Two entire walls of the one-room cottage were just shelves—shelves of strange books with titles like Mushrooms and Their Mysteries or Alistair Sprout’s Composting Essential: A Classic, glass jars with neat labels, and plants tumbling out of pots, either hanging down to the ground or clambering up the bookshelves to spread leafy arms onto the wood-beam ceiling above them. There was even a tiny bush pruned into the shape of a lion that stood proudly on the windowsill.
Bundles of dried plants hung on hooks all around the cottage, leaving enough space on the floor for the two straw pallets, a bed frame covered in a thick quilt, and the large wooden dining table. Or maybe it was a worktable, because instead of plates and spoons, there were pots of seedlings and little spades lying on it, surrounded by dirt.
In the flickering amber light, Sena began pulling dried meats and cheeses down from a shelf and placing them into a leather satchel.
Francis looked at her curiously. “Are you hungry? I can prepare—”
Sena shook her head, not looking back at any of them. “Nett, hand me your rucksack. We’ll need tools …”
“Sena,” Nett said suspiciously, “What are you doing?”
“Packing, obviously.”
“Sena, no, it’s not safe,” Francis said, touching the girl’s arm. “We don’t know what happened to Sophie. We don’t know what dangers lurk beyond Greenwood.”
Sena stopped what she was doing and turned back to face the three of them. “I need to get—I need to find her. I’ll never be safe here until the truth is out.”
Claire’s heart leaped. She could hardly believe her ears. “You’re going to help me?”
Sena sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “If that’s how you want to look at it, then yes.”
Francis leaned back on his heels, frowning. “You can’t just set off into the wraith-filled night without some idea of where Sophie has gone. You need a plan, Sena.”
“But I do have a plan,” Sena said. “I spent all night thinking about it.”
Both Francis and Nett looked at her, clearly surprised. Claire couldn’t blame them. Even though she’d only just met the Forger, Sena didn’t seem like someone who thought things through—she just did them.
“There’s an easy way to find the harp—and Sophie,” Sena said. “We just need a Looking Glass.”
There was a clatter as Nett yelped and dropped the fire iron. “First frost,” he said. “You have to be joking!” But Claire didn’t see anything humorous about the set of Sena’s jaw.
“Not at all. I know the theory.” Sena tried to tie her rucksack shut; by now it was bulging with all sorts of strange supplies. “A Looking Glass can show you the location of whatever it is you’ve lost. In this case, we’ve lost Sophie. And if we find Sophie, we’ll find the harp.”
“Sophie didn’t steal—” Claire began, but stopped when Francis held up his hand.
“And where are you going to get the Forger tools you need?” he asked Sena. “Where will you find a forge to melt metal?”
Sena’s chin jutted out farther. “At a smith’s workshop. In Fyrton.”
Nett no longer seemed startled by what Sena was saying. Instead, he was staring at her with a look of suspicion. But Francis was clearly shocked by Sena’s plan. He moved so he was standing in front of the door, blocking it.
“I’m afraid I cannot allow that.” There was a warning in the grain of his voice that gave Claire a chill.
“Why not?” Claire asked. “Mr. Francis, if this Looking Glass can lead me to Sophie, then Sena and I need to go to Fyrton.”
“Because,” Francis said, turning grim eyes on her, “as Sena knows perfectly well, going to Fyrton would mean certain death.”
CHAPTER
9
Certain death.
The words hung suspended in the air, before clattering down around Claire like hail. She’d been afraid many times in her life, but this particular moment had a distinct feeling to it. It was the same feeling she’d had when they’d learned the doctors didn’t have a name for Sophie’s illness, and that, without a name, they didn’t know a definite cure.
Claire shuddered, throwing off the memory and reminding herself that Sophie was better now.
“But … why?” Claire whispered. “Why is Fire Town so dangerous?”
“Fyrton,” Francis corrected. “And there are many reasons.” With a grunt, he stepped back from the door and then, with effort, lowered himself into a rocking chair. Now that he was next to the fire, Claire could clearly see how his leather jerkin strained over his belly and how thin blue veins spidered his hands. He was old, she realized. Very old.
