The Secret of Zoone Read online

  This doesn’t make any sense, Ozzie fretted, even as he scrambled through the wreckage alongside Fidget. She can’t be a glibber. Have I been wrong this whole time?

  Suddenly, Ozzie was jerked backward—one of the slimy beasts had grabbed hold of the cord around his neck, the cord that held his aunt’s key.

  “Treasure!” the glibber screeched in delight. Then, with a snap, the key broke free and the disgusting creature lifted it to the sky, like a trophy.

  Something exploded inside of Ozzie. “Give that back!” he yelled. “It’s not yours.”

  The glibber looked at Ozzie with bug eyes. Maybe he smiled; Ozzie couldn’t be sure. Then the beast turned and scurried into the debris. Ozzie bolted after him.

  “Oz!” Fidget called. “Wait!”

  But Ozzie didn’t heed her. Creepy-crawlies or not, he wasn’t going to lose that key. It was the only connection he had to his world and—more important—to Aunt Temperance. He leaped over corroded pipes and squeezed under sagging walls. Eventually, he glimpsed the glibber thief wriggle like a cockroach through a crack in a collapsed building ahead. Ozzie followed, pursuing the creature across a cavernous chamber, then through a doorway into another, darker room. He could just make out the silhouette of the glibber, scrabbling amid mounds of broken and overturned furniture.

  Ozzie heard a loud thud from behind him and the room went instantly dark. He screeched to a halt. Someone had slammed the door shut behind him. Ozzie gulped, reaching out blindly into the blackness. Then, his heart racing, he backed up, hoping to find the door.

  He didn’t. Instead, he bumped into a cold cement wall. He stayed there, thinking, at the very least, no one could sneak up behind him. He concentrated on what was ahead of him, where something was hissing in the darkness. Or somethings.

  Slowly, as his vision adjusted to the lack of light, he began to discern countless glibberish shapes emerging from the murk.

  “Time to feast!” they chortled as they squirmed and scuttled toward him.

  Long strings of saliva dripped from their gaping mouths, but that was nothing compared to the amount of sweat that seemed to be leaking from every pore in Ozzie’s body.

  How could I think Fidget was one of these disgusting creepy-crawlies? he fretted as he pressed hard against the cement wall. I was completely wrong about her! But if she’s not the spy, then . . . who is? Was there ever an apprentice to begin with?

  Not that it mattered anymore.

  As the glibbers prowled toward him, the gravity of his actions began to sink in. He had recklessly abandoned Fidget and Tug to chase the glibber thief into a trap, and now, here he was, like a worm in a piranha tank. The horde of glibbers was so close that he could see the glint in their ravenous eyes. He could feel the peck of their flicking tongues.

  Imaginary ninja skills weren’t going to help him out of this one. Nothing was going to help; he was stuck.

  And completely alone.

  20

  A Warrior’s Steel

  Suddenly, the sound of a horn blared from beyond the walls. There was something pure and strong in that sound; it caused the glibbers to recoil, as if in disgust. It caused Ozzie’s sense of hope to swell.

  Someone’s coming, he thought. They’ll burst through the door, and then—

  The ceiling blasted open.

  The someone plunged down in a hail of plaster and busted wood, and landed forcefully on the floor to stand between Ozzie and the glibbers. Ozzie blinked in astonishment. A shaft of light was now shining through the giant hole in the ceiling. Standing in the middle of it, like a superhero, was Cho Y’Orrick. The captain with eyes as warm as hot chocolate on Sundays. The Captain of Kindness. The Captain of Chuckles.

  But he wasn’t chuckling now.

  Ozzie had never seen Cho so flushed with emotion. The scar on his face blazed livid and red, as if it wasn’t a scar at all but a fresh and painful wound. The tattoo under his right eye made him seem suddenly feral and dangerous. Cho drew his sword, though Ozzie wondered how it could possibly be the same one he carried in his sheath during his rounds of Zoone Station. The sheath was so short, and this sword was so long.

  “Are you okay, lad?” Cho asked, though he wasn’t looking at Ozzie. He was staring straight ahead at the slavering glibbers. Their numbers seemed to be multiplying with every passing moment.

