The Child Thief (18 page)

“Maybe we should take them back,” Abraham said to Sekeu.

“There,” Sekeu said, and pointed to a cluster of spotted mushrooms growing beneath a thick, thorny hedge.

“Few more over here,” Dash said. “We should spread out. Might just find enough.”

Sekeu nodded in agreement. She pointed at Nick and the other New Blood. “You four look here. Abraham, stay with them. The rest of you spread out. But keep in sight. We must be quick. She will find us if we linger.”

“OUCH,” NICK SAID,
and stuck his finger in his mouth. That was about the hundredth time he’d been pricked so far. The only mushrooms they’d found were growing beneath the thornbushes. Nick guessed these were the ones the deer couldn’t get to.

“Me too,” Cricket said. She held up the back of her hand. She was a couple bushes down the slope, but Nick had no problem seeing the scratches. Danny actually looked like he was enjoying himself for the first time all day. He was on all fours, knocking at a mushroom with his spear.

“It’s kind of like hunting Easter eggs,” Danny said. “Don’t you think?”

“Just shut up and keep picking,” Leroy said.

Abraham came over to Leroy and dropped a handful of mushrooms into his sack.

“We do need to hurry,” Abraham said, looking worriedly up the hill. “The fog’s gettin’ up.”

Nick glanced up the hill and could just make out the shape of Sekeu and Redbone digging around on the ridgeline.

Something splashed nearby; Abraham heard it too. The fog was indeed getting thicker. At first, Nick thought he was just imagining things, then a wave of fog drifted into the clearing and all but obscured Danny.

“No sir, this ain’t right at all,” Abraham said. “We need to git. I’ll fetch Sekeu. Now, don’t any of you go nowhere.” He sprinted away up the hill.

The fog continued to roll in.

“Nobody told you to stop,” Leroy said.

“Can you see them?” Cricket asked.

“Not anymore,” Nick said.

“Got it!” Danny said, holding up a big yellow mushroom. “Man, would you look at the size of this thing?”

“Shit, I can’t see a thing,” Cricket said.

“I said get back to work,” Leroy growled.

A small break opened in the fog. Nick spotted Abraham nearing the ridge, then the hair shot up on the back of his neck. Behind Abraham were four, maybe five hunched shapes, right on his heels, and whatever they were, they
weren’t
human.

Nick was in mid-shout when a horrible screech cut him off.

It was Danny. He was on the ground and on top of him was a—
monster
. It had red fur, was no larger than a cat, and reminded Nick of a hyena but with long arms and clawed fingers that were even now digging into Danny’s arm and shoulder. It whipped about a long tail with a wet red stinger protruding from the end, and it began slamming the stinger repeatedly into Danny’s neck and face.

“OH, SHIT!”
Nick cried. His sack fell from his hand, sending the handful of mushrooms tumbling down the slope.

Danny’s face went bright red, his mouth opened wide as he gasped loudly for breath. He toppled over backward, twitched violently, then lay still, his eyes staring up at nothing.

Another hyena-thing dropped from the tree above Cricket, knocking the spear from her hand. This one was much larger, closer to the size of a German shepherd, a thick mane of black fur circling its head. It too had a whip tail, but this one lacked any sort of stinger that Nick could see.

Cricket screamed and swung wildly with her bucket, driving it back. She tried to get around it, but it kept her pinned between the thorn bushes, hissing and snapping its teeth.

Leroy, not five strides away from her, seemed frozen in place, his eyes big, his mouth agape, clutching his spear between his white-knuckled fists.

“HELP HER!”
Nick shouted. But Leroy only continued to stare.

Cricket hit the monster with the pail. It jigged side to side, darting to and fro. Nick saw the smaller, red-haired creature creeping up from behind her. If somebody didn’t do something now, Cricket would be as dead as Danny.

Leroy stumbled backward and fell.

Nick rushed out from the bushes, not even feeling the thorns dig into his legs, not thinking about anything but driving those monsters away from Cricket. He snatched up his spear and rushed the beasts, leaping past Leroy as Leroy scrambled up the hill on all fours.

