He let his arms flop against the road and wailed, “I don’t have a tail!”
“Humans don’t,” Anya said.
“How am I supposed to walk?” Håkon said. “Why would she do this to me?”
Anya almost said she didn’t know why, but then she realized she did. “I bet the Pechenegs are just as hostile toward dragons as the tsar is. We couldn’t bring you here as a dragon. They’d kill you. So she changed you.”
Ivan crouched in front of Håkon and studied him. “How did she do it? Where’d the dragon parts go?”
Håkon glared at him, looking miserable lying on his side with his face in the cold dirt. He was much more expressive as a human.
“Magic, obviously,” Anya said. “Håkon, come on, stand up.” She reached down to help him stand, but he remained in the dirt of the road.
“May I have a moment, please?” he asked. He curled his arms in close to his body.
“Are you cold?” Anya asked.
Håkon grumped, “My skin is tingly.”
“That’s goose bumps,” Ivan said. He grabbed the remaining coat off the pile Lena had left with them. “It means you’re cold.” He wrapped the coat around Håkon as tightly as he could while the dragon-turned-boy lay on his side.
Anya felt bad for rushing him, but they couldn’t afford to just sit there. They needed to figure out where they were and find the door that fit the key Lena had given her. But Håkon looked so wretched and lost, and Anya decided that letting him find himself for a minute wouldn’t hurt. “Um . . . take your time, Håkon.” She caught Ivan’s eye, looked pointedly at the other side of the road, and walked a few paces away to stand there.
Ivan patted Håkon’s shoulder, got up, and joined Anya. They stood with arms crossed, heads together, and Ivan said, “I wasn’t expecting that to happen.”
“What were you expecting?”
“I dunno.” He shrugged. “Not that.”
“This doesn’t change our plan, right?” Anya said. “Rescue Papa, bring him back to Zmeyreka?”
Ivan looked unsure. She cleared her throat.
“I mean, clearly,” Ivan said quickly. “But Håkon—”
“Håkon is fine,” Håkon said. He pushed himself uneasily into a sitting position, pulling his legs up in unsure, jerky motions. He clutched the coat around him like a blanket. He tried to get his feet under him, but he couldn’t figure out how.
Ivan darted to him and fastened the coat shut over Håkon’s meager clothing as Anya gathered up their bags and weapons from the road. Then Ivan sat by Håkon’s side. “Like this.” He tucked one foot under his behind, then leaned forward, balancing himself as he brought his other foot up and straightened out.
Håkon tried to do what Ivan did, but he got his feet tangled together and fell forward onto his hands. He grunted with frustration.
“Or you could try . . .” Ivan mimicked Håkon’s position, on his hands and knees, then walked his feet up and used his hands to push himself to standing.
Håkon did better with this method and almost stood, but then stumbled as he tried to straighten up. His knees buckled and he went down. Anya and Ivan ran to him, each grabbing an arm and helping him up.
Håkon laughed. There was something grim in it. “I need my tail back.”
“At least you’re getting better at talking,” Ivan said. “Here.” He took his staff from Anya and wrapped one of Håkon’s hands around it. “You can use this to help you walk.”
“I don’t think that’s going to help much,” Håkon said with a grimace.
“I’ll be on your other side,” Ivan said.
Håkon shook his head. “I’ll never get used to this.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Anya said. “Let’s find somewhere safe to sleep before it gets dark.”
Anya and Ivan searched up and down the road. Its packed earth was much more heavily traveled than the roads in Zmeyreka. The trees crowded close to the road, their leaves rustling in a breeze that sounded like the whole forest sighing. That sigh and birdsong were the only sounds that disrupted the forest’s quiet.
“Is this what Patzinakia is like?” Anya asked. “I imagined just open steppe.”
“It’s probably mostly steppe,” Ivan said. “But she left us in a forest because it offers some shelter. We can get wood for a fire.” He scratched his cheek. “It seems familiar, though. Like I’ve been here.”
“You’ve been a lot of places,” Anya said. “Are you sure Patzinakia wasn’t one of them?”
