Dreadmarrow Thief (The Conjurer Fellstone Book 1)

by Kaptanoglu, Marjory

  But I had no time. I needed to escape from wherever I was and find a way to save Ash. I beat my wings and found myself in a tight space. It felt like scratchy cloth covering me; it seemed she’d put me into a burlap sack. I poked all around me, searching for the opening. Before long I found the place where she had tied a tight knot. I stabbed it with my beak and clawed at it with my foot, but the knot held firm. I wanted to scream with frustration, but I had to hold myself together, for Ash’s sake, and I had to be quick about it. I walked the length of the sack again, and this time I noticed a pinprick of light, revealing a tiny hole in the material. Excited, I bit down on a loose thread and yanked it hard. I alternated between jabbing my beak at the hole, and picking at the threads, creating a wider opening until finally it was large enough for me to slip through.

  Light seeped in from an open crack. Let it be no more than the color of dawn. I was inside a drawer, which would crush me if I tried to transform back into myself. The drawer had not been quite shut, perhaps to allow me air, or more likely by accident. The gap was too narrow to allow me passage, but I thought if I pushed on the drawer, I might widen the opening enough to squeeze through it. I pressed and pressed against the wood, without moving it at all. I tried flinging myself at it, but that was a mistake which only resulted in an aching head. I went back to pushing, though it was futile; I lacked the power to force the drawer open. I hammered at the wood with my beak, as if I were a woodpecker, and made a small notch, but at this rate, it would take hours to create a hole, if that were even possible.

  My heart sank with despair. I’d run out of ideas for how to save myself and Ash. Stuck inside this wooden trap, I would not be able to return the dreadmarrow in time. If I were human now, I would have shed a torrent of tears, but instead only a half-hearted croak came out of me.

  That was when I remembered I had a voice. So often I forgot that I could “speak” as a bird, even if I didn’t understand the language. It was another long shot, but at least it was one more thing to try. I let out a caw, startling myself by how loud it was. Of course, a crow has a much bigger sound than a sparrow. I cawed over and over, an angry, desperate call…. There had to be a kind soul in the castle who would free a crow… and save Ash’s life.

  When I heard the click of a door opening, I crowed faster and louder. A moment later the drawer was pulled open and light flooded in from the room. I flew out instantly, right past the boarman with half an ear—not exactly who I had pictured coming to my rescue, but he served the purpose just as well. He stared at me in confusion, no doubt believing I was Ratcher, and wondering how I’d managed to get myself trapped inside a drawer.

  I circled the room looking around. Ratcher had dumped out the contents of Calder’s bag on the floor. Where was the dreadmarrow? The boarman was beginning to get curious about my activities, and I knew I must act fast. I landed on the floor to check under the furniture. A moment later, I spotted the dreadmarrow beneath the bed, fully visible once more. It must have rolled away when everything splattered on the floor, and she had not been able to see it. As I flew under and snatched the wand with my beak, I saw Calder cowering next to the wall. I ran to him and gathered him up with one of my claws, hoping I hadn’t terrified him. It wouldn’t do for his tiny heart to give out. I turned back to find the boarman on his knees, his horrid, tusk-y face staring at me. He reached under the bed to snatch me up, but I backed out the other side, using a one-footed hop to avoid hurting Calder. The dreadmarrow was heavy for me, and I wobbled a bit as I took flight, but once I opened my wings wide there was no stopping me. I flew out the window to the open sky.

  Outside, I sniffed the acrid smell of smoke and beat my wings harder. A thick grey plume rose from the courtyard. Am I already too late? I flew like lightning to the place above the platform in the inner courtyard and stared down at the pyre. The flames had not yet reached Ash. But there was barely a moment to spare before they would. I swooped down, landed on the edge of the roof nearest the pyre, and set down Calder beside me. I turned back into myself and raised the dreadmarrow.

  Ash saw me and called out my name. Rivulets of sweat coursed down his forehead, as the flames worked their way toward him.

  Malcolm and Lady Nora were staring at me, open-mouthed. I called out to Lord Fellstone. “Here it is. Put out the fire!” I said.

