When Gran was alive, his mother didn't wear bifocals or take antianxiety tablets. Those memories, he knew, were true. She never fell asleep at the dinner table either, the way she did now.
He watched the middle section of the cake ooze out as his father sliced into it with a butter knife. Ewan Unger had a toothbrush mustache and hair parted down the middle. His wife called him an old-fashioned gentleman, reserved and polite. He was also, Max observed, somewhat austere and high-strung. When Max was little his father used to make up goofy jokes, but he hadn't kidded around with Max in a long time.
"Gran loved silver owls more than anything, right, Dad?" Max asked.
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Mr. Unger cleared his throat. "She loved you more than anything." He handed Max a wedge of cake. "Owls were second. Of course, the owls are extinct now. Pity."
"What did Gran die of, Dad? Nobody ever said."
Mr. Unger cut a smaller slice for himself. "It all happened very fast. She was healthy one day and gravely ill the next. I don't remember the details."
Max frowned, sensing his father was holding something back. Couldn't he just answer the question? "Okay, but I need to know one thing. Why didn't I go to the funeral?"
"Funerals are not for children." His father's voice went flat and dead, like Max's old robot when the batteries ran down. "Your grandmother died of complications and we were sad to see her go." Setting his fork next to his uneaten cake, he stood up. "Let's leave it at that, shall we? She's gone, Max, she's not coming back. Nothing we do can ever change that."
"I know, Dad." Seeing the pain on his father's face, Max knew he should drop the subject. But stubbornly he went on: "Where's Gran buried? In Cavernstone Grey?"
"We'll discuss the matter another time, shall we? I'm off to bed now, it's been a difficult day. Good night, Max, enjoy the cake." He gave Max's shoulder a brisk tap and strode out of the room.
Max stifled a sob. "Good night," he whispered.
But he knew there was nothing good about it at all.
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CHAPTER EIGHT
[Image: The owl.]
"I'm going to be an explorer one day, because explorers dig up ancient bones and buried cities," said Rose that night as she reached for a low-hanging branch. "My dad says it's a highly elevated profession."
Max knelt beneath the owl tree, trying not to think about his parents. He pictured a black curtain falling across his mind, blocking out the scene earlier that evening at the dinner table. Using Mrs. Crumlin's paring knife, he absentmindedly scraped at the moss, careful not to get dirt on his mittens.
High above sat the silver owl, mute and elegant, watching.
"You've got to be dead smart to be an explorer, and tough as nails, because of the tremors," Rose went on, swinging upside
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down. "I mean, if you're not careful a long-lost city could fall on top of you." She shook her head, as if to emphasize her point, and a dryad beetle fell from her hair and landed next to Max. "Anyway, it won't be a problem for me."
He looked at the squashed beetle in disgust. At least it wasn't a deathwatch beetle--though he was starting to have a sneaking suspicion that Mrs. Crumlin had made them up.
"My dad knows stories about olden-day explorers. He told me stuff that would curl your nose hairs." Rose swung up to a sitting position. Her matted hair glistened with cobwebs. Max wondered if she ever washed it. "They lead rough-and-tumble lives."
"You ought to brush your hair once in a while," he told her. "It's got knots and bugs in it." His owl drifted down and greeted him, nuzzling his cheek, then she hopped onto a low branch.
"Huh, shows how much you know." Rose gripped the tree and started to climb. "Explorers are too busy fighting grave robbers and digging up gold and artifacts to worry about how their hair looks."
As Rose talked, Max thought. There was something that was bothering him. If Einstein didn't know about Rose, that meant she wasn't enrolled in school. But what did she do all day? Where did she go? He had so many questions, but he was too timid to ask, for fear of Rose losing her temper or, worse, making fun of him. She was so unpredictable.
"Hey, Max," Rose called down. "Do you know about a place called The Ruins?"
Max looked up. She had climbed far higher than he ever dared go. "Sure I do. The Ruins are near Cavernstone Hall, where my parents work."
