Niklas stared at the rune. “You want me to see her dying thoughts?”
“Yes. But it’s not what you think.”
And it wasn’t. Niklas put his hand on the rune, expecting the cold tug to take him to the memory of a pale and scared boy standing in the doorway and then backing into the dark hallway. He expected fear and pain and the word Thornghost. Instead it showed him a blur of sunny images, fraying at the edges. Niklas tucked into his bed in the yellow room. Niklas throwing rocks in the Summerchild. Niklas wide-eyed over a page in the science books. Niklas chasing Tobis across the yard, laughing and light, fading slowly, until he and everything was gone.
He opened his eyes and found Sebastifer’s brows pulled up in that odd combination of heartbreaking and warm particular to dogs. “It’s not good to carry guilt for things you can’t help.”
Niklas couldn’t speak. His throat hurt too much. He just nodded and put the dog figurine into his pocket. Over by the Ruby’s great stove, Odar shouted with a tray in his arms. “Apple cakes are ready! Get them while they’re hot!”
Sebastifer nudged his shoulder. “Go dance with your cat. I’ve never heard of a lynx Wilder before, but if you ask me, she’s quite something.”
“Yes, she is,” Niklas said, searching for her golden fur in the crowd. “But please don’t tell her that, or she’ll be impossible to talk to.”
“I won’t,” Sebastifer said, squinting up at the stars. “But you should.”
• • •
He found Secret at the entrance of the jewel orchard, in deep conversation with Idun Greenhood, who to everyone’s surprise had come down from the woods to join the party. His cat, as Sebastifer called her, leaned gracefully against the gate post, no longer self-conscious on two legs. Niklas felt a small sting of worry. How long had they been away from home? He had lost track of the nights, but it couldn’t be much more than a week since they met in the oak tree. She had changed so much since then. How would it feel for her to change back to a normal lynx?
“There you are,” she said when he came close. Niklas knew that voice, the calm one that meant danger. “You need to listen. Idun has something to tell you.”
“About my mother?” Niklas saw that Idun was carrying the Book of Twistrose. He had been wondering if the fall of the Sparrow King would blot out the Thornghost stain on his mother’s name. Maybe the two of them together would make a whole Twistrose. “It wasn’t fair, you know. Couldn’t she have gone through a different gate, one that didn’t mean crossing Sorrowdeep? She almost drowned there!”
Idun shook her head. “I don’t know why the Rosa did that. But it’s not infallible, as the Sparrow King proved. Runes or no runes, it should never have tolerated him.” Idun hugged her book. “I fear I bear some of the blame. Marcelius of Molyk was once my apprentice. But I found him feeding blood into the speakwood, so I threw him out. I thought I removed him from the danger, and later I believed him dead. But it was I who gave him the tools he needed to feed his hate.” She lifted her chin. “However, that is not why I must speak with you.”
“It’s not?”
Secret’s eyes brimmed with reflections from the jewel trees. “It’s about Summerhill. Niklas, we came here to stop the thing that caused the taint.”
“And we have,” Niklas said, staring from one to the other. “Haven’t we? The Rosa Torquata destroyed all the dark vine?”
Idun inclined her head. “It did.” She brushed the Book of Twistrose with her fingertips. “But say you have a bowl of clear water. And say you have a pen that dribbles ink into the bowl. Even if you remove the pen after a while, the water will still be blue.”
Niklas rubbed his forehead. “What do you mean?”
“She means,” Secret said quietly, “that whatever magic has already passed through the gate will still be there.”
“And whatever monster.” Idun put her hand lightly on Niklas’s sleeve, and he understood. Rafsa. That’s why her standing stone was not to be found. She had left for safer ground. She had gone home.
On the mosaic of the Falcon Circle, the Brokeners still clapped and laughed. Odar and Gidea twirled around in the center now, and Too capered about with an apple cake in each hand. Only Kepler glanced their way over the rim of his cup. He sat on the fountain perched on the hind leg of a marble horse, looking content. The horror of the obey rune seemed to be slipping off him like a bad dream.
