by C. R. Grey
“She does!” said Bailey. “In her way.”
The two boys hung there for a moment in silence, looking up at the moon.
“You did mean part of it, though,” Hal said, not unkindly. “I don’t follow my instincts. I think about every angle, calculate every possibility—and then the moment passes. I never take action. Not like you.”
“That’s not true,” said Bailey. “You’re the one who found Lyle’s secret meeting—and you always stand up to Taylor when he’s being a jerk. And besides, you’re here, aren’t you? You packed your bags, got me on a boat, and led me to the Dust Plains.…”
Hal laughed. “I guess so.”
Just then, Bailey felt a sensation different from just the rush of blood coursing upside through his body—he felt a twinge in his chest and a heightened sense of alertness.
He swung himself up and hopped into a crouching position on the tree branch.
“Someone’s here,” he said quickly. Whoever it was, was close by, dangerously close.
“Shh,” said Hal, putting a finger to his lips. “I hear them, over by that tree.”
Bailey bent down to follow where Hal pointed. A branch moved a few yards away.
Hal did as Bailey had done and swung himself up. Bailey gripped the tiger claw tucked in his belt.
The branch moved again, and a deer—a dark-eyed doe—ran out from behind the bushes.
Bailey relaxed until he realized the doe was followed by a man in shabby, dark clothing. He carried a crossbow, ready to shoot. A poacher.
A young coyote prowled behind the man, and its ears perked in Bailey and Hal’s direction. The man, distracted from his prey, turned and searched the trees where the boys were hidden. Bailey felt his entire body go numb as the poacher’s eyes met his own. The poacher, surprised, swung his crossbow around and took aim. Hal’s grip on Bailey’s arm tightened.
The valley was suddenly filled with the sound of baying and yipping—at least five doglike animals bounded out of the trees and attacked the hunter. He dropped the crossbow and yelled as the beasts bit and tore at him. Shocked, Bailey looked in the direction the doe had run. A pack of dogs huddled around the fallen deer. They weren’t like any dogs Bailey had seen in the Lowlands or at Fairmount. But he’d seen pictures of them, with their long snouts and ragged yellow-brown fur—in his History textbook, he’d seen these same dogs at the side of a False King. Jackals.
Out of the trees walked a man—older, with broad, imposing shoulders. He wore a peaked cap with a black visor, and what looked like a military coat covered in shiny buttons; a metal cane swung at his side. He surveyed the jackals, who continued attacking the hunter and the deer ravenously. Then he lifted a silver whistle to his lips. Bailey heard nothing, but the jackals rolled their heads as though in pain, and backed away from their prey like dutiful beasts.
“Bailey…” Hal gasped. “Is that…?”
“Yes,” Bailey whispered. He had assumed that this man was dead, but it was clear Bailey had been wrong. He was looking at the man who’d ordered his real parents, along with the rest of the Velyn, killed. He’d murdered King Melore, sending Tremelo and Viviana into the night. The kingdom had endured nearly thirty years of chaos because of this man.
The Jackal pulled back his coat and dropped the whistle into an inside pocket. Two attendants followed him up the hill, and lifted the wounded poacher between them.
“Get rid of him,” the Jackal said. As the attendants carried the poacher down the hill, back into the bristly foliage of the valley, the Jackal stood and sniffed the crisp night air. The moonlight shone on the buttons of his uniform as he straightened his shoulders. He caressed the top of his metal cane with his thumb, and lightly licked his lips. Bailey noticed a scar running in a menacing curve across his cheek and down to his chin.
The Jackal breathed in deeply, as though savoring the night chill.
“You can come down from that tree now, boys,” he said.
THAT SAME NIGHT, GWEN made her campfire on a wide, flat rock. She was closer to the tallest peak, the place where the Elder had told her to seek the Instrument of Change, but she felt sure someone was pursuing her—and that they were very close behind. She knew she was exposed out here, with no place to hide—but the open space made it impossible for anyone to sneak up on her. She stayed awake, sitting cross-legged with her bow in her hand.
