The Scribe ran her fingers slowly over the parchment, tracing the lettering that Bo couldn’t understand. Did it say his name? Would everyone know that he had cursed the land? The tawny owl hooted softly, blinking its large eyes at Bo. That was where he had seen the owl before. In the Forest of Long Shadows. When he had been too late with the gold-red dust. All the owls were staring at him; they knew.
“In some ways, yes,” said the Scribe, her knowing eyes still locked on Bo. “But magic is not all bad. In fact, much of it is good, so long as it is in good hands. And, of course, should anyone find and release the Stars, then we would have Star-magic—the strongest of all—and with that, we would be able to rid the land of Shadow Creatures and the Dark, and we would have wishes again! Wouldn’t that be a thing? I’m certain we’d all be prepared to move mountains to make such a thing happen, wouldn’t we?”
Bo could no longer meet her gaze. Instead, he looked down at his hands. “Yes,” he murmured. The guilt of what he had done weighed heavy inside him. Guilty, guilty, guilty! “I think I’d do just about anything.”
“Good,” said the Scribe cheerfully. “I say, isn’t that a lovely painting?”
Bo followed where the Scribe was pointing. On the opposite wall was a painting of a large mountain with a wolf atop its very peak, howling. “Oh, y-yes,” Bo stuttered, frowning in confusion. “I suppose it is.”
“Wonderful! Now you can leave me alone. I have work to do. In silence. I absolutely must have silence. It is my favorite thing in the world, silence. And Sister Agnethe will be angrier than the Surslang Dragon of Sur if you don’t wash those dishes like you’re supposed to. Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!”
Hoot, hoot, hoot, said the owls.
Bo nodded, his head still lowered as he turned to leave. Truthfully, he couldn’t wait to be alone. He almost craved being stuck in that small room in the back of the kitchens, scrubbing a never-ending mountain of dishes. It seemed a fitting punishment for all he had done. Perhaps he could hide there forever.
“One last thing!” cried the Scribe just as Bo had reached the door. She held out her hand; in it was the key. Bo had almost forgotten it.
“Thank you,” he said, blushing as he returned to her side and took the key from her. Bo gasped as the Scribe grabbed hold of his hand and tugged him close.
“It really is a very lovely painting,” she whispered, deep and raspy.
“S-sorry?” Bo stammered. Up close he could see the silver flecks in her large gray eyes. They were magical. The Scribe released Bo’s hand as suddenly as she had taken hold of it. He stumbled away from her. She grinned. “Have a good day, child,” she said before turning her back on him.
Chapter Sixteen
Bo was on his hands and knees, scrubbing the stone floor in the Great Nev’en Library until his knuckles ached. Nix nudged the bucket along with his snout, keeping it always within Bo’s reach.
Earlier, Selene had helped Bo clear the mountain of dishes before sneaking him into the library, despite his protests. She had pulled him into the stacks, far away from prying Sisters, and removed an armful of scrolls about Freja. All Bo wanted was to wallow in his misery—Shadow Creature attacks and an evil witch rising to destroy the land and it was all his fault; Ranik’s return was probably his fault too—but Selene had been determined to learn everything she could.
“I feel a bit sorry for her,” she’d said with a shrug, keeping her voice low so as not to be overheard breaking the rules. She read everything out loud and Bo had found himself listening intently despite his suffocating guilt. He learned more about Stars and wolves and witches and even about wish-mines. And Bo found he agreed with Selene: he did feel sorry for Freja. Why had the Moon thrown the three Stars from the sky? Because she was jealous? That wasn’t fair.
Just like it wasn’t fair that Mads lied, said a small but persistent voice in the back of his head. It wasn’t fair that Mads had used him to maintain a spell without telling him what or why or how, leaving Bo to break the lock and pay the consequences on his own. And it wasn’t fair that his mother had left him in the forest, either. She was just like the Moon.
Underneath his guilt, Bo was angry, too, a small spark of anger in the deepest corner of his heart, which grew hotter and hotter the more he thought about Mads and lies and Moons. Nix had pawed at Bo’s leg, whimpering in sympathy.