“We can’t tell them,” Niklas said. “They’re celebrating.”
“You can go quietly if you like,” Idun said. “It’s what we do when the time comes. We leave them dancing.”
Dancing? Niklas turned to look at Sebastifer’s place. It was empty, save for his cup of starmead placed neatly on the seat of the folding chair. Go dance with your cat, he had said, and meanwhile he had gone, and all his memories of Erika with him. To travel only he knew where. Niklas whispered, “You leave them dancing.”
Idun pulled her cowl up. “I’ll let the Rosa know you are ready. Farewell, Niklas.” She bowed. “Secret.”
As they edged closer to the darker parts of the feast, where there were more shadows than torches, Niklas snuck two apple cakes, like a thief in the night. Which was his favorite part to play, but right now, he would have liked to give everyone a hug instead.
“You’ve hugged them all already tonight,” Secret said. “Once more doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does,” Niklas said. “You should at least say good-bye to Kepler.”
Secret frowned at the fountain, where the marble horse now pranced alone with no ferret to keep it company. She shook her head. “No need.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
This time they left Jewelgard by the main road. Even covered with weeds and crumbled leaves, it was smoother than the paths, and before they knew it, they had reached the end of the garden. Niklas turned to look one last time at the silver-dipped terraces, at the black mirror of the fjord and the moon that hung between the two cliffs at the opposite end of the valley. The lighthouse that was no longer the Nighthouse flashed with the pulse of the Rosa Torquata.
“I wonder if they’ll be able to repair the castle after the trolls,” Niklas said.
“The mending has begun already,” Secret said. “Notice the air?”
Suddenly Niklas knew what had felt so different in the Falcon Circle and all the way up here. It wasn’t just the smell. The creeping Nightmare horror was gone, pushed outside of the border, where it belonged.
“I guess that this realm is no longer Broken, then.” Niklas said.
“Not so cheesy,” Secret muttered. But Niklas still caught her smiling when she thought he wasn’t looking.
• • •
Nightmare territory though it was, the canyon lay peaceful and still. Niklas didn’t have much hope of finding Sebastifer there, but he still poked his head inside the cottage. Filled with dust-specked moonlight, it felt even more abandoned than before. Someone had taken all the Erika figurines from the windowsills. “Safe travels, wherever you’re going,” Niklas said into the cottage. “You were the best dog anyone could wish for.” The quilt and the empty sills did not reply.
The last time they saw the gate, dark vine had filled the crack in the canyon wall. But now the dark vine was gone, as were the vicious thorns, and the tunnel had opened. Flickers of the Rosa Torquata seemed to beckon them inside.
“Come on. Let’s go home.” Niklas glanced up at the starry sky one final time, then climbed into the tunnel.
“Hello?” he called. “Rosa Torquata? Can you hear me?” He brought out the old, withered rose twig from his satchel. “I have the key.”
Neither the old nor the nasty voice answered. Instead Niklas heard a quiet voice behind him.
“Cub.”
Secret stood outside the archway. Niklas turned back and stopped on the threshold. A few spindly vines, gentle and thorn-less, shot across the ope
ning, as if to warn him: Don’t step outside. “What’s going on?”
“I can’t go.” Secret took a step back.
“What do you mean?” The words came out louder than Niklas meant. “We have to go home! We have to save Summerhill!”
Secret leaned forward and put her paw through the gate. Immediately her fur started smoldering. Fine tendrils of smoke curled out between her claws. She jerked back and licked the sparks. “This is the reason for Rafsa’s scars. She burns when she comes this way, even if she is covered in runes to make it through.”
The smell of scorched hair stung Niklas’s nose, but still he didn’t understand. “But we came here together. The Rosa let us through!”
“It let you through because you had a Twistrose key. It let me through for a different reason.” Secret sat down in the black sand, just as she had when they first arrived. “Idun explained it to me. I can’t go back, because I don’t belong in the other world anymore.”
