بخش 01

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بخش 01

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دانلود اپلیکیشن «زیبوک»

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متن انگلیسی فصل

Emma pounded against the giant man’s back. She twisted about to claw at his face and eyes. She kicked and thrashed. It did no good. Rourke had slung her over his shoulder, pinning her in place, and was walking with long, sure strides toward the flaming portal in the center of the clearing.

“Emma!”

“Emma!”

Two voices called to her out of the darkness. Emma craned her neck to try and see into the wall of trees that ringed the clearing. The first voice belonged to Michael, her brother. But the second—she had first heard it a few moments earlier, just before Rourke had dropped the glamour that had disguised him as Gabriel—the second voice belonged to Kate, her sister, whom she had thought was lost forever

“Kate! I’m here! Kate!”

Emma twisted around to look past Rourke, to see how close they were to the portal, how much time she had….

The portal was a high wooden arch wreathed in fire, and they were close enough that Emma could feel the heat from the blaze. Three more steps, and it would be too late. Just then a figure appeared, stepping forward through the flames. It was a boy; he looked to be Kate’s age, or perhaps a little older. He wore a dark cloak, and his face was hidden by the shadow of the hood. All she could make out was a pair of brilliant green eyes.

Then Emma saw the boy make a gesture with his hand…. CHAPTER ONE

Captive

“Let me out! Let me out!”

Emma’s throat was ragged from shouting; her hands throbbed from pounding her fists against the metal door.

“Let me out!”

She had woken with a jolt several hours earlier—covered in sweat, Kate’s name upon her lips—to find herself alone in a strange room. She didn’t question the fact that it was no longer night, that she was no longer in the clearing. She didn’t even wonder where she now was. None of that mattered. She’d been abducted, she was a prisoner, she had to escape. It was that simple.

“Let me out!”

The first thing she’d done after trying the door and confirming that it was indeed locked had been to inspect her cell to see if it offered any obvious means of escape. It hadn’t. The walls, floor, and ceiling were made from large blocks of black stone. The three small windows, too high up for Emma to reach, showed nothing but blue sky. Besides that, there was the bed on which she’d woken—really just a mattress and a few blankets and some food: a plate of flatbread, bowls of yogurt and yellow-brown hummus, some burned, unidentifiable meat, a clay jug of water. The food and water Emma had hurled out a window in a fit of pride and anger, an act she was now regretting as she was both hungry and very, very thirsty.

“Let me out!”

Emma leaned, exhausted, against the door. She felt the urge to sink to the floor, put her face in her hands, and sob. But then she thought of Kate, her older sister, and of hearing Kate’s voice as Rourke had carried her across the clearing. Their sister had returned from the past only to die right in front of them. And Michael, though he was Keeper of the Book of Life, had been unable to bring her back (leading Emma to question what, then, was the point in having something called the Book of Life). But she had heard Kate’s voice! That meant Michael must’ve succeeded! Kate was alive! And knowing Kate was out there somewhere meant there was no way, like zero-point-zero-zero-zero-zero percent chance, that Emma was just going to sit down and cry.

“LET ME OUT!”

Her forehead was still pressed against the cold metal of the door, and she was screaming directly into it, feeling the vibrations as she struck the door with her fists.

“LET ME ”

Emma stopped; she held her breath. The whole time she’d been hitting the door and screaming, she’d been met with total, thundering silence. But now she heard something, footsteps. They were faint and somewhere far below her, but they were growing louder. Emma backed away from the door and looked about for a weapon, cursing herself once again for throwing the clay jug out the window.

The footsteps grew even louder, a heavy, rhythmic thud—thud—thud. Emma decided that when the door opened, she would rush past whoever it was. Wasn’t Michael always saying something about the element of surprise? If only her big toe didn’t hurt so bad. She was pretty sure she’d broken it kicking the stupid door. The footsteps had stopped just outside her room, and there was the metallic rasp of a bolt being slid back. Emma tensed and got ready to spring.

Then the door opened, Rourke ducked inside, and all Emma’s plans of escape vanished. The giant man filled the doorway; a fly couldn’t have squeezed past.

“My, my. Aren’t you making quite the racket.”

He was wearing a long black coat that was lined with fur and had a high fur collar. He had on black boots that came nearly to his knees. He was smiling, showing miles of large white teeth, and his skin was smooth and unscarred, the burns the volcano had left on his face, which Emma had seen when he’d seized her in the clearing, now completely healed.

Emma felt the stone wall pressing against her back. She forced herself to look up and meet Rourke’s gaze.

She said, “Gabriel’s gonna kill you.”

The giant laughed. Really laughed, throwing back his head like people did in movies, the sound booming off the ceiling.

“And a very good morning to you too, young lady.”

“Where am I? How long have I been here?”

With Rourke standing before her, and the possibility of escape now essentially nil, Emma wanted the answers she hadn’t cared about before.

“Oh, just since last night. And as to your location: you’re at the far end of the world, and everything around you is shrouded in enchantments. Your friends could pass by and never know. You will not be rescued.”

“Ha! Your stupid spells aren’t gonna stop Dr. Pym. He’ll just do that”—Emma snapped her fingers—“and this whole place will fall apart.”

Rourke smiled at her, and Emma recognized it as the smile adults give children when they aren’t taking them seriously. Had Rourke’s face been anywhere remotely within reach, Emma would’ve punched it.

“I think, lass, that you’re overestimating your wizard and underestimating my master.”

“What’re you talking about? The stupid Dire Magnus is dead. Dr. Pym told us.”

Another of those annoying smiles. He was really asking for it.

“Was dead, child. But no more. My master is returned. You should know. You saw him yourself.”

“No, I didn’t ”

Emma fell silent. An image had come to her from the night before, that of the green-eyed boy stepping from the flames. And with the memory, a shadow seemed to fall over her. She struggled to throw it off, told herself it was impossible, that boy couldn’t be the Dire Magnus!

Rourke said, “So you remember.”

There was a tone of triumph in the Irishman’s voice. But if he was expecting this small, skinny, exhausted girl to cave right then and there, to cry and crumple and give up, he was deeply mistaken. Before all other things, Emma was a fighter. She had grown up fighting, year after year, orphanage after orphanage, fighting for small things and big things, for a towel without holes, a mattress without fleas, fighting boys who were picking on Michael, fighting girls who were picking on Michael, and she knew a bully when she saw one.

She stuck out her chin and balled her fists as if she might fight him then and there.

“You’re lying. He’s dead.”

“No, child. The Dire Magnus lives. And it is thanks to your brother.”

Despite her fury, Emma sensed that Rourke was telling the truth. But it made no sense. Why would Michael have done that? Then, in a flash, she realized what must’ve happened: that was how Michael had brought Kate back. That was the price he’d paid. And knowing what Michael had taken on himself so that Kate might live, the blame that others would heap upon him for unleashing the Dire Magnus on the world, Emma felt a surge of love for her brother, and it gave her strength. She stood up just a little bit straighter.

“So why isn’t your stupid master here, then? Is he afraid?”

Rourke stared at her, then said, as if having made a decision, “Come with me.”

He turned and strode out the door, leaving it open behind him. Emma stood there defiantly, not wanting to do anything that Rourke suggested. Then she realized that she wasn’t going to accomplish much by staying in her cell, and she hurried after him.

Directly outside her door was a staircase curving downward, and she could hear Rourke’s footsteps below her, moving away. So she was in a tower. She had begun to suspect as much. She started down, and on every floor she passed an iron door similar to her own. She also passed windows at her eye level, and as she corkscrewed around the tower, she saw a sea of jagged, snowcapped mountains stretching away on all sides.

Where was she?

The staircase bottomed out in a hallway made of the same rough black rock as the tower, and Rourke turned to the right without bothering to wait. Emma, sensing an opportunity, turned left, only to find her way blocked by a pair of black-garbed, yelloweyed morum cadi. Whether Rourke had placed them there or not, the creatures appeared to have been waiting for her. They stared at her, their decaying reek filling the hall, and Emma felt a terrible, shameful fear building in her chest.

“Are you coming?” Rourke’s voice echoed down the hallway, mocking. “Or do you need me to hold your hand?”

Cursing herself for being weak, Emma ran after the man, biting her lip to keep from crying. She promised herself that she would be there to cheer and throw flowers when Gabriel finally chopped off Rourke’s stupid, bald head.

He was waiting for her at a doorway to the outside.

“I know what you want,” she said when she had come up to him. “You want me to help you find the last book. Kate’s got the Atlas, Michael’s got the Chronicle or whatever. I know the last one’s mine.”

She wasn’t sure why she’d said this except that she hated having been scared by a single pair of Screechers she’d seen hundreds before; these had just surprised her and moreover, she wanted to prove to Rourke that she wasn’t just some kid; she knew things.

Rourke looked down at her, the dome of his head outlined by a perfectly blue sky.

“And do you know what the last book is?”

“Yes.”

Rourke stood there, saying nothing. An icy wind blew into the hall, but Emma stayed as she was, arms at her side. She would have died before admitting she was cold.

“It’s the Book of Death. But I’m not going to help you find it. You can just forget about that.”

“I will try to master my disappointment. But at least call the book by its proper name. Call it the Reckoning. And you’re wrong about another thing: you will be finding it for us. Though not just now. The Dire Magnus has more immediate plans. You asked where he was. Come.”

He headed outside and, again angry at herself for obeying, Emma followed.

They walked along the top of a stone rampart that outlined a large square courtyard extending off one side presumably the front—of the fortress. Glancing back, Emma saw the fortress rising up black and massive, the tower where she’d been held pointing like a crooked finger at the sky. Below her, the courtyard was filled with thirty or forty Imps and morum cadi; nothing Dr. Pym and Gabriel couldn’t handle.

But even so, Emma could feel her confidence draining away.

The fortress was built atop a rocky spire that rose up in a valley surrounded on all sides by mountains, and from the rampart walls, she could see for miles. Gabriel and the others would first have to find her, then cross all those mountains, and even then, there’d still be no approaching the fortress unseen.

Rourke had stopped where the wall turned, and he motioned her forward. She steeled herself to show no fear.

“Forty years ago,” the giant man said, “Pym and others in the magical world attacked my master. They thought they bested him. Destroyed him. But he has power his enemies do not comprehend. As they will learn soon enough.”

He gestured for her to look to the valley floor, and she placed her hands on the rough stone wall and leaned forward.

For a moment, she didn’t understand what she was seeing. Then, despite all her promises to herself about not showing fear, she gasped. For the valley floor, which she had thought was covered in a dark forest, was alive with movement. And as her sense of what she was seeing changed, she realized she was hearing sounds, faint and far-off, of banging and pounding and shouting, of a deep, rhythmic drumbeat, and there were fires burning all over the valley, black smoke rising into the sky; what Emma had at first taken to be trees were not trees at all but figures, Imps and Screechers and who knew what else, thousands upon thousands of them.

She was looking at an army.

“The Dire Magnus,” Rourke said, and his voice trembled with pure, animal excitement, “is going to war.” CHAPTER TWO

The Archipelago

“Quickly, children! There is little time.”

Kate and Michael hurried with the wizard through the narrow, twisting streets. The day, which had been warm and sunny minutes before, was now blackened by clouds, and a cold wind howled through the alleys, sending small tornadoes of dust spiraling upward.

“Where’re we going?” Michael demanded. He was panting, his feet pounding the cobblestones, the pouch of his bag—the one that the elf princess Wilamena had given him to replace the one he’d lost in the volcano, and that now carried the red-leather-bound Chronicle—slapping against his hip.

“The footbridge we crossed last night,” Dr. Pym said. “My friend is creating a portal.”

“A portal to where?” Kate asked.

“Somewhere safe,” the wizard replied, and then added, in a voice he perhaps thought was too low to be heard, “I hope.”

“But Emma—”

“We’ve spread the word. It is all we can do. Now hurry.”

The town they were running through was a collection of gabled houses and shops nestled against the river Danube, and some miles west of Vienna. A part of the magical world, the town did not appear on any map or atlas; it was hidden away, invisible to all save a select few. Kate reckoned it was the fourteenth or fifteenth (she had lost exact count) such place that she and Michael and the wizard had visited in the three days since Emma had been abducted and they themselves had fled from the elfish forest at the bottom of the world. There’d been the village outside Mexico City where they’d talked to three blind sorcerers who’d known every word the children would utter before they spoke, there’d been the smoke-filled restaurant in Moscow where dwarves in high black boots and long, cassock-style shirts had carried around silver trays laden with steaming pots of coffee, the floating village in the South China Sea where they’d seen glowing, ghostly shapes—water spirits, the wizard had said—drifting wispily over the nighttime surface of the water, the snow-covered village in the Andes where the thin air had squeezed their lungs, the fishing outpost in Nova Scotia—it had rained and smelled like fish—the wizarding school on the sun-hammered African plain where boys and girls younger than Michael, their heads shaved and wearing bright yellow robes, had run around laughing and playing a game that involved throwing balls of blue-green fire back and forth.

And everywhere they went, they delivered the same message: the Dire Magnus has returned, you must beware.

And everywhere, they asked the same questions: Have you seen our sister? Have you seen our parents?

And everywhere, they received the same answers: No. No.

Then, the day before—or was it the same day? It was so hard to keep track when you leapfrogged across the globe and noon became deepest night in the blink of an eye—they had been in a small town on the Australian coast where waves broke in long, blue-white crescents onto a golden beach and the inhabitants seemed equally devoted to magic and surfing; they’d come to see a friend of Dr. Pym’s, a lean, sun-wrinkled wizard who went everywhere barefoot and called Michael “little mate,” and they’d asked him the same questions they’d asked everyone and received the same answers, when suddenly a horde of black-garbed morum cadi had appeared in the center of town, swords drawn, blood-chilling screams erupting from their throats. Dr. Pym had immediately opened a portal in the man’s living room, a shimmering curtain of air through which he yanked the children even as they protested that they could help—

“No. Indeed, your very presence here makes it more dangerous for others.”

—and a moment later, they’d been standing beside the dark blue waters of the Danube.

Exhausted and shaken, they’d gone to the house of another of the wizard’s friends, a grim-faced witch with short black hair combed flat to her head, and after several cups of strong tea and the usual questions and answers (No. No.), Kate and Michael had been sent to wander in the woman’s garden—with the warning that “some of the plants bite”—while Pym and the woman spoke. But they hadn’t been there an hour when Pym had hurried out of the house, calling their names.

“Why’re we running?” Michael now asked. “Can’t you open a portal anywhere?”

“No,” the wizard replied. “But this is not really the time to explain.”

“So why don’t I use the Atlas?” Kate said. There was no longer any question that the magic of the Atlas resided within her and she could call it up at will to travel through both time and space. “I can—”

“No! Only when there is no other option. It is too dangerous!”

Kate was about to argue that their present situation seemed pretty dangerous when a Screecher’s cry ripped apart the air, and she and Michael froze in their tracks. They couldn’t help it. They both knew how to control the fear that gripped them when they heard the shriek of a morum cadi, but they needed time to prepare, to ready themselves.

This cry had taken them unawares, and was close by.

Then Kate saw the wizard turning, his hands moving in patterns, and the street behind them seemed to rise up like a wave just as two Screechers charged around a corner. The morum cadi were only yards away, close enough that Kate could see their glowing yellow eyes, but the stones of the street were now stacking themselves into a wall that stretched to the roofs of the houses on either side, and just when the creatures would have been upon them, Kate and Michael found themselves safe behind the wizard’s wall, listening to the clang and crunch of the monsters’ swords against the stones.

“Come along,” Dr. Pym said, and pulled them away.

A block farther on, Kate, Michael, and the wizard burst from the warren of streets, and there was the river before them, there was the footbridge stretching across it, and there, standing at the head of the bridge, was the dark-haired witch, looking even more grim and humorless than before.

“Is it ready?” Dr. Pym asked.

“The portal is open,” the witch replied. Her English was accented, and she spoke with great force, spitting out every word like a cannonball, as if determined to get it as far from her as possible. “It will take you to San Marco. You can get a boat from there.”

“That’s fine. And I will see you tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

“And don’t forget—”

“To close the portal when you cross. I know. Quickly. They are almost here.” Then, for a moment, the woman’s eyes moved to Kate and her brother, and her face softened a very, very, very small amount. “We will find your sister and your parents. Your family is not lost. Now go.”

And then Dr. Pym was pulling them up the slope of the bridge, and Kate could see the rippling in the air that was almost like the rippling of the water below, and she reached out and took her brother’s hand; she had been through so many different portals in the past days, stepping through smoke that didn’t choke her, through fire that didn’t burn, through waterfalls, through a ray of light, but she always made sure to hold Michael’s hand. She had lost so much, she was not going to lose him.

The shrieking of the Screechers was louder now, and closer, but Kate didn’t turn to look; she kept her eyes on the shimmering curtain in the air; then Dr. Pym was ushering them through, and she gripped Michael’s hand even more tightly, closed her eyes, and felt the familiar stomach-churning swirl, the loud, rushing, going-through-a-tunnel sound, her ears popped, and then, silence.

Or not silence exactly, for there was the gentle slap of waves on the shore, the cry of a gull overhead. Kate felt the sun on her face and opened her eyes. A blue expanse of water stretched before them, and for a moment, she thought they were back in Australia. Then she saw they were standing on a beach of smooth gray and black stones.

She looked over at Michael. “Are you all right?”

He nodded and pulled his hand from hers. “Yes.”

“Any idea where we are?”

He shrugged. “I guess Dr. Pym will tell us.”

But the wizard had already walked away down the beach, heading toward a pier where a dozen or so boats—small, battered-looking vessels with black nets strung over their sides—were moored. Kate studied her brother. Michael had taken off his glasses and was cleaning them on his shirt. He had been unusually silent the last few days. She understood, of course. Michael blamed himself for the Dire Magnus’s return and, by extension, for Emma’s abduction. Kate had tried to tell him that he had only done what he’d had to do, that what had happened was as much her fault as his.

“Yeah?” he’d said when she’d suggested this. “How’s that?”

“Well, I’m the one that died.”

She had died, and Michael had used the Chronicle, the Book of Life, to bring her back. But in order to do so, he’d first had to resurrect the Dire Magnus, who had promptly, with his servant Rourke’s help, kidnapped Emma. So he’d only done what he’d done because she’d gone and gotten herself killed. That was what she’d meant.

There’s enough guilt to go around, Kate had wanted to say.

But she couldn’t stop thinking that there was something else. Something he wasn’t telling her. What was this barrier he’d created between them?

A few minutes later, they were on a boat, the hull smacking—thap—thap—thap—against the small crests in the water, both sails full and straining. On all sides of them, islands studded the surface of the sea. Kate’s hair kept whipping her face and she had to use both hands to hold it back. She and Michael were sitting on a bench amidships, their feet resting on the thickly folded nets. The wizard sat across from them, while the captain was in the stern, one hand casually holding the wheel. The boat smelled of dead fish and sea salt. Dr. Pym had said that their journey should not take more than an hour, and from the relative calmness of the sea and the way the boat skipped across the water, Kate suspected that the wind filling their sails was the wizard’s doing.

“I want to thank you both for your patience,” Dr. Pym said, lifting his voice to be heard over the rush of the wind. “I know I haven’t been very forthcoming of late, but it was important that we move quickly and cover as much ground as possible. It was for that reason that I sent the others.”

By “the others,” he meant Gabriel and the elves. The night that Kate and Michael and Dr. Pym had left Antarctica, Gabriel and two parties of elves had also left to search for Emma and spread the word throughout the magical community that the Dire Magnus had returned. Kate wondered if any of them had had news of Emma.

“But now,” the wizard said, “it is time to begin the next phase.”

“What do you mean?” Kate said. “The next phase is rescuing Emma!”

“Of course. That is our first and most important goal. But even once we rescue your sister, the return of the Dire Magnus requires action. That is part of the message I have been delivering. In the next day or so, all the members of the magical world who support our cause—elf, human, and dwarf—will send representatives here, so that we may plan our strategy.”

“You mean you’re going to start a war?” Michael asked.

The wizard looked suddenly very old and tired. “My boy, if recent events tell us anything, it is that the war has already begun.”

“So where’s here?” Kate asked. “Where’re we going?”

“This”—the wizard stretched out a long arm to encompass the sea and the islands all around them—“is the Archipelago, a collection of some two-score islands that sits, unseen to the outside world, smack in the center of the Mediterranean. The islands themselves are all different: there are dwarf homelands and elf homelands, there are islands with nothing but fairies or trolls or dragons.

“But we are going there.” And he pointed to a green lump in the distance. “Altre Terros, also called Loris, also called Xi ‘alatn. It is our greatest city, home to the largest magical population and, in many ways, the true heart of our world. Hopefully, there we will find the answers and the help we seek.”

They fell silent. Kate gave up trying to control her hair and focused on steadying herself against the motion of the boat. She also tried, as she had whenever there’d been a quiet moment in the past two days, not to think about Emma, not to wonder if she was hurt or scared, not to wonder when she would see her sister again, for to do so was to go down a rabbit hole of worry and guilt that led nowhere except to more worry and guilt.

Instead, she thought of their parents, and the message Michael had received saying that they had escaped and were hunting the last Book of Beginning. Their parents had been prisoners of the Dire Magnus for ten years. How had they escaped? Had someone helped them? If so, who? And why were they off looking for the last book instead of trying to find her and her brother and sister? Did it have something to do with their father’s warning that they must not allow Dr. Pym to bring the three books together? The children had no way of knowing, because the warning had not come from their father himself, but from a ghostly projection of him contained in a glass orb that Michael had smashed, and the ghost had faded away without explaining the reason behind its warning. The children had not conveyed this part of the message to Dr. Pym, but between themselves, they had debated endlessly, and fruitlessly, about what it might mean. Kate was for asking the wizard directly, but Michael refused, saying they needed more information, and as he had been the one to receive the message, she had deferred.

Kate looked at the old wizard. He was still wearing the same fraying tweed suit, his tortoiseshell glasses were still bent and patched (their lenses now speckled with sea-foam), his white hair, always somewhat messy, was blowing wildly in the wind. Just looking at him, she felt comforted. He was Dr. Pym; he was their friend.

So why didn’t she try harder to convince Michael to tell the wizard what their father had said? Was there, in fact, some part of her that doubted him?

They were nearing the island now, and Kate pulled herself from her reverie. The island, wrapped by a band of imposing white cliffs, seemed to rise up high above them. Past the cliffs, the island was covered in greenery, and at its center there was a single steep mountain, with sharp spines radiating down its sides. Kate could see no sign of a city or town.

“We are coming around the windward side,” the wizard said. “Loris, the city, is on the leeward, where the cliffs reach to the water.”

As he spoke, the small boat tacked, and Kate and Michael both held to the gunnels. They began seeing more boats, old fishing boats like the one they were in, small boats piloted by no-nonsense dwarfish sailors, one very fast boat painted with elaborate floral designs piloted by an elf who appeared to be singing to a school of dolphins, combing his hair, and steering all at the same time, and who waved to them airily and offered the somewhat strange greeting “La-la-lo!”

Kate waited for Michael to make a comment about elfish ridiculousness, but her brother remained silent.

Rounding the island, the children saw that the cliffs did indeed begin to slope down toward the water, and a harbor opened up. It was as if the island was stretching out a pair of long, rocky arms, and they entered its embrace, passing into a swath of calm blue water. Stone and wooden docks jutted into the harbor like jagged teeth, and there were dozens of boats, either docked or weaving about. The whole feeling was one of bustling commerce, as boats brought in huge catches of fish and others appeared loaded with boxes and cargo, and the air was filled with the shouts and calls of people at work.

Past the harbor, there was a narrow beach, and then high white walls that stretched up and around the city, no doubt built long ago for defense, but now the gates were wide open and the tops of the walls were festooned with explosions of flowers. The city itself climbed up the slope, a staggered collection of tightly packed, white-stone houses, but what drew Kate’s attention was a single structure up at the farthest reaches of the city and backed against the cliffs. While the rest of the city was made of the same identical white stone, this building was rose-colored and massive; it loomed over the city, as if it were the refuge of giants.

Kate had no doubt that the rose-colored fortress was their destination.

By now, the enchanted wind had dropped from their sails, and they were gliding toward a stone pier where a single empty berth remained among the boats. As they drew closer, the children discerned a short, stocky figure standing on the pier and shouting at a fisherman who was attempting to dock his boat.

“Who am I?! I’m the fella that’s gonna sink that rotten bathtub you call a boat if you don’t shove off! This here’s reserved!”

As if to press the point home, the figure pulled a gleaming ax from his belt and brandished it at the fisherman, who was now hurriedly oaring backward.

Kate, recognizing the short figure’s face and voice, experienced her first real happiness in days.

At the same moment, Michael leapt up, nearly swamping the boat, shouting, “It’s King Robbie! King Robbie! King Robbie!”

By then the dwarf king had seen them, and he waved his stubby arms and grinned.

“Ah, you two are a sight for sore eyes! Let me get a good look at you.”

The children were standing on the pier, and Robbie McLaur, king of the dwarves near Cambridge Falls, had already hugged them tightly and given them furry, bearded kisses on both cheeks.

“You’re more beautiful than ever,” he said to Kate, “if such a thing were possible. And you”—he turned to Michael—“are not the same dewy-cheeked whelp I saw at Christmas! I’d bet my beard something’s happened! Tell the truth now!”

“Well, Your Highness,” Michael said, clearly pleased to be reunited with their old friend, “we have had quite an adventure. I had a tussle with a dragon, though it was nothing really to speak of, and there was a siege that I had some small part in—”

“You’ve fallen in love, haven’t you? Don’t lie to me, lad!” King Robbie waggled a finger in his face. “Don’t try to hide it from Robbie McLaur! What’s the lucky dwarf maiden’s name?”

Kate watched Michael turn red and stammer, “Oh—well—I—”

The dwarf laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m only ribbing you. No shame falling for a human girl. It’s not like you fell for an elf, am I right?”

Kate, who knew some of the story of Princess Wilamena and knew that Michael had a lock of hair the color of sunlight tied with a silk ribbon and tucked in his bag, watched her brother turn even redder.

“An elf,” he said. “Pshaw.”

The dwarf king then placed one small, strong hand on each of their shoulders, gripping them in a way that was almost painful. “I know you know this, but I’ll say it all the same, for there’s meaning in speaking something aloud. We will find your sister. I, Robbie McLaur, will not rest till she’s free. Nor will any of my dwarves.” He thought for a moment, then added, “Except Hamish. That worthless lump does nothing but rest. And drink and eat. Anything except work and shower. Anyway”—and he gripped their shoulders even more tightly—“we’ll bring her home. You have my word.”

Kate felt tears coming to her eyes, and she hugged the dwarf king fiercely.

“There, there, lass,” he murmured, patting her on the back.

Dr. Pym, who’d been silent during this reunion, now spoke. “Your Majesty, we have been traveling without pause for some time, and I’m sure the children are exhausted. We should get them to their rooms.”

“Right you are,” the dwarf said. “This way.”

The foursome walked down the pier, across the beach, past the crowds funneling through the walls, and into the town proper. The narrow streets wound up the hill, tacking back and forth in a series of long, shallow steps. Up close, the white stone that accounted for everything in the town—the houses, the streets, the garden walls, a birdbath—revealed itself to be not solid white, but speckled and veined with gray and black. They passed humans and dwarves and elves—shopping, sweeping out homes, eating in cafés—and Kate felt gaze after gaze turn toward them.

Did everyone know who they were? Kate wondered. Or did she and Michael just stand out?

“I arrived last night,” King Robbie was saying. “Everything’s as you asked.”

“Thank you,” Dr. Pym said. “Tell me, have there been reports of any attacks?”

He and King Robbie were walking a step ahead of Kate and Michael.

“Aye. Two came in today. One from South America. Another from the Horn of Africa. How’d you know?”

“We encountered our own trouble.”

“It’s starting, then. These are the first showers before the storm. But how the devil is he this strong? He wasn’t half so bold before, waging war on the whole world!”

“Indeed, he seems to have found some new source of power. I tremble to think what it might be. Have you had word from Gabriel or the others?”

“No.”

King Robbie and the wizard went on talking, but Kate stopped listening. She’d heard what she wanted to know. Emma was still lost.

They came around a corner, and at the end of the street, Kate saw the rose-colored building that she’d first noticed from the boat. What was most striking—apart from its enormous size and the vibrant rose hue of the stone—was how wildly thrown together it looked. The façade jerked up and down at odd intervals; the roof was studded with a series of domes and pergolas and towers, all of different sizes and shapes; there were dozens of balconies and colonnades and arches scattered about; it was a giant mishmash. And yet there was a strange, almost perfect beauty to it all, like the natural, complex growth of a flower.

And there was more: the building was home to something powerful. Kate had felt a vibration in her chest when she’d seen it from the boat, and now, up close, she knew for sure. The rose-colored building was built to protect something. But what?

They walked through an archway where two armed guards (one human and one dwarf) saluted, and found themselves in a passageway under the building.

The wizard stopped. “This is the Rose Citadel. When we of the magical world have gatherings, this is where we meet. This building holds the greatest magical library in existence, as well as being home to innumerable treasures and mysteries. It is part museum, part university, part council chamber. And on its upper floors, there are some very comfortable guest rooms. I’ve reserved a pair for you.”

“What’s that way?” Kate asked, pointing down the passageway to where she could see a swath of green.

“The Garden,” the wizard said. “The Citadel is built around it. I will take you through it later.”

It’s in there, Kate thought. Whatever it is I’m feeling, it’s in there.

They said goodbye to King Robbie, who promised he would see them at dinner, and Dr. Pym led them through a doorway and up a hopeless zigzag of stairs and hallways till, finally, he brought them into a large, cool, dimly lit room. Kate could make out a bed, a chair, a table; then the wizard pushed open a pair of heavy wooden shutters, light poured in, and the blue sea appeared, far below them. He pointed to a door.

“That leads to a second bedroom. Take some time to rest, gather yourselves. I’ll come to get you for dinner. And do know, you are safer here than you are anywhere else in the world.”

Then he turned and walked out.

As if her exhaustion had been there waiting for her, Kate felt a heaviness settle on her shoulders. She sat down on the bed. Another moment, and she might have fallen over.

“Well,” Michael said, “guess I’ll take the other room.”

“Michael…”

He turned back at the door.

“I wanted to ask—”

“Yes, I know, I didn’t tell King Robbie about Wilamena. But—”

“It’s not that.” And while she had meant to ask if he too had sensed the presence of some great power in the Citadel, instead, looking at her brother’s face and feeling more than ever the new, awful distance between them, she asked, “Is something wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you angry at me?”

“What? No! Of course not.”

Kate said nothing. The silence stretched out. Michael stared at the floor, and when he spoke again, his voice was different. It was his voice this time, his real one.

“When I use the Chronicle, I live another person’s whole life. All their memories and feelings, for a few seconds, they’re mine. I should’ve told you before. I don’t want it to happen; it just does. Most of it I can’t remember afterward. It’s like trying to remember a dream.”

“But some things you do remember.”

“Yes.”

“And when you brought me back…”

Michael looked up, and the instant he met her eyes, Kate knew what he would say.

“That boy in the bell tower, the one who became the Dire Magnus…”

Kate’s throat was as dry as paper. “Rafe.”

“You love him.”

Kate didn’t know what threw her more, that Michael had said this or that he had said it so simply and directly. The old Michael, the one she’d left in Baltimore a week before, would have danced around and basically done all he could to avoid mentioning the subject of feelings, his own or anyone else’s.

“You love him,” he went on. “I mean, you know he’s the Dire Magnus. You know he’s the enemy. But you still love him.”

“No, I don’t…” Kate was gripping the edge of the bed with both hands. “I don’t…love the Dire Magnus.”

“I mean you love him, Rafe. And he is the Dire Magnus. They’re the same person.”

“Why are you saying this? What’s—”

“You can’t save him. You have to know that.”

Now it was Kate’s turn to stare at the floor. For as shocked as she’d been by Michael’s declaration that she loved Rafe, the boy she had met a hundred years in the past, who had saved her life and in so doing had become the Dire Magnus, no part of her denied the truth of it. How often in the past days—despite jumping around the world, despite being hounded by Screechers, despite Emma being gone—had she closed her eyes and pictured Rafe’s face before her, or remembered riding with him on the top of the elevated train as the wind bit into her cheeks or sitting in the warm, smoky comfort of the Chinese restaurant as he’d taught her to eat noodles or dancing with him in the snow and feeling the beat of his heart? How many times had she told herself to stop thinking of him, to forget him, only to be drawn back by the simple memory of her hand folded inside his?

She said, “Have you told Dr. Pym?”

“No. And I won’t. But you’ve got to choose. Emma or him. You can’t save both. You have to choose.”

Then he turned and walked out of the room, leaving her alone. CHAPTER THREE

The Crushed Leaf

“So, you can imagine life here?”

Gabriel stood in a village on the Rijkinka Fjord, a long sliver of water that curved deep into the dense forests of western Norway. The village was small, only thirty or so homes nestled between the trees and the glasslike surface of the fjord. At his side was a thin old woman with white hair and large blue eyes. One hand held a cane, the other rested on Gabriel’s arm. She was waiting for an answer, and so Gabriel looked again at the stillness of the water, listened to the silence of the trees.

“It is beautiful. Peaceful.”

“Yes,” the old woman said. And she sighed, “It was.”

All about them, villagers were moving among the ruins of smoking and blackened houses, sorting through their possessions for anything that could be saved. A smudge of dark smoke hung in the sky. Gabriel and the woman started down the muddy street, her cane feeling the way through the ash and debris.

“Of course, Miriam and I set up defenses, the standard wards to protect against vampires and werewolves and the like. But that was decades ago. I suppose we’d become forgetful. Not that it would’ve done much good. There were hundreds of them. Morum cadi. Imps. Even a troll.”

“Was he here?”

“No. Rourke led them.”

“Did he say anything?”

The old witch gave a short, dry snort. “Oh yes. He sought us out. Told us, ‘You once stood against my master. That’s why this is happening. Defy him again and he will not be so merciful.’ He said that Pym would not defend us this time.”

Gabriel said nothing.

The old witch stopped. Her bony hand gripped Gabriel’s arm. “He’s more powerful than before. I could feel it.”

“We do not believe he yet has the Reckoning.”

“But he has the Keeper, doesn’t he? He has the Keeper of the Reckoning?”

“Yes.”

The woman’s grip slackened, as if some strength had gone out of her. “Then it is only a matter of time until he finds it. After that, he will be unstoppable.”

“That will not happen.”

The old woman patted him on the arm.

“Tell Pym we’re with him. We may not be what we once were, but we’re with him to the end.” She paused. “I mean to say, I’m with him.”

“I am sorry about your sister.”

She nodded her thanks, and pointed with her cane toward the line of trees. “They came from there.” Then she tottered off down the street, her cane making little pat-pat noises in the mud. Gabriel watched her go.

It did not take him long to find where Rourke and his army had materialized. The trees had been felled in a large ring, and the ground was scorched black. But where had they appeared from? Gabriel knew that once a portal closed, there was no way of following it back to its source. At least no magical means. But his advantage was that he was not a wizard. He was simply a man. A man who knew about trees and plants and the land, and he crouched now and lifted a small crushed leaf out of the soil. The leaf had been trampled by many boots, and he gently smoothed it across his palm.

Gabriel didn’t recognize the leaf, but he knew that whatever it was, it would never grow in this forest. That meant it must have come through on the boot of one of the attackers. But from where? Gabriel sensed that if he found the plant, he would find the Dire Magnus; and if he found the Dire Magnus, he would find Emma.

But to do that, he needed help.

Two hours later, and five thousand miles southwest, Gabriel was walking along a steep, rocky trail as the sun fell behind the mountains and the trees threw long shadows across his path. The approaching darkness didn’t trouble him—he could’ve found his way blindfolded—and soon enough, he reached the crest of the ridge and stood gazing down at the small village that lay in the fold of the mountain.