Sure enough, just after sunset, she saw the figure of a large bird flying low over the trees. This was it. Her hand closed tightly over the bow as she stood to get a better look. The tawny owlet hopped on its branch behind Gwen, shuffling its feathers with anticipation. As the bird swooped closer, Gwen felt jittery.
Whit whit whoo came a call from the trees, and Gwen recognized Carin the falcon as she landed on the edge of the flat rock.
Gwen echoed the call, and saw the silhouette of someone climbing over the rocks in the waning light: someone with a small, delicate frame and a head full of curly, windswept hair.
“Phi!” Gwen cried, dropping the bow and rushing forward to meet her friend.
Phi rushed forward as well, and the two girls hugged.
“You’re fast!” said Phi. “It’s taken me ages to catch up to you!” Phi looked tired and flushed, and a little cold under her thin secondhand coat. She dropped her pack and reached around her shoulder—she carried Gwen’s pack too. Gwen laughed with relief as Phi handed her the rucksack: inside, safe, was the Seers’ Glass.
“Carin sensed how worried I was about the Glass. She brought it back to me.…” Phi said apologetically. “I wanted her to leave it with you, but I can’t communicate with her perfectly. It meant I had to catch up even more quickly!”
“How did you find me?” Gwen asked.
They reached the glow of the campfire, and Phi sat down, leaning on her pack with a tired sigh. Gwen held the Seers’ Glass, wrapped in its piece of wolf pelt, tightly in her hands.
“I sent Carin to look for you after you disappeared,” she said. “We saw you heading from the Gray to the Velyn Peaks.”
“But why? What are you doing here?”
Phi looked away and folded her hands inside her long coat sleeves.
“I wanted to help,” she said. “You had the Seers’ Glass, and that meant you’d be in danger. I left Fairmount as soon as I knew where you were. The others wouldn’t have understood.”
Gwen studied Phi as she gazed into the campfire. She wondered if Phi was telling the entire truth, but she pushed aside the thought for now. She was only glad to have a companion.
The girls relocated their camp under the overhang of a large boulder, facing the open mountain field. They relit their campfire as the sun set completely, and cooked a meal of grains, flavored with wild hackleberries.
After supper, Phi and Gwen curled near each other with their rucksacks as pillows, pulling their coats around themselves for warmth.
“Why’d you come out here?” asked Phi. “Did the RATS send you to hide?”
“No, it was the Elder who sent me here, to find something called the Instrument of Change. He left a message for me with the RATS before he died. I don’t know what I’m actually looking for, but it must be something that can help convince Tremelo that his rightful place is on the throne.” Without its help, our True King cannot find the strength in his heart to lead. Whatever this Instrument was, Tremelo needed her to find it.
“The Elder—that reminds me, I have something else for you,” said Phi. She fished in her coat pocket, then placed Melore’s harmonica, in its worn leather box, in Gwen’s open hand. “I figured you’d want this back someday.”
Gwen closed her fingers over the familiar gift.
“Thank you,” she said. “I sort of missed it.” She smiled, remembering how the Elder had grinned when he’d first presented it to her.
Phi continued to look up at the stars, as if studying them.
“I wish school were like this,” she said. “Having adventures, being in the mountains…Sometimes I feel like I’m going
to crawl out of my skin at Fairmount.”
“It doesn’t feel like an adventure, does it? Sometimes I wish things could go back to the way they were before,” said Gwen. Her eyes stung as she thought of the Elder. “Now I’m always afraid.”
“We’re going to be okay,” said Phi firmly, pulling the collar of her coat up close to her face.
Gwen was glad to have her friend here, but the feeling of being watched hadn’t gone away. She took the Seers’ Glass out of her pack. After believing she’d lost it forever, she couldn’t resist the urge to hold it in her hands and feel its smoothness. As she unfolded the wolf pelt around the Glass, she felt a sliver of fear stab at her heart—the Glass was glowing. It emitted a faint shimmer, like rippling water.
“Phi,” Gwen whispered. “Phi, how long has it been like this?”
But Phi’s eyes were closed and her mouth had fallen softly open. She was asleep.
