 
       
|
The Lost Stars ChronicleChapter 44: Final Fireworks
But they would have to find the energy, for the Neverwood and the curse of the Temple Of Lost Stars would not let them go that easily. The very ground the ten companions had collapsed onto began to shake.
“No...oh tyco…” Bjarn sat up, and crawled toward the hole they had just escaped from.
It felt as if he had just stuck his head into an oven. Bjarn crawled back over to the nearest person, Shainya. Of the four who had ventured down into the forge, she had escaped the least scathed. But now, she was beginning to shiver unconsciously in the cold of the cave.
She won’t be shivering for long if we stay here. thought Bjarn as he shook her.
“Shainya -- come one, you have to get up…”
She moaned, and opened her eyes. They were twin mirrors of fright. It was obvious to Bjarn that she had witnessed more horrors down in that chamber then he or the others had at the threshold.
“Can’t…” she sighed.
“Shainya, if you don’t move, you’ll end up as fried as your parents!” snapped Bjarn harshly, then heaved himself away from her to Voolmark. The wizard looked a little worse for wear, but at least he was sitting up.
“Voolmark!” said Bjarn, but then was cut off.
“Don’t.” replied Voolmark quietly, “Please. I know our battle is not over yet. Please. Give me a moment.”
Bjarn sat back, then nodded. He moved over to where Gib and Malder sat side by side. They were both silent, and Bjarn couldn’t get a word out of either of them. Next Bjarn lurched to Sir Dractor as the ground suddenly heaved. The giant knight was laying next to the small form of Luxus, protecting him even in his exhausted state.
“Dractor...can you walk?”
“I could. Why?”
“Because if we don’t, we’re bat guano.”
The ground heaved again, and several stalactites crashed to the ground, sending the bats shrieking. With an immense burst of will, Sir Dractor stood, and placed the unconscious Luxus upon his shoulders.
“A final run, I can give you.” he smiled tightly.
“Not for me,” said Bjarn as the walls cracked, “For him. For Luxus. For the generation to come. For the future of Dametreos.”
There was a sudden shriek, and a geyser of steam shot from the floor, followed by a terrible rumbling as the walls and craggy ceiling of the small cave collapsed. Shainya screamed and hugged Reno, preparing for their final moments as the debris plummeted downward.
“TAIGNAT SKLOFF!”
The magical cry ricochet of the stones and echoed like the shriek of a phoenix, freezing the deadly mass of stone in midair. Voolmark stood tall, his lincoln-green robes spattered with mud and blood whipping about him as if in a windstorm, his white staff held high and proud above him.
“THE MANA RETURNS!”
With an immense thrust, Voolmark shoved his staff even higher and the collapsing walls and ceiling were burst outward like a split watermelon. Shards of rocks flew in all directions except upon the ten companions, shredding leafy canopies and peppering trunks of the trees of the Neverwood. The stony ground continued to waver, and Bjarn pushed Sir Dractor forward.
“Time for that run!”
Sir Dractor was already off, the small boy firmly planted on his back. With long armored legs pounding, the foreign knight surged into the trees and as far away from the implosion site as he could get before he collapsed from utter and overwhelming exhaustion. He got the farthest away. Reno and Shainya ran together, hands clasped in one another’s, with Aros limping as fast as he could behind. Gib, Malder and Anardan all were together, leaning on one another and crawled more than ran themselves away. Bjarn was the last to leave, his eyes searching desperately about for any stragglers. He was the leader of this quest, he had not lost anyone up to this point and he’d be megabloked if he’d loose anyone on the final stretch. Yes, that was it, only Voolmark was left.
“COME ON, VOOLMARK!” cried Bjarn, himself beginning to retreat.
The wizard nodded and lowered his staff, and then the ground fell out from beneath their feet. The Neverwood was sinking. Bjarn didn’t even have time to swear. All he could do was leap. And he made it, barely. He groping hand snagged an exposed tree root, and he held firm, scrabbling with his feet and other hand to get himself over the ledge. He turned, and this time he did swear. Voolmark was knocked out, twenty feet below Bjarn, on a tiny crumbling ledge that was threatening to tumble into a flowing mass of lava.
There was absolutely no time to think. Bjarn whipped out his bow, unlooped a coil of rope from around his waist, tied it to the end of an arrow, and fired. The arrow whirled downward, dragging the roped down like a peculiar tail, and buried itself in Voolmark’s shoulder. The wizard cried out in pain and awoke.
“Grab the tyco rope!” shouted Bjarn.
Voolmark rolled over, tucked his staff under his shoulder, and gripped the rope, with one end still in his shoulder, in both hands. Bjarn had tied the other end to a tree, and had braced himself for Voolmark’s weight, but he was still surprised by the sudden jerk and scrabbled furiously at the edge of the fiery pit as the roped burned his hands raw. Down below, Voolmark yelled as the rope with him as a particularly heavy counterweight arched downward, causing him to almost skim the fiery molten rock. Then he crashed into the rock face and nearly let go, but didn’t.
Bjarn dug his feet in and heaved and strained. Blood vessels popped out on his arms, hands and forehead, and muscles tightened like ropes on a catapult ready to launch. Then Bjarn felt with horror the ground he was standing one begin to crumble downward toward the lava.
“Megabloks!”
Bjarn turned about and continued pulling, his moving feet keeping pace with the shifting ground. All the while Bjarn pulled, not feeling his burned hands, not feeling his aching muscles, only filled with the urge not to see his old friend and mentor burn a terrible death. Bjarn pulled. He pulled, pulled, pulled, pulled. He pulled until time was forgotten. He did not know how long he pulled, he only knew at one point he was lying face down in the dirt and leaves under and tree, and Voolmark was lying beside him, puffing. In the distance there were the sounds of crackling wood and crumbling stone. The Temple Of Lost Stars was putting on it’s final fireworks show.
| Previous Page | Next Chapter |
|
|
