by Brandon Mull
The truth dawned slowly on Devin, because it was nearly unthinkable—and because he didn’t want to believe it. But the guilt in his father’s red-rimmed eyes confirmed it.
“I won’t let you hurt Dawson,” Devin said, and he raised his broken sword higher. “Neither of you.”
“Not Dawson,” his father said, and he sagged as if suddenly burdened with some tremendous weight. He moved to stroke his spirit animal, but the lynx hissed softly at his approach. His father sighed, retracting his hand. “They won’t hurt Dawson. They just want the boar.”
“They?” Devin said. And his eyes went from his father, to Zerif … to the third table setting, where the picked-clean bones of a small chicken sat upon a fine porcelain plate.
“Raisha,” he whispered.
He turned and ran from the room, heedless of his father’s cry for him to stop. He didn’t even slow to sheathe his shattered sword but tore through the manor as fast as he could, cursing the size of the place as he crossed room after room, ascended two long flights of stairs, and navigated the top floor’s twisty halls to at last arrive at Dawson’s bedroom door. He rammed it open with his shoulder. The room was empty.
The slanting roof beyond the window was not.
“Well, look who figured it out,” Raisha said as Devin clambered through the open window.
“Devin,” Dawson said, almost sobbing in relief. He was backed up to the edge of the roof, and Raisha stood between him and the only accessible window. “She wants Rumfuss. She said if I don’t summon him—”
“Don’t,” Devin said, keeping his eyes on Raisha. “Don’t summon him. I’ll get you out of his.”
“Not with that sad excuse for a sword,” Raisha said, and she raised her own dagger, a wicked, gleaming thing.
“It’s not perfect,” Devin said. “And it’s lost a battle or two. But it’s still sharp.” He held it up. “What more do you need from a sword?”
He lunged, and Raisha knocked the blow aside.
She took a swing at him, but he leaned out of the path of her weapon.
They were well matched. For every strike, there was a parry. For every move, there was a counter. And all the while, they circled each other upon the roof, like dancers enraptured by a discordant song of clashing steel.
Devin had never won a fight. Not one-on-one like this.
But he didn’t have to beat her. He only had to clear enough space for Dawson to escape.
Devin rode a surge of confidence. The strangeness he had felt since Elda’s tattoo disappeared into his skin was working for him now. Maintaining his balance felt effortless, even on the sloping rooftop. His reactions were quick, and his eyesight was sharp in the darkness. He could see the beads of sweat forming on Raisha’s brow.
“Dawson,” he said. “Get ready.”
But then he heard his brother shout a warning. An eagle shrieked, and talons raked across Devin’s back.
He didn’t fall. And he didn’t drop his sword. He gritted his teeth against the pain, and he stood his ground.
But then Raisha kicked him in the stomach, and he crumpled. His sword clattered away across the tiles.
“Devin!” Dawson cried.
Zerif slinked through the open window. Devin tried to shout threats at the man, to warn him away from Dawson, but he couldn’t catch his breath to speak. And anyway, Zerif didn’t move toward Dawson. He stepped up to Devin, bending over to grab him by the throat.
“I want to clarify something,” Zerif said lightly, and he lifted Devin up. Devin could barely breathe, and he clutched at Zerif’s wrist. It wasn’t until he heard Dawson cry his name again that he realized Zerif had positioned him over the side of the roof. His feet kicked empty air.
“When you bonded with that sad little wildcat,” Zerif continued, “I told you that you were a more worthy hero than the Four Fallen.” He smiled. “I lied. It’s probably obvious to you by now that you’re not worthy, but I wanted you to know that I knew that.” He raised his voice. “Dawson! Introduce me to Rumfuss, or we’ll see if your brother’s skull is as thick as they say.”
Devin took a choked breath through Zerif’s crushing grip. “Don’t do it, Dawson,” he rasped. “Remember … remember that time I put tree sap in your hair?”
Zerif looked at him, amused.
