Legacy of the Claw (16 page)

Suddenly, a hand was on her arm. She nearly screamed again, until she heard a voice whisper in her ear:

“Go, girl, run. Tell the Elder the rats are here. Come to The White Tiger, tell him!” Gwen reeled backward, barely glancing at the man with dark skin and green eyes. She threw herself over the fallen crates and through the theater door. She ran full tilt across the square. Shouts, barks, and even a roar echoed from the entrance as she scrambled to reach the narrow alley she'd come from. As she turned the corner, she heard another voice echoing off the walls of stone that towered over her.

“Go, then!” Viviana yelled from the center of the square. “Run and tell that demented old man what you've seen—tell him how much hope he has left!”

Viviana's voice seemed to become even louder as Gwen ran, and the echoes even more clear. Only once did Gwen look up, and the sight of three metal birds caused her to scream again. They landed on a roof just above, watching her.

“Go, then; go, then; go, then,”
they shouted. “
Tell him how much hope he has left, how much hope, how much hope  … ”

The echoes finally stopped, drowned out in the street noise as Gwen drew closer to the city center. She could barely see where she was going through the tears that fell from her eyes. She kept running, petrified. She had to find the Elder. Any Animas Owl would have experienced an intense pain, as she had, from Grimsen's death—but the Elder would have felt the blow as if the arrow had hit his own chest.

As she turned a corner near the opera house, she collided with a boy and fell to the cobblestone street. He was short, sandy-haired, and wearing an odd jacket with blue and gold stripes. Gwen scrambled to get up, but her cloak had twisted around her. The boy offered her his hand.

“Are you all right?”

She couldn't even find the voice to answer. No, she thought. Nothing is all right. Gwen fought back new tears as she scrambled to her feet and ran. She felt his eyes on her as she ran up the alley, and disappeared into the winding streets of the city.

GWEN'S LUNGS BURNED AS she ran up the narrow staircases to the Elder's tower. Her legs felt as though they would collapse underneath her, but she couldn't stop until she reached him. Through the windows, she saw dozens of owls swooping, mournful and low. Grimsen had been nearly as old as the Elder himself— once life-bonded, both human and animal could live beyond their normal years. To see his life cut down so callously made Gwen's heart break, and the owls outside shared in her sorrow.

Flickering candlelight glowed under the Elder's door. Gwen stopped, and leaned her head on the smooth wood to catch her breath before knocking. She entered in silence.

The Elder sat at his desk, which was piled high with books and maps. His shoulders were hunched underneath his tattered owl-patterned cloak, which had once looked so fine. His interlaced fingers lay heavily in his lap. He did not look up at her.

“I'm sorry,” she said. She didn't dare move beyond the door. “I should never have gone. If I hadn't  … ”

The Elder shook his head and reached out a hand to her.

“You did what you thought you had to do. My brave girl. Grimsen's death isn't your fault. ”

Gwen rushed forward, kneeling to grasp his hand. He held it tightly, keeping his eyes closed.

“Are
you
all right?” he asked kindly. Gwen shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, afraid that she would burst into tears.

“You must tell me everything,” he said.

Gwen told him about the fearsome mechanical birds, the two conspiring Parliament members, and the terrifying demonstration with the bears. As Gwen described the fight, the Elder's free hand became a fist of anger.

“The Animas bond, when strong, makes us stronger,” he said, just as he had so many times over their years together. “Melore unified Aldermere with this strength. His daughter will find only pain down this path. I pity her.”

“And I fear her,” said Gwen. “She knows who you are. She knows I was there.”

For the first time that night, the Elder met Gwen's gaze. His eyes were red and his cheeks glistened where tears had fallen.

“Your fear is not misplaced,” he said.

Gwen felt like her heart didn't have enough room in it for the grief she felt. She wished she could set the entire night in reverse and watch it all be undone.

“I'm so sorry,” she said.

The Elder shook his head, as though hearing this from her only gave him more pain.

“It's not your place to be sorry,” he said. “It was the greed and fear of others that took Grimsen's life. Not you.”

A loud knock sounded at the door. The Elder placed his hand on Gwen's shoulder, as if to protect her if necessary.