The red creature leaped on Cricket’s back and jabbed its stinger into her neck, over and over. Cricket let out a pitiful cry and tumbled over.

“NO!”
Nick screamed, and slammed the spear into the red creature’s ribs, knocking it off Cricket and driving it into the dirt.

The red creature shrieked and thrashed, black blood spewing from the wound.

The black hyena-thing let loose a howl that almost caused Nick to drop his spear. The wail sounded human, sounded full of rage and anguish.

Nick yanked his spear free and leveled it at the hyena-thing.

The monster locked eyes with Nick and began to beat the ground in front of it. It bared its fangs and tore up clumps of dirt and leaves, slinging them into the air.

It means to tear me apart,
Nick thought, and wanted to run, but knew if he turned his back, even for a second, the creature would have him. His heart thundered in his chest.
This is beyond me, I can’t do this.
But there was a new voice in his head; Sekeu, telling him to hold steady, to focus. Nick slid into the L-stance, fixed his trembling hands on the spear.
One shot,
he thought,
that’s all I’m gonna get.

The hyena-thing let loose an earsplitting screech and came for him, ripping across the ground in a crazy zigzagging charge, hooting and howling.

Focus,
Nick thought, taking quick, short breaths, fighting to hold steady. The monster leaped and Nick swung, putting a snap on the spear just as Sekeu had showed him. The blade caught the beast in the neck, cutting its throat wide-open.

The creature slammed into Nick, spattering him in black blood and knocking him to the ground. Nick shoved the convulsing body away and tried for his feet, but before he could get up, something landed on his back. The smaller, red creature, its claws sunk into his shoulder, its stinger whipping toward his face. Nick managed to get his arm up and the stinger ripped across his forearm.

Nick cried out as searing pain shot up his arm. He twisted free and kicked away from the beast. It twitched and clawed at the dirt but didn’t get back up.

Nick clasped his wounded arm to his chest; he could feel the burning spread up his shoulder. His face began to grow warm, then hot; his throat tightened. Nick dropped his spear and fell over on his back, gasping for breath as his throat continued to constrict. He caught a glimpse of Cricket. She was pale and still, her eyes lifeless.

The red beast lay on its side, twitching. Leroy, his face a mask of fear and revulsion, rushed up and slammed his spear into the monster’s body over and over, and kept repeating, “Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!”

“
THEY ARE HERE!
” Sekeu shouted, running out of the fog, taking in the scene in a glance and sliding down next to Cricket. She leaned over, putting an ear against the girl’s chest.

Abraham, Dirk, Dash, and Redbone came running up. Redbone was splattered in black blood. A nasty slash ran across his shoulder and chest, his breath coming hard and fast through clenched teeth, sword in one hand, knife in the other, both dripping with blood. He locked wild, fierce eyes on the two dead creatures.

“I killed them,” Leroy said quickly. “Killed both of them.” He looked at Cricket and Danny. “I tried to save them. Things just happened so fast. I did what I could.”

Redbone met Leroy’s eyes; his mouth a grim line. He slipped away his knife, clapped a bloody hand on Leroy’s shoulder, and shook the boy. “Those are barghest, man. Right on, Leroy!”

Leroy grinned weakly and cut his eyes to Nick.

What?
Nick thought.
“No!”
he tried to shout, but his throat was too tight and he broke into a fit of painful coughing.

A howl cut through the fog; it came from everywhere, from the very ground. The fog itself began to darken like a storm cloud.

“The witch,” Sekeu said.

P
eter stared at the bodies. In the soft glow of dawn he could see that the earth was still dark from their slaughter. There were four of them, Pooxits, distant cousins to the centaur, only much smaller, coming no higher than Peter’s knee. They had the bodies of cats, and the torsos of monkeys. They’d always reminded Peter of little people with their dexterous fingers, chattery speech, and lively, expressive faces.

