Hunted

by Maggie Stiefvater

  Finn’s mouth made a crafty shape. He said, “Abeke and I will know better next time.”

  Abeke hid a smile.

  Meilin was already retrieving the bag she’d dropped when she’d disappeared. She seemed completely unfazed by the experience. As she took down her damp hair and shook her head, she muttered, “It is going to take forever for my clothing to dry in this climate.”

  “I did say to be cautious,” Finn said. “Let’s use our heads.”

  The image of Meilin’s hand extended from the hungry moor did keep Abeke careful for quite a bit of their journey that day. But then she began to notice how gifted Uraza was at finding dry spots to leap from. She also discovered that if she really focused on the leopard, she could sense them too. Soon the two of them were dancing across the moor.

  Laughing, they outstripped the others. After a few minutes, however, Abeke and Uraza hesitated. Up ahead, Abeke got the sense of people. Then, a second later, she caught a glimpse of distant figures.

  “Uraza!” she called. She held out her arm and the leopard vanished onto it without pause. The sting of it was more like a flush of heat now. It felt good. Powerful. Like Uraza was somehow becoming a part of her. She felt as if she could still feel the leopard beside her.

  “What is it?” Meilin asked as she and Finn caught up.

  Finn followed Abeke’s gaze to the approaching silhouettes. As they grew closer, Abeke could see that one of them carried a pike with a stubby red-and-white flag on it.

  “I don’t like this,” he said. “I think they’re Hawkers.”

  Meilin’s eyes narrowed. “What’s a Hawker?”

  “They’re scoundrels who sell fake Nectar.” Finn’s voice had turned dark. “They also sell the pelts of spirit animals.”

  “What?!” Abeke exclaimed. “Why?!”

  Finn’s fingers rested lightly on his complex tattoos. “There is a dirty superstition that wearing the pelt of a spirit animal will give you their powers, even if you weren’t able to summon one yourself. You two must hide the fact that you have spirit animals or the Hawkers might be tempted to attack you.”

  Meilin and Abeke wordlessly tugged their sleeves down.

  As the figures approached, dragging a small cart behind them, Meilin dropped her gaze and slumped her shoulders. She was transformed immediately to a docile and shy farm girl. Abeke ducked her head hurriedly. She wasn’t sure she was as gifted an actress as Meilin, though.

  “Hello, hello, hello!” said the first of the Hawkers. He had a very winning smile. It looked made out of rubber, like it could stretch and stretch and never break. If Finn hadn’t been uneasy before, Abeke probably would’ve trusted this newcomer.

  “Fine morning to you,” said the woman beside him. She also appeared friendly, though she seemed to be made out of porridge instead of rubber. All soft dimples and warmth. “On a journey with your . . . daughters? Servants?”

  Abeke and Meilin shot irritated glances at each other.

  Finn replied in his quiet, unaffected way, “Foster daughters.”

  “Oh and oh,” the man said. “I hear in your voice you’re from the North too.”

  The Hawker said it aggressively — a taunt or a dare — but Finn did not waver. “That’s where we are headed. They will learn to sing for those with troubled bonds.”

  “A noble calling,” the woman said.

  “Noble,” agreed the rubbery man. “Troubled bonds and troubled bonds, eh? How old are you lot? Old enough! Do you have spirit animals, little daughters?”

  Meilin actually managed a blush as she turned her face away, looking too bashful to even think of answering. Abeke kept her head ducked and hoped they’d think she was too shy as well. She was beginning to change her mind about trusting the smiling man.

  “Do you know the legend of the black wildcat?” the rubbery man asked.

  Finn’s mouth thinned. Meilin shook her head imperceptibly. Abeke didn’t move at all.

  “Going to the North and don’t know the legend of the black wildcat!” exclaimed the porridge woman. “For years, the North has had its stories of giant black cats wandering its moors. Wondrous things, these wildcats. Big as a horse. Fierce. Full of magic!”

  Finn said, his voice flat, “There are no black wildcats in the North anymore.”

  “Oh, you and you!” said the rubbery man. “Have faith! There’s a prophecy that says a boy will bond with the black wildcat and deliver the North from persecution and poverty! That will lead us all to a glorious, peaceful future!”

