Thornghost (14 page)

N
ightmares wove into Niklas's sleep, an endless coil of crypts, and troll runes making his skin glow, and a nasty voice that whispered,
“Fear in this one, gray as old bones
.
”

Then he felt a strange tug. Something cold and lonely pushed into his head and pulled him away, into a dream so lucid, it felt real.

He saw kids in the night, three of them, struggling across a moonlit field. A pale-haired girl led the way and two boys brought up the rear. Even before he got close enough to see their faces, he knew who they were: his mother, Uncle Anders, and Peder Molyk. The reason for their slow pace was the heavy object the boys hauled between them.

A cage.

Inside it, a shape darted restlessly back and forth behind the chicken wire walls. The boys put the cage
down in the grass, a little too abruptly. The creature in the cage yelped.

“Don't hurt him.” Peder Molyk's eyes seemed too big for his face. Niklas had always thought of Molyk as the looming sort, but the only tall thing about twelve-year-old Peder was the cowlick of hair that stuck up from his forehead.

“I'm careful,” the lankier Anders said.

Erika grinned. “Hurt him?” She sat down on her haunches and peered into the cage. “We're not hurting him. We're
saving
him. No one will find him where we're going. Not even your father.” She gazed up the mountainside, past the tall pine trees and all the way to the snowcapped face of Buttertop. “He'll find shelter there, and plenty of food and water. It's perfect.”

A sharp bark sounded from the woods above. Erika got up, beaming with pride. “Good boy.” She found a corner of the cage to lift. “Sebastifer says the coast is clear.”

They continued up the hill, carrying the cage between them.

None of them saw the dirty water that leaked from the cage, leaving a black trail across Oldmeadow.

H
e woke with a paw covering his mouth and found Kepler bent over the hammock. “Shhhh. Don't wake the others.”

“What are you doing?” Niklas sat up. Secret still dozed by the fireplace, outlined by the red glow from the embers. The windowpanes showed no signs of dawn.

Kepler patted the backpack he had slung over one shoulder. “I'm taking you on a little expedition,” he whispered.

“Against Odar's orders?”

“Oh.” Kepler pursed his lips. “My mistake. I didn't take you for the timid sort.”

Niklas had grown up with all manner of suspicious grunts, meaningful glances, and unspoken accusations from the people of Willodale. But he wasn't used to having his courage called into question. “I'm not . . .” He received another ferret paw over his lips and lowered his
voice. “I'm not timid! I'm just making sure we agree on the facts.”

“Excellent!” Kepler said. “Because it really would be a shame to come all this way and not see the garden. Come on. Bring your satchel. And bring twitchy-ear over there, too.” He nodded at Secret's now conspicuously still form and crept out the door.

Niklas swung out of the hammock. The floor felt cold, but his boots had warmed up nicely by the fire. As he pulled them on, Secret groaned. “So we're not going to stay put?”

“I thought you were asleep.” Niklas tugged her ear-tuft. “Who cares about stupid rules? We'll be back before anyone notices.”

Secret swatted his hand away. “Don't push it, cub, or I'll chew your little fingers off.” She got up and stretched to properly underline that she, too, knew how to waste someone's time.

No night-lights lit the paths of the sleeping village save for the gold flickers from the Rosa Torquata. In the near-darkness, it was impossible to see all the thorns. But Kepler murmured, “Be grateful for the night. We don't know how long it will hold.”

“Don't you have clocks around here?” Niklas stepped carefully through the gnarly web of roots.

“Clocks are of no use in this world. Our time is linked to dreams and games, so it races and slows as it wants to.”
Kepler's smile showed blue. “Makes it more interesting to sneak around. By day you get more skullbeaks. By night the trolls are on the prowl.”

Makes it harder to break the rules without getting caught, too,
Niklas thought, but he didn't say anything.

They all let the Rosa Torquata taste their blood. It let them out into a sparse grove of black-and-white birches scattered across a gentle slope. Niklas had thought that after the creaky, tangled nest of the Nickwood, the air on his face would be a relief. Instead a feeling of unseen danger pressed down on him.

“Snout up!” Kepler said. “Where Nightmares rule, they play tricks on your mind. We'll know if there are trolls about. I hope.”