  He stared at me. “Where is the book?” he shouted.

  “Book? This is all I have,” I said. Ash cried out as the flames licked his feet. “Put out the fire!” I screamed to anyone who would listen.

  Lord Fellstone turned his face away from me.

  “I didn’t take any book!” My gaze shifted to Ratcher, standing behind her master, her expression amused. She had the book. But how could I convince Lord Fellstone of that in time?

  I held the dreadmarrow closer to the flames. “Put out the fire or I'll throw your dreadmarrow into it!” Ratcher had told me I didn’t have the power to destroy it; I prayed that was another one of her lies.

  Lord Fellstone, looking weaker than ever, rose with difficulty. He held a post to steady himself. A minute more and everything would be over for Ash. I pretended that I was about to hurl the dreadmarrow, though I didn’t intend to throw it at all. If I did, I would have no further bargaining tool against the tyrant.

  “Foolish child! Destroy the dreadmarrow and all its cures will be undone. Your locksmith will die,” Lord Fellstone said.

  Papa will die. Of course he would. Ratcher told me as much. Those who live by the dreadmarrow, die by the dreadmarrow. I hesitated, swaying, perilously close to falling, ripped apart by two appalling choices.

  Ash cried out, “Don't do it, Tessa!”

  “Lord Fellstone—the greatest conjurer the world has ever known—has opened his generous heart to you,” the lord said of himself. “Reject his benevolence, and feel his wrath.”

  I looked at Ash, my heart breaking.

  Lord Fellstone focused his steely eyes on the crow amulet. I had wrapped its chain round my wrist, and as I watched, it came suddenly unraveled and fell to the ground below. Immediately after, my hand jerked open and the dreadmarrow flew out of it, moving steadily toward Lord Fellstone, who extended his own hand to receive it. I felt shock… and then fury beyond anything I’d ever felt before. I glared at the wand and it stopped in mid-air. I glimpsed a look of astonishment on the lord’s face, as the anger inside me took control of the dreadmarrow, and propelled it deep into the flames.

  Had I actually bested Lord Fellstone in a magical duel?

  “PUT THE FIRE OUT,” he roared.

  Soldiers and boarmen raced to retrieve water from the central fountain. But the first to return tossed the water onto Ash, misunderstanding his lordship’s intention.

  “Not there! The wand!” Lord Fellstone bellowed. His men ran off to fetch more water. Boils erupted all over Lord Fellstone's face, scalp, and body, and he turned toward me. “Look what you’ve done, horrid child! I curse the day you were born!” He whirled around to face Ratcher. “Do something!”

  She leaned over Lord Fellstone and whispered into his ear. Then she stepped back and smiled as he contorted from the agony of infection, overwhelmed by the rot and corruption inside him. When his hand stretched out to her with clutching fingers, she drew away, leapt down from the platform, and darted toward the castle.

  Lord Fellstone plummeted from his lofty position. His head cracked against the stone beneath, and blood sprouted from the wound, flowing over his scalp. He writhed on the ground as more blood seeped from all his pores. With a final spasm, he grew still.

  The wand was reduced to ashes. I felt a sudden pain in my arm. The sprain that was healed by the dreadmarrow had returned.

  Calder sprung up from the cockroach beside me and nearly toppled from the roof. With my good arm, I grabbed his coat and hung onto him. He settled back, turning to me, and I flung my arms around him, despite the pain in one of them. “Calder!” I said.

  “What happened?” he replied, entirely baffled.

/>   “Oh, you were a cockroach and lots of other things,” I said.

  “I do have a distinct memory of the floor being much closer to my eyes than normal.”

  He and I turned our attention to what was happening all around us. A knight rolled Lord Fellstone’s body over to find his eyes open and unblinking. “The Conjurer Fellstone is dead!” he called out.

  With a flash like lightning and a poof of smoke, the boarmen separated into men and boars. The boars sprinted toward the forest, squealing and grunting, while the men sprawled on the ground, dazed. Fiend became a German shepherd, which cavorted happily, and a crocodile that ran for the fountain and climbed into it.

