Guardian Hound (3 page)

Hans might have listened to them, and maybe given them a little of his own life essence. As far as he could tell, their words were absolutely true: These weren't empty promises. They could do everything they claimed, could help him in all these ways.

But the cost was too high. It wasn't his life they wanted, but that of his hound soul's.

Even giving away just a little would diminish both his hound soul and his own.

His hound soul begged him to run away from the pain and hurt, as far and as fast as they could.

Father might call Hans a disgrace to the hound clan, but he trusted his hound soul to do the right thing, to warn him of the danger.

The shadows drew back.

Hans and his hound soul stood firm. They would not help the shadows. Hans wouldn't hurt his hound soul that way.

The shadows attacked again, harder, trying to force their way through skin and fur, into blood and bone. They leached his life and energy by wrapping tightly around him.

Exhaustion slammed into Hans. He suddenly felt older than his twenty-two years. He hunkered over, wrapping his arms over his chest.

He just had to endure. The spell wouldn't last.

The potion would wear off at some point, and Hans knew he'd wake up, probably on the floor of the kitchen, with a sour head and a rumbly stomach.

Then his hound soul howled, and kept howling.

Hans tried to fight the shadows. But how could he fight something that had no form? He couldn't grasp them, pull them away, or even slam his fists into them. He kept telling the baying hound that it would be all right. He curled up around his hound soul, trying to comfort him, but the shadows continued their attack, their promises and threats buzzing like gnats, then bees, then loud freight trains through Hans' mind.

What if Hans just helped them a little? It wouldn't have to be much. Just give them a tiny corner of his magic. He wasn't using it all anyway. A single thread. They'd help him prove the worth of all scent hounds.

Hans resisted, but he felt himself weakening.

The shadows promised it would be something that only the scent hounds could do—those snooty sight hounds at the court would never be able to see the shadows, or find them, or use them in their magic.

Then Hans grew firm again. No. He and his hound soul could endure this. They had to, despite how his heart broke over the howls of his hound soul. Everything hurt, so much, and he was already so weak and tired.

The shadows renewed their attack with vigor, pushing, prodding, pinching and scratching—a thousand ants biting all at once—trying to get a foothold, to make either Hans or his hound soul accept them.

But something was different. When Hans opened his eyes and looked up, he realized he was floating up and away from the dead earth, into a velvet black night, stars like a ribbon of lights twining around him.

Just above Hans' head stood a doorway, with warm fire glow pouring from it.

The shadows now pushed down on Hans, trying to stop him from reaching the doorway.

Exhaustion overwhelmed Hans. He struggled to raise his arm, to break through the bonds the shadows had wrapped across his chest that were squeezing the breath from him.

His hound soul bayed, louder now, more urgent.

Hans didn't dare look. He kicked his legs as if he were swimming, trying to propel himself toward the light.

Take us with you
, the shadows pleaded, the first real words they'd used.
Let us live.
We will make you rich and powerful and loved and admired and respected and…
 

Hans reached the doorway and shoved himself through in one swift motion.

A thread of shadow remained curled around his ankle. Hans slammed the door shut with a thunderous
crack
, catching the tail of the shadow in the door.

When he looked again, the shadow was gone.

Another
crack
rolled through the space, shattering the light and the illusion.

Hans found himself lying on the kitchen floor, the taste of rotten leather in his mouth, his head pounding and his stomach queasy.

A third
crack
echoed through the room. Hans jumped up and looked around the messy kitchen.

Bright light reflected through the window. The fireworks exploded over town square.

Belatedly, Hans reached out to check on his hound soul, who mournfully snuffled up to him, shaken and sore, his coat ruffled, but unhurt.

Hans couldn't tell if his hound soul wasn't as full as it had once been. He also didn't like the accusing look in the hound's eyes.

“Everything will be all right,” Hans said. He'd make sure that it was all fine. They'd go out for more runs, as a way to make it up to his hound soul.

He creakily moved around the kitchen, as if he'd suddenly grown as old as Grandpapa when he'd died. Without hesitation, he threw out the rest of the potion. Then he lit tapers and checked every corner, to make sure no shadows lurked there or pressed against the windows from outside.

Hans had shut the door on them before they'd come through. He'd escaped.