“Yes,” Ivan said. “We were always north of Kiev, not south of it.” He wrinkled his nose. “But still . . .”
They helped Håkon stumble up the road, and he said, “I don’t know if it was a good idea for me to even come. I mean, the tsar definitely wants to kill me. And Sigurd did. The Pechenegs probably would too.”
“A Pecheneg king, maybe,” Anya said. “I don’t know. We’ll have to be really careful. Make sure no one is planning to hurt you.”
“Lena said whoever it is will do anything to change me back,” Håkon said.
Ivan nodded. “Yes! Someone who knows you’re a dragon and wants to kill you, but not when you’re a human. So we have to watch out for someone who wants to kill dragons and knows how to reverse Lena’s magic!”
Anya blew a breath out slowly. “We need to focus on getting my papa. The faster we get him, the faster we can get out of here, and Håkon won’t be in danger anymore.”
They walked until they reached a fork in the road. A crude log fence was half blocking the left fork. Dirt from the road itself had been dug and shored up as a wall, blocking the way even further.
“Well, we go this way, right?” Anya said, pointing to the unblocked road.
“Maybe,” Ivan said, but he sounded unsure. “There are highwaymen in places like this. They might block the road to drive us toward them.” He fidgeted. “This happened to us when we were traveling from Ingria. My papa was with us and he took care of the highwaymen, but we’re not . . .” He paused. “He’s not here.”
Håkon was panting from the exertion of walking in his new body, so they let him sit on the road to recover. Then Anya approached the haphazard fence alone. She spotted something carved into the wood of one log. She brushed rain-caked dirt off it, surprised to read Russian there.
“Ivan, do the Pechenegs speak Russian?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Maybe. Nomadic peoples rarely have one language they all speak. I’m sure a lot of the Pecheneg bands nearer to the Kievan border speak Russian. Why?”
Anya read the scrawled message out loud: “‘Beware. Keep Out. Go Around.’” An arrow pointed in the direction of the right fork.
Ivan frowned. “It’s in Russian?”
“Something must have happened to the road,” Anya said. “We have to go around.”
Ivan scrunched his face. “No. This is Patzinakia. Why would the sign be in Russian?” He chopped the edge of one hand against the palm of the other, answering his own question before Anya or Håkon could. “Because Pecheneg highwaymen are setting a trap for Kievan travelers! If we go right, we’ll walk straight into an ambush. We need to go left.”
“But the sign says ‘Beware,’” Anya said.
“Of course it does!” Ivan said, gesturing. “To scare you!”
Anya glanced back at the carved words in the wood. “What if it really is dangerous?”
Ivan puffed out his chest. “We beat a Viking and a bukavac. Plus, we have a dragon.”
“Ah.” Håkon bobbed his head from where he sat on the ground with the staff across his lap. “Not really.”
“You can still do magic, though, right?” Ivan asked.
Håkon held up his hands and squinted at them. “I do it with hands now?”
Ivan nodded. “Yes.”
“With strings?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I don’t see any strings,” Håkon said, waving his fingers. “And I can’t feel any. So probably not.”
Ivan’s co
nfident look melted off his face. “Oh.” He straightened. “We still should take the left road. I can feel it. If we come up against a Pecheneg ambush, we won’t be able to run while we’re carrying you, Håkon.”
Håkon looked about to argue, but then he deflated. “That’s fair. I’m sorry I’m a burden.”
Anya glared at Ivan, then turned to Håkon. “You’re not a burden. You have a new body. You’ll get used to it.”
They helped Håkon up again and supported him around the blockade.
A bird landed on one of Håkon’s shoulders, and the former dragon smiled at the little feathered thing. The bird chirped at him, and Håkon opened his mouth. No sound came out, and his smile dropped into a severe frown.
Anya nudged him, and when he looked at her, she pursed her lips and whistled.
Håkon looked absolutely disgusted, but he tried to whistle anyway. He didn’t do well, but it was better than the nothing that had happened before. He whistled at the bird, and the bird warbled back. Anya watched as Håkon and the bird went back and forth, having a conversation.