  The fire was extinguished, though Ash still hung limp at the stake. A ghostly Lance ascended from the ground, looking like a real thirteen-year-old boy, no longer a wraith. Ash closed his eyes as Lance's body floated through his, seeming to pause there for a moment. Ash’s face changed, as if the contact with his brother infused him with new strength and confidence. Lance continued rising and drifting upward, along with other wraiths’ transparent forms, until they all disappeared into the smoky mist.

  The soldiers returned to their true natures, and the atmosphere became one of celebration and liberation. “The Conjurer Lord Fellstone is dead!” was the joyful refrain that passed from mouth to mouth. Two knights jumped onto the smoldering pyre, cut Ash loose, and removed his bindings. Several others helped Calder and me down from the roof.

  Ash and I ran into each other’s arms.

  “Your father…” Ash began and then paused. He feared naming Papa’s fate in front of me.

  My eyes filled with tears. “I had to let him go.” He’d told me himself, he didn’t want any life that came of the magic of Lord Fellstone. What I gave, I had to take away. The death of one, for the lives of three. Who was I to play like a god with life and death? Why had such a decision been thrust on me?

  Ash's gaze shifted to the viewing platform. I turned back and saw that Ratcher was gone. “Go,” I told him. “Find her before it's too late.”

  At that very moment, a soldier tossed Ash the sword that had belonged to Papa. It seemed like a sign from the gods. Ash hesitated no longer, and set off toward the castle.

  Calder walked up beside me. “Your mother?” he said.

  “She was a sparrow,” I said. “In my father’s anteroom. Can you find her?”

  He nodded, and seeing that I had no strength for the task at the moment, he went without me to seek her out.

  I dropped down onto a step and buried my face in my hands. I wept for my papa, who I’d restored to life, only to send him back to his death.

  ASH

  Lance is free. It was all he could think of as he raced toward the castle entrance after Ratcher. When Lance drifted through him, it had been an unbelievable feeling. It was as if all the anger and misery that had filled him since the day Lance died was suddenly converted into strength.

  Ratcher came running out carrying a large, ornate book. The missing book. She didn’t notice him until it was too late. He raised his sword and spoke the words he hoped never to have to repeat to her a third time: “From ash you came, to Ash you return.” He blocked her way.

  She gave a weary sigh, dropped her book, and drew her sword. “This time I shall kill you,” was all she said.

  Ash surged into attack without even noticing that his hair hung down. He’d had no time to secure it into a ponytail like Lance’s. Ash was on fire, though not in the way Lord Fellstone had intended. He slashed and pivoted and rammed his way forward against Ratcher, who despite her considerable skill, had to back away. He came into his own as a swordsman. With acrobatic strength and grace, he swished and swashed, feinted and parried, cut to the left and cut to the right. Ratcher had no time or breath to torture him with her cruel insinuations this time.

  Weakening, she slowed in her responses. He slashed her wrist and the sword fell from her hand. She was defenseless as he struck her once through the side. He was ready to plunge his sword into the putrid thing that passed for her heart, when he remembered how she had humiliated him by cutting the tie that bound his hair. Fair play was fair play. He slipped the tip of his sword under the strap that held her mask to her face, and sliced it through. The mask fell to the ground and he stepped on it, dragging it back with his foot before she could snatch it again.

  He didn’t know what he’d expected her to look like, but certainly not this. She had thirteen long scars, each one beginning around her eyes, nose, and lips, and continuing in a straight line outward to her scalp. She was like a picture of the sun, with the center of her face forming a circle from which the rays shot out. The scars formed thick lines, as if the cuts had been quite deep, and he suddenly wondered how she could have withstood the pain.

  She dropped to her knees and bent her head.

  Ash lowered his sword, his revenge played out, drained of any desire to take another's life. He was about to turn away when he saw her crawl toward the book. He whirled around and speared the ground in front of it, blocking her hand, before bending and whisking the book up himself.

  She turned and limped away.

