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  “But it also said ‘and again’, which means we double the length.” Peter resumed stepping off the distance. When he stopped, he looked up the wall. “These blocks look to be about a pace and a half square, which will make this a whole lot easier.”

  A shiver crept up Krys’ spine. “Well, you better hurry up, because I don’t want to hang around any longer than we have to.”

  Peter nodded to Krys and started to climb the stone wall. Vines reached out and slapped at Peter. Some tried to wrap around him and pull him off. Peter kicked the vines and untangled his arms. He placed his feet and hands into small crevices and indentions, and counted off the blocks out loud as he got to them.

  “Do you think a standard ax handle is the same now as it was two hundred years ago?” Navashay asked Krys.

  “Hope so.” Krys shrugged.

  Peter stopped his assent and looked at a space between two blocks.

  “Do you see it?” Krys yelled up to his friend.

  “No,” Peter said as he lifted a leg and pulled his dagger out of his boot. “But I think I’m in the right place.” Dust and small chunks of stone filtered down on Krys and Navashay as Peter ran the blade between the blocks.

  “Do you really think something’s there?” Navashay turned to Krys.

  Krys lifted the journal a little. “It hasn’t lied to me yet.”

  “Got it!” Peter’s elated voice rang out.

  They looked up. Peter smiled down at them and held up something shiny. “It’s a gold needle and thread,” he yelled.

  “Needle and thread?” Krys repeated. “What in all Lanterra do we need those for?”

  The color drained from Peter’s face. He pointed to an area on the other side of the moat. “Whatever’s been following us is getting closer! We need to move!”

  Krys and Navashay turned around. There was movement in the brush directly across the moat from them.

  Peter landed on the ground next to them. He handed the needle to Krys, who tucked it into the journal and shoved it into the pouch. All three rounded the drum tower to be met by another wall of almost impenetrable brush.

  They fought their way along the front wall of the massive castle. The tall vegetation thinned but the ground plants remained as thick as ever, snagging their trousers and making walking difficult.

  Navashay fell in front of Peter, who tripped and somersaulted over top of her. Krys dodged sideways, assuming the heavy growth caused the healer’s tumble.

  Part of a face, one eye and part of a cheek, peeked from the heavy vegetation.

  Navashay scrambled to her feet and retreated half-a-dozen steps.

  Krys stared at it. The eye was unblinking. He pulled vegetation free and revealed the head and shoulders of a young man, leaning against the stone wall. Vines twisted around his body, a shiny helmet sat atop his head.

  “Unbelievable,” Peter whispered.

  Navashay moved closer. Bending down, she pulled the stubborn growth from around the man’s chest. A shiny breastplate covered his torso. The metal was pierced, most likely from a spear or sword, where it curved around the man’s side. A blood trail angled toward the ground from the wound.

  “He’s dead.” Krys’ voice squeaked a little.

  The three youths cleared most of the remaining vines, revealing a warrior in full battle gear.

  Peter leaned down to take a closer look. He fingered an elaborate sword still clutched in the warrior’s gloved hand. “He must have died during the battle.” He looked at the dead man’s face; a look of pain and fear skewed the warrior’s features. “But there doesn’t seem to be any decay.”

  “It’s got to be the curse,” Krys said.

  “This is just too creepy.” Navashay backed up several more steps and tripped on yet another body. She picked herself up and ran through the brambles, leaving Krys and Peter far behind.

  The boys ran after her, jumping over bodies as they came to them. Spears and arrows, entangled in vines, stuck out of the ground in front of the castle on both sides of the moat. Through the brush, Krys saw hundreds of bodies, warriors, wizards, dragons. All dead. Some were burned, others decapitated. Disembodied limbs were scattered among the warriors.

  Each body nauseated Krys more than the one before.

  He was tiring fast, but his fear of this place pushed him to continue his accelerated pace through the ancient battlefield. When he glanced over his shoulder, his heart thumped harder. Something moved behind them, following in the shadows, inching nearer and nearer to them.

