by Adam Blade
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue: Falkor
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Preview
About the Author
Also by Adam Blade
Copyright
Hello?” the boy calls. “Can anyone hear me?”
In the darkness, I taste his movements with my flickering tongue. He’s not afraid like the others, though he should be. The caves have many turns, many dead ends that swallow up the light. The creatures that come in here for warmth or shelter stumble or flap among the rocks until they’re completely lost. Some talk to themselves; some sob as terror closes its fist around their hearts. I take them silently, sliding across the ground and seizing them in my coils. Their cries die quickly, leaving only echoes.
“Hello?” he whispers. “Issy, are you in here?”
The boy’s footsteps scuff nearby. Snout first, I drift like a deadly breeze toward him. My scales grip the cold rock and push me onward. My fangs sing with anticipation of my next meal.
There he is! A young boy. The burned-out torch in his hand trails a gray plume of smoke; it led me straight to him. These humans never learn! He has his back to me, so I thread around a boulder and slither on my belly toward him. I lift my head from the ground, ready to strike.
My movement disturbs a trickle of stones, and he turns, gasps, and staggers backward to the wall of the cavern. He holds his shepherd’s crook across his chest as our eyes meet. But what’s this? Something stops me from delivering the lethal blow.
It cannot be.
Along the sinuous coils of my body, a new feeling stirs. New, yet ancient: fossilized into the very fiber of my being. It’s him! The one who is chosen for me.
I lower my head, edging closer to him, seeking his scent with my forked tongue. His breath comes in pants. As I bring my head to his level, I see the reflection of myself in his wide eyes. The blunt head, my forked, darting tongue.
I still expect him to scream, or cry, but instead he lowers the crook and smiles.
“Hello,” he says.
His human eyes aren’t good enough to see, but my scales glow pink, deepening to red, scarlet, indigo: Greetings, young one.
Tentatively, he reaches out a hand and places it on my snout. His skin is warm, but there’s more than hot blood flowing through this boy’s veins. Something older, and more powerful, lurks within him.
“I’m Rufus,” he whispers.
I hiss, rippling yellows and greens. Falkor.
He frowns, then repeats, “Falkor.”
He hears me. There can be no doubt: He’s my Chosen One.
Come, follow me, I say.
I twist away from him, gliding across the cave toward the only exit that leads to safety. He comes behind me, one hand resting on my scales to guide him. I check back from time to time, but this boy seems unfazed to be sharing the gloom with a Beast that towers over him.
Soon, we reach the cave’s ragged mouth. I’ve become so used to the darkness that the daylight hurts my eyes. The Cave of Bones, that’s what the villagers called it years ago. How quickly they forget. Until today, I was just a myth, a story told to frighten children.
Rufus rushes ahead, out into the light, and as the fire recedes from my eyes I see the grassy slopes of Avantia stretching far away. Sheep are scattered in the fields, and hunger forms a knot in my stomach. For years I’ve dwelled in the darkness, but that time is at an end. The age of the Beasts approaches once more.
“There you are!” calls a voice. My scales stiffen and I jerk my head toward it. A girl-child stands with her hands on her hips. Around her neck, a water flagon hangs on a strap. Though her hair is darker than the boy’s, I taste their common blood — she is his sister. Rufus glances at me, his face creased with worry, and I slink back into the shadows. I understand: Though he is unafraid, my presence would alarm his kin.
“Where’ve you been?” she asks, climbing the slope toward the cave entrance.
“I was looking for you, Isadora,” he says.
“There’s no way I’d hide in there,” she says. “I waited in the hollow of an oak tree. Father would be furious if he found out you’d been in the Cave of Bones.”
“Well, don’t tell him, then,” said Rufus.
From my hiding place, I see the girl fold her arms across her chest. “Why shouldn’t I?”
Rufus slides down the gravel slope toward her. “I’ll show you a trick if you don’t.”
“It had better be a good one,” she says.
