“No,” Abeke said. “But I still think about it.” Conor knew how hard it was for Abeke to be having this conversation without the comfort of Uraza’s presence. But the big cat hated water; she was better off in passive state.
Meilin was quiet for a minute. “I know what it’s like to doubt your bond with your spirit animal. You just have to trust.”
“I do. I trust Uraza completely,” Abeke said. There was a rustling sound. “I have a comb. Do you want me to unbraid your hair for you?”
As Meilin answered, Conor felt himself drift into sleep.
Where the Wyrm was waiting for him.
At first he was floating in a soft darkness, gently rocked by unseen waves. Then he looked down at himself. He was standing. At his feet, the darkness was moving. It was not soft or peaceful, he realized, and dread prickled over his skin. It was a seething mass of oily, black parasites. As he watched in horror, they flowed up, over his legs, their touch icy cold, until they covered his entire body. Then they pushed through his skin until he wasn’t a boy anymore, just a boy-shaped collection of black, pulsing worms, with a piercing pain in his forehead where he’d worn the Wyrm’s spiral mark. He opened his mouth to scream, and writhing black worms flowed out of him.
As his shout echoed in the tiny ship cabin, he jerked awake, then struggled out of the hammock, landing with a thump on the deck. He crouched there, shivering, still feeling the cold touch of the parasites.
The red light of sunset streamed through the porthole, turning everything in the cabin the color of blood.
And then Abeke was crouched at his side, taking his hand. “It’s all right,” she assured him.
“What’s going on?” came Rollan’s sleepy voice from the other hammock.
“Nothing,” Meilin answered. Her hair was unbraided, a long, straight curtain of black silk that hung down her back. “Go back to sleep.”
Conor kept shivering, still seeing the parasites. He reached up to rub his forehead, which ached.
“Look at me,” Abeke said firmly, taking his chin in her hand. “You’re all right.” To his astonishment, she pushed his hand aside, leaned closer, and put her lips to the very spot where the Wyrm had marked him. After the kiss, she leaned back, and he stared into her wise, brown eyes.
“Let Jhi help,” Meilin said, and moved aside so the big panda could come closer.
Jhi put a big paw on Conor’s shoulder, and he felt the wet rasp of her tongue as it stroked over his brow, over the mark, over the place where Abeke had kissed him.
The constant pain of his forehead faded. The creeping dread of the Wyrm lifted.
A feeling of peace and healing spread through him.
Abeke nodded. “You’re all right,” she repeated.
“I’m all right,” Conor agreed.
And suddenly, it was true. He let out a relieved breath. Even with everything that had happened, the terrible things he’d seen, the blood, the fighting, he wouldn’t want to go back to being a simple shepherd. He was with his friends. He was where he belonged.
It had taken a long time. But thanks to his friends, he was finally, truly, free of the Wyrm.
“WE’RE BEING WATCHED,” ABEKE SAID, STOPPING IN THE middle of the road. She’d been feeling prickly for the past hour, and she was a hunter—she knew when to listen to her instincts. At her side, Uraza crouched, her long tail twitching.
“But we left the Oathbound behind in Eura,” Conor responded.
“Maybe we did,” Abeke said, looking around alertly. “But we’re still being watched. Followed. Stalked, maybe.”
On reaching Amaya they had left the ship, and now they had almost reached Concorba. The dirt path they were on ran straight toward the city, through a forest crowded with trees that Abeke didn’t know the names of, their leaves turning autumn colors—bright yellow, brown, flaming orange.
And … red. She caught a glimpse of something red disappearing behind a nearby tree. But it wasn’t a leaf.
“I was right,” Abeke whispered. “There’s someone here.”
“Should I hide us?” Anka asked. She hadn’t taken on the colors of the forest, but her features seemed blurred. Somehow it was hard to get a really good look at her.
“No,” Meilin decided. She put her hand on the pommel of her sword. She raised her voice. “Whoever is following us should show himself.”
The only move from the forest was the rustling of leaves in a cool breeze.
At Abeke’s side, Uraza’s keen, violet eyes gleamed. Briggan stood beside Conor, his ears pricked, his big nose sniffing. Jhi was in passive state, and Essix floated high above the forest on a current of warm air.
