It didn’t know where he was.
His old nightmare flashed through his head. The birds had pecked at him until he couldn’t see anymore. Were these birds blind?
Niklas grasped at the ground. His hand came away with a handful of small rocks. He sent them flying along the canyon floor. As soon as they plinked down, the bird whipped around and flapped off, hacking at the sand where the rocks had landed.
It worked! Niklas didn’t call out to Secret; he couldn’t. But he picked up another handful of bigger rocks and threw them, one by one, as far away from Secret as he could manage. Two of her attackers peeled away to check. Then another. Then the last.
Secret turned to look at him, panting hard. Niklas put his finger over his lips, hoping she would understand the signal. She must have, because she calmed her breathing.
The birds had gone back to circling now, waiting for their prey to make a noise and reveal themselves. But Secret proved she was a master at sneaking, gliding along like the tiniest whisper in the sand. Niklas covered his heavier tread with carefully timed stone-throwing as they made their way through the canyon.
Out of the darkness grew a building. A small cottage nestled in a large crack at the foot of the canyon mouth. The shutters were closed and the door had fallen off its hinges. Suddenly the breeze shifted, and Secret opened her nostrils wide. She turned to him. Niklas nodded. He could smell it, too.
Wood smoke. The cottage was not abandoned.
But they had to pass by it to get out of the canyon, so they kept going. A weathered picket fence guarded what might once have been a vegetable patch. The dirt still lay gathered in grooves, but nothing grew there.
Secret froze.
Another skeleton bird had appeared in the cottage doorway. It flowed onto the porch, shoulders hunched, head swiveling back and forth. When it looked in the direction of Secret and Niklas, it stiffened. Niklas thought he saw something glint inside the hollow skull eyes.
This one was not blind.
The creature raised the tip of a cloak wing to an object on its chest: a round disc with glittering spikes. An amulet. It flashed red.
The hooting sound rose to a scream at the bottom of the canyon, where all the other skeleton birds moved as one. They came hurtling through the air, straight for Secret and Niklas, and now they seemed to know exactly where to find them.
Niklas barely had time to start running before he lay pinned on the ground with claws over his throat, looking up at a long beak. He lifted his hands, but they were empty. The pocketknife must have slipped out of his grip when he fell. His fingernails did nothing against the cold bones of the bird’s foot. He heard Secret growl, but she was far off to his left. They couldn’t help each other.
The bird drew its beak back to strike.
Suddenly the air sang around them. Burning streaks hit the ground with a thunk. The skeleton bird stood straight. Its skull had changed color. Instead of the silver glow, yellow and red flickered along the edges. Another bolt of fire struck it in the shoulder, and it stepped back.
Niklas rolled over and bolted to his feet. Two burning arrows stuck out of the creature’s wing, and more sailed through the air.
Along the left top of the canyon, two black silhouettes had appeared against the night sky. They shot so fast it seemed like they were letting loose a firestorm of missiles, striking the skeleton birds, striking the ground, nearly striking Secret so she skittered to the side.
Niklas rushed over to her, keeping his head low. She trembled all over. “Hunters!”
“We have to take cover!” He pushed her shoulder hard. To his relief, she let herself be jolted into motion. They sprinted toward the canyon opening. In a few steps, they left the reeling nightmare birds behind, but still the missiles kept coming. “They’re shooting at us, too,” Secret snarled.
Niklas broke to the side, guiding her into the naked rows of the vegetable garden. “They’re not. Look.”
A burning arrow rammed into the beam of the cottage porch, where the final skeleton bird stood watching. It followed the arrow’s path back to the bowmen on the canyon edge. Then it gathered its cloak tight, stepped off the far end of porch, and melted into the darkness.
Niklas poked his head up from between the rows to see where it went. Secret put a paw between Niklas’s shoulders and pressed him into the dirt. “Keep down.”
The whole canyon glowed with flames now. The skeleton birds flailed in panic. One had caught fire and flew off like a blazing meteorite.