He points to a rock ten paces away. “Put your water flagon on there.”
His sister does as he asks. “Now what?”
“I bet you I can smash it to pieces without going anywhere near it,” he says.
She laughs. “You must think I’m stupid.”
“Stand back,” says Rufus, suddenly serious.
His sister steps away from the rock, shaking her head, and Rufus lowers his shepherd’s crook, pointing it at the flask. The mountain air seems to still, yet is abuzz with power. His eyes, unblinking, focus along the staff. I see his knuckles whiten and his arm tremble. That strange feeling in the cave, when he placed his hand on my scales, now touches me again.
A bolt of white light blasts from his fingertips, scorching the air. My scales ripple with the shock of it, and I narrow my eyes against the glare. The girl screams. When my vision clears, Rufus has fallen onto his rear, though he still clutches the crook. The flagon rests, undamaged, on the rock. But behind it, a sapling smolders, its trunk split into two charred splints, its leaves ablaze. My tongue finds the taste of boiling sap.
“Missed!” says Rufus.
On the slope, the sheep have fled through a far gate.
“But … that’s amazing!” squeals his sister, mesmerized by the burning tree. “How did you do that?”
Rufus finds his feet again and hands his sister back her flagon. “I don’t know.” He shrugs. “It just happened a few weeks ago. I’ve been practicing.”
The girl throws her arms around him. “One day you’ll be a great wizard,” she says. “Like in the stories about men fighting Beasts.”
Rufus laughs. “Well, I don’t know about that,” he says. He looks over his sister’s shoulder, straight at me. I let my scales turn all the colors of the rainbow, and he grins. “You shouldn’t believe all the stories, sister,” he says. “Everyone knows that Beasts aren’t real.”
As the ashes from the charred leaves drift across the ground, she wants him to perform the trick again.
“I’m not sure I can,” he says. “It makes me tired.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
“Maybe. But listen, Issy, you have to promise not to tell anyone. If someone in Hartwell finds out, I’ll get a thrashing, or worse.”
I hiss at the thought of it, and my scales take on a fiery red hue.
No one will hurt my Chosen Rider. Not while Falkor has venom in his fangs.
The thick clouds make the sky the color of steel. Lightning flashes above and thunder growls like a giant woken from sleep. Cold needles of rain drive against my wings as I soar over forest and plain. Yet the water doesn’t chill me. Nothing can quench the ever-burning fire of a phoenix.
I’ve watched the sun loop across the sky three times since our battle with Derthsin’s minions: the dragon-helmeted General Gor and his Beast, Varlot. Still I hear the sound of clashing metal and war cries beneath the walls of the ruined castle, still I sm
ell the fear of men in my feathers, and still I taste their blood on my beak.
Nera unfolds her long stride below us, her ears flattened and amber eyes flashing. Her sodden fur ripples gold and brown under the lightning that illuminates the plain. Between her shoulder blades Castor crouches, his hands gripping her fur. At my side, Gulkien stirs the mists in great drafts with his wings of bone and stretched skin. Droplets of spray scatter from his bristling gray coat, and his long nostrils flare as they suck in damp air. He carries the fair-haired girl, Gwen. Her face is set hard and her eyes are narrowed to slits against the elements. In the recesses of the cloak that whips and flaps around her, the silver of her throwing axes glitters.
The weight on my own back shifts a fraction as Tanner grips my flanks tighter with his knees. How long is it that we have flown together, my Chosen Rider and I? I feel his heartbeat as if it were the pulse of my own hot blood. The bond was between us even before the day when Derthsin slew Tanner’s parents. Our bond was forged in the fires of the past, when Fate decreed the Beasts of Avantia should each have a Chosen Rider. But now we are closer than we have ever been before — my blood flows in Tanner’s veins, after he drank from the vial given to him by the medicine woman. Pain twists deep inside me. He should never have done that! But it is too late now; he is changing, an unnatural strength pumping through his veins. He now thinks he’s unstoppable.