They crawled the last few yards to a rusty fence at the edge of the grove. Kepler picked a collapsible telescope out of his vest pocket and watched for a moment. “Home, sweet home. Not
our
home anymore, but let's not mince words.”

At the fence, the hill dropped steeply, and they found themselves at the rim of the valley that cradled the garden of Broken.

Night mist lay lightly on shelves upon shelves of terraced fields set in plunging circles, stitched together by tall hedges, stone fences, and steep embankments. Waterfalls from the mountains fed the water ducts that spread out like a silver spiderweb through the vale. A fjord sliced
in between two cliffs in the west, ending in a city of ruins.

The moon hung full between the cliffs, rippling the black water with gold, making the ruins sparkle. “A bit bright for our purposes,” Kepler said. “But at least the Nighthouse is mostly blind tonight.” He gave each of them a turn with the telescope. “The right cliff at the far end of the fjord.”

Thick fog shrouded the bluff, but Niklas could pick out a single black tower that poked up from the blanket of gray. Kepler sniffed. “It used to be a magnificent lighthouse that brought all ships safely into the Kolfjord. But when the Sparrow King conquered it, he put the beacon out to watch in darkness. Secret, do you see any movement in the tower?”

Secret peered awkwardly through the lens, then shook her head. “But I see trolls everywhere in the garden.”

She pointed them out to Niklas, patches of green light on the walkways that wound through the fields. “Their eyes.”

“Very good,” Kepler said. “Stay away from the green light. And stay close.”

He led the way into the upper circles, creeping under hedges and sliding on the outside of hewn steps in the rock. From above, the garden had seemed so ordered. But not up close.

Apple trees dropped their blooms into dense shrubs of gold berries. Flame-leafed sugar maples stuck up from a
riot of cabbage and weeds. Sparkling insects hummed like violins.

Niklas's heart galloped faster with every field they sidled through. Sure, he had paid countless visits to Molyk and Fale in the cover of night. Sure, he had run pretty fast to avoid being caught. But when the enemy could slice you in half if you didn't think or move fast enough? That was something else entirely.

More than once, they had to dive under the hedges, holding their breath while heavy feet crunched by, leaving sharp claw slices in the gravel.

“Quite a few of them about tonight,” Kepler said as they brushed leaves off their thighs. “Hope you don't mind.”

“Absolutely not,” Niklas said. He didn't mind the trolls, or the dew that soaked his clothes, or the dirt that still clung to the carrots, even after a good rubbing in the grass. They tasted sweeter than any carrot he had ever stolen. They tasted like adventure.

Secret proved an excellent raiding partner. She was the first to hear the trolls on the path, the first to smell them, and the first to catch the green that streaked the mist like headlights. But when Kepler suggested they sneak down to the ruin city, she balked.

“Why? You wanted to show us the garden; we have seen it. You wanted to bring home food; your backpack is full.”

“Don't worry, lady fair,” said Kepler. “I know a secret way. We won't get caught.”

Her tail whipped. “The trolls are stupid, yes, but the two of you are louder than elks on twigs. What is down there that could possibly be worth the risk?”

“Oh, there is something,” Kepler said. “Worth the risk and a thousand gold coins, you'll see. If you're up for it.”

“We're up for it,” Niklas said, ignoring Secret's silence.

As they followed the paths west and down, Secret whispered quickly to Niklas, “You do know he does that on purpose? To make you go with him?”

Niklas shrugged with a smile he hoped was half apologetic and all disarming. Of course he knew. But it didn't matter what sort of games Kepler played.

It wouldn't do to be a coward.

B
efore the Breaking, Jewelgard had been wealthy, Kepler had said. Niklas had a feeling that was an understatement. The wooden houses had all been taken over by ivy and roses, but the roof tiles and trimmings still showed through. They all glittered faintly, as if they had been treated with powdered gems.

Kepler guided them through alleys and dark lanes, flitting from shadow to shadow. Every few minutes, they heard trolls in the distance, squabbling over some unknown prize. It seemed whatever order had kept them quiet up in the garden no longer applied. “Probably they're not expecting us,” Kepler said. But even he stiffened whenever the howls went up, and once he made them back silently out of an alley and go in a different direction.

“Those Brokeners that went missing,” Secret said. “How did they get caught?”

