The Wildcat's Claw

by Varian Johnson

“Maybe we could lose him in the castle,” Abeke offered.

  The girls sprinted across the overgrown lawn, leaping over blackened stone boulders and charred wood. They scurried over a fallen column, past the stone archway, and raced inside the castle walls. A long, winding staircase stood before them. The staircase looked like it was made of brass, but there was too much ash coating it to know for sure.

  “That way,” Meilin said, rushing up the stairs to what remained of the second floor. “They’d be fools to follow us up here.”

  The steps creaked and groaned underneath them as they neared the top landing. Abeke was sure they would buckle any second. “Um, now who exactly are the fools again?” Abeke asked. Taking the last three steps in one bound, she landed heavily on the second floor, which sagged beneath her. Uraza landed beside her, stirring up a cloud of ash. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

  “If it was a bad idea for us, then it’s a horrible idea for them,” Meilin said, pointing to the militiamen following them up the stairs. “Do you see how they’re handling their weapons? They aren’t soldiers. They should be holding shepherds crooks, not swords.”

  “My village doesn’t have any dedicated soldiers, either,” Abeke said as they took cover behind an overturned bust of a man. Abeke couldn’t be sure, but she assumed that it was a statue of Dawson and Worthy’s father. “If and when the time comes for battle, all able-bodied men are expected to fight, whether they’re teachers or hunters.”

  “Even if they aren’t trained?” Meilin asked.

  She nodded. “Of course, it was always frowned upon if a woman ever wanted to—” Abeke stopped as a light shone above them.

  “Hey, I see you!” one of the men yelled. “Stop. You’re trespassing.”

  “Save that thought,” Meilin said, taking off down the grand hallway. “Come on!”

  Abeke took off after her, turning as the hallway split and intersected with other smaller hallways.

  Abeke slowed as she sidestepped a cracked chandelier. Shards of glass had exploded across the entire swath of carpet. The glass fragments shone from the moonlight pouring through the collapsed ceiling. “Watch your step,” Abeke warned Uraza. “You don’t want to get glass in between your paws.”

  Meilin screeched to a halt, almost causing Abeke to run into her. The entire hallway floor in front of them was cracked and splintered, with large holes gaping through the floorboards. Below, Abeke saw what looked like a grand parlor.

  “There’s no way that floor will hold us, especially running at full speed.” Meilin called forth Jhi. “But I bet we can jump it.”

  Nodding, Abeke backed up a few paces. Then, just as the militiamen turned into the hallway, Meilin, Abeke, and Uraza raced and leaped across the aging wood, easily clearing it.

  The men stood, their weapons hanging at their sides, as Jhi disappeared.

  “You’re the Greencloaks the Oathbound are looking for!” one man yelled. He accusingly thrust his sword toward them. “Stop! Turn yourselves in!”

  Meilin shook her head. “Not going to happen.”

  “You don’t know the entire truth,” Abeke said. “The Oathbound are not what they seem!”

  “They said you killed the Emperor of Zhong and that you tried to kill the Queen of Eura.”

  “Lies!” Abeke said.

  “We’re not going to change their minds, and we’re running out of time,” Meilin said. “Just shoot them and let’s get this over with.”

  Abeke gasped. “Meilin!”

  Meilin shrugged. “What? I didn’t say kill them. Just shoot them in the shoulder or leg or something so they’ll stop chasing us.”

  “By order of the Queen of Eura, we hereby place you under arrest,” one of the other militiamen yelled, his voice quavering. He looked young, barely older than them. He held a rapier in his shaking hand.

  Meilin sighed as she unsheathed her sword. “Guys, seriously. Do you not see that she has a leopard? And I have a giant panda. And you all … you can barely hold your weapons.”

  “Meilin, you’re not helping,” Abeke whispered.

  “Trust me,” Meilin whispered back. Then, looking back at the men, she said, “Come on! Or are you too scared to fight two girls?”

  The men held their weapons higher. “For Trunswick!” the leader roared. “Charge!”

  “No!” Abeke yelled. “Wait!”

  But it was too late. As soon as the men surged forward, the floor underneath them opened up. As the floorboards cracked, the men fell to the lower story.

