Cavern Of Fear

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.

‘You cannot surely have it in your minds to try to find the Pirran Pipe?’ Zeean shook her head in disbelief. ‘Why, that is madness. If the Pipe ever existed at all, it surely exists no longer. Its country has become the Shadowlands! And, whatever the Shadow Lord feared, it did not defeat him.’

‘We do not yet know the whole story,’ said Lief. ‘There may have been a reason—’

‘Indeed,’ Doom broke in. ‘We must return to Del with all speed, as soon as Marilen can be ready. We must speak to Glock. He may not be the most reliable storyteller we could find, but he is the only Jalis left alive in Deltora. The only one who might be able to tell us what we need to know.’

Far away, at the forge in Del, morning shadows still lay across the cottage and the overgrown herb garden.

Jasmine felt her tight muscles beginning to relax as the peace of the place enfolded her.

When he first became king, Lief had declared that he would not live in the palace, but would go back to the forge, where he had spent his childhood.

But the move had been delayed, and delayed again. And now—well, now Lief was to take a Toran bride, so of course it would never happen.

Jasmine had seen the marble, fountains and fine things of Tora. She could not imagine a lady from that place living in a humble dwelling.

So the move to the forge had all been a dream and a lie. As her faith in Lief had been.

She stared sightlessly at the peeling paint of the cottage door. Because Lief was determined not to invade the Shadowlands, he had decided that she must never know about her sister. So he had sealed the room. How had he dared to make such a decision?

No wonder he has been avoiding me, Jasmine thought. No wonder he cannot meet my eyes.

By Order of the King…

Feeling her anger rise again, she turned her back on the cottage and walked across the yard to the forge itself.

She peered into the place where the great fire had once burned. The heavy hammers, tongs and bellows lay close at hand, as though waiting for their owners to return. It was strange to think that Lief had once worked here, helping his father to make horseshoes and plough shares for the people of the city.

But something else was strange, too, and at last Jasmine saw it.

The forge had lain idle for almost a year. The tools should have been covered with dust. But they were not. And—was it her imagination, or did the metal of the forge seem warmer than it should?

Jasmine looked around. An old chair stood nearby. Its back was dusty, but the seat was partly clean, as though, perhaps, a jacket or cloak had been thrown over it not so long ago.

And on the ground behind one of the chair legs was a folded scrap of paper. It showed no sign of the yellowing of age. So it had been dropped recently. Probably it had slipped from the pocket of the garment that had been thrown over the chair.

Jasmine picked up the paper and unfolded it.

The letters and figures made no sense at all to Jasmine. But she was sure of one thing: Lief had written the note. She had seen his writing too often to be mistaken. This was some sort of code. Yet another secret.

She threw the note to the ground in irritation.

‘It seems you are displeased,’ said an amused voice behind her.