The Owl Keeper

by Christine Brodien-Jones

  "He says they're selling skræk eyes, too!" said Rose excitedly. "Remember those weird eyes we saw? They tried to transplant

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  them into skræks, but it failed. And, oh yeah, my dad says our detective work last night was par excellence. That means first-rate." Max looked at her in surprise. "You told your father about me! "Why not? We're a team, aren't we?" She wiped her nose on her sleeve.

  "I guess so." He felt a sudden warm glow spreading inside him. It was the same expansive feeling he had each time he looked at his silver owl.

  "I wish you could've seen our old brick house in Tattersall Heath," murmured Rose dreamily. "My bedroom looked out over cornfields and orchards and red-gold wheat and junked tractors, and in the distance was a shut-down theme park. I loved that place."

  "It sounds special," said Max. How could the government plow over places like Cavernstone Grey and Tattersall Heath? he asked himself. How could their homes just disappear?

  "My dad said Tattersall Heath was one of those places where heaven and earth meet," said Rose softly.

  "Like the owl tree?" Max felt a tickling at the back of his throat. Tears pricked his eyes and he blinked hard, trying to fight off the sadness. The owl tree, he knew, was doomed too.

  Rose nodded. "Yes, the owl tree." She gave Max a sad, quirky smile. "By the way, Max, I told my father about those disgusting injections you get."

  Max pulled down his earflaps. He didn't want to hear her father's opinions regarding his medication. "It stabilizes my condition," he muttered.

  "Max, the High Echelon's notorious for that sort of thing, like

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  poisoning hot cocoa!" she said in her smart-alecky voice. "What about side effects? Ever ask yourself what that mutant blood is doing to you?"

  Max said nothing, but his mind was racing. What exactly were the injections doing to him? He thought about his disjointed memories and the problems he had remembering things.

  The owl rustled in his lap, giving low hoots to let him know she was upset. Max smoothed her ruffled feathers, wishing he had solutions to all the problems that were piling up. Never again would he trust Mrs. Crumlin, and ditto for Dr. Tredegar.

  "I'm tired of everybody lying to me." His voice sounded sullen. "Dr. Tredegar, Mrs. Crumlin. And you! You told me your father spied for the High Echelon, and now you say he's against the government. What am I supposed to believe?"

  "I had to be sure, Max, I had to know your silver owl wasn't a trick." Rose reached over and patted the owl. "Lots of kids around here come from High Echelon families, and they're all loyal to the Alazarin Oro."

  "The Alazarin Oro?" said Max, puzzled. "They haven't been around for centuries!"

  "Better check your facts, owl boy. My dad says the people who run this government all belong to the Alazarin Oro. It's an olden-time secret society."

  Max felt her words like a punch to the stomach. "But the Alazarin Oro turned the silver owls to stone!" This was one myth he knew by heart and would never forget. "They fought the Sages and silver owls in a huge, bloody battle at Silvern that went on for days! The Alazarin Oro are pure evil!"

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  "I know that, Max." Rose plucked a squashed bug off her sleeve. "That's why they want to take over everybody's minds."

  "The Alazarin Oro vowed death to all silver owls!" croaked Max, his thoughts and emotions in turmoil. "Gran always said it was about revenge, but I never understood. Now I do--the High Echelon's going after the Sages to get revenge!"

  "We need to find that Owl Keeper you told me about," said Rose, grabbing his arm. "Fast."

  The owl flitted to Max's shoulder, making low, anxious noises in her throat.

  "You're right, we've got to warn him," said Max, feeling galvanized. "The Prophecy says the Owl Keeper will bring together Sages and silver owls to fight the dark forces. It's obviously talking about the High Echelon."

  "My dad says we have to keep fighting," said Rose determinedly. "We can't give up, ever."

  Max gave a deep sigh. He and Rose were just two kids. How could they defeat the government and its deadly creatures?

  Where, he wondered, was the Owl Keeper? How were they going to find him? He had always imagined the Owl Keeper appearing one moonlit night, walking stick in hand, striding along the river path, calling out to the silver owls. Falling like flames from the sky, they would streak down to him, swifter than shooting stars. That was where his daydream always ended.