In the fifteen years since Stanislaus Pym had recruited him to the cause of defeating the Dire Magnus and saving the children, Gabriel had returned here only a handful of times. And each time, it had felt less and less like home.

He knew it would be fully dark by the time he reached the village, and he would’ve gotten there earlier, but the golden key the wizard had given him, the one that allowed him to move swiftly around the world, required a keyhole or a lock to work, and his village had none. He had had to come through the mansion in Cambridge Falls, in the process terrifying half to death the old caretaker, Abraham. Once he’d recovered, the old man had pressed him for news of the children, and Gabriel had told him, while the sour-faced housekeeper, Miss Sallow, had eavesdropped from the kitchen. When he’d reached the part about Emma’s abduction, Miss Sallow had come out and taken Abraham’s hand.

“You have to save her,” the old woman had said, her voice tight with emotion. “You have to.”

He had left soon after.

The village was silent and dark; no one was about, and Gabriel felt like a ghost moving through the shadows.

He came to a ramshackle hut at the base of the village and raised his hand to knock. Before he could, a voice called from inside, “Come in, come in.”

Gabriel pushed open the door and peered into the smoky interior of the hut. He could see a single cookfire in the center of the room and the large, messy outline of a woman bending over a pot. For a moment, he didn’t move. The sight of the old woman at her fire and the smell of her hut—the smoke, the scents of burning pine, of wild onions and carrots, of boiling potatoes and thyme—loosened a knot in the center of his chest, and he was a boy again; he was home.

“I put on a stew when I knew you were coming,” Granny Peet said. “Though I don’t stand by the potatoes. Bad lot this year.”

Pulled back to the present, Gabriel stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “I won’t ask how you knew I was coming.”

“Good. You wouldn’t understand anyway. Sit.”

Gabriel took one of the low stools by the fire as Granny Peet continued to stir the pot, the charms and vials dangling from her necklaces clinking softly as they knocked together. Gabriel still felt the tug of home, but already the tension was returning to his chest. It would be there, he knew, until Emma was safe.

“You’ve been gone too long,” the old woman muttered, the fire multiplying the wrinkles of her face. “This is your home. It nourishes you.”

“Things have happened.”

“I know. I hear whispers. What have you brought me?”

Gabriel reached into his bag and pulled out a folded square of cloth. He opened it, displaying the limp, black leaf. It seemed an impossibly small thing to pin his hopes on, but it was all he had. “A village in Norway was attacked. I found this.”

Granny Peet had dirty, swollen fingers and thick, yellow nails, but she lifted the leaf delicately, turning it about in the light of the fire, then finally bringing it to one large nostril to sniff. “Hmph.”

She carried the leaf to a table behind Gabriel where a pot of soil sat among a clutter of roots and branches. She poked a hole in the soil, placed the leaf inside, and covered it over. Then she ladled in what to Gabriel looked like ordinary water. She shuffled back to the fire.

“We’ll see if it has anything to say. Now, you eat, then you’ll tell me what else is bothering you.” And she pushed a brimming, steaming bowl of stew into his hands.

Gabriel was about to say he had come only about the leaf when he realized that wasn’t so. There was something else. Something that had been gnawing at his thoughts for days. But he also knew that Granny Peet wouldn’t listen to anything till his bowl was clean, so he picked up a spoon and ate. The stew was too hot and burned his mouth, but with each bite he was taken back to the hours he used to sit at the wise woman’s fire and listen to her stories about the world outside their village, how he’d nod when she’d tell him that he would be called to serve in a great cause. “Much will be asked of you,” she used to say. “A terrible sacrifice.”

He had been a small boy, smaller than others his age, his parents dead in a landslide when he was younger than Emma (did that explain his bond to the children?), and he had been raised by the entire village, and by Granny Peet in particular. She had fed him, schooled him, and he had grown quickly, and while yet a boy, he had towered over the men in the village. He’d often wondered if Granny Peet had put something in his food. But when he’d asked her about it, she’d scoffed, saying, “Don’t question your strength. Be thankful. You’ll need every bit of it when the time comes.”

When Gabriel finished the stew, he felt more rested than he had in days, and he sat there, the empty bowl in his hands. The old woman squatted on the stool beside him, smoking a short, gnarled pipe, her eyes two dark pits among the folds of her face.

He began to speak: “For fifteen years, I have been helping Pym search for the missing Books. He told me that finding them was the only way to keep the children safe.” Gabriel did not say how often his own life had been in peril, how many new scars he bore, how much he himself had given up; the old woman knew. “But recently, I fought a man, a servant of the Dire Magnus.” Gabriel didn’t notice, but his hands tightened on the bowl as he recalled his battle with Rourke in the volcano. “He told me that if the children succeed in finding all three Books of Beginning and bringing them together, they will die. And he said that Pym knows this.”

For a time, Granny Peet did not respond, but sat there, drawing on her pipe and letting smoke curl from her mouth. Gabriel could hear the trees creaking outside, the whisper of the branches rubbing against one another.

Finally she said, “It is possible.”

It seemed to Gabriel that he could feel the world moving beneath him, and he gripped the wooden bowl as if it were an anchor that would hold him in place. “So it is true, they will die if they bring the Books together?”

“Yes. Most likely.”

“And Pym knows?”

“I have no doubt.”

“And how have you known this and not told me? All this time I have been searching for the Books, I have been speeding the children to their doom.”

Gabriel could hear the anger in his voice and he didn’t care. The old woman looked at him, motionless, her dark eyes unreadable. She seemed to be letting Gabriel’s anger subside, like waiting for a wave to crash and return to the sea.

“The Books must be found,” she said at last. “They must be found, and the children are the only ones who can do it.”

“But why must they be found? Because the Dire Magnus also seeks them? That cannot be the only means of defeating him. If necessary, I will kill him and each and every one of his followers. I do not—”

“No,” the old woman said. And suddenly there was nothing shambling or messy or indefinite about her. She was hard and precise. “The Dire Magnus has grown in power. For all your strength and heart, for all Pym’s knowledge, for all the will and power of all good people in our world, it is not enough. Only the Books can defeat him now. And the children alone can find them.”

Gabriel fell silent and stared at the fire. He saw how he’d been gripping the bowl and slowly unclenched his fingers and set it down.

“But there is another reason,” the old woman said. “Something has come loose in the fabric of the world. It began long ago, but recently, the unraveling has quickened. If it is not fixed, and soon, there will be a cataclysm none can contain. The Books alone can prevent this disaster. All of Pym’s thoughts bend toward this one point.”

Gabriel looked at her, and the scar that ran down the side of his face throbbed. “So the children are to be sacrificed.”

“Perhaps,” the old woman said. “And perhaps not. Prophecies are tricky things.”

“You mean there may be a way to save them?”

“I do not know. But I choose to believe there is.” She placed a warm hand on his arm. “You care for all the children, but the youngest, she is the daughter you never had. You would do anything for her.”

At the old woman’s words, Gabriel found himself thinking of Emma, and the morning, years before, after he’d saved the three of them from the Countess’s wolves, how she had followed him into the woods and watched as he’d stalked and killed a deer. The way she had mastered her fear. It had moved him, and a desire to protect her, a love, had entered his heart and never gone away.

He nodded, but said nothing.

“You must speak to Pym,” the old woman said. “Do not give up on him. He too cares for the children. Now, let us look at your leaf.”

She rose and shuffled past him to the table. When she returned, she was carrying the pot, only now a foot-tall plant was sprouting from the soil. It had a narrow, spiny stalk and long, jagged leaves. Granny Peet placed it beside the fire, then knelt down, cupping its branches, lowering her face to the leaves, and inhaling deeply.

“Clear, high air. Mountains. Iron and sulfur. Mars in the spring sky. The urine of blue sheep. Bones of a tyrannosaurus. Anger. Hatred. Death.” She broke one of the leaves and rubbed the moisture between her fingers. “Search eastward. Look for a place where three rivers meet and there are fields of mint. You remember how to detect an enchantment?”

Gabriel nodded and began to rise, but the old woman clucked her tongue.

“Tomorrow, boy. Even you must sleep.”

“Not while she is held prisoner.”

He’d gotten as far as the door when the old woman said his name. Gabriel turned to see her sorting through a jumble of objects in one corner of the hut. She pulled something free and came toward him. The object was three feet long and wrapped in a soiled, dark cloth. She held it out in both hands.

“At least take this. I know you need a weapon. And this one you will not lose.”

Again, Gabriel didn’t ask how the old woman knew what she did, but it was true: the razor-edge falchion he had carried through countless battles, that had felt like an extension of his own arm, was now in a volcano in Antarctica. He took the object from her and undid the wrapping at one end, exposing a hilt of worn leather and bone. He slid out four inches of steel, and the metal seemed to gather the meager light from the fire and reflect it back tenfold. He returned the blade to the sheath and nodded his thanks.

The old woman placed both hands on his arms.

“She is the daughter you never had, and you are the child of my heart. Go well.”

She turned away before he could respond. For a long moment, Gabriel looked at her, standing beside the fire in the same pose as when he’d entered; then he walked out and through the village, leaving as quietly as he had come. CHAPTER FOUR

Chocolate Coke

Emma heard the thud of footsteps ascending the tower stairs, recognized who they belonged to, and sat up. The sky through the windows was dark, and the drumming and shrieking from the army in the valley had reached its nightly fever pitch.

She was standing when Rourke, holding a torch, opened the door.

“Come with me.”

“Why?”

“He wants to see you.”

He didn’t bother explaining who “he” was. Emma thought of refusing but knew that if she did, Rourke would just lift her and throw her over his shoulder.

She had been a prisoner for four days. Nothing particularly bad had happened; if anything, her days and nights had an almost tedious sameness. Every morning, a pair of pinch-faced gnomes would bring her breakfast, which she ate dutifully, telling herself she would need her strength when she was rescued (she’d tried several times to dart past the gnomes and each time she’d been pinned to the ground and her arms and fingers were twisted about painfully; the little creatures were much stronger than they looked, and utterly vicious). At some point, an hour, two hours, three hours later, Rourke would come and take her for a walk on the ramparts, blathering on about how great his master was and how, very soon, Emma would help them find the Reckoning. Then, in the evening, two more gnomes would bring her dinner (she had just as much luck getting past them); and as darkness fell, the drumming and shrieking coming from the army would rise up, and Emma would sit there with her hands pressed to her ears, telling herself that Kate and Michael were safe, that Dr. Pym would protect them, that Gabriel would rescue her, that everything would be okay. And just as the sky was growing light and the noise was abating, Emma would fall asleep.

Rourke was silent as he led her down the twisting stairs of the tower. The air was cold, and there were more torches burning in the iron brackets on the wall. When they reached the main corridor, rather than turning right, they went down another set of stairs, and soon Rourke was leading her through the courtyard and out a gate, leaving the fortress behind.

“You see the fires?”

She and Rourke were walking along a steep, wide path that wound down to the valley floor. Below them, hundreds of fires lit the darkness, but it was clear which ones he meant, a few of them being many times larger than the others.

“Those are portals. Our army uses them to jump around the world. We appear without warning, sow death and terror. Then vanish.”

“Like a bunch of cowards.”

Rourke smiled but said nothing.

All the time they’d been descending the path, the drumming had grown louder. Now, Emma could feel the vibrations in her chest, and it was making her whole body thrum with fear. But she forced herself to keep pace with Rourke.

Then they reached the valley floor and were swallowed up by the army.

Strangely, what struck her first was the stench. It wasn’t just the morum cadi; over the past four days, Emma had become almost used to their constant, moldering reek. But the press of thousands of the half-dead creatures along with the smell of heated metal and sweat and blood and burning meat created an almost tangible fug, and every breath—she took as few as she could—brought the rot inside her.

And then there was the sheer loudness, for the drumming and shrieking was now joined with snarls and growls and oaths and the constant clamor of shouting and fighting, and Emma fought the urge to press her hands to her ears.

There was no order that she could see. Small fires burned on all sides of them, and around each fire would be a group of morum cadi or Imps or, now and then, trolls. The creatures were eating, drinking, sharpening weapons, fighting—sometimes all at once. Emma saw one twelve-foot troll roasting an entire cow on a spit and licking his lips with an enormous purple tongue. They passed blacksmiths pounding away, the clink-clink-clink of their hammers as steady as the beating of the drums. And there were humans too, which shocked Emma, men and women, black-garbed and thuggish, crowded about fires and speaking in harsh languages that Emma had never heard.

And then, finally, there were the red-robed figures. In some ways, they were the most frightening of all. She and Rourke passed close by a trio that was huddled around a smoking, bubbling pot like witches in a fairy tale. Hoods covered their faces, but they seemed to be human, and Emma noticed how even the Screechers and the Imps gave them a wide berth. One of the figures turned to look at Emma as she passed; he was a very old man with a long, twisted nose and stringy gray hair. He was leaning on a staff, and one of his eyes was completely white.

“Who’re they?” she asked quietly.

“The necromati. Mages and wizards who serve the master. Most come to him eager for power, which he gives in exchange for their loyalty. Others are former enemies he has broken and bent to his will. They serve as reminders to all who would stand against him.”

Emma couldn’t stop staring at the old man and his creepy white eye, and she was peering back over her shoulder when she collided with something hard and was knocked to the ground.

“Ohh!”

Emma found herself looking up into the face—if you could call it that—of an equally surprised Imp. The creature held a half-eaten drumstick in one hand.

“What—” the Imp began. And then Rourke stuck a knife in its throat and shoved the body casually beside.

He yanked Emma to her feet. “Watch where you’re going.”

He dragged her onward through the camp, then abruptly pulled her into the doorway of a large tent. Once inside, Emma found herself in a hushed, almost sweet-smelling space, as if the clamor and stench of the camp couldn’t penetrate the canvas walls. Lanterns strung from chains illuminated a wooden table, on which were strewn a jumbled collection of books, maps, and half-rolled parchments. There was a small camp bed against one wall. Otherwise, the tent was bare, and its sole occupant appeared to be a cloaked figure kneeling in the center of the floor.

And the figure was on fire.

Or perhaps not on fire, as he did not appear to be burning. Yet Emma could feel the heat against her own skin; the flames were real.

“Wait,” Rourke said, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder.

The cloaked figure remained motionless, his head hooded and bowed, as the flames traveled over his body. It seemed to Emma that she could see shapes moving in the flames, but though she tried, she couldn’t make the shapes resolve into anything specific.

And then, quite suddenly, the flames died away and the figure stood. He moved toward the back of the tent, gesturing with his hand.

“Walk.” Rourke pushed her forward.

Emma moved deeper into the tent, passing over the spot where the fire had wreathed the figure, noting that the floor, covered with overlapping rugs, was unharmed. Emma could feel her heart beating all through her body, pulsing down to the tips of her fingers. The cloaked figure stood before a shallow silver bowl that was supported, waist-high, on three iron legs.

He turned as Emma approached.

“Hello.”

Emma had been prepared; she’d told herself she was prepared, but still she was taken aback. Standing there, staring at her, was a boy. But boy was the wrong word. He was in that place when he was no longer a boy, and yet not quite a man. She guessed he was perhaps a year older than Kate, maybe sixteen. He had unkempt dark hair, wide-set cheekbones, a nose that was slightly bent, and he was grinning, as if this was all somehow enjoyable. There was something wild about him, and his grin was like that of the wolf in a fairy tale.

His eyes were the most brilliant emerald green imaginable.

“I’m Rafe,” he said, and put out his hand.

Emma just looked at it. “You’re the Dire Magnus, aren’t you?”

He shrugged and took his hand back, not seeming offended. “If you like. But it’s kind of a mouthful. Rafe’s easier. I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time.”

Emma tried to make sense of what was happening. This was the Dire Magnus; she was certain. He was the same boy—she couldn’t stop using the word even while admitting it wasn’t totally accurate—who’d stepped from the flaming portal in Antarctica. But he was hardly older than she was! How could he be the Dire Magnus? And why was he acting, so…normal?

“C’mere. I want to show you something.”

Emma felt her legs move her forward, and she came to a stop on the other side of the iron stand, so that the wide silver bowl was between them. She kept her arms at her sides, resisting the urge to cross them over her chest, knowing that would make her appear defensive and fearful.

She realized that he was still staring at her, and still grinning.

“What?” she demanded.

“Nothing, just, it’s funny.”

She waited for him to go on.

“At first, I thought you didn’t look like her at all. I couldn’t even see how you were sisters. But now that I see you closer, there’s something there. It’s interesting.”

He reached across as if to touch her face, but Emma pulled back, her body rigid with alarm.

“What’re you talking about?”

“What do you think I’m talking about?” He said it in the same mildly sarcastic way any boy his age might have said it. “How much you look like Kate. Or don’t. Depending on how you see it.”

“How…do you know my sister?”

Emma had been preparing herself for threats. For him to try to scare her. She’d even tried to imagine him torturing her. She had been prepared for anything but this seemingly normal, almost friendly boy. She felt utterly at sea.

He pushed back his hood, and he smiled in a knowing way that made Emma furious. “It’s kind of a long story. Better for another time.”

“You’re lying.”

“If that’s what you want to think.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“I never said you were.”

“You’re trying to trick me somehow. So I’ll help you find the book.”

He seemed to consider what Emma was saying, and he gave a shrugging nod. “Maybe. I certainly do want your help. But I’m not lying to you. Kate and I…” He trailed off and seemed for a moment to be somewhere else. Then he looked back at her. “Like I said, it’s a long story. One she and I will have to work out ourselves. But I brought you here for another reason. Look.”

He moved his hand over the dish—Emma had realized by now that it was a scrying bowl, like the one that she and Michael had used in Antarctica; it allowed you to see things that were far away—and as she looked into it, an image appeared in the half-inch of water in the bottom. Emma leaned closer, craning her neck to bring the image right-side up. She gasped, grabbing the sides of the dish so that a tremor rippled through the water.

“Miss Crumley! That’s Miss Crumley!”

It was indeed Miss Crumley, the woman who, as head of the Edgar Allan Poe Home for Hopeless and Incorrigible Orphans, had done as much as anyone to make Emma’s and her brother’s and sister’s lives miserable. Selfish, greedy, short-tempered, and small-minded, she’d seemed to actively dislike children, and Emma and her siblings in particular. Just looking at the woman, Emma felt her anger and resentment rise up, and she gripped the dish so hard that her knuckles turned white.

The woman was sitting at her desk, apparently working through an entire chocolate cake all by herself. Leaning closer, Emma saw that written on the cake were the words Happy Birthday, Neil. She didn’t know who Neil was, but it was no surprise that Miss Crumley had stolen his birthday cake. She hoped the woman choked on it.

“Is that what you want?”

Emma looked up sharply. “What?”

“To have her choke. Sorry, I wasn’t trying to read your mind, but some thoughts are so loud you might as well shout them. So, should we?”

“What’re you talking about?”

For the first time, the boy looked annoyed. “You said you’re not stupid, so don’t act like you are. You know what I mean: Should we make her pay for all she’s done to you, to your brother and sister, and to every other child who had the bad luck to cross her path? She deserves it.”

He was serious, Emma realized, and she glanced back down at Miss Crumley, who from the way she was shoveling in chocolate cake was most likely going to choke with no help from anyone else. It was true, Emma had dreamed of revenge. When Miss Crumley had made them take cold showers in the winter while her office hummed like a sauna. When they ate the same soggy beans and gray meat day after day while she had elaborate meals in her private dining room, waited on by children who were punished if they stole so much as a single piece of bread. If anyone deserved it, she did.

Emma could feel the boy waiting, watching her. Her hands trembled as she lifted them from the dish.

“No.”

The boy said nothing. Emma forced herself to meet his eyes.

“I said no.”

He sighed. “Rourke tells me you’re a fighter. But there’s one fight you’ll never win.”

Emma tensed, expecting him to say that she and Gabriel and Kate and Michael and Dr. Pym would never defeat him. But again, he surprised her.

“The one against your own nature. Trust me, I’ve gone down that road, and it’s a dead end. You’ve got anger inside you. Let it out. Deny it, and you just deny yourself.” He looked into the bowl. “And the fact is, there are those who deserve to be punished.”

He moved his hand, and Miss Crumley dropped her fork and grabbed at her throat.

“What’re you doing? I said no!”

Miss Crumley tried to rise up, lurching about this way and that. Her face was quickly turning purple.

“Stop it! You said—”

“I didn’t promise anything.” His eyes burned bright green. “I gave you a chance to do some actual good. You didn’t take it. I did.”

Frantic, Emma looked down at the awful, silent scene before her. She knew she had to do something, but what? In the end, she just stood there, watching as Miss Crumley pitched forward onto her desk and lay still, facedown in the smashed remains of the cake.

“I didn’t…,” Emma said quietly. “I didn’t want that.”

“Yes, you did. The sooner you accept that, the better.” He gestured to Rourke, saying to Emma, “And next time, call me Rafe. I want us to be friends.”

Later, after leading Emma back to her cell, Rourke returned to the tent. He stood quietly, letting the boy speak first.

“You think I’m wasting time with her.”

“My lord, I do not question—”

“But you do.”

Rourke took a breath, as if he were treading somewhere very dangerous and knew he had to be careful. “It is simply that the sooner we perform the Bonding, the sooner we will have the Reckoning. And forgive me, but I’ve had more opportunity to observe her. She is fiercely loyal to her friends and family. She will not betray them.”

“That is just what I’m counting on.” The boy moved, allowing Rourke to see into the bowl. There was Emma, sitting in her cell, her back against the stone wall. Her head was down and her shoulders shook as if she were crying. “Anger is a dangerous thing. It can burn a person up, and hers burns very hot indeed. When she learns that Pym has planned the deaths of her and her brother and sister, when she feels the depths of that betrayal, it will burn even hotter.”

Rourke looked confused. “And you think she will help us?”

“Yes. Whether she knows it or not.”

“So, you do not show her mercy because of the other girl, her sister—”

The boy turned. Despite the apparent difference in ages, the difference in their sizes, the look in the boy’s eyes caused the giant man to take a step back, staggering, as if from a blow. The bald man bowed his head.

“Forgive me.”

“Go,” the boy said, and turned back to the bowl. CHAPTER FIVE

The Council

Kate didn’t know how much more of this she could take. Why didn’t Dr. Pym just ask if anyone had any information about Emma and be done with it?

“War is upon us,” Dr. Pym was saying. “Since last night, refugees have been arriving at our port by the hundred, and every hour brings word of some town or village that has been attacked and destroyed. So far, Loris and the other islands of the Archipelago have been spared. But for how long? The enemy is coming. Yet we still have no idea where his army is based or how great a force he actually commands—we must work together or we will all perish.

“So please,” he said, “stop squabbling and behave.”

They were sitting at a round table on an open terrace high up in the Rose Citadel. There were twelve of them in all: Kate; Michael; Dr. Pym; King Robbie; a red-bearded dwarf named Har-something; Wilamena; her father; a beautiful silver-haired elf lady; a bald-headed, white-bearded man named Captain Stefano who was apparently in command of the city guard; the stern witch from Vienna whose name turned out to be Magda von Klappen; a plump, green-robed wizard from China; and finally, a stocky, wild-haired man who, Michael had whispered, was named Hugo Algernon and was a friend of their parents and “a little crazy.”

From where she sat, Kate could see the white rooftops of the town terracing down to the port, which was clogged, as Dr. Pym had said, with boats carrying refugees. Beyond that stretched the wide blue sweep of the sea. The sun hung at midday, and the air was hot and still and tinged with salt. Things had gotten off to a poor start when, half an hour after the meeting was scheduled to begin, there had still been no sign of the elves. By the time Wilamena; her father, King Bernard; and Lady Gwendolyn, the silver-haired elf, had finally stepped out onto the terrace, tempers were beginning to fray.

“Nice of you to make the time,” Robbie McLaur had growled.

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” King Bernard had said, not looking the least bit apologetic. He was tall and slim, had the same golden hair as his daughter, and his eyes—Kate had gotten a look at them when the elf king had taken her hand and bowed—were the dark blue that precedes the dawn. “Our boat only just arrived.”

“And I wager you had to stop and get your hair done too,” Haraald, the red-bearded dwarf, had snickered. Together, he and King Robbie made up the dwarfish delegation.

“Why yes!” Wilamena had said, and spun so that her hair flowed about in a shimmering golden arc. “Do you like it?”

“Well, um, it’s, uh, very nice,” the dwarf had stammered, turning as red as his beard, before catching himself and snorting in annoyance. “Elfish piffle.”

As Dr. Pym had welcomed everyone, Kate had glanced at Michael and seen that all the color had drained from his face. Clearly, Wilamena’s being there was a surprise. For Wilamena’s part, as soon as she’d taken her seat, she’d begun trying to catch Michael’s attention with a series of winks, waves, the sort of tongue clucks you might use to call a horse, and flamboyantly blown kisses.

Michael had kept his focus steadfastly on the wizard.

Dr. Pym had started by discussing the newest reports from around the globe, and Kate had found herself again thinking of Emma, wondering if she was scared, if she was cold or hungry, feeling again the dull, empty ache in her chest. How could she have failed her sister so badly? And how was it possible that she, who commanded the power of the Atlas, who could stop time, who could jump a thousand years into the past as quick as thought, was unable to find her? It didn’t seem right.

She’d been called back to the conversation by the sounds of an argument.

“Lady Gwendolyn,” Dr. Pym had said, “be reasonable—”

“But a dwarf? Oh no, no, Doctor, I think not.”

“Please understand,” King Bernard had said, gesturing about with a large peacock feather (where had that come from?). “We think dwarves are marvelous at certain things—pounding bits of metal with other bits of metal, getting insensibly drunk. But large-scale strategic thinking is not really a dwarf’s forte. Or small-scale strategic thinking, for that matter. Or, well, thinking—full stop.”

Kate had leaned toward Michael. “What’s going on?”

“Dr. Pym told them that he’s putting King Robbie in charge of the defense of Loris and the Archipelago, and the elves don’t like it. Typical.” Then he’d added, “Did you notice how Wilamena’s hair seems to have its own private breeze?”

Kate had ignored this last, noting that it wasn’t just the elves who objected to King Robbie being in charge. Captain Stefano was purple-faced with fury, and Magda von Klappen, the Viennese witch, was leaning forward and rapping her knuckles on the table.

“Pym, Captain Stefano has led the city guard for forty years! He should command the defense. And honestly, you can’t expect a witch or wizard to take orders from a dwarf!”

“Exactly,” King Bernard had said. “Now, if he were giving counsel on belching—”

“Listen here, blondie.” The dwarf king’s eyes were dark with anger. “I’ve been patient this far—”

“ENOUGH!”

And that was when Dr. Pym had admonished them for fighting, warning them what would happen if they didn’t band together, and Kate had begun to wonder how much longer they would bicker and dither before discussing the real reason they were all here: rescuing Emma.

“Captain Stefano has put in great service over the years,” the wizard went on, “and we will need his help and expertise. But he has never actually fought a war; King Robbie has. Not to mention, I shall be working closely with King Robbie on all details of the defense. Does that satisfy everyone?”

There was a general, if grudging, nodding.

“In any case,” Dr. Pym said, “all this talk of war is mere preamble. It is my suspicion that these attacks, perhaps the Dire Magnus’s entire war, represent little more than an attempt to occupy us while he pursues his true purpose, namely, the recovery of the Reckoning.”

A deep silence fell on the gathering. Kate could hear distant voices drifting upward from the town.

Finally, she thought.

“However,” Dr. Pym said, “I would first like to acknowledge the debt we owe to two of our company. Without their courage and sacrifice and steadfastness, the Chronicle and the Atlas would already be in the enemy’s hands and our cause lost. We owe them our most profound thanks.”

Kate saw the whole Council, dwarves, elves, witches, and wizards, giving her and her brother small, deferential bows as Michael nodded and made “it’s no big deal” gestures.

“But our greatest challenge lies before us,” Dr. Pym said. “Five days ago, Katherine and Michael’s younger sister, Emma, who is destined to be the Keeper of the Reckoning, was kidnapped by the Dire Magnus. The Reckoning, as you all well know, is the Book of Death. Should it fall into the enemy’s hands, all our lives, indeed, the life of every being in both the magical and nonmagical worlds, is forfeit. It cannot—it must not happen.”

“And how close to finding the Reckoning is Mr. Dark and Terrible?” asked Hugo Algernon. “Must be close or you wouldn’t have dragged me here to listen to you palaver and play referee to these dunderheads.” And he gestured to include pretty much everyone present.

“I fear our enemy is very close. In fact—”

“But perhaps you panic a bit too much, Doctor,” interrupted the plump Chinese wizard, stroking his long white beard as he spoke. “The Reckoning has not been seen in thousands of years, yes? What truly are the chances?”

“Master Chu is right,” said Magda von Klappen. “The Reckoning has been missing since the fall of Rhakotis. I think it very unlikely the Dire Magnus will find it anytime soon. Even if he does possess the girl.”

Dr. Pym shook his head. “Magda, you of all people should know that things have changed. The Atlas and the Chronicle have both been recovered. The Reckoning will sense this. It will attempt to reach out to its Keeper. Every moment she is in the Dire Magnus’s control, his chances of finding the book increase. And as you all must have noticed, he is not the same being we faced before. His power seems to have increased tenfold. He may have means of finding the book we cannot even imagine.”

“Ha!” Hugo Algernon barked. “That shut you up, von Klapper. Congrats, Pym, that’s the least stupid thing you’ve said this century.”

The dark-haired witch and Dr. Pym both ignored this, and Dr. Pym went on.

“I know you’ve all had meetings with your various clans and subcouncils, and I am hoping that you are here to tell us that you have a lead on where the child is being held, that we have some clue that might help us forestall this catastrophe.”

This was it. Kate held her breath and looked about the table.

No one spoke.

Then Haraald exploded, “Well, it’s not like they’d tell us if they did know!”

He was glaring across at the elfish delegation.

“And what precisely is that supposed to mean?” asked King Bernard.

“Oh, so you’re saying that if the elves knew where this wee lass was being held, you wouldn’t try to get her and the Reckoning for yourselves? You could be sitting here now just to throw us off while your elf commandos or whatever are out grabbing her! Maybe that’s why you were late! Off making your secret plans!”

“Now, brother,” King Robbie said, “there’s no proof of that.” But he was looking at the elves suspiciously.

“Preposterous,” King Bernard sniffed. “It is well known that we care very little about such things. The same way dwarves care little about personal grooming or bodily cleanliness.”

“If there’s anyone who’d like the Reckoning for themselves,” Hugo Algernon said, “she’s sitting right there.” And he jabbed a stubby finger at Magda von Klappen. “But she’ll be disappointed, ‘cause last I heard, there’s no recipes for apple strudel in the Book of Death.”

“Oh be quiet, you hairy fool,” the witch snapped. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Von Klapper, you’ve been obsessed with the Reckoning for decades, and everyone knows it.”

“Of course I have. It must be found before it falls into the wrong hands.”

“And I suppose that yours would be the right hands, would they? Ha!”

“Tell me”—King Bernard leaned toward Robbie McLaur—“have you heard of this invention called shampoo?”

“That’s it!” Robbie McLaur jumped up, pulling his ax from his belt. “I’ll part that pretty hair a’ yours right now!”

“STOP IT! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU ALL?!”

In the silence that followed this outburst, Kate just had time to realize that she was standing, that everyone was staring at her, and that it was she who had spoken. But by then, more words were pouring out of her.

“Didn’t you hear Dr. Pym?! If you don’t work together, you’re going to die! And you know what, go ahead! Let the Dire Magnus kill you, I could care less! I’m here for my sister! She’s only twelve years old and he has her! And all I want to know is, can any of you tell me anything about where she is? Can you?! Can any of you help?”

Wilamena was the first to speak. Her voice was gentle and surprisingly unsilly.

“We just heard from the last of our scouts, the ones who left the night your sister was taken. They have found nothing.”

“Nor have any of our colonies around the world detected any hint of her,” King Bernard said. “I am sorry.”

“But someone”—Kate’s voice was cracking, and she could feel tears burning the corners of her eyes—“someone must’ve found something!”

She looked at Robbie McLaur, but the dwarf king shook his head. “Haraald and I have just come from the dwarfish Council. Not a whisper.”

Kate turned to Magda von Klappen and Master Chu. The witch shook her head, and Master Chu murmured, “Regrettable. Very regrettable,” and for a moment, he gave off stroking his beard.

“Katherine—” Dr. Pym said.

But Kate had heard enough. She turned and ran from the terrace.

She ended up in the Garden. She had not planned on going there. She had run from the Council blindly, knowing only that she had to get away, rushing down hallways and staircases as if she could somehow outrun the despair that was threatening to crush her.

Then she charged out a door and came to a sudden halt.

The day before, she’d seen only a small piece of greenery through the end of the tunnel. Now, up close, she was struck by the Garden’s size; it appeared to be more forest than garden, albeit one enclosed by the rose-colored walls of the Citadel. A path lay open before her, and Kate, still with no distinct plan in mind, began walking forward.

Unlike the vegetation on the rest of the island, which was dry and Mediterranean, the Garden was lush, the trees and plants seemed to hum with life, and, strangely, Kate found that the farther she walked and the more the Garden closed in about her, the better and calmer she felt.

Kate’s hand had found its way to the golden locket that hung from her neck, the one her mother had given her the night, more than ten years earlier, when their family had been separated. All her life, it had comforted Kate to worry the locket between her thumb and forefinger and recall memories of their parents and tell herself that if she just held on, if she kept Michael and Emma safe just a little bit longer, their family would be together once again.

But as she delved farther into the Garden, Kate found herself thinking not of her parents, but of Rafe; in particular, of a dream she’d had the night before. In the dream, she’d been dancing with Rafe in the snow in New York. The thing was, it wasn’t just a dream. She and Rafe had danced in the snow, on New Year’s Eve, more than a hundred years in the past. Even now, she could recall the chill of the night air, she could feel Rafe’s arms around her, the warmth of his body, she could hear the thud of his heart as she lay her head against his chest. All of that had been in her dream. But there had been more: in the dream, Rafe had leaned down and whispered in her ear:

I’ll never leave you.

That hadn’t happened in real life. So why had her mind added it?

And she was still wondering about that as she stepped out into a clearing.

Before her stood a giant tree. The trunk was enormous, wide, and deeply ridged, a gray-brown contour of gullies and crevices, and as the tree climbed upward, it split again and again, sending out thick, knobby branches in all directions. Kate had seen bigger trees, just days before, in Antarctica; but this one was different. Those trees had just been trees; this one felt almost like a person. It had a presence. And the tree seemed to be spreading its arms not just over the clearing but over the entire Garden, and beyond.

Nor was that all; before the tree was a small, still, very dark pool. Kate tried to peer into it but could see nothing, as if the water itself were black.

She realized then that all the time she’d been walking in the Garden, something had been drawing her forward; it had been the power she’d sensed the day before, and this place, the tree and pool, was the source. But how was that possible?

Kate placed her hand against the ridged bark, closed her eyes, and felt the power humming through her. She suddenly had the thought that if she opened her eyes, she would see Rafe standing beside her, and she couldn’t tell if she was more scared that he would be there, or more scared that he wouldn’t be.

“Katherine.”

Kate opened her eyes and turned. Dr. Pym was stepping into the clearing. Rafe was nowhere to be seen.

“I thought I might find you here.”

The old wizard came and sat on a large, flat stone near the base of the tree. He took out his pipe and began to pack it full of tobacco. “I want to apologize. That must have been disheartening. Remember, we’re dealing with centuries of suspicion, distrust, and prejudice between the magical races. Sometimes I fear that the Separation, in isolating them further, has only made matters worse.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I yelled.”

“On the contrary, I’m glad you did. It shocked them into acting like adults.” He had his pipe going and he blew out a cloud of bluish smoke. “But the reason I followed you was that we have not yet spoken of what happened in New York.”

Dr. Pym gestured to a stone beside his. There were perhaps a dozen of them, spaced in a circle beneath the tree’s branches. Hesitating just a moment, Kate took a seat.

