The Boy, the Wolf, and the Stars

by Shivaun Plozza

  Was that why? Did Mads and Tam not know the truth?

  A commotion behind them turned Bo’s head. A man was pushing against the flow of the muttering Sisters, elbowing his way through with red-faced anger.

  Bo gasped when he recognized the man’s face.

  It was the Innkeeper.

  “That’s him!” spat the Innkeeper, jabbing a stubby finger at Bo. His chest heaved as he came to a halt. More villagers followed him, pushing past the Sisters. They pointed their fingers too. “That’s the Devil-child who set the Shadow Creatures on us,” one of them said.

  Since Bo had last seen the Innkeeper, his cheeks had hollowed and there was a large gash above his right eye, but he had lost none of his arrogance, none of his puffed-up anger. “You have no idea the trouble he caused our village. As a baby he survived a night in the Forest of Long Shadows—not a scratch on him! He leads the Shadow Creatures, you see?” The Innkeeper folded his arms across his chest and glared. Bo bit back his retort; it stung, sour and rotting in his belly.

  “I lost my daughter because of him!” shouted a member of the crowd.

  “He ate all my chickens!” yelled another.

  “He led the Shadow Creatures right to us!”

  A ripple of frightened gasps echoed through the room. Bo wanted to fold up into himself and hide forever. He gripped Tam’s robe with tight fists to stop his hands from shaking and tried to think of good things: running through the forest with Nix, splashing in the river in the Burning Season, stuffing his face with apple crackling, catching Mads smile as he made shadow puppets with his hands in the candle-Light.

  “Kick him out!” yelled someone from the crowd.

  “Nonsense,” said Sister Vela, but Bo saw how the other Sisters were looking at him now, how Sisters Noora and Ffion frowned deeply. “The child stays with us.”

  “This is a travesty!” shouted the Innkeeper.

  Sister Vela’s eyes narrowed as she rounded on him. “If you disagree, then you are welcome to leave the temple and seek shelter elsewhere,” she said.

  The Innkeeper lowered his head.

  “Thank you,” murmured Bo as Sister Vela’s fingers squeezed his shoulder gently.

  “The Time of Speaking is almost at an end,” announced Sister Noora as she stood. “Sisters, retreat to the prayer room for quiet reflection. The rest of you, return to the Great Hall and we’ll hear no more on this matter.”

  Sister Vela gave Bo a nod and a smile before she exited behind her fellow High Sisters.

  Every woman in orange filed out of the room quietly, but the villagers stood their ground, scowling and murmuring their dissatisfaction. Bo gasped as hands grabbed him from behind; Sister Agnethe had taken hold of him, fingers pinching his arm as she dragged him out of the room. She sneered as Nix barked at her. “You will make yourself useful while you are here, boy,” she said. “You will stay out of trouble and you will work hard. Every eye will be on you. Do you hear me? Every eye.”

  Bo nodded. He wanted to duck his head and hide but he couldn’t help looking at the people he passed. At the scowling Innkeeper and the grimy, muck-stained faces that sneered and frowned and narrowed their eyes at him.

  “Just wait until I find you alone, boy,” said the Innkeeper.

  Bo looked away; he wouldn’t give the Innkeeper the satisfaction of seeing him tremble.

  Sister Agnethe dragged him through the Great Hall and through winding, empty corridors before she shoved him into a small windowless closet with Nix.

  “What about Tam?” said Bo. “I want to see her.”

  But Sister Agnethe had already closed the door and there was nothing but cold silence.

  * * *

  Later, as shadows dripped like candle wax down the closet walls, Bo sat in a pool of Light on the stone floor, brushing one hand through Nix’s fur, and in his other hand he held the mysterious key. He turned it over and over.

  “It’s no use,” he told Nix. “Can’t figure out what these carved squiggles are supposed to be. And what are all those dots?”

  His troubles weighed heavy on his shoulders—he felt as if he were carrying an invisible giant on his back. If he couldn’t figure out where to find the next key, he would never be able to release the Stars. Then there wouldn’t be enough magic to bring Mads back, and Bo could never make a wish to find his mother.

  And then there was Tam . . .