“We don't know,” Kepler admitted. “All four disappeared during the day, so it can't have been the trolls. But there wasn't any blood, either, and the skullbeaks usually leave plenty of that.” He stopped by a tear in a tall fence, through which a house could be glimpsed. “We're here.”

The house held up better than most buildings in Broken. Other than the red roof tiles, there was nothing spectacular about it, nothing worth risking their hides for, anyway.

“A house,” Secret said, not so impressed.

“An
inn,
” Kepler said, leading them through a smashed window.

The common room was besieged by shrubs. Except for a big old iron stove in the kitchen, the furniture was gone. “Odar took everything that could be salvaged,” Kepler said. “He would have lugged off the stove as well if it didn't make too much noise.”

“Why this particular inn?” Niklas nudged a mold-licked shard of glass with his boot. “Was it his favorite?”

“Yes, but that's not why. The Ruby was the site of Jewel­gard's last stand. On the final day of the Breaking, the few remaining citizens hid out here, keeping the enemy at bay with sticks and stones. They were failing.” Kepler pointed out the front window, to a cobbled square. “That was the moment when the heroes stepped up. Julia, the leader of the Hoof clan, led the horses in a charge against the trolls. Marcelius volunteered to stay behind and make
it look like everyone was still trapped. And Odar surprised everyone by offering to lead the rest out the back and to his smuggler's hideout in the Nickwood.” He turned to Niklas. “The Ruby isn't just an inn, or even just a place where history unfolded. It's proof that the Nightmares can be beaten.” Kepler made a solemn pause. “Plus, it keeps a secret.”

In the back of the common room there was a mosaic puzzled into the plaster. It showed a garden with fruit-laden trees and once-colorful falcons. But the wings were chipped and the glass dulled by dust.

Kepler ran his fingers along the mosaic until they struck an unassuming bird with no glitter, just a pattern of swirls and dots on the tail feather. Secret and Niklas flinched when the feather flashed under Kepler's hand. The stone shifted until a crack formed in the wall, just big enough to step inside. “It's cloak magic,” Kepler said. “Done by one of Odar's associates a long time ago.”

Inside the tunnel they found a narrow staircase that cut down into the ground, lit by a line of glass that glowed in the dark. Kepler's tail bristled with excitement. “We're moving under the city now, but smell how fresh the air is? No trolls this way, that's for certain. You know Odar: Stay hidden, stay alive.”

“How come you know about this tunnel?” Secret's voice sounded stiff.

“Odar showed it to me.” Kepler laughed. “When I was a
fresher, he was the one who taught me the garden. Said I had stripes, which is Raccoon for guts, or possibly insanity.”

“So he taught you everything you know and lets you live in his house. Still you sneak around behind his back.”

“That's not . . .” Kepler went quiet for a moment. “I don't mean to betray Odar, and neither does Castine. We just want him to come around. If we bring him enough facts, he'll understand that we need to do something, or we won't survive. And if Odar believes we should fight, all of Broken will.”

Kepler brushed aside a curtain of ivy and turned to Secret. His sly grin was gone. “That's all I wish for.”

They stepped out into a walled orchard.

The trees were dressed for all seasons. Fat, white flowers and tiny buds shared boughs with leaves and ripe apples, pears and plums. Each fruit caught the moonlight and sent it dancing on the wall and grass so the entire garden shimmered. They looked like gems.

“The jewel orchard,” Kepler said, smugness restored in his voice.

“It's beautiful,” Niklas said, but the words seemed poor. The garden was magnificent and resplendent and luminous, and all sorts of words that he liked to tease Lin about using in her maps and log books. He felt a twinge of sadness that she couldn't see this. “Why haven't the trolls broken it?”

“Oh, I'm sure the trolls could smash in the front gate if they wanted, but they don't. I think they're afraid of
this place. There's something powerful in the soil here, an old kind of magic that has no use for Nightmares. After Odar's new orders, I'm the only one who comes here.”

Niklas glanced around at the lush, even grass and pebbled pathways that curled under the trees. Not a dropped twig, not a rotting fruit. Unless the old sort of magic also trimmed lawns and cut weeds,
someone
tended this garden. “Kepler,” he said. “How long has it been since your last visit?”

But Kepler had already climbed into a morello tree. Soon after, he whistled softly up in the canopy. “Catch!”

