The Maze of the Beast

When they were settled under the overhanging tree Jasmine had found, Dain told them more about Ols. Listening to his soft, even voice, Lief began to feel that if they had been intended to spend time with him, this information alone may have been the reason.

“They are everywhere,” Dain said, pulling his blanket more tightly around him. “They can take the shape of any living thing. They do not eat or drink, but Grade Twos can pretend to do so, just as they can create body heat to disguise what they are. In its natural state, every Ol has the mark of the Shadow Lord at its core, and whatever shape it takes, the mark will be somewhere on its body, in some form.

“The twins — the Ols we killed — each had a mark on the left cheekbone,” said Lief. “Was that —?”

Dain nodded. “But do not expect that it will always be so easy,” he warned. “Grade Two Ols are far more expert. They never have the mark in plain view.”

“You are saying, then,” Barda put in, frowning, “that recognizing a Grade Two Ol is just a matter of luck?”

Dain smiled slightly. “There is a way of testing them,” he said. “They cannot hold one shape for longer than three full days. If you observe a Grade Two Ol, and never let it out of your sight, there will come a moment when it loses control and its shape begins to change and waver. We call this moment the Tremor. It does not last long. In seconds the Ol has regained control. But by that time, you know it for what it is.”

He was growing weary, hugging his chest with his good arm as though his pain was troubling him. “There are some in Deltora who do not have to wait for the Tremor,” he said. “They have developed an instinct — a feeling for Ols. Or so Doom says. When he senses an Ol he strikes at once. I have never known him to be wrong.”

“We can hardly follow his example,” Barda muttered. “To kill just on suspicion is a risky business.”

Dain nodded, and this time his smile was broader and more real. “I agree. For such as us, suspicion should be a signal to run, not strike.”

“Run?” Jasmine demanded fiercely.

He flushed at the disdain in her voice, and the smile faded. “The idea displeases you, Jasmine. You and Doom are of one mind. But it is surely better to run than to kill an innocent person.”

“Or,” Barda put in, “if your suspicions are correct, to be spied upon by the Ol at its leisure, or killed when you least expect it. Once those icy fingers are around your throat, you are helpless. You can take my word for it, Jasmine.” He touched his own bruised throat tenderly.

Jasmine lifted her chin stubbornly and turned again to Dain. “You have spoken of Grade One Ols, and Grade Twos. Are there other grades as well?”

Dain hesitated. “Doom says that there is another,” he said reluctantly at last. “He says there are Grade Three Ols. He says they are few, but in them the Shadow Lord has perfected his evil art. They can change their shape to whatever they wish — living or nonliving. They are so perfect, so completely controlled, that no one could tell them for what they are. Even Doom could not.”

“Then how does he know they exist at all?” Jasmine demanded.

Lief watched, fascinated, as Dain’s eyelids drooped, and he bit his lip. What was troubling him?

Jasmine saw the hesitation, too, and pounced. “Well?” she insisted.

Dain swallowed. “Doom says — he says he learned of them — in the Shadowlands,” he muttered.

Lief’s stomach turned over. Suddenly it was as though parts of a puzzle were falling into place. Suddenly he was seeing a tombstone by an overgrown stream. Suddenly he was back in a cave on Dread Mountain, looking at some words scrawled in blood.

“When Doom says he has been in the Shadowlands, you do not believe him, Dain?” he asked.

Dain looked up, his eyes filled with confusion. “How can I?” he burst out. “No one escapes from the Shadowlands. Yet Doom never lies. Never!”

“He lies about his name!” Jasmine snapped.

“What do you mean?” Dain was very pale. He looked exhausted. His delicate face was beaded with sweat and deeply shadowed. He swayed.

Lief caught him before he fell. Barda found the Quality Brand jar and pushed a spoonful of honey between the closed lips. Soon a little color returned to the boy’s face. Lief lowered him gently to the ground and covered him with a blanket.