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"My dad scouted them out. He thinks they're downright eerie. He says something peculiar is going on in there."
"Your dad's wrong. The Ruins are derelict." Max wiped the knife on his jeans. He was a bit envious of Rose's having a spy for a father. His dad, he knew, would never be caught dead near The Ruins. "Mrs. Crumlin says they're empty as eggshells."
"Hey, Max, time to pop that bubble you're in!" Rose clambered down the tree, swinging monkey-style off a branch. "Crumlin's lying again." She shook her head, throwing off twigs and leaves. "You can't trust her, she's part of the machine. She's dangerous!"
"Dangerous? My parents hired her to be my guardian!" Max could hear the owl's talons, clicking against the bark, and the low thrumming of her voice.
Rose threw Max a sideways glance.
"Okay, I admit she's nosy and snoops around my room, and she's a terrible cook. But that doesn't make her a bad person." Max had no intention of defending Mrs. Crumlin, but Rose's know-it-all attitude was getting to him.
"Fine, Max, have it your way, let's just say your guardian is a cog in the wheel. Let's just say she's misinformed. Misinformation is something secret agents deal with all the time." Rose stood peeling a slug off the tree. "Everyone knows guardians are paid by the High Echelon."
Max stared at the black dirt caked under Rose's raggedy fingernails. It looked permanent. What did she mean by a cog in the wheel? What machine was she talking about? He wondered where she picked up her quirky expressions.
Max saw the owl lean toward him, nearly falling from the branch, blinking her golden eyes. He blinked back at her. If he
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could speak owl language he would tell his owl how fierce and storm-tossed she looked.
Rose thumped around the tree, whacking a stick against the trunk. Max was about to say something about the stolen boots when she interrupted him.
"My dad has got Cavernstone Hall on his radar too," she said darkly. "He says it looks suspicious."
"That's not true!" cried Max, exasperated with her outlandish accusations. "My parents work there and it's a top-quality chocolate factory!" Feeling anxious, he reached for his owl. When she folded up her wings, she was small enough to hold in his hands. Pressing her to his chest, he leaned over and kissed the top of her head. She was so beautiful.
Swinging her stick, Rose clumped off into the high grass. "You are so out of touch, Max Unger!" she yelled. "I hope you know the High Echelon plans to raze the forests and bulldoze the riverbanks. They'll mow down the fields and dredge the rivers and marshes! They'll shut down the towns and concrete everything over! You won't recognize this place anymore!" She spun in circles, knocking the tops off the cattails. "Then they'll build their ridiculous domes and take control of everyone's minds."
Max paled. He set the owl on a branch. It was disturbing, that word raze; it sounded extreme. He pulled down his earflaps. It made him nervous, hearing about mind control and bulldozing. Why did Rose make everything sound so radical?
"They can't knock down every single tree!" he shouted back. "My owl won't have anywhere to live!"
Rose whirled around, brandishing her stick. "Max, wake up,
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the High Echelon doesn't care about some mangy bird!" She stomped over to him. Her eyes were so fiery, he imagined sparks flying out of them. "They want all the silver owls dead!"
Max looked at his owl, sitting perfectly still on the branch. Beneath the sparkling feathers, her golden eyes darkened. He reached over to comfort her, gently stroking her throat.
"Stop saying that, will you?" He felt his stomach coil into knots.
"My dad told me the real story." Rose leaned toward him. Her breath had a tart, fruity smell--like apples. "The government made up all that stuff about the silver owls being wiped out in the Great Destruction. The Destruction didn't kill them off--the High Echelon did! It issued a secret edict and hunted them down and killed every one! Maybe a few silver owls got away, but they won't survive, because the government's going after them!"
Max felt a cold dread slice through him, sharp as a knife blade. He could tell that for once Rose wasn't making things up. But what did these actions by the High Echelon mean? Sages hunted down, silver owls murdered. Hearing about these things chilled him to the core. Was this what Gran had meant by Absolute Dark?
