The Legend Thief (6 page)

The world around him went pale and gray. He flopped onto his back and jerked spastically, unable to stop. The moon above began to tremble and crumble to pieces, crashing in the swamp all around and shaking the earth. Burning trees bowed to him, water boiled with the pale dead, and haunted creatures for miles around let up a long and terrible wail.

Sky's screams joined the wailing, and he'd never felt more frightened in all his life. But as dark blood from the Eye spilled across the white Hunter's Mark, soft, weak light slipped out, so faint he almost missed it. He focused on that light-that speck of brightness and warmth-and clung to it through terror and madness until the moon settled, the fires died, his screaming turned to quiet sobs, and the waking nightmare ended and returned everything as it was. No fires. No shaking earth and crumbling moon. No bowing trees.

No Bedlam.

But the creatures of the night still wailed and the dead still stared out of frozen waters with sightless eyes, and Sky's Eye of Legend still bled black. For the moment, at least, he'd fought off Bedlam. He was still in control.

Piebalds squawked around him, urging him to run as hunters crept slowly across the cracking ice. His thrashing and fight for control against Bedlam, which had seemed like hours, had taken but minutes. Still, the ice and Sky's early lead were the only things keeping him alive, but not for much longer.

Fred landed a few feet away and watched him quietly, almost as if he knew what Sky had just gone through.

Sky took a deep, steadying breath and then began scooping up great handfuls of mud and smearing them all over himself as fast as he could- through his hair, on his arms, his face-until every exposed inch of him was covered. Then he stumbled toward the humongous tree covered with little green hibernating and very hungry needles.

The giant trunk spread out before him, four arm lengths around at its base, and the fop stretched upward, reaching for the moon. Sky wedged his hands and feet into the deep grooves of the bark and with a weary breath began climbing. His arms shook with the effort, and he wished he hadn't thrown away his Jumpers with his other gear, but he pushed on, climbing higher and higher.

"CAW?" the Piebalds offered.

"No!" Sky barked, adding more gently between breaths, "No ... I can get to the top on my own, but thank you." They wanted to fly him up, but he wasn't about to put the Piebalds in any more danger just to save himself. They'd done enough,
more
than enough. Nobody else was going to die for him. ''I'll meet you at the top."

Cawing and yammering petulantly, the Piebalds swooped away-all except for Fred, who flew at his side the entire way, cawing encouragements whenever Sky began to slow. By the time Sky reached the top and moved out of bow range, his whole body trembled and he thought he might fall from pure exhaustion. The Piebalds landed on the narrow branch and flapped about to hold him upright while he struggled to pull himself together.

Looking down, he saw the first few hunters gathering around the base of the tree, watching him. Dozens more waded through the waters, across the ice, and up the muddy beach, followed by even more emerging from the bogs and swampy woods, until finally hundreds of hunters surrounded the base of the Bolger tree.

Sky stared down at them all, wondering if Bedlam's waking nightmare had started up again.

"This night really stinks, you know that?" Sky muttered in exhaustion. The Piebalds squawked in agreement and Fred nodded wisely.

A few of the more senior hunters seemed to be arguing about what to do, but Sky wasn't planning to let them decide; this was
his
trap, after all.

As the last hunter stepped onto the island, Sky pulled a small petrified Yule log from his backpack-something he'd carried with him ever since the Bolger incident last Christmas. He weighed it in his hands, took aim, and dropped it with an immense sense of satisfaction.

The Yule log tumbled end over end, bouncing from branch to branch. It fell down and down, leaving small cracked bits behind until it finally shattered at a hunter's feet, as only a hardened sugary dessert named after a log could. The hunter looked up at him, and then back at the smashed dessert, obviously confused.

A few of the bolder hunters began climbing, apparently incensed by the flagrant pastry attack.

Sky put his Hunter's Mark on the tree and in perfect Bolger whispered, "Dinner's on," into the wood, causing the entire tree to tremble.

The pine needles shivered and then shifted ever so slightly.

The Piebalds launched into the air and darted away as fast as their wings could carry them.

A low chattering started up, growing into a yawning buzz that sounded like a twenty-story hive of
groggy
bees. Tiny green wings sprouted from the pine needles, which weren't really pine needles but starving Bolgers angry at being woken from hibernation.

And then, in a terrible swirling cloud, thousands upon thousands of Bolgers dropped from their branches and swarmed the hunters. The Bolgers fought over every scrap of Yule log and stung every bit of exposed hunter flesh they could find.

Sky hunched down, making
himself
as small as possible. He was covered in
mud ,
but with Bolgers, you could never be too careful. A swarm of passing Bolgers paused a few feet away, looking-Sky knew-for exposed flesh. He held his
breath ,
waiting. Finally they swooped off, and he sighed in relief.

