“That’s your big plan?” Oscar said, throwing his arms up in disbelief. “To become a taxi driver? What are you going to do when Iolus and Kovax come to Theus looking to destroy everything? Will you give us a ride somewhere safe?”
Andres tried to keep his voice from shaking with anger. “If I have to, yes.”
“You can’t tell me what to do anymore. I’m going to be late.”
“For what? Your own funeral? If they can even find your body up in those caves.”
Oscar broke into a jog. Andres was losing him. He couldn’t stop his next words from bursting out of him.
“Your mother would be ashamed.”
Oscar came to a stop so suddenly that he actually slid across the pavement. He turned to face his father. Andres couldn’t read his expression from this distance. Dull with age, his eyes were nothing like his son’s.
“Mom’s dead,” Oscar said, “and you couldn’t save her.”
He took off again, practically gliding along the street. Andres waited until Oscar had disappeared, then fell to his knees and release the wretched sob that had been clawing its way up his chest.
“No,” he told himself with a shake of his fist. “I won’t weep. I won’t give up.”
Alma nudged him with her snout.
“I need your wings,” he told the levathon. “I need you to take me to the Caves of Krilkan Haut.”
The levathon’s eyes widened. It bucked beneath wings that unfurled suddenly like sails. A moment later, Andres was watching Alma disappear into the sky with an urgency that matched Oscar’s.
“Fine,” he said, “I’ll do it alone.”
He summoned the nearest Wingcab.
“Where can I take you?” the driver said.
“To the Caves of Krilkan Haut,” Andres said.
“You’re out of your mind, old man.”
The driver threw the vehicle into gear and sped off. Andres flagged down another.
“You couldn’t pay me to go up there, you crazy kook,” the woman driver said.
Alone again, Andres ran up the avenue to a Wingcab that had parked to release a smiling couple. He shot into the backseat before the door could close. The driver eyed him warily in the rearview mirror.
“Can I help you?”
“Please,” Andres said, taking out his wallet. “I wish to go somewhere dangerous. I have money. Lot of money.”
He pulled out a wad of bills he had taken out from a cash dispenser with the intent to sign up for a Wingcab licensure program downtown. That would have to wait until later—if he even made it back at all.
The driver eyed the bills and squinted at him.
“I’m not heading into the Rickets. I’ve had enough of drug addicts and alley walkers. If you call that sort of thing your pleasure, you can take your game somewhere else.”
Andres blinked at the man in confusion. All he understood out of that was ‘drug addicts’ and ‘pleasure.’
“No, no. I need go to caves. Krilkan Haut.”
He spread the stack of bills so the driver could better count the money.
“I can drop you off at the mouth of the cave…”
“Yes, yes.”
“…but you’re on your own after that. You need to get back to the city, you can walk. Understand me? I’m not picking you up.”
“I understand. Please. But first, my hotel.”
“Give me the money.”
The driver reached back with one hand. Andres gave him a single bill worth a hundred thessels, several times more than it cost to get to the Hotel of Arms under normal circumstances. He held another six hundred in his hands. A five-hundred-thessel bill was stuffed into one shoe in case someone tried to mug him. (It was a habit he had picked up in Colombia after being robbed inside his taxi several times at knifepoint. They never checked your shoes.)
“I give more later,” Andres said. “Six hundred. But first hotel, then caves.”
“Hotel, then money, then caves,” the driver said. “I don’t mess around.”
“Fine. Sorry.”
The man thrust the cab into gear. “Hey, no need to apologize, pal. You’re the one risking your neck, not me. I’ll be eating steak tonight.”
When they arrived at the hotel, Andres jumped out and raced inside. He handed the girl at the front desk his five-hundred-thessel bill and demanded change to pay for his cab. The girl frowned at the unexpectedly large note.
“I can only give you hundreds back,” she said.
“That is fine.”