“Of course, I know much of the story. I’ve had a hundred years to research it. I know of the children whose lives you saved; many of them grew up to be fine witches and wizards of my acquaintance. I know you met Henrietta Burke, such a fierce, proud woman. I’m glad you got to know her. I know too that you met the boy who became the Dire Magnus. But some details I have never been able to uncover. I would very much like to hear your side; also, I think speaking of it would do you good.”

He fell silent. Kate could hear insects buzzing and whirring among the trees. She knew she had to get this out. Holding in the story—and the guilt—had been killing her. Still, she resisted.

“Dr. Pym, I don’t—”

“Just begin at the beginning. Please.”

And so that was what she did. She started with the attack on the orphanage in Baltimore, when she had used the Atlas to take the Screecher into the past, how she had ended up stranded in New York in 1899, a day before the Separation, and how she’d fallen among a tribe of magical street urchins led by the one-armed witch, Henrietta Burke, and the boy, Rafe. Focused as she was on telling the story, Kate didn’t hear how her voice tightened when she spoke of Rafe, or see how her cheeks turned red, but the wizard heard, and saw. She told about being captured by Rourke and taken before the ancient, dying Dire Magnus. She told the wizard how Rafe’s mother had been killed by humans, about the anger she’d felt in him, she told about the church where the children lived being burned by the mob, how she and Rafe had gotten the children out, how Henrietta Burke had died in the blaze, but not before first commanding Kate to “love him.” Then she was at the part that made her feel like a traitor to her brother and sister, but she kept going, knowing she had to get it out, and she recounted to the wizard how she had stopped time when the bell had been about to crush Rafe, how she’d been shot by one of the mob, and how Rafe had gone to the old Dire Magnus and traded his own life, agreeing to become the new Dire Magnus, in order to save Kate.

“Michael keeps thinking that this is all his fault, that Emma would never have been kidnapped if he hadn’t brought the Dire Magnus back to life,” Kate said, “but really, it’s my fault. Rafe became the Dire Magnus to save me!”

“My dear, if you’ll forgive me”—the wizard knocked his pipe against the stone and ground out the embers with his heel—“it is pointless to think that way.”

“But don’t you see? Of all the possible times the Atlas could’ve sent me to in the past, it sent me there! It wanted me there for a reason! It wanted me to keep Rafe from becoming the Dire Magnus, and I didn’t do it. If anything, I made it worse!”

“And I’m saying, you don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do! I—”

“No, you assume that the Atlas intended you to keep him from becoming the Dire Magnus, but you can’t know that for certain. None of us do. Indeed, you may have fulfilled your role exactly as the Atlas intended.”

“But I didn’t change anything!”

The wizard chuckled. “Oh, Katherine, excuse me, you changed quite a bit. Consider: in a world in which you did not go into the past, Rafe became the Dire Magnus—”

“That’s what I’m saying—”

“Let me finish. He became the Dire Magnus. But that was a Dire Magnus who did not know you. Who had not loved you or been loved in return.”

Kate felt the heat in her cheeks. “You don’t know that he…loved me.”

Dr. Pym’s voice softened. “He gave himself up for you. His actions speak for themselves. And I know you love him because I have eyes and ears, and I have been alive a very, very long time. So you say you changed nothing, but because of you, the Rafe who became the Dire Magnus knows love. And in the end, that may make all the difference.”

“How?”

“Honestly?” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Kate was silent for a long moment. Just say it, she told herself.

“Sometimes…I think I should have let him die.”

She didn’t dare look at him, but simply waited, staring at the ground.

He sighed. “I understand why you think that. But mercy is a quality never to be regretted. And who knows but that the Dire Magnus has some role to play in all this. I know it is hard to see, but what is happening now goes beyond even him.

“Now tell me, my dear, is there something else bothering you?”

Kate thought again of their father’s message, that they must not allow Dr. Pym to bring the three Books together, and again, part of her wanted to tell him. But she would not break Michael’s trust. She shook her head.

“No.”

“Very well. Then I must say this: when we find Emma—and we will—I cannot allow you to come with us to rescue her.”

“But—”

“To rescue Emma, wherever she is being held, we shall have to be fast and silent. If the enemy knows we are coming, he will move or threaten her. And the fact is, you and the Dire Magnus are somehow tied together. If you are with us, he will know immediately. I’m sorry. You must remain here.”

Kate wanted to argue, but she also knew the wizard was right.

“I just want her back.”

Dr. Pym squeezed her hand. “Katherine, I have been alive for thousands of years, but little, in all that time, gives me the pride I feel in you. You have become the person I knew you would be. Whatever happens, the world is in good hands.”

Kate looked at him. She had the strangest feeling that the old wizard was saying goodbye.

He stood. “Come. Let us find your brother. I suspect he’s hiding from the Princess.”

Together, the two of them walked out of the Garden. Kate, her mind swimming, forgot to ask about the power she felt in this place. They found Michael in her room, and the three of them ate lunch on the balcony, where they could see the ships of refugees continuing to stream into port.

Soon afterward, word reached them that Gabriel had returned. He was waiting in the wizard’s quarters, exhausted and ashen-faced. He told them that Emma was being held prisoner in the Altai Mountains of Mongolia, in a fortress surrounded by an army of ten thousand Imps and Screechers and the Dire Magnus himself. CHAPTER SIX

The Bonding

“I apologize we could not come through closer to the valley,” Dr. Pym said. “But there are wards that prevent my opening a portal there.”

Michael, Wilamena, Dr. Pym, and Wallace, the sturdy-legged, black-bearded dwarf who was a veteran of the children’s adventure in Cambridge Falls, were huddled in the shadow of a crag on the side of a mountain. They were waiting for the return of Gabriel and Captain Anton, the elf warrior, the pair of whom had gone ahead to ensure that the passage into the valley was safe and unguarded. Michael and the others had come through the portal perhaps a mile from their present location and then hiked to where they were over steep, rocky terrain, Michael’s lungs gasping in the thin air.

“I’m fine,” Michael said, though his chest was still heaving. “Really.”

It was deep night, and there was no moon, but a thick blanket of stars gave light enough to see, and as they’d hiked and Michael had adjusted to the altitude, he’d been able to take in the soaring, snowcapped peaks, almost glowing in the starlight; he’d run his hands over the jagged-leafed plants that grew along the slope, which he’d assumed were the same as the one Gabriel had discovered and taken to Granny Peet; he’d even appreciated how clean and cold the air was, shockingly thin though it might be. The landscape was harsh and spare and yet, he’d reflected, had much to recommend it.

Except for the yaks. When they’d first stepped through the portal, Michael had heard something (definitely not human) bellowing close by, and he’d whipped about to see a group of large creatures above them on the slope.

“Watch out!” he’d cried. “There’re—”

“Yaks,” Gabriel had said. “Harmless.”

“Never fear, Rabbit,” Wilamena had said, sweeping up his hand in both of hers. “I won’t let those nasty things eat you.”

And as the elf princess had pressed herself to him (part of Michael’s brain registering that she smelled of honey and dewdrops and, somehow, the hope of youth), he’d glanced over to see Wallace staring at him, his mouth agape.

Oh yes, he could’ve done without the yaks.

Luckily, their band had immediately begun walking, and the path had been narrow enough that they’d had to go single file, which meant that Wilamena had been unable to walk beside him and hold his “little rabbit paw-paw.” Finally, they’d arrived at what seemed a dead end, an impassable rock wall rising up between two peaks, and Dr. Pym had led Michael, Wilamena, and Wallace to the cover of an outcropping while the elf captain and Gabriel went ahead to secure the passage.

“Dr. Pym,” he said, “what’s the plan?”

“My boy, I’m afraid that we must first get there and reconnoiter the situation.”

“Okay, but once we rescue Emma, we’ll still have to escape somehow, right? Are we just going to fight our way out?”

“If we must. But the wards around the valley seem to function only in one direction, to stop intrusion from the outside. I suspect that once we find your sister, we will be able to open a portal and escape. Indeed, I’m counting on it.”

They were taking care to keep their voices low, as every sound echoed across the rocky slope. Michael was also inching to his left as Wilamena, crouched beside him, kept trying to wiggle her hand under his elbow. Of course, every time he moved, so did she. Fortunately, Wallace had stepped a few paces out onto the slope to stand watch.

As they waited, Michael found himself thinking about his conversation with Kate before they’d left, when they’d all been gathered on the terrace, only a few hours after Gabriel’s return.

“I’m not coming,” she had said. “Dr. Pym doesn’t think I should, and he’s right. Be safe, okay? Don’t do anything stupid.”

“You mean, like going right into the enemy’s stronghold?”

“Yeah, like that.”

Then she’d taken his hand and looked into his eyes. “Michael, you know I’d never choose anyone over you and Emma. You do know that, don’t you?”

Michael had nodded, and now, sitting in the shadow of the outcropping, he felt ashamed for having ever suggested otherwise.

Kate had hugged him, and he’d found himself hugging her just as fiercely, promising, “I’ll bring her back.”

The moment had then taken a slightly weird turn when Kate and Michael had become aware that someone else was hugging them, the elf princess having wrapped her arms around the both of them, murmuring, “Our sweet family.”

“Rabbit.” Wilamena had finally wormed her hand through the crook of his arm and was holding it in a python-like grip. “Did you not see me motioning to you during the Council this morning? It felt almost as if you were ignoring me.”

Michael glanced out at Wallace’s short, blocky shape standing watch on the slope and hoped the dwarf was too far away to hear.

“Oh? You were? Sorry. I was just really focused on Dr. Pym.”

“Of course, concern for your poor sister. Anywaaaay—I was thinking, when we return to Loris, we should announce our engagement publicly.”

“Our what?”

“Our wedding engagement, silly. Are you feeling ill? You don’t look at all well.”

Michael was spared from replying by a loud crack of thunder. He stepped out onto the slope. The wizard stood looking up at the still-clear sky.

“What is it?” Michael asked. “Is there a storm coming?”

“Shhhh.”

Dr. Pym had his eyes closed as if he was listening to the wind. And then it seemed to Michael that he felt a tremor in the air, and his hand went down to his bag, feeling for the bulk of the Chronicle. Something was wrong.

“No,” the wizard whispered, “he can’t be…”

“What?” Michael demanded. “What’s happening?”

“The Dire Magnus. He’s attempting a Bonding.”

Emma heard the thunder boom and she gazed up through the windows of her cell, wondering how long till the storm was above her.

I’m gonna get drenched, she thought.

She had scarcely slept in two days. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Miss Crumley facedown in the ruined chocolate cake. She told herself that it wasn’t her fault, but it did no good. She felt like a murderer.

Rourke had come again the night before, leading her down out of the fortress and to the tent in the middle of the army where the Dire Magnus—she wouldn’t even think of him as Rafe—had waited beside the silver scrying bowl.

“Right,” he’d said. “We have a lot to do, ten years of orphanage directors to get through.”

But Emma had refused to so much as look in the bowl.

“I could make you look.” His voice had been even, almost friendly.

She had held her ground, and in the end, he had just spoken to her, which had been almost as bad, telling her that if she continued to fight her nature, to deny the anger that lived inside her, she would only destroy herself.

Except it wasn’t true! That wasn’t who she was; she wasn’t a murderer!

But wasn’t she? Wouldn’t she kill him if given the chance? And Rourke? Hadn’t she spent long hours in her cell imagining all different ways that she could massacre them both? But they deserved it! Killing someone who deserved it didn’t make you a murderer! You were doing the world a favor.

Still, she knew it was not good for her to fantasize about killing the Dire Magnus and Rourke. It just happened so naturally; she would be thinking of Kate and Michael and Gabriel, wondering where they were, why they weren’t coming for her; she’d grow more and more nervous and fearful; her fear would turn to anger—which she of course directed toward the Dire Magnus and Rourke—and then her anger would just keep building, making her more and more panicked and desperate, so that when she was least prepared to deal with it, there would be Miss Crumley’s face, purple and gasping, accusing her of being a murderer.

Emma sat up. There were footsteps on the stairs. Then the door opened, and Rourke stood in her doorway, holding aloft a torch and flanked by a pair of morum cadi.

“I’m not going down to his stupid tent,” she said. “You’ll have to carry me.”

Rourke smiled, a gloating, triumphant smile. “Oh, there’ll be no looking in bowls tonight, child.”

Emma heard a new sound then, or rather became aware of it, a steady thock-thock-thock growing louder on the stairs. Then Rourke stepped aside, and a red-robed figure shuffled into the room. It was the old man she had seen when she’d first gone among the army, two nights before. He stood there, leaning on his staff and staring at her with one dark gray eye and his eerie, blind, all-white one.

“Remember I told you,” Rourke said, “that some of the necromati were former enemies of the Dire Magnus? This fellow here was one of those who helped Pym kill my master forty years ago. He and Pym were bosom chums. Now he’s my master’s faithful servant. Aren’t you?”

The old man said nothing, but continued staring at Emma.

“Of course, he doesn’t remember,” Rourke went on. “He couldn’t even tell you his own name. He only knows that he loves our master and lives to serve him. And tonight that means something very special for you.”

Then the old man stepped forward, his staff striking the stone floor, one hand raised and reaching toward her, and Emma couldn’t help herself; she screamed.

“A Bonding,” Dr. Pym said. “I always knew it was a possibility, but I did not believe that he would risk it. The more foolish I, for underestimating him.”

“So what is it?” Michael wasn’t even trying to keep his voice down. With the thunder and the wind, there seemed no point. Wilamena and Wallace had stepped up beside him. They were still waiting for the return of Gabriel and the elf captain.

The wizard looked at him.

“You and Katherine each are bound to your Books as Keepers. Those bonds developed naturally, as they should. But there is a ritual—I should say, in theory, as it has never actually been performed—that would force the bond between Emma and the Reckoning.”

“And it’s dangerous? This ritual thing?”

“Yes. It is dangerous.” Dr. Pym placed a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “There is a part of you that is neither mind nor body: call it the spirit, the soul, the anima. It is where the magic in you is to be found.”

“You mean the Chronicle?”

“No, I mean the magic you were born with.”

“But—”

“Let me finish. The Dire Magnus talks about the divide between the magical and the nonmagical, but he knows this is a fallacy. All living beings have magic in them, even if it lies dormant all their lives. Indeed, it may be that your spirit is in its very nature magic. This is a mystery I have never fully plumbed. What you must understand is that when you became Keeper, the Chronicle bound itself to your spirit. Just as the Atlas did with Katherine. And now the Dire Magnus is attempting to split Emma’s spirit off from her body and send it out to find the Reckoning.”

“And then she could lead him to where it’s hidden?” Michael asked.

“Yes, that is one possibility.”

And what are the other possibilities? Michael wondered.

The old wizard gripped his shoulder. “We must get there before the ritual is complete. And you must use the Chronicle to draw her spirit back.”

Michael gave a jerky, nervous nod. He told himself that this would allow him to atone for bringing the Dire Magnus back to life; this was his chance.

Just then Gabriel returned. “The passage is open. Captain Anton stands guard. Come.”

They started off and, very quickly, arrived at the base of the rock wall. It rose up before them, massive and unbroken, but Gabriel paused only to glance back and make sure they were all there; then he walked into the mountain and disappeared.

Michael let out a small gasp.

“An illusion,” Dr. Pym said. “Let us hurry. Princess?”

Wilamena kissed Michael on the cheek and stepped through the rock face. Dr. Pym went next, vanishing as well, and then it was just Michael and Wallace.

Michael glanced awkwardly at the dwarf, the spot on his cheek where Wilamena had kissed him still burning.

“Elves,” he muttered, not knowing what else to say.

Wallace tucked his thumbs into his belt and shook his head. “Never fear, lad. Wallace the dwarf knows how to keep a secret. Always said, a fella’s private life is private.” Then he added, “Even when it’s deeply, deeply strange.”

It turned out to be difficult not to flinch when advancing directly toward a rock wall, but Michael simply closed his eyes, and when he opened them a moment later, he was walking along a narrow gap between two peaks. And he could now hear drumming and shrieking in the distance, and there was light up ahead that wasn’t starlight.

The others were waiting on a slope that tumbled down into a wide valley, and as he joined them, Michael saw, stretching away in both directions, a vast, dark, teeming mass, marked everywhere by orange-red plumes of fire. Michael knew he was looking at an army, and the sheer size of it made his legs tremble. He heard Wallace step up beside him and mutter, “Blimey but that’s a big bloody army.”

“There,” Gabriel said, pointing.

Michael looked and saw the fortress perched on a rocky spire in the center of the valley. It was lit by torches, and Michael could make out the tower rising crookedly into the sky. Was Emma there, or had she been moved for the ritual? If she had been moved, how would they find her?

Michael was thinking this when, from the corner of his eye, he saw lightning snake across the sky. At the same moment, there was another crack, and he saw, on the opposite horizon, more lightning and a massing of dark clouds. It was a storm such as Michael had never seen, for it seemed to be coming from all directions at once and converging on the valley at incredible speed.

“Princess,” the wizard said, “are you ready?”

Wilamena nodded and pulled something from a pocket at her waist. Michael recognized the golden bracelet that had once turned her into a dragon.

“But that was cut off! After she rescued us and brought us to the elves!”

“True,” Dr. Pym said. “But I had a feeling that having a dragon on our side might come in handy. I reworked the enchantment and had a dwarfish smith forge a clasp so that the Princess could don and remove it at will. You might want to back up.”

And Wilamena, who had snapped the bracelet over her wrist, was already transforming into the huge, golden-scaled dragon that Michael had met in Antarctica. Her back stretched wide and long; her fingers grew into talons; great, batlike wings fanned outward from her sides; she fell to all fours as a tail whipped into existence; and as the dragon’s head swiveled toward him, Michael saw that the princess’s liquid blue eyes had turned blood-red.

“Hello, Rabbit,” the dragon said in a deep, purring rumble.

The lightning was now rippling at the edges of the valley. The wind slammed into Michael, nearly knocking him off his feet.

“My friends!” the wizard shouted. “The Dire Magnus will have committed much of his power to completing the Bonding. He is vulnerable. But there is little time! We must be speed itself!”

Michael was hoisted up by Gabriel, and an instant later they were all seated on the dragon’s back, and Wilamena, with one powerful leap, sprang into the air.

The old white-eyed wizard touched Emma’s forehead with one gnarled finger, muttering under his breath, and she felt a tremor pass through her body, as if everything in her was being shaken loose. Then he turned, nodded to Rourke, and one of the Screechers stepped forward and hoisted her onto its shoulder. Emma tried to struggle, but the touch of the creature’s cold, half-decayed hands made her nauseous, sapping all her strength. And really, what was she going to do? Escape? Rourke led them down the tower stairs and down more stairs and then out into the courtyard, the thock-thock of the old man’s staff steady and constant behind them.

In the center of the courtyard was a large fire, its flames whipping about wildly in the wind. Two more of the red-robed figures circled the fire, chanting and tossing in what looked like handfuls of sand or dust that caused the flames to rage even higher, and the white-eyed wizard moved to join them. Imps and Screechers lined the courtyard walls. A wooden chair was brought forward, and Emma was placed facing the fire, close enough that she could feel the heat against her skin. Her arms and legs were bound to the chair with leather straps.

From every corner of the sky, lightning arced toward the fortress.

The Dire Magnus was nowhere to be seen.

“Never fear, child,” said Rourke, as if reading her thoughts. “My master’s power is all around us.”

Emma said nothing. Up until the moment she had been placed in the chair, she had been certain, absolutely, one hundred percent, willing-to-bet-her-life certain that she would be rescued, that Kate, Michael, Gabriel, Dr. Pym, all of them, any of them, would come and take her away. But as she saw the flames leaping above her, she realized, finally, that no one was coming. She was alone.

The robed figures were chanting more and more loudly, but the wind took their voices. She looked at Rourke and it was on her tongue to plead with him to stop, words that, days before, it would have killed her to utter. But she was too terrified to speak. She could only bite her lips and whimper.

She wanted her sister. It wasn’t even about being rescued now. She wanted Kate there to hold her; she wanted to feel her sister’s arms around her, hear her voice saying that it would all be okay. But Kate hadn’t come; no one had come.

She would not cry; that was the one thing she wouldn’t give them.

Don’t be scared.

Emma jerked her head round; it was his voice. But where was he?

I’m helping you fulfill your destiny. And mine too.

What’re—and she realized, with a start, that she was thinking her response, not speaking it—what’re you doing to me?

I’m sending you out to find the Reckoning. That is, I’m sending part of you.

And before she could ask what he meant, something began to happen.

It was almost as if the air around Emma was thickening. She felt it pushing against her eyes, her eardrums, the palms of her hands, even the balls of her feet. And then it was inside her, squeezing her bones, her organs, her heart, and she began to feel that something was being pressed out of her, out of every fiber and cell of her body, as if she were a piece of fruit that was being wrung dry. And the thing that was being taken from her was both insubstantial and yet somehow vital. She tried to hold on to it, whatever it was, but she couldn’t. She felt the thing leave her body, and then, for a single strange, awful moment, she saw it in the air before her, shimmering, and then, with one wrenching yank, it was pulled into the fire, and Emma fell back against the chair, empty. CHAPTER SEVEN

The Wizard Pays His Debt

The wind knocked into them, throwing them about the sky. A lightning bolt shuddered past, close enough for Michael to feel the electricity tearing apart the air. Seated just behind the dragon’s head, Michael found he had nowhere to grip, and he had to use his thighs to squeeze the scaly, barrel-like body. But he would have tumbled off for sure had not Gabriel, sitting behind him, kept one arm wrapped around his middle.

Once they were over the fortress, Wilamena banked into a tight circle so that they were looking down into the courtyard, a single bright patch in the darkness below.

“I see her,” the dragon said. “She is tied to a chair. I count forty morum cadi and Imps. Rourke is there as well.”

“I will deal with Rourke,” Gabriel said.

“There are also three necromati,” the dragon continued. “But I do not see the Dark One.”

“He is there.” Dr. Pym’s voice came from behind Gabriel, and he was shouting to be heard over the rush of wind. “We must be fast. Gabriel will hold off Rourke. Wallace, Captain Anton, and Princess Wilamena will deal with the Imps and morum cadi. Leave the necromati to me. Michael, you must free your sister.”

“Okay!” Michael’s hand went to his side; the dwarfish blade was still there.

“I could just lift her away,” the dragon said. “We could be gone in an instant.”

“No,” the wizard shouted. “The ritual has begun! Her spirit must be returned. Now—dive!”

And Michael felt Gabriel tighten his grip as the dragon banked even more sharply and, with a few beats of her wings, plunged into a steep, spiraling dive. The icy air whipped past him, and Michael threw up a hand to keep his glasses from flying away. The Chronicle, in the pouch of his bag, flapped about behind him as figures in the courtyard rushed into view. His eyes watered, but Michael could still make out the lines of morum cadi and Imps, he could see the red-robed figures around the fire, he could see Rourke, his bald head reflecting back the flames.

And then he saw Emma, her head bowed, looking so small and vulnerable.

I’m here, he thought. I’m coming.

Then, when they were still a hundred feet above the courtyard, Rourke looked up.

Michael didn’t hear the giant man’s shout—the wind rushing past was deafening, but the effect on the assembled Imps and morum cadi was instantaneous. Blades appeared all over the courtyard, and Michael saw Rourke move a step closer to Emma and pull a pair of long, curved knives from under his coat.

Then Wilamena was swooping twenty feet over the courtyard, and Michael felt Gabriel’s arm pull away, and he glanced back to see Gabriel leap off the dragon’s back, flying through the air to smash feet-first into Rourke’s chest, carrying with him all the force of their dive and knocking the man to the ground; then Michael whipped his head back around as Wilamena unleashed a torrent of flame that consumed an entire third of the courtyard along with a dozen Screechers and Imps, and she was beating her wings, slowing to land, but before her claws had even touched the stones, Wallace and Captain Anton, ax and sword out and ready, had already leapt off her back.

“Go!” Dr. Pym yelled, pulling Michael off the dragon and pushing him toward Emma, who now sat unguarded beside the fire. “Go!”

As Michael ran toward his sister, he heard Wilamena unleashing another jet of flame and he saw Rourke starting to rise while Gabriel battled Imps and morum cadi on all sides, and Captain Anton and Wallace were running beside Michael, flanking him, and just before he reached Emma, Michael looked over to see Dr. Pym advancing toward the three red-robed figures, two of whom had stepped forward, while the third—an old, gray-haired man who was leaning on a staff and who had something wrong with one of his eyes—hung back, and Dr. Pym’s hands burned with blue fire—

And then Michael was kneeling before Emma and he forgot everything else.

Her arms and legs had been tied to the chair with leather straps. Her head had fallen forward so that her chin rested on her chest. Michael couldn’t see any injuries, there were no cuts or bruises, but her hands and face were filthy, and she was wearing the same clothes she’d been abducted in days before.

“Emma!”

He cut her bonds; her hands fell into her lap, but her head stayed lolled forward, her eyes closed.

“Quickly!” Dr. Pym’s voice carried over the din of battle. “The Chronicle!”

Turning slightly, Michael saw that two of the red-robed figures had become pillars of fire, burning where they stood, and the old wizard was facing off against the gray-haired man, who now struck the courtyard with his staff so that a crack opened in the stones, splintering across to Dr. Pym, forcing the wizard to leap away from the widening gulf, and Michael heard, or thought he heard, Dr. Pym say, “I’m sorry, old friend,” as he waved his hand and flames erupted about the man. Michael turned his back on the scene, reached into his bag, and pulled out the Chronicle. The heavy red-leather book seemed to hum in anticipation, and there was a similar stirring in Michael, knowing that he would soon be in touch with its power. Then, just as he’d begun to open it, he felt something behind him and spun about—

Kate had been given no inkling about when the rescuers might return, but she’d assumed it would be several hours at least, and perhaps much longer. She told herself this so that she would not worry as the night crept on; but she knew that she would worry even so, every second till Michael and the others returned with Emma.

They had left at dusk from the open terrace where the Council had been held, vanishing into a portal created by Dr. Pym. Afterward, Kate had stood there alone, watching the sun sink into the sea and hugging herself against the gathering chill.

By now, it was fully dark and the lights of the approaching boats were strung out like jewels flung across the black table of the sea. She turned away, intending to go down to the port where King Robbie was overseeing the work to fortify the harbor. But ten minutes later, through no conscious decision, she found herself again in the Garden, under the arms of the great tree, sitting beside the black pool.

In the gloom, the tree seemed even more massive and primeval, the pool darker and more still, and she closed her eyes and felt the power radiating outward, through the roots under her feet, through the branches above her, through the air. And as before, she felt calmed. She sat down on one of the flat, white rocks that were arranged in the clearing. Time seemed to slow. Her anxiety about Emma and Michael ebbed.

She found herself thinking about an exchange between Gabriel and Dr. Pym that had taken place just before the group had departed. She’d only heard some of what was said, but the tenor of the conversation had made a deep impression. In the past, Gabriel had always been very deferential to the wizard. But his attitude as the two of them had spoken on the terrace had been challenging and wary. Then there was the snippet that Kate had overheard, the wizard saying, “I understand your feelings. I only ask that you trust me a little further. The prophecy is the key….”

What had they been talking about? Why would Dr. Pym have to ask Gabriel to trust him? Did this have something to do with the warning their father had given Michael about not allowing Dr. Pym to bring the three Books together? And what did he mean about the prophecy? Kate decided that when Michael returned, she would convince him that they had to speak to Dr. Pym. Enough with the secrets and the not knowing.

She was not sure exactly when she was aware that someone was behind her. She didn’t hear anyone approach. There was no snapped twig. No one coughed or said her name. She just suddenly knew that she was not alone.

She turned, and the world stopped.

He was standing six feet away. She would’ve said that he was in shadow, but the whole clearing was in shadow, only speckled here and there with slivers and flecks of starlight. He was wearing the same clothes she had last seen him in, more than a hundred years before. His dark hair was messy, his eyes almost black in the gloom.

He wasn’t real; he couldn’t be. And she told herself to shut her eyes, count to ten, and he would be gone.

She had gotten as far as three when he said her name.

When she opened her eyes, Rafe had not moved.

He said, “It’s a trap; he knows they’re coming.”

Michael watched as the boy emerged untouched from the fire. Michael was less surprised than Emma had been by his apparent youth. After all, Michael had encountered him once before, in the ghostly church in the Fold, the crossover point between the worlds of the living and the dead. So it was not his age that momentarily froze Michael, but rather his perfect calmness and self-possession in the midst of the chaos. The last of the red-robed figures, the old white-eyed man, was engulfed in flames and quickly turning to ash, but the boy didn’t even look over. In fact, he was smiling.

“Pym”—he laced the name with contempt—“I have so looked forward to this moment.” Michael felt the boy’s eyes move from Dr. Pym to him. “And you even brought me Michael.”

Pym’s response was to mumble a few words that Michael couldn’t quite hear and flick his right hand outward. The courtyard wall behind the boy was covered in thick vines, and they whipped out and wrapped around him, encircling his arms and legs and body and dragging him to the ground.

“Princess!” the wizard shouted, and Michael saw the golden dragon leap across the courtyard to hover over the struggling body and unleash a blue-white blast of flame. Michael turned his head away, but the heat prickled the hair on the back of his head. When the roar of the flame stopped, he heard another noise, a grinding and crunching, and he saw Dr. Pym swing his arms forward, and the fortress’s tower teetered in the sky above them. Michael threw his body across Emma just before the crash jolted them sideways and shards of rock peppered his back and arms, and when it was finally silent—an eerie silence, the only noise the storm still gathering overhead—he turned with the dust stinging his eyes and saw the mountain of broken black stones where the boy, the Dire Magnus, had stood.

Then Dr. Pym swiveled on him, shouting:

“For mercy’s sake! He won’t stay trapped long! Bring her back! Now!”

And Michael turned to his sister, opened the Chronicle, and was stopped.

Emma was looking right at him, and there was such emptiness and desolation in her eyes that it stabbed Michael in the heart.

She said, “You’re too late.”

Gabriel heard the wizard shouting, but he didn’t look over. Rourke was bearing down on him, his knives (which in a normal man’s hands would’ve been swords) moving so fast that Gabriel was blocking on instinct and guesswork.

It was astonishing that Rourke was even up and fighting, considering the force with which Gabriel had struck him after leaping from the dragon’s back. But nothing about Rourke was normal, and Gabriel now had cuts on both arms and a gash across his ribs, while Rourke was bleeding from a deep cut on his shoulder and a blow to his forehead that Gabriel had delivered with the butt of his sword.

Gabriel had seen the toppling of the tower and knew Rourke had noted it as well, but if the giant was at all discouraged by his master being subdued, he gave no sign.

“I’m surprised at you, lad”—the tip of one of Rourke’s knives sliced through the air an inch from Gabriel’s eye—“still helping the old wizard. Weren’t you listening when I told you that he’s leading the children to their doom?”

Gabriel landed a kick in the man’s middle, which felt like kicking stone.

“But your little Emma is quite the wonder,” the giant went on, unfazed. “My master sees in her an anger that could tear apart the world.”

Gabriel blocked one of Rourke’s knives, but felt the other draw a hot, bloody line across his forearm.

“Wouldn’t that be a magnificent end to the story? The child you work so hard to save destroys us all and herself in the bargain. Could it be your wizard has the same idea? Perhaps we should be allies after all.”

With a cry, Gabriel brought down his sword with all his strength. Rourke caught the blade in the V of his raised knives.

“I think, lad, you must be your own particular kind of fool.”

He wrenched the sword out of Gabriel’s hands and flung it across the courtyard. He moved in, and Gabriel spoke for the first time.

“There are many types of fool,” he said, and ducked.

Rourke turned just in time to see the dragon’s great mailed tail as it swung about and knocked him through the wall of the fortress. Gabriel had seen the dragon over Rourke’s shoulder and read her intention, and now he watched as Rourke tumbled down the escarpment and out of sight. He turned to the golden dragon.

“Thank you.”

The dragon rumbled an acknowledgment, then spun around to roast a troop of Screechers behind her. Gabriel looked for his sword and, with some surprise, found it at his feet. He seized it, then took quick stock of the situation in the courtyard. Only a handful of the enemy remained, but it would not be long till reinforcements arrived from the valley. Or the Dire Magnus broke free from his makeshift prison. The time to leave was now.

But, unable to help himself, Gabriel looked at Emma’s small form slumped in the chair and his mind went to what Rourke had said:

An anger that could tear apart the world.

What were they doing to her?

It was gone. Whatever the thing was that had been taken from her had been drawn into the fire. And then to where? All she knew was that it was somewhere else, somewhere impossibly far away. And perhaps gone was the wrong word, as she could still feel it. Like she was flying a kite on a very, very, very long string.

But the farther away the thing had drifted, the fainter the connection had become, the thinner the cord bonding her to it, and now the slightest movement or jarring threatened to sever the bond completely.

What was it that had been taken from her? She still didn’t know. She felt so cold and empty, as if she were a glass shell that might shatter at the slightest touch.

Michael was kneeling beside her, that red book of his open on his thighs. Flames appeared over the surface of the book, and there was a sharp snap on the cord that connected her to that lost and distant part of herself, and she could feel Michael trying to reel it back in. Only it didn’t want to come.

She heard him shouting to Dr. Pym that it wasn’t working, that he needed help.

Suddenly Gabriel was beside her, his face bloody and urgent, and at the sight of him, Emma’s heart swelled in her chest, telling her that she wasn’t hollow after all. If she hadn’t felt so weak, she would’ve leapt into his arms.

“We must leave now!” he said to the wizard. “While we can.”

But Michael was arguing, saying that he still hadn’t brought back her spirit. Her spirit? Was that what had been taken from her?

Then Dr. Pym opened his mouth to speak, but the explosion cut him off.

Emma scarcely felt it, for she had realized that that missing part of her hadn’t just drifted away; there was something out there, pulling it on.

And she knew what that something was.

She felt the world around her falling away, and then, following some instinct—or was it her spirit, sending her a message down the cord that still connected them?—she closed her eyes.

For a few moments, all Michael could hear was a ringing in his head.

When the smoke and dust had cleared, he looked up.

He saw the golden dragon flying toward the figure of the Dire Magnus, who was emerging, seemingly unscathed, from the smoke and fire—

He saw the boy sorcerer wave his hand and the dragon turn upon Wallace—

He saw the blast of white flame that engulfed the dwarf—

He saw Captain Anton leap away from the jet of flame aimed at him.

Michael closed his eyes, choking on the dust, and when he looked again, the elf was astride the dragon with a rope lashed about her neck, the dragon bucking and twisting in the air, trying to dislodge her rider—

He saw Wallace’s ax on the ground, black and smoking—

He saw Dr. Pym nod at Gabriel and walk out to meet the Dire Magnus—

It was then that Michael’s hearing began to return, and the first thing he heard was his own voice, shouting the wizard’s name, but the wizard did not turn back.

A wind that had nothing to do with the storm overhead had sprung up in the courtyard. It swirled about, dispelling the mustard-colored smoke from the dissolving bodies of the morum cadi, lashing Michael’s cheek with small sticks and bits of stone, and creating a cyclone around Dr. Pym and the dark-haired boy.

“What’s he doing?!” Michael shouted.

But Gabriel was standing still as a statue and said nothing, and Michael watched as the old wizard and the dark-haired boy came face to face, the tornado tightening around them, and Michael lost sight of them in the whirl of dust and debris, though it seemed to him that they were lifted up into the air. He saw the golden dragon and her rider caught by the cyclone, spun about and thrown away, cartwheeling into the night. In the corner of his vision, Michael saw the courtyard doors burst open as Rourke charged in at the head of a horde of Screechers, then stopped, held in check by the tornado. Suddenly, anything that was not stone was lifted into the air, and Michael closed his eyes as Gabriel threw his body over him and Emma, anchoring them to the ground.

Then a voice was shouting his name, and Michael knew that something was wrong with his hearing, for he couldn’t actually be hearing the voice.

“Michael!”

He opened his eyes into the swirling wind and saw Kate standing there, gripping his hand. Gabriel held Emma in his arms, and Kate was reaching toward him.

“We have to leave! Now!”

“No!”