  “Maybe one of you is the child of the prophecy!” the porridge woman exclaimed.

  Abeke forgot to be bashful. She said, “I’m not a boy.”

  The rubbery man grinned and pointed at her. “Well spotted. But we can sell you a potion that will force the bond! We don’t have to wait for the legend to come true — we can make it come true.”

  Finn said, “There’s no such potion. And there is no black wildcat of the North. Not anymore.”

  “Oh, that is where you are wrong, funny little man!” said the porridge woman. She grandly let the door to their small cart fall open, revealing a rainbow of bottles, books, and colorful flotsam. A caged black animal peered out. When it saw Abeke’s face, it mewled.

  Meilin was unable to disguise her scorn. Her voice was anything but demure. “That’s a house cat.”

  “It’s a baby black wildcat,” the rubbery man said.

  “It’s a full-grown house cat,” Meilin insisted.

  “It will get larger.”

  She scoffed, “I think it’s plenty large enough for a house cat.”

  The cat stood on its back legs and pressed the small black pads of its feet against the cage bars. Abeke’s heart and Uraza’s tattoo stirred.

  “Oh,” Abeke said suddenly. “It’s cruel to keep it locked up. You should set it free.”

  “And lose our livelihood?” the rubbery man said. “Indeed no.”

  Abeke burst out, “Can we buy it from you? Not to bond with, just to have. It really is only a cat.”

  Finn and Meilin stared at her. So did the rubbery man and the porridge woman.

  “What will you buy it with?” the rubbery man asked.

  Abeke had no money. They’d packed everything they needed, and anyway, back in Nilo, everything was bartered and traded for. There was no need for money.

  Hesitantly, she said, “I will trade you for my bracelet. It’s made of real elephant tail hair, all the way from Nilo, and it is good luck.”

  “Oh, Abeke,” Meilin said with disgust. “It’s a cat.”

  Finn said nothing, just crossed his arms.

  Rubbery man and porridge woman consulted. Abeke knew it sounded crazy. She couldn’t explain her affinity for the cat, but it felt a little like her bond with Uraza.

  “All right and all right,” agreed the rubbery man. “For the price of your good luck charm. That seems fair.”

  So Abeke handed over her bracelet, thinking, I’m sorry, Soama, I hope you will understand! The porridge woman unlocked the cage and gave the little black cat to Abeke.

  As Abeke accepted it, the sleeves of her cloak slid to her elbows. For just a moment, her bare skin was exposed and her tattoo was revealed to the air. Hurriedly, Abeke shook her sleeve back down.

  Maybe they didn’t see it, she thought.

  But she knew from the rubbery man’s suddenly sharp expression that he had.

  “So you have bonded,” he said, grabbing her wrist. Every ounce of friendliness had drained from his voice.

  Quick as anything, he had a knife in his hand. The knife was the opposite of his smile in every way. It was thin and unforgiving and as black as a lonely night.

  And it was pointed right at Abeke.

  “Produce your spirit animal,” he ordered. “Or I will cut your throat.”

  Abeke couldn’t give Uraza to these people, but she didn’t know what else to do. Finn was motionless, his gaze fixed hypnotically on the knife. It was as if the true Finn had gone somew
here else and left just his body behind. Abeke didn’t know what was wrong with him, but she knew she didn’t have a chance without the help of Finn or Uraza.

  Suddenly there was a blur of motion. The rubbery man released Abeke’s wrist. He fell backward with a tremendous whoof as the air was knocked out of him.

  Meilin stood over him, pointing his own knife at his throat. She was glorious and fierce, loose strands of her black hair snaking around her angry face. “It’s insulting enough that you sold us a stray cat. But this is beyond insulting. Here is my bargain: Give this girl back her bracelet and I won’t cut your throat.”

  The porridge woman started to move and Meilin threw up her other hand. With a flash of blue light, Jhi appeared. The rubbery man and the porridge woman stared, mouths agape. The little cat in Abeke’s arms clung to her neck. It was a very clawsome hug.

  “Here is a legend,” Meilin snapped, gesturing to Jhi. The panda looked imaginary and grand in the gray-green surroundings. “The Four Fallen have returned! We will defeat the Conquerors and we will be the ones to usher in a peaceful world. I suggest you find something other than lies to sell.”