Tanner lays the flat of his palm gently against the feathers on my back, and I hear his voice, somewhere deep in the fibers of my being.
Can we trust him?
I know the one of whom he speaks and tip my head to gaze at the fourth of our number — the final companion — who we have known for the shortest time. Falkor slithers as fast as Nera runs, his long serpent’s body pulsing between the tall grasses, his tongue tasting the air. His scales, slick with moisture, shimmer purple, black, and blue. As he plunges into a dense patch of forest, I have a brief glimpse of the newest rider, seated behind the jutting spines on my fellow Beast’s head, the one whose loyalty Tanner doubts — Rufus. He holds the pieces of the mask that were handed over to him by Tanner. Up till now, he’s kept the pieces in the lining of his cloak, safe from prying eyes. But can we keep our faith in him?
Time will tell, I answer.
Falkor has chosen him, as I have chosen Tanner and the others have been drawn to their mortal companions. I should not question another Beast.
Tanner sends more words to me. We should land, Firepos.
With a screech, I dip my wings to bring us into a long glide downward. The forest blurs as my talons rip through the upper branches. A clearing rushes toward us.
Yes, time will tell.
The rain had finally stopped. Fat droplets of water hung from every leaf tip like crystals. Spokes of sunlight slipped through the canopy and lit up patches of mossy ground. Tanner carried two dead rabbits over his shoulder and leaped over a fallen, rotting trunk, feeling his muscles ache after the recent battles. Only three days before they’d faced General Gor’s troops in the ruins of the mountaintop castle over the Southern Caves. They’d won a victory of sorts, driving Gor away.
They had claimed three pieces of the Mask of Death, but carrying the fragments put their lives in more danger than ever.
Evil gripped the scattered towns and villages of Avantia in its iron fist. Tanner couldn’t forget the attack on his home village of Forton, or General Gor’s twisted sneer as he’d called his troops back from the scene of their latest fight at the ruined castle. You can’t win! he’d jeered, his varkule carrying him away. Perhaps he was right. The warlord Derthsin’s rage would be boundless in his quest for the fourth and final piece of the mask — the Face of Anoret. If he succeeded, Tanner knew that power over all the Beasts would fall to the wearer: Derthsin.
That can’t happen, Tanner thought. I cannot put myself and my friends through this for nothing.
Thoughts of the mask brought a wave of dizziness, and Tanner had to steady himself against the trunk of a tree. He’d only worn the broken mask for a few moments, but he’d felt the power that lurked within it. If only he could trust himself to use the power wisely. Perhaps the Mask of Death could be a force for good, perhaps …
“No!” he said aloud, shaking his head to clear the thoughts.
He rested his forehead against the tree, letting the rich scents of the earth and plants soothe him. The mask is a curse. All that matters is keeping it from Derthsin.
Closing his eyes, he could almost imagine that Avantia was at peace. The forest smell reminded him of the woods near his old home in Forton — of his grandmother, Esme, chopping wood in front of the cottage. His eyes snapped open. But Esme, brave and proud to the end, had been cruelly cut down by General Gor.
If only I’d fought harder, Tanner thought angrily. Maybe I could have saved her.
He stroked the red scrap of linen around his wrist — torn from his grandmother’s body as a memento of that day, a blood-colored token of unfinished business. Of revenge.
If you used the mask, vengeance would be easy….
Tanner swallowed. Was the voice inside his head even his anymore? Or did some dark part of him lust after power like Derthsin? Too much time alone; too much thinking. He pushed a strand of wet hair from his face and retraced his steps back up to the caves. Soon his nostrils picked up the smell of smoke. Good! At least the others had managed to find enough dry wood to get a fire going.
As the leaves ahead parted, Firepos pushed through her golden beak and cawed softly. Her yellow eyes relaxed when she saw that he was safe. Tanner reached up to stroke the warm, soft feathers beneath her head.
“It’s all right, I’m back,” he said. He held up the rabbits. “With supper.”