“Behind that tree over there,” Rollan said, pointing to where Abeke had glimpsed the bit of red.
Abeke grinned suddenly, feeling the thrill of the hunt. “Go get him, Uraza.” At her words, the big leopard sprang forward. She leaped once, bounded around a tree, and pounced. There was a yell and a scuffle of leaves. The kids and Briggan raced after her.
As they came around the tree, they found a boy in a white mask and red cloak sprawled on the ground with Uraza’s front paws on his chest. Uraza flexed her claws, and the boy yowled and squirmed, but she didn’t let him up.
Red cloak. Cat mask.
“Worthy,” Meilin said, sounding disgusted.
“Unworthy is more like it,” Rollan put in.
“What are you doing sneaking around here?” Meilin demanded.
“I wasn’t sneaking,” Worthy protested.
“Following, then,” Abeke said. “Stalking. Watching.”
“All right,” Worthy said, giving up. “Get this overgrown house cat off me, and I’ll tell you.”
It was a good time to stop to eat lunch, so the four kids pulled bread and cheese out of their one pack and sat on the leafy ground. They introduced Worthy to Anka, who nodded and then did her usual fade-into-the-background thing. Abeke, with her honed hunter skills, knew where Anka was, but all she could see, even looking straight at her, was a faint outline against the trunk of a tree. She wondered if Anka’s skin only looked like tree bark, or if it had taken on that nubbled, rough texture, too.
“All right, Unworthy,” Meilin said, pointing at him with the knife she was using to cut a piece of cheese. “Talk.”
Abeke saw the Redcloak’s strange slitted eyes blink behind his mask. “Our leader, Stead, sent me to warn you.”
“Uh-huh,” Rollan said skeptically. “Warn us about what?”
“The Greencloaks are officially being broken up.” Ignoring their gasps, he went on. “The leaders of Erdas have ordered the Oathbound to arrest every Greencloak in the world,” Worthy answered. “You are all to be put on trial for what happened at the Citadel.”
“But we had nothing to do with the attack,” Meilin protested.
“I know that,” Worthy said. “All the Redcloaks know it. But to the rest of the world, you are renegades. You’re to be arrested on sight. The Oathbound know you are here. They’re tracking you. Stead sent me to warn you—and to help you.”
The four Greencloaks looked at each other in dismayed silence. They had thought they’d escaped, but they were in much greater danger than they’d realized.
“Maybe we should abandon our quest for the four gifts,” Meilin said slowly. “What Worthy is talking about—the suspicion, the arrests, the trial. It means the true end of the Greencloaks. Maybe we should try to figure out who is behind it all.”
Abeke saw the logic of this. She saw Rollan and Conor considering it, too.
“No,” came a voice from the edge of their clearing. Slowly Anka’s form took shape as she stepped away from the tree where she’d been sitting. “The quest for the four gifts is far more important than you realize. You must find them. And isn’t it the task that Olvan assigned you?”
“That’s true,” Meilin said. “It is. But still, I think—”
“Consider this,” Anka said, stepping forward. Somehow her face was still in shadow, blurred, so Abeke couldn’t get a good
look at it. “The two tasks are connected. The gifts, once you’ve found them all, can be used to remind the leaders that the Greencloaks have always served the four lands of Erdas.”
Abeke saw her point. “I think Anka’s right, and we should continue,” she said. “We should do as Olvan ordered. We should go on with the quest for the four gifts.” She looked around the circle of her friends, and they all nodded agreement.
“I can help with that,” Worthy said. “I know about your quest. I can help you find the rock, the claw, the circle, and the … uh … the other thing. And I can help you escape the Oathbound.”
“Are you saying you want to join us?” Rollan asked skeptically.
“No way,” Conor interrupted. “Have you forgotten who he really is? Devin Trunswick. He’s a bully, and a liar, and he betrayed all of Trunswick when he joined Zerif.”
“I was having a bad day,” Worthy mumbled.
“He drank the Bile,” Conor went on.
“I drank the Bile, too,” Meilin reminded him.
“Not on purpose,” Conor countered. “Not like he did. Who knows what else he’s capable of? We can’t let him join us.”
