The Hound Of Rowan Part 23

Max heard his own words echo in the cavernous kitchen. Closing his eyes, he curled into a ball as shame consumed him. He braced himself for a torrent of angry words, but instead his father's voice sounded chillingly calm.

"You are my son, and I love you very much. Pack all your things. I'll be there to get you by noon tomorrow. You tell that teacher or whoever whoever is keeping you there that I'll call the police if they try to interfere." is keeping you there that I'll call the police if they try to interfere."

He heard his father's phone rattle in its cradle before the line went dead. His mind and feelings numb, Max slowly got to his feet and hung up the phone.

"Whew! Now those those were some fireworks!" exclaimed Mum with an excited gleam in her eye. The hag peered from around the corner, where she had nibbled an unpeeled carrot down to a nub. "I thought me and my sis knocked heads, but that takes the cake." were some fireworks!" exclaimed Mum with an excited gleam in her eye. The hag peered from around the corner, where she had nibbled an unpeeled carrot down to a nub. "I thought me and my sis knocked heads, but that takes the cake."

Max said nothing but walked toward her like a zombie. Her crooked, panting grin wavered as he came closer. Stooping over Mum, Max hugged her tight, ignoring her lumpy back and sweaty blouse and hair that smelled of mop water. The hag stiffened while Max shook and pressed his cheek against her shoulder. Several moments later, Max felt her short, thick arms embrace him.

"Shhh...it'll be all right, love," said Mum.

Max lifted his head and looked at the watery red eyes blinking back tears at him.

"You haven't lost a father, love," she croaked. "You've gained a Mum!"

The hag immediately began pinching Max's arm and looking urgently around the kitchen.

"We've got to feed feed you-that's what we've got to do! That's the trick-a full belly to chase the icky blahs away! Three hams and a cabbage and call Mum in the morning!" you-that's what we've got to do! That's the trick-a full belly to chase the icky blahs away! Three hams and a cabbage and call Mum in the morning!"

The hag squeezed Max's hand and suddenly darted off to a meat locker, humming contentedly as she began launching hams out the door.

Mr. Vincenti was waiting out in the dining hall when Max emerged.

"My dad says he's coming to get me tomorrow morning," said Max, walking past the older man and trudging up the stairs. "He says he'll call the police if there's any problem. I'll let you and Ms. Richter figure that one out.... I'm going to my room and I want to be left alone."

David was staring up at the stars beyond the gla.s.s, scribbling into a notebook, when Max came in and flopped into bed.

"What's the matter?" asked David. He walked around the balcony, weaving through books and astronomical models on the floor, and took a seat on a small rug next to Max's bed.

"Everything. Ms. Richter isn't letting me go home for the break."

"Why not?" asked David. "Isn't your dad expecting you?"

Max hesitated. He had promised both Nigel and Ms. Richter that he wouldn't tell anyone about his encounters with Mrs. Millen. But the image of his father standing before a fireplace with three empty stockings flashed through his head. Max sat up, his eyes flas.h.i.+ng with anger.

Over the next hour, he told David everything.

The wonders and horrors spilled out of him like water from a broken faucet; he told of the tapestry and Ronin and Mrs. Millen and the conversation he overheard about missing Potentials and stolen paintings. David said very little while Max talked; he simply hugged his knees and listened intently until Max had finished.

"Well, things make a lot more sense now," said David finally. "Really big things are happening," he said simply. "Or about to happen. It's been written up there for a while." He pointed up at the small constellations winking in and out of sight. "I'm sorry you're not going home, but at least I get to have some company over the break."

Max stared at him.

"Why aren't you you going home?" going home?"

David's face lost its little smile, and he walked downstairs to retrieve a small bundle of letters. Max recognized David's handwriting on the envelopes. Each was stamped RETURN TO SENDER.

David's voice was quiet and calm. "My mom moved away."

"Well, where did she move?" asked Max.

"I don't know-she didn't leave a forwarding address."

Max sat up as David began coughing.

"I knew she would," continued David when the coughing stopped. "I knew she'd leave once she was sure I'd found another home. It was just the two of us, and she really couldn't take care of me.... She wasn't well."

David wrapped the rubber band back around the letters, and Max stared at the little bundle of envelopes. His own sense of injustice and outrage began to diminish.

"David, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," said David. "Ms. Richter told me to consider Rowan my home, but she didn't need to. I already did. I'm sorry you can't spend Christmas with your dad, but Ms. Richter's actually right-you're both probably safer if you stay here until they figure everything out." He glanced back up at the gla.s.s dome. "There's still some stuff I haven't figured out, either."

"Like what?" asked Max, swinging his legs over the bed.

"Everything you told me makes sense based on what I can see. But didn't Ms. Richter say Astaroth was defeated?"