Secret snatched the pair of berries that fell out of the tree. They looked like morellos, dark red and ripe, except they were glazed in sparkling facets that clinked against Secret's claws.

Kepler skipped into an apple tree, then thumped to the ground beside them. “I know you haven't warmed to non-meat just yet, lady fair, but I promise you, ruby morellos will change your mind.” When Secret just glared at the morellos, he plucked one of them off its stem and popped it in his mouth.

The morello cracked, like the most delicate glass breaking. Pink juice dribbled down Kepler's chin as he shifted the berry carefully around in his mouth. “See, most bake the fruit into pies or some such, and use the shards for art and ornaments. That's missing half the fun and most of the taste, if you ask me. You just have to watch your tongue.”

He had kept his hand behind his back, but now he held it out to Niklas. “For you.” He placed a perfect red-and-green fruit in Niklas's upturned palm. “A diamond apple.”

Niklas let it sit in his hand. It felt heavier than a normal apple, and cool and dewy, like a glass of lemonade on a hot day. How it could have a scent, being encased in diamonds and all, he had no idea. But it smelled like cinnamon and sour-apple candy. Reflected light danced across Secret's and Kepler's faces as Niklas lifted the diamond apple to his lips.

An eerie, plaintive hooting cut the air.

Kepler spat out the morello stone, shoulders suddenly locked.

“What?” The diamond apple fell out of Niklas's hand, hitting the grass with a tinkle. “Is it the skullbeaks?

Kepler's whiskers bristled. “It sounds a little like them, but they shouldn't be out now.”

“I hear trolls,” Secret said.

“I'll look.” Kepler darted up a pear tree that leaned against the orchard walls. Niklas grasped the trunk, put the sole of his boot against the bark, and shimmied after him.

The secret tunnel had brought them to the very center of the town, where a round, tiled plaza called the Falcon Circle separated the jewel orchard from the tip of the fjord. Beyond a grand marble fountain, two ugly, square barracks barred the water's edge from view. There were trolls outside the barracks, lots of them.

Secret wasn't looking at the trolls. She was staring up through the pear tree at another building that loomed beyond the city on its tall bluff, wreathed in mists.

The Nighthouse.

“If that's the enemy you want to beat,” she said, “you'll never even get close enough to fire your bow.” In her eyes Niklas thought he saw the same hopeless pity that had convinced him she felt sorry for Rag the first time he met her.

She was right, though. The only access to the Nighthouse was a road that climbed up the cliff. Guard posts and huge wicker nests poked up everywhere. There must be at least fifty of them between the ruin city and the castle.

“Maybe not.” Kepler shook Secret's verdict off like water. “But there are other ways.”

The hooting filled the air again, deep and nasal. It came from the Nighthouse.

“It's a . . .” Secret tilted her head to find the right word. “Foghorn.”

They all saw it now: A thick woolen wall had come in from the ocean, filling the mouth of the fjord.

“A foghorn means there's a ship,” Kepler said. “I've never been this close to the docks with a ship coming in. Odar insists that we all leave the garden at the first sight of a mast, since it brings out every Nightmare in Broken. But . . .” He licked his lips. “I've heard the trolls talk. The
Sparrow King is involved in some sort of trade. He makes something very secret. Something that involves
cages.
”

Niklas felt a cold tug in his chest, almost like the one that had pulled him into the Oldmeadow dream. “What kind of cages?”

“Don't know. But I sure would like to find out.”

Niklas frowned at the barracks. “Maybe we should, then. Do you know any other ways to get to the dock? One where we wouldn't be seen?”

Kepler turned to him. “You think we should go spy on the ship?”

“I think any information you can bring home to Odar is interesting.” So was the link between his mother and this world, and the mysterious cages that she kept dragging around in his dreams, but Niklas didn't mention those. He also didn't look at Secret, even if he could feel her eyes on him.

Kepler pointed to the east of the Falcon Square. “Lostbook Hill. It curves out along the harbor, so we can see the docks from there.”

“And be seen,” Secret said. “This is stupid, cub.”

“There is a fine line between brave and stupid,” Kepler said. “But this won't be for the faint of heart.”

“My heart is fine,” Niklas said.

“Then mine is, too.” Kepler looked so pleased that it almost dulled the sting of Secret's silence.