  Krys barreled forward. “Look.” He pointed ahead as he ran. “Navashay’s found the castle entrance.”

  She paced back and forth, alert yet jittery, at the base of the retracted drawbridge. She was looking up at the towers at the gate’s apex when the boys skidded to a halt next to her.

  “How are we going to get in?” Navashay said as she breathed in deep gasps of air, her hands on her hips.

  Krys looked across the moat to the gatehouse, deserted except for the brush and vines. Beyond it, hundreds more fallen bodies lay, all wrapped in twisting vines. His gaze returned to the drawbridge held tight against the castle gate. “Can we pull it down?”

  Peter sighed. “With a team of draft horses, maybe. Just us?” He shook his head. “It’s counter-weighted on the inside of the wall.”

  Krys and Navashay spun around when the sound of cracking underbrush came from behind them. They gazed into the heavy growth they had just run through.

  The hairs on Krys’ neck and arms stood up. Throughout this entire journey, he hadn’t been as frightened as he was right now. Backed up against the ancient castle wall with no escape; looking out over a graveyard of unburied dead; with something, unknown, pursuing them.

  “We better think of something quick,” said Navashay in a shaky voice.

  Krys pulled himself from the terror that gripped him by the throat and searched the area for anything they could use. “What about that ladder?” He pointed to the ground on the far side of the castle entrance. Blood-soaked and battered, most of its rungs gone, it lay across two charred bodies.

  Peter shook his head. “I don’t think it will support our weight.” He looked up the face of the vertical drawbridge and pulled a coil of rope from his pack. “I think we’re going to have to go over.”

  Krys’ stomach jumped to his throat.

  “I think I can get enough handholds to climb it and throw the rope down to you.” Peter didn’t wait for a response before he began to scale the drawbridge.

  “Hurry up!” Navashay said as she stole glances over her shoulder into the brush.

  Peter reached the top of the wall and disappeared over the top. A moment later, the end of the rope sailed over.

  Krys grabbed it and gave Navashay a gentle shove. “You go first.”

  Navashay scaled the drawbridge.

  When she was close to the top, Krys heard louder noises behind him and scrambled up the rope. Before he’d made it half-way up, something tugged on his leg. A breath caught in his throat, and he looked to see one of the lizardmen as it clung to the face of the drawbridge and pulled on him with a clawed hand. A rush of fear tingled through his body and exploded in his head.

  He kicked at the creature’s hand. The rope whipped back and forth as the other one tried to shake Krys free. His hands slipped a little and he tightened his grip. He wrapped his legs around the rope but found it impossible to climb with the violent shaking.

  The claws dug into his ankle.

  Pain and terror coursed through Krys.

  His terror-filled scream reverberated off the castle walls around him. He kicked his free foot and tried to dislodge the lizardman’s grasp. Searing pain shot up his leg as the creature’s claws dug deeper into his flesh. More of the rope slipped through his fingers. “I can’t hold on.”

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  Chapter 13 - A Glimpse into the Past

  Krys gritted his teeth and tried to summon more strength. He gripped the thrashing rope, his pounding he
art echoed in his ears and drowned out all other sound.

  When a bright flash came from above, the long, ice-cold fingers grasping Krys’ ankle let go. He looked up as another flash illuminated the already bright sky. Vapor streamed from Peter’s outstretched hand.

  Heaving a ragged breath, Krys looked down. Both lizardmen lay unmoving on the ground.

  “Hurry,” Navashay yelled from above.

  Krys dragged himself up the rope, hand over hand, while Peter and Navashay pulled from the apex of the castle’s main entrance. He collapsed on his back on the high walkway high above the ground and lay there gasping for air.

  Navashay dropped to her knees beside him. Tears welled in her eyes. “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it.” She patted his chest. “But here you are.” The tears streamed down her grimy face and she wiped them with the back of her hand.

  “How, in all Lanterra, did they get out of those globes?” Peter said, peering over the edge.

  Perspiration trickled down Krys’ face and neck. He stood up gingerly and stumbled over to Peter.