  There was absolute silence.

  “Jhi,” whispered the porridge woman.

  Meilin gestured toward Abeke.

  Abeke released Uraza in another flash of green light. The massive leopard did look legendary, her violet eyes ablaze.

  “Uraza,” murmured the porridge woman. “Impossible.”

  The rubbery man held out the bracelet. Finn took it from him without a word.

  Meilin smiled sharply at the Hawkers. “Spread the word. The Great Beasts are back.”

  Then she turned to Finn and Abeke. “What are we waiting for? We have work to do.”

  7: Trunswick

  CONOR REALLY WAS DOING HIS BEST TO BE A GOOD PARTNER with Briggan. Sometimes it was easy. He’d grown up with sheepdogs, and Briggan could be quite doglike. He liked for Conor to toss clumps of sod for him to fetch. He played gleeful tug-of-war with vines. He always let Conor lead, to show that he trusted him to be in charge.

  But sometimes he was nothing like a dog, and Conor was never sure if this was because he was acting more like a wolf specifically or acting more like a Great Beast in general. For instance, the family sheepdogs had always been eager to curl up to sleep beside Conor. But Briggan, no matter how cold the night, slept at least a few feet from him. The sheepdogs had absolutely hated to be stared at, but if Conor caught Briggan’s gaze, the wolf held it unblinkingly until Conor became uncomfortable.

  And he really did howl at the moon.

  Conor had spent so many nights being terrified of that sound. Wondering when the wolves would appear. Wondering if he’d be able to keep them from killing any sheep. Wondering if he’d be able to keep them from killing him.

  If he was being honest, he tried so hard with Briggan to hide the fact that he was still a little afraid of him.

  “Home sweet home, eh?” Rollan asked, shielding his eyes.

  They had made it to Trunswick. Finally.

  The others had never made it to the tower, so Rollan and Conor had started across the fields alone. They had walked and walked and walked, jumping at the slightest noise, fearing Conquerors, dangerous animals, or Conquerors with dangerous animals. They had stopped to snatch a few nervous hours of sleep — long enough for Conor to have a fuzzy dream of both Rumfuss and a large, wild-looking hare sleeping in a patch of wisteria — and then walked some more.

  Now the town rose up above them; the castle stood at the highest point of the hill. Blue-roofed houses made of sandy-colored stone crowded below it. Brilliant blue flags and banners flew from nearly every roof, as if the town were waving a frantic greeting to the boys. Conor knew that all the standards would feature Briggan, Eura’s patron beast. He felt a warm flood of relief: It had been such a nerve-racking journey without either of the older Greencloaks. But now here was familiar old Trunswick. Everything would be all right, surely.

  “So this is Trunswick,” Rollan observed. “Where you have fond memories of being sold into servitude by your father?”

  Conor’s cheeks heated. “I wasn’t sold.”

  “Loaned, then,” Rollan corrected warmly. “Oh, don’t look so beaten up over it. My father rudely up and died on me, so I reckon he’s the worse parent. Oh, hey. You did say ‘a warm welcome,’ right?” He pointed toward the town. “Did you mean warm like ‘burning’?”

  A plume of smoke rose from the opposite side of the town. Vaguely uneasy, Conor said, “Sometimes the farmers burn their fields to kill the thistles and heather. Come on, we’ll go in a side way.”

  A sandy-colored wall that matched the sandy-colored houses surrounded Trunswick. There were several unguarded gates. The main gate was always crowded, so Conor led them toward the nearly hidden one nearest to the castle. He paused, tipping his head back.

  Two blue flags flew over the gate, just like before. But unlike before, Briggan’s silhouette was missing. In its place was the outline of a bulky black cat. The change was so absolutely unexpected and so wrong that Conor couldn’t immediately process the truth of it.

  Slowly, he asked Rollan, “Am I awake?”

  “Is this a trick question?”

  Conor had grown up under the image of a gray wolf on a blue field. Briggan’s iconic image had flown over every state event. Every family had a wolf figure on their mantel or a howling wolf carved into the wood above the doorway. Briggan was Eura.

  But now there was a blue flag with a wildcat flying over the gate.

  It seemed like it should be a dream. Or a hallucination.