“Yes! We—”

“No! Wait!”

He had to try, once more, to call back Emma’s spirit, and he opened the book, placed his hand on the page—

But then the wind stopped, all was still, and Michael, unable not to, turned and saw the Dire Magnus standing in the center of the courtyard, his hand resting on the shoulder of Dr. Pym, who was slumped forward, head down, on his knees.

“If you leave,” he said, “the wizard dies.”

It was like being in a dream.

Emma knew that her body was back in the courtyard, with Michael and Gabriel at her side. But her spirit was here, wherever here was, and she was seeing what it saw. She was flying over a land of smoke and fire, being pulled onward by the same inexorable force as before.

She felt a shiver of terror: Was this what happened after you died? Had she died? What if she couldn’t get back?

Then she was soaring up the face of an enormous cliff, moving faster and faster, and the question was forgotten.

She saw a creature, perched on the cliff, turning to look at her; the creature had the body of a man, but the face and head of a great black bird, and then she was past it, moving through darkness, picking up even more speed. It was here, the thing that was calling her, pulling her on—the book.

She reached out with ghostly fingers. She was so close—

And then the cord tying her to her body, now worlds away, snapped taut—

The courtyard was still.

Rafe stood with his hand on the wizard’s shoulder, smiling.

“Kate, it’s really you—”

“Don’t!” Kate could feel tears burning her eyes. “Don’t do that!”

Don’t act like you’re you, she wanted to say. But she couldn’t, for he was Rafe, exactly Rafe, exactly as she remembered, exactly as she’d seen him only moments before. And seeing him, hearing him, her heart twisted painfully in her chest. She told herself that if only she’d had more time to prepare, she could’ve been ready for this. But one second she’d been standing in the Garden, calling on the magic of the Atlas, and the next she was here, amid the chaos, Emma slumped beside her, Michael frantic, Wallace and Wilamena and Captain Anton nowhere to be seen, Dr. Pym on his knees, Rafe standing there, looking at her—

And truthfully, no amount of time could’ve prepared her.

“Kate!” Michael’s face was covered in sweat; his voice and body trembled. He slammed shut the red book; its fire went out. “I did it! I brought her spirit back!”

What was he talking about? Brought her spirit back from where?

“We can go,” Michael hissed. “Now!”

“Kate.” Rafe’s voice pulled at her. “The wizard is your enemy. Not me. Did he promise that if you find the Books, you’ll defeat me and be reunited with your parents? It’s not true. The prophecy says that the Keepers will find the Books and bring them together, but it also says that the Keepers will die. Pym knows this; he’s always known it. To destroy me, he’s willing to sacrifice you and your brother and sister.”

Kate’s eyes whipped again to Michael. Was this what their father had meant when he’d warned Michael not to let Dr. Pym bring all three Books together? She felt a nauseous lurch in her stomach. But it couldn’t be true! Dr. Pym wouldn’t have lied to them! Not about that!

“I can promise you what the wizard never could. Life. Kate, help me—”

“Lies…”

Dr. Pym had raised his head. His face was ravaged with pain, the whites of his eyes shot through with blood, his voice weak and hurried.

“Yes, the prophecy foretells the deaths of the Keepers, but there is a way that you and your brother and sister can survive. You must—”

He groaned and pitched forward.

Rafe shook his head. “See? He even admits lying. Trust me, Kate! Please!”

Kate’s breath was coming fast and shallow, and she felt like the earth had shifted under her feet. She knew she should just take her brother and sister and Gabriel and escape.

“Kate…”

Emma had struggled back to consciousness.

“I can find it, Kate. I can find the book. I can feel it.”

Kate grabbed her sister’s hand and tried to calm herself, to think. If she left, Dr. Pym was as good as dead. However much the boy looked like Rafe, he was the Dire Magnus, and he would kill the wizard.

But if she stayed, she would be dooming them all. And there was no reason to stay! Dr. Pym had lied to them; he’d said so himself! She owed him nothing!

Then she looked across at the wizard, his thin shoulders and white hair, the ripped tweed suit; she saw his glasses on the stones before him, one lens now shattered; and she knew if not what to do, then the one thing she couldn’t do. For whatever Dr. Pym might’ve lied about or hidden from them, Kate knew what love felt like, and she knew the wizard loved her and her brother and sister. She couldn’t leave him here to die.

She gripped Emma’s hand and took a deep breath.

“Let Dr. Pym go.”

The dark-haired boy shook his head. “You have to choose who you believe.” The courtyard became even more still and quiet, and it seemed that everyone else faded away, and there was only her and Rafe. “I’ve been waiting for you such a long time.”

And he was Rafe, she saw that now; he was not the Dire Magnus, not her enemy; he was the boy she’d danced with on the street in New York, who’d held her hand, who’d saved her life….

She took a step forward.

“No.”

The wizard’s voice broke the spell. Kate saw that Dr. Pym’s hands, his arms—his whole body—was beginning to shimmer.

“Go,” he said, looking up to meet her gaze. “Find the last book. It is the only hope for defeating him. I swear to you, there is a way to survive. The prophecy is incomplete. There is more to it than you know. More than even I know.” He gripped Rafe’s arm as the light coming from him grew brighter. It was as if every atom of the wizard’s body was turning into an atom of light, streaming away behind him, and Rafe was caught in its wake.

“I’m sorry I cannot guide you. But know that I will always be with you.”

Kate felt dread building in her chest; something terrible was about to happen, but she didn’t know what, or how to stop it.

“I won’t leave you!”

“I know,” the wizard said. “That is what he is counting on.”

Kate could see a black cloud pulsing about Rafe; the darkness seemed to be pressing back against the light pouring from the wizard, fighting it.

“Foolish old man,” Rafe’s voice was tense with effort. “Destroying yourself will accomplish nothing.”

Dr. Pym paid him no mind, but kept his eyes fixed on Kate.

“And I have owed the universe a death for many years. It is past time I paid my debt. Now go.”

Kate’s scream was cut off as time snapped forward, and the light streaming from the wizard gathered itself and exploded backward, blasting the boy out into the night, and the entire half of the courtyard, the fortress, gave way, tumbling into the valley in a great, crashing roar.

Kate stared in disbelief. In the moment before the explosion, the wizard’s body had changed entirely into light and energy. He was gone.

Then Rourke rushed forward, the horde at his heels, and Kate gripped her brother’s and sister’s hands, closed her eyes, and felt the ground vanish beneath her feet. A second later, she dropped to her knees on the soft, wet earth. The night around them was silent and still, and a sob of pain broke from her throat. CHAPTER EIGHT

The New World

Kate opened her eyes feeling as if she had not slept at all, though she knew she must’ve, for it was now light, just barely light, just the gray beginnings of morning. The ground she was lying on was damp, as were her clothes, the early-morning mist having gathered and thickened while she slept.

She saw that she was alone and stepped out of the hollowedout nook in the hillside where she and Michael and Emma had slept. She saw a country of rugged, treeless hills that fell down to narrow silver-blue lakes. She could see no town or city or houses. There were no roads or train tracks. No columns of smoke telling of hidden chimneys. The land was deserted.

Standing there, Kate allowed herself to think back to the night before. Not to what had happened in the fortress, but afterward, when they’d arrived here, wherever here was. There had been tears and embraces, Emma clinging to Kate, Kate clinging to Emma, Emma seizing Michael around the neck and wrenching him into a three-way embrace, Emma saying how she’d heard Kate calling to her just before she’d been kidnapped and had known she wasn’t dead, known that sooner or later her sister would rescue her, telling them she wasn’t hurt, she was fine, really—

Kate stopped herself. She could feel the black cloud of the night before yearning to envelop her. She had to focus on the here and now.

Michael was sitting a few yards away. He had his journal propped up against his knees and was writing quickly, his face close to the page. As she walked over, Michael capped his pen and slid it and his notebook into his bag. He didn’t seem surprised when Kate hugged him.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

They were keeping their voices low, as if not wanting to disturb the stillness of the morning. Michael gestured to a flat rock beside him.

“I’m afraid this is all I had with me.”

On the rock were four small, neat piles of nuts and dried fruits. Kate recognized the “emergency rations” that he kept in his bag, and she felt herself smile. Despite how much he had changed, Michael was still the person he always had been: prepared, organized, meticulous, and unashamed of it, certain that those qualities would pay off in the end, as they always did.

She picked up a few almonds and ate them. They were hard and crunchy, and she swallowed dryly, wishing she had water.

“Where’re Emma and Gabriel?”

“They went to try and figure out where we are. Maybe find some food.”

“You could have woken me.”

“Gabriel said not to. He said you needed the rest.”

The night before, after their first moments of reunion had passed, they’d discussed returning immediately to Loris and the Rose Citadel—escaping from the Dire Magnus’s fortress, Kate had, in fact, told the Atlas to take them to Loris, only somehow they’d ended up instead in this strange, lonely place—but the days of Emma’s abduction and the confrontation in the fortress had taxed all of them to the limit, and Kate had felt her confidence in her power to command the Atlas shaken, so eventually, they’d decided to spend the night here, on this empty hillside.

“Anyway,” Michael said, “this place isn’t quite as deserted as we thought. I saw some sheep over there. And there was this weird shaking or rumbling a while ago. At first, I thought it was a train, only it didn’t really feel like a train. Gabriel and Emma will find out what it is.”

“How’d she seem to you?”

Michael shrugged. “Okay. Kind of like always.”

“But…”

“It’s just…the Dire Magnus forced her spirit out of her body. I could feel it out there. And when I tried to pull it back, something pulled against me. I think it was the book. Her book. There’s no way all that didn’t affect her.”

“We’ll just have to ask her when she gets back.”

“And if she keeps saying she’s okay?”

Kate shrugged.

“If Dr. Pym were here,” Michael said, “we could ask him.”

They had spoken a little about the wizard the night before. As Emma had been in and out of consciousness during their last moments in the fortress, Kate and Michael had had to tell her how Dr. Pym had sacrificed himself so that they could escape. They’d said nothing of the terrible truth the wizard had kept from them, how the prophecy foretold they would find the Books, bring them together, and then die. That revelation, she and Michael had agreed, could keep till they were all better rested.

In any case, the news that Dr. Pym was gone, that he was gone beyond any ability of Michael’s and the Chronicle’s to bring him back, had shaken Emma in a profound way. “No,” she’d kept saying. “No! You must’ve seen it wrong! You gotta be wrong! He can’t be dead! He can’t be!” In fact, the purity and keenness of Emma’s distress had allowed Michael and Kate to forget, momentarily, their own recent, conflicted feelings about Dr. Pym and mourn the loss of someone they’d considered a dear, devoted friend.

Now Michael said, “I still can’t believe he lied to us.”

“I know.”

In the end, that was the hardest to swallow. Their entire lives, growing up in orphanage after orphanage, Kate and her brother and sister had learned one lesson by heart: trust no one but each other. Anyone else, adults especially, would lie to them. But Dr. Pym had gotten inside; he’d won their trust. Now it turned out that he too had deceived them.

Kate still believed he’d cared for her and Michael and Emma; the certainty she’d felt the night before, looking at him across the courtyard, hadn’t gone away. But that didn’t mean she trusted him. And she could feel herself building up, once more, the protective wall around her heart.

“You wouldn’t leave him,” Michael said. “Even after the Dire Magnus told you how Dr. Pym had lied, you wouldn’t leave him there.”

“I just couldn’t.”

Michael nodded, then said, quietly, “I hope Wilamena’s okay.”

“You said that she and Captain Anton got tossed away by the tornado. I doubt she was still possessed or controlled by then. She must’ve escaped.”

“I don’t mean that.”

Kate understood. He meant that Wilamena, under the control of the Dire Magnus, had been forced to kill Wallace. How would she deal with that guilt?

“Do you think he was telling the truth about the prophecy?” Michael asked, changing the subject. “That there’s more to it?”

“You mean that there’s some way we won’t all be killed? I don’t know.”

“So what do we do about the Reckoning? Should we try to find it? Or…”

He trailed off, but Kate knew what he meant; it was the same question that was swirling around her own mind. Did they believe Dr. Pym, who had by his own admission been lying to them, that finding the Reckoning was the only way to kill the Dire Magnus and that there was some secret wrinkle in the prophecy that would allow them to survive? Did his having sacrificed himself mean they now had to believe him? Or did they believe the Dire Magnus, whom they’d been struggling against for so long, and who said that bringing the Books together would lead only to her and Michael’s and Emma’s deaths?

It was all so confusing, and without Dr. Pym, there was no one to tell them what to do.

“I don’t know.”

Before Michael could ask anything else, she stood and looked down at the shrouds of mist that clung to the bottom of the valley, half obscuring the lakes.

“I’m thirsty; there must be water below. As soon as Emma and Gabriel are back, I’ll take us to Loris. King Robbie will know what to do next. And hopefully we’ll get some word of Wilamena and Captain Anton.”

“Kate”—Michael was looking up at her—“why did you come to the fortress? How did you know we were in trouble? Or where to go?”

She didn’t respond right away. She knew her brother. She knew he would already have come up with his own theories and hypotheses. She wondered if he’d guessed the truth. Maybe. But it would only be a guess. He couldn’t know for sure.

She shrugged. “I just had a feeling. And then I told the Atlas to take me there.”

He nodded. “Kate…”

“Uh-huh?”

“How was it…seeing him?”

She knew what he meant: How was it seeing Rafe, the boy she loved, their enemy?

She said, “It wasn’t him.”

Michael nodded again, then went back to rearranging his piles of rations. “Well, be careful. Don’t go too far.”

Kate started down into the valley. The ground was soft, and as she descended, she dug her heels into the spongy covering of heather. Soon, the mist had swallowed her, and when she glanced back, she could no longer see her brother on the slope above her. She came to a stop near the bottom of the hill where a small stream trickled past. She didn’t drink at first, but sat down on a large rock and let herself sob, biting her hand to stifle the sound.

Why had she lied to Michael? Why hadn’t she just told him the truth? How were they going to get through this if they didn’t trust each other completely? A small voice in her head asked whether Dr. Pym hadn’t faced a similar dilemma as he’d struggled with how much to tell her and her brother and sister. It wasn’t fair, to want only the best for those around you, while at the same time knowing there were things they wouldn’t understand. For what could she tell Michael? That Rafe, or the ghost of Rafe, had appeared and warned her that Michael and the others were walking into a trap? Even now, if she closed her eyes, she could see him, standing in the shadows of the tree.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” he’d said. “Like how can I even be here? And aren’t I your enemy? All I can tell you is that you have to trust me.” He’d been so close that despite the darkness she’d been able to see the deep emerald green of his eyes, and she’d known that this was Rafe, her Rafe. She’d even imagined that he’d smelled the way he had the night the church had burned, of smoke and sweat. She’d wanted to ask him how it was possible that he was there with her, but she’d been speechless, his presence filling her with a terrible, guilty joy.

“I’m not a ghost, and I’m not your enemy.”

He’d reached out, his fingertips seeming to touch her forehead, though she’d felt no pressure, just a sort of tingling, and she’d gasped aloud, for she’d seen an image in her mind: a fortress in a wide valley, surrounded by mountains.

“Only you can save them.” He’d leaned in, and she’d thought he was going to kiss her, but instead he’d put his lips to her ear and whispered, “Trust me.”

Then she’d been alone.

And she had been right to trust him. She had saved Michael and Emma.

But what were they to do now? Kate felt the pressures of leadership descending on her, and for the millionth time she wished her parents were there, that they could make the decisions so that she didn’t have to.

Kate knelt down, holding back her hair with one hand, and with the other bringing up handful after handful of water. It was clean and very cold, and she drank till her teeth ached, then sat back on her heels and wiped her mouth.

This time, when she felt the presence, she knew what it was.

“You’re there, aren’t you?”

And she turned and saw Rafe on the large stone beside the stream.

“Nothing,” Emma said. “Just sheep. Sheep sheep sheep sheep.”

She and Gabriel stood peering through the early-morning mist at the cluster of whitish blobs in the distance.

“But this place can’t be totally deserted. There’s gotta be, like…” Emma searched for and failed to find the word, finally settling on “some sheep guy.”

Gabriel merely nodded and gestured that they should move on. They were making a wide circle around the camp, and so far they had seen nothing to give any sign about where the Atlas had brought them.

Emma had woken in the dark, trembling and gasping for air. It had taken her noticing Kate on the ground beside her to remember where she was and all that had happened. For some moments, she’d just sat there, letting her breathing slow, letting the dream and the voices fade.

Out on the hillside, she’d found Gabriel keeping watch and had hugged him.

“What has happened?”

But she’d only shaken her head, wiping away the tears still clinging to her eyes.

Gabriel had understood and not pressed her.

“Have you figured out where we are?” she’d asked.

“I am waiting for your brother or sister to wake. Then I will search the area more fully.”

Hearing this, Emma had gone and shaken Michael.

“Emma?” Michael had rubbed his eyes groggily. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Will you watch Kate while Gabriel and I look around?”

“Huh?”

“Great. Oh, thanks again for rescuing me.”

And she’d kissed him on the cheek, then padded off with Gabriel into the predawn gray.

Emma had never been one for sitting still and working through a problem. That was Michael’s way, and a pretty boring way, in her opinion. She had always found that if something was bothering her and she tried not to think about it, if she kept moving and doing other things, then sooner or later the answer would present itself.

Or she’d just forget about it, which was almost as good.

In this case, not thinking about it was proving difficult because every time her mind strayed, she would again have the sense of part of herself drifting away, of that force out there, pulling her on; she would see the land on fire, the cliff, the bird-headed creature; she’d remember touching the book—

“Are you warm enough?”

Emma glanced up and saw that Gabriel was looking down at her.

“What? Oh. I’m fine. Why’d we stop?”

“We did not stop. You stopped. And you are shivering.”

“Oh. I thought I saw something. Over there.” She pointed at a random hillside, and Gabriel obligingly turned to look.

“I see nothing.”

“Huh. It must’ve moved—Shepherd! That’s the word! There’s gotta be a shepherd here, right?”

“Possibly.”

“Well, where is he? He shouldn’t just let his sheep run all over! We should steal some of ‘em just to teach him a lesson!”

Gabriel knelt, bringing his eyes level with hers, and took her small, cold hands in his large, callused ones. She saw the wounds that he’d dressed on his arms and side, the bandages now dark and stiff with dried blood.

“There is something you must know.”

Then he told her what the wizard had hidden from them.

For several moments, Emma couldn’t speak.

“He—he lied to us?!” she finally sputtered. “Dr. Pym lied to us?! And—and we’re just gonna die?! After all this we’re just gonna die?!”

“It may be,” Gabriel said slowly, “that the prophecy does foretell your deaths. But I think the wizard was sincere, and that he truly believed there was a way you could survive. He and I spoke only yesterday, and he told me there was more to the prophecy than any of us knew, and that when fully revealed, it would explain how the Keepers might unite the Books and live. He spoke of this again just before he died.”

“Then he should’ve told us that! He shouldn’t have lied!”

“I agree. But we must deal with what is, not what we would wish could be.”

“I’m glad he’s dead!”

Gabriel said nothing.

“I mean it! He deserved it! He—”

She had been crying and shouting, and she realized that in her fury she had been hitting Gabriel’s wounded arm and making it bleed, while Gabriel simply let her vent her anger. Emma threw her arms around his neck and sobbed.

“He should not have done what he did,” Gabriel said quietly. “But do not doubt that he loved you. That was not a lie.”

Emma pulled back. She could feel the tears running down her cheeks, but she made no move to wipe them; her hands stayed clenched into fists.

“It’s the Dire Magnus! We just gotta kill him! We gotta find the book and kill him! I’ll do it! I’ll—”

Gabriel said, “What happened last night?”

“Nothing. He tried to make me find the book for him. And it almost worked! Then Michael brought my spirit or whatever back. I feel fine!” But even as she said it, Emma knew it wasn’t true.

The sky was now fully light. There was the bleating of sheep in the distance.

Gabriel was still watching her, waiting. She kicked at the earth with her toe.

“I think I felt it, the book, out there somewhere. Or my spirit felt it.”

“And you had a dream this morning?”

“How’d you know?”

“You were upset when you woke.”

Emma nodded. “But…I don’t know if it was a dream or I was just remembering from last night. Wherever he sent my spirit, I was flying over this place, and it was all on fire, the land, I mean. Then there was this cliff and a kind of a monster; it looked like a man but had the head of a bird. Really, really creepy. Then it was all dark, like I was in a cave or something, and I…I knew the book was close, but I couldn’t get to it ‘cause there were these shadows crowding me; they were begging and shouting. I couldn’t hear myself think.” She looked at him, pleading. “What’s it all mean?”

Gabriel shook his head. “I am not sure. We must return to Loris. Someone there can perhaps explain.”

Emma nodded and dug her toe deeper into the dirt.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Just…I know we need to find the Reckoning, to beat the Dire Magnus and all. I just—I don’t think it’s like Michael’s and Kate’s books. I think it might be, I don’t know, bad. Evil somehow.” Then she added, “Not that I’m scared.”

Gabriel gripped her hands. “Whatever it is, I will be with you. Come. Your sister will be awake.”

But as they started walking, the earth shook, and Emma, off balance, teetered and slipped down the hillside, tumbling into a shallow depression. Gabriel was there in an instant, reaching for her.

“What was that?” she asked, taking his hand.

“I do not know—”

He stopped; he was looking, Emma saw, at the hole she had fallen in.

“We must find your brother and sister,” he hissed. “Now!”

“So do you trust me now?”

Kate was sitting beside Rafe on the large stone next to the creek. In the early-morning light, he looked somehow even more real and solid than he had in the Garden the night before.

“Because if helping you save your brother and sister doesn’t make you trust me, then I might be in trouble.”

His tone was light, but he was staring at her, as if trying to read every emotion and thought that flitted across her face. Kate held his gaze for as long as she could, then looked down, her heart feeling like a piece of paper that might blow away.

“I think,” she said, “you were trying to help.”

Rafe nodded. “I’ll take it.” Then he said, “So you saw him.”

It was a statement, but also a question.

“Yes.”

“And?”

How to answer that question? She’d told Michael that the Dire Magnus was not Rafe, but that was a lie. He’d looked like Rafe, talked like him, and though she had steeled herself beforehand, had told herself she knew where her loyalties and affections lay—with Michael and Emma, entirely and always—she had felt herself pulled toward him.

“He’s you.”

“But?”

That was the thing. There had to be a but, some way the Dire Magnus was not Rafe. Only what was it?

“I don’t know. I guess he’s the dark version of you.”

“Dark Rafe. I kind of like it.”

“It’s not funny.”

Because if that was the only difference, then there was no difference, for all the darkness and anger she’d sensed in the Dire Magnus the night before had been there in the boy a hundred years ago.

But how could that be? Dr. Pym had said that because Rafe had known love, the Dire Magnus would be different. So where was the Rafe she’d loved? Who’d loved her? Was any of him in the Dire Magnus? Or was he only this apparition now beside her?

“None of this makes any sense. Even your being here—how is it you can appear wherever I am?”

“I’m not sure I can explain it myself. It’s just that…we’re connected. We have been ever since that moment in New York, when I sent you back.” He paused and corrected himself. “When he sent you back.”

“How can you talk about the Dire Magnus as him?” Kate was keeping her voice low. She didn’t want Michael hearing her arguing. But would he hear Rafe? If he came down here, would he see him? “The Rafe I knew became the Dire Magnus! He did it—you did it—to save me! So who are you? Or are you just a figment of my imagination?”

She was angry now, and angrier still that Rafe seemed so calm.

“I’m sorry I haven’t explained it better. You’re right: I am him. You have to understand, when you become the Dire Magnus, you don’t just take on the powers, you take on the memories and experiences of each Dire Magnus that came before, going back thousands of years. All those lives were laid into and built on top of the Rafe you knew. I’m in him, but he’s not me! I don’t have all those other memories! I’m just me!”

Kate shook her head. “You can say all that but I still don’t understand—who you are—why you’re helping us—any of it!”

He looked at her, and it was unnerving to see the same green eyes she had stared at across the courtyard the night before.

“I’m the part you loved. The part you changed. The night I became the Dire Magnus, I built a wall around it, and then I hid.”

“Hid where?”

He shrugged. “Where else? Inside of him. And all this time, I’ve been waiting for you.”

There was a long moment in which neither spoke, and the only sound was the trickling of water in the stream. Kate could feel the last of her resistance crumbling. She wanted so badly to believe that what he said was true.

“And I’ve been able to stay hidden because I’ve never contacted you. Now that I have, he knows.”

“Knows what? What do you mean?”

Rafe gave a sardonic half smile. “Knows I’m alive. That I held something back.”

“So what’s going to happen?”

“He’ll start looking for me. He already has.”

“Will he find you?”

“Yes.”

“And then what?”

“I’ll die. The last part of me that’s still me, the part you helped keep alive, he’ll kill it. It’ll become part of him.” Rafe dropped his gaze. “But the thing is, at first, you won’t even know. If he doesn’t have the Books yet, he’ll keep appearing to you as me, making you do what he wants.” Rafe gave a short, empty laugh. “Maybe he already has. Maybe he’s doing it right now.”

“No,” Kate said fiercely, her doubts of a moment before forgotten. “I would know.”

“Would you? He’s me, remember? Could you really tell us apart?”

“Yes. I would always know you.”

And she reached out her hand, but it passed through his as if he were made of smoke. She had wanted to try it ever since she’d seen him the night before.

“Sorry,” Rafe said.

She looked away, feeling stupid. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Kate…”

She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “What?”

“Look at me.”

She turned toward him, her eyes glistening.

“You asked why I’m helping you, but you know, don’t you? You have to know.”

He seemed so urgent, so desperate that she should understand. Kate nodded; and this time she didn’t wipe away her tears.

“Yes. Yes, I know.”

She saw the relief in his face, and she was about to speak—to tell him that he was wrong, that it wasn’t just a part of him she loved—but he looked away sharply, staring up the hill.

“You need to go. Your brother and sister are in danger.”

She didn’t say goodbye. She just turned and ran. As she sprinted uphill, she could hear Michael and Emma screaming. Then, abruptly, they were silent. A few moments later, she came out of the mist to the place where they had spent the night. It was deserted, Michael’s emergency rations still in neat piles on the rock.

“Michael! Emma!”

“Kate!”

It was Emma’s voice. She was close by, but farther along the hill. Kate set off running; the hill curved and, after fifty or so yards, stopped, turning into a cliff that dropped thirty feet. Kate found herself staring out over the rough, hilly landscape. Her brother and sister were nowhere to be seen.

“Michael! Emma—”

“GOTCHA!”

The voice was a deep, mountainous rumble, and Kate was seized before she could react. It took her a second to realize that what had grabbed her was a hand as large as her entire body. She was lifted up into the air, and she found herself looking at…a face? There were two eyes, a gigantic nose, a low, lumpy forehead, and a mouth full of snaggly teeth. The creature’s boulder-like head was attached to an enormous neck, which was attached to enormous shoulders and an enormous body.

“Kate!”

Kate saw her brother and sister in the giant’s other fist. Then the giant spoke, blasting her with a wave of warm, wet, sour breath.

“MORE TINY PEOPLE!” CHAPTER NINE

Willy

Racing up the hill, Emma had been some yards behind Gabriel and gotten a clear view of the giant leaping out from behind the cliff and snatching up Gabriel with a gleeful laugh. Even in the moment, as part of her brain had shouted Giant! That’s a giant! I need a camera! another part had been amazed that something that large could hide that well; but the giant looked so much like the earth itself, all rough and craggy and dirty and mucky, that it was little wonder he’d blended in perfectly with the landscape. Gabriel had managed to pull his sword, and as he was lifted into the air, he’d jabbed it into the giant’s hand, causing the monster to give a strangely high-pitched shriek. The giant had yanked out the sword and thrown it spinning away into the distance; then, with his thumb and forefinger, he’d flicked Gabriel in the side of the head and dropped his limp body into a leather pouch at his side.

All this had taken no more than a few seconds, and by the time Emma had overcome her shock, she herself had been snatched up. Michael had appeared a minute later, having heard Emma’s scream, and he’d been seized as well, and, with a child in each hand, the giant had brought them up close to his face so that they were only feet from his great, mossy, snaggletoothed grin. Then he’d begun literally jumping up and down with glee, making the whole hillside tremble.

“TINY PEOPLE! TINY PEOPLE!”

“Let go of us!” Emma had shouted. “Put us down!”

But the giant had sniffed the air and pressed himself back against the cliff face, while also transferring Michael to the same hand as Emma and crushing them both in his moist, filthy, eggy-smelling fist. Emma was wondering what he was doing when she heard Kate calling her name and tried to claw her way up out of the giant’s fist to warn her sister, but it had been too late.

And then they were all caught.

Clearly feeling that he’d done a good morning’s work, the giant walked along humming gaily, carrying Emma and Michael in one hand and Kate in the other. Emma had managed to worm her head out of the giant’s fist, but Michael was stuck down deep in the pit of the massive palm, and she could see him slowly turning green as he breathed in the rank, funky air.

As the giant lumbered along, swinging them forward and back, forward and back, in long sweeping arcs, Emma and Kate tried calling to each other in the moment or two the other was visible during passes over the enormous bulge of the giant’s belly.

“Are you okay?!” Kate yelled.

“We’re okay!” She looked down at Michael. “Are you okay?”

Michael nodded, though he looked more and more like he might be sick.

“We’re okay!” Emma shouted, and then shouted it again. The first time she had mistimed it and shouted as Kate was disappearing behind the giant’s back. Kate asked about Gabriel, and—again it took a few tries to get the message across—Emma told her that he’d been knocked unconscious and stuck in the giant’s pouch.

Kate and Emma both screamed at the giant to put them down, pounding their fists ineffectually against his hands. Emma even bit the skin of the giant’s thumb to try and get his attention, which was far and away the grossest thing she’d ever done, and it turned out to be pointless anyway because the giant didn’t seem to notice but went trundling along, singing a made-up-sounding song, the few words of which Emma picked out were pie and yum-yum.

Emma knew that the Atlas was their best chance of escape, but for that to work, they would have to be touching each other and not touching the giant. For now, all they could do was wait.

And hope Michael didn’t suffocate.

They were moving quickly, as you do when the legs of the person carrying you are fifteen feet long. The giant’s booming footfalls left deep craters in the earth, and Emma realized that it was one of his footprints she’d fallen into, and what had first caught Gabriel’s attention.

The giant kept mostly to the valleys and had no compunction about wading through the center of a lake so that Emma and Michael (and Kate in the opposite hand) were repeatedly dunked as his hands swung in and out of the icy water. Emma wondered that the cold water didn’t wake Gabriel, but there was no movement in the leather pouch, and she began to worry that her friend was more gravely wounded than she’d thought.

By now, Emma had been able to really look at the giant. Obviously, the most immediately impressive fact was that he was forty feet tall. But he wasn’t just tall, he was also wide. And thick. So much so, his proportions seemed off. His face too wide, his eyes too big, his hands and fingers too cumbersome and massive. If anything, Emma reflected, he should’ve been taller and more stretched out.

He had shaggy brown hair that looked as if it had been cut with some sort of tree-trimming tool, his eyebrows—or rather eyebrow, as it was one continuous line—was a dense brown shrub that curved around the corners of his eyes. His features were heavy to the point of being grotesque, but there was also a certain goofiness to him, which would’ve been more pronounced, Emma reflected, if he hadn’t been planning to eat them. That he was going to eat them, Emma had no doubt. She’d also made the mistake—only once—of looking up while directly below the giant so that she’d seen into his nostrils, where something (she wasn’t sure what, that it was brown and furry was all she could be sure of) was moving about.

His clothes all looked decidedly homemade—which made sense, as where would a giant go to buy clothes?—and his pants, shirt, and vest were stitched together from various sources (all of them in the tan-to-dark-brown spectrum), giving him a hodgepodge, village-idiot sort of look.

They went on like this for perhaps twenty minutes, the giant humming and singing all the while. Kate would periodically call over to make sure they were okay, and Emma would say they were, or that Michael had thrown up again, but yes, otherwise, they were okay. When she could, Emma would glance toward the leather pouch for some sign of Gabriel stirring (still none), and several times, she caught sight of other figures in the distance, massive heads and shoulders bobbing along the tops of hills. Once, the giant crouched down behind a large rock outcropping, again effortlessly becoming part of the landscape, to let another giant, a great, fat, shambling mountain of arms and legs and stomach, pass by, the earth shaking as he went.

“It was another giant,” Emma told Michael, who couldn’t see anything from inside their giant’s fist. His face was now a green, sluggy color. “Our giant’s hiding.”

“He probably doesn’t want to share his dinner,” Michael said flatly.

Emma reflected that this was probably true.

“Did you know giants were real?” she asked.

Nauseated as he was, this was the kind of question that Michael loved, and he rallied himself to answer. “I never…considered the existence of giants as such, but it stands to reason that if dwarves and dragons and—”

“Never mind,” Emma said, already regretting she’d asked.

Once the fat giant (or really, the fatter giant) had moved off, the children’s captor rose and continued on. He seemed to be heading toward a line of higher hills in the distance, and, again thanks to the length of his stride, it was not long before they were being carried down a steep-sided valley with the hills rising up directly before them.

“Look!”

It was Kate, shouting to them from the giant’s other fist and pointing. Farther along the valley stood an enormous, ramshackle wooden house. It looked exactly like the sort of house that someone forty feet tall and not overly concerned with cleanliness and appearance might choose to live in. It was probably twice the size of the mansion in Cambridge Falls, but while the mansion had been imposing and grand, this house, for all its size, was more shacklike and thrown together. Parts of the roof appeared to have caved in, walls were buttressed with tree trunks, filthy canvas flaps covered the glassless windows, and the whole thing was listing dangerously to one side. A crooked, gray-stone chimney rose from the roof, dark smoke climbing into the sky.

The giant stopped, turned, and crouched down so that his back blocked them from view of the house. He placed his fists on top of a large boulder and brought his face down close to the children. When he spoke, it was obvious he was trying to keep his voice low, but the effect was still deafening.

“Now listen, tiny little people, when we get inside, not a peep!”

“My brother can’t hear you!” Emma shouted. “And he’s suffocating inside your stupid, smelly hand!”

The giant frowned as if he hadn’t heard, then turned his head so that one ear faced Emma, causing Emma to exclaim:

“Oh! That is so, so gross!”

For the giant’s ear was clogged with clumpy mounds of blackened dirt and wax, some of which hung from the ceiling of his ear canal like rotted-yellow stalactites, and there was a wall of wax at the back of his ear so thick-looking that Emma wondered how he heard anything at all. Still, she was about to shout again when she and Michael were lifted in the air. They were both then upside down and screaming as he stuck out a massive pinky finger—causing Michael’s legs to kick furiously in the air—and screwed his pinky back and forth in his ear, making loud squeak-squeak noises and no doubt packing the wax in tighter, as if he were loading a huge, fleshy blunderbuss.

Then he placed his fist, and the extremely dizzy Michael and Emma, back on the rock, turned his ear toward them, and said:

“Whazzat? Didn’t hear ya!”

Emma cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “My brother can’t breathe!”

“Oh.” The giant opened his fist so that Michael and Emma both tumbled out onto the boulder. Michael immediately fell to his knees, gasping. Emma glanced over at Kate, but she was still held tight in the giant’s other fist.

“Like I was saying, no talking when we get inside or it’s right straight into the pie.”

“Put my sister down too!” Emma demanded. “And let Gabriel go!”

“Huh?”

“You are so annoying! I said—” She cupped her hands around her mouth and was about to yell when there was a noise from the house, a clatter like a dropped pan, followed by the sound of someone cursing.

“Oh no,” the giant said, and he snatched up Michael, who still looked extremely woozy, dropped him into one of his vest pockets, and then, before Emma could protest, snatched her up as well and placed her in another pocket. She landed facedown in a pile of dirt and twigs and small rocks, bits of hard cheese, and what felt very much like bones.

She was just getting to her knees when something landed hard on her back.

“Oww!”

“Sorry!”

