Dark Magic (31 page)

Mari gasped and put her hand to her mouth. Her other hand went, fingers splayed, over her swollen belly.

“Oh come now, you can’t be all that surprised,” he said in annoyance. “Innocence may be accounted a virtue, but stupidity is never becoming.”

She made a choking sound and backed away from the pit and the little monster in it. “You never even met with Puck! Why did you bring me here! Stay away!”

“Halt! This is your last warning. Heed my words, girl.”

She stopped. She thought of bolting, but she did not want to turn her back on him for an instant. Besides, she knew she couldn’t hope to outrun him, he’d be on her in a flash. And even if she could, there was nowhere to go. Her hands formed fists. If she could get both hers around that tiny wrist of his, strong as it was, maybe she could wrest the blade from him.

“That’s better,” he said, coming up to the rim of the pit. He approached her slowly, in the manner of a man stalking a hen in the barnyard, just before Sunday dinner.

“Just tell me, what do you want?”

“Why, my dear, I need blood.”

Her breath and her fright grew, if such a thing were possible.

“You brought me here to bleed me?”

“Not precisely. I require the blood of the babe in your womb.”

Mari shook her head, her horror greater than before. She had been thinking of bargaining for the life of her babe, of offering herself up as a sacrifice, if that was what he needed, but if only her babe might be birthed first and spared. But to learn that her child was his goal? Her last hopes evaporated.

“But why?”

He halted his advance. “A reasonable enough question. Come down here with me and find out. At the very least, you will learn the answers to your questions, and I will make things as pleasant as possible for the both of us if you do.”

She could hardly see how killing her and her child could be made in any sense more pleasant, but she had no options, other than to try to catch his wrist. She doubted she could, having seen his speed.

She nodded, unable to speak, and walked back to the rim of the crater. For that’s what the pit seemed like to her now, a hole dug into the earth by a great impact. As if this pyramid had been dropped from the heaven upon this spot from such a height it had driven itself into the ground and sunken from sight.

Mari followed him down the sliding stones toward the pyramid. The structure at the bottom seemed more alien of aspect as she drew nearer to it. Built of hundreds of cubes of black stone, she could see now that each cube was strangely decorated with runes of some kind. Symbols were carved into each of the cubes with precise shapes and doubtless ancient meanings.

When they neared the bottom and she could stand balanced again, her legs felt all but locked with fear.

Piskin, however, made no move to slaughter her yet. Instead, he pointed at the base of the pyramid.

“Do you see it? Do you see the opening, girl?”

She looked and indeed saw what she thought to be dark space, as if a single block were missing from this vast puzzle.

“Look inside,” he whispered, startling her.

He stood to her side now. He stood close. His blade glittered with starlight and matched his mad eyes. She saw no pity in them. No human kindness. If she were to bargain with him, it could not be an emotional appeal. He would not even understand her meaning.

“Piskin,” she said, making no move toward the shadowy opening. “I will have a child soon.”

“Yes, yes, I would think that was abundantly clear.”

“Piskin, I know what you are. You are a changeling. You would like to be mothered, wouldn’t you?”

She had his attention now. His black eyes, like two oily raindrops, fixated upon her face.

“What are you suggesting?”

“When my babe arrives and my milk comes in, I will have plenty for two. Have you ever had a willing maid to care for you? One that knows what you are, but accepts you, as the brother to her own child?”

“Of course not,” he said, but there was a fascinated quality to his voice. He looked at her with a new light in his eyes.

She knew that light wasn’t the light of kindness, nor concern, nor—furthest from his mind—shame. It was the light of excitement, of greed.

“You could be like twins,” she said. “I wouldn’t know which of you was my babe.”

“Like twins, you say? But, what of my hand? I could never be a proper twin.”

“I wouldn’t care,” she said. She made a mistake then, reaching slowly out to him.

He bounced back, snarling. “You think me the fool? You weave words like a spell, but I’ll not be entranced. No, you would seek to strangle me in my sleep within the fortnight. You would hang wards all about the crib, and set it alight, shoving me down into it to burn there, trapped.”

She nodded. “Just something to think about. My offer stands,” she said, hoping her words might work upon him. She had seen the wanting in his face. Perhaps he would be tempted, or at least distracted.

She turned toward the opening. The missing black cube had been replaced by a matching cube of shadow. Deep shadow, that seemed to swallow all light that entered there.

Piskin stepped closer to her, watching her and the opening. She thought of grabbing him, right then, but he was too intent upon her. Better to wait for a moment when his eyes were on something else.

She sidled away from him and toward the opening. She steeled herself to feel his blade, or to be snatched into the jaws by some horror within the pyramid.

What she saw inside made her forget all these thoughts, if only for a moment.

She saw two red eyes. For some reason, she wanted to stare at those eyes. They were entrancing. Beautiful, evil and alien of aspect. She squatted on her haunches without thinking and peered into the opening.

The eyes looked back at her, and blinked. She felt they looked into her. They were not afraid, nor aggressive. Only, perhaps, they were vaguely curious.

“What is it?” she asked.

Piskin spoke. Again, he was very close to her ear. They both gazed into the black cube of shadow, inside which absolutely nothing was visible except for those ruby eyes. Mari slid her own eyes to Piskin, who crouched beside her, seemingly as curious about the creature inside as she was.

Mari’s right hand, the farthest from the manling, closed over a stone. It was a good-sized stone, and she threw it as swiftly as she was able.

She had considered attempting to crash it down upon Piskin’s skull, of course, but she had seen him move. He would be wary, he would be expecting such a thing, despite all his simulated friendliness and preoccupation. If she were to have a chance, she must do the unexpected.