She called softly again, ruffling her glorious wings. Anxiety sent a ripple of low flames across her feathers. Tanner broke eye contact. Since he’d been tricked into drinking a vial of Firepos’s blood, something had changed between them. He remembered how it had felt:
The red liquid trickles down my throat. I wipe a hand across my mouth and Gwen’s eyes widen in horror as she points at my fingers. Streaked with blood! Almost instantly, I feel my veins burn with energy coursing through them. I have a Beast’s bravery and strength for battle. I squeeze my eyes tight shut as a sensation close to pain sweeps over me. Then my eyes snap open as I realize: Something has changed within me. Something has gone badly wrong.
Tanner pushed the memory of that moment away. He and Firepos were closer than ever — he’d drunk his Beast’s blood! It had given him a Beast’s strength, but in turn that had been twisted into a vicious bloodlust after he’d tried on a piece of the mask. Tanner knew that danger hovered around him. Was it enough to jeopardize their mission?
Stay strong, my rider, came Firepos’s voice.
“We’re only four mortals and four Beasts,” muttered Tanner.
It’s enough, said Firepos.
Tanner straightened his shoulders as he emerged by the black boulder near the dark hollow of the cave mouth. Nera, resting on her golden haunches, jerked her head up with a flash of her orange eyes. Her hackles rose and she sent out a growl as she watched him cross the cave. Gulkien, always more friendly, yawned to reveal curved fangs as long as Tanner’s forearm, his flanks rising and falling slowly.
As Tanner passed them, Nera snapped with her drooling jaws at the rabbits.
“Get off!” laughed Tanner, pushing the massive head away. Typical of Castor’s Beast to try to take what wasn’t hers. “Fetch your own dinner.”
Nera snarled, and Tanner quickened his steps into the cave.
He almost didn’t see Falkor, coiled up and watching him, half in the shade cast by the lip of the cave, half basking in the sunlight. The Beast lay still as a fossil but for the blink of one diamond-shaped eye. His tongue flickered out in a kind of greeting.
The smell of smoke was stronger here, and spluttering flames lit up the interior of the cave where Gwen, Castor, and Rufus had gathered around the fire, drying themse
lves after the storm.
Castor, lying on his back with his head resting on his arms, turned toward Tanner.
“About time you showed up,” he said. “We’re starving here.”
Tanner rolled his eyes. “I don’t remember you volunteering to catch dinner,” he replied.
“I wish I had,” said the boy from Colton. “We’d have eaten hours ago.”
“Enough, you two,” said Gwen, standing up from the fire. “We need to eat quickly. Derthsin won’t wait. Pass me your dagger, Rufus.”
Rufus handed her the knife hilt-first. She took the rabbits from Tanner and immediately went to work, skinning them expertly.
Rufus left the fireside and went to sit near the back of the cave, draping his blue tunic over his knees. His staff was leaning against the wall and the firelight picked out the carvings of scales along its length, ending in the head of a serpent. The curved blade fixed to the top gleamed. Tanner didn’t know whether to trust him, but Falkor obviously did. The wizard boy was a Chosen Rider, like the rest of them.
Rufus cast a handful of rattling bone pieces onto the hard-packed ground in front of him. He leaned forward, peering at them. Tanner felt a pang of homesickness and the dull ache of grief. His grandmother had also been a mystic, looking for the future in the patterns of rune stones.
“Where’d you find the bones?” Tanner asked.
Rufus looked up sharply. “Falkor sniffed them out. Animal bones, I suppose, picked clean by vultures.” He quickly pushed them aside and pulled out a small wooden box from inside his jerkin. Opening it, he took out a pinch of brown fibers and held them flat on his palm. His lips mumbled words Tanner couldn’t hear.
Nothing happened.
“That’s very impressive,” Castor called over, sneering.
Rufus shot him an angry look and returned his attention to his palm, chanting again. Flames leaped from the fibers, then died. He grinned to himself.
