Free Behind the Sorcerer's Cloak by Andrea Spalding Page B

continued to stir up the cries of terror. Memories of the people she’d hurt filled her head.
    Zorianna scrambled to her feet, hands over her ears. Shaking her head from side to side in agony, she stumbled blindly down the corridor.
    The Moddy Dhoo bayed on and on.
    The cat lifted one paw.
    Two silver doorways appeared, one filled with the magical song and brilliant light, one gaping with silent darkness.
    Weaving on her feet, Zorianna paused then stumbled into the dark silence.
    The cat sighed as the doorways vanished. “She chose the dark.”
    The Moddy Dhoo blinked and slunk back to his lair.
    Remnants of the magical song drifted softly through the air.

    Snatches of song floated across the water to Peel town.
    In the cottage by the harbor, Mr. Cubbon’s deaf ears heard it. He jerked upright at the table, slopping his brew of tea.
    â€œSomethin’ startle you?” asked his wife.
    â€œCan yer not hear a maid keening?” said Mr. Cubbon.
    â€œNay. It’s your hearing aid playing its tricks.” His wife leaned over and eased it out of his ear. She shook it, gave it a smack and examined the battery.
    Mr. Cubbon could still hear the voice.
    He watched his wife. She did not hear the sad song. He must be hearing magic sounds. Mr. Cubbon smiled to himself. It was his special gift come back again. In childhood he’d heard things. Things no one else heard. “Me magic ear,” he’d called it to himself. He’d never spoken of it, and it had died away as he grew up. Now in his old age, his magic ear was back. He might be deaf to many everyday sounds, but his magic ear enriched his life. He was content to be called eccentric when folks heard him holding conversations with shadows on the beach, the raven, or the sprite that lived in Spooyt Vane. No one dreamed that he really did see spirits and understand animals and birds.
    Mr. Cubbon supped his tea and made no further mention of the song. But he wondered what this new stirring of sad magic would bring.
    The song drifted to and fro, up and down the narrow streets of Peel. No other person had ears that heard it. The notes crept into cracks and crevices, echoed down gratings and into the long forgotten smuggler’s passages that ran under the sea, linking Pheric’s Isle to Peel.
    The song rippled through the still air in the passages, stirring centuries of dust that had collected on an old oak board leaning against the wall. The dust dropped away and revealed ancient scratchings on the wooden surface.
    The song sighed into silence.

CHAPTER FIVE
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A C IRCLING OF S HADES
    Ava’s flight toward the vortex was a struggle. She panted and gasped, and her tiny body trembled with effort.
    I must not use magic. I must not use magic, she told herself. I must be as a speck of dust, unnoticed unless it irritates an eye!
    Ava forced her wings to beat slowly and steadily, to disturb nothing, to draw no attention her way.
    The constant swirling of the Shades made the pull of the vortex remorseless. It dragged at her, sucking her toward its center.
    Ava tried to keep control, making her wings beat harder and deeper. Forcing her body to resist the force.
    One more circle should be enough, she thought. One more…timed just right.
    Her body began to shake uncontrollably.
    The pull was almost more than she could bear.
    NOW!
    Ava opened her beak and dropped the feather and hair.
    Almost invisible, they were swept toward the black center.
    Ava didn’t stay to watch. She turned, beating her tiny wings as hard as she could.
    The vortex held her fast. Her strength was gone.
    Ava drifted toward the void.
    PAIN. A bite of agonizing pain.
    One wing tip had brushed the edge of the dark shadow.
    In a last attempt to free herself, Ava folded her wings against her body and thrust her head down into a dive, away from the dark.
    For a second, everything hung in balance. Ava’s body was held suspended.
    She gave a