For prisoners, Mads had told him the first time Bo saw it. Not little boys who live in forests.
The cage was empty, as it had been every time Bo peeked at it on his way into market—Mads said Squall’s End was too far from everywhere else to be worried about enemies. There was just a pile of rags littered on the floor of the cage, as far as Bo could see from where he was crouched.
“We hide behind the fountain wall,” Bo said, “and when we’re sure there’s no one around, we cross to the stables. There, see?”
Bo edged out from his hiding place, heart in his throat. But no one came running; the square was empty. “Don’t wait for me, Nix. Run to the fountain and don’t stop.”
Bo sprang to his feet and pushed off, arms pumping and head down as he made for the base of the fountain. Nix ran ahead, looking back to make sure Bo was still behind him.
Bo skidded to a halt at the fountain and crouched, Nix at his feet. They listened for footsteps, for barking, for the shouts of angry villagers.
Nothing.
“You ready, Nix?” he whispered. “We’ll be safe as soon as we get inside the stables.”
“I would not be so sure of that,” said an unexpected voice.
A zap of fear shot through Bo as he swung around. But there was no one behind him. His heart beat wildly.
“Up here,” said the voice.
Bo craned his neck and found a pair of beady black eyes looking down at him from the Fuglebur. The eyes were attached to a feathered head with a thick, curved beak poking between the bars of the cage. The disheveled creature wrapped two large hands around the bars and heaved herself upright.
Bo gasped.
It was a Korahku.
The True Histories of Ulv, Vol. XII
The Irin-Korahku War
The Irin and Korahku’s hatred for each other is not just because the Korahku think the Irin are a primitive, piglike people or because the Irin believe the Korahku to be Devil-worshiping bird-beasts. Oh no, it is much deeper than name-calling and superstition.
It all started with an egg.
Five hundred years ago, a convoy of Irin royalty visited the great sky nests of Korak to forge stronger ties between the two provinces. At the welcome feast, a Korahku delicacy was served: stunklopog. (This is the egg of a kroklops—a large, one-eyed dragon-worm—buried in soft, peaty earth until rotten, whence it is dug up, boiled, shelled, pickled, rolled in a crust of fish scales and salt, and then served at room temperature. It is, shall we say, an acquired taste.)
To turn down a plate of stunklopog is the highest insult in Korahku custom, so when the Irin royal family refused to eat it on the grounds that it was “repulsive,” they were swiftly and thoroughly beheaded.
Thus began the Irin-Korahku War, a war that rages to this day, and should an Irin and a Korahku come face-to-face, well . . . it’s best they don’t.
Chapter Six
Bo shuffled back, heart pounding like an axe against wood as the part-bird, part-woman stared down at him. His mouth was dry, his tongue sluggish and unwieldy as he tried to say . . . well, he didn’t know what to say.
“Ah well, I see you know what I am,” said the Korahku, her beak poking through the bars.
Bo had never seen a Korahku before. He’d heard the villagers talk—The head of a bird! The body of a person! Monstrous wings with feathers like knives! Clawed feet to gouge out your intestines! So unnaturally tall and long-limbed! An abomination! A Shadow Creature!—but all he could see from his vantage point was the birdlike head with unblinking eyes, a beak that curved into a sharp point, and the lightly feathered hands gripping the bars. The rest of her—including her enormous wings—was hidden beneath the tattered blue robe Bo had mistaken for a pile of rags.
She dragged herself closer to the edge of the cage, bringing down a rainfall of mottled reddish-brown feathers. “But what sort of thing are you?”
Nix snapped at the flurry of feathers.
“Irin of course,” said Bo.
“Of course, of course.” The Korahku laughed, a hearty sound that almost—almost—hid the heavy way she slumped against the cage bars. “An entire village of superstitious oafs are quivering behind locked doors and you are playing hide-and-seek in the market square. So, I ask myself: What kind of Irin are you?”
Bo tugged at the hood obscuring his eyes. “The cursed kind,” he muttered.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” said the Korahku. “But I suppose every great story begins with a curse.”
Bo squinted at the Korahku. She didn’t seem evil but Bo knew Korahku ate their children, sharpened their beaks with Irin bones, and worshiped the Dark. At least that was what the villagers said. Perhaps he should use the spirit charm Galvin sold him? He kept his hand close to his pocket.
Bo craned his neck, trying to get a better look at the creature. “What did you do?”
“Do?”
“To be locked up. Why are you a prisoner?”
The Korahku chuckled softly. “Does an Irin need a reason to lock up a Korahku?”
Bo shrugged. “I’m not supposed to talk to you anyway. Come on, Nix.”
“Ah, very sensible,” said the Korahku. “And, of course, I shouldn’t be talking to you.”
“What?” Bo frowned. “Why shouldn’t you talk to me?”
“Do you mean to say those villagers and their dog are not searching for you? Oh yes.” The Korahku laughed at Bo’s wide eyes. “From up here, I have quite a view. I can see the whole village . . .”
Bo’s chest tightened; beside him, Nix whimpered.
“It’s a mistake is all.” Bo glanced at the stables. If he ran now . . .
“I have a deal for you, little Irin,” said the Korahku. “Release me and I will take you to safety.”
Release? A Korahku?
Bo snorted. “I don’t—”
“Come now, little Irin.” The Korahku glanced to the east, to dangers Bo couldn’t see. “How long until that dog sniffs you out?”
“I’ve got sneezewort.” Bo pulled the white flowers from his pocket; they were already limp and half-dead in his palm.
“Ah yes, dogs do not like it—you are right there.” The Korahku leaned forward. “But Irin do not care if it is sneezewort or lindberry beer you are smothered in. They will skin you alive either way.”
Bo sucked in a deep, shaky breath. He knew the Korahku was right. And now that he was closer, the stables looked huge and he had only three candles—how would he ever Light such a space and keep the Shadow Creatures from gobbling him up like one of Lucky Karl’s pigs?
“If this is a trick you’re playing on me . . .”
“No trick.”
Nix pressed his snout to Bo’s calf.
“I know,” murmured Bo. “But it’s not just villagers I have to worry about, is it? You heard what the wolf said.” You cannot. Escape me . . .
He squinted at the Light making its slow crawl across the sky. If he freed the Korahku, perhaps she would take Bo and Nix safely out of the village. But to where?
The Korahku’s hands strained around the bars.
“Promise,” said Bo. “Promise you’ll take us somewhere safe and . . . promise you won’t eat me.”