A Sliver of Stardust (21 page)

The skies your voice will open.

The stars begin to sing.

Light the darkest candle,

Through the heavens you will wing.

A
ren't you ones for timing?” the old Fiddler in the Crooked House falcon mews told Wren, Jill, and Simon when they arrived, Wren's falcon's sides heaving with the effort. “You leave in the kerfuffle over the Magician's gateway and return when the old observatory tower's been destroyed.” Wren craned her neck to exchange desperate looks with the others.

“Destroyed?”

“Burnt to a crisp,” the Fiddler said, pointing to a cloud of smoke over the mountain that Wren could barely make out in the dark night sky. “Happened
not more than an hour ago, and the Council is in an uproar.”

“It has to be Jack, but why? And where has he gone?” Wren said as though asking the question could give her an answer. She pulled out Jack's blue book and began flipping through the final pages for a clue. If he had gotten the equipment from the observatory, he must have everything he needed now. She scanned the sky. No sign of a gateway.

“Now what's that you have there? That looks to me like the mark of the Magicians.”

Wren moved her hand to cover Jack's sketch. She hadn't noticed the Fiddler coming near to feed her falcon a handful of dried meat.

“What have you three young ones been up to?” he said. “That's dark magic, that is.”

Wren sighed. “You have no idea.” Maybe it was because it felt like they had done everything they could and still come to a dead end. Maybe it was because Wren couldn't imagine walking in to the Fiddler Council and telling them that, yes, she had in fact helped Boggen to return, even if she didn't mean to. Or maybe it was because the Fiddler's green eyes reminded her of her father's. Maybe it was all those things combined. She
slid off the falcon, Jill and Simon following. “I hope you can help us.”

The old Fiddler stood in thoughtful silence after they spilled their breathless story. He gently patted Wren's falcon's side. “Now that's a tale for the apprentice books, isn't it?” he finally murmured. “But it will be better once we know the ending.”

“Do you know where Jack could have gone?” Wren asked in a last desperate attempt. “Somewhere that might've been important to the Magicians?”

“Aye,” the Fiddler said. “But I'm not sure I ought to tell you three. Might be better for the Fiddler Council.”

“We don't have time!” Wren leaped to her feet. “It could take another hour to meet with the Council, and Jack's already on his way to Nod! Where do we go? Tell us, I'm begging you!”

The old Fiddler's gaze seemed to weigh her, and whatever he concluded, he must not have found her wanting. “The Archway to Heaven. That's where Boggen and the others were last seen. Where we thought they died.” He told them how to get there, leaning close to whisper instructions to the falcon as well.

Wren didn't have time to wonder if they could trust the wrinkled old Fiddler or not. They didn't have a
choice. She grabbed Jill by the shoulders. “Find Mary and the others. Tell the Council what happened and where we've gone. They might actually listen to you since you've been an apprentice here forever.”

Jill reluctantly agreed, but Wren couldn't tell if that was because Jill would rather come with them to find Jack, or if it was because Jill had to tell the Council such unwelcome news. Either way, Wren was glad Jill agreed to go. If they were lucky, the Fiddler Council would not waste time arguing about things but would come help.

Wren hoisted herself back onto the falcon. For a moment, she thought about taking off then and there. She had created this mess; she should clean it up alone. She should be the one to deal with Jack. But she couldn't have gotten this far without Simon, and she wouldn't be able to make it farther on her own. From somewhere that felt like a lifetime ago, Wren could hear her mother telling her
no girl is an island.

“Simon?” Wren leaned down, extending a hand. “Will you help me?” Without hesitating, Simon pulled himself up onto the falcon and soon they were out in the wide-open field. Wren hoped the old Fiddler was right about the Archway. She gripped her falcon with
her knees. If they wasted time flying up to the Archway and Jack wasn't there . . . She shoved the thought out of her mind. They were doing the right thing. They had to be.

Despite what Wren told herself, the weather was beginning to reflect her unease. The sky was clear, but bursts of rain fell, a strange mixture of starlight and showers. Every so often a gust of wind pushed hard against them, and Wren's falcon flapped her wings extra-vehemently to stay the course. Wren suspected that the bird's stubbornness was matched only by her rage.

