"I wish we could see the stars," said Nicke.

Locke looked at him, surprised to hear such an exact echo of his own sentiment. "Me too."

We headed south across the Astral Fields where the sparse trees made the sky visible and wide, but we couldn't see a single shimmer. We did see the dead squirrels painted across the ground, their bodies left to rot. Since other animals hadn't touched them, I suspected that stealing an ondine made the blood impure.

Locke pictured his father's anger when we arrived home. He wouldn't be happy that we'd left without telling him. Or that we'd brought home a Tenarie. At least we'd be physically safe at the cove. Someone could deliver the scroll to the Seer. He'd break the skies. The wraiths would be driven back, death would be put off a little longer, and Nicke could see the stars again.

Locke took off the string and unrolled the scroll. Scripture or some elegant message was scrawled on the inside.

"What does it say?" asked Nicke.

"I don't know," said Locke. "It's not written in Kyriglae."

Wolves howled in the distance.

An unnatural presence rode after the wind, gnawing at the edges and chipping off splinters. Something not accompanied by an elemental. An unholy presence like I'd felt that night. Maybe it was the spirit of Saede himself. Or maybe one of his minions pressed down on us. I kept thinking about the man from Nicke's story, the one who said he'd be back for the scroll. I imagined his wispy white Tenarie hair and his cruel laughter.

"We need to move faster," I said.

Nicke looked at me.

Most elphes didn't even notice me. Out of those who did, few could actually hear me. But Nicke watched me closely every time I spoke. So I moved to Locke's ear before I whispered, "Do you think the cursed skies could be a Tenarie plot?"

Nicke looked up at Locke like an eager younger brother. A sad younger brother. I didn't think he'd heard me, but he still seemed to be waiting for Locke's answer. Maybe he kept trying to hear me in order to fill some gap left by his own sylphe's silence.

Locke shook his head at me. "The Hundred split their loyalties at least two ways." He answered me aloud, right in front of Nicke, without even a hint of embarrassment. "The Tenarie warriors weren't friendly to Nicke's village. Then there was Nicke's evil man, who seemed to have his own agenda. That's five distinct groups."

"I wasn't accusing Nicke," I said. After what had happened, Nicke was a hero just for marching on. My suspicions were aimed at the other Tenarie—his cousins and relatives.

"I know," said Locke. "I'm just saying it's not us versus them. It's more complicated. More shades to these shadows."

Fine.

Then he turned to Nicke, as if to oblige my theory: "Do you know why your people had so much water stored?"

"The Chief told us to. He said there would be a time when we'd survive off what we'd stored."

"So he knew the curse was coming?"

"A lot of people thought he was crazy."

"How did he know?"

"I don't know."

"Maybe he heard the same prophecies as your father, Locke," I whispered. "Maybe this is the end of the world."

Nicke paid close attention to me but said nothing.

"It's not the end of the world," said Locke, again aloud. "Not if this scroll has anything to do with it."

After that the boys walked in silence. Occasionally their eyes drifted toward lighter subjects, like tree bark and the way dust floated when they walked through powder. As we returned to the Majestic Sea, Nicke said he didn't want to see the monster, but as we passed from a distance he still gawked. Most of the people had abandoned the shoreline, surely searching for water. The loneliness was hauntingly peaceful. That night Nicke seemed more comfortable high in a tree, and he slept like a gripple monkey.

On the morning of the fourth day, black as storm, Locke announced, "We should reach home by nightfall."

Our food from Twiche was gone, so we foraged. Locke hit a scavenger hen with his sling. He was good with it—he'd even hit a robin in flight once, which I had mixed feelings about. As we hiked homeward, I tried to convince Locke to talk with Shaye, but he wouldn't. Instead he played his pinkalue, which did help us all feel better. It made a sound like the color of shiny copper, and the melody shifted directions and twirled, like a coin sinking down through water in a graceful dance.

As night fell, our morsel of peace was interrupted.

That feeling of foreboding I'd felt, the feeling that something was at our heels—it finally caught up to us.

"Do you hear that?" I asked.

The boys stopped.

"No—don't stop," I said.

"Shhh," said Locke.

"Keep moving."

"SHHH!"

As we stood, the air became so still that even breathing seemed loud, so the boys held their breath. Then we heard it:

Howling.

A similar howling to what we'd been hearing the last few days. But only similar. This howl seemed higher in pitch and rougher—a bit more like death.

Locke began walking again, now in long, rapid strides.

I didn't want my words to make it more real, but if I said nothing, they might be caught unawares. So I whispered my suspicion in Locke's ear: "Do you think that sounded like a banshe wolf?"

He shook his head in silent reply, while picking up his pace. He stole a glance at Nicke jogging next to him, only to find that Nicke was again watching us carefully. The howling sounded closer now.

"What did he say?" asked Nicke.

"He..." Locke hesitated, but he never was much of a liar. "He said that might have been a banshe wolf."

"It was," said Nicke.

The words banshe wolf echoed in the silence of memory over and over and over, with each footstep and grind of leather against dirt. Locke moved into a run, matching the hurry of the echo.

"You smell that?" asked Nicke.

"No," said Locke.

But I could. It was strong, repulsive, the sort of odor that rips with claws.

"That's the smell of death." Nicke spoke rapidly, as if that might speed our escape. "Banshe wolves are the opposite of the valkalysae. Saede sends them to carry souls down to his Necris. The Witchdoctor told me that."

"I've heard the same." The twins had told us many such stories. "But don't you think it's a myth?"

Nicke shook his head as if he had some personal knowledge that proved it was definitely not myth. His dark eyes, pale skin, and white hair seemed like a costume meant to scare. "They say that once a banshe wolf is on your trail, either you or it must die. It won't quit. And there's no other ending."

Locke didn't like it, the howling or Nicke's countenance. "You think it's after us?"

"Maybe. Or after that scroll we touched."

Locke patted his chest where the scroll was tucked underneath. It was still there. And he remembered that strange shock he'd gotten when he first picked it up.

"You can't outrun a banshe wolf," said Nicke. "You can stall sometimes, but we'd need a river to hide our trail."

"We're not far from the cove now."

The boys, panting heavily, ran even harder.

"And it's not one," said Nicke, gasping. "At least two wolves were howling just now."