Thornghost (11 page)

Secret shook her confusion and sprang into action. She bit at the vines, even if the thorns must sting her mouth terribly. But not even she could break their grip.

“Stop!”
The old branch gave another long, slow creak.
“He is not a Twistrose. He is just a boy with a dead key. He will not challenge the rule or ruin the plan. We will let him pass.”

One by one, the thorns retracted and the tendrils dropped to the ground, leaving Niklas coughing, but free. Finally the old branch moved to the side, scraping along the rocky tunnel floor, drawing a line of splinters and dust. Behind it, the opening had widened again, showing a short stretch of tunnel, and then stars.

Only the nasty branch still barred their way.

“Let him pass,”
said the old voice
.

“Let
us
pass,” Niklas said. “We won't do any harm.”

The nasty branch didn't move. “No,” it said. “Kill them.”

Niklas whispered in his smallest voice, one he hoped would only be audible to a lynx. “I don't think this piece of shrubbery quite agrees with itself. You go left, I'll go right?”

Secret's good ear turned ever so slightly toward Niklas.

“Now,” he said, and dove for freedom.

T
hey tumbled out of the tunnel. The dark vines lashed after them, but Niklas fell flat on his belly, and he heard them whip through the air over his head. He crawled away from the opening, hands and feet slipping through fine, cool sand, until the lashing stopped.

He sat up, rubbing his arm where the vine had cut into Rafsa's half-finished rune. Immediately, his hopes of hacking off the roots were dashed. Outside of the tunnel opening, there were no roots and no roses. The vines had retracted into another doorway in the barren mountain wall, weaving it shut so only a softly pulsing light escaped through the thorns.

Secret sat on the ground next to him, blinking.

“Are you all right?” Niklas reached out to touch her, but at the last moment he remembered himself and let his hand hover.

“I won't bite.” Secret smiled. “I think.”

Now it was Niklas's turn to blink. He hadn't seen her smile before. The corners of her mouth curled up extravagantly like a waxed mustache.

“Not so slack-jawed, cub.” She turned away from him and lifted her paw to scratch her mangled ear. But she set her foot carefully back in the sand. “Maybe instead tell me where you have taken us.”

Niklas turned to see what she saw, and slowly let his hand settle on Secret's shoulder.

He had absolutely no idea.

Niklas had climbed Buttertop many times with Lin and Uncle Anders. At the end of every August, when it was time to bring the cattle home from summer grazing, they combed the shallow, windswept mountain vales of the Trollheim in search of the flock. Those valleys did not look like this.

It wasn't just the dark sand or the patches of coarse, silvery grass. The mountain itself seemed unfamiliar, cragged and sharp, with facets that shone like glass. It cradled the tiny valley on three sides, and the fourth opened to the night sky.

Myriads of stars spread across the heaven like gem-studded dust. In Willodale, the night would be too light to show stars for weeks still.

“I don't know. I think it must be somewhere
else.
” Niklas got to his feet, his hand still buried in Secret's
fur. It felt rough against his fingers, keeping him on the ground when the stars tried to pull him up, strange and impossible. His heart pounded with the danger of it.

Hoooowooooo.

The sound didn't come from the tunnel, it came from somewhere in the canyon. Secret wound tight like a coil.

A creature appeared against the sky, so quickly, it seemed to blink into existence from one moment to the next. In the near-darkness it was hard to tell, but Niklas thought it wore a great cloak that shifted and swelled. But he could make out the creature's head, which gleamed in the starlight. It was the skull of a giant bird.

“What is that?” Secret whimpered.

“A nightmare,” Niklas said. His throat felt dry. “It's the creature from the bird castle.” And from the chapel crypt, and from his own dreams.

The taint was here, too.

The skeleton skipped to the side. Where it had stood, another followed, and more, until six of them lined up in a half circle, barring the way out from the canyon. Their beaks curved slim and sharp, and the wind threaded through their eye sockets, making an eerie hooting scream.

Hoooooowooooo.

