“She’ll lead them to us,” said Jesse with a new burst of speed.
Wyndeling struggled to keep up. “They are too afraid to follow,” she said, gasping.
Tess pulled Jesse sharply to the side of a fallen tree, barely missing its exposed roots. Wyndeling reeled over the tree, somehow managing to remain in the air. Ahead, Profigliano flitted between branches, oblivious to the owl’s presence.
“I beg you. I cannot fly any farther.”
There it was again: that look of longing in the owl’s eyes. A memory flashed in Tess’s mind—the moment she asked this same creature for rest. She pressed the shenìl against her chest.
Then it happened again. All around Tess, the world seemed to slow. Tess felt calm and clear-minded. Finally, she heard the words again:
Trust her.
“By the skies.” Slowly, deliberately, Tess knotted the shenìl around her loose hair. Keeping her seat with her knees, Tess reached out and felt the soft feathers of the large, wet owl. As Tess grasped Wyndeling’s body, the world began to move again.
Tess cradled Wyndeling’s limp figure against her chest. Ryon pulled his hand away from his sling and settled back against Tess’s cloak. Jesse thundered nimbly against the forest floor. Profigliano whistled to himself as he led the way. No one followed as the five companions fled deeper into the Hinge Forest.
Chapter 11
The strange young man stood before Linden, grinning. Casion the mare had disappeared into the darkening forest, leaving her master to fend for himself.
“I said, lower your weapon.”
Linden froze. The bowstring pinched at his fingers. In the back of his mind, he checked his stance. He was perfectly balanced. This soldier could not make a move without Linden’s arrow striking his chest first. And yet, was Tess in some danger?
“What is the meaning of this?”
The Atheonian glanced to Linden’s right. His companion, the vulture, had landed clumsily on the forest floor. “You may return to your post.”
The vulture bobbed its wrinkled head. “Right, sir.” It flapped into the gloom.
“Lower your weapon, royal,” insisted the Atheonian.
“Take another step and I shall strike you through the heart.”
“Strike me through the heart and my men will proceed with the lady’s execution, I’m afraid.”
“I see no men, and I see no lady.” Dusk was quickly shrouding the woods, but Linden trusted his eyes and ears well enough to guess they were alone. “I proffer your soul to the night sky, Atheonian.” He stretched his string another inch. His target held up a patronizing hand.
“If you will accompany me to my camp,” he said, “I can take you to her ladyship. We have orders to execute her, but you may be able to negotiate other terms—”
Linden relaxed his string but kept the arrow pointed at its target. Was it possible that Tess followed him into the Hinge and somehow got herself captured?
“She’s here? In the Hinge?”
“Definitely.” The light-haired Atheonian grinned. “She’s wearing a crimson gown, rather becoming. And a sort of rustic leather tie with two beads in her hair.” Linden let his jaw go slack. He felt the heat of fear rising under his vest. “Ah,” continued the Atheonian. “I see I’ve convinced you. Now, the weapon? I shall have to bind your wrists before we embark on our little trek.”
Chapter 12
For the second night in a row, Tess, Jesse, and Ryon had galloped blindly through the darkness of the Hinge Forest. This time, however, they had the advantage of a towhee.
“Oh boy,” Profigliano sang. “Questing sure has its perks.”
The bird finally stopped in the middle of a clearing, bookended by two fallen elm trees and covered with the broad leaves of a magnolia.
“Where are we?” Tess said.
“My lady, you are standing on my very favorite worming ground.” Profigliano beamed.
“I’d rather not know what that means,” Tess said.
“This is where the fattest of the chubbiest worms come to have a cup of mud tea and catch up on the latest gossip. And all I hafta do is tuck a napkin under my beak and dig in. Those wormies never know what hits ’em. Don’t you worry about the council finding us here. This spot is secret as an elk’s den.”
“Thank you, Profigliano,” Ryon said.
“There, there, Master Ryon. You can call me Fig.”