  “Y-yes, I’m fine. But—”

  “Stay behind me,” Cho commanded. Muscles bulging, he raised his weapon.

  The glibber horde swelled in front of them. For a single, fraught moment, it hung there, like a looming tidal wave—then it crashed, charging forward in a seething knot of eyes, teeth, and fins. Cho erupted in a blaze of action. His sword flashed white and hot, so bright that it was impossible to see the battle. But it was not impossible to hear. What reached Ozzie’s ears were horrible sounds: squeals, gasps, and croaks. Not one of them came from Cho.

  It was over in what felt like a blink. A stench of death filled the air, and Ozzie did his best to avert his eyes from the smoking, mangled forms littered about the area. Not all of the glibbers had died, though; he could hear the fading sound of the survivors fleeing.

  Ozzie looked up at Cho. The radiance of the captain’s sword had faded. Perspiration trickled down the side of his face and his long jacket had been torn open to flutter gently behind him.

  Like a cape, Ozzie thought. He told the captain, “One of them snatched my key. I have to find it.”

  “No,” Cho told him gently. “They will return in numbers. We have no time.”

  “But—”

  Cho knelt to put a hand on Ozzie’s shoulder. “I know you are thinking of your aunt. But we can always get another key, lad. What we can’t get is another Ozzie. We are in great danger. Come; let’s find the others.”

  Still clenching his blade, he kicked down the door and they returned to the debris-choked streets. The sky above felt close and heavy, like a giant palm was pushing it downward from above; Ozzie knew it was going to storm.

  Then, out of the mist and wreckage, Tug appeared. Fidget was astride him, clutching the nape of the skyger’s neck with one hand and her open umbrella with the other. She looked truly noble at that moment—like a princess, Ozzie decided. And definitely not a glibber.

  “Are you all right?” Cho asked them intently.

  “Oh, sure,” the skyger purred. “The sound of your horn sent those glibbers running. You didn’t bring anything to eat, did you?”

  “Never mind that,” Fidget said. “It’s going to rain soon. We have to leave!”

  “Keep your umbrella open,” Cho advised. “Lady Zoone gave me a key that will get us back to the station.”

  “How did you even know we were here?” Ozzie asked as they began marching through the ravaged streets.

  “Our lady knows when certain doors are opened,” Cho replied over his shoulder. “Especially forbidden doors.”

  “It wasn’t our fault,” Fidget informed the captain. “We were tricked.”

  “No, we weren’t!” Ozzie protested.

  He could see that Fidget was about to object, but Cho cut them off with a gesture. “That’s not important right now.”

  Rain began to fall, hard like bullets. It was as if the clouds had suddenly caught wind of their escape plans and decided they’d better do something about it. The ground was so hard and dry that the water quickly began to pool and flood.

  “It’s going to get wriggly—real fast!” Fidget panicked, curling her feet up beneath her umbrella.

  Cho didn’t delay; he quickly led them to the nearest building. It was slouched over on its side, but it had a gaping hole in its roof. Cho peered through the hole, determined it was safe, and then guided them into a deserted attic. Because the building was on its side, what had been the floor was now facing them, like a wall. And the door that led to the rest of the building was above them. The place was in shambles—ancient, musty, and covered in old spider webs (Ozzie imagined that the spiders themselves had long ago been slu
rped down by the glibbers). But at least it was dry.

  “Can’t we send for help?” Ozzie asked Cho. “Maybe Needles and Bones or some of the other security officers could come. Maybe even the wizards.”

  “Wizards are powerful, but even they can’t stop the rain,” Cho told him. “In any case, I don’t have a quirl to send. Just as well. We’d be sending the poor critter to his doom.”

  “Why?” Ozzie wondered.

  “The glibbers will be on the prowl,” Cho explained.

  “What were they doing before?” Fidget asked sarcastically.

  Cho smiled wryly. “All I’m saying is that I doubt a quirl would reach the door before . . .”

  He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.

  “What are we going to do, then?” Ozzie asked.

  “We wait for the storm to abate, and these roadways to drain,” Cho said. “Which, I suspect, won’t happen before morning. At first light, as long as the rain has stopped, we head straight for the door.”

  “What about dinner?” Tug mewled. “And midnight snack? And breakfast?”

