“Help me out, then,” said Bo, his stomach tying itself in knots of worry. “Quick!”
“Oh, I would,” said Galvin. “Really, truly I would. Except . . . those Stars you mentioned. I would very much like to get my hands on them. I’d get ever so much money for them on the Dark Market.”
Bo’s heart sank. The Irin was trying to cheat him. Again.
“But I made it up,” lied Bo. “There are no such things as Stars!”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” said Galvin. “Do you think I am as dull-witted as a troll? Do you see me stuck in the quagmires? I know it’s true. My Ooma told me all about the Stars—she rules the Dark Market and she knows everything. So if you don’t tell me where they are, then I won’t be able to rescue you, and that would be very sad. For you. Not for me.”
Even if Bo knew where the Stars were, he could never tell someone as unscrupulous as Galvin. But there was no way he could escape the sinking mud on his own.
“All right,” said Bo. “You promise to set me free if I tell you?”
Galvin nodded. “Oh yes,” he said. “Of course.”
Nix yapped but Bo told him to stay quiet. “The Myling Mist,” he said.
Galvin narrowed his eyes.
“You can’t see anything because of the fog—that’s why it’s the perfect place to hide them,” Bo added. “The wolf guards them but if you wait quietly by the edge of the marsh, the fog clears for an hour every . . . um . . . once every day at mid-Light, so the wolf has to hide or he’ll burn, and you can see the Stars just hovering there. You’ll need a net and a large sack to catch them.” Bo’s face stung hot and raw with the lie but he hoped the Irin believed him. “It’s true. Cross my heart and hope to be gobbled whole by Shadow Creatures.”
Galvin stared at him and for a long time there was silence. Except for the slow glug, glug, glug of the mud sucking Bo under.
“You could be telling the truth, I suppose,” said Galvin eventually. “Everyone says the Myling Mist is haunted and that you should never, ever enter it, so it would be a good place to hide such a treasure . . .” He chewed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully.
Glug.
Glug.
Glug.
By now the mud was up to Bo’s chest. He held his arms above his head, and the more he struggled, the tighter the mud enveloped him. Like being squeezed in a giant’s fist.
After more excruciating silence, Galvin finally spoke. “I have decided you are telling the truth,” he announced.
Bo heaved a sigh of relief. “Good. Now please help me out.”
Galvin shook his head wildly. “Oh, I’m afraid I can’t do that. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Absolutely not.”
Anger shivered through Bo’s body in hot, tingly waves. “What?”
“If I set you free, you’ll attempt to steal the Stars before me and I can’t have that,” said Galvin. “They’re going to make me ever so much money on the Dark Market.”
“You lied!” cried Bo. He tried to wriggle forward but the mud had locked him in place. He cursed his naivety—he should have known a promise from the Irin who’d sold him a fake spirit charm was worthless.
Galvin laughed and waved. “I’ll be off, then,” he said brightly. “It is a shame I have to leave you but such is life.” He bowed to Bo with an elaborate flourish. “I’d say ‘see you soon’ but I doubt I will. So I’ll say ‘goodbye’ instead. Goodbye!”
As the Irin skipped away, Bo called for him to stay, to come back, to save him. Nix barked loudly from his little tuft of safe green grass. But Galvin did not come back.
The mud gurgled up to Bo’s neck.
Chapter Twelve
“You, dear boy, are up to your neck in trouble,” said a voice behind Bo.
Bo tried to locate the owner of the voice, but he was locked in place by the gurgling mud. Fear danced up his spine, making his hair stand on end. Was it a soldier? The baker’s cousin?
Nix barked, hackles rising, as footsteps approached from behind Bo, squelching in the soggy grass.
“Oh dear, dear, deary me,” said the Un-King, coming into view. The fear that had been slinking up Bo’s spine now danced a frenzied jig—he would be dragged back to the palace for sure! “That’s quite a pickle you’re in.”
Patrice was tucked under the Un-King’s armpit, and another slug was draped across his shoulders. He set a bucket on the grass beside his feet and calmly looked Bo over. The mud was squeezing the air from Bo’s lungs; it felt as if a troll had sat on his chest.
“Do you think you could help?” Bo wheezed.
