‘The Enemy once used it to talk to his palace spies,’ Lief went on. ‘Now he has begun to use it to taunt me, to distract me from my work, and above all, to try to make me despair. He torments Barda and Jasmine too. And as he gains strength, I fear he will begin on others.’
‘But can this evil not be destroyed?’ someone called from the back of the room. ‘If it is made of glass—’
‘I have tried to destroy the crystal many times, without success,’ Lief answered.
His calm voice gave no hint of what those grim, exhausting struggles in the white room upstairs had cost him. But everyone could see it, everyone close enough to see the sheen of sweat on his brow, and the shadows that darkened his eyes at the memory.
He took a deep breath. ‘The crystal was made by sorcery, and can only be destroyed by—by something just as powerful. The Belt of Deltora alone is not enough. But just before this meeting began, I suddenly saw another way. Tonight, I am going to try, one last time, to destroy this thing that threatens us all.’
‘Lief, what are you saying?’ Barda muttered.
The murmur in the crowd had risen to a dull roar. Before him Lief saw a sea of frightened, exclaiming faces. The people were afraid. Afraid for him, and for themselves. They were right to be so, but panic would help no-one.
‘I cannot do this without your help,’ he called, over the din. ‘Please hear me!’
Utter silence fell.
‘These are the things you all must do,’ Lief said. ‘When you leave here, go directly to your homes. Bolt the doors, put up the shutters and do not stir outside again until you hear the bells ring to tell you all is well. This is for your safety. Do you understand?’
The people nodded silently, awed by his seriousness.
Lief nodded. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Now—there is something else that can be done by those who want to help further. Make yourselves as comfortable as possible, and stay awake. Stay awake through the night and—as often as you can—think of me. Send me your strength.’
‘And is this all you ask of us, King Lief?’ cried a man from the back of the crowd. ‘Our thoughts? Why, we would give you our lives!’
A great cheer rose up, echoing to the soaring roof of the great hall.
Lief felt a hot stinging at the back of his eyes. ‘Thank you,’ he managed to say. ‘I will carry your words with me. They will help me more than you can know.’
The sun had dipped below the horizon, and a huge full moon was rising, when six of Barda’s strongest guards carried a shrouded burden from the sealed room on the third floor of the palace.
The guards were grim-faced. Each one of them was astounded at the enormous weight of the small thing they carried. Each was filled with a nameless dread.
Lief walked in front of the guards, Barda walked behind. Both of them were bent forward, as if in pain. But neither paused or uttered a word as they moved along the hallway, towards the stairs.
And because they did not falter, the guards did not falter either. Suffering but uncomplaining, they heaved their hooded cargo forward, over the rubble of the bricks that had once blocked the hallway, past the old library, down the great stairway, across the deserted entrance hall, out of the palace.
Only when they had crossed the palace lawn and were moving down the hill did one of the guards speak. He was a guard called Nirrin, rescued not so long ago from slavery in the Shadowlands.
‘Where are we going, sir?’ he gasped. ‘It would help—I think—if we could know. Is it far?’
Lief turned to him. Later, Nirrin would tell his wife that never had he seen such a tortured face as the king turned to him that full moon night. Only the heavens knew what the boy was going through, what was pouring into him from that nightmare beneath the cloth.
Nirrin had volunteered for this task, and never regretted it for a single moment, though he had bad dreams for months after that terrible journey.
He had heard nothing from the crystal, but still it had touched him. Long after he carried it, the weight of its evil seemed to press him down, to make it hard to breathe, even in his own safe bed.
And never would he forget Lief’s eyes.
‘The king just stared at me for a moment,’ he told his wife. ‘His eyes were like—like deep wells. His mouth opened, but no words came. It was as if he had forgotten how to speak. Then, he croaked out an answer.
‘“Not far,” he said. Then he pointed down the hill and across a bit, and I could see a sort of glow through the trees. “Only to Adin’s old home, and mine, Nirrin. Only to the forge.”’
4 - Act of Faith
Jasmine was waiting at the partly open forge gates, Kree motionless on her shoulder. Both were lit by a weird red glow, and shadows leaped behind them.
Above, the great golden circle of the moon floated just clear of treetops that looked like black paper cutouts against the grey sky.
As the strange procession from the palace stumbled into view, Kree gave a harsh cry. It was plainly a signal, for it was answered by a shout from within the forge. The red glow brightened. Jasmine pushed the gates fully open.
Now the struggling guards could see the fiery blaze within, and the powerful figure of the blacksmith working the bellows, increasing the heat, the muscles of his bare arms gleaming with sweat.
‘Jasmine! Stay—back,’ Lief gasped, as the men behind him pressed forward, groaning under the weight of their terrible burden. But either he spoke too softly for Jasmine to hear, or she chose not to listen. She darted towards him. In another moment her arm was around his waist, and she was half-supporting him as they moved through the gateway.
Feebly he tried to push her away.
‘Don’t, Lief,’ she snapped. ‘If Barda can stand against him, so can I!’ Even as she spoke, the blood was draining from her face, but she held him tightly, and together they moved on.
They drew closer to the fire, and closer, till they could feel the burning heat on their faces. The blacksmith looked up as they approached. But still he worked the bellows, and the fire in the forge was like liquid flame.
‘It is as hot as I can make it,’ he shouted over the roaring sound.
The faces of the guards changed as they recognised him, as they saw with awe that this man with the strip of rag bound round his brow, the blacksmith with sweat pouring from his black-streaked face, was the legendary Doom.
Doom. The strange name moved between them, whispering in the heated air. Doom. It is Doom.
Doom, the mysterious, scar-faced leader of the Resistance in the time of the Shadow Lord. Doom, the stern, solitary traveller. Doom the ruthless one, who still held the ruffians of Deltora in the palm of his hand.
Doom, who had once sacrificed his whole world for his king.
And here he stands, Lief thought. In the place where he belonged, before the Shadow Lord came, and everything changed. Where once he mended ploughs, forged swords and made shoes for horses. Where my gentle, gallant father stood, too, in his time. And where, long ago, Adin made the Belt of Deltora.
He stared at the glaring forge. Always before, it had been used to create. Now, it was to be used to destroy. If he could find the strength.
You cannot defeat me …
He saw that the guards had begun to struggle. It was as if the thing they carried had suddenly become ten times heavier. They were dragging it now. Two were already on their knees.
You cannot defeat me …
Through a fiery haze Lief saw Barda push between the men and grasp their shrouded burden with his own hands. Veins stood out in his neck as he heaved, his teeth bared, the great muscles of his arms and shoulders bulging through his shirt.
The thing shifted a little. Barda heaved again. Closer to the flame, a little closer … close enough. But now …