He could see where the Flesh-eaters had burned them out of the nearby brush, there were slashes in the dirt of a struggle and tracks where they’d been dragged over to be skinned and butchered. Their bones lay scattered about the dirt; Peter couldn’t help but notice the teeth marks on the bones.

He found their heads and hands in a ditch, tossed aside like garbage.

Their eyes—glazed and jellied—stared up at him, the horror of their deaths still plain to see. Peter had heard the screams of those caught by the Flesh-eaters. Be they elf, centaur, gnome, troll, faerie folk, or even Devil, it didn’t matter, the Flesh-eaters showed no mercy. They skinned them alive, butchered, and ate them.
Better to die by my own hand
, Peter thought,
than ever fall into theirs
.

Other than a slight tightening of the jaw, Peter showed no emotion. He turned and pressed on, heading north. The Flesh-eaters’ path of razed, brutalized land spread out before him as far as he could see. He skirted the remnants of a village. The burned-out huts jutting up from the dead, ashen earth like so many jagged teeth. A stack of broken skulls were piled against one wall; their hollow eyes followed him as he passed.
It is time to end this
, Peter thought.
One way or another, it
must
end
.

He glanced heavenward. Somewhere above the low-lying clouds, the sun lit up the sky. He could tell the day was going to be warm, could feel the humidity building. He scanned the gray mud and burned husks of long-fallen trees and wondered if the sun’s face would ever grace this tortured landscape again.

Peter crested a long, sloping hill, found himself staring into the eyes of a god, and realized where he was. “Avallach’s Shrine,” he said and dropped heavily onto a boulder. He gazed at the broken ruins. He could see the marshlands below. Deviltree wasn’t far now, just past the swamps, but he wasn’t looking forward to crossing through the witch’s land, not during the day.
Not while I still have my eyes
, he thought, and grinned a nasty grin.

He regarded the god’s head, a giant thing of carved granite easily the size of a barrel. It had been knocked from its base at the neck and lay on its side as though listening to the earth. Its face was marred, hacked, and hammered, but even so the eyes still held their strength.

The rest of the great statue still stood, its hands forever clasped to its chest. A ring of craggy stumps spiraled out from the statue—all that remained of the vast apple orchard. When Peter closed his eyes, he could still see those trees, hundreds of them, their white blossoms flittering in the warm sunlight of that faraway day.

PETER SAT BESIDE
the old elf upon a large field stone. He cupped a hand across his brow, shielding his eyes from the midday sun as he looked up at the giant statue. The statue’s eyes were set deep within the shadow of its thick furrowed brow, staring ceaselessly out over the orchard.

Apple blossoms drifted lazily by, glittering in the sunlight, gathering in every crease and fold of the statue’s drapery. The apple trees surrounding the statue hummed and buzzed with honey bees, birds, and the ceaseless chatter of sprites and faeries.

Peter followed the Lady’s every move, found he cared to do little more. She stood before the statue, a slender hand resting upon its foot, looking up into the stern face.

“That’s Avallach,” the old elf said. “God of healing, Lord of Avalon. He’s left us, his mortal time on earth long past. He now reigns in Otherworld, leaving his children to watch over Avalon.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter said distractedly.

“The Lady Modron is one of his children.”

“The Lady?”

“Yes.”

“Did her mother leave her too?”

“Mother? I don’t believe the Lady had a mother. Not in the way we might think of, anyway. Avallach created his children from the elements at hand. The Lady’s spirit comes from the rivers, lakes, and streams. Water will forever be her lifeblood. Her brother, the Horned One, was created from living sacrifices of flesh and blood, while her sister, Ginny, the witch, was grown from the earth like a tree.”

Peter glanced over at him, concerned. “The witch is her sister? How can that be? The witch is so wicked.”

The elf laughed. “They’re gods,” he said, as though that explained everything.

Peter looked puzzled.

“They’re Nature and one must always be wary of Nature. They play their roles, keeping the balance of Avalon. None of them would flinch at killing any who should threaten that balance. Why even the children of faerie are not immune from their ire. The Horned One will smite any who enter Avalon uninvited. The witch, well you’re well aware of what the witch does to outsiders. The Lady guards us all with her Mist. Even among the Sidhe, only a very few can walk the Mist.”