  Rollan had noticed Conor’s goggling at the flag, so Conor stammered, “That’s supposed to be Briggan.”

  “What? The cat? Looks a little like Uraza.”

  This cat was far more muscled than Abeke’s leopard, but Conor saw the resemblance. If he hadn’t known any better, he would’ve thought it was supposed to be the silly wildcat from the children’s stories he’d grown up with. Hadn’t every child in Eura heard about the hero who would rise up with a black cat? It had been an inspiring sort of myth.

  But Trunswick didn’t need a myth. They had Briggan. He was back. He was real.

  Before Conor had time to wonder about this out loud, a huge mastiff burst from the other side of the entrance. It bayed, jowls slobbery. The noise rumbled in their feet. Its threatening bark called out a second dog. Conor knew these were no ordinary hounds. The Trunswicks’ mastiffs were infamous for their fight-to-the-death training. It wasn’t their bite that was deadly, although it was formidable. It was their hold. The mastiffs were trained to find a grip on their victims’ throats and not let go until a Trunswick guard gave the order.

  “Brace yourself,” Conor warned.

  “I don’t get along with dogs,” Rollan muttered, reaching toward the dagger he wore by his side. Briggan’s ears pinned and his tail dropped.

  But the mastiffs merely circled and pushed them forward. This wasn’t an attack. It was an escort.

  “Spirit animals?” Conor asked Rollan.

  “Slobber animals,” Rollan replied, holding his hands out of the way of their drooling mouths. “What’s going on? Is this slimy greeting usual?”

  Before Conor could reply, a guard shouted at them from his post at the gate. “Hey, you!” The mastiffs herded the two boys closer. A few feet away, Conor saw that the guard wore a blue Trunswick surcoat over his chain mail. But, as on the flag, the wolf insignia had been replaced with a black wildcat. Behind him, another three mastiffs emerged. The guard tugged Conor’s cloak, rubbing mud off between his thumb and forefinger and revealing the color beneath. “Greencloaks!” The contempt in his voice when he said the word was as shocking as anything else that had happened. “You can come quietly to the prison, or you can make this difficult.”

  Of all the ways Conor had imagined this day would go, this had not been one of them.

  Rollan said, “Keep your shirt on, old man. We haven’t done anything wro
ng.”

  Stunned, Conor stammered, “Please. I’m not a stranger. I used to be Devin Trunswick’s servant. I — I lived here.”

  How foolish he felt. Just a bumbling shepherd facing these castle guards, unable to explain himself.

  “Quietly,” the guard repeated. A few people had gathered behind him, anticipating drama. “Or difficult?” As he moved toward them, Briggan let loose a rippling snarl.

  “No, Briggan,” Conor said. There were five of the dogs and only one Briggan. Although Briggan was superior in most ways to each dog, if one of the mastiffs got him by the throat, he’d be powerless against the other four. “We’re not here to fight.”

  He felt Rollan’s attention on him, waiting for him to somehow sort this out; this was his hometown after all. But this was no Trunswick Conor knew. Not with that strange animal on the blue flag. Not with this guard, this strangely bloodthirsty crowd, these mastiffs.

  A familiar voice rang out. “What’s the commotion?”

  Inside the gate, people and animals parted for the newcomer. An animal led the way: a large black cat, waist-tall. Its eyes were golden and its pelt was silky, inky black with even blacker spots that showed in the sun.

  A black panther.

  As it stalked dangerously down the cobblestones, a boy stepped out behind it.

  Devin Trunswick.

  His posture was even haughtier than before. His clothing was impeccable. Everything about him shouted that he was a lord’s son. Conor felt so foolish for thinking anything might have changed between them because of Briggan.

  How ridiculous, Conor thought. I’m still a shepherd’s son and he’s still a noble. We won’t ever be equal.

  Devin’s eyes found Conor’s and held them. He seemed to be thinking the same thing.

  Devin held out his arm. Without a second’s pause, the panther vanished. A tattoo appeared on Devin’s arm.

  Conor inhaled audibly.

  Impossible. It was absolutely impossible. Conor had been at the Nectar Ceremony where Devin had failed to call up a spirit animal. He had been standing right beside him. Close enough to see the disappointment painted on his mouth.