  Cho unclipped a small canteen from his belt, only to have Fidget cry, “Stop! Keep it away!”

  “It’s not water,” Cho soothed. “It’s Arborellian nectar. Thick and sweet; you can drink it, lass. We can have as much as we wish; this canteen is bottomless, a magical gift from Lady Zoone.”

  He passed it around, and Ozzie found that it was the same drink he had tasted in Lady Zoone’s study. When it came to Tug’s turn, the skyger opened his giant mouth and Ozzie poured the golden liquid down his throat. “Keep going,” he said when Ozzie tried to stop. So, Ozzie kept holding the bottle. He kept holding it for a long time.

  “Trying to satiate the appetite of a skyger is not a task for the faint of heart,” Cho remarked, following up with a quiet chuckle. It was the first bit of mirth Ozzie had heard from the captain since his arrival in Glibbersaug.

  Eventually, Tug finished. Then, taking a long stretch, the skyger curled up in the corner and fell into a deep slumber. Fidget tested the dryness of his fur, then, satisfied that it was safe, nestled next to him and was soon snoring, too.

  Ozzie envied them. He couldn’t even imagine sleeping, not after everything that had happened. Not after being nearly devoured by creepy-crawlies. Not after seeing Cho fight. He contemplated the captain, who was now sitting at the entrance to the attic, watching the glibber city. Cho took off his gloves and Ozzie saw what he had glimpsed during the incident with Miss Lizard’s pet cobra: the giant muscle-bound man was missing two fingers on his left hand. It occurred to Ozzie how vigilant Cho was when it came to wearing his gloves. He never took them off, not even during meals. And the captain always seemed to go to bed after Ozzie and get up and dress before him. But now . . .

  Ozzie tried not to stare. It wasn’t very easy.

  “Is it dangerous to be the captain?” he finally dared to ask, taking a seat beside the enormous man.

  Cho smiled wryly. “My wounds are from my old life. Back on Ru-Valdune.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Where I was born. A dangerous and violent place.”

  Ozzie remembered his conversation with Lady Zoone, from his very first day at the station: So many doors, so many places . . . not everyone is born in the right one. “Is that why you left?” Ozzie asked Cho.

  “That’s one way of putting it,” the giant man answered with a chuckle.

  Ozzie wondered how someone with so many scars and injuries could be so generous with his laughter. But that seemed to be the way with Cho. He never seemed to be able to go without a smile for very long—even now, when they were stuck in a land of bloodthirsty creepy-crawlies.

  “Do you think the glibbers will try attacking tonight?” Ozzie asked as he gazed at the pounding rain. The troughlike street in front of them was running with water; it looked more like a stream than a road.

  “I will protect us,” Captain Cho vowed.

  He was holding the blade at the ready; it didn’t look anything like it had during the fight. It was now short and curved, like a scythe. Just the way it normally looked, when Cho carried it around the station in its sheath.

  “It’s a magic sword,” Ozzie hazarded.

  Cho nodded. “According to Valdune teachings, the blade draws on the magic of its bearer. It gives the swordsman what he needs in the fight against his adversaries. Glibbers detest the light, so the blade shone for me. If it had been a Thrakean lizard, the sword would have transformed into a blade with a serrated edge.”

  “You’ve fought a Thrakean lizard?” Ozzie asked, even though he had no idea what one was.

  “Aye,” Cho said, a hint of sadness in his voice. “Long ago. When I was Cho Nedra.”

  Ozzie looked at him quizzically. “I don’t understand. You were someone else?”

  “In a way,” Cho said, forcing a smile. “Cho Nedra was the name I was born with. It means I was a member of the clan of Nedra.”

  “What happened?” Ozzie questioned.

  Cho hesitated. Ozzie knew he was trying to decide whether to tell the story. Ozzie gave him his most hopeful look. It was a trick that worked with Aunt Temperance—well, sometimes.

  “Their way is not my own,” Cho said simply.

  “Why?”

  The captain’s eyes fell upon Ozzie for a moment before flitting away, back to the canal street. “Magical skill is not common in my people,” Cho said eventually. “Except for this: Within every generation or two, someone is born with the ability to smell magic. I was one such boy, destined to be sabermage of my clan.”

