The fourth room wasn’t empty. But, unlike Wielaf’s room, there wasn’t a person inside to save. Not alive.
A skeleton lay on the floor against the wall, like the person who it belonged to had died scrunched up there. A dirty dress covered most of the bones. Anya sighed, sad. This person had died a long time ago. Anya couldn’t have saved her. But she still felt guilty, like if she had somehow gotten here sooner . . .
A dull glint caught Anya’s eye as she stood in the doorway. On the skeleton’s finger was a ring, dirty and tarnished but unmistakably gold. Anya remained at the door. She wasn’t about to go grave-robbing a poor skeleton who had been left in a dungeon.
She studied the skeleton’s dress again. It had been white at one point. It was a nondescript shade of dirty cloth now. The apron half hung off the top, and Anya could make out embroidery along it. She shuffled closer to get a better look.
When she did, her mouth dried up.
Blue thread, in curling waves, marching across the top of the apron.
The key in her hand felt hot. Now she understood.
Her lip trembled as she pulled the gold ring off the skeleton’s finger. She slipped it into her pocket, tucking it at the bottom so it wouldn’t fall out.
Anya knew she needed to get going. They had to get Wielaf somewhere safe. And they had to get away if they were going to escape the monster—although she was starting to doubt that there was a monster at all. But she couldn’t go. She couldn’t leave the skeleton in the dress down there. She had to take it with them. She had to give it a proper burial.
At first, she thought of taking the skeleton’s dress and making a bag out of it, but one tug on the fabric was enough to tear it. She didn’t want to risk losing the bones if the dress tore apart. So she pulled her own apron off, though it wouldn’t be big enough to just toss the bones in willy-nilly. She grumbled with irritation.
Then it hit her.
She took the skeleton’s dress off—apologizing in quiet whispers the entire time—and laid it out flat on the floor. Then she took each long bone and stacked it on top of the dress. The oddly shaped ones sat on top, and the tiny bones, like fingers and toes, went into her pocket with the gold ring. Then she tied the skeleton’s dress over the bones, gently, just tight enough to hold them in place.
“Anya?” someone called. It sounded like Håkon.
She called, “In here!” and kept working. She laid her own apron on the floor, set the bundle of bones on top of it, and tied the apron the other way, so there was cloth all around. The skeleton’s dress should be able to hold the bones enough to keep them from sliding out of Anya’s sturdier apron on the outside.
She felt strange without her apron on, but this whole situation was sort of strange.
Håkon peered in just as Anya stood, hefting the bundled bones. They were much lighter than she assumed they’d be. His eyebrows furrowed. “What are you doing?” He nodded to her bundle. “What’s in there?”
“Another prisoner,” she said. She didn’t want to tell him who, not yet, so she squeezed past him and into the larger room outside.
Ivan and Alfhercht supported Wielaf, who had finally gotten his legs to hold him up. Sort of. He was flushed and panting.
“I’m sorry,” Wielaf said. “He doesn’t . . . feed me.”
“You can eat once we’re out of here,” Ivan said. “Let’s get you safe.”
Wielaf nodded and let them help him out of the smaller room and into the arena. They hurried to the door that would take them into the stairwell to the top level, where they could go through the water lock, out the caverns, and into freedom in the forest. Håkon and Anya followed behind. Outside the arena perimeter, Wielaf sighed and said nothing. His stare at the place was the same as Alfhercht’s had been. What had they been forced to do in there?
Fight, Alfhercht had said. Fight what? Fight who?
The stairwell to the upper level was just ahead of them, standing open.
And then the door slammed shut.
A cold wind rustled the hair on the back on Anya’s head.
Maybe they were about find out who the elves had fought after all.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ivan dashed to the door and yanked on it. Håkon, still wielding his rusty sword, spun to look behind them. Wielaf gasped in a breath and groaned, “He’s here.”
The monster. Anya clutched the bones to her chest and turned to where the cold wind came from. In the center of the previously empty arena, a swirling tornado of stone gray and loamy black whipped up gusts of frigid air and threw stinging clouds of arena dirt into Anya’s face. As she took steps back, a figure stepped through the tornado, in the same way that someone might walk through a waterfall. Once it emerged entirely, the tornado vanished, dissolving into tendrils of ominous smoke that curled upward.
