“You look sick,” Kylee told him. “You okay?”
Brysen leaned his head against the closest rock, breath clouding in front of him, eyes closed. They’d stopped to rest. “It’s the altitude,” he said, which could have been true. This high up, everyone had a little trouble breathing, everyone felt a little sick. Well, everyone except Jowyn. Whatever the blood birch sap had done to his body had adapted him to thin air. Brysen hoped Kylee wouldn’t look at him too closely, because some of that sap’s properties were in him now and he wasn’t really feeling the effects of altitude, either. He was troubled by a different sickness as they huddled halfway up the steep slope leading into the Nameless Gap.
Memory.
A short run down the slope from where they were, past abandoned packs and tents and ropes from ill-fated expeditions past, a few scrubby bushes had taken root, growing up through the rocky ground and patches of snow that clung stubbornly against the whipping winds funneling through the gap. He knew those bushes, remembered the feel of their scratchy branches on his face as he cowered behind them, how their tough leaves rattled when he shivered, giving him away. How the sounds of what had happened next echoed off the high sides of the Nameless Gap for a long time after.
He’d been here before.
At the moment he’d nearly been caught following his father. Yzzat’s breath had been bated and his blade drawn, and Brysen had known he was about to die. He’d been certain that, instead of gratitude that he’d come to help—to show he could help—his father would finally kill him, and he’d known he wouldn’t fight back, couldn’t.
He’d imagined the curved, black-talon blade entering him, could practically feel how it would part the scarred flesh of his side to slide between his ribs, the twist of the blade and the cold flood when the razor tip touched his heart. He hadn’t been afraid; he’d been relieved. Finally, there would be no more fear, no more waiting for the brutal end. It was here, it was now.
And then it wasn’t.
He’d come expecting death and had been given life. The ghost eagle had saved his life that night.
Better that Kylee didn’t know. He’d always told her that he stole their father’s knife before he left for that final expedition, and that he’d wanted it as a keepsake afterward, and she’d never questioned him. She never questioned him about that time at all, when he said he’d spent a full moon’s turning in hiding after stealing the knife, afraid of what would happen to him when their father returned. He’d only come home once everyone knew Yzzat wouldn’t. What Kylee had done while he was gone—how she and Ma had gotten on without him—he didn’t ask and she didn’t bring up. And Ma only ever prayed at them, never asked questions. Of all the silences in their lives after the ghost eagle killed their father, the silence around that time was the heaviest.
But here he was again, like a hawk circling its hunting ground, flying the same circle again and again, but at a greater height with farther to fall.
His own hawk shifted from foot to foot on his fist, shrinking into herself. The Nameless Gap was not a comfortable place for her, either. Her head dipped and turned, snapped around as she tried to see in every direction all at once. He set her on the ground, left her unleashed. She would need that advantage if she had to escape quickly. He wouldn’t tether her this close to the ghost eagle’s eyrie. If things went wrong, she’d have a flying chance.
“We could all use a rest,” Jowyn said, eyes on Brysen. He was playing along, but there was a question on his face, a question Brysen had no intention of answering. Yet he felt like he could, like Jowyn might understand. Jowyn had fled to the mountains once, too, after all. The only difference was that, unlike Brysen, he’d found what he was looking for. Brysen hadn’t yet but was poised to.
“We’ll have to get into position before sundown,” Brysen said. “I’ll need each of you to play a part in this. I lost my nets and snares back with the covey, but I’ve still got enough spider-silk rope to tie the eagle once we tackle it.”
“‘Tackle it?’” Nyall gasped. “You sure the height hasn’t cooked your brain? No one can tackle a ghost eagle.”
“No one can,” Brysen said. “But a group together might. Think about it: Did you ever read the stories of the old trappers—Ymal the Cask-Breaker, Valyry the Gloveless, the Stych Sisters?”
“Not much for reading, Bry,” Nyall scoffed. “And last I checked, neither were you.”
“Exactly,” said Brysen. “Because nothing written about those legends is true. If it were, everyone who followed their paths would’ve already caught a ghost eagle.”
“So the fact that nobody’s written about a group taking down a ghost eagle makes you think it can be done?” Nyall shook his head.
“You’re saying you don’t trust me?” Brysen asked. He hadn’t asked Nyall to come on this journey. Hadn’t invited him, in fact. They both knew he was only there because he was in love with Kylee. Nyall would go along with whatever she said. Brysen turned to her.
“It’s not impossible,” she told them. “I have read all the fragments of the old stories. They contradict each other. It doesn’t mean they aren’t true, but it could mean the truth is maybe more complicated.”
“Complicated,” Nyall repeated, looking between Kylee and Brysen.
“The stories all talk about these great heroes,” Kylee said. “But they all leave things out, skip parts, try to make the trapper they’re writing about sound like the greatest person ever. But no one real is perfect. No one real can do everything themselves.”
Brysen felt like her last words were aimed straight at him. She was taking his side, but somehow, he found it annoying.
“Anyway,” Brysen added, “every trapper who’s come up here alone has died. So our chances are better if we work together. It’s pretty simple. We lure the eagle down, grab it by the legs, and tie it up—just like we do with passage hawks we want to train.”
“Passage hawks aren’t the size of a grown man,” Nyall objected. “Passage hawks can’t snap the arms off their prey with one bite.”
“So you’re saying you’re too scared?” Brysen spat at him. “You don’t want to be here? You’re fine to sing outside our window and argue about bird boxes, but when we really need your help, you’ve got all kinds of reasons not to?”