It was Kate. The sisters embraced in the dank darkness of the giant’s pocket, and Kate asked if she was hurt.

“I’m fine.”

“And Michael?”

“Just sick.”

“Did you say Gabriel’s in the giant’s pouch?”

“Uh-huh. That smelly creep knocked him out and stuck him in there. I’m worried. I don’t think he’s moved.”

Kate reached out and gave her hand a comforting squeeze. “As soon as we’re all together, I’ll use the Atlas. Are you really okay?”

There was light coming in from the top of the pocket and more through a small rip near their heads, but it was still dim, and they were both trying to keep their balance, as the giant had risen and begun lumbering, presumably, toward the house.

But Emma could see Kate studying her closely.

“I’m fine. Really.” And to change the subject, she said, “There’re bones in here.”

“I think they’re sheep. At least, I hope.”

“Yeah.”

Through the rip in the pocket, they could see the house getting closer. As they neared the front door, the giant (sort of) whispered, “Remember—quiet!” then pushed on the door, and they entered a large, smoky, poorly lit room. There was a heavy, slightly sour odor made up of bubbling fat and fermenting beer and body odor. Despite there being no glass in the windows, the room smelled like it had not been aired out in years. Emma and Kate caught glimpses of an enormous wooden table and chairs, collections of jars and cups, various roots and leaves and dried meats hanging from the ceiling, a goodly amount of trash, and, against one wall and throwing an orange-red glow across the room, a large gray-stone fireplace at which a woman (a giant woman, obviously) with long, dirty blond hair and a dress of washed-out gray was leaning over an iron pot, stirring a concoction with a wooden spoon that looked to have been carved from the trunk of an entire tree. The sleeves of her dress had been pushed up, revealing massive, muscled forearms.

“Finally!” She hawked a large, brown glob of spit into the pot. “You been gone all mornin’! What’d you bring, then?”

“Nothin’, Sall. Sorry.”

“Nothin’?!” The blond giantess turned toward them, and Kate and Emma instinctively pulled back deeper into the giant’s pocket. But the woman’s attention was on the giant’s face. As she spoke, she waved about her spoon, sending globby droplets of stew this way and that. “You been out all mornin’ wanderin’ around like a simpleton, probably starin’ at clouds and rocks, and you come back and tell me you got nothin’ for the stew?! Oh, but you’re still expectin’ to be fed, ain’t ya? Old Sall, she can just make a stew outta nothin’, can’t she? Well, it’s a big pot of nothin’ you’ll be eatin’ for supper, you half-wit!”

“Said I’m sorry, Sall.”

“Sorry?!” She laughed sourly. “Don’t you go apologizin’ to me! It’s gonna be Big Rog’s Thumb you’ll have to be apologizin’ to, sayin’ you’re sorry as he’s gouging out your eye!”

“Ah now, Sall. Don’t be tellin’ the Thumb, right?”

“?’Don’t be tellin’ the Thumb,’ is it? I will be tellin’ the Thumb!” The giantess had come over so that she was right in the other giant’s face, and she poked him as she spoke, her finger like a battering ram and coming awfully near Kate and Emma. “I’ll be tellin’ the Thumb the minute he walks in the door, and then it’ll be half-wit-eyeball soup we’ll be havin’! Oh indeed! Num, num, num!” And she made loud slurping sounds and rubbed a massive hand over her massive belly.

“I’m goin’ to me room,” the giant muttered, and he started to turn, but the giantess caught his arm.

“You wouldn’t be holdin’ out on me now, would you, Willy? Not holdin’ out on your own only sister? ‘Cause not findin’ nothing, maybe—maybe—we could forgive that, you bein’ the half-wit moron dunderhead boogers-for-brains you are. But holdin’ out on us? Well, that’s malicious and unforgivable, ain’t it? And then the Thumb’ll be down on you for sure!”

“I ain’t holdin’ out nothin’!” And he yanked his arm away.

Emma looked at Kate and mouthed, “He doesn’t want to share. He wants to eat us all by himself.” And she made her eyes wide to put three exclamation points after it.

Just then there was a yelp from the giant’s other pocket. The giant froze. The blond giantess froze. Emma and Kate froze. They knew their brother’s voice.

The blond giantess let out a cry and sprang forward. The children’s giant tried to run, but he was too slow. Kate and Emma screamed, but their screams were drowned out by the sounds of the giants grappling, banging into the walls, the table, knocking pitchers and pots on the floor; it was obvious that the blond giantess was trying to dig into the giant’s pocket and the giant was trying to protect it, and Emma was sure that they were going to be crushed—

“Do something!” she shouted to Kate.

“Okay! I’ll stop time—”

“You’ll what?!” This was the first Emma had heard about this power.

“I’ll stop time! Just—”

But before she could, there was a squeal of triumph, and the blond giantess leapt back, and the giant who’d captured them scrambled to his feet. As soon as Kate and Emma had regained their balance, they pressed their eyes to the hole in his pocket, expecting to see Michael in the giantess’s hand. But she was holding aloft a plump, fluffy, frantically bleating sheep, which she now brandished in the other giant’s face.

“Found nothin’, did ya? Just gonna keep this secret, were ya? Ha!”

“Ah, Sall, I forgot it was there. Don’t tell Big Rog.”

“?’Forgot it was there,’ my foot! You mean you forgot it was there till you got hungry back in your room and had yourself a private little sheepy snack. And I will be tellin’ Big Rog, and you’ll be talkin’ to the Thumb soon enough, believe you me! Now get outta my kitchen ‘fore I put you in the pot!”

Emma and Kate, both now utterly confused, watched the room spin as the giant turned and walked down a long (though no doubt short to the giant) hallway and through a door, which he shut and bolted behind him with a wooden bar.

They heard a great sigh, then a creaking of wood as the giant settled into a chair. Two mammoth fingers probed down into the pocket, scooped Emma and Kate up and out, and set them on a table. It took them a moment to get their bearings, and Emma looked about the room as the giant reached into his other pocket and pulled out Michael.

It was a much smaller room than Emma would have expected, for even though the giant was seated, his head nearly brushed the ceiling. As for furniture, there was a table, the stool or chair on which the giant sat, and that was it. A narrow window covered by a loose piece of canvas let in light, and a pile of old, tattered furs against one wall seemed to serve as a bed. The place looked more like a closet than a bedroom, and a small and shabby one at that.

Yet for all that, it was chock-full of stuff. Teacups, teapots, plates, thimbles, scissors, candleholders, shards of colored glass—red, green, blue, yellow—decorative pins, pieces of cracked enamel, what looked like a doll whose face had been worn off, an array of different-sized knives, a clock that was missing its back, a cobbler’s hob—and everything, obviously, giant-sized.

There was something altogether odd about the collection, but Emma couldn’t put her finger on exactly what that something was.

Kate, meanwhile, the moment Michael had been placed on the table, had grabbed him into a hug. Michael was still green-faced and dazed-looking and, in addition, was now covered with sheep fuzz.

“That was a close one,” the giant said. “What’d you go squawking for? Lucky I had a sheep in there.”

“It bit me,” Michael said, displaying a red mark on his arm.

“Emma,” Kate said, holding Michael’s hand in one of hers while reaching out to Emma, “take my hand.”

“Now, Sall’s gonna tell Big Rog I was hidin’ that sheep and he’s gonna come in here with the Thumb. Nothin’ ever goes right for me.”

“Emma!” Kate hissed.

“Hold on.” And Emma actually moved a step farther away from her sister.

She knew Kate wanted to transport them away. But Emma wasn’t going anywhere without Gabriel. And there was something else too. Over the years, as Emma and her siblings had been bounced from orphanage to orphanage, plunged into the midst of one group of strangers after another, she had developed the skill of discerning, in an instant, which children or adults were threats and which were not. It had never steered her wrong, and right now, it was telling her that the forty-foot-tall creature before them, each of whose teeth was the size of her head, meant them no harm.

“And can you believe that was me own sister? If me da’ were still alive, you think he’d stand for how they treat me? Getting abused on a daily basis? And this was supposed to be my house when Da’ died! Look where they got me living! In a closet! Ain’t right, no no, ain’t right at all!” The giant seemed to grow wistful. “Ah, me da’ were a wonderful man, he was. I’m named after him, you know—Willy. ‘Old Willy,’ they called him. A gentle soul. And a marvelous whistler. Why—”

“Hey, you’re not gonna eat us, are you?”

The giant looked at Emma, then dug a finger in his ear, dislodging several pounds of grayish muck.

“Huh?”

“Emma!” Kate reached for her again, but Emma moved even farther away.

“I said—YOU’RE NOT GOING TO EAT US, ARE YOU?”

“Shhh!” The giant showered them with warm spittle. “Not so loud! Sall hears you, she’ll stick you in a pie for Big Rog’s dinner and that’ll be that! ‘Course I ain’t gonna eat you! Who put an idea like that in your head?”

“You did! You said to be quiet or it was straight in the pie.”

“I was talkin’ about Sall. I’d never eat the three a’ you!” And he actually managed to look offended.

Emma glanced at Kate and Michael. They were both staring up at the giant, and Kate seemed to have relaxed a bit and was no longer reaching for Emma’s hand.

“What’d you say your name was?” Emma asked.

“Willy.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I’m Dorothy. This is my sister, Evelina. And this is my brother, Toadlip.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“You too. Would you excuse us? I need to talk to them for a second.”

Emma stepped over to Kate and Michael and turned her back on the giant.

“Why’d you say my name was Toadlip?” Michael hissed.

“Because,” Emma hissed back, “we don’t want to use our real names. What if the Dire Magnus is looking for us? Duh!”

“Yeah, but you two got normal names. Toadlip?”

“Michael,” Kate said, “let it go.” She looked at Emma. “What’re you doing? Do you really believe he’s not going to eat us?”

“Yeah. If he was, he would’ve done it by now. And I just know, okay? You’ve gotta trust me. Anyway, I’ve been thinking, what if the Atlas brought us here for a reason? It doesn’t make sense to leave before we figure out what that is. And he lives here. He can help.”

“As long as he doesn’t eat us,” Michael said.

“Well, he might eat you,” Emma snapped. “Which would be a huge tragedy, obviously.”

“Hey—”

“Please, Kate,” Emma said, turning back to her sister, “I can’t explain it more. I just know we’re supposed to be here is all. Please.”

Kate didn’t respond right away, and Emma—who knew that Kate’s first and last thought was always to protect them—considered saying that sometimes you had to do things that were dangerous in order to be safe later; sometimes, you had to take chances. But she kept silent. And standing there, waiting, she felt her position as the youngest as she never had before, the fact that she was always having to ask, to convince, to plead. It was never up to her to choose the path; that was Kate’s job, and now Michael’s a little too. She supposed it had always been this way, so why did it rankle? Was it just that this was her book they were going after, or was it something else?

“Fine,” Kate said. “But stay close. If he tries anything, I can use the Atlas.”

Emma turned back to the giant, who was blowing his nose on a handkerchief the size of a bedsheet, dislodging half a dozen startled brown bats that flopped about on the table and then took awkward flight. Her first concern now was to get Gabriel released.

“Listen, Willy—”

“Uh-oh.” The giant seemed to have had the same idea, for he was twisted about and peering into his leather sack. “He’s gone.”

“Wait—you mean Gabriel?”

“Is that his name? Your friend who tried to murder my hand with that toothpick a’ his? He ruined my best bag, he did. Look.”

Willy held up the pouch, and the children saw a long slice in the bottom of it. Evidently, Gabriel had woken at some point during their journey and cut his way out. Seeing the hole, Emma was relieved.

“He escaped is all. He’s probably coming here now to kill you for kidnapping us. Don’t worry. We won’t let him.”

“Oh. Thanks, I guess.”

“Sure. So, Willy—”

“Shhhhh.” He twisted his head toward the door, listening. After a moment, he nodded. “Sorry. Thought I heard the Thumb.”

Emma had been intending to ask him where exactly they were, what the land was called, and if he knew anything about the Reckoning (posing the question subtly, like, “Soooooo…you know where the Reckoning is?”), but her curiosity got the better of her. “What’s this whole Thumb business?”

“You mean Big Rog?”

“I guess.”

“Well, Big Rog is Sall’s husband. And his thumb, well, it’s the terror a’ the land, it is. You see this thumb here?” He held up his right thumb, which was the size of Emma herself. “This is a respectable thumb. No man need be ashamed of a thumb like that. But Big Rog’s thumb? Why if he wanted to, he could reach up with it and rub out the sun. He holds it over his head in the rain and he don’t get wet. He’s used it to dam rivers so they run backward. A thumb like that’s a thing a’ Fate, with a capital F.” He thought, then added, “And a capital T for Thumb.”

“So he’s got a big thumb,” Michael asked. “So what?”

“Well, Toadlip—”

“My name—”

“Is Toadlip,” Emma finished. “Go on, Willy.”

“Everyone knows that a fella’s whole power is in his thumb, don’t they? It’s what separates us from the animals. Opposable thumbs!”

“That and you being forty feet tall,” Emma said.

“True. There’s that too. Anyway, he’s the reason I don’t have no friends. Everyone’s too afraid a’ that thumb a’ his. But no more!” And he smiled his huge snaggly smile. “Not when people know that I’m the one that found you three! Ah, if only me da’ could’ve been here. He would’ve been proud, he would. He’s the one who told me about you.”

The giant leaned down and waggled a massive finger at them while putting on a deep, rumbling voice that was apparently an imitation of his father, “?’Now, Willy, you be on the lookout! Ever you see three little wee children, you snatch them up right quick and don’t let no one put ‘em in a pie! Remember the prophecy! Remember the prophecy!’?”

Emma looked at her brother and sister and saw they had the same surprised expression she did. She’d thought the giant would be helpful, but she never would’ve imagined that he would know about the prophecy, especially since he didn’t seem like the sharpest tool in the shed.

Michael said as much: “You know about the prophecy?”

Willy the Giant made a pshaw face. “Do I know about the prophecy?! Didn’t me da’—he really was the kindest of giants, even let seagulls nest in his hair, not every giant will do that, the poop, you know, can be a bit overwhelming—didn’t he tell me about it when I was only yea high?” He held his hand about ten feet off the floor.

“See”—Emma turned to her brother and sister—“I told you he could help us!”

She knew you shouldn’t say I told you so, but sometimes you just had to.

“So,” Kate said, “you know where the last book is?”

“Hmm?”

“I said, do you know where the last book is?”

“What book?”

“The last Book of Beginning.”

“The what of the what?”

“You know,” Emma said. “The last Book of Beginning! The Reckoning!”

“Oh.” The giant thought for a moment, then shook his head, smiling innocently. “Nope. Never heard of it.”

“Wait,” Emma said, getting annoyed and now very consciously not looking at her brother and sister. “What prophecy are you talking about?”

The giant looked confused. “The dark stranger’s prophecy, the last words he spoke before he took the city. ‘Three children will come, and they will take death from the land.’ And you’re the first children, you’re the first anybody, to come here in thousands of years. And there’s three a’ you. You gotta be them! What prophecy are you talking about?”

“Oh,” Emma said, “that one. I just got confused for a second. Excuse us again.”

The children all turned to each other, speaking in quiet (really, their normal) voices that the giant couldn’t hear.

“Are you guys thinking what I’m thinking?” Emma asked.

“?’Take death from the land,’?” Michael said. “That’s gotta be the Book of Death, don’t you think? Weird, though, that there’s another prophecy about us.”

“Whatever,” Emma said. “The book’s here. The Atlas brought us to the right place!” And then, because she couldn’t resist, she added, “I told you so!”

Kate smiled at her. “You were right.”

Having Kate smile at her filled Emma with such joy and pride that she felt bad for having said I told you so. But, she reasoned, maybe if Kate and Michael treated her less like a little kid and listened to her ideas, she wouldn’t have to say I told you so. That made her feel better.

Kate said, “But are we even sure we should be finding the book? Emma, there’s something you don’t know—”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll all die if we bring them together! Gabriel told me! But we don’t know that for certain! Dr. Pym was a big fat liar, but maybe he was telling the truth and there really is some part of the prophecy no one knows, like, blah, blah, blah, Michael and Kate and Emma are gonna die unless they blah, blah, blah.”

“I’m sure that’s what the prophecy says,” Michael muttered.

“I’m just saying, we don’t know that the Books are gonna kill us, but we do know the Dire Magnus will! So we’ve gotta kill him first! And the only way we can do that is by getting the last book!”

“I agree,” Michael said. “Whether Dr. Pym was telling the truth or not, if we don’t try to find the Reckoning, we’re just giving up.”

“See?” Emma said, seizing her sister’s arm. “Please, Kate!”

Kate’s eyes moved from her brother to her sister, and as Emma watched her sister take a breath, sigh, and nod, she felt a deep sense of relief. She hadn’t realized till then how much she wanted to find the book, how much she needed to, and Emma was about to tell her it would all be okay, and maybe—she might as well plant the idea—Kate and Michael should learn to trust her a little more, when she let out a cry and tumbled forward, senseless, onto the table.

At the same moment, there was a shattering crack as the door to Willy’s room crashed open, and an enormous, black-bearded giant burst in upon them. He saw the children on the table—Kate holding the now-unconscious Emma—and with a roar swung a massive fist into the side of Willy’s head, knocking him to the floor. With his other hand, which did indeed have a thumb the size of a small locomotive, he swept up the children.

“I knew I smelled something funny in here!”

The giant brought them close to his great, grinning mouth as if he would eat them raw, then and there, and growled:

“Oh aye! Big Rog will be having a feast tonight!” CHAPTER TEN

Big Rog’s Feast

The children were placed in three separate wooden cages, almost like giant birdcages, which were hung from the branches of a tree in the open area in front of the house. Then Big Rog had Willy, whose nose was bloody and whose eyes were beginning to swell from Big Rog’s clobbering, build up a large fire and carry out several of Sall’s pots and pans, as well as plates, chairs, stools, and tankards.

“Go spread the word, dum-dum,” Big Rog told Willy after the fire was roaring and an enormous cauldron of water had been brought to a boil. “It’s going to be little-people pie at the Thumb’s tonight! A delicacy not seen or tasted in thousands a’ years! But make sure they know to bring their own beer. Big Rog ain’t running a charity! Now, get on with ya!” And he aimed a kick at Willy that sent him scurrying away down the valley.

As her cage turned in the heat fumes rising from the fire, Kate fought to stay calm. Emma was still unconscious; she had not moved or stirred since she’d collapsed in Willy’s room. The three of them were separated, so using the Atlas was not an option. They were on the menu for dinner. So, yes, all that was bad. But on the plus side, they were still alive, Michael still had the Chronicle, Gabriel was still at large and might yet appear and effect a rescue, and, if all else failed, sooner or later they would have to be taken out of the cages to be cooked. Awful as that prospect sounded, chances were that she and Emma and Michael would be then close enough to touch and she could use the Atlas to take them away.

She just had to remain calm.

And keep Michael calm.

“It’s the Reckoning,” he was saying, gripping the bars of his own cage and staring at Emma’s unconscious form. “I knew the Dire Magnus’s ritual did something!”

“She’ll be fine.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I know.”

“No offense, Kate, but that’s not really an answer.”

“We just have to wait. As soon as he takes us out of the cages, I’ll use the Atlas.”

“But we still have to get the Reckoning!”

“I know.”

“And we haven’t heard the rest of that prophecy!”

“I know.”

“And what ‘dark stranger’ was Willy talking about? That’s what he said, a ‘dark stranger’ predicted we would come. Who was that…”

And on and on. She knew it was part of Michael’s personality that he could never stop turning over and examining the same facts and questions, but sometimes it was exhausting. She didn’t know what had happened to Emma, didn’t really know if she’d be okay, didn’t know what the rest of this other prophecy held, didn’t know where the Reckoning was hidden or how they’d find it (which she was still not completely on board with, despite having given in to Michael and Emma), but none of that actually mattered, for she had already willed herself to believe that they would, somehow, survive and be okay.

This was when they needed Dr. Pym, and Kate found herself wishing that Rafe would appear, even if it meant Michael seeing him. She needed to talk to someone.

“It’ll be fine,” she repeated, rubbing her mother’s locket between her thumb and forefinger. “It’ll all be fine.”

“They’re coming,” Michael said.

Kate heard it too, a far-off thud, thud, thud, thud growing steadily louder, and the ground began to shake, the tree trembled, and the branch from which their cages hung quivered so that Kate and Michael had to hold the cages’ bars for balance. Whether by chance or intention, the giants were approaching as a group, and the effect was like watching a mountain range sprout legs and march toward you. As they came closer, Kate could pick out individual giants, fatter ones, taller ones, bearded ones, bald ones, a few women; there were perhaps fifteen in all, moving at a jog, driven on by excitement, curiosity, and (Kate feared) hunger.

“That’s right!” Big Rog roared. “Come and look at ‘em! Come see what the Thumb’s found!”

The giants amassed around the children’s cages, jostling and elbowing and punching one another to get a better look. The cages were almost exactly at the giants’ eye level, and for a moment, Kate thought that she and Michael and Emma were going to be crushed, as humongous eyes and noses and mouths pushed in, ooohing and aaahing. A few of the giants were licking their lips. Kate felt like an animal in a zoo, though in this case, a zoo where the animals got eaten.

Up close, the giants were stomach-churningly gross. It wasn’t just that they were so generally unclean and mucky, that they had families of rodents living in their hair, that they were so extravagantly warted, that the breath of any one of them could have knocked over a cow; it was their sheer size that tipped the scales of repulsiveness. Kate could see deep into the pores of their faces, dark, greasy pits she could’ve placed a whole finger inside; she could see the crusty yellow-brown tartar that covered their teeth, the mossy green-black patches on their tongues, the mushroomy yellow goo in the corners of their eyes. She found herself wondering if this was what everyone looked like close up. Was everyone this revolting?

The giants were all talking at once:

“Look at ‘em! Look at ‘em—”

“Tiny little wee folks, sure enough—”

“Bet they taste good fried—”

“Everything tastes good fried—”

“Serve ‘em with ‘tatoes, I would—”

“Hardly a mouthful, any of them—”

“This one’s all skin and bone! No meat at all—”

“Me uncle Nathan ate tiny people once. Said they taste like chicken—”

“All right, get back the lot a’ you!” Big Rog came through pushing and shoving, moving the giants away from the cages. Kate glanced over and saw Michael, one hand on the bag that held the Chronicle, looking very pale.

“Michael?”

“It’ll be okay, right? You said it’ll be okay?”

She nodded firmly. “It’ll be okay.”

Big Rog was now addressing the assembled giants. The sun had begun to set behind the hill, and shadows stretched across the valley. Strangely, Kate found that she was starving. Was it weird to be hungry when you yourself might soon be dinner?

“Now listen up!” Big Rog was saying. “Sall’s gonna put together a nice pie with ‘tatoes and onions and leeks and carrots and”—he paused for effect—“TINY LITTLE WEE FOLK!”

There was a cheer among the giants.

“You all seen there ain’t a lot a’ meat on their bones. They’re more a delicacy than a main course. But you’ll each get a slice a’ tiny-people pie that you can tell your grandnippers about, you have the Thumb’s word on that, and Sall’s also cooking up her sheep stew, there’ll be sheep kebabs, a few sheep dumplings, and even a sheep custard for dessert! Now crack that cask! The Thumb’s thirsty!”

There was more roaring and cheering, and a pair of giants pulled the lid off an enormous cask, and flagons were dunked into the frothy dark brown brew, which the giants proceeded to chug with no concern about how much streamed down their fronts.

“Maybe they’ll get too drunk and forget to cook us,” Michael said.

“Yeah,” Kate said. “Maybe.”

The next hour or so passed with drinking; singing (mostly drinking songs); a kind of dancing that looked a lot like stomping and made the branch holding them shake so badly that Kate and Michael were forced to lie flat on the floors of their cages; a flatulence contest won by a giant named, appropriately, Stinky Bill, though really Kate thought it was a draw between him and half a dozen other giants; and a great deal of fighting, which Big Rog always seemed to be in the center of, executing his favored move of jumping on an opponent’s back and jamming his thumb into the other’s ear or using it to fishhook a giant’s cheek till he cried for mercy.

All the while, Kate watched Sall cooking her various sheep dishes while also carefully preparing a huge round tin with giant-sized leeks, carrots, onions, and potatoes.

That’s for us, Kate thought.

Part of her was glad that Emma was unconscious and not seeing all this.

She didn’t hear Willy till he was right behind them.

“I’m real, real sorry.”

The giant was cowering in the shadows under the tree, out of light of the fire where the other giants were drinking and singing and carrying on.

“Can’t you do something?” Michael demanded. “Get us out of here?”

“Well, now,” Willy said cautiously, “I could, technically, yes, but I think that might make the Thumb awful mad.”

“What about the prophecy?” Kate said. “We’re supposed to take death away? Don’t they all know that?”

“Well, now, I sort of doubt they do. We live in a degraded time. The old stories aren’t given the same respect they once were. People forget.”

“But you remember!” Michael insisted.

“Well, now, true, true. But it won’t do me much good if you take death away and the Thumb’s already killed me. Bit of a dilemma, that.”

Part of Kate wanted to call him a coward, as she knew Emma would if Emma had been awake, but she also knew that wouldn’t get them anywhere. She took another tack.

“What would your dad say if he knew you were letting them make us into pie?”

“That’s right!” Michael said. “I bet he’d be ashamed.”

“Ah now,” the giant said, hanging his enormous head, “don’t be bringing me old da’ into it.”

“You have a chance,” Kate said. “You could make him proud of you.”

“Instead of him being glad he’s dead,” Michael said, “so he doesn’t have to watch you be such a big chicken.”

Kate thought this was a bit much and was going to signal to Michael to lay it on more mildly when Big Rog’s voice boomed across the clearing.

“What’re you talking about I can’t eat them? They’re my little wee folk! You’re lucky I’m sharing ‘em at all, ya ungrateful slob!”

Kate and Michael both turned to see Big Rog, his black beard glistening with pearls of beer, talking to a jowly, round-bodied giant. Big Rog kept jabbing the other giant in the gut with his thumb as he spluttered in his face.

“You’re trying to spoil my feast!”

The other giant held up his hands in surrender. “It’s just an old story, is all! I don’t even know the whole of it! Just thought I’d mention.”

“Just thought you’d mention,” sneered Big Rog. “Well, I never heard of it!”

“IT’S TRUE!” Kate shouted. “YOU CAN’T EAT US! ASK WILLY! HE KNOWS! MAKE HIM TELL YOU ABOUT THE PROPHECY!”

With the attention of the other giants on him, Willy tried to shrink back into the shadows, but Big Rog seized him by the collar and dragged him out into the firelight.

“What’s this she’s talking about? What prophecy?”

Willy was waving his hands before his face. “I don’t know! I don’t know what she’s talking about!”

“He’s lying!” Kate and Michael both shouted. “Tell him! Your father told you the story!”

Big Rog laughed. “Oh, so that’s what it is, is it? More of that old fool’s stories! I always was sorry he fell off that ridge and cracked open his stupid head. Meant we didn’t get to hear more of his nonsense! Ha!”

It was in that moment that Kate saw the change come over Willy. His enormous eyes narrowed (very slightly), his shoulders drew back, and he even stood up a little straighter, another three feet or so.

“They weren’t just stories. Me da’ knew things about the old world. Things everyone else has forgot. That’s a lie, saying they’re stories.”

Big Rog snorted. “Oh is that right? Like how I’m not supposed to eat these little people?”

“For one. Yeah.”

Big Rog stared at him, and for a second Kate thought he was going to slaughter Willy then and there. But Big Rog turned to face the other giants.

“Right! Everyone, listen up! We got a treat. While Sall finishes up her sheep stew and puts together the fixing for the pie, Willy here is gonna tell us one of his dear old da’s stories. Now make sure no one laughs or sniggers, ‘cause it’s one hundred percent true! Every word! And not a bunch of made-up gibberish! Ha!”

Willy glanced over at the children, and Kate nodded and tried to give him strength with her eyes. Then he turned back to the group of sneering, hooting, and really pretty sloshed giants and waited for them to quiet down.

Michael looked over at Kate. “At least it bought us some time. And we’ll get to hear the whole story.”

Kate said nothing. She was watching Sall cutting onions into the pie. It would be ready for them soon.

“This wasn’t always the way things were.”

It was very nearly fully night, and Willy stood in the slashing glare of the firelight, facing the half ring of giants. To Kate’s surprise, the other giants had all taken seats—some on rocks, some on the ground—and now appeared to be giving Willy their whole attention, the only noise being the gulping of beer and an occasional ear-splitting belch.

Emma still had yet to stir.

“We didn’t always live as we do now. As little better than animals. Drunken. Filthy. Scrabbling for food. Giants used to be a respected race. We lived in the High City—”

He said this, Kate noticed, with capital letters, and the other giants nodded, as if the High City was something they had all heard of. And she noticed too that Willy was speaking differently than he normally did, and it occurred to her that he must be telling the story as his father had told it to him, in his father’s own words and tone.

“We all know where the High City is. North. Through the forest. Past the wide river, which no giant has crossed and returned from in a thousand years. But that was where we once lived. And it was a golden time. We giants had culture and music and literature. There were tailors who made the most exquisite clothes, not these stitched-together rags we wear now. There were smiths who made the finest tools and weapons. The shops were filled with goods. And the most delicious sheep-liver Danishes anywhere in the world!”

There was a gasp of awed appreciation among the giants.

“And we had a king in those days too. King Davey the Extremely Tall. It was said that he’d go out for a walk and come back with the clouds wreathed about his hair like a crown from heaven.

“A golden time…”

Willy paused—somewhat melodramatically, in Kate’s opinion—but the giants were all listening with rapt attention. She tried to imagine a time when these giants had been all that Willy described, cultured, with fine clothes and tools, living in a great city. Was it true? Or was it merely a story that had been created to make them feel better about themselves?

“Then one day, a troubling report reached the king. An entire community of giants, out at the edge of the kingdom, had perished suddenly. It was said the buzzards circled about so thick that noon was like the deepest night. King Davey sent two scouts to find out what had happened, but the scouts never returned.

“Next, he sent a platoon of soldiers. Twelve giants, girded for battle. A week passed. One soldier returned. He told the king that death had entered the land. That it had been brought by a stranger. That the stranger had let him live so that he could bring a message to the king.

“?’What message?’ King Davey asked.

“?’That the stranger is coming to take possession of your throne and your city. And anyone still within the walls in two days’ time will die.’

“Well, the first thing King Davey did was to lop off the soldier’s head, since it was a long-standing tradition to kill the bearer of bad news.”

Kate was shocked by this, but she saw that all the giants were nodding, and one raised his hand and asked, “Did he eat it?” but was quickly shushed by the others.

Willy went on: “Now, there was a great field before the city, and exactly two days later, the sentries saw the stranger approaching from the distance. A tiny little dark speck. King Davey marched out with fifty of his warriors, all armed to the teeth. They say you could feel the ground shake a thousand miles away, that waves the size of mountains flooded cities on the far side of the world.

“King Davey led his soldiers forward, intending to crush the stranger underfoot and grind his bones into the earth.”

Willy paused again. He was not afraid, Kate saw, of abusing the dramatic pause. But again, it worked. The giants, even Big Rog, were hanging on his words.

“The stranger killed them. Faster than you can blink, King Davey and all his warriors were dead on the field. And this is the truth, passed down from those that watched it happen from the city walls. They had been expecting to see the stranger stomped to bits, but instead their king and all their soldiers were lying dead and the stranger was walking toward the city.

“So they ran. They abandoned their homes, left pots boiling, sheep half-cooked, laundry half-clean, and when the stranger entered the city, the gates closed, and no giant has set foot in the High City ever since. And in the years that followed, we fell into the sad state we find ourselves in now. As little more than animals.”

Michael had whispered, “What about the prophecy—” when Willy spoke again.

“But the giants who fled heard the stranger’s last words. Just before entering the city, he said, ‘I will abide in here till three children come who will take death from this land.’?” Willy gestured to the cages. “Now they have. The first humans seen here since the stranger’s time, more than two thousand years ago, and three children at that. We can’t eat them. This is our last chance, you see, to return to what we once were.”

He stopped talking, and Kate waited, holding her breath. Would this be enough to save them?

“He must’ve had the Book of Death,” Michael whispered. “The stranger, I mean. That’s the only way he could’ve killed all those giants. Emma was right: the book is here.”

Kate couldn’t argue. But she also found herself wondering, as Michael had earlier, who the stranger was. It couldn’t have been the Dire Magnus, because the Dire Magnus was searching for the book. So who was it?

“Well, that’s a fine old story, Willy-boy.” Big Rog stood up. “But if you think it means that I’m not eating these tiny wee children, then you’re even loonier than your loony father was. And be reminding me to give you a good clout later for trying to ruin my feast. Now, Sall, how’s that piecrust coming?”

“You’re going to die soon.”

The voice that spoke was not a voice that had yet been heard and it was not loud, but it was loud enough for Big Rog and Willy and the other giants, and especially for Kate and Michael, who were closer and knew the voice well, to hear it and turn.

Emma was standing up and gripping the bars of her cage.

“You’re going to die soon,” Emma repeated.

Emma heard Kate say her name, but she didn’t look over. She was staring at Big Rog, who had stepped past Willy and come up to her cage.

“Ah, so you’re feeling better. That’s fine. I wouldn’t want to eat you when you were sick. Might give me a bellyache.”

“You won’t die tonight,” Emma said, as if the giant had not spoken. “But soon.” Then she pointed at the jowly giant who was refilling his tankard in the cask. “Him, the fat one, he’s gonna die tonight.”

“And how do you know that?” Big Rog sneered.

“I just do. Same way I know that you killed Willy’s dad.”

A tight, deadly silence descended on the clearing. Big Rog leaned in till the bulbous tip of his nose was almost touching the bars of Emma’s cage.

“Don’t be telling stories that’re gonna get you into even more trouble, girl. I’m gonna eat you, sure. But humane-like. In a pie. Get me angry and I might just eat you raw, limb by limb.”

But Emma couldn’t have stopped talking if she had tried. It felt as if she was on a path, clear and definite, and there was no way but forward.

“You came up behind him and bashed him in the head with a rock. Then you pushed his body down the hill and told everyone he had fallen.” Emma looked at Sall, who had frozen next to the pie tin. “It was your idea. You talked him into it so you could get that cruddy house. You knew your dad was going to give it to Willy.”

Emma could feel Kate and Michael staring at her, but she kept her eyes on Big Rog.

Then Big Rog did exactly what Emma was hoping.

He turned and roared at the other giants.

“So what? He was old and useless and ate too much and who was gonna stop me, eh? Ha! That’s right—”

That was all he got out before Willy barreled into him. The other giants were on their feet in a moment and forming a ring. As high up in the tree as they were, the children had a good view of the proceedings.

Willy had rammed his head directly into Big Rog’s stomach and momentarily winded him. Then he got his brother-in-law on the ground and was pounding him left and right, left and right. But it was clear from the start that besides being smaller than Big Rog, Willy was by far the less seasoned fighter, and his punches were doing no real harm. And Big Rog, as soon as he had his breath back, delivered a blow to Willy’s ear that knocked him sideways.

Big Rog lurched to his feet and kicked Willy hard in the stomach.

“You want this, boy? That’s fine! I’ll give you what I gave your dad!”

He kicked him again and again. He was red-faced and grinning, spit flying from his mouth. He looked like some great, savage animal. Then, while Willy lay gasping, Big Rog stalked over to a tree at the edge of the clearing, wrapped his arms about it, and yanked it this way and that, and then with a heave, ripped it out of the ground. Willy was just getting to his feet when Big Rog swung the tree and clobbered him over the head. Big Rog went on pounding Willy with the tree while Sall ran around and laughed, sneaking in now and then to kick her moaning brother.

Emma felt a surge of panic. This wasn’t right! Willy wasn’t supposed to die now! She hadn’t seen it; she would’ve seen it if he was going to die! Wouldn’t she?