  In real life, terrible things were happening all around him, but he hadn't even noticed--not until Rose had pointed them out and he'd seen the skræsk for himself. Max thought back to The Ruins and the secret experiments, the prisons and sealed borders

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  and people disappearing, the government tracking down Sages and killing owls.

  That was when it hit him. His world, and everything in it he believed to be true, had just disappeared. The realization shook him to the core. He could no longer ignore the insidious things that were happening, or deny the far-reaching powers of the High Echelon, which were spreading across the country like a cancerous blight.

  Absolute Dark, he realized, was here.

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  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  [Image: The pillars.]

  Slouched in the Ungers' hallway, Einstein handed a stack of assignments to Max. Today his jacket was festooned with more buttons than ever: your reliable government: building a shining world; coming soon: a perfect city; take back the dark and down with forests, up with domes.

  "Who's that guy?" Max pointed to the comic-book character stitched on Einstein's jacket pocket.

  "You've never heard of Oliver Owl Slayer?" said Einstein, grinning. "He rescues kids from the evil silver owls!"

  Max nearly choked. He wanted to ask Einstein who was filling

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  his head full of lies, but he didn't have a chance to open his mouth. Einstein was all worked up about something.

  "Hey, Max, the High Echelon sent the Dark Brigade to our school today!" he crowed. "They came into our class unexpected like, looking for a girl: a runaway!"

  Max gulped as panic rolled over him. Was Einstein talking about Rose?

  "They've issued an all points bulletin for a girl on the run: tall skinny kid, red hair, black coat. She's been taking stuff off clotheslines and stealing vegetables from the outdoor stand on Blackbone Street! They already caught the father--found him in some barn two weeks ago."

  Max stifled a gasp. The Dark Brigade had Rose's father? Why hadn't she told him? Did that mean she'd been on her own for the past two weeks, pretending her father was still around?

  He noticed Einstein's pale eyes fixed on him. "Hey, Max, didn't you mention some girl a while ago? You said she was tall with red hair that stuck out funny."

  Max leaned against the wall, afraid he might topple over. "There wasn't any girl," he wheezed. "It was a dream, remember? I always have weird dreams when I get a fever."

  Einstein shrugged his bony shoulders. "The Dark Brigade is interrogating all sorts and sundry. They want to know if anyone saw this girl. And know what? They can tell if you're lying because they have these newfangled lie detector machines. They hooked Cheever Oaks up to one of them!"

  "I don't have anything to hide," said Max, hardly daring to

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  breathe. "So what if I dreamed about a girl with messy hair? It was a coincidence."

  "Coincidence, eh?" Einstein rubbed his stubbly skull. "If you say so, Max."

  "Is there a fugitive loose in Cavernstone Grey?" Mrs. Crumlin shouted down the hall. Max could see her in the kitchen doorway drying a saucepan.

  "That's right, Mrs. Crumlin, a young girl," answered Einstein. "The Dark Brigade captured the father and they're tracking the girl as we speak."

  Max could feel himself sweating profusely under his flannel pajamas. They'll never catch Rose, he told himself, she's fast and clever and she'll outwit them every time. But he still worried.

  Einstein grinned. "Nobo
dy defies the High Echelon and gets away with it, eh, Max?"

  Max nodded, wishing he could sink into the floor. If only he were more like Rose, whip smart and always with a quick answer.

  "I've got to run--tomorrow's the deadline for the jingle contest!" said Einstein, reaching for the door. "I'll keep you posted!"

  "Mind the draft!" squawked Mrs. Crumlin and Max jumped back. Einstein hurried out, slamming the door shut.

  "What do you know about this runaway girl?" Mrs. Crumlin stomped down the hall, gazing at Max with flinty eyes. "Is there something you need to tell me?"

  "I don't know about any runaways," he mumbled, feeling his cheeks flush.

  "It would be unwise to hide any secrets from the High Echelon,

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  Maxwell. Surely you are aware that the consequences would be severe." She pressed her lips into a tight line. "Extremely severe."

  Max winced. The thought struck him that Mrs. Crumlin might actually enjoy reporting him to the authorities and seeing him hauled off to jail.