The wind died, but the cold grew deeper. The thing was roughly man-shaped, but that was where its humanity ended and its monstrosity began. It wasn’t just thin; it was desiccated. Anya had seen frostbitten fingers and toes before, back in Zmeyreka when fishermen weren’t careful enough during winter ice fishing, shriveling into black sticks before they fell off entirely. This thing’s entire body looked frostbitten. It was wearing a shredded rubakha, dingy and rusty and matted to the thing’s body with some kind of metallic bands like frail armor. The bands wrapped around its hands, too. Its fingers were stacked with dirty rings.
No wonder Alfhercht had been afraid.
It said nothing. It just stared at them with eyes glittering in the dim light like fresh copper coins. Its eyes made Anya feel sick, like they could see straight inside her.
She had backed up to the point of being next to Ivan as he struggled with the door. It wouldn’t open, no matter how much he banged on it. He snatched at the key around her neck.
“Use your key!” he said.
She let him take it, and he wiggled it around in the lock for a few seconds. It wouldn’t open. “We have to get out of here!”
“Of course we do, Ivan!” Anya snapped.
Ivan glanced back at the creature, and his panicked breathing stopped as he held his breath.
“Do you see his eyes?” Ivan whispered. “Like coins?”
Anya nodded.
“They used to do that in Greece.” He took a few rapid breaths. “When people died, they’d put coins on their eyes. For the ferryman. But what if . . . what if that thing is the ferryman?”
“You don’t believe in a ferryman,” Anya said, as though not believing in something would make it any less real.
When she spoke, her breath clouded in the air before her. Whatever the thing in the arena was, it was stealing all the heat away.
Håkon stumbled backwards, sword pointed at the creature, and said, “What is that thing?”
Anya and Ivan both shrugged. From behind Anya, Wielaf said, “It’s a sorcerer.”
Håkon turned only his head to look at Wielaf. “Just a sorcerer?”
Wielaf nodded.
“So it’s a man, then?” Ivan asked, mouth hanging open.
“It used to be,” Wielaf said. “But it’s not like any sorcerer I’ve seen before.” He directed his next warning at Ivan: “Don’t use magic against it.”
Ivan looked down at his hands. “Alfhercht told us. It steals magic.”
Wielaf nodded. “That’s why it would make us fight it. If you use magic against it, it will pull the threads away from you. And you’ll . . . you’ll never be able to . . .” He pressed his lips together and let his head drop forward.
A cold wrapped around Anya, no longer just from the creature. He had taken away Wielaf’s magic. She was sure of it.
She took inventory of the people around her. Håkon had no magic as a human, so he was safe. Ivan had his water magic, but there was no water in here, so he was probably okay. Wielaf had already been stripped of his. Anya had never had any at all.
That left Alfhercht. The only one with magic. And with powerful magic, at that.
S
o they couldn’t use magic to get away from this thing. But they couldn’t just stand there, either. They had to use regular weapons, like Håkon’s rusty sword and their insignificant knives. And that was it.
The creature moved forward.
Ivan shrieked.
Anya smacked his shoulder. “Stop it!” She could feel her own shriek beating against her chest, trying to force itself up her throat like vomit. Håkon held out his sword; the thing jangled as his arm shook.
“Alfhercht got out of here before!” Ivan said. “How did he get out?”
The creature continued to approach. Håkon backed up and over so he was half blocking Anya from its path.
Wielaf’s free arm was moving, translating Ivan’s question for Alfhercht. The elf responded to his brother with short, irritated gestures.
“It was different then,” Wielaf said. “There were more of us. The thing was distracted. And if you’ll recall, he had to leave me behind. So it’s not the best plan.”
The creature walked slowly. Not in a hurry. It knew they had nowhere to go.
“It’s the only plan we’ve got,” Ivan said. “What was it?”