“Remember,” Devin said, “when I put all your clothing on the dogs, and set them loose in the mud?” He gasped another breath. “I want you to run, Dawson. Run and don’t look back.”
“I remember,” Dawson said. “I remember every awful thing you ever did.” Tears streaked his face, but his voice was steady. “I also remember other things. Like when I broke Father’s favorite vase, and you took the blame because I was afraid. I love you, Devin.”
Rumfuss appeared in a flash of light and stood motionless upon the roof. The boar’s eyes found Devin’s, and there was such sadness there that Devin could hardly bear to look.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the boar.
With his free hand, Zerif hurled a small vial at Rumfuss. It broke on the Great Beast’s tough hide, seemingly without causing harm. But after a tense few seconds, Rumfuss disappeared again. Dawson gasped as if in pain at the same moment Zerif let out a triumphant chortle … then released his grip on Devin.
He saw the look of surprise on Raisha’s face, and the utter despair on Dawson’s. And then he saw only the ground, three stories down and hurtling quickly upward to meet him.
If he’d had time to think about it, Devin would have been sure he was about to die.
But thinking had never been Devin’s strong suit.
He acted on pure instinct, tucking his body and rolling through the air until he was falling belly first. Then he held out all four limbs, bent them just enough to make them limber—and he landed in the grass on his hands and feet.
The pain was sudden and intense, but that’s how Devin knew he had survived.
And then he blacked out.
Devin awoke to the sight of two silhouetted figures looming above him. The light flickered dramatically, making it hard to focus, and for a moment he was afraid he’d damaged his vision.
But it was only fire. Fire was engulfing Trunswick Manor.
“Devin!” Dawson cried, and he embraced his brother. The talon marks on Devin’s back flared in pain, but he didn’t complain. He hugged his brother back.
“Man, that was impressive,” Karmo said. “I saw you fall, and I thought, well … But you’re like a cat.” There was awe in his voice, but his eyes were suspicious, like he was seeing Devin in a whole new light.
But Devin was more concerned with Dawson, who appeared shaky and pale. He knew what a terrible feeling it was to lose a spirit animal bond. “We can still stop them,” he said. “We can get Rumfuss back.”
Dawson shook his head sadly. “They’re long gone. And I … I can’t feel Rumfuss anymore.”
Devin winced. “I’m sorry, Dawson.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Karmo said. “Be mad. Whatever Zerif is up to, he’s just getting started. Come with me, and I can introduce you to some people who want him stopped.” He looked over his shoulder. “Also, your house is on fire.”
Devin could hear the shouts of the mob from around the front of the manor. They sounded like they were out for blood.
“I think Father is still inside,” Dawson said. “Should we … ?”
“Let Lord Trunswick look after himself,” Devin said. “It’s what he does best.”
Miles from the town, they could still see the blaze.
“Man, Devin,” Karmo said, “you sure know how to burn a bridge.”
“There’s no going back,” Dawson said. “Is there?”
Devin took a long last look at the great plume of smoke drifting lazily into the sky above the ruins of his childhood home. “I guess I’m hoping that where we’re going is more important than where we came from.”
“We’ll get there,” Dawson said. He was still pale, but he managed a smile. “Together.”
>
“Together,” Devin agreed. “And something tells me that we’ll land on our feet.”
FROM HER VANTAGE POINT HIGH ON A ROCKY CRAG, ANUQI watched the distant figure make its way across the glacier. The figure moved awkwardly, almost tripping with every step. It must be an outsider from the south, new to walking in snowshoes.
Strangers bring only broken promises and sorrow.
Those were the words her grandmother had always said whenever a visitor had come to Maliak. It was an old Ardu saying, passed down through the tribes of Arctica since the days when the first Euran traders had arrived. Bitter lessons of broken agreements and spoiled goods.
As a little girl, Anuqi hadn’t believed her. She had loved the idea of mysterious strangers and longed to meet the Greencloaks who sometimes traveled her land. But since her grandmother had died during the Second Devourer War, those words had proven true over and over.
