by Brom
A SCREAM SNATCHED the child thief from his thoughts.
One of the little kids, a boy, lay on the ground in front of the monkey bars. Two older boys stood over him laughing, not teenagers, just bigger boys, maybe eleven or twelve.
The small boy climbed back to his feet and tried to wipe the mud from the front of his T-shirt. Two chubby girls of about seven or eight ran up and stood on either side of him, braids sprouting from their heads.
“Leave him alone,” one of the girls said. She jutted out her chin and planted her hands firmly on her hips. Her friend followed suit.
The handful of children in the playground stopped playing and began to gather around.
“You want me to kick your ass too?” the big boy said and shoved the girl, knocking her to her knees. His pal chuckled.
“Don’t you push her!” the little boy shouted, his muddy hands balled into fists, his face full of fear and hate. Peter shook his head, knowing that soon this little boy would be just as mean as these bigger kids, because meanness had an ugly way of spreading.
“What you gonna do about it?”
“We was here first,” the second girl shouted as she pulled her friend back up.
“Well, we’re here now,” the big kid said. “So get the fuck outta here less you want me to kick all your stupid little asses.”
When none of them moved, the big kid stepped forward. “You think I’m fucking around? I said—” He saw Peter standing next to the little boy. A confused expression crossed his face as though unsure just where Peter had come from. He glanced back at his pal, but his friend looked just as surprised.
The child thief pulled his hood back and locked his golden eyes on the two big kids, the same eyes that had backed down a full-grown wolf. He didn’t say a word, just stared at them.
The big kids seemed to deflate. “C’mon,” the kid said to his pal. “Playgrounds are for candy-asses.” They left, casting anxious looks back over their shoulders as they went.
“Hey, kid,” the little girl said. “You got funny ears.”
Peter grinned at her and wiggled his ears. The kids all burst out laughing.
“You wanna play with us?” asked the boy.
“I do,” Peter said. “I most certainly do.” His eyes gleamed devilishly. “But not today. Today I have to find a friend.”
Chapter Seven
Sekeu
Nick sat on the floor with his back firmly against the wall. His aching head felt like it would never stop ringing. He touched his swollen lip and winced. At this point, he felt fairly confident that no one was going to eat him, at least not this morning. He rested his head against the stone works and watched the kids go about their madness.
Half-naked kids darted about in all directions, pushing and yelling, but somehow, out of the chaos, fires were started, torches were lit, bowls were brought out of cupboards, and soon the air smelled of soot and smoke. Nick tried to count the kids, but they moved around too much. He guessed around twenty all together, and was amazed at the ruckus they could make.
Soft morning light flickered along the stone-and-dirt floor. Nick could see a sparse canopy of limbs through the few breaks in the roof. He scanned the chamber: it was a bit smaller than a basketball court. His eyes returned over and over to the hanging bodies in the far corner. They’d looked so real in the fog, but now, in the light, it was plain to see that they were just straw dummies. Why there should be straw dummies hanging from the rafters was a mystery, but at this point they were the least of his concerns.
The place was a mess: cages and tarps strewn all along one wall, clothes piled up in and on top of old barrels, candy bar wrappers, crumbled cigarette boxes and butts among the straw and leaves, old, blackened chewing gum worn into the stones. The only thing that was neat were the weapons, glistening with fresh oil and hung in nice rows, along with various types of leather armor, helmets, and pads.
Cooking smells caught Nick’s attention: a nutty, cinnamon aroma. Nick was surprised when his stomach began to growl. How his stomach could think of food after all that had happened was beyond him. He watched them fill their bowls up with a soupy goop. Was that gruel? Nick wasn’t even sure what gruel was, much less what it looked like, but he bet it looked a lot like that stuff.
One by one the kids plopped down onto the benches on either side of a long wooden table and began to eat. Nick still had a hard time believing what he was seeing: wild-haired savages slurping, smacking, yelling, and laughing with large gobs of food in their mouths, several using their hands instead of the big wooden spoons. All the while the little blue people flew about trying to snatch stray berries and nuts.
