An Artificial Night - BK 3 (18 page)

Only now Blind Michael’s entire Court knew I was here. And they would be coming after me. Just great.

T
HE LANDSCAPE HADN’T CHANGED since my arrival in Blind Michael’s lands; even my footprints were intact, marking my point of arrival. I turned to face the distant mountains. That was where Blind Michael and his Court were waiting, and that was presumably where he was holding the kids. Somehow my panicked flight had carried me back to the start of my journey, with no ground lost or gained . . . but now Blind Michael knew I was coming. I had to go back to his Court, steal my children, and escape, all without being seen.

Planning has never been one of my strengths—I’m better at leaping before I look—and I know when I’m outmatched. Blind Michael was bigger, meaner, and stronger. I needed to have some sort of plan before I approached him again, or I was going to wind up joining the misshapen throng that haunted the Children’s Hall. I suppressed a shudder. Death would be better than transformation and eternal enslavement to a madman who thought he was a god, and that was probably exactly why he’d do his best not to let me die. People like that like to keep their toys, no matter how broken those toys get.

That just meant I couldn’t let him catch me. I turned away from the mountains, looking toward the forest. It was closer than the mountains. I could reach the edge of the trees in less than an hour, if I hurried.

“Blind Michael said the woods belonged to his consort,” I muttered, thinking of the yellow-skinned woman. She hadn’t looked very friendly. I’m normally willing to forgive first impressions, but if she was Blind Michael’s consort, I probably didn’t need to. The Luidaeg’s spell hid me from her. I doubted that made her an ally. “Let’s not go that way.” “Don’t go to the wood” was the first part of a plan. Now I just needed a way to get back into Blind Michael’s Court, rescue the kids, and get them out of his lands without being caught by any of his legion of heavily armed, extremely faithful servants. Why is nothing ever easy?

My candle burned a reassuring blue as I started toward the mountains. I found myself moving in an uneven line, always staying in easy reach of cover. It wasn’t a conscious decision, and it was still the best idea I’d had all day. The Riders couldn’t see me very well—the Luidaeg’s spell made sure of that—but they’d spotted me when I drew attention to myself. Walking straight for Blind Michael’s throne would probably count as drawing attention.

The sky was somehow managing to get darker, and a thick mist rose from the ground as true night approached. At least my candle was burning as steadily as ever, the wax still refusing to melt. That was for the best. Being trapped here without the Luidaeg’s gift to protect me would be a bad thing. A very, very bad thing.

The hours passed slowly, marked by the darkening sky. My legs ached, and my knees were burning, but I didn’t seem to have gained any ground; the mountains were as far away as they’d been when I started. I turned around, suddenly suspicious.

The forest hadn’t receded at all.

“Oh, Maeve’s
bones,
” I moaned. Of course the land was working against me. We were deep enough in the Summerlands that the entire Islet was like one gigantic knowe, bound to the will of its owner. Blind Michael’s word was law here, and he didn’t want me to get away.

I stomped my foot, fighting the urge to scream. Maybe it was childish, but if you can’t be childish when you
are
a child, what’s the point? I’d been walking for hours. My headache wasn’t going away; if anything, the long walk without water or aspirin had made it worse. It felt like little men with jackhammers were trying to rewire my brain. My knees hurt. My legs hurt. I was so thirsty that swallowing scraped the back of my throat, and all I wanted was the chance to curl up somewhere and sleep until everything was better. I forced myself to take a deep breath. There had to be a solution, somewhere. I just needed to force myself to see it.

I walked to the nearest bramble thicket and dropped to my hands and knees, crawling inside. I stopped once I was past the first row of thorns, staring. I wasn’t the first one to use this as a hiding place; someone had cut away the branches on the inside, opening a path. The cuts didn’t look fresh, and the ground was undisturbed—whoever created this hidey-hole hadn’t been back in a long time. Looking more closely, I saw that the brambles had been twisted so that they’d grow back into the main body of the briar, making the shield of thorns on the outside thicker and more secure. No one would be able to see me from the plains. Those same careful cuts made the narrow tunnel self-sustaining. It could probably go unused forever.