  "Absolutely nothing gets past the High Echelon," she went on. "They've installed cameras everywhere. Any wrongdoings will be quickly discovered. As you know, Children's Prison is filled with young people who thought they were smarter than the authorities."

  "I told you," said Max, staring down at his slippers, "I don't know anything." Mrs. Crumlin had made them and the fabric was bright red with tiny yellow suns--suns that matched the ugly tattoo on the back of his neck.

  He found it hard to swallow. Had the authorities filmed him and Rose racing around Cavernstone Hall, he wondered, with Rose making messes everywhere she went? Were there pictures of them wandering through The Ruins? He shuddered, sick with fear. He could feel his life closing in on him like a folding spyglass.

  "You haven't been yourself lately, Maxwell. I confess I'm a bit worried. Care to talk about it?"

  The suns on his slippers danced in circles. He felt queasy looking at them. "I think I'll go to bed, Mrs. Crumlin. I can feel one of my headaches coming on."

  "You're hiding something from me," she said, brushing her dress with the flat of her hand. Flour drifted to the floor in a powdery shower. "I know you are."

  Max felt his ears burn. He hated how she niggled her way into

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  his brain, trying to pick it apart. But she could ask all she wanted--he'd never give Rose away.

  From the kitchen came the blast of the radio announcer: "Citizens can now breathe a sigh of relief when it comes to protecting our borders and guarding our new domes! Authorities announced today the development of a highly intelligent, expertly trained attack animal capable of flight and charged with restoring order in the country. Designed by government scientists in the most advanced laboratories in the world, these new weapons will be released into the wild on the seventh of July, the same day citizens move into the domes."

  Max froze, trying to suppress a hysterical fear rising inside him. The announcer was talking about skræks! He dug his palms into his forehead, trying to ward off the headache.

  Mrs. Crumlin gave him a push toward the stairs. "Go up to your room and have a little think," she said. "Try to remember if there isn't something you've forgotten to tell me, Maxwell. Later on we'll have a friendly chat, all right?"

  But Max didn't answer.

  As he flopped back on the pillows, Max heard the doorbell chime. It must be Einstein, he thought, probably he's left a book behind. Then a scarier thought struck him: what if the Dark Brigade was here with their lie detector machines? He leapt out of bed and tore out of the room.

  Heart pounding, he leaned over the stair rail, peering down into the hall. Then, remembering last time, he stepped back into the shadows so he wouldn't be seen.

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  "Do come in, Doctor," he heard Mrs. Crumlin say in a jolly voice. "I trust that unkempt beast is tied up on the porch?"

  What was Dr. Tredegar doing here? Max wondered. His usual day was Tuesday.

  "Did you hear the news?" the doctor asked Mrs. Crumlin. "They're releasing the skræks as planned."

  "Oh yes, they've just announced it on the radio!" she said excitedly.

  "How are things with the boy? Giving him plenty of desserts and hot cocoa, I presume," Dr. Tredegar said in a furtive voice. "Notice any changes: memory lapses, headaches, that sort of thing?"

  "Headaches, yes. Such a strange, distant child, locks himself in his room for hours at a time." Mrs. Crumlin reached into her apron pocket. "I did find this, however, inside his jacket." Max watched her hand over a crumpled piece of paper and his heart sank. His owl's secret message! How could he have been so careless, leaving it in his pocket?

  "Probably encrypted," muttered the doctor, holding the paper up to the light. "I'll take it to the lab, see what they can do."

  "And the twelve?" Her voice was so low Max had to strain to hear. "How are things coming along with them?"

  "The chosen twelve are progressing nicely. We've moved them to a facility in Sengeneth for extra training."

  "Ah, the hills of Sengeneth. Lovely."

  "The facility head jokingly refers to them as the 'Twelve Henchmen of Sengeneth.'" Max could almost see the doctor's dark, sardonic smile. "Has a poetic ring to it, wouldn't you say?"

  "Indeed it does," replied Mrs. Crumlin, her voice filled with

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  admiration. "Maxwell!" she trilled. "Come out of your room, you have a visitor!"

