The Owl Keeper

by Christine Brodien-Jones

  Boots thumped, grass crackled. It sounded like the Dark Brigade.

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  Max pictured them marching through the field in their outrageous capes and goggles, lie detectors strapped to their backs. He shook with fear and his heart pounded crazily. There was nowhere to hide; he was trapped in the middle of a field.

  "Max?" croaked a thin voice. "Are you there?"

  Max hesitated. Was this a trick to draw him out into the open? The silver owl flapped from a branch, hooting at him. He peered down through the leaves and saw a girl in a long coat and oversized boots, hair sticking out in a hundred directions. His heart leapt for joy.

  "Rose!" he cried, scrambling down the trunk.

  Slumped against the tree was Rose--unwashed, wild-eyed and sleepless--her coat in tatters. Dark circles beneath her eyes gave her a scary, witchlike appearance.

  "Rose, it's really you!" Max threw his arms around her. "I was afraid I'd never see you again!"

  Rose gave him a listless hug and he could tell her heart wasn't in it. She was exhausted--probably hungry, too. He noticed she seemed extra-thin, as if she'd snap in two if he squeezed too hard.

  "You're not safe here!" he gasped. "The Dark Brigade's looking for you!"

  "I know, Max, the town's crawling with them. They chased me all over the place and someone shot an arrow at me!" Rose's eyes flashed angrily. "It went through my coat and stuck right here, in my arm, but I pulled it out."

  Max sucked in his breath.

  "It didn't hurt much," she said, and he could tell she was trying to sound brave. "I was so angry, Max! I'm the one called Artemis, I'm the huntress--it should be me shooting arrows at them!"

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  "Are you okay?" asked Max, wondering nervously how the poisoned arrow had affected her vision. "Can you see me?"

  Rose pulled away, staring at him with haunted eyes. It looked to Max as if the light had gone out of them.

  "Course I can see you," she said, frowning. "You look like the same goofy kid as always. Got any food? I'm starving."

  Max breathed a sigh of relief. Rose hadn't been blinded after all! Maybe, he told himself, the experimental medicine had been faulty, or the dose too low.

  "I've got peaches," he said, searching through his knapsack.

  "What's with the red tape around the tree?" she asked as he handed her a peach.

  "The Dark Brigade was here! They marked the owl tree." A weary sadness fell over him. One by one, the High Echelon was taking away the things he cared about most. "I guess they'll cut it down soon."

  "Told you, didn't I?"

  While Rose devoured the fruit, Max noticed with alarm that her hands were raw and bleeding, and there was a nasty scrape down the side of her face.

  "I forgot the thermos," he said, feeling bad. "Sorry, there's nothing to drink."

  Max thought guiltily of his comfortable bed, his warm house and its well-stocked pantry. While he'd been sulking in his room, Rose had been running, hiding, scavenging for food. How could he feel sorry for himself when he lived in comfort and security?

  "That's okay, owl boy." Rose huddled against the bark, gnawing on the peach. "I don't trust Crumlin's hot cocoa anyway."

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  Max had never seen her so shaken. He was used to Rose being bossy and confident, but now it seemed all the fight had gone out of her. Should he tell her that the arrow was a poison-tipped dart? Was this the right time to mention it? Somehow he didn't think so. What if it made her even more disheartened?

  Rose gave a tired sigh as she lifted a clump of hair from her neck. Max caught a flash of yellow. "A tattoo!" he said.

  "Don't you know anything, Max Unger? I'm a Night Seer, same as you. They marked me for the diamond mines."

  It hadn't occurred to him that Rose must have a tattoo as well. But of course she did--he remembered her mentioning it the night she told him about the Mark of the Owl. Intrigued, he asked, "Can I see it?"

  She leaned forward, pushing a strand of knotted hair off the nape of her neck. In the light of the two moons Max could see the diamond-shaped tattoo. He traced it slowly with his index finger.

  "It feels kind of rough," he said, wondering how many other kids their age had similar tattoos. "If I squinch up my eyes, I can see your owl mark underneath." It was sad to think that the Night Seers had been banished to the darkness, when once they had been magical and revered, able to understand the language of silver owls.

