People were hurrying past the door, talking in excited voices. Some peered in at him, but no one came in.
In the warmth of the fire, he realized he was frozen. He was soaked in river water up to his waist and shivering from the wind and the horror of what he'd witnessed. Of what he'd taken part in.
Boots was in better condition. Her backpack seemed to be waterproof, and she was pressed up against him. Still, her toes felt like ice when they brushed his arm.
Fatigue washed over Gregor, and he wished he could lie down, just lie down and fall asleep and wake up in his bed where he could see the car lights flashing across the walls. But he had given up thinking this was a dream.
What had happened to the Underlanders? Perdita? Her wounded bat? And Mareth's? If they died, it would be his fault. He wouldn't even try to argue that.
Just then Luxa appeared. Burning white with fury, she crossed the room and struck him on the face. His head snapped to the side and Boots let out a cry.
"No hitting!" she squeaked. "No, no, no hitting!" She shook her tiny index finger at Luxa. Hitting was absolutely forbidden in Gregor's house, and it had only taken Boots a few time-outs to realize it.
Apparently it wasn't acceptable among the Underlanders, either, because Gregor heard Vikus's voice ring out sharply from the doorway. "Luxa!"
Looking like she'd love to slap him again, Luxa stalked to the mantel and glared into the fire.
"For shame, Luxa," Vikus said, crossing to her.
She turned on him, spitting venom. "Two fliers are down, and we cannot awaken Perdita because the Overlander must escape! Strike him? I say we throw him into the Dead Land and let him take his chances!" shouted Luxa.
"Be that as it may, Luxa, this is not seemly," said Vikus, but Gregor could see the news had upset him. "Both rats are dead?" he asked.
"Dead and in the river," said Luxa. "We scorched the land."
"This matter of 'we' you and I shall take up later," said Vikus severely. "The council is not pleased."
"I care not what pleases the council," muttered Luxa, but she avoided Vikus's gaze.
"So she wasn't supposed to be there," thought Gregor. "She's in trouble, too." He wished he could enjoy the moment, but he was too wracked with worry, guilt, and exhaustion to care. Besides, Luxa had saved his life taking out Shed. He owed her one, he guessed, but he was still stinging from the slap, so he didn't bring it up.
"No hitting," said Boots again, and Vikus turned to them.
Like Luxa, Gregor was unable to meet his eyes.
"What did the Overlander, Luxa? Fight or flee?" asked Vikus.
"Henry says he fought," Luxa admitted grudgingly. "But without skill or knowledge of weapons."
Gregor felt like saying, "Hey, all I had was a stupid torch!" But why bother?
"Then he has much courage," said Vikus.
"Courage without caution makes for early death, or so you tell me daily," said Luxa.
"So I tell you and do you hear?" said Vikus, raising his eyebrows. "You hear not as he hears not. You are both very young for deafness. Unleash his hands and leave us," he said to the guards.
Gregor felt a blade cut through the ropes on his wrists. He rubbed the marks trying to restore circulation to his hands. His cheek throbbed, but he wouldn't give Luxa the satisfaction of seeing him touch it.
Boots reached over his shoulder and touched the creases on his wrists. "Ow," she whimpered. "Ow."
"I'm okay, Boots," he said, but she just shook her head.
"Gather us here," said Vikus, sitting at the table. Neither Gregor nor Luxa moved. "Gather us here, for we must discuss!" said Vikus, slapping his hand on the stone surface. This time, they both took seats as far from each other as possible.
Gregor pulled Boots up over his head and out of the backpack. She settled on his lap, wrapping Gregor's arms tightly around her and looking at Vikus and Luxa with large, solemn eyes.
"I guess after tonight Boots won't think the whole world is her friend," thought Gregor. She had to find out sometime, but it still made him sad.
Vikus began, "Gregor the Overlander, there is much you do not understand. You do not speak, but your face speaks for you. You are worried. You are angered. You believe you were right to flee those who kept you against your will, but feel sorely that we have suffered in your saving. We told you not of the rats, yet Luxa blames you for our losses. We seem to be your enemy, and yet we gave you time."
