by Brom
Peter leaped up and began to pace the floor. “That was only the beginning of the dark days ahead,” he said and cocked his head as though hearing something far away. “When I think back to that time, it is the drums I hear.” Peter thumped his chest. “I can still hear them in my heart. For the Lady called on the Great Horned One to come out of the forest and crush the men, to drive them from our shores and into the Mist. He came from out of the deepest darkest wood, his eyes flaming beneath the Horned Helm. He beat his war drum and called all the folk to arms. He called for them to remember how to use their horns, teeth, and claws, to remember how to be terrible, to remember what it is like to darken the earth with the blood of men-kind.
“And hear this!” Peter stuck out his chest, his face beamed with pride. “The Horned One came here…to Deviltree! The Lord of Avalon came to us! He called for our swords! Offered us a place among the faerie fold in return for our allegiance.
“Do you know why?” Peter looked across the faces. “Because the Devils knew what it means to fight for your place in this wicked world. Because none had fought harder to escape the evils of men and none were hungrier to rid our land of their stink. The Horned One knew this well. He, the Horned One, danced with us around the fire that night as we sharpened our knives and teeth.
“Our hearts were ignited. All the island was united beneath the Horned One’s banner. Seelie and Unseelie alike dug out their weapons of old, dusted off their shields and armor, sharpened their swords and spears. We painted our faces and all that night we beat our drums, howling and wailing. Hoping to put the fear of ancient ones back in the hearts of the men and drive them into the Mist. The warriors of Avalon gathered at the edge of the forest and awaited dawn’s first light. But the invaders didn’t leave. Instead they dug trenches and hid within them.
“When the first glow of dawn lit up the misty morning, the Great Horned One walked out of the forest and stood before us like a mighty oak. The morning light glistened off his majestic antlers. He beat his fist twice upon his chest and raised his mighty sword, Caliburn, high above his head. Horns rang out all along the forest line. When he brought the sword down, we charged.
“Elves, gnomes, minotaurs, centaurs, all manner of faerie folk, trolls, even the goblins had answered the Horned One’s call; never before had such an army been seen. I’ll never forget that day, as ageless enemies put aside their differences to come to Avalon’s defense. We were here to save our very world. I knew there’d be a thousand songs sung about this legion and was proud to count myself among them. My senses were alive, never had the dew smelled so fresh and the air so crisp. I raised my sword, howled, and followed the Horned One into battle.”
Peter snatched a spear from the wall, pointed it at an imaginary foe. “We charged, well over five hundred strong. Such a sight we made, rushing down upon the enemy with weapons high and banners waving, and such a sound, like thunder, as we beat our swords and spears against our shields. And none howled louder than the Devils. We were hungry to paint the tide red with the blood of the invader. We bore down upon their camp and yet still they waited in their trenches. We thought them too scared to meet us on the battlefield. We were from a different age. We knew nothing of modern warfare, of fighting with muskets and…cannon.”
Peter’s voice dropped. “All five ships gave us a broadside. The thunder of those cannons was so loud that at times I swear I can still hear their echo. I saw limbs torn from bodies. Bodies turned to meat. Whole heads disappeared in a spray of blood.” His voice broke. “Never had I thought such carnage possible.
“Those not killed or maimed in the first volley were lost in shock, not knowing to run or fight, unable to even understand what was happening. Too many just stood there with wide eyes and were cut down as volley after volley ripped through our ranks. The air came alive with their screams, their cries of pain and terror. But,” Peter said, his voice swelling with pride, “not the Devils. No, we did not lose our wits. It was us that stood beside the Horned one, we that did not waver. He continued to push ahead and we followed. The men behind the trenches stood and began shooting their muskets. And it was only then that the Devils began to lose our numbers. The Horned One was hit repeatedly and still he continued forward. He climbed the embankment and attacked.
“They paid the price then. The men screamed and ran from his blazing eyes and terrible sword as he waded through them, cutting them down by the dozen. The Devils rallied and came to his side, and that was when we heard the thunder, when the very earth erupted beneath our feet as cannon shot exploded all around us.
