The Sweet Far Thing (73 page)

Gorgon edges closer, and I could choke on my fear. For there behind the fires is an army of Winterlands creatures—skeletal trackers in tattered black robes, Poppy Warriors, pale creatures with skin like chalk and eyes ringed in black. So many creatures. I had not realized. This appears to be their camp, shielded as it is by the cliffs. They sit with the dead, who appear dazed and unseeing.

“Stop!” a creature to my left says, and I feel Kartik’s hand hovering near his dagger. The creature is as gray as death. He pulls back rotting lips to reveal yellow nubs of teeth. His eyelids are lined in red, but his eyes are the milky blue of Pippa’s. “Have you come for the ritual?”

Kartik nods. I pray our illusion will hold.

Six trackers emerge at the arch. “Follow!” the hideous beasts call. The creatures rise, and the dead shuffle behind as if sleepwalking. With a last glance at Gorgon’s stony face, Kartik and I join the others.

The trackers thunder over the plains and we follow. The ground crunches like shells beneath my feet. I think I see a leg bone poking up through the grit and quickly look away.
Calm, Gemma. Calm. Keep
the illusion.

We come to a narrow pass. Pale, skinless creatures emerge from behind the rocks and from crevices, blinking against the dim light of the churning gray sky. The creature beside us snarls and gnashes his teeth at one of the pale things, which slips back under the rock until all I can see are its blinking eyes.

The crows circle overhead, crying. They lead us out of the chasm and my pulse quickens, for we are on the heath. And there before us is the Tree of All Souls.

The Winterlands creatures gather on the plains. Kartik squeezes my hand, and I can feel his terror joined to mine. Three of the dead are brought forth—a woman and two men. Beside me, Kartik draws a short breath. Just behind the creatures, on a magnificent steed, is Amar.

“The more we sacrifice, the greater our power grows,” he thunders as the dead are made to kneel
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before the Tree of All Souls.

“Do you give yourselves willingly to the greater glory? Will you be sacrificed for our cause?” Amar asks them.

“We will,” they answer numbly.

“These souls are ready,” Kartik’s brother says.

The vines move like whips, wrapping around the necks of the victims, pulling them up into the tree’s expanse like puppets. Amar draws a sword from a sheath at his side. He rides out, then turns, running hard for the dead like a knight in a joust.

On the heath, the Winterlands creatures watch; some cower while others chant their approval:

“Sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice…”

As we watch in horror, Amar’s sword comes down on the dead. Kartik starts, and I hold fast to his arm. Their blood drips, and the roots accept it greedily. With a terrible scream, the souls of the victims are drawn into the enormous ash tree. Before our eyes, it grows even taller. Its mighty boughs stretch out in every direction like giant claws. The sky bleeds red.

Amar and the trackers place their hands to the tree’s twisted trunk, drinking in what power there is, while the army of creatures looks on.

“One day, you, too, shall feed,” a tracker shouts. “After the sacrifice.”

The creatures nod. “Yes, one day,” they answer, believing it without question.

“Our cause is just!” another one of the trackers shouts. His robes open to reveal the howling spirits within.

“Freedom is within our reach at last,” Amar thunders. “She has set the plan in motion. All pieces come together. When she gives the word, we will sacrifice their great priestess and both worlds—the realms and the mortals’—will fall to us.”

The creatures shout and raise their fists in imagined victory.

One of the trackers sniffs the air. “Something is amiss,” he howls. “I feel the living among us!”

Snarling and shrieking, the creatures turn on each other, pointing accusing fingers. One of the beasts jumps on the back of another with shouts of “Traitor!” before sinking his teeth into the other’s neck. The trackers try to take control but it is hard for them to be heard above the din.

“Kartik,” I whisper, “we must leave.”

He still stares at his cursed brother, his eyes wet. I do not wait for his response. Quickly, I pull him away from the crowd and the terrible sight of what his brother has become. We slip carefully through the crowd, narrowly avoiding the punches thrown. As we come to the chasm through the rock, I hear Amar shouting for order amidst the chaos. The sky screams. Another soul has been sacrificed, and the creatures unite, cheering.

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More skinless creatures slither from the rocks. They grab at our ankles with hands as slick and fast as fish, making me scream. It echoes for a moment, and I fear it shall be heard by the others. I kick at the thing’s hand. It slinks back into its hiding place, and I pull Kartik as quickly as I can toward the boat.

“Gorgon, we must leave with the utmost haste,” I say.

“As you wish, Most High.” She steers a course out of the Winterlands. I tell her what we have seen, though as a kindness, I do not mention Amar’s part in it. The churning sky eases into the indifferent dusk of the Borderlands, then into the bright blue near the Caves of Sighs, and into the orange sunset of the garden.

Kartik has not spoken a word the entire voyage. He has sat on deck, his knees drawn to his chest, his head buried in his hands. I do not know what to say. I would have spared him that.

“She,” I say, shaking my head. “She set the plan in motion.”

“What is it?” Gorgon asks.

An anger I’ve never known rises in me. “Circe. She made a pact with the creatures long ago, and she wanted me to think that was in the past. She’s never stopped trying to take back the power. I won’t be her pawn any longer.”

“What would you bid me do, Most High?”

