Shadowcry
JENNA BURTENSHAW
SHADOWCRY
THE SECRETS OF WINTERCRAFT
Dedication
For my mother, Janette,
for all of your help and inspiration.
You are a wonderful mum and will always be
my most precious friend.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1 - Market Day
Chapter 2 - The Collector
Chapter 3 - The Warrens
Chapter 4 - Murder
Chapter 5 - Wintercraft
Chapter 6 - The Night Train
Chapter 7 - Fume
Chapter 8 - Feathers & Bones
Chapter 9 - The Collector’s Room
Chapter 10 - Memories
Chapter 11 - The High Council
Chapter 12 - Trapped
Chapter 13 - The City Below
Chapter 14 - The Spirit Wheel
Chapter 15 - The Ancient Library
Chapter 16 - The Thieves’ Way
Chapter 17 - The Secret Circle
Chapter 18 - The Half-Life
Chapter 19 - The Night of Souls
Chapter 20 - Blood
Chapter 21 - Death
About the Author
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue
At the southern edge of a moonlit city, a woman stood over an open grave. The blue edge of a tower’s long shadow sliced across the ground beside her feet and the grave yawned like an open throat, its headstone cracked in two, leaving only a broken piece of stone to mark the place where the dead still lay.
The lamp in her hand was hooded against the wind, and the ruby beads sewn along her sleeves shone and sparkled in its light. Shovelfuls of earth arched up through the air and she leaned out farther, watching her companion slice into the ground, clearing the way to the coffin she knew would be waiting deep down in the dark.
“Faster,” she commanded.
The man obeyed, muddying his black robes as he worked.
A few late carriages rattled along a road in the distance, but they were too far away to see anything but the lantern’s tiny light, and when the sharp crack of metal striking wood sounded through the night, only the woman could sense the spirits of the dead that gathered close around their digging place.
“Open it,” she said.
The man knelt to clear the last patch of earth from the coffin’s face, then he snatched his hands away and stared in horror. “I don’t think ya wanna do that,” he said. “Take a look at this.”
He moved back, letting the lantern light spread all the way down to where a large symbol was burned deeply into the wood. It was a perfect circle, almost as wide as the coffin itself, and scorched into the very center of it was a large snowflake, burned down to a finger’s width deep.
“That is the mark of the Winters family,” said the woman. “We are close. Now, open it!”
She glared at Kalen when he hesitated. The dead were close by—that mark meant that the coffin was protected by more than the eye could see—but she had waited too long for this moment to turn back now. “I have no time for superstition, Kalen,” she said. “Get out of my way.”
“My lady?”
“Out!”
The man clambered up onto the ground as the woman lowered herself into the grave, staining her dress with streaks of grass and moss. She did not care. She lifted the spade and smashed it straight into the center of the symbol, releasing an invisible energy that spread out across the ground, making the hairs on Kalen’s neck bristle and forcing the spirits that had gathered around them to retreat at once.
Kalen stood warily over the hole as the lid of the coffin crunched and split beneath his mistress’s hands. The ruby beads on her sleeves alone could buy her ten teams of carriage horses, but she dropped to her knees and reached down into the dark void she had uncovered, scraping them carelessly against the broken wood and snapping them from their threads as if they were made of glass. The grave was old, the coffin lined with yellowing bones, and in the very center—where it had remained for more than a hundred years—was the object the woman had come to find.
She slid it out into the open air: a small black box barely ten inches wide, made from gnarled wood and sealed with a silver clasp.
“Give me your dagger,” she said.
The clasp snapped easily with a twist of the blade, and beneath the lid, which creaked and split when she lifted it, was a small leather-bound book.
The woman snatched it up, desperate to possess it at last, and inspected the edges of its discolored pages as if they were the only ones left in the world. It was small, but the pages were packed tight—as thick as a fist—and folded inside its cover was an ancient document bearing a warning that had been ignored many times. There, in the hands of its discoverer, it was about to be ignored again.
Kalen held out a hand to help her climb out of the grave, where she read its words with eager eyes.
Theways of Wintercraft are not for the careless, the arrogant, nor the unwise.
You hold now a book of instructions that, if followed, shall allow the fearless mind to go beyond the boundaries of this world and step without restraint into the mysteries of another.
Keep it safe. Keep it secret. And follow its words with care. This path is more dangerous than you can know.
The woman smiled. After years of searching, she had found it. She opened the book to the first page, where a further warning was written in sharp black ink.
Those Who Wish to See the Dark,
Be Ready to Pay Your Price.
She nodded slowly, as if the book had spoken those thirteen words out loud. Whatever price was required, she would pay it gladly.
Kalen looked around warily as the woman ran her fingers along the title on the front of the book, its silver-leafed letters glinting in the moonlight.
WINTERCRAFT
“This is only the beginning,” she said.
