Thornghost

by Tone Almhjell

  They sailed in a perfect arc across the blasted grass, over the juniper bush, and clattered to the ground beyond the barracks. The troll guards sniffed the air, raised their clubs, and left the door.

  Niklas and Secret waited until the trolls were nearly by the corner, then sidled across the grass. Secret led the way, melting from planks to shadows to stones, until they reached the door.

  They opened it and stole through the crack.

  Inside, the barn reeked of muck and sour milk, laced with an unsettling, rank smell that Niklas thought might be scared animal. When his eyes adjusted, he saw that they were in a crude hallway with doors leading in every direction. Through bars in the dockside doors, they could see a train of wagons draped with heavy, black cloth. The cages and the mysterious creatures inside were probably stacked beneath the covers.

  Behind the right door, they heard rumbling and grunting as someone rolled heavy objects along the floor. The barrels Secret had mentioned. Behind the left door, they heard hard, deep voices. They were coming closer.

  Seconds later the door burst open and Rafsa appeared, followed by a brood of trolls dressed in bulky cloaks.

  The troll witch looked much worse for wear. She had fresh burn marks on her skull and arms, her lips oozed with cracks, and her bone armor had horrible, meaty splotches on the front. But she still smiled as if she had just been served a juicy little morsel on a silver platter. “Oh no,” she said to one of her broodlings. “The plan is not off. It had to wait a little, is all. The Sparrow King has a new way now. A better way. You should all sharpen your claws.”

  “We get to fight?” said one of the trolls.

  Rafsa answered with a grin.

  “What about the prisoner?”

  Rafsa wrapped the cloak around her body. “Just get into the wagons,” she said. “The sun is almost here, and the king will be very interested to hear what came out of the bushes.” She pushed open the dockside doors. “Oh yes, he will.”

  If any of the brood had thought to look up at that moment, they would have seen a boy and a lynx, dangling from pulleys above their heads, in a manner that Mrs. Ottem of Ottem farm would not appreciate.

  But none did, and the whole band of trolls pulled up their hoods and disappeared into the pale dawn.

  Niklas and Secret waited until the squeak of wheels had died down before they dropped to the floor again. They heard no rolling of barrels, no voices or footsteps. The barn was silent but for the buzzing of lazy flies.

  “Did you see if they had Kepler?” Niklas said. “Those cloaks could have hidden anything.”

  Secret didn’t answer. She had pushed open the door from which Rafsa had emerged and stood on the threshold, tail tucked in and hind legs low.

  The bars hadn’t lied. This was a prison.

  The wan light that leaked in through the slits near the ceiling did little to lift the darkness in the barn, and it didn’t at all reach into the pens that lined the walls, some fortified with iron, others covered with nets of troll rope. Niklas hurried down the middle, peering into the boxes, finding only empty ones. They must have taken him, then.

  But Secret didn’t seem convinced. Niklas watched her lope along the pens, nostrils flaring, until she reached the far corner of the barn. There she turned and looked back at him, golden eyes wide and scared. Her good ear twitched along with a small noise.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  From the last pen came a slow trickle of black water. It was not one of the troll rope boxes, and the barred metal gate was not properly locked. But still the creature that lay curled up against the wall made no effort to escape. His light gray stripes had turned brown from something sticky that smelled both sweet and rotten, like spoiling fruit.

  “Kepler,” Niklas said, trying to keep the horror out of his voice. “Can you hear me?”

  “Idiots,” Kepler whispered. His eyes glinted purple. “Why have you come? They’ll be back. They’ll get you.”

  “Shhh.” Niklas crept into the pen with him. “The trolls have left, at least for now. We have to . . . Oh.” So that’s why Kepler hadn’t gotten up. The ferret had a wound on his chest, right near the opening of his vest.

  “They took my Marti.” Kepler waved to the corner of the pen, where his medallion lay, cracked in the muck. “They broke her.”

  Secret snarled, scruff raised. Niklas didn’t think he had ever seen her angrier.

