Return to Deltora

Jasmine was the first to break the silence. “But the seven tribes existed in ancient days — or so I was told,” she said. “Surely they are long gone, now.”

“No, they are not,” said Zeean. “Certainly, many in Deltora would not know from which tribe they sprang. The Del tribe, whose gem was the topaz, has spread far and wide. Other tribes have done likewise.”

“But some tribes have remained the same,” Peel put in. “The Torans, for example. And the Dread Gnomes.”

“The Dread Gnomes were one of the seven?” Lief’s heart began to pound.

“Indeed,” nodded Zeean. “The great emerald was the gnomes’ talisman.”

Lief shook his head in amazement. Fa-Glin and Gla-Thon had said nothing of this. Did they not know it?

Or had they just decided to keep silent, until the time was right?

He felt in his pocket for the gnomes’ farewell gift, pulled out the little Boolong wood box and opened it. “If we send this token, the gnomes will come,” he said quietly, as all stared in awe at the golden arrowhead.

“You have powerful friends indeed,” breathed Peel.

“Now we have three tribes,” said Fardeep, with satisfaction. “What of the others?”

“The Ralads are an ancient race!” Barda exclaimed. “Are they, perhaps —?”

“Yes,” agreed Zeean. “Do you know them?”

“One of them, Manus, helped us to find the ruby at the Lake of Tears,” said Barda. “The ruby must have been the Ralad stone!”

Lief searched his jacket again, this time for paper and pencil.

“What of the people of D’Or?” Jasmine asked.

“Their ancestors came to Deltora from across the sea,” Doom called over his shoulder. “It was long ago, but after the time of Adin and the seven tribes.”

So he is listening after all, thought Lief, scribbling at the list he had begun to make. He pretends to think this is foolishness, but still he cannot move away.

“The Plains people were another tribe,” said Zeean. “Their gem was the opal. Then there was the Mere tribe of the upper Broad and beyond —”

“Whose talisman was the lapis lazuli!” Lief broke in, still writing.

Zeean nodded. “The last of the seven, the Jalis, lived in these parts. They were the wildest of all the tribes, and great warriors. Their gem was the diamond.”

Lief held up his list.

“All along I have felt that we were being guided on our quest,” he said. “Now I am sure of it. We must have met members of all the tribes.”

“Except the last. The Jalis,” said Jasmine. “We saw no one at all on our way here.”

“There was no one to see,” said Doom, turning to face them. “When the Shadow Lord came, the Jalis defended their lands ferociously. But even they had no hope against the Grey Guards. They were slaughtered — their children with them. Only a few escaped.”

“So you, too, know some history, Doom,” said Jasmine pertly.

Doom frowned. “Enough to be sure that if you hope to raise a Jalis army, you will be sadly disappointed.”

“We do not want armies,” said Zeean. “Armies would be seen and destroyed at once. We need just seven souls — true descendants of the tribes that once allowed their talismans to be joined for the good of all — to put their hands on the Belt, and renew the oath of loyalty to Deltora.”

“Yes!” Lief exclaimed, feeling a great surge of hope.

Dain said nothing. But his eyes were shining.

“Torans we have in plenty,” Barda said. “Lief and I are of Del. We know Ralads, and Dread Gnomes. But what of the Plains people? The Mere folk? Let alone —”

“I am of the Mere tribe,” said Fardeep quietly. He raised his chin as all eyes turned to him. “Rithmere has been my family’s home since before the time of Adin.”

“What of the Plains people?” asked Peel.

“The people of Noradz must be descended from the Plains tribe,” Jasmine murmured. “We have a friend among them — Tira —”

Barda shook his head. “Tira would certainly be killed if she tried to escape Noradz,” he said flatly. “Dain? Could your father have been a Plains man?”

“No,” Dain said huskily. “Our farm was not far east of here. My father’s people were of Del. But …” He glanced pleadingly at Doom. Doom sighed, came back to the group and sat down with a weary groan.

“You spoke of fate guiding you,” he said to Lief. “I find it hard to believe in such things. But, as it happens, there is a Plains man close by. His family is … unusual, but of the Plains nonetheless. I am sure that he would be willing to help. He — and his brother.”

Lief’s heart sank. “Steven?” he asked faintly.

Doom’s face creased into a mocking smile. “And Nevets. For you cannot have one without the other.”

“All the better!” exclaimed Fardeep heartily.

Barda, Lief, and Jasmine looked at one another. They were not at all sure of that.

But already Fardeep was speaking again. “Now all that remains is to find a Jalis,” he said.

Zeean turned to Doom. “I think that you can help us here, also,” she said shrewdly. “I think you were told the Jalis story by one you know. One of the Jalis who escaped. Is that not so?”

Doom’s smile broadened. “Indeed it is,” he murmured. “And if you want him, you shall have him. He will liven up proceedings, no doubt. Almost as much as Steven will.”

“Indeed?” asked Fardeep, beaming.

“Oh, yes. He is a charming fellow,” said Doom. “A charming fellow, by the name of Glock.”

Barda, Lief, and Jasmine exclaimed in horror.

“We cannot have Glock!” snapped Jasmine.

“Then I fear you cannot have a Jalis,” said Doom. “Glock is the only one I have ever seen. The others who escaped are dead, I fear. This is Glock’s belief, also.”