Gregor didn't answer. He thought that pretty much summed things up except for the fact that Luxa had hit him.
Vikus read his mind. "Luxa should not have struck you, but your fight invited horrible death to those she loved. This is greatly felt by her, as both her parents were killed by rats."
Luxa gasped. "That is not his affair!"
She looked so distressed that Gregor almost objected as well. Whatever she'd done to him, this wasn't his business.
"But I make it so, Luxa, as I have cause to believe that Gregor may himself lack a father," continued Vikus.
Now it was Gregor's turn to look shocked. "How do you know that?"
"I do not know for sure, I only guess. Tell me, Gregor the Overlander, recognize you this?" Vikus reached in his cloak and pulled something out.
It was a metal ring. Several keys dangled from it. But it was the roughly braided loop of red, black, and blue leather that made Gregor's heart stop. He had woven it himself during crafts class at the very same summer camp that Lizzie was at now. You could make three things: a bracelet, a bookmark, or a key chain. Gregor had picked the key chain.
His father never went anywhere without it.
PART 2 The Quest
CHAPTER 10
When Gregor's heart started up again, it beat so hard, he thought it might break through his chest. His hand reached out on its own, his fingers grasping for the key chain. "Where'd you get that?"
"I told you other Overlanders have fallen. Some years ago we rescued one very like you in face and feature. I cannot recall the exact date," said Vikus, placing the key chain in Gregor's hand.
"Two years, seven months, and thirteen days ago," thought Gregor. Aloud, he said, "It belongs to my dad."
Waves of happiness washed over him as he ran his fingers over the worn leather braid and the metal snap that allowed you to attach it to your belt loop. Memories flashed through his mind. His dad fanning out the keys to find the one to open the front door. His dad jingling the keys in front of Lizzie in her stroller. His dad on a picnic blanket in Central Park, using a key to pry open a container of potato salad.
"Your father?" Luxa's eyes widened, and a strange expression crossed her face. "Vikus, you do not think he -- "
"I do not know, Luxa. But the signs are strong," said Vikus. "My mind has been on little else since he arrived."
Luxa turned to Gregor, her violet eyes quizzical.
What? What was her problem now?
"Your father, like you, was desperate to return home. With much difficulty we persuaded him to stay some weeks, but the strain proved too great and one night, also like you, he slipped away," said Vikus. "The rats reached him before we did."
Gregor smashed into reality, and the joy drained out of him. Of course, there were no other living Overlanders in Regalia. Vikus had told him that in the stadium. His dad had tried to get home and had met up with the same fate Gregor had. Only the Underlanders hadn't been there to save him. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "He's dead then."
"So we assumed. But then came rumor the rats had kept him living," said Vikus. "Our spies confirm this regularly."
"He's alive?" asked Gregor, feeling hope rush back through him, "But why? Why didn't they kill him?"
"We know not why with certainty, but I have suspicions. Your father was a man of science, was he not?" asked Vikus.
"Yeah, he teaches science," said Gregor. He couldn't make sense of what Vikus was saying. Did the rats want his dad to teach chemistry?
"In our conversations, it was clear he understood the
workings of nature," said Vikus. "Of trapped lightning, of fire, of powders that explode."
Gregor was beginning to catch his drift. "Look, if you think my dad's making guns or bombs for the rats, you can forget it. He would never do that."
"It is hard to imagine what any of us would do in the caves of the rats," said Vikus gently. "To keep sanity must be a struggle, to keep honor a Herculean feat. I am not judging your father, only seeking to explain why he survives so long."
"The rats fight well in close range. But if we attack from afar, they have no recourse but to run. Of all things, they wish a way to kill us at a distance," said Luxa. She didn't seem to be accusing his father, either. And she didn't seem mad at him anymore. Gregor wished she'd stop staring at him.
"My wife, Solovet, has a different theory," said Vikus, brightening a little. "She believes the rats want your father to make them a thumb!"
"A thumb?" asked Gregor. Boots held up her thumb to show him. "Yeah, little girl, I know what a thumb is," he said, smiling down at her.
