The Owl Keeper

by Christine Brodien-Jones

  A stray thought entered his head and he struggled to keep a hold on it. Something about Gran ... Had Mrs. Crumlin, he wondered, ever known his gran? Did she know what Gran had died of or where she was buried?

  "Did you know my grandmother?" he blurted out.

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  "I did not." Her voice was cold and dark. Around her eyes he could see the skin was crumpled.

  "But you remember when she died, right?" Max persisted, eager for any crumb of information. "I wasn't allowed to go to the funeral, but I just wondered if maybe you ..." His voice trailed off.

  Mrs. Crumlin ground to a halt. She looked Max evenly in the eye and a small grin took hold of the corners of her mouth. "There was no funeral. Your grandmother isn't dead." With fussy, brisk movements, she patted down her rain-frizzled hair. "Celeste Unger was sent to prison--a life sentence."

  Max opened his mouth, then shut it again, unable to utter a word. His beloved gran was in prison? The knowledge was like a blow to the head, jolting him out of his stupor.

  "I don't believe you," he said at last, his voice thick and muffled. "My granny's dead."

  "Ah, but I should know, Maxwell," came Mrs. Crumlin's steely reply, "seeing as I was the one hired to monitor your grandmother's subversive activities."

  The shock of her revelation set his dulled thoughts into motion. Max realized he was thinking clearly once again. "You spied on my granny?"

  "Of course I did; I work for the government and that's my job. Celeste Unger had the audacity to defy the High Echelon. She was a traitor, a betrayer of the cause!" railed Mrs. Crumlin. "Rash, impulsive, crazy as a June bug, that was your grandmother--always stirring up trouble. They had no choice but to shut her away."

  Max swallowed hard, stunned by this discovery. When he thought of the years he'd spent without Gran, missing her

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  desperately, believing she was gone forever, a deep sorrow cut through his heart. But she wasn't dead, she was alive! He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

  "The government put up with her antics far too long," Mrs. Crumlin added with a sniff. "Time and again she lied to the authorities. All those banned books she kept hidden inside her house. A travesty, if you ask me. Scandalous!"

  Rage swept through Max as he thought of all the years Mrs. Crumlin had deceived him, feeding him one lie after another. Most of her lies hadn't amounted to much, but this one was different. This one had broken his heart.

  "You knew about my gran?" He could hardly get the words out. "And you never told me?"

  "We had our orders. Everyone, including your parents, believed Celeste Unger was dead. Only I knew her true fate--and the High Echelon, of course. That is how the government works, you silly boy," she said irritably. "Remember your school slogan: All We Do Is for the Higher Good. There it is: we are here to serve the High Echelon." She gave a slow, self-satisfied smile, beaming with pride, obviously pleased to serve such an all-powerful authority.

  "Not me!" shouted Max, sickened by her pompous words and sly expression. "I'm not serving anybody!" Why had she fabricated all those stories? Why hadn't she wanted him to know his grandmother was alive? And why would the High Echelon choose a traitor's grandson to become a Skræsk Master?

  "Listen to me, Maxwell." Eyes glittering, Mrs. Crumlin gripped his wrists. "The no-fear gene will render you strong and

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  fearless. You won't be a weird sickly child anymore, you'll have superhuman abilities." A shrewd look spread over her face. "Forget your grandmother. The High Echelon has chosen you, Maxwell Unger, to safeguard this country." Her voice fell to a reverential whisper. "To be a Skræk Master and fly with the skræks is an honorable destiny indeed." Somewhere in the mist an owl hooted.

  With a shudder, Max wrenched himself from her grasp. He remembered those disgusting dreams: flapping beside creatures that smelled of blood and decay, slime dripping from their half-formed faces. His stomach twisted at the memory.

  "Now give me the InjectaPort, Maxwell." Mrs. Crumlin held out her hand.

  "Whoo-hoo!" hooted the owl again.

  The silver owl! With a start Max recognized her warning call. How could he have forgotten her? Feelings of remorse and confusion washed over him. How could he have run off and left his owl behind?