  TESSA

  Anxious to find Mama, and worried for Ash, I didn’t allow myself to indulge my grief for long. I looked up from my tears, ready to follow my friends into the castle. But instead I saw Ratcher, bleeding, crawling away from Ash, her face revealed for the first time. I stared in shock at the marks that distorted her features, and told a tale of suffering and torture.

  My vision went dark for an instant, and suddenly, a line on my right cheek burned with agonizing pain. The monster of my nightmares had cut me. I wanted to cry out, though I knew there would be no one to help me. When sight returned, I found myself bound to the table inside the vile cavern. This time, I knew I was not at Fellstone Castle, but someplace even darker and more menacing. I licked the moisture on my lips and it tasted of blood. The hooded creature passed in front of the candle and footsteps crossed the floor. His knife shimmered in the dim light, and I knew he had returned to make the second cut.

  I heard a terrible scream. Someone shook me, and I realized the cry had come from me. Ash was bent over me, trying to calm me while I trembled uncontrollably.

  “It’s okay,” he said, rubbing my arms. “You’re okay.”

  I whipped my head around, searching for her. Ratcher. She was creeping still, but her pace had increased. She seemed to have her eyes on some quarry.

  Then I saw it too. The crow amulet, lying on the ground below the roof, where Lord Fellstone had forced me to drop it.

  “The windrider!” I called out.

  Ash saw what was happening, but he hesitated to leave me in this state.

  “Stop her,” I said, and that was enough for him to spring to his feet and race after her. She heard him coming and dove for the windrider, somehow finding the strength inside her weakened frame. Before Ash could get to her, she blew three times in rapid succession and became a crow. Despite her injury, she took to the air, flapping her unsteady wings to lift herself beyond Ash’s reach. A moment later, she soared round the castle wall.

  I prayed to the gods I would never see her, or her terrifying memories, again.

  CALDER

  As he made his way past the banquet table in the Great Hall, toward the entrance to Fellstone’s anteroom, Calder was surprised not to feel any hunger yet. But he decided it was better not to dwell on what he might have eaten as a cockroach, which had satisfied his cravings so completely. He was overjoyed to be a man again, and happy to bury that sad chapter in his life when he lived as a bug.

  For perhaps the first time in many a century, the entrance to the conjurer’s chambers lay unguarded. His stomach tingling with fear and anticipation, Calder hurried up to the door and let himself in. A feeling of elation rose inside him as he spied Faline sitting in the corner of the room. She looked almost as she had when he last saw her, with hardly a line to indicate her age. But at the same instant he realized, with a sinki
ng heart, that she was not herself.

  She’d positioned herself near the bird cage, which he thought was no accident. Most likely she’d found it difficult to separate from her home of the last twelve years. She had gathered pillows and piled them into a sort of nest, which formed her seat. Empty seed shells were scattered around her. She whistled a birdlike tune as her head bobbed to and fro with rapid, jerky movements, while she kept a lookout for potential predators.

  She was a sparrow in human form.

  “Faline.” His voice was gentle.

  Her face flashed with panic and she shrank into her nest. He slowed his pace as he approached her.

  “It’s me, Faline… Calder.”

  Her whistling changed to a loud, angry birdsong, warning him to keep his distance. She beat her arms like wings and seemed puzzled at their failure to lift her off the ground.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he said, sitting down on one of the pillows near her to show her he was no threat. He held out his hand for her inspection.

  She sniffed the air in his direction and looked at his hand. Her whistling softened as she grew accustomed to him, perhaps even sensing that he was familiar to her. He drew a little closer and she did not protest.

  Twelve years as a bird. How long would it take to become human again, if that were even possible? He knew he should not be greedy. She was alive and healthy in body if not in mind. The outcome could’ve been far worse. And yet heavy disappointment rocked him, to see her there, and yet not there.

  “Come with me,” he urged. “Tessa is here. Your daughter.” He touched her arm, which launched a spirited round of chirping, but at least she did not recoil from him. Perhaps somewhere deep inside, she recognized the name that must be dearest to her, and for that reason, she allowed him to help her up, to hold his arm around her back, and lead her toward the door.