“When the smoke cleared, the Horned One was lying still upon a mound of scorched earth, his body blown to bits, around him the bodies of our clan.” Peter slammed the spear down across his knee, splintering the staff into two pieces. The Devils started. “The men had killed the Great Horned One. They slaughtered my clan.”
Peter’s chin fell to his chest. He closed his eyes and could still see their faces, their mangled, shattered bodies, smell the stench of charred flesh. The rest was a jumble: Sekeu helping him back up the beach, thick, choking smoke, pain, the endless ringing in his ears, the two of them stumbling toward the forest, trying not to slip in the pools of blood and gore as they climbed over the bodies of the dead and dying.
Tanngnost spoke up then, low, but the hall was so quiet not a word was lost. “The story didn’t end there. If only it had. Those that survived fell back into the hills, crawling into holes, dens, and caves, or any place they could find to hide away and lick their wounds.
“We waited for the men to leave. We hoped and begged the ancient gods to chase them off, but they did not leave. Instead they built their fort, cleared the land to plant crops and build pens for their livestock. And worst of all, they erected a Christ church, defiling the very sanctity of Avalon.
“Large platoons of men began entering the forest, never venturing far, but killing any creatures they found. And they ate what they killed. Not just the wild game, no, they ate the magical ones as well. And this, you might have guessed, is how we came to call them Flesh-eaters.
“Then they began to burn the forest. Why? I can only guess at the madness of these demons. To create a barrier between them and us perhaps? Whatever the reason, they’ve become obsessed with clearing the whole island of our kind. To burn down every tree, burn out every hole and den where we might live or hide. Year after year, they burned more and more.
“At first we thought we could outlast them. Thought maybe they’d wither and die, as men-kind do in the human world. But dying is not so easy in Avalon. We’ve no sickness or disease here, at least not of the kind found in the human world. And we don’t age the same either. Peter has been here since before the Romans entered Britain. Myself, I do not know. Men-kind were still hairy beasts wearing furs and stone weapons when I was young. Some creatures live for millennia without aging at all. As you can see, I have grown old while Peter never seems to age. Sekeu and Abraham have been here over a century and have barely changed. That’s just the way of faerie. This same magic, unfortunately, also keeps the Flesh-eaters alive.
“But the magic does more than extend the Flesh-eaters’ lives. Because Avalon is enchanted, only those with a magical nature can live here in harmony. Children like yourselves are full of magic, but the men have turned, they’ve lost their magic to the fear and hatred they harbor for all that they can’t explain, control, or understand. And so the magic twists them, blackens their hides. They sprout claws and horns and turn into the demons they truly are.
“So we began to understand our plight. Something had to be done or Avalon would be destroyed and lost forever. Some went to the Lady, hoping she could unite the remnants of Avalon, but her grief was too great—the loss of Hiisi, the Horned One, and so many magical creatures had driven her to despair. The elves told that she withdrew within the Haven, slept in the pond beneath Avallach’s Tree. She’d become inconsolable and it took all her remaining will just to keep the Mist alive. Soon, Ulfger forbade
any to visit her.
“By then, the men no longer had reliable gunpowder, but even without their musket and cannon they were far too numerous and formidable for a direct assault. There were a few vain attempts at organized resistance, but without the Horned One, they quickly fell apart due to mistrust and squabbling. The various folk of faerie withdrew back into their own territories. Ulfger took leadership of the Lady’s Wood for himself and forbade any to enter or leave. Avalon had become a wake.
“Decades passed and the Flesh-eaters became bolder and bolder, their forays penetrating deep into the heart of Avalon. They met little resistance and it became obvious that it was only a matter of time before they would discover Avalon’s last sanctuary, the Haven, and thus the Lady and Avallach’s Tree.”
Peter sprang forward, the fire back in his eyes. He pointed the spearhead at the kids. “And that, Devils, is where you came in. Time moves faster in the human world and during our strife the world had moved on. Great cities had sprung up, a civil war engulfed the America land, and as usual it was the children who suffered. I found the orphaned, the abused, the lost and starving, gathered together those who wished a chance at a better life and were courageous enough to fight for it and brought them here.