Feeling overheated, he unwound his scarf and pulled off his cap, pushing his limp brown hair off his neck. His scalp felt prickly, the way it often did when he was agitated.
"Hey, Max, can I see that tattoo on your neck?" asked Rose. "What kind did they give you?"
"Nobody gave me a tattoo," said Max irritably. "It's a birthmark." He jammed his cap back on before she could get a better look. Secretly, though, he felt special having it. Mrs. Crumlin called it a sun mark and said it made up for all those weak genes he had.
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Before he knew what was happening, Rose leapt up, snatching his cap. "Give that hat back to me!" he yelled. "I'll get an ear infection! Give it back or you'll be sorry!"
She danced around, waving the cap. "Show me your tattoo and you can have it."
Max threw her a toxic look. He hated being teased. On the playground, years ago, he remembered kids pushing him down and calling him "shrimp." They had all been bigger than him and ten times tougher.
Rose stuck the cap on the end of her stick and twirled it around.
"You are so annoying," said Max. Knowing she was too quick for him to catch, he sat cross-legged on the ground. "Okay, I give up. But be quick, okay?" He leaned forward. "My head's getting chilled."
Rose knelt beside him and examined his neck closely, her expression changing from curious to confused as she traced the mark's outline with a bony finger. "Your tattoo's shaped like the sun! That's the High Echelon's official logo, you see it on everything. Guess they have something really special planned for you, Max."
"That's not true! I was born with this," he growled. He'd had enough of Rose and her talk about the High Echelon. "Mrs. Crumlin says my sun mark is lucky."
"I don't know about that, Max. How can it be lucky if you're allergic to sun particles?" She tossed him the cap. "I hate to give you the bad news, but you're branded."
"What are you talking about?" Max jammed his cap on his head. Why did Rose talk in riddles all the time?
"Where have you been, Max Unger, on another planet? You weren't born with that sun tattoo! The High Echelon gave it to
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you because you're a Night Seer, so they can keep track of you and send you to some far-off place underground for your apprenticeship. They hate Night Seers!"
"I'm not a Night Seer." Max whipped his scarf back on, knotting it tightly around his neck. "You've got it wrong, Rose. Gran told me all about Night Seers. They were magical beings who spoke the language of owls and they lived in olden times, but not anymore. Night Seers are a thing of the past."
Had Night Seers been real? he wondered, suddenly unsure. Or was he remembering characters in a fairy tale?
"Shows how much you know," Rose shot back, her voice brimming with self-assurance. "Remember how weird vapors and parasites were released after the Great Destruction, and all of a sudden people had night blindness and phobias--like fear of the dark?"
"I know about that stuff," bristled Max, not admitting that he'd forgotten the details.
"After the government threw the Misshapens into the forests, nobody went out at night!" Rose held his gaze with her green eyes. "But some people weren't afraid of the dark, like you and me, and your gran. Didn't you ever wonder why the night doesn't faze us? We love the dark because we're Night Seers!"
Max stared at her, marveling at this unexpected information. He thought of all the nights he'd spent with Gran hiking through the countryside, searching for plants and animals, remembering how the darkness always gave him a feeling of peace. These were memories he hadn't lost--not yet, anyway.
"Night Seers are born with a tiny birthmark on the back of their
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necks," said Rose quietly. "The government goes to the hospitals and checks all the newborns and that's how they find us."
"What kind of birthmark?" he asked. This was beginning to sound a bit far-fetched.
"It's an owl," she replied. In a dramatic voice she added, "They call it the Mark of the Owl."
The owl stirred, giving off a low hoot. Max felt a shiver go down his back. It made sense, he thought, because Night Seers and owls were connected. And the Mark of the Owl sounded like an olden-time expression.
"But I don't have an owl birthmark," he said.
"Yes you do! They tattooed over your owl, just like they tattooed over mine! They want you to forget you ever had an owl birthmark!" cried Rose. "Night Seers are bottom-feeders in this society. We get all the miserable apprenticeships, like working underground in the mines."