  Bo pulled his knees to his chest and hugged them. He glanced nervously at the shadows around him. “If the Scribe isn’t here, then where is she?” he asked Nix. He tried to blink his tears away, but they were stubborn and slid down his cheeks regardless. “At least we’ve got each other,” said Bo in a small voice. “Let’s just sleep, okay?”

  There wasn’t a bed or blankets, but Bo and Nix curled up beside each other on the stone floor, Bo resting his head on his new rucksack, Tam’s robe spread across them both. “Maybe things will be better in the morning,” he whispered. “Tam will be well again and we can keep searching for the Scribe. Maybe Tam will come with us. Do you think that’s why she came back and saved us? Do you think she’s not angry at me?”

  He drifted to sleep with tear-stained cheeks and a heart that ached with homesickness.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Early next morning the door to Bo’s closet opened and Selene came running in, dropping the basket she carried. Splat! Noxious liquids and powders smashed all over the floor. “Hogsbeard!” she cursed.

  Nix barked.

  Bo sprang to standing. “How’s Tam?” he demanded.

  Selene glowered at the spill. “I’m in so much trouble,” she moaned. She bent and gathered everything that wasn’t broken into her basket.

  “I asked you a question,” said Bo. “How’s Tam? Where is she? Why can’t I see her?”

  Selene looked up, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t get your tongue in knots,” she snapped. “She’s in the hospital wing and Sister Magrid is seeing to her personally.” When Bo’s face remained unimpressed, Selene screwed up her nose. “You know who Sister Magrid is, don’t you?”

  Bo shrugged. She could be the troll queen for all he cared.

  “Only the best healer in the entire land,” said Selene. She tapped a fist to her chest, raising her chin. “And I’m her apprentice, so that makes me the second-best healer in the land. Sort of. If you think about it. Anyway, I’m here to fix you.”

  “You’ve got green gunk on your foot,” said Bo.

  Selene rubbed her foot clean and then stared at Bo for a long time. “You’re short,” she concluded.

  “And you’ve got magic,” said Bo.

  “No, I don’t! It was a mistake. And it doesn’t make you any less short. But you’re short because you’re an Irin.” She grinned, big and wonky. “It’s an honor to meet you.” She leaned forward and waited. When Bo just stared she rolled her eyes. “You’re supposed to press your forehead to mine. It’s how you say hello, don’t you know?”

  “Oh.” Bo stood on his tiptoes to press his forehead against hers. “Nice to meet you,” he said, then flinched as her nose brushed his, their foreheads bumping.

  Selene rubbed her brow. “Is that how Irin greet each other? I like our way better.”

  “Your way?”

  “The Nev’en way. You’re an Irin and I’m a Nev’en, but we’ve got common ancestors—we’re basically cousins. Don’t you know anything?”

  Bo blushed furiously. Nix yapped.

  “I suppose I ought to fix you.” Selene pulled some potions from her basket and scraped together a handful of powder that had been spilled on the floor.

  “I’m not hurt.”

  “I’ve got just the thing,” she said, ignoring him.

  Selene was clumsy as she slapped sticky potions and powders on Bo’s cuts and grazes. Each time he winced, Selene clicked her tongue and told him not to be such a baby. “I know what I’m doing. I mean, I did use sneezewort instead of freezewort, but that was only one time, I swear. Well, maybe twice but the second time was
not my fault. Who stores sneezewort next to freeze-wort? That’s just asking for trouble if you ask me, but nobody ever does.”

  Bo sniffed the blue powder Selene had just daubed on a gash on his arm. “So, you’re an apprentice healer?”

  “To the best healer in the entire land,” said Selene, her nose lifted and her voice haughty. “I don’t get to go to the school with the children in the city, but it’s far better to be here, where it’s . . . it’s . . . quiet.”

  “Well, for a Silent Sister you’ve got an awful lot to say. Ouch.”

  Selene slapped a broad purple leaf over Bo’s arm. “I told you we’re not supposed to talk. The Time of Speaking is for Deep and Profound philosophical discussions, but I’ve got more than an hour’s worth of things to say. I’m very deep and profound.” She stood back and appraised Bo. “Let’s be friends,” she said. “I’ve never had a friend, so you can be my first.”