She disappeared into the back room. Andres crept around the desk and searched the keys hanging on metal hooks above the cash register. Finding the ones he needed—and hearing the girl’s approaching steps—he plucked them off the wall, then hurled himself over the desk.
The girl emerged to find Andres picking himself off the floor. She frowned at him in suspicion.
“Tripped,” he said. “I am very—how you say?”
“Clumsy?”
“Yes, yes. Very clumsy.”
She handed him the bills and a bar of soap.
“Complimentary,” she said, meaning the soap. Her nose was slightly wrinkled at the smell of him. “Have a nice day.”
Andres slid her a hundred-thessel bill, smiling as her eyes flew open in surprise.
“And you,” he said.
He ditched the soap on his way up to Owen’s room. The children had been too busy with their classes to pack up their things. Andres dug through Owen’s drawers until he found what he was looking for, nestled in the back behind socks and underwear. A small box with something light and deadly inside.
He tucked the box into the back of his pants and was about to run back to the taxi when he remembered the Araband Emmanuel had shown him. Andres normally had no use for magical toys, but the magician had mentioned something about a location device built into it. Maybe it would help him track his son.
He went to Oscar’s room and found the device on the top shelf of the closet, still in its white box. His son’s name had been written on the surface. Andres took it, leaving his own on the desk. He would never be able to figure the thing out anyway.
The taxi was still hovering outside the hotel when he returned.
“Here,” Andres said, handing six hundred to the driver. He had stashed the rest in his shoe. Hopefully it would be enough to get him and Oscar back home. “Now, caves.”
“Yeah, yeah, I didn’t forget,” the driver said, lifting the cab. “You better get comfortable, though. It takes about two hours to get there.”
Andres nodded and wiped the sweat off his forehead. As soon as the driver began to ignore him, he pulled out the boxes he had stolen from Owen’s room.
Opening one of them, he caught a glint of Tiberian Steel.
He quickly snapped it shut.
CHAPTER 33
O scar waited for Jason and the other veterans at Ambler Park.
“That was fast,” Jason said. “What did you use, a hawk shell?”
Oscar shook his head. “I don’t have one.”
Larry jogged up to him. “Nice work, cub. Now, what do you have for flying shells? You’ll need one.”
“Um…” Oscar looked down at the ground.
“You can’t phase, can you,” Larry said.
“No, but—but I can still—”
“That’s why they wouldn’t let you into the program.”
Oscar shrugged, still looking at the grass.
“They’re missing out on one heck of a student,” Larry said. “I’ve never seen anyone run that fast.”
A warm flush rose in Oscar’s cheeks. “Thanks.”
“Then here’s how it’s going to work,” Larry said. “I’ll phase into a hermon, and you climb on my back.”
“A hermon?” Oscar said.
Jason broke in with an explanation. “It’s a bird of prey—a meat eater with talons like bear traps. Deadliest predator in the air, and those are just the females.”
“No time for a lesson,” Larry
said with a chopping motion to cut him off. “Oscar, listen to me. You try anything heroic in there, and you could get us all killed. Follow my instructions and stay near the back. First sign of danger and you run, understand?”
Oscar nodded. His father would like this man.
“Okay,” Larry said. “Stand back.”
With a powerful gust of wind, Larry phased into the largest bird Oscar had ever seen.
“See what I mean?” Jason said. “Took him two years to master it.”
The hermon released a sharp cry and fluffed its wings. The feathers were brown, but with orange along the edges that made Oscar think of fire radiating from its skin, about to consume its entire coat. It resembled a hawk but was almost as big as a levathon, with black talons as long as daggers and an orange beak that looked as though it could tear a leather hide to pieces.
Jason also phased into a bird shell, this one resembling a bald eagle with a purplish head and feathers covered in black spots. It was only a quarter the size of his brother’s hermon shell.
Dagon was the only one missing. He flew in minutes later, wearing a falcon shell and carrying a worn duffel bag in his claws.
“Our swords have arrived,” Muldoon said. “Nice work, Dag.”
The falcon nodded.
Five minutes later, Oscar was riding the massive hermon well above the towers of Theus. He held on by wrapping his arms around the bird’s neck and digging his feet into its sides. Hopefully this wasn’t uncomfortable for Larry.
They crossed the city and eventually flew past the academy. The campus looked small and quaint in its protective ring of mountains. From this height, the colorful buildings resembled children’s toys, the students no larger than crumbs spilled across the landscape.
Oscar hadn’t thought to ask how long the flight would be. It didn’t matter up here. Time held no meaning to him. He closed his eyes at one point and imagined that he was the one with wings, flying through the air.
When he opened them again, he was soaring well above the mountains. The terrain stayed the same for the next hour, until all he could see for miles around were jagged stone cliffs and trees like moss carpeting the valleys. The sun was gone by then, only a thin remnant of its light coloring the sky.
The hermon glided toward a cave entrance on a steep cliff, where a stone ledge provided standing room for anyone considering going inside. It looked almost inviting, as if someone had carved it explicitly to attract eager explorers. Maybe it was just the first of many traps they would find down there.
Once they landed, Oscar slid off and stretched his arms and legs. The cave entrance was a wall of darkness so thick Oscar thought it would repel his body like a force field.
Larry and the others phased back into human form, clothing and gear intact, crowding the ledge.
“It’s in here,” Jason said, pointing into the cave. “Follow me.”
Larry grabbed his brother’s arm, stopping him.
“I’ll be at your side the whole time,” he said.
Jason clamped a hand over his brother’s. “You always were.”
As the veterans unsheathed their swords and followed Jason inside, Larry motioned for Oscar to stay close. Oscar obeyed. As the darkness engulfed him, he wished he had brought a weapon of his own.
“THERE IT IS,” the driver said, tilting the cab so they could better examine the rock shelf at the foot of the cave’s opening.
Below the shelf, Andres saw a deadly slope, inaccessible by any means other than flight. Only a very stupid or desperate person would try to climb it. He shuddered at the thought of Oscar clinging to that wall, his grasp slipping.
“I’ll leave you at the entrance,” the driver said, “but like I told you, I’m not coming back, no matter how much you pay me.”
“Fine,” Andres said.
It was late evening now, and the waning sunlight painted the mountain walls a vibrant shade of raw gold. The cave was a black hole that swallowed that light completely.
As soon as Andres stepped onto the ledge, the cab shot away with a high-pitched hum. The driver had obviously been frightened, but of what? What vile things resided inside these mountains? Andres watched the cab tilt away from the mountainside and speed toward the safety of Theus. He had a feeling he would soon find out.
At the cave’s entrance, he listened for sounds of someone lurking inside, but the cave swallowed sound as well as light.
“Sofia, look over me,” he said, recalling the way his wife would gently kiss his cheek every morning before he went to work. That kiss had always steeled his nerves. If only he could have one now.
He brought out the Tiberian Steel dagger and let the empty case fall to his feet. The wind scooped it up and over the edge, and he watched it roll through the frigid air toward the distant carpet of trees. The blade in his hand was tiny, just like Andres felt in that moment, entering the darkness of a tunnel that could only lead to the worst of places.
A tunnel straight to Hell.
CHAPTER 34
T he day of the beauty pageant arrived, and Calista didn’t feel ready at all.
On the bright side, Peleros hummed with activity. Flocks of Feral families in bird shells swept across the clear sky. They had come from neighboring towns to enjoy the festivities and could surely smell the slabs of wartpig being grilled in the streets, the hopjuice and berrywine flowing from casks piled in the backs of wagons, and the stinging smoke from firetails and clawbombs being set off by the town’s more daring children.