“Do not worry, Dain,” he said softly. “Whatever Doom’s real name may be, he has not lied to you. He has been in the Shadowlands. And, somehow, he escaped. You may not believe it. But I do.”

He saw Dain’s eyelids flutter. The boy’s mouth opened as though he was trying to speak. “We will talk of this again with Doom himself,” Lief whispered. “For now, just rest. Tomorrow, you will need all your strength.”

Two long, hard days followed — days in which Lief’s respect for Dain grew. The fall he had taken had not only sprained his arm, but had also cracked several ribs. By the second day they were climbing rocky hills. Every step Dain took must have caused him pain, yet he did not complain. Only his eyes revealed what he was suffering.

By now, the river was out of sight. Dread Mountain rose black and forbidding in the distance. Twice, looking back, Lief saw the huge, ungainly shape of an Ak-Baba circling it, searching for signs of travellers below.

In many ways, this was a welcome sign. It meant that the Shadow Lord, for all his power, did not realize that the companions had already taken the Mountain’s gem. But the presence of an Ak-Baba, even at a distance, made the need for travelling under cover even more important. As the country became rougher, with straggling bushes and great boulders taking the place of lush trees, they were forced to crouch, shuffling along in single file.

For many hours Dain had not spoken. He seemed to need all his energy just to keep walking. How would he have fared alone? Lief thought, watching the boy’s bowed back ahead of him, and hearing his shallow, painful breaths as he stumbled along.

“I think Dain needs rest,” Lief called in a low voice.

Barda and Jasmine stopped at once, but Dain turned a little, shaking his head.

“We must get to safety. Then we can rest. It is not far now,” the boy gasped, holding his side with his uninjured arm. “Just up above … the cleft in the rock. Then — three bushes in a line, and — a cave entrance, sealed with a stone. There is a password …”

His voice trailed off. Then, without any warning, he fell heavily to the ground.

The three companions bent over him, calling his name, but he did not wake. Even the last of the honey did not revive him.

The sun dipped below the horizon, and the light dimmed.

“We must get him to shelter,” Lief said. “Another night in the cold …”

“He said the stronghold was near,” Barda muttered. “I will carry him the rest of the way.” Gently he picked up the unconscious boy. Then they began clambering upward once more.

Soon they came to a deep crack in a rock — a crack like a narrow passageway. They scrambled through it and there, as Dain had said, were three bushes in a line, pointing to a boulder lying against a sheet of rock. The boulder looked quite natural, as though it had simply fallen where it lay, but they realized it must mask the entrance to the stronghold.

“It is well disguised,” said Barda. “If we had not known where to look, we would have passed it by.” He moved closer to the great rock and peered at it, looking for a means of moving it aside.

“It is strange that they have left no lookout,” Jasmine murmured, looking around with her hand on her dagger. “They were surely expecting Dain’s return. How was he supposed to get in?”

Lief looked around also, and noticed a strip of paper lying under the last of the bushes. It must have been blown there and become caught on a twig, he thought. He pulled it free and looked at it.

“Someone has been careless,” he said grimly, showing the note to the others.

“They are expecting trouble, it seems,” said Barda.

“It could be us they are expecting,” Jasmine hissed. “We have only Dain’s word for it that this is the Resistance stronghold. It could be a trap.”

“We shall see.” Lief snatched up a stout stick and moved to the boulder. He tapped it sharply, at the same time calling out: “Hello! We are friends, and ask entry.”

There was silence behind the rock, but he had the strong feeling that someone was there. He tapped again.

“Doom, hear me! We are the travellers you saved from the Grey Guards near Rithmere. We have Dain with us. He is injured and needs shelter!”

“What is today’s password?” called a deep, muffled voice. Startled, Lief stepped back. It was as though the rock itself had spoken. But soon he realized that the sound had come through a tiny crevice to the right of the boulder. Like the gnomes of Dread Mountain, the Resistance had peepholes in their walls.

“I wish to speak to Doom!” Lief shouted.

“Doom is not here,” boomed the voice. “What is the password? Answer, or die.”