“It wasn’t long before Deviltree again rung with the shouts and cries of sparring warriors. The Devils were back and ready to reclaim Avalon. Tanngnost set out seeking allies, those brave enough to stand with us. He went to the witch, to Ulfger, but all they did was laugh. ‘What,’ they asked, ‘could a handful of throwaway children do against the Flesh-eaters? How could children dare hope to succeed where the Horned One had failed?’ They laughed at us while huddled in their dying beleaguered forest.
“Well, the Devils did not hide. No, we went to war!” Peter said, slapping the flat of the spearhead into the palm of his hand with a loud smack. “We played by our own rules, setting ambushes, tricks, and traps, going after the Flesh-eaters’ crops and stockpiles. We harried the men at every turn, and soon it was the Flesh-eaters that were afraid—afraid to come into the forest, afraid to leave their fort at night. The tide began to turn and there was hope for Avalon once again. All because a group of ragtag children that nobody wanted or believed in came together and fought for the Lady. Because you, the Lords of Deviltree, would not give up. Will never give up!”
Peter stood, feet planted wide, chest out. “My tale doesn’t end there, for the end has yet to be written.” He pointed with the spearhead. “You are the writers of this tale now. How it ends is up to each of you. You’re the Lords of Deviltree, the deadliest, most courageous warriors Avalon has ever seen. The proud defenders of the Lady and Avallach’s Tree. Make no mistake, it will not be easy, but if you are stout of heart, are valiant in your deeds, if you are dedicated to ridding Avalon once and for all of these demons, then this story will end well. For the world of faerie is strong and resolute. Mark my words, once the Flesh-eaters are gone Avalon will heal itself, and from that day on you’ll be the true Lords of Avalon. Your tale sung for a thousand ages!” Peter raised the spearhead and shouted, “BLOOD IS CLAN AND CLAN IS BLOOD. ALL HAIL THE LORDS OF DEVILTREE!”
“BLOOD IS CLAN AND CLAN IS BLOOD!” the kids screamed and jumped to their feet, waving their fists and pogoing into one another. Peter leaped among them, spurring them on, thrilling in their furor as they shouted and howled.
All but one: a boy with dark circles under his eyes, and green shoes, sitting in the back by himself.
NICK STOOD WITH Peter, the troll, and the other New Blood upon the watchtower. It was another silvery gray day beneath the ghostly clouds of Avalon. He could see across the treetops, across the fog clinging to the lowlands, and across rolling hills and ragged cliffs. Between breaks in the haze he could just make out the perimeter of the island, the impenetrable Mist forming a solid wall of whiteness at the shoreline.
Peter pointed to a jagged line of devastation that ran the width of the island, to the black smoke rising from along the edge of the forest. “The Flesh-eaters are burning down Avalon tree by tree, even as we stand here.”
Nick stared at the blackened scar dominating the landscape but didn’t really see it; his thoughts were tangled around Tanngnost’s words: “The magic poisoned the men, darkening their skin, growing scales and claws, turning them into demons.” Just like in my dream, Nick thought. What does that mean then? That I’m turning into a Flesh-eater?
Peter placed a hand on Nick’s back. “Do you see, Nick?”
Nick started; he hadn’t been listening.
Peter pointed. “There, that inlet. That’s the Merrow Cove. And just up past that ridge, there. That’s where the Flesh-eaters’ fort lies.”
Nick could see it now, a cluster of black specks surrounded by some sort of fortification. He could also make out what must be the rotting skeletons of the ships in the cove.
“From there all the way to the black smoke, all used to be a lush forest, home to a million faerie folk.”
The burned lands ran the width of the island, and came inward from the coasts. On one side of that line, nothing but ravaged land, on the other the dying forests of Avalon. There was so little left, and much of what remained was gray and withered.
“All the gray you see is the scourge,” Tanngnost said. “It’s the result of so many of Avalon’s trees and inhabitants being killed. There’s no longer enough magic to support the wilds and more delicate creatures, so the wilderness is dying, essentially starving to death for want of magic. Once the forests are gone, where will we live?”