As Rollan was nodding agreement, Abeke was shaking her head, setting her braids swinging. This kind of anger—it wasn’t like Conor. She knew he didn’t like Worthy; Devin Trunswick had treated him badly when he’d been the older boy’s servant. Clearly the usually very forgiving Conor had not forgiven him yet.
She tried to reason with him. “But Worthy fought the Wyrm, just as we did,” she said. And she couldn’t forget that he was a Redcloak—just like Shane. No matter what else he had done, Shane had died a hero’s death.
“And he seems to know more about the gifts than we do,” Meilin put in.
“Not much more,” Abeke noted, wondering where Worthy had gotten his information about the rock, claw, circle, and other thing.
“I really do want to help,” Worthy said, sounding intentionally pitiful, Abeke thought.
The four Greencloaks exchanged a look. Rollan raised his eyebrows. Then Meilin nodded, and so did Abeke. Conor shot Worthy a look of deep dislike, and then he shrugged. “Maybe,” he said reluctantly.
“We can give him a trial period,” Meilin said, with a nod. “If he really is helpful, he can stay; if he’s not, he’ll have to leave. Agreed?”
All the kids nodded, and Worthy sighed loudly, as if they were being stupid for not accepting him immediately.
Abeke vowed to keep an eye on him, just in case. She accepted a piece of cheese on stale bread that Meilin handed her, sharing pieces with Uraza, who snapped them up and made a contented rumbling sound in her chest.
Abeke chewed a bite of bread, thinking. “You said the Oathbound are tracking us?” she asked Worthy.
He was looking longingly at the bread. He nodded, then pointed with his chin in the direction of Concorba. “They’re probably lying in wait for you. They’re not sure where you’re going, but they expect you to pass through the city. That’s where they’ll capture you.”
“We have to go into Concorba for supplies,” Anka said, from just outside their circle.
As she spoke, Worthy jerked in surprise. “Yipes! I forgot you were there.”
“Happens a lot,” Anka said acidly. And, Abeke thought, a little sadly.
“Anka is right,” Meilin said, holding up the heel of the loaf of bread and a rind of cheese. “This is the last of our food.” After hesitating, she held it out to Worthy, who seized it and started eating, tearing off pieces and stuffing them under the mask, into his mouth.
Abeke stared at Anka, who was fading back into the color of the tree she was leaning against.
The Oathbound were tracking them. She realized that she needed to stop thinking like a hunter, and start thinking like the hunter’s prey. It meant becoming more like Anka—passing through the land unnoticed.
“The Oathbound are hunting Greencloaks,” Abeke said slowly.
“That’s what he said,” Rollan mumbled through a bite of bread, nodding at Worthy.
“Meilin, take out the gift,” Abeke ordered. When her friend had taken out the rock and unwrapped it, Abeke pointed to it. “The rock is hidden. Unrevealed, as Olvan said. We have to be the same way. As the Heroes of Erdas, we’re too easy to track. We have to go in disguise. We can’t be Greencloaks anymore.”
ROLLAN GULPED DOWN HIS BITE OF BREAD AND CHEESE and jumped up. “No,” he said forcefully. “Greencloaks are who we are. We can’t take off our cloaks.”
They all got to their feet, staring at him.
Rollan felt a red flush creeping up his face. “I know, I know. I was the last of the four of us to become a Greencloak. But look”—he pointed in the direction of Concorba—“I spent a lot of time hiding in that city, trying not to get caught by the militia. I didn’t like sneaking around then, and I don’t like the thought of it now. And remember what Tarik told us? He said we should never take off our cloaks. He said, We must stand behind who we are and what we represent. Remember? We should keep wearing our cloaks, and just be more careful.”
“What’s the problem, Rollan?” Worthy put in with a shrug. “Your cloak is basically rags. You should throw it away anyway, and get a new one when this is all over.”
Worthy’s comment hit Rollan like a punch in the stomach.
“Shut up, Unworthy,” Conor said, glaring. At his side, Briggan growled, sensing the sudden tension in the air.
“What?” Worthy said, raising his hands as if surrendering. “What did I say?”
“This,” Rollan said in a shaking voice, holding up the ragged edge of Tarik’s cloak, “was given to me by a man who was braver and more worthy than you will ever be.”