  Meilin sheathed her sword and dusted off her hands. “Well, that’s done. Let’s go.”

  “We can’t just leave them,” Abeke said.

  “We don’t have time—”

  “They were just doing their duty,” Abeke said. She listened for a few seconds. Thanks to Uraza, she could make out three district groans. “At least they’re still alive.”

  Meilin sighed. “All right, fine. Let’s help them.” They slowly walked to the edge of the large hole and peered down. The men lay in a heap on the floor. “Do you yield?” Meilin asked.

  “Never,” one of the men said. Then he passed out.

  Abeke and Meilin leaped to the bottom floor. Abeke drew her bow and aimed an arrow at them, although she quickly realized this was pointless. The men were in no condition to fight.

  Returning her arrow to the quiver, Abeke collected the men’s weapons. “I’m sorry for the pain we caused you,” she said. “We mean you no harm.”

  Meilin knelt in front of the youngest of the men as he cradled his arm. “Don’t move,” she said. He winced as she touched his wrist. “I don’t think it’s broken. Merely sprained. Hold on for a second.”

  She called forth Jhi, and the man shrank away. “Don’t hurt me!” he yelled.

  “We’re not going to attack you,” Meilin said. “Jhi is a healer. She’ll help.” The large panda lumbered to the man, then began licking his hand and arm. Slowly, he slumped to the ground and sighed in relief.

  “These two seem fine,” Abeke said. The other man had regained consciousness. She helped both of them to their feet. “Are you hurt? Any broken bones? Jhi can help you, too.”

  “Nothing hurt but my pride,” the leader said. “You’re really not going to kill us?”

  “Of course not,” Abeke said. “But we will have to tie you up for a while,” she added sheepishly. “But don’t worry—we’ll send someone back for you.”

  The leader of the men shook his head. “But the Oathbound … they said you were murderers. They said you would destroy us all.”

  “We’re Greencloaks,” Meilin said. “We are protectors. The Oathbound are the dangerous ones.”

  The leader looked at the other man, then nodded. “Their leader, Cordelia the Kind, said she’d destroy the town if she discovered you were here,” he said. “I’m sorry. We were just trying to protect ourselves.”

  “We know,” Meilin said. “You three were very brave. You can tell your friends all about your adventures and embellish as much as you want … tomorrow.” She placed her hand on her sword. “But for right now, we’re going to need to tie you up. And quickly. We have someplace to be.”

  ROLLAN’S MUSCLES INVOLUNTARILY FLEXED AS HE heard footsteps creaking above them. He wasn’t sure if the others heard it—they were farther back in the basement, away from the stairs. Pausing from reading the large journal in front of him, he grabbed a torch from the wall sconce and glanced at Essix. The falcon sat at a small arch window high in the basement, looking too dignified to fly farther into the room.

  Still holding the torch, Rollan moved to the base of the stairs. With his free hand, he removed his dagger from his belt. “Mind taking a look?” he asked Essix. “It’s probably Meilin and Abeke, but we’d better check just to be sure.”

  The bird screeched, then took flight through the room and up the winding metal staircase. Although now empty, the Howling House was still a scary place to be. Every time the wind blew outside, the windows rattled, m
aking Rollan flinch. The four walls surrounding them were covered with scratches and splatters of red. Rollan didn’t care to speculate on the source of the stains.

  Rollan watched Essix as she soared back into the basement. She perched on the wooden chandelier in the middle of the space and began pecking at something—probably an insect snack.

  “She flew down here,” Rollan heard Meilin say. A few moments later, she and Abeke descended the stairs into the basement.

  “What happened to you all?” Rollan asked, holding the torch so he could get a better view of them. “How did you get covered with all that ash?”

  Meilin brushed the soot from her shoulder. “We ran into a little trouble, but we were able to handle it. Any luck with finding anything on the Wildcat’s Claw?”

  “Not yet, but we haven’t been searching long.” He pointed them toward an untouched stack of books covered in dust and cobwebs. “You can start with those. The others are farther back, looking through, like, a thousand scrolls.”

  Meilin cautiously approached the books. “Are you sure there aren’t any spiders in there?”

