"Why do you think she did it?" James asked quietly. Next to him, also leaning on the railing, Albus shrugged.
"To save Dad and Titus. Right?"
James shook his head vaguely. "I don't know." He thought for a long moment, and then said, "She could have done it some other way. Don't you think? She could have… I don't know… battled Morgan right there on the street and broken her spell over the helicopter. Or perhaps she could have just thought all those W.U.L.F. killers to death. She can do that kind of thing, you know. She doesn't even need a wand."
Albus nodded. "Yeah," he agreed doubtfully. "But I guess she'd just had enough with death. Don't you think?"
James sighed deeply. He thought of the journey Judith had forced them to take through the Nexus Curtains—all the killings and mayhem she had made them witness, all the loved ones murdered for the sake the struggle against evil. Even that had been part of Judith's plan, pushing Petra to make her final, ultimate decision.
"She wasn't just trying to save Dad," James finally said. "She was trying to change it all. It was probably a huge mistake… and it'll probably end in even more death… but maybe she was just tired of things being the way they are. Maybe this was just her final act of rejection."
Albus frowned. "Rejection of what?"
James shook his head. "Everything," he said grimly. "Just… everything."
Albus considered this. After a minute, he stirred and dug his hand into his back pocket.
"Here," he said, holding something out to James.
"My wand," James said, taking the wooden shaft from his brother's hand. "You found it down on the Clutch field?"
Albus shrugged and leaned on the railing again. "I thought you'd want it. I went looking for it after you lot went dimension-hopping."
James shook his head slowly. "I'll never figure you out, little brother," he said appreciatively.
"Don't even try," Albus replied.
James nodded and rejoined his brother, leaning on the railing and watching the oily black waves.
Below-decks, James knew, his mum was putting Lily to bed, probably singing a nighttime song to her just as if everything was normal. Elsewhere, possibly in the captain's quarters, his father and Titus Hardcastle were discussing what was to come. Uncle Percy and Aunt Audrey had gone down to their berth immediately, doomed to sleep in the same ship that bore their dead daughter. Molly had already been asleep by then, held in her mother's arms. James guessed that Aunt Audrey would probably not let go of her for the entire night, but would sleep sitting upright on the bed, leaning against the headboard, taking what comfort she could from the sleeping breath of her surviving child.
Lucy was dead. It struck James as completely impossible and ridiculous. Reluctantly, he replayed the memory of her last moments, recalled the horrible helplessness of watching Judith raise her hand with murder in her eyes. Lucy had been trying to save Izzy, and had acted almost without thinking, rushing forward into the teeth of her own doom.
With a shudder and a dry sob, James realized two things: that Lucy really was gone, and that he had loved her. It hadn't been the same sort of love that he felt for Petra, but it hadn't merely been the love of a cousin either.
Could he have done something to save her? Should he have acted sooner? Or held her back somehow? Heat rushed to his cheeks as he considered this, and felt the first deep pangs of regret.
I'm sorry, Lucy, he said in his thoughts, in the deepest depths of his heart, almost as if it were a prayer. I should have done something. I should have stopped her from hurting you. Forgive me…
In response, he remembered Lucy on the day of the Valentine's dance, when he had almost kissed her for the first time. I forgave you that very night, she'd admitted shyly, I can't stay mad at you…
But it was only a memory. Lucy's voice was stilled forever. Tears pricked James' eyes, but he refused them. He knew that if he let them come, they wouldn't stop coming for a long time, and he was just too tired to go through that now. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, pushing the tears away. Next to him, purposely not watching, Albus sighed sadly.
Beneath them, the ship cut a smooth wake through the harbor, heading out into the ocean and leaving the half-dark twin cities behind.
James felt terribly alone. Somewhere out there, falling further and further behind them, were Petra and Izzy. And what of Judith, the Lady of the Lake? Had she retreated back into the World Between the Worlds? James thought not. This was her world now—her chaos. She wouldn't miss it, no matter what. James had a strong, sinking feeling that none of them had seen the last of her.
