Cover

Title Page

Dedication

For Jeff Sampson, without whom this book
never would have come to be.

Chapter One

Evin blinked once, then squinted. The afternoon sun glared bright white. He raised a hand and shielded his eyes.

Tree bark bit through his trousers. Keeping his eyes shielded, he looked down between his dangling feet. Yellow grass and gnarled roots burst from the ground beneath him—far, far beneath him.

A wave of dizziness hit him. He struggled to remember exactly why he had decided to climb up into the tree.

Twigs crunched. Evin looked down again to see a boy creeping around the tree’s trunk, gripping a wooden sword.

The boy’s name flashed in Evin’s mind.

Jorick.

Then it all came flooding back. Of course. He was playing a game—a game of ambush—with his friend Jorick. The two boys did it all the time. But this time was different. This time he had to win.

Grinning, Evin adjusted himself as quietly as he could. He reached to his side and found a carved wooden dagger attached to his belt. He waited and watched as Jorick looked left and right behind the tree trunks. Jorick didn’t think to look up—he never did.

Jorick took a step forward, then another. One more step and he was positioned right where Evin wanted him.

“Aaaaaargh!” Evin screamed a war cry so loud that Jorick leaped straight up. Evin landed on Jorick’s back and they tumbled into the yellow grass.

Evin twisted Jorick’s arm and swung his leg around his friend’s waist, pinning him down. Jorick lay facedown in the dirt.

“Cheater.” Jorick lifted his head and spit. He squirmed against Evin’s tight grip. “You have to give me another chance.”

“No,” Evin said. “I won fair and square, so tonight we’re going on our adventure. Got it?”

Jorick stopped worming around. His back rose and fell rapidly, lifting Evin up and down and up and down. Though Evin couldn’t see his friend’s face, he knew it was twisted into a scowl.

“All right,” Jorick grunted. “I give up. I’ll go.”

Evin loosened his grip and started to stand. “Good. I don’t know why you even argued against it the first place. It’s all we ever talk about.”

And it was.

For as long as Evin could remember, he dreamed of leaving his village of Hesiod to travel the countryside, have grand adventures, and become a real hero like the ones he read about.

Yesterday, Evin decided he wasn’t going to dream about it anymore. He was going to leave, leave for real.

It all started after Evin had finished sweeping the pub at the inn. Evin’s father ran Hesiod’s only inn and he expected Evin and his brother Marten to learn the trade—but all that meant was that Evin and Marten got stuck doing all the work that Father didn’t want to do.

Late that afternoon, Father had found Evin and Marten practicing pick pocketing on the inn’s patrons. They weren’t stealing anything valuable—just handkerchiefs, like usual—but it didn’t matter. Father yelled and sent Evin to his room where he’d stewed, feeling trapped behind the walls of that stupid inn.

So Evin made a plan. After Father let Marten off work for the day, he and Jorick and his brother would all set out on the adventure they’d always dreamed of, with no fathers and no ridiculous expectations.

Only, Jorick had refused to go. He had never before said no to anything Evin asked. The only way to settle it, Evin decided, was a fight into submission.

Jorick shrugged his broad shoulders as he stood. He looked up at Evin. “Does it really have to be tonight? Can’t we at least have a day to pack?”

Evin shook his head. “Nope. It has to be tonight. I’m not going to sleep in that stupid inn ever again.”

“What about saying good-bye to my dad?”

“You can write him a letter, but after we’re far enough away that no one can follow.”

Jorick hunched down. He didn’t say anything. Evin kicked him lightly in the shin.

“It will be all right, Jorick,” he said. “It’s not like we won’t come back some day to visit and—”

Without a word, Jorick barreled toward Evin, meaty arms held wide. Evin spun to the right, ducked under Jorick’s arms, spun once more, and leaped onto Jorick’s exposed back. The stockier boy stumbled forward, his hands grasping at the empty space where Evin had stood only a moment before.

“You know you’re never going to beat me,” Evin said into Jorick’s ear. “You should just stop trying.”

Jorick tried to peel Evin’s fingers loose. He staggered backward, deeper and deeper into the woods.

Evin laughed and hung on tight, enjoying the forced piggyback ride. Then, he felt his back hit a wall.

A sharp, electric tingle coursed through Evin’s body and he yelped. His brain grew fuzzy. Goose bumps prickled his skin. Searing pain lanced the back of his shoulders, his neck, his head. Bright light reflecting off the wall seemed to envelope Evin. For a moment, his mind went blank except for two words: get away.

