had it been since he’d eaten that smackberry pie on the hillside?
Too long, that’s for sure. I’m so hungry I could eat a wagonload of goats.
He reached to grab the rock and throw it away. But he stopped abruptly. Not because he’d changed his mind about throwing it, but because his arm simply couldn’t budge.
What’s this?
Suddenly he realized that both his wrists were tightly bound together. And that rope also wrapped around his waist, leaving his hands dangling useless atop his belly. Just to make sure he couldn’t go anywhere, the rope’s longer end was tied to an iron ring in the stone wall beside him.
“Sizzling snakes, seeping sores, and skulking scourges!” he swore, so angry that he didn’t even bother to finish the curse. “Tied up like a bundle of firewood! And I’m in . . .”
He paused, squinting into the darkness. As his eyes adjusted, he scanned the shadows between the few sputtering torches affixed to the stone walls. Huddled within those shadows were bodies—dead or alive, he couldn’t tell.
A sound like a muffled groan came from somewhere down a distant corridor. And he could also hear something dripping on the stone floor. Otherwise, no sound but his own ragged breathing.
Dead as a tomb. That’s how this place seemed. Where was he?
Except for the flickering light of the torches, he saw no movement anywhere. Then he noticed something large—a rat?—near the opposite wall. It was gnawing on something that looked suspiciously like a detached finger. The rat’s black eyes glistened while it nibbled on a hunk of flesh attached to a fingernail.
“A dungeon,” Promi said in a stunned whisper. “I’m in a dungeon.”
He sighed miserably. Continuing to look around, he noticed, for the first time, that the stones of the walls and floor shone red in the wavering torchlight. At once, he remembered the gory legend of a dungeon that lay hidden, long ago, beneath the City’s outer wall. A place so frightful and
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