Niklas and Secret had nowhere to go but back to the canyon wall. They moved slowly, feet treading the soft sand, hardly daring to breathe.

The creatures kicked off from the ground. As they took
flight, the black cloth spread out, showing their bodies underneath. They were all bones, unbound by ligaments and muscles, but still linked, like his mother's marionettes in the bird room. The bones glowed with pale light as the flying bird skeletons circled overhead, claws stark and ready, blotting out the stars above the canyon.

Niklas half stumbled over a stone. One of the birds dove for him. He wrenched to the side a heartbeat before the beak sliced the air where his head had been. Then the creature wheeled back up into the air.

He pressed his back against the rock. “Now what?”

“Can't run,” Secret growled beside him as another bird dipped down. “So we fight.”

With a snarl, she launched herself at the skeleton. She tore a piece of cloth off the wing, but the creature kept attacking, and now the others followed, wings flapping and beaks slashing. Secret became a sinewy streak of claws and teeth. She was almost as fast as the creatures, but not quite, and there were six of them. Her battle scream wrung high into a yelp when one of them stabbed at her.

They seemed to have forgotten Niklas. His only weapon, the pocketknife, lay tucked away in his satchel. He fumbled under the lid until he found it, clutching it hard in his sweaty palm. He had never fought anyone in his life, let alone used a weapon.

But when Secret screamed again and a wound opened
up in her flank, he let out a roar of his own and sprang forward.

His knife skittered along a bone. He toppled, rolled, and ended up flat on his back. The skeleton bird towered above him, no more than a yard away, but it didn't strike. The air whistled in its eye sockets as it moved its head from side to side. As if it was searching for him.

It didn't know where he was.

His old nightmare flashed through his head. The birds had pecked at him until he couldn't see anymore. Were these birds
blind?

Niklas grasped at the ground. His hand came away with a handful of small rocks. He sent them flying along the canyon floor. As soon as they plinked down, the bird whipped around and flapped off, hacking at the sand where the rocks had landed.

It worked! Niklas didn't call out to Secret; he couldn't. But he picked up another handful of bigger rocks and threw them, one by one, as far away from Secret as he could manage. Two of her attackers peeled away to check. Then another. Then the last.

Secret turned to look at him, panting hard. Niklas put his finger over his lips, hoping she would understand the signal. She must have, because she calmed her breathing.

The birds had gone back to circling now, waiting for their prey to make a noise and reveal themselves. But Secret proved she was a master at sneaking, gliding along
like the tiniest whisper in the sand. Niklas covered his heavier tread with carefully timed stone-throwing as they made their way through the canyon.

Out of the darkness grew a building. A small cottage nestled in a large crack at the foot of the canyon mouth. The shutters were closed and the door had fallen off its hinges. Suddenly the breeze shifted, and Secret opened her nostrils wide. She turned to him. Niklas nodded. He could smell it, too.

Wood smoke. The cottage was not abandoned.

But they had to pass by it to get out of the canyon, so they kept going. A weathered picket fence guarded what might once have been a vegetable patch. The dirt still lay gathered in grooves, but nothing grew there.

Secret froze.

Another skeleton bird had appeared in the cottage doorway. It flowed onto the porch, shoulders hunched, head swiveling back and forth. When it looked in the direction of Secret and Niklas, it stiffened. Niklas thought he saw something glint inside the hollow skull eyes.

This one was not blind.

The creature raised the tip of a cloak wing to an object on its chest: a round disc with glittering spikes. An amulet. It flashed red.

The hooting sound rose to a scream at the bottom of the canyon, where all the other skeleton birds moved as one. They came hurtling through the air, straight for Secret
and Niklas, and now they seemed to know exactly where to find them.

Niklas barely had time to start running before he lay pinned on the ground with claws over his throat, looking up at a long beak. He lifted his hands, but they were empty. The pocketknife must have slipped out of his grip when he fell. His fingernails did nothing against the cold bones of the bird's foot. He heard Secret growl, but she was far off to his left. They couldn't help each other.

