They trekked silently down the trail, all lost in their own thoughts, the ageless silence of warriors making peace with their fears as they marched into battle.
Nick glanced over at Redbone. Redbone winked at him, his perpetual grin growing into an impish smile. Nick looked behind him at the handful of Devils pulling up the rear, every face greeting him with kinship and comradery. Nick had never experienced anything like it, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was beginning to enjoy being a Devil. He even wondered if this was why so many people loved team sports, this sense of coming together under one banner against a common foe.
The forest changed as they continued their downward track through the gray and dying trees. The land turned ashen and soggy underfoot. The fog thickened, clinging to the ground. The trees seemed to shrink, to wither, bending beneath their own weight, their jagged limbs clawing the sky like drowning men.
After about an hour’s march, a tangy burning smell assailed Nick’s nostrils. Smoke, fires, he thought. The Flesh-eaters can’t be too far away. And suddenly it was all too real. It’s one thing to hit a straw dummy and pretend you’re fighting monsters, quite another to know that monsters—ones even Redbone and Sekeu were wary of—were not only real but nearby.
Peter gestured the Devils to him, and they gathered around. He put a finger to his lips and whispered: “We must be silent. Follow my hand signals. Stay close.”
Nick’s heart sped up and he had to force himself to slow his breathing. How close? he wondered. His eyes darted everywhere, trying to peer through the ground fog; every rotten bush and stump suddenly looked liked a monster. Nick wrapped his hand tightly around Maldiriel’s hilt, wondering yet again what it would be like to actually face a man with a sword, hoping to God he wouldn’t have to find out.
Peter raised a hand and they halted. He slipped up ahead, surveying the terrain before waving the Devils to follow. Silently, they pushed through a mesh of undergrowth until they could see down a steep slope into a valley. Peter signaled to stay low.
Between the rolling waves of low-lying clouds, Nick scanned the burned and ravaged land. His blood went cold, there below them—Flesh-eaters. From where he lay, they were little more than ant-sized dots milling about near the burning trees. Nick’s mouth suddenly felt dry as he watched them moving in and out of the black smoke.
He glanced at Peter. Peter’s face was grim as he took in every movement. Strange to see such severity on Peter’s face, Nick thought. No boyish mischief here; what Nick saw looked wild and scary—deadly.
PETER TOOK IN a deep breath. So many. He hadn’t counted on so many—at least sixty or seventy Flesh-eaters that he could see. There’d be more, and somewhere among them—the Captain. A direct assault would be a gallant way to die, but Peter wasn’t looking for a way to die. He wanted to drive them out of Whisperwood and save Avalon. He fought to keep his despair hidden. If he lost confidence in front of the Devils, all would be lost. He now understood why Tanngnost had tried so hard to bring the clans together in one coordinated attack. And, as much as he hated to even think it, if Ulfger would bear Caliburn, they could drive the Captain and his Flesh-eaters into the Mist this very day.
Peter realized he was grinding his teeth, and took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Now wasn’t the time for maybes and what-ifs; he must stay focused. One way or another, they had to stop these demons.
There, the barrels. He watched the figures march back and forth between a pair of barrels and the trees. He slipped up closer, squinted. So, it must be oil after all. He nodded to himself. Then maybe there is another way.
Peter signaled them back. They gathered in a small ravine. Peter squatted on his haunches and they followed his example.
“We’re after the oil,” Peter said in a hushed tone. “Whisperwood isn’t a typical forest even by Avalon standards. Most of the trees are living beings, each with its own spirit. They see and hear and even whisper to one another.” And long ago, before the Flesh-eaters came, they used to sing to each other, and there was no song more beautiful. “Beneath their thick bark is flesh and blood. Those trees won’t burn by torch alone. The Flesh-eaters are brushing oil on them to set them ablaze, burning them alive.
“They can’t have much oil left, not after all these years. They must be desperate, to be using the last of their reserves. If we knock over those barrels and dump their oil, it’ll put an end to the burning of Whisperwood.
“We don’t have enough Devils to push through that many Flesh-eaters, so this is what we’re going to do. We’re going to draw them away from the oil with an attack by a main force and send in a small squad to knock over the barrels.
“The Captain knows our tricks. He’ll not be easily fooled. We have to make this a real assault, or he won’t give chase. He knows we’ve the advantage in the forest, and will be reluctant to follow us into the woods. So we’ll have to take the fight to the edge of the fields. Try to draw the Flesh-eaters in. Hit and run, hit and run, avoid a full engagement at all cost. We won’t be able to do much damage and neither will they, and that’s what I want. Remember, all that matters is that we distract them long enough for the squad to dart in, get past whatever guard is left, and knock over those barrels.
“Sekeu, you’re in charge of the squad. Redbone, Abraham, Leroy, and Nick, go with Sekeu.”
Peter caught the anxious looks on Leroy’s and Nick’s faces. He looked them square in the eye and smiled confidently. They have to know you believe in them, or they won’t believe in themselves. But a darker voice knew this would be dangerous, that he was sending two of them after the barrels in the hopes that at least one would make it. He held little hope either would return. “You’re not to engage unless you have to. Your role is to focus on the barrels. Sekeu, Abraham, and Redbone will take care of any guards. Nick, Leroy, I’m giving you two the most important task of this whole operation. I wouldn’t pick you unless I knew you could do this. Are you with me?”
Nick and Leroy still looked unsure, but they both nodded.
“Good. Sekeu, take your group and circle around to the east side of the clearing. Wait under cover until you hear us attack. We’ll come in from the west side. You know the drill: get in and out as fast as you can.
“Danny, Cricket, you’re coming with me.” Cricket also looked nervous, but Danny looked absolutely petrified. Peter caught his hands trembling and thought the boy might start crying at any moment. He’s not ready. Peter wondered if he should leave the boy behind. No, now is not the time to play it safe.
“Danny, Cricket, you’re going to do fine. Your role is simply to make our numbers look more impressive. Hang back, make a lot of noise, and stay well clear of the combat. Think you can do that?”
They both agreed, but Danny still looked petrified.
“Remember, our goal is to draw them away from the barrels. As soon as the barrels are knocked over, we all run into the forest. If anyone from either party gets separated, we meet back here. You can see this outcropping of red boulders from just about anywhere in the valley.”
Peter stood up and let a wicked smile slide across his face. “Time to play.”
The Devils grinned back. “Time to play.”
PETER WATCHED SEKEU and her crew slip away through the brambles and disappear into the ground fog, then led his own group down the west slope toward the burning fields. The going was slow and treacherous as they wove their way silently around the wet rocks, mud, clingy briars, and roots.
Near the bottom of the valley, just as the land began to level out, Peter caught the distant shouts of Flesh-eaters at their labors. While trying to decide the best path forward, he heard it: a click, somewhere to their flank. Peter signaled and the Devils dropped to a crouch.
Another pop, coming from somewhere toward their front. He heard it again, then again. He scanned the drifting grayness in front of him, searching for movement, but saw nothing. He was sure someone was heading their way, a scout or a sentry, maybe even a small troop. No, thought Peter. Not now. If they were discovered before Sekeu could get into position, all would be lost. Their only chance would be to try to make short work of any enemies before they blew their cover. Peter reached for one of his swords, then stopped, suddenly feeling cold steel against the back of his neck.
“What have we here?” came a sharp whisper.
Peter slowly turned, expecting to look into the eyes of his executioner. Standing behind him at spear’s length was the old elf, Drael. Drael lifted his spear and smiled. “You weren’t going to go play without me, were you?”
Peter’s face lit up with disbelief and pleasure. “Drael, you came! By the gods, you came!” Peter couldn’t grin any wider. He leaped to his feet and embraced the old elf. “It’s good to see you again!”
Drael clucked his tongue and five more elves materialized out of the smoky woods, each armed with three throwing spears. They’d traded their traditional green tunics for gray and had their long hair tied back, out of their slanted icy eyes.
“I heard word you entered the Lady’s Wood seeking allies. I bring five of the Guard’s finest.” He extended his hand toward the elves. “I just wish I could have convinced more to join with us. The elves find it hard to break an oath, even in the face of madness. I am afraid the rest of the Guard will follow Ulfger to their doom. My allegiance lies with the Lady, not a crazed Lord. I’d rather die here today, among warriors, than cower within the Lady’s Wood. What do you say, do we fight this day?”
Peter clasped the old elf’s shoulder. “You are a true friend.”
“And you, my friend, are a crazy devil.”
“Then we go?”
“Yes, Peter. We follow your lead.”
Peter moved out and the Devils and elves fell in line. Peter had to blink back tears. Not just from seeing the face of an old friend, but because they’d come to fight with him, to follow him against such hopeless odds; this in itself was a victory. They weren’t enough, he knew, but he felt better knowing he had six elven swords at his side. He bit his lip. We must win this day.
THE CRY CUT through the fog, a sound of pain, agony, and helplessness. A sound so human that Nick found it impossible to believe it could be a tree. Tree or not, Nick wanted to run as far from the cry as he could get. But he didn’t run; instead, he gritted his teeth and forced himself onward against every instinct, following Sekeu as they slithered on their bellies through the mud and brambles toward the clearing.
Nick stopped to wipe a clot of mud from his mouth. He glanced back, and though Redbone was only a few paces behind, Nick could barely make him out. Sekeu had them cover themselves from head to toe in a greasy muck of mud, leaves, and bark. Now they blended into the land, all but invisible among the ash and smoke. They’d circumvented the clearing and were now creeping forward from the east side. As they neared, Nick could hear rough shouts and make out movement through the brambles.
Sekeu signaled them up and Nick slid forward with slow, steady movements, as she had instructed, avoiding any quick moves that might draw attention. Abraham and Leroy crawled into position on one side of Sekeu, and Nick on the other. A moment later, Redbone, his absurd grin in place, slipped in next to Nick.
Black clouds rolled across the clearing, obscuring their view. Nick strained to see while fighting not to cough on the thick smoke. It smelled of burned wood, but there was another smell, a sweet, sickly smell like cooking meat.
The rough voices of men barking orders came through the murk. Suddenly a bright flame lit up the smoke, followed by a long, horrible scream. Nick put his hands over his ears. How can a tree make such a cry? The wind shifted, blowing the smoke away from the forest, and there, not fifty yards away, stood a dozen Flesh-eaters.
Nick’s heart drummed in his chest. They were men, not monsters, and somehow seeing their humanity made them all the more ghastly. Some horrible disease had infested their very core. Their skin was scaly, shriveled, and black like that of a burn victim, and their faces were distorted as though in great pain. Their bodies were emaciated, their ribs and hips jutted out in sharp contrast to their shriveled waists. Yet Nick could see lean, ropy muscles and veins rippling across their chests, shoulders, and arms. Their eyes were blood-red, sunken deep in their cadaverous sockets and with only a tiny black speck of a pupil, their noses little more than slits, their lips peeled back, revealing white gums and yellow teeth.
A chill ran down Nick’s spine. These men, their skin, their eyes, they were the same as the creature he’d become in his nightmares. Was he turning into one of these? Is that what the magic was doing to him? No! I’ll risk the Mist before I become one of these horrors.
Sekeu poked Nick and pointed to a large cauldron set upon a slight rise about a hundred yards out. A fire smoldered beneath. Nearby were two barrels with stringy black oil dripping down their sides. Nick wondered how they could possibly cover that much ground before the Flesh-eaters caught them.
There were at least ten guards stationed around the cauldron itself, heavily armed men carrying swords and spears, wearing breastplates or studded doublets and metal helmets with high combs like a rooster’s crown. Dozens more were spread out, grim-faced men who looked alert and dangerous, patrolling the tree line in intervals in both directions.
Two barefoot men, dressed in ragged knee-length breeches and filthy, tattered shirts, tromped up the rise to the cauldron, carrying a bucket in each hand. A hunchbacked man with a peg leg stirred the oil. When the men stepped up, he scooped out the oil with a large ladle and dumped the slick goo into the buckets. The men watched balefully until the buckets were full, then hoisted their burden and slogged back toward the tree line. Men with straw brooms awaited them. They dipped the brooms into the oil and swabbed it onto the tree trunks. As they stepped away, another man stepped forward, bearing a torch.
Nick knew what was coming and didn’t want to see it, but he couldn’t turn away. The torch-bearer set the flame to the tree. The oil took a moment to light, a small, bluish flame that spread slowly along the oil, but once the flame took, it blazed up, greedily engulfing the tree. The tree began to scream and scream as its trunk and limbs crackled beneath the blaze. Before the first one had finished, they were already on to the next, and the next. And now there was a chorus of screaming trees.
The black smoke rolled across the clearing along with the sickly sweet smell of cooked flesh. A low moan arose around Nick. He glanced about uneasily before he realized that those were the other trees, wailing at the sound of their dying kin.
Oh good God, this is too much. He felt Sekeu’s hand on his arm, a gesture meant to reassure him, but Nick could see the muscles working in her jaw. Nick found himself wanting to just get this nightmare over with. Where was Peter? How much longer would they have to wait?
Nick tried to distract himself by visually tracing and marking the best path to reach the barrels. The burned hulks, roots, and limbs of the fallen trees lay tangled together, forming a treacherous obstacle course. He’d have to navigate this path while men tried to kill him. The mud would be slippery; one misstep could easily mean his death. Nick swallowed, his throat felt dry. Am I really about to do this? Peter better know what—
Nick’s thoughts were cut off; one of the guards was staring directly at him. The guard slumped against a stump, chewing on a twig. He had a knot of long black hair atop his otherwise bald head. He held a dented helmet in one hand and wore a tarnished breastplate over a cracked leather doublet and ragged britches. A sword and knife hung from a buckler about his waist and a short halberd sat across his lap. He seemed to be peering directly at Nick with his piercing red eyes.
Nick’s blood went cold. He blinked, but dared not do anything else. Afraid the slightest move would give them all away.
The man leaned forward, squinting through the smoke. He leaned left then right, as though trying to get a clearer view. He sat his helmet on his head, hefted his halberd, and started down the slope toward Nick.
Nick tried not to breathe.
“Steady,” Sekeu whispered.
The Flesh-eater halted about a dozen yards away. He whistled to a nearby guard and waved the man over. When the second guard arrived, the first guard pointed toward Nick’s hiding place. The new guard, a brutish, squat man, looked up and down the bushes, then shook his head. But the first guard was persistent. He pulled the man forward and pointed again. The second guard just shrugged. Finally, the first guard spat out the twig he’d been chewing on and came tromping through the thicket right toward them. The second guard rolled his eyes but followed along.
We have to get away! Nick thought. Now, while we still can!
A fresh plume of smoke enveloped them, clouding the view. Sekeu, Abraham, and Redbone slipped their swords out in a quick, smooth motion. Their eyes were locked on the hazy shapes of the guards, their bodies tensed up like springs.
Oh, shit, thought Nick, they’re going to go. Nick felt his heart might explode in his chest. No, thought Nick. No we can’t. Not yet. Not without Peter. We’ll be slaughtered.
