Greetings Fablehaven fandom! A quick word – I can't say it enough – thank you for your reviews. I love to get feedback on my work. Comments on Kendra's conscience? What do you all think of Imaginary Seth?
Fact – The setting for the Forbidden Dragon Sanctuary in Venezuela is based on the Dragon Falls. If you get a chance, I'd highly recommend googling the images of the falls. There are some breathtaking photographs out there.
A special shout out to my editor in chief, Mewki. Without her, my will to go on (with the story that is) would be all but diminished by this point.
Heads up; this is another chapter lacking a substantial amount of dialogue. Sorry!
Disclaimer: I've said once, I'll say it again, I don't own Fablehaven. Brandon Mull does. I also don't own Lewis Caroll, Alice Wonderland, or the improper English phrase that Alice trademarked.
The endless cloudbank loomed over the jungle, forbidding the use of shadows in the gray, dull, glaring light. Yet if one looked close, just above the canopy, one might have seen a small, dark, defiant shadow gliding stealthily along the length of the green, leafy sea. If one chanced a quick look higher up they would not be able to discern what was making the shadow. What kind of creature is invisible, yet casts a shadow? This would undoubtedly puzzle an onlooker, perhaps to the extent where they would suspect mischief of some kind.
The truth is, the shadow was not a shadow. It was a Myotis sodalist – or – a hand-sized, brownish, black bat. This type of bat is often seen in the northeast of the United States of America. What then was it doing in South America?
The bat was flying in a direct line, unfaltering for even a respite. A closer inspection, would have revealed a peculiarly conscious and determined air about this particular Myotis sodalist. Also, he appeared to be undeterred by the sunlight. Did he not have trouble seeing?
It would be easy to derive that this bat was not like others of its kind.
The path it did not waver from could be traced to an end at a massive waterfall. To shed some light as to why the bat was headed in this direction, a summary of the past is in order.
The creature had lived alone in the jungle for time out of mind. Once upon a dream, in the days of bygone era, he had been social being, living in a village outside the jungle with a family. He had a wife and one small child. A girl with straw-spun hair, soft moss colored eyes, and a character which was strange to no one, and found non else strange. He loved her more than he knew how.
One fateful day, a fearsome crone hobbled onto his doorstep. His family had been out foraging that day – a blessing which he never failed to thank the gods for. The witch, for witch she was demanded that he take her in and hide her. The law was hot on her heels. Being an honest fellow, he refused. Eyes blazing with a purple fire – he still saw those eyes in his nightmares – the witch placed a curse on him. It all happened so quick. She vanished from sight as she said the ominous words, "You will live the rest of your days as I. Forever alone, forever hunted."
The terror had paralyzed him. Then anger replaced the terror. As he felt his anger he could feel himself changing. Fear came back and he tried to reverse the change, but it was too late. Where hands should have been, there were wings. Where skin should have been there was fur. He had become a bat.
Bats were abhorred in his village, more so than any other animal. They grew up with legends of wicked creatures from the jungle who walked normally among friends during the day, but drained people of their blood at night. They transformed into bats, and hid among the darker hovels of the jungle. But he had not changed into the type of creatures that flew about the jungle, from which these legends had sprouted. He was different. For this, they would be all the more suspicious of him. His people were simple and simple-minded. No matter what he said they would never view him as the same man he had been. They would likely kill him out fear for what he may do to them or his family. Or worse, they would fear his family under his influence and dispose of them as well.
Throughout the duration of his thought process, the emotions surged forth with bright intensity at random intervals. He discovered that any time he lost himself in emotion, he changed. When he was able to collect himself, he returned to his natural state. One look in the mirror though showed him that even his true self was no longer what it had been. His face, which his whole life had been deeply tanned, was now pasty white. His eyes, which had been cerulean blue, had altered to black.
Despair set in. He knew he could not stay and let his family see what he had become. He could not allow harm to come to them, if it was in his power to prevent that harm. Especially not his precious child. As the sun dipped into the sky, melting into the horizon, he fled as swiftly as his feet would carry him.