As soon as Ryon had a fire going, Tess brought Wyndeling’s damp body close to the crackling flames. Long gashes streaked across the red owl’s chest, which Tess cleaned and bound with the cloth napkins from her satchel.
By the comfort of the fire and in the security of Tess’s lap, Wyndeling was lulled to sleep. Watching her dreaming patient, Tess found she longed to sleep as well. Profigliano was pleased to hear it, as he relished the opportunity to take first watch. Needing no further encouragement, Tess slept.
Midmorning light peeked through the old trees of the Hinge Forest as Tess munched on a breakfast of bruised apple and bread. Ryon entertained himself by launching rocks clean through magnolia leaves, without separating them from the stem.
“Oh boy, oh boy,” Profigliano said. “Master Ryon sure knows his way around that whirly string. But that wouldn’t help him with the worming sport! A real wormer—the true sportsbird—he takes as few pecks as possible.” Profigliano hopped along his branch, looking at it sideways and glancing behind him suspiciously. “He doesn’t waste his time on muckety-muck dirt specks. He hops real quiet-like; he knows his target; he strikes only when it counts.” Profigliano reached into a crevice in the branch and pulled forth a centipede. This flourish was so impressive, Ryon applauded.
“Fig, that was great.”
“Every creature’s got his livelihood,” answered Fig, his mouth full.
Just then, Jesse stepped into the clearing, unsaddled and with his blond coat shining. “No birds for many lengths. Well done, Profigliano.”
The towhee gave Jesse an elaborate bow.
“Well,” Ryon said, stowing his sling. “What’s our next move?”
All eyes landed on Tess.
Tess cleared her throat. The question recalled all the unsettled feelings of their situation, like waking up from a cozy nap in the middle of a thunderstorm. She rose and stepped to the center of the clearing. Wiping the wisps from her forehead, she looked around at her new companions.
“Before we move . . . ,” Tess said to Wyndeling, “I should like to know why you helped us out of the nest.”
Wyndeling bristled. “Very well. There was little time to explain. . . .” Her auburn feathers quivered around her bandages as she looked nervously about the clearing. “When the lady first cast an enchantment, I was . . . fearful. I conferred with the Seven Wise, who reminded me of a particular legend surrounding the Human War.”
Ryon interrupted. “Does she mean the Forest War, Tessy?”
“I think so,” Tess answered. “The last war Glademont ever fought? It was a kingdom, then. We lost the war, and those who survived fled to Zere Mountain and created a new dione—without weapons or military, so we would never pose a threat to others or ourselves.” Tess thought of all she learned from her dying queen, not two days before. The history books were wrong. Glademont had endured so long without war not because the queens were protected by Zere Peak and blessed by Xandra’s horn. If Aideen was right, the queens themselves had been doing the protecting. But Tess still didn’t understand how that could be, or why Aideen felt so strongly that she should be next in line. “Wait, Wyndeling, did you say enchantment? I’ve never cast an enchantment. I wouldn’t know how.”
Wyndeling tried to convey her irritation with a wing, but the pain allowed for only a weak flap. She moaned. “I notice you were not educated about the slaughter of animals, which happened during said war. But that is not my point. At the time of the Human War, it is
said the queen of Glademont wielded unseen magic more powerful than red and gold put together. But she could not master it, and so the kingdom fell.”
“We never learned about the queen of Old Glademont,” Ryon said. “Only that a king ruled, and that he was too eager to make war. King Wallis.”
“I still don’t understand,” Tess said. “What enchantment of mine were you talking about?”
Wyndeling glanced at Jesse uneasily. Then her gaze returned to Tess. “Do you not know your own power?”
Tess concentrated to keep her expression neutral. She would not give herself away as easily as she had two nights before. Although it seemed the shenìl trusted the owl, Tess was not convinced. “You still haven’t told us why you helped us. A day ago you captured us, and hours ago you handed us over to your clan.”
The owl looked to Jesse, as if for direction, but the stallion remained still.