  One lizardman lay on its back unmoving. The other nudged its fallen comrade with a scaly foot.

  “And what about the shrinking spell?” Krys glanced side-long at his friend.

  Navashay joined them at the edge a moment later. “And the forget spell?”

  Peter shrugged, still looking at the creatures below them. “I have no idea. These things are going to be really hard to beat. Our best chance will be to stay way ahead of them.”

  Krys gazed at the face of the creature lying on the ground. Its closed eyes snapped open and stared deep into Krys’. Their gazes remained locked for several moments. Krys saw pure evil in the orbs of the creature.

  The other lizardman raised its head to the sky and bellowed a hideous roar, shaking the very core of Krys’ soul.

  Maintaining its malevolent stare, the downed creature rose slowly to its feet.

  Both creatures sprang upward, reaching the top of the wall in one jump.

  The youths jumped backward. Krys almost plummeted backwards off the stone walkway but regained his balance quickly.

  The creatures bounced off some sort of invisible barrier at the rim. It rippled and clouded where the bodies had slammed into it, then cleared and the waves died in concentric circles a dozen feet from the impact point.

  Krys, Peter and Navashay scrambled back to the edge.

  Placing his hand where he thought the barrier should have been, Krys felt nothing. “I don’t understand this at all.”

  “Maybe the spell that protects Raven kept them from getting in.” Peter waved his hand in empty space.

  “Wait a minute.” Krys gazed at Peter. “You mean the magic of the castle? The enchantments placed on it by Lanterra’s greatest wizards when it was built?”

  “That’s what the legend says,” Peter said.

  “I’ve heard that legend too,” said Navashay. “But if it’s true, then how did we get in?”

  “I dunno.” Krys shrugged. “Maybe because we’re supposed to.”

  “I guess it makes as much sense as anything else around here,” Peter said.

  All three of them peered over the side again. Both creatures lay on the ground, hopefully dead.

  “Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad we’re in here, and they’re out there,” Navashay said.

  “Me, too.” Krys turned. “Come on. Let’s get to Raven.” He hurried across the keep to the mouth of a dark stairwell.

  He ran his hand over the large stone block walls as he descended into darkness. The air enveloped Krys with welcomed coolness.

  Behind him a small ball of glowing light sprang to life and hovered over his head. “Thanks, Peter.”

  Needing more light, Krys, too, extended his hand. Nothing happened. He jabbed his fingers into the darkened air several times, hoping Navashay couldn’t see his numerous failures in the shadows; embarrassment burning his cheeks. Eventually he succeeded in conjuring a faint light.

  He led his friends, step by step, deeper into the interior of the massive wall of the fortress. At the bottom of the stairs they stepped into a pitch-black world, quiet as death, lit only by two small flickers of light dancing over their heads.

  Krys’ foot kicked something. He urged the nearest floating ball of light down to illuminate the floor, revealing one of many pikes that braced the heavy gate behind the massive portcullis. Placing both hands on the shaft of a pike, he pulled on it. It didn’t move. “Looks well secured,” he whispered, not knowing why, other than it felt natural in such a place.

  He pushed his hand upward. The light drifted to the ceiling to join the other one. The warm glow fell on immense stone blocks like those in the dark stairwell. They rose austere and chilly, high above them into the stone ceiling.

  “I don’t see any signs of life in here,” Peter said. “No spider webs, no rat droppings.” Peter looked toward the portcullis. “No dead castle guards, either.”

  “The guards must have been called away to secure the castle.” Navashay stared into the darkness at the other end of the passage.

  They crept forward.

  Stubbed torches lined the walls. Krys plucked one from its holder. “Hedro barous,” he muttered, conjuring a flame on the charred end, then extinguished his ball of light. He ran his finger across a space between two wall blocks. Dust rained down from the crack and disappeared into the cushion of powdered sediment on the floor. A sudden sense of wonder came over him. “This passage has remained untouched for two centuries.” He looked back at the trail of footprints left behind in the dust. “We’re walking where no one has since the days of King Reth.”