  Something inside him snapped. "You can't turn me into a Skræk Master!" he shouted. "I'm Max Unger, the boy who loves owls, and that's who I'll always be!" Purple droplets sprayed from the tiny needles as he waved the InjectaPort around. "I don't care about your stupid no-fear gene! So what if I'm not strong and fearless? I have Rose, and my mom and dad! I have my silver owl! My gran, too! They're the things that matter to me!"

  Mrs. Crumlin threw him a withering smile. "You have no choice, Maxwell, it is not your decision to make." She lumbered toward him, her eyes bulging with fury. "Give--the--InjectaPort--to--me."

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  "Get away!" he screamed, alarmed at her fanatical expression.

  Mrs. Crumlin lunged forward. Terrified, Max leapt to one side; then, to his horror, he slipped in the wet grass. Falling to the ground, he landed on his back. Before he knew what was happening, the InjectaPort flew from his grasp.

  Startled, he watched it soar overhead in a gleaming arc, vanishing into the fog. He waited to hear it thump to the ground. But everything was silent. This was a field, with no trees overhead to snag it--so where had it gone? he wondered. Perplexed, he struggled to his feet, staring up into the fog.

  "Where did the InjectaPort go?" demanded Mrs. Crumlin, stomping in circles. Max could see red splotches flaring up on her neck and ears. "It can't stay in the air indefinitely!"

  Had the fog muffled the sound of the InjectaPort when it fell to earth? Max ran through the tall grass, guessing roughly where it might have landed, but there was no sign of the InjectaPort.

  From overhead came a whirring sound; he looked up and glimpsed a shape, wheeling in intricate patterns through the fog. The silver owl! Max could see the InjectaPort clasped in her beak. Her eyes were fierce and unblinking. Smart bird, he thought, grinning. She's coming to my rescue again!

  "This blasted fog isn't helping any," grumbled Mrs. Crumlin. She clumped back and forth, her bloodshot eyes glued to Max. "What are you grinning at, you miserable boy?"

  Before he could reply, the owl gave a triumphant hoot.

  "Hear that?" cried Mrs. Crumlin. "The silver owl is back! Oooh, just wait, I'll wring its skinny neck--"

  Max glanced up to see the silver owl open her beak and let go

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  of the InjectaPort. It hurtled down, falling straight toward Mrs. Crumlin. She gave a thin cry of rage as it struck her shoulder.

  "Take it out!" she screamed, thrashing around like a wounded animal. "Do something, Maxwell!"

  Max reeled back, staring at the top half of the InjectaPort. He could see that the bottom part had gone right through Mrs. Crumlin's raincoat and lodged firmly in her shoulder.

  "You're useless!" she shrieked, her face contorted in rage. "You always were! Do something!"

  Max kept his distance, afraid of going any closer. He watched Mrs. Crumlin grip the InjectaPort and wrench it out of her shoulder. Pale with shock, she held it up. The InjectaPort was empty.

  Max felt relief flood through him.

  "This was meant for you!" screeched Mrs. Crumlin, swaying back and forth, eyelids fluttering. "You were supposed to get the no-fear gene!"

  Nauseated, Max watched her shriek and sway, clawing at her shoulder.

  "Ten times the normal dose!" she howled. "We needed ten times to start the Transmutation! This isn't fair, Maxwell! I was only doing my job!"

  Max grimaced, watching the blotches on her skin turn a cadaverous shade of gray. Was she going to die? Her arms slumped to her sides and her puffy face went slack, as if all the wrinkles had been shaken out. Then she collapsed with a thud into the grass.

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  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  [Image: Max and the owl.]

  Max st
ared down at Mrs. Crumlin, sprawled in the tall grass, her eyes turned to downward-slanting slits, the side of her face raked by claw marks. Her coat was rumpled and torn, her sturdy shoes coated in layers of mud.

  He knelt on one knee, struck by an icy numbness, frightened and yet relieved. She would have chased him to the ends of the earth, he knew, to carry out the High Echelon's orders. Now, at last, he was free of her.

  He looked closely and could see her breath was coming fast and uneven. At least she was still alive. Eventually the pilot of the

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  wind-borne vessel would get tired of waiting and come looking for her. Anyway, that's what Max hoped would happen. Though he also knew there was an after-dark scenario, one in which the Misshapens would come out and find her. He didn't want to think about that.