“I know Freja caused the Dark but the Moon wasn’t very nice, was she?” Selene had whispered. “Parents shouldn’t do that. They shouldn’t abandon their children like that.” Selene had chewed on her lip. “If the witch really is returning, what do you think she wants?”
Bo had not known how to answer her. But his anger had fed a new certainty. That, more than ever, it was vital for him to find the wolf and release the Stars so he could destroy the Dark and prevent the Shadow Witch from taking over—he would prove that Mads should have trusted him all along, that he could do this. But he didn’t even know what to do with the riddle: To speak of me is to break me.
Just at that moment, Selene had dropped the scroll she’d been reading, breaking the silence in the cavernous room.
Breaking . . .
Silence . . .
Bo had slapped the heel of his palm to his forehead and groaned. “Of course! The Scribe was telling us the answer all along: silence! When you say ‘silence,’ you break silence. Of course! The answer to the riddle is silence!” Selene had cheered but Bo had shushed her.
“But what does it mean?” he’d whispered.
Nix yapped.
“And you can hush too,” Bo had said. “If you knew the answer was ‘silence’ all along, then why didn’t you say so?”
Selene had rolled her eyes. “More importantly, why was the Scribe going on about that painting of Lindorm Mountain? It wasn’t that good.”
Before Bo had been able to answer, Sister Agnethe had come for him; they hadn’t done a very good job hiding, after all. The Sister had scowled, beckoning him with a curled finger. Bo had never met the Surslang Dragon of Sur but he thought the Scribe had been spot-on. He could picture the beast perfectly—it looked just like Sister Agnethe, with her pinched mouth, her furrowed brow, and her cold eyes. It even smelled like her.
The Sister had said nothing, of course, but had pointed at a bucket of suds and a scrubbing brush and then at the expanse of dusty library floor. Bo bubbled over with frustration: How would he ever find the second key and prove everyone wrong when he was stuck here scrubbing floors?
Sister Agnethe had then turned her scowl on Selene, pressing her lips into a thin sash. She’d pointed at the messy pile of scrolls. Selene had paled, lowering her head before rushing to return them to their rightful places, then scurrying out of the room. Sister Agnethe had followed her and that was that. Bo and Nix had been left alone for a long afternoon of scrubbing floors.
“We need to get out of this place and find the second key,” said Bo.
Nix barked.
“Of course I won’t leave without Tam but—ouch!”
Bo sat up, quickly grabbing beneath his shirt for the crystal pendant, which was growing unbearably hot against his chest. He pulled the pendant off and tossed it to the floor. It was glowing, a haze of heat all around it.
Nix began to bark at the space in front of them. Bo looked up and saw a small orb of Light dancing in the air. He blinked rapidly as the Light transformed into a floating blob of liquid silver, exactly as it had done in the Myling Mist, before once again pouring itself into a familiar shape.
Bo stumbled back, his head full of guilt and lies and flames and sparks. “Mads?”
Last time, the ghost had been a mere shell, a wobbly silvery see-through thing that looked a little like his old guardian and a lot like a wisp of smoke. This time, the ghost took on a more solid appearance and there was color, too, smudges of blue and gray and brown. Familiar and yet . . . Bo couldn’t help but see everything so differently now.
Bo lowered his gaze, an uneasy tug in his stomach. “You’re back,” he said. “I wasn�
��t sure if—”
“The keys,” snapped ghost-Mads. “Have you found the keys?”
Nix sniffed the air around Mads as Bo shook his head. “Just the first one but I’ve worked out the next riddle and the answer is ‘silence.’ I don’t know what that means but—”
“All this time and you only have one key?” Irritation clipped Mads’s voice. His silvery body shimmered, like a dropped pebble in a river, before settling into the shape Bo recognized once again. “You need to hurry. The Stars must be released. Silence, did you say?” Ghost-Mads paced, frowning deeply. “Then it is here! Surely! The Silent Sisters. That must be it! Search the temple. Turn it upside down if you must. Find that key.”
The angry fire in Bo’s heart flared. Would he ever please the old man? Would he ever be enough? He tried—he tried so hard—and look at what he got in return.
“Why did you lie to me?” he blurted.
“Lie?”