The bird drew its beak back to strike.

Suddenly the air sang around them. Burning streaks hit the ground with a thunk. The skeleton bird stood straight. Its skull had changed color. Instead of the silver glow, yellow and red flickered along the edges. Another bolt of fire struck it in the shoulder, and it stepped back.

Niklas rolled over and bolted to his feet. Two burning arrows stuck out of the creature's wing, and more sailed through the air.

Along the left top of the canyon, two black silhouettes had appeared against the night sky. They shot so fast it seemed like they were letting loose a firestorm of missiles, striking the skeleton birds, striking the ground, nearly striking Secret so she skittered to the side.

Niklas rushed over to her, keeping his head low. She trembled all over. “Hunters!”

“We have to take cover!” He pushed her shoulder hard. To his relief, she let herself be jolted into motion. They
sprinted toward the canyon opening. In a few steps, they left the reeling nightmare birds behind, but still the missiles kept coming. “They're shooting at us, too,” Secret snarled.

Niklas broke to the side, guiding her into the naked rows of the vegetable garden. “They're not. Look.”

A burning arrow rammed into the beam of the cottage porch, where the final skeleton bird stood watching. It followed the arrow's path back to the bowmen on the canyon edge. Then it gathered its cloak tight, stepped off the far end of porch, and melted into the darkness.

Niklas poked his head up from between the rows to see where it went. Secret put a paw between Niklas's shoulders and pressed him into the dirt. “Keep down.”

The whole canyon glowed with flames now. The skeleton birds flailed in panic. One had caught fire and flew off like a blazing meteorite.

It didn't take many more arrows for the others to follow, cloaks fluttering with speed.

The night filled with the quiet, crackling sound of arrow shafts burning. At the top of the canyon, above the cottage and across from the bowmen, Niklas thought he saw the last skeleton bird, outlined against the stars. It waited for a moment, then disappeared.

A voice came from above. “All right, idiots. Stay where you are.”

W
e're going to do exactly as they say?” Everything in Secret's posture read disagreement: the restless twitchy tail, the outward-pointing ears and dipped neck.

“They stopped shooting as soon as our attackers fled, right?” Niklas patted her shoulder. “But they may start again if we try to run. I'm sure they mean us no harm.”

In truth, he didn't feel sure at all. But he had dragged Secret into this mess, so he had to rely on his usual plan in sticky situations: smile and look confident that he knew the way home.

The archers climbed down an invisible path in the cut-glass canyon wall. As they neared the light from the burning arrows, their shapes gained color and form.

Secret tucked in her tail. “Stay calm,” Niklas murmured, though he felt rather nervous himself.

Because the bowmen were not men at all. They were
animals of strange proportions: a giant squirrel and a gray striped ferret, both walking on two legs as if they had never done anything else. They filed down the path, dressed in black vests and with bows at the ready, firelight painting their faces grim.

“You were right, Kepler,” the squirrel said, tilting her head. “It
is
a boy.”

“Of course it is,” said the ferret. “I may be shortsighted, but I'm always right. That's why they call me the wandering encyclopedia.”

The squirrel rolled her beady eyes.

“They don't actually call me that,” the ferret said. “However, I do like a nice, juicy piece of information. So tell me, who are you, and what are you doing here?”

Niklas glanced from one to the other. Both the ferret and the squirrel were slightly taller than him. He cleared his throat. “I'm Niklas.”

The two animals turned to Secret. She glowered at them, concentrating her withering stare on the ferret, who, for all his slouch and smirk, seemed to be in charge.

“Her name is Secret,” Niklas said.

The ferret gave a baffled shake of his head. “What is your business up here? I know it's a fine night, but most people don't go gallivanting deep into Nightmare territory just because the stars are out.”

Niklas's head spun. Nightmare territory? Did these creatures know about his dreams?

Beside him Secret seemed much more disturbed by the human-like animals than any monsters plucked from his head. Every time one of them used their front paws as hands, she looked one whisker shy of panicking. He took a step forward, putting himself in the middle. “We didn't mean to trespass.”