  “Wow. You’re right!” Peter stooped and wrote his name in the dust, then waved his hand in front of his face to clear the air. He stood and grinned.

  Krys grabbed Peter by the elbow and steered him in the direction they were supposed to be moving.

  “Okay!” Peter said. “You don’t have to push.”

  Somewhere in the middle of the dark passage, Krys lifted the torch and brought another portcullis, suspended above their heads, out of obscurity. A pang of fear spread through his body at the deadly-looking spikes mounted on the bottom edge of the fortified iron barrier. He rushed from underneath it.

  Leaving the portcullis behind, Krys led the others deeper into the passage. The stone floor crackled with each step. He held the torch low to see what he was walking on. The stone floor crumbled beneath his foot.

  “Watch out!” Peter grabbed the back of Krys’ tunic and yanked him away from the disintegrating edge.

  Krys gasped and scuttled backwards trying to regain his footing.

  All three inched forward and peered into a pitch-black hole.

  “Wow, I thought we would be safe when we got into the castle. I guess not.” Navashay kicked a small piece of rubble toward the pit, but it didn’t fall in. It hung in mid-air over the pit with no visible means of support.

  “What—?” Krys stared at the suspended debris. It was level with the stone floor and a spray of dust surrounded it. He touched his boot next to the piece of broken rock. He thought it was air, but found a solid, yet invisible surface instead.

  “Now, that doesn’t make sense.” Peter rubbed his forehead.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Navashay said. “Unless it’s something like the invisible barrier that kept the lizardmen out.”

  “Well, whatever it is, it seems solid.” Krys nudged the edge of the pit once more.

  Navashay took a deep breath and a step forward.

  Krys grabbed her arm as fear churned his gut. “What are you doing?”

  “It appears to be solid, so, I’m going on.” She arched an eyebrow.

  “Let her go,” said Peter with a twinkle in his eye and a small grin. “If she falls in the pit, we’ll know we shouldn’t go that way.”

  Her mouth dropped open and she stared at Peter. “I can’t believe you’d say something so mean.”

  “Oh, come on, Navashay. It wa
s a joke!” Peter said. “If I didn’t believe it was safe, I wouldn’t let you go.”

  “Well, it wasn’t funny.” She yanked her arm out of Krys’ grasp, and took a step onto nothingness.

  To Krys’ surprise and relief, she didn’t fall. She walked on what appeared to be air.

  She bounced once and took another step, then turned around and grinned. “Solid as the stone floor you’re standing on.”

  Krys took a ragged breath and fought down the fear of plummeting into, yet another pit. He placed a shaky foot over the abyss and stepped forward but refused to look at the black expanse below his feet.

  Peter barreled through, knocking Krys forward. “Get moving, you little yard fowl.”

  Krys’ cheeks burned, then a thought occurred to him. A smile curled the corners of his mouth. “Look out, Peter! A ghost!”

  Peter spun around, spell-hand in the air at the ready, and ran back past Krys. “Where?” His face drained of color.

  Krys laughed.

  Peter slapped Krys in the back of the head and shoved past him again. “That wasn’t funny.”

  Navashay grinned at Krys. “Yes, it was,” she whispered.

  A magnificent lawn area shrouded in dimness opened up in front of them. The sunny sky greeted them as if seen through a thick veil. Through the gloom, the lawn appeared as it would on a moonlit night.

  “This is eerie,” Peter said.

  “The curse must be a powerful one to hold the entire castle in near-darkness,” Navashay said as she walked onto the grass and scanned the large area.

  Krys held the torch high. In the dimness, he made out a lush lawn, trimmed without flaw in the few feet the torch illuminated. “Apparently, the grass stopped growing with the casting of the spell.”

  Navashay bent and ran her hand over the greenery. “The King’s servants obviously took great pride in their work for the kingdom.”

  Krys stared at the grass. “Strange how this stopped growing but everything else exploded with life.” He walked forward on a stone path that divided the expanse into large sections. Stone benches, small trees, trimmed hedges, perching birds, and thousands of ornamental plants dotted the landscape, but all were eerily still.