Nick heard the wet, slurping suction of heavy boots in the mud right in front of him. The smoke blew clear and there, not two paces away, stood the guard. Nick froze, powerless to move or even scream. He saw in chilling clarity the man’s scaly, lumpy, toadlike hide, every scar, wrinkle, and wart, saw the halberd pointed right at him. The man’s eyes went wide and Nick saw his own death reflected in those hellish red orbs.
Sekeu flew forward, her sword flashed, and the guard’s neck split open, his head flying into the air. Nick saw the white of his neck bones, saw every vein and artery as clean as an autopsy, then black blood gushed upward like an oil well. He heard the soggy thud of the head landing in the mud, then the headless body toppled over backward.
The second guard jumped back, bringing his ax to bear on Sekeu. Redbone struck from the man’s side. The man swung for him, but Redbone darted beneath the clumsy weapon, slicing both of the man’s legs open behind the knee. The man went down with a cry. Abraham was on him almost before he hit the ground, cleaving the Flesh-eater’s throat open.
And as though on cue, an eruption of screams arose from the far side of the clearing. Nick couldn’t see anything through the smoke, but knew it was Peter, knew the attack was on.
“NOW!” cried Sekeu.
And Nick found himself running as fast as he could through the muck, trying to keep up with Sekeu’s long legs. The adrenaline took over, pushing the fear from his mind as he darted between stumps and leaped over roots and limbs, focused only on knocking over the barrels and getting the hell out of there.
“NOW!” PETER SHOUTED, and as one they leaped to their feet, slapping their swords together and howling like wild dogs.
Peter knew their goal was to distract, to engage and get out, but the dying cries of the trees had ignited his blood. He wanted murder and intended to have it.
About six or seven tree burners and four guards were right before them. These demons with their oil and flame, Peter thought, these at least would die today. Peter’s face twisted with hatred as he flew forward, striking the first guard before the man could even pull his sword free, sending his head flying from his shoulders. Another man swung his oily broom at Peter. Peter ducked the blow and cut the man’s foot off at the ankle. The Flesh-eater screamed and toppled. Peter shoved his sword into the man’s face, right between the eyes, then spun around, hungry for more flesh. But the Devils and elves had been deadly efficient in their attack, and the Flesh-eaters lay dead or dying at their feet.
Horns filled the air. Cries echoed from all ends of the clearing as the Flesh-eaters quickly came together.
Peter searched the field and found what he was looking for: five hunched figures, well behind the ranks of soldiers, sprinting along the slope toward the barrels. Peter wiped a spray of black blood from his forehead and grinned.
The guards raised a cry and came for them. Peter guessed there were at least sixty of them, leaving behind only three men that he could see to guard the barrels. Good, Peter thought, and he allowed himself to believe the day might end well after all. “Here they come,” Peter shouted. “Hold steady.”
A yell came from a tall man with a thin mustache and goatee, wearing a leather doublet and a wide-brimmed hat with a tattered feather. Peter’s blood went cold. It was him, the Captain. The Captain ran up to the ragged formation, meeting them midfield. He raised his sword and ordered them to halt. The guards stopped.
What’s he doing? Peter kept a close watch, knowing the Captain was a hard man to stay ahead of. How many times had this man turned the tables on him? More than he cared to remember.
The Captain formed the men up into ranks, shouting and pointing this way and that with his sword. Peter’s heart sank as the Captain sent one line of about twenty guards back toward the barrels. The Captain shouted again and the remaining ranks resumed their advance, charging Peter’s group at a steady run.
Peter glanced at the barrels; he could no longer see the boys, but knew they must be behind the slope and probably unaware of the shift in defense. Fast, he thought, they have to be fast or all is lost.
SEKEU TOOK THE lead, Redbone next, followed by Leroy, then Nick, with Abraham covering their rear. Nick had seen the guards gather and go after Peter. It’s gonna work. It’s gonna work. It’s gonna work, Nick told himself, as though he could will it so. He kept his eyes fixed on the treacherous tangle of roots, mud, and branches as he wove his way up the slope. He leaped atop a stump and dared a look forward. There, just ahead, the barrels! He heard a shout and spotted three guards heading right for them.
Sekeu bounded off a log and into the first guard, knocking the man’s pike aside and cutting all the way through his arm at the elbow. Both the guard’s forearm and the pike flew into the brambles. The guard screamed and spun away, but didn’t quit; he drew his sword with his remaining arm, but before he could swing, Redbone came up behind him and cut one of his legs out from beneath him. The man tumbled. Redbone and Sekeu kept going without so much as a backward glance. Nick gritted his teeth and jumped over the squirming guard, horrified that the man was still trying to get to his feet.
Sekeu and Redbone charged the next two guards, pushing them back before a whirlwind of strikes and blows, like offensive linemen clearing a path for the running back. Nick and Leroy dashed through the melee, heading toward the barrels.
There was now only the peg-legged hunchback left between them and the barrels. Leroy made the rise first and stopped cold. Nick ran into him, started to curse, then saw the scene: a large troop of guards were chasing Peter’s band into the trees, but that wasn’t what had stopped Leroy in his tracks—below them, not fifty yards away, at least twenty guards were heading directly for them: hard-looking men moving fast.
A minute, Nick thought, they had maybe one minute before those guards would be upon them. Nick yanked out his sword and yelled, “Go!” He gave Leroy a shove and the two of them ran as hard as they could for the barrels.
The hunchback held a wide, curved sword in one hand and the oily ladle in the other. He showed them a few crusty black teeth and shouted, “Com’eer you little fucks, let Henry cut out your eyes and shove ’em up your asses.”
Nick feinted a hard swing to the man’s head, intent on using the trick that’d worked so well on Leroy the night before. But the hunchback caught Nick’s sword at the hilt, knocking the weapon out of Nick’s hand. Nick would’ve been dead for certain, but the hunchback shifted his attention to stopping Leroy. He swung the ladle, catching Leroy in the back of the head and sending the boy sprawling into the dirt.
Nick snatched up his sword and swung as hard as he could, hitting the man in the shoulder, the elven blade opening a nasty gash and knocking the hunchback off balance. His peg leg caught a root and he tumbled down the steep incline, cursing all the way to the bottom.
Nick dove for the barrel, ramming his shoulder into it. It barely budged. “SHIT!” he cried, and tried again. It didn’t move.
A spear slammed into a stump next to Nick. The guards were almost on them, a few even now scrambling their way up the steep, muddy slope. Nick was about to give up and run when Leroy reached the barrel. They both shoved. The barrel tipped but fell back. “AGAIN,” Nick cried, and together they rammed their shoulders into the barrel. This time it tipped and over it went, splashing the hillside in slick oil as it careened down the incline, taking several of the guards with it.
Leroy and Nick leaped for the second barrel, only to be confronted by a thick-set guard. Red eyes blazing, he raised a huge cutlass and came at them. Nick tried to run, only to collide into Leroy, knocking both of them to the ground. The guard let loose a victorious whoop, then a sword blade tore through his throat from behind. The man dropped his weapon, clasped his neck, and crumpled to the dirt. And there, behind him, stood Abraham. “THE BARREL!”
Nick and Leroy jumped up and slammed into the remaining barrel. Half-empty, this one rolled right over, almost taking Nick with it. It bounded and spun down the slope, knocking down at least three guards and dousing several others in the oil. But the men were quick to their feet and at least a dozen of them were scrambling up the hill right through the patch of oil.
Abraham kicked the cauldron over, sending the hot oil right into the face of the foremost guard. Nick could hear the man’s skin sizzling as the oil burned out his eyes, hear the man’s choking gargle as he tried to scream through a mouthful of boiling oil.
Abraham snatched up a timber from the fire and stood over the slope. The guards saw the flame, the oil clinging to the hillside and to themselves, and at once understood their fate. Abraham tossed the flaming timber onto the oil-drenched hillside.
There was a moment when nothing happened. Everyone, Devils and guards alike, were frozen for a prolonged heartbeat, then a blue flame bloomed, dancing across the surface of the oil. Nick saw the horrified looks in the men’s eyes, the look of knowing one’s ultimate demise, and knowing it would be bad. The oil burst into bright red flame and Nick was running, running away from the twisting, burning men, running away from their horrible screams.
THE FLESH-EATERS WERE almost upon them.
“Positions,” Peter cried, and the Devils and elves melted back into the forest, shifting from swords to spears, taking cover among the trees and ledges. Peter was well aware that the Devils would never stand a chance against the Flesh-eaters in open-field combat, not against the long pike axes, thick armor, and heavy weapons of their enemies. But if they could draw them in among the smoke, among the trees, where maneuverability was key, they could play a lethal game of hide-and-seek until every last Flesh-eater was dead.
The Captain halted about thirty yards out, just shy of effective spear range, and quickly formed his men into four rows of ten. Peter had hoped for a chaotic mob of Flesh-eaters mindlessly charging into the woods. He hadn’t counted on the Captain rallying his men so quickly.
“What are you waiting for?” Peter whispered. “Come get us.”
But the Captain seemed in no hurry. He scanned the terrain. Peter could see he was carefully planning his next move. Peter didn’t like it. If given the chance, he knew, the man would turn the situation to his advantage.
The Captain barked a quick succession of orders, and two lines of men broke away from the main body, heading outward, toward Peter’s flanks.
Peter leaped up, strolled boldly out into plain sight, and set his foot upon the breastplate of one of the dead guards from the skirmish.
The Flesh-eaters halted, all eyes on Peter. Peter brought his sword down, cleaving the dead man’s head from his shoulders. He snatched the head up by the hair and raised it for all to see, then spat into its face.
Curses and shouts of outrage rose from the lines. The formation wavered as several Flesh-eaters broke ranks and came for Peter.
“HOLD,” cried the Captain. “HOLD I SAY!”
All but one of the guards halted; a shirtless man with a large ax.
“STAND DOWN, BOYLE!” the Captain cried. “STAND DOWN!” But the man kept heading toward Peter.
“YOU’LL PAY FER THAT ONE!” the crazed-eyed man screamed. “YE LITTLE DEMON BASTARD! AYE, YOU’LL PAY!”
Peter swung the head and launched it toward the man. An instant later, one of the elves slid out from behind a tree and flung his spear. The Flesh-eater dodged the head, but not the spear. It caught him in the neck. He slid to his knees and sat there clawing at the shaft, gasping and gurgling until he finally fell over.
Peter showed them his teeth, then let out a long, hooting laugh like a wild monkey.
“Back in line, before I flay your hides!” the Captain yelled. “Form—”
A low thud rolled across the field, and a bright glow bloomed over by the barrels. A plume of dark smoke billowed upward and the screams of men burning alive filled the air.
The Captain’s controlled composure lit up with outrage. He gave Peter one last look that promised he would make the boy pay, then raised his sword and shouted, “FOOTMEN, TO THE CENTER! TRIPLE TIME. BEFORE ALL IS LOST!” Forgetting about Peter and his band, the Flesh-eaters disintegrated into a ragged line and ran back toward the barrels.
A cheer went up behind Peter. The Devils broke cover, yelling and shouting, exchanging high-fives and laughing like schoolboys.
“We did it,” Peter said breathlessly. He tried to see beyond the smoke and flames, searching for any sign of Sekeu and her group. There was nothing more they could do for them now other than wish them luck.
“AWAY!” Peter shouted. “To Red Rock.”
ANGRY SHOUTS CHASED after Nick as he wove his way through the tangle of roots and branches. He dared a glance back and saw the flaming hillside, black clouds mushrooming into the air, and men engulfed in fire clawing at their own flesh. At least six guards had made it through the flame and were rushing down the path after them not a hundred yards behind. Nick recalled Peter saying they were slow. Slow must mean something different in Avalon, Nick thought, because these men were covering some ground. He heard shouts and saw another group of men, at least a dozen strong, trying to cut them off.
Nick’s foot snagged on a root, he stumbled and slid to one knee. Sekeu caught up to him, yanking him back to his feet. Their eyes met for the briefest moment and Nick caught her smile, and that smile was worth more than all the praise, back slaps, and cheers he could ever receive. It told him that he’d done good—no, that he had done great, and that he was one of them now. She shoved him on his way and together they ran hard for the tree line. And there, among the screams, the confusion, the terror, Nick realized he was grinning. He was starting to like being a Devil, like it very much.
Redbone made the trees first, Leroy and Abraham darting in right behind, followed by Sekeu, then Nick. There came a sense of relief upon entering the woods, but as Nick crashed into the brambles, as the vines and thorns slowed him to barely a jog, his relief turned to dread. Too soon he heard the men crashing into the woods behind them, their large bulks bulldozing through the underbrush and gaining quickly.
The ground began to soften underfoot, turned to mud, then Nick was splashing through ankle-deep marsh, trying hard to keep up with the rest of the group. The scourge-ridden trees began to knot around them, their mossy limbs blotting out the sky above. Redbone led them onto a thin trail of firmer ground and they wove their way around treacherous pools of muckish black water.
The trail led into a ledge of crumbling clay and overhanging roots. Redbone, Abraham, and Sekeu leaped high, caught hold of the roots, and scrambled up out of the ravine, disappearing over the ridge. Leroy ran up the ledge, grabbing onto a root, but the root tore loose and he fell backward into Nick. Both boys tumbled into the knee-deep bog.
Nick tried for his feet but found his legs tangled in the thorny marsh weeds. He kicked viciously only to tangle himself further. He clawed at the muddy bank, but the greasy mud slid through his fingers. Something grabbed hold of his leg; for a horrible moment Nick thought it was some swamp creature before he realized it was Leroy. Leroy—splashing and panicking—clawed his way on top of Nick, pressing him into the mud, shoving Nick’s face below the black water as he crawled over him. Leroy planted his foot into Nick’s shoulder and kicked away. Nick got his head up in time to see Leroy catch hold of a clump of marsh grass and pull himself out of the muck.
Nick stuck his hand out. “Leroy! Hey Leroy!”
But Leroy wasn’t looking at Nick; he was staring back through the trees in the direction of the shouting men, his eyes wide with terror.
“LEROY!” Nick screamed as he tried to claw his way out of the gooey mud. “HELP!”
Leroy glanced at Nick and for a second the fear left Leroy’s face, his eyes got mean, and a nasty smirk curved his lips. He rolled to his feet and scrambled up the ravine. Sekeu was at the top of the ledge, waiting for them, and Leroy almost knocked her over as he barreled past. Sekeu stared down at Nick.
Nick could hear the shouts of the men closing in. “HEY! HELP!” he screamed, waving to Sekeu, then saw it in her face: she wasn’t going to help him.
Sekeu started to leave. She stopped and Nick caught her expression change: something close to anger, but not at him, at herself maybe. She moved then, bounding back down the ravine in a single leap, snatched her sword free, and leaped into the muck, tugging Nick as she hacked away the tangle of swamp weeds. She said something to him; Nick thought it was “You better best it, Nick.” But he couldn’t make any sense of it in the confusion. Then he was free, the two of them scrambling to escape the muddy pool.
Nick made high ground first, turned to help Sekeu, and saw the spear come flying through the air right at them. Before Nick could so much as shout, the spear hit Sekeu, stabbing deep into her upper thigh, knocking her to the ground. Sekeu clutched her leg and cried out. Nick could see the point jabbing all the way through her thigh, could see her muscle tissue like a slab of raw beef. The blood filled the wound and began to gush down her leg.