She looked past him to Ivan. “I don’t think Lena would leave us too far away from where Papa is being held. Do you?”
“No.” Ivan glanced around. “I mean, I hope not. She took us almost directly to Håkon when Sigurd was going to kill him, but a little way off. Maybe that’s what she did this time. Far enough away from where she wants us to be that we don’t get spotted jumping out of a magical cottage.”
The key thumped against Anya’s chest with every step she took. “You said the Pechenegs are nomads?”
Ivan nodded.
“But she gave me a big key to a solid door,” Anya said.
“Maybe it’s just to a padlock,” Ivan said.
“Maybe,” Anya said. “But she mentioned a door too. I think we’ll know we’re in the right place when we find a solid building with solid doors.”
“And a guy who wants to kill dragons,” Ivan said.
Anya sighed, wishing they hadn’t brought Håkon into danger. “And that.”
“Um, friends?” Håkon said from between them. Anya and Ivan turned to him. His bird friend flew off his shoulder, streaking into the forest. Håkon’s face was pinched with worry. “The bird told me to be careful here.”
“We already knew that,” Ivan said.
“Yeah, but we aren’t really being careful,” Håkon said, lowering his voice. “The bird said . . . It doesn’t make a lot of sense. She said, ‘The nightingale makes them bleed, makes them pay.’ And then she flew off.”
“A killer nightingale?” Ivan laughed. “Those are tiny!” He demonstrated with his free hand. “They’re just little birds.”
Håkon fidgeted. “Maybe we should go back.”
“But the highwaymen,” Ivan argued.
“You don’t even know if there are highwaymen.”
“If there are,” Ivan said, “you won’t be able to run away from them. You can’t even walk on your own!”
“Well, let me try!” Håkon pushed away from both of them, standing steadily for a few moments before buckling. He tried to use the staff to keep himself up, but his hands slipped down the smooth wood. Ivan caught him and let him slide to the ground.
Anya turned around, her gaze searching the forest. She could feel someone watching them. Or was it her imagination? Down the road, just around the next bend, she could make out the trunk of what looked like an enormous tree.
Ivan stuck his hands on his hips. “This is the right way. I know it is.”
“Your foolish intuition is guiding you?” Håkon puffed breath in and out, still managing to sound skeptical through his panting.
“Probably, yes,” Ivan said.
“I’ve heard the stories about your da!” Håkon said. “He always gets into trouble before things work out for him. There are probably highwaymen down this road!”
Anya wandered away from their bickering. She got nearer to the bend, bringing more of the huge tree into view. It was truly gargantuan—wide enough to fit Anya’s barn inside it, and twice as tall as the trees surrounding it. She gaped at it, stepping carefully closer. As she did, details in the trunk became clearer, until she realized it wasn’t a single huge tree, but dozens of smaller trees that grew so close together, they acted as one.
“Wow,” she whispered. A breeze swept through the tree’s leaves, and they all moved in unison with a single whisper. She stopped in its long shadow, marveling up at it, wondering what could have made so many trees grow so tightly lined up.
The breeze blew again, and Anya saw the dark shape of a person crouched in the branches for a breath. She blinked, and the shape was gone.
She stumbled back. Ivan and Håkon were still arguing on the road as Anya ran back to them, skin prickling.
“Stop your stupid fighting!” she yelled at them. She pointed at the tree. “There’s something in the branches.”
Ivan and Håkon turned to behold the enormous tree. Ivan scratched his head.
“That tree is huge,” he mumbled.
“It’s not one tree,” Anya said. “It’s a whole bunch grown close together.”
“Wow,” he said. “Incredible.”
Håkon shrank down. “‘The nightingale makes them bleed,’” he repeated to himself.
“Giant tree, giant nightingale, maybe,” Anya said.
Ivan snorted. “I’m still not scared of a big bird.” But his voice was a little higher than usual.
“It didn’t look like a bird, though.” Anya remembered the humanoid outline. “It was like a man crouched in the tree.”
“A man is not a bird,” Håkon said.
“Thank you.” Ivan sighed. “Well, let’s just run past it.”