  "My dad and I ran away before the High Echelon could take me off to the mines." Rose used her sleeve to wipe her mouth. "We had this plan, see, we were going to spring my mom out of jail." She had eaten every bit of the peach and was sucking on the pit.

  "Your mother's in jail?" said Max, caught off guard. He felt hurt and angry. This was one more secret Rose had kept from

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  him. "Why didn't you tell me? I mean, people get arrested every day in this country--it's nothing to be embarrassed about!"

  Rose got a little haughty then, but that only endeared her to Max. It was like the old Rose. "I'm not embarrassed!" she bristled. "I'm proud of her! Her name is Violet Silvertree-Eccles-- it's hyphenated--and they took her to prison when I was eight. But I don't like to talk about it."

  Max winced, thinking of other parents who had been taken away by the Dark Brigade. As far as he knew, none of them had returned. His own parents never mentioned the subject, but Mrs. Crumlin was always quick to condemn, saying the High Echelon never arrested anyone without good reason. He realized now that the opposite was true, that ordinary people were being arrested for speaking against the government.

  "My mother used to write letters," Rose continued. "They came folded up in skinny envelopes with words crossed out in black ink. I answered every single one."

  "Who would cross words out?" Max wondered why Rose had said "used to." Didn't her mother write letters anymore?

  "I hate the Dark Brigade! My life got wrecked because of them! It's their fault my family got busted up." Rose punched the air with her fist. "My mom's in a high-security prison in the Low Dreadlands. I'm going to crack that jail cell wide open and spring her out! Want to come with me, Max?"

  "Sure, Rose." Max smiled just a little. Maybe Rose hadn't lost her spunkiness after all. "I'll help you fight the Dark Brigade, because I hate them too." Poor kid, he thought, she's all by herself--she's like an orphan with no one to look after her.

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  "Anyway, it doesn't matter." Her voice grew shaky. "The letters stopped coming."

  Max stared at her dirty face and scuffed knuckles and bleeding hands. He hadn't had a chance yet to tell her about his own problems and what the High Echelon had planned for him, but he knew this wasn't the time. He could see she needed to talk.

  "We've been running for weeks, me and my dad, hiding in empty buildings." She flicked the peach pit into the grass. "The Tarian hid us in a barn on the other side of Cavernstone Grey." She stared at Max with sorrowful eyes. "Two days ago the Dark Brigade turned up. My dad pushed me through a trapdoor, then they stormed in and dragged him away. He didn't have time to hide!" Her face crumpled and Max's heart fell as she burst into tears. "I don't know where they took him!"

  The owl fluffed her wings and gave a mournful hoot. Rose, calming down a little, reached out to stroke her feathers.

  Max put a hand on Rose's shoulder. She hiccuped. He couldn't bear to see her so upset.

  "It's my fault," she said, looking downcast. "My dad said it was time to move on, but I wheedled him into staying a little longer, because ... well, because of you, Max, and the silver owl and all the adventures we were having. He didn't know I was sneaking out in the nights to see you--he thought I was asleep in the hayloft!"

  Max blushed. Rose had wanted to stay because of him? Guilt crept over him: that meant her father's capture was Max's fault! Rose and her father should have been miles away by now, making plans to rescue her mother.

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  "But you told me your dad was sending you out on night missi
ons! You said you were checking out places like Cavernstone Hall and The Ruins and reporting back to him!"

  Rose hung her head. "Yeah, I know." She hiccuped again. "I made all that stuff up."

  "Rose," he said, looking her square in the face. "Your dad's been gone more than two days. Einstein told me they caught him two weeks ago! You've been on your own all this time--why didn't you tell me, Rose?"

  Her eyes grew wet with tears again as she began to sob.

  "Please don't cry," pleaded Max, brushing away her tears with his mitten. "Listen, we can have more adventures." His mind raced. "We'll go looking for the Owl Keeper! We'll find the path from the song and follow it--"

  What was he saying? He'd never leave Cavernstone Grey, no matter how much his world imploded. The town was surrounded by forests filled with plague wolves, Misshapens and skræks. The Dark Brigade was lurking everywhere. He had his allergy to sunlight to think about. He could never run away, he told himself.