Except…

Hans' hound soul stared at him sometimes, accusing and hurt, though Hans hadn't done anything to hurt it.
 

While Hans wasn't doing anything differently at the
Laboratorium
, Master Koenig didn't yell at him, even when Hans dropped something. “Ah well,” Master Koenig would sigh. “Accidents happen.” And Master Koenig started talking about what they'd do together in the new year.

When Hans met Petra again in the market, he suddenly remembered an old charm he could use to help him. It was nothing, really. Just something to nudge her along, make her like him more.

The charm turned out to be easy to make, easier than any charm Hans had ever made before. By the end of the year, Hans and Petra were married.

It wasn't until Hans went searching back through
Grandpapa's
books, looking for something to ease the birth of their first child, that he went looking for that charm.

He never found it. He'd known that spell, but he didn't remember how he'd learned it.

Hans never created a charm for his wife, and never taught his child how to create them.

He never used magic again, for the rest of his days.

Germany, Thirteen Years Ago

Lukas

Lukas was five when he began dreaming about the end of the world.

The first dream started in the garden just behind the castle, the one with the squares of different grasses locked between squares of cold hard rock.

Like the rest of the hound clan, Lukas loved the different scents—American blue grass, grass from high in the Alps, and even African plain grass. He sent his toy soldiers marching between the rough, tall blades so he could
skootch
down and get his face close to the earth and sniff hard.

He knew he couldn't really smell Africa. He'd been told his human senses couldn't match his hound senses. He didn't know just how different they were, though, since his hound soul hadn't risen yet. He still imagined he could smell the tangy marker of lions and the thin traces of water, and feel the hot sun beating down on him.

In the dream, it had started sunny, and Lukas had played in the garden with his soldiers. When it suddenly grew darker, he looked up, surprised. Was it time to go in?

But it wasn't evening, and a cloud hadn't covered the sun.

Instead, dark, frightening shadows filled the sky. They filtered out the light, turning it blue-gray and lifeless, taking the joy out of the day.

Another shadow stood in the gate to the garden, boiling with fury. The ivy on either side curled away from it, sickened and dying. The stone beneath it grew black, and Lukas knew that just by stepping on it, he would break it.

The stench of the shadows rolled out to him. They smelled like death, like rotting mice in the woods and apples soured on the branches, combined with the dry dust smell of crumbling bricks.

Lukas froze, afraid that if he moved, he'd become the shadow's prey. He crouched, terrified, as the shadow in the garden spread. It destroyed all the plants it touched: the rosemary the cooks used with his favorite potatoes, the slim maple with the red leaves that Mama liked, even the large oak that stood guard at the far corner, near the woods.

Suddenly, Lukas realized that the shadows were surrounding him. If he didn't run soon, they'd come and get him.

There was still an opening in the far part of the garden, opposite the woods. Maybe he could run, faster than he'd ever run before, and escape.

“Lukas!”

Greta, his older sister, called him from the long balcony on the second floor of the castle.

“Lukas! Come inside!” she demanded, as bossy as ever.

“Greta! Look out!” Lukas cried.

But it was too late. The shadows took her.

Greta's eyes grew glassy and her skin changed, becoming as pale and white as the formal plates in the dining room that Lukas was always afraid of scratching. Her golden hair curled perfectly around her face, and her clothes stiffened, like they were brand new.

She'd changed into a doll.

“Lukas!” she called again, her voice now hollow and mechanical.

Lukas wanted to go to her, to free her, but it was too late. The shadows were upon him, eating him all up, stealing his hound soul, until he was as black as they were, inside and out, and as aged and cracked as the oldest parts of the castle. Once they finished with him, they'd move on to Da and Mama and everyone in the whole world.

With a start, Lukas sat up, still choking back his scream. He was safe, in bed, in his room.

Oma, his grandmother, sat on a chair beside his bed, watching with bright eyes.

Lukas launched himself at her, wrapping his arms around her, grateful for how warm and solid she felt.

He didn't cry. Instead, he shook with fear. The shadows had been so
real
. They'd taken over everything, sucking the life out of the planet.

When Lukas stopped shaking, he pulled back, suddenly aware of how dark his bedroom was. He glanced around. His bed was snug up into the corner, the door opposite. At the foot stood an old, scarred desk that had been his father's and his grandfather's, where he sat on a booster chair and did his school work. Against the far wall stood a huge dresser that held his clothes, and next to that, a hamper for his toys.

