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  “Gets through the Jackal’s . . .” The Guardian laughed sharply. “You know as well as I do that that is impossible. No Guardian can penetrate the Jackal’s Lair. Think about what you’re saying, Jack. There’s no way that the Jackal would send the Four after the boy. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  Jack ignored the Guardian’s chuckles, trying to control his anger at being dismissed so lightly.

  “With faith, nothing is impossible,” Jack said evenly. “I can see now that I’ve wasted both your time and mine. Don’t bother, I’ll show myself out.”

  Angry, Jack stood up and stalked to the richly decorated door. He ignored Zephath, who called after him, saying, “The Four? The Jackal’s wall! Honestly, Jack!”

  The frustrated faun opened the door and was nearly flattened by Rachel, who had been leaning against it, eavesdropping. The young Guardian instantly straightened, turning a bright shade of crimson. Jack shot her a withering glance as he walked out of the office and made his way back down the elaborate corridor. His pulse thundered in his ears and he clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles showed white.

  “Pompous peacocks!” he muttered. “They’re so caught up with their petty tasks that they have no idea what’s at stake.” He was just about to exit through the tall doorway that led outside when the young Guardian’s voice called to him from behind.

  “Is it true? Has the Bridge Builder really come?” Rachel said, running to catch up with him.

  Jack eyed her suspiciously for a moment and then replied, “Yes, it’s true.”

  The girl gazed at him, awestruck, and then straightened her shoulders. “I heard Jemial’s report. Zephath might not believe in the Bridge Builder, but if you say it’s true, I believe you. And I’d like to help, if you’ll have me.”

  Jack gazed at the young Guardian with newfound respect. He’d underestimated the girl. He noticed the determined look in her dark eyes and smiled gently.

  “Thank you for believing me, Rachel. But I’m afraid we’ll need many more Guardians to help us if we want to succeed. The whole reason that I came here was to raise an army.”

  Rachel smiled and said, “Leave that part to me. Word of what Jemial said has spread among the younger Guardians. Give me an hour and you’ll have your army.”

  Chapter Eight

  ALARM!

  Whiplash Scruggs opened the silver scissors wide, ready to snip the other wing from Melchior’s back and finally put an end to the person he’d hated for so long.

  Good-bye, Melchior, he thought. A wicked smile spread across his face. But as he moved the blades toward Mr. Spines’s wing, a screeching voice echoed through the amphitheater.

  “Groundlings to battle stations! Groundlings to battle stations! Code red!”

  The Groundlings leaped to their feet and began pushing and shoving their way to the doors. Scruggs cursed his luck. There were strict rules about conducting a Clipping. The Groundlings enjoyed these events so much that the Jackal had instituted a law stating that they must always be performed in front of a large audience. The Jackal wanted his army to remain inspired, and to give his soldiers the opportunity to witness his triumphs.

  Scruggs contemplated his dilemma. He wanted to end this right now. He’d waited for this moment forever! But could he disobey the Jackal?

  Forget the rules! he thought. I’ll finish this without an audience.

  He placed the blades next to Melchior’s remaining wing and was about to snap the scissors shut when a heavy claw grabbed his wrist.

  It belonged to a tall, thin Groundling with an iron grip. The Groundling’s blue eyes bore into Scruggs’s own, his sharp features contorted in a mocking grin.

  “And what does he think he’s doing?” the Groundling said, indicating Scruggs in a rough, condescending voice. “Thinks he’s too important to follow the Jackal’s rules. Thinks he’s too high an’ mighty, don’t he?”

  Scruggs scowled. The Groundling’s grip hurt his wrist, but he didn’t want to show any sign of weakness.

  “What do you want, Charlie?” he grunted.

  The skinny Groundling flashed a yellow grin in response. “Well, Charlie Hoof don’t want anything but the law. But he,” Charlie looked deep into Scruggs’s blue eyes, “he don’t respect the law. ‘No Clippings without a full assembly,’ that’s what the book says, don’t it? But Scruggs thinks he knows better. And Charlie says that it wouldn’t be proper. No. Negatory.”

