Ravenous (15 page)

The hope in Dalen's eyes grows, and I take a step forward. Something crunches under my feet. I jump reflexively and stare at the ground.

A choking sound leaps from my throat.

Where my foot just stepped moments before is a large, brown, and now crushed chicken feather. It was hidden in the deep leaves of the grove so I didn't see it until I was literally on top of it.

Every bit of air flees my lungs. This is what Stump was trying to warn us about.

The witch is near. She's either here for me—early, too early—or she's hunting again because she agreed not to eat Hans yet.

Dalen places a hand on my shoulder, then recoils at my expression. “Greta, what is wrong?”

“The witch,” I gasp. “She's here. In Belladoma. In these woods.” The world spins. Any second one of the shadows could transform into the witch, too ravenous to keep her promise. Too hungry to do anything but devour me, my brother, and Dalen. The raccowl hoots and the sound echoes painfully in my brain. It's too soon. She can't be back yet. I knew she couldn't be trusted, but I had hoped she'd at least give me time to find the cornucopia first.

The world sags and sways. Dalen's arms lift me up, then carefully set me down on the ground. I scramble away from the huge crushed feather. Dalen sees it and grows still.

“It's from the witch's house,” he says quietly. Then he casts about, looking for others. “That's the only one—” He cuts off sharply. I have no doubt that's a very bad thing.

“What do you see?” I regain my feet, feeling like a fool for losing them in the first place.

Dalen's face is drawn and pale, matching my own. I
glance down at his feet and quickly turn my face away, balling my hands into fists.

Bones. Small and fine.

Dalen gallops to the nearest tree and retches. I narrow my eyes at every shadow, ready to make a run for it back to our barn. I can't help being relieved that the bones are too small to belong to Hans. But they belong to someone, and somewhere a family aches with their loss.

“We must get away from this place. She found me again. We have to finish unlocking this map and find the cornucopia.” My eyes are drawn back to the small pile of bones at the edge of the grove. “Then she won't do that to another child ever again.” My life is now based on slim hopes—that my Bryrian friends will know how to defeat this witch or, failing that, that she'll keep her end of the deal. But I have to try.

Dalen looks as unsteady as I feel, and I take his hand, willing mine to stop shaking. “Let's go,” I say again. He doesn't object. We hurry, especially Stump, careful not to make too much noise and draw unwanted attention. I can't help glancing over my shoulder every few minutes and staring too hard at suspiciously shaped shadows.

Any one of them could be the witch.

But she doesn't materialize, and as we near the barn again, I begin to hope we found the feather and bones simply because she was passing through. We didn't notice the house's telltale stench. Maybe they've been there for months. Surely the house must range far and wide. Just because she happened to be in the vicinity doesn't necessarily mean she was here for me.

I almost believe it, too.

We hurry into the familiar safety of the run-down barn, but Stump just hoots, then slips into the shadows of a tree. Is he off to hunt or is that another warning? Puzzled, we latch the door behind us. My hands have finally stopped shaking, and Dalen breathes a little easier, too.

We're safe. For now.

I take a deep breath, and it takes a moment for me to register the smell of something—

“You had better hurry,” says a dark, familiar voice. “I do not like waiting.” Dalen skitters backward, and I slowly face the witch. My voice has vanished. Words escape me entirely. I'd nearly forgotten the witch leaves her house on occasion.

She smiles, and it's beautiful and horrifying at the same time. She's just as I remember—long black hair spills over her shoulders, and her eyes shift color with every step she takes toward us. And the smell. Sickly sweet, but with an edge of something rotten underneath.

“What? Nothing to say this time?”

“We're close to finding the cornucopia. We'll have it for you soon, I swear.” I swallow hard against the rocks clogging my throat. Could she possibly know what we were just planning in the grove? “How is my brother?”

“Fatter,” the witch says simply. Her eyes shift to Dalen and her head tilts inquisitively. “Are you aiding her search, hybrid? You'd better not be slowing her down, or your village will pay the price.”

“He's helping me. We need a few more days to uncover where Ensel hid it. Then we—”

She cuts me off with a look sharp enough to slice a
sword in half. “You have four days. No more. Then Hans will be my supper. And I'll have you for lunch the next day. You had better hurry; today is already half gone.”

I shudder involuntarily. “We'll have it.”

She saunters toward the door of the barn. “Oh, as an added incentive to hurry, I will take a child from this odd, decrepit little city you've found every night you delay. I must be prepared in case you fail. I take it you found my warning in the woods, yes?”

“We did,” Dalen says, recovering his composure.

“Then you should have no trouble believing I'll continue.”

In the instant it takes me to blink, she crosses the space between us and clutches my face in her hands. Her long fingernails dig into the soft flesh on the underside of my chin and throat. I don't dare swallow.