  Bo’s cheeks flushed. “I—”

  “Brilliant.” Selene flashed him her wonky grin. “And because you’re my friend, you’re going to help me harvest the corpse weed.”

  “I am?”

  “Oh yes! It’s what friends do.” She turned on her heel and marched away. “It only eats you if you touch the flowers. Or is it if you don’t touch the flowers? I’m sure we’ll work it out. Come on!”

  Bo frowned down at Nix. “I’m not sure I like her idea of friends,” he said. But he donned his cloak and followed anyway.

  * * *

  Bo and Nix were roused at first Light by pounding on the closet door. It swung open to reveal a sour-faced Sister Agnethe, who grabbed Bo’s arm and yanked him down corridor after corridor without a word, Nix trotting behind them.

  Bo had been with the Silent Sisters for five days. Five long days filled with chopping wood, fetching water, washing dishes, scrubbing floors, “do this” and “do that.” Five days of trying to avoid the Innkeeper; of begging every Sister he passed for news of Tam, only to be met with silence; of being shooed away every time he tried to get near Sister Vela.

  Five nights of barely seeing Selene, and sleeping on the floor of a cold, damp closet.

  Sister Agnethe led them to the kitchens and Bo’s heart sank; he had spent all yesterday scrubbing the gunk off pots and pans, and it appeared today would be no different.

  The kitchen hands turned to stare as Bo entered; they wore rags and the same sad, hollow-eyed expression as the people in the main hall. Thankfully, the Innkeeper was not among them.

  Yesterday, Bo had been carrying firewood through the Great Hall, his eyes lowered. “There he is,” someone hissed. “The boy who rules the Shadow Creatures.” Bo had hunched his shoulders and quickened his step, knowing that anything he said back would be twisted and used against him. But he wasn’t fast enough.

  Bo had just enough time to register the feeling of someone’s boot knocking his feet out from under him and Nix yapping madly before—splat, crack, thump!—he landed on the stone floor, firewood tumbling everywhere and pain shooting from his wrist to his shoulder.

  For a moment everything was quiet—a stunned hush as Nix nuzzled the side of Bo’s face. But then the laughter started. The sneers and the hoots and the backslaps. Bo’s anger tore through his insides like a firecracker. He wanted to stand and swing his fists. But instead, he pushed himself onto his knees and looked up at the hate-filled stares surrounding him. His throat was tight with the pain of refusing to cry.

  Suddenly the Innkeeper was beside him; he recognized him by his boots, rabbit-fur boots full of holes and covered in dust and perfect for tripping people with.

  “You might have those simpering Sisters fooled,” hissed the Innkeeper, “but I know what you are and I’ve got my eye on you. You’ll never escape me, do you hear?”

  Bo had run from the hall, Nix at his heels; he didn’t even bother to pick up the spilled firewood. He was glad the tears hadn’t fallen until he was out of sight.

  Now Bo looked at the kitchen hands and wondered whether any of them had witnessed his humiliation. Had they called him names and whispered about his “curse” and how they would be better off without him here?

  Sister Agnethe snapped her fingers at Bo, scowling as Nix growled at her. Her robes swish-swooshed as she hurried down the central aisle, headed for a small room in the back. Bo chased the Sister’s echoing footsteps, avoiding the accusing eyes that followed him. In the back room she pointed to a mountain of dishes that looked as if a colossal spit-mouth slug had vomited all over them.

  Down and down Bo’s heart sank.

  Bo took the dishcloth Sister Agnethe offered him, scrunching it into his fist. “You haven’t told me about Tam. Can I visit her?”

  Sister Agnethe snorted, giving him one more pinched-mouthed scowl before swishing away.

  “I guess that’s a no,” he said.

  As Nix curled into a ball by his feet, shivering from the cold air, Bo set to work on the dishes—he didn’t have a choice. He would not leave this temple until he was certain Tam was better. He owed her that at least.

  An hour later and Bo was sure the mountain of dishes had grown twice its size. “Where do they even come from? Is it magic? How am I supposed to find the next two keys and set the Stars free if I can’t even clear a pile of dishes?”

  He didn’t realize there were tears in his eyes until the mound of dishes became a hazy blur. He rubbed the backs of his hands across his damp cheeks and muttered angrily about Sister Agnethe and dishes and wolves and innkeepers and Stars.

