by Brandon Mull
Conor peered over his shoulder at Sunset Tower. “What do you think they want us to do?”
“Maybe you should have asked before you put on the cloak,” Rollan suggested.
“I expect they’ll want us as soldiers,” Meilin said. “Leaders, probably. The war has already begun.”
“I bet they want us as mascots,” Rollan said. “They’ll probably add me to the Amayan flag.”
Conor laughed, blushing slightly. “Can you imagine? As if all the attention didn’t make me uncomfortable enough.”
“This is a poor hour for humor,” Meilin snapped, her eyes blazing. “Zhong is under heavy attack. The Greencloaks smuggled me away as my father fought to defend our city. I still haven’t heard whether he lived or died! Whatever they have planned for us better be good.”
Rollan eyed her warily. “I’m not sure how helpful I’ll be,” Rollan said. “Do you two have any tips about the animals? I can hardly get Essix to do anything.”
“I’ve been trying with Briggan,” Conor said, crouching to pet his wolf. “He can be stubborn. The more we’ve gotten to know each other, the better it’s become. Tarik told me that eventually we can get powers from them.”
Rollan glanced at Meilin and her panda. “What’s your power going to be? Cuddling?”
Meilin’s face was pure ice. For a moment her lips trembled, but after that the anger only touched her eyes. She held out her arm and in a flash Jhi became a design on the back of her hand. She turned and stormed away.
“See,” Rollan called. “Like that! How did you figure that out?”
“Too late,” Conor said quietly. “I haven’t known Meilin long, but I can tell she has a temper.”
“Can you do that too?” Rollan asked. “The tattoo thing?”
“Not yet,” Conor said.
Rollan stroked Essix. “At least we’re not the only slow learners.”
Sunset Tower was dark and still as Rollan crept out of his room. He paused, listening, ready with answers if he was challenged by a watchman: He couldn’t sleep; he needed a snack.
But no challenge came.
Peering back into his room, Rollan saw Essix roosting near the window, head tucked in sleep. He eased the door closed. The open window would allow the falcon to catch up with him. The bird might not approve of his decision, which was why he hadn’t tried to explain, but she would follow. They were linked now.
Along the hallway, small oil lamps trimmed to a slow burn provided dim light. Moving down the corridor, Rollan felt the alert guilt of a trespasser. The late hour meant he might not encounter anyone, but if he did, he knew it would look extra suspicious. The farther he deviated from the path to the kitchen, the more conspicuous he felt. How could he answer why he was heading for the castle gate fully dressed with a satchel? Why did he need a snack when his satchel was crammed with stolen food? His responses sounded so unlikely: He couldn’t relax; he felt confined; he needed some fresh air. Anyone with half a brain would guess the truth.
He was running away.
The thought produced a stab of remorse, which he tried to shrug off. Had he ever asked to come here? Olvan had promised to protect him from Zerif, but who would protect him from Olvan? Rollan knew that, in theory, he was a guest of the Greencloaks, but he was starting to feel more like a prisoner. Sure, it was mostly smiles and politeness now. But the Greencloaks’ expectations were his chains. How long would the friendliness last if he quit following orders? How long would it last if they caught him tonight?
He and the others had returned to the fortress earlier to — once again — the weight of the promised stares. The Greencloaks helped Conor and Meilin get settled, but no additional information was forthcoming. Rollan had asked more questions, but — once again — they were deflected. That evening, Rollan decided he had waited for specifics long enough. The more time he stayed, the clearer it became that the Greencloaks would settle for nothing less than a lifelong commitment, so they could benefit from his falcon. With Conor and Meilin here, the pressure on him would only increase. Each day he stayed implied that he meant to commit. If he wanted to get away, the time to act was now.
Besides the big gate, Rollan had seen three minor gates in the outer wall. All were heavily reinforced and disguised from the outside. As far as he could tell, they only opened from within. Over the past week he had tried all of them. He knew which one he would use tonight.