“Who is it?”

A kitchen boy's cracking teenaged voice answered with a quick word: “Sap milk.”

The Elder's grip on Gwen's shoulder relaxed, and she stood up to let the boy in. In all the terror and excitement, she had almost forgotten that the hour was not so late. The Elder's nightly mug of heated sap milk was being delivered, as though nothing were wrong. As though the world hadn't turned on its edge.

The skinny boy stumbled in and set the hot mug on the Elder's desk. He hurried back out, and didn't look twice at Gwen, who was glad. She was sure that she looked frightful—with tearstained eyes, wild hair, and an unkempt, muddy cloak.

“Gwen, would you care for some  … ” the Elder said, waving his hand in the direction of the mug. “I cannot.” He turned away and stared at the owls, who flew back and forth in front of the window. The moonlight made shadows of their wings against the roofs below.

“I'm not thirsty, either.” She took the mug and left it in the hallway by the door, where someone would be along to collect it. When she came back into the room, she lifted her cloak off of her shoulders and something fell out of her hood. It clunked onto the floor behind her. She bent down to pick it up and saw that it was a necklace on a gold chain. The pendant was coin-like, with an embossed image of a sleeping fox on one side, and letters on the other. The letters were oddly spaced, but spelled out the name
TREMELO
. It must have come from the boy she'd collided with. Gwen was sorry to have taken it from him. She tucked it into the pocket of her dress, where it would be safe. She doubted she'd ever see that boy again, but if Nature ever granted it, she'd make sure that his pendant was returned safely to him. For Grimsen's sake.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a strange, gargled howl in the hallway, followed by a thump. The Elder and Gwen looked at each other with confusion. She went to the door, opened it just a crack, and peeked out.

Immediately, her hand flew to her mouth as she stifled a scream. There on the floor was a striped yellow cat, the kin of a Parliamentary clerk who worked late hours at the palace. It lay inert on its side, covered in spilled sap milk. Its face and belly were swollen and distorted. There was no doubt that the poor creature was dead.

“Let me see,” said the Elder, who had gotten up and come to Gwen's side. Gwen slid back against the wall and the Elder studied the scene for only a moment before closing the door.

“Poison,” he said. His face showed no emotion, only a stern and unshakable comprehension. Gwen felt like she was going to be sick. Someone had tried to kill the Elder—it didn't seem possible.

The Elder looked stricken.

“Parliament is full of locusts,” he said. “After tonight, it's clear the Dominae's spies are willing to kill for their cause.”

Then Gwen remembered one thing she hadn't told the Elder about that night.

“Who are the rats?” she asked him. “A man helped me on my way out; he said to tell you that the rats were there. What does that mean?”

The Elder's eyes widened, but he shook his head.

“The RATS? They're nothing but rabble-rousers,” he said.

“They may be Melore loyalists like us, but they're also daydreamers and idealists—dedicated believers of prophecy and mere rumor. The RATS were against the Jackal, but they don't care for Parliament, either. It's unlikely they'd be any help to us.”

He paced between the door and the window, his hands clasped behind his back as if he was unsure where to put them.

“This man did help me,” she reassured him, “and he referenced you by name. He knows you're with Parliament but he still said to come to The White Tiger.”

“It's too dangerous,” he said, shaking his head.

“More dangerous than staying here?” Gwen argued. “It's not safe. You said so yourself.”

The Elder was silent. He stared at the wall as if he were listening for advice from someone who was no longer there. Then he moved toward his tall wardrobe, where he retrieved his traveling bag from inside.

The sympathetic birds that had gathered up in the rafters tittered nervously.

“Then we leave at once,” he said. “Before the Dominae's spies realize they've failed to poison me.”

The Elder began combing through the drawers of his desk and rolling up papers to fit neatly into his pack.

“We?” asked Gwen. “You mean I can go with you this time?” She thought about those terrible days when he'd been away before, how worried she'd been about him, and how lonely.

The Elder stopped and smiled at her, a smile made all the more poignant by the streaks of tears on his tired old face.

“Of course, my child. We're both in danger, and you are now all the family I can claim in this world. Go and pack.”