Anuqi glanced over at the nook where her spirit animal had once rested. The massive polar bear would sun herself while Anuqi stood sentry and searched the horizon for strangers.
She looked away, trying not to dwell on the loss. Grandmother had always believed in her. If Grandmother had been alive, she wouldn’t have stood by and let her parents sell Anuqi’s only friend.
It wasn’t just strangers who gave sorrow and broken promises.
Ever since the Greencloaks had arrived and destroyed Suka’s Ice Palace, the village of Maliak had posted a sentry on the mountainside. Strangers were no longer welcome here.
Today it was Anuqi’s turn to climb to the point where the ice turned to rock and see if anyone was approaching.
Anuqi grimaced. She didn’t want to go down and tell the village that there was a traveler arriving. Her turn as sentry was one of the few times she could be alone, far away from the traitors who called themselves her family.
She wasn’t sure they deserved it. But if she didn’t warn them, they would accuse her of doing a sloppy job and make her spend the days sharpening bone knives with her father instead of alone up here. She hopped up and started down, carefully stepping her way down the icy slope.
There had been a time when she could have bounded down the slope, drawing the strength and sure-footedness of Suka, her spirit animal and one of the reborn Great Beasts. But her bond with Suka was gone, and with it her fearlessness. Anuqi had only seen eleven winters, but these days it felt more like eighty.
After she had gotten back and let the village elders know that a visitor was approaching, Anuqi walked to her parents’ tent. She walked more quickly as soon as she heard the yelping of the dogs. Why were they back? Her father should have been out with the fishing party, using his new sled to haul in their catch at the end of the day.
She’d barely had time to get inside, to take off her parka and breathe in the smothering smoky air, before her mother was in her face.
“What do you know about this? What haven’t you told us?” her mother demanded. The short, stubby woman shoved a note in Anuqi’s face.
Anuqi shrugged. She squinted at the piece of paper, but it was all squiggles to her. Some of the Arctican children in the larger settlements were learning to read, but Anuqi’s family hadn’t taken up the practice yet.
“I have no idea,” she said, crossing her arms.
“If you’ve gone and brought more trouble on us … ” Her mother’s voice trailed off, but the glare that followed said enough.
“Calm down, Saniaka,” her father said, placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “She can’t read. She doesn’t even know what it says.”
“I can read it for you, if you like,” another man’s voice said.
Anuqi looked beyond her parents to see a thin stranger sitting at the table. He was skinny, almost gaunt, and had the pale look of one of the Euran traders. Broken promises and sorrow, sitting right here in their tent, her grandmother would say.
“I was paid to find you and deliver this message, and I suppose that includes reading it if needed,” he added.
Her mother glared at the man, but neither of her parents moved to stop him. He sighed, stood up, and took the paper in his hands.
“To Anuqi, spirit bond of the Great Beast Suka,” the messenger read. “We can help restore what has been taken from you. Meet me at the last day of the waning moon, at the Smiling Fox Inn, in Radenbridge. Sincerely, A friend.”
Anuqi gaped at the man. “Is this a joke? Is someone mocking me?” she demanded.
Her spirit animal, the Great Beast Suka, had been taken two months ago. Two strangers, a man and a girl, had arrived late one evening. Anuqi had seen them from her sentry post. That time Suka had been with her, the polar bear alternating between sunning herself on the rocks and wrapping around Anuqi, protecting her from the Arctican chill.
With Suka around, Anuqi had never been cold, and never lonely. Now both gnawed at her every day.
“What business does this ‘friend’ have demanding that Anuqi go all the way to Eura?” her mother asked.
“We can’t afford the passage anyway,” her father added. “The whole idea is laughable.”
Anuqi eyed her parents. She didn’t believe the message one bit, but it was exactly like them to not even consider what she thought. Just like last time.
The strangers had come straight to her tent and made an offer. The man with his trim beard and predatory scowl, and the girl with her smug air of superiority. Anuqi had mistrusted them immediately.