Alfhercht nodded toward the other side of the arena, where the wall was crumbled, and spoke with one hand. Wielaf said, “He made the debris to the upper level by blasting out some columns and stuff. He climbed it. Then left the way you all came in.”
Ivan grunted. “And you can’t climb that.”
“I cannot.” Wielaf sighed. “I’ll just . . . I’ll stay.”
Alfhercht looked furious. He snapped his fingers in the air, slamming his pointer and middle fingers against his thumb.
Wielaf said, “I was prepared to die down here. I still am.”
The creature was at the edge of the arena. This close, Anya could see its knobby fingers with ragged fingernails jutting from the ends. One of the rings on its fingers was strangely shiny. A diamond on it flashed in the dim light. The creature grinned, ghoulish, teeth like tombstones. Anya braced herself for some kind of foul smell, but there was none. Just cold. Biting, gouging cold.
Its glowing copper eyes were focused on . . .
“Håkon,” Anya whispered.
“I see it,” he said. He moved away from the group. The creature followed him. “I’ll distract it. You all go. Get Wielaf up top.”
Anya said, “No, Håkon! That’s insane!”
“You have a better idea?” he snapped.
“Anything but that.”
Ivan grabbed Håkon’s sleeve and yanked the sword away from him. “You don’t know how to use a sword. And you’re the last . . . you know what you are. There are a million of me. Go help Wielaf.”
Ivan shoved Håkon back toward the group and faced the monster. “Hey!” he yelled, waving the sword in the air. “I’ve got the sword now, you nasty-looking shrivel-beast!”
The creature glared at him with ice-cold irritation.
Then turned away.
And walked toward Håkon again.
Chapter Thirty
Håkon scurried back to where Ivan waved his arms in the air. The creature followed. Then Håkon ran past Ivan. The creature followed again.
“Hey!” Ivan yelled.
The creature ignored him. It wouldn’t stop following Håkon.
It knows. Anya shuddered. How could it know what Håkon was? And even if it did, why would it want him? He was a human and not magical, and—
Unless the creature could turn him back into a dragon.
“Håkon, don’t let it touch you!” Anya yelled.
“Wasn’t planning on it!” Håkon ran toward the other end of the arena, canting this way and that, not entirely able to run as well as Ivan or Anya could.
The creature followed.
To Wielaf and Alfhercht, Anya said, “Let’s go.” They had to get Wielaf out of there. She’d have to trust that Ivan and Håkon could manage the monster on their own for a while. “Wielaf, we’ll distract the monster while Alfhercht gets you through the water lock. Once you’re out, Ivan can get me and Håkon through.”
Wielaf watched the creature follow Håkon around on the other side of the arena. “Your friend . . . he’s got a special magic.”
“No,” Anya said. “He doesn’t have any at all.”
“He’s got to.” Wielaf nodded toward Alfhercht. “Like this one does. The sorcerer collects magic. Alfhercht has one the sorcerer doesn’t: sound magic. Your friend does as well.”
Anya shook her head. “He doesn’t.” Just dragon magic. Nothing special at all.
They reached the rubble pile as Ivan let loose a battle cry and ran at the creature, sword raised. Anya didn’t even have time to yell at him for being stupid. The creature lifted an idle hand and flicked a finger at Ivan. Ivan flew backwards, while his sword dropped from his hand and tumbled several feet away.
Håkon continued to zigzag around the arena while Ivan picked himself up.
Anya had to turn away from them to help Wielaf up the rubble. First she tossed her bundle of bones to the upper level, wincing at the dull clatter of bone against bone inside the cloth. She hoped nothing broke.
Alfhercht climbed up first, and Anya stayed behind Wielaf for support. Between the two of them, they maneuvered Wielaf to the upper level; the very end involved a lot of Alfhercht pulling and Anya pushing and Wielaf biting his lip so hard that he made it bleed a little.
All the while, from the arena behind them, Ivan shouted and screamed and yelled at the creature. And then he yelled as he flew through the air, lifted and thrown by the monster as it continued its slow advance toward Håkon.
Håkon, who was very clearly getting tired.