BAILEY MANAGED TO RETURN to the opera house and sneak in before the end of the concert. No one said anything to him there, and as he and his classmates boarded the rigimotive to return to Fairmount, he was sure his side trip into the city had gone entirely unnoticed by anyone—anyone except Hal, Tori, and Phi.

“Where did you disappear to?” Tori asked him on the rigi, turning around in her seat to face him. She leaned over the headrest with her slim arms crossed under her chin. Phi sat with her, but she stared straight ahead—all Bailey could see of her was her dark brown curly hair. Hal sat next to Bailey and had his knee propped up on the back of the seat in front of him. He dozed with his mouth open and glasses askew.

“Nowhere,” he lied. “I was at the concert. I sat in the back.”

“But—” started Phi, but then she seemed to change her mind.

She didn't even turn around to face him. He sat back in his seat, trying to ignore Tori's raised eyebrow. He'd tell them what he'd done at some point—as soon as he had some time to think it over on his own. As it stood, he wanted more information about King Melore's last speech, which had made its way into Tremelo's riddle. He felt closer than ever to solving it—and more convinced than ever that the riddle wasn't the only mystery to be solved.

Between juggling homework and practice every afternoon, and pondering Tremelo's riddle most nights, Bailey had barely any time in the following days to feel nervous about his first Scavage match. But now the day was here: Fairmount versus Roanoake. He felt jittery as he suited up, excited and eager to impress his schoolmates on the field. Even so, he couldn't shake the strangeness of the previous week's events: the panicked girl he'd collided with near the opera house, or his time spent at The White Tiger. He was determined to learn more about Melore and the Velyn as soon as he got the chance—but today, Scavage was king.

The Roanoake team had arrived that morning by rigimotive, and had brought with them a menagerie of kin—deer, rabbit, hedgehogs, and more. Now, as the two teams lined up to take the field, the entire Scavage pitch was crawling with players and animals. The stands were packed with Fairmount students and teachers dressed in blue and gold, as well as a few Roanoake fans who'd traveled there, dressed in green and black stripes. Most of the spectators had binoculars with them so that they could see out over the huge Scavage field. In a special box set atop the highest stands, two Fairmount students were ready to broadcast the game on the school's radio channel. Bailey wondered if his mom and dad, home in the Lowlands, would be tuning the dial on the old kitchen radio at that very moment.

Ms. Shonfield stepped briskly onto an elevated platform in front of the stands, waving for quiet. She lifted a bullhorn up to her mouth.

“Welcome!” she said. “Warmest welcomes indeed to our friends from the Roanoake plains. We're excited you'll be joining us tonight for our Autumnal Soiree celebrating the start of a new Scavage season!” This was met with loud applause from throughout the stadium. Bailey had almost forgotten about the Autumnal Soiree. The team members were required to attend, and act as representatives of their schools. He'd been so distracted with Tremelo's riddle and his trip to The White Tiger that the party had vanished from his mind.

Shonfield finished making her announcements, and then handed the bullhorn to Coach Banter.

“Clean game, everyone!” Coach said. “No biting, scratching, mauling, or use of excrement!” Bailey heard laughter from the stands, and grinned. The players stood in a row at the edge of the field, each team in front of their own “territory.” Many of the kin had already scurried onto the field. Bailey envied the fact that everyone else could sense where their kin was, and that those with the strongest bonds could learn something about the field's terrain before the game even started. But he reminded himself that he didn't need the Animas bond to do well in the game. He'd already proven that. His heart hammered as Coach Banter counted down from ten, and he and the other players crouched into a running position. Three Sneaks, three Slammers, and three Squats from each team stood at the ready.

Coach blew the whistle, and they were off. Bailey paid no attention to the other players as he barreled onto the field and into the trees except for Phi. In practice, they'd had lots of success with Phi finding their team's flag first, and leading the Slammers and Squats to it before darting off to find the opposition's. Carin flew high above them, leading them.