The man had made the village an offer: Let him take Suka, in exchange for a hefty bag of coins. Her parents had refused, of course. Suka was an ancient friend of the Ardu, her father had said. No amount of gold could buy their sacred bear.
Anuqi’s mother had stalled the strangers while her father gathered a few friends from nearby. They arrived, armed with knives and clubs, and demanded that the strangers leave. Her father had looked like a hero, striding in with two other Ardu men to kick these frightening people out of their village.
Anuqi remembered pressing her head into Suka’s fur, not wanting to see what happened next. She could hear the bear’s angry growl as her spirit animal stared down the visitors. She expected to hear fighting, but instead there were bright flashes of light, and she was forced to look up.
The inside of the tent was suddenly a tumult. A massive boar appeared from thin air, followed by a ram and an eagle. Immediately the animals attacked the three men. Her father and his friends retreated, barely dodging tusks, horns, and talons.
Suka gave a great roar and charged at the bearded stranger, but the haughty girl jumped in from the side. Anuqi saw her slap something concealed within her hand—it looked like a small black vial—against the polar bear’s head.
Suka suddenly stopped. The polar bear shook her head side to side in confusion, pawing at her own face. Then her eyes went wide and she lay down.
Anuqi remembered screaming. It had felt like her world was being torn apart, like every piece of her was twisting in a different direction. And then Suka had stood up, with a dead look in her eyes, and there was only icy emptiness inside Anuqi.
She had collapsed, shaking in pain and terror as her connection with Suka was shredded. The polar bear calmly padded over to stand next to the man and the girl. Anuqi’s spirit animal and best friend in the world had left without even looking back.
“It seems the ‘ancient friend of the Ardu’ has made her own choice,” the bearded man had said with a small smile. “Once again, she chooses freedom.”
The last thing Anuqi had seen before blacking out from the pain was her mother accepting the bag of coins that the sneering girl offered her.
Her parents had tried to explain that they needed the money. That after the war and the poor hunting season, they barely had enough to feed themselves—let alone the sled dogs. Suka was gone anyway, her mother had said. But Anuqi hadn’t spoken to her for weeks.
The pain had lessened as time passed, but it would never go away. It was as if she had been warming herself by a fire, only to ha
ve a snowdrift collapse onto it.
Anuqi put away thoughts of the past and glared at her parents. No, they didn’t care what she felt or wanted. Not a bit.
“Your friend also sent this,” the messenger said, handing Anuqi a small jingling pouch. It was heavy with coins. “Enough coppers to pay for the journey.”
Anuqi grimaced. Another stranger with a bag of money—another disaster waiting to happen. Her parents just stared, her father in surprise and her mother in greed. Anuqi’s grandmother hadn’t cared for money, but since the Euran traders had started coming every year, all her mother could think of was how to earn enough to buy fancy goods and foreign spices.
“What is this?” her father demanded. “What are you playing at?”
“I’m sorry I can’t offer more of an explanation. That’s all I was told to do,” the man said. “My duty is discharged. Now I have other deliveries to make. Farewell. And good luck, Anuqi.”
Her mother hustled the man out the door. The moment the tent flap was shut, she snatched the bag from Anuqi’s hands.
“Well, you’re obviously not going to Eura,” her mother said with a laugh. “But this money won’t hurt. We can finally replace that leaky old kayak.”
Anuqi’s father put a hand on her shoulder. She wanted to shrug it off, but didn’t resist.
“I’m sorry, Anuqi,” he said. “You must know there’s no way this could lead to Suka. You’re going to have to accept that she’s gone.”
At that, Anuqi pulled away. “Suka is out there,” she snapped. “We lost her once to the Greencloaks, and you just let her go then. Now we have a second chance to make things right, and you want to give up on her?”
Her mother’s shoulders slumped, and her father just sighed. Anuqi knew she couldn’t expect them to understand.
“Suka left of her own accord,” her mother said softly as she tucked the pouch of coins under a wolfskin blanket. “We guarded her for years, and she walked away—twice. But now that’s all over. There’s nothing we can do.”