  “Stars?” asked a voice behind him before it was swallowed up in a loud crash. Bo spun around in time to see an avalanche of pots and pans rolling onto the floor.

  “Hogsbeard!” cursed Selene, glancing down at the mess. “Oh dear.”

  Bo had hardly seen his new friend over the last five days—she rushed about the temple, chasing an errand or slogging away at her chores. But she always shot Bo her wonky smile and made sure to whisper reassurances about Tam. “I’m not allowed in the hospital wing until I’m a red-level apprentice,” she told him regretfully, “but I do know Sister Magrid is the very, very best. I’m sure your friend is fine.”

  Selene quickly gathered the pots and pans and dumped them on the counter. She ran up to Bo, breathless. “What were you saying about Stars? They’re a cure for sadness, are they not? Yes, that’s right. You grind them up with fonkeling seeds and keep them in a pouch under your pillow for three days. Or is that majars?”

  Bo shook his head, rubbing his eyes clear of any remaining dampness. “I was only talking nonsense because I’m angry. Sister Agnethe keeps making me clean dishes. She’s nastier than a boil on a troll’s bum.”

  Selene’s high-pitched laugh was muffled behind her hand. Bo smiled until he remembered the mountain of dishes in front of him, that Tam was hidden somewhere in this enormous castle, that Ranik was waiting to harm him. Until he remembered Stars and witches and keys and Scribes.

  “I’m stuck here,” he said. “Maybe forever.”

  “I know what you mean,” muttered Selene, lowering her gaze to stare at her bare feet.

  Bo frowned as he watched her. “How come you live here?” he asked. It was a question that had tickled the tip of his tongue every day he had been at the temple. Bo thought this place—the silence and the scowls and the rules—was a cage for her. She was like a young sapling struggling to find enough Light to grow under the thick canopy of much bigger trees. Bo thought he understood what that felt like better than anyone.

  Selene rolled back her shoulders, stabbing a thumb at her chest. “Because I’m an apprentice,” she said, “and Sister Magrid is the best healer in all of Ulv and my parents are very important people. They’re so important that they live in the Sovereign State with the Queen of Ulv—the actual queen—and they don’t have time to raise me because my mother is head of the Queen’s Guard and my father is . . . He’s, um, he’s the Queen’s personal advisor and if I want to be as successful as them, then I have to train here and . . . and .
. . and . . . they left me here to be an apprentice when I was just a baby even though they really didn’t want to because they loved me so much but they write to me every day and tell me how much they miss me and . . .” She frowned as her blustering speech ran out of puff. Bo couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness at the little crease of worry between Selene’s brows. “And they’ll come back for me one day,” she said in a quiet voice. “I know they will.” Her frown deepened; her lips pursed in annoyance. “Do you want to know something?” she said, looking up at Bo. “Something I’ve never told anyone?”

  “What?”

  “I don’t even want to be a healer. I hate Sister Magrid’s boring lessons and learning about sneezewort and freezewort and skrimsl pong and blue nightshade. I want to be in the Queen’s Guard.”

  Bo smiled so big his cheeks ached. “You’d make a brilliant guard. Just look what you did to that wolf, Ranik.”

  Selene clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “But that was . . .” She leaned forward and whispered, “That was magic. And magic is bad. Very bad.”

  Bo shrugged. “I don’t understand why.”

  Selene rolled her eyes. “Of course you don’t. They never taught you anything in Irin. I know magic is bad because everyone says so. Sister Magrid told me all about it—how there used to be magic and that’s how the Shadow Creatures were created and everyone who had magic was evil and tried to rule over the non-magic folk. But then it vanished and it was supposed to stay vanished. Something terrible must have happened.”

  “But there is good magic,” said Bo. “Not all magic is bad.”

  Perhaps it was her honesty in telling him her true feelings about being an apprentice, or perhaps it was that she had trusted him to keep her secret about magic. Either way, Bo realized he could trust Selene. She was, after all, just as trapped in this place as he was. And did he have any other choice but to trust her? No—not unless he wanted five more days of chores and being bullied by the Innkeeper and worrying about Tam.