Where shadows hiding inside it? Or layered between his formal shirts?

Maybe they hid under the bed, ready to snake around the legs of his grandmother?

Lukas pulled back further, bringing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them, pressing them hard against his chest.

“What did you dream of?” Oma asked. She hitched her light green robe tighter across her chest. It had felt soft and warm when Lukas had held her.

But she didn't reach for him now.

“Shadows,” Lukas whispered, afraid to even name them.

“Yes,” Oma said.

Lukas looked at the corner behind his desk. Could shadows boil there? Then toward the closed door. What if they waited for him, just outside?

Oma smacked his arm lightly, saying, “Stop that.”

Lukas jumped, startled.

“Think, boy. Use your senses. Can you smell the shadows in here?”

Lukas paused. What had the shadows smelled like? Then it came to him. It had been a wet smell, like ashes grown moldy.

After taking a deep breath, Lukas shook his head, relaxing a little. “No, ma'am.”

“Trust your nose. That's the one true test. Your eyes can be fooled.”

Lukas blinked, surprised at that. Da was a sight hound. Surely he wouldn't be fooled?

Abruptly, Oma stood and turned to go.

“Wait!” Lukas called, his panic rising. “Don't leave.”

Oma stopped and turned back. “I'm sorry,” she said, sounding sad. She came back and sat down on the chair, taking his hand and holding it in her warm, soft ones. “I've lived with the shadows for so long, I forget what they're truly like, how frightening they can be.”

“What are they?” Lukas asked, wishing Oma would sit beside him on the bed and hold him, but not sure if he could ask or if he needed to be a big boy.

“They're the dark part of hound magic,” she replied. “Forever tied to us through our magical gifts.”

“I don't understand,” Lukas complained. How could those, those
things
, be part of him? Then he yawned. Despite the terror and the blackness of the shadows, he still felt tired.

“No one understands,” Oma said. “That's why you can't say anything about your dreams. It would just upset your da. All right?”

“Okay,” Lukas said, though he didn't really understand.

“This is our secret,” Oma said seriously. “And you're a big enough boy that you can keep such an important secret, right? Just like you keep the secret of being a member of the hound clan. If you can't keep the secret of the shadows, though, that's okay. That just means you aren't old enough yet.”

“I'm big enough,” Lukas complained. “I won't tell anyone,” he promised. And he wouldn't. Then he couldn't help himself: He yawned again.

Oma reached up with her other hand to smooth back his black curls. “Why don't you lie back down and I'll sing you a lullaby?”

Lukas snuggled under the covers again but he never let go of his grandmother's hand.

Oma sang softly, almost a whisper, about a faithful hound guarding his knight long into the evening after a battle. The guardian hound stayed true to his duty, and in the morning, light came back to the world and hound's knight was able to go to heaven.

Lukas dreamed of being the hound to the mysterious knight, walking in the sunlight through tall, golden grass, bounding at his side. They were celebrating, he knew, the slaying of the shadows. The knight's armor was bashed in, tarnished, but strong; the chest plate solid, the chainmail on his arms moving smoothly.

Though Lukas couldn't see the knight's face behind his great helmet that had only a slit for eyes, he knew his knight's scent. Oma whispered again that it was the one true thing, so he concentrated on that complicated odor, made up of warm bird feathers, the cool scale of armor, a wild-yet-steadfast heart, and other things Lukas could only guess at.

When the morning came, Lukas barely remembered the shadows, until they came the next night to haunt him.

But the knight—Lukas would never forget that scent, and would forever be seeking it.

# # #

“I dreamed of the shadows again last night,” Lukas told everyone at breakfast a week later. He knew he was supposed to keep it a secret, but it was growing too big inside. He had to tell someone. Because they were all from the hound clan, they all shared that secret. This one was just his alone.

All of them—Mama, Da, Greta, and Oma—were gathered around one end of the long dining table that was usually reserved for formal dinners, sitting on heavy oak furniture and using the thin white plates circled in gold that Lukas was so afraid he'd break. The breakfast nook was being painted so they'd eaten all their meals here for the last two days.

“Shadows?” Da asked, folding down the top of the report he was reading to look directly at Lukas. He had his silver reading glasses on and was already dressed for the court in a dark suit and light blue tie. Greta and Mama stayed absorbed in the papers they read.