When they finally saw it, Bailey's heart took a jump in his chest. Their blue-and-gold striped flag was lodged in a rock face at the far end of the Scavage pitch, close to where the forest terrain gave way to the Dark Woods. They'd have to span out at the base of the rocks and climb if anyone from Roanoake got past them. Bailey left the Squats at the base of the rocks, and then ducked into the trees to find a good vantage point.

He didn't have to wait long for one of the Roanoake Sneaks to cross his path. A nervous deer stepped through the trees, followed by an athletic girl with long legs and blond hair. She didn't see him as she looked up at the flag from behind a boulder. Bailey crept closer to get in better range for the Flick, and saw a flash of blue and gold in his periphery. It was Taylor, making his way through the trees. As a Squat, he was supposed to be guarding their home flag, but he was far off course. Bailey ignored him; he had the perfect shot at the girl and readied his Flick.

Just then, an eagle flying overhead suddenly screeched and the girl turned. She took off into the trees with Taylor in pursuit. Bailey cursed under his breath. Roanoake really did have an Animas Eagle, just like he'd joked to Phi. Now he had to figure out where the Animas Eagle was, and if its kin had already spotted his position.

He decided to switch tactics and take the offensive—moving under the cover of trees and bushes, trying to stay out of sight from above. He saw a blob of green paint against a tree, and knew that someone had had a close call with a Roanoake Slammer. He was in their territory now, far away from his own team's flag.

But he wasn't the only one. Again he saw Taylor. Only a few paces away, Bailey's fellow Slammer seemed to be tracking the Roanoake Sneaks back to their home base, with Taylor in pursuit. Once Bailey was sure that there was no one watching, he caught up to him.

“What are you doing all the way out here?” he asked Taylor. “You're a Squat—you should be guarding our flag.”

“What are
you
doing then?” Taylor responded. “Trying to steal the Roanoake flag yourself? That's a Sneak's job. Mind your own business, freak.”

Frustrated, and not wanting to cause a fight, Bailey turned away—one of them needed to get back to Fairmount territory and help protect the flag. He dashed back across the terrain, hoping that he wasn't too late.

As he got closer to his team's flag, he saw a flash of green and black stripes at the far side of the rocks. It was the same girl from before—she'd doubled back around after leading Taylor away from his own flag. Bailey's only chance to intercept her was to ascend the steeper rock face and guard the flag from there. He looked around at the base of the rock—where were all the Squats? The other Slammers? It was clear that Roanoake might not have been tree-climbers, but they were awfully good at diversion. His teammates were nowhere to be seen, probably lured away by Roanoake Sneaks just as he and Taylor had been. The Fairmount flag was unprotected.

He tucked the Flick in his waistband and began to climb the rock. He wasn't sure if the Animas Deer had even seen him yet—if not, she'd get a surprise when she looked over the top of the rock. He'd be waiting with the Flick, if only he could get up high enough  … 

Bailey could just see the tops of the stands from his vantage point on the rock, and he heard the cheering echoing across the field. Then something grabbed his foot. He almost lost his grip, but he got ahold of the rock and looked down. A Roanoake Slammer, a broad-shouldered, curly-haired boy had followed him onto the rock, and now held firmly to his ankle.

“Gotcha,” he said, grinning. “Now, Ruthie!”

The Animas Deer appeared at the top of the rock and scrambled toward the flag. The Slammer pulled hard on Bailey's ankle, trying to dislodge him from the rock.

“Get off!” Bailey grunted. The Slammer only held on tighter.

“Not a chance!”

Bailey tried to keep his left hand firmly on the rock face so that he could mark the Sneak, Ruthie, with his Flick and disqualify her from being able to capture the Fairmount flag for the win. But he couldn't hold on, even with the uniform gloves helping his grip. His hand slid from the rock, and both he and the Roanoake Slammer hit the ground with a harsh
thud.

As Bailey and the Roanoake Slammer sat up, groaning, someone darted out from the trees at the base of the cliff. It was Phi.

“Phi, the Roanoake flag is on the far end!” Bailey said as he pointed to the other side of the field.

But Phi was hardly listening to him. Instead, she was looking adamantly into the sky, searching the blue for something Bailey couldn't see. He heard a cheer from the top of the cliff, followed by a loud, high whistle from the stands—the Fairmount flag had been captured. They had lost.