"Not me," said Max huffily. "I'm going to be an owl tracker." He knew the moment he said it how ridiculous it sounded.
"An owl tracker?" shrilled Rose. Max winced at her smug, high-pitched laugh. "You crack me up!"
"I'll never work for the High Echelon!" Max blustered. "Besides, I have to find the Owl Keeper." Why had he said that? He struggled to remember. "There's an ancient tower and I--I have to go there! I have to go soon, before it's too late!" He took a deep breath, startled by the intensity of his words.
"You're going to go into the forest, looking for some broken-down old tower?" said Rose, sounding skeptical. "You'd be scared out of your wits."
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Max closed his eyes, trying hard to call up the past. What was it Gran had told him? Something about the Frozen Zone and the Owl Keeper, something about Absolute Dark.
"Fine, Max. After all, you can't hang around the owl tree forever, seeing as the High Echelon's going to chop it down. So go ahead," Rose sneered, "do something gutsy!"
A drop fell from the tip of his nose. "You don't think I have it in me, do you?" He wiped his nose on his jacket sleeve. "You think I'm a wimp."
In Gran's eyes he'd been a bright, fearless boy, curious about nature, who tramped through bogs and collected wild eggs. What had gone wrong? Why wasn't he brave anymore?
But Rose's answer surprised him. "I think you're brave. Anybody who comes out here after midnight and has a terrible ailment like yours plus a weird tattoo has to be a little bit brave. But if you're scared of going into the forest, you'll never find the Owl Keeper or the silver owls, or find special plants like the deadly purple sphinx. Your life will be wrecked, Maxwell Unger, because you lacked courage!"
Max looked at his silver owl and thought of all the terrible things she'd suffered, most of which he could only guess at. When he first saw her, she'd had a damaged eye and broken wing, and her frail body was covered in snow. She had been so courageous and long-suffering, allowing him to feed her and comfort her and put drops in her bad eye. He admired her beyond words.
"You're wrong," he said, in a burst of defiance. "I don't lack courage, I'm as brave as the silver owl. I'll prove it to you!"
Rose broke into a wide grin. "Okay, Max Unger," she said. "It's a deal."
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CHAPTER NINE
[Image: Max and the owl.]
Max stumped beside Rose through a field of dry stalks, pale russet in the mist. He looked for the two moons, but they were hidden behind fast-moving clouds. On a distant plateau, the Frozen Zone gave off a wintry light, chilling him to the bone.
The town clock struck midnight. Rain drizzled down as they crossed the railway line, careful not to slip on the ice-coated tracks. Everything looked spookily unreal, thought Max, drained of color, like t
he photos in his family albums. He hadn't been this far from home since his owl-tracking nights with Gran.
He couldn't stop shivering, despite his many layers of flannel
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and wool. If only he'd thought to bring his silver owl along. She would have enjoyed riding inside his pocket, and Max always felt braver when she was around.
At the edge of the field, empty factories and warehouses huddled together like a comic-book Wild West town. Max studied the old-fashioned signs: lloyd brothers cement & mix, doctor orlik's medicinal lozenges, grey mop wringer, tintern coffin makers, wormwood's water treatment plant. He knew that, over the years, these businesses had been seized by the High Echelon and shut down.
"Afraid, Max?" whispered Rose.
He could see her teeth, shining in the dark. Her round eyes floated through the darkness. Fine drops of mist sparkled in her coppery hair, like star glitter. She might have been a ghost.
"Nope," he said, keeping his voice steady. "I'm a Night Seer, remember? I love the night."
It was true: he felt surprisingly at ease in this alien midnight world. He swaggered through the tall grass, trying to exude confidence. Rose didn't seem to notice.
Tonight he and Rose were going to carry out a daring plan. Using his mother's smart card, they would sneak inside the mysterious Cavernstone Hall. Max knew it was a totally reckless idea--Rose's, obviously--but it gave him the chance to prove his courage.
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