Hero Rising. Shane Hegarty
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new round of intense scratching.
Finn had taken the hand of the one-eyed Legend and allowed himself to be hauled up to safety. He’d then been led back down the slope to the beach, huddling against the scraped rock wall at the base of the mountain. It looked like it had been hacked away, piece by piece, and its debris left to scatter the beach. Even the slope he had climbed he now saw to be a path made by hand, or claw.
And the tools littering the ground had a variety of handles and grips, to accommodate, he guessed, the variety of hands and paws and claws that had done the clearing.
The Cyclops chewed slowly on a cigar-shaped rock, rolling it across his mouth from one side to the other while he watched Finn, who couldn’t quite shake off his wariness bordering on fear. He’d studied Legends, read the guidebooks. The Cyclops was not supposed to exist. It was a myth even among Legends.
On the Cyclops’s shoulder perched a tiny Legend, no taller than Finn’s leg, with a squashed pink nose, wide eyes and rounded grey face, so that he looked not unlike a squirrel, but not entirely like a squirrel either. He was smiling with unfathomable excitement. Finn guessed he was a Sprite.
A fourth Legend lurked further along in the tall grooves of the rock face. Finn could not see much of this creature but for the eyes, black slits on yellow. Finn had seen eyes like that before, but couldn’t recall where. They flooded him with dread.
“What is this place?” Finn asked over the sound of the sea sucking at the stones like it was trying to steal them.
“You’ll have a lot of questions, kid,” said the Cyclops, “and we’ve very little time so pay attention. First, you’re on an island.”
“Tornclaw. In the middle of the Great Ocean of the Dead,” said the Sprite in a helium-high voice, smiling brightly as if delighted to see Finn. It scrambled down the Cyclops’s arm and around behind Finn to get a closer look at him.
“Those tools you see? They’re here because this whole island used to be a crystal quarry,” continued the Cyclops. “It once stretched all the way out into the sea there, but has been hacked away until only the mountain is left. There are no crystals any more, just the bones of those once forced to work here.”
“…” Finn started to say.
“How did you get here? We found you because the little guy …” he pointed at the Sprite lurking at Finn’s legs, “… traced you through an energy imprint you’re leaking since you exploded in this place all those years ago. He can see you through the invisible walls separating our worlds.”
“I can’t see you clearly, though.” The Sprite grinned. “You look more like an orange blob.”
Cornelius was still scratching an itch while Hiss got out of the way.
The other, quiet Legend stayed half out of sight, except for those burning eyes.
“But most of all,” the Cyclops said to Finn, “you’re wondering, how are you talking to a Cyclops when they don’t exist in the first place?”
“That’s not what I was wondering,” Finn said, even though it was what he was wondering. Or at least, one of the things he was wondering.
The Cyclops leaned back, grinning. “Well, you’d be right to wonder.”
“If that’s what you were wondering,” clarified the Sprite, looking up at Finn while picking at the fabric of his jeans.
Finn swatted him away, and he backed off without complaint.
“We don’t exist,” said the non-existent Cyclops. “True, I have one eye. But it wasn’t always that way.” He paused and gave Finn a closer look at the scar circling an eye that appeared to have been pulled over across his face; around it was a patch of crooked, raised skin that looked like it had been carved with a stone and stitched back with that same stone. “I’m Fomorian, like Gantrua. But we had a little disagreement. This was the result. And now I work for your old pals here.”
Cornelius had finally stopped scratching, and Hiss was able to lift himself, curled and steady, to meet Finn’s gaze. “His name is Sulawan. Our tiny friend there is Beag. And I am sorry we had to grab you like that. It was the easiest way.”
“The easiest way?” exclaimed Finn. “You put me in the mouth of a sea creature.”
“A Leviathan, to be precise,” Sulawan the sort-of-Cyclops said.
“Which means that you, pal, got the luxury trip.”
“It didn’t smell like luxury,” said Finn.
“The rest of us had to rely on being flown here by Quetzalcóatl,” growled Sulawan. “They don’t like carrying me, and I sure as hell don’t like being carried.”
As if on cue, a shadow crossed the beach, a wing slicing through the cloud cover. Finn looked up and saw one of the Quetzalcóatls – a kind of enormous flying serpent that looked too broken to fly yet did so majestically. Some of them had led the resistance against Gantrua when Finn first came here, had controlled the Orthrus through some psychic trickery. But they had also been at war with serpents loyal to Gantrua. He had seen them fight in a great sky battle when rescuing his father from the Infested Side.
“Uncomfortable as it was, we are always in danger of attack in the skies so the Leviathan was about the best way to hide you and get you here to some sort of sanctuary. There is a lot we need to keep you safe from,” explained Hiss. “There is the danger of other Quetzalcóatls trying to grab you. And the Leviathan is big and tough enough to keep you hidden from some … other very dangerous threats.”
“Why?” asked Finn over the sound of the tide grinding on stone. “Gantrua is gone. I stopped him. Me and Emmie did.”
Sulawan took the rock from his mouth, worn almost to a stub. He decided there was a little more chewing in it. “Yeah, well, when you grabbed Gantrua you let loose something far worse.”
Cornelius whimpered, shook his heads; his ears whipped around.
Finn looked to Hiss. “I don’t understand. I thought with him gone, things would be better here.”
“They were,” said Hiss. “For a time.”
“But when you rip the head off a Hydra,” said Sulawan, “you shouldn’t be surprised when two more grow back.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m new to this,” argued Finn. “I’ve stared down the throats of a Hydra.”
“It’s a metaphor, kid,” said Sulawan, amused by his spirit. “And you might want to turn down the attitude a little. My friend over there doesn’t react too well to attitude.”
The hidden Legend remained in the shadows of the rock, eyes yellow, silent. It bothered Finn, although he was distracted by Beag the Sprite at his leg, staring up, delight glued on to his face.
“So, why bring me here?” Finn asked.
“To answer a question,” Hiss said. “Is Gantrua still alive?”
Finn considered this. They’d gone to all this trouble, and that was the question?
“Yes,” he answered. “Sort of. He was desiccated.”
A shudder ran through everyone. Finn sensed it even from the Legend in the shadows. Even the sea seemed to smack at the broken ground extra loudly.
“Where is he kept, kid?” asked Sulawan.
“In my house, I suppose. My old house. An assistant called Lucien took it from us.”
“So if you had to, you could get Gantrua back?” asked Hiss. Cornelius moaned a touch, shook the