"Yeah," said Max uneasily. He stood and glanced up at the gla.s.s dome. He saw a moon, white dots, and pretty constellations. But David seemed to read them like a book-a very important book.

"His symbol is all over the place," David said quietly. "Astaroth might have been defeated, but I don't think he was destroyed."

Mr. McDaniels did not arrive at Rowan the next day; no police came to restore Max to his father. Instead, Max received a phone call during which his cheerful father expressed sincere but supportive regret that Max needed to stay at Rowan over the holidays. Max was a.s.sured that his presents had been s.h.i.+pped express and that Mr. McDaniels would be thinking of him every minute.

Late that morning, Max ran into Mr. Vincenti in the dining hall; his advisor was finis.h.i.+ng a roll and perusing the newspaper. On the front page, Max saw that yet another painting had been stolen.

"Did you speak to your father?" asked Mr. Vincenti.

"Yeah," said Max, still puzzling over the conversation. "Everything's fine. What did you do?"

Mr. Vincenti folded the newspaper and sighed.

"We had to influence his memory and feelings a bit." Seeing Max's face, he added quickly, "Not his feelings about you-just his perspective about you staying here over the holidays. They were very strong. He loves you very much."

The strange conversation left Max feeling mixed. On the one hand he was relieved that his father did not seem to remember the awful things Max had said; on the other, it was disturbing that a seemingly minor intervention could alter his father's memories and att.i.tude. He tried to shake it off, running his hand up the banister wound with mistletoe and holly.

David was upstairs in the foyer, tying his scarf.

"Going to feed Maya," he said. "Want to come?"

Minutes later, the two were crunching through the snow on their way to the Sanctuary. It had snowed throughout the night, and everything was encased in a glistening white blanket.

The Warming Lodge was very snug in the winter. Sunlight streamed in from windows high along the walls, and the building smelled of fresh hay and sanded wood. Nick was sound asleep, but Maya was not. Like a silver gazelle, she walked in graceful circles around her stall while David ordered a small box of food from the feeding bin. When David opened the door, Maya glided past him and came directly to Max. She rested her smooth silver head against his hip and craned her neck to look up at him with eyes like almonds cast of gold. Max felt his spirits lift; the weariness and sorrow drained away, and he was filled with a sense of peace and well-being.

"What exactly is Maya again?" asked Max, quietly stroking her ears.

"She's an ulu," said David, leading Max and Maya toward the door. "Her kind brings quiet and understanding. She might be the last one left, though-they almost went extinct in the nineteenth century all because their skins and horns are beautiful and their blood's rumored to hold the secret to any language. Collectors and scholars and scientists wanted them."

Max was incredulous; he could not imagine anyone wanting to hunt or hurt or kill anything so graceful and giving. Maya s.h.i.+vered once as she stepped gingerly out onto the snow, before dipping her head into the little box of fruits and gra.s.ses.

When Maya was finished, David and Max took her for a long walk in the Sanctuary, choosing paths that Max had never taken before. They climbed high in the woods, listening to drips of water and the strange calls of many birds. Suddenly, a large drift of snow came spilling down a slope.

Max looked up and caught his breath.

YaYa was sprawled above them, on a bluff overlooking their path. Her black lioness face was matted with blood and steam rose off her body; the hoof of a very large animal was visible beneath her in a trampled bed of pinkish snow. YaYa peered at them, sniffing the crisp air. Max saw his own reflection in her huge pearly eyes as she spoke in her strange voice that sounded of several women.

"Solstice greetings to you, Maya. Greetings, children."

She dipped the broken horn atop her head in salute.

"h.e.l.lo, YaYa," said David. "I was hoping to find you."

Max glanced at his roommate; David had mentioned nothing to him.

"Were you, child? Let me come down." The huge ki-rin stood and nuzzled her face clean in the snow before descending the slope. Max stood silent; encountering YaYa in the wild was a far different experience from pa.s.sing by her as she snored beneath blankets in the Warming Lodge.

"YaYa, was Astaroth destroyed?" asked David.

YaYa stepped forward; her whiskered chin came to a stop right above Max's head.

"Why do you ask YaYa this?" chimed YaYa's voices.

"Because you are the Great Matriarch of Rowan. Only you remember Solas in its glory; only you remember the light that rose up against the darkness when Astaroth came."

The words flowed from David in a lilting cant that made Max feel sleepy. He stood quietly and stroked Maya's silvery withers.

YaYa crouched and settled her great bulk onto the path. "Did you know you are just like him?" she asked after a long silence. "The words and spirit of my master echo in your young voice."

"Who was your master?" asked David. "I did not know the Great Matriarch could have one."

