rocks, borne along on a current of stone and shale.
Then it stopped. Everything was still.
Ren was on her back, coughing up dust. Król was getting gingerly to his feet. Shale tumbled past them.
The sky was rapidly lightening. Behind them, the slopes continued to move. Rock crunched on rock. The jagged peaks rose and fell. But here, for some reason, the earth stayed still.
Lukasz crawled to his knees, flexing his wounded shoulder, tugging his cap out from under a rock. Then his eyes focused in the distance, and he froze. His black coat was gray with dust. Slowly his hands went to his hair, pushed it back. All the color drained from his dust-streaked face.
“Oh my God,” he said.
Ren turned slowly, followed his gaze.
The sun had finished rising, and its light came out from behind the Mountains, glanced off smooth stone walls in pink and orange. But it also caught the glitter of golden antlers on a wooden gate. It lit on thatched roofs and glinted off polished walls; it wound through cobblestone streets and gleamed off windows in the distance.
Hala Smoków.
32
WIND TEASED THEIR HAIR, RUSHED over the bare streets. As they approached, Ren could make out intricate carvings of wolves and dragons along the gate, encircled with antlers and vines of wildflowers. The wood shone as if lit from within, deep and red, topped with snow but somehow pristine and unweathered. Above the gate, hanging from silver chains, was a dragon skull.
Beyond, a cobblestone road led up the hillside, with the town built around it into the rocks. Wooden houses with thatched roofs stared at them from either side, marching upward to a large house at the top of the village. This one was set back into the mountainside, made of the same red wood but supported on stone arches.
It was all so different from Ren’s castle. From the village. There, there had been a sense of disuse. Of things left to rot. The same was not true of this place. No, this town had the same permanence as the rest of the mountains. It had that same pristine emptiness, and Ren was instantly, acutely aware of the fact that everyone who had once lived here was now dead.
Beside her, Lukasz’s eyes were glassy.
Almost everyone.
“Welcome home,” she said weakly, before she realized what she was saying. He’d told her himself: this wasn’t his home. Not anymore. The words sounded brittle in the cold as they fell between them and shattered.
Lukasz ran a hand through his hair.
“We should go up to the lodge,” he said. His voice was very rough. “We need to find that sword.”
This time, Ren didn’t answer, and they began the long trek up the cobblestone street.
The town was perfectly preserved. Bridles hung from pegs, boots stood outside doorways, axes lay half buried in woodpiles. Beneath open shutters, the windows still had glass. Nothing broken, nothing destroyed.
The sound of their footsteps was deafening. The Mountains had turned their ears toward Hala Smoków, listening.
“My God—” started Lukasz.
Ren followed his gaze, jumped violently.
A figure had appeared in one of the doorways. He wore pale trousers with green and black embroidery, with a loose-fitting shirt and leather vest. A leather belt, almost a foot wide, encircled his waist. He looked so different from Lukasz and Koszmar, with their neat black uniforms. But like Lukasz, he was very tall, with long black hair and tanned skin.
Lukasz swallowed beside her.
“A domowik,” he murmured.
At the words, a foxy kind of smile lit up the domowik’s face. It leaned with a forearm against the top of the doorframe. With a furry hand, it took off its round black hat, then inclined its head. Two small horns pointed out of the long black hair.
When Lukasz spoke, it was with an odd, dreamlike quality, as if he was suddenly remembering things that he had forgotten long ago.
“They wailed every night,” he murmured. “None of us slept. All the candles went out. We couldn’t keep them lighted. It was only afterward that we realized they were trying to warn us . . . to tell us . . .”
Even without his smile, his mouth remained crooked, dragging down on one edge. He looked hungry. He always looked hungry.
“They’re good spirits,” he said. “They take care of the house. They live under floorboards. They guard the family.”
The domowik turned and disappeared back into the doorway. A long fluffy tail poked out the back of his trousers.
More and more domowiki appeared in the doorways as they made their way up