  Scruggs hated Charlie’s unusual way of referring to everyone as “he” or sometimes “it.” The Groundling even referred to himself by his first name.

  Charlie glanced down at Mr. Spines and tapped his long, yellow fingernails on his knee as he spoke. “The way Charlie sees it, this one is a bit different from the others. Special,if you know what Charlie means. It’s to be thrown in the dungeon until we reconvene.”

  Scruggs wrenched his wrist out from Charlie’s iron grip. Nursing it with his left hand, he glared back at the bony Groundling, wishing he could kill him on the spot. The problem was that, technically speaking, Charlie outranked him. He was head of the Jackal’s police force, and when Charlie Hoof got involved, everybody had to toe the line.

  “Whatever you say, Charlie,” Scruggs spat.

  And with that, the huge man strode from the stage, knocking over a columned pedestal as he went. Charlie stayed behind, flashing a sharp-toothed smile at Scruggs’s retreat.

  “He should never underestimate Charlie Hoof,” he muttered softly. “Never. Negatory.”

  Then, grabbing the end of Melchior’s gurney, the bony Groundling wheeled him from the stage and into one of the many dark passages that led to the dungeon.

  Chapter Nine

  EYES

  Bridgette could swear that, for a split second, Edward’s eyes had changed from their usual dark brown to pale blue. But it had happened so quickly that she couldn’t be sure. She watched with a scared expression as Edward knelt on the dewy grass, his hands clutched to his temples. She approached him from behind and laid her hand on his shoulder.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Edward couldn’t explain his sudden feelings. Rage coursed through him like an angry river.

  “S-stay away from m-me, Buh-Bridgette,” he said coldly.

  Bridgette hardly knew how to respond. She hadn’t meant to insult his flying. Was that why he was so angry with her? Feeling hurt, she replied, “Edward, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean anything by what I said.”

  “I-I n-never said I was good at f-flying, you know. I never asked you to c-come with me.”

  “Edward, what’s wrong? You’re acting strange.”

  “Strange? I’ll tell you what’s strange.” He looked at her again, and this time she was sure of it. His eyes had flashed blue! “It’s strange that nothing I do is good enough. That’s strange, isn’t it? It’s strange how my mother died when I needed her most. It’s strange that my friends all tend to get hurt or disappear when I’m around. That’s pretty strange, wouldn’t you say?”

  Bridgette didn’t know what to do or say. She just watched as Edward stood up and paced around the damp grass, looking more and more upset.

  “You say I’m strange and I say, yeah, I’ve been strange pretty much my whole life. I’ve never been good at anything. And now I’m not too great as a Guardian, either. Some Guardian,” he spat. “I can’t protect anybody, not even myself. Just look at me!” He flared his wings, accentuating his sticklike frame. “I’m sick of fighting it, Bridgette. I’m never gonna beat the Jackal. Never! What was I thinking?”

  “I never said you were strange, Edward,” Bridgette said quietly. “I only meant that you were acting different.”

  He glared at her and said nothing.

  Edward turned away, and Bridgette caught a glimpse of his neck. There was an inflamed area just under his cheekbone.

  “Your neck. It looks hurt,” she said, moving closer.

  Edward shot her a suspicious glance. “What are y-you t-talking about,” he snapped. />
  “No, seriously,” she said, pointing to the area. “It’s all red. What happened?”

  “Nothing happened. I’m fine . . .” Edward began, raising his hand protectively to his neck. But as he felt the area, he suddenly became aware that his skin was as cold as ice.

  “Let me see it,” Bridgette said softly.

  Edward lowered his hand enough for Bridgette to get a peek. She could tell right away that there was something out of the ordinary about Edward’s wound. The red, inflamed area was surrounded by tiny, purple veins that radiated outward in jagged streaks, like the tentacles of an octopus.

  Bridgette lifted her hand to the spot on his neck, and before Edward could do anything to stop her, she did something totally unexpected.

  She began to sing.