It would have been easier, in a way, to do nothing. To talk herself into following him down here, knowing her own slaughter was imminent. But by simply by refusing to believe such an awful thing could happen to her, these final moments would rest much more easily upon her mind.

But she could not do that. She could not take that easy path. She had to act. She had to at least
try
to save her babe. And so she threw the stone at the thing that lurked inside the dark cube of shadow. She struck it, surprising everyone. There was a thump, and tiny growl.

Piskin shrieked in disbelief. “Peasant oaf!” he hissed, turning his wide eyes upon her in shock. “This is no pond full of fish to play with, girl! We are here to coax the hound, not brain it with a stone!”

It was then that he turned away from her. He moved closer to the thing in the dark, as if concerned for its welfare. Momentarily, he turned his back to her and turned his eyes from her, too. He wanted to see how the creature had taken being hit with a stone. It was a natural enough reaction and she had hoped for such a moment of distraction.

Her hands flew around him and closed on his skinny wrist, the one that still had a hand attached to it. They clamped down upon the wrist and the hand that gripped the blade.

Piskin squeaked and struggled. She held fast, knowing he was stronger than he looked, but she had two hands on his one and she was desperate.

Mari grunted as he elbowed her swollen belly and breasts. He gave a great bounding leap and rammed the top of his skull into her jaw. She hadn’t been expecting that, and her vision blurred, but she held on and squeezed her hands all the tighter. She had to keep her grip, she knew, or she was lost.

She thought then of what she must do, she must roll her body atop him. She must crush him and grind his small struggling form into the black stones of this place. So she did it, having a care she didn’t plunge his blade into herself by accident. She let her weight force him down on his face.

He wriggled with mad vitality. It was like holding a serpent to her breast. A flipping, writhing length of muscle.

Mari was winning, she could feel it. She was crushing him down. She had to have five times his weight. She dared allow herself a sliver of hope.

All the while they struggled and rolled, breath hissing out of clenched teeth, the ruby eyes watched them, unblinking and curious.

Then a tremendous pain blossomed in her left wrist. Piskin had bitten her. She held on while she bled on the flat black stones. Her blood ran more freely as he bit further.

She tried to roll and dislodge him. Her arm ripped loose from his teeth and the pain was tremendous, but she still held on. She had churned a thousand tubs of butter and milked cows every morning before breakfast. Her hands had a grip to them. They were white and pink and now splashed with red.

Then, something strange happened. Both Piskin and Mari felt it. They both knew something crept closer.

It was the bloodhound. Smaller than any normal hound, the creature with the ruby eyes came slowly out of it hiding place beneath the stack of black stones. It crept forward and halted at the growing pool of Mari’s blood.

There, it began to lap the blood pooling in the carved runes. It began to feed.

“You have coaxed the hound,” hissed Piskin beneath her. He relaxed and stopped struggling. “It’s over, girl. Get off me.”

“I will not,” she said, meaning to suffocate him if at all possible.

“Listen, just for a moment,” he breathed. “I came here for this, to coax the hound. I see now, I never needed the blood of your half-fae babe. Your blood is enough. The babe shares its blood with yours. You have half-fae blood in you.”

“So what? I’m going to kill you.”

“Then you will surely die here in this place, and your babe as well.”

“Fine. At least you will do no more evil.”

“Listen. Listen!” he hissed, panting now. “We can work together. I will swear it.”

She paused. She knew that the Fae took great pride in their sworn vows and did not break them. In truth, she had no idea what she would do after having killed Piskin.

“I’m sorry,” he was saying in a very earnest voice. “I abjectly apologize. I miscalculated. I was only doing my lord’s bidding.”

“What lord?”

“Oberon, of course.”

At that name, both the girl and the hound shifted their vision from each other to the manling.

“You swear not to harm me? To lead me from this place and back to safety in the Haven? And finally, you must swear I shall have your blade.”

“I do so swear, if you will swear to help me coax the hound with your blood,” he responded, then grunted, “and to get your fat bulk off me!”

She thought about it, watching the hound lap for a moment. Somehow, the disgusting sight was mesmerizing. She wondered what kind of beast this could possibly be that it was worth such trouble to coax with her blood.

“I agree,” Mari said. “I do so swear.”

“I agree as well, and I do so swear.”

And so, distrustfully, they disengaged from one another. He dropped the blade and she snatched it up, wiping away a coating of her own sticky blood. There was an alarming amount of it spread over the stones now. She worked to wrap her wrist with what shreds of her dress she could find that were still relatively clean. She knew a bite from the likes of Piskin might well turn septic.

She watched the manling and the bloodhound with equal distrust. The hound was a small dog, no bigger than a housecat. It was short of hair and had a whip-like tail. Except for ruby eyes of unnatural intellect, it seemed like a normal dog. But it was clearly a dog that subsisted on a diet of blood.

“I now require a bit more of your blood, my dear.”

“What? It’s had quite enough.”

“Do you wish to break our pact? Do you wish to try wrestling with me again so soon? I’ll not trust your word a second time, I warn you.”

“Why more blood? I’ve—I’ve lost a good deal already.”

“It has lapped, but requires more to sate its great thirst. I only need enough to work with the hound, my dear Mari. Only enough to cool its burning thirst. I happen to have a cup here in my pack.”

And so he bled her further, and rubbed his stump of a wrist in her blood. She watched aghast. Somehow, the blood from her veins, still warm in his hands,
thickened
. It became paste-like in consistency, and Piskin worked at it as a sculptor might work with wet clay. He worked it and worked it, until the blood formed a black putty.