by Brom
Abraham looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. “You do have a death wish.”
“The elves are too vigilant,” Sekeu said.
“Well, that leaves the witch’s swamp,” Redbone said.
They all fell quiet.
“Well?” Abraham asked, looking at Sekeu.
Sekeu shook her head. “What other choice do we have?”
THEY FOLLOWED THE creek downstream until the land began to level out. The water turned brown and led into a marsh of high, gray reeds. The reeds gave way to squat twisted trees with slick, black, oily bark, their branches dripping with thick moss. The path became soggy then muddy, grabbing at their feet. The trees pressed in around them as the path wove around weedy bogs and stagnant ponds.
Nick didn’t like it; other than an occasional bellow, the swamp was still and silent, the air musty and stifling. Even Redbone had fallen deathly quiet, all of them creeping along, weapons out, keeping a tight watch on the trees and murky pools. Nick felt as though he was in a sideshow spook house, knowing something would pop out at any second. He was worn out, his feet sore, and the dread was wearing on his nerves. He decided he’d had all the adventuring he needed for one day, and found himself actually longing to be back at the fort.
A cry came from behind and Nick spun about in time to see Danny sliding down a short embankment and into a pool of black, viscous mud.
“HELP!” Danny cried as he clawed at the slippery bank. The mud bubbled up around him. It was up to his waist in no time and appeared to be pulling him down.
Redbone leaped over, grabbed a root in one hand, and snatched a hold of Danny’s wrist with the other. Dash and Dirk were there in a second and it took all three of them to finally pull Danny out.
“Hey Danny,” Redbone said. “Next time you decide to drown yourself, try not to make so much noise. Okay?”
Danny looked like he was about to cry. He’d lost both his boots and was covered from the neck down in stringy, oily mud. The mud gurgled loudly behind him and he scurried away from the bank.
“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 slam
med 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.
Chapter Twelve
Lady Modron’s Garden
Peter 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 th
is 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.