Ravenous (4 page)

“Where is this cornucopia now?” If I had much money to my name, I would bet anything the wizard hoarded that right along with all the other magic he stole.

“That is the trouble. No one knows. Ensel, that fool king from Belladoma, stole it years ago, but he was mad and greedy for any power he could get his hands on. At first he lorded it over his courtiers while the rest of the city went hungry. Anyone who wanted to eat had to be loyal to him. Their reward was a full stomach and daughters safe from the sea beast—until another courtier took their place. But as his madness grew, he began to fear that if he flaunted what it could do, or let anyone but himself and his most trusted guards near the cornucopia, it would be stolen. So he hid his treasure and moved it around constantly. Only his adviser,
Albin, ever knew Ensel's hiding places, and he is long dead.”

She walks in a circle and clicks her long nails together. “King Ensel and that wizard friend of his suspected I wanted the cornucopia. But the wizard cast a spell so that I can't see the thing until someone willingly bestows it on me. Crafty, unpleasant man. He even put up wards around these lands to keep me out. Now that they're both dead, the wards are down and I've returned to the woods, but no one remains who knows Ensel's last hiding spot.” She turns back toward me. “And that is what you will have to figure out.”

Nausea creeps up my insides. “It's impossible.”

She barks a laugh. “Not so sure of yourself now, my pretty one?”

I stand up straighter. “No, I am. If it's out there, I'll find it. But what if the wizard took it? He was notorious for hoarding magic. What if—”

“That is not my problem, is it?” She smiles. “Now, don't think for a second you can hide from me. I never forget a scent. And I always catch my prey. Do be quick.”

She snaps her fingers and I find myself standing outside the chicken hut, watching it retreat into the woods at a breakneck pace, with a trail of goat-chickens pecking and squawking after it. “Wait!” I cry. “How will I find you again when I have it?”

But it's no use. The hut, the witch—and Hans—are gone.

The reality of my plight sinks in like a stone in a pond. I can't seem to escape Belladoma. It keeps dragging me back, like the Sonzeeki's tentacles.

I must return to find the one thing that can free my brother. If the witch even keeps her side of the bargain, and that's doubtful at best. But I have to at least try.

I slump to the ground with my head between my knees, heaving gulps of panic. Memories crash over me. It feels like water fills my lungs but I'm choking on nothing.
Those other girls . . . Ensel makes us watch. The salty air assaults my senses. The wind whips wildly around the girl at the tower window, screaming No, no, no, no. Then she's falling, terror-bound. A slimy black tentacle shoots up from the depths, latches onto her body, and yanks her beneath the waves.

Be good and you won't be next.

Ensel's lies ring in my ears as I recover my senses. I could do nothing to help my friends, those girls. The crushing helplessness is worse than any cut from a sword.

I must go back. For Hans. I could not save them, but I may be able to save him. I'll have to face my fears and pray no one sees fit to feed me to the beast.

THE STARS GUIDE ME ON MY JOURNEY TOWARD BELLADOMA. I HAVE NOT
a second to spare, and I walk all night instead of sleeping.

Shadows follow me through the woods as the trees grow denser. Clinging vines drape from the branches, occasionally slapping my face with reminders to stay awake. I'm exhausted, but terrified that if I stop, the witch and her chicken hut will scoop me up. I don't trust her to keep her word. If she knows my scent, she won't have any trouble following me.

The night slinks away as dawn creeps over the sky. The rays of sun don't warm me, not like they used to do. I can't help thinking of the monster girl, Kymera. If I could fly like her, I'd reach Belladoma in no time. Perhaps I could even find the cornucopia just from hunting above the trees.

But I am not like her. And I will get by as I always have: with my own wits.

I sigh and pull my cloak closer. Dew dampens it, but the sun will dry it out as the day goes on. I can't shake the feeling that something watches me from the trees. The chicken hut may not have eyes, but I am sure the witch has a means of watching.

I just hope she hasn't changed her mind already.

Before long, my unease deepens. Bird calls are few and far between. The usual sounds of squirrels in the underbrush have all but vanished. Only my footfalls echo through this section of the forest.

Something is wrong here.

This time no accompanying stench marks it as the chicken hut and the witch. I duck low between the trees but keep as fast a pace as possible. I need to hide. Something is near, and it scared away the wildlife. If I'd slept last night, I might have noticed it sooner.

Before I know what has happened, the terrain takes an unexpectedly steep dive. I stumble head over feet, bushes ripping at my cloak and face. Rocks and roots punch into my sides and arms. Everything blurs into a mass of green and brown and blue sky.

Then I stop.

First I focus on breathing. My lungs ache, and I can feel bruises forming all over my body. The cuts and scrapes on my face and hands sting like nettles. Then I open my eyes.