“Well, it would have all seemed ridiculous if not for that Pider character. He reminded us of the old stories. He demonstrated red magic. . . .” Wyndeling shuddered. “But while in the nest, I thought again about the words I heard when you enchanted me: ‘The time has come. Ye who now bless the creatures of Glademont shall yourselves find blessing.’ And it struck me that we must have been in the wrong. That . . . that animals should honor Glademont. Like the Rushing has come to do.”
Ryon cleared his throat. “When did Tess enchant you?”
“Before I fell. She held me spellbound and spoke those words in my head,” Wyndeling whispered, focusing on the forest floor.
Tess spun the ring on her finger, finding it equally difficult to meet anyone’s eye.
“I heard a voice, too. When the . . . when Wyndeling fell. But it didn’t speak the verse; it told me to trust Wyndeling.”
The red owl lifted her soft face and peered into Tess’s eyes.
“I could not return to my perch now, my lady, even if I desired it. If you will allow me to stay in your company, I will help you as best I can,” she said.
“If you genuinely wish to help us,” Tess said, slowly, “then you and Profigliano will lead us back to Glademont. If my family made it to the castle—and I hope to the red star that they did—”
“We can’t go back,” Ryon said. He stooped at the edge of the clearing, his fingers gently prodding the ground.
“Of course we can,” Tess said more confidently than she felt.
Her brother moved away from the clearing, still stooping and prodding. He searched between the ferns and observed the bark of a tree trunk, running his fingers over its rough surface. Tess pursued him a few paces.
“What are you doing?”
At first, he did not answer, covering more ground and moving from tree to tree. Finally, he straightened and walked back to the clearing, meeting Tess’s exasperated glare with a frightened eye.
“At least one hundred men crossed through here . . . perhaps more. Two nights ago. There are tracks everywhere and scratches on the trees as far as I can see. That means they were loaded down with sharp objects . . . and I’d guess they weren’t farming tools.” Ryon sat on an arched root, his head low. “There are too many of them. Profigliano was right; we have only one choice.” His gray eyes landed on Tess’s braid.
A sickening pang of apprehension rose in Tess’s throat. “I don’t know how.”
“Didn’t Queen Aideen say it was our secret weapon?” Ryon asked.
“But I’m trying to tell you, I’ve no idea how to turn it into a weapon.” Using that last forbidden word recalled Sir Brock to Tess’s mind. Would her father approve of her using the shenìl, even in defense of Glademont? He certainly had made his opinion of Prince Linden’s militia known.
The owl shook her head. “My lady, whatever you possess, you have three times used its magic in my presence. Once when I heard your voice in my mind, again when the gold barrier appeared. It was not invisible, I grant you, but—”
“Weeeell, well, well. We all seem pretty mystified and confusified by this golden bubble, don’t we?” Profigliano winked. “Seems like eeeverybody is wonderin’ who baked the worm pie they’re eating out of, if ya know what I mean.”
“It was Profigliano who made the barrier inside the nest,” Ryon said. “He saved us from that terrible owl.”
“You mean to tell me that this troublesome chatter-beak can perform magic, too?” hooted Wyndeling.
“’Tweren’t nothin’. All for the sake of the quest. Who knew I had magic bubbles in me?” Profigliano swooped to land on Tess’s shoulder, proud as could be. Tess smiled despite herself.
Wyndeling gave Profigliano a look that, on a human, would surely be a scowl. “Well, one thing is clear: none of us has any idea how magic works.” She turned to the butterscotch horse and said, “Unless you’re not telling us something, Rushing?”
“There is a difference between selfish deception and patient wisdom. I do not claim to harbor either,” Jesse answered, “but I strive toward the latter.” Something about Jesse’s twinkling eye made it seem to Tess that he was pleased.
Tess raised an eyebrow at Ryon, who grinned at Profigliano, who chirped a melody to himself.
“That sounds awful fancy for a whooole lotta not-so-much in the information region, if ya know what I mean. No disrespect, Mr. Horsey, sir. No disrespect meant from this bubble-bird!” Profigliano puffed his brilliant breast. “What we need is a nice, smart training spot. I’m thinking somewhere with a goodish number of bubbles. . . . How about a hot spring?”