Evin hollered and his friend stepped forward, allowing him to fall to the dirt. Gasping for air, Evin squeezed his eyes shut to block out the light. Cool relief washed over him as the electric tingle, the fuzziness around his brain, and the heat faded away.

Squinting, Evin craned his neck to look up at the wall. It was made of ivory bricks so smoothly put together that it seemed the wall was one perfect piece of stone. The wall jutted from the ground and went all the way into the sky, so far that it became obscured behind misty clouds that floated lazily in the sky. The wall ran forever into the horizon in either direction, disappearing into a haze behind the forest’s trees.

It had always been here, this wall. Well, for as long as Evin could remember anyway. He used to come and stare at it when he was younger, always wondering if it was possible to climb it, pondering whether there was some way to get to the other side and explore. Sometimes the sun hit it just right so that its reflection off of the pearly sheen became blinding, and Evin found the effect mesmerizing.

But he’d never dared get too close. Everyone knew the wall was magic. It had a way of making people act strangely if they touched it.

Lowering his gaze, Evin climbed to his feet and rubbed at his eyes. “That was a low move,” he said to Jorick. “Making me hit the wall doesn’t mean you’ve won. We are going. Tonight.”

Jorick didn’t respond. Prepared to renew their brawl, Evin lowered his hands and balled them into fists. But Jorick wasn’t looking at Evin. Instead, his eyes were aimed at the tree line. His wooden sword lay in the dirt.

The faint smell of ash met Evin’s nose and he followed Jorick’s line of sight.

A dark column of smoke rose from somewhere beyond the forest.

“The village,” Evin whispered.

Chapter Two

Evin and Jorick raced through the trees toward Hesiod. Low-hanging branches slapped their cheeks and they stumbled over bushes, but Evin didn’t care.

Marten was there. His mother. All the other people he’d grown up with. And yes, his father, who he now desperately hoped was all right.

As the boys reached the tree line, the flames were so hot that even from across a clearing, the heat warmed their skin. The massive building closest to them—the inn—was already engulfed by fire.

“No!” Evin screamed. Not thinking, he raced to the burning building, sure that he would find his family in a bucket line, working to put out the fire.

But as he got close, he saw the inn wasn’t the only building on fire. Every building in the village—from the town hall to the many thatched-roof homes, from the bakery to the stables—was burning. People ran through streets, fleeing from nightmarish creatures brandishing battle-axes. Evin’s blood ran cold and his arms began to tremble. He skidded to a stop.

“Why are you stopping?” Jorick shouted, but then he saw the monsters too.

The creatures were taller than any man Evin knew, and though they walked on two legs and held their axes in two muscular arms, they most certainly were not men. What parts of their bodies weren’t covered by piecemeal armor were instead covered by mangy, matted yellow fur.

Their heads hung low from the top of their wide torsos, their faces elongated into snouts like a dog’s or a wolf’s. Their ragged, pointed ears jerked around to catch the sounds of everything around them. Their sharp teeth and yellow eyes glinted, reflecting the flames.

There were dozens of the creatures, surely at least two for each villager who lived in Hesiod. They moved in twos and threes, grabbing and smacking the villagers over their heads, then dragging them north, beyond the burning village. Their cries were high pitched, nasal, and whining—a staccato and unnerving sound almost like mocking laughter.

The monsters weren’t eating the villagers. They were kidnapping them, Evin realized. Maybe there was hope. Maybe he and Jorick could stop the creatures and—

A growl sounded from beside Evin. He looked to his side just in time to see Jorick—the source of the growl—begin to run toward the monsters, his hands clenched into fists.

Evin dropped his useless, fake dagger and pumped his arms, running as fast as he could. His calves ached and his lungs burned, but Evin pushed himself through the pain. They had to get to the village. They had to save their families.

It felt like Evin had dived headfirst into an oven as they ran past the collapsing inn. The heat from the flames dried his skin, and smoke invaded his eyes, his throat. He coughed and waved his hand in front of his face, trying to make out through tear-blurred eyes which shadows were people and which were the horrifying monsters.

“Dad!” Jorick screamed. “Dad!” He darted back and forth beside Evin, tears making tracks down his soot-stained cheeks.

Evin’s heart thudded. He and Jorick moved deeper into the burning village, scanning for any signs of life. Most of the monsters were gone and the screams were fading, but the boys couldn’t give up.

Evin jumped as timber creaked, then thudded beside him. The supports of the town hall gave way and the building fell in on itself.

Then, in front of Evin, someone emerged from the smoke, shielding his face and hacking. For a moment, in his panicked, confused state, Evin almost thought he was looking at his own reflection—the figure was tall, slender, and blond. But then the other boy lowered his arm.