“Because you’re . . .” Niklas swallowed and swallowed. I feel strange, Secret had said when they entered the tunnel the first time. Because she was dying, because of him. “I didn’t know,” he whispered.
“If you had known, do you think it would have stopped me from coming with you? It won’t do to be a coward.” Her yellow eyes were liquid. “Which is why you have to go now. Hurry.”
“I can’t . . .” Niklas’s palms felt clammy. He gripped his medallion. “I can’t face Rafsa by myself.”
“Yes, you can. That troll witch has nothing on your courage. Not now when you know how to use it.” The feeling that streamed through the medallion was sad, but also proud. “You will do what has to be done. You will save Summerhill. I will stay here.”
“Well, I’m not going to leave you. You’re . . .” Niklas faltered. He didn’t know how to tell her that she was his only friend now, and that if he had to go back without her, he would be alone again. And every wonderful thing that had somehow found its way into his life would be gone, just gone. Instead he said, “You’ll be alone in Nightmare territory.”
Secret snorted. “Not exactly. Kepler has been following us since we left the feast. He’s hiding in the vegetable patch.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Poor guy doesn’t know how to sneak. I think I’ll have to teach him.”
Niklas bit his lip. Of course there was no need for Secret to say good-bye to Kepler, because Kepler wouldn’t be the one to lose her.
Secret lifted her huge, white paw, holding it up to the invisible border that would separate them forever. Niklas reached outside and held it tight. He had no idea how to let go.
“Don’t be sad, cub.” Secret pushed her forehead against his hand. It was the most cat-like sign of love she had ever given him. “There is something else I have to tell you. The Greenhood let slip a little secret from the Book of Twistrose.” She tried a smile. “A name. I don’t think you’re supposed to know, but as you say, who cares about stupid rules?”
She whispered it to him, and it was the only reason Niklas found the courage to turn his back and go through the tunnel.
CHAPTER FIFTY
The Rosa Torquata had pulled back from Secret’s winter cave, leaving her ledge and the small pool to darkness. Niklas used his hands to find his way through the old avalanche. His nose, too, because the troll stench wafted out from the entrance to the troll caves. But he couldn’t hear anything, neither footsteps nor howls. Breathing as shallowly as possible, he chose the smelly tunnel. Fresh torches burned in all the sconces. Rafsa had been here not long ago.
For this fight, Niklas would be alone and without weapons. Except there was one place where he might be able to find some bane, even if it happened to be in gravy form. But when he reached the kitchen, he found it scoured clean. Every last spoonful of bane-poisoned stew had been scraped out of the kettle. Rafsa was nothing if not thorough.
Still no sound broke the silence in the troll nest. Niklas pushed farther in, past the tunnel where he had been caged and kept, and into the great hall.
The six trolls that died from the stew stood gathered near the door. They had turned back to stone, with crumbling holes in the middle where the bane had done its work. One had an ear-like lump where his neck would be. Niklas stepped around him.
“Oh no,” he said, forgetting for a moment that Secret wasn’t there to hear it.
The hall flickered with torchlight. Jagged shadows danced on the walls. The giant stalactites that Rafsa had so carefully bound and carved with awake runes had all cracked open, leaving piles of rubble beneath each. The sleeping trolls within were nowhere to be seen.
Wherever Rafsa had gone, she had brought her army.
• • •
As soon as he emerged into the moonlit night, he knew he would not be crossing Sorrowdeep by boat. The little vessel lay in pieces on the pebbly beach, crushed by a boulder that had broken loose from the mountain wall. He had no choice but to swim. Niklas squinted across the pond. The water lilies had withered. He could almost sense the taint brimming beneath the mirror calm of the surface.
In the distance a sound went up: a sharp, unbroken keening that rose and fell like a siren. Niklas knew it, because he had heard it a thousand times. Deep in the valley, at the Summerhill border, the screaming stone wailed, even if there was not a breath of wind. He had no doubt that Rafsa made it so.