I'm not alone.

I must be seeing things. They're supposed to be extinct.
But the man brandishing a spear at my chest definitely has the lower body of a horse. Several of the people behind him have goat legs, marking them as fauns.

Hybrids.

I thought the wizard killed all that remained to steal their magic.

Except, apparently, these hybrids.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” demands the centaur holding the spear at my chest.

“N-nothing,” I stutter. “I'm headed for Belladoma.” Just saying that awful city's name turns my stomach. It does the same for the centaur, judging by the sneer on his face.

“Belladoma. Are you one of the wizard's people?” He nudges me with the butt of the spear.

“Ow! No. I hate the wizard.”

He snorts. “Why should we believe that?”

“Because I helped Bryre get rid of him. He's long dead now; I saw it myself.” If we both hate the wizard, we at least have some common ground.

A murmur rumbles through the gathering crowd of hybrids. Women with snake tails, and men with wings—I can't name them all, but I recognize them from the hedge sculptures in Bryre's palace gardens. All these creatures I was sure were fictional stand before me. Menacingly.

“You're lying. Wizards can't be killed,” the centaur says.

“Yes, they can.” Why is this wound still raw after all these months?

More gasps. He prods me again with the spear. “Get up. We can't risk you running off and telling people about us.
Secrecy is the only reason we're alive.”

“You're going to kill me?”

“For now, you're our prisoner. Get up, and come with us.”

Tiny ribbons of panic slice up my chest. “I have to get to Belladoma. My brother is depending on me.”

“Get up,” he growls.

Slowly, I rise to my feet, arms outstretched. “Please. You don't understand. If I don't get to Belladoma, my brother will die.”

The centaur paws the ground with a hoof and scoffs. “You're lying. Probably about everything. We can't take any chances with you.”

“I'm not, I swear it!” I cry. Several more centaurs materialize from the forest, far too close for comfort with their long spears. They aren't going to let me go.

Instead, I'm herded toward a path I hadn't seen before.

“Please—”

“If you value your life, do not speak again.”

I clamp my jaw shut as a faun approaches with a hood of dark material. I stifle my objection. Of course they'll blindfold me. They don't want me to know where we go, nor how to escape.

But they don't know me.

I'll put every ounce of life I have into breaking free.

I feel like I've stumbled around in the darkness for hours, though I suspect not much time has actually passed. We have reached what must be a village. Activity buzzes around
me, and the faun finally pulls the hood off my head.

“Don't get any ideas,” he says.

My jaw drops. The entire village is full of hybrids. The legends are wrong. When the wizard hunted them, these must have banded together and hidden themselves in order to survive. How deep into the forest did I wander?

Houses of all shapes and sizes line the cobblestone streets. Flashes of fins and faces dot the river surrounding the town. Platforms suspended in trees rise over our heads, and the winged hybrids perch there. Above it all, a huge canopy of green leaves and branches squeezes out every inch of sky, providing perfect cover from any prying eyes. Everything below is filtered in green light and shadows. In the center of the village sits the largest tree I've ever seen—undoubtedly the source of the foliage.

My eyes drink it all in, marking the locations of paths and huts and, most important, any potential exits.

They lead me through the village, and the eyes of the hybrids we pass burn into my skin. Do I appear as strange to them as they do to me? Have they even seen a human before?

And more concerning—what, exactly, do hybrids eat?

I crane my neck as we pass the humongous tree trunk, watching the red-flecked leaves of a vine drape down and sway in the breeze. By the time we round the trunk, I understand where they're taking me: a knotted hole in one of the tree's visible roots. It's half as big as our house in Bryre, and an iron grate hangs open in front of it. Several holes like it dot this side of the trunk, but all are empty.

“Get in.” The lead centaur points to the hole.

My muscles tense as every nerve in my body screams at me to bolt. I can't go in there. If I do, there's no guarantee I'll ever get out. That would guarantee the witch will eat Hans.

The faun holding on to me shoves me forward; I pretend to stumble and then dodge to the side and sprint around the tree.

First they gape. Then they swarm.

Hoofbeats pound after me, too fast, and harpies swoop down, trying to carry me away. I don't even reach the other side of the massive tree before what seems like the entire village surrounds me.

Judging by their weapons and expressions, they are not pleased to have to ask me twice to get in the tree-root prison.

The lead centaur yanks me and pins my arms behind my back, forcing me to march awkwardly back to the cell. Once there, he opens the door and shoves me forward, not releasing my arms until I'm inside the cage.

I rub my sore wrists as the gate swings closed behind me.

THE NEXT MORNING, THE FIRST THING I SEE WHEN I OPEN MY EYES IS A
horse's rear end. The centaur boy guarding my gate gives me quite a start before I remember what happened yesterday. Before I remember where I am.