Once Wielaf was panting and wincing on the floor of the upper level, Anya gathered up her bones and lifted him to standing. She and Alfhercht helped Wielaf hobble toward the exit door.
“Hey!” Ivan yelled, out of breath. His sword was gone, but that wasn’t stopping him. He grabbed a loose stone from the floor and hurled it at the creature. It hit the thing in the back of the head, making it stumble forward.
Up until that point, the creature hadn’t made a single sound. But when Ivan’s stone hit it, it bellowed out a sound like an avalanche of rocks and snow flattening a mountain forest. It whirled away from Håkon, who limped along a distant wall, toward Ivan.
Its eyes were no longer copper. They blazed white.
“Ivan!” Anya breathed.
Alfhercht looked down at Ivan. He was scrambling away from the creature, but it was moving faster now. Its strides lengthened, and it reached Ivan in seconds. It snatched his collar and dragged him up into the air, his feet swinging uselessly under him.
Alfhercht left Wielaf with Anya. He ran back the way they’d come, sprinting along the low wall.
Ivan kicked his feet outward, but they hit nothing. The creature continued to boom and scream.
Alfhercht whistled while he was running. Anya saw him twist his fingers in the air in front of him, and the familiar sound of his whistle turning into magic reached her ears.
“Alfhercht!” Wielaf gasped. “No!”
Håkon had gathered some stones and was throwing them at the monster, trying to distract it away from Ivan while staying away from it himself. He stopped as he watched Alfhercht run to the balcony closest to where the monster was. It hadn’t noticed him yet, focused as it was on wringing the life out of Ivan.
Alfhercht stopped on the balcony and flung the whistle at the creature. The sound parted the air in front of him, a low rumble Anya felt in her marrow.
It hit the creature, slamming into its body like an invisible boulder.
The edge of it caught Ivan, too, smashing the side of his face. Blood squirted out of his nose.
The creature collapsed to the ground in a heap, dropping Ivan. Håkon limped as fast as he could toward his friend. He grabbed Ivan from where he lay on the floor, gasping and bleeding. Håkon half dragged Ivan to his feet, and the two hobble-ran toward the rubble pile.
The creature was u
p, rising like a strigoi from a crypt.
It blew toward them, arms up, pulling threads.
The rubble pile shifted.
“Look out!” Anya screamed.
Håkon grabbed Ivan and pulled him away from the shifting stones, clearing the rubble just before the top of the pile crashed down.
Ivan and Håkon stood together as the dust settled, watching as their only means of escape rolled in various directions.
Alfhercht whistled, hands up, and the monster turned toward him.
“Don’t!” Anya and Wielaf screamed at the same time. Anya dashed to Alfhercht and grabbed his arm. Irritated, he shrugged her hand away.
“It will take your magic!” Anya said.
Alfhercht turned to Wielaf and gestured rapidly. Wielaf said, “He says it has to see him work the magic. If he waits for it to turn . . .” He sighed and shook his head, then said to Alfhercht, “You surprised it! You won’t a second time. It’s not worth the risk!”
Alfhercht gritted his teeth, but he didn’t try his magic again.
“How do we get them up here?” Anya asked. Panic was settling into her.
Wielaf shook his head and whispered, “I . . . I don’t think we do.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Ivan and Håkon stood tall and grabbed rocks, wielding them as weapons. Ivan’s nose still bled, and he wiped at it as he swayed in place. Even from her distance, Anya could see his eyes swimming in their sockets. Alfhercht’s magic had hit him hard. But he was trying to stay on his feet and be of help. Ivan stared down the creature, which hadn’t advanced at all. It just lingered outside the stone pile, grinning.
It pointed a gnarled finger at Håkon.
“No way!” Ivan yelled, slurring. He ducked, grabbed a rock, and hurled it at the creature.
The rock went wide. The creature lifted a hand, and the rock froze in midair. Then the creature clenched its fist shut, and the rock ground itself into dust as it hung there. The creature unclenched its fist, and the dust blew to the ground.
A rhythmic pounding vibrated the floor under Anya’s feet.
Anya and the Nightingale Page 19