It didn’t take many more arrows for the others to follow, cloaks fluttering with speed.
The night filled with the quiet, crackling sound of arrow shafts burning. At the top of the canyon, above the cottage and across from the bowmen, Niklas thought he saw the last skeleton bird, outlined against the stars. It waited for a moment, then disappeared.
A voice came from above. “All right, idiots. Stay where you are.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
We’re going to do exactly as they say?” Everything in Secret’s posture read disagreement: the restless twitchy tail, the outward-pointing ears and dipped neck.
“They stopped shooting as soon as our attackers fled, right?” Niklas patted her shoulder. “But they may start again if we try to run. I’m sure they mean us no harm.”
In truth, he didn’t feel sure at all. But he had dragged Secret into this mess, so he had to rely on his usual plan in sticky situations: smile and look confident that he knew the way home.
The archers climbed down an invisible path in the cut-glass canyon wall. As they neared the light from the burning arrows, their shapes gained color and form.
Secret tucked in her tail. “Stay calm,” Niklas murmured, though he felt rather nervous himself.
Because the bowmen were not men at all. They were animals of strange proportions: a giant squirrel and a gray striped ferret, both walking on two legs as if they had never done anything else. They filed down the path, dressed in black vests and with bows at the ready, firelight painting their faces grim.
“You were right, Kepler,” the squirrel said, tilting her head. “It is a boy.”
“Of course it is,” said the ferret. “I may be shortsighted, but I’m always right. That’s why they call me the wandering encyclopedia.”
The squirrel rolled her beady eyes.
“They don’t actually call me that,” the ferret said. “However, I do like a nice, juicy piece of information. So tell me, who are you, and what are you doing here?”
Niklas glanced from one to the other. Both the ferret and the squirrel were slightly taller than him. He cleared his throat. “I’m Niklas.”
The two animals turned to Secret. She glowered at them, concentrating her withering stare on the ferret, who, for all his slouch and smirk, seemed to be in charge.
“Her name is Secret,” Niklas said.
The ferret gave a baffled shake of his head. “What is your business up here? I know it’s a fine night, but most people don’t go gallivanting deep into Nightmare territory just because the stars are out.”
Niklas’s head spun. Nightmare territory? Did these creatures know about his dreams?
Beside him Secret seemed much more disturbed by the human-like animals than any monsters plucked from his head. Every time one of them used their front paws as hands, she looked one whisker shy of panicking. He took a step forward, putting himself in the middle. “We didn’t mean to trespass.”
The ferret narrowed his eyes. “Trespassing with a key, then?”
Niklas waited to see if this was another joke, but no one laughed. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he said, using his best voice of innocence, with a dose of now-be-reasonable layered in. “I don’t have a key.”
Except the voices in the tunnel had also said something like that. He is just a boy with a dead key. The ferret and the squirrel exchanged glances,
and Niklas could tell they figured he was lying.
“Why doesn’t your Wilder speak?” asked the squirrel, nodding at Secret. “Is she mute?”
“Sorry, my what?”
“Your lynx. Your Wilder.”
Niklas snorted. “Secret’s not mine. She’s her own.”
The ferret turned to Secret. “Where are you from, lady fair? I bet you’re not from Wichtiburg, and you’re certainly no Legenwalder with those garish colors.”
Secret bared her teeth at him. “Watch it, half-rat, or I’ll tear your pinchy head off.”
“Garish tongue, too.” The ferret grinned. “I think I like you.”
Secret tensed, but Niklas put his hand on her shoulder before she could attack. This wouldn’t do. “Listen,” he said. “We’re not your enemies. Let us go, and we’ll get out of your hair.”
“Let you go where, exactly,” the squirrel said, nodding at the canyon opening. “You wouldn’t find a safe place for leagues, and you wouldn’t last two minutes out there.”