Six men came racing through the trees waving their cutlasses and axes, their faces twisted into snarls.
Sekeu wrenched the spear from her leg with a scream of pain and rage and threw it hard and true. It sailed across the marsh and caught the lead man dead in the chest, knocking him into the bog.
Nick grabbed Sekeu and pulled her to one knee. Sekeu tried to stand but fell, and they both tumbled to the ground.
“GET OUT OF HERE!” Sekeu cried, and shoved Nick away.
Nick stumbled back and realized with horror that he had to leave her, after she’d come back for him, he now had to leave her—had to. RUN! his mind screamed. RUN! Yet he didn’t—couldn’t.
Three of the Flesh-eaters came bearing down upon them. Nick grasped clumsily for his sword, jerking it from its scabbard and almost dropping it. He pointed the blade at the Flesh-eaters. Suddenly, it felt like a lead weight in his trembling hand, all his training forgotten in his terror.
The forward man read this and a murderous grin lit his red eyes. He reared his ax back and came for Nick.
“Oh, God!” Nick cried. “Oh, Jesus!”
Abraham shot past Nick, coming in below the man’s swing, thrusting his sword up into the man’s rib cage. The man’s eyes went wide, the ax flew from his hands, the blunt edge of the blade slammed into Nick’s chest, jabbing into his ribs and knocking him down. Abraham made to spin away, but the man caught Abraham’s arm and the two of them landed in the bog with a loud splash.
A war cry filled the air. Redbone flew past Nick and drove into the next two Flesh-eaters feet-first, knocking the first into the second. Redbone was up in a bound, hacking the first across the face as the man tried to get up. The second was quicker, and a sweeping slash of his cutlass all but knocked Redbone’s blade from his grip. Redbone circled, driving the man back, and that’s when Sekeu—still on her knees—slashed his hamstrings. The man fell over, digging at the slimy mud as he slid into the bog.
Redbone charged forward, blocking the advance of the remaining two Flesh-eaters.
Nick clutched his chest; his hand came away wet with his own blood. I’m going to die, he thought, then heard a retching gasp, saw Abraham struggling with the Flesh-eater in the bog. The huge man clutched the boy about the neck. Abraham clawed at the man’s thick, leathery hands as he fought to keep his head above water. Nick met Abraham’s terrified eyes as he sank beneath the dark water, and Nick forgot about dying. He had to stop this man. No matter what, he had to stop him.
Nick leaped at the huge Flesh-eater, bringing his sword down with all his strength. The blade sank deep into the top of the man’s shoulder, lodging into his collarbone. The man groaned but, to Nick’s horror, didn’t let go of Abraham. Nick tried to tug the sword loose, but it was wedged into the man’s leathery flesh, black blood oozing out around the blade. Nick could still see Abraham’s eyes, the bubbles escaping his mouth.
NO! Nick thought and felt a sudden burning flush of heat in his stomach. Venom shot up his throat like stinging vomit, flaring in his head—thundering. A sound he didn’t recognize escaped his throat, raw and animalistic.
Nick saw nothing but the man, every ounce of him focused on the back of his skull, at the shiny, lumpy black scalp. Smash it! Crush it! Turn it into pulp! Nick yanked violently at the sword, jerked it back and forth until it ripped free. Nick reared back and swung, swung with all the rage and venom burning within him. Maldiriel slammed into the man’s head just above the ear, peeling most of his scalp from the bone. Nick struck again, and again. He felt the skull crack beneath his blade, felt the flesh yield, felt the hot blood and gore splatter across his face. It felt good and Nick’s smile grew with every bite of his sword. The man slumped over and Nick’s blade caught nothing but air, sending him careening face-first into the bog. He sucked in a mouthful of muck, yanked his head up, and coughed violently. There in the bog, right in front of him, was Abraham. The boy stared up at him from beneath the dark water with dead, unblinking eyes.
The world came back into focus then, the burning subsiding a degree. Nick grabbed Abraham and dragged his head and shoulders up onto the muddy bank. “ABRAHAM!” Nick shouted and shook the boy. But Abraham only stared back at him with those dead eyes. “Oh, God!” Nick cried. “Oh no. Oh no. No. No!”
A cutting laugh caused Nick to look up. Ten more Flesh-eaters came out of the trees, spreading out, picking their way through the bog, and blocking off any chance of escape.
Nick found Sekeu’s eyes on Abraham, her lips tight and grim.
The two Flesh-eaters before Redbone slid back into the ranks, leaving the wild boy panting and looking unsure what to do. He glanced back at Sekeu down on one knee, swaying unsteadily, the pool of blood growing beneath her. His eyes found Abraham and his ferocious grin fell away, all that was left was pain. Redbone’s mouth tightened into a hard line. He returned his attention to the Flesh-eaters, slapping the flat of his bloody sword against his palm and growling.
The Flesh-eaters laughed until a howl echoed through the bog. This howl didn’t sound human. More howls followed, coming from all around them—from above them. Nick noticed the tree limbs shaking as shadowy shapes leaped along the branches.
The Flesh-eaters exchanged quick, fretful looks. They seemed uncertain which direction to turn, whether to fight or flee. They were spread out over the bog, vulnerable, and Nick could tell by their faces they knew it.
The swamp erupted in eerie cries and moans. The Flesh-eaters spun about, faces tight with terror. Four barghest dropped from above, landing on one Flesh-eater and knocking him to the ground, tearing into him with their jagged claws and teeth. Two men started forward to help, only to have a dozen more barghest drop onto them. What followed was a frenzy of claws and teeth, flailing arms and screams as the men’s stomachs and throats were torn open.
The remaining men turned and ran, stumbling and falling as they tried to navigate the treacherous bog. A long shriek cut across the marsh. The men stopped. There, blocking their retreat, stood the witch’s daughters, looking almost like angels with their white swirling gossamer gowns, pale skin, and long, flowing hair. Before Nick’s eyes, the girls shifted, their hands sprouting hooked claws and their faces stretching into snouts. They smiled at the men, exposing long, jagged teeth, then came for them, three white streaks bounding across the bog as though their feet never touched the ground. All three hit the first man, knocking him off his feet and tearing out his throat.
The last men panicked, running recklessly away from the girls, thrashing through the muck and quickly becoming entangled in the marsh weeds. They made for easy pickings as the barghest swarmed over them.
Still on his knees, holding Abraham, Nick watched the barghest descend into a killing frenzy. The sky darkened, the air felt charged. Nick turned and found himself looking up into the single emerald eye of the witch.
“You look lost, child,” she said, her smile revealing long, green teeth.
Tanngnost was waiting for Peter at Red Rock. The old troll pushed himself up to his feet and strode quickly forward, his face anxious. “Well?” he asked. “Well, tell me. Quickly, boy. Tell me. How did it go?”
Peter brushed past him, searching the small plateau. “They’re not here?”
“Who?” Tanngnost asked.
“They should’ve been here by now. They should’ve beaten us back.”
“Peter, tell me what happened?”
Peter stopped. He clutched the troll by the arm, his golden eyes full of fire. “We won the day, Tanngnost! Such glory. If only you could’ve seen it. We cut them down. Dumped their oil and burned them alive!” A devilish grin lit Peter’s face. “Their screams…such a sweet sound. This day goes to the Lady.” Peter’s smile fell away. “But there are still Devils unaccounted for.” He turned away from Tanngnost. “Spread out,” he shouted. “Keep your eyes and ears sharp.”
Devils and elves spread about the rocks while Peter paced restlessly from one ledge to the next, scanning the tree lines for any sign of Sekeu and her small band. What’s taking them so long? he wondered and watched the black smoke billowing upward into the gray clouds. Such a victory, he thought, still not believing they’d driven the Flesh-eaters back. Peter looked at his old friend Drael. And the elves, they’d come. Had fought under my lead. We’ll not stop. We’ll strike again this very night. Raid their fort. Keep at them until every one of them is dead.
“We got trouble!” Huck called, pulling his sword out.
Peter dashed over to where Huck leaned out over a steep ledge, the Devils and elves quickly joining them. There, coming around the bend, a host of barghest marched out of the trees, heading right toward them. Barghest, here? Peter wondered. That makes no sense. Then he saw the three girls. “Witches,” Peter hissed and drew his own sword. “If they want trouble, then trouble they will get!”
“Wait,” Tanngnost said. “There, Redbone, and—”
Peter looked again. Between the trees he saw Nick, then Leroy and Redbone. They were carrying Sekeu and there was no missing the blood-soaked cloth wrapped around her leg, nor the way her head lolled listlessly from side to side. No, he thought. Not Sekeu. Not after all we’ve been through. Peter put away his sword, leaped down the rocks, and raced toward them. He ran right past the barghest without so much as a glance. He reached Sekeu and stopped.
Leroy and Redbone laid her limp form gently to the ground.
She’s so pale. Peter glanced at Redbone. “How bad?”
Redbone looked at pains to answer, but only shook his head.
“She’s dying,” one of the sisters said.
“Yes, we can smell her death. Won’t be long now,” the second added.
“Poor little dear,” the third put in dryly while twirling a strand of her long white hair about her finger.
Peter dropped down to Sekeu, clasping her hand in his. He looked at the wound. So much blood. He touched her cheek with his fingers and her eyes fluttered open.
“Sekeu,” Peter said. “Hey, hang on.”
“Abraham,” she said in a weak whisper.
Peter realized Abraham wasn’t with them.
“He fought bravely…saved me,” she said. “Nick too…he stood with me.”
Peter could see it took great effort for Sekeu to talk. “Shhh,” he said and touched her lips.
Sekeu closed her eyes. Hot tears blurred Peter’s vision.
Tanngnost came up and knelt next to Peter. He looked Sekeu over.
“Help her,” Peter pleaded. “Do something. You have ways. Your potions. Your medicines. Do something.”
The old troll shook his head. “She’s lost too much blood, Peter. There’s nothing to be done.”
Everyone fell quiet.
“Yes there is,” Peter said, his voice resolute. “There’s something to be done. Most certainly.” He took Sekeu in his arms and stood. “The Lady. The Lady can save her.”
“WE’VE BEEN SEEN,” Drael said, pointing to the green faeries zipping away into the Lady’s Wood.
“Peter,” Tanngnost said as they crossed Cusith Creek and entered the forest. “This is folly. You know it is.”
“Folly,” echoed one of the girls.
“Death and dismemberment for all,” added the next.
“A jolly good time,” said the third.
Peter ignored them, hugging Sekeu tightly to his chest and marching steadily onward.
Tanngnost looked behind at the line of Devils, elves, witches, and barghest. Quite the parade, he thought. Not since the Horned One had such a host marched together. He couldn’t help but admire Peter’s ability to bring these longtime bitter enemies together. But nothing good could come out of entering the Lady’s Wood with such a host.
Tanngnost pushed up to Peter, spoke low, so as not to be overheard. “Peter, Ulfger will try and kill you this time. You know this. Please, Peter, for the sake of Avalon, reconsider.” But one look at Peter’s hard, stubborn face told Tanngnost he was wasting his breath. When Peter sets his mind to a thing, Tanngnost thought, far be it from reason to stop him. “Even if you could see the Lady,” Tanngnost went on, “she’s too weak to help. It has been too many years since—”
Peter halted. They all did. Ulfger stood blocking the path, flanked by fifteen heavily armed elves. Ulfger wore his full battle gear: fine leather mail hung in jagged rows beneath a chest plate of dark steel, armored gloves ran up his forearms, thigh-length boots, and a cape of bear fur draped across one shoulder.
Ulfger hefted a battle ax and glared at Drael and the rogue elves. “Your treachery has cost you your place. You’re to leave at once and never step foot in these woods again.” Then Ulfger set his dark, brooding eyes on Peter. “Child thief, I’ve no such mercy for you. My patience for your games is at an end. I gave you clear warning. Your sentence is death.”
Peter gently lowered Sekeu to the ground, stood, and took a step forward. He didn’t look at Ulfger; instead he addressed the elf guards flanking the giant man.
“Today,” Peter said, speaking loudly, “this group of kids you snub your noses at came together with your kin, and with the witch’s brood. Together they stood against the Flesh-eaters. Together they cut them down, burned them alive, reminded them that Avalon still has teeth! Their bravery, their blood, their lives have won Avalon this day and maybe many more.” Peter set his unrelenting glare on each elf. “Where were you?”
Tanngnost was surprised at the power of Peter’s words on the stolid elves. Most were unable to meet Peter’s eyes. Some of them flinched visibly beneath his gaze. He caught several sidelong looks between them.
“This girl,” Peter gestured to Sekeu. “She bled for the Lady today. And a brave boy by the name of Abraham died defending Avalon. Where were you?”
“No one is listening to your prattle,” Ulfger said with a dark laugh.
“All I ask,” Peter said, continuing to address the elves, “is passage to the Lady, to bring this wounded warrior, this defender of Avalon, before her. Who among you would deny her this honor?”
“NEVER!” Ulfger shouted. “None may see the Lady. Much less such vile rabble.”
Peter turned his eyes on Ulfger. Tanngnost could see Peter struggling to contain his rage. “The Lady is not yours to command,” Peter said through clenched teeth. “The Lady belongs to all of Avalon. Or have you forgotten the words of your own father?”
Ulfger’s eyes flared dangerously, his knuckles went white around the shaft of his ax.
“This rabble,” Peter said, sweeping his arm toward his companions, “have earned the right to see the Lady with their blood. How Ulfger…how have you earned the right?”
“Kill him,” Ulfger ordered.
Several of the elves dropped their hands to the hilts of their swords, but they didn’t draw, seemingly unsure what to do.
“Lord Ulfger!” Tanngnost shouted. “Open your eyes! Can you not see that all the clans have come together? It is your time. Don the Horned Helm. Lead Avalon to victory!” Tanngnost lowered his voice. “Lord Ulfger, I beg you to think before you act. The fate of Avalon rests with you.”
“Have you grown senile in your old age?” Ulfger sneered. “I’ve already given you my answer. The Lady’s Guard will never fight alongside this vileness. And are you such a fool that you would trust the secrets of the Haven to this rabble? Why not just lead the Flesh-eaters to the Lady yourself?”
“At least they’ve earned that trust,” Peter said.
Ulfger turned to his guard. “I will not say it again. Kill him!”
The elves didn’t move.
“What are you waiting for?” Ulfger cried. He stared at them, and still they stood. Then, one by one, each stepped away from Ulfger.
Ulfger’s face first showed disbelief, then twisted into outrage. “What treachery is this?” he snarled, his face turning red as his brow clenched together. “Have you forgotten your oaths? Has all of Avalon gone mad?” He shoved the nearest guard forward, nearly knocking the elf to the ground. “NOW,” he shouted. “KILL HIM! KILL HIM!”
The guards stood their ground.