Another growl came from Nick’s stomach. He really wanted a bowl of whatever it was they were eating. But there was no way he was going to beg to be fed, not after the way they’d treated him.
A girl walked purposely over to him. She had the wide cheekbones and a strong jawline of a Native American Indian. Her body was lean and sinewy. At first glance, she appeared to be around his age, but as she neared, he noted the hard set of her face—especially the eyes, they didn’t look like the eyes of a child—and it became tougher to guess. Her copper-colored skin was dirty and dotted with scars, leaving no doubt she’d seen her fair share of trouble. Her long black hair was captured in twin braids that ran down her back. Two black wings were threaded through a broad, beaded headband. The feathers swept downward from the sides of her head, the tips touching the tops of each shoulder, giving her a noble bearing. She carried a bowl and a wooden spoon.
She stopped in front of Nick and stared down at him. Her eyes were gold like Peter’s, but large and intense. Nick dropped his gaze and stared at the floor.
“I brought you food,” she said, and held the bowl out to him.
The nutty smell tugged at Nick but he ignored her.
“Do not be a child. Eat,” she said. Her words were stilted, spaced. Nick could tell English wasn’t her native tongue.
Nick said nothing.
She gave him a moment longer, then turned to leave.
“Wait.” Nick forced the word out.
She looked at him, her eyes hard, uncompromising.
Nick held his hand out for the bowl.
She continued to stare at him.
“Please,” Nick said through clenched teeth.
She handed him the bowl.
Nick gave the goop a stir. It looked like chunky oatmeal. He scooped a small clump onto the wooden spoon and gave it a nibble. He noticed a touch of bitter beneath the sweet but it was pretty good.
Careful of his busted lip, Nick began to eat. The gruel was warm and felt good going down; as a matter of fact, it warmed up his whole body.
She sat down, cross-legged, in front of him. “Your name is Nick?”
Nick nodded.
“My name is Sekeu.” There was a long pause. “You should know you did well with the red devil. Most kids are too frightened to fight back. I believe there is a warrior in your heart. You just need skills. We will begin training today.”
Nick stopped eating. “Training?”
“To become a warrior. To become clan. To become a—Devil.”
“What?”
“You must learn to fight. To defend yourself and your clan.” She said this so matter-of-factly that for a moment Nick thought he might be the crazy one.
“Clan? You mean that bunch of assholes?” Nick jabbed his thumb toward the kids. “You think I want to join their little jerk-off club?”
The kids had pulled swords and spears down from the walls and were practicing basic moves—leaps, thrusts, stances, and so on—while others paired off for light sparring. In spite of himself, Nick was fascinated by their speed and agility as they knocked each other back and forth across the floor. How can they move like that?
“Peter has brought you here to offer you a chance,” Sekeu said sternly.
“To become clan, to become a child of Faerie. Do you have any idea what that means? It is a chance at eternal y
outh, to live wild and free for a thousand years.”
Nick stared at Sekeu. “What’re you talking about? And where is Peter? Where the hell did that bastard go?”
Sekeu’s eyes narrowed. “Choose your words carefully, Nick. There are those here that would kill you for calling Peter such.” Judging by her face, Nick was pretty sure she was one of them. Nick let out a frustrated sigh.
“Peter is gone to search out more children for the clan,” she said.
“What?” Nick could hardly find the words. “You mean to kidnap more kids.”
She gave him a sharp look. “Talk to them.” Sekeu pointed around the chamber at the kids. “Ask them their story. Peter finds the lost, the left-behind, the abused. Is that not why you are here? Did Peter not save you?”
“Peter tricked me.”
“What would have happened last night had Peter not shown up? Where were you going to go, eat, sleep?” Again she pointed to the other kids. “If what they say is true, then how long before you were selling drugs, or as they would put it, before some pimp made you his boy? Or would you have returned home? Do you wish to go back home now?”