Chapter 1
Market Day
For ten years the town of Morvane had been left alone. Its people had lived safely behind its high walls and watched as other towns around them died one by one. The country of Albion was at war, but most people had never seen an enemy come close to their gates. The only threat they knew came from within their own lands; from the High Council seated within the distant capital city of Fume and from the wardens sent to harvest the towns for anyone strong enough to fight.
There was never any warning before the wardens came. When soldiers were scarce, ordinary people were forced to take their place in battle and anyone who refused the call to fight was put to death. In five decades of war, Morvane’s citizens had been harvested twice. Children had grown up hearing stories of missing parents they would never know; people had built hiding places and dug secret paths beneath the ground to escape the wardens; and many buildings stood bare as people gradually left the town to live in the wilder villages instead, where harvesting rarely happened.
Kate Winters had been five years old when the wardens last came.That was the day when everything changed.The day her parents were taken away and she had first learned what it meant to have an enemy.
Since that day, she had grown up with her uncle, Artemis Winters, living and working in his bookshop on the edge of Morvane’s market square. Morvane was one of the last few great towns in the northern counties, almost three miles wide from wall to wall and divided into quarters by four stone arches left behind from an age long before the wardens and the war. The market square stood in the very heart of the town, but instead of trading in luxuries and curiosities alongside the usual market fare, the traders sold only what they could grow,
stitch, or build themselves, concentrating on the basic items Morvane’s people needed to survive.
Books were not one of Morvane’s main priorities anymore, but since Artemis and Kate’s bookshop was the only one left in the town, there was still enough trade to justify keeping it open. Every book they had for sale was at least secondhand and every spine was cracked and worn. They repaired them whenever they could, taking tattered old books and selling them for a small profit, and the shop earned just enough silver to be able to support them comfortably, as well as paying a small wage to a third member of staff who could repair two books in the time it took Kate to fix one. The bookshop had been passed down through the Winters family for generations, and Kate hoped that one day it would be hers.
Artemis had taught Kate to be cautious and alert in case the wardens ever decided to return to Morvane, and theirs was the only shop on the market square to keep a dagger hidden beneath the counter and bolts locked on every window, even during the day. Precautions, Artemis had said, that could one day save their lives.
The rest of the townspeople had become complacent, preferring to live with the pretense of freedom rather than living in fear. They no longer checked their escape routes as often as they should, or kept horses bridled by their doors at night. Soon only the two quiet owners of the dusty old bookshop had been left with their suspicions. Morvane had begun to relax. The townspeople’s lives went on. And so, on the day the wardens finally did return, only the Winters family was ready.
Kate woke at sunrise to a soft tap on her bedroom door. She grumbled at the unwanted noise and pulled her blanket over her head.
“Kate, are you awake?”
“No.”
“Breakfast’s ready.”
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
Artemis Winters was a great believer in early mornings. Kate definitely was not. Normally, she would have tried to grab a few extra minutes of sleep before he came to wake her again, but then she remembered what day it was and forced herself to sit up. Rattling sounds were coming from the kitchen, and the smell of hot porridge crept under her bedroom door. She slid her feet into her slippers and shuffled over to the mirror.
It was market day—the last market day before the Night of Souls—and the bookshop could expect to see a lot more customers than the handful that usually came through the door. The Night of Souls was Albion’s biggest celebration, when everyone dressed up and threw parties in the streets to honor their ancestors and remember the dead. Each year, Kate would defy her uncle and climb up onto the bookshop roof to hang colorful banners in memory of her parents, adding them to hundreds of others scattered around the town. Crates of fireworks had been arriving in the market square for weeks, ready to mark the stroke of midnight in four days’ time, when the spirits of the dead were said to walk the streets and speak to the living. Not that Kate really believed in any of that.
To most people the Night of Souls was all about dressing up, planning parties, and exchanging gifts. It was a time for drinking and feasting and celebrating. Raising a glass to the dead was just one old tradition hidden among the new. Far more important was the gift giving. Even the quietest shops were at their busiest that time of year, and the bookshop would have to open early to make the best of it.
Kate tied her black hair into a braid and glared at her reflection. Her eyes were wide and feline, her nose was small, and her skin was pale, thanks to the long hours she spent in the shop. Artemis insisted she looked like her mother. Kate thought she looked more like a skinny cat. Her hand went to her throat, where a small pendant hung on a silver chain: a delicate circle of precious metal holding an oval gemstone that matched perfectly the vivid blue brightness of her eyes. Her mother had worn that necklace every day and, apart from the bookshop, it was all she had left of her.
Kate closed her tired eyes against the tears that were already starting to gather there. It had been ten years, but the Night of Souls always made the bad memories come creeping back. She let them settle in her mind for a few moments and polished the surface of the stone with her thumb, making it shine a little brighter than before.
“Kate?” Artemis’s voice carried down the corridor again.