“TRAITORS!” Ulfger screamed. “ALL OF YOU…TRAITORS! IT IS LEFT TO ME TO DEFEND THE LADY!” He hefted his ax and came at Peter with a wild overhand swing, leaving Peter no chance to pull out his sword. Instead Peter did the one thing Ulfger least expected. He leaped forward at the giant, dashing inside the blow intended to cleave him in two. Peter kicked the back of Ulfger’s knee as the man barreled past, sending him tumbling into the dirt. Ulfger landed hard, the ax flying from his hand.
Ulfger let out a shrill cry of rage, scrambled for his ax, and was met by the spear tips of all fifteen elven guards, their cold eyes backing up the promise of their razor-sharp spears.
“Enough, Ulfger,” Drael shouted. “Enough.”
Ulfger stared at Drael, his mouth open, then his eyes became distant as though staring through the elf, as though seeing someone behind him, above him, some ghostly spectra only he could see. His whole body began to tremble, his dark eyes wide and crazed. “Why…why must you always hound me?” Ulfger cried, his voice cracking. “I gave you my oath. My oath!” He clutched at the earth, leaving deep claw marks in the soft dirt. “I will protect her, of course. How many times must I swear it?”
The elves exchanged nervous looks.
“Come.” Tanngnost waved the troop onward. They made a wide berth around the giant man as he continued to paw the dirt, following Drael as the old elf led them up the path toward Lady Modron’s Garden.
“I believe his butter has curdled,” said one of the witch’s daughters.
“Gone loopy lou lou,” added another.
“Worms in the woodwork, indeed,” said the third.
“Time to go see Auntie,” said the first.
“I hope she has cake,” put in the second.
“I hope she has bunnies,” said the third. “I like bunnies.”
“Bunnies, yum,” said the first. “I’ll have two.”
THE ELVES LED them along a rocky, fast-running creek. Peter carried Sekeu, pressing forward at a steady jog. The Devils followed right behind Peter, and a bit further back came the barghest, running along sideways on their knuckles. They looked playful and curious as they hooted and raced along the trail. It was hard for Nick to believe they were the same vicious beasts that had almost killed him. He caught occasional glimpses of the three girls as they skipped, almost floated, through the woods, their white gowns still streaked with black blood. He couldn’t suppress the shudder as their light giggles echoed about the forest.
Cricket and Danny fell in with Nick. Danny was sweating and breathing so hard Nick wasn’t sure he’d make it much farther. His panda cat makeup had run all down his face, adding to the harrowed look of his eyes. “I’ve had it,” Danny huffed. “I’m done. Done with all this stupid bullcrap.”
“Hang in there, Danny-O,” Cricket said, her voice pumped with excitement, like this was all some sort of big adventure. She patted him on the back. “You’re doing good.”
Danny stared at her as though she’d lost her mind then turned to Nick. “Nick,” he gasped. “When you’re ready to go home…be sure to take me with you. I mean it.” Nick could tell that Danny did indeed mean it; the boy sounded like he might start crying at any moment.
“I don’t want to die here,” Danny muttered. “I just want to go home.”
“So, what happened out there?” Cricket asked Nick.
Nick didn’t answer; the fever in his stomach still burned, the murderous urges still clawed at him, just like when he woke from the nightmares. Only this time the burning didn’t fade—if anything, it was growing worse. His head began to throb.
“Hey, Nick,” Cricket said cautiously. “You okay?”
Nick wished she’d leave him alone. He needed some time to himself, time to try and sort things out and get his mind straight.
Cricket started to say something else, then quickened her pace, fell in line with Leroy, and began quizzing him. Leroy was more than happy to give his account, going on and on about how he’d knocked over the barrels, about burning the Flesh-eaters alive.
What about how you hid in the swamp while Abraham was murdered? Nick felt the heat in his stomach flare. Anger was working its way back into his chest; he could feel it pulsing in his neck. It had felt so good, Nick thought, smashing in the Flesh-eater’s skull. The spray of brains. So good. He looked at the back of Leroy’s head. How would it feel to smash Leroy’s brains in?
Leroy was still going on about knocking over the barrels.
He ran, Nick thought. Ran away and left me there to die. He ran. He ran. The thought burned in his mind until it just forced its way out. “He ran,” Nick growled.
“What?” Cricket asked.
“He ran.”
Leroy’s eyes blazed.
“Ran away and hid.”
Leroy shoved Nick. “You better shut the fuck up!”
“You left us.”
“I said shut the fuck up.” Leroy made to shove Nick again when someone grabbed him by the arm and jerked him around. Leroy stumbled and almost fell.
“Tell them, Leroy,” Redbone said. “Tell them where you were when Abraham was dying.”
Leroy glanced about like a caged dog, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.
“One. One extra sword,” Redbone said. “Could have saved Abraham.”
Leroy shook his head, opened his mouth, but said nothing. He backed away from Redbone, away from all the hard stares. He looked unsure what to do with himself, and drifted back among the barghest.
A sudden burning sensation stung the wound in Nick’s side. He clutched the cut, felt the hot wetness. He pulled his hand away and stifled a cry. The blood, his blood, was dark, almost black. What’s happening? he wondered. Another voice, a not very nice one, said, You know what’s happening. His head was drumming now, pounding hard. He stumbled and would have fallen but someone grabbed him, put an arm around him.
“Steady there, Nick.”
Nick saw Redbone’s wild grin through wet, blurry eyes.
Redbone’s grin faltered. “Hey, man. You okay?”
“Yeah,” Nick said. “I’m…fine.”
Redbone glanced at Nick’s blood-soaked leathers. “Fuck, man. You took one hell of a lick.”
“I’m fine,” Nick said, harsher than he’d intended. He pulled away from the wild boy and quickly covered the wound with his hand.
“Okay, man. That’s cool. Just be sure to let me know if you need a hand.” Redbone started to say something more, hesitated, seemed to be searching for the right words, finally he blurted out, “Look, man, just gotta say. You earned your blades today. There were six of them bad dudes coming down on your ass, but you stood with her. Stood when you could’ve run. That takes more than guts. Let me tell you, that’s something deeper.” He clasped Nick on the shoulder. “Just want you to know, brother. You need me, I’m there.” He gave Nick another of his crazed grins before heading up to check on Peter and Sekeu.
For a moment Nick forgot the pain, the burning in his stomach. There was no denying what he’d seen in the wild boy’s eyes. Redbone was his friend, the kind of friend that would stand by him to the end. Nick found himself blinking away tears.
The river narrowed, became clear and fast, splashing and swirling against the large boulders and rocky bank. They’d left all signs of the scourge behind; most of the trees here still had their leaves. They came to a series of large flat stones strung out across the river and leaped from one to the other to cross the current. The three sisters didn’t use the stones, their tiny feet plucking at the rushing water as they danced right across the waves.
The foliage on the far bank was fuller. Nick spied the occasional flower and caught sight of several faeries watching them timidly from up in the trees. Nick admired their brilliantly colored wings. Yes, he thought, so very pretty. How delicious to feel their tiny bones cracking in my hands. Nick shook his head. No, he thought. Stop. But that other, that deeper him, didn’t want to stop.
THE TRAIL BROADENED into a long courtyard. Murky wading pools stretched along either side of the path. A few shriveled lily pads and water weeds poked up here and there. Standing stones covered with brown, dried moss stood in intervals down the pools, several had fallen and lay half-submerged on their sides. Ahead, a tall archway cut into a towering white stone ledge with a gentle waterfall spilling onto its crest. The ancient wooden doors were barred shut.
Peter let out a sound as though he’d been punched in the gut. “How?”
“She took the path to the Haven and never returned,” the old elf said. “The garden wilts without her hand.”
They entered a courtyard and Peter slowed, staring at a pond. Scattered among the algae and weeds were the shattered remnants of several golden globes. Peter stopped. He looked pained, disheartened.
Tanngnost came and stood beside him. “Sometimes it is the smaller things that hit the hardest.”
They continued through a series of courtyards until they came to a large overgrown field surrounded by wild hedges and crumbling arches. Nick counted ten arches. The elf led them toward the back of the field, to a small, unassuming arch half-hidden behind a straggly hedge. The arch was in the shape of a dragon’s mouth; several of the teeth had broken and lay scattered in the weeds.
They passed through and the trail narrowed, weaving its way through dense underbrush, towering trees, and giant boulders. The path ran upward along the bottom of a steep cliff until coming to an abrupt end against the sheer walls of a box canyon. The walls towered so high above as to leave the troop in deep shadow.
The canyon smelled of damp earth and rotting things. Vines as thick as a man’s leg pushed up from the earth, their stems—spiked with treacherous thorns—twisted and coiled up the face of the stone like a nest of snakes. A simple apple was carved into the stone at eye level.
The old elf gave the Devils and barghest a hard, probing look. He turned to Peter and the troll. “Are you sure?” he asked.
Both of them nodded.
“The oath?” the elf asked. “The rites?”
“We’ve no time for oaths and silly ceremonies,” Peter said impatiently. “Just open the thing.”
The elf looked to the troll.
“They are Avalon now,” Tanngnost said. “There are no others. We have to trust them.”
Drael still looked unsure but stepped up to the stone, placed his hand atop the apple, closed his eyes, and spoke a string of strange words.
Silence hung in the air as the troop held their collective breath. Nothing happened for a long moment, then the thorny vines began to rustle, slowly slithering, coiling unto themselves like vipers preparing to strike, creeping back until a circular groove—almost as tall as the troll—was revealed in the stone.
The old elf pushed on one side of the circle, several of the elves quickly joining him. There came the slight grinding of stone as they pivoted the circle inward, revealing a short tunnel. Nick could see light coming through from the far end. The opening was large enough for one person to enter at a time, and one by one the troop filed through.
Nick hesitated; something about the entrance made him—or some part of him—uneasy. He waited until the last barghest passed, before approaching the tunnel. The vines rustled as he neared, almost as though watching him. Nick took a deep breath and ducked in; as he did, a vine struck him, hitting him hard on the forehead, just missing his eye. Another snagged his ankle, almost tripping him, while several more struck at him like biting snakes. Nick jerked his foot free and dashed through the tunnel.
Redbone was waiting for him. “You okay, man?” Redbone squinted back down the dark tunnel. “You look like something’s after you.”
“Uh, no…nothing,” Nick said breathlessly. “Just…got spooked. That’s all.”
They continued to follow the elves and soon came upon a steep, rushing creek. The water was crystal-clear and smelled sweet. The forest flourished as they made their way up the steady incline. Soon there were flowers sprouting from vines and bushes, and soft moss carpeting the trail. Nick caught sight of a pair of small spotted deer and heard the peeping of tree frogs. A soft hum buzzed past his head as several dozen faeries zipped about the troop, chirping and doing loop-de-loops. A feverish shudder coursed across Nick’s skin, a fresh flush of heat bloomed in his stomach. His fingernails bit into his palms as an overwhelming need to tear the little creatures to pieces all but consumed him. He felt if he could kill them, the pounding in his head, the heat in his stomach would finally cease. No, he thought. Stop it. Stop it before it’s too late. He clenched his fingers into fists, pressed his hands tight against his thighs, fighting to keep them under control.
The wound began to burn again, worse than before. He clutched his side, felt the heat. He made sure no one was watching, then looked at his hand. His blood was darker now, almost black. “Fuck!” Nick whispered.
A barghest, much smaller than the others, loped up alongside of him. The creature only came up to Nick’s knee. It gave him a curious look and chirped.
“Get the fuck away from me,” Nick hissed, and grinned.
The barghest cocked its head from side to side, then scampered away.
“Dig your beady little eyes out with my thumbs,” Nick said under his breath. The heat in his stomach began to burn, to climb up his throat, the pressure behind his eyes to throb. “Tear your flesh from your bones.” Yes, the Other in him said. Do it! Do it now! All the pain will go away. Just do it. Do it. Do it now. And at that moment, Nick believed that Other, truly felt that killing the barghest would make the pain go away, felt it in his very core.
The troop pushed around a bend and Nick was confronted by dozens of tall, thin waterfalls, their silvery waters cascading down a mountain face of pure white stone. Nick tilted back his head but couldn’t find the top of the falls. The water appeared to be falling from the low-lying clouds themselves. The mist was cool, soothing, and smelled like spring. Nick inhaled deeply and felt a reprieve from that Other, from that deeper self. For a moment, he stood there and just lost himself in the spectacle of the beautiful falling water.
The elf led them to a smaller fall, the one farthest back. An inconspicuous path ran along a small ledge and disappeared directly into the falls. The water crashed down with such force it was obvious they could go no farther, but the old elf walked directly into the falls and vanished from view.
Peter hesitated a moment, then followed. One by one, each of the party entered until it was Nick’s turn. Nick could see it wasn’t a trick, there was just enough space behind the falls to slip past, but it was still unnerving to blindly walk into the misty shadows. Nick took a deep breath, stepped through, and found himself in a short tunnel, the walls shimmering with an emerald light the color of the sea.
The tunnel led into a large cavern that opened to the sky. Jagged cliffs leaned in on all sides. Thick, glowing bands of gold veined the white stone, bathing the cavern in a soft golden light. Before him, a magnificent Eden spread out from ledge to ledge, at least the width and length of a soccer field.
The Devils, barghest, even the elves, all stared in wide-eyed wonder.
“The Haven,” Tanngnost said.
“I see bunnies,” said one of the witch’s daughters.
“My, my. Lots of bunnies,” said the second.
“Yummy for your tummy,” added the third.
NICK’S BREATH ESCAPED him. Before him lay a circular pond, delicate ripples crisscrossing its mirrorlike surface as tiny sprites, barely larger than bees, danced along its banks. An apple tree with white bark and leaves stood upon a tiny island in the middle of the pond, the centerpiece of the whole garden. Vibrant red apples hung from its delicate limbs and its leaves shimmered.
“Avallach’s Tree,” Peter whispered.
“Yes,” Tanngnost said, and even his voice was awed. “The very heart of Avalon.”
A birdcall drew Nick’s attention away from the Tree and he took in the rest of the garden. Dozens of brooks fed into the pond, their sparkling waters bubbling over smooth, crystal-clear stones. Grass and clover of deep greens and blues, as rich as though it were painted, rolled across the glade, while lush ivy and muscadine vines dripped down from the delicate trellises and along the ledges and cliffs that walled the sanctuary. Wildflowers spilled across the grounds like waves in an ocean, splashing along the edge of every stone and tree. Massive, moss-covered standing stones leaned heavily, their ancient pitted surfaces covered in runes and carvings of brooding faces. Brightly painted birds flew above, along with all manner of sprites, pixies, and tiny faeries. Wee folk of every sort peeked out from behind stones and giant toadstools. And on and on, there were so many sights, smells, and strange creatures about that Nick found it impossible to focus on any one thing for more than a second.
“My Lady,” Peter called softly, his voice reverent.
Nick followed Peter’s eyes to a tapestry of brilliant white vines, flowers, and leaves nestled together upon a throne of leaning stones on the far side of the pond. The overall effect was that of an elegant woman in a long gown. Nick realized that many of the leaves were actually white butterflies, some slowly opening and closing their wings, while others fluttered to and fro, giving the illusion that the tapestry was moving.
“She’s in the pond,” Dash said, and all the Devils pressed forward, trying to see her.
