A little while earlier, Dusk had no clear plan for finding Lock, so he relied on what he knew: the little rituals Lock had taught him and the silver rat toy that had once led him to the witch's parchment.
The silver rat and the spell that could sense magic.
He took out the paper with its strange marks, then the special ink Lock had given, and drew the small circle and strokes again by lamplight, the lines trembling under his careful hand. These were the things he had found under the bed.
He placed the tiny silver rat on the floor and whispered the words he had learned until they rolled smooth on his tongue:
"Monstra mihi res occultas prope."
At first, the toy sat still. Then it twitched, nose lifting as if sniffing the air. It slid forward on its tiny metal feet and bumped against nothing — a place where the air felt thicker, as though it were blocking the world.
Dusk frowned and stretched his hand forward. His palm met resistance — an invisible wall that his fingers could not pass. For a single, breath-stopping second, he stood frozen.
"Little Dusk — can you hear me?" a voice said, low and far away.
He jerked his hand back, heart pounding. Silence. He swallowed and tried again, pressing his fingers toward the spot.
"Good boy... you can hear me, right?"
"Mr. Lock?" Dusk whispered, and a mix of relief and excitement warmed his chest. The rat skittered, bumping again against the same invisible thing.
Lock's voice was faint, as if carried through stone. "This barrier will ease at dawn," he said. "There's another man who tried to reach the treasure — you can see his blood trail over there. The true entrance is on this side. Since the traps have already been triggered, it should be safe inside."
Dusk scanned the rocky rim but saw only dull stone. Lock's next instruction came quietly: "Touch the medium-sized rock."
He found it easily enough and, because he trusted the voice that once taught him the little chant, pressed his palm against the cool surface. The rock yielded like water; his hand slid through as if the stone were only a thin curtain. Shock jolted through him, then a rush of something else — sharp and thrilling.
Dusk took a breath and stepped forward. The world closed around him for an instant, then opened into a narrow passage that smelled faintly of damp earth and old pages. He ducked inside, the lamp bobbing in his hand.
Behind him, Lock chuckled. "He went in..."
Robert, trapped inside the barrier with Lock and bleeding from a head wound, spat curses into the hollow air. "Damn," he gritted. "I will definitely kill that boy."
Dusk didn't enter the passage immediately. Instead, he slipped back to the crater's edge and called softly, "Woofy!"
A small voice answered before a boy's figure materialized in the moonlight, holding a tiny root between thumb and forefinger. "Dusk — look! I found ginseng! It's worth at least a thale!" Woofy's eyes gleamed like a child's lucky coin.
"Good," Dusk said. "I found him. I'll go in. You can leave — I'll give you ten fins tomorrow."
Woofy's shoulders rose and fell. "Okay! See you tomorrow." He scampered off. His mind is full of bringing back the Ginseng.
Dusk went in again. The passage felt oddly warm compared with the chill outside. The air thinned, and faint threads — thin as sewing twine — hung in the passage. They curved and stretched, and when Dusk brushed against one, it wasn't visible to his naked eye.
He kept moving. The light grew softer, and a small square of cloth lay against the earthen floor, old and dusty. Over it hovered a single bright thread, thin as a hair, that shifted colors — red to orange to blue to purple to black — like a tiny, living aurora.
When Dusk touched the cloth, the thread shot upward and vanished between his brows. For a moment everything tilted; a warmth spread behind his forehead, and then it was gone. From his point of view, the thread had simply slipped away.
Beneath the cloth were objects — books wrapped in oilskin, small stones that caught the light, and trinkets carved from glass and metal. Dusk's eyes widened. "The treasure," he breathed.
He gathered a few things into the cloth and wrapped them up, hauling the bundle out of the passage.
"I found it!" he called, voice bright and reckless. He touched the barrier.
"Dusk — run!" Lock's voice cut across the hollow, urgent.
A single thread, black as old rope, uncoiled from him toward the darkness like smoke. Even with the lamp's weak pool of light, Dusk could see it — saw it slice through the air. He felt the hair rise on his arms.
Then Gust stepped out from the shadows, sword pressed against his shoulder, face pale and lips split where dried blood crusted. His eyes locked on the cloth in Dusk's hands, and he licked his lips like a hungry animal.
Dusk didn't wait to think.
He bolted.
Threads — thin and black — sprouted in the air ahead, crisscrossing like a terrible net. Dusk only felt chill from these black threads, so he avoided the places where they pointed.
A red thread glowed faintly to Dusk's left, and something in him tugged. It felt welcoming, like the smell of bread or the touch of sun-warmed cloth. He ran toward it without understanding why, feeling the warmth through the soles of his feet.
The red thread split into two: one led to a slope slick with black moss, the other climbed into a narrower trail lit by a thin line of pale light. From the slope, black threads coiled and reached outward.
Near the slope, a handful of black threads latched onto the cloth in Dusk's hand. He heaved the bundle away, sending it tumbling down the slope, and dove the other way.
Gust snarled and lunged after the fallen prize, vanishing into the darkness.
Dusk tore into a denser part of the trees where moonlight hardly reached. Even here the black threads hovered — on tiny little creatures.
Then he noticed a red thread beneath a low bush. Dusk flattened himself inside it and watched, heart pounding, as a group of slender lorises — thin, long-limbed creatures with red, savage eyes — sauntered by in silence. Their bodies were ghostly in the night; their faces glowed faintly where the moon cut through. Black threads were attached to each of their heads.
When they had moved on, the red line near Dusk also moved. Dusk crawled along it until the thread stopped under another bush. In the previous spot where he had hidden, some lorises had already found the place.
Back at the crater, the barrier shuddered. Dawn — still far away in town — would not know what was happening, but Lock and Robert felt the change. The light around them began to waver as the first hint of dawn creased the eastern sky.
Lock took his wand in a trembling hand, readying for battle. Robert hefted his broken blade, jaw tight as the barrier's shimmer thinned.
Both Lock and Robert moved at once as the barrier shattered.