Trapped.

I cannot remain imprisoned like this, not ever again. Especially when I don't know what they plan to do to me.

I'll just have to plot my way out.

My bed is a straw pallet on a wooden shelf carved from the root of the great tree. The rest of the room is spare. A chamber pot lies in the far corner, blessedly away from the door. The floor is hard stone, which means I won't be able to dig a way out.

Still, I must try something.

“Hello?” I call out. Perhaps playing the hapless maiden will make them pity me enough to let me go on my way.

The centaur boy glances at me. I scramble to my feet and edge closer to the barred door. “Hello, please, can I have something to eat? I'm starving.”

He nods sharply, then trots off.

That wasn't quite what I expected, but at least I'll get breakfast. That's something.

A few minutes later, he returns carrying a small bowl and a canteen of water. My stomach rumbles. He sets the bowl on a sliding tray attached to the door and pushes it through, then holds the canteen out to me through the bars. I accept both as demurely as possible.

“Thank you,” I say. “I'm Greta. What's your name?”

The boy's silver eyes flash with surprise, but then he retakes his place guarding my cell.

“Can you tell me where I am? What this place is?” I crane my neck to see more of my surroundings outside. “It's beautiful here.” This is not an exaggeration. Everything is green, and colored flowers, and other plants glow in the hazy light.

The centaur stamps his feet but doesn't answer. Stubborn. I clench my fists in frustration but continue to talk.

“You must have family,” I say. This earns a flick of his chestnut tail. I'll take that as a yes. “Do you have any younger siblings, a brother or sister?”

He goes still. Way off base or too close for comfort, hard to tell.

“I have a brother. Hans.” I lower my voice to a pleading
pitch. “He's in trouble. I was on my way to help him when I happened upon your village.” I swallow the sob welling up in my throat as the image of Hans stuck in a cage wobbles in front of my eyes. “He's twelve years old. He'll die if I can't get to him in time. Our parents are gone. There's no one left to help him but me.”

“I'm not supposed to talk to you,” the centaur finally says. He stamps his hooves again, then, without looking at me, moves farther away from my door.

Frustrated, I return to my pallet to eat my breakfast and think. The porridge isn't bad and the water is as cool as I could ask for.

What can I do to change the guard's mind? My thoughts are interrupted by hoofbeats. Moments later the guard opens my door to let the older centaur with jet-black hair into my cell, along with a female centaur. The woman scowls fiercely at me, though the man's expression is more tempered than when he found me. I fight the urge to cower in the corner until they leave, and stand up straighter instead.

“The council of elders has made their decision,” the centaur man says. “But we have some questions first.”

I don't move an inch. “What are you going to do with me?”

I hear a shuffling noise, and an ancient hybrid inches forward around the corner of my prison cell. He must be one of the elders. He has the lower body of an enormous snake, and the upper body of a man. He's also the most wrinkled creature I've ever set eyes on in my life. I wonder if his human skin molts like his snake skin must.

He slithers closer between the centaur guards to examine me, and I do my best not to cringe.

The snake-man's tongue flickers in my face as though he means to taste me. “How did you find usss?” he asks.

I dare to breathe again. “I didn't. At least, I didn't intend to find you. I was on my way to Belladoma to help my brother.”

He hisses at the mention of Belladoma. “Yesss, our guards told usss you claimed you were headed there. The rotting city.” It's an apt description.

“I have no choice. My brother needs help and Belladoma holds the key.”

The snake-man tilts his head at me, coiling his tail beneath him in a way that makes me think of a human sitting on a chair. “What could Belladoma have to offer you? It was once lovely but went to ruin under the pretender-king Ensssel. Now only chaosss and mercenaries rule there.”

I clench my fists. I don't want to reveal I seek the cornucopia, especially if they've already made their decision. An unending food supply would surely be appealing to these people, too. They might try to take it from me, keep it for themselves. Their locking me up hasn't exactly inspired me to trust them.

“He's being held by a witch. The price for setting him free was to deliver a message to someone in Belladoma.” Half-truths will have to suffice today. “I must have taken a wrong turn in the woods; then I fell down the hill and here I am. I don't wish you harm, I just want my brother back. I need to leave. Please tell me you've decided to let me go.”
Hysteria paralyzes my vocal cords. If they don't release me, I don't know what I'll do.

But I do know exactly what the witch will do.

“A pretty tale,” says the snake-man. “It smells of liesss. Like the one you told our guardsss about the wizard being dead. Do you mean to trick usss?”

“No!” I cry. “I've never been on the side of the wizard. He did me a great wrong, one that a hybrid like yourselves fixed.”

Utter silence greets me. The two older centaurs exchange a scowl.

The snake-man's eyes glitter. I shudder. I can't help it.