“I see her,” said Redbone.
“Where—oh!” said Cricket.
Nick searched the murky water, he didn’t see her, but he did see small winged fish with the upper torsos of boys and girls darting back and forth, chasing one another just beneath the surface. Then he understood, and he saw her, saw her well. In the reflection, all the white flowers, leaves, and butterflies came together to form the Lady. And, just like any illusion, once he saw her, it was impossible to not see her.
He glanced back up and there she sat on the throne, unmoving like a marble statue, staring with heavy, unblinking eyes at the Tree. Her head nestled among the flowers, the vines and leaves spilled around her, cradling her. Her skin was so white as almost to glow, her neck long and graceful, her lips full but pale, her cheekbones high, her eyes set wide apart, almost too wide, giving her a slight animal countenance. And when Nick looked at those eyes, those dull, glassy eyes, he could see just how fragile, how very vulnerable she really was. And as the heat bloomed in his gut, as it turned to fire, as his blood turned black and pumped through his veins like venom, he thought, It will do me such good to kill her.
“LADY MODRON.” THE name escaped Peter’s lips in a weak breath. She’s too thin, he thought and couldn’t push away the fear that she might be dead. He looked into her eyes, those ceaselessly staring eyes, and found no sign of life, nothing.
He walked softly up to her and laid Sekeu down upon the spongy moss at her feet. He cleared his throat. “My Lady,” he said gently.
She continued to stare past him, through him—not so much as a blink.
Peter followed her gaze to the Tree, still amazed to be in its presence. He noticed that many of the leaves were wilted, that some of the limbs were bare and looked to be dying. He wondered how much longer Avalon had.
He fell to one knee, reached out, and laid his hand on the Lady’s, gently, as though his touch might break her. Her hand felt cold. “My Lady,” he whispered. “Lady Modron. It’s me. Peter.”
Her face never changed.
“Lady,” he said again, then again.
Peter felt a hand on his shoulder, heard Tanngnost’s deep sigh. “I’m sorry, Peter. I was afraid of this. She still lives, but is gone from us, withdrawn deep within. Keeping the Mist alive, but little more.”
“I cannot remember the last time she spoke,” Drael said. “Maybe to Ulfger. I don’t know. For he forbade any of us to come near.”
“Peter,” Tanngnost said softly. “I fear she’s beyond us.”
Peter continued to hold the Lady’s hand, to stare into her eyes—to hope. He felt a warmth against his chest—the eight-point star. He pulled the necklace over his head and examined it. The faintest glow pulsed from the star’s center. “No, she’s still with us.” He reached for the Lady’s hand, carefully turning it upward, and laid the star in her palm. The star brightened.
“Lady,” he called. “My Lady.”
The Lady’s eyes closed, then slowly reopened. She looked at the star. Her lips moved; no sound came out, but Peter had no problem reading her lips. “Mabon,” she’d tried to say. Her hand closed around the star. “Mabon,” she repeated, her words little more than air. Her eyes became distant again, then slowly closed, and she was still.
Peter waited, but the Lady showed no more signs of life.
“My Lady. It’s Peter.”
Still, there came no response.
Peter stood, cleared his throat, and began to hum softly, then sing, slowly building up the song as his voice cleared. He found the old tune, the song of the Sunbird. And as he sung, as his rich voice echoed off the tall cliffs, the birds and the faeries lent him their voice and soon the tune drifted throughout the garden.
Peter watched a lone tear roll down the Lady’s face. She opened her eyes. This time she saw him. “Peter,” she whispered and reached out, touching his cheek. “My little Peterbird? You flew back to me.”
He nodded up and down as tears blurred his vision. Her caress touched so much more than his skin. He felt it to his very core, felt a warmth swell up inside him. As though they were still in that pond, so long ago.
“Flew all the way here from Otherworld just to sing me a song,” she said.
Peter nodded absently.
Her eyes found Drael, then Tanngnost. She frowned, her face confused. “You’ve come back too. Or have I finally passed beyond? Ulfger told me you were all dead.”
“No, my Lady,” Tanngnost said. “We’re not dead. Nor are you.”
Peter barely heard them, their voices muffled by the beating of his own heart. He put his hand to his cheek; it still tingled from her touch. It was all too much; after a thousand million wishes, he was finally back by her side. He felt his heart might burst, felt his own will had been stolen and he was now incapable of anything more than just staring at her, wishing only to bask in her presence forever.
She looked about the garden at the Devils and the barghest. Her eyes fell on Sekeu lying motionless at her feet. “Peter, who is this?”
Peter tore his eyes away from the Lady, saw the injured girl on the grass, and wondered who she was.
“My Lady,” Tanngnost said. “A lot has happened since the battle at Merrow Cove. Avalon still holds. Peter has rallied the clans. Today he led—”
Sekeu, Peter thought. Sekeu’s dying. And the world all came back into focus. “She needs your touch,” Peter interrupted. “She was wounded protecting Whisperwood.”
“One of your Devils? She fights for Avalon?”
“Yes,” Peter said. “She fights for you. She bleeds for you.”
“Help me to the pond,” the Lady said, pushing to her feet.
Peter and Drael rushed up, taking the Lady’s arm around each shoulder. Gently, they eased her down a set of stone steps into the pond. She drifted away from the shore and slowly sank beneath the water.
A light mist spread across the surface and the water began to clear, slowly revealing the stony bed below. The Lady resurfaced and now there was a vibrancy to her eyes, sparkling brilliant cerulean.
“Bring me the girl,” she said, her voice clear and strong.
Peter picked Sekeu up. She felt lifeless in his arms, but she let out a slight moan and he dared to believe that maybe, maybe, there was still hope. He carried her down the steps and floated her into the arms of the Lady.
The Lady pulled Sekeu below, swimming away toward the Tree. The mist thickened, swirled about, blocking the view below. The golden veins along the cliffs dulled, the cavern darkened, then the mist began to glow, casting an eerie green underlight onto the faces of the elves and Devils.
They waited, the Devils shuffling nervously from foot to foot, scanning the mist.
Peter searched for movement, a splash, a ripple, any sign that Sekeu was okay. It’s taking too long, he thought. Maybe the Lady’s too weak? And he had a terrible thought. Could this be too much for her? Could it kill her? He wondered if he should dive in, try and find them before it was too late.
The Lady broke the surface and Peter was terrified by what he saw. The Lady’s flesh had become gray, almost translucent, he could see every vein.
“Take her,” the Lady gasped, struggling to keep Sekeu’s head above the surface. Peter splashed forward and pulled Sekeu to him just as the Lady sank below the water. Peter hesitated, unsure what to do.
“It’s all right, Peter,” Tanngnost said. “Water’s her element. The pond’s the best place for her now.” But the old troll looked anxious.
The mist lost its glow, the water became murky. Peter would probably have continued to stand there had Sekeu not let out a gasp. He rushed her to the bank. Redbone and Drael gave a hand and they laid her in the grass. The dressing was gone from her leg. The wound was still there, a long, deep cut, but there was no bleeding, no redness. It looked on the mend. There was color in Sekeu’s face.
Sekeu spat out a mouthful of water, coughed, then her eyes fluttered open and she smiled weakly. “I saw Mother Moon and the stars. They were beautiful.”
NICK STOOD IN the shadow and watched the Lady. She sat slumped on her throne, letting the flowers and vines cradle her as she listened to Tanngnost go on and on. Peter stood at her side. Fawning, Nick thought, like a little boy. The color had returned to her skin, but she looked weak, worn out, except her eyes, they were alive, piercing—the eyes of a goddess. They scared Nick and he made sure to stay well clear of her gaze.
A laugh stole his attention. The Devils were exploring the garden, picking nuts and fruit. The Lady had insisted they eat their fill and gather what they could for their stocks. While the Devils stuffed their berry-smeared faces, the barghest rooted beneath logs and stones for fungus and grubs, hooting and barking at each other. A small white rabbit dashed by, followed quickly by the three sisters, giggling as they chased it into the bush. Sekeu sat on the bank. She still looked weak but was sitting up on her own now and eating away at the clump of muscadines Redbone had brought her.
The faeries zipped about, gathering armloads of flower petals and dropping them atop the barghest, chirping and giggling as the beasts growled and grumbled. Nick saw smiles, heard laughter, and it made the heat in his gut turn to fire. Oh, how fucking charming. How fucking magical. Nick’s heart drummed, the hot black blood pulsed in his head, the pain overwhelming, like a nail being driven into his brain. It was her, the Lady. She was doing it. Kill her, the Other wailed in his head. And Nick no longer argued, no longer protested. Him, the Other, his deeper self, they both shared the same burning black blood, they both wanted the pain to stop.
Nick slipped the knife from his belt and edged toward the Lady, careful to stay in the shadows. But no one was watching him. Stupid fucks, he thought. All too busy stuffing their faces and having a merry gay old time. He clasped the back of the throne to steady himself, trying not to swoon as the pain grew so bad that the edges of his vision blurred. He could see her profile, the elegant curve of her neck.
He clutched the weapon, thought how good it would feel sinking into her soft flesh. Yes, he thought, make the pain go away. The Mist too. Make all of this horrible nightmare disappear. He raised the knife, preparing to drive it into her neck.
She turned, such a simple, graceful movement, and locked her eyes on him—her hard, icy eyes. They held him, looked into him, deep into his very core. Nick heard the Other inside him wail. He couldn’t move, couldn’t so much as blink as the tears began to roll down his face.
She grabbed his wrist, and though she was thin and frail to look upon, her grip was like a vise, her touch cold, penetrating. Nick let out a small cry and the knife fell from his hand.
Peter and the troll exchanged a quick look and Peter was there at her side. “My Lady, what?” he asked, glaring at Nick, looking ready to slit him open.
She didn’t answer, just pulled Nick toward the pond, and Nick found it impossible to resist her will. Before he even had a chance to draw a breath, she dragged him beneath the dark water, pulled him down along the bottom. He knew she intended to drown him. The Other in him screamed, and this time Nick screamed too. His lungs filled with water and he had a moment of confusion, expecting pain, expecting to choke, to drown, but instead the water was sweet. It filled his lungs like a breath of spring air, dousing the heat in his stomach and the throbbing in his head.
Nick felt a pulse, but it wasn’t his. It came from all around him. He made out several large twisting shapes spiraling downward, disappearing into the depths. He realized he was beneath the apple tree and that these must be its roots. He laid his hand on one, could feel the pulse, warmth sloshing as it pumped through the thick root like a great artery.
She held his hand as they drifted downward. A soft glow came toward them, enveloped them, and everything came into focus. There were stars, the moon. He saw Avalon, not as it was now, but how it used to be. He was swimming above the forest like a fish, through the valleys and glades. He saw the sparkling lights of a million faeries, nymphs dancing around tall standing stones, centaurs galloping across pastures of wildflowers, and trees of every color glistening in the silvery moonlight. He saw the magic running beneath all things, a glittering aura, a fragile element that needed protecting. He reached for the magic and it reached for him, blooming in his chest like love. He heard her voice, like a song, faint and faraway. I am your forest, your earth, your eternity. I am life. I am your death. I am all things forever and always. Love me. Love me. Forever love me.
Yes, he answered. Forever.
She pulled him upward, toward the moon; it grew and grew, then, all at once, he broke the surface. He gasped, coughed, and took in a deep lungful of air.
Peter and the troll were at the steps, anxious and worried.
The Lady left Nick clinging to the bank, drifted away, disappearing beneath the dark water. Don’t go, Nick thought and reached for her; the garden blurred, wavered. He felt dizzy, could want, wish, think of nothing but the Lady. Forever.
Ulfger passed beneath an arch with massive elk horns set into its peak, climbed the winding steps as they curved around the sheer face of the granite ledge. His thighs and his lungs burned, yet he didn’t stop until he came face to face with the Hall of Kings, high above the valley.
A domed chamber loomed before him, beckoning him, daring him to visit with the dead. He stumbled forward, catching himself in the arched doorway, the sweat pouring down his face in rivulets as he gasped to regain his breath. The stained-glass ceiling bathed the chamber in a soft emerald glow while the large oval windows provided the dead with a view of the valley below.
The bones of seven elven kings moldered within the seven stone sarcophaguses spread out in a ring before him. In their center sat a longboat. Ulfger glared at the dead kings, then slowly brought his eyes up until they were level with the boat’s deck. The boat stretched nearly twenty feet lengthwise; at the bow reared a ferocious dragon figurehead, its red ruby eyes staring out the largest window, looking ready to sail away into the low-lying clouds.
The boat had been built to be put to sea and set aflame, to take the Horned One to the Otherworld, to Avallach. But Ulfger had forbidden it. He’d made the elves bring the boat and the Horned One here. He’d not allow the Horned One to leave him, not while there were still Flesh-eaters on Avalon.
“I’m still here, Father,” Ulfger said, his voice shaky, appeasing. He inched forward. “They’ve betrayed you. Every one of them. But not me. I remembered my oath. I alone am worthy of your blessings.” He leaned heavily against one of the tombs, studied the face of the elven king carved in relief on its lid. He traced a shaky hand down the noble features. “Traitor,” he hissed. “All of you…traitors!” He sneered, raking his fingers across the eyes, scratching furiously at them, but his fingers had no effect on the cold marble gaze. Hefting his ax, Ulfger brought the blunt side down with a tremendous blow, smiting the face and cracking open the sarcophagus lid. He shoved the lid to the floor and stared into the hollow sockets of the dead king. “You dare to look at me that way?” Ulfger’s face twisted into a knot of rage. He snatched the skull from its cradle and dashed it to the stones, grinding the bones beneath his heel until there was nothing left but dust and teeth.
He spun away, brought the ax down on the next tomb, then the next, and the next, bashing them apart, kicking and scattering the bodies until the chamber was littered in rotting tapestry, robes, armor, and crumbling bones. He tripped on the leathery carcass of some ancient lord, and went sprawling into the rubble. He lay on his back, panting, a fine layer of bone dust pasted to his sweaty skin. His eyes darted wildly about until finally coming to rest on the boat. His lips began to quiver. “I’m not a coward,” he said and the tears rolled down his cheeks, cutting dark paths through the bone dust. “I’m not a coward. I did not choose to stay behind. You made me swear, Father. Have you forgotten? None cried louder for war than I!” He rolled over and crawled across the floor, raking through the bones until he reached the boat. He got a hand on the railing and pulled himself up, clinging to the side board as he glared into the face of the Horned One.
A fierce death grimace greeted Ulfger. The Horned One lay draped in a wooly elk fur, his parched, leathery skin pulled taut across his bones. Several necklaces of tusks and bronze rings hung in a tangle about his neck. The broken blade of Caliburn lay across his chest, clasped in his huge bony hands. The Horned Helm sat low on his head, dark sockets peering out from within the slanted eye slits. The dark hollows bore into Ulfger, accusing him.
“Do you hear me? Have I not proven myself? I alone still stand…still defend the Tree.”
The dark sockets mocked him with their silence.