Gwen stared at the Glass for another moment. The light unnerved her, as though the Glass itself were watching her. She shivered, then wrapped it up and stowed it deep in her rucksack. She eventually fell asleep, into fitful dreams.
“GENTLEMEN,” SAID THE JACKAL, grinning at both boys. “I believe I’ve just saved your lives.”
Through the trees, Bailey could see the attendants pushing the poacher into a polished metal motorcar, and the glint of the moon reflected off its black hood. The Jackal must have been waiting for them.
It felt like a strange, awful dream. He had only heard people talk of the Jackal as though he were a ghost. And now he stood right in front of them, tapping at the roots of the gnarled tree with the metal tip of his cane, politely asking them to come down from their tree as if inviting them to a formal supper.
“We’re fine up here, thanks,” Bailey said, trying to sound brave, but his voice cracked. He and Hal knelt together on the branch, too high for the Jackal to reach them—but not high enough to feel safe.
“Ah, but you see, if you do not come down there’s a very good chance that you’ll never see your dear white tiger again.”
Bailey’s blood froze in his veins. His muscles tensed, and he wanted to roar, to spring from the branch and attack. But Hal shook his head quickly, telling Bailey without words to ignore those dangerous instincts and stay calm.
“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” Hal said. “Taleth could be anywhere.”
The Jackal looked from Hal to Bailey, and raised one eyebrow.
“He knows I’m telling the truth,” he said. “What does your kin tell you, boy?”
Bailey said nothing. He remembered the flash he’d felt earlier that morning of Taleth’s consciousness. He didn’t need to hear that menacing voice again—my pretty beast—to know that the man standing in front of him was the one who had taken her.
“She’s been getting more and more anxious, the closer you’ve come,” the Jackal said. “My men have watched the docks, and every pathway out of The Maze since first capturing her. I knew it would only be a matter of days before her kin arrived in my valley, and here you are.”
The two guards returned. They were burly men dressed in dark uniforms and boots, like soldiers. One had a bow and quiver of metal arrows strapped to his back; the other, a long, imposing blunderbuss. They joined the Jackal at the trunk of the gnarled tree.
“So come on down now, boys,” the Jackal said again. “And let’s have a nice chat.”
Hal and Bailey looked at each other. Bailey imagined bringing his claw up swift and sharp across the man’s already-scarred face—but Hal was right. He was too eager to start a fight, and this time, the risk was too great. His hands shook from terror, and he nearly slipped from the branch on his way down. He tried not to take his eyes off the Jackal’s amused smirk.
At the base of the tree, the guards searched their knapsacks, and took away both Hal’s knife and Bailey’s tiger claw. Then they marched the boys through the underbrush to the gleaming car, its engine growling like a waiting wolf. The Jackal had done well for himself in exile. The guards shoved Hal and Bailey into the backseat. The Jackal slid into the opposite seat facing them.
“I’ve had men canvassing the Fairmount woods since Midwinter,” said the Jackal. “I knew the Velyn were still lurking about, but they couldn’t stop me from finding her—the last white beast, just like the prophecy said.” He met Bailey’s eyes. “But she’s no use to me at all without you.”
“What do you want?” Bailey asked. The car was moving now, with the shadowy mountain-shapes of the two guards looming in the front seat.
“The people believe in the symbol of the tiger, even after all these years,” the Jackal began. “My time in exile has shown me my error: prophecies have a way of coming true, don’t they? Instead of fighting the prophecy, I should just make it work in my favor.”
“But you’re not the True King!” Bailey spat.
“Why wouldn’t I be? I have the Child of War and his rare white tiger! You should thank me—Viviana wants you dead, but I won’t let that happen, because I’m smarter.” The Jackal grinned. “Her clanking ravens are far too easy to intercept. Imagine my surprise when I coaxed that charming voice out of its parts—Joan? What happened with the Child of War? Confirm that the child is dead, and the prophecy is no longer a concern!—Ha! She’s been so preoccupied trying to kill you that she didn’t think to find the tiger first, as I have. And won’t she be surprised when I arrive at her fair with both prizes?” He laughed and leaned forward with his hands folded on his cane.