The Un-King sucked on his gums. “Perhaps,” he said. “It’s still not Tuesday, though.”
With an angry yelp, Nix shot off, tearing back the way they’d come. Bo’s heart lurched as if to follow him. The troll sat heavier, crushing Bo’s ribs and his lungs, and it had nothing to do with the mud. Was Nix abandoning him?
But then Nix came charging back, a long stick clamped between his jaws. Relief flooded through Bo.
“Oh, what a smart fox you have,” said the Un-King. “Doesn’t hold a candle to my slugs, of course.”
“But I’m locked in place,” said Bo, gasping for air. “The mud is too tight.”
“Perhaps Patrice can help with that,” said the Un-King, placing her on the ground.
Immediately, the slug began to creep toward Bo and for a moment he wondered if this was it, if this was how the Un-King planned to end him. The slug’s trumpet mouth went pop, pop, pop as she crawled closer and closer until blergh—sizzling white mucus shot out, spilling all over the mud. The mud steamed and an acrid stench poured from the earth. Bo coughed and spluttered, his eyes scrunched shut as he tried to squirm away from the noxious smell.
But when he felt air on his neck again, his eyes opened—the mucus was melting the mud! Patrice vomited again and again until the mud had abated to Bo’s waist.
Nix dropped the stick on the ground and gripped one end in his strong jaws as Bo grabbed hold of the other. With surprising strength, the little fox dug in his paws and pulled until Bo slid out of the sludge and onto a patch of soggy grass.
Mud and gunk dripped from Bo as he sat up, sucking in great lungfuls of air. But before he could relax, the mucus began to eat through his cloak. He flung it to the ground and watched it disappear into a cloud of noxious smoke. He ripped a canteen of water from the Un-King’s belt and quickly doused himself with the water—he didn’t want his skin to end up like his cloak!
“Um . . . sorry,” said Bo, handing back the empty canteen once he was completely free of mucus—the mud seemed determined to stick to him, however.
“Quite all right,” said the Un-King. “Patrice doesn’t know her own strength sometimes.”
Bo bent over and ruffled Nix’s fur, hugging him close to press a kiss to his head. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me,” he murmured. Nix licked his cheek.
Bo looked up at the Un-King. “Thank you,” he said. “And thank you,” he told Patrice.
Pop, pop, pop, said Patrice.
The Un-King waved Bo’s acknowledgment away and scooped up the slug, tucking her back under his arm. “You’re lucky I decided to escape the palace madness to collect mud-mygs for my slugs to eat.”
Bo peered into the bucket; a writhing mound of mud-mygs peered back. He shuddered.
Bo stood, trying his best to wipe himself clean of the mud. His skin felt uncomfortably tight as the mud dried, not to mention the rancid stench. He cast a mournful eye over the strip of grass where his cloak had been. No cloak and no rucksack. What would he do without candles and matches and food and water and warmth? The only things he had left in his pockets were the key and Tam’s feather—he could hardly chase away Shadow Creatures with them!
The Un-King retrieved his bucket and turned. “Well, toodle-oo,” he said, and started to walk away. “Remember to stay on the grass.”
Bo blinked. “You’re just letting me go?” he blurted, but quickly covered his mouth—perhaps he should not have reminded the Un-King he w
as a fugitive.
The Un-King snorted as he turned back. “Were it Tuesday perhaps I might feel differently, but as it is I have my mud-mygs and Patrice is hungry.” He grinned, delightfully crooked teeth on display. “So off you hop.”
“But aren’t you all leaving?” said Bo. “The city is under attack and—”
“What care I about Shadow Creatures? I have fire and candles and Patrice. At least with everyone gone I won’t have to worry about tedious Un-King business: Humphrey Hovington stood on my front lawn and now the grass won’t grow—he must be a witch! Lucy Worth has a cat with one green and one blue eye—it’s a Shadow Creature! It will just be me and my slugs.” He smiled down at Patrice. “Isn’t that right, my precious?”
Pop, pop, pop, said Patrice.
Bo shifted from foot to foot. “Thank you, then,” he said. The unexpected kindness made his heart squeeze in a funny way.