  Rose looked up expectantly. "The Owl Keeper has special magical powers, right?"

  "Of course he does," Max replied with false confidence--as if the solution were that simple.

  Rose gave a weak smile. "Well, in that case, he can help us both."

  "Sure he can," mumbled Max, furious with himself for making a promise he knew he would never keep.

  He glanced guiltily over at the silver owl. The owl tilted her head, as if she were considering what he'd just said.

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  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  [Image: The owl tree.]

  Quietly they crept in through the back door, sneaking through the kitchen and hallway, up the staircase to Max's bedroom. He sat Rose down on his bed and wrapped the quilt around her. The only friend who'd ever been in his room before was Einstein. He'd helped Max with long division and an essay called "Famous Leaders of the High Echelon."

  Rose was so exhausted she leaned against the wall, already half asleep. He knew he had to hide her, but where? The cellar? The attic? Under the porch? There was no place where Mrs. Crumlin didn't snoop, especially since finding the owl's secret message.

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  "Wait here," he told Rose, and rushed downstairs. He whizzed around the kitchen, boiling up milk and honey, returning with a full thermos and a steaming mug for Rose. It felt a little strange being responsible for someone else, since in the past he'd been the one being looked after. Still, it was a good feeling. The word, Max decided, was chivalrous: he felt like a knight of old.

  "Here, eat something," he said, tossing a bag of cookies, a loaf of bread and a slab of cheese on the bed. "They're all from the store," he added, in case she was worried about being poisoned.

  Rose took a sip of the warm drink, but before she could take a bite of something to eat she'd nodded off. Max caught the mug before it spilled on the quilt. "Wake up!" he whispered, shaking her gently. She looked so tired he was afraid she might fall asleep and not wake up again. Her face was white and her eyes were sunken, with black rings underneath that worried him. What kind of drug had Dr. Tredegar placed on the tip of that dart?

  "Maybe I should go where your owl was going," she said in a groggy voice. "To the sea."

  "I think that's where she was going. The message in her beak was about ships." He considered for a moment. "How far is the sea?"

  Max knew about the sea from Gran, who had been there as a young girl. The sea, she said, was endless and beautiful, filled with glassy waves and terrifying creatures that didn't need air to breathe.

  "The sea is a long way," said Rose in a hoarse whisper.

  "Did I ever tell you about my shell?" he said, trying to keep her awake. Gran had given him the shell as a memento of her childhood. "It was my granny's when she was little."

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  Much to his relief, Rose perked up. Her eyes blinked and she sat up straighter. Max took it as a hopeful sign.

  "A real seashell?" She looked impressed. "My dad says all the shells disappeared when the ice sheets melted and the cities sank! There were tons of shells before the Great Destruction, but they got churned up and crushed under the sea. The only shells left are flukes."

  "Sounds like me: a fluke," said Max, trying to make a joke. Seeing Rose's puzzled expression, he added: "You know, because I'm allergic to sunlight. I wasn't always, though--when Gran was alive I spent every minute of my time outdoors."

  "You are a strange one," murmured Rose. "Can I see your special seashell?"

  Max was lifting the loose floorboard in the closet when the doorbell chimed, followed by strong knocks that echoed throughout the house. He stiffened, not daring to breathe. They never got very many visitors, but no one ever came to the house after dark.

  "Max!" hissed Rose. "What's that noise?"

  The knocking started again, louder this time. Terror raced through him. The doorbell chimed, over and over. Whoever it is, he thought, they're not giving up.

  He pocketed the shell and grabbed Owls of the Wild. Through the closet wall he heard his parents moving around in their bedroom. Their door clicked open. "Coming, I'm coming!" called his father.

  Max rushed out of the closet. He heard his parents' footsteps on the stairs. Frantic thoughts whirled through his brain. He had to hide Rose!

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  Panic-stricken, he turned to her. "Quick! Someone's here!"

  Rose sprinted to his closet and dove inside. "I smell dirty socks!" came her muffled voice as he shut the door behind her.