Ulfger’s eyes fell to the sword and a sneer pushed at his face. “I am worthy, Father,” he whispered and slowly reached out until his hand hovered above the hilt. He glared at the tiny sharp spikes lining the grip, spikes that would bite into his hand and, if he were unworthy, would poison and burn him from the inside out. His hand began to shake. “I…am…worthy,” he hissed between clenched teeth and tried to force his hand upon the hilt, force himself to pick up the sword. Tears streamed down his face as his whole arm began to shake, then a wretched howl escaped his lips and he yanked his hand away, clutching it to his chest.
He slid back down to the stones, cradling his hand like a baby. “Why did you leave me behind, Father?” He heard it then, laughter, coming from all around him, echoing about the chamber. They were laughing at him, his father, the kings, all of them. He clasped his hands to his ears, and still he heard it, louder, as though they were all in his head.
He let out a weak cry and half-crawled, half-stumbled toward the large open window. He hit the ledge, fell forward, just catching himself. He hung there a moment, staring down from the dizzying heights, and thought about letting go. How sweet it would be, to be finished with all this torment. And he might have, but something caught his eye, something that made the laughter stop and his blood burn. There, far below, parading through the courtyard as though he lorded over all, was the child thief himself, leading his band of traitors and brats.
Ulfger’s knees buckled and he sat down hard on the window ledge. They’d seen the Lady. No, he thought, there’s more going on here. Somehow, they’d awakened her. Because the girl was better, there was no denying that. He’d seen her before, when she was close to death, and only the Lady could’ve saved her. He saw the baskets and sacks of fruit. “Thieves, burn forever,” he hissed. “You’ve tainted the Haven. Desecrated the heart of Avalon. And she, Modron, has aided you. Has betrayed Avallach himself.”
Ulfger stomped back to the boat. He glared into his father’s face, into those deep, dark hollows, into that fierce death grimace. Ulfger matched that grimace. “You, you favored the runt as well. Called him to stand by your side in battle, yet would deny me. Deny your only son? How is it that he is worthy when I am not? How? How, you hateful beast? Tell me! TELL ME!” Ulfger snarled and thrust his hand forward, grabbed the sword, tearing it from the Horned One’s grip. He felt its bite, the sharp jabs as the spikes pierced his palm. The marks began to burn. “GO ON!” he screamed. “Burn me! I dare you! But nothing will keep me from my duty, from avenging Avallach. NOTHING!”
The heat continued to flow into his body, but it didn’t burn. The broken blade became light in his hand as a feeling of power possessed him. He felt his chest swell as the heat pumped through his heart, his veins and muscles. “See, Father. I am worthy. Avallach honors me! ME!”
Ulfger grabbed the helmet by one of the antlers and tore it from the Horned One’s head. He placed it on his own head and stared through the slanted slits at his father, at the ravaged remains of the once mighty warlord. He heard laughter, but this time it was his own. The Horned One’s head fell against the side board and looked sadly back at him.
A wind whipped up, blowing the bone dust across the stone floor. Ulfger felt his senses awaken. What is this? he wondered, realizing he could sense the life around him: a couple of deer in the woods below, a host of faeries battening down for the evening, and…them. He could sense them, Peter and the others. Sense their spirit, their feelings, their joys, excitement, their…fears. Then he understood more, that he could touch them, not physically, but with his mind.
He grinned. “Child thief, you will pay. You will know what it is to suffer, and to lose all you love.”
PETER FELT AS though he were in a dream, as though his feet barely touched the ground as they marched back through the Lady’s Wood. He found it impossible to believe all that had happened this day, from driving the Flesh-eaters back to ridding Avalon, once and for all, of Ulfger’s poison. But it was the Lady who dominated his thoughts, ruled his heart; he could think of little else. He closed his eyes and could still smell her scent: honeysuckle and spring water.
“Peter,” Redbone called and pointed. “Look!”
Peter stopped and stared, dumbfounded. They all did.
They’d come at last to the border of Myrkvior, to Cusith Creek, back to the scourge-ridden woods. Everyone stared at the trees, at the fresh green buds that had sprouted out along a few of the gray limbs, and the occasional bloom here and there among the dead weeds.
“Tanngnost, what does it mean?” Peter asked.
Tanngnost set Sekeu carefully down. He’d carried her the whole way back. The troll might be old, but he was still a troll and, to him, she appeared to weigh nothing. Sekeu hopped over to a rock and took a seat. Peter thought it’d be a while before she’d be able to fight, but she looked on the mend and he couldn’t help but smile. Almost lost you, he thought, surprised to find himself blinking back tears. Been through too much, me and you. We’re going to finish this thing together.
Tanngnost touched one of the buds. “It means that the Lady’s back,” the troll said. “We have hope again.”
“The Lady did that?” asked Cricket.
“Yes,” Tanngnost said. “Peter has reawakened her spirit. She will tend Avallach’s Tree. If we can stop the burning, she might be able to stop the scourge.”
“And,” Peter added, “when we drive them into the Mist, when we kill them all, then she will heal all of Avalon! Right? Return it to its splendor!”
“Yes, most certainly,” the troll agreed.
“We must strike again!” Peter said, his voice brimming with excitement. “As soon as we can. We can’t allow them to burn another tree!” He looked to the old elf. “Drael, what of you? Will you meet us at Red Rock, come dawn?”
“I tell you this,” the old elf said. “The Lady’s Guard will sit on the sidelines no longer. We’ll be there, Peter. That you can count on.” Every elf nodded in agreement, their stern faces and hard eyes all the oath Peter needed.
“Good,” Peter said, clasping the elf on the arm. “Good.” He could hardly contain the urge to let out a crazy whoop. He turned to the three girls. “Will you stand with us? Can we count on Ginny’s children?”
The barghest looked to the girls.
“Will there be lots of blood?” asked the first.
“Enough noodlely guts for all?” asked the second.
“And eyeballs, don’t forget eyeballs,” put in the third.
“Oh, yes,” Peter said, and returned their wicked smiles. “Brains too. Plenty to go around.”
“I want to go!” said one.
“Me too!” chimed in the second.
“Oh, most certainly then,” said the third. “But Peter?”
“Yes?” Peter said.
“You’ll have to ask our mother first.”
“Yes,” said the second. “Mother doesn’t like for us to play with strangers.”
“Will you come ask her for us?” asked the third, with big, imploring eyes.
“I will,” Peter said. “Right away.” He addressed Drael. “Tomorrow then, Red Rock?”
“Agreed,” Drael said, and the elves started away, back into the Lady’s Wood.
“Leroy, Danny, Cricket, Nick. You guys grab all the stock and head back to Deviltree. We’ll be there as soon as we can. Tanngnost, can you take Sekeu and go with them?”
Tanngnost looked troubled. “Most certainly, but—”
“There’s always a but, isn’t there?” Peter said.
“Peter, a word.”
“Only one? Why do I doubt that?”
Tanngnost frowned, tugged Peter over into the woods. “Peter, you needn’t go. The witch will come. The girls, they’re her eyes and ears. They are just playing a game—”
“I know,” Peter interrupted. “I have to go back to the swamp. I have to find Abraham’s body before the Flesh-eaters do. I can’t stand the thought of his head on their fort.”
Tanngnost was quiet for a moment. “Yes. Yes, of course.”
Peter started away.
“Peter.”
“What now?” Peter said with a sigh.
“What about Nick?”
“Tanngnost, when did you become such an old woman?”
The troll gave him a sour look. “You saw him,” he said defensively. “The darkness, it had him, completely.”
“The Lady touched him. She healed him. You can see it in his eyes. Stop worrying so much. All is coming together. Avallach has smiled on us.” This didn’t seem to placate the troll. “Okay, keep a close eye on him if it makes you feel better.”
“Peter?”
“What?” Peter said, exasperated.
“You were the one that brought them all together. You did that. If I didn’t know you to be such a cretin, I’d believe the Horned One’s spirit lives in you.”
Peter smiled warmly at his old friend. “Is that a tear? It is. Why, Tanngnost, you have turned into an old woman.” And Peter laughed, and when he did, all the Devils grinned, because Peter’s laugh was a most contagious thing.
“HOW MUCH FARTHER?” Danny asked, for the third time in the last ten minutes.
No one answered.
“How come I have to carry the apples?” he groaned. “They weigh a goddamn ton. Cricket’s only got mushrooms. How come she gets mushrooms? Mushrooms weigh like nothing. That’s not fair. Hey Cricket, how about we switch for a while. Huh? How about it?”
Cricket shook her head.
“Ah, c’mon. C’mon. C’mon.”
“Geezy fucking weezy, Danny,” Cricket cried. “Do you ever stop bellyaching? Here, take the goddamn mushrooms already.” She jerked the sack of apples from him and shoved the mushrooms into his gut. “Just stop whining for five flipping minutes. All right? Okay?”
Danny nodded sheepishly.
Cricket stomped away up the trail.
“Hey, Cricket?” Danny called.
Cricket didn’t answer.
“You’re a real sweetheart.”
She flipped him the bird.
Danny looked at Nick, bounced the bag of mushrooms between his hands, lifted his eyebrows, and grinned.
Nick recognized the trail; Deviltree wasn’t much farther. He’d be glad when they made it; the bag of fruit and nuts he carried wasn’t light, plus the day was fading, the shadows growing dark. Nick didn’t really care to be out in the night.
There were no signs of new buds here, nothing but endless gray. Still, he sensed a current beneath the gray. It’s the magic, he realized—the Lady had opened his eyes to the magic. The hills around him felt like a winter woodland just before spring.
The dark feelings, the heat in his stomach, were completely gone. He felt the fatigue of the long day, but his spirit was alive, as though the magic of Avalon and his body were at last in harmony. His thoughts kept drifting back to the world behind the falls, the flowers, the magical animals, the sweet smells, the hundreds of little faerie folk…the Lady. “The Lady,” he whispered; she consumed his thoughts—her cerulean eyes, her silky hair, her pale skin, so white as to almost be blue. Visions of her soothed him. He felt…what? Love? Yes, he realized, like a mother’s love.
Nick stopped dead in his tracks. A stab of guilt jabbed his chest. “Mom,” he said. He realized with horror that he’d forgotten about his own mother. She’d not just slipped his mind, he’d completely forgotten her. She seemed a distant memory, someone he’d known forever ago. It was as though the Lady had, had—what? Pushed his mother from his mind? Had taken her place somehow? He concentrated on his mother’s face and this helped clear his mind. All at once the Lady’s words came back to him, raw and bare: I am your life. I am your death. I am all things forever and always. Love me. Love me. Forever love me. A chill ran down his spine. She’s done more than healed me, he realized. She’s woven a spell. He cut his eyes left and right, felt sure someone, something, everything, was watching him. Nick realized he had to return soon, because Avalon was a seductive place. Because goddesses were obviously jealous creatures that didn’t compete for devotion, not even with mothers. Nick had no doubt that if he didn’t leave soon, he’d never leave, and after a while all the memories of his mother would be lost forever.
Someone jabbed him. “You better keep your mouth shut.”
Nick started. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed Leroy come up behind him. The others were ahead. Nick began walking again.
“Did you hear me?” Leroy said, speaking low.
Nick ignored him.
Leroy’s face twisted into a sneer. “Hey, I’m talking to you, asshole.” He jabbed his finger into Nick’s chest. “You ever bring that bullshit about Abraham up again and I’ll kill you…fucking kill you!”
A flash of Abraham’s face, his terrified eyes as he choked to death beneath the black water came to Nick, all because Leroy hadn’t taken the two seconds to pull him out of the bog. Nick felt anger—no heat in his stomach, no pounding in his head—just good old reliable rage, it swelled up in him and all he could see was Leroy, big, stupid Leroy standing there sneering at him.
“Fuck you!” Nick spat and slammed his sack into Leroy’s chest, slammed his fist into Leroy’s face, catching the bigger boy high on the cheek, knocking him to the ground. Both Nick’s sack and Leroy’s hit the ground, spilling fruit and nuts all across the trail.
Leroy put a hand to his cheek, his eyes wide. Whatever he’d expected from Nick, this was definitely not it. His hands clenched into fists and he started for his feet.
“ENOUGH!” Sekeu cried from behind them. She stood on one leg, leaning against Tanngnost.
The troll cast hard eyes on Nick, scrutinizing him.
“He attacked me!” Leroy said. “Look at him, he’s crazy.”
Sekeu’s eyes blazed, but she wasn’t looking at Nick, her glare rested on Leroy. “You do not have the right to even talk to him. Not after what you did.”
Leroy’s mouth fell open. “What? No…you got it wrong! That bastard.” He jabbed a finger at Nick. “It’s his fault. He knocked me into the bog. He’s trying to pin this on me. Can’t you see that?” The way Leroy said it, Nick felt sure he truly believed it had happened that way.
“No,” Sekeu said, her words cold and flat. “That is not what happened.”
Leroy shook his head, his mouth worked, but he seemed unable to speak.
“You should be shamed, Leroy,” Sekeu said. “You should keep your head low.”
The shadows deepened and night came to the Lady’s Wood. Ulfger stood as still as a statue at the edge of the forest. He closed his eyes and opened himself to the night. He sensed the fish in the wading pool, the frogs, a lone fox, a pair of doves sharing a limb and cooing to each other. He sensed the bond between the birds, the love of lifelong mates. He pushed at them, told them to be afraid of each other, and felt the fear grip them, heard them flap away in different directions, as fast as they could fly.
Ulfger smiled and turned his attention to the elven barracks, the ornate longhouse that stood sentinel in the courtyard next to the Great Hall. The elves were back. He could sense all twenty-one of them within the wooden structure. They were not so easy to read as the animals, but he felt their excitement as they prepared for battle.
A door opened. A ray of torchlight flickered across the courtyard. Four elves came out with canteens strapped over their shoulders and headed down the path past the wading pools. Ulfger followed them to the ancient well and watched them filling the canteens. He hefted the broken blade and strolled toward them, not even bothering to hide his step. The elves caught sight of Ulfger and pulled their swords. Ulfger swung, meeting two of the swords mid-strike, smashing effortlessly through their block and cleaving both of their heads from their shoulders.
One of the remaining elves landed a blow across Ulfger’s midsection, but his armor deflected the cut. The other slashed across his upper arm, cutting deep into the muscle. Ulfger felt the heat of the wound and locked his eyes, his fiery eyes, on the elves and in that moment he found their fear, seized upon it with his mind, managed to hold them with it long enough to slam his sword onto the head of the forward elf, cleaving his skull in two, dashing the other in bits of blood and brains.
He grabbed the remaining elf around the neck, dug his fingers into flesh, and picked him up as though the elf weighed nothing. He could so easily snap the elf’s neck with one twist but instead he brought the black blade to the elf’s eye. The elf saw the poisonous edge and clawed frantically at Ulfger’s hand.
“Why do you squirm so?” Ulfger asked. “If you are true to Avallach, the blade won’t burn you.” He touched the edge to the elf’s cheek, made the slightest nick. The cut immediately began to blacken, to sizzle, to burn away from the bone like acid. Ulfger felt the heat beneath his hand as the poison spread inside the elf, felt the gurgling as the sizzling blood bubbled up the elf’s throat, pouring from his mouth, nose, eyes. Ulfger held him, enjoying every last tremor until at last the elf was still.