  “Saber . . . mage? What is that?”

  “The one who protects the clan from magical attack. Legend tells that my people were once enslaved by a malevolent wizard named Gal-do-Rane. The ancient warrior Valdune defeated the wizard and freed the people. Ever since, each clan has trained a magical warrior to guard against the return of Gal-do-Rane.”

  “But he wouldn’t return,” Ozzie interjected. “I mean, he’s dead. Isn’t he?”

  “Aye,” Cho confirmed. “Still, it became a sacred tradition of the Valdune people—though, over the centuries, the belief has been perverted into something else. Many clans now believe that a sabermage must not only stand against magic; he must hunt it.”

  “But . . . but . . . you’re not a hunter, Cho,” Ozzie stammered.

  “Your opinion is charitable,” Cho said with a melancholic smile. “But, as a boy, the idea of being sabermage filled me with pride. I studied with sword masters, read the philosophical treatises of Valdune, honed my abilities to track and hunt magic. Eventually, I earned the sabermage’s tattoo.” The captain paused, tracing the pattern on his cheek with his three-fingered hand. “The final step was to invest my blade—myself—with magic. And there is only one way to do that, according to the Ru-Valdune. Slay a magical being.”

  “Like a wizard?!” Ozzie sputtered, so loudly that it caused Tug to stir in his slumber. Lowering his voice, Ozzie leaned forward and whispered, “You had to kill a wizard?”

  “Wizards are in short supply in Ru-Valdune these days,” Cho answered soberly. “Mostly, sabermages hunt creatures of magic—dragons and the like. Once the magical being is slain, the sabermage must drink its essence. According to the belief, it’s then—and only then—that the sabermage’s blade will be capable of magical transformation. But some clans, like my own, began to twist the custom even further. The Nedra believe that in order for a sabermage to maintain his power, he must continue to hunt magic throughout his entire life. He must ceaselessly feed his power, to make sure he has enough when it comes time to protect his people.”

  Ozzie stared wide-eyed at the giant man. He could now understand why the Council of Wizardry distrusted him so deeply. But he still had a hard time picturing Cho as a hunter. “You’re . . . you’re not like that,” Ozzie claimed.

  Cho’s response was a quiet, mirthless laugh. “True. Actually, I failed on my very first hunt. There I was, so young and full of pu
rpose, roaming the wild lands with my blade. My heart pounded with excitement when I detected the scent of a Thrakean lizard.”

  “Are they magical?” Ozzie prompted.

  Cho spared Ozzie an uncomfortable glance. “This one certainly was. I tracked her, cornered her against the edge of a precipice. She was enormous. Scales as green as emeralds and . . . beautiful beyond reckoning.”

  He paused, gazing out the window and into the storm. Ozzie suddenly felt guilty for leading him down such a painful path of memories.

  But Cho continued. “I fought the lizard, lad, fought her with all my might. I was terribly wounded during the ordeal. But the lizard fared worse. Eventually . . . she collapsed to the ground, gasping. I stood over her, my sword raised for the final blow. And then . . . I could not commit the deed. I staggered back to my clan, only to know my chieftain’s rage. ‘A coward,’ he called me. I was presented with a choice: Go back and slay the lizard, and prove it by showing the magic in my blade, or be banished forever. I accepted expulsion. It was decreed that I could no longer use the name of Nedra; I became one of the Y’Orrick. It means ‘lost’ . . . without clan.”

  Ozzie pondered the story as a rumble of thunder reverberated from beyond the city. “I don’t understand, Cho. Your sword does have magic. How—”

  “Do not ask me to explain it; I cannot. No sabermage that I’ve ever heard of was able to find magic in his blade unless he slaughtered a magical creature.”

  “There’s something else I don’t get,” Ozzie persisted. “If you only need magic to defend against magic—magic that’s not even a threat—I mean, if this wizard Gal-do-Rane is dead and never coming back . . . then why bother going through all this? Why even have sabermages anymore?”

  Cho looked intently at Ozzie. “You ask the right questions, lad. Most people don’t—certainly not the Nedra. They just keep doing things the same way, over and over.” Then he chuckled. “Except me, I guess.”