Home, Nick thought. He couldn’t go home. Not ever. But that didn’t mean he wanted to be held captive on some island full of monsters, either. “Just where is here? Just what kind of place is this?”
“Here is the isle of Avalon, the sanctuary of the Sidhe and the realm of the Queen Modron, the Lady of the Lakes. Here is the refuge for the last of earth’s enchanted creatures.” Sekeu’s eyes locked on his, her voice becoming more and more intense. “Here is Devilwood, the domain of Devil Kind, the children of the wolf mask. We are the lost, the wild, the untamable. We are the—”
“Okay, okay,” Nick interrupted, rolling his eyes, realizing he was getting nowhere. “Look, you can’t make me play this stupid game. You got that? I want no part of it.”
She laughed, a cutting, cold sound. “Fool. No one will bother to make you. You still do not understand. This is not a gift. It is something you must earn. Peter has brought you here at great peril to himself. What you do from here is up to you. If you wish to leave, then leave.”
“I’m not a prisoner? I can just walk out of here?”
“If that is what you really wish.”
Nick laughed and shook his head. “Are you kidding me? I’m so out of here.”
She glared at him. “That is the problem with you runaways. You believe you can always run from your troubles.”
“I didn’t run away,” Nick snapped.
Now she was the one shaking her head.
“Well, I did. But it wasn’t like that. Look, you don’t know anything about me.”
But she looked like she did know, like she’d seen it all too many times before. “One cannot be forced to become a Devil, a child of Faerie. It is a hard enough thing if you want it with all your heart. You must take on the challenge of your own free will or the spirit of the forest will never bind with you.”
“Yeah, okay. Whatever. Can you just tell me how I get out of here already?”
She gave him a long, hard look, then pointed toward a large round door at the far end of the chamber.
Nick sat the bowl down and got to his feet. He wiped his hands on his pants, flipped his bangs from his face, and headed for the round door. As he trekked across the hall, one by one, the kids stopped what they were doing and watched him.
A black boy trotted up alongside of him. The kid was a few inches shorter than Nick and missing his left hand just above the wrist. He appeared younger than the others, maybe as young as ten, hard to tell for certain. He had an honest, plain face and kindly eyes, his hair was pulled back into two braids with long blue ribbons woven into their ends. “You leaving already?” he asked in a slight Southern drawl.
Nick kept walking.
“Here.” The boy tried to hand Nick the spear he was carrying. Nick pushed it away.
“Kid, it’d be murder to send you out there without a weapon of some sorts. Now you need to listen up. You come across some of them barghest, you be sure not to show no fear. Got that? They sense you’re afraid then they’ll get after you for sure.”
Nick came to the door and stopped.
“Now, hear me,” the boy continued. “I’m not playing with you. You’re gonna be a-wantin’ this.” He shoved the spear in Nick’s hands.
Nick took the spear and looked at it, positively mortified.
“Oh, yeah. And if the Flesh-eaters track you down, you just drop that there spear and get running. Because,” he laughed, “they’ll just shove the damn thing right up your ass.”
Nick set his hand on the door slat, but didn’t slide it over.
“Here let me help you with that,” somebody said. This voice was deeper than that of the one-handed kid. Nick turned and found himself looking up into the stern eyes of the tall Devil boy.
“My name’s Redbone. Sorry we won’t have the chance to get to know each other better.” He smiled coldly and yanked the bolt over, pulling the thick round door inward. The wooden hinges whined as the door swung open.
Nick immediately noticed the gouged marks on the outside of the door—long, deep slashes running down the splintered wood.
“Don’t mind those,” Redbone said. “The barghest like to sharpen their claws there, that’s all.”
It was gray, musty. Nick could just make out the shapes of a few gnarled stumps and trees, but the rest of the forest fell away into a wall of shifting mist. From somewhere far out, he heard a single howl. Nick recognized that call, would never forget it as long as he lived. It was the same howl that the shadowy hunched creatures, the ones with the orange eyes, had made the night Peter brought him in from the Mist.