“Your grandmother always used to talk about the shadows,” Da added, turning his piercing blue gaze to Oma.

Did Lukas look like that sometimes? Was his stare so direct? Everyone always said he had the same eyes as his da.

“No such thing,” Oma said with a decisive sniff, not turning her attention away from her porridge.

“But—” Lukas started.

“You ever seen the shadows?” Oma shot back at Da.

“No,” Da replied, shaking his head. “I haven't.”

Lukas sat back in his chair and looked at the adults. Greta still hadn't looked up, but he could tell she was listening.

Da was the best sight hound of all the clan—it was why he was king, or at least that's what he'd told Lukas. Sometimes the title was inherited from father to son, but the court ministers didn't always choose an heir from the same family. There was no guarantee that the Metzler family would continue on as kings.

If Da couldn't see the shadows, maybe they didn't exist. Maybe they were only in Lukas' dreams.

But Oma had said they came from the dark side of hound magic. That made them sound real, and not just nightmares.

Lukas opened his mouth to ask again, then shut it when Oma glared at him.

She'd told him not to say anything. Told him that only a big boy would be able to keep the secret. That it was as big a secret as being in the hound clan.

Lukas wanted to be a big boy. He looked from Da, to Mama, to Greta, and then out beyond, to the far hall where he heard servants talking.

They couldn't help him with the shadows. Just like in his dreams, he was all alone.

Then Lukas picked up his spoon again, the silver cold and heavy in his hand, determined to eat and act like everything was normal, like he didn't have the hugest secret in the whole world weighing his chest down.
 

# # #

Lukas tried to sit still in the quiet classroom. Greta had gone to study history with her tutor while Lukas struggled with his letters. Normally, they weren't so difficult, but his fingers ached from holding his pencil, and his hand couldn't hold it steady, so instead of his words marching straight up and down, they fell down again and again.

Outside, it was high summer. The sun called to Lukas, as did the all the scents of the woods, the small chipmunks and the brave foxes, the steady trees and the cool streams.

The classroom smelled stale, too small and boxed in. The chalk and slate smells irritated him, as did the pulpy paper in his hand.

As another letter skittered away, Lukas swept his book, paper, and pencil box to the floor in frustration. “I can't stay here!” he said, standing.

Then he slapped both his hands over his mouth. What was wrong with him? He'd never said anything out loud like that before.

But he couldn't, he just
couldn't
sit in here anymore. Normally, he loved this classroom: it was full of books about soldiers and brave hounds, and his desk has always been a haven from the shadows who'd haunted him since that spring.

However, Felix, his tutor, didn't punish Lukas. Instead, he said, “I think we've done enough for today.”

Lukas immediately jerked his gaze to the window. He was going out to the garden, then into the woods, and run and run and
run
.

“Can you stay here for just one more minute, while I get Tilgard?” Felix asked.

Lukas forced himself back into the classroom. The hound master? Why did he need to wait for
him
, when he could run…

Oh.
 

“The change?” Lukas breathed out. Was it that time? Was he about to change into his hound form for the first time? Was that why he couldn't sit still anymore?

“I would say soon,” Felix replied.

Could he wait? Lukas rocked back and forth, his chest expanding, then contracting, already feeling the rhythm of a running as a hound at full sprint. “Hurry,” he whispered, unable to say more.

Lukas tilted his head back, nose high, as scents poured in, traces he'd never noticed before: the eggs and honeydew Felix had had for breakfast; the lavender lotion Oma had used before she'd visited the classroom, late, the night before; and the twisted grass and twine charm that hung in the corner with its unexpected magic.

Tilgard's scent rolled before him, clean lemongrass soap mingled with the rabbit fur he always wore tied to his belt and the bacon treats he kept in his pocket.

Lukas whined when he saw the hound master, begging him to
hurry
. Lukas couldn't hold on much longer.

Tilgard hurried to his side, dropping to his knees in front of Lukas. “Sudden one, eh? You're young, too. Well, that's not unknown,” he said brusquely. He spread his hands wide and placed them around Lukas' head, pressing in slightly.

Tension bled out of Lukas. He suddenly felt secure. He whined again as his head strained forward, as if he could help push his snout out.