"Rats have no thumbs and therefore cannot do many things that we can. They cannot make tools or weapons. They are masters of destruction, but creation evades them," said Vikus.
"Be glad, Overlander, if they believe your father can be useful. It is all that will give him time," said Luxa sadly.
"Did you meet my dad, too?" he asked. "No," she replied. "I was too young for such meetings."
"Luxa was still concerned with her dolls then," said Vikus. Gregor tried hard to imagine Luxa with a doll and couldn't.
"My parents met him, and spoke him well," said Luxa.
Her parents. She'd still had parents then. Gregor wondered about how the rats had killed them, but knew he'd never ask.
"Luxa speaks true. At present, the rats are our bitter enemies. If you meet a rat outside the walls of Regalia, you have two choices: to fight or be killed. Only the hope of a great advantage would keep a human alive in their paws. Especially an Overlander," said Vikus.
"I don't see why they hate us so much," said Gregor. He thought of Shed's burning eyes, his last words, "Overlander, we hunt you to the last rat." Maybe they knew how people in the Overland tried to trap, poison, and kill off all the rats aboveground. Except the ones they used in lab experiments.
Vikus and Luxa exchanged a look. "We must tell him, Luxa. He must know what he faces," said Vikus.
"Do you really think it is he?" she said.
"Who? He, who?" said Gregor. He had a bad feeling about where this conversation was going.
Vikus rose from the table. "Come," he said, and headed out the door.
Gregor got up, willing his stiff arms to carry Boots. He and Luxa reached the door at the same time and stopped. "After you," he said.
She glanced at him sideways and followed Vikus.
The halls were lined with Underlanders who watched them pass in silence and then broke into whispers. They did not have far to go before Vikus stopped at a polished wooden door. Gregor realized it was the first wooden thing he'd seen in the Underland. What had Vikus said about something being "as rare as trees"? For trees, you needed lots of light, so how would they grow here?
Vikus pulled out a key and opened the door. He took a torch from a holder in the hall and led the way in.
Gregor stepped into a room that seemed to be an empty stone cube. On every surface were carvings. Not just the walls but the floor and ceiling, too. These weren't the frolicking animals he'd seen elsewhere in Regalia, these were words. Tiny words that must've taken forever to chisel out.
"A-B-C," said Boots, which is what she always said when she saw letters. "A-B-C-D," she added for emphasis.
"These are the prophecies of Bartholomew of Sandwich," said Vikus. "Once we sealed the gates, he devoted the rest of his life to recording them."
"I bet he did," thought Gregor. It sounded like just the kind of thing crazy old Sandwich would do. Drag a bunch of people underground and then lock himself in a room and chip out more crazy stuff on the walls.
"So, what do you mean, prophecies?" asked Gregor, although he knew what prophecies were. They were predictions of what would happen in the future. Most religions had them, and his grandma loved a book of them by a guy named Nostra-something. To hear her talk, the future was pretty depressing.
"Sandwich was a visionary," said Vikus. "He foretold many things that have happened to our people."
"And a bunch that haven't?" asked Gregor, trying to sound innocent. He hadn't ruled out prophecies entirely, but he was skeptical about anything Sandwich came up with. Besides, even if someone told you something that would happen in the future, what could you do about it?
"Some we have not yet unraveled," admitted Vikus. "He foretold my parents' end," said Luxa sorrow fully, running her fingers over part of the wall. "There was no mystery in that."
Vikus put his arm around her and looked at the wall. "No," he agreed softly. "That was as clear as water."
Gregor felt awful for about the tenth time that night. From now on, whatever he thought, he would try to talk about the prophecies with respect.
"But there is one that hangs most heavily over our heads. It is called 'The Prophecy of Gray,' for we know not whether it be fair or foul," said Vikus. "We do know that it was to Sandwich the most sacred and maddening of his visions. For he could never see the outcome, although it came to him many times."
Vikus gestured to a small oil lamp that illuminated a panel of the wall. It was the only light in the room besides the torch. Maybe they kept it burning constantly.
"Will you read?" asked Vikus, and Gregor approached the panel. The prophecy was written like a poem, in four parts. Some of the lettering was odd, but he could make it out.