And that’s what this all comes down to, Nick thought. They want us to fight their war. Somehow seeing the fires made it all too real: kids fighting and dying. Nick shuddered. He tried to imagine what that would be like, tried to imagine himself being handed a sword and actually fighting a man to the death. There was no way he could ever do such a thing, just no way. Just what have I got myself into? And how am I going to get out of this?
“Hey,” Danny said. “Why don’t we get some guns? A few AK-47s outta do the trick.”
There were plenty of nods.
“What’s an AK-47?” Peter asked.
“Y’know,” Danny replied. “An automatic rifle. A machine gun.”
“Oh, I’ve brought back guns over the decades,” Peter said. “But they don’t work after going through the Mist. The powder gets messed up or something. Flashlights and radios don’t want to work either. Even brought over a Gameboy—I really wanted one of those. But nothing electrical works here. I don’t know why, but I think the Mist gets to them. Mucks them up.”
“What? Gameboys don’t work here!” Danny’s shoulders slumped. “Ah man, no way. That just sucks.”
Nick scanned the length of the island. “Where are we exactly?” Nick asked, shaking his head. “I mean this island. There’s no way it can fit in New York Harbor. And even if it could, don’t you think someone would notice a big fluffy cloud drifting about?”
Peter made a face like such a thought had never even crossed his mind and looked to Tanngnost.
“I’ve often wondered the same,” Tanngnost said. “Many of us have. I know before the Mist returned, we could see the surrounding lands. The natives used to come to us on canoes, so they could see us too. Maybe the Mist does more than hide us, maybe it takes us into a different time and place. This would explain why time moves so much slower here. But this is merely a guess. I certainly can’t begin to understand the ways of Avallach.”
Then another thought struck Nick. “Wait,” he said. “The Lady controls the Mist, right?”
“Sure,” Tanngnost said. “She’s a water goddess. She’s one with all the bodies of water.”
“Then why doesn’t she lift the Mist?”
Peter looked horrified. “Lift the Mist? Then more men would come! Why would she ever want to do that for?”
“So the Flesh-eaters can leave.” And, Nick thought, so I can go home.
“Leave?” Peter gasped, looking at Nick as though his head was scr
ewed on backward. “The Flesh-eaters aren’t gonna leave. We could send them golden swans to carry them home and they’d only slaughter and eat them. Murder is all they know. They’re monsters!”
“Yes,” Nick said. “But if they’re killing Avalon, isn’t it worth the chance?”
“Maybe early on,” Tanngnost put in. “Perhaps then that might’ve worked, before the magic twisted them, before the new world became so populated. Maybe if the Lady had not been so consumed by grief she’d have done things differently. Maybe not. For the Lady is not all-knowing. Far from it. She sees the world in ancient terms. A creature ruled by sentiment and emotions. Regardless, it is too late now. The only way out is to destroy them before they destroy us. Can you see that, Nick?”
Nick nodded, but he wasn’t sure, wasn’t sure about a lot of things on this island.
“Enough talk,” Peter said, and his eyes flashed. “It’s time to turn you three into killers.”
“PETER,” NICK SAID. “I need to talk to you.”
“Not now,” Peter replied. “We’ve much to do.”
Nick grabbed Peter’s arm. “No, it has to be now!”
Peter looked at the hand holding him, then into Nick’s eyes. He could see it, the darkness. “Careful, Nick.”
Nick let go. “Peter, please.”
Peter caught the hard look from Sekeu. He winked at her, then hung back with Nick as she and the others headed down the stairs.
“Peter, I need to get back.”
Peter stared at him absently.
“Back home,” Nick said.
“Home?” Peter’s nose wrinkled up. “You mean back to the human world?”
“My mother needs me.”
“You’re just homesick. That happens. Look, there’s a lot around here that takes getting used to. But—”
“No, it’s not that. I have to get back to my mother. Have to! She’s in danger. There are a couple of bad men living in the house with her. I told you about them—Marko, remember?”