“Hundreds of years ago,” Francis began, “in Arden’s Golden Age, when unicorns roamed freely, people could travel anywhere they wanted. All the guilds were welcome to work together and combine their magic. Cities with grand buildings rose up and large universities welcomed everyone to study and exchange new and brave ideas.”
“But then the war came,” Nett said, his voice low, his eyes shadowed in the flickering light of the hearth.
“That’s right,” Francis went on. “The guilds began to compete with one another. Each felt their magic was stronger and better than the others’. The Gemmers came to power and tried to enslave the Forgers.”
Claire gasped and looked at Sena. The Forger was still standing in a corner of the cottage, clutching the rucksack to her chest tensely, like a cat about to spring.
“The Forgers, naturally, rose up against the Gemmers and rebelled. All the guilds eventually got involved, and a terrible war was waged. And here we come to our point.”
Francis shifted slightly. “When the Guild War finally ended, new laws were made. Since then, each guild is to remain separate. No member from one guild may travel to another guild’s town or city, unless given explicit permission to trade. In addition to that, each guild has exactly the same number of unicorn artifacts, and any new discoveries must be reported to the capital. It’s the only way to stop one guild from becoming more powerful than the other three. It’s the only way to keep the peace.”
He glanced back at Claire. “That’s one of the reasons why Grandmaster Iris is so concerned about the Unicorn Harp. It was never reported to the capital. Greenwood has broken one of the laws.”
“But …” Claire’s mind was turning. “If the guilds aren’t meant to mingle, then why does Sena live here, among the Tillers? Isn’t she—aren’t you,” she said, trying to catch Sena’s eye, “a Forger?”
“That’s private,” Sena said harshly. “I don’t ask you why Sophie didn’t tell you about us, and you stay out of my business.”
Claire’s heart twisted. Sena had hit on something painful. Sophie hadn’t told Claire she’d been coming back to Arden. She hadn’t trusted Claire with her Experiences. Claire’s eyes stung, and she didn’t know what to say.
“Enough,” Francis said firmly, frowning at Sena. “Sena’s an exception, Claire. Which leads me to another point. Sena, you know that you have been exiled from the Forger Guild. And though it seems you’ve forgotten, that includes Forger cities like Fyrton.”
Claire studied Sena, wondering what awful thing she had done to be kicked out of her own guild at such a young age. Sena couldn’t be more than thirteen.
Sena’s eyes hardened, glittering like gold coins. “A Looking Glass is the only way we’ll be able to find Sophie and clear my name!”
“Arden is strict about guild interactions,” Francis warned. “And the Forgers of Fyrton are the strictest of all.”
“But Francis”—if Sena had been anyone else, Claire would have said she was pleading—“if we don’t find the harp, Greenwood and the rest of the Tillers will blame me.” She crossed her arms around herself, a movement that was somehow at once both defiant and helpless. “I have to go somewhere.”
“Yes,” Francis said, sounding surprisingly fierce. “You will go somewhere, but not Fyrton. You and Claire will go to the old cabin and lay low for a week. In the meantime, I will tal
k with Iris and make her see reason. And”—he raised his voice over Sena and Claire’s sounds of protest—“I will send word to my Tiller friends throughout Arden asking them to keep a lookout for a girl of Sophie’s description. Agreed?”
Sena walked over and knelt down beside Francis’s rocking chair. “All of Greenwood knows about your old cabin,” she said softly. “It’ll be the first place they look.” For a moment, Claire thought their roles were reversed, as though Sena were the adult and Francis the child.
“Young lady—”
“Oh Francis, don’t you see?” Sena said. Her voice trembled like a tear about to fall. “I can’t get you in trouble, too. I can’t let more people be hurt because of me. Because of my mistake.”
Claire almost took a step back at the current of guilt in Sena’s voice. Again, she wondered what exactly Sena had done to have been exiled.