  “That’s . . . not good,” he said. “But Castine can make you a new one, right? She carves fast, you said so yourself. As for this little scratch, I’m sure Too can stitch it up for you. We just have to get you home and you’ll be good as new.”

  For want of bandages, he buttoned Kepler’s vest over the cut. Kepler blinked hard, as if he tried to remember something, but all that came out was a small mewl. Niklas helped him to his feet. “Come on.”

  Secret didn’t meet his eyes as they supported Kepler along the pens.

  Exactly how they were going to make it back without the skullbeaks noticing, he had no idea. But suddenly they heard creaks and splashes out on the fjord, and clipped voices barking orders. Niklas climbed up to peer out from a seaward-facing slit. He couldn’t believe their luck.

  The entire host of skullbeaks had left their nests to follow the glass ship out the fjord.

  As it glided off with its mysterious cargo, and the black wagons rolled up the Nighthouse road, three thieves crept home, hiding under bushes and hedges, two of them carrying the third.

  No trolls attacked and no skullbeaks struck while they made their way through the ruin city, and the dark vine that peeked out through greenery in the morning sun did not snare them. But as they climbed the tiers of the garden, Kepler moaned and whimpered. His vest ran dark with blood, and halfway up the valley side he passed out.

  The Nightmare work was already done.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Odar stared down his snout at Kepler’s still form. They had put the ferret on the long table while Castine scrambled off to wake Too, and Odar stood beside him, brewing up a storm.

  “Don’t be, uh . . .” Niklas cleared his throat as Odar shifted his smolder-coal gaze to him. “I meant to say it was my idea to go into the garden.”

  Odar kept him squirming for a little while, then sighed. “I know you’re trying to be brave. No wonder he likes you so well. He loves nothing more than to admire himself in a mirror.”

  “It was never to show off.” The voice came from the fireplace, where Secret sat as close to the flames as she could get without singeing her fur. “Not once he saw the ship. He wanted to bring back information he thought you should have.”

  “Well, then.” Odar kept his voice gruff, but Niklas thought he saw surprise on the raccoon’s face. “Tell me what you learned.”

  They did, Niklas speaking for the most part, Secret adding her observations where she thought Niklas was too hasty. Especially she described the vine that had entangled Kepler in detail: inky, withered skin, hooked thorns that could be retracted. Odar pulled his whiskers. “You don’t think that vine belonged in the brambles.”

  “No,” Secret said.

  “Neither do I.” Odar sat down on the bench, watching Kepler’s chest rise and fall. “This morning, just before you came home, there were strange tremors in the ground. No injuries, just a tumbled shelf and some shed roof tiles. But I think the shaking came from the Rosa Torquata itself.”

  The stairway rattled, and Too came blustering into the common room with thunderous steps for one so small. She carried her doctor’s basket, and her eyes were black circles. “What happened?”

  “Trolls,” said Niklas. “They cut him. He’s full of some sort of sticky liquid, too. I think they made him drink it.”

  “All right.” Too walked around the table, lifting Kepler’s lids and feeling his nose. She winced at his black chin and swollen ankle, but looked pleased when s
he prodded his belly. At last she undid the buttons of Kepler’s vest. “Oh,” she said. “Stitches won’t do for this. Not by a far cry.” She turned to Odar. “I’ll need the book.”

  Odar blew air out his nostrils, but he went into the kitchen and fetched a book with bloated covers.

  “Don’t worry, Kepler.” Too riffled through the pages. “I have something that will help.” She cracked the book open on a page and put it on the table, facedown. “I need to rinse the cut first. Try and stay still.” She glanced up at Niklas as she shook a blue flask. “If you want to help, you could try talking about something else.”

  Niklas understood. When his mother died, it helped when strangers came to the farm and talked about random things that had nothing to do with her death. It didn’t much matter what, as long as some of their normal life rubbed off on him.

  “So, Too. How did you get your name?”

  Too poured the liquid over Kepler’s chest. “My boy, Magnus, named me. He was only six when they picked me up at the shelter. His mother pointed out another kitten, but Magnus said, ‘That one is cute, too.’ And it stuck.”