Rollan heard the tones of a distant conversation up ahead and froze. He couldn’t distinguish words, but the blurry murmuring had no urgency to it. Apparently, guards were covering the main door to the courtyard, chatting to pass the time. That was no obstacle. Too many doors led from the main building out to the courtyard for them all to be guarded. There was no war here in Amaya, and people had to sleep.
Stepping lightly but swiftly, Rollan advanced along a narrow corridor toward another door that would lead outside. From up ahead a voice floated his way. “Come on, Briggan! You don’t want food; you don’t want to go outside — can’t this wait until morning?”
It was Conor! What was he doing up? Rollan slipped down a side corridor, unsure where it led. He went around a corner and paused to listen. He could barely hear the wolf, but Conor was making no effort to walk quietly. They were coming his way!
Moving faster, Rollan took a couple other turns before the hall ended at a locked door. Breathing softly, he listened as Conor and the wolf got nearer and nearer. Surely they would turn a different direction! Why would they come down a dead end?
Unless the wolf was tracking him.
Rollan folded his arms and leaned against the wall, hoping he could sell the idea that he was just hanging around the castle. At this hour, it didn’t seem very believable, but Conor didn’t give the impression that he was a genius.
Conor came into view with Briggan. The wolf stopped, staring at Rollan. Looking rumpled and tired, Conor squinted. “Rollan? What are you doing here?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Rollan said. “I was exploring. Why are you up so late?”
Conor yawned and stretched. “I was trying to sleep, but Briggan kept pawing the door.”
Rollan looked at the wolf. It sat back, mouth open, tongue dangling.
Conor wrinkled his nose. “Why hang out here? Are you up to something?”
“Fine,” Rollan said, as if about to reluctantly admit the truth. “Essix went out flying but hasn’t returned. I want to make sure she’s all right.”
“So you came here. To a dead end,” Conor clarified.
“I lost my way.”
“So you stood against a door.”
Rollan thought fast. Maybe Conor wasn’t so dim, after all. “I heard you coming and got embarrassed. I didn’t want to seem lost. I really am concerned about Essix.”
Conor frowned. “If you’re worried, we should tell Olvan. I’m sure he has lots of people who can help us find Essix.”
Rollan hesitated. It had been a feeble excuse, but better than pretending he thought the kitchen was on this side of the castle. “You’re right. Why don’t you and Briggan go tell Olvan? I want to get started on my own just in case.”
Conor glanced at the satchel. “What’s in the bag?”
“Falcon food. You know . . . as bait.”
Conor gave him a look. “Big bag for falcon food.”
Rollan sighed and gave up. “Look, don’t get Olvan. Essix is fine. I’m just . . . thinking about a change of scenery.”
“You’re running away?” Conor blurted incredulously. Briggan cocked his head.
“I’m escaping,” Rollan clarified.
“You’re not a prisoner,” Conor said.
“I’m not so sure!” Rollan replied. “You think they’d let me go? Just wander off with Essix?”
Conor paused. “Yeah, if you insisted.”
“How would you know? You signed up as soon as th
ey dangled a cloak in front of you.”
Conor shifted. “I signed up after I learned that I had summoned Briggan,” he replied defensively. “I never asked for my own Great Beast, but it happened, and now the Greencloaks need my help to protect the world.”
“From what?” Rollan scoffed. “They still haven’t explained! Not really. We hear there’s a war in Zhong. They whisper about the Devourer. People I’ve never met look at me hopefully, and I have no idea what they expect. Even if my falcon really is the same Essix from the old stories, what are we supposed to do about a war? In the stories Essix was huge and could talk. This Essix hardly seems to like me!”
“I wonder why,” Conor said. Briggan gave his head a quick shake. Was the wolf laughing at them?
“Watch it, sheep boy.” Rollan bristled. “You might like being herded, but that isn’t my style.”
