by Brom
Fuck her, he thought. She doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about. I didn’t abandon my mother. I’d never do that. He tried to push away the thoughts of his mother alone with Marko, but could think of nothing else. He saw her face. Could see Marko and his pals: Marko’s bulging, bloodshot eyes, his beastly grin, could still hear the way they’d laughed when they’d burned him. If they didn’t mind burning him, what were they capable of doing to her, to Granny? With him gone, they could do anything. God, he thought, she must be so scared. And on top of all that, Granny could barely even get out of bed these days. Mom’s got nowhere to go. No other family, no one else to help her. What’ve I done? His face clenched up and an ugly sob escaped his throat. He pressed his face into his hands and began to cry.
“Mom,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”
ULFGER DREW HIS broadsword from its scabbard. His thick, muscled arms twitched, seemed to ache to cut the boy in two. He took a step down the path, toward the ledge where Peter stood, hands on hips, legs wide, glaring down at him.
“You were warned, runt,” Ulfger said. “I will have your head.”
Tanngnost shuffled between them. “Lord Ulfger, if I may—”
Peter whipped out his long knife. “Come and get me, you one-eared fuck!” he shouted and let loose a wild hoot.
“Peter!” Tanngnost cried and shot the boy a nasty look. He wished Peter wouldn’t make it his mission to remind potential allies of prior mutilations.
“You can count on it,” Ulfger growled, and spat in the dirt.
“We didn’t come to fight!” Tanngnost cried, wondering how things could be spiraling out of control so quickly.
“TAKE HIM!” Ulfger shouted.
The elves all drew their swords.
“FOOLS!” Tanngnost thundered, and slammed his staff down, his powerful booming voice echoing through the forest. “Squabbling among yourselves like children. It is little wonder that we’re losing this war! Now put your swords away, all of you!”
The elves hesitated, looking to Ulfger.
Ulfger’s dark eyes fell on Tanngnost. “Mind your place, old goat. You give no orders here.”
“Forgive me, Lord Ulfger,” Tanngnost said and made a slight bowing gesture. “But please, just hear my say.”
“I’ve had enough of your schemes, your distortions, your half-truths.”
“The Flesh-eaters are burning Whisperwood,” Tanngnost said.
Surprise showed even across the elves’ stone faces.
“Liar,” Ulfger said. “Whisperwood can’t be burned.”
“Find a vantage point and you can see the fires for yourself.”
Ulfger narrowed his eyes.
“Peter being here, armed with nothing more than a knife, is proof enough,” Tanngnost said. “Do you believe he’d take such a risk were the need not dire? If the Lady were not in imminent danger? Not to mention setting aside his pride and old grievances to appeal to you?” The troll took in a deep breath. “He may be lacking in diplomatic skills, but his sword and life are sworn to the Lady. If he is willing to take such risks, can you not at least hear us out?”
“Go on then, speak your bit,” Ulfger conceded. “Then I will decide if he lives or dies.”
Tanngnost clutched his staff, struggled to stifle his temper. “No, Lord Ulfger,” he said levelly. “Not today you won’t. Need I remind you that it was your father that granted him a place in Avalon? He has earned the right with his own blood and the blood of his clan. If you should harm Peter here and now, under these circumstances, it will be nothing short of murder.”
Ulfger’s eyes flared. “Say your bit and be done,” he growled.
“Don the Horned Helm,” Tanngnost said. “Take up your rightful place and lead us into battle. The Flesh-eaters have grown weak. With your father’s sword leading we can drive them into the Mist. The Lady’s Guard, the Devils, even the witch and her horde, all of them, they will rally around the Horned Helm. They will follow you, Ulfger. You!”
Ulfger flinched and took a step back. He glanced about almost like an animal searching for an escape. “Whisperwood is not my concern,” he muttered.
“Do you believe they will stop with Whisperwood?”
Ulfger was silent for a long moment. “My duty lies with the Lady. I’ll not leave my post on the whimsy of some interlopers.”
“You hide behind long-dead oaths!” Peter shouted from atop the ledge.
Ulfger glowered up at the boy.
“If you wish to speak of duty then carry the sword,” Peter said. “Fight the Lady’s enemies before it’s too late.”