“I’m coming.”
“Get dressed. Quick as you can.”
Kate turned away from the mirror, letting the stone fall back against her skin. Then she dragged on her clothes, fought her boots out of the mess lurking under her bed, and shuffled sleepily down the corridor to the kitchen, letting her nose lead the way.
“I’ve heard something new,” said Artemis, pouring her a cup of hot milk from a steaming pan. His brow was tense; an open letter lay upon the table, bearing a black wax seal that Kate had seen many times before.
She dropped onto her chair and tried to wake up.
“As you know, the wardens haven’t taken anyone from the northern counties for some time,” said Artemis. “I contacted a few friends in the south and it turns out things have been just as quiet all over Albion.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?” asked Kate, resigning herself to yet another early morning warden conversation.
“I’m not sure. The last I heard, Continental soldiers had tried to land boats on the southern coast and Albion soldiers burned every one of them with fire arrows before they even reached the shore. The war could be going well for once. Or the wardens might just have new orders.”
“I don’t suppose they’ll leave people alone for very long,” said Kate, eating as she talked. “What else did your friends say?”
“They told us to be careful, “said Artemis. “Without a pattern to follow, no one knows where the wardens are likely to go next. Morvane is doing well. We have more people here than any of the smaller towns nearby. In the High Council’s eyes we could afford to lose a few hundred to the war effort. A harvest here could well be overdue.”
“You think they’re coming back,” said Kate, her face serious.
“I think we need to be prepared.” Artemis pushed his bowl aside and stood up. “We won’t be opening the shop today,” he said. “I’ve sent a note to Edgar telling him not to bother coming in to work. Find a bag and pack whatever you will need for the next few days.”
“We’re leaving Morvane?”
“Just for a while.”
“But if the wardens are coming, we have to warn people. We have to tell them! We can’t just leave!”
“Yes, we can,” said Artemis. “Two of us might pass unnoticed on our way out of the town gates. Any more than that will certainly be seen and stopped.”
“What about Edgar? He can come with us. One more won’t—”
“No,” said Artemis. “Not even him. We can’t take that risk. You’ll just have to trust me, Kate. We’re leaving today.”
Kate had never seen Artemis as worried as he was that morning. She packed a small bag as quickly as she could and dragged it downstairs to wait for him on the bookshop floor. She looked out of the front window and across the market square. The sun had started to rise over Morvane’s frosty streets and the market traders had already set up their stalls on the cobbles, welcoming their first customers with red cheeks, hugging themselves against the cold. Two would-be book buyers tested the bookshop’s door and Kate hid behind a curtain, not wanting to explain why she couldn’t let them in.
“Good idea,” said Artemis, lugging his traveling bag down the stairs. “The last thing we need is customers trying to fight their way in. We’ll make our way out of town on foot and follow one of the old roads out to the west. No one will know us there. We’ll walk to the next town, find a good place to stay and after a few days . . . Well . . . We’ll be back before you know it.”
“This is the best trading day of the year,” said Kate, who had never known her uncle to take a day off work, never mind actually close up the shop. “Why do we have to go today?”
Artemis pulled on his coat and gloves and slid the dagger from its hiding place beneath the desk. “There are far more important things in thi
s world than money,” he said.
Thud.
Kate turned.
Something had just struck the window.
“What was that?” Kate asked.
“Whatever it was, it’s not important,” said Artemis. “We have to go.”
Kate picked up her bag while he unlocked the door and when they stepped out into the icy square she almost trod on something small and black lying upon the cobbles.
“It’s a bird,” she said, picking up the limp body and cupping it in her hands. “It must have flown into the window.”
Artemis’s eyes went immediately to the sky.
“I thought blackbirds didn’t nest here in Albion anymore,” said Kate. “I’ve never seen one in town before.”
“Kate. Get inside.”
“What? Why?”
Before Artemis could answer, a second bird speared down past his head and struck the shop door with a sharp crack. And it was not alone.
Kate looked up and saw a huge flock of blackbirds swooping over the square. Hundreds of them, screeching to one another and thumping down at the buildings, two or three at a time. People ran for cover, huddling together in doorways as the flock shifted and dived. Artemis grabbed Kate’s arm and pulled her back into the shop.
“We’re too late,” he said.
Thud-thud.
“What’s happening?”
“It’s a hording! Get in! Don’t let them into the shop.”
“What’s a—? Ahh!”
Kate ducked away from a blackbird that speared down at the door on a collision course, its bright eyes wild and unnatural. Artemis swung the door shut, ignoring Kate’s shriek of horror as a flurry of black feathers bounced off the glass and flopped lifeless to the ground. He dragged the bolt across and pulled her away from the window.
“Go down into the cellar,” he said, throwing their bags into the darkness at the back of the shop. “Stay there and hide. It’ll be all right.”