Peter watched the Lady lay her cheek against the stone and close her eyes. “I like the Lady very much.”

“Yes,” the elf sighed. “She is hard not to love. She is like the earth itself. But,” he lowered his voice, “one must always be wary of gods and goddesses, lest we become too entangled in their desires and schemes.”

The elf fell quiet for a while.

“Did you know that the whole world was once Faerie?”

Peter shook his head, half-listening.

“Yes indeed, before men-kind came along.” The elf’s voice sobered. “Men have disturbed the balance, putting the children of Avallach to the test. All we have left now is this island. The new gods are pushing out the old. Soon, I fear, there’ll no longer be room for Earth’s first children…anywhere. That is why the Lady comes here. To seek her father’s counsel. Whether he hears or not, none of us know. Judging from her face I don’t believe he does. But that’s the business of the gods. My business is to keep the Lady safe.”

“Safe?” Peter glanced up at the elf. “From what? The witch?”

“No. I don’t believe the witch would harm her, or even could. They might not like each other, but they need each other, the way the land needs water and water needs land. But there are others that would.”

Peter looked concerned.

“The Lady’s spirit is immortal, but she’s not. There are those, even in Faerie, that would feed on her flesh. If her mortal form were to pass she’d no longer be bound to the earth, to Avalon, then where would we be?

“But that won’t happen. Not while I’m part of the Guard,” the elf stated with obvious pride. “It’s my duty to see to it she comes and goes without fear of beast, or witch, or little red-headed freckle-faced boys.” He smiled.

Peter leaped to his feet. “Can I join the Lady’s Guard?” He thumped his chest. “I’d make a great guard. Why, I’m not afraid of that witch, or wolves, or bears, not anything.”

The guard laughed and patted Peter on the head. “Maybe, one day.”

“
WE’RE HERE, PETERBIRD
,” the Lady Modron said. “My garden.”

It had been a long trek from the statue to the garden. They’d passed through forests and glades, crossed creeks and streams, but to Peter it had seemed no time at all as he walked beside the Lady, as she told him about all the sights and creatures they came upon.

The sun edged toward the horizon, painting the sky and surrounding forest a brilliant gold. The trees about the garden were tall and straight, with pale blue bark and leaves.

They proceeded up a walkway of alabaster flagstones framed by two long, slender wading pools. Tall standing stones stood sentinel in their still waters. The walkway led to a lofty archway cut into a towering white stone ledge. Wide bands of gold veined the stone, glittered in the waning sunlight, sending dazzling beams sparkling off the long pools. A gentle waterfall spilled onto the crest of the archway, dividing the waterfall into twin falls that cascaded down either side, forming the head of each pool.

A field of wildflowers spilled over the banks of the pools, filling the air with the sweet perfume of nectar and evening dew. Wild faeries and sprites perched upon every reed, lily, and stem, some even straddling the backs of bored-looking bullfrogs. They filled the dusk with their song as they watched the Lady pass.

The Lady and her procession approached the archway and two young elves pulled the tall doors open. The boys bowed to the Lady, giving Peter curious looks as he passed.

They entered a short passageway of polished, iridescent stone, the palest shade of green. The walls were framed by stone pillars in the shape of trees that looked to have grown right from the floor, their branches weaving into a spidery canopy. Music drifted along the corridor, accompanied by raucous laughter, squeals, and grunts. Peter glanced down the hall and saw a tall, handsome boy with a heavy brow and dark, brooding eyes striding purposely toward them.

“Someone does not look pleased, my Lady,” Drael whispered.

The Lady sighed. “When ever does he?”

The boy was much taller than Peter, eye level with the Lady. Peter guessed him to be several years older than himself. His dark hair was cropped in a bowl cut just above his ears, oiled and shiny, not a strand out of place. He wore a quilted jacket, trimmed in gold, with long puffed sleeves, made from a finely woven fabric. He had on black stockings and gold shoes with pointed toes. Peter could not find a speck of dust, nor a trace of dirt anywhere on the boy.

