If Enoch had come forward and turned the book in … but he tried to cover his tracks. The boy burned it.
—THE FALCONER
IN THE CLOSE CAVE MILES POCKETED THE TINDERBOX AND listened past the keening wind for other sounds. The rattling of dead leaves, the gurgle of a brook beneath the snow, and very far away the call of a great horned owl. He heard them all and knew it was more than a missing tooth he’d brought back from the Shriker’s form. The quality of sound he gathered from the woods outside and the layers of it down to the soft clicking of snow-burdened branches told him he still had the beast’s acute sense of hearing.
He felt for the little patch of fur on his neck from his first shape-shift. It was still there. If these two remained, he might still have the increased vision from his falcon’s form too. In the dark of night and in this blizzard he couldn’t tell if this was so.
Hanna slept on peacefully. But he was too unsettled to let himself sleep. Miles rubbed his dry eyes and gave in to his thoughts. Enoch’s stolen spell had been said on the night of the dark moon. He’d failed to break the Shriker’s curse and ended up releasing the monster on the world.
Miles’s throat tightened. He’d planned to go to Othlore himself and find a power spell. But he wasn’t Enoch. He would never have gone so far as to steal a spell. The fire popped and sent up a flurry of sparks. One fell against the back of his hand, and he felt the sting of it before pressing it out. Taking the spell from the Falconer’s book wasn’t as bad as Enoch’s crime, was it? He hadn’t stolen the whole book. He hadn’t burned The Way Between Worlds.
“A stolen spell is never rightly wielded.” Shree’s words. Miles had miscast the spell on Breal’s Moon night. And the pearl path had faded even as he walked along. But he’d put only himself in danger that night. He wasn’t like Enoch. He wasn’t the one who’d brought the Shriker back.
The muscles down his arms tightened. All was done now and could not be reversed. He and Hanna were lost in Uthor with but three arrows and a knife—useless weapons against the monster.
We’re not trapped here, he told himself. We’ll find our way out. But his heart told him otherwise. He felt how small his hands were, how powerless his human jaw. And if there was a spell to kill the beast, he’d never learned it. “Now you are cursed, and the thirst for revenge will drive you all your days until your thirst is quenched!” How could such a curse be broken? And if a way was found, would the breaking of it kill the beast?
Laying another stick on the fire, Miles blew it to a golden flame, the color of the Falconer’s eyes, then sat back, deep in thought. Teacher. What would you do now?
The storm eased, and they met only light snowfall at dawn when they left the cave. The deep woods looked endless and impenetrable in the shadow vale, but Miles walked firmly on, his bow at the ready and his arrows within easy reach. He watched the woods on either side for trolls and listened for the telltale hiss of skullen snakes, which often slumbered in the trees. His sharp hearing made him keenly aware of the loud crunching noises he and Hanna made on the snow.
They passed an outcropping of gorse bushes, which gave over to aspen trees and pine. Miles stopped and slid his finger along his knife handle, listening for the telling sound of cracking twigs, which would betray the presence of his enemy.
Snowflakes gathered in the creases of Hanna’s hood. She swung her hands as she proceeded along the trail. Her fingers were blue with cold. Still, she seemed refreshed from her night’s sleep and hiked along at a steady pace. He remembered the pleasant look on her face when she awoke. She’d been so happy to see him that he couldn’t bear to tell her his plan.
“Which way?” she asked.
“Straight ahead.”
She stopped and turned round. “Are you sure?”
“Aye.” He stared into her round face, though he wanted to look away.
“All right, then,” she sighed.
“And pick up the pace even more, if you can,” he said.
In another mile they entered a small clearing near the place where he’d slain the gullmuth. He looked down, comparing his sister’s small tracks with his own as he stepped beside them. He should warn her soon. The pit he sought was somewhere nearby, though he wasn’t sure where. Perhaps just off the trail where the trees parted.
A sudden, loud crack followed by a scream stopped him dead in his tracks. Miles looked up just in time to see Hanna break through a layer of branches and slide down into the pit.
“Hanna!” Miles raced forward.
She flung out her hands, trying desperately to grab on to something, but she was swallowed up before he could reach her.