  He stood up, feeling a tremendous weight slide from his shoulders. White fog, thick and silent, drifted around him, erasing Mrs. Crumlin's features and turning her into a lumpy blur. She reminded him of those dead people in Egypt called mummies, wrapped in white shrouds and buried in golden tombs. He'd seen pictures of mummies in Gran's Wonders of Ancient Times.

  Where was his silver owl? He called for her, but there was no reply. Perhaps she'd flown back to the bridge. The bridge--why was that important? He struggled to remember. Rose! Rose was waiting for him at the bridge! How on earth had he forgotten her? But he already knew the answer: he had swallowed the poisoned muffin.

  He pulled a sweater from his rucksack and shook out the crumbs. It would keep Mrs. Crumlin warm until help arrived. He lowered the sweater, but as he leaned nearer his insides curdled.

  Her shape was recognizably human, and yet as he got closer he saw that Mrs. Crumlin was changing into something very different. He could see knotted veins pulsating beneath the slimy gray skin of her face. And on each hand her sausage-shaped fingers ended in sharp, pointed claws.

  He staggered back, sickened to his core, watching two scrappy wings tear through the shoulders of her coat, shredding the fabric to pieces. Horror-struck, he dropped the sweater and raced off.

  ***

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  Max ran wildly, searching for the stone bridge and Rose and his silver owl, confused by the shifting fog. At one point he found himself beneath a wing of the wind-borne vessel. In a corner of his pocket he could feel Gran's shell. Was it stained with Dr. Tredegar's blood? He couldn't bring himself to look at it. The drowned doctor was one more thing he didn't want to think about.

  At last, after what seemed like hours, he saw the outline of the bridge in the distance. Exhausted, almost crying, he staggered toward it, struggling for breath.

  "Who is it?" shouted Rose. "Stop where you are!"

  Max could hear the dog growling.

  "Rose!" he shouted, racing across the bridge. "It's me!" Through the mist he saw her sitting cross-legged, the dog curled at her feet, his silver owl gliding protectively above her head. Max smiled to himself, thinking how these two animals were keeping his friend safe.

  As he stumbled toward Rose, the owl floated down and fell limp on his shoulder, tucking her bad wing close to her body. "Are you all right, little owl?" Seeing how tired and bedraggled she looked, Max patted her gently. "Thanks for saving my life," he murmured. "You know, you're the most amazing owl in the world." She crawled to her sleeping spot beside his neck and settled in.

  "Max!" cried Rose. "Where have you been?"

  He ran to his friend, pulling her to her feet. "My owl saved my life!" he said excitedly. He noticed a smear of dried blood on Rose's cheek. "And Mrs. Crumlin is, like, a giant skræk! She got the extra big dose meant for me and--"

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  Then he noticed Rose's eyes. They looked muzzy and blurred, like two glazed marbles. "Your eyes!" he gasped, holding her at arm's length. "What happened?"

  Her grimy fingers fluttered before his face. "It's a white fog that comes and goes," she whispered. "I see shadows and wispy images, moving real slow, like ghosts. Then after a while it goes away and I can see again. But I'm scared, Max, I don't know what's happening!"

  He felt his stomach twist. "Rose, I know what it is," he said, feeling terrible that he hadn't told her earlier. "Remember when the Dark Brigade chased you with an arrow?"

  "How could I forget?" said Rose hotly. "The arrow went right into my arm and stuck there and I had to pull it out!"

  "The arrow was tipped with an experimental drug, Rose! Tredegar shot it at you! I heard Einstein telling Mrs. Crumlin-- he said they used some vision gene--"

  "An experimental drug?" Rose went pale. "What's going to happen to me?" she whispered. "At first I thought it was the fog, but then I realized-- Oh, Max, did my eyes get wrecked? Am I going to go blind?"

  "I--I don't think so," said Max, though he really had no idea. Seeing her frightened expression, he added, "But you're alive, right? You're still Artemis Rose Eccles, yeah? And we're still together: you, me and the silver owl! Don't worry, the Owl Keeper will heal your eyes. He can do stuff like that!" Rose looked a bit cheered up by his words, Max thought. But deep down he was worried.

  "Don't forget Helios." She ruffled the dog's fur. "He's-- Max!"

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  She turned to him, startled. "You're out in the sun! You didn't burn up!"