Eventually, the pressing darkness became too much for James and Albus. Without a word, they walked along the deck and found the doorway that led below. They followed the corridor until they discovered the berth that belonged to their parents. Harry was there now, along with Ginny, who was indeed singing to Lily as she drifted to sleep.
At least they were still all together. That counted for a lot, if not everything.
That night, the five of them stayed together in a single berth, piled like cats on the two large beds.
The next morning, James unpacked what clothes he had. They had been hastily gathered by his own mum from his dormitory room before she'd Disapparated to meet them at the pier, and she had forgotten his favorite pair of jeans. He sighed, reminding himself to ask Ralph or Zane to send them to him, and was about to toss his duffle bag beneath the bunk when he noticed something tumbling loosely in the bag's bottom. He raised it again and peered inside. In the darkness was a small bundle of parchment, closed so tightly that it didn't show the slightest seam. James recognized it immediately and his heart trip-hammered.
He touched the packet briefly, but nothing happened—no overwhelming visions or telepathic blasts. Carefully, he retrieved the packet and laid it on the small table of his room. Feeling a strange mixture of hope and trepidation, he tapped the packet with his wand, whispering the spell that would open it.
The parchments unfurled, blooming, as before, like an origami flower, but the pages were no longer covered with Petra's handwriting. Now, there was only one line, written in the center of the top page. James leaned over the parchment, his brow furrowing as he read.
Remember the silver thread. You didn't let go. For better or worse, I'll never forget that.
She hadn't signed it, but then again, she hadn't needed to. James closed the parchment packet again and simply stared at it. Finally, after nearly a minute, he picked it up. He put his wand in his right back pocket and the parchment packet in the left.
There, he carried it from then on, until the very last time he ever saw her.
The End.
James Potter and the Vault of Destinies (the "Work") is Harry Potter series ("Series") fan fiction and was not created by Series author J.K. Rowling nor under her auspices. To the extent that trademarks of the Series (the "Proprietary Rights") are used in the Work, such use is incidental and not for purposes of source indication. Any such trademarks are and remain property of Ms. Rowling and her assigns. The author hereby disclaims any interest in said Proprietary Rights. The Work is © 2008 G. Norman Lippert.
More to Come (with your help)
Greetings, dear reader, and thanks for coming along for the ride thus far. I hope that you enjoyed "James Potter and the Vault of Destinies". These books have had quite a long and interesting story, most of which is detailed elsewhere, so I will suffice by offering a few quick words of thanks and offering you, the reader, some encouragement and a freebie. First, the thanks:
To Julianna So, who has edited nearly all of my books for the same reason that I wrote them: purely for love of the story; to my beta readers, particularly the endlessly encouraging, thoughtful and encouraging Hester, who is a big reason these stories exist at all; to Ms. Rowling and Warner Bros, who indulged my release of these stories despite the quirky troubles created for them when they were initially believed to be secretly responsible for them (a fact that I am still perversel
y proud of, despite the terror it instilled in me at the time); to my wife, who listens to everything I write as I write it and offers me that invaluable first reaction (not always positive); to Tom Grey and the longsuffering faithful who have been with me from the very beginning (I wish I could name you all!); to Dawn Bradley, who painstakingly created all the eBook versions of the JP books.
And now the freebie: As you know, I make no income from the release of James Potter books-- I am perfectly happy to write them purely out of affection for Ms. Rowling's Potter universe, and to share them for free with readers worldwide. However, it does take time and money for me to produce them. If you wish to encourage the ongoing production of the upcoming "James Potter and the Morrigan Web", allow me to humbly suggest a new story:
"Ruins of Camelot" is my second entirely original novel. It is a fantasy story, set at the end of the golden age of Camelot, and featuring appearances by a few familiar characters. In a sense, it is the ultimate prequel to the James Potter books, while still entirely new and original. If you enjoyed the JP story thus far, I suspect you will enjoy this tale as well (which I hope to develop into its own series). By purchasing it, you not only get a new story, you very kindly and actively support me, the author, as I work on the next JP book. It's a win-win, yes?