“The sooner you bring me the cornucopia, the sooner the Belladomans can sleep easier in their beds.” Her voice is lower than usual, filled with malice and menace, and the sound crawls over me like tiny spiders. Up close, I can smell the carrion scent on her breath. I hold my breath so I don't gag.

She shoves me away and returns to the door so fast I don't quite see it happen. “A word of advice, pet. When a witch gives you a deadline, you don't just keep it. You beat it. Otherwise, she might get bored.”

I give one more terrified blink, and then she's gone, the barn door slamming shut in her wake.

Silence weighs heavily in the air, as though breaking it will summon her back, full of wrath.

I sink to my knees in the hay, and only then does Dalen speak. “She is far and away the most unsettling, terrifying creature I've ever beheld.”

I laugh bitterly. “That's saying a lot, considering you lived with snake-people. I don't think I could abide all that hissing and skin shedding.”

Dalen smiles, but only halfway. “Trust me, in comparison, all the hissing in the world is preferable. You get used to it. I don't think anyone could get used to her.”

My face darkens. “Hans has had to deal with her every day since she stole him.” Tears prick the backs of my eyes, but I blink them away. We will save him; there's no cause to cry.

“Let's finish decoding that map,” Dalen says, and for the hundredth time this week, I thank my lucky stars for his presence.

While Dalen copies the newly revealed air quadrant, I venture outside the barn with trepidation and build a small fire. Stump has vanished. I miss him. He
was
warning us. He didn't want us to go back into the barn. We just barged right into her trap.

When the flames are hot enough, I return to the barn for Dalen. Fear clings to me like fog. Either this is going to work and reveal where the cornucopia hides, or it will send all my hopes up in smoke.

Dalen seems equally uneasy, but I suspect he tries to hide it for my sake. Have I become so transparent that he can see right through to my deepest fears? He follows me back outside.

He doesn't say a word, just looks at me, and I nod in return, letting him know he should do it and get it over with. He holds out the map with steady hands and waves it over the flames. And nothing happens. He lowers the parchment little by little, and I wince each time.

Leave it to the wizard and Ensel to invent a map impossible to decode.

I think back to the potions in my stall. Could any of them help solve this puzzle? But none of them are potions to light something on fire. Become invisible, breathe underwater, move silently, yes; resist fire, no. If only.

My mother's locket weighs against my collarbone and I wrap my sweaty fingers around it, grasping for some measure of renewed strength.

“I have to put it fully in the flame,” Dalen says quietly after too many unsuccessful passes to count.

The blood flows away from my cheeks in a heady rush. “Do what you must.” If the water and the air and the earth didn't destroy it, surely there must be something in the map to keep it safe from fire, too?

Dalen holds the precious map above the flames, and they flick over it as if eager to consume the parchment. It looks so fragile, I want to cry out and snatch it away from him, but I resist.

I close my eyes and picture Hans's sweet round face. The way he was before Mama and Papa were taken to Belladoma.

I hear the sizzle of parchment hitting flame, and the quick burst of a flare hits the backs of my eyelids.

Dalen whoops and my eyes flicker open, just in time to
see him reaching into the fire with his bare hands and yanking the map out by an untouched corner. He tosses it on the ground and immediately stamps out the flames before they can destroy the parchment.

I rush over to help. His hooves have saved it, and coated it with a thin layer of dirt. I gingerly lift it up, hardly daring to hope it worked.

The edges of the map are badly singed, and crinkle off at the touch of my fingers. But the bulk of it is intact. Thin lines have appeared where none were before, and now an
X
forms in the last quadrant.

I grin at Dalen, the tightness that has bound my chest ever since I saw that feather finally releasing. He grins back—and then seems confused when he looks at the map.

The
X
that formed moments ago is not alone. Several other
X
s appear on the page, designating other potential locations for the cornucopia, along with the words:
Five days before the path fades.

My heart sinks into the earth. Ensel must've had many hiding places. He was so paranoid that he moved it around frequently. When it wasn't in use, he'd send it to a random location. One of eight, by the looks of it. And the notation makes it sound like the ink will fade. At least it should last long enough for us to meet the witch's deadline.

Between this and what he did to my family, I've never hated Ensel more. How will we check all eight within four days? I'm tempted to throw the map back into the fire, but Dalen pries it from my hands first.

“Careful,” he says. “If you hold it too tightly, it might
crumble. That would be a shame after it survived the fire.”

Better for him to carry it right now.

“Ensel had multiple hiding spots.” I sigh. “We'll have to check them all.”

Which, of course, means that I will have to check them alone for the most part.

“We can do that. Or we could split them up,” he suggests. “It would go faster that way.”