Francis grew very, very still. And for once, Nett seemed to have nothing to say. The fire crackled in the silence.
The old man seemed to be at war with himself. He ran his hands through his hair until it looked as fierce as the mane on the little green lion. But just when Claire thought he was about to roar his disapproval, Francis let out a soft sigh. And with the sound, something inside him seemed to wilt. When he lifted his eyes to look at Sena, Claire saw that they were full of sadness.
“If you must,” he said quietly, “take a village horse.”
There was another long pause as Sena squeezed his hand. “Thank you,” she said, and she actually sounded like she meant it. “I promise we’ll be careful and—”
“You will return in one week,” Francis interrupted, his voice once again firm. “One week. Do you understand?”
And as Sena nodded, Claire realized how truly dangerous it must be to stay in Greenwood if Francis was willing to let them risk this journey. Her heart began to beat rapidly.
Sena stood and swung the bulging rucksack onto her back, while Francis cleared his throat, then got up and went to a cupboard, from which he pulled out a pair of boots in soft gray leather.
“For you,” he said, handing them to Claire. “You don’t want to be traveling in thin slippers.”
Claire hesitated a moment. By accepting the boots, she was agreeing to a trip that would end in certain death. But if she didn’t, she’d never find her sister. She reached for the boots.
“Thank you.”
“They’re a bit big, but I’ve got some long laces, and we’ll tie them tight,” Francis said. “Nett, one of your tunics might fit Claire.”
Nett nodded, and rummaged in a nearby trunk. A moment later, he returned with a small bundle of clothes.
“Here you go,” he said. “You can change behind the screen.”
Claire took the squishy armful and looked down. Nettle Green was embroidered in orange thread on the inside of the green collar. Suddenly, Claire felt almost hopeful. Wraiths might exist here, but it was good to know that kind people did, too. Nett and Francis might not know what happened to Sophie, but they still wanted to help her. Even grumpy Sena was ready to assist.
“Don’t just stand there,” Sena barked, as if to disprove that last thought. “Change!”
Claire quickly walked over to a screen made of tall reeds. She slipped on the soft moss-green shirt. The wide trousers were slightly too big for her, but they cinched in around the ankle so she wasn’t in danger of tripping. She laced her boots tightly.
Before Claire came out from behind the screen, she carefully pulled her pencil from her sweater pocket and pressed her thumb to its tip. It was a reminder of home. She didn’t want to leave it behind. She stuck it behind her ear, securing it with a few thick curls.
Stepping out from behind the screen, she saw Sena standing with two packs now slung over her shoulder. She handed one to Claire, who was surprised by its heaviness.
“And here’s a cloak.”
Claire automatically took the slate-blue cloak with the soft hood that Sena was holding out to her. She thought that when she tied it around her shoulders she would feel silly, as though she were playing dress up, but as the cloth settled comfortably around her, she suddenly felt the weight of what she was doing. For the first time, she realized what was happening: she was going on a quest.
What would her parents think? Her parents.
“How long do you think it’ll take to get there?” Claire asked anxiously. “I don’t want my mom and dad to worry.”
“Calm your heart,” Francis said, coming up behind her and dropping a few more wrapped parcels into her pack. “Time seems to run differently between your home and Arden. Sophie insisted she visited one night after the other, but sometimes there were several days between her visits. Months, even. There didn’t seem to be any discernable pattern, Sophie said, except that time always seemed to run faster here.”
Buckling down a final strap, Francis gave Claire’s rucksack a last pat. “You should be home before your parents even notice you’re gone,” he continued. “The Greenwood Council, though, that’s a different matter. You two better hurry.”
“Not two, three,” Nett said, stepping out from behind a shelf where he had been cramming more things into his own rucksack. “I’m going with them.”
“No, Nett!” Sena said before Claire had a chance to open her mouth. “This isn’t your fight!”
“I’m coming,” Nett insisted stubbornly. “I know magic better than you—”
“Only because you’ve been trained!” Sena cut in.