  Bridgette was no Guardian, but Edward recognized the melody she was singing and knew immediately that it was a Song of Power. In fact, it was the first line in a Song of Restoration that Tabitha had sung to help his father.

  As she sang, a curious change came over Edward. The voices in his head began to fade away. The fog of conflicting emotions and insecurity lifted and he felt peace settle on his heart and mind. For the moment, he felt like himself again.

  “How did you do that?” he said, awestruck, as Bridgette completed the melody. Tabitha had told him that it was very rare for a human to be able to sing Guardian melodies. She’d said that mortal voices typically couldn’t reproduce the complicated notes in the songs. But evidently Bridgette was an exception.

  Bridgette smiled shyly back at Edward. “I listened closely while Tabitha was singing. I can’t remember the whole song, but when she sang, it sounded so beautiful. I guess I couldn’t help memorizing a little of it.”

  As the effects of the poison ebbed, Edward suddenly felt guilty for how angry he’d been with her. He didn’t even know why it had happened. Bridgette never would have said or done anything to hurt his feelings on purpose.

  “I’m sorry for snapping at you,” he said. “I don’t know why I was acting that way.”

  “I think you might have been poisoned,” she said. “That’s a terrible wound on your neck. It almost looks like you were bitten by a huge spider!”

  Edward shuddered. He hated spiders! But he couldn’t remember seeing any during the battle. He raised his hand and rubbed the area. He thought back to the battle, to the centaur with the tiny, robotic insects. Was it possible that he’d been bitten by one of those metal bugs and didn’t know it?

  Bridgette interrupted his thoughts. “It looks a little better, but I don’t know how to completely heal it. The song may help for a while, but I think that whatever was wrong with you might come back. What you need is a Guardian to sing that song, Edward. I’m only a mortal.”

  Edward knew she was right. And although he was technically a Guardian, he didn’t know how to sing.

  “Tabitha was trying to teach me how to sing Songs of Power, but I just couldn’t do it. Every time I tried, it sounded terrible. I couldn’t even do ‘Broken Chains,’ the song they teach Guardian children. It was pathetic!”

  Bridgette gave him a sympathetic look. “I only know a couple verses of different songs, but we can work on it together if you want to.”

  Edward shrugged. “We can try, but I don’t think it will do much good.”

  “But everybody says that you have to learn. The Bridge Builder is supposed to be able to sing. Remember the prophecy? ‘His twisted tongue will utter song’? What about that?”

  Edward’s expression darkened. Glancing back up at Bridgette, he said, “I don’t think I’m the Bridge Builder, Bridgette. I . . . I’m not what everyone thinks I am. I’m not very good at this whole ‘Guardian’ thing. I can barely fly. My ring throwing is pure luck. And I can’t sing.”

  His eyes burned. “All I want to do is rescue my mom and dad. And chances are, because I’m so lousy at being a Guardian, I’ll probably die trying to do it.”

  Edward looked miserable. Bridgette reached over and took his long, pale fingers in her hand.

  “Then just be who you are, Edward. If you really are the Bridge Builder, you’ll know what to do when the time comes.”

  Both her words and the touch of her hand comforted him. But somewhere deep inside, he could tell that the Song of Restoration was starting to wear off. The voices, although distant, were still there, and they mocked him, saying, When the time comes, everyone will see the truth. You’re no Bridge Builder, Edward Macleod. And when you fail, everyone will finally see you for what you really are.

  Chapter Ten

  GROUNDLINGS

  It took tremendous effort for Edward to muster up the concentration to fly again. He fought down the poisonous voices of the Four as best he could as he and Bridgette took to the air, but this time he flew much lower to the ground. He couldn’t risk crashing.

  The longer he flew, the more intense the heat of the sun became. Edward’s long shadow was cast in sharp relief below them, following their progress along the Seven Bridges Road to the Jackal’s Lair.