The pine-needle-like swarms spun around like a green tornado, flinging hunters into the air. A few of the luckier Bolgers gobbled up their Yule-log winnings and grew larger and larger with each bite, until they looked like inflated balloons. Green, impish faces popped out of their bodies, followed by pointy ears, stocky arms, a long needle nose, and bulbous grasshopper legs. These newer, fatter Bolgers sprang into the hunters and began knocking them down and stinging them with their noses.

The hunters hacked and stabbed with their swords and knives, sending green pus everywhere, but the fat Bolgers pressed on even while they shrank. In return, the Bolgers poked and prodded the hunters in the behinds while smaller Bolgers licked up the pools of green pus, grew bigger, and leaped into the fray.

It was gross even by Sky's standards, and he used weapons made out of garbage.

The hunters fell back, sliding across the ice and splashing into the water, their faces green and swollen to twice their normal sizes from the Bolger stings. They looked almost like Bolgers themselves.

Sky concentrated on the Bolgers until he felt his Hunter's Mark warm. Then he spoke softly in their language, his voice joining the buzz until the Bolgers backed away from the hunters and sped west in search of a Yule log that wasn't there. "You have thirty minutes to find the cure for Bolger venom before your body slips into hibernation mode for the rest of winter!" Sky yelled. "And when you wake up- if you wake up-I promise you won't like what you find!"

The green-faced hunters stared up at him, silent and angry and very, very trapped.

"If you leave now," Sky continued, "you can reach Malvidia at Arkhon Academy before it's too late. I happen to know she has the cure on hand. Thirty minutes-make it count!"

The hunters fled. Crenshaw, who'd apparently escaped his trap, scowled up at Sky with a puffy green face, and then he too turned and ran.

Sky watched them scramble away until every last one of them was gone. He'd just handed the Hunters of Legend over to Malvidia to do with as she pleased. He'd given her the ultimate bargaining chip- their very lives-and he'd shown he wasn't Bedlam by sparing them. Malvidia was horrible, but she always kept her word, and she'd promised to repay Sky for saving her life, hopefully by saving his. If she was on his side, he'd soon be rid of these hunters and the death sentence hanging over him; they might even gain some allies against Bedlam. Of course, if Malvidia wasn't on his side, these hunters would soon return, angrier than ever. And two of the thirteen Hunters of Legend- Morton Thresher and Chase Shroud, wherever they were-would lead the hunt this time.

Whatever the case, Sky had done all he could. It was time to turn his attention elsewhere.

He called the Piebalds back. The Bolgers would return soon. They hated leaving their tree, especially with winter coming on, and it wouldn't take them long to realize there were no Yule logs around. A Bolger's intelligence increased with size, and Sky had yet to discover a limit to how big they could get. But right now even the largest Bolger here was still too small to reason with, which was why he needed to get moving.

It was time to find out what'd happened to his friends. It was time to return to Exile.

But first he had to get down.

"Can you guys give me a hand,
er
... beak?" Sky asked, hanging from his perch on the Bolger tree. He glanced down at the island and the surrounding ring of ice with its grisly con tents. He shivered. He didn't think he could bring himself to cross that again-he honestly didn't. "And not to the island, either," he added, trying to keep the fear from his voice, "to my gear. It'll ... it'll save us some time."

Fred narrowed his eyes-as much as a giant bird monster

could
narrow its eyes. The Piebalds were smart, but they had simple needs and short attention spans. And yet, there was something about Fred. He was different, more attentive,
more
complex, more connected-in a word: wiser. And that word was about as un-
Piebaldish
a word as Sky could imagine.

"What? I'm not afraid," Sky stated unconvincingly under Fred's wilting stare. He was a better liar than he used to be, at least with creatures he didn't know, but he wasn't
that
good.

Fred plucked at his feathers and remained silent.

The other Piebalds flapped around Sky and snatched up his clothes. Fred watched, refusing to help.

With a terrifying lurch, Sky fell from the Bolger tree, dragging the madly flapping Piebalds with him. As they plunged earthward, the thought occurred to Sky that he might be
get
ting too big for this.

Before they dropped too far, Fred flew to the rescue, yanking at big chunks of Sky's hair.

"
Ow
ow
ow
owwww
!"
Sky cried.

Fred began to loosen his grip and Sky started to drop again. "No, no! Don't let go!"

Fred's grip tightened and they leveled out, even rising a little.

Sky gritted his teeth. "There's got to be a better way to fly."

"CAW!" the Piebalds croaked.