So. With that in mind, I hope you enjoy this little preview excerpt. If you like it, do consider procuring your own copy. It is available in paperback from amazon, as well as for your Kindle, Nook, iPad or iPhone.
Thanks for reading, and as always: onward and upward!
Ruins of Camelot (Excerpt)
The next day, Gabriella finally found Coalroot.
She had spent the morning (not that she could tell if it truly was morning or not) descending a long, straight shaft ever deeper into the earth. The walls of the tunnel had grown increasingly taller and narrower as she walked, so that she felt like a mouse crawling within the walls of a cottage. The air had become warmer as she progressed and was now quite hot. Sweat trickled into her eyes, and she swiped it away with the inside of her wrist.
There was light as well. Unlike every other glow that she had encountered in the caverns, however, this light was neither blue nor cold. It was a burnished red, growing gradually brighter as she progressed. The sparks of her torch streaked ahead, following the course of the tunnel as if in the teeth of a hard wind despite the perfect stillness of the air.
"Whatever you do," Gabriella repeated under her breath, "do not talk about treasure. That's the only rule. Do not so much as say the word. Can we do that, Featherbolt?"
Featherbolt stood on her shoulder, his feathers fluffed out in an effort to cool himself. His wing felt hot against her cheek.
"Get off," she whispered, flapping a hand at him. "You're making me even hotter."
The bird launched into the air and squawked in irritation. He circled her, apparently unwilling to get too far ahead.
A vertical bar of deep red became visible between the walls of the tunnel some unknown distance away. There was subtle motion within its depths, as though from a slowly shifting cloud.
"I think we are very nearly there," Gabriella said, swallowing. "According to Helena and Goodrik, Coalroot will tell us what we need to know. So long as we do not say the wrong thing."
The air had developed a whiff of sulphur. The goblinfire rippled and flared, leaping towards the reddish light ahead. The rift grew as they neared it.
There was a noise. Gabriella heard it and realised that it had been going on for some time just below the level of audibility. It was a dull rumble, a sort of groan, as if the earth itself were shifting very subtly around her.
Featherbolt landed upon her shoulder again. He clicked his beak and shivered his head violently, raising the tiny feathers of his forehead into hackles.
"I know," Gabriella replied nervously.
Finally, after what seemed like far too long a time, they reached the end of the tunnel. Beyond its high walls, red depths stirred massively, like storm clouds at sunset. The stench of sulphur was overwhelming. Gabriella stopped and drew a deep breath through her mouth. Then, steeling her nerve, she stepped out into the red light.
The cavern was monumental. Its floor was a shattered valley, broken and jagged, strewn with boulders. Smoke poured from the cracks, dimming the air, and yet red light filled the space, reaching even to the ragged cone of the ceiling hundreds of feet up.
In the centre of the space, dominating it, was a shape that Gabriella simply could not comprehend. It was something like a twisted tree, so enormous that it would have dwarfed the entire castle of Camelot. It was black as coal, wrinkled with deep crags, cracks, and fissures. Its branches jutted up and out in all directions, thick as highways and driven deep into the cavern's ceiling. Far below this, the tree's roots spread like rocky tentacles, laced with cracks. The cracks glowed orange, as if the core of each root was pure fire. Worst of all, the centre of the tree's trunk bore a gaping maw, burning bright red, as if lined with live coals. This was the source of the ruddy light that filled the cavern.
Featherbolt clung to Gabriella's shoulder, his talons scratching tightly on the edge of her armour. Slowly, staring wide-eyed up at the incredible shape, Gabriella walked out onto the broken plane of the floor.
GABRIELLA XAVIER.
