Return to Deltora

The forge was dark, desolate. The Shadow Lord’s brand was on the gate. But there was shelter, heat, water. And, for the moment, there was safety.

They lit a fire and wrapped Doom in blankets. They gave him Queen Bee honey and bathed his wounds. At last he seemed to rouse. His eyelids flickered, opened. He stared blankly at the flames leaping in the fireplace.

“Where …?” he mumbled huskily. He put his hand to his throat, and then to the swelling on his forehead.

“Do not try to speak,” Lief whispered. Doom turned his head to look at him. His eyes were confused, without recognition.

“The blow on his head was severe,” said Jasmine, pacing the room restlessly. “He needs to recover.”

“Time is what we do not have.” Barda moved to the window and peered cautiously through the curtains. “When they realize we have escaped, they will look here, for certain. We must move very soon.”

But Lief was watching Doom. The man was staring around the room, his brow creased in a puzzled frown as his gaze lingered on tables, chairs, cushions. It was as though the place was somehow familiar to him. Then he caught sight of Jasmine. His face lightened. His lips moved.

“Jasmine!” Lief hissed. “Come, quickly.”

Jasmine hurried to the fire and crouched beside Doom. He raised a hand and touched her cheek. His lips moved again. The words were faint, so faint they could hardly be heard.

“Jasmine. Little one. You … have grown so like her. So like … your mother.”

Jasmine jerked away from him, shaking off his hand as if it was a spider. “How would you know this? My mother is dead!” she cried angrily.

“Yes. My dear love … dead.” Doom’s face creased with grief. His eyes filled with tears. Lief’s heart gave a great leap.

“Jasmine …” he whispered.

But Jasmine, half sobbing, had turned away.

Doom’s eyes had closed once more. But again he spoke. “They … refuse refuge, dear heart,” he mumbled, his fingers curling as though he were crumpling a note in his hand. “We … must turn back … go east of Del, instead of west …”

Lief held his breath, realizing that Doom was reliving a time long forgotten. The blow to his head had unlocked the door in which memory had lain.

“We must,” Doom murmured. “The news … Guards … waiting on the western road. All the women with child — killed. We will go east … to the Forests. They will not think of looking for us there.” He paused, and seemed to listen. His mouth curved into a tender smile as a beloved voice spoke to him in memory.

Jasmine had turned around. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. Filli made tiny, worried sounds and Kree clucked unhappily. Absently, she put her hand up to her shoulder to soothe them, but her eyes were fixed on Doom.

“Danger?” Doom sighed. “Yes, dear heart. But all is danger now. We will take care. We … will survive. Our child will be safe. Grow strong, until it is time …”

Lief’s heart was hammering in his chest. He could scarcely breathe. He saw that Barda had turned from the window and was staring in wonder.

Doom’s head moved restlessly. “Little one … Jasmine …”

Jasmine put her hand in his. “I am here, Father,” she said softly.

Doom tried to open his eyes once more, but his lids were heavy. “Poor, brave little girl child,” he murmured. “No playmates but the birds and animals. No playthings but the ones the Forests could provide. No books, no comfort. And fear … always fear. So many times we wondered if we had done right. We did not regret our choices for ourselves. But for you …” His voice trailed off. He was slipping once more into sleep.

“I was happy, Father,” Jasmine brushed angrily at her tears. “I had you and Mamma. I had games, songs, rhymes.” She tugged at Doom’s sleeve, trying to rouse him. “One rhyme I loved especially, because it had pictures,” she babbled. “You gave it to me, Father. Remember?”

Doom made no reply. Desperately she released his hand and began rummaging in the pockets of her jacket. Her treasures spilled upon her lap — feathers and threads, a broken-toothed comb, a scrap of mirror, coins, stones, bark, scraps of paper … At last, she found what she was looking for. The oldest paper of all — grubby, and folded many times.

Carefully she unfolded it, and shook it in front of Doom’s unconscious face. “I still have it,” she cried. “See?”

Scarcely able to believe what he was seeing, Lief looked up to meet Barda’s eyes. Endon’s childhood rhyme. The rhyme that told of the secret way into the palace. Repeated in this very room by Lief’s father when the story of Endon and Sharn’s escape was told. Here was the one proof that could not be denied. And Jasmine had been carrying it, all along.