“Hey!” Nyall growled right back at him. “I’m trying to protect you, here!”
“It was never me you were trying to protect,” Brysen replied.
“Don’t get mad at Nyall,” Kylee cut in. “He’s just asking questions. We’re all on your side. We want to help you.”
“About time!” Brysen grunted.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kylee snapped.
“You know exactly what it means,” he told her.
“Well, I’m here now.”
“Exactly!”
“You don’t want me here?” Kylee stood. “After you asked for my help? You think you don’t need me now?” She pointed a finger in his face. “You’d already be dead if I hadn’t come after you!”
Brysen knocked his sister’s finger away and stood up to look her square in the eyes. “I know you’re better than me, okay? You don’t have to stuff it down my throat all the time!” He yelled at her with a rage that made him shake and set her back on her heels. His voice echoed off the high ridges on either side of the Gap. It sounded like his father’s voice.
“Don’t you dare yell at her.” Nyall stood now, too, putting himself between Brysen and his sister. “She’s done nothing but defend you since we were kids, and you’ve never shown any gratitude. You chew hunter’s leaf and fool around, and you don’t do anything to help your family. Your sister is the most amazing person I’ve ever known, and you treat her like a bait pigeon while you worship the sweat that drips from that birdnester, Dymian. It makes me sick. There’re times I want to punch your face in.”
“Do it then,” Brysen said, putting his face nearly against Nyall’s, so close their foreheads almost touched. He’d always known his “friend” secretly hated him, was only using him to get close to his sister—just like everyone else did. She was the special one, the one with talent, the one with brains. He was just the screwup, the poor, put-upon boy they could cluck and shake their heads at, never believing he could do anything great.
Nyall shoved him. “Maybe once I break all your teeth, Dymian’ll like you more.”
“Maybe with your skull bashed in, Kylee will pay any attention to you at all.”
“Don’t make this about me, Brysen,” Kylee growled. “You’re the one who got us into this. It’s your fault.”
“You don’t think I know that?” Brysen was crying now, but his blade was out, and his rage stretched wide like wings. He wanted to smash Nyall’s face in, and his sister’s face, and even Jowyn’s face, though Jowyn hadn’t said a word and was still sitting against a boulder with his eyes closed and his fingers intertwined in front of him. Was he praying? Or was he trying to distract Brysen from his goal, trying to steal him from Dymian so he could turn Brysen into a freak like himself?
And who was Brysen to think that boy a freak? He was the one covered in scars, the one who loved the wrong people and made crazy promises and followed phantoms into the clouds, and the one who would never do anything in life worth remembering and he’d fail and fail and—
“You all need to take deep breaths right now.” Jowyn’s calm voice sliced through the riot in Brysen’s mind. “The eagle is nearby. It’s in all of your heads.” He looked at Brysen. “Whatever thoughts you’re thinking are not the truth of you. None of you. Look at one another. See one another. You’re more than what you’re feeling right now. You are more than your worst thoughts. These thoughts are no more solid than a cloud. Remember that. You have to remember that, or it will tear you apart one by one.”
Brysen saw the boy’s calm, and it infuriated him. He didn’t need to be lectured.
“Prrpt,” Shara chirped.
“Shut up!” he yelled at her, raising a fist. Shara flinched, and the blood left Brysen’s face. He nearly fainted, had to hold himself steady. He would never hurt Shara. Could never. This wasn’t him.
He looked up at Kylee, her face twisted with anger and hurt, and that wasn’t her, either. She was tough and loyal and had smarts and gifts to spare, and everything she’d done had been for him. And Nyall was loyal and fun and generous, and he never shrank from a fight. He was here now.
They were both here now. With Brysen. For Brysen.
The ghost eagle couldn’t plant thoughts in their minds; it could only distort what was already there. But like Jowyn said, they were all more than their worst thoughts. Maybe there were pieces of truth in everything they’d just yelled at one another, but only the most jagged pieces. No one was only the sum of broken things inside themselves. Anyway, what were breaks if not openings?
“I’m sorry,” Brysen said, and felt his thoughts clearing, the act of apologizing helping him feel the truth of the apology. “That … that’s not what I think about any of you … not really.”
Nyall nodded. Reached a hand out. Brysen flinched at the motion, but Nyall just squeezed his shoulder. “Same,” he said. Kylee didn’t say a word, just embraced her brother, held him tight.
“I told you I wouldn’t ask you to speak the Hollow Tongue,” Brysen said to her. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t need you. I do need you. I always have.”
Kylee wiped her eyes. “I wish I could speak the right words to do this,” she told him. “But one thing I learned from the Owl Mothers is that it’s dangerous when I can’t control it. I don’t know what I might make the eagle do if I tried.”
Brysen was, in a way, relieved. He’d come to capture the eagle himself, though no one had believed he could—not Goryn or the Owl Mothers or Yves Tamir—but he was going to. They were going to.
He felt a grim determination, a swell of pride, and he had to wonder if that was the eagle’s trick, too. Was he deceiving himself into confidence? Was the eagle guiding him straight into her talons?
It didn’t matter. It had to be done. He had to do it. Dymian’s life was on the line, and all of theirs, too, now. He was responsible, and he would not fail. He picked up Shara.
“For this to work,” he said, “we’ll need bait.” He held Shara against his chest. Her soft feathers warmed his hands, and he could feel the delicate flutter of her heart beside his. He clarified: “Human bait.”