Peering at the map, I ask, “Which ones are in the city and which are outside it? If you can check the ones outside it, near the woods and places you can hide if necessary, that would help.” I frown. “But if none are near places you could hide, I hate to ask you to do it. I dragged you all the way here, and I should be the one to ensure you remain safe.”

He laughs. “I can handle a brief search. But I thank you for your concern. And you are correct, I will keep to the forested areas, and you can search the city and any other places not easily accessible to me.” He holds up the map. “See, here is the line marking the forest, and this one the city gates. It's divided almost in half. We can do this twice as fast, then get your brother back.”

“Thank you,” I say, squeezing his hand and meaning it.

DESPITE ALL THAT HAS TRANSPIRED, IT IS ONLY EARLY AFTERNOON, AND
we have no time to waste. We decide we'll each tackle one of the
X
s. Dalen has copied the entire map so we can each have one. In my stall, I fill my pack with supplies, my hands lingering over the bottles containing Ensel's potions. I hate them because they belonged to him . . . yet they might come in handy. One did before. The urge to take them with me is sudden and strong.

Dalen doesn't know about the potions. He and his kind have even more reason than I to despise the wizard, and I don't know how he'd react if he knew I'd used one of them. Or that I might decide to use another. Surely, the ability to move silently would come in handy on this expedition. I toss the vial into my pack. If it will help me rescue Hans . . .

Who knows what aftereffects it might have? Thankfully, the cloak I used the invisibility potion on didn't seem the worse for wear, and the potion's effects faded in a few hours, but some of the other potions I'd need to ingest. The thought scares me more than I like to admit.

Dalen pushes the door of my stall open. I drop the vial of invisibility potion like a hot coal into my pack and whirl around, cheeks burning. I nudge the edge of my blanket over the small box, then cross my arms over my chest.

“I'll check the ravine mentioned on the map,” Dalen says, holding his copy in his hands, his pack slung over his shoulder. He paws the ground.

“I was just about to leave, too,” I say, feeling oddly nervous, yet hopeful.

I absentmindedly rub my finger over the sore on the back of my hand. It's gotten worse over the course of the day. I'll need to bandage it soon.

Dalen notices and catches my arm. “What happened to your hand?”

I shake my head. “Nothing, just scratched it on something. Don't even remember it happening.”

He frowns briefly, then says, “We'll meet here at dusk.”

I nod my agreement. Why do I suddenly feel awkward around Dalen? Didn't I just spend last night curled against him, weeping?

Maybe that's exactly why.

Vulnerable is not something I ever want to be again. I duck my head, grab my pack, and barrel out the door.

The afternoon sun flares in my eyes when I step out of the tunnel into an alley on a side of town I've yet to explore. The buildings are large and spacious, but just as run-down and wet as everything else in this city, though the smell is less cloying. Perhaps most of the unfortunate fish are caught up by the streets of the central part of the city and don't leave as much waste here. Only dark, ghastly water to rot the houses.

Did my mother ever tread here, too, when the streets were filled more with life than death?

The path beneath my feet is damp in patches. Nothing ever really seems to dry out in Belladoma. The map takes me on a circuitous route, weaving around houses, back through crisscrossing alleyways, until finally stopping at a huge stone mansion in the same place as the
X
on the map. It towers over the others, like one giant standing stone pile, with the forest at its back. The huge, close-knit trees look dark and foreboding, like an army ready to spring to life. The hedge monsters in Bryre's palace garden leap to the front of my mind. That sort of thing is much more possible than I'd like.

But the wizard is gone, and as far as I know, I carry with me some of the last traces of his magic in the form of Ensel's potions. Except, of course, whatever it was that the mercenaries got from his cottage. I shudder. After seeing what the mercenaries did to that inn, I'm sure it must be more sinister than anything I've found.

I examine the house. Should I use one of the potions before I break in? There are no signs that people live here, not like the others I've passed. No carts, no horses. The grounds are overgrown to the point where the front walk and steps are almost entirely overtaken. But that doesn't necessarily mean the house is empty.

At the foot of the walk, I take out the vial of yellow liquid. Yellow is for silent steps. I could try this potion, just in case. A flare of excitement ties my stomach in knots.

It's dangerous. I shouldn't risk myself needlessly. Though perhaps . . .

I take off my boots. Holding both potion and shoes away from my body, I pour a single drop on the sole of each. A golden shimmer runs over them, tingling up my arms. I drop them in surprise, as a heady rush sweeps over me.

That must mean the potion worked. Better to test it on my shoes than on myself. I lace them back up and take a tentative step. Nothing, no sound at all. I stomp, then try jumping. Again, nothing. I shouldn't grin, but I do anyway. Now I can really be sneaky. This is almost as good as invisibility.

With one last check of my surroundings to ensure no one follows, I start up the walk, carefully picking my way through overgrown shrubbery and patches of prickling thorns. No one has called this place home for a long time. By the time I reach the front door, I wonder if I have the wrong place.