Worthy’s face was hidden behind his mask, so it was hard to see how he was really feeling. But he took a step back and lowered his head.
Rollan clenched his fists. He wasn’t particularly good at fighting. He usually managed to talk himself out of tricky situations. But if Worthy so much as opened his mouth, Rollan was going to punch him. Surprisingly, the Redcloak stayed quiet.
It was Meilin who spoke. “Rollan,” she said softly, “I know you don’t want to set Tarik’s cloak aside. But Abeke is right. We take too great a risk being Greencloaks at a time when the Oathbound are hunting us.”
“If they really are hunting us,” Rollan shot back. He pointed at Worthy. “We only have his word for it that they are.”
“We can’t take the chance,” Abeke said. “And remember, we have taken our cloaks off before.”
Rollan remembered. He, Conor, and Abeke, along with Finn and the other Greencloaks, had been in Stetriol on what they had thought would be a suicide mission. It had been a matter of life and death. This situation wasn’t so dire.
“We don’t have any choice,” Meilin said. Giving Rollan a sympathetic look, she unpinned her cloak and rolled it into a lump. “It’s not safe to carry them with us,” she continued. “If we really are fugitives, there’s going to be a bounty for our capture. People will be watchful. We might even have our packs searched. We can’t hold on to any liabilities.”
Then she stepped to the edge of clearing and dug a small hole with her sword. She kneeled there, tucking the bundle reverently into the earth. Abeke, Conor, and Anka followed one by one, each relinquishing their cloaks to the soil.
Maybe they were right. Slowly Rollan took off his tattered cloak. As he folded it carefully, Essix dove toward their clearing. She banked, circling him once and brushing his face with a wing tip, then settled onto his shoulder, a heavy weight. His cloak had a patch of leather sewn onto the shoulder so she wouldn’t shred it when she perched there. Without it, her sharp talons pierced his shirt, like needles poking into his skin. She was not a comfortable passenger.
The falcon was not usually affectionate, but she bent her sleek head and ran the curve of her beak along the edge of his ear, comforting him. He reached up and stroked the dappled feathers on her chest, feeling better. Then he felt worse, realizin
g that if they were in disguise, their spirit animals would have to be hidden, too. He didn’t look forward to convincing Essix to go into passive state again.
They decided that because Rollan knew Concorba best, he and Conor would go into the city to buy supplies. Meilin and Abeke would wait in the woods nearby, hidden by Anka, until they got back.
When Worthy insisted that he should go, too, Rollan and Conor ignored him.
“No, really,” Worthy said. “I can carry the supplies.” When they didn’t answer, he slumped, as if disappointed. “I just want to help, that’s all.”
Rollan heard Conor mutter something about Unworthy. It was a good name for the Redcloak. More appropriate than the one he had chosen, anyway.
Anka gave them a few coins, and Conor slung the pack for groceries over his shoulder. To Rollan’s surprise, Essix went meekly into passive state; Conor had rolled down his shirtsleeves to cover the tattoo of Briggan on his arm. They set off toward Concorba, leaving their weapons behind, taking only the small knife that Rollan kept hidden in his boot. Being without his cloak made Rollan feel strangely defenseless, as if it were more than just cloth. As if it were a shield. To anyone seeing them, Rollan and Conor looked like two ordinary boys; specifically, Rollan looked like a rather scruffy kid from Concorba, and Conor looked like a slightly better-dressed Euran visitor.
They entered the city, keeping an eye out for the distinctive black uniforms of the Oathbound. They walked slowly, trying not to call attention to themselves. Rollan sniffed the air, smelling the familiar scents of roasted corn, pine smoke, horse dung, and drying chilies.
He glanced aside at his friend. When they’d first met up again on their journey to the Citadel, Conor had looked pale and unhappy, and though he wasn’t the chattiest of kids, he’d been even quieter than usual. Rollan’s ability to read people’s moods had shown him how dark the other boy’s thoughts had been. But Conor looked better now. “You having those dreams still?” Rollan asked.
Conor looked startled. “The Wyrm ones? No.” He frowned down at his feet, thinking. “But last night I had another dream. About a wave.”
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