The Wicked Day Read Online Free

appreciates my conversation, I think I’ll take a nap. Wake me up when someone says something intelligent.” And with that, the ghost vanished. Jute felt a quick, cold breath against his neck and heard the ghost grumbling to itself inside his knapsack.
    Declan shook his head. “I’m afraid he’ll pipe up at the wrong moment when silence is our best defense. There must be some way of keeping our unfortunate friend quiet.”
    “I heard that,” said the ghost angrily.
    They reached the edge of the forest. Jute touched the trunk of a tree and gazed up. The trees were taller than he had thought. He could hear the wind murmuring in the tree tops. The shadows were cool and still. Dry leaves crunched underfoot.
    “The Dark was here,” said the hawk, his voice quiet. “Not so long ago. I’m sure of it now.”
    “I don’t have your nose for such things, master hawk,” said Declan, “but I trust your word. Walk in my footsteps, Jute, and keep your voice low. And ghost, for once, keep silent.”
    “I heard that,” said the ghost from inside Jute’s knapsack, but it whispered as if, for once, it understood what might be at stake.
    Declan loosened his sword in its sheath and then plunged deeper into the forest. He walked with his head forward, turning from side to side, eyes flicking down to the ground and then back up, searching through the gloom and the trees for whatever was there and whatever had been there. Jute hurried after him. Even though he was smaller and lighter than the man, he made more noise as he walked: twigs snapping, leaves crunching, and bushes rustling as he sought to thread his way through. Declan turned and frowned at him.
    “I’m trying!” said Jute. "Really, I am."
    “Try harder.”
    The trail led them deeper into the forest. The silence and the shadows grew as they went. Jute could hear the ghost mumbling to itself inside his knapsack. In front of him, Declan halted.
    “What is it?” said Jute. He sniffed the air. It smelled odd. Somehow wrong.
    “Something evil’s come this way,” said Declan quietly. “You’re right, master hawk. The Dark has been here. Not so long ago. A strange track. This print here looks like a deer, yet the next step is something different. And the stride’s too long.”
    “The smell of it’s fading,” said the hawk. “A day ago, perhaps. How odd. It’s a mix of blood and darkness and something else. Stop quivering, Jute.”
    “Sorry.”
    Jute clamped his mouth shut. He was afraid his teeth were about to start chattering. He had the feeling that something was watching him. Something in the darkness, a shadow standing behind a tree. Something perched in the branches overhead and staring down through the leaves.
    “Did someone say blood and darkness?” said the ghost, popping its head out of Jute’s knapsack.
    “And look here,” said Declan, kneeling on the ground. “These are Giverny’s prints. I think this thing, whatever it is, was tracking my sister.”
    They made greater speed then. Declan ran, one hand steady on the hilt of his sword and the other keeping his cloak close about him. Jute was hard pressed to keep up. The hawk flung himself from the boy’s shoulder and flew through the darkness. Jute was sure the bird would crash into a branch at any moment, for the trees grew close together and their branches wove together with those of their neighbors into an impenetrable and continuous thicket. But the hawk flashed in and out of the branches and for periods of time vanished deeper into the forest, ranging far from them on either side, only to appear once again in a silent flurry of wings. They came to a clearing in the forest, wide enough so that the gloom was relieved by sunlight. Overhead, blue sky was visible. The hawk flapped his way up toward it and was gone. Declan stopped below an oak.
    “She was here. Up in this tree.” He stepped back, looking up into the branches. “Whatever’s tracking her was here too.”
    “There’s a broken