"Yeah?"
Sky replied. "Well, the Darkhorn is terribly cool in the stories-I'm not sure I'd use the words 'terrifying yet stone cold awesome,' but you're entitled to your opinions."

"CAW!
CAW!
CAW!"

"What do you mean you've seen her around?"
"CAW!
CAW!"

"She does? I knew the Darkhorn and Bedlam had a thing going, even if she is some kind of weird giant flying horse-to each his own, I guess- but that's a little exotic by any standard. And you say she doesn't cook you beforehand or use any spices?"

"CAW!
CAW!
CAW!"

"Gross. I'd never eat a Piebald that way."

"CAW!
CAW! CAW! CAW!
CAW!"

"It was a joke!” Sky yelped, smarting at a particularly vicious jerk from Fred. "I'd never eat a Piebald at all-you guys are like family to me, and I have a strict policy against eating family, especially without proper cooking and spices."

"CAW!
CAW!" squawked the Piebalds, sounding slightly mollified. Fred gave Sky's hair one more yank, apparently not as impressed with the apology.

Sky's grin turned into a cringe, and not just because of the hair pull. He was putting on a good show of bravado, but he'd seldom felt more troubled. Bedlam's attack meant that he was nearby, maybe even controlling one of the hunters or watching from the shadows.

The Darkhorn's arrival made matters even worse. She was not only Bedlam's
bride,
she was his harbinger, his front runner-the one he sent first into battles in stories like
The Edge of Oblivion
and
Legend Most Legendary.
She was a terror in her own right-a giant flying nightmare with a twisted horn of darkness (or many, by some accounts) jutting from her fore head. A fleshy glowing bulb that dangled from the horn could mesmerize victims and put them to sleep. Where Bedlam was the father of the Edgewalkers, the Darkhorn was their mother and the dreamer of Nightmares-literally her ·"horses of the night," born from her broken horns.

Last year, Beau had told Sky that the Arkhon had once posed as the Darkhorn and attacked a hunter stronghold. In that conversation, Beau had mentioned that the Darkhorn could be captured with a dog-hair net. Why? Sky had no idea, but hunters believed it would work. Unfortunately, Sky was now fresh out of dogs, and dog hairs, and nearly out of his own hairs at the rate Fred was pulling.

If the Darkhorn was in Exile, then Bedlam's army wasn't far behind-less than a day away, according to what Chase Shroud had told Beau, but how could an entire army get from Skull Valley to Exile without someone noticing?

Sky took in his surroundings as the Piebalds left the island and its ice ring behind. They sailed over the unfrozen part of the swamp waters and started to descend toward the far shore, where he'd ditched his gear. The Bolger tree was one of the tallest in the Sleeping Lands, and from this height, Sky could see quite a lot, though Fred had to turn his head for him. To the west, he saw the Bolger swarms returning, looking angrier than ever. Southeast, the hunters sprinted through the swamps toward Arkhon Academy. He saw other things-dark things moving in the trees. The creatures of the night had stopped their mournful wailing, but Sky still shivered at the memory. The sooner he left this place, the better.

And then to the east, he saw something flying low through the trees-not the Darkhorn, as he'd feared, or Bedlam's army swooping in, but something he'd almost forgotten about in his mad dash: the Marrowick from the bowling alley.

They'd never figured out why the Marrowick had gone to the bowling alley in the first place, and now it was moving swiftly and sticking to the shadows as if hunting something just out of Sky's sight. Sky frowned. The timing of the Marrowick's strange behavior, occurring so close to the arrival of the hunters and Bedlam, was too odd to be a coincidence. Was the Marrowick somehow involved in all this? As much as Sky hated it, he knew that Exile would have to wait.

"We need to hurry," Sky muttered, "before he gets away." Fred cawed and let go of Sky's hair, flying off to the east. "No, wait! Fred!" Sky plummeted.

The other Piebalds squawked and tugged to no avail, and then let go entirely to save themselves, leaving Sky to plunge into the icy waters.

He came up gasping for air,
then
paddled for shore.
As
he dragged himself onto dry land and collapsed to his hands and knees, he spotted his Core a few feet away.

"CAW!" called out the Piebalds, landing nearby, but not
too
nearby.

"Thanks a lot," said Sky, picking up his Core and putting it on.

"CAW!"

"Yes, the mud is all gone, but if I'd wanted a bath, I would've given myself one-and not in a swamp full of dead bodies!" Sky slammed a
Cheez
Whiz canister full of Fog into place.

"CAW."

"I know it's not your fault," said Sky. "Fred and I are going to have a long talk when he shows his face again."

He pulled a Baggie full of crackers from his backpack and tossed several to the Piebalds. "Here, P-crackers-your favorite-made fresh at the lair four months ago."