  "I was never allergic to sun particles, Rose," said Max. "They lied to me! They made me think I was this sickly kid who was different from everybody else!" He thought wistfully of those years of anxiety and isolation, the years when he'd had no friends at all.

  "I knew it!" Rose jumped up and the dog leapt up with her. "Those evil, wheezy bloaters, I hate them! Everything they said was lies! They tried to keep you from being ordinary, Max, they tried to take everything away!" She squared her shoulders and jutted out her chin. "But you stood up to them, didn't you? You were really brave!"

  "Yeah," he said, feeling a rawness in his throat as the sadness returned. "I guess I was." The thought of being brave suddenly made him think of Gran.

  "Rose, want to hear something amazing?" he said, a childish joy bubbling up inside him. "My granny's alive! The authorities told everyone she was dead, even my parents, but it wasn't true-- Gran's in prison! Mrs. Crumlin admitted everything!"

  Rose gave a joyful shout and threw her arms around him, waking the sleeping owl on his shoulder, who fluttered into the air. "I'm so happy for you!" she cried. "It's even better than not going up in flames!"

  Max hugged Rose back. Through her shabby wool coat he could feel her heart pounding.

  "Hey, Max, what if your gran met my mom in prison?" said Rose, looking hopeful. "Maybe they're plotting to escape this very minute!"

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  Max nodded, hoping that it might be true. "Maybe, Rose."

  The silver owl flew into his coat pocket and a chill fell over him as he remembered the wind-borne vessel, waiting in the field for Mrs. Crumlin. They were, he knew, in terrible danger. Any minute now the Dark Brigade could show up. "Let's go, Rose," he said, clasping her hand. "We've got to get away from here!"

  The two children ran from the bridge and uphill, to a path strewn with leaves of burnished gold. The black dog raced behind, sniffing the air. Bursting out of Max's pocket, the silver owl soared into the trees. Max saw with growing dread that the path ran straight and deep into the forest.

  He knew they had no choice but to follow it. If they went in any other direction they risked meeting the Dark Brigade or the pilot and crew of the wind-borne vessel. He longed to go home, to find out whether his parents were safe, but he knew he'd be arrested and sent to Children's Prison. There was no going back, he realized: the way to Cavernstone Grey was closed to him forever.

  The owl wheeled above their heads, leading them on, stopping every so often to rest her wing. Cattails waved, etched with frost; branches clattered in the wind. Snow crystals floated through the frozen landscape. Rose stamped by Max's side as they clambered higher through the trees, the path glistening before them.

  "What do you see now?" Max asked Rose as th
ey hurried through the woods. She seemed to be stumbling more often and veering off the path. "Can you see where we're walking?"

  "Everything's turning white again. I see shadows and outlines

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  of things that come and go and flicker out of reach, and I hear leaves crunching, but I can't see them. Are the leaves dead, Max?"

  "No," huffed Max as they headed up a steep incline. "Not at all!" He wondered if there was some way to counteract the drug on the poisoned arrow. "The leaves are golden, Rose, like the poem," he said, trying to sound upbeat. "This has to be the path to the Owl Keeper!" He scooped up a leaf and gave it to Rose.

  "Gold is lucky, Max," she said, twirling the leaf as they ran. "It's the color of your owl's eyes." Then she ground to a halt. "What's that noise?"

  Max froze, listening to a deep droning high above the trees. It sounded like a huge whirring insect. He looked up to see the underbelly of a wind-borne vessel, then a second one close behind. "It's the Dark Brigade!"

  They began running again, crouching low at the edges of the path to avoid being seen. How powerful were the Dark Brigade's binoculars? Max wondered. Mrs. Crumlin once said they'd invented computerized spyglasses that could see through buildings and trees, but he suspected she'd made that up to frighten him.

  As they wound their way higher, Max scanned the forest for signs of shelter. They needed somewhere to hide; they couldn't run from the Dark Brigade forever. And he was worried what would happen once the sun went down--and the Misshapens came out.

  Maybe, he thought, we'll find one of the old makeshift villages Gran used to talk about. Cloistered in the forests, the villages had been built by resisters and outcasts and hard-thinking visionaries. Moving from one settlement to the next, the resisters had