“I know that,” Nett said. “But I can help! And Claire has no magic, and she probably doesn’t even know the difference between a yew berry and a rose hip—do you?” he asked Claire.
“No?” she said.
“One’s poisonous,” he said promptly. “See? You need me.”
Arms crossed, Sena turned to the old man. “As soon as they see we’ve escaped, they’ll know you helped us. They’ll come after you.”
The furrows on Francis’s face deepened, mapping out worry, concern, and love.
“My dear girl,” he said to Sena. “I’m an experienced craftsman. I can take care of myself.”
“Ha!” Nett stuck his tongue out at Sena.
Francis handed a small pouch to Sena. By its tinkling, Claire thought it must be full of coins. “Out the back entrance,” he said. Then he looked down at Sena.
“May the silver sing sweet—” she said gruffly.
“—until again we meet,” Francis finished.
Sena nodded her head in acknowledgment, then she flung her arms around him.
“Be safe,” she mumbled into his leather vest.
“You, too.”
Sena broke the embrace and turned toward Claire. “What are you waiting for?” she snapped irritably. “Open the door!”
Claire swung the door open, and Sena marched into the night, Nett hurrying after her.
“Claire?” Francis said.
She looked back at him. His eyes were dark, the color of the ivy that concealed Windemere’s red brick.
“Do not tell people where you’ve traveled from—it could be dangerous for you,” he whispered. “If anyone asks, say you’re a Tiller. And once you’ve found Sophie, you both must leave Arden as fast as you can.”
“We will,” she said quickly. “Thank you for—for everything, Francis.”
“You’re very welcome. It’s the least I can do, as this is partly my fault.”
Surprised, Claire frowned. “What do you mean?”
Francis’s eyebrow dipped. “Sena and Nett don’t have many friends in Greenwood. It was nice to see them with Sophie, and I’m afraid I … encouraged her to come back.”
“Sophie would have come back anyway,” Claire said, not needing any Sinceri Tea to know that what she said was true.
A sad smile appeared on Francis’s face. “Then I thank you for your comforting words. Now go.”
Claire nodded and stepped into the blue darkness, leaving the glow of Francis’s cottage behind.
CHAPT
ER
10
“This way!”
Claire followed Sena’s whisper to the tree line. Clouds skittered across the moon, making its glow dim while shadows quivered in the grass.
“Put your hood up,” Sena instructed, and Claire slipped her cloak’s hood over her hair. It was slightly too big, and came down low over her forehead, framing her vision on all sides so she could only see what was directly in front of her.
Sena nodded her approval. “Keep your head down, and you shouldn’t be recognized.” She paused. “Not that people are out tonight. No one wants to risk running into a wraith with the harp gone.”
“But,” Nett rushed to add, “we don’t have too far to go. The sun will rise soon enough, and then the wraiths will retreat. Just stay close—and no sudden movements.”
The three of them snaked their way along the forest’s edge, Sena in the lead. Without a light, Claire tripped often. The darkness had a tangible quality to it, as though she were trying to wade through sand instead of air. It forced her to move slowly even though she was desperate to run.
After several minutes, they arrived at a long, low building that was just beyond the faint glow of neatly lined cottages. Carefully, Sena slid open a well-oiled door and disappeared inside, Claire and Nett following close behind.
The smell of manure and the sound of soft munching filled the space. From somewhere near her, Claire heard Nett fumble, and then the moss’s light spilled from his hands, washing over the velvety muzzles of a dozen horses in their stalls.
Claire suddenly had a very bad feeling. She had only been on a horse once before, when Sophie had begged their parents for a trail ride through a state park. It had taken some convincing for Claire to get on, but when the park ranger had offered to hold on to her rope, she’d been okay.
Somehow, she didn’t think Sena would be so patient.
“Keep up,” Sena said as she marched them through a small door.
Stacked from floor to ceiling, golden bales of hay circled the room like the edges of a nest. Only one small corner had been brushed clear—a space just big enough to hold a pair of boots slumped next to a trunk, and a pile of blankets.
The Unicorn Quest Page 7