Bo twisted the hem of his tatty shirt. “You never told me about the lock. About the tree and magic and . . . you never told me you only took me in because I could help you with the spell.” Saying the words out loud brought an ache to Bo’s chest. He hated that Mads had used him. That Bo had meant nothing to the old man. All those years trying to prove himself worthy, trying to earn love, and for what? His arms and legs felt heavy, as though his sadness was pulling him down, down, down. But the flames would not fade and they rose up, up, up.
Mads laughed ruefully and turned away from Bo. “And clearly I was wrong to rely on you for such a task because look what happened. Is it any wonder I didn’t trust you with the truth?”
Bo flinched, as if each of Mads’s words had been a fist.
“Listen, child,” said Mads, moving closer. “This is not a time to be weak. You must find and release the Stars before they end up in the wrong hands.”
“Wrong hands? You mean Freja?”
Mads gripped Bo’s shoulder so tightly his nails pierced the tender skin. “Forget about her,” he said as Bo winced. “Focus on what is important: the keys, the riddles, the Stars. Can’t you obey one simple order? Must you mess up everything?”
Mads let go and Bo stumbled back, wiping unshed tears from his eyes. His throat was tight—Please don’t cry, he begged himself. Not in front of Mads.
“Just find the next key and be quick about it. It is your fault the Shadow Creatures are attacking the villagers, your fault the land is flooding with malignant magic. This is your mess to fix. I tried to shield you from the truth so you wouldn’t know this was all your doing, but you had to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. But you won’t let me down again, will you?”
Bo shook his head as words clamored on the tip of his tongue. It wasn’t my fault! he wanted to shout. You should have told me the truth! But he couldn’t say anything.
Through a mist of angry tears, Bo watched the apparition fade. The edges blurred as Mads shrank back into that little ball of Light until there was nothing more than dust and air and silence. Bo stared at the space where Mads had been. I will find the Stars, he told himself. I will prove you wrong, Mads. I’ll prove everyone wrong.
Nix barked.
“I know,” said Bo. He bent to retrieve the pendant from the floor and gasped when he saw that it had singed the stone, leaving a jagged black mark behind. “Why does it grow so hot?”
“Perhaps it’s a charm,” said a low, purring voice from the shadows of the stacks.
Bo whipped his head around, looking for the owner of the voice. “Wh-who’s there?” he stuttered.
“I saw a charm like that once,” said the voice, louder this time. “A traveling saleswoman from the Broken Plains showed it to me. Grew hot every time a ghost was nearby. I stole—I mean, she gave it to me as a gift and I sold it on the Dark Market for three hundred Raha.”
Nix growled, shifting in front of Bo as the familiar gold-toothed smile of Galvin appeared at the end of the stacks. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against a shelf. A mishmash of feelings whooshed through Bo as he found himself face-to-face with the Irin who had left him for dead in the quagmires. He didn’t know if he should fling himself at Galvin or run from the room screaming for help.
Galvin smiled crookedly and pointed to his face; his left eye was cloudy white and a long scab ran from the corner of the eye to his chin. “Quite a trick you pulled, sending me to the Myling Mist. Those ghost-children aren’t all that friendly as it turns out and not a single Star or wolf to be found.”
Bo swallowed around his fear, edging backwards. Nix held his ground.
“But now I know all about the keys, thanks to your illuminating conversation with that ghost. So I’ll be having the first key, thank you very much.” The Irin pushed off from the shelf and slowly stepped toward Bo, his grin stretching his face. “Either you hand it over or I take it. Perhaps I’ll take an eye, too—an eye for an eye, you know.”
Bo’s gaze flicked about, searching for the quickest way out. Behind him? To the left? Right? But where would he run to? Would he get lost in this maze of a temple? How quickly would Galvin corner him, all alone in a dead-end corridor, with no one to help, to witness, to save him . . . ?
Before Galvin could act, however, thumping footsteps neared them, the cries of a bloodthirsty crowd filling Bo’s ears. It sounded as if every villager in the Great Hall was running toward them. Either that or a herd of elkefants was stampeding through the temple.
“Oh dear,” said Galvin. “Looks like you might be in trouble. Guess I’ll just pry the key out of your hands once the villagers are done with you.” In the blink of an eye Galvin was gone, slipping into the shadows again.