“Tell me, how did you overcome Joan Sucrette? She was a ruthless one, from what news I receive out here. Did you slit her throat? Poison her?”
Bailey stiffened at the mention of Sucrette’s name. The Jackal seemed excited about the death that haunted Bailey still. He wished he could simply grab Hal and tumble out of the car to safety. But where would they go, and how would they ever rescue Taleth? The Jackal’s amused stare was still fixed on him, waiting for him to speak.
“I didn’t kill her,” Bailey admitted. “The animals she’d been dominating did, once we set them free.”
“Poetic,” spat the Jackal, “but hardly as interesting.”
Soon the car stopped, and the guards opened the door for the Jackal to step out. Bailey and Hal followed, and found themselves standing at the entrance of a bunker set into a low, grassy hill. Flat plains surrounded them, stretching into the darkness. They were marched into the bunker and down a long hallway with rooms on either side. Gas lamps hung at intervals on the ceiling, emitting a faint yellow glow.
As they passed one of the heavy closed doors, Bailey felt his pulse quicken and a buzzing in his chest. It was Taleth—her consciousness washed over him. He sensed the cold floor under her paws as she leapt up onto all fours; he felt her whiskers twitch, and her massive heart begin to thrum faster. She knew that Bailey was nearby.
They turned a bend and arrived at a meeting hall of sorts, with a wooden table and metal chairs, and thick bars clamped onto a set of high windows. A lone jackal sat in the corner of the room near a small fire grate, its bushy tail swatting the floor as it watched the men enter.
“Welcome to my prison,” said the Jackal. “I am prisoner and warden both.”
The Jackal pulled up a metal chair, and its legs screeched against the cold stone floor. He sat facing the boys, who stood across the table side by side, the guards at their elbows. The Jackal thrust his thick hand into the pocket of his uniform and took out a cut of raw, red meat wrapped in a piece of oilcloth. He dangled the meat in the direction of the jackal in the corner, holding it by his thigh as the dog came closer, sniffing. It dutifully lifted its paw and set it on the Jackal’s leg, the very image of devotion and tender admiration. Then the Jackal tossed the meat away, and the animal went snarling after it. The Jackal didn’t have a life-bonded kin at all; he manipulated his kin into looking adoring. He was nothing but vile appearances.
Hal was peering off to the side, toward the end of the long wooden table. On it, Bailey r
ecognized one of Viviana’s metal birds—a Clamoribus—but this one was in pieces, scattered. He knew it wasn’t a real animal, but still the sight of the detached wings and head unsettled him.
“I thought I’d killed all the Velyn, until I got word of that white beast lurking outside the school. And now here you are. I hope you do not hold the death of your people against me,” the Jackal said. “Men who seek power must be willing to get blood on their hands.”
“Sounds like something a killer would say,” said Bailey.
“I am a killer!” shouted the Jackal, slamming his fist down on the wooden table. The furry jackal in the corner yipped, frightened. “And it would serve you well to listen. Leave the past where it is, and align yourself with real power. The kingdom is ready for my return. Join me at Viviana’s fair, and help me prove to Aldermere that I am the True King.”
“I‘ll never join you,” said Bailey. His whole body shook.
The Jackal pursed his lips as though he were chewing his next words before spitting them out. He stood, and walked around the table toward them. Bailey’s skin began to crawl with gooseflesh, and he had trouble distinguishing his own fear from Taleth’s—wherever she was, she could sense his dismay.
“A shame,” the Jackal said. “Your refusal makes me upset, and I often like to hurt things when I’m upset. But you and your beast—you’re too valuable to kill outright.”
The Jackal reached his thick hand out and grabbed Hal fiercely by the shoulder.
“I’ll just have to kill this one instead.”
“NO!” CRIED BAILEY AS he lunged forward. The guard to his left grabbed Bailey’s arm and twisted it behind his back. Pain radiated from his shoulder socket.
The Jackal shoved Hal over to the other guard, who dragged him toward the table.
“It’s going to be all right,” Hal called over his shoulder.
“You’re a coward!” Bailey yelled at the Jackal, who slapped him hard across the face. Bailey tasted blood in his mouth.