The ferret narrowed his eyes. “Trespassing with a
key,
then?”

Niklas waited to see if this was another joke, but no one laughed. “I'm not sure what you mean,” he said, using his best voice of innocence, with a dose of now-be-reasonable layered in. “I don't have a key.”

Except the voices in the tunnel had also said something like that.
He is just a boy with a dead key.
The ferret and the squirrel exchanged glances, and Niklas could tell they figured he was lying.

“Why doesn't your Wilder speak?” asked the squirrel, nodding at Secret. “Is she mute?”

“Sorry, my what?”

“Your lynx. Your Wilder.”

Niklas snorted. “Secret's not mine. She's her own.”

The ferret turned to Secret. “Where are you from, lady fair? I bet you're not from Wichtiburg, and you're certainly no Legenwalder with those garish colors.”

Secret bared her teeth at him. “Watch it, half-rat, or I'll tear your pinchy head off.”

“Garish tongue, too.” The ferret grinned. “I think I like you.”

Secret tensed, but Niklas put his hand on her shoulder before she could attack. This wouldn't do. “Listen,” he said. “We're not your enemies. Let us go, and we'll get out of your hair.”

“Let you go where, exactly,” the squirrel said, nodding at the canyon opening. “You wouldn't find a safe place for leagues, and you wouldn't last two minutes out there.”

The ferret elbowed the squirrel in the side. “She means to tell you her name is Castine and she's very pleased to meet you.” Castine fidgeted with her bow, lifting her lips in a not very friendly smile.

“And I'm Kepler,” Kepler continued, unfazed. “Now. We may be rather closed off from proper civilization around here, but we are still enlightened citizens. We know you must be here on a secret mission.” He paused. “It's fair if you won't share, but we are here in Nightmare territory together, fortunately for you, I might add. So why don't we call a truce?”

Niklas turned to Secret, who showed no signs of standing down. He nodded anyway. “Sure.”

“Excellent,” said the ferret. He let air out through his small, sharp teeth. “You're lucky we heard the skullbeak screams and even luckier it's still dark. Those creatures are mostly blind in darkness, but they never miss in daylight. One hit and they crack you open like an egg.” He glanced up at the sky. “We should go before they show up again.”

“Show up?” Niklas said. “The flames didn't kill them, then?”

Castine rolled her eyes again.

Kepler shrugged. “The annoying thing about skullbeaks is that they're already dead. You can shatter a bone, or slice off a leg if you hit a joint. But you can't kill them. The best you can hope for is to cripple them for a while.”

“Our real problem is the rest of the flock,” Castine said. “Skullbeaks have a hive mind. They're connected. They know instantly when their mates have been attacked, and more always come.”

“So that's why,” Niklas said to Secret. “When the final skullbeak spotted us, the others knew where to find us.”

Kepler and Castine exchanged looks again. “Spotted you,” said Kepler quietly. “You mean to say
it could see you?
”

It felt like the air in the canyon had gone electric.

“I'm pretty sure it did,” Niklas said. “It stood there on the porch, looking straight at us. We weren't moving, so it can't have heard us. And I know it didn't catch our scent, because the wind had shifted, so we were downwind. Don't you agree, Secret?”

Secret didn't answer. She stared hard at the newcomers. Her hackles were up and her tail whipped, and the others were no better. Castine snatched an arrow from her quiver and nocked it.

Kepler stepped close to the squirrel. “I thought you said it was a stray arrow.”

She turned in a circle to scan the canyon. “I took the shot because I thought I saw movement on the porch. I wasn't sure, and I certainly had no idea it was
him.
What was he doing out here? With only six skullbeaks for a guard?” She lowered her bow when she couldn't find a target. “They're lying. They must be.”

“We're not lying.” Secret growled. “But you both smell like cowards.”

Kepler touched his hand briefly to his chest. “You might too, lady fair, if you had any idea what you were dealing with.”

“Tell us then!” Niklas didn't like the direction this was taking. “What are we dealing with?”