The edge of the forest was some mile away. There he took refuge. Weeks went by and he learned how to better control his changing. But it was a year until he ventured to visit his family in the dead of night. His wife looked sick, and wept over dinner. His daughter tried to console her, but ended up in tears as well.
The father watched from his vantage point, realizing for the first time that he had not prevented hurt from coming to his family by leaving so mysteriously. He should have told them of what had become of him, and why he had to go. His impulse was to run inside and scoop his beloveds into his arms, but he knew that now he would do more harm than good. Alas! That he should have been the wiser before.
He continued to come every night thereafter and watch over his family. Their faces grew more wizened, but, to his further dismay, he found that his did not. Another wicked part of the curse placed upon him. His wife died soon after his daughter's marriage to a strapping young village lad.
Days came and went, merged into months, which culminated into years. He was no longer able to recall his age. After his grand-children had passed on from life, he fled to the heart of the jungle in his depression.
Other animals warily avoided him. It was like he had a stink about him that made them uneasy. He did not see this amenity in a favorable light. He wished fervently that something would eat him and end his miserable existence.
He thought often of taking his own life. But any time that he set the prick of the knife against his skin, he found that he did not have the courage to go through with it.
To pass the time he made it his business to learn the ways of the jungle. He could identify every square foot of the landscape. Residents, hidden paths, secrets hovels, none where unbeknownst to him. His head held a map, which contained footnotes detailing all sorts of interesting phenomena. He gravitated toward the falls hidden within the forest. He liked to watch the cascade of the water. It was the only thing that brought him enjoyment any more.
He had seen many winged fire-breathers go through the watery wall in his time. The falls beheld more visitors than any other part of the jungle. They seemed to attract a variety of mythical and mortal peoples. This did not shock him so much. He was from a time period when some magical beings still resided freely in the world. Notably, even outside the falls, the jungle had always contained exceptional categories of dangerous, wild, enchanting things. Besides, he was not normal by mortal standards, in more ways than one.
Prudence would have told him not to stray so near such a precarious place. Yet he was confident that the peril was limited (anyhow, even if it wasn't, he was not opposed to being demolished). Drakes came in, but did not come out. He understood what covert place lay behind the falls was a kind of prison for dragons. After all, it was only dragons that ever went in.
In the past, one dragon had come out – the only one ever to do so. Sometimes he came out in the form of a human boy, which shocked him to no end. It took him awhile to discover that the boy and the dragon were one in the same. The cursed bat never went near this one dragon. He had insidious look about him.
But then he had seen the dragon be captured in a human form. It was later, how much later he couldn't tell, but the dragon boy had come back.
All this the Cursed – that was what he called himself, for he had long forgotten his true name – watched with mild intrigue. Till the dragon/boy came back to the falls with a girl in tow – that's when the Cursed really began paying attention. The Cursed ventured to fly underneath the dragon. He witnessed in disgusted horror, the dragon morph into the shape of the young man and sent the pair plummeting towards the ground, only to save them at the last minute.
Drawing as near as he dared, the Cursed saw the girl clearly - and nearly fell out of the sky his own self. Phantom memories rose up in the recesses of his mind to form pictures of a lovely girl with straw spun hair and mossy green eyes.
When the dragon took the girl behind the falls, the Cursed sat on the bank of the river and thought for a drawn out while.
She had appeared to be being held against her will. Why else would she be with that evil dragon? What's more, he girl appeared to look almost exactly like his daughter. He watched the falls thunder down to earth for hours. Then he wandered through the forest, contemplating.
It is important to note that he had not used words for centuries. He'd forgotten how to use them. So reasoning, even silently, took longer than it might have once had. He couldn't argue with himself even though he wanted to.
Finally, he made his mind up.
The drowsy veil that had distorted his vision of the world, was lifted. The Cursed awakened. The golden glimmer of hope, a chance at redemption, was entertained by him.
He flew straight to the falls, not even wavering for a second. He wasn't sure what awaited him behind that silvery curtain. In any case, he'd forever had a morbid fascination with what dreadful marvels the dragon prison concealed. Now he was going to find out, and, along the way, he was going to seek out that damsel who resembled his daughter.