But one of the elemental symbols adorns the door knocker—an inverted triangle with a line through the top for earth—and all my doubts vanish like fog dispelled by sunlight.

Determined not to hope too much, I open the door. The leaded glass windows spill light into the room. Dust motes swell into the air, swirling in sunlight. The entryway was polished granite once upon a time but now is coated with a dull sheen. A thick tapestry hangs on one wall; it's so faded I can't make out what it depicts. I follow the long hallway and peek into every room, the potion keeping my steps silent.

It looks like it was abandoned in a hurry. The dining-room table is still set, waiting for the occupants to return and sit down to supper. I don't linger; it's far too eerie for my taste.

The trouble with the map is that it gives only the general location of the hiding spot. There's no map of the inside of the mansion; only the notation that the cornucopia could be here. Somewhere.

Frustrated, I stop to gather my bearings in the library. I've searched each room on the ground floor for any indication of a hiding spot, which I suspect will be marked by the triangle element symbol. Yet nothing since the door knocker has presented itself. The library is long and narrow, oddly so. Still, there are plenty of books to spare, row upon row at the back of the library. A skylight above my head reminds me I'm supposed to meet Dalen at the barn by dusk. I wonder how he fares with his search.

This section of the library is situated in front of a fireplace, cold and full of old ash. Several chairs and a chaise sit in front of the fireplace with layers of dust so thick I initially mistake them for a blanket. I move toward the rows of
books. On the back wall between two windows is another tapestry, though this one is easier to see. It's cleaner than the rest of the room, though plenty of dust still clings to it.

The threads on the panel depict an ocean and the sea life inhabiting it. I shiver as I recognize the giant outer shell and rippling tentacles of the Sonzeeki. I lift my gaze to the top of the panel. It shows a scene above the ocean: the cliff and castle. Two figures with crowns woven in gold threads stand on the top of the cliff eying the waters below as if they rule the seas peacefully.

Odd that the Sonzeeki seems calm. It rests in a cavern, arms curling around something that looks suspiciously like a cornucopia.

Understanding comes to me suddenly. The cornucopia wasn't just another piece of treasure the Sonzeeki hoarded like dragons did jewels. Ensel took away the Sonzeeki's food source, and now it rises to the surface, starving and desperate and angry. It makes a horrible sort of sense. My fists clench, nails digging into my palms, as I turn away from the tapestry.

This is
his
fault. The ruin of Belladoma, the deaths of my family and many other girls—all of it comes right back to Ensel and his insatiable greed. If he wasn't already dead, I'd hunt him down and kill him myself.

But I can't change what he did, and I can't even fix it. I can't return the cornucopia to the Sonzeeki—I have to give it to King Oliver in exchange for his help, or to the witch so she'll release Hans. There are no good choices. Every one I make will cause misery somewhere. All I can do is what is
right for me and mine, and hope for the best.

What would my mother have done, faced with this choice? Her city or her son? If she was horrified by the state of Belladoma when Ensel was alive, she would be deeply saddened to see how ruined it is now.

When the shelves and walls reveal nothing new about Ensel's hiding place, I head back to the main entrance to the library. A cloud moves away from the sun and the light in the room intensifies. It shines down, hitting a section of the parquet floor in the very center of the library. I gape.

It's shaped just like the earth elemental symbol—the inverted triangle with a line at the top, this time contained within a circle. I stumble to the floor, hands pawing at the symbol, seeking any seam or rent that signifies an opening. My hands find nothing. I slap my palm as hard as I can against the center of the earth symbol.

Wood panels slide down and across, revealing a hidden compartment below. Laughter bubbles up in my throat and hope soars in my chest.

I've found it.

I put my hand into the space and feel around the corners, but it's empty. Nothing is inside it now, though it was clearly the spot designated on the map. Ensel must have used a different one the last time he hid it.

I hope Dalen has fared better than I have.

The panels slide back into place on their own, which I find both disconcerting and good to know. I might have to put more than an arm into any one hiding place before we find what we need.

As I leave the house, I make a closer examination of the portraits in the hall. Many of them seem familiar, and when I see a younger yet unmistakable rendition of Ensel's face, I understand.

This was his childhood home, which must have been left to relatives when his mother married the king. Then he took the throne by deceit. The deserted table . . . he rounded up his own family during dinner. He must have feared they might get ideas about ruling, too. The more I learn about Ensel, the more sickening his callous nature becomes.

These must be some of my steprelatives. Ensel was related to my mother by marriage. I may as well be wandering into my own past, one I have little interest in recovering.

I straighten my spine and march down the rest of the hall, ignoring the remaining portraits. I don't look up until I am out the door and back on the street.

One down, too many more to go.