The wind picked up, the raindrops falling hard and stinging her skin. They sped past the Crooked House and over the broad marshy plains. The colors of the aurora glowed in front of them, blue and green and orange light blazing across the horizon with unearthly fire. They skimmed the edge of the ocean and then skirted a hidden valley, the landscape speeding by below them in a jumble of layered shadows. Off in the distance, thunder rumbled, signaling the oncoming storm. Wren felt tight inside, like her anger and frustration were simmering in a perfect stew of emotion. The discovery at her mom's play seemed ages ago. Wren
couldn't tell how long they had been flying. One hour? Maybe two? They soared over a sprawling marshland and dipped past a dark canyon, and then Wren saw it.

Ahead of them, a mountain ridge sloped down toward the ocean. The land ended offshore, waves lapping at the great stone pillar that made up its foundation. Beaten down by the passage of time and the harsh elements, some of the stone had eroded, creating a natural archway that curved up and over the water to a second stone pillar planted right in the middle of the sea. At the farthermost end, a flat outcropping that was silhouetted against the impending storm jutted out into nothing.

The sky wore a thick ominous cloak of black and gray. Near the horizon, the colors were lighter, blue and yellow sketching the magic of the aurora. It was breathtaking. And completely empty. Jack wasn't there. The wind quickened as the awful realization struck. They had no Plan B. They had bet everything on the old Fiddler's memory. And they had lost. Jack could be miles away, with no chance of their catching up to him. Lightning struck in the distance, followed by a roll of thunder. Wren's falcon dropped a sudden twenty feet.

“Wren!” Simon groaned from behind her. “Pull it
together or I'm going to barf all over you.”

The bird cut a hard right and regained the lost ground, letting out a chiding screech. They were close now, and all the falcon's attention seemed to be fixed on rising high enough to land on the outcropping.

“What do we when we get there?” Simon yelled. Wren clenched her jaw. Once the bird stopped, she'd be able to think. They'd come up with a new plan. She shifted sideways to tell Simon as much when she saw that it was too late for conversation.

Swooping in from somewhere behind them was the lean dark shape of a falcon. And riding on its back was Jack.

He must have been lying in wait for them, hiding to take them by surprise. “He's here!” Wren screamed at Simon. “Get down!”

Simon shifted behind her as Wren lurched forward as low as she could go without falling off her falcon. Twin bolts of lightning flashed above the water, followed closely by a boom of thunder. She felt the rush of cold air and the thump of wings as Jack's falcon swept through where they had been just moments before.

Fear and anger battled inside Wren, matching the weather with their intensity and sending a torrent of
rain to heighten the buffeting winds. Wren's falcon dropped down again, the air pressure sending her spiraling toward the ocean, so close that Wren could see the ripples on the water, but the falcon pulled out of it, circling over the water's surface and gaining altitude. The bird's muscles flexed powerfully as she moved up, battling the increasing wind and driving rain.

“Nice job, bird,” Wren whispered, smoothing her neck feathers as she'd once seen Simon do. “It's a good thing you're so powerful.” Wren felt rather than saw the falcon respond. It was as though Wren's words gave her extra strength, and the falcon quickly recovered the lost ground. Could it really be that simple? Had flying been such a struggle for Wren because she'd never said nice things to her bird?

“You are doing great, falcon,” Wren sputtered. “Keep it up!” She felt silly, like she was pretending to be a cheerleader, but she didn't stop. “That's the way. Good job, bird!”

“Get closer,” Simon yelled. “I'm going to try something.”

Wren's falcon obeyed, veering to the right and into the wind. The falcon was flying strong, but she still had Jack's bird to contend with. Its wing slashed the
air in front of Wren's falcon and threw her off course.

“Oh no!” Simon's shout was nearly overcome by the rush of wind. “My stardust!” Something whipped by Wren's face. She reached for it, but she was too late, and she watched Simon's leather pouch of stardust fall down into the sea.

The rain turned to hail, beating hard against Wren's numb hands. She fumbled around her neck, relieved to feel her own pouch of stardust secure on its cord. The hail pelted against her face, and she squinted her eyes to see through the increasing gale. Below them, the waves whipped into a white-tipped frenzy. “He's circling back around!” Wren yelled. “Stay low.”