  Most of the Woodbine was a fertile place, filled with pine trees, majestic mountains, and green fields. But as Edward neared the Jackal’s fortress, he saw that the green meadows were withered. The rolling hills gave way to hard, cracked earth and baked, yellow grass. Instead of tall pines, he saw stunted, twisted trees that looked like grasping claws. And everywhere there was the faint smell of sulfur. It burned the nostrils and choked the lungs, and Edward coughed as they flew, trying desperately not to let the harsh environment destroy his fragile concentration.

  They had been flying for over two hours when Bridgette suddenly shouted, “Edward, look! Over there!”

  Edward glanced to where she was pointing and was so surprised that his wings faltered. He barely managed to right himself, saving them both from an uncomfortable crash on the hard-packed earth.

  A horde of armored Groundlings were gathered on a stretch of dusty land not far from them. They scuttled rather than marched, like a swarm of insects intent upon some deadly mission. He could see sharp, cruel beaks and apelike faces, long taloned fingers, and pinprick eyes of glowing blue.

  Spotting a grove of stunted oak trees off to the left, Edward dove toward it. He knew that if he and Bridgette could see the Groundlings from where they were, the chances were good that the Groundlings could spot them, too.

  Edward landed more smoothly this time, managing to keep himself and Bridgette from tumbling to the ground. Moving quickly, he found a fallen log and pulled Bridgette toward it.

  “Don’t make a sound,” Edward whispered as they took refuge behind the dead tree. Bridgette nodded, too scared to speak. The legion of Groundlings was headed directly toward them.

  They waited, trying to keep perfectly still as the sound of the army’s feet grew steadily louder. As they drew closer, a curious thing happened to Edward. The voices inside his head, which had been fairly quiet since Bridgette’s song, redoubled in ferocity. It was as if the poison in his system could sense the closeness of the Jackal’s servants and gained power from their presence.

  Go to them! the voices screamed. Turn yourself in! Join the Jackal’s army. You are one of them!

  It was all Edward could do to stop himself from screaming. The voices were loud, and stronger than they’d ever been. He couldn’t even think his own thoughts! He wanted to obey what the Four were telling him, to give himself up, anything to make them stop shouting and make the pain in his head go away. He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to obey the commanding voices.

  Suddenly he felt Bridgette’s cool fingers on his neck. In spite of the danger of being overheard, he heard the girl murmuring the words to the Song of Restoration.

  Through the shouts of the evil voices, Edward could make out the words to her song. They were in the Guardian language. When she’d sung them to him before, the words had been beautiful but incomprehensible. But now, for some reason, he could understand the lyrics. They didn’t come to him in words, exactly, but as
something like pictures that filled his mind:Wings of light,

  Renewing breeze,

  Healing touch,

  Gentle seas,

  Falling rain in arid lands,

  Health and wellness in my hands.

  As she sang, the voices in his head, though still loud, became bearable. His inner fight continued, but through tremendous force of will, Edward managed to overcome the powerful urge to reveal himself to the enemy.

  The closest of the Groundling troops was but ten feet from where they were hidden. Clusters of misshapen creatures limped and scuttled past them, their insect claws and booted feet thudding dully on the hard-packed dirt. The Groundlings didn’t know that the person they sought was not in Cornelius’s Valley, where the horsemen’s alarm had summoned them, but here, right within their grasp, a hairbreadth from being discovered.

  Edward watched row after row of the grotesque creatures pass and prayed that he and Bridgette would escape without notice. The army had almost completely scuttled by when, suddenly, one of the creatures in the very back of the troop, a terrible-looking Groundling with the body of a scorpion and the head of a baboon, stopped. It raised its nose to the air and sniffed.

  Edward knew at once that it had caught their scent. He held his breath, hoping that the evil creature wouldn’t turn in their direction. It was only ten feet away, almost close enough to touch.

  Stay away. Please. Just keep walking.

  But the creature kept sniffing, its head bobbing to the right and left, searching for the location of what it smelled. Its icy gaze scanned the area. Then it moved in the direction of Edward and Bridgette’s hiding place, making slurping sounds in the back of its gullet.

  Edward ducked as low as he could, his heart beating fast. The voices, which had calmed somewhat when Bridgette sang her song, were beginning to rise again.