  Rollan smiled. “If you see one, just pretend it’s a big, hairy mouse.”

  She huffed in reply, but picked up one of the scrolls. Abeke took a large book beside it.

  Rollan removed his cloak and returned to his book. It was cold outside, but all the torches were making the basement stuffy. The brown cloak was heavy and rough, nothing like his green cloak. He hadn’t wanted to part with it, but after Abeke’s speech last night about secrets, Rollan knew he couldn’t continue traveling with the cloak and hiding it from his friends. He and Worthy had decided to store it in Dawson’s cottage for now, underneath one of the loose floorboards. Hopefully, once they’d found all the gifts and rescued the Greencloaks, Rollan could return for it.

  He wondered if Tarik would have done the same thing, had he still been with them.

  Rollan finished paging through the book, then picked up an equally large and equally boring journal. He had to keep shaking his head in order to stay awake.

  But then his eyes flashed open.

  “I think I found something!” Rollan said. He’d discovered a full-page illustration of a large, bearded warrior and a black wildcat. The warrior’s arms were thick as tree trunks. The fur of a wild stag covered his shoulders, torso, and legs, and his metal helmet was adorned with two sharp, ivory tusks. In his hands, he carried a large sword, poised and ready to strike.

  As intimidating as the warrior was, the wildcat was even more ferocious. It stood in a crouch, claws bared and mouth curled into a snarl, waiting to pounce. Somehow, the ink in the drawing made it seem as though the wildcat’s muscles rippled underneath its fur, right there on the page. Its yellow eyes peered at Rollan, as if it were trying to stare him down.

  Rollan finally peeled his eyes away from the drawing, as the others surrounded him. “That’s it!” Worthy said. “That’s the picture I remember seeing.”

  Worthy took the journal from him. Rollan didn’t try to stop him. “The warrior is named Gransfen the Giant,” Worthy said. “The wildcat’s name is Wilco.”

  “Like the enchanted forest?” Conor asked. “Wilcoskov?”

  Worthy nodded. “Yes, I believe so.” He flipped the page and continued reading, his finger tracing along each word. “This looks like a brief retelling of the history of Gransfen and Wilco. They lived a long time ago, back before there were even Greencloaks.” Worthy looked up from the journal. “Hey, maybe the Trunswicks are somehow related to him. I think I had a cousin named Grant … maybe he was named after him. I should ask Dawson about—”

  “Let me see that,” Conor said, taking the book from Worthy. “You can come back later to research your family history—after we find the Wildcat’s Claw.”

  Conor began reading the book—slowly. He’d hardly been able to read when Rollan had first met him, but he had worked hard at it—even studying during their travels—and had improved greatly.

  “According to this, Gransfen was from the far north. Somewhere close to the shores of Arctica.” Conor kept reading. “A band of warriors called the Crimson Raiders attacked his village, taking most of the food the villagers had harvested for the long winter. The leader of the Crimson Raiders demanded that the village swear loyalty to them and hand over their firstborn sons to their order—if not, they would destroy everything. Gransfen, the first and only son of the local blacksmith, was weak, scrawny, and sickly. In order to prove they were serious, the Crimson Raiders pulled Gransfen from his home, stripped him of all his furs, and cast him into the wilderness to starve and freeze to death. He returned three weeks later, alive and well, riding on the back of the largest wildcat anyone had ever seen. The wildcat roared so loudly that the village gates disintegrated, like a charred log turning to ash. Then the wildcat fought the raiders, snapping their swords in her jaws like they were twigs in a steel trap.”

  “That’s amazing,” Rollan said. He had to admit, Wilco sounded pretty awesome—maybe even more powerful than the gila monster.

  Conor turned the page. “After freeing the village, Gransfen and Wilco spent the rest of their lives fighting against the Crimson Raiders and any other threats to ancient Eura. The book compares the black wildcat to other legendary animals from across Erdas, especially in Amaya, Nilo, and Zhong. Their strength only paled in comparison to the Great Beasts themselves. Like Wilco, some of these spirit animals and their human partners had powerful items that they used to defend their homes. The book names four: the Wildcat’s Claw, the Heart of the Land, Stormspeaker, and the Dragon’s Eye. All four were gifted to the Greencloaks after the fall of the Devourer.”