The tall boy dismissed Peter at a glance and addressed the Lady.

“Modron, you were supposed—”

“Ulfger,” the Lady interrupted. “Not today. I do not need this from you today.”

“You were supposed to be here hours ago,” he continued, his voice stern and serious. “Have you forgotten your duties?”

“No, Ulfger,” the Lady said with noticeable irritation. “I have
not
forgotten my duties. And I will not be drawn into this today. Not today.”

“The fate of Avalon hangs in the balance, yet the council spends its time drinking, gossiping, and exchanging rude riddles.” He stared accusingly at the Lady. “They need leadership.”

“Ulfger, it is not your place to tell me—”

“It
is
my place, Modron,” he said, making no attempt to hide the contempt in his voice. “This frivolity and buffoonery…it is why Avalon is dying.”

“Oh, Ulfger. Why must you do this? You’re a boy. You should be having fun, running wild, getting into mischief. You—”

“No! That, Modron—
that
is the very problem. Avalon needs
order
and
discipline
.” He clenched his hand into a fist. “Needs an iron hand to combat men-kind’s aggression. Without it we are destined to become extinct.”

The Lady looked at him sadly. “Those are your mother’s words. Even at death’s door, she can’t keep her long nose out of things. And look what she has done to you. At an age when you should be at your most carefree, you are bent beneath the weight of her nettling and conniving.”

Ulfger flushed. “No, that’s not true.”

The Lady shook her head. “This is my fault, I should have stood up to her, should have insisted you live in the forest with your father. Your mother has done everything in her power to kill the wildness within you. I am fearful the Horned One will not know his own son.”

Ulfger’s eyes fell to the floor. He turned away, but not before Peter caught the wounded look on his face.

The Lady took Peter’s hand; they pushed past the handsome boy and strolled down the hall.

THEY PASSED BENEATH
another arch and entered a great domed hall. A small circular pond lay at the center of the hall, cut into the stone floor. The pond glowed brightly—the very water was phosphorescent—filling the whole hall with a soft, greenish glow. A crescent moon, stars, and winged fish were carved into the dome. The light swirled over the designs, making them appear to swim around the ceiling.

A dozen curved tables circled the pond. Plates and bowls of wild game, bread, boiled carrots, beets, and potatoes littered the pitted, well-worn surface, their spice filling the chamber. Peter inhaled deeply and his stomach grumbled.

“I believe someone’s hungry,” the Lady said.

Peter grinned up at her and nodded.

A man set down his goblet, pushed back his chair, and propped a cloven hoof on the edge of the table. He wore no clothing, only a thick leather yoke with large brass bells. His small, boyish body appeared to be that of a shaggy goat from the waist down. His skin was blood-red, his hair black. A long, pointed goatee curled upward off his chin and two short horns poked up from his sloping forehead, each with a small gold bell jangling from its tip. “You’re late,” he growled.

“And a good end of day to you too, Hiisi,” the Lady said, a smile pushing one corner of her mouth. “Nice to see everyone waited.”

A boar with long, curving tusks, dressed in a brilliant crushed velvet tunic complete with ruffles, held up a drumstick. “Like one swine waits for another,” he said through a mouthful of food, then snorted.

There were at least forty folk in attendance, mostly elves, their thin, spindly bodies draped across their high-backed chairs, their movements and gestures elegant and graceful. There were many other strange beings that Peter had never seen or imagined. Four plump men—easily as wide as they were tall and not a one larger than a chicken—with big red noses and cheeks and tiny black eyes that looked like they’d been pushed into their faces, sat upon tall stools wearing outlandish feathered caps and passing a large jug of wine back and forth. A flock of winged faeries sat crossed-legged on the table top, sharing a bowl of fruit. These were different than the ones Peter had seen in the forest; foremost, they were clothed, wearing britches and jackets or wispy gowns, and were well-mannered as they ate from tiny plates and sipped from tiny cups.