  Max waited a few moments, then yelled down, "I don't need a doctor! I'm not sick!"

  "Just a moment of your time, Maxwell." Dr. Tredegar materialized at the bottom of the stairs, his red and white blazer glimmering in the dark. "Hurry!"

  Max shuffled down, mulling over the conversation he'd just heard, and joined them in the parlor. Sliding into the rocking chair, he barely glanced at Mrs. Crumlin, planted in her favorite doily-covered armchair. The doctor, slender as an insect, was perched on a wicker footstool.

  Judging by their serious expressions, this was a meeting of some significance. Maybe at last, he thought, they were going to level with him about his injections. It was about time.

  From the porch came a desperate bark. Through the window Max could see the shaggy black dog straining at its leash.

  "Perhaps you should put that animal out of its misery, Dr. Tredegar," said Mrs. Crumlin.

  The doctor flashed a sharklike smile. Max noticed that his square yellow teeth needed a good brushing. "Excellent hunter, that hound. Very quick at catching owls."

  Picturing his silver owl, Max felt the words stab at his heart.

  "The reason I've come today," began the doctor, clicking open his medicine bag, "is because you need an extra boost, Maxwell. Your twelfth birthday is approaching, as is your apprenticeship. Since you are growing older, you'll require higher doses of medicine to stabilize your condition." His eyes darted back and forth

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  behind his tinted lenses. "I'm stepping up your injections to twice a week."

  Higher doses of what? Max clenched his hands to stop them from shaking. "I want to know about side effects," he said. "What are they?" He had never before questioned anything the doctor told him.

  Dr. Tredegar lifted an eyebrow at this. "None at all."

  "What's the medicine you're giving me?" demanded Max boldly. "I want to know the name!"

  The doctor riffled through his bag. "The serum combines various medications," he said in a testy voice. "The name is of no importance." He waved his hand dismissively and busied himself with the InjectaPort.

  Mrs. Crumlin threw Max a warning look. "We haven't time for silly questions."

  Max knew Dr. Tredegar was hiding the truth from him and he was sick of it. "Why are you giving me so many injections? I want to know!" Angry, he leapt out of the rocker. "Why don't you tell me the truth?"

  Mrs. Crumlin clucked her tongue. "Let's not get hyperfrenetic, Maxwell, it won't do to get agitated." She sat him back down, a little too roughly. "He's been poorly lately, Docto
r, not at all himself."

  "Perhaps a sedative?" murmured Dr. Tredegar, his lips twitching.

  Alarms buzzed inside Max's head. Why had the doctor asked Mrs. Crumlin about desserts and cocoa drinks? He thought back to all the mugs of hot cocoa, the bitter cakes and muffins he'd eaten over the years. The tablets for headaches and fevers, the home remedies for upset stomachs. Was Rose right? Were they

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  slowly poisoning him, killing off his memories? He just couldn't figure out why.

  "Arm at the ready," ordered Mrs. Crumlin.

  Out of habit, Max obediently thrust out his arm.

  Dr. Tredegar held up the InjectaPort. "Rick rack ruin--"

  Mrs. Crumlin joined in: "Over before--"

  The doctor crept forward on tiptoes. "You can say--" His sour breath reminded Max of Mrs. Crumlin's pickled slugs.

  The InjectaPort was inches away from Max's arm. He stared at the bubbling liquid and, remembering the bleeding skræk, felt sick. Crimson-

  "No!" shouted Max, leaping up, knocking into the floor lamp. "I don't want you jabbing me, you needle-happy old man!" He kicked the lamp. "You're lying, both of you, you're trying to control my brain!" Losing his temper was something he'd never done before. With spiteful glee, he kicked again.

  The lamp swayed precariously and fell, crashing onto the card table. The table collapsed, sending Mrs. Crumlin's jigsaw puzzle into the air. With a kind of perverse satisfaction, Max watched 1,001 puzzle pieces go flying all over the room.

  "Maxwell!" shrieked Mrs. Crumlin, red blotches creeping up to her chin.

  Whenever Mrs. Crumlin became agitated, she always broke out in hives. Serves her right, thought Max, the ridiculous old bat.