The Child Thief

by Brom

  The New Blood shared a quick look.

  “Any who stand with us today will become Devils the moment they walk out that door. For such a courageous deed would make any worthy. We’ve a world to win. Eternal youth, and all the glory of faerie awaits our victory. Search your hearts, find the courage to take life on. Now, who will share this grand adventure with us? Who will become a Lord of Avalon?”

  This was it, Nick knew: the point of no return. It was all too real now and suddenly he was unsure. Was this a death march? Did he dare trust this insane boy? The last time he’d followed Peter, he’d ended up in the Mist fighting for his life. Did he believe today would be any better?

  Nick glanced from Danny to Cricket. They looked as scared as he felt. This wasn’t a game, not this time. They were going off to kill men. You can call them Flesh-eaters or whatever you like, but they were men. By the gravity in the air, Nick suspected some of these kids, maybe a lot of these kids, wouldn’t be coming back. Nick wondered if he might stand a better chance trying to get back home on his own.

  None of the New Blood stepped forward. They stared at the ground, fidgeting and shifting from foot to foot.

  Leroy stood beside Peter, his head cocked back. Like a real tough guy, Nick thought. Leroy was decked out in full Devil garb, proudly holding his sword and looking full of himself.

  Cricket gave Nick a nervous, sidelong glance. Nick met her eyes and shook his head. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispered.

  She made a pained face that said she did. “This is my family now,” she said and walked over. Peter hugged her and all the Devils clapped her on the back.

  Then it was Nick and Danny. Danny was biting his lip. His brow cinched up.

  Danny glanced at Nick. “Peter says we won’t have to do any fighting.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  Danny shrugged his shoulders, took in a deep breath, like someone about to jump off the high diving board for the first time, then followed Cricket.

  They were all looking at Nick then. The silence of the room weighed on his shoulders. He caught the smirk on Leroy’s face. That smirk said Nick was a chump, a wuss, a regular fucktard. But Nick didn’t care about that, not anymore. It was his mother that mattered. He thought of her alone in that house, and in the end he knew he had but one choice. Nick locked eyes with Leroy and stepped forward. When he did, Leroy’s smirk fell from his face; as a matter of fact, Leroy looked like he’d just swallowed a bug.

  A cheer rang out. Peter dashed forward and embraced Nick in a bear hug. Then they were all patting him on the back, ruffling his hair. And at some point, among the cheering, the backslaps, and grins, Nick forgot to be scared, forgot to be mad, realized he was grinning too. I’ve lost my mind, he thought, I’ve totally lost my mind. And it was amazing how good it felt.

  “Three cheers for our New Blood!” Peter cried.

  One and all, they cheered.

  THE DEVILS’ ALOOFNESS evaporated. Nick felt the warmth of a true brotherhood as the whole clan worked quickly to deck the New Blood out in battle gear. Even the most ferocious of the Devils pitched in, laughing and joking as they helped them lace up boots and strap on belts and armor.

  They’d painted lines of dark green straight down Cricket’s face, and when she pursed her lips and lowered her head, she looked wicked and dangerous.

  Unfortunately for Danny, he’d allowed Redbone to apply his war paint. “He’s a war cat,” Redbone declared. But complete with black snout and whiskers, Danny looked more like a war panda. No one could look at him without letting out a snort. It only made matters worse when Danny began to pout, for then he looked like a pouting panda.

  After seeing what they’d done to Danny, Nick decided it might be prudent to slip over to the mirror. At first, Nick thought it was some trick, because the boy in the mirror wasn’t him. Standing there instead was a savage with dark swatches of black paint running down both sides of his face. The savage looked lean and hard, but it was the eyes that Nick found most disturbing, piercing, haunted eyes, sparkling with gold. Was that really him? What had they done with the nerdy boy with the funny shoes? Nick wasn’t sure how he felt about this.

  Peter came up behind him. “Nick, this is for you.” Peter handed him a short sword.

  Nick slipped it out of the tattered leather scabbard. The blade was thin and elegant, so smooth as to shimmer, but on closer inspection, Nick could see the faintest runes inlaid up and down the metal. When the graceful designs caught the light, they sparkled like tiny diamonds. Its edge was so sharp that he nicked his thumb just by touching it. “Wow,” Nick said.

  Peter beamed. “It’s a true elven blade. One from their glory days of long, long ago. It’s so strong and sharp that it can cut through steel. These are very rare, Nick. Oh, and it has a name, of course—because those silly elves have to give everything a name. It’s called Maldiriel. I want you to have it.”

  Nick looked at Peter. He didn’t know what to say. Why had Peter given this to him? He hadn’t given any of the other New Blood such gifts. “Mul-deral?”

  “No, Maldiriel,” Peter corrected.

  “Maldiriel,” Nick repeated.

  “Maldiriel?” Redbone echoed, then laughed. “That’s a girl sword.”

  Peter frowned and gave him a cutting look.

  “A girl’s sword?” Nick asked.

  “No,” Tanngnost put in. “Not a girl’s sword. But the sword itself is female.”

  “My sword has a gender?”

  “Man, you gotta dig them elves,” Redbone said. “They’re a fruity bunch.”

  Nick looked at the sword again, at all the slender, graceful lines. It did look rather feminine. “Well, girl sword or not, I like it,” he said. “Thanks.”

  Peter’s smile returned, big and broad. “Sure thing,” he replied, then slipped over to help Danny get his belt in place.

  Nick held the blade up and snuck another peek into the mirror. He decided that he did indeed like what he saw, liked it very much. And for the moment, he let himself relax, to set aside the dark thoughts and fears, and just reveled in how cool he looked decked out in the odd leather Devil suit, with its sewn-in boots and high, belted waistband, his hair in a greasy tangle, war paint running down his face, and a flipping elven sword named Maldiriel. Too cool.

  “Let’s go,” Peter called, and the Devils began to file out the door.

  Nick snuck a last peek, still not believing what he was seeing. He touched his blue rabbit’s foot to his lips, then ran along after them.

  PART III

  The Flesh-eaters

  Chapter Sixteen

  Flame

  They trekked silently down the trail, all lost in their own thoughts, the ageless silence of warriors making peace with their fears as they marched into battle.

  Nick glanced over at Redbone. Redbone winked at him, his perpetual grin growing into an impish smile. Nick looked behind him at the handful of Devils pulling up the rear, every face greeting him with kinship and comradery. Nick had never experienced anything like it, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was beginning to enjoy being a Devil. He even wondered if this was why so many people loved team sports, this sense of coming together under one banner against a common foe.

  The forest changed as they continued their downward track through the gray and dying trees. The land turned ashen and soggy underfoot. The fog thickened, clinging to the ground. The trees seemed to shrink, to wither, bending beneath their own weight, their jagged limbs clawing the sky like drowning men.

  After about an hour’s march, a tangy burning smell assailed Nick’s nostrils. Smoke, fires, he thought. The Flesh-eaters can’t be too far away. And suddenly it was all too real. It’s one thing to hit a straw dummy and pretend you’re fighting monsters, quite another to know that monsters—ones even Redbone and Sekeu were wary of—were not only real but nearby.

  Peter gