Call of the Wraith

by Kevin Sands

“I think maybe it’s because of Bridget.”

  I took the bird from Sally and placed her on the snow. The girl looked between the two of us, but she didn’t move.

  Sally stepped toward her. “Hello.”

  The girl took a step back.

  “She won’t let anyone touch her,” I said.

  Sally took another step closer; the girl matched her, keeping her distance. “What’s her name?”

  “We don’t know. She hasn’t said a word since Wise found her, and Robert didn’t think she was a local girl. We’ve just been calling her the moppet.”

  “Moppet.” Sally mulled it over. “Shall we call you Moppet? Unless you’d like to tell us your real name.”

  The girl just watched, silent.

  “All right. Moppet it is,” Sally said. “She just showed up at the farm?”

  I nodded. “Robert thought she might have been in a shipwreck, too.”

  “If she was, it wasn’t ours.” Sally thought about it. “We should take her to Seaton. There’s a boat in the harbor; if she’s not local, maybe that’s where she came from.”

  “Shouldn’t we take her back to the farm?”

  “Why? She’ll just run away again. She clearly means to follow you.”

  I was pretty sure it was the pigeon she was after, but Sally had a point. The girl was undeniably willful. And while my tracks were fresh enough to follow today, if she tried to come after me later, she could easily find herself lost again.

  I didn’t really want to bring her along. I didn’t mind caring for her in principle, but I still didn’t know who I was. “Where would we keep her?”

  “If we find her parents,” Sally said, “we won’t need to keep her. Until then, she can stay in my room, at the inn. At least she’ll be safe.”

  I supposed she was right. We could always return her to Robert after seeing Sybil. Besides, I didn’t want to waste the whole day going back and forth through the snow. What I really wanted was to meet this Tom. It would be nice to see my best friend. Even if I didn’t remember him.

  • • •

  We made our way eastward, following the river. Despite Sally’s cajoling, Moppet wouldn’t come any closer. She just followed us, carrying Bridget in her arms.

  The hills we traveled turned back into woods. As we walked, Sally told me more about my forgotten adventures. She seemed rather keen to hear about my missing memories—almost too keen—until she explained that she’d lost memories, too, after someone had hit her in Paris. I asked her what that was like. She just shrugged.

  “Is everything all right?” I said.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “I don’t know. You sort of gave me a look when I first told you what happened to me.”

  “I was worried about you.”

  I didn’t think that was it. “Did you not get your memories back?”

  “I did.” She hesitated. “Some of them. I’m fine.”

  She didn’t seem fine. I glanced over at her as we walked.

  She noticed. “What?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “Good,” she said, somewhat tightly.

  I was confused. Something I’d said had angered her, and I had no idea what. I wanted to ask her about it, but I had the sense that would make her even more cross. So we walked along in silence, with me wondering what I should do.

  And then we heard the scream.

  CHAPTER

  13

  IT CAME FROM BEHIND. I turned, confused—who was that?—but there was only one person it could have been. I’d just never heard her make a sound before.

  “Moppet!”

  We sprinted through the woods, following her screams. Thirty yards away, her coat dropped out of sight. A furrow the width of her body cut through the snow, a path leading deeper into the trees. Something was dragging her.

  We ran faster now. Mixed in with her shrieks, I heard a snarl. And then we saw the monster that had her.

  It was a dog. The beast was tall—almost impossibly so—with jaws big enough to swallow my head. It had Moppet by the leg, and it dragged the girl as she grasped at the ground, catching nothing but fistfuls of snow.

  Robert had warned me there was a pack of wild dogs in the forest. It appeared we’d stumbled upon one of them—and one that had seen better days. I could see its ribs through its mangy black coat. This dog was starving.

  It froze when it saw us. Sally and I skidded to a stop as the beast crouched, ears flat, eyes dark brown pools of hatred. It snarled. Then it began dragging the screaming girl away.

  I didn’t know what to do. I looked to the trees for a branch to use as a staff, but anything strong enough, stout enough, was too high overhead.

  I shouted, waved my arms, stamped my feet—anything to make the dog think twice. Sally did the same, as Bridget fluttered overhead, grunting in alarm. The dog’s snarl grew, a rising howl of fear and rage. It snapped its head, trying to keep its eyes on me and Sally at the same time. Still it held on to the girl, its fury—and its teeth—a promise: Whoever tried to steal its prey would be the next in its jaws.

  What do I do? I thought, panic rising. I need a weapon.

  The Voice spoke. You have a weapon.

  For a moment, I didn’t understand what it meant. Then it came to me.

  My sash.

  I dropped my gloves in the snow, pulled open my coat. The dog growled. It lowered its body, flattened its ears.

  Slowly, slowly, I lifted my shirt, fingers searching the vials beneath. What do I use? The first thing that came to mind was oil of vitriol. It would burn the dog terribly if sprayed in its face. Though I hated to use a weapon so cruel.

  You have something better, the Voice said. Something that would drive away a dog for good.

  I racked my brain. Other than the vitriol—or something like it—what could I possibly use that might—

  My hand fell upon one vial. Yes, I thought. That’s it.

  The dog stopped retreating. Now it turned all its focus to me. Its lips drew back, and I could see its teeth pressed into Moppet’s boot. If the sheepskin hadn’t been so thick, the animal’s fangs would have already shredded her skin.

  The girl reached out for me, eyes begging me not to abandon her. The dog, I think, was beginning to understand I wouldn’t. Beyond its rage, I saw desperation—and that frightened me more than anything else.

  I snatched the vial from my side.

  The dog released the girl’s boot.

  I pulled the stopper out.

  Now the dog moved to the side, snarling at me. It stepped closer as I dumped the red powder into my palm.

  Sally inched inward, toward Moppet’s outstretched arms. The dog readied itself to leap—

  —But I did first. And I threw the powder right in its face.

  Sally darted forward. She grabbed hold of Moppet’s wrist, hauled the girl away, heels digging in the snow. The dog ignored her, springing at my neck instead.

  It crashed into me. I brought my arms up as we toppled. I jammed my forearm under the beast’s snapping jaws, trying to keep its teeth from my throat.

  Then the dog rolled off me, wheezing. It snapped its jaws on empty air, then suddenly gave a hacking cough, a vicious sneeze. It shook its head, blinking and whimpering, as it began pawing at its face.

  Its whimper turned into a howl. I backed away, and the dog did, too, driving its face over and over into the snow. I saw streaks of red—the powder I’d thrown—as the beast tried to rub the source of its torment away. It gave one final cry of despair, then turned, yelping, and bounded through the white.

  I moved, still trembling, to check on the girls. Moppet had wriggled free of Sally’s grasp and climbed a tree. In the struggle, she’d lost her boot; she stood on a branch with one sole and one snowy stocking. Sally leaned against the trunk, hand to her chest, trying to control her breath.

  “Are you all right?” she said.

  I wasn’t sure. I checked myself over, and, blessedly, the dog’s teeth had misse
d me. Sally plucked Moppet’s boot from the ground and held it up to her. She took it, shaking the snow from her foot.

  “What was that powder?” Sally said.

  “Capsicum,” I said. “Dried ground guinea pepper. It’s good for stimulating the stomach.” And fighting off dogs, too. “It’ll hurt for a while, but the dog will be all right in a few hours.”

  I wondered if I’d made the right choice. I hadn’t thrown vitriol because I didn’t want to be cruel; the dog had only attacked Moppet because it was starving. Still, leaving it out there meant it would be free now to attack someone else. I thought about Emma Lisle, and I couldn’t get the image of Moppet being dragged away out of my head.

  That must have been Emma’s fate, I told myself.

  Then where were the dog tracks? the Voice asked.

  It was snowing, I said. The tracks got covered. That’s why we didn’t see them.

  Is that what you believe? Or what you want to believe?

  I tried not to think of the dream. All those children . . .

  “Christopher,” Sally said.

  I flushed. I’d been having a conversation in my head, right in front of her. But she looked as if she had something else on her mind.

  “You knew,” she said.

  “Knew what?”

  “That powder. You—” She stopped, held a hand up. “Did you hear that?”

  Her fingers whitened as she hugged the tree trunk. Moppet stood frozen on the branch overhead, one boot still off.

  I stopped. I listened.

  And then I heard the baying, too.

  My guts twisted. Dogs don’t live alone. I’d forgotten about the rest of the pack.

  Every inch of my body shrieked at me to run. I looked at the vial in my hands. I’d already used half the powder to drive away the first animal. If the rest came . . .

  Moppet had the right idea; we’d be safe in the trees. But if they cornered us there . . . starving dogs would wait a long time for an easy meal. We’d freeze to death before they left to find other prey.

  The baying grew louder. “What do we do?” Sally said.

  Suddenly I heard a different sound. A bellow. A man?

  “Tom!” Sally gasped. “That was Tom! Christopher—the dogs are after him!”

  Tom. My best friend, whom I couldn’t remember. I thought of what Sally had said. I don’t think he sleeps anymore. He doesn’t even eat. He just sits in the parlor all night, looking at the door every time it opens, in case it’s you.

  “Keep Moppet safe,” I said to Sally.

  Then I rushed toward the howling of the dogs.

  CHAPTER

  14

  I RAN, DUCKING UNDER BARE branches, boots crunching in the snow.

  My stomach fluttered. From the barking, the whole pack was out there. I had enough capsicum for only one more dog. The rest of them? What was I supposed I do?

  I heard them more clearly as I got closer. The dogs barked and yapped and snarled, half toying with their prey, half desperate. A voice boomed out low. “Get away from me! Go!”

  I followed it, rushing through the trees.

  “Don’t make me hurt you!” the boy shouted. I could tell he was trying to sound brave, but the quaver betrayed his fear. When I finally saw him, I didn’t blame him one bit.

  He stood in a clearing among the trees. Eight dogs surrounded him, howling as they danced in and out of the circle. Their jaws snapped at his face, their teeth nipped at his heels. It would only take one bold beast to drag the boy to the ground.

  I said “boy” because Sally had already told me he was fourteen, same as me. But except for the innocence in his face, he looked like no boy. He was a giant,

  and I remembered my dream, the giant felled with a thousand arrows

  a Viking come to life from tales of old. Well over six feet, he towered over even these brutish dogs. And in his hands he held a sword.

  The blade was stunning. Three feet long, it gleamed with a golden inscription inlaid on both sides of the steel. The crosspiece was gold, too, and the leather of the hilt, large enough for two hands, was wrapped in fine gold wire. Its pommel was a moonstone, pale and perfect, glowing with its own inner bluish-white light.

  He held the weapon high. The dogs snapped and snarled, darting in wherever he turned his back. Tom spun around, trying not to give them a chance to seize an ankle. If they brought him down, he was finished.

  “Go!” he shouted. He swung at one of them. The dog leaped back to avoid the blade, but hunger drove the rest of them forward still.

  Closer they edged now, the circle tightening. They were so focused on him, they hadn’t yet noticed me hiding among the trees. What would they do if I ran in? I wondered. Would I scare them off when they realized their prey wasn’t alone? Or would I just be an addition to their meal?

  I needed a distraction. But what? I tried to think of what my sash could do, but I’d already begun to panic. I didn’t see any way to save him.

  And then the most amazing thing happened. The boy in the center stopped trying to slice at the dogs. Instead, he raised the blade high overhead. He began to whirl it around.

  And the sword—I swear it—the sword began to sing.

  It was a single, clear note. The steel rang out a call, a challenge, and it filled the forest with holy song. Come then, it seemed to say. Come find eternity.

  The sound made the dogs cringe. Two of them backed away, heads low, ears flat. Faster the boy whirled the sword, and the blade sang louder still.

  Now all the dogs were afraid. Three of them left the circle entirely, rushed all the way to the tree line. The rest of the pack looked around, nervous. One of them whimpered, ready to bolt, and I think if they hadn’t been starving, they might have.

  But here was meat, enough to fill their bellies, and a singing blade couldn’t overcome their gnawing hunger. Four of the dogs pressed on, desperate to end the fight.

  I had to act now. I sprinted toward the dog closest to me. Backing away from the singing blade, it noticed me coming too late. It spun to meet my charge, flecks of foam spitting from between its teeth.

  I threw the rest of the capsicum in its face. It sneezed and sputtered. But my intervention was too little, it had come too late. One of the other dogs leaped for the boy’s calf.

  “Behind you!” I shouted.

  The boy spun automatically. He recoiled as he saw the oncoming dog. Then he dropped to his knees, the blade swinging down in a great swooping arc. The gold shone as it sliced, and the dog ducked just in time to keep its head.

  The edge grazed its skull, drawing a long, thin line that sprayed blood in the snow. The dog yelped in pain and alarm. The animal I’d hit with the capsicum added its own cries to the mix, yowling in anguish as it shook its head to try to rid itself of the burning powder.

  The rest of the dogs backed away now, confused and frightened. I was out of powder, but the boy in the center still had his sword. He raised it again, swung it about once more. And once more, it began to sing.

  The dogs fled.

  The sword slowed as the boy watched the pack bound away. He stopped; the song faded into the wind. The boy shook, exhausted, panting from fear.

  “Tom?” I said.

  The boy whirled to face me. He stared, as if not quite sure what he was seeing.

  Then he charged toward me, screaming.

  “AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH—”

  He still held his giant sword. “Wait,” I said. “Wait!”

  He didn’t wait. Just before he reached me, he let the sword go. It fell, disappearing below the crust with a little puff. Then he slammed into me with a bone-jarring whump.

  We flew back together, the empty vial spinning from my hand. A spray of flakes made a minor blizzard as Tom landed on top of me, driving the wind from my lungs.

  “Oof,” I said.

  He grabbed my collar and shook me, rattling my brain with every joyful word. “I KNEW YOU WEREN’T DEAD!” he said. “I. KNEW. IT!”

  My
voice swam with my head. “I will be—if you don’t—stop doing that—”

  “Sorry. Sorry.” He yanked me from the snowbank like I was a doll. He stood me on my feet; I had to steady myself against a tree as the world spun. It had barely righted itself before he hugged me again, hoisting me in his arms.

  “But I KNEW IT!” he shouted.

  “Air,” I croaked.

  “What?”

  “Air. I need it. To breathe.”

  “Right. Sorry. Sorry.” He put me down, but his grin wouldn’t fade. And even though I couldn’t remember him, I found myself grinning back. After waking up so alone, it was heart-warming to meet people happy to see me. Though all things considered, I preferred getting tackled by the red-haired girl.

  The boy slapped me on the shoulder, nearly knocking me off my feet again. Still grinning, he fished his sword from the snow, shaking away the clumps that stuck to the blade.

  “I guess this means you are Tom,” I said.

  He paused as he brushed off the moonstone pommel. “I don’t get it. Who else would I be?”

  Before I could answer, I heard boots behind us, snow squeaking underneath. Tom’s grin widened. “Look who I found!” he said.

  Sally puffed as she clambered over the snowbank. “We’ve met. Are you two all right?”

  Her words reminded him that he’d been this close to becoming dog food. He held his sword up, amazed. “Eternity saved us,” he said. “You should have heard her. She was singing, and she scared away the dogs. And Christopher threw some kind of powder in one of their faces and—”

  My breath caught in my throat. “What did you say?”

  “Your powder?”

  “No. About saving us. Who saved us?”

  “Eternity. My sword. You know.”

  Its song. The sword’s song, when Tom had been swinging it overhead. Come find eternity, I’d thought it said. Had I heard that?

  Or . . . had I remembered it?

  Tom was puzzled. “What’s going on— Why, who’s this?”

  Curious, he looked past Sally. Behind her came Moppet, struggling through the snow. The little girl looked up, panting, and saw Tom staring back at her.

  She froze.

  Smiling, Tom took a step forward. I put a hand on his arm.