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“Er, sorry,” Puck said as the voices ceased and silence fell over the dunes again. “But could you repeat that? A little slower this time?” The sphinxes stood silent. Their blue eyes shut, as quickly as a door slamming, and did not stir again.
But, something was stirring around us. The sand was shifting, moving, as if millions of snakes writhed below the surface. And then, the sand erupted, and countless scorpions, small, black and shiny, spilled from beneath the dunes and poured toward us.
Puck yelped and the Wolf snarled, the hair on his back and neck standing up. We crowded together on the platform, drawing our weapons, as the ground became a mass of wiggling bodies, crawling over one another, until we couldn’t see the sand through the carpet of living, writhing black.
“You know, I think I’d rather be eaten by the sphinxes,” Puck exclaimed. He had to shout to be heard over the chittering that filled the air, the clicking of millions of tiny legs skittering over each other. “If anyone has a plan, or an idea, or a can of scorpion repel ant, I’d love to hear about it.”
“But, look.” Ariel a pointed over the edge of the platform. “They’re not attacking. They’re not coming any closer.” I peered over the edge and saw it was true. The scorpions surged against the stone wall, f lowing around it like a rock in a stream, but they weren’t climbing the three feet it would take to get to us.
“They will not attack us,” Grimalkin said calmly, sitting well away from the edge, I noted. “Not yet. Not unless we answer the riddle incorrectly. So, do not worry. We have a little time.” 208/387
“Right.” Puck didn’t look reassured. “And this is the part where you tell us you know the answer, right?”
Grimalkin thumped his tail. “I am thinking,” he said loftily, and closed his eyes. His tail twitched, but other than that, the cat didn’t move, leaving the rest of us to gaze around nervously and wait.
Impatient and restless, I scuffed a boot over the stone f loor, then stopped. In front of one of the broken pill ars, half-buried in sand, I saw letters carved into the stone. M-E-M-O-R. Kneeling down, I brushed away the dirt to reveal the entire word.
Memory.
Something stirred in my mind, an idea still too hazy to make out, like a forgotten name keeping just out of reach. I had something here, I just couldn’t bring it together.
“Look for other words,” I told Puck, who’d come up behind me, peering over my shoulder to see what I was doing. “There have to be others.”
Memory, knowledge, strength and regret. Those were the words we uncovered, carved into the stone f loor in front of each broken pill ar.
With each one we unearthed, the hazy puzzle pieces started to join, though still not enough to form the whole picture.
“Okay.” Puck dragged his hands down his face, scrubbing his eyes.
“Think, Goodfel ow. What do memory, knowledge, strength, and regret have to do with the four seasons?”
“It’s not the seasons,” I said quietly, as the pieces slid into place. “It’s us.”
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Puck frowned at me. “Care to explain that logic, prince?”
“Winter leaves scars that do not heal,” I recited, recalling the second line of the riddle. “Doesn’t make much sense, does it?” I pointed to a pill ar.
“But, replace it with that word, and see what you get.”
“Memory leaves scars that do not heal,” Puck said automatically. He frowned again, then his eyes widened, looking at me. “Oh.” The Wolf growled, curling a lip at the pill ar as if it was a waiting demon disguised as a rock. “So, we are to believe that the answer to this riddle, this ancient puzzle that has stood here for countless centuries, is us?”
“Yes.” In the center of the platform, Grimalkin opened his eyes. “The prince is correct. I have reached the same conclusion.” He gazed calmly around the platform, pausing at each of the four broken pill ars.
“Memory, knowledge, strength, regret. The seasons represent the four of us, so we must match the right word to the correct stanza.”
“But, there are five of us,” Ariel a pointed out. “Five of us, but only four pill ars. Which means one of us is missing. Or, left out.”
“We shal see,” Grimalkin mused, unconcerned. “First, though, we must figure out the rest of the puzzle. I believe the prince has already found his place. What about you, Goodfel ow?” He looked at Puck, twitching his tail. “Summer is a fire that burns inside. What word best describes you?
Knowledge has never been your strong suit. Strength…perhaps.” 210/387