Selene came running into the room first, silver braids dancing wildly, almost as wild as her eyes.
“Bo,” she said, panting, doubling over. “You have to. Leave. Great Hall. Gone. Shadows. Scream. Terrified. Coming for you!”
“I don’t—” he started, but Selene interrupted him, grabbing him.
“No time! Hurry, Bo!”
She tugged on his arm and turned, crashing into a wall of villagers surging toward them.
“There he is!” cried one.
Selene and Bo stumbled back; Nix bared his teeth and growled, keeping close to Bo.
A woman was pushed to the front. She was wailing, clutching a small child to her chest, rocking it back and forth.
“Gone!” cried the woman. “Taken right before my eyes!”
A sharp-faced man stepped forward to jab Bo in the chest. “This woman’s husband went to fetch firewood in the cellars with his kid, and a Shadow Creature came out of nowhere and grabbed him. Dragged him into the shadows and now he’s gone. And it’s all your fault.”
Bo staggered back. “But that’s inside the temple! It’s Light! There are candles everywhere. How could . . . ?”
“All your fault!” cried the crowd.
Nix barked loudly until a woman waved her walking stick at him; the threat was clear. Bo felt his blood boil.
“Don’t imagine the High Sisters will let you out of this one,” said the Innkeeper, appearing beside Bo to grab hold of his arm, fingers digging in roughly. He pulled Bo against his side and grinned with teeth stained black from chewing tar-bark. “I’ll see you punished for this, Devil-child. It’ll be the end of you.”
The crowd parted, making room for the Innkeeper to drag Bo to the High Sisters.
Chapter Seventeen
Selene slid down the wall of the cell and sat, hugging her knees to her chest while Bo paced furiously, Nix on his heels. Tear tracks stained her cheeks. “That was horrible,” she said.
She was right; it had been awful. The villagers jeering, shoving them at the feet of the High Sisters and demanding retribution.
“Is it proof enough that Shadow Creatures attack inside our safe haven after he is allowed to stay?” the Innkeeper had spat, waving his hand at Bo before turning on Selene: “And she’s a magic-user, caught practicing the evil art in the stables. Singed the hair off L
ucky Karl’s dog. Lucky Karl saw her do it!” Selene had stomped on the Innkeeper’s foot and called him a dimwitted slothendung, but it did her no good. Sister Magrid—small and bony and brittle—was called upon to give testimony. “Thirteen years I’ve known her,” said the Sister, “and it doesn’t surprise me one smiggitty-wit to discover that she is a witch. We should have thrown her to the Shadow Creatures years ago.”
And that was that.
“Lock them up,” Sister Noora had shouted. “They will be punished by death!”
Although Sister Vela had frowned deep with remorse, her lips had remained locked and Bo’s heart had broken. He’d been certain she would be on his side, but . . . but perhaps the Scribe had shown her the scroll; perhaps they’d all seen it and knew the truth.
He ground his teeth so hard his jaw ached.
Bo stopped his pacing and knelt in front of Selene, reaching out to pat her knee. “I’m sorry about Sister Magrid,” he said. “If Sister Agnethe is the Surslang Dragon of Sur, then Sister Magrid is nothing but a smear of Skugs fud on the Surslang Dragon of Sur’s little toe.”
Selene spluttered a laugh but there was no heart in the sound. “Whoever Lucky Karl is, he won’t be feeling so lucky once I’m through with him.” She grimaced, lowering her head. “Why are people so cruel?” she asked, heartbreak shimmering in her eyes as she looked up at Bo. “Why do the people who are supposed to love and protect you hurt you the most?”
Bo searched for the right words but couldn’t find them. He had a suspicion that, even if he found them somewhere deep within his belly, the right words would be too big, too heavy for him to drag out of their hiding place.
“I can’t believe she would . . .” Selene’s voice was small, her lip trembling. “I can’t believe it happened again.”
“Again?”
“I . . .” Selene shook her head slowly. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, her whole body rising and falling with a heavy sigh. Nix pressed his nose to the back of her hand with a gentle whine until Selene smiled sadly. “We’re stuck here and we’re going to die and it doesn’t matter,” she said.
The Boy, the Wolf, and the Stars Page 14