"A-B-C," said Boots, touching the letters. Gregor began to read.
Beware, Underlanders, time hangs by a thread. The hunters are hunted, white water runs red. The gnawers will strike to extinguish the rest. The hope of the hopeless resides in a quest.
An Overland warrior, a son of the sun, -May bring us back light, he may bring us back none. But gather your neighbors and follow his call Or rats will most surely devour us all.
Two over, two under, of royal descent, Two flyers, two crawlers, two spinners assent. One gnawer beside and one lost up ahead. And eight will be left when we count up the dead.
The last who will die must decide where he stands.
The fate of the eight is contained in his hands. So bid him take care, bid him look where he leaps,
AS life may be death and death life again reaps.
Gregor finished the poem and didn't know quite what to say. He blurted out, "What's that mean?"
Vikus shook his head. "No one knows for certain.
It tells of a dark time when the future of our people is undecided. It calls for a journey, not just of humans but of many creatures, which may lead either to salvation or ruin. The journey will be led by an Overlander."
"Yeah, well, I got that part. This warrior guy," said Gregor.
"You asked why the rats hate Overlanders so deeply. It is because they know one will be the warrior of the prophecy," said Vikus.
"Oh, I see," said Gregor. "So, when's he coming?"
CHAPTER 11
Gregor awoke from a fitful sleep. Images of bloodred rivers, his dad surrounded by rats, and
Boots falling into bottomless caverns had woven in and out of his dreams all night long.
Oh, yeah. And then there was that warrior thing.
He had tried to tell them. When Vikus had implied that he was the warrior in "The Prophecy of Gray," Gregor had actually laughed. But the man was serious.
"You've got the wrong guy," Gregor had said. "Really, I promise, I'm not a warrior."
Why pretend and get their hopes up? Samurai warriors, Apache warriors, African warriors, medieval warriors. He'd seen movies. He'd read books. He didn't in any way resemble any warrior. First of all, they were grown up and they usually had a lot of special weaponry. Gregor was eleven and, unless you
counted a two-year-old sister as special weaponry, he'd come empty-handed.
Also, Gregor was not into fighting. He'd fight back if someone jumped him at school, but that didn't happen often. He wasn't all that big, but he moved fast and people didn't like to mess with him. Sometimes he'd step in if a bunch of guys were pounding a small kid; he hated seeing that. But he never picked fights, and wasn't fighting what warriors mainly did?
Vikus and Luxa had listened to his protests. He thought he might have convinced Luxa -- she didn't have a very high opinion of him, anyway -- but Vikus was more persistent.
"How many Overlanders survive the fall to the Underland, do you suppose? I would guess a tenth. And how many survive the rats after that? Perhaps another tenth. So out of a thousand Overlanders, let us say ten survive. How passing strange is it that not only your father but you and your sister came alive to us," said Vikus.
"I guess it's kind of strange," admitted Gregor. "But I don't see why that makes me the warrior."
"You will when you better understand the prophecy," said Vikus. "Each person carries their own destiny. These walls tell of our destiny. And your destiny, Gregor, requires you to play a role in it."
"I don't know about this destiny thing," said Gregor. "I mean, my dad and Boots and I... we all have the same laundry room and we landed somewhere pretty close to you, so I'm thinking it's more of a coincidence. I'd like to help, but you guys are probably going to have to wait a little longer for your warrior."
Vikus just smiled and said they would put it before the council in the morning. This morning. Now.
Despite all of his worries, and he had plenty, Gregor couldn't deny a feeling of giddy happiness that shot through him periodically. His dad was alive! Almost instantly another wave of anxiety would rush over him. "Yeah, he's alive but imprisoned by rats!" Still, his grandma always said, "Where there's life, there's hope."
Boy, wouldn't his grandma love it if she knew he was talked about in a prophecy? But, of course, that wasn't him. That was some warrior guy who would hopefully make an appearance really soon and help him get his dad free.
That was his main goal now. How could he rescue his dad?
The curtain pulled open and Gregor squinted at the light. Mareth stood in the doorway. The swelling in his face had gone down, but his bruises were going to be there for a while.