“Ride to Philon and the forest folk. Tell them what has happened and that I would join hands with them tonight. I will return with my friends, and we will meet at the Temple. Offer to the Untouchables again as well. They may still be swayed.”

“As you wish.”

“Gorgon,” I call.

“Yes, Most High?”

I do not know how to ask what I want to know. “If I share the magic, if we join hands, will that end it?”

Gorgon shakes her head slowly. “I cannot say. These are strange days. Nothing is as it was before. All rules are forfeit, and no one knows what will happen.”

I lead Kartik over the path by the Borderlands and through the corridor. We step through the secret door onto the lawn of Spence. From the open windows above, I can hear applause and murmuring.

Nightwing announcing Miss Cecily Temple’s recitation of “The Rose of Battle.”

Everything is familiar and yet nothing seems as it was. Kartik won’t look at me, and I wish we could go back to that moment in the Caves of Sighs when we put our hands to the stones.

“That creature feeding souls to the tree. That was my brother.”

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“I’m very sorry.” I reach out my fingers but he will not be touched. “Kartik.”

“I’ve failed him. I’ve failed—”

He brushes past me and breaks into a run.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

I’M TREMBLING ASIRETURN TO THE MASKED BALL . AMAN in a Harlequin mask brushes past, startling me.

“Terribly sorry,” he says, giving me a smile that seems demonic beneath that hideous mask.

I slip back into the ballroom, where the girls perform their recital. I see Felicity sitting with Ann in her Lady Macbeth costume. “I must speak with you both at once,” I whisper, and they hurry after me to the library. Ann flips idly through a halfpenny paper:
Mabel: A Girl of Newbury School.
I’ve no doubt it follows the same story as all the others: A poor but decent girl is subjected to the cruel taunts of her school chums, only to be saved by a rich relative. And then all the petty schoolgirls are right sorry they’ve teased her so. But Mabel (or Annabelle or Dorothy—they are all the same) forgives them sweetly, never thinking a bad thought about anyone, and everyone has learned a valuable lesson in the end.

I should like to throw that rubbish on the fire.

“All right, Gemma. Out with it,” Felicity commands. “We’re missing the party.”

“The Winterlands creatures are not dying out. They have an army, thousands strong,” I say, words tumbling out of me as from a patient at Bedlam. “They’ve been sacrificing souls to the tree to gather their power, but they’re waiting for something. For someone.” I take a breath. “I believe it’s Circe.”

“Now you believe it,” Felicity says.

I ignore her jab. “We must go into the realms, return the dagger to Eugenia, and make the alliance—”

“You mean give back the magic?” Ann asks.

“It isn’t ours. It’s only borrowed—”

Felicity interrupts. “But what about Pip? We must tell her!”

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“Fee,” I start, “we can’t. If she is one of them—”

“She’s not! You just said it was Circe.” Felicity’s eyes narrow. “How did you come to know this, Gemma?”

Too late I realize my folly. “I went into the realms. To see.”

“Alone?” Felicity presses.

“No. With Kartik.”

Ann glares at me. “You took him in without telling us?”

“I needed to show him—”

“The realms belong to us, not him!” Felicity insists. “Only yesterday you said we shouldn’t go into the realms without one another. Now you’ve done it!”

“Yes, and I’m sorry, but this was another matter,” I argue, though even I can hear how weak it is.

“You lied!” Felicity shouts.

“Listen to me, please! Will you listen to me for one moment? I’ve asked Gorgon to gather the Hajin and the forest folk at the Temple so that we might share the magic with them. We must go tonight. Don’t you see?”

“I see that you don’t care what your friends think. What they want.” In her costume, Felicity is every bit the warrior maiden. Her eyes sparkle with hurt. “Pip warned me this might happen.”

“What do you mean? What did she say?” I ask.

“Why should I tell you? Perhaps you can ask Kartik. You share more confidences with him than you do with your friends.”

“I’m here with you now, aren’t I?” I say, my anger sparking.

“She said you wouldn’t like sharing the magic. That you never meant to, not the way she would,” Felicity says.

“That isn’t true.” But I cannot deny how much I have relished having something others did not.

Felicity takes Ann’s hand. “It’s no matter,” Felicity says, pulling Ann toward the door. “You forget that we may do as we please. We may enter the realms when we wish. With or without you.”

I pass through the rooms as if in a fever. The ballroom blooms with merry dancers. But I am not in the mood for dancing. In my mind, I see those horrid creatures, Amar leading the dead to sacrifice. I see the pain in Kartik’s eyes. I wonder where he has gone and when he will come back. If he will come back.

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People crowd the floor for a dance with intricate steps, but they follow them without mishap, and I am envious. For there are no steps for me to follow on this journey; I must find my own way. I cannot be part of this gaudy convocation of princesses and fairies, jesters and imps, specters and illusions. I am so very tired of illusions. I need someone to listen, to help me.

Father. I could tell him everything. The time has come for truth. I hurry through room after room, searching for him. Fowlson lurks in a corner. He sneers at me. “Joan of Arc. She came to a bad end, didn’t she?”

“You could come to a bad end now,” I whisper fiercely, and press on. At last, I see my father holding court with Mrs. Nightwing, Tom…and Lord Denby. I march straight up to the snake.