“Profigliano, you clever bird,” Tess said with a gasp.
“I? I mean. Who is? Little old me?” said the bird.
“Training! I’ve just remembered: Queen Aideen said she would train me when everything was safe again. She said she would take me to a place called the Thane’s Hold.”
“Then that’s where we shall go,” Ryon said, retrieving his satchel. “Surely that’s the way.”
Tess looked around at the creatures who had risked their lives for her, and who were now counting on her to set things right. They had no idea what she had done, revealing the object to Tynaiv. Pider had been waiting for the right moment to strike, and Tess gave it to him. If she didn’t find a way to stand up to this invasion, she’d be no better than Prince Linden thought her to be.
“Right,” Tess said with sudden determination. She reached for her braid and pulled it across her shoulder, taking the two copper spheres of the shenìl and placing them in her palm. The other creatures watched in silence. She concentrated on her breathing and stared at the dull yellow reflections in the spheres. Shenìl, she ventured, where is the Thane’s Hold? She held her breath for what seemed like a century. Nothing happened. Shenìl—her thoughts were more insistent this time—please guide us.
Still nothing.
“If I may,” interjected Wyndeling, “I believe I know what that bauble would have us do next.” The owl turned to Profigliano and said, “Do you know the way to the Ruins from here, chatter-beak?”
Chapter 13
Three Glademontians and two creatures of the Hinge trekked through the deep forest under a high autumn sun. The breeze pushed them along, swirling and whistling through the trees. Tess’s feet felt better, as Profigliano had suggested she stuff moss into her riding boots. Those who were able either walked or flew, while Wyndeling reluctantly agreed to perch on Tess’s shoulder.
“When you enchanted me,” she said, “the leaves on the trees glimmered, and the sounds of the moles and the squirrels were hushed. Then your voice came.” She thought a moment. “That is, the voice sounded like you, perhaps older. I realized I had seen that phrase written. It is inscribed on the walls of an abandoned castle. Weeks ago, I was lost and took shelter from the rain there, and I distinctly remember reading the words ‘Ye who now bless the creatures of Glademont shall yourselves find blessing’ on the walls. When I asked Buchanan about the place, he told
me that it was referred to simply as ‘the Ruins.’”
“How far until we get to the Ruins?” Ryon said.
Profigliano circled overhead. “I could sail over there in three blinks and be back by midnight-snack-time. But with the kind of weight we got in the hull . . . I’m bettin’ two days.”
“I hope we find the Thane’s Hold there,” Tess said.
Ryon squeezed Tess’s arm. “The shenìl said those words for a reason.”
The rest of the day’s march proved mercifully uneventful. Tess and Ryon walked in front of the caravan, while Jesse brought up the rear. Profigliano flitted off to hunt for worms, some of which returned in his beak as an offering to Wyndeling. Not surprisingly, the offer was rejected. Ryon came across a few good stones, which he stowed in his pockets. The only occasion for concern was when they came upon a family of goldfinches, who assured Profigliano that their lot had gotten out of the political circuit years ago.
Evening fell as they came to a wide creek. An inviting stretch of grass met the rushing blue-gray waters, and fallen autumn leaves surfed along its current.
“Ruby Creek, my comrades.” Profigliano whistled. “All we gotta do is cross it, and we’ll be almost to the Ruins.”
Despite its beauty, Tess glared at Ruby Creek. From bank to bank, it was perhaps three men across. There were no stepping rocks save one solitary boulder, which protruded a few paces from the opposite bank at a slant. The current was too swift for Tess or Ryon to swim across.
“I—uh, suppose a little magic bubble trick wouldn’t go amiss around here right about now. Eh, Red?” chimed Profigliano.
“By all means, chatter-beak,” replied the red owl. “Conjure one up.”
Profigliano hopped onto Tess’s shoulder—the one not occupied by Wyndeling—and theatrically threw his wings straight in the air. Bobbing his shiny black head, Profigliano proceeded to hop from one talon to the other, his eyes shut tight.
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