Emma’s cage shook, and she looked up and for a moment couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing. How was Gabriel on top of her cage? Then it all clicked into place. Gabriel was here to rescue them. He must’ve tracked them here, then climbed up the tree and out onto the limb. And that wasn’t all; Michael and Kate were up on the limb above him. He had already rescued them. Emma had been so focused on the giants’ fight that she hadn’t noticed.

With his knife, Gabriel slashed once, twice, and ripped open the door at the top of her cage. He reached down, hissing, “Come! Take my hand!”

Emma knew that Kate would use the Atlas to take them to safety. And there was nothing stopping them now. They knew the rest of the prophecy; they knew about King Davey and the stranger. They could find the High City themselves; they didn’t need Willy.

She glanced toward the fire as Big Rog continued to kick and pound Willy.

Then she looked up to where Michael and Kate, on the branch above Gabriel, were waving their arms for her to hurry. She said, “I can’t leave Willy!”

“We cannot help him,” Gabriel said.

Emma knew that, but she had made this fight happen by telling the story about Willy’s dad; she was responsible.

“I know! But I can’t leave him.”

Gabriel, whose scar was throbbing with the blood rushing to his face, stared at her for a moment while the thumps and thuds of Big Rog’s blows and Sall’s laughter mixed with Willy’s grunts of pain.

“Very well. But come with me, in case…”

He did not say in case of what, but Emma knew: in case Big Rog killed Willy and they had to escape quickly. Just then a roar made her turn, and she saw that Big Rog had tossed away the tree and jumped astride Willy’s moaning form.

“Right, boy! Let’s see what happens when I shove my thumb through your eyeball and give your brain a tickle!”

And he raised his hand high in the air, his great thumb extended—

Emma screamed—

Big Rog drove his thumb down—and Willy caught it. Emma couldn’t see what happened next, her view blocked by Big Rog’s body, but she heard Big Rog shrieking and trying to get away, but Willy seemed to be holding on to him. Finally, Big Rog fell backward and there was blood shooting out the side of his hand and Emma saw that where his thumb had been was now a stump.

“Me thumb! Me beautiful thumb!”

Then Willy stood and spat something onto the ground as he bent to pick up the tree that Big Rog had dropped.

“You bit off me thumb!”

“Aye,” Willy said. And he swung the tree, there was a clud, and Big Rog went down hard. Willy looked at Sall, who ran into the house and slammed the door.

There was an astonished silence among the giants.

Then one said, “He’s dead.”

“He ain’t dead.” Willy prodded Big Rog with his toe. “Unfortunately.”

“No. Jasper’s dead.” The giant who had spoken pointed to the jowly, round-bodied giant, who lay sprawled upon the ground. “Rog hit him accident-like with the tree, and Jasper fell and bashed his head on a rock. The little girl knew. She said so.”

It was then the giants turned, en masse, toward the cages. Emma felt like she could see what they must be seeing, two of the cages empty, a new, strange human atop her own cage, their dinner escaping. For an instant, Emma regretted having stayed.

Then Willy walked calmly across the clearing and held out his hand.

“Well, little wee folk, will you come with me to the High City?”

He still had blood all over his mouth from biting off Big Rog’s thumb, but Emma thought he looked noble.

“Yes,” she said, answering for them all, and she finally let Gabriel pull her out of the cage. Willy settled Michael and Kate on his left shoulder, then extended a hand for Gabriel and Emma.

“I’m glad to see you’re not dead,” he said to Gabriel. “Sorry about plucking you in the noddle before.”

Gabriel said nothing, but sheathed his knife.

Then, having placed Gabriel and Emma on his right shoulder, Willy turned to face the giants.

“I’m taking the wee folk to the High City and we’re going to find out if that stranger’s still there and they’re going to fulfill this prophecy. Anyone got a problem with that?”

None of the giants spoke.

“Right, then.” And Willy strode off into the darkness.

Emma felt Gabriel’s arm around her, and she let out a trembling breath.

“I am sorry it took me so long to catch up with you,” Gabriel said.

“It’s okay. You’re here.”

“How did you know that giant was going to die?”

“I saw death hanging over him. Like a shadow. Same as over Big Rog. Gabriel?”

“Yes?”

“Can we not talk about it right now?”

He nodded, and they moved on in silence. Emma kept her eyes straight ahead, not daring to look at Gabriel, or at her brother and sister on the giant’s other shoulder, fearing that she would see again, as she had beside the fire, the shadows that hung over each of them. CHAPTER ELEVEN

The High City

Willy carried the children and Gabriel through the darkness. Finally, some hours after riding on the rolling swell of the giant’s shoulders—Kate and Michael on one shoulder, Gabriel and Emma on the other—they came to a stop at the edge of the river. They could see past the dark stretch of water to more hills, and what looked like a forest, on the other side. The river was perhaps a quarter of a mile across.

“No giant’s been over this river in a thousand years,” Willy said. “We’d best camp here and cross when it’s light. I imagine you tiny wee folk could do with a rest. As could I; besting the biggest giant in the land takes something out of a fella; it does at that.”

He set them down and went off to collect wood for the fire. Soon, he had what he called “a small little mite of a fire going,” which to the children seemed like a raging inferno, and he passed out hunks of sheep kebab that he’d stuffed in his pockets during Big Rog’s feast. Once the children had cleaned off the dirt and sheep fuzz, they found the kebab to be quite delicious.

“Oh aye,” the giant said, “Sall may be an evil, father-murdering hag, but she knows her way around a sheep, she does that.”

The children were exhausted but ravenous, and while they ate, Willy practiced with his sword. He’d gone back to retrieve it from his room shortly after they’d left Big Rog and the others, saying it might come in handy where they were headed. The sword was a fearsome instrument, the blade alone perhaps twenty feet long, but it was most notable for the obvious artistry with which it had been made. “It’s a relic from the old world. Me da’ gave it to me,” Willy said, adding, somewhat unnecessarily, “before he was murdered.” But it was clear that Willy’s dad had never taught him to use it, and as the children and Gabriel sat by the fire and ate their kebabs, the giant leapt around, jabbing into the darkness and shouting, “Ahhh-YAAA!” and “GOTCHA!” as if his intention were not so much to wound his opponents as to surprise them to death.

It was then that Gabriel told the children how he had used his knife to cut his way through Willy’s pouch soon after being captured and had dropped to the ground.

“Did you go looking for your sword?” Emma said. The weapon lay on the ground beside him. “?’Cause Willy threw it, like, miles and miles away. I remember.”

“No. When I escaped, I merely thought of the sword, and there it was in my hand. A similar thing happened in the Dire Magnus’s fortress. Rourke disarmed me, but when I needed my sword, I suddenly had it again.”

“You mean it’s enchanted?” Michael said, a little awestruck, reaching out to touch the smooth bone of the handle.

Gabriel told them how Granny Peet had given him the sword to replace the falchion he’d lost in the volcano, how she’d told him that this one he would not lose. “I gave it no thought at the time, but there is more to it than meets the eye.”

“That’s Granny Peet for you,” Emma said approvingly. “She’s a good one.”

Gabriel said how he had then spent the rest of the day following the crater-sized footprints to the giant’s home and had arrived just after the feast had gotten under way.

“Well, I’m glad you caught up with us,” Michael said. “Though I was never really worried. I still had a few moves I hadn’t tried.”

“That is very reassuring,” Gabriel said.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kate asked Emma for the ninth time since they’d escaped from Big Rog.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

Emma didn’t glance at her sister as she said this, for she knew if she looked at her, or at Michael, or at Gabriel, she would see again the shadows hanging over them. Not as fearsome and dark and close as the shadow she’d seen hanging over the obese giant Jasper, who’d died after smashing his head on a rock, or even the shadow over Big Rog, but the shadows were there nonetheless, and she knew it meant that death was coming for each of them. What she didn’t know was how much time she had to save them. A day? Two days? Whatever it was, it wasn’t long. And she sensed, on some bone-deep level, that her only hope for saving them lay in finding the Reckoning and killing the Dire Magnus.

“How was it you knew that giant was going to die?” Michael said as he gnawed on a caveman-sized hunk of meat.

“I just knew,” Emma said, hoping to end the discussion.

“But what about Willy’s dad? How’d you know what Big Rog did?”

“That was different. I could see it in my head. Guess I’m psychic now too.”

“Odd,” Michael said. “But it seems obvious this ability of yours is related to the Reckoning. You foresee people’s deaths and you’re the Keeper of the Book of Death? You must be somehow connected to the book. Logic would say that’s due to the Bonding ritual the Dire Magnus performed.”

“But I feel fine!” Emma insisted. “Totally, totally fine! Better than normal!”

This was not exactly true, but it made the point.

“So why did you pass out in Willy’s room, then?” Michael asked.

“In Cambridge Falls,” Kate said, “even after we lost the Atlas, it kept sending me visions and dreams. That was because some of the magic had passed into me. Michael’s right; some of the Reckoning’s power must be in you too.”

Emma considered the idea that a portion of the Reckoning’s magic was now a part of her. The thought made her uneasy.

“It is rather curious,” Michael said, “that here we are going to all these lengths to get the book, but we don’t really know anything about it.”

“Sure we do,” Emma said. “It kills people.”

“But why’s it called the Reckoning? That has to mean something, right?”

Emma groaned, sensing that Michael was in one of his let’s-analyze-stuff-so-I-can-show-how-smart-I-am moods and not to be stopped.

“Think about it. A reckoning can mean a debt or a bill. Maybe that’s important. Or—this is interesting—it can also mean a judgment. Maybe you’re supposed to judge who should live and who should die.”

“As long as it kills the Dire Magnus,” Emma said, “who cares?”

She saw Michael throw a look at Kate, and it was a look Emma knew well. It said that Emma was just a kid and they couldn’t expect her to take adult things seriously. She was about to remind him that it had been her, and not him or Kate, that had saved them from Sall’s pie by goading Willy into fighting Big Rog, but she was tired, and anyway Michael was already moving into plan-making mode.

He said they needed to know all they could before they entered the giant’s city the next day. He brought up the subject of Willy’s dad’s story.

“It has to be that this dark stranger, whoever he was, had the Reckoning. How else could he have killed all those giants?”

(They had to pause for a moment to bring Emma up to speed; she’d only heard the end of the story.)

Michael went on: “So the question I come back to is, Just who is this stranger? It can’t be the Dire Magnus; he’s still looking for the book. It could be one of the Guardians. Bert thought that only a few of them escaped Rhakotis, but maybe he was wrong.

“If we step back a moment”—Michael had his notebook out and was tapping his pen on the open page—“there were three Books. They were held in the wizard’s tower in Rhakotis. They all disappeared when Alexander the Great, with the help of the then Dire Magnus, sacked the city. We know that Dr. Pym took the Atlas to the dwarves of Cambridge Falls. Bert took the Chronicle to Antarctica. The Reckoning simply disappeared. Willy says that the stranger arrived more than two thousand years ago, which suggests that he was also the one who took the book from Rhakotis during the siege. So it could’ve been one of the Guardians. It could also have been one of the wizards of Dr. Pym’s Council.”

“Or it could be someone else entirely,” Gabriel said. “Someone we don’t know about.”

“Exactly,” Michael said. “An unknown. An X factor.”

Emma could see that he took pleasure in saying X factor. He even repeated it:

“Yep. A real X factor.”

“Whoever the stranger is,” Kate said, “do we think they’re still alive? Dr. Pym lived for thousands of years, remember. And this Bert you met was alive.”

“That was because of the Chronicle,” Michael said. “The Reckoning is the Book of Death.”

“But if it is one of the wizards,” Gabriel said, “he could have been exposed to the Book of Life the same as Dr. Pym. He might have been in this city all this time, waiting.”

“That’s a good point, Gabriel,” Michael admitted, in a somewhat patronizing tone. “But how did he know about the three of us? The actual prophecy about us finding the Books wasn’t made till a thousand years after the fall of Rhakotis.”

“How do you remember all that?” Emma asked.

Michael held up his notebook. “I made a timeline.”

Emma groaned. And for a moment, she forgot about the shadows looming over her brother and sister and friend, about what it meant that the book was called the Reckoning or how it worked, and allowed herself to think about what a colossal nerd Michael could be. It made her feel significantly better.

“Willy,” Kate called up, “do you know if the stranger is still in the city? Still alive, I mean?”

Willy settled himself down cross-legged by the fire. He was breathing hard and sweating from his practice with the sword. Emma reflected that for all his size, the giant wasn’t in the best shape.

“Well, Evelina”—Emma saw Gabriel throw her a look and she whispered, “We gave him fake names. My idea”—“that’s a difficult question, as no one’s been inside the city in thousands a’ years. Few giants have even come this far—”

“But…” Emma could always tell when someone was winding up for a but.

“But there’ve been stories, haven’t there?”

“What kind of stories?” Michael asked.

“Stories there’s something alive in the city. Could be the stranger. Could be something the stranger brought with ‘im. Or could be something else. Dark magic draws other dark creatures, you know.”

“So there are stories of something alive there,” Kate said.

“Used to be. Not so much in recent years. The short answer is—maybe.”

He said this with some satisfaction, as if he’d actually answered their question, rather than simply raise more questions.

“We should get some sleep,” Gabriel said. “Tomorrow will be a long day.”

“I’ll stand guard. Or sit guard, if you don’t mind, me legs are kinda tired. It’s dreadful hard work, all this ridding death from the land.”

The children lay down beside the fire. Michael put his head on his bag, and Kate, without Emma asking her to, wrapped both arms around her. Gabriel settled in a few yards away, drawing his sword and laying it beside him so it would be ready if the need arose. Emma was relieved they were done talking. She was exhausted, and she told herself that whatever was waiting for them, they would deal with it tomorrow.

Kate woke and found that the fire had burned down from bonfire-sized to something more human in scale. The sky showed the first gray softenings of dawn. Emma and Michael were both still asleep, though Emma’s hands were clenched into fists and now and then she would jerk and whimper. Gabriel—whom Kate realized she’d never seen in any state other than awake and vigilant—was asleep with his right hand upon the handle of his sword. She knew that Gabriel had been searching for Emma nonstop since her abduction, and she was glad he had finally allowed himself to rest. She was not so glad to see Willy asleep. The giant was on his side and snoring loudly, drool from the corner of his mouth turning the ground below into mud.

So much for our sentry, she thought.

Kate carefully lifted her arm from Emma and stood. She walked out of the circle of light, stopping a dozen or so yards into the gloom of the surrounding trees. She was still able to see her brother and sister and Gabriel asleep beside the fire.

She turned and looked into the darkness.

“Come out.”

There was a moment of silence. Then a voice said: “How’d you know?”

Rafe, or Rafe’s ghost—she still wasn’t sure how to think of him—stepped from behind a tree, shadows obscuring his features.

“I just felt it.”

This was not exactly true. She’d only hoped he would be there, but hoped it so fervently that she had felt it had to be so.

Kate said, “Aren’t you supposed to tell me it’s really you?”

He shrugged. “What’s the point? If the Dire Magnus was pretending to be me, wouldn’t he say the same thing?”

“I guess.”

Rafe stepped closer. Gray light filtering through the trees fell across his face.

“Well?”

Kate studied him for a long moment. “It’s you.”

“You’re sure?”

Kate was about to answer when she realized she couldn’t. All she knew was that she wanted to believe; and right then, she knew she was lost.

But she pushed the thought away and said what had been turning through her mind all night.

“We’re going to the old giant city. We think whoever took the Reckoning from Rhakotis brought it there. He may still be there too. We don’t know what’s waiting for us. And with Dr. Pym gone, there’s no one to ask. Can you help?”

Rafe shook his head. “The Dire Magnus doesn’t know who took the Reckoning. If he did, it would’ve made finding it easier.”

Kate nodded, having half expected that answer. She said, “Emma can see people’s deaths.”

“What?”

“She can see people’s deaths. She said this one giant was going to die and then he did. Does it—”

“It means the Bonding worked. At least partly. She’s connected to the Reckoning. As she gets closer, she’ll be able to feel the book itself. It’ll call to her.”

They were both silent then for a few moments. Kate could hear the background rumbling of the giant’s snores, and in the pauses between them, the crackle of the fire and the soft passage of the river, so close by. The first shock of seeing Rafe, the wild, heart-pounding strangeness of being able to talk to him again, had passed, and Kate was filled instead with an appreciation of what this interaction really was. The Rafe she knew, the boy she had danced with, who’d protected her, who had held her in his arms, was gone forever. She was talking to a ghost. And sometime very soon, she would lose even that.

She sensed too that Rafe knew what she was thinking and didn’t begrudge it, that he understood her reserve and that was why he wasn’t pressing her for more than she could give. It occurred to her that that was how she knew it was really him.

“There’s something else. I can’t explain it, but ever since we rescued Emma, I’ve felt…”

Kate found to her frustration that she really couldn’t explain it. For how could she describe the vague sense of unease she felt, the disturbing undercurrent that told her some unnamed and unseen trouble, some danger she had not yet encountered, was stirring?

Rafe said, “It’s the Books.”

“What?”

“What you’re feeling. It’s the Books.”

“What’re you talking about?”

Rafe took a moment before responding, but when he spoke, Kate felt that she had asked the thing he’d been waiting for her to ask.

“You have to understand, the wizards who created the Books, your friend Pym among them, drew the magic out of the very heart of the world. But the Books are still connected to everything around us. Imagine them at the center of an enormous web, and each time you use the Atlas or your brother uses the Chronicle, the whole web trembles.”

“But what does that really mean?”

“You and your brother think what you’re doing doesn’t have larger effects, but it does. You stop one moment in time; he brings one person back to life; the power radiates outward, shaking everything. That’s what you’re feeling. And it’s going to get worse.”

“So we shouldn’t use the Books anymore? We have to!”

“I’m just saying: the bonds that hold the universe together can only bear so much. Soon, they’ll begin to snap.”

Kate turned away. She didn’t want to hear any more. She needed the Atlas to take them all back to Loris. She had to use it!

“What you asked before,” Rafe said, “about what’s waiting in the city, there is one thing I can tell you. Whoever brought the Reckoning here didn’t do it by accident. There’re a thousand other places it could’ve been hidden, dragon lairs, caves at the bottom of the ocean. Something about this place is special.”

“Willy hasn’t said anything—”

“He wouldn’t know. I have the feeling it was a secret. Be careful.”

The sky was getting lighter. In another time, another place, they would’ve just been two teenagers standing alone in the shadows.

Kate said quietly, “I had a dream last night. We were in the church. In New York. It was snowing.” She turned and looked at him. “Rafe, the next time, if I know it’s not you…”

She was breathing hard now, her heart thudding against her chest, and the words caught in her throat.

He nodded. “I know. Me too.”

After a quick breakfast of mutton (another word for sheep, it turned out), the small group crossed the river, the children and Gabriel riding on Willy’s shoulders as he waded through the thick brown water. When they reached the other shore, they found themselves entering a forest. But the forest was strangely, eerily silent. There were no birds calling to one another and announcing the dawn, no squirrels skittering along branches; everything was quiet and still, and the children, feeling this, grew quiet as well.

Emma had woken before Gabriel and Michael and seen that Kate was not with them. She’d lain there without moving, till she’d heard Kate’s footsteps.

“Where’d you go?”

Kate had seemed surprised to be caught sneaking back, and Emma had watched her forming the lie.

“Oh. I thought I heard a noise. It was nothing.”

Emma hadn’t pressed her. In the morning light, the shadow hanging over her sister had been darker than ever.

Gabriel had woken at the sound of the girls’ voices; they had then woken Michael, and the four of them had worked together to wake the giant. Shouts, pinches, kicks to his stomach—none of it had had any effect. Finally, Emma had snatched a burning branch from the fire and stuck it up his nose.

The giant had let out a bellow that blew them off their feet, and he’d leapt up, dancing around and swatting at his face, crying, “Oh! Oh! Oh!” Kate had scolded Emma, and Emma had apologized to the giant, but really, she’d thought, he’d fallen asleep on guard duty; in some armies, he would’ve been shot.

The forest was thick, but Willy was tall enough that the children and Gabriel could ride on his shoulders and not be clawed and swatted by passing branches. Willy seemed to pay the trees no mind, and Emma, looking back, could track the giant’s passage by the broken branches and trampled saplings in their wake. If anyone had a mind to follow them, the path could hardly have been clearer.

It was midmorning when they came to the top of a rise, and Willy raised his arm and pointed into the distance. “There! That’s it!”

“You mean behind those hills?” Michael asked.

“Those’re no hills, Toadlip. That’s the city.”

“My name—”

“Is Toadlip,” Emma said automatically.

She heard Michael mutter something unintelligible.

Standing on the hill, they could see down to where the trees stopped and a broad plain opened up. Past the plain was what Michael had taken for a knot of gray hills. But it was now apparent they were looking not at hills but at an immense gray-black wall and, above that, the studded tops of buildings, clustering upward. Emma could see one building rising higher than the others, its roof gleaming as it caught the morning sun.

“If only me da’ could see what I’m seeing now,” Willy murmured. “The High City of King Davey. Amazing what you find when you leave the house. Amazing.”

“Emma,” said Kate, who was sitting beside her sister, “do you feel anything?”

“What do you mean?”

“She means do you feel the Reckoning,” Michael called from Willy’s other shoulder, where he and Gabriel sat. “Both of us, when we got close to our Books, felt them. Almost like something’s pulling on your chest.”

Emma stared at the city in the distance and waited, hardly breathing. But she felt no tug or pull, just a vague nausea from eating too much sheep and then riding for hours on a giant’s shoulder.

“I don’t feel anything.”

“It doesn’t mean it’s not there!” Michael shouted. “We might just have to get closer!”

Emma said nothing, and Willy thudded down the slope, eager to reach the city, and soon they came out of the forest onto the open plain. Willy was moving more and more quickly, and the children and Gabriel had to hold on tightly. But then, halfway across the plain, they came upon a stand of unusual-looking trees, and the giant slowed. The trees appeared to be all trunk, no branches at all, and were encased in moss and curving up out of the earth at strange angles. The trees were also surrounded by odd-shaped moss-and-grass-covered boulders.

“They’re bones,” Michael said when they were right up next to them. “The bones of the giants that were killed.”

It was indeed an enormous boneyard; the trees were the ribs of the giants, the moss-covered boulders the skulls, hands, knees, and legs. Willy and Gabriel and the children moved past the skeletons in silence.

Finally, Kate said, “It’s really true. The story about King Davey and his giants going out to fight the stranger; it happened.”

They passed one set of bones that was separate from the others, and when they reached the skull, for the giant appeared to have fallen backward when he died, they could see the ridges of the moss-covered crown that still encircled his brow.

“It’s him,” Willy said in the nearest thing he could manage to a whisper. “It’s King Davey. Lookit his bones! He must’ve been fifty feet tall! Taller even than Big Rog!”

For a moment, Emma was silent. She didn’t want to say it, but seeing the bones of the dead giants had filled her with a wild, almost giddy excitement. If the Reckoning had done this, then it could certainly kill the Dire Magnus.

“Come on!” she said. “What’re we waiting for? Let’s go!”

“You mean…go to the city, then?”

Willy’s voice had none of the eagerness he’d displayed all morning, and Emma could see that even Kate was looking stunned and wary.

“Yes, the city! Where else?!” And to Kate, she said, “The Reckoning’s the only way we’re gonna kill the Dire Magnus! You know it!”

Kate nodded and told Willy that yes, they should go on.

With clear reluctance, Willy resumed walking toward the city, throwing occasional glances back at the remains of King Davey and his soldiers and murmuring things like “I wonder, did I leave the kettle on back at the house?” Still, he kept on. And the nearer they got to the city, the larger it grew, the walls stretching both outward and upward, half a mile to the other side and hundreds of feet high. By the time Willy stopped before the city gates, he himself was dwarfed by the scale of the city.

“Wow,” he said, looking up, “it’s…really big.”

The walls were made of heavy blocks of gray-black stone that had been fitted together with great craftsmanship and precision. Indeed, the very fact that the walls were still standing so many centuries after the city had been abandoned—though they were covered by a thick lattice of weeds and vines, and there were large holes where chunks of stone had sheared away—testified to the skill of the city’s masons.

The gates were as high as the walls and made of wood and, no doubt thanks to whatever their makers had treated them with, appeared whole and solid. Somewhat gingerly, Willy placed one palm against the wood and pushed. The gate opened a few feet, then stopped. He pushed harder, and the gate gave a little more. Finally, he set the children and Gabriel on the ground, took two steps back, charged forward, and rammed his shoulder against the gate. The children heard ripping and snapping, Emma saw strange, silvery-gray bands on the inside breaking free, and the gate flew open.

Picking himself up from the ground, Willy lifted the children and Gabriel to his shoulders and stepped through the gate, along a portico, and out into a large square. A wide boulevard of flattened stone led away from them, down through the center of the city, while two other streets split off to either side. The buildings before them were both impossibly massive and impossibly tall. It was hard for the children even to process what they were seeing; it was almost as if the city were normal-sized and they had shrunk to the size of insects.

But what was most notable, what had the children’s hearts beating in their throats, was not the sheer enormity of the city. It was that everything—the streets, the buildings, the walls, even the giant streetlamps—was covered by the same silvery-gray bands that had barred the door. It was almost a kind of netting or even—

“They’re spiderwebs!” Emma said.

“But that’s—that’s not possible!” Michael exclaimed. He had a long history of arachnophobia (he even yelped at the harmless daddy longlegs Emma routinely put in his bed as “therapy”). “They’d have to be—”

“Giant,” Willy said. “Giant spiders. Yep.”

“You knew about this?” Kate asked.

“Well, I didn’t know that they’d taken over the city. But back in King Davey’s time, there was giant everything, giant sheep and giant cows and giant chickens. The royal magicians did that, made everything up to scale, so to speak—only way you could hope to feed a city full of big folk. Problem was, in the casting of the spell, wasn’t just chickens and sheep that got big. Other things got big too.”

“Like spiders,” Emma said.

“Most a’ the giant creatures died out or were eaten up long ago, and we don’t have magicians now to do the spell; that’s why we spend all our time scrounging for food. But looks like the spiders might’ve survived.”

For a moment, they just stared at the mummified city. Here and there, strands of webbing had broken free and wafted in the breeze.

“So where are they?” Emma said.

For besides the drifting webs, nothing moved. Nor were there any bodies of spiders lying about.

“Perhaps they are dead,” Gabriel said. “Or have abandoned the city. Those webs look old.”

The children had to agree. The webbing was dried out and fraying, like ancient lace.

“So what do we do now?” Michael said, and it sounded as if he would’ve been quite happy if someone had said, “We turn around and forget all about this.”

“We go on,” Emma said, and, unable to resist, she added, “even if there are giant, hairy spiders waiting to eat us!”

Kate gave her a look.

After a short discussion, they decided to proceed straight down the boulevard, into the heart of the city. Willy had drawn his sword, and he used it to clear the way, though he had to pause regularly and clean off the webs that stuck to the blade. His steps were quieter than normal, and when Emma glanced down, she saw that webs were clinging to the giant’s feet, so that it looked like he was wearing a pair of fluffy white shoes.

As they moved forward, the children stared up at the buildings on either side, and the hugeness of the city began to strike home. Indeed, peering down side streets—which were crisscrossed with gray webs like streamers for a parade—the children found that the town houses and buildings in the distance seemed like far-off mountain ranges.

Still they saw no spiders, living or dead.

“It’s actually a nice city,” Michael said, after they’d been walking for a while and were passing a park surrounded by shops and cafés.

Even Willy seemed to have overcome his nerves.

“It’s just as Da’ always said. Beautiful.”

Then they entered an enormous square and stopped. Before them stood a massive building from which a tower rose five hundred feet into the air, far above anything else in the city. It was capped by a silver dome, and Emma realized that this was the tower and dome she’d seen from the forest.

“It’s the palace of King Davey,” Willy said, with dumbfounded reverence. “He had it built ‘cause he kept banging his head on the doorways of the old palace.”

“We have to go inside,” Emma said.

“Is it in there?” Kate asked. “Do you feel something?”

Emma shook her head. “I just know.”

Willy needed no more encouragement, and with the children and Gabriel holding on as best they could, he hurried across the square, ran up half a dozen stone steps to an open colonnade, and then used his sword to hack through the thick webbing that swathed a set of giant ceremonial doors.

The inside of the palace was free of webs, and the group made fast progress through a series of vestibules and waiting rooms. The air was musty and stale, and though it was the middle of the day, only a faint grayish light penetrated the webbing that covered the windows from the outside, giving the palace a gloomy, tomblike air. A thick layer of dust carpeted the floor, and Willy left a cloudy trail behind them. After passing through the sixth or seventh antechamber, Willy pushed open a pair of intricately wrought metal doors, they entered a large circular room, and Willy stopped dead.

“King Davey’s throne room. Has to be.”

The room was built directly beneath the tower, allowing Willy and Gabriel and the children to look straight up nearly five hundred feet. Light filtering down showed a chamber that seemed oddly plain and unadorned, as if everything had been stripped away to focus all attention on the round dais in the center.

“That was where he sat, dispensing wisdom to his people. But what happened to his throne?”

For an immense stone chair, one that clearly was intended to sit on top of the dais, lay upturned on the floor, giving the impression that it had been thrown roughly aside.

“Willy,” Kate said, “put us down.”

The giant knelt at the edge of the dais, and Gabriel and the children leapt down. They peered through the gloom.

“There is something there,” Gabriel said. “I will—”

But Emma was already hurrying forward. The others were just behind her, and they all gathered about the object in the center of the dais. It lay beneath a shroud of black linen and was surrounded by a ring of rose petals and half-burned candles.

“It’s almost like a shrine or something,” Michael said.

“Someone has been here recently,” Gabriel said, staring at the shadows in the corners of the chamber. “The last day or so.”

Emma reached out and began to pull back the shroud.

“Emma,” Kate said, “wait—”

There was a collective gasp, and Emma jerked her hand away. Beneath the shroud lay a figure, arms crossed neatly over its chest. That the figure was dead, there was no doubt. But it was not a skeleton, nor was it the fresh body of a corpse. It seemed to be something in between. It was as if all the liquid had been sucked out of the body so that the skin was drawn back hard and dark against its bones. Its mouth was stretched open, displaying small, yellow-back teeth. Rotten bandages were wrapped around its body.

“It’s almost like a mummy,” Michael said.

“Is that the stranger, then?” Willy asked. “?’E’s so small.”

“There’s something in his hand,” Emma said, and she carefully pulled the object from the corpse’s fingers. It was an ancient, dry, time-darkened piece of parchment. “It’s a message.”

“You won’t be able to read it,” Michael said. “I imagine it’s written in some old, forgotten language. Better give it here.”

“No, I can read it.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Michael argued. “English wasn’t even invented two thousand or whatever years ago.”

“What’s it say?” Kate asked.

“It says”—Emma’s voice echoed in the throne room—“?’If you want the Reckoning, you will have to bring me back.’?”

There was a long moment in which the only sound was Willy’s thick breathing overhead.

Then Gabriel said: “This is a trap.”

“Yes,” Kate said. “Obviously.”

“So what?” Emma said, angry that once again she was having to explain herself, that the others, and Kate especially, didn’t just trust her. “Getting the book is our only hope! And we’ve already been here for two days! Who knows what the Dire Magnus is doing! But I doubt he’s been, like, taking a vacation! And you can get us out of here if something happens! We don’t—”

“Emma’s right,” Michael said, cutting her off. “We don’t have a choice.”

And without waiting for Kate to agree, Michael pulled the red-leather Chronicle from his bag and knelt on the stone dais beside the linen-wrapped figure. He opened to a seemingly random place in the middle, then reached out with his right hand and took hold of the figure’s blackened, shriveled hand. His other hand he placed on the book.

Emma glanced at Kate, but their older sister seemed, at least for now, willing to go along. Then Michael closed his eyes, and flames erupted over the surface of the book. Emma couldn’t help but note that this was the second time in two days that Michael had supported her in an argument with Kate. Yesterday in Willy’s room, and now here. She knew Michael still thought of her as a little kid—she’d seen the look he’d given Kate last night beside the fire—so then why did he keep taking her side? It confused her and annoyed her and pleased her all at once.

Suddenly, Michael gasped, his eyes snapped open, and the book fell from his lap. The flames died, and the room became darker. Emma dropped down beside him.

“Michael?! What is it? What happened?”

He was covered in sweat and shaking, gasping. “It’s…it’s…”

“Oh no….”

Emma saw Kate staring down at the figure, and there was a look of both recognition and horror on her face. Emma turned back; the figure’s dry, blackened skin was filling out and growing lighter. She could hear a cracking and looked to see the skeletal hand flexing its fingers as the wrappings holding it in place began to disintegrate.

“Michael!” Kate’s voice was frantic. “You have to stop it! You—”

“I can’t! It’s too late!”

The tattered bandages were flaking and falling away as the figure began to stir. There was a snapping as its jaw moved.

“What’s going on?” Emma demanded. “Who—”

The figure was identifiable now as a woman, though a very old one. Then it—or rather she—coughed, a dry, hacking cough, as if clearing her throat of centuries of dust and congealed phlegm.

“We have to go,” Kate said. “Take my hand!”

“No!” Emma said, pulling away. “Tell me who it is!”

The figure slowly sat up, using her shriveled, clawlike hand to tear away more of the wrappings. She may have been alive, Emma reflected, but she didn’t look that much better than when she’d been dead. Her skin was sagging and mottled. Her hair was gray and stringy, her teeth yellowed and cracked.

Then she spoke, and the voice, though hoarse and shaking, was familiar.

“Yes, tell her who I am, my dear. I’m hurt she doesn’t recognize her old friend.”

The figure blinked, and Emma saw a pair of violet eyes and knew, finally, whom they had brought back to life.

“Shall I tell you?” The Countess pushed herself up to standing. “I’m the only person in the world who knows where the Reckoning is hidden. More than two thousand years I’ve waited for you. I want what was taken from me! My youth! My beauty! The Chronicle has that power. Restore me to what I was, and I will give you not just the Reckoning, but something you desire even more! Our journey together is not yet ended! You thought your Countess was dead! You were wrong! I live! I live, and I will have my revenge! I will—”

And that was all she got out before Willy stomped on her. CHAPTER TWELVE

The Nest

Willy was grinding his foot left and right, left and right, as if intent on turning whatever remained of the Countess into powder, then periodically raising his foot for another stomp, which simply sent more Countess splatter shooting toward the children.

“And that’s for killing King Davey!” Stomp! “And that’s for destroying my entire civilization!” Stomp! “And that’s for Big Rog always clouting me on the head!” Stomp! “And that’s—”

Finally, the screams of the children stopped him.

“What?” he asked innocently. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Emma shrieked. “You stomped her!”

“?’Course I stomped her! You saw what she did to King Davey!”

“But we needed her! And you—you smooshed her!”

“We don’t need her,” Michael said quietly.

“What’re you talking about?” Emma whirled toward him. “She knew where the Reckoning was! Now she’s just goop! We’ll never—”

“I know where the Reckoning is. When I use the Chronicle, I live the other person’s whole life, remember? I know where she hid it.”

Emma stared at her brother. He had picked up the Chronicle, which he’d dropped when the Countess had come back to life, and now held it tight against his chest. Beads of sweat stood out on his face and forehead.

“You really know where it is?” Kate asked.

Michael nodded. “And I know how she got it, and why she brought it here, and what we have to do to get it.”

“Oh,” Emma said, “that’s okay, then.”

The children sat down on the edge of the dais, while Gabriel remained standing. Emma was impatient for Michael to tell them where the Reckoning was, but he was clearly shaken and needed to recover.

“Take your time,” Kate said.

“Yeah,” Emma said. “But not, you know, too much time.”

Behind them, Willy was using a soiled handkerchief the size of a bedsheet to clean Countess off the bottom of his foot. Emma tried not to watch. She told herself the Countess had deserved it, but even so, she had to admit that getting stomped on was not the nicest way to go.

“After everything happened in Cambridge Falls and we saved the kids, the Countess waited around for fifteen years to try to surprise Kate, remember? When we were down at the Christmas party, she cornered her with a knife.”

