The Margrave by Catherine Fisher Read Free Book Online Page A

open; the two women ran out, long spades in their hands. They cleared the great pile of dung aside quickly, then heaved up the trapdoor. Alys peered down. “Are you alive, keepers?”
    Galen’s hands came up; he hauled himself out. “We are. Though half choked.”
    Raffi was pulled out next. He had never been so glad to breathe fresh air in his life; he crouched and coughed it in till his eyes watered. The Sekoi gasped and spat and sniffed its own fur in disgust. “An ingenious idea, ladies, but I think I almost prefer capture.”
    “Inside,” Alys said. “Quickly.” The hut was almost as unbearably stuffy as the dark pit had been, but the fire cheered it. While her daughter-in-law built up the blaze, Alys smiled proudly. “Cara was superb. And you should have seen me as a madwoman.”
    “I’m sure it was most realistic.” The Sekoi sat, stretching its long legs with a purr of relief. “But now you are safely home, we should go as soon as possible. Let the keepers see these relics.”
    A cheep startled Raffi. In one dim corner a cage hung, with a green markeet in it. It eyed him beadily through the smoke. Galen had seen it too; he frowned. “There should be no caged souls in a free house.”
    The young woman said, “Keeper, the bird is happy here.”
    “Set him free. If he’s happy, he’ll stay.”
    She looked down. Finally she said, “Tomorrow I’ll do it.”
    “Tomorrow,” Galen said sourly, “is never . . .” He stopped. Rigid. The red light was tiny and it burned them both like a coal. Raffi almost hissed with the sudden pain of it; with his third eye he saw it, sharp as a star, like the point of a heated sword, searing him.
    The Sekoi was asking something, concerned, but all he could feel was the Maker-light. It faded, then pulsed again. When it was gone he felt abruptly cold. The Sekoi watched, intent. “Can you speak?”
    “Yes.” Raffi turned to Galen. “It had to be a relic! Something still alive.”
    Galen nodded. He stood up and went to the door and opened it, looking out to the jagged hills.
    “The relics are here.” Alys went to the bird’s cage and put her hand in. “Jem pecks any strangers, so we feel it’s the safest place.” The bag she pulled out was small and covered with sawdust; hastily she brushed it clean, then emptied the contents out onto the table and made the sign of honor over them reverently. “These are all we have.”
    From the door, Galen didn’t turn. “Look them over, Raffi,” he said morosely.
    A little disappointed, Alys stared at his back.
    Raffi fingered the objects. Already he knew there was no energy left in them; none of these could have produced that point of power. The Sekoi, always curious, leaned over his shoulder. There was a small bracelet and a cube that opened and was empty inside. Beside them lay a smooth black object with many buttons, each with a Maker-symbol. He had seen several of these. Galen thought they had been used to control larger relics. He pressed a few buttons. Nothing happened.
    The Sekoi’s long fingers turned the rest; a broken silver disc, and a blue-lidded object with strange devices, which opened to show a cracked screen and more buttons.
    “Anything?” Galen asked.
    “No.”
    The keeper turned, came over, and looked down at the sorry collection. “How are the things of the Makers lost,” he muttered, as if the sight chilled him. “All their power, all their greatness. Dwindled to this.”
    Raffi glanced up. It was unlike Galen to show doubts; his faith was always fierce and restless. Or had been, until they had lost Solon. That treachery had devastated him, perhaps even more than Galen knew. Now he said, “Put them back, Mother. Keep them safe. They’re only empty shells now.”
    “Something made that signal.” Raffi slid the relics into the bag.
    The keeper turned away, his face dark. “But not from here. We must get to the castle! And before nightfall.”
    Raffi sighed. He’d been hoping for a good meal,