About the Author
An award-winning and highly acclaimed writer of fantasy, Lene Kaaberbøl was born in 1960, grew up in the Danish countryside and had her first book published at the age of 15. Since then she has written more than 30 books for children and young adults. Lene's huge international breakthrough came with The Shamer Chronicles, which is published in more than 25 countries selling over a million copies worldwide.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
DAVIN
My Name Is Davin
My name is Davin. My name is Davin. My name is Davin.
I kept repeating it to myself, over and over again. Trying to
hold on to everything it meant: Dina’s brother. Melli’s brother.
My mother’s son, and Nico’s friend. A human being. Not . . .
. . . your name is murderer . . .
. . . Not what the voices were saying. Not what they were
whispering to me in the darkness when I was trying to go to
sleep.
. . . your name is murderer . . . your name is coward . . .
I sat up in bed. My palms were sweaty and cold. I wrapped
my arms around my head as though I was afraid someone
would hit me, but I knew I couldn’t shut out the voices. They
were inside me. They had sneaked in, burrowed in, the days
and nights I had been locked in the Hall of the Whisperers,
surrounded by stone faces with empty eyes and yawning mouths
that kept whispering and whispering, over and over, hour after
hour, until one would rather die than keep on listening.
The house was dark. Darker still here in my small enclosure.
I couldn’t stand the darkness anymore because I kept seeing
things that weren’t there. Faces. Dead eyes. Dark blood seeping
from a half-cut throat. . . .
I leaped to my feet and yanked the curtain aside. Bluish
slivers of moonlight came in through the cracks in the shutters,
like pale knives. As soundlessly as possible I opened the
door and went out. The trampled grass of the yard was damp
and hoar-cold against the soles of my bare feet, but I had no
time for shoes. I ran. Slowly at first, then more quickly, along
the path to Maudi’s farm, past the old black pear trees in her
orchard, up the next hill, and on up into the naked heights
that seemed so close to the sky it felt as if I could pick the stars
like apples just by reaching for them. I didn’t stop. I just kept
running, so that my breath came in deep jerks and I could feel
my heartbeat in every last inch of my body. I wasn’t cold,
despite my bare feet; my blood was pumping too hard, and
pure sweat was running down my back and chest inside the
nightshirt.
It took perhaps an hour before I had run the voices out of
my head and the horror out of my body. Then I turned, trotting
back to Yew Tree Cottage at a more leisurely pace. I stopped at
the pump in the yard to wash the sweat from my cooling body,
and to drink my fill.
The cottage door was open. In the dark doorway, Mama
was waiting. She didn’t say anything; just held out a glass of
elderberry juice and a woolly blanket. She knew I would start
shaking the moment I stopped sweating. For the briefest of
moments she rested her hand against my cheek. Then she went
back to the end room where she and Melli slept, still without
speaking a word.
It wasn’t every night I ran like this, but perhaps one out of
two or three. It was the only thing that helped once the voices
had hold of me. Mama woke up every time—not necessarily
when I got up, but by the time I came back, she was always
awake. It was as if she had some instinct telling her that one of
her children was no longer in the house. I hadn’t told her about
the voices, but she had probably guessed that my sleeplessness
had something to do with the Sagisburg and the Hall of the
Whisperers. In the beginning she had asked me if there was
anything wrong, but I always said no, and now she had stopped
asking. She was just there, waiting, with the blanket and the
sweet elderberry juice, and then the two of us went back to bed.
I lay down on the cot in my enclosure and wrapped myself
in the blankets. My feet were hurting me now, but that didn’t
matter. In my head there was only silence, and I fell asleep
almost at once.