  He crept out into the hallway and peered down the stairs to the first floor. His parents stood in flannel robes at the front door, looking up at a freakishly tall man in octagonal night goggles, a crepe mouth mask and a dark cape that buttoned to his throat. He towered threateningly over them.

  Max felt his pulse thrumming inside his ears.

  "Our Maxwell?" his mother was saying in disbelief. "But he's such a timid boy!" A chill went through Max at the sound of his name. "Max has never been a troublemaker. He'd never dream of doing such a thing!"

  The man muttered something that Max didn't catch.

  "Our son doesn't know any runaway girls!" said his father in a shaky voice. "Maxwell has a condition: he can't go outside because of his allergies to sunlight. He never sees other children! Listen, why not come back tomorrow, we'll sort this out--"

  Ignoring him, the frightening Dark Brigadier elbowed past, barreling into the hallway. Max stood frozen, staring, and his legs turned to jelly.

  "You can't barge in here!" protested his mother, surprising Max with her defiant words.

  He watched in horror as a second goggled man, humpbacked and burly, wearing a cloak that hung to the floor, pushed his way into the hallway. "Orders is orders," he snarled through his mask. "The boy comes with us tonight." He shoved Max's father aside, knocking him into the wall.

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  In blind terror Max fled to his room, locking the door behind him. Rose stumbled out of the closet. "That is the vilest-smelling--"

  "The Dark Brigade's here!" He threw her a bobbled hat and mittens. There was no time to talk. "Let's go!"

  Rose pulled on her boots and rushed to the window. Flinging it open, she stuck her head out. "This way!" she shouted to Max. "Over the roof!"

  He grabbed his knapsack, stuffing in the owl book and Gran's shell, along with a moth-eaten blanket, a bulky sweater, the food and the thermos. He could hear the Dark Brigadiers downstairs, slamming doors and shouting, their leather boots thudding over the floors, shaking the house and rattling the windows.

  "Max!" cried Rose.

  He turned to see her thin shape framed in the window. Then he heard footsteps on the stairs. Rose hopped over the sill and disappeared.

  The bedroom doorknob rattled. "Max!" shouted his father. "Unlock this door!"

  Max hoisted the knapsack over one shoulder. He didn't want to leave this way, without a word of explanation, but he had no choice. His father trusted him implicitly, and Max had never disobeyed him, but there was no time to say anything.

  He scrabbled
through the window, out onto the porch roof, willing himself not to look down. Even one story off the ground was too high for him.

  Overhead, stars burned fiercely against the black sky. He could see Rose crab-walking below him across the roof tiles. Heart

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  thudding, he followed her and crawled to the roof's edge, hoping the treads on his boots were as sturdy as the catalog advertised.

  Rose slid off the roof and down a pillar to the back porch. She stood on the porch rail, steadying Max as he reached down. The rusted gutter crumbled in his hand and he froze, staring in panic at the ground below.

  "It's easy, Max!" Rose shouted up. "Pretend you're climbing down the owl tree!"

  Gazing at the dead leaves blowing, he emptied his mind of thoughts. Just go, he told himself. He swallowed a deep breath and gripped the wooden post.

  His parents' bedroom window shot open. "Max, are you out there?" came his mother's frightened voice. There was no time to think. He leaned over, wrapping his arms around the post, and, without answering, shimmied down.

  Tiny snowflakes struck his face. The soles of his boots touched the porch rail. Shivering wildly, he hugged the post, afraid if he jumped he'd break an arm or a leg. His mother called to him again.

  Max let go, and the weight of his knapsack pulled him backward. Teetering on the rail, he held his breath and jumped. He landed on his feet, surprising himself, then fell sideways, rolling through the leaves. There was a thump as Rose landed beside him.

  "Maxwell!" shouted his father. "Where are you?"

  Max grimaced at the sound of his father's voice. Feeling sad and guilty all at once, he scrambled to his feet. Rose grabbed his hand and they raced across the lawn, ducking beneath the blankets and flannel shirts that Mrs. Crumlin had pegged to the line.