Jack's falcon cut right, and they narrowly missed being torn by its talons.

Whenever Jack's bird came too close, Wren could hear his voice, singing:

Sing a song of Fiddlers,

A pocket full of pow'r;

Four-and-twenty blackbirds

Eaten in the tower.

After each phrase, Jack let loose a peal of laughter that sounded nothing less than insane. Wren stared at
him through the sheet of rain. Jack was doing something with stardust, his hair plastered down on his forehead by the rain. The air between his palms was illuminated, and Wren could see the energy dancing.

Her falcon swooped left in a neat maneuver that completely outwitted Jack's bird.

“Nice one!” Wren shouted, and felt the answering wing beats. Without the falcon, they would surely be lost. And that's when Wren got her idea. She didn't know what Jack was doing with the stardust, but she knew one thing for sure. There was no way they were going to best him in a flying match. Or somehow figure out how to defeat him with magic. A tiny sliver of hope cut through her thoughts like a ray of luminescent stardust. There might be a way. She'd only have one shot at it. It would have to be a surprise. And it would have to be good.

“Great flying, falcon.” Wren leaned down close to the bird's head. “Do you think you can get us up above them?” The falcon began to ascend, and Wren took that for a yes.

“Do it fast, okay?” Wren whispered. “Without him noticing, if you can.” What was it Simon had said at Pippen Hill?
If you don't control it, it will control you.
Wren didn't know if he was talking about the weather or her
emotions, but now was her chance to see if she could control both and maybe, just maybe, have a chance at beating Jack. “Hold on,” she hissed back to Simon.

Jack's voice carried over the air, saying something about eating
all
the blackbirds in a pie, when Wren's falcon made her move. In one powerful thrust, she was nearly vertical, driving hard through the storm, and Wren squeezed with her knees. The sudden rush of adrenaline unleashed Wren's simmering cauldron of emotion. Anger and fear. Outrage at injustice and death. Frustration at her powerlessness to see through Jack's lies. She pressed past the warning dip she usually got, the panicky feeling that told her it was time to calm down. Wren didn't practice the special breathing technique. Instead, she let it build, her heart beating faster and faster until Wren wondered if it would crash out of her chest, and she reached for her pouch.

The stardust didn't feel warm and luminous. It was burning like the sun's fire in Wren's taut fingers, pulsing with the heat of her anger. Wren didn't stop to think about what she was doing. She raised her arms in the Fiddler pose, willing her nature to do its work.

She sang the starlamp rhyme, modifying it slightly. “As your bright and tiny spark”—Wren felt the heat
build—“saves the traveler in the dark.” The mass in her palm was sparking, drawing together in bristling jagged ropes that looked like comic-book drawings of lightning. Comic book or not, Wren was going with it. She raised one hand high and threw the lightning bolt as hard as she could.

Wren didn't know if Jack saw it coming or not, but she knew when the bolt hit its mark. Jack's falcon gave a terrible screeching cry, and Wren could see her glowing dagger sticking out of its eye. Jack's bird's wings were faltering. It spun down and down, slamming against the rock face with several sickening lurches.

A wave of nausea swept over Wren, knocking out any sense of relief and evaporating all the anger and fear it had taken to form the weather weapon. She felt faint, like she might fall off the bird into the ocean below, when Simon's arms wrapped firmly about her waist.

“Hang on a little longer, Wren,” he said. “We're nearly to the top.”

Wren's falcon glided to the flat ledge on the Archway and touched the ground with the familiar choppy jerks. She pulled up short, stopping just shy of the mountain wall, and Wren slowly released hold of her feathers.
Another wave of exhaustion hit, and Wren's muscles started shaking, like her whole body would never be warm again. Her skin was clammy with sweat, and her ears echoed with a tinny ringing noise.

“I don't feel so well,” Wren managed as Simon helped her down off the falcon. The storm had disappeared with her fierce emotions, leaving the air calm and still, the clouds drifting away to reveal a thick carpet of stars sprawling across the velvety darkness.