questions, and I was
stupid
enough to listen to you.”
Shade winced. What if she was right, and the Humans were taking care of everything all along, and he just hadn’t been able to accept it? He’d risked his own life, and even worse, Marina’s, just to find out. She was right: He was vain, he was selfish.
“You find anything?” he asked her weakly.
“I think it’s thinnest over here,” she said. Shade looked over with a surge of hope. “How long will it take to claw through?”
“About a week. Don’t suppose you have any fancy echo tricks to get us out of this one.”
“Look out!” he cried.
Marina lurched out of the way as a stone plummeted downfrom the knothole, almost braining her. Shade looked to see the owl’s beak, pulling back. A moment later, another beak thrust in and dropped a second stone.
“Keep to the sides!” Shade cried. By plastering themselves against the bark, they managed to avoid the steady avalanche of stones the owls were now dumping from above.
“They’re filling it up,” said Marina dully. Shade knew it wouldn’t be long before they’d be forced out of the knothole, into the owls’ waiting claws. He knew what they did to you. Swallowed you whole, alive sometimes, and spat out what they didn’t want: the bones and fur matted together. He’d seen these gruesome pellets once before and they’d made him sick with fury. More rocks thudded down, and they had to scramble up onto them to keep from getting crushed underneath.
“They’re not getting us,” he said.
“What’re you doing?” Marina said in alarm as he clambered up the bark toward the knothole. “Get ready to fly.”
He crouched flat, just below the knothole, waiting for the next beak to poke through; then, when it pulled back, he’d leap out and shriek an image of Goth so terrifying, it would scare them half to death. That would buy them enough time to get out, and after that—he’d worry about that later.
Shade waited, counting his furious heartbeats, sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine, and still no beak came. The longer he waited, the more frightened he became, and that made him even angrier—and then he wrinkled his nose and frowned. “Smell that?” he whispered over his shoulder at Marina.
She took a quick breath. “Sweet.”
“It’s what they used to make us sleep!”
A huge, wheezing sigh passed through the forest. He could hearleafs fluttering, and then thumping footfalls, which he felt through the bark of the tree. Carefully, Shade inched up and peeked out the knothole. No owls were in sight, but the rhythmic thuds were louder now. He leaned out for a better angle and gasped.
Walking through the forest were the same faceless wraiths from his dream, but this time he knew they were Humans, cloaked in white, heads covered with thick hoods with only slits for eyes. They were tall and terrifying as they took their slow, heavy steps through the forest, fanning out among the trees.
The owls, Shade could see, had all collected in the highest branches, huddled near the trunks. But if they thought the Humans couldn’t reach them, they were wrong. They all held long metal sticks—in his dream he’d thought they were skeletal arms—with big nets at the end. And as they raised them, they grew even longer, stretching up and up into the trees.
He watched as the tip of one metal stick grazed an owl’s belly. There was a sharp, crackling sound, and the owl slumped into the net at the stick’s end.
Many of the owls seemed strangely lethargic—the sleeping gas, Shade knew—and the Humans netted them easily. Others had fight left in them, and began to shriek, flaring their plumage so they seemed to double in size. But the Humans’ terrible sticks only had to nick their feathers, and the owls slumped, twitching, into the nets. The Humans carried on, steadily, deliberately. Shade could hear their voices: thunderous, low things.
His own eyes drooped, and he snapped his head back, fighting
stupid
enough to listen to you.”
Shade winced. What if she was right, and the Humans were taking care of everything all along, and he just hadn’t been able to accept it? He’d risked his own life, and even worse, Marina’s, just to find out. She was right: He was vain, he was selfish.
“You find anything?” he asked her weakly.
“I think it’s thinnest over here,” she said. Shade looked over with a surge of hope. “How long will it take to claw through?”
“About a week. Don’t suppose you have any fancy echo tricks to get us out of this one.”
“Look out!” he cried.
Marina lurched out of the way as a stone plummeted downfrom the knothole, almost braining her. Shade looked to see the owl’s beak, pulling back. A moment later, another beak thrust in and dropped a second stone.
“Keep to the sides!” Shade cried. By plastering themselves against the bark, they managed to avoid the steady avalanche of stones the owls were now dumping from above.
“They’re filling it up,” said Marina dully. Shade knew it wouldn’t be long before they’d be forced out of the knothole, into the owls’ waiting claws. He knew what they did to you. Swallowed you whole, alive sometimes, and spat out what they didn’t want: the bones and fur matted together. He’d seen these gruesome pellets once before and they’d made him sick with fury. More rocks thudded down, and they had to scramble up onto them to keep from getting crushed underneath.
“They’re not getting us,” he said.
“What’re you doing?” Marina said in alarm as he clambered up the bark toward the knothole. “Get ready to fly.”
He crouched flat, just below the knothole, waiting for the next beak to poke through; then, when it pulled back, he’d leap out and shriek an image of Goth so terrifying, it would scare them half to death. That would buy them enough time to get out, and after that—he’d worry about that later.
Shade waited, counting his furious heartbeats, sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine, and still no beak came. The longer he waited, the more frightened he became, and that made him even angrier—and then he wrinkled his nose and frowned. “Smell that?” he whispered over his shoulder at Marina.
She took a quick breath. “Sweet.”
“It’s what they used to make us sleep!”
A huge, wheezing sigh passed through the forest. He could hearleafs fluttering, and then thumping footfalls, which he felt through the bark of the tree. Carefully, Shade inched up and peeked out the knothole. No owls were in sight, but the rhythmic thuds were louder now. He leaned out for a better angle and gasped.
Walking through the forest were the same faceless wraiths from his dream, but this time he knew they were Humans, cloaked in white, heads covered with thick hoods with only slits for eyes. They were tall and terrifying as they took their slow, heavy steps through the forest, fanning out among the trees.
The owls, Shade could see, had all collected in the highest branches, huddled near the trunks. But if they thought the Humans couldn’t reach them, they were wrong. They all held long metal sticks—in his dream he’d thought they were skeletal arms—with big nets at the end. And as they raised them, they grew even longer, stretching up and up into the trees.
He watched as the tip of one metal stick grazed an owl’s belly. There was a sharp, crackling sound, and the owl slumped into the net at the stick’s end.
Many of the owls seemed strangely lethargic—the sleeping gas, Shade knew—and the Humans netted them easily. Others had fight left in them, and began to shriek, flaring their plumage so they seemed to double in size. But the Humans’ terrible sticks only had to nick their feathers, and the owls slumped, twitching, into the nets. The Humans carried on, steadily, deliberately. Shade could hear their voices: thunderous, low things.
His own eyes drooped, and he snapped his head back, fighting
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