“Yeah, well, at least I don’t run away the second I get scared,” Conor replied with sputtering anger. “You think this isn’t hard for me? You think I don’t have doubts too? You think I want to be stuck in some castle across the sea from my home? Go ahead and call me sheep boy any time you want. Herding sheep takes a lot more courage and know-how than sneaking away in the night!”
Rollan found himself temporarily at a loss for words. If Conor was working with the Greencloaks in spite of his own doubts, because he thought it was the right thing to do, well, there wasn’t much fault to find in that. Not that he had to admit it.
“I just need some space,” Rollan said softly, choosing to fight honesty with honesty. “How am I supposed to think this through while surrounded by Greencloaks? Every meal I eat, every hand I shake, feels like pressure to join them. How am I supposed to make my own choice? The Greencloaks probably aren’t bad folks. But I’m not sure their interest in me goes one inch beyond the falcon. That means they’re using me and that makes me cautious.”
“I hear you,” Conor said. “Nobody paid much mind to me either, until Briggan came along. Then I was suddenly the center of attention.”
“Doesn’t that make you question their motives?”
Conor gave a little nod and Briggan stared expectantly at him. “Maybe. But I’m convinced that they’re trying to defend Erdas. They need Briggan, so they need me too. Besides, Briggan seems to trust them.”
The wolf wagged his tail and began to pace.
Rollan glanced at the corridor behind Conor. “Whatever I choose, I guess I blew my escape tonight. You going to turn me in?”
“You haven’t done anything,” Conor replied, meeting Rollan’s eyes steadily.
Rollan lowered his head and rubbed his eyebrows with his knuckles. “I guess I could wait around to hear the specifics.”
“You could probably make a better choice that way,” Conor pointed out.
“Meanwhile, they’ll have the chance to keep reeling me in,” Rollan said. “I won’t let them force me into this. I don’t care if it gets awkward. I don’t even care if they lock me up. Actually, if they lock me up, I’ll know I made the right call.”
Conor extended his arms and opened his mouth in a jaw-cracking yawn. “I’m glad you might stick around for now. I’d hate to be left alone with Meilin.”
Rollan smirked. “Does she scare you?”
Conor shrugged. “I’ve got two brothers. I don’t know the first thing about girls.”
“I hear they like flowers.”
“If you say so.” Conor turned and patted the side of his leg. “Come on, Briggan, let’s get back to bed. Good night, Rollan.”
“Night.” He watched until Conor walked out of sight. Then Rollan reconsidered his options. He supposed he could still make his escape. But the mood had left him.
Rollan started back toward his room. His secret departure may have been compromised, but all was not lost. He could always steal away some other night.
7 TEAMWORK
ON HER WAY TO THE TRAINING ROOM, ALMOST EVERY single person Meilin passed stared at her. Some covertly, some unashamedly gawking. Conversations stopped in mid-sentence when she came into view, and once she passed, whispers followed her. The few who didn’t stare sent her careful glances or self-conscious waves and nods, which were almost more telling. Rollan was right. The Greencloaks had heavy expectations of her.
Meilin entered the wide and airy room and found Conor waiting with his wolf. The training area looked almost too large — much bigger than the practice space she had used with the masters back home. She guessed the vaulted ceiling was meant for Greencloaks with winged beasts.
“Glad to see you,” Conor said, rubbing his arm self-consciously. “I was starting to worry I’d come to the wrong place.”
“I got a message with my breakfast,” Meilin said. “They asked me to report here with Jhi as soon as I finished.”
Conor nodded. “Me too. I could hardly eat after the note. I can’t, um, I don’t know my letters very well, so I had to get help to read it.” Conor reddened. “Did it sound like a test to you?”
“Some kind of assessment.”
Conor glanced at Briggan, then back at Meilin. “I guess Jhi is on your hand?”
“She seems to prefer it much of the time.”
Conor nodded, then seemed very aware that he had run out of things to say. Crouching, he stroked Briggan. Meilin watched him avoid her gaze. He was a simple boy, baseborn, uneducated, yet in one important way he was her peer — he had summoned one of the Four Fallen. Why him? Could it be random chance? If so, why her? Would random chance select someone as prepared for leadership as herself?