“Do not even pretend you have the right to talk to me, child thief,” Ulfger hissed.
Peter sheathed his knife, leaped down the ledge, and headed up the path toward Ulfger.
“Tread lightly young Peter,” Tanngnost warned.
Peter strolled boldly past Ulfger and right up to the line of elves. “And have the Lady’s Guard given up as well? Are there none who would stand with the wild children of Deviltree against the Lady’s enemies?” He waited, looking from face to face, then lowered his voice. “Tomorrow, at dawn, the Devils will be at Red Rock. We intend to drive the Flesh-eaters from Whisperwood. If we have to fight the Flesh-eaters alone, we will. But remember, if we should fall…so will you.”
The elves’ faces betrayed no sign, no emotion.
Ulfger clapped, laughing. “I see now. You’ve come here to amuse us with your jests. Unless you truly believe there are those among the Lady’s Guard foolish enough to follow a little boy, a mere child who plays at being a warlord, into battle.”
“Playing?” Peter grinned. “Sadly, even play-fighting the Flesh-eaters is more than the son of the Horned One can claim.”
Ulfger stopped laughing; his face became hard, his dark eyes cold. “My father’s clemency has spared you today, runt. But by my name, should I see you again in these woods there will be no banter, only your swift death.” Ulfger turned and headed back up the trail. The elves lingered a moment longer, staring at Peter with their narrow, cold eyes, then they too disappeared up the trail.
THREE SHARP RAPS hit the door. All the Devils stopped what they were doing; looked at one another, then to the door.
A large kid named Bear opened the peephole and a big grin lit his face. He threw the slat over and pulled the round door inward. “Well, well,” he said. “Look what the Devil dragged home!”
Peter rushed past, to the middle of the chamber, raising his knife high. “BLOOD IS CLAN AND CLAN IS BLOOD. ALL HAIL THE LORDS OF DEVILTREE!”
The Devils dropped whatever they were doing, leaped to their feet, and shouted, “BLOOD IS CLAN AND CLAN IS BLOOD!” They rushed toward Peter.
Nick could feel the excitement in the air like an electrical charge. The Devils danced and clamored around Peter as though he were the Messiah. Even the usually reserved Sekeu beamed like a schoolgirl.
The tall, lumbering troll came in quietly behind Peter and shut the door. No one appeared to notice, nor care. He made his way around the kids and eased himself onto a bench near the roots. He sat with his long face in his large hands, looking haggard and defeated.
Peter tried to speak, but the kids were all talking at the same time. Peter raised his hand and waited for the chamber to quiet down.
“I’m sure you’re all aware that things have become dire. The Flesh-eaters burn Whisperwood. It’s time for bold action and brave deeds.”
Their faces grew somber.
“That is why I took it upon myself to enter the Lady’s Wood, convinced Tanngnost that it was time to set aside old grievance and try to bring the clans together.”
The troll rolled his eyes.
Peter thumped his chest. “I braved the Lady’s Wood, stood alone before Ulfger and his horde of elves with nothing but my knife. And I challenged Ulfger, dared him to stand with us against the Flesh-eaters.”
The Devils held their breaths, leaned forward.
Peter spat
on the ground. “The coward refused.”
Some of the kids booed, there were shouts of “who needs him,” but Nick also saw several troubled faces.
“Don’t fear. For I have a plan.” A devilish smile lit Peter’s face. “Such a wicked plan. The Devils will have their day of glory, this I promise.” Peter raised his knife above his head and shouted: “FOR WHO ARE THE TRUE GUARDIANS OF THE LADY?”
The kids erupted. “THE DEVILS!”
“AND WHO ARE THE TRUE LORDS OF AVALON?”
“THE DEVILS!”
Peter held his hand up until the chamber again quieted. “As I’m sure you’ve all heard by now, the Devils stood against the witch today.”
They cheered.
“Held their own against Ginny Greenteeth’s entire horde!”
More hoots and cheers.
“Not only that, but one of our New Blood has proven himself worthy. In defense of his clan, he singlehandedly killed two barghest and saved the lives of three New Bloods.” Peter’s voice dropped. “Devils…prepare!”