His mind flew back to that moment at Withick Mire, when the seven tribes had sworn on the Belt. He had known then, known, that the heir was present.

And he had been right.

With shaking fingers he took the Belt of Deltora from his waist. He touched Jasmine’s arm. She turned to him, her face anguished. He held out the Belt.

Her eyes widened in shock as she understood him. She shrank away, shaking her head.

“Jasmine, put it on!” Barda thundered. “Doom is Endon. You are his daughter. You are the heir to Deltora!”

“No!” Jasmine cried. She shook her head again, scrambling away from Lief as Kree screeched, fluttering on her shoulder. “No! It cannot be! I do not want it! I cannot do it!”

“You can!” Lief urged. “You must!”

She stared at him defiantly for a single moment. Then, her face seemed to crumple. She crawled to her feet and stood waiting. Lief went to her and, holding his breath, looped the Belt around her slim waist, fastened it …

And nothing happened. The Belt did not flash, or shine. Nothing changed. With a great, shuddering sigh Jasmine pulled at the clasp and the Belt dropped to the floor at her feet.

“Take it back, Lief,” she said dully. “I knew it was wrong.”

“But — but it cannot be wrong!” Lief stammered. “You are the heir!”

“And if I am,” Jasmine said, still in that same, dead voice, “then all we have been told about the Belt is false. Doom — my father — has been right all along. We have pinned our lives, and our hopes, on a myth. An old tale made for people who wanted to believe in magic.”

Barda slumped into a chair and buried his face in his hands.

Lief stooped and picked up the Belt from the floor. As he fastened it about his waist once more, he felt numb. Why had the Belt not shone? Was it because Jasmine was unwilling?

Or — was the Belt itself at fault? Could one of the gems be false? No. The Belt had warmed to each of the gems in turn. It had sensed them. It knew them.

He moved away from the fire, away from the silent Barda, and Jasmine kneeling beside the sleeping Doom. He wandered out of the room, into the darkness beyond. Then he felt his way to his own small room, and lay down on the bed, hearing its familiar creak.

The last time he had woken in this room, it had been his sixteenth birthday. The boy who had lain here then seemed a stranger …

He leaped up, shocked, as there was a crash and a shout from the front of the house.

“I have him!” bawled a rough voice. “Now, the girl! The girl!”

Lief stumbled blindly towards the bedroom door, drawing his sword, hearing with horror the sound of smashing glass, cursing, the thumping of heavy boots. Kree was screeching wildly.

“Mind the bird!” roared another voice. “Ah — you devil!”

Desperately, Lief hugged the wall, feeling his way towards the sound.

“Keep away!” shrieked Jasmine. “Keep away! There are only three of us here, and there are ten of you! Ten!”

Lief froze. Jasmine was warning him that it would be useless to try to interfere. Warning him to keep away, and at the same time making the Guards think that only she, Doom, and Barda were in the house.

He heard a grunt of pain, then the sound of a sharp slap. “That’ll teach you to bite!” a Guard snarled. “Three of you, yes! Just where Fallow said you’d be. And one of you out cold. Easy pickings!”

There was a shout of laughter, and the sound of bodies being dragged across the floor. Then … there was silence.

Lief waited a few moments, then crept to the living room. The fire still crackled brightly. Warm light flickered over a scene of ruin. Furniture had been thrown everywhere in the struggle. Both windows had been smashed.

Kree hunched on an overturned chair. As Lief approached him, he turned his head and squawked hopelessly.

Lief gripped the hilt of his sword till his knuckles turned white. Suddenly, he was full of a cold anger. “I could not save them, either, Kree,” he said. “But it does not end here.”

He held out his arm, and Kree fluttered to him. At almost the same moment, through the broken windows came the sound of loud, clanging bells. Lief’s stomach churned. He knew what that meant. He had heard the bells before.

“The people are being summoned to the palace, Kree,” he said grimly. “And we must go there, too. But not to stand outside the walls with the rest. We must get inside.”

He walked to the fireplace and picked up the worn scrap of paper that Jasmine had dropped on the rug. Carefully he refolded it and put it in his pocket.

It was time for the bear to be woken once more.