If they had looked down, they would have seen a parade of mountain lions, werecats, bobochimps, and tuskglots proceeding toward Alvaryn Square with numbers painted on their sides for the Phasecraft competition judges; or the red-and-yellow tents set up in Rolling Plains where lines of buyers waited outside to inspect the imported tapestries and rugs from the master weavers of Hiopnos and Valevalyros; and, of course, the floats—which were just stupid, colored bags of hot air that smelled like cow farts, at least in Calista’s opinion.
The things they wouldn’t have seen or smelled from above were the drunk teenage boys that leered at every girl on two legs; the puddles of vomit in the alleyways from those who had been drinking since dawn; or the old men pissing in public like animals because “that’s how everyone did it in the old days.”
It was the same thing every year. Soon, Calista would be free of it. All she had to do was win, and Beasel had mostly taken care of that with his bribes.
She watched the revelers through a slit in the tent Beasel’s team had set up behind the stage. It was wretchedly humid inside, and his crew was fretting over the effect it would have on her makeup, especially if she kept wiping her face with her forearm the way she was doing.
“We need to fold back the side entrances,” the woman with hair like a pink beehive said. Her name was Ali, but everyone called her Mom because of her overbearing nature.
“Absolutely not,” Beasel snapped at her. “No one gets to see my work until that curtain is open, Mom. You know that.”
“Our work,” Ali snapped back at him. “It’s even worse in the back area with the other girls.”
Calista looked into the back area and saw frantic shadows behind the sheet separating her from the other beauty contestants. Beasel had forbidden her to let anyone, even her own competitors, see her costume in advance. He was paranoid of the effect being ruined by a last-minute leak to the audience.
They made Calista sit in front of the mirrors three more times for last-minute touch-ups. Torches had to be lit as the afternoon became evening, darkening the tent. Calista snuck away at one point to snag a piece of bread from the back area. When she saw the other contestants, she almost laughed. Beasel was right. Dressed in elaborate, frilly dresses and sparkling, fake jewels, the girls looked hopelessly outdated and gaudy.
A chilling thought occurred to her: Maybe that was what Peleros wanted, and Calista would be the one they laughed off the stage, not the others.
At precisely seven, a pair of trump
ets blew in unison. Fireworks danced across the purpling sky. The Carnival of the Vale was in full swing. People lined up to buy tickets for the pageant. At seven thirty, Beasel led the bustling crowd through the nation’s anthem and announced that the “noble citizens” of Peleros were in for a treat this year like no other in the history of their tiny village.
By a quarter after eight, half the girls had finished their routines. A few from the wealthier merchant families flew in on regal carriages pulled by levathons in uniform. The crowd especially loved them.
By fifteen until nine, all the girls had been presented except Calista and one other. This one flew in suspended on a ridiculous, bed-like platform covered in frilly pink pillows, linens, and sheets, with harps and flutes playing in the band area.
It took over a dozen wild white swans—Feral shells, of course—to carry it. Calista prayed a support rope would slip from one of their beaks, but it never happened. Instead, the girl slipped out of the bed, dressed in virginal white silks, and sang a romantic aria in another language to a young man in uniform pretending to be her lover back from war.
The crowd went wild. Even Calista found her mouth hanging open in wonder afterwards. Then Beasel popped his head into the tent and waved her over, mopping sweat from his brow with a handkerchief.
“Did you see that?” Calista said in a fierce whisper. “How can I compete against that?”
“You have to trust me. I’ve got everything planned. Just remember your moves, and don’t screw up.”
She hissed at him like a cat, not intending to react so violently, but the man’s criticisms irritated her to no end. Beasel nodded and smiled approvingly.
“Bring that attitude to the stage, and I guarantee you’ll knock them on their tails.”
Finally, the cheers and applause died down and the curtain closed, hiding the stage. Calista tried calming the fluttering sensation in her chest with a series of measured breaths. It didn’t work. Beasel entertained and prepped the audience with a dramatic story about a long-extinct tribe of Feral women archers that lived in the jungle. Behind the curtain, stagehands hurried to dress the stage for Calista’s act.
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