  Niklas laughed and Too nodded. “It’s very funny, my name. But you don’t know what it can do.”

  She turned the book over. The open page had a mark on it that Niklas thought must be a kind of rune. Not the harsh cuts of a troll rune, but softer, swirlier lines with dots and flourishes. Beneath it a word was printed: heal.

  “You know healing magic?”

  “Not exactly.” Too picked a quill and a bottle of ink out from her bag. “My boy was very sick when he got me. We were a good match, because it turned out I was sick, too.” She lifted her medallion briefly to her cheek. “We spent most days tucked up in bed. He read to me and I listened. Odar says he’s never met another Petling who knew books before they came here.” She smiled. “I learned lots of things from reading. How to bake pies, stitch wounds.”

  “So that’s how you picked up your doctor skills,” Niklas said.

  “One day Odar asked if I wanted to try it with a magic book.” Too grimaced. “I think you need special tools, though, because the runes never work when I draw them myself. But I figured out how to do this.” She dipped the quill in the ink and drew an & sign right beside the pretty rune, hooking the double loop so it bound them together. “See? Now the rune is mine.”

  Niklas was impressed. “You take other people’s magic and make it your own?”

  Too shrugged. “All Brokeners are thieves. I just happen to steal runes.” She tore the page out of the old book. “Only problem is, it uses up the rune. After this, we’ll have no more healing magic.”

  She tried to put the page on Kepler’s chest, but he curled up into a ball.

  “Please,” Too said. “I need you to stay still for this.”

  Somewhere in the pain, Kepler heard and understood. But he couldn’t keep from flinching, not until Secret came over to the table. He smiled at her. “I knew you’d come, lady fair. You wouldn’t give up on our team.”

  “What team?”

  “You know, our raiding team. You’ll be the eyes and ears, I’ll be the . . .” He whimpered as Too tried to put the book page on his cut.

  “Idiot,” Secret finished for him. She put her big paws on Kepler’s shoulders and held him down. “I’ll finish you myself if you don’t stop squirming.”

  That helped. Too placed the paper perfectly on top of Kep­ler’s wound, closed her eyes, and said, “I, Too, call this rune.”

  The sign blazed bright. Smoke stung Niklas’s nose, and when it cleared, a scorched blotch had replaced the heal rune.

  Kepler breathed a long sigh. “Thank you.”

  Too stroked his cheek. “Just don’t tell a real rune master, if you ever meet one. I don’t think I’m supposed to be able to do that.” But Kepler had already fallen asleep. The rune had healed his chest completely, and his ankle looked much better.

  “He’s all right now?” Secret pulled her paws back.

  “As well as I can make him,” Too said. “He needs to rest.”

  “Good.” Secret left the room and slipped up the stairs. She must be exhausted. They hadn’t exactly gotten a lot of sleep last night. Niklas was about to excuse himself, but Odar put a hand on his arm. “Not so fast, boy. I’d like to hear that story one more time. You carried a prisoner out of the troll barracks without being noticed?”

  The front door banged open, and Castine came running into the room. “Odar! Too! You have to come quick.”

  The raccoon frowned. “Can’t it wait?”

  “No.” Castine’s eyes bulged. “Gidea’s hurt. Too, bring your bag!”

  And just like that, Niklas’s interrogation was over. Odar and Too followed Castine out into the morning, leaving Niklas alone with the sleeping patient.

  Kepler’s wound may be healed, but he still cried softly in his sleep. Niklas tucked a pillow under the ferret’s head and sat down beside the table. There he waited until Kep­ler’s breath grew steady.

  • • •

  When Niklas entered the turret chamber, Secret wasn’t sleeping at all. She waited bolt upright by the fire, ear turned back, beating her tail on the floor.

  “It was your fault, you know.” She met his eyes.

  Niklas froze. Here he thought things had taken a turn for the better. Kepler was healed and they had made it out of the garden alive and with crucial information. But Secret looked every bit as mad as she had been when they found Kepler in the pens.