Relief flooded into Evin’s tense muscles. “Marten!”

Marten’s pale eyes widened. “Evin!”

Evin ran to his brother and barreled into his chest.

“We have to run!” Marten shouted over the din of the crackling flames. “We have to get out of here!”

“Where are Mother and Father?” Evin shouted back.

“Have you seen my dad?” Jorick asked.

“They’re gone!” Marten pulled away. “Those creatures took them all. We have to save ourselves now or—”

Jorick cried out and Marten spun around. One of the monsters emerged from the smoke, shadowy and backlit by the flames. It snarled, then opened its jaws and howled, the sound like some vicious laugh.

It raised its axe high, and for a brief, terrifying moment, Evin thought the monster might slice his only brother in two. Instead, the creature brought the flat side of the blade down against Marten’s head. There was a sickening, heavy clang and Marten collapsed to the ground. His limbs were slack and bent, like a marionette with its strings cut.

“No!” Evin cried, and the monster’s yellow eyes darted up from Marten to look at him. The flames reflected in its pupils, making its eyes look as if they were glowing.

Evin’s stomach fell, and he felt as if his legs had turned to string. But when the monster moved as though to come at him, some reserve of strength surged through Evin’s aching limbs. He grabbed Jorick by the arm and ran.

They reached the edge of the village, where the cobblestone streets met the now blackened grass. There, gasping for air, Evin finally let go of Jorick’s arm.

“We have to leave now,” Evin said, his voice trembling. “We have to go back to the woods.”

“We can’t!” Jorick shouted. “We have to stop those monsters!”

“With what, our fists?”

“If we have to!”

The inn groaned beside them, letting out a final creak as its remaining wall fell. Soot and dust rose. Sparks swirled through the darkness. Coughing, Evin stepped farther back into the clearing, the cool night air soothing the tender, dried skin on his cheeks.

“We’re leaving,” Evin said. “Everyone is gone. We got here too late. We have to run before those things come after us too!”

Jorick recoiled. “But my dad! And your brother! He—”

“My brother said we have to save ourselves!” Evin shouted. “And … and he was right. Now come on!”

Jorick opened his mouth to say something, but he stopped short as the monsters’ horrible, howling laughter rose somewhere through the smoke behind them. Without another word, Jorick nodded at Evin. Then, the two boys ran once more—away from the village and back into the woods.

Chapter Three

Rain pattered against the forest canopy. Evin almost couldn’t look at the campfire he and Jorick had built. It kept reminding him of home—of his former home, anyway. Memories appeared in his mind then: Just the day before, he’d spent the day working with his father to prepare rooms for the traders from Forestedge who were supposed to be coming in that evening. Just the day before, Marten had given him the little dagger he’d carved, a gift for Evin after he successfully swiped the insufferable assistant mayor’s monogrammed handkerchief. Just the day before …

It was all gone now. His father and his demands. His mother, who always kept the inn’s patrons laughing while she delivered their drinks. Marten and his secret lessons on being a rogue. The inn he’d longed to escape was now nothing but a pile of embers.

But just because the village was gone didn’t mean the people who had lived there were gone. The monsters hadn’t killed anyone, not that Evin had seen. They had taken them somewhere. Evin could track down the villagers.

Now he’d get to be a hero like he had always wanted.

He sighed. He’d wanted a new life—but not like this. Not at the expense of everyone he ever knew.

Jorick sat on the other side of the fire, his hair soaked with rainwater. His jaw was clenched. The flames cast menacing shadows over his features.

Evin’s stomach growled. They needed food. And more important, they needed to figure out where the dog-men had taken their families.

He stood up and wiped the mud from his trousers as best he could. He kicked dirt onto the fire, dousing most of the flames.

Jorick leaped to his feet. “Is it time?” he asked. “You think it’s been long enough?”

Searching through the nearby brush for a broken branch that was mostly dry, Evin nodded. “The fires are probably out by now, and those creatures are gone. We should go see what’s left.”

Jorick narrowed his eyes. “You kept us waiting so that we could scavenge? I thought you were just trying to keep us alive so we could go rescue them. I know you hated your dad, but I’m not letting mine get eaten by monsters.”

“I won’t either!” Evin said. “Of course we’re going after them. But first we need supplies …”—he hesitated, then added in a quiet voice—“and I didn’t hate my father.”

Jorick stomped past Evin into the trees and toward the village. “If you say so.”

Evin put the tip of the branch he had found into the dying fire and let it light, then kicked dirt over the rest of the campfire and followed Jorick through the trees.