The ferret elbowed the squirrel in the side. “She means to tell you her name is Castine and she’s very pleased to meet you.” Castine fidgeted with her bow, lifting her lips in a not very friendly smile.
“And I’m Kepler,” Kepler continued, unfazed. “Now. We may be rather closed off from proper civilization around here, but we are still enlightened citizens. We know you must be here on a secret mission.” He paused. “It’s fair if you won’t share, but we are here in Nightmare territory together, fortunately for you, I might add. So why don’t we call a truce?”
Niklas turned to Secret, who showed no signs of standing down. He nodded anyway. “Sure.”
“Excellent,” said the ferret. He let air out through his small, sharp teeth. “You’re lucky we heard the skullbeak screams and even luckier it’s still dark. Those creatures are mostly blind in darkness, but they never miss in daylight. One hit and they crack you open like an egg.” He glanced up at the sky. “We should go before they show up again.”
“Show up?” Niklas said. “The flames didn’t kill them, then?”
Castine rolled her eyes again.
Kepler shrugged. “The annoying thing about skullbeaks is that they’re already dead. You can shatter a bone, or slice off a leg if you hit a joint. But you can’t kill them. The best you can hope for is to cripple them for a while.”
“Our real problem is the rest of the flock,” Castine said. “Skullbeaks have a hive mind. They’re connected. They know instantly when their mates have been attacked, and more always come.”
“So that’s why,” Niklas said to Secret. “When the final skullbeak spotted us, the others knew where to find us.”
Kepler and Castine exchanged looks again. “Spotted you,” said Kepler quietly. “You mean to say it could see you?”
It felt like the air in the canyon had gone electric.
“I’m pretty sure it did,” Niklas said. “It stood there on the porch, looking straight at us. We weren’t moving, so it can’t have heard us. And I know it didn’t catch our scent, because the wind had shifted, so we were downwind. Don’t you agree, Secret?”
Secret didn’t answer. She stared hard at the newcomers. Her hackles were up and her tail whipped, and the others were no better. Castine snatched an arrow from her quiver and nocked it.
Kepler stepped close to the squirrel. “I thought you said it was a stray arrow.”
She turned in a circle to scan the canyon. “I took the shot because I thought I saw movement on the porch. I wasn’t sure, and I certainly had no idea it was him. What was he doing out here? With only six skullbeaks for a guard?” She lowered her bow when she couldn’t find a target. “They’re lying. They must be.”
“We’re not lying.” Secret growled. “But you both smell like cowards.”
Kepler touched his hand briefly to his chest. “You might too, lady fair, if you had any idea what you were dealing with.”
“Tell us then!” Niklas didn’t like the direction this was taking. “What are we dealing with?”
“The Sparrow King.” Castine spat into the sand, and Niklas thought her voice sounded choked when she said, “The Sparrow King was here, right under my nose, and I didn’t even fire at him twice.”
• • •
Kepler insisted they had to risk a peek inside the cottage, even if the skullbeaks must be on their way. “I can go in alone,” he told Castine. “If you would rather stay here and watch over our new friends.”
Watch over, he said, but Niklas knew he meant just watch. Secret kept eyeing the canyon opening, and Niklas guessed she wanted to make a run for it. But he had seen the other animals shoot. Any attempt at running would end with an arrow in the back, he was sure of it. He shook his head in what he hoped was a discreet manner.
“As if you’d even know if something was different in there,” Castine said. “I should be the one to look.”
So they all shuffled awkwardly onto the porch, while their rescuers tried to keep Secret and Niklas at point blank. Castine snapped the arrow that still lodged in the beam and tossed it to the side. “No need to burn the place down,” she said.
Secret hesitated outside the door. She had never yet set foot inside a proper building, and Niklas remembered how much it had cost her just to stick her head inside the crypt. But while he tried to think of an excuse for not coming inside, Secret melted across the threshold, taking care to place herself between Niklas and the others while they searched the cottage.
The smile was not the only new thing, then.