“The Sparrow King.” Castine spat into the sand, and Niklas thought her voice sounded choked when she said, “The Sparrow King was here, right under my nose, and I didn't even fire at him twice.”

• • •

K
epler insisted they had to risk a peek inside the cottage, even if the skullbeaks must be on their way. “I can go in alone,” he told Castine. “If you would rather stay here and watch over our new friends.”

Watch over, he said, but Niklas knew he meant just watch. Secret kept eyeing the canyon opening, and Niklas guessed she wanted to make a run for it. But he had seen the other animals shoot. Any attempt at running would
end with an arrow in the back, he was sure of it. He shook his head in what he hoped was a discreet manner.

“As if you'd even know if something was different in there,” Castine said. “I should be the one to look.”

So they all shuffled awkwardly onto the porch, while their rescuers tried to keep Secret and Niklas at point blank. Castine snapped the arrow that still lodged in the beam and tossed it to the side. “No need to burn the place down,” she said.

Secret hesitated outside the door. She had never yet set foot inside a proper building, and Niklas remembered how much it had cost her just to stick her head inside the crypt. But while he tried to think of an excuse for not coming inside, Secret melted across the threshold, taking care to place herself between Niklas and the others while they searched the cottage.

The smile was not the only new thing, then.

The little house had only one room. The air smelled of dirt and time. A threadbare quilt covered the bed in the corner, faded and dressed in dust. Wooden figurines filled the windowsills, the result of long hours of whittling. In the corner there was a rocking chair and a little stove where a dying fire glowed behind the blackened door. The source of the smoke they had smelled.

“Those are new.” Castine's tail bristled as she edged over to the stove. On a table next to the rocking chair there was a beautiful crystal glass and a bottle. She read
the label on the bottle. “Emerald River,” she muttered. She uncorked it, releasing a pale green shimmer. “It's starmead! Real starmead!”

Kepler whistled. “Fine loot for a dump like this.”

“Don't you dare speak ill of this place, fresher.” Castine wrinkled her snout at him.

Kepler lifted his hands to say he wasn't. “I think our new friends told it true, though. Someone was in here just now, warming themselves on the fire, getting ready to drink starmead from a crystal glass. But skullbeaks are empty shells. They don't drink. He eased a backpack off his shoulder and stuffed the glass and the bottle into it.

“I still can't believe it was him,” Castine said. “Out here? Without his army? Does that sound like the Sparrow King to you?”

Suddenly Niklas remembered something Rafsa had said to him in the troll cave.
I will ask the king. He has his books, he has his dark roses.
Maybe this Sparrow King was in cahoots with the trolls. He was about to raise his voice, but Kepler beat him to it.

“Well, we do know it can't have been the owner of the cottage, poor guy. He wasn't exactly the sophisticated kind, living out here alone.”

“I told you, don't mock him,” Castine said. “I know he's only a story to you, but he was my friend. There was never a more loyal soul than Sebastifer the true.”

Niklas turned his back to them so they wouldn't see his
face. His hair stood on end. Was there even a tiny chance someone else bore that name? The answer waited for him in the windowsill. The carved figurines cast snaking shadows across the floorboards. He picked one up.

It was clunky and crude, not even close to his mother's exquisite work. Still, he could tell what the figurine was supposed to be: a human girl with long, curly hair.

It was her. All the figurines were her.

“Careful.” Castine spoke behind him. Niklas took a moment to put on his prince mask and turned around to face the squirrel. Secret watched them both very quietly. He could tell she was ready to leap between them.

Castine hefted her bow all casually. “Some say wood carries the soul.”

“How so?” Niklas smiled and smiled while he tried to put the figurine back. But he didn't trust his hand not to shake, so he stuck it in his pocket.

“You might become like
her.
” Castine glanced at his arm. “The most hated coward this side of the mountains.”

Niklas stared after her as she walked toward the door.

“Trust me,” the squirrel said over her shoulder. “You don't want to become another Erika Summerhill.”