When he reached the tree line, Evin saw the remnants of Hesiod. The village had transformed into a shadowy ruin of jagged black planks, crumbled stone walls, and soot-stained rubble. Jorick was already climbing through the remains of the razed buildings, barely visible in what little moonlight shone between the clouds.

Evin could feel tears burning at his eyes. But he needed to keep up a brave face, if only to keep Jorick calm. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he followed Jorick into the village.

The rain had been more than heavy enough earlier in the evening to melt the smoldering ash into the dirt. The result was a slick slurry that squished around Evin’s boots as he walked the narrow streets of what had once been his home. He felt empty as he looked at the shells of the buildings, their insides hollowed out by the dog-men’s blaze. He half hoped that he’d find someone hiding in the buildings that weren’t all the way burned down. Maybe Marten had escaped and was waiting to meet up with him.

But the buildings were empty. The monsters had taken every last villager. Aside from the patter of the drizzling rain, the once bustling streets of Hesiod were completely silent.

Evin caught up to Jorick in what used to be the town square. Jorick was staring at the destroyed blacksmith shop that had belonged to his father. His breaths were ragged.

For a long moment, Jorick didn’t say anything. “So, Evin,” he finally whispered. “What do we do first?”

“Well,” Evin whispered back, “before we go after those creatures, we need to be ready. Maybe … maybe some weapons? Real ones, not wooden ones.”

Jorick grunted and headed toward the rubble. Evin ducked beneath a broken beam. The air smelled thick and smoky, and Evin felt almost as if the acrid paste of ash and dirt were coating his throat.

He held the small torch high as they looked around the blacksmith shop’s ruined floor. Metal clanked against metal as their boots hit soot-stained tools that had fallen from their places on the walls and were now scattered into the dirt. It actually seemed that most of the metal instruments were intact—the flames hadn’t had a chance to grow hot enough to melt them before the rain began to fall.

Evin found a short sword hidden beneath the muddy ash, and a pair of daggers nearby. He tucked them all between his belt and his waist. The metal bit into his side. Meanwhile Jorick cursed as he tossed through the rubble, even kicking at the massive anvil that still stood proudly in the corner.

“Hey, I know it’s bad, but we’ll save them,” Evin said. “I know we will.”

“It’s not that. I just need … here!”

Jorick dived into the rubble and began digging. He emerged a moment later brandishing a sword, his cheeks stained with soot. It was apparent from the ornate hilt and the reverent way Jorick held the weapon that this was no ordinary sword.

Jorick swung it through the air in two slashing motions, his muscles tensing with the weight even though working the sword seemed natural to him. For the first time in hours, a broad grin spread across Jorick’s dirty face.

“My dad’s sword,” he said. Meeting Evin’s eyes, he expertly swirled the sword one last time and then shoved it through his belt. “He said this was the best balanced sword he ever made and that when I was ready, it would be mine.”

Evin nodded. “And now it is. I bet he knows you’re going to come for him.”

“Yeah.” Jorick looked down at his muddy feet.

Evin was about to speak again when both boys heard a heavy thudding nearby and a high-pitched voice say something, the words muffled.

Evin stiffened, his hand flying to the weapon at his side. He put his hand on Jorick’s shoulder and then put his finger to his lips. Jorick nodded and together they tiptoed out of the building, straining to hear where the noise had come from.

Another thud. Another muffled, high-pitched curse.

Evin looked at Jorick and mouthed, “The mayor’s storehouse.” Jorick nodded, his eyes flashing from the torchlight.

As they grew closer, the sounds of something scrabbling through the rubble grew louder. The stone walls of the mayor’s personal storehouse were surprisingly intact—in fact, the building appeared to be one of the few to have been mostly spared from the raging fires, with only its roof really burned away. Meanwhile the mayor’s former residence, which had once stood beside the storehouse, was completely decimated, nothing but rubble anymore.

Evin gestured toward the storehouse’s doorway with his head and the boys took up position on either side, their backs pressed against the wet stone. Evin strained to listen. It didn’t seem to be more than one creature. Could it be one of the dog-men? If it was, now it would get a chance to feel as terrified as Evin had felt earlier.

With a nod from Evin, Jorick brandished his sword and dived into the store, screaming. Evin did the same, raising his sword and waving it around as he shouted.

Evin skidded to a stop as he entered the building, almost falling in the mud. For a moment, he and Jorick stood side by side, hollering until their voices were hoarse, hoping to frighten whoever or whatever was inside with them. Finally they needed to catch their breath, and only then did Evin make out what it was that had been scavenging through the storeroom’s toppled shelves.

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