He had to go home.
He cleared his throat and took a step forward. Some pebbles rolled off the beach into the water. The ripples crept across the pond, and in return he thought he heard a soft hiss. Was there a word in that hiss? Did it call his name?
Niklas’s stomach filled with cold. In his dream, his mother never made it to Sorrowdeep. But he had always believed that if the terror hadn’t woken him up, this is where the nightmare would end. His hand found the medallion. A warm pulse surged through his fingers at Secret’s response. Worry. He gripped the medallion hard.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” He waited. Nothing.
Goose bumps spread all over Niklas’s body as he pulled off his boots and dropped his satchel on the beach. He put the Sebastifer figurine in his pocket and tightened the string of the medallion around his neck.
He took another step forward, into the water. Mud oozed up around the stones under his toes. His mother had stood like this on the opposite shore, feet in the water.
Maybe she was down there. Or not her, but a Nightmare version of her, made out of tainted water. Maybe her eyes were black and desperate. He tried to keep the shivers out of his voice. “I need to swim across now. The trolls are going to break the border. I have to stop them.”
No one answered.
Sorrowdeep felt cold and silky when he slid into it. A hushed splash sounded every time he kicked his legs. He alone disturbed the water, and in the moonlight it must make him very visible from below. Niklas didn’t look down. He kept his eyes trained on the finger of rock on the other side.
Something brushed against his leg.
He thrashed and kicked, whipping around to catch sight of the thing that had touched him. He saw nothing but murky depths, but there was an icy current in the water. It made his arms and legs heavy, like added gravity. He struggled on. His breath came in hurried gasps, and his strokes felt cramped and useless. He made it only halfway before the coldness pulled him down.
When he went under, the moonlight broke into green shards. Hairy lichen drifted up from the bottom. His clothes billowed up as he sank. He couldn’t feel his limbs anymore, didn’t even know if they tried to swim. His thoughts raced like crazy.
Far below he glimpsed the half-eaten hull of a boat, cradling a rusty square.
The mink cage.
He couldn’t see any bones. Only an algae-covered door that came closer and closer as he dropped toward the bottom.
His chest ached, but the surface seemed so distant now, a glass window to a lost world. Secret’s
medallion floated up in front of his face, covered in pearls of air. He couldn’t lift his arm to catch it. Instead his hand brushed against his pocket and the Sebastifer figurine.
Suddenly he heard the old dog’s words, clear as a bell.
That cage carried all her guilt and sadness. You should have seen her that summer, Niklas. All those nightmares. Her head became a cage, too.
This was not just his nightmare. It was also his mother’s.
The cage had turned into a keeper of her guilt, a weight of sadness that dragged him down to trap him. It wasn’t her fault, Uncle Anders had said. He was wrong. It was her fault. But she only wanted to help. She had never meant for anyone to die, just like Niklas never meant for Rag to die. Or Secret.
He looked down.
The cage door had opened.
Beside it, his mother hung in the water, tied to the cage with a length of chain. Her nightgown and curls wafted like silver sheets. She had taken the form of her twelve-year-old self, the Erika who had almost drowned here. The one whose statue hid in the chapel crypt with a hollow heart. The one who was too afraid to cross the water.
The Thornghost.
She stared up at him with black eyes.
All this time, Niklas had been so frightened of the dreams and the grave and the secrets, of being left all alone, of having failed her the day she died. But he knew her now. He understood why everything had happened, even why she had tried to erase herself from his life.
He wasn’t scared of her anymore. The fear had gone away, and the place it had taken up ached like an old scar that only bothered you when you scratched it. It didn’t hurt anymore.
He stretched his arm toward her.
He moved in the water. Not toward the cage, but toward the light above. The current was weakening. Suddenly his body came to life. He needed air. Now.
He kicked his legs. They tingled as the cage let him go. Up and up he swam, until he broke the surface, gasping and coughing. When he got his breath under control, he almost couldn’t tread the water anymore. He had to make for land.
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