  “With the lamb, it was bad luck mostly,” she said. “You were too blind to see that the woods had changed. But this, tonight?” She bared her teeth. “You knew it was stupid. You knew Kepler would do anything to make you believe what he believes. You could have stopped him in the garden, in the jewel orchard, in Lostbook, under the brambles. All those times, you could have called it off.”

  She was right. Even about Rag. Niklas had been so busy blaming the trolls and even Mr. Molyk, but they hadn’t let the lambs into the woods. He had. Guilt sluiced through every part of his body, cold and deadening. “I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. We were just playing dare.”

  Secret turned away, but this time Niklas was pretty sure it was a gesture of disgust. “Why do you do that? Put on that false mask and pretend you’re not afraid?”

  “I don’t—” Niklas began, but Secret cut him off.

  “You forget I can hear your heartbeat.”

  In the silence that followed, Niklas’s heart betrayed him terribly, kicking so hard, he thought all of Broken must hear it. But he never got around to figuring out an answer, because someone clicked their tongue behind them.

  “Save your quarrel for later.” Odar stood in the doorway. “We have bigger problems. I didn’t want to say this in front of the others, not while they’re heartbroken over Kepler. But while you went on your little expedition, I went back to the canyon. Your gate should have closed behind you, but it’s wide open.”

  Niklas already suspected that, since Rafsa had come through there. But what he said was, “Oh.”

  “Oh yes.” Odar narrowed his eyes at him. “And Gidea? She swears a thorn cut her while she was sitting outside her den, minding her own business. Almost took her eye out.” Odar turned his back and started down the stairs. “We’re going to see the Greenhood.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Odar wasn’t all bad, Niklas decided.

  The raccoon may have dragged them out into the Nickwood again, but at least he had brought breakfast. The bread was made with spices and walnuts and still hot from the oven. Every tenth step Niklas stopped to take a bite. It wasn’t safe to walk and eat at the same time.

  Secret hadn’t said anything to him since the Second Ruby, but Niklas noticed that she had eaten the bread with relish, even repeating to herself the flavors Odar said he’d added to the dough, aniseed and maple syrup, as i
f they were a magic spell.

  The ground fell away beneath them in overgrown cracks and gulleys. White roses still bloomed here and there, but there were also roots that poked through shelves in the rock. Odar drew to a stop before a dense net of thorns. “I will take you inside to see the Greenhood, but you must swear never to tell anyone where this place is.”

  “All right,” Niklas said.

  “Not even the other Brokeners.”

  Secret gathered her whiskers. “Why not?”

  “The task of the Greenhoods is to tend the Rosa Torquata, on behalf of all the Realms. Our Greenhood can’t be burdened with the Brokeners’ problems. She doesn’t belong to them.”

  “But she belongs to an old smuggler?” Secret swished her tail.

  Odar lifted an eyebrow. “Many years ago, when I was a young smuggler, I made a deal with her. I promised I would bring her food and news, help messengers from her order find their way, guard her back. In return I was allowed stay in the Nickwood. And that’s the only reason there is a Broken. She lets a ragtag band of thieves hide under her skirts because if she didn’t, they would be lost. You included.”

  The raccoon let the thorns prick his palm. They drew aside like a stage curtain, revealing a cavern carved into living wood, lit by the twinkling lights of the Rosa.

  “Idun?” Odar’s voice frayed into echoes, even if the room was lined with branches. Niklas had the feeling that the Rosa Torquata whispered back to them. “Idun Greenhood, are you there?”

  A squeak sounded, and a figure in a deep green cowl emerged from behind a table. “Odar? Is that you?”

  “Of course it is.” Odar stepped into the room, belly first and grin fixed. But Niklas noticed how he wrung his hands behind his back. “Why are you hiding?”

  “Oh, no reason.” The Greenhood stood up, holding on to the table with knuckled fingers. “I heard the thorns rattle, and . . .” At the sight of Niklas, she startled. “A Twistrose!”

  Idun pushed her cowl back. She was a brown rodent, a gerbil, Niklas thought. Her creaky voice told him she must be ancient. “Where did you come from, child? And how?” She took a step forward, but sank back against the table to steady herself. She favored her arm, which was wrapped in bandages.