“Then, whatever this Glock is like, we must ask him to join us,” said Zeean quietly. “Where is he now?”

Doom sighed again. “At Withick Mire, a Resistance stronghold near to Del. He was causing trouble where he was. Withick Mire is less — confined.”

“So, we have the seven,” said Zeean. “Now even you, Doom, must admit that we are being guided.”

The lines on Doom’s hard face deepened. Then he seemed to come to a decision. “Once you said that when the time was right we would join the fight for Deltora together,” he said to Barda. “It seems that time has come. Not, perhaps, in the way I would choose, but —”

“Perhaps we do not even want your help!” snapped Jasmine. “Have you considered that?”

“I cannot say I have,” Doom murmured. “I would not think you would be so foolish.”

“Indeed we would not,” said Barda, frowning at Jasmine, warning her to silence.

Doom’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Then let us plan,” he said. “First, secret messages must be sent to Raladin and Dread Mountain.”

“How?” demanded Jasmine.

“You can leave that to me,” said Doom. “The Resistance also has useful friends. I suggest the meeting place be Withick Mire.”

Lief felt a stirring of unease. Why did Doom want them so close to Del, and their greatest danger?

Because Withick Mire is a Resistance stronghold, the voice of suspicion whispered in his head. Because there, Doom’s word is law.

Plainly, Barda was also filled with doubt. “Why Withick Mire?” he asked bluntly.

Doom sighed. “It seems that all this will be in vain if we cannot find the heir,” he said. “So the closer we are to the possible hiding place, the better. Endon and Sharn were travelling from Del to Tora, but they could not have gone far before they received the Torans’ message refusing sanctuary. It was sent at once, I imagine?”

Zeean and Peel nodded, their faces shadowed by this brutal reminder of Tora’s broken vow.

But Doom had no time for sparing feelings. “The Kingdom was filled with danger,” he went on. “The queen was expecting a child. It is quite likely, then, that the pair sought refuge nearby — somewhere between Del and the Valley of the Lost.”

A shiver ran up Lief’s spine. Their quest had taken them in a great circle, bringing them back to the area where the heir was most likely to be. Somewhere to the west of Del. A quiet place, where Endon and Sharn could bring up their child unnoticed.

Something twitched at the corner of his mind. A memory of something he had heard, not very long ago. He could not quite catch hold of it …

“But surely it is better to remain here,” Fardeep was arguing. “If Lief, Barda, and Jasmine move from hiding, they will draw the Shadow Lord’s attention.”

“We can travel hidden in Steven’s caravan,” said Jasmine, who was plainly burning for action. “Besides, despite Doom’s doubts, we are certain the Shadow Lord’s search is being concentrated in the west.”

“Perhaps we can make doubly sure.” Doom swung around to Peel. “You are about Barda’s height and coloring. And among your people there must be two who resemble these young ones,” he said, pointing at Lief and Jasmine.

Peel nodded silently, his eyebrows raised.

“We need decoys,” Doom explained. “To show themselves near the River Tor. A girl, a boy, and a man, a blackbird flying with them. Steven can provide clothes that will —”

“No! It is too dangerous!” exclaimed Jasmine.

“Are you the only ones who must face danger?” Peel asked gently. “The plan is clever. And it is fitting that Torans should carry it out. If we must live in exile, we can at least try to repair the great wrong that caused it.”

“One day you will be able to go back to Tora,” Lief cried, his heart torn. “The heir’s forgiveness will surely undo the curse.”

Zeean raised her head. “Perhaps,” she said gravely. “But first the heir must be found. And we will do our part.” She looked carefully at Lief and Jasmine. “Your friend Steven will not have a cloak like that,” she said to Lief. “The cloth is very rare. Worthy of the looms of Tora. How did you come by it?”

“My mother made it for me.” Lief touched the rough fabric of his cloak.

Zeean’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and Lief felt a flicker of pleasure mixed with pain. Pride at his mother’s skill. Fear for her.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. When Lief thought of it afterwards, he remembered only pictures:

Dain hurrying away to fetch Steven. Fardeep packing food. The eager faces of Kris and Lauran, the young Torans chosen as the decoys. Lauran having her silky hair curled and tangled so that it looked like Jasmine’s. Kris’s long black hair being cut to match Lief’s own. The golden arrowhead on the palm of his own hand. Blackbirds waiting silently in the trees.

Then Steven’s cart trundling through the valley. Steven nodding, studying the message Barda had written. Steven sitting alone by Fardeep’s beehives, murmuring, drawing in the dust. The bees swarming up through the mist that shrouded the treetops, and speeding towards Broad River …

Evening. Three people moving into the clearing. A big, roughly bearded man, a boy wearing a long cloak, and a wild-looking girl, a blackbird on her arm. Like looking in a mirror. Doom nodding with satisfaction. Zeean, very proud and upright, her eyes dark with fear. Peel, Kris, and Lauran embracing their families before slipping away to begin their perilous journey …

Night. Air thick and hard to breathe. The slow slipping into sleep, and dreams. Dreams of desperate searching. Of legs that could not run. Of tied hands and blinded eyes. Of veiled faces and smiling masks that slipped aside to reveal writhing horrors. And, brooding over all, a crawling mass of scarlet and grey, the darkness at its center pulsing with malice.

Calling him.