Again, the Un-King waved Bo’s thanks away. “Not to worry. But if you happen to spy any owls flapping about, send them on their way—Patrice and I would be ever so grateful.”
“Owls?”
The Un-King’s face clouded over. “Oh yes, a plague of them. It’s the Scribe, you know? She sends them to the Un-Royal City constantly—says it’s research for her blasted scrolls but I know it’s to eat my slugs.” He scowled at the empty sky. “I know you’re there, owls! Go back to your mad mistress and tell her I’ll be writing another sternly worded letter to the Queen.”
“The Scribe?” Bo’s back straightened, a flutter in his stomach. Hadn’t Mads mentioned a Scribe before he died? The Scribe can help . . . Bo dug a hand into his pocket and felt the smooth, cold metal of the key. He needed help now that he had a key but no idea what to do next. “Do you know her?”
The Un-King clucked his tongue. “Horrible, horrible creature. Her and that army of owls—they’re a natural predator to the colossal spit-mouth slug, you see?”
“But where can I find her?”
The Un-King’s face soured. “Oh, very well. If you must know, she’s at the Temple of the Silent Sisters.”
Bo’s heart stuttered. The Temple of the Silent Sisters? That was where Tam had wanted to take him before he ran away.
Bo thought about Mads—all the harsh words, clips across the ear, and disappointed looks each time Bo failed to meet his expectations. Would Tam be the same? Would she be waiting at the temple, angry and disappointed and spiteful?
No. Tam would have returned to her flock the minute she discovered that Bo had left. She would have been relieved. Glad to be rid of him so soon. No one ever cared enough about Bo to miss him.
Bo swallowed over the lump in his throat, blinking hard and fast.
“But I wouldn’t advise going anywhere near her,” continued the Un-King. “Then again, I wouldn’t advise bothering with anyone! Much better off with slugs.” He turned away and hopped from one patch of grass to the next. “Toodle-oo!”
As the Un-King bounded away, Bo pulled out the key. At least Galvin hadn’t known about that.
The key was cold and heavy in his palm. Mads had told him that riddles would lead him to the keys, so he peered closely for clues but saw nothing. He ran his fingers along the gold metal; it was smooth until his fingertips reached the teardrop and he noticed rough indentations under his touch. “What’s this?”
Small marks had been carved into the key, but Bo could not work out the pattern. He frowned as he shoved the key back into his pocket. “Let’s just hope the Scribe knows,” he said.
Nix barked.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing we know the way. Let’s go.”
* * *
Bo had not been expecting a wall.
It was tall enough for him to wonder if giants had built it, with thick, coarse bricks carved from river rock that glimmered red and silver in the fading Light. It stretched as far as he could see—a barrier between this province and the next.
Nev’en.
From his hiding spot at the side of the road, Bo peeked through low-hanging branches at the wall and the cluster of stone huts—elegant, round, and blue—that he could see through an archway where the road cut through the wall.
Bo had hidden at the edge of the forest and watched the village for some time, waiting for signs of life. But he saw no one. Around him the trees shed their blackened leaves, the trunks wilting and charred.
Nix growled; the scar along the bridge of his snout was beginning to weep. Bo was already on edge—it was half-Light and he expected every rustle of wind or creaking tree to be the wolf come to eat him. But he had heard and seen nothing of Ranik.
Bo straightened. “What do you think?” he asked Nix. “We need supplies and somewhere to stay and it looks deserted.” He fought back the memory of the last deserted village he had seen and the little straw doll.
With clammy hands and small, careful movements, Bo stepped out of the forest and approached the village on the other side of the wall. As he neared the first hut, his knees grew weak at the sight of the telltale claw marks.
Shadow Creatures had been here.
Bo crept through the village, peeking through windows at the chaos inside each hut: clothes and belongings tossed about, tables and chairs and beds overturned, dishes smashed. All the while, the Light crept closer to the horizon and the scar on Nix’s snout wept.
“We’ll take one of the huts closest to the square,” said Bo. “Should be the safest. Farthest from the forest. We don’t have time to look for anywhere else.”
Once inside, he lit a fire and as many candles as he could find. Somehow, they slept through the night; it was surprisingly quiet—not a creature stirred. But Bo still woke tired and restless.
And hungry.