The Cursed intended to help save her if he could. His heart pounded in hopes that she did in fact need his aid, and would receive it. Presuming that the dragon boy had not done something terrible to her already.
The icy water nearly prevented him from his mission. He recovered and hovered just beyond the entrance. Luck of an extraordinary kind was with him.
The dragon boy was standing outside a door shaped hole in the cavern wall, pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. The Cursed watched him in the shadows. Promptly, the boy stopped pacing and darted back into the hole. The Cursed barely made into the passage before the hole disappeared. The dragon boy took no notice of his companion. He continued to mutter to himself, incoherently.
The Cursed followed the sound of the boy's breathing. Eventually he came to another opening in the black hall. This one lead into a room containing a stunning white nest, connected to a tree. The Cursed was distraught when he could find no sign of the girl. He watched the dragon boy walk over to the far side of the nest. There he bent down. Curious, the Cursed followed him.
There the dragon boy leaned over an odd chest, a horrible look contorted his features. He opened the chest to reveal a staircase. He made to enter the chest then abruptly stopped. He closed the lid again. With a deep, rumbling sigh he laid his head down on the lid.
The Cursed didn't understand this. Up until now the dragon boy had represented archetype evil to the Cursed. But this action seemed utterly human, that it caused the Cursed confusion. The dragon boy stood up (the Cursed was careful to not let him see himself) and walked out of the alcove and out of sight.
The Cursed waited for a moment. Then he transformed into his natural state. Deftly he opened the lid and hopped in. He hesitated before closing the lid.
"Gavin?" A girl's voice uncertainly called out to the Cursed.
With decisiveness, the Cursed closed the lid of the chest trapping himself and the girl inside.
*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*
Kendra sat with her back against the head board of her bed, knees pulled up to her chest, and arms tightly securing her legs. She was replaying Gavin's account over in her head. Trying to make sense of the mess that she was in.
After Gavin's hasty retreat, she'd dragged herself onto her bed in stupefaction. Her cheeks were puffy and red from crying. Her eyes had bluish purple bags seemingly supporting their weight. Her stomach growled in hunger, but she hardly noticed it.
The echoes of Gavin's narrative were a whirlwind in her brain. The usurpation of the dragon king, the events that shaped Gavin into who he was, or rather the person who had shaped Gavin into who he was.
In spite of knowing what she did about him, Kendra pitied Gavin. Orphaned in early childhood only to be raised in the darkness by a mad man.
She recalled the last of his speech. The moment when he spoke about dying, he truly did look like he belonged to Death. Kendra was not superstitious. Her brother held the reserve of that sequence from the gene pool. Nevertheless, she felt that there was something awfully wrong about brining someone back from the dead. Stories where Death had been cheated never ended well. Foreboding shrouded Gavin like an Atlas sized cloak.
Gavin had been brought back by necromancy, Kendra's suspicions had been correct. His Master was responsible for his reappearance in the world of the living. The First King, the Father of All Hatchlings, Master - Gavin had many names for the necromancer who brought him back to life. Kendra could only think of one title that best suited the wretch – Monster.
The Master had been unmasked. The mysterious leader of the Society was him who had been the king of the dragons before Celebrant. The "First King" was an insane, powerful, murderous wizard, hell-bent on revenge.
He blatantly used Gavin to do his dirty work, though Gavin didn't seem to mind. He plainly adored his Master. Kendra guessed that while his Master obviously relied on him, he did not feel the same. If he favored Gavin as much as Gavin believed he did, then why had he not been to see him (Kendra felt sure that if he had been she would have known, through Gavin's actions) since they had returned from Fablehaven? She doubted he truly cared anymore for Gavin than he did the Sphinx. They were all a means to an end.
Imaginary Seth interrupted Kendra's train of thought. Hey - isn't it ironic that Gavin was going to be eaten by this First King dude, and then Raxtus ended up eating him! Ha, ha! That guy was apparently destined to be cannibal food!
"Ironic," Kendra mumbled aloud, half listening to the voice of her delusion.
"He loathed Celebrant. He despised Sairon Mirima, and all others of his kind. He detested that which was created from light, which was made from order, which was good."