“You will remain with usss until we determine whether you tell the truth.”

“Are you going to kill me?” I ask. They could kill me—easily—and not think twice about it. Why else would my guard not be allowed to speak to me?

Never get attached to those you intend to dispose of. Sounds like something King Ensel would've said. My hands shake, but I keep them firmly pressed to my sides.

The snake-man smiles, and it is a terrible thing to behold, all teeth and forked tongue and wrinkles. “No, we are a peaceful community. Perhaps you will become one of us in time and participate in all we have to offer—”

I don't miss the frowns that remark elicits in the centaurs behind him, but I hold my tongue.

“—but for now, you are our prisoner until we deem you trustworthy of joining usss outside your cage, little bird.”
He nods at the centaur man and woman as he shuffles out of my cell.

“No! Please!” I cry as the female centaur roughly grabs me around my waist. “Please! I don't have much time to save Hans.”

She drags me to the back of my cell, but I shrug off her grasp and slip in the dirt. “This is a death sentence for my brother! His death will be on your hands!”

Something hard and blunt strikes the back of my head; then everything fades.

When I wake, my lunch sits on a tray by the cell door. It's probably been there for hours. The council's decision and my screams of protest return in a rush. Tears spring to my eyes.

I must convince them to change their minds.

“Stop that,” my guard says.

I wipe my eyes and sit up. “What?”

He gapes at me and steps back from the bars. I leap toward them.

“Your elders took away my freedom and doomed the only family I have left, and you have the nerve to ask me to stop crying?”

He paws the dirt, taken aback by my outburst. “I—”

“Don't you dare say you're sorry,” I warn. “If you were truly sorry, I wouldn't be trapped in here.”

I throw myself back on my pallet, but I'm out of tears. My pack catches my eye. Someone must have put it in my cell while I was out cold.

I lean over and tug it toward me. I riffle through the items and quickly realize someone already went through it. My knife is gone. If I had that, I might be able to pick the lock, or even fight my way out. I don't want to hurt any of these people, but if I can scare them off long enough to escape . . .

I sigh. There isn't much left that's useful. Except perhaps my flint. I've used it to start cooking fires, but I might be able to wear it down into something more practical for my current circumstances. I can't do much while the centaur boy is right outside my cell. I'll have to wait until it gets darker and muffle the sound somehow.

Missing my brother makes me want to do two things: first, escape; barring that, read the book of fairy tales I took. Over the past few months, Hans and I read a similar book of stories together at night. He loved to bury himself in histories, maps, fairy tales, and anything else he could get his hands on in our meager library. I think he read only in order to lose himself and forget the tragedy of our real lives. If I concentrate very hard, perhaps he'll hear me through the space that separates us.

Or perhaps I'm just losing my mind. Either way, I reach for the book and begin to read aloud.

The first story is about a mermaid who doesn't value the gift of her fins and wishes them away for legs. She is punished accordingly. How strange she'd want to be a mere human, when she was such a rare creature!

In the next story, a miller's daughter spins straw into gold with the help of an imp. When the king finds out, he
insists she spin the gold for him or forfeit her life. The imp makes a bargain with her and helps her once again, but then she refuses to pay the promised price, so that one doesn't end well either.

As I read, the centaur inches closer. Could he be listening? Hope whispers over me. If I can gain his sympathy through reading, perhaps I can escape in time to save Hans.

When another faun arrives with my dinner, my guard hands me the stew through the bars himself. I take it gingerly but waste no time tucking in. I'm starving.

“Where did you get those tales?” the guard asks. I glance up in surprise. The last thing I expect from him is conversation.

“I found the book before I left Bryre. I thought my brother would like them.”

He's quiet for a few minutes, then, when I put my tray back on the shelf across the bars, speaks again. “My name is Dalen,” he says. “Will you read another?”

My mouth drops open, but I manage to form a reply. “Is there a particular one you'd like to hear? I can search through the book if you have one in mind.” Perhaps if I'm kind to him, he'll be inspired to return the favor. One does catch more flies with honey, after all.

Dalen's face turns red. “I—I don't know. I've never heard these tales before.”

“Don't you read?” The books I've read always said that centaurs were very smart.

“Of course, but we only have histories and archives here. Those tales are something else, aren't they?”

“Yes, they're fairy tales. Made-up stories. I think some are rooted in facts, but whoever wrote them took many liberties.” Spinning straw into gold—Ha!—that wouldn't happen without the help of a powerful wizard.

He tilts his head with a curious look on his face, almost as though he's forgotten I'm a prisoner and he's not supposed to talk to me.

“Fascinating,” he says. “But you will read another?”

I continue to read until darkness sets in and another guard takes his place. As Dalen leaves, he glances back at me and smiles tentatively.

I believe I've just found my way out.