Ulfger dropped the elf, then examined the cut on his own arm. He was surprised to see that the wound wasn’t deeper, that there was no blood. It had been a strong strike. Then he noticed that the wound was shrinking, healing before his eyes. “I’m…I am truly a god!” he cried. “I am the Horned One.” He sucked in a deep breath of the night air. “Time for the child thief to meet Avallach’s true son.”
ULFGER WALKED THE path through Devilwood without fear. He sensed the rare creature and when he did, he told it to be afraid, and the beasts fled before him. “Dread me,” he whispered. “Dread my coming!”
He searched the wood, looking for signs or trails that might lead him the right way, but more and more he relied on his senses, closing his eyes and seeking. Finally he caught the faintest glimmer, like a spark far in the distance, and as he homed in on that spark, he began to feel them, closer and closer until he stood before Deviltree.
“The child thief’s not here,” he snarled beneath his breath. But she is, his dark-skinned bitch. I sense her pain. A smile slowly snuck across his face. To take her from him. Cut her into pieces, leave her head upon the spit, after all that fuss to save her. Why, that would bring him to his knees. He laughed. Give him a taste of what it is to lose that which is dear.
Ulfger pushed on the door. It was solid and locked tight. He circled the tree, but found no way in. He just needed someone to slide the bolt. He wondered if he could make one of the children do that. If he could just push them, like with the doves.
He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, felt for them, grasping for a hold. He found the troll sleeping in the loft above. Ulfger quickly moved on. The old troll was full of tricks and unknown secrets, and Ulfger was afraid he just might touch him back. He located a girl, but she was too deep in sleep; next to her a boy, but he too was in a deep slumber. Ulfger found another boy, this one entrenched in dreams, the boy’s mind fairly danced with them, and no matter how hard Ulfger tried he couldn’t break through. He moved on, growing impatient, probing, searching until he found something else, something very intriguing: a boy by himself in a small room. This one wasn’t asleep, not by far. This one’s mind was open—wide open. Ulfger could feel the anger boiling off this boy, so much rage and hatred, both for himself and for them. The child was mad with it. And Ulfger realized this madness left him open, and so vulnerable.
Ulfger sent a thought, pushed it into the boy’s head. Open the door. The boy didn’t respond. Open the door. Nothing. Open the door.
Ulfger’s brow tightened with frustration. And then all at once he understood the nature of this great gift Avallach had bestowed upon him. He couldn’t control minds, after all, couldn’t make people do things they didn’t want to. He could only push them, push the workings that were already in place, such as fear, or hatred, or jealousy. He probed again and found something good, something he knew he could use.
Murder, he thought and pushed the notion at the boy, and to his surprise, to his utter delight, it only took that nudge, that tiny whiff, and murder blossomed.
Nick dreamed, and for once the dream was peaceful. He played in the Lady’s Garden, chasing the wild faeries while the Lady sat upon a throne and watched. A warm breeze blew lightly across a pond, it smelled of honeysuckle and spring water. The faeries giggled and flew up into a tree. Nick flew after them and perched alongside them. It was then that he realized that he’d sprouted wings, that he wasn’t any larger than a bird, and, odder than that, he was fine with this. What could be better than being a faerie in the Lady’s Garden? The Lady smiled at him, like one of her children. Nick was happy, content, and wished for nothing more.
Nick heard someone call his name; the voice was familiar but he couldn’t place it at first, it was so far away. It was that other woman, he realized, the one he’d left behind. Nick felt a tickle in the back of his mind, something he needed to do for her, but he couldn’t be bothered to think about her, not now, he was just too busy playing.
A shadow fell across the grounds. A round wood door stood in the garden. Nick heard scratching coming from behind it. Something wanted in, wanted in badly. Nick looked to the Lady; she looked frightened. A shrill cry cut across the garden, something in great pain; it rang in his head, louder, and louder—
Nick awoke; for the first time since he’d arrived, he wasn’t covered in sweat and his stomach didn’t burn. Yet he still felt uneasy. He glanced at the round door. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something sinister was on the other side, waiting to be let in.
There was no sign that Peter and the Devils had come back yet. He wondered how late it was. Cricket and Danny were asleep in their cages, the long day looking to have caught up with them. They’d moved Sekeu’s cage over near the fireplace. He watched her twist fitfully in her sleep; her face appeared troubled, as though she were having a bad dream. Nick glanced to Leroy’s cage—it was empty.
Nick caught a faint sound, a squeal. It came again, a strained laugh or maybe a cry, hard to tell. Again, a faint sound, but this time Nick recognized it as a scream, something in pain. It came from the privy.
What the hell? he thought and crawled from his cage. It was eerie with all the Devils gone. He listened, could hear the troll’s snores coming from the loft above, then the squeal, a long squeal. It sent a chill up his spine and he wondered how such a small sound could be so terrible.
Nick crossed the floor to the privy. The door was slightly ajar and a thin, flickering light escaped through the crack. Nick laid his hand on the door and started to push it inward, when it flew open and he was face to face with Leroy. But it was as though Leroy didn’t even see him; the boy’s eyes were looking past him toward the round door.
“He’s here,” Leroy whispered and shoved past Nick.
Before Nick could say or do anything, another painful squeal came from the privy. He glanced in, and his eyes went wide. There, on the stone next to the toilet pit, was a single crumbled pixie wing, a strand of bloody blue flesh dangling from the end.
The sharp squeal again, like a mouse in the teeth of a cat. It came from the toilet pit. Nick didn’t want to look, but he inched forward anyway and peered down the shaft. He saw two blue pixies tangled in the stringy black webbing, one a boy, the other a girl with a mane of wispy white hair. The girl appeared unharmed, but the boy looked dead, his body broken as though he’d been crushed, two bloody gashes on his back where his wings had been torn away.
The girl let loose a chilling scream and the blue glow of her skin pulsated, lighting up the shaft, and Nick saw them, far down the pit among the shit and stink, hundreds of black spiders, the blue radiance glittering off their tiny, cold eyes. He could hear their clatter as they scrambled up the web. The girl screamed again and fought to free herself.
The spiders reached the boy, swarmed over him, and the boy let out a shrill wail. “Oh, God!” Nick cried, upon realizing the boy still lived. “Oh, good God!” The spiders tore the boy from the web, pulled him down into the pit, and he disappeared beneath their black, oily bodies.
The spiders came for the girl.
Get her out, Nick told himself. Now! Hurry! “NO!” he said harshly. She’s too far down. There’s no way. No—way! Yet he found himself down on one knee, his hand hovering above the pit. “No! No!” he spat through clenched teeth. Then the spiders were on her. She screamed and Nick plunged his entire arm into the pit, tearing down through the gummy webbing. He grabbed the pixie and in doing so also grabbed a handful of spiders. He could feel their hard, hairy legs and soft, soggy bodies as they writhed in his grasp, felt their hot secretions spurt into his hand as he tugged them from the web.
A jab of pain, like a wasp sting, hit his palm, then another and another. He cried out, but didn’t let go of the girl. He sat up quick, yanking his arm and the pixie from the pit. Long, syrupy strings of web stretched and snapped as he pulled away. The spiders clung to his hand like leeches, their flat, tick-like bodies creased and wrinkled, glistening with sticky, milky goo. He dropped the girl to the stones and frantically slapped and clawed the spiders from his arm, leaping to his feet, trying to stomp them as they skittered about like crabs, darting back into the pit.
Angry red welts dotted his hand and wrist. He wiped at his arm, trying to peel away the smelly webbing. He noticed the pixie; she too was covered in filth and webbing. Her wings trembled and her eyes were full of terror, but she looked like she might be okay.
Nick heard Leroy’s laugh.
Leroy walked into the flickering lantern light, stopped, and peered in. Nick saw that Leroy held a sword, then realized it was Maldiriel. Leroy smiled a strange, vacant smile and walked on.
“What the fuck?” Nick said under his breath and rushed from the privy.
It took a second for Nick’s eyes to adjust to the darkness. Where did he go? Nick saw Leroy in front of the fireplace. He stood over Sekeu’s cage. And then, like it was nothing to him, like he was simply poking a bundle of hay, Leroy brought the sword up and shoved it down through the cage into Sekeu’s neck.
Sekeu’s eyes flashed open; a terrible gurgle escaped her throat.
“NO!” Nick screamed and charged, ran as hard as he could, but felt as though moving through syrup as Leroy tugged the blade free and brought it down again, and again, and again. Blood gushed from Sekeu’s neck as she flailed against the cage, struggled to escape, but she was trapped, like an animal for slaughter. The sharp blade cut into her arms, her hands, her chest, then into her face.
Nick hit him, slammed into Leroy at a full run, knocking the bigger boy against the mantel. Maldiriel flew from Leroy’s hand, clattered across the stone. Nick snatched the sword up and came for Leroy.
Leroy looked dazed, confused, then caught sight of Nick, saw the bloody sword in Nick’s hand, and his eyes went wide. “STAY AWAY FROM ME!” he shrieked.
“WHAT’S GOING ON?” came a deep, booming voice, and Nick was confronted by a blinding flame. Nick stopped, blinked, then saw Tanngnost standing before him with a torch in one hand and an ax in the other; behind the troll stood Cricket and Danny, their faces ashen and horrified.
The torchlight revealed more than Nick ever wanted to see. Blood bubbled from the slash in Sekeu’s throat as she tried to speak. A wet, sucking sound came from the wounds in her chest. She met Nick’s eyes and seemed to be begging him to help her. A clot of blood spat from her lips and she was still, her unblinking eyes frozen on his.
Leroy raised a shaking hand and pointed an accusing finger at Nick. “He…killed…her. I saw it. Saw it all. He’s crazy. I tried to warn you. He’s fucking crazy!”
Nick glanced at the sword in his hand—his sword, at the blood smeared across its blade and dripping onto the stones. Splat, splat, splat, like a telltale heart.
“Nick?” Cricket called weakly.
Nick didn’t feel his fingernails cut into his palm as he clenched his hand into a fist. Didn’t hear the inhuman growl that escaped his own throat or even realize his lips were peeled back into a snarl. He set his eyes on Leroy, took a step forward, then another, his head hung low, like that of a mad dog. “Murderer,” he said, low and harsh. “Murderer!”—the ragged words tearing loose from deep in his throat. “MURDERER!” he screamed, his face full of rage.
“GET BACK!” the troll cried, pushing Cricket and Danny away. “He’s turned! The darkness has him!”
Leroy scrambled behind the troll and ran for the door. Nick leaped after him, so intent on catching him he didn’t see the troll bring the ax around until the last second. Nick ducked, sliding beneath the blow. The ax hit the mantel, smashing the edge to bits.
“DON’T LET HIM OPEN THE DOOR!” Nick screamed, his face a knot of frustration. Couldn’t they see that Leroy was heading toward the door, that he was going to let whatever was out there in?
The troll swung again, knocking the sword from Nick’s hand and driving Nick into the wall.
Leroy was at the door, sliding the slat free.
Nick faked left and jumped right, causing the troll to stumble into one of the benches. Nick darted past in time to see Leroy shove the door open and flee into the night.
Nick stopped, sure some indescribable horror was about to appear in the doorway. But the only horror coming for him was the troll with the ax. Nick caught sight of Cricket and Danny, caught their condemning looks.
“NO!” Nick shouted, shaking his head. “IT WASN’T ME!”
The troll didn’t even pause, just came on at a full charge.
“IT WASN’T ME!” Nick shouted again, then ran, the troll’s heavy footsteps chasing him out the door and into the swirling night fog.
WHEN NICK FINALLY dared to stop, he wished he hadn’t. While running, he’d been too occupied avoiding the roots and thorns, ledges and pits, to worry about anything else. But now, as he leaned heavily against the trunk of a fallen tree, as the sound of his own breathing slowed down, he began to hear the night, to hear the things in the night.
The woods themselves creaked and moaned and Nick thought of the way the trees in Whisperwood had talked to each other and wondered if the trees around him now were speaking. If they were telling the things with claws, and fangs, and stingers, that he was here, wondered if they were telling that other thing, that dark thing, that he was alone.
Nick strained to see within the deeper shadows. He could feel that other out there, still probing for him in the night. Nick reached for his sword and realized he’d left it behind. But he did have his knife. He pulled it out. It felt small and insubstantial in his hand.
I can’t stay out here, he thought. I have to go back. I can clear this up. Right? No, a deeper voice warned. No, you can’t. He knew what he’d seen on the troll’s face, in Cricket’s and Danny’s eyes. The troll had said he’d turned. Turned into what? A Flesh-eater, he guessed. He’d seen the way they’d been watching him. It wasn’t hard to put together. Now they believed he’d murdered Sekeu. Peter will kill me on sight.
He started forward then stopped. Where am I going? “Home,” he whispered. I’ve got to get home, back to my mom. One way or another. He shook his head. I can’t even find my way out of these goddamn woods. How am I supposed to make it all the way home? I’m screwed, he thought. Completely screwed.
He heard something in the distance, back the way he’d come; sounded like footsteps. Were they after him already? Peter and the Devils? He wasn’t going to wait around to find out. He pushed down the slope and realized he’d no idea which direction he was heading, that he could be heading back to Deviltree, for all he knew. Then it was there, just ahead, in a small clearing illuminated by the luminescent ground fog. A tall figure draped in a long, woolly cape. It wore a helmet with wide, curving antlers. It held someone—Leroy. It appeared to be talking to the boy.
The horned creature turned its head toward Nick. Its eyes glowed from deep within the visor. The eyes, those burning eyes, fixed on Nick, and when they did, a fear so crippling gripped him that he fell to his knees.
“Run little rabbit. Run.”
Nick found he could move again. Scrambling on his hands and knees, he clawed his way up the slope, stumbled to his feet, and ran.
PETER LED THE Devils homeward to Deviltree. As he jogged through the night, he tried to keep his mind focused on tomorrow, away from thoughts of Abraham. The witch had helped them find him. The boy’s decapitated body hung from a tree out in the burning field, naked, mutilated. The witch had almost been kindly to Peter in his grief. It was her land, her swamp that the Flesh-eaters had so boldly trespassed. She was ready to fight, anxious for blood. So it was all set. Tomorrow, Peter thought. Tomorrow we end it.
They crested the trail and Peter saw Deviltree below. He stopped. The door to the fort stood open, Tanngnost’s tall figure silhouetted in its frame, an ax in his hand.
What now? Peter wondered and sprinted down. As he neared, he caught sight of the troll’s anguished features and slowed to a walk.
Tanngnost tried to speak, but seemed capable of only shaking his head, yet his eyes told Peter all he needed to know. Peter tried to shove past. The old troll grabbed him. “Peter,” Tanngnost called. “Peter, wait. You should—”
Peter tore loose and pushed into the chamber, saw the blankets, the blood on the floor, on the walls. He saw Sekeu’s copper-colored hand curling out from beneath the blankets and fell to his knees. He reached for her hand, hesitated, afraid to touch her, then slowly clasped her hand in his. It was cold.
“Sekeu,” Peter whispered and started to pull the blanket back from her face. Cricket put her hand on the blanket. “No,” she said sternly.