Rollan entered the room, the falcon on his shoulder. “Am I late?”
Conor looked up, relief stamped on his face. “Glad you’re here.”
Some quiet understanding passed between them. What had she missed? Had they discussed her in private? With Zhong under attack, she didn’t want to spend any time worrying about such trivial things — but she couldn’t help it, and that annoyed her.
“Nobody else has shown up yet?” Rollan asked.
“Not yet,” Conor said.
Rollan scanned the weapons held in racks against the walls: swords, scimitars, knives, spears, polearms, axes, staves, and clubs. “Are we going to fight to the death?”
“Nothing that exciting,” Tarik said, entering the room with two other men and a woman. All three wore green cloaks and were new to Meilin. They paid rapt attention to Essix and Briggan. “We evaluate all new recruits to gauge their abilities.”
Rollan looked at the other Greencloaks. “Who are your friends?”
“Observers,” Tarik answered calmly. “They’ll assist you as needed. Pay them little mind. I just want to put each of you through a few exercises.”
“Finally,” Rollan grumbled, “somebody to stare at us.”
The two men crossed to Conor and Rollan. The woman approached Meilin. She was thick but not flabby, and had a no-nonsense look about her.
“Meilin, could you produce Jhi?” Tarik asked.
Meilin focused her attention on the simple tattoo on the back of her hand. When her interest was elsewhere, she hardly noticed the mark. But now she could perceive warmth beneath the image, a vague presence. She mentally called to Jhi, imagined a door opening, and then with a flash the tattoo vanished and Jhi appeared.
“Well done,” Tarik complimented. “Some who have newly learned to use the passive state struggle to release their animals. You did that swiftly, which is important. While passive, your spirit animal cannot aid you.”
Meilin gave a nod and a modest smile. Although accustomed to praise, she was not entirely immune to its effects. She noticed the boys, particularly Rollan, watching her enviously. Keeping her eyes on Tarik, she pretended not to care.
“Please allow your escorts to blindfold you,” Tarik instructed. “We’re going to test your awareness of your spirit animals without the aid of sig
ht.”
Meilin held still as the woman placed a blindfold over her eyes.
“Do you guys fight a lot with your eyes closed?” Rollan asked.
Meilin had been thinking the same thing, but she never would have said it.
“This will simulate a situation where your spirit animal is out of view,” Tarik explained patiently, as if the question had not been meant to rattle him. “Relax and follow instructions.”
A hand took Meilin by the elbow and led her several paces. With great care, she retained a sense of where she stood in the room. She waited for perhaps a minute.
“The animals have all changed position,” Tarik announced. “I now challenge each of you to point out the location of your animal. I respectfully ask the animals to keep silent.”
Meilin strained her senses but could neither hear nor smell anything. She thought about the vague presence she could feel beneath the tattoo when Jhi was in her dormant state, and tried to sense a similar presence around her. Nothing.
“Good, Conor. Very close,” Tarik said.
Meilin kept her face composed but felt disappointed. Could Conor have a stronger connection to his spirit animal than she had to hers? He couldn’t even use the passive state! Maybe he had made a lucky guess.
“I’m sorry, Rollan, you’re way off,” Tarik said. “But good job, Conor. Briggan is moving and you’re tracking him well.”
Meilin silently ordered Jhi to make herself known. From the start, Jhi had obeyed her requests, but Meilin still felt nothing.
“Meilin,” Tarik said, “if you’re unsure, rely on your instincts.”
She didn’t want to point randomly, but maybe Tarik was giving her a hint. Maybe her awareness of her creature was something felt only at an instinctive level. That might explain why Conor was good at it — she doubted his problem would be too much thought.
Following a whim, Meilin extended a finger to the right.
“Not even close, Meilin,” Tarik said, with a touch of humor in his tone.