The voice that spoke her name was not human. It was hardly even a voice. It seemed to be formed of the guttural rumblings of the earth itself, vibrating deep into her ears and thrumming in her bowels. It was simultaneously almost silent and massively deafening.
"Yes," she replied. Her own voice came out as a dry croak, but she could not seem to bring herself to speak any louder.
Gabriella Xavier… Xavier… Gabriella… avier… ella…
The voice rumbled onwards, breaking into echoes, dozens and hundreds of them. The echoes seemed to fade into great distance, and Gabriella had the eerie sense that they were being broadcast throughout every dark depth of the Barrens underground.
"Heh hee!" a much smaller voice suddenly called out. Coming on the heels of the diminishing monstrous echoes, this new voice was tiny and merry, like a jingle bell in the disastrous expanse of the cavern. Gabriella glanced around, seeking its source.
A small man was seated amongst the snaking roots of the tree shape. His back was bowed with age, and his bald head bobbled as he waved at her. Against all probability, he seemed to be sitting in an old rocking chair. He worked it gleefully, bobbing back and forth on its curved rails. Even through the distance, Gabriella could see that he was grinning at her merrily, beckoning her forwards.
"What in hell…," Gabriella muttered, her eyes still wide.
Carefully and warily, she began to move towards the wizened figure. It was slow work due to the disastrously broken floor and the rafts of noxious smoke that poured through the cracks. As she skirted these, Gabriella saw that the crevices glowed faintly in their depths, some as wide and deep as canyons. The rumble of the earth was still audible. She could feel it through the soles of her boots. Before her, the awful tree shape loomed ever larger. Waves of heat baked from its jagged surface, beating down on her. Featherbolt switched his head back and forth restlessly, still clinging to the lip of her breastplate.
"Hee hee! Come forth, Princess!" the tiny, old man called thinly, still waving. "Come and greet me. Let us speak! Oh my, yes." He cackled wheezily, gaily.
The floor around the snaking roots was shattered into sharp, uneven terraces, each one higher than the one before it. Gabriella climbed these cautiously as she neared the man. The enormous, black roots of the tree shape spread around her now, each one as charred and deeply cracked as embers. Where they sank into the ground, the rocks rippled with heat shimmers. The twisted trunk rose above her, scorched black and ribbed with deep, sharp crags.
"That's a girl," the old man laughed. His voice was nearly as cracked as the rocks around him. He smiled at her gummily, chewing his lips, but his eyes were brilliantly sharp, blue like the ice of a
winter
millpond. "Come closer. Have a rest and visit awhile. Ask me your questions, Princess, and tell me your tales."
Gabriella was close enough to the old man now that he didn't have to raise his voice to speak. She neared him warily, and he simply looked up at her, his head bobbing on the stubbly stalk of his neck. He wore a rough, nondescript cowl, its hood pushed back between the knobs of his shoulders. Between his clasped hands was the head of a black cane apparently made of stone. Its tip was notched into the cracks before his bare feet. He rocked energetically, watching his visitor, apparently waiting for her to speak.
Gabriella studied him, frowning with consternation. Finally, she asked, "Are you… Coalroot?"
The old man grinned suddenly, stretching his wrinkled lips and showing his toothlessness. He rocked slightly faster. This, Gabriella figured, was answer enough.
"What was that voice I heard earlier? The one that sounded like the earth itself and spoke my name?"
"Hm-hmm!" the old man laughed secretively, his eyes dancing. He raised one hand and touched a finger to the side of his nose. He nodded and giggled.
Gabriella's frown deepened. "I was sent here," she announced. "I was told that you could help me in my quest. Is this true?"
"Perhaps!" the old man replied, nodding. "It all depends, does it not?"
"On what does it depend?" Gabriella pressed evenly.
The old man's eyes cleared for a moment. "On whether you ask the right questions."
Gabriella drew a sigh. She didn't have time for riddles from demented, old men. She looked around the ruddy depths of the cavern.