"My master was was the light that rose against Astaroth. I was with him when he threw the Enemy down. Elias Bram was my master. I tried to aid him, but the Enemy was too great. My horn broke against the Demon's side, and I was cast far away before they brought down the high halls and the land was ruined beneath them." the light that rose against Astaroth. I was with him when he threw the Enemy down. Elias Bram was my master. I tried to aid him, but the Enemy was too great. My horn broke against the Demon's side, and I was cast far away before they brought down the high halls and the land was ruined beneath them."

"But was Astaroth destroyed destroyed?" David asked again.

"It is beyond my understanding how to destroy something so aged and evil," said YaYa quietly. "That is Old Magic and is woven into the heart and roots of this world. I have heard the Demon's body was found, but I do not know what came of it. When her master fell, YaYa sailed west with the others and left those dark days behind...."

The sounds of bells and laughter came up from the winding path behind them. YaYa turned and padded away farther up the path, disappearing around the bend. David led Maya to the side of the path, just as a bright red sleigh pulled by two great chestnut horses rounded the corner. Nolan was holding the reins, laughing with Mr. Morrow, Miss Boon, and two Sixth Years.

"Hey there, you two!" crowed Nolan. "Been talking to YaYa?"

"How'd you know?" asked David.

Miss Boon leaned forward, studying them very closely as Nolan gestured at the limp hoof and red snow on the bluff above them.

"Been caring for YaYa for almost thirty-five years," he said. "I can spot her work a mile off."

Mr. Morrow took a long draw off his pipe and snuggled deeper into the folds of his woolen throw. The tobacco smelled fine and warm among the pine needles and patches of sun.

"We're a bit cramped for two young First Years and an ulu, but take this, eh?" he said.

Max stepped forward and took a metal thermos from his Humanities instructor. Uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the lid, he smelled hot chocolate.

"Thanks, Mr. Morrow," said Max, taking a quick sip.

"Not at all, McDaniels," he growled with a wink. "Happy Solstice to you two, my boys. Songs and treats in the first-floor hall tonight-eight sharp!"

"We'll be there," said Max as the sleigh continued on around the bend.

Once it disappeared, David shook his head at Max and coughed.

"No we won't," said David. "Tonight we're figuring out what happened to Astaroth."

Max heard fiddle music and singing from the great hall even before he opened the Manse's heavy doors and crept inside. Nick was fed and David would be waiting. Max stole up an old flight of servant stairs while the baritones of Bob and Mr. Morrow rose above the chorus of remaining students and faculty.

The rising of the sun And the running of the deer, And the running of the deer, The playing of the merry organ, The playing of the merry organ, Sweet singing in the choir. Sweet singing in the choir.

Max met David in the Bacon Library, where he had left the lights off and was working by candlelight, poring through a stack of newspapers and computer printouts.

"Take this list," he whispered before Max could sit down.

Max glanced down at a piece of notebook paper; there were dozens of book t.i.tles listed.

"We need all all these?" these?"

David nodded, handing Max a second candle and continuing to jot down notes in his thin, slanting script. Over an hour later, Max grunted as he stacked the last of the heavy books on the table. David was still writing furiously, seemingly unaware that Max was even there. His candle had almost burnt out.

Max sat down to take a breather, perusing some of the spines before him: Great Works of the Nineteenth Century, Art of the Baroque, Secret Techniques of the Old Masters, Dada and Surrealism, The Genius of Rembrandt, Hidden Symbols of Bernini, A Renaissance of Art and Man, Dutch Masters of the Seventeenth Century, The Postmodern Dilemma... Great Works of the Nineteenth Century, Art of the Baroque, Secret Techniques of the Old Masters, Dada and Surrealism, The Genius of Rembrandt, Hidden Symbols of Bernini, A Renaissance of Art and Man, Dutch Masters of the Seventeenth Century, The Postmodern Dilemma...

"David," Max hissed, overwhelmed by the thick books and unfamiliar names. "What are we going to do with all of these?"

David appeared much older by candlelight; he stopped writing a moment to look at Max.

"Astaroth isn't destroyed," said David. "I'm sure of it. The Enemy's looking for him, and it has something to do with the stolen paintings. I think some paintings may have secret clues that lead to Astaroth. But first I'll need two more books."

Max rose in antic.i.p.ation, but David shook his head and said, "They're not in here. They're locked up in the Promethean Archives-a secret room below Maggie and Old Tom. I can get them, but I have to go alone. Just take these back to the room and I'll meet you there."

Max ignored David's cryptic comment and watched as David opened his backpack and started putting the books inside. Just as with Nigel's calfskin case, the books dropped inside without making a sound or dent in the sides.

"Where'd you get that?" asked Max.

"Made it," said David simply. "I'll go ahead-meet you back in the room."

David blew out his remaining candle and left as a chorus of shouts and cheers erupted from the gathering in the great hall two floors below them. Max bagged the remaining books and was about to creep out the library door when his curiosity overwhelmed him. He wondered exactly why David had insisted on visiting the Archives alone.