“Yeah,” Emma said, “and Kate took her into the past and dumped her.”

Kate said nothing; she was looking at Michael with a tense, worried expression, as if scared of what he might say next. But why? Emma wondered. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Kate left the Countess on top of a house in Rhakotis,” Michael went on. He was speaking softly, but his voice seemed loud in the empty chamber. “This was twenty-five hundred years ago. The city was under attack from Alexander the Great and the Dire Magnus. The sky was thick with dragons. Buildings crumbled as sand trolls tunneled up from below. There was screaming. Fire. The city was doomed. She was doomed.”

Emma heard Willy walk across the chamber and start up the stairs that led to the tower. Michael had slid the Chronicle into his bag, and he was clenching his hands to stop, or at least hide, their trembling.

“But it was then, standing on the roof, that she realized that far from killing her, Kate had given her the chance for her ultimate revenge.”

“Oh no…,” Kate whispered.

“?’Oh no’ what?” Emma said. “?’Oh no’ what?”

“Let your brother speak,” Gabriel said softly.

“I am!” Emma protested, then murmured, “Sorry. Go on.”

“After the siege of Rhakotis,” Michael said, “the Books were lost for more than two thousand years. What Kate did was to take the Countess to the last moment that all three were gathered together in the same place. It was exactly what she wanted.”

Kate shook her head, muttering, “How could I have been so stupid?”

Dust was drifting down on the children’s heads as Willy tromped up the stairs of the tower, but none of them noticed, intent as they were on Michael describing how the Countess had made her way through the city, how when she’d arrived at the tower of the magicians, she’d seen a group of small figures at the very top, how she’d known they were the wizards, using all their art and power to defend the city, how she’d been knocked backward by an explosion, and how when the dust had cleared, the top of the tower, and the wizards, were gone.

“That was her chance. The tower’s defenses were down, and she made herself invisible and slipped inside.”

Then it had been simple. The Countess had come upon two from the Order of the Guardians, and she’d followed them as they went to a hidden staircase and then down, deep into the earth. They unknowingly guided her past dozens of traps and defenses. Finally, they’d come to the door of a vault.

“She’d hoped for the Chronicle,” Michael told his sisters. “She wanted to be young again. Beautiful. But when the door opened and she saw the Reckoning, she knew this was better. The Reckoning was the book the Dire Magnus wanted most of all, the one most necessary to his plans, and also the only one that could kill him.” Michael looked up at Kate. “As much as she hated you—hated all of us—she hated him more. He’d stolen her youth, made her old and ugly. She would never forgive him.

“She slit both the Guardians’ throats and took the book for herself.”

None of them spoke. More dust showered down.

“And why didn’t she simply kill the Dire Magnus then?” Gabriel said. “She had the book.”

“She couldn’t. She still wanted to come back to life. And if she’d killed the Dire Magnus, he’d never have been there to find her when she was a teenager in Russia. She couldn’t mess with the future. She had to hide the book and hope we would come and find her. So that’s what she did. She came here, hid it, then lay down and died.”

“So where is it?” Kate asked.

Michael rose and walked to the center of the dais, where there was still an ugly, dark, Countess-y smear. He pulled out his knife and cut a thin red line across his palm, letting three drops of blood fall onto the stone. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the stone seemed to absorb the blood, there was a rumbling and scraping, and the dais began to separate down the middle. Emma was pulled back by Gabriel as two staircases were revealed, one giant-sized and another human-sized, side by side, corkscrewing down into the darkness.

“She knew the book had to stay hidden for thousands of years,” Michael said. “But where could she hide it so that no one, not even the Dire Magnus, would find it? Then she remembered that the king of the giants had guarded a great secret.”

Emma peered over the edge into the darkness. A rank odor rose up, assaulting her nostrils. She still didn’t feel anything. No pull at her chest. Nothing.

“Did I ever tell you”—Michael too was peering down into the darkness—“what drew the elves to that valley in Antarctica? There was a portal there, between the worlds of the living and the dead. Turns out, it’s not the only one.”

“Wait,” Kate said. “You mean—”

“She hid the book in the world of the dead.”

Gabriel prepared a pair of torches, while Michael pulled two small flashlights from his bag and gave one to Emma. Kate took a torch. Just then, thundering footsteps boomed from above, and they looked up through the dust-choked air to see Willy racing down the tower stairs, shouting, “Big Rog…Big Rog…Big Rog…” He was taking the stairs two and three at a time, and in a few moments he was beside them, bent over and panting: “Big Rog—Sall—couple others! They’re out there! Heading this way!”

“You’d better come with us,” Kate told the giant.

But Willy straightened—with some difficulty, as he was still panting—and laid his hand on the hilt of his sword. “No. It’s time I stood up to him for good. And where better than the throne room a’ King Davey?”

“But there’re four of them!” Emma said.

“I’ll challenge Big Rog to single combat,” Willy said stoutly. “He’ll have to honor that. Also, you need someone to slide the dais back so he don’t follow you.”

Emma doubted that Big Rog would honor the traditions of single combat, since he didn’t even honor the traditions of basic hygiene, but Willy seemed determined, and they had no more time. The children and Gabriel started down the staircase, and Willy began to close the dais behind them. They had only gone a little way when they looked up to see the last sliver of light disappear.

Then all was silent and dark.

“This way,” Michael said.

The passage they were descending was appropriately enormous, and it went on and on, deeper and deeper underground. And the deeper they went, the colder the air grew, and the stronger the foul, rotting smell became.

“What I don’t understand,” Emma said, “is that the Countess only got the Reckoning because Kate took her back in time. And that only just happened. Who had the Reckoning before that?”

“Probably those other two Guardians,” Michael said. “They were on their way to get it when she killed them.”

“Which all got changed because of me,” Kate said. “And it’s my fault too that they’re dead.”

“You had no way of knowing,” Gabriel said.

“Yeah,” Emma said. “It’s not like the stupid Atlas came with instructions.”

They kept on walking. After a few minutes, they heard a muffled cry from above, followed by sounds of thudding and crashing. No one spoke; they knew that Willy was probably being ganged up on by Big Rog and Sall and the others, but there was nothing they could do. They simply kept moving downward, and the sounds faded.

Finally, the carved stairs ended, and the passage below them opened up into a deeper, vaster cavern. Michael was in the lead, but before he could take another step, Gabriel reached forward and seized his shoulder, stopping him.

“What is it?” Michael said. “We’re getting close—”

“Look.” Gabriel raised his torch, gesturing into the darkness. Emma and Michael both lifted the beams of their flashlights.

“Gaahghh!” Michael fell backward into Emma, nearly knocking them both over. Directly in front of them, a few feet above their heads and perched on a swath of webbing that stretched across the passage, was a spider the size of a hippopotamus. Its jointed legs were curled up under its body, and the light from their flashlights and torches refracted off the creature’s eyes in dozens of directions. Its fangs were the length of Emma’s forearm.

“Is it…dead?” Kate said.

For though it seemed to be staring right at them, the spider had yet to move.

“Perhaps,” Gabriel said. “I am no expert in spiders. But none of them appear to be moving.”

“?’Them’?!” Michael blurted. “What do you mean ‘them’?”

Again, Gabriel pointed, and Michael and Emma turned their flashlights outward and down, illuminating the thick webbing that crisscrossed the entire stadium-sized cavern below them. Even then it took Emma a moment to understand what she was seeing, what the large, heavy shapes hanging here and there—hanging everywhere—actually were.

They had found the missing spiders.

The smallest were the size of pigs, while the largest, with their massive rounded bodies, were elephantine. And everywhere Michael and Emma moved their flashlights they saw more pairs of glittering eyes. There must’ve been fifty or sixty spiders spread about the cavern, their jaws bristling with enormous fangs.

Emma could hear Michael beginning to hyperventilate.

“They’re not moving,” Kate said. “Are they dead?”

“That or sleeping,” Gabriel said. “Having devoured everything in the city, they may have gone into hibernation.”

“You mean they could just…wake up?” Michael whispered.

“We must avoid the webbing,” Gabriel said. “That is how they sense the presence of a threat.”

“Or food,” Emma muttered.

Michael’s eyes seemed to have doubled in size, and his voice shook. “None of this was in the Countess’s memories.”

“No,” Gabriel said. “They would have come after. Where do we go?”

Michael didn’t respond, so Emma took his hand and stepped in front of him, forcing him to look at her. “Michael, we can’t stay here. Where do we go?”

Michael took a deep breath, then pointed his flashlight at the base of the cavern, the trembling beam illuminating the mouth of a large tunnel that wormed its way deeper into the black rock. “There.”

“Good,” Emma said. “Now come on. I’ll hold your hand.”

And the two of them led Gabriel and Kate down a rough pathway that snaked along the wall to the bottom of the cavern. It was slow going avoiding the webs, and once Michael’s foot caught on a strand and it twanged like piano wire, setting the entire structure humming and the spiders’ bodies quivering and shaking. The children and Gabriel, his sword out and ready, all froze, hardly breathing, watching….

But the quivering finally ceased, and the spiders did not stir.

Shortly afterward, they reached the base of the cavern. The spiders were now all above them, their shadows wavering in the torchlight.

“Don’t look at them,” Emma whispered to her brother.

Michael held her hand even more tightly and nodded at the mouth of the tunnel. “The portal’s just down at the end. Not far.”

There was more webbing in the tunnel, but no more spiders. The children and Gabriel moved slowly, careful to avoid the strands, now getting down on their hands and knees to crawl under a web, now having to step over a cable. The floor of the tunnel was littered with old bones, mostly, the children hoped, of sheep. Here and there they saw the mouths of other tunnels, all of them latticed with webs, but Michael kept them going straight.

Emma waited to feel that pull in her chest that Michael and Kate had spoken of, but still she felt nothing.

The tunnel doglegged to the left, and as they rounded the corner, Michael said, “We’re almost there. I have to tell you something—”

But then, for the second time, Gabriel stopped them.

“Do not move.”

The end of the tunnel was perhaps twenty yards farther on, and as Emma looked up, she finally did feel something in her chest. Only it was not the pull of the missing book. It was panic, utter and complete panic. Covering the end of the tunnel was a web, and in the middle of the web was by far the biggest spider they had yet encountered. Its body was made of two enormous segmented pods. Its legs were spread out like the buttresses of a cathedral. It had not one set of fangs but three, each tusk at least a yard long.

“But that’s”—Michael’s voice rose to the point of hysteria—“where the opening to the portal is!”

Gabriel grunted, as if to say, “Of course.”

“You mean,” Kate said, “we have to go through that…thing to get to the portal?”

“Not ‘we’…,” Michael said, turning to face his sisters. “That’s what I was going to tell you. Emma, you have to go. Alone.”

“What?!” Kate’s voice echoed off the tunnel walls.

Michael spoke hurriedly. “It’s like Wilamena told me. The living can’t pass into the world of the dead. But the Keeper of the Book of Death can. The Countess knew that. That’s how she knew she was hiding the book somewhere only Emma could get to it, how she knew it’d be safe!” He looked at Emma and his eyes were filled with regret. “I’m so sorry. I wish there was some other way. I wish we could all go, or that I could go! I would! You have to believe me!”

Emma said nothing. From the moment Michael had said that she would have to go into the world of the dead alone, she’d felt the strongest sense of déjà vu, as if she had been here before, had known this was going to happen. She wasn’t even upset.

Not surprisingly, it was Kate who objected.

“No! That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Kate,” Michael said, glancing nervously at the spider, “could you maybe keep your voice down….”

“How did the Countess hide the book in the world of the dead if she couldn’t take it there herself? Explain that.”

“She went as far as she could,” Michael said, “to the edge of the portal, and summoned a spirit from that world. She gave it the book, then went back to the throne room, lay down, and died.”

“Why didn’t she get the book back after she died?” Emma asked.

“I don’t know,” Michael said. “I only have her memories from when she was alive.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kate said, and Emma could see she was becoming more and more set and determined. “It’s obvious the Countess is trying to split us up. Emma’s not going anywhere alone. How can you even suggest it?”

“Honestly?” Michael said, growing agitated himself. “How can you be against it? I was in the Countess’s memories. I’ve seen what the Reckoning can do! You’ve seen it too. The Dire Magnus showed you on the boat in Cambridge Falls. He showed you the world on fire! That’s what he’ll do if he gets the book! We have to stop him!”

“That doesn’t—”

“I don’t want Emma to go any more than you do! I wish I could go in her place! But this is the only way!”

“No. I made a promise to Mom to protect you both. I can’t let her go.”

Then Michael said, “Really, Kate, it’s not up to you, is it?”

Kate opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. It was a strange moment to happen in that place, but Emma had been noticing how much older Michael had seemed, how the balance of power between him and Kate had become more equal in the past days. It had been a subtle, gradual change. Now he was saying definitely that Kate no longer had to, or got to, make all the decisions. At the same time, Emma understood that she was not yet a part of their club of adulthood, that Michael was simply supporting her in this one thing. He was stepping up beside Kate, while Emma remained where she was.

Still, it mattered that he believed she could do this.

Michael pulled his dwarfish knife from his belt and handed it to her. “You might need this.”

“Thank you.” As she took it, she looked directly at him, not worrying about the tears she could feel gathering in her eyes, letting him know what his words had meant.

He nodded, and Emma turned to her sister.

“I’m sorry, Kate. Michael’s right; I have to go.”

“Emma…” Kate reached for her hand. “There has to be another way. Give us some time to think. Please.”

Emma shook her head. “It’s too late. Some of the Reckoning is already in me. I have to see this through.”

Before Kate could say anything more, there was a sound, something between a shout and a roar echoing down the tunnel. All four of them turned.

“What…was that?” Michael said.

“Quiet,” Gabriel said.

Then they heard it, faint but steadily building, a clicking and snapping and hissing, and they looked up and saw the silvery-gray webbing that stretched above them vibrating furiously. The children and Gabriel turned back, following the trembling to the end of the tunnel. They turned almost slowly, as if knowing what they would see but wanting to delay the moment of seeing it as long as possible. The great spider’s head was raised, and it was staring down at them with huge, glittering eyes. Three sets of fangs opened wide.

Gabriel shouted, “Run!”

They bolted toward the main cavern, making no attempt now to avoid the webs, the old strands ripping from the walls, clinging to their arms and legs. They ran toward the cries and yells and clicking and hissing, while behind them, the giant spider charged forward, its approach heralded by the pounding of its legs on the rock, the snapping of its jaws. Kate shouted that she could use the Atlas, she could take them away—and knowing what that would mean, Emma realized what she had to do.

Gabriel had charged ahead, cutting a path through the webs with his sword, perhaps not hearing Kate’s cry about the Atlas. “This way!” he shouted. “Quickly!” And he led them down smaller, twisting side tunnels, clearly hoping the great spider would be unable to follow. Then, with no warning, they emerged from a tunnel and found themselves at the edge of the main cavern. They were covered in strands and wisps of old webbing, so that they looked like ghouls that had escaped from their graves, but they paid that no mind. They simply stopped and stared.

In the middle of the cavern, screaming and flailing about and tangled up in webs, were three giants. The children recognized Sall, Willy’s sister, waving about a torch—which was not so much a torch as an entire uprooted tree, the branches of which had been lit on fire—and vainly trying to stomp on and kill the dozen or so spiders that were crawling all over her. And there were two other giants as well, both of whom Kate recognized from Big Rog’s feast, a red-faced, googly-eyed giant and a squat, bald giant. They too had burning trees, but they also had clubs and were using both trees and clubs to swat at the spiders as they were attacked and swarmed, all the time screaming at the tops of their lungs.

Just then, an enormous spider landed on top of the bald giant’s head, and the giant shrieked, “Get it off! Get it off!” and the other, somewhat goofy-looking giant lifted his club and smashed the spider, and the other giant’s head in the process. The bald giant dropped senseless to the floor and was immediately covered by spiders, who began wrapping him in webs even as the other giant went on clubbing both the spiders and the body of his friend.

Then Michael said, “It’s not following us.”

“What?” Kate said.

“The big spider, it’s not following us anymore.”

He was shining his light down the tunnel, and Kate looked back the way they had come and saw that the tunnel was empty.

“Wait—” Kate said, suddenly frantic. “Where’s Emma?”

For Emma, it was now apparent, was not with them.

“She must have dropped back,” Gabriel said. “I did not see.”

But before Kate could do or say anything else, Michael was lifted into the air. Gabriel leapt for him, but Michael was already too high, raised aloft by the forelegs of a gigantic spider. Michael screamed, and Kate was reaching into herself for the magic to stop time, when something smashed down on the spider from above, crushing it into a wet glob. Released, Michael fell to the ground. Kate ran to him; he was shaking with fear and shock.

“Michael!”

“I’m…I’m…” was all he could get out.

A voice boomed, “You two all right, then?”

Willy stood above them, holding a flaming tree in one hand and what looked like a mace in the other. He had blood on the side of his head, but looked otherwise unharmed.

“Where’s the wee-est one?”

“Down…the tunnel,” Kate said. “She…”

Behind Willy, a dozen giants carrying torches and clubs were thundering into the cavern, leaping down to crush the spiders as they landed, rescuing Sall and the red-faced giant, both of whom were almost completely covered in a scrambling mass of legs and fangs. And the spiders seemed to sense the danger and made to flee, but the giants were after them, hitting them—and frequently hitting each other—with enormous blows from their clubs.

“Seems Big Rog don’t hold to the traditions of single combat,” Willy said. “All four of ‘em ganged up on me and whacked me on the head. And they must’ve seen me moving the dais back ‘cause when I came to, I seen they’d scuttered down here. Sorry about that.”

“But—who’re all these other giants?” Michael said.

“Oh yeah. Turned out that hearing how Big Rog was coming to beat my brains in, everyone else had one a’ them epiphany things. Decided it was time to get back to some a’ what we giants used to be. Reclaim our lost dignity. They found me on the floor a’ the throne room. Now we’re clearing these spiders out of our city, ain’t we?”

As he said this, he swung his mace and obliterated a spider that was escaping along the cavern wall.

Kate didn’t wait to hear any more. Without saying anything to Michael, she turned and ran back down the tunnel, following the path Gabriel had cleared, while behind her Willy said:

“Where’s Big Rog, then? I owe him a lump.”

Michael’s knife sliced easily through the web at the back of the cave, but Emma found that the web gummed the edge and she had to keep stopping to pull off the gooey, prickly strands.

In truth, she was amazed she was still alive.

When she and her brother and sister and Gabriel had rounded the corner, she’d thrown herself onto the ground, turned off her flashlight, and covered her head. As the footsteps of the others had sped away, every part of her body had screamed for her to get up, but then it was already too late. She’d heard the spider coming closer, and she pressed herself into the rock, her face in a pool of dank, foul-smelling water, and closed her eyes. It had been a terrifying few moments, lying there as the great spider had passed over her, its metallic legs striking the rock floor only inches from her head. But then she’d looked up to see its silhouette disappear around the bend, and she’d risen and raced back the other way.

Now, little by little, she cut away the webbing, revealing a smaller, person-sized tunnel going back into the rock wall. She shone the flashlight into it, but the beam couldn’t penetrate the darkness. She had the oddest sense that the tunnel had been waiting for her. That the entire reason it had come into being was so she could pass through. She took a step forward and gasped.

It was that sudden: one step and there it was, just as Michael had said, a hook in her chest, pulling her forward. Any doubts she’d had that this was the right course, the only course, vanished. But she hesitated. She sensed that she was on the cusp of something irrevocable, that if she took just one step farther, she would be leaving behind not just her brother and sister, not just the world of the living, but in some fundamental way, she would be leaving behind her own self, that if she managed to get the book and make it back to the other side, she would be different than she now was.

That, as much as anything else, scared her.

“Well, well, well. Look what we have here!”

Emma turned. Big Rog stood behind her, holding a burning tree in a thumbless hand that was wrapped in a dirty, bloody bandage. His other hand held an iron-studded club. His eyes were wild and murderous.

“Knew I’d catch you. No one gets away from Big Rog! Least of all ‘is dinner. So what’s so special down here? What’s it you’re all looking for? Gold? Treasure? What?”

“Nothing like that.” Emma heard her own voice, calm, even cold. “There’s a portal here. It takes you to the world of the dead.”

“How very NOT interesting! But the only place you’re going is in me mouth! And we’ll see if you can go predicting a fella’s death then, eh?!”

“I don’t have to predict your death.”

“And why’s that?”

“?’Cause you’re gonna die right now.”

“Oh, and who’s gonna kill me? You?”

“No.” And Emma pointed over the giant’s shoulder. “She is.”

Big Rog turned, and when he did, the great spider, which had been clinging to the ceiling just behind him, landed full on the giant’s face. Big Rog fell over backward, screaming, dropping his torch and club, scrabbling to pull off the spider as it plunged its fangs into his throat again and again. Emma thought the creature’s fangs must’ve been coated in poison, for she could see the giant growing weaker by the second as the spider’s legs locked fast around his face.

When he was still, the spider neatly lifted Big Rog up off the floor and spun her silk around and around him, encasing him in silvery-gray thread. In a moment, Big Rog was wrapped up neatly in a cocoon, and the spider dragged him off down a side tunnel.

Emma watched it all without moving. Then, as she began to turn:

“Emma!”

Kate appeared around the corner, Michael just behind her, her torch and his flashlight bobbing in the darkness.

“Stop!”

But Emma had to go—she had to find the book. And she could feel it still, pulling her onward. She wanted to tell Kate and Michael that she loved them, that she would see them again, but there was no time. She took three steps into the tunnel and stopped. She looked back. The cavern, Kate, and her brother were gone. There was only a rock wall. The portal had done what it had been built for. The Keeper had passed through. “Okay,” Emma said quietly. And she turned back around, to where the tunnel still stretched away into darkness, and walked on, into the world of the dead. CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Refugees

“Come,” Gabriel said, and led them close to the wall of the throne room.

The thick layer of dust that had blanketed the floor had been stirred up by the stomping of the giants, but Gabriel pointed to a set of human-sized footprints that proceeded through an untouched section.

“Those belong to the Secretary. I would know his tread anywhere.”

Kate looked at the footprints and thought of the sniveling, scraggly-haired, utterly ruthless, deeply unhygienic servant of the Countess. Kate had done her best not to think about the man at all in the past year—even his memory was unpleasant—but she forced herself to do so now, though all she really wanted was to go back into the cavern, past the giants who were chasing down the last of the spiders, and to the tunnel where Emma had walked into the world of the dead. But she knew that she would find only a solid rock wall.

Emma was gone.

“No doubt it was he who placed the rose petals and candles around the body of the Countess,” Gabriel went on. “I believe he was here in the past forty-eight hours.”

Willy had sent several giants out to clear the cobwebs from the palace windows, and sunlight now streamed into the throne room, transforming the gloom and revealing the stark, awesome beauty of the chamber.

Kate saw none of it.

“So where did he go?” Michael asked.

“Here.” Gabriel stepped over to the wall where there was, of all things, a human-sized door. He turned the ornate metal handle, revealing a corridor that stretched back into the palace.

“It’s normal size,” Michael said.

“In times past,” Gabriel said, “the king of the giants would have received emissaries and dignitaries from the human world; he would have had a suitable place for them to stay. But here is what is of note. The footprints begin on this side of the door but do not extend past it. The Secretary used it as a portal. I always assumed he had some magical ability. It was how he avoided me for so many years—”

“Stop it!” Kate couldn’t take any more. “Am I the only one who realizes what just happened? We rescued Emma, and now we’ve lost her—again! We have to do something!”

“But the portal closed after her,” Michael said, with a calmness that Kate found infuriating. “And even if it was open, we couldn’t go through.”

“So? There are other portals, right? Like the one in Antarctica! She has to come through somewhere! There must be something we can do!”

“I agree,” Gabriel said.

“You do?”

“Your sister has gone into the world of the dead. We cannot follow. As you say, our only hope is to find out where she is likely to emerge and be there when she does. But none of us are experts in such matters. You must use the Atlas to return to Loris and confer with the Council. They will have answers and guidance.” He shut the door. “But I will not be coming with you.”

“What? Why not?”

“Before the giant crushed the witch, she said she had something you wanted even more than the Reckoning. It may be that this is the answer Pym spoke of, the means of saving your lives; I must find out. The Secretary will know.”

Michael nodded. “If that’s true, she must’ve learned about it in the world of the dead; otherwise, I’d have gotten the memory. How will you find him?”

Gabriel knelt and took a pinch of yellow-brown dirt from one of the footprints and rubbed it between his fingers. “I have seen this color before. I know where it comes from.” He rose and pulled a golden key from his pocket.

Michael murmured, “That’s Dr. Pym’s.”

“Go to Loris,” Gabriel said. “Tell King Robbie all that has happened. Find out where your sister will emerge.” Gabriel inserted the key into the lock, the mustard-colored dirt rubbing off his fingers as he turned the key this way and that. Then there was a snapping sound, and Gabriel was holding the end of the key in his hand.

“It broke!” Michael exclaimed. “Were you turning it too hard? You shouldn’t force things.”

“I thought it might happen,” Gabriel said. “With Pym gone, his magic is fading.” But he opened the door, and the hallway beyond had been replaced by a vision of pine trees and a darkening sky. Kate and Michael smelled cool, clean air from somewhere else in the world, and heard the high buzzing of an engine. “Still, it has served us one last time. I will come as soon as I can.”

Then he stepped through, shut the door, and was gone.

“Where was that?” Michael said. “Where’d he go?”

“I don’t know.” There was no time to ponder, and anyway, Kate felt calmed by Gabriel’s words; they had a plan now, a direction. “Let’s say goodbye to Willy.”

The giant seemed genuinely sad to see them go, and he made them promise to return, saying they would find the city restored to its former glory. “And no one’ll try and put you in a pie! If they do, they’ll have me to answer to!”

They thanked him again; then Kate took Michael’s hand and, glancing about one last time, summoned the power of the Atlas and felt the ground vanish beneath her feet.

She knew instantly that something was wrong.

A second later, she was on her knees in her room in the Rose Citadel. The stone floor was cool and solid. Michael was pulling on her arm and shouting her name. There was a roaring in her ears, and she was gasping for breath.

“I’m…I’m okay.”

She struggled to understand what had happened. As she’d called up the magic of the Atlas, she’d felt a ripping, as if the air itself was being torn apart. But she’d kept going—indeed, at that point, she couldn’t have stopped if she’d wanted to. Only then it wasn’t just the air that was being torn apart, it was something inside of her.

This is what Rafe warned you about, she thought.

“Kate—”

“I’m okay.” She forced herself to stand and look around. It had been midafternoon in the city of the giants, but it was night here. At least the Atlas had taken them where they’d wanted to go. She could see Michael in the darkness, silhouetted by an orange-red glow outside the shuttered windows.

Then she realized that the roaring was not in her ears.

“Do you—”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

Together, she and Michael pushed open the shutters and stepped out onto the balcony. Fires burned all over the city. A vast armada pressed against the harbor and extended far out to sea. Swarms of figures were rushing up through the streets. Dark shapes flew across the sky. The screams of morum cadi tore apart the night.

The island was under attack.

They had to find King Robbie. That was the thought driving them forward. But as they raced through the darkened hallways, down staircases, and along twisting corridors, hearing the shouts and clamor from the city below, they found not a single soul. The Rose Citadel seemed to have been deserted.

But there was still fighting going on; they could hear it.

Then Kate and Michael burst through a door on the ground floor, almost falling over each other, and found themselves in the tunnel that led from the Garden to the front courtyard, where they saw a small group of dwarves battling a tide of Screechers and Imps swarming in through the Citadel gate.

Kate grabbed Michael’s hand. She had to use the Atlas; there was no other option. But where could they go? Where would it take them? Suddenly, the idea of using the magic scared her more than anything else.

Then one of the figures in the courtyard—it was too dark to see if it was friend or foe—broke away from the fighting and rushed toward them. Before Kate could decide what to do, the figure was on them.

“Bloody—It’s the children!”

And Kate and Michael found themselves looking at the smoke- and sweat- and blood-smeared face of Haraald, the red-bearded dwarf from Pym’s Council. He was wearing armor and held an ax in one mailed hand.

“What’s happening?” Kate was half-frantic. “Where’s—”

“No time! The city’s lost! We’re the last ones out! That’s if we make it! Now! Run!”

Haraald seized Kate’s hand, and she just had time to grab Michael’s as she was yanked away; but the dwarf was pulling her toward the fight in the courtyard, toward the Screechers and the Imps, and every part of Kate was thinking no no no no, but as soon as they reached the courtyard, Haraald pulled them to the right while shouting an order, and half a dozen dwarves broke off to follow. Kate and Michael and the dwarves ran around the side of the courtyard, away from the clanging of swords and axes and the shrieking of the Screechers, and then they were at the side wall, and there was a door, small and barred, and Haraald was shooting back the bolts, yanking the door open—“Where’re we going?!” Kate shouted. “Where’re you taking us?”

“The boats! The city’s lost, I said! The Dire Magnus himself is in the harbor! We have to go! Now!”

And, shouting for the door to be barred behind them, he dragged her through, with Michael still a step behind—

Then they were on a narrow, dark, steep path that wound down and away from the Rose Citadel and the city, and Haraald was pulling her at a run and Kate couldn’t see where she was stepping and she was terrified she would lose her footing and fall, for she could feel the emptiness to her side, and then her brother’s hand slipped from hers—

“Michael!”

“I’m okay! I’m here!”

His voice came from just behind her, and by then she saw the water below them, close now, and she saw too a pale beach and the dark shapes of boats drawn up on the shore, and then her feet were sinking among the small smooth stones of the beach, making cush-cush-cush sounds as she ran toward the water, and Haraald turned and she felt herself lifted up and other hands taking her and she was passed into one of the boats, and a moment later, Michael tumbled in beside her, and the boat was already pushing away, and she heard Haraald’s voice shouting, “Go! Get them to the King! Go!” She raised herself up to look at the rapidly receding shoreline and saw Haraald sprinting back up the beach to where the dwarves who’d followed them were battling a stream of Screechers and Imps that were pouring down the path. Then the boat passed out of the cove, around the side of the cliff, the scene vanished, and they were moving swiftly away across the dark water.

Kate lost track of how long they were on the water, but it was several hours at least. As soon as they had gotten clear of the cove, the dwarves on board—there were three of them, none of whom introduced themselves—had raised a set of black sails, which had immediately caught a stiff breeze and yanked the boat forward, across the water.

The island of Loris had disappeared quickly, but for a long time afterward, Kate could see the red-orange glow in the darkness, telling her where the island lay and that the fires still burned.

As Kate sat in the prow, listening to the keel cutting smoothly through the water, Michael went and spoke to the dwarves. He came back a while later, moving in a low crouch, his hand on the gunnel to steady himself.

“They’re taking us to meet up with King Robbie and the others.”

“The others?” Kate asked.

“The other refugees. The ones that got away from Loris.”

He said it as if there were those who hadn’t gotten away, and the thought chilled her. How had this happened? How had the city fallen so quickly?

“They wouldn’t tell me much,” Michael went on, “but I guess the attack started last night. They say it was clear from the beginning that the city couldn’t be saved and King Robbie ordered people to evacuate, but he kept fighting till almost everyone was out and safe.”

“What about the other dwarf? The one who helped us?”

“Haraald?” Michael looked back toward the island. “I think we just have to hope he got away.”

They were silent for a time. Kate could feel Michael watching her.

He asked, “How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“No, I feel fine, really—”

“Kate.” And Michael’s tone stopped her.

She gave in. “It’s like I can’t control the Atlas anymore. And…”

She found she couldn’t actually explain how it felt, but her frustration and confusion were apparent.

Michael nodded. “I didn’t say it before, but when I used the Chronicle to bring back the Countess, I felt like I was forcing something. There was this…ripping. I felt it with Emma too, in the fortress, only not as bad. It’s getting worse.”

“It’s the Books.”

“What do you mean?”

Kate thought of how to explain, and then how to explain how she knew what she knew without giving away that she had learned it from Rafe.

For a moment, she thought about telling him the truth.

But she said, “I don’t know. Dr. Pym just warned me it might happen.”

“Are we going to die?”

“No! Of course not—”

“Kate.”

Again it was that serious tone, and it was like the moment beneath the giants’ city when he’d challenged her authority, and she realized, He doesn’t need me to protect him anymore, he can protect himself, and that realization made her both happy and sad, for her little brother had grown up, and he had grown up well, he was strong and capable; and she thought that maybe she had done her job, done what she had promised her mother so many years before; and yet she was sad too, because he didn’t need her as much, and in that moment, part of Kate’s self fell away.

She said, “I don’t know.”

Michael nodded, and he sat down beside her and took her hand, and Kate felt something new beginning in the place of the thing that had just ended: she would not protect him anymore; they would protect each other.

They sailed on in silence, the trio of dwarves working the boat with quiet, grim efficiency. Islands slid by on either side, some of them just dark masses against the horizon, blotting out the stars, others close enough that the children could see individual features along their coasts. One island they passed glowed with an eerie green light, while another followed them for a while, like a dog herding a stranger off its land, before finally turning aside.

Time slipped away, and Kate was drifting off to sleep when she heard the dwarves giving and relaying orders in their low, gruff voices, and the boat tacked hard. She glanced over the prow to see where they were going, but the sea stretched on flat and empty. Then one of the dwarves came forward and tied a sprig from an olive tree onto the bow ring. Kate looked at Michael, but he only shrugged.

There was a shimmer in the air, the night seemed to part like a curtain, and where before had been open water there was now an island, dead ahead. It was hard to see much in the darkness, but Kate’s impression was that this was not the picturesque island that Loris was, with its olive trees and mountain and romantically soaring cliffs, but a brutal, rocky crag jutting up out of the water.

The dwarves had steered them toward a large natural harbor, and as they drew closer, Kate and Michael could see dozens of ships, from small fishing vessels to warships that could hold a hundred soldiers, anchored in the waters of the marina. Sounds were now reaching the children, of voices shouting, of the hammering of metal, the hulls of ships rocking against the water. And the children could see small fires all up and down the slope of the island, and figures, hundreds of them, moving about.

The sails were lowered; two of the dwarves grasped the oars and began pulling for shore while the third came forward and picked up a coiled rope attached to the bow.

He said simply, “We’re here.”

The boat glided between the ships at anchor, and as they neared the beach, a figure standing in shadow called out, “Who comes?”

“From Loris,” returned the dwarf in the bow, and he flung the rope to the figure, who caught it and began pulling the boat in. “We were with Haraald.”

“Who do you have with you?”

Kate saw Michael sit up straighter, as if he had recognized the voice of the speaker.

“Two of the children. We’re to bring them to the King.”

The figure hauled the boat up onto the rocky shore, and Kate and Michael felt it crunch to a stop; then they saw the speaker clearly for the first time.

“Captain Anton!” Michael said. “You’re alive!”

It was indeed the dark-haired elf captain, and not only was he alive, but he also looked to be, despite all that must’ve happened, as perfectly groomed as ever.

“I am. It is good to see you both well. The Princess especially will be pleased.”

He helped Kate down onto the beach. Michael leapt over the side himself and sort of sprawled on the rocks, but he was quickly up again, saying, “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

The elf captain looked back at the dwarf in the boat. “What of Haraald? The King has been eager for his arrival.”

“We left him fighting on the beach. He sent us on with the children. You’ll see them to the King?”

Captain Anton nodded. Kate, watching this exchange, had the sense that something significant was happening, but she wasn’t sure what.

Then the elf handed the rope back to the dwarf, took hold of the prow, and pushed the boat back into the water.

“Thank you!” Kate called.

“Yes. Thank you!” Michael said, but there was no answer from the boat; the dwarves were already moving out of the harbor.

“Where are they going?” Kate asked.

“To see if they can find Haraald,” Captain Anton said. “They won’t. Come.”

He led them up the beach and through what was, the children saw, a vast encampment. All along the shore to a hundred yards inland, groups of men and dwarves were massed around fires. Many of them were busy ferrying supplies from the boats, and then carrying them farther up the island. There were wounded everywhere, and those who were not themselves wounded, or tending to the wounded, or cooking or eating food, were sharpening and polishing weapons and armor.