All his food had been confiscated by the soldiers and he was not a hunter like Tam.
Tam.
Bo dipped his hand into his pocket and brushed his fingers against the soft feather, ignoring the way his heart stammered at the thought of the Korahku. He shook his head and refused to feel bad about leaving her.
Bo scrubbed himself clean with water from the village well, then scrounged together a meager breakfast from the abandoned huts. The food was strange—pale, salty bread and preserved meat that set his tongue on fire. It sat heavily in his gut.
Soon, Bo was trekking through the unfamiliar landscape of Nev’en, equipped with a new rucksack, plenty of supplies, and a cloak that actually fit him. But he was still on edge—the silence, the blackened trees, the craggy ground, the steep hills, the wind that pushed and pulled at him from every angle. He kept the Light over his left shoulder to ensure he was going the right way.
Nix barked.
“I do not! I bathed this morning,” he insisted. But he sniffed his shirt and recoiled. “Well, so do you.”
Nix nipped at his ankle.
“It’s hot and we’ve been walking for miles, so it’s hardly unexpected. Besides, we’re not likely to meet the Queen, so who cares what state we’re in?”
Nix barked again.
“You are not more important than the Queen of Ulv, Nix. If you think—”
Suddenly, a bloodcurdling howl pierced the air. Fear shot through Bo like the icy wind of the White Season.
The wolf.
But it was Light!
Bo whipped around, scanning the landscape, and there he was.
Ranik.
Bo saw he was moving quickly, bounding over the crest of a hill. There was nothing but a small valley between them. Bo wanted to throw up, to cry, to run away, to run headlong at the wolf and make him pay for what he’d done to Mads.
But he was no match for Ranik. “Hurry,” he said to Nix. “Run!”
They ran, jumping over rocks and scrambling up hills. The wolf’s howl followed them, haunting their steps.
Bo glanced over his shoulder and saw the wolf not far behind. “He’s coming!” shouted Bo. Was there anywhere that was safe? There was no way he could outrun a wolf.
Just then, something grabbed Bo by th
e arm. He spun around, fear choking off his scream.
But it was Tam.
Bo’s shock turned to relief—his whole body sagged with it. He knew the Korahku would be angry with him, that his heart had no right to swoop at the sight of her, but he couldn’t help it. His relief was bone-deep.
“Quick,” said the Korahku, and before Bo could ask where she had come from, Tam pushed him toward a tree. “Stay out of sight.”
“But—”
The Korahku threw off her robe. “I will fight. You hide.”
Without her tattered blue robe, Tam was a fearsome sight: tall, muscular, a sprinkling of silver-spiked feathers along the edges of her wings and forearms—far fewer than the villagers claimed—and tail feathers like a metal fan. Bo guessed Tam’s wings would be more than three times her height if she spread them fully.
But she couldn’t.
Bo finally understood why they couldn’t fly to the Silent Sisters: Tam’s wings had been clipped.
Despite his fear, despite everything, Bo’s heart sank with shame: What had his people done to Tam? But he didn’t have time for shame; the wolf was bounding up the hill, gnashing his fangs.
Tam snapped her beak at Bo. “I will not lose anyone else—do you hear me? Hide behind that tree or I will kick you there myself.”
Though Bo didn’t understand Tam’s concern—shouldn’t she be angry with him instead of saving him?—he and Nix hurried behind the trunk and peeked around the side. Bo had seen the Korahku fend off the Innkeeper’s dog, but a wolf? When it was clear she couldn’t use her wings?
Ranik bounded to a halt in front of Tam, and Bo recoiled from the stench of burnt skin and hair; had the wolf really been traveling through the Light all this time?
“Boy,” the wolf growled, clawing at the dirt. “Is mine. He knows. Where key is. He will. Tell me. Or die. The truth. Is in his heart. I will. Know it. When I devour it.”
Tam flexed the silver spikes along her forearms. “You will have to come through me first, beast.”
“Very well,” said Ranik. “I need boy. Do not. Need you.”
The wolf lunged but Tam dodged, clawing five bloody gashes along the wolf’s side. Bo clamped a hand over his mouth to stem his whoop of joy.
The Boy, the Wolf, and the Stars Page 10