Gavin's voice rang in her ears. What Kendra really honed in on was Sairon Mirima. Obviously the Cabin had been his. She had already known that. But now Gavin had put a face to a name.
It made Kendra sick to her stomach to think that she'd been sleeping in the same bed where somebody had been killed. A horrible thought crossed her mind.
She checked the sheets. Upon seeing no blood stains on the sheets, she let out a small sigh of relief. Closing her eyes, she slouched forward.
Sairon Mirima- this wizard, this man to whom she and the rest of the world owed so much – this amazing man. His genius saved the dragons; his partnership built a safer world. He had done so much good in his life. Thinking of his death brought tears to Kendra's eyes. In a place of quiet, but fierce, admiration that Kendra had reserved in her heart for Patton Burgess, the Fairy Queen, and a handful of others, Kendra made room for a new name.
Sairon Mirima.
Thinking of Mirima made Kendra think of Agad, which in turn made her think of the revolution Gavin had spoken of previously. The one that had happened at the prison, against the caretaker. Gavin had said that the revolution happened before his return. Kendra guessed that it was before he came back, but after his Master had become a wizard. The "First King" would have done horrible things to him. Again she felt a surge of pity for the caretaker. She wondered who he had been. He must have been quite brave to agree to live in such a place.
Now that she thought about it, Gavin never mentioned the caretaker in his narrative. Odd. In all his comings and goings, how had Gavin slipped past the person? Why did he leave that portion of the story out?
Curiouser and curiouser,Imaginary Seth trilled in a fake, girlish voice.
Kendra shook her head once. What she needed to worry about was what Gavin was going to do when he recovered his wits. He would probably storm back down and really eat her this time. Kendra was painfully aware that Gavin had done her no favor by telling her the true story. She was a liability now.
At least she understood her situation better. Kendra leaned back on the pillow, finding that she was exhausted. She glanced over at the stairs. What if Gavin came down while she was sleeping? What if – what if he did something to her? She shivered. No. He wouldn't do that. If she was honest with herself, he had ample opportunity to do that if he'd wanted to already. Still, there was a possibility that he could guess her mindset, and try something to surprise her.
One thing was for certain, and that was that she couldn't stand another fight with Gavin without a little rest. Just as she was closing her eyelids, determined to get a bit of sleep, she heard the lid to the trunk open.
She bolted upward, sitting stiffly, holding her breath.
No one came down the stairs. A moment passed. The lid shut again. Kendra let out a breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding in.
Then Kendra heard the lid creaking open again. Two resounding, unanimous thumps sounded out.
Kendra couldn't help herself. "Gavin?
In answer, the lid was carefully shut back. Heavy footfalls sounded causing the stairs to screech out intruder!
Kendra was dumbfounded. Gavin didn't take care to open and close the trunk's lid like that. He didn't make a sound when ascended or descended the stairs. Gavin was not the one with her in the Cabin. Kendra only think of one other person who might visit her confinement.
Springing out of bed, trying to fight off the tremble in her bones, she looked at her guest.
She was surprised for the second time in the hour.
The person before her was a dwarf, no more than four feet tall. A naked dwarf, standing there in all his glory. He fixed her with a triumphant gaze, an amiable grin, full of pointed teeth. His salt and pepper hair, streaked with black, was worn down to his shoulder. He had a wiry beard, which was a reddish brown. The colors of these elements contrasted strongly.
His face though, was strangest of all, because he looked of an indigenous origin based on his features, but his skin was an alabaster white.
Was this Gavin's Master? Impossible.
"Who – who are you?" Kendra asked in amazement.
The naked dwarf nodded like she'd asked him a yes or no question. Raising his outspread arms he inclined his hands to his chest. "Los Malditos, Los Malditos". His voice had the nuance of being rusted and gravelly.
It took Kendra a moment to remember the Spanish she'd taken in secondary school.
"Los malditos?" she murmured, her brain hard at work trying to translate. "Lost malditos."
The naked dwarf wagged his head swiftly up and down in encouragement.
Kendra felt her expression fall. Los malditos meant…
"The cursed?