“Where is your sister?” Captain Anton asked.

“That’s…kind of a long story,” Kate said.

“But she is alive? Safe?”

Kate glanced at Michael, wondering how to answer that question.

“Yes,” she said finally, because she herself had to believe it. “She is.”

“Captain,” Michael said, his voice betraying his nervousness, “you mentioned Princess Wilamena. Is she okay?”

“She is well. After being thrown by the cyclone, she was released from the Dark One’s hold. We saw you had escaped and therefore fled ourselves. Once we were clear of the valley, we passed through the portal that Pym had set up for our retreat. His death was a grave blow. You know that Wallace fell?”

“Yes,” Michael said. “I remember.”

“He was our friend,” Kate said. “We’ll miss him.”

“It is a dark moment in which we find ourselves,” Captain Anton said. “We must stand by one another. That is the only hope any of us has.”

Kate glanced at her brother, to see if he too had picked up some deeper meaning in the elf captain’s words, but Michael was staring straight ahead, his face unreadable.

They had been walking steadily uphill since leaving the beach, and Kate saw that they had come to a kind of division, and that while the fires and encampments continued on, the makeup of the camp had changed, as if in the lower camp, the one by the water, was the army, and in the upper, the civilian refugees, the shop owners and fishermen and families that lived on Loris and had been driven away.

Where the two camps met was a large green tent. There were torches on either side of the entrance, and several dwarfish guards stood out front. As they approached, the children could hear voices from inside, talking loudly over one another. And then figures began to emerge. Kate and Michael saw Wilamena’s father and Lady Gwendolyn, the silver-haired elf, appear and stalk off—gracefully, of course. They saw Magda von Klappen and Hugo Algernon and Captain Stefano and Master Chu, the Chinese wizard, emerge whispering and hissing to one another, and they saw three or four other dwarves and humans and elves whom they did not recognize all come out and head off to different parts of the camp.

“I would venture,” Captain Anton said, “that the Council did not go well.”

A solitary figure stepped out after the others and stood there, his face lit by the flare of the torches. It was King Robbie, and Kate’s first thought was how old and tired and gray-faced he looked. Then he turned and saw the children—there was a moment of shock—and his expression regained, for a moment, some of its former life.

“Why, bless me….”

And he was hugging both of them at once, pressing them against the metal studs of his tunic.

“We had no word of you!” He held them back to look at them, though only for a moment. Then he peered past them into the darkness. “But where’s wee Emma?”

“That’s what we have to talk to you about,” Kate said. “She’s okay. We think. But—”

“You can tell me as you eat. And I have much to tell you as well.” He glanced up at the elf. “Thank you, Captain.”

“I only escorted them from the beach. It was Haraald and his dwarves who got them out of Loris.”

“And Haraald is back safe?”

The elf captain shook his head.

“I see. Thank you all the same.”

Then he put his arms around the children and guided them into the tent.

The dwarf king sat them at the end of a table in the middle of his tent around which there were many chairs, most of them looking as if they had been roughly pushed back. It was there, Kate surmised, that the meeting had just taken place.

The tent itself was simply furnished, with half a dozen candles and lanterns illuminating the interior. There was the council table, which was strewn with various maps and papers and dirty glasses, and there was a smaller, square table on which stood various platters of food and jugs and bottles. King Robbie gathered the children’s dinner: fish, potatoes, olives, a kind of rice. A simple desk and chair faced one canvas wall. A suit of armor and a great ax stood at the back of the tent, as if waiting patiently for their master. There was nowhere to sleep, and Kate wondered if the dwarf king even planned on sleeping or had put that off for some other, more peaceful time.

“Eat. You both look famished. That’s a danger in wartime. You keep going and going, not realizing how run-down you are, and then, when you need your strength most, you have none.” He nodded at two dwarf servants who were taking away the last of the glasses and plates. “Thank you, lads. You be sure and get some sleep now.” He turned back to the children. “We just had a Council meeting. I’m worried, I don’t mind telling you. I don’t know that any of us ever really appreciated how much Pym did. I don’t mean his magic. I mean him, as a person. Elves, dwarves, humans—historically, there’s a lot a’ mistrust and bad blood. And I’m not saying the dwarves are innocent; we’re as guilty as any of ‘em. But Pym helped us forget all that and work together. With him gone, well, I try, but…” He shrugged, and his hands fell open. “Aye, it’s a grave blow, losing Stanislaus Pym, a grave blow.”

And Kate thought again that he looked very old and tired.

“But, Your Majesty,” Michael said, “what happened? We only left Loris a couple of days ago. How could it have been captured?”

Robbie McLaur gave a short, humorless laugh. “Ah, lad, I don’t know that we ever had much of a chance. Those who might be our natural allies—I’m talking humans, dwarves, elves, merfolk, fairies, some gnomes and giants—they’re scattered across a hundred miles a’ sea, and even farther afield, on the other side of the world. Getting them to abandon their homes and send their forces to Loris so we could concentrate our strength and perhaps have some hope of defeating the Dire Magnus? Well, they wouldn’t, would they?

“So the Dark One took the city with no more trouble than if we’d wrapped it up and given it to him. I take no joy in the fact that I predicted how it would go, but predict it I did. That’s why one a’ the first things I did when Pym put me in charge was to arrange a fallback point if we had to abandon Loris. A hidden place where we could keep a resistance alive. And so far, we’ve done that.

“But where to go from here, that’s the question.”

He sighed again and rubbed his face, and Kate stole a glance at Michael, seeing in his expression the same concern and worry she was feeling.

The dwarf king waved his hand. “Enough a’ that. The last I heard of you two was from Princess Wilamena and Captain Anton. They said that you”—he looked at Kate—“appeared in the Dire Magnus’s fortress and took your brother and sister and Gabriel and vanished. So where the devil, excuse my language, have you been these past days? Where’s your sister? I do hope wherever she is, she’s with Gabriel. Tell me that at least.”

And so Kate and Michael told him about the Atlas taking them to the land of the giants, how they’d almost been put into a pie, about going to the ancient city that had been taken over by monster spiders, how they had found the remains of the person who’d stolen the Reckoning from Rhakotis long ago and it had turned out to be the Countess—

“Not the same witch from Cambridge Falls!” King Robbie exclaimed, slapping the table with his fist. “She’s not back, is she?”

“No,” Kate said. “Well, she was for a second. Michael brought her back with the Chronicle, but then a giant stepped on her.”

Robbie McLaur chuckled. “Is that so? That would’ve been worth seeing. But did you find out where the Reckoning is hidden?”

Kate said they had, and she told how they had gone into the cavern below the giant city and found the sleeping spiders, and how it turned out that there was a portal to the world of the dead, and that that was where the Countess had hidden the Reckoning all those years before—

“You don’t say,” the dwarf king murmured. “Fiendishly clever, I’ll give her that, fiendishly clever.”

But then, they said, the spiders had woken up—

“They didn’t!”

If nothing else, the dwarf king was an excellent audience.

The children were both speaking, hurrying to get to the end, and they told how only Emma, the Keeper of the Reckoning, was able to go into the world of the dead, and after she had passed through, the portal had closed, and now they didn’t know where she would come out or when or even if.

“You don’t mean she’s gone there alone?” Robbie McLaur exclaimed. “What about Gabriel?”

“He went off to look for the Secretary.”

“Hmm. And you say the portal closed?”

“Yes. Which is why we have to find the other portals to the world of the dead. We know one’s in Antarctica, in the elfish forest, but there must be more. And then we have to figure out which one Emma will come through.”

Just saying all this stoked Kate’s panic anew. In the rush of events since leaving the giants’ city—the pain she’d felt when using the Atlas, Michael’s admission that he’d felt the same disturbance when he’d used the Chronicle—she’d allowed herself to forget just how distant Emma was, how great the obstacles were that separated them. But now it was all before her again, and she felt small and weak and hopeless.

The dwarf king stood, refilled his glass with wine, drank it off, refilled it again, and then returned to the table.

“Aye, there is one portal in the land of the lad’s Princess Wilamena—”

“She’s not my Princess Wilamena,” Michael said quickly. “I don’t know why you’d think that—”

“Michael—” Kate warned.

“And at least one more, on an island off the coast of Scotland.”

“That’s it?” Michael said. “Just those two?”

“Well, now, no,” the King said, looking down at his glass. “There’s one more that I know of.”

“Still, that’s only three!” Michael said. “We’ll just send a team to each of them, and sooner or later Emma will come through and she’ll have the Reckoning and we’ll use it to kill the Dire Magnus and that will be that!”

“I’ve no doubt she will have the Reckoning,” Robbie McLaur said. “You are a formidable family, and that little one’s a born fighter.”

Kate could see there was something the dwarf king didn’t want to tell them.

She forced herself to ask, “Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem”—Robbie McLaur looked up, and he seemed to be asking forgiveness even as he said it—“is that the last portal to the world of the dead is in the Garden of the Rose Citadel. Which means if your sister comes through, she’ll be delivering the Reckoning—and herself—smack into the hands of the Dire Magnus.”

Kate felt as if the dwarf king’s words had turned her to stone; she couldn’t move.

It must’ve been the same for Michael, for just then there was a squeal, a flash of gold, and the elf princess flew in and threw herself on him, crying, “You’re alive, you’re alive! My beloved Rabbit!” and Michael didn’t even protest. CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Ferryman

At more or less the same time that Kate and Michael were listening to Robbie McLaur tell them about the portal in the Garden of the Rose Citadel, Emma was trying to convince herself to just go down and join the line of stupid ghosts.

It’s not like they can hurt you, she told herself.

Or could they? She wasn’t some ghost expert. She didn’t know what ghosts could and couldn’t do. And were they ghosts? They didn’t really look like ghosts. They just looked like people. She could just imagine how if Michael had been there, he would’ve been pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and reeling off some long, boring speech about ghosts and their ghost habits until someone (probably her) flicked him in the head. But he wasn’t here; no one was; she was alone.

At first, walking away from Kate and Michael and Gabriel through the dark tunnel that led from the spider’s nest, with Michael’s dinky flashlight doing almost nothing to show her where she was going, she’d been full of energy and high purpose. She was going to find the Reckoning, save everyone, and pretty much be the total hero. But after walking for what had felt like hours—but had really been more like twenty minutes—she had begun to consider how little she actually knew about where she was going. How big was the world of the dead? What if the book was thousands of miles away? What if it took her years to find it? Was the world of the dead cold? Should she have brought a sweater? What if it rained? Where would she get food? How would she find her way back out?

While thinking all this, she’d noticed a grayness in front of her, and she’d passed from the blackness of the tunnel into a thick, wet mist, at the same moment becoming aware that she was walking on dirt instead of rock.

She’d known then that she had crossed over.

Soon, the mist had begun to thin, and she’d found herself on a hillside of skeletal trees. She’d let her feet carry her down the slope, the mist still pearling on her clothes and hair, till she had arrived at last at a wide road of packed dirt; and it was there that she’d found the procession of the dead.

For a second, she’d thought the walkers were transparent, they were so gray and fuzzy, but as she hid behind a tree to watch them pass, she saw that the grayness and fuzziness was just the mist, and the dead—for they had to be dead, didn’t they?—were not see-through at all. Did that mean they were solid? She could hear the soft shuffling of their feet in the dirt, so maybe they were. Only, how was that possible? Hadn’t they left their bodies in the world of the living?

A memory came back to Emma, of being in school the year before, and reading all these Viking myths—which as far as school readings went had been pretty great, as they’d been mostly about chopping the heads off giants and trolls—and she remembered how Viking heaven was a place where the dead Vikings sat around eating and drinking all the time. It stood to reason they couldn’t very well have done that without bodies. Maybe that meant you got two bodies, one in the world of the living, and another one down here. How exactly that happened, Emma had no idea, but she felt better knowing that there was at least some kind of precedent.

The figures were all moving in the same direction, at the same steady, hypnotic pace, as if obeying some silent call. They did not speak. There were men and women, old and young, there were children, there were babies being carried. There was no uniformity to the clothes. It was almost as if each person was wearing whatever they’d had on when they died. Did that mean if you had a heart attack while wearing some ratty old bathrobe, you had to wear that till the end of time? Though even that would be better than being naked. Emma made a mental note to be sure to be wearing clothes when she died.

Emma would’ve just gone around them, only the walkers were going the same direction she was. For her part, she had no choice in the matter. Since that first moment under the spider’s web when she’d stared into the portal, the Reckoning had been pulling her onward.

So finally, not knowing what else to do, she stepped from behind the tree and, with her chin thrust out and her hands in fists at her sides, she walked firmly and directly down to join the parade of the dead.

A few of the walkers glanced over; otherwise, her arrival occasioned no reaction.

Emma made a point of sticking to the edge of the road, but after a few moments, she began to relax and look around her. She had fallen in beside a woman who was wearing a gray business suit. She looked very old, Emma thought, like forty.

“Hi.”

The woman turned her head slowly. Her gaze had the fuzziness of a person who’s just woken from a deep sleep.

“Why’re you all going this way?”

The woman stared down the road. “I…I don’t know. I just…have to.”

“Where’re you from?”

“I’m from…” Again the woman seemed lost. “I don’t know actually. I can’t remember.”

“Well, how’d you die?” Emma hoped this wasn’t a rude question, but really, the woman was dead; there was no getting around that.

“I…I don’t remember that either.”

As they walked on, Emma asked several others where they were from and how they’d died. None could remember. They couldn’t even recall their own names; their memories had been wiped clean. Nor could any of them say what was drawing them down the road. But as the walkers didn’t seem dangerous, she continued on with them. It made her deeply sad that none of the dead could remember their lives. To forget where they’d lived or what jobs they’d had was one thing. But to forget everything about who they’d been—that meant forgetting their families and friends, everyone they’d ever loved. And that was awful. Emma had never been scared of dying. But what was the point of living if she was just going to die and forget about Kate and Michael and Gabriel? If she was going to lose all those memories that made her her?

Before long, the road curved and came to its end, spilling out onto a wide, rocky beach that gave way to a body of eerily calm, gray-black water. Whether it was a river or a sea or an ocean was impossible to tell, because the same mist that clung to the land also clung to the water. A fleet of small boats—they looked to be little more than rowboats, piloted by figures wearing dark, hooded cloaks—was making its way to the shore, loading up the dead, and then heading back out into the mist.

There was also a concrete jetty jutting out into the water, but the dark-garbed boatmen were avoiding it, pulling their boats right up onto the rocky shoals of the beach.

Emma looked out past the beach and the boats, willing the mist to clear so that she could see across the water. The book was out there somewhere, calling her onward.

Go on, she thought. You know you have to.

The beach was made of rough black rocks, and after the silence of the march, everything felt loud, the scraping and crunch of her footsteps, the slap of the boatmen’s oars, the sound of the keels striking the rocks. There was no shoving or pushing among the dead. They were slowly and calmly climbing into the boats, and then the boatmen would push off from the shore, swing their small crafts around, and vanish back into the mist.

As if by appointment, Emma walked directly to a boat that had beached itself so its prow rose high out of the water. Had she taken more time, she might’ve noticed that the dead were avoiding that particular boat. Emma felt a strange, inexplicable fear; her heart pounded in her chest, and every part of her wanted to turn back. But back to where? The way was forward. She could feel cold water lapping around her ankles and soaking her shoes. The cowl of the boatman’s hood covered his face.

“Where do these boats go?” she asked.

“The world of the dead.”

“I thought this was the world of the dead.”

“This is just the road thereto.”

Emma stopped; there was something about the voice that was strangely, deeply familiar. She stepped forward, grabbed his hood, and ripped it back.

“I knew it! I knew it was you!”

She was looking at the face of the old wizard, Stanislaus Pym. Only, he had changed. The ratty tweed suit and mangled tie were gone, as were the broken and patched eyeglasses. He now wore a hooded robe of dark gray. His perpetually messy white hair had been tamed and, somehow, gotten longer. He’d even found time since dying to grow a rather substantial beard. In many ways, he looked more like a wizard than he ever had, though the expression on his face was calm, and oddly vacant.

“What’re you doing here?!”

“I’m a ferryman.”

“Stop that! You’re trying to trick me again.”

He looked genuinely confused. “Trick you? I ferry the dead—”

“You know what I mean!” She was shouting now. “You lied to us! You betrayed us! You were planning on getting us all killed!”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry. Did we know each other when I was alive?”

Emma felt her fury gathering. Of course, it made sense that he would have no more memory of his life than any of the other dead, but somehow the fact of it made her even more furious, as if he had forgotten what he’d done only to spite her.

“You pretended to be our friend!” She could feel tears burning her eyes. “Me and my brother and sister. And the whole time you knew we were probably going to die and you didn’t care. You’re a liar! And I’m glad you’re dead!”

Then she had to turn away because she was crying, her shoulders heaving, and she didn’t want him to see. The wizard thankfully said nothing, and she took deep breaths, trying to get herself under control. She wiped her eyes and turned back around.

“Fine, whatever, you don’t remember who you are, I don’t care. How were you waiting here for me? I know you were! How’d you know I’d be coming?”

He shrugged. “I just came.”

“But you were waiting for me!”

“Yes.”

“And how could you be waiting for me and not remember me?!”

“I don’t know.”

Enough. Emma decided she was going to walk off without another word. Whatever or whoever had brought the wizard here, however innocent he might act, she wasn’t going with him; she would find another boat. But just as she started to turn, a horn blasted across the beach, and Emma whipped about to see a ship, an enormous one built to carry cargo, emerging from the mist. It was made of metal, and tiger-striped with rust. Emma could hear the whining of its engine, the propeller churning the water; she could smell burning oil. The horn sounded again; the ship was working hard to slow itself, and Emma watched as it bumped and crunched heavily against the concrete pier. There were figures on board—men and women dressed in black—who were looping ropes around pylons, stopping the ship in place. With a metallic screech, a wide panel hinged open on the side of the ship and crashed onto the jetty, creating an impromptu gangplank, and the men and women poured out. They were a savage-looking lot and carried whips that cracked dully in the misty air as they ran down the pier, screaming.

“What’s going on?!” Emma cried. “What’re they doing?”

The old wizard didn’t answer, and anyway, she could already see the answer, for they were herding the dead together, forcing them down the dock and onto the boat.

Then a figure stepped from the hold of the ship. Amid the grayness of the beach and the water and the sky, the blood-red hue of the man’s robe stood out, and Emma felt her heart clench, for the man was dressed the same as the red-robed sorcerers she’d seen among the Dire Magnus’s camp only days before. They had a special name, these wizards who served the Dire Magnus, Rourke had told her, but the name wouldn’t come to her now.

Then the figure shouted, his voice carrying across the beach, “Forget the others! Find the girl! She is here!”

Emma knew he was speaking about her.

“Get in.”

Emma whirled around. Dr. Pym had spoken. She opened her mouth to tell him she wasn’t going anywhere with him, that she hated him, but there was now a commotion behind her, the thick snapping of whips, the sounds of boots on the rocks, and a hoarse roar that told her she’d been spotted.

He repeated, “Get in the boat.”

The men from the metal ship were nearly to them, and Emma took hold of the rowboat and heaved herself up, telling herself she would kick the wizard if he tried to touch her. And then she was in the boat, sitting on one of the benches.

The mob of whip-wielding men and women had stopped at the edge of the water, panting like dogs brought up short in a hunt. They were only a step away; they could easily have yanked her out of the boat, but they stayed where they were, moving aside only when the red-robed figure stepped between them. Though he was dressed like the sorcerers from the Dire Magnus’s army, Emma had not seen this particular man before. He had lank black hair and a narrow, ratlike face. His bony hands were balled into fists.

“You cannot protect her forever,” the man hissed. “She belongs to the master.”

Dr. Pym merely said, “She is in the boat.”

The rat-faced man looked about to spit he was so angry; then a voice said, “Enough. Take her,” and the crowd parted a second time, revealing a figure who stood leaning on a staff of gnarled black wood. Emma gasped. It was the old, red-robed sorcerer she had seen at the Dire Magnus’s fortress. He had the same stringy gray hair, the same long, twisted nose, the same clouded-over eye. He’d been there when the Dire Magnus had tried to bond her to the Reckoning, and Dr. Pym himself—Emma had a vague memory of this—had killed him. She recalled, too, Rourke telling her that he had once been a friend of Dr. Pym’s, that he’d fought against the Dire Magnus and the Dire Magnus had broken him and bent him to his will. Even here, the man was forced to serve his enemy.

He said, “We will find her on the far shore.”

Behind her, Dr. Pym lifted his oars, set his feet against one of the wooden seats, and began to pull away from the beach.

Emma still half expected the throng of men to plunge into the water and seize hold of the boat, but they didn’t move, and the pounding of her heart began to lessen as the wizard took them farther and farther away. She heard the old, white-eyed man say, “Collect as many of the others as you can,” and the whip-wielding men and women turned to drive the dead aboard the metal ship. Then the fog hid the beach from view.

Emma looked at the wizard. There was no way she was saying thank you.

“Where’re you taking me?”

“I told you, to the world of the dead.”

He really doesn’t remember me, she thought.

She stared into the gray nothing of the mist. She could feel the book out there, calling to her. And with each pull of the boat’s oars, she was getting closer.

“You should sleep,” the wizard said.

“Oh, shut up,” she muttered.

But whether it was magic or she was simply so tired that she could no longer fight it, Emma found herself lying down in the hollow space between the benches, curling herself into as small a ball as possible, and, with one final thought that maybe, just maybe, she would see Michael and Kate and Gabriel again, falling fast asleep. CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Witch’s Secret

“Listen, please—”

“She’s dead! Dead! Dead! Dead! Dead!”

“You don’t have to do this—”

The man inched his chair forward, straining against the ropes, trying as best he could to place his body between the sweating, wild-eyed, knife-wielding figure and his wife, who was tied to a chair beside him. The man’s name was Richard Wibberly. His wife’s name was Clare. On this night, neither had seen their children in more than ten years.

“Killing us does nothing—”

“Nothing?! It does nothing?!” The wild-eyed man lurched forward, pressing the knife against his prisoner’s face. “It makes you dead, is what it does! And hurts them! That is enough!”

The blade flashed, and a long, bloody line appeared on Richard’s cheek.

Clare screamed and unleashed a string of curses and threats.

The couple’s captor pushed Richard roughly to the floor and stepped toward the woman.

Only he never made it, for just then the door burst in and an enormous man, one of the largest men either Richard or his wife had ever seen, stepped into the room. He wore an old cloak, and the handle of a sword jabbed upward from a sheath on his back. He had long black hair and a vicious scar running down the side of his face. Everything about him spoke of purpose, power, and a fearsome violence.

The fury coming off him charged the air all around.

The couple’s captor shrieked and swung the knife, but the intruder knocked it away, lifted the man into the air, and threw him out the window. There was a shattering crash, a half breath of silence, and then the thud of a body striking the ground twenty feet below, followed by the dull tinkling of broken glass.

The enormous man stood there a moment; then his shoulders dropped, his body relaxed, and he gave off the impression of someone who had put down a burden that he had been carrying for a long, long time.

He righted Richard’s chair, took the discarded knife, and cut his bonds.

“Who are you?” Richard asked, rubbing the grooves the cord had dug into his wrists, watching as the man cut his wife’s bonds.

“My name is Gabriel. I am a friend of your children.”

It had taken Gabriel less than three hours after leaving Kate and Michael in the giants’ city to find the Secretary, but in some ways it was the culmination of a fifteen-year search.

A decade and a half earlier, after the events in Cambridge Falls, the Countess’s Secretary had disappeared, and Dr. Pym had tasked Gabriel with finding the man. “He knows much. He has been a party to the Dire Magnus’s most secret plans. The enemy will hunt him, to punish him for the witch’s betrayal. We must find him before they do.”

And so, for years, Gabriel had trekked all over the globe, following whatever clues, whispers, or desperate hintings he could uncover, combing through the dredges of the magical and nonmagical worlds, arriving always a day, an hour, a moment too late. He had found traces of the man among the voodoo priests and cutthroats of New Orleans; he just missed him in a remote village in the Andes; once—and only once—he had been face to face with his quarry, having come upon the Secretary on a street in Paris as the man tried to catch a pigeon with his hands, presumably for lunch. A sightseeing group had moved between them, and by the time Gabriel had reached the far side of the street, the Secretary had vanished. After that, Dr. Pym had told him to give up the chase; there were other, more pressing matters: the enemy was on the move; war was at hand.

But in the end, the effort had paid off, for in the course of his search, Gabriel had visited a town nestled in a tiny wedge of the magical world along the coast of the Adriatic, where the Secretary had lived for some months in an abandoned dye factory. And it was the chalky yellow dye, still fresh on the floor of the giant king’s throne room, that had told Gabriel where his quarry was hiding.

Gabriel had not risked appearing in the factory itself, having learned from his past failures that if the Secretary was there, he would have devised wards against any sort of magical intrusion, or at the very least, an alarm to give him time to flee. So Gabriel had used Dr. Pym’s golden key (in its last service before snapping) to appear at the airfield outside of town, where he was remembered by the wrinkled owner (and the town’s sole pilot) from his visit a decade and a half before.

“The factory is still there, still empty for all I know,” the pilot had said. “But be you careful. There been morum cadi and Imps ‘round of late. A storm is coming.”

Night had been falling when Gabriel crossed a small footbridge and entered the town. He’d seen only a few people on the streets, and all of those were hurrying home to beat the darkness. Like much of the magical world, the town gave the impression of being trapped in the past and had changed little since Gabriel’s last visit.

But the fear and wariness on the faces of those he passed was new, and Gabriel had kept the hood of his cloak up and stuck to side streets till he’d arrived at the factory. Once there, he’d seen a light flickering in a second-floor window and slipped inside, completing his fifteen-year quest just in time.

The woman looked so like her older daughter that Gabriel almost felt he was looking not at the children’s mother, but at Kate herself, seen through the prism of time. There was the same dark blond hair, the same hazel eyes flecked with gold; the contours and angles of her face were exactly like her daughter’s. But as he looked again, he saw the difference: it wasn’t just the lines of fatigue and age at the corners of the woman’s eyes, or the slight hollowness to her cheeks; what set them apart was a certain unflinching directness in the woman’s gaze that Gabriel associated not with Kate, but with Emma.

Their father, obviously, looked most like Michael. They wore the same type of wire-rim spectacles, both had the same chestnut hair and dark eyes (which Emma also shared), but it was yet deeper than that. There was about the man, as there was about Michael, an air of professorial deliberation, a sense that his first reaction to any problem would be to think it through and, if possible, make a list.

The man and woman were both thin and exhausted, but besides the wound on the man’s face, which the woman cleaned and dressed with alcohol and bandages that Gabriel had produced from his cloak, they were essentially unharmed.

A breeze drifted in, bringing cool, fresh air into the stale atmosphere of the factory. The room was a simple concrete box with only the one door and the one window, both now broken.

The Wibberlys had already thanked Gabriel, multiple times.

“For rescuing us, obviously,” Richard said. “But also for what you’ve done for our children. We know who you are. Pym told us years ago, after everything that happened in Cambridge Falls. Back before the children were even born.”

“How long have you been here?”

“A few weeks. We were somewhere else before. I don’t know where. Much colder. Then he got scared and moved us. He rescued us, you know. At least we thought he did. We’d been in that mansion in New York for—”

“Ten years,” his wife said.

“That’s right. Ten years. Ever since Rourke captured us. You know Rourke?”

“Yes.”

“Then five, maybe six weeks ago, he appears, Cavendish, that was his name. Just stepped through a solid wall into our room. At that point, we didn’t know who he was, but honestly, after ten years of being prisoners, we’d have followed a singing mouse if it promised a way out.”

The man was speaking quickly, as if a decade’s worth of talk had built up inside him, like water behind a dam, and now was all coming out.

“He said he could help us find the Reckoning, that he wanted to prove to Pym he had changed his ways; he made us send a message to the children. I don’t know if they got it—”

“They did.”

“Well, it was right after that that he brought us here, and it was clear he’d lied, that we’d just traded one prison for another.” He looked at his wife. “It was my fault. I should never have believed him.”

She took his hand. “It was both our faults. And what choice did we have?”

“He planned to hold you as hostages,” Gabriel said, “on behalf of the Countess. She wanted Michael to use the Chronicle to make her young again.”

“Michael has the Chronicle?” Richard stepped forward, suddenly sharp. “What about the Reckoning? They don’t have that yet, do they?”

“No.”

“Where are the children?” Clare asked. “Will you take us to them?”

Gabriel said, “Can you both walk?”

The town was silent, the streets dark and empty, and Gabriel and the couple moved through them as quickly and quietly as they could. But the man and woman were shaky-limbed with exhaustion, and he could only push them so much.

As they made their way, Gabriel told them in a whisper about Michael becoming master of the Chronicle; how Michael had received his father’s message; about Emma’s abduction; how he, Gabriel, and others had raided the Dire Magnus’s fortress and attempted to free her; how Kate had finally spirited them away to the land of the giants; how he and the children had discovered the location of the Reckoning—

“Wait.” Richard stopped them in a narrow alley, along a row of shuttered shop windows. “You know where the Reckoning is? You said you didn’t have it.”

“And we do not, not as yet.”

“So where is it?” Clare asked.

Gabriel wanted nothing more than to get out of this town and back to Loris. He had been uncomfortable every moment he’d been separated from the children, and now that he had discovered the “secret” the Countess had been hiding, there was no more reason to tarry.

But some things would not keep.

“It is in the world of the dead.”

The man and woman both stared at him.

Then Clare’s face became stony. “Where are our children?”

“I sent Michael and Kate to Loris. Robbie McLaur, the king of the dwarves near Cambridge Falls, is there and will watch over them. It is where we are going now.”

He started off, but Clare held his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “And where’s Emma?”

Gabriel looked down at the woman; she was a good foot shorter than he, and again, despite how much she looked like Kate—her eyes, her hair, the bones of her face—the fierceness in her was entirely Emma’s.

“She is in the world of the dead.”

It was as if he had cut off her legs. Gabriel and her husband reached for her, but she caught herself, holding up a hand in a sign that neither were to touch her.

She said, thickly, “Alone? She went there alone?”

“Only the Keeper of the Reckoning could pass into that world. I could not accompany her.”

The man was shaking his head. “How could Pym allow that?”

“Pym is dead.”

This stopped them both.

“What?” Richard said. “When?”

“When we rescued Emma from the enemy. He sacrificed himself so that the children and I might escape.”

Gabriel knew that the man and woman had been friends with the old wizard—indeed, they had entrusted him with the lives of their children. Recently, however, they had sent the children a message warning them not to allow Pym to bring the three Books together. Why? Did they know that the prophecy foretold that the Books’ coming together—which was Pym’s whole plan for defeating the Dire Magnus—would result in Kate and Michael and Emma’s deaths? Would they now consider Pym an enemy? But Gabriel watched the looks they gave each other and saw no joy or satisfaction; if anything, the opposite.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Richard said finally. “He was a friend of ours. I’ll be honest, if you’d told us this a few months ago, we might’ve had a different reaction. You see, we found out—”

“That if the children bring the Books together, they will die. I just learned of it myself.”

“Then you understand how it made us question everything! Who Pym really was. Did he intend to sacrifice our children for some greater good? We just didn’t know.”

“He did care for them,” Clare said firmly. “However much we talked about it, we always came back to that. We told ourselves that he must know something we didn’t, some way of saving their lives.”

“Only, that wasn’t a chance we were willing to take on faith. That was the point of the message we sent the children. But if Pym is dead…”

Though they had been speaking in hushed tones, their voices were the only sounds in the streets, and Gabriel felt how exposed they were; they had to move.

“You are right,” he whispered. “Pym cared for your children, and he believed there was a way they could use the Books and not be destroyed themselves.”

“But how?” Richard demanded. “What did he tell you exactly?”

“Very little. Just that he had come to believe that the answer was in the prophecy itself, that there was more to it than even he knew. When I learned the Countess guarded a secret, I thought she might have the knowledge we sought. That is why I tracked the Secretary. Finding you was mere chance.”

“So Pym didn’t tell you,” Clare said, “how to find out the rest of the prophecy?”

“No.”

Then Gabriel turned to glance around the corner of the alley, to ensure that the way was still clear, and so he missed the look that passed between the man and woman.

“Come,” he said.

They hurried on through the streets, stopping a few minutes later at the edge of a square, in the center of which was a statue of a man on a horse. Both man and horse had strangely gigantic heads, the man’s topped by an even more gigantic plumed hat. Gabriel peered into the shadows of the shuttered shops and cafés. All was still.

“I don’t hear anything,” Clare said.

“No,” Gabriel said. “That is what worries me.”

He pointed at a small street on the opposite side of the square.

“If something happens, keep running—straight on. You will come to a bridge; cross it and go up the hill. Keep going and you will find an airfield.” He gave them the name of the pilot. “Tell him you are my friends and to take you to San Marco. Once there, he will direct you to a ship that will take you to Loris.”

“But you’re coming too,” the woman said.

“I intend to,” Gabriel said. “But do not wait for me.”

He pulled Granny Peet’s sword from its sheath while also drawing a long knife from a scabbard at his waist.

“Now.”

They had gotten as far as the man on the horse when the first Imp leapt from behind the statue’s pedestal. Gabriel didn’t break stride, but swung his sword with such force that the jagged-edged sword the Imp raised to block the blow was driven downward, clubbing its owner in the face. Then, with a backhand swipe, Gabriel separated the creature’s head from its body. He saw three more Imps rushing out from the side streets.

“Go!” he shouted. “Do not stop!”

The couple ran on; he heard their footsteps disappearing down the alley behind him as the first two Imps drew near. He had fought Imps many times before and knew their ways. They were a magical crossbreed between boars and men, and they had retained much of their bestial heritage. Part of that was an inclination to fight in packs. And Gabriel knew that the two Imps attacking him from the front were a diversion from the one circling behind, and after he used his sword to block the first blow, he immediately ducked and heard the creature’s blade slice through the air above him. In the same motion, Gabriel was spinning, and he felt his sword cut through the creature’s legs. Gabriel didn’t pause—he knew the other two Imps would already be closing—and from his crouch, he exploded upward, his sword parrying the downward blow of the third Imp as he drove his long knife through the creature’s chest, twisted it, then pushed the creature away. Before he could turn, he was knocked sideways by a blow from the first Imp’s mace—a glancing blow, fortunately, as a direct one would have shattered his shoulder. He staggered and caught himself on the pillar supporting the stone rider. The Imp’s next blow was aimed at Gabriel’s head, but he ducked and twisted as the creature’s mace tore a hunk of stone from the pedestal. Gabriel continued his twisting movement, and in his mind, he already saw how his sword would swing upward, entering the Imp’s lower left side and exiting just below the creature’s right arm. But as he spun, his foot slipped on a slick patch on the cobblestones and then he was on his back, the Imp above him, raising his mace to crush him—Then everything stopped. The point of a sword was protruding from the Imp’s chest, and the creature slid forward and crumpled on the stones, revealing the children’s father standing there. Behind him, the Imp Gabriel had stabbed with his knife was trying to rise, an action that was abruptly stopped when the children’s mother brought down a mace on the creature’s head.

The children’s father reached out his hand, and Gabriel took it.

“I will say this.” Gabriel sheathed his sword, wincing as pain blossomed in his shoulder. “You follow directions as well as your children.”

“Listen,” Richard said, “there’s something we need tell you.”

“Not now—”

“The prophecy, we might know how to find out the rest of it. Where to look, I mean.”

Gabriel said nothing for a moment, but merely stared at them.

“So we can’t go with you to Loris,” Clare said. “We want to. You don’t know how much we want to see the children. But if what you say is true, that discovering the rest of the prophecy is the key to saving the children, then we have to—Wait, what’re you doing?!”

Gabriel had taken both their arms and started walking quickly toward the alley.

“There is no time to lose.”

Richard said, “You mean—”

“Yes, I am coming with you.”

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