Anya shifted. “I don’t know . . .”
“I do,” Håkon said. “I can’t run. Let’s take the other road.”
He turned around to look back the way they had come, then froze. He gulped and stared. Anya and Ivan turned as well.
A man stood on the road behind them. Barely a man. More a boy, really. Probably only a couple of years older than Ivan. He was angular, gaunt almost, and not at all dressed for the season in a dirty, torn rubakha and leg wraps. He didn’t even have a hat on. His skin was a gold so pale, it resembled sun on snow. Anya squinted. Along his arms, exposed through the rips in the rubakha’s sleeves, were swirls of slightly darker gold. Tattoos? She had only ever seen a real tattoo on Kin, and his didn’t look swirly or golden at all. The boy’s hair was grayish-brown, cut short in the front around his face but left long and stringy on the sides. His eyes glared, and dark rings circled them, like he had smeared mud there. His boots were scuffed and stained, and he had no weapon on him.
Håkon shrank down further. The boy’s eyes ticked back and forth among the three of them.
Anya whispered, “Is he a Pecheneg?”
Ivan breathed fast. “He must be.” He cleared his throat and called, “Hello! Good day!”
The boy on the road didn’t respond.
“This might be why the road is closed,” Ivan said out of the side of his mouth. “Some kind of crazy guy harassing people.”
“Oh,” Håkon said, “like a highwayman?”
“Good observation,” Anya said, rolling her eyes. “Now, what do we do about him?”
Ivan took a deep breath. “We have a dragon?”
As a response, Håkon climbed, wobbly, to his feet. He managed to stay upright by leaning heavily on Ivan’s staff, but he was pitched forward on his toes and looked like he was going to fall over at any moment. He swam the fingers of one hand around in the air, clumsy in his grasping.
“There’s nothing here,” Håkon muttered, canting to the side. Anya caught him before he stumbled to the ground. “No magic at all.”
The boy on the road moved. He brought his hands up and leaned his head back. He pursed his lips and—whistled?
Ivan laughed a little, and then the boy grabbed something in the air. Strings. Magic. He whipped his arm through th
e air like he was getting ready to throw a rope. The whistle sound didn’t dissipate like sounds should. It got louder and shriller until it was too loud to bear. Anya clapped her hands over her ears to block out the sound, but it was still there. How was it so loud?
The boy squared his shoulders at them and released his hand. Anya could see the autumn air parting as the weaponized whistle rocketed toward them. Ivan crashed into her, knocking her to the ground. Their bags scattered across the ground as the whistle screamed overhead. Håkon dropped the staff and hit the road; whether intentionally or not wasn’t apparent. The whistle went past them, shoving air out of its way and flattening Ivan and Anya to the ground. It hit the road near the huge tree, blowing a crater in the packed earth.
Anya stared agog at the hole. She had never heard of sound magic before, and seeing what it could do made her breath stick in her throat.
“Run!” Ivan shrieked.
He didn’t have to tell her twice.
They both jumped to their feet and tugged Håkon to his. Ivan stopped long enough to snatch up his staff, and the three hobbled away from the sound sorcerer, farther up the right road. Anya didn’t dare look back to see if he was following, but then another booming whistle exploded behind them. A wave of air and sound hit Anya’s back and threw her forward. Her forehead slammed into the dirt. She scrambled up, head pounding, breath hitching. Ivan and Håkon had been thrown too, and they pushed up with more difficulty than Anya did. Ivan’s forehead bled from a gash.
They were up, supporting Håkon, running again. Around the corner, the road hit a bridge over a narrow river. Ivan stopped, his eyes drilling into the babbling water.
Anya slowed. “Ivan, come on!”
“Go,” he said, waving her and Håkon on. “Keep going. Find shelter. Get Håkon safe. I’ll slow him down.”
“But—” Anya’s protests were eaten by another screaming whistle. It exploded in the air near Ivan, throwing him to the ground. Anya scrambled toward him, but before she could reach him, Ivan got to his feet and whipped his staff through the air.
Anya and the Nightingale Page 7