“Peter,” Tanngnost said, his voice tender. “It was the darkness. It took Nick. I’m sorry. It just happened…so fast.”
“The darkness?” Peter asked, almost choking on the words. “No, that’s not possible!”
The troll looked pained. “I know this is hard. But…I was there. I saw it with my own eyes. We all did. Nick’s out of his mind, Peter. He attacked Leroy. I’ve never seen such rage.”
“But how?” Peter asked, his voice cracking. “How? You were there. The Lady…she healed him. She drove it from him. You saw it. Tell me you saw it!”
“The Lady…well, she’s so weak. Maybe it didn’t hold. Maybe—” Tanngnost looked baffled. “Peter, I don’t know. I wish I had an answer.”
“No,” Peter said, shaking his head. “No, it’s not the darkness. I won’t believe it.”
Leroy came stumbling through the entrance, his back to them, staring at something out in the woods. His back bumped into the door and he quickly shoved it closed, fumbling to slide the heavy slat into place.
“Where is he?” Tanngnost asked.
Leroy jumped; the slat slid from his hands, landing on the stones with a solid thud. He spun around and glanced wildly about the room. His eyes fell on Sekeu, went to Peter, and became wide, afraid. He backed into the door. “Nick killed her!” he said.
“Yes,” the troll said. “Where did he go?”
“He’s in the woods,” Leroy said quickly. “I tried to stop him…but he has a sword…his sword and I don’t…didn’t.” Leroy’s eyes kept shifting back to Sekeu. “If I had a weapon I would’ve stopped him. I tried to stop him.”
“Where in the woods?” Tanngnost pressed. “Which direction was he going?”
“Toward Goggie Creek.”
“Peter,” Tanngnost said. “We have to catch him now. Right now.”
Peter didn’t answer.
“Peter, don’t you understand? We can’t let him fall into the hands of the Flesh-eaters. He knows where Deviltree is. Knows our numbers, our plans. They’ll get him to talk. Everything’s at stake. Peter, he knows where the Haven lies!”
Peter’s eyes fixed on Sekeu’s long black hair spilling out from beneath the blanket. He touched it, ran his fingers through it. Sekeu, how?
Redbone brought Peter a spear. The Devils were lined up behind him. They looked anxious. “We’re ready,” Redbone said. “Peter?”
“Just go,” Tanngnost said to the group and herded them toward the door. “Hurry, before it’s too late. Take everyone. You’ll need every pair of eyes. Danny, Cricket, you too.” He snatched spears off the wall and pushed them into their hands. “Take no chances. Remember, this isn’t Nick. This isn’t your friend. Nick’s gone from us—what’s left is a monster.” He raised his voice. “Kill him on sight. Whatever you do, don’t let him fall into the hands of the Flesh-eaters.”
Peter heard all this as though from somewhere far away.
The troll sat down next to Peter.
Peter continued to stroke Sekeu’s hair as his thoughts stumbled over one another. How could I have let this happen? He pressed his hand to his temple. Because I’d been so sure. Because I saw the Lady heal him, that’s how. There’s something else going on here. It has to be something else.
He looked at Maldiriel, at the blood, Sekeu’s blood, still wet on the fine elven blade. Peter’s brow tightened. Hadn’t Leroy said Nick had a sword in the woods? Yes, he’d made a point of saying it.
“Tanngnost.”
“Yes.”
“You saw Nick kill Sekeu?”
“Yes, well, no. I didn’t actually see him do it. But I—”
“Did any of the kids? Did any of them see it?”
“Yes. Leroy did.”
“Where’s Leroy?”
“He went with the others.”
Peter thought of the odd way Leroy had acted. Nothing he could put his finger on, but definitely not right. “I need to talk to Nick,” Peter said and before the troll could protest, Peter snatched up the spear and ran out the door.
THEY COME, ULFGER thought. Twenty-three, maybe twenty-four little boys and girls, all spread out, hunting the rabbit. He opened his eyes. He could see the faintest glow pushing through the tree tops as dawn’s first light touched the low clouds.
He closed his eyes again, because he could see so much more with them shut. It seemed the longer he wore the helmet the further he could see, as though his mind and the helmet were melding, fusing, becoming one.
Just ahead, the rabbit had stopped again. Ulfger could sense the boy’s disorientation, his fear. Beyond the rabbit, they waited at the forest’s edge, the Flesh-eaters. So many Ulfger couldn’t count them all, but he could sense their hate, their need for murder.
He’d followed the rabbit all night, kept it on course. When the rabbit slowed down, or strayed, he merely made his presence known and the little rabbit got moving again.
Avallach had been kind, too kind, had made it all too easy. The rabbit would lead the child thief and his brats right to the Flesh-eaters, right into their trap. And then—oh, and then. Ulfger laughed, couldn’t help himself; he felt like he would never stop laughing.
A TWIG SNAPPED, and Nick’s eyes flew open. Faint light pushed through the tangled limbs above him. How long had he been asleep? He glanced anxiously about. Was it here? How could he have allowed himself to fall asleep with that horrible creature hunting him? Every time he’d thought he’d lost it, every time he’d stopped to catch his breath, it had appeared, its red eyes glowering at him, clawing their way into his head.
Nick tried to get his bearings, but the fog was thick. He could barely see twenty paces in any direction—another snap, somewhere behind him. Nick slid his hand around the hilt of his knife, wishing he’d held on tighter to his sword. He stood and crept off, but the ground was soggy and the sticky mud pulled beneath his feet. Suddenly footsteps came rapidly toward him. He saw Dirk staring at him across a thicket of thorns, the boy’s eyes as wide and frightened as his own.
Nick raised his hands. “Dirk, I didn’t do it! You got to believe—”
Dirk leaped forward and threw his spear. Nick managed to duck the missile; the blade whisked past his head and stuck into a tree.
“HERE! HE’S HERE!” Dirk shouted, yanking out his sword and charging through the thorns for Nick.
Nick ran, dashed into the bushes, found a small trail, and sprinted down it as fast as he could go. Shouts came from all around him and he spied several figures in the fog, running parallel to him through the trees.
Nick broke into a large clearing of gray, knee-high grass, and another group of Devils shot out into the clearing ahead of him. Nick cut away and darted toward a thin line of trees. He could see the burning fields through their branches and it occurred to him if he could make it out there, then maybe, maybe, the Devils wouldn’t follow.
A spear whisked past him, so close he actually felt its wake. The Devils howled like beasts, and Nick knew how a deer must feel when chased by wolves. A shrill cry escaped his own throat—eyes wide, heart pounding, as his legs whipped through the tall grass.
Nick closed in on the line of trees, could smell the soggy burned wood beyond. A spear slapped off his thigh, the shaft tangled in his legs. Nick went sprawling into the grass.
PETER HEARD SHOUTS in the distance. Sounds were tricky in the thick fog. He stopped and cocked his head from side to side as he tried to locate their direction.
He’d found what he thought were Nick’s tracks just before dawn and followed them. But the tracks had run together with those of the Devils and since then he’d been racing along, hoping to catch Nick before the Devils did. He’d also found other tracks, large, deep imprints. It would take someone of substantial weight to make such tracks. A lone Flesh-eater? That didn’t seem likely. There was only one other possibility, and he didn’t want to think of it. Whoever it was, they were tracking the boy.
More shouts. They’re near the burning fields, Peter thought. He heard yelling, the calls echoing up and down the valley in the early morning quiet. Peter was horrified. Don’t they know where they are?
“Avallach be merciful,” Peter pleaded, and took off at a hard run. Had not enough gone wrong?
NICK SAT UP. They had him, fanning out, circling him. Is this how I’m going to die? he wondered. Not killed by monsters, not by some drug dealer, but at the hands of a bunch of kids, kids that had just yesterday called him their brother. Not even his fear of death was so terrible as the looks he saw on their faces, the feverish glee that ran beneath the bloodlust, a murderous joy only experienced by lynching mobs. “I DIDN’T DO IT!” Nick cried. But no one was listening, they all had murder—his murder—in their eyes.
Dirk leaped for him, his sword pulled back, his eyes on Nick’s neck, his face no different than that of a boy about to score a touchdown. A spear—a thick, heavy spear—hit Dirk in the middle of his chest, driving deep into his ribs, knocking him off his feet.
A loud cry filled the air. Flesh-eaters, a long, ragged line of them, burst from the trees. Men in armor and heavy boots came screaming into the grassy glade, brandishing swords, spears, and pike axes.
Nick made for his feet, felt thick, powerful fingers grab his arm, yank him into the air, then slam him to the ground. All the breath left Nick’s body. A Flesh-eater shoved his face into Nick’s. The man’s lips peeled back into a mockery of a grin, exposing white gums and black teeth. His eyes, little more than slits of red, glared at Nick. “Gonna be all right, lad. Aye, we’re here to save you.”
Nick tried to break away, then felt a jagged blade against his neck.
“There, now,” the man chortled. “You should stay put if you be wanting to keep your ears attached to the sides of your head.”
NICK SAW A spear hit Redbone. It went through the boy’s side, the point protruding out of his back. Redbone grasped the spear in both hands, screamed through clenched teeth, and collapsed to his knees.
The Devils were spread out across the glade. They stopped in their tracks; their faces, which only seconds before were those of bloodthirsty predators, were now wild with shock and terror.
“NOW!” commanded a tall man wearing a wide-brimmed hat, and more heavily armed men, at least thirty or forty of them, came rushing into the glade down off the east slope.
“RUN!” screamed Redbone. “GET OUT OF HERE!”
The Devils broke and ran, scrambling in all directions. The men gave chase. Spears flew from both sides, men and Devils alike falling to the ground. Nick saw the big blond Bear take two spears in the back. Bear didn’t fall, just kept stumbling away, weaving like a drunk, wheezing and coughing up blood until finally a man hit him in the back of the skull with an ax. Another kid, a black boy from Brooklyn whose name Nick couldn’t remember, was hit in the leg, a spear going all the way through his thigh. The boy fell to the ground and began dragging himself forward, clawing at the soft earth. Five men set to him with ax and sword.
Another group of Flesh-eaters came running into the clearing from the west side. They slung nets weighted with rocks at the Devils, bringing many down in a tangle then stabbing them to death as they fought to free themselves.
Nick caught sight of Danny and Cricket, they stood at the farthest end of the glade, frozen in place, their eyes wide with horror. Run! What are you waiting for?
A Flesh-eater gave a shout, pointed at the pair, and over a dozen men started toward them. Danny turned and ran back into the trees, followed a second later by Cricket.
PETER RACED DOWN the path. The din of battle, the screams of pain echoed eerily up the foggy valley. Those are Devils dying! his mind screamed at him. Peter leaped recklessly across a wide, rushing creek, careened down a steep path, heedless to the danger as he half-fell and half-slid down the loose stones to its bottom. He landed in a roll and was up again, running onward, determined to get to the fight before all was lost.
Peter skidded around a clump of thick oaks, and there, down the ledge below him, were Cricket, Danny, and a Devil by the name of Trick. They were surrounded by a wide circle of Flesh-eaters. The Flesh-eaters moved in, tightening the ring. Trick was doing his best to hold them off, yelling and slashing the air with his spear. Cricket and Danny both clutched their spears, all but paralyzed with fear.
Four Flesh-eaters rushed in at once, knocking Trick’s spear aside and running him through. Pain twisted the boy’s face and blood spurted from his mouth as he slid to the ground.
Peter snarled, leaped forward, and launched his spear. The weapon flew true, finding its mark in the breastplate of the forward-most man, piercing the thin metal and knocking the man to the ground. Peter yanked both of his swords from their scabbards and ran all out, launching himself off the ledge and into the air from almost twenty feet above the fight. He howled and the men looked up, their eyes going wide with surprise as a screaming demon came hurtling onto them.
Peter crashed into them feet-first, the men collapsing like bowling pins. Peter bounded up off the first man, leaving him headless. He landed on the second man and thrust his sword into his face before the man could even push his helmet from his eyes. Then he was away, cutting one man’s arm off at the elbow with one sword while thrusting the other sword into the throat of another. He leaped and spun, his twin blades weaving a dance of death and dismemberment, leaving severed arms, legs, and necks in their wake.
When there was no more flesh to cut in front of him, Peter whirled, eyes blazing, not even bothering to wipe away the splash of black blood that ran across his face. Six men lay dead or dying at his feet, their moans music to his ears.
Danny let out a cry as the Flesh-eaters grabbed him and closed ranks. Peter spotted Cricket halfway up the embankment. She stopped and looked back at him.
“GET OUT OF HERE!” Peter cried.
Cricket hesitated, then scrambled to the top of the ledge and disappeared.
Peter glared at the eight remaining men, grinning as black blood dripped from his blades.
The men watched him as though he was possessed. But these were seasoned fighters, not new recruits, and they spread out into a defensive formation. One man drifted too far, and Peter was on him in a heartbeat. There came a quick clang of steel as Peter knocked aside the spear point, rolled, and cut the man down at the ankle. The man collapsed, screaming and clutching his spurting stump. Peter was up and away before the next man in line could come near.
Peter circled and they followed him with their swords and spears.
Shouts came from down the trail. More men were coming, a lot more men. Now it was the Flesh-eaters that grinned. Peter knew he had to end this fast. He took a step forward, and when he did, the man holding Danny thrust his sword under the boy’s throat. “You move again and the boy dies.”
Danny whimpered as blood trickled from the edge of the sword at his neck.
“I’ll cut him. Cut him wide open, I will.”
But there was more going on here than the men realized. Peter meant to save Danny if he could, but the darker truth was that Peter couldn’t let the men take Danny, not alive. Not under any circumstances. Danny knew where the Lady was.
“Danny, say your prayers,” Peter said, his voice like cold steel.
The men exchanged a nervous glance.
Peter came at them, running all out. The men tightened their ranks and leveled their spears. But this was what Peter had wanted. At the last second, he faked left, drawing their weapons to bear, then leaped right, launching himself from a large root, bounding up, and cartwheeling over the men. He struck out with both swords, the blades scissoring into the face of the man holding Danny, cutting the entire front of the man’s face off, exposing his eye sockets, nasal cavities, and an open hole where his mouth had been. There came a horrible gargling cry; the man’s tongue flapped like a windsock. He fell away from Danny, clutching what was left of his face.
Peter landed behind them. The men all tried to spin at once, but in different directions, crashing into one another and getting tangled in each other’s weapons. Peter shoved his swords into the backs of the men on either side of Danny and snatched the boy free. Hauling him away, pushing him up the trail. “RUN!” he screamed. “Run, for the Lady’s sake!”
Danny took off with Peter right behind him, and made it about four paces, then tripped, taking Peter down with him. Peter got one foot back under him when something hit him on the back of the skull.
Peter was still lucid enough to feel his face slap the hard earth, to feel the air go out of him, to see the men with their wicked grins and deadly spears circle him. Then he saw something else. There, far up on the hill, looking down, stood a tall figure in a woolly cape; a helmet with great antlers sat on its head.
Peter smiled. The Horned One had come to guide him to Otherworld.