  “Those are the other two gifts!” Abeke said. “Stormspeaker and the Dragon’s Eye.”

  “Jump ahead,” Anka said. “Does it say what happened to them?”

  Conor flipped to the end of the entry and began reading again. “No, but it does say that after years of glorious battle, Gransfen and Wilco were buried at the base of a waterfall in the very forest where Gransfen first summoned the wildcat.” Conor perked up, his eyes gleaming. “Even the famous Greencloaks revered the pair,” he read haltingly. “Shortly after the war, a traveling Greencloak visited the tomb to honor the wildcat and the hero.” Conor flipped to the next page, but it was blank. “That’s it,” he said.

  “I’m guessing that Greencloak was doing more than just paying respects,” Rollan said. “They must have been hiding the sword.”

  “But why?” Meilin asked. “This has been bothering me for a while now. If these gifts are so powerful, why didn’t the Greencloaks keep them and use them to defend Erdas? The Heart of the Land has saved us twice now. We could have used that power against the Conquerors, but Olvan held back.”

  Rollan frowned. “It is a little strange. Especially since they’re supposed to be these big symbols of togetherness. Why spread them all out and keep them hidden?”

  Anka’s color shifted slightly. Rollan caught a glimpse of a thoughtful expression before she disappeared again. “The Greencloaks have always been tight-lipped about forbidden knowledge,” she said. “Perhaps there’s more to the gifts than it seems, and they wanted to keep those secrets from getting out.”

  “Until now,” Conor said. “Whatever his reasons, Olvan needs us to retrieve the gifts.”

  “Great,” Worthy moaned. “Are we really going to Wilcoskov?”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Abeke asked. “Is it dangerous?”

  “Worse,” Worthy said. “It’s enchanted. Full of old magic. No one enters that place anymore, not even hunters.”

  Meilin shrugged. “Gransfen did.”

  “Gransfen was the most noble warrior that Eura has ever known,” Worthy said. “No offense, but even you aren’t in his league, Meilin. None of us are.”

  “The book says that a Greencloak entered the forest,” Abeke offered.

  “But it doesn’t say that he left, does it?” Worthy said.

  Rollan arched his e
yebrow. “Worthy, are you really that scared?”

  Behind his mask, Worthy’s eyes were solemn as he looked at Rollan. “I am. And if you knew any better, you’d be scared, too.”

  Conor closed the book. “I’m scared, too. I grew up hearing all the horror stories about Wilcoskov. But if the Wildcat’s Claw is there, then that’s where we have to go.” He looked at Worthy. “Are you with us?”

  Worthy scowled, but eventually nodded. “Fine, I’m in. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Rollan decided to tag along with Meilin and Abeke on the way back to Dawson’s cottage. After being cooped up in the basement, he wanted to run along the rooftops, feeling the breeze in his hair. On the way, they filled him in on the trouble they’d run into at Trunswick Castle.

  “We’ll have Dawson go back to release them as soon as we leave,” Meilin said once they neared the cottage. Rollan noticed a few candles burning by the window. He hoped that Dawson hadn’t stayed up waiting for them. Running a town like Trunswick couldn’t be easy. The kid needed all the rest he could get.

  “People will eventually figure out that Dawson was the one helping us,” Abeke said. “I hope he doesn’t get into too much trouble.”

  “He’s a smart kid,” Rollan said, his hand on the door. “I’m sure he’ll find a way to talk himself out of it.”

  He opened it, and froze.

  “Or maybe not,” Rollan mumbled.

  Three members of the militia stood in front of him, their crossbows aimed right at his chest. Another woman stood a few feet away, a saber in her hand.

  “Don’t even think about calling your spirit animals,” the woman said. “Just come in, nice and quiet.”

  Rollan, Meilin, and Abeke slowly entered the room.

  “Close the door,” the woman said.

  Rollan shook his head. “It gets really warm in here, with so many people,” he said. “But I’d be happy to close the door once you all leave.” He didn’t know how far away Anka and the others were, but he hoped that with the door open, they would see the trouble that they were in before walking into the same trap.