Two Devils ran around the chamber, dousing the torches and lanterns until only a single torch burned on the central pillar above Peter’s head.
Sekeu handed Peter a tattered gray wolf pelt. Peter slipped it over his head like a hood, so that his eyes peeked out from the mask. Peter hopped up onto a stone at the pillar’s base. He threw his arms up with a theatrical flourish. The chamber fell dead quiet. “Bring me the body of Leroy!”
Leroy looked both delighted and terrified. Redbone and several of the Devils grabbed him and jostled him over to Peter.
The Devils formed a semicircle, all facing Peter. Sekeu brought Peter a knife and sword, both in scabbards and tied to a wide, studded belt.
Peter slid out the knife, held it before Leroy’s eyes, letting the flicking torchlight dance along its sharp edge. “Leroy, do you give your blood to the Devils?”
Leroy looked at the knife and hesitated, finally letting out a timid “Yes.”
“All have heard…he gives his blood willingly,” Peter cried.
The Devils began to clack their teeth.
Leroy glanced about, eyes wide. Nick could see he was breathing fast.
“Hold out your hands,” Peter said, his golden eyes grave, almost angry.
Leroy slowly brought up his hands. They were trembling. He winced.
Peter laid the hilt of the knife in Leroy’s palm, clasped Leroy’s hand in his, so that together they held the knife.
“This belongs to you now,” Peter said in a hushed, reverent tone.
Leroy’s face flushed with relief. He looked at the knife, overjoyed.
Sekeu handed Peter the sword and belt. Peter knelt and buckled the belt around Leroy’s waist, then stood, clasping Leroy on each shoulder. “Welcome brother. Welcome to the clan of Deviltree.”
Leroy beamed.
“One has put his life on the line for his clan!” Peter shouted. “Stood face to face against two barghest! His reward is our brotherhood. Mark this day as the day Leroy earned the right to wear a sword, earned the right to be called a DEVIL! LONG LIVE THE CLAN OF DEVILTREE!”
The Devils exploded in cheers and hoots. They snatched Leroy up onto their shoulders and began to parade him around the chamber, chanting his name.
“I will claw out his eyes,” Nick hissed and clenched his hands into tight fists, digging his nails into his palms. “Burn his face. Stab him. Stab him. Stab—” Nick clamped his teeth together tightly. What was he saying? He shook his head, tried to clear away the acid, the venom. What had come over him? What was he thinking?
He watched them tromp by, saw Leroy laughing and beaming with joy.
Hatred swept over him again. He felt the frustration and anger welling up within him, and all at once a flush of heat bloomed in his stomach. The venom climbed up his throat. That fucking shit. Dig out his eyes. Tear his flesh. Stomp his skull into the stones! Nick clutched his head. No, he thought. Fuck it. I don’t give a fuck. But another part of him did care, cared very much.
The pounding in his head grew worse. He wondered if it had anything to do with the poison from the barghest. It felt more like in his dream, right before he’d turned into that demon thing. He needed something to drink. He glanced about, caught the troll watching him. He sucked in a deep breath. Let it go, he told himself. Get some water, cool down.
He got up and poured himself a mug of water, then headed over to the table, as far from everyone as he could get.
The troll gave him a concerned look as he passed.
Nick stared at the table, did his best to ignore the celebration. There was a nut pinned between the boards of the table, and he began to pick at it. Something, anything to keep his mind off Leroy, off the violence pounding in his head. The nut popped free. He batted it between his hands. It’s been a long day, that’s all, he thought. Shit, between almost getting killed, and all this bullshit with Leroy, well, being in a bad mood is understandable. Right?
Two pixies alighted on the table, well out of arm’s reach, and watched the nut.
Tonight Nick found he could hardly stand the sight of the little blue people. He swatted at them with the back of his hand. “Scat.”
They stuck out their tongues and wagged their butts at him. Nick felt the heat grow in his stomach, the venom in his throat. He rubbed his head. What’s wrong with me?
Peter was talking to Leroy now.
Nick stopped rolling the nut.
Peter was obviously congratulating Leroy. Pumping his hand up and down and patting him on the back. Leroy was all grins.
Nick’s lip quivered and his fingernails dug into the table.