The little house had only one room. The air smelled of dirt and time. A threadbare quilt covered the bed in the corner, faded and dressed in dust. Wooden figurines filled the windowsills, the result of long hours of whittling. In the corner there was a rocking chair and a little stove where a dying fire glowed behind the blackened door. The source of the smoke they had smelled.
“Those are new.” Castine’s tail bristled as she edged over to the stove. On a table next to the rocking chair there was a beautiful crystal glass and a bottle. She read the label on the bottle. “Emerald River,” she muttered. She uncorked it, releasing a pale green shimmer. “It’s starmead! Real starmead!”
Kepler whistled. “Fine loot for a dump like this.”
“Don’t you dare speak ill of this place, fresher.” Castine wrinkled her snout at him.
Kepler lifted his hands to say he wasn’t. “I think our new friends told it true, though. Someone was in here just now, warming themselves on the fire, getting ready to drink starmead from a crystal glass. But skullbeaks are empty shells. They don’t drink. He eased a backpack off his shoulder and stuffed the glass and the bottle into it.
“I still can’t believe it was him,” Castine said. “Out here? Without his army? Does that sound like the Sparrow King to you?”
Suddenly Niklas remembered something Rafsa had said to him in the troll cave. I will ask the king. He has his books, he has his dark roses. Maybe this Sparrow King was in cahoots with the trolls. He was about to raise his voice, but Kepler beat him to it.
“Well, we do know it can’t have been the owner of the cottage, poor guy. He wasn’t exactly the sophisticated kind, living out here alone.”
“I told you, don’t mock him,” Castine said. “I know he’s only a story to you, but he was my friend. There was never a more loyal soul than Sebastifer the true.”
Niklas turned his back to them so they wouldn’t see his face. His hair stood on end. Was there even a tiny chance someone else bore that name? The answer waited for him in the windowsill. The carved figurines cast snaking shadows across the floorboards. He picked one up.
It was clunky and crude, not even close to his mother’s exquisite work. Still, he could tell what the figurine was supposed to be: a human girl with long, curly hair.
It was her. All the figurines were her.
>
“Careful.” Castine spoke behind him. Niklas took a moment to put on his prince mask and turned around to face the squirrel. Secret watched them both very quietly. He could tell she was ready to leap between them.
Castine hefted her bow all casually. “Some say wood carries the soul.”
“How so?” Niklas smiled and smiled while he tried to put the figurine back. But he didn’t trust his hand not to shake, so he stuck it in his pocket.
“You might become like her.” Castine glanced at his arm. “The most hated coward this side of the mountains.”
Niklas stared after her as she walked toward the door.
“Trust me,” the squirrel said over her shoulder. “You don’t want to become another Erika Summerhill.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The gorge opened up around them, falling back into the ground until only the hillside remained. The starry sky widened like a great sail, cut off in the distance by more mountains. Around them a shifting wind whispered and moaned, and Niklas felt exposed, or worse, like something horrible was about to happen. He could tell from Secret’s stance that she agreed.
Kepler and Castine whispered briefly between themselves. Then Kepler took the point while Castine brought up the rear, keeping her distance. Enough, Niklas thought, to get them both with an arrow before they could spring on her. Good thing she didn’t know his last name.
“That was close,” he murmured to Secret, trusting that the wind would snatch away his words. “I almost told them where we came from.”
“There is something wrong in this place,” she said. “We need to escape.”
“Not a good idea.” Niklas nodded at the bow slung on Kepler’s back. “Not yet. We’ll need better gear if we’re going to get rid of those roses.”
That wasn’t the whole truth. His head still churned with questions he couldn’t ask. How could Sebastifer have lived in that cottage? And why did Castine hate his mother? What could she have done to these creatures? All his life, Niklas had blamed everyone else for not talking about her, but he hadn’t asked, either, because he didn’t want the nightmares to come. Now that the mystery opened like secret doors within secret doors, he couldn’t stop. He had to know more. “What did they say before?”
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