That decided me. Secret places in bushes and quarries are generally the property of children, and this one had likely been cultivated by some long-forgotten child who’d managed to escape the Hunt, at least for a little while. If it was at all like the hiding places I shared with Stacy and Julie when I was a kid, no adult had ever seen it: they could walk right by and never realize it was there. I crawled deeper, careful of the thorns.

The path wound inward until it met the main trunk, where it widened to become a clear bubble of open space. Whoever made the path also dug a shallow dip in the soft earth, making just enough room for a small person to sit upright. Any vague hopes for alliance were dashed when I saw that indentation judging by the way the brambles encroached on its edges, whoever created this little hiding place had been gone for a very long time. Just another casualty of Blind Michael’s lands.

I scooted into the scrape and braced myself against the trunk, relaxing slowly. I just needed a little rest and time to think before I had to start moving again. Holding my candle away from the dry wood all around me, I closed my eyes.

I was only supposed to be there for a few minutes. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. That part just came naturally. And I dreamed . . .

Night had finished falling while I slept, and shadows filled my hiding place. I snapped awake to the sound of footsteps and caught my breath, confusion seared away by the sight of my candle. It was burning an almost lambent red, flame licking high against the brambles. I was half afraid it would set the bush on fire. That was really the least of my worries, because if Blind Michael’s Riders took me, a little fire wouldn’t matter at all.

They would find me. They had to. The light would lead them to me if nothing else, and then the game would end, with Blind Michael taking the checkmate. It was only a matter of time before one of them realized I was there and shouted for the others.

But they didn’t. The footsteps faded, leaving me alone with the frantic beating of my heart. The flame dwindled to normal, calming a lot more quickly than my nerves. “What did you expect me to do, Luidaeg?” I muttered. “Walk up and take them away from him?” I could still see Blind Michael when I closed my eyes, tall and vast against the sky. He was willing to be my god. All I had to do was let go of the candle and let him in.

No way in hell.

He was blind but saw everything in his lands—everything but me. He wouldn’t have agreed to my little game if he didn’t have to, because victory is always better than playing fair. He couldn’t see me, he couldn’t hold me, and so I was almost safe. But why was I so special? Why should a candle matter so much? I paused, reviewing. The Luidaeg gave me the candle and sent me into his lands. She said I could get there and back by the light of a candle.

Of course: we were in a child’s land, playing by children’s rules. Blind Michael would catch me if he could, because that was how the game worked, but he couldn’t stop me or see me as long as I kept my candle burning. That would make the game unfair.

“Just great,” I said. I was trapped in the realm of a mad Firstborn who obeyed the laws of children’s tales, and my only hope for escape was pinned on a candle flame. It hadn’t been able to hide Raj from the Riders, and I wasn’t counting on it to be able to hide any of the other children, either. The Luidaeg and I were going to have words when I got home.

And then there was the dream. I’ve always been a vivid dreamer, but this was different. It felt almost real, and it felt like it was important. Like it was something I needed to remember. Not that I could have forgotten the look in Karen’s eyes, even if I wanted to.

My thoughts distracted me enough that I didn’t hear the rustling until something grabbed my shoulder. That’s the kind of mistake you only get to make once, because afterward, you’re generally dead. I whirled as far as the bush allowed, ignoring the thorns raking my cheek as I pulled back my free hand to strike my attacker. Whatever it was might be disoriented enough by prey that fought back for me to get out of the brambles and run.

I started to swing and froze, staring. Quentin stared back. The brambles had forced him to his hands and knees. Mud was caked on his face and hair, making him look more like an extra from
Lord of the Flies
than a well-groomed courtier. Spike was on his shoulder, looking unperturbed by the situation. I guess when you’re made of thorns, a few more don’t hurt.

“Quentin.” I slowly lowered my hand. Spike gave me a wounded look, and I added, “Spike. What are you two doing here?”

It took Quentin a moment to find his voice. He just gaped, still staring, before he stammered, “T-Toby?”

“In the flesh.” I glanced down at myself and grimaced. “So to speak. How the hell did you get here?” Don’t you know you’re going to get yourself killed? Did you think for a
second
before you did whatever it took to follow me?