Phi walked closer to him, still scanning the sky.

“Phi, what's going on?” Bailey asked. “The game is over—what are you doing?”

“It's Carin,” she said. “She has something.”

Atop the cliff, Bailey could hear the Roanoake Sneak's celebratory whoops, and the grumblings of the Fairmount Squats. He stood next to Phi, who pointed up. The falcon was circling closely above them, and she sounded a screech before landing gracefully on the leather gauntlets on Phi's outstretched left arm and plucking a loose feather from her chest.

Something fell from the falcon's talons. Bailey reached out just in time to catch it before it hit the ground. The Roanoake Slammer walked over to them, gaping at Carin.

“What in Nature is that, a knife?” the Slammer said.

What it
was
was a claw—a huge one that spanned the entire length of Bailey's outstretched hand. The blunt base of the claw was rough with dried blood that looked like it had been there for a long time. But Bailey noticed that the tip of the claw ended in a menacing point.

“Wow,” Bailey said.

“Ants,
” said the Slammer.

Phi said nothing, but her eyes widened as big as dinner plates. Bailey handed it to Phi, who held it up in the sunlight.

“It looks ancient,” she whispered.

The other players began to descend the cliff and head back to the warm-up areas. The Roanoake Slammer cast one last curious look at the claw before jogging to meet his teammates.

“Should we show Coach?” Phi asked.

“Not yet,” Bailey whispered, standing between Phi and the other students. He thought once more about the clean, deep wounds in the dead bear's hide, and the shadowy figures between the trees at the edge of the Dark Woods. If those men had weapons like this, if they'd been the ones to kill the bear so close to the school—as a warning, or a threat?—then the claw was too important to simply hand over to Coach Banter and his blundering bulldogs. No, it was best kept a secret until Bailey could find out more.

Thankfully, Phi nodded in agreement. Without saying another word, she tucked the claw into the waistband of her uniform. The memory of Phi's hurt look when he'd left her alone in the opera house lobby last week flitted through Bailey's mind, and he suddenly felt guilty.

“Um, Phi,” Bailey began nervously. He struggled to find the words. There was so much going through his mind—about the men in the woods, the visit to The White Tiger, and now the claw. He wanted to explain why he'd left in such a hurry, yet he didn't know where to start.

“I'm sorry I lost us the game,” Phi said, cutting him off. She stared off toward the stands.

“Oh,” Bailey said, somewhat relieved she had changed the subject—even if the game seemed trivial now. “That wasn't your fault.”

Together they walked across the terrain and out of the woods back into the bright, normal day.

After the game, Bailey, Hal, Tori, and Phi sat in the common room in the Towers with the claw between them on a circular wooden study table. A few other students read or played card games like Rabbit Flash or Rat's Nest nearby, but most of the school was off preparing for the evening party, the Autumnal Soiree. The four friends huddled close so they wouldn't be overheard.

Hal reached out and turned the claw over in his hands.

“It's definitely from something big. Not a bear, though. This looks more like it came from a big cat.”

“
Are
there any big cats in this part of the kingdom? Could it be what killed the bear a few weeks ago?” Phi asked.

“Maybe,” Hal said, but he sounded unconvinced. Hal moved the claw toward and then away from his eyes, trying to find the right focus through his glasses. It was then that Hal pointed out what Bailey hadn't noticed at first.

“Look at this,” Hal said, skimming his finger along the claw's edge. “This has been sharpened recently, with a file or something. What if someone used this as a weapon to take down the bear?”

Bailey took the claw and ran his own finger along the inside of the claw's curve. He nearly sliced into the pad of his thumb. Hal was right; the claw was extremely sharp, and not in the way that Nature had designed.

Hal looked up at Phi. “Where did Carin
find
this thing?”

Phi was quiet for a minute. The falcon was sitting on her shoulder, preening.

“I  …  I'm not sure,” she said. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Carin, as if mimicking her, stood very still. Phi opened her eyes and sighed with exasperation. “I don't know. I'm not that advanced. But I know she wasn't very far away. She stayed close by the school.”