One of the pixies flicked Nick’s ear, while the other tried for the nut. Nick swatted violently at them. They flitted out of the way, giggling.
Nick couldn’t hear what Leroy was saying, but it was obvious by his exaggerated pantomimes that he was describing how he’d killed the barghest.
The heat in Nick’s stomach began to burn, just like in the dream, and just like in the dream, he felt murder growing in his heart. Not just for Leroy, but for everyone.
One of the pixies yanked a tuft of Nick’s hair while the second one snatched for the nut again, and Nick felt the venom take him.
He howled and hurled the mug at the pixie. It struck the pixie in midair, knocking it to the ground. The mug clanged across the stone floor.
The hall fell silent.
The pixie screamed, and the cry of pain brought Nick back. Nick watched it fluttering, trying to get up. It was hurt. Had he done that? Yes, he knew he had. But how could he have done such a thing? How could he have lost control like that?
He heard Cricket gasp and looked up; everyone was staring at him.
Redbone slid out his knife and started toward him.
“No,” Peter said.
“What?” Redbone said. “He needs a lesson. Needs a mark.”
“No,” Peter repeated.
SEKEU CLEARED HER throat. “Nick will have to be killed.”
“No,” Peter said.
Tanngnost let out a sigh and thought, This will not be easy. He looked out over the ever-thinning canopy of leaves. The watchtower had always been a good place for counsel, a place to clear the mind. The bit of moon glow that found its way through the low-hanging clouds glistened silver off the dewy limbs. He saw a few fireflies, and thought back to when the trees had been lush and the night alive with the glimmer of a million tiny faeries. Tanngnost hooked his pipe in his mouth, inhaled deeply, then exhaled, watching the smoke drift away on the light breeze. “She’s right, Peter. There’s no other choice.”
“No,” Peter repeated.
“He’s turning,” Tanngnost said. “And if we wait until it’s too late, it’ll be worse for all of us. If the kids see him turn—worse, if they see us kill him, think what that will do for morale. We need to act now.”
Peter pursed his lips and shook his head adamantly.
“Nick is showing all the signs,” Sekeu said.<
br />
Peter didn’t answer. He pulled his legs up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and put his chin on his knees.
Ever the contradiction, Tanngnost thought. One moment a cold-hearted killer, the next a sentimental boy, always the eternal optimist despite a lifetime of tragedy. Of course, that’s his glamour. The very thing that draws the children to him, makes them love him despite so many contradictions.
“Nick is having the nightmares,” Sekeu said. “I hear him at night. You can see darkness in his eyes in the morning.”
Peter’s brow tightened.
“You saw him tonight,” she said. “He is having trouble controlling his anger. You know that is the last sign before they turn for good.”
Peter looked up. “What, because he swatted a pixie? Who hasn’t? The little pests will run over you if you don’t.”
“No, Peter,” Tanngnost said. “That wasn’t a swat. I was watching him. The darkness had him. He meant to kill that pixie.”
“I found one dead the other night,” Sekeu said. “Someone had crushed it.”
Peter looked at her. “What? No.”
“Yes.”
“He’ll beat it,” Peter said. “We’ve had others that went through it: older boys, just starting puberty, their bodies always fight the magic.”
“Yes,” Sekeu said. “But they do not go so far. One night, maybe two of bad dreams and stomachaches and that is all.”
Tanngnost sucked in a deep breath. “We can’t risk another Roger.” There, he’d said it. “Not now. Not with everything at stake.”
Sekeu gave Peter a hard look. Peter’s face clouded. He looked away into the night sky.
Tanngnost knew it was cruel to bring up Roger. He hated having to, but he had to get through to Peter, and with Peter sometimes this was the only way. Roger had been too old. Like with Nick, it started with the stomachaches, the dreams, then he began to have violent outbursts. One moment Roger seemed fine, then he’d lose control. He’d have that same confused look that Nick had: trying to understand why. Horrible thing to have to watch. Roger turned while out gathering berries. Sekeu told them one minute Roger was picking berries the next he attacked another New Blood, stabbed Sam over and over in the face, neck, and stomach. Sekeu had been the one to kill Roger, then had the task of putting Sam out of his misery.