Nick found himself incapable of moving.
Redbone put a hand on his back, easing him forward, and started to push the door shut behind him.
“Wait!” Nick cried, slapping a hand on the door. He turned around; they were all staring at him.
“Yes?” Redbone asked, a smirk pushing at the corner of his mouth.
Nick’s lips began to quiver. He started to say something, but was too mad, too afraid he would start crying.
Redbone stared at him. “Maybe you’d like to stay and make some friends? You just might live longer with some friends watching your back.”
Chapter Eight
Nathan
The child thief watched the park lamps hum to life one by one. Night had come early beneath the incessant drizzle. The deep shadows from the towering tenement buildings squeezed together and there was no longer a soul in sight. Peter refused to admit that another day was lost, he couldn’t afford another day, not with the Captain on the prowl in Avalon. He pushed through the row of buildings, onto another, then another.
He spotted two figures dodging lamplights and darting from shadow to shadow. Even across the wide courtyard, Peter could tell that these kids were runaways, could almost smell it. A grin snuck across his face—the game was on.
The child thief trailed them into the stairwell of a large building, slipping beneath the stairs. The stairwell smelled of piss and vomit, mold and stale garbage. He leaned back into the shadows, trying not to inhale through his nose as the two boys conversed in low, anxious tones.
Now that they were in the light, Peter could see they had to be brothers, the older one maybe fifteen or sixteen, the younger one no more than twelve. The older boy had a scrape on his forehead, his left eye was swollen, the knees of his jeans torn and bloody. Someone had beaten him.
“What we gonna do?” the younger boy asked.
“We just gonna tell him.”
“No way!”
“Nathan, what else we supposed to do?”
“You think he’s gonna believe us?” Nathan said, the anxiety in his voice rising along with the volume. “That was his dope. He’s gonna blame us, or think maybe we stole it.”
It’s the same story, Peter thought. Drugs. These days it was always the drugs. But Peter had seen too much, k
new too well that men-kind didn’t need an excuse to be cruel and murder one another. If it wasn’t drugs, then there was always something else.
“Shh,” the bigger boy said, glancing furtively up the stairwell. He threw an arm around Nathan. “Chill now. Your big bro got it covered. I’m tight with Henry. He’ll work with us. Hell, if he wants to get paid back he’ll have to. Now won’t he?” The bigger boy was trying to sound cocky, cool, like he had it all together, but Peter knew he was just as scared as his younger brother, maybe more so.
“We can just leave,” Nathan said. “Get outta here. To another town maybe.”
“Don’t you understand? We got nothing, man. Not hardly a damn dollar.” A tremor was creeping into the older boy’s voice. “You know anybody gonna take us in around here? Especially if Henry’s after us? Or do you wanna go back and live with the old man?”
The younger boy shook his head hard. “No. I’m never going back there. Never.”
“Look, I got us into this. I’m gonna get us out. Now you just wait here—”
Nathan grabbed his bigger brother’s arm. “No, Tony. Don’t leave me.” His voice cracked, his eyes welled up. “Please don’t go up there. Man, please! Please don’t go up there.”
“Stop blubbering,” Tony said sternly. “You start with that baby shit and I’m gonna leave you for good. You want that?”
The younger boy’s face became terrified. “No!” he said and wiped his eyes on his sleeves. “I’m sorry. I’ll be cool. I promise.”
“I know you’ll be cool, ’cause you’re the Coolio.” He rubbed the younger boy’s head, and a big smile lit Nathan’s face.
“Just wait here,” the bigger boy said. “He ain’t gonna kill me for one fuckup. I’ll be back in a minute and everything will be fine.” He held up his fist. “Give it up.” Nathan tapped his knuckles against his brother’s fist.
“Hang tight, Coolio,” the older boy said and headed up the stairs.