"CAW!" the Piebalds complained, dancing around the crackers.

"I meant Pas in phosphorus! Of course they're not actually soaked in pee! That's preposterous!" The Piebalds leaped onto the crackers, snatching them up. Under his breath, Sky added, "As far as you know."

He tracked down his other gear, reassembling it as he went. Last of all, he found his cloak sitting next to the broken Pounder. He surveyed the sliced tubing-cut by Crenshaw's knife-and decided, sadly, that he couldn't fix it.

Sky pulled out his pocket watch, the only key to Solomon's prison he still possessed. One monocle he'd lost last year. He'd given the other to Crystal before the east cemetery imploded. He thought about her and the others and remembered some thing Phineas had told him years ago after finding him, crying and stuck in his own trap with a pair of woven branch pants wrapped around his head. After showing Sky how he could've broken free if he'd just thought it through, he'd said, 'We are hunters, Sky-tears are our lot. But we mustn't allow our sorrows to trap us. At night, we hunt evil in all its forms and we survive. There's plenty of time for tears in the morning, and often you'll find, when the light shines, the tears will come for entirely different reasons."

Sky checked the time. Less than an hour had passed since he'd left Crystal, Andrew, Hands, and T-Bone behind, buried in the earth and in Nackles's hands. One lousy hour, and the night was still young. Part of him was afraid to return, afraid of what he might find.

He sighed heavily. "Come
on,
let's find Fred and the Marrowick before something else decides to kill me."

He set off through the swamp after the Piebalds, running northeast.

------------------------

It took him some time and a few roundabout paths to find any trace of Fred and the Marrowick. And when he finally found that trace, it was confusing.

He knelt down and examined a glob of soft Marrowick wax on the tip of a small gray feather. He rubbed the glob between his fingers, which caused them to tingle strangely. He stood and stepped carefully around the pools of wax and feathers that littered the ground.

The Piebalds watched him quietly, perched on the surrounding trees.

Ahead, the hill sloped upward into dry, uncharted terrain. He'd never gone this far into the Sleeping Lands before, both because it was a horrible place and because it was incredibly dangerous, even if you could talk to monsters. He wasn't even sure he was
in
the Sleeping Lands anymore since he hadn't seen a grave or a floating corpse for nearly fifteen minutes-a record for the night, by his estimates. When had his life gotten so odd that the absence of a dead body was more noticeable than its presence?

He shook the thought away and turned his attention back to the feathers.

"CAW?" the Piebalds inquired.

"No, not the Darkhorn," said Sky, inspecting a broken branch covered in wax. "Though I suppose the Darkhorn could've attacked both of them
. . ..
Does the Darkhorn eat Marrowicks?"

"CAW!
CAW!"

"I didn't think so," Sky replied, dropping the branch. "I suspect the Marrowick would give the Darkhorn horrible indigestion."

Sky stared thoughtfully at the battleground, noting that the trail of feathers and wax seemed to veer off to the east. He reached out with his senses, but there was no sign of Fred anywhere. "Where are you, Fred?"

The Piebalds squawked and cawed, gossiping amongst themselves about Fred and horror stories they'd heard about unprovoked Darkhorn attacks on innocent Piebalds. By the sounds of it, Piebalds were the Darkhorn's favorite food.

As Sky continued surveying the grove, his eyes settled on an old oak tree and something sticking out of the trunk. When he reached it, he found a thick, gray hunter's arrow wedged deep into the bark. The shaft was coated in fine white powder that numbed his fingers in an all-too-familiar way-not the tingling of the Marrowick wax, but a numbing weariness that made him want to give up, lie down, and sleep.

Dovetail.

Last year the gargantuan Dovetail maze had poked him so many
times,
he couldn't help but recognize it. A little Dovetail put you to sleep so the plant could eat you at its leisure. A lot of Dovetail made you
hallucinate
. A little more and you never woke up.

The arrow, though, was the wrong color for Dovetail-gray, not jet-black. And it was strangely gnarled and twisted, like a corkscrew-not at all like the sleek green-flame and glossy black arrows the hunters had shot at him.

And yet it was definitely a hunter's arrow; it was too crazy not to be.

Near the tip, Sky spotted a piece of torn cloak like those the hunters wore and a streak of fresh blood smeared length wise across the bark, pointing north. He backtracked, re-creating the scene in his mind: two hunters, one the shooter, the other the prey. The prey is shot-grazed by the looks of it-and flees north. And Fred and the Marrowick-how did they fit in? When Sky saw the Marrowick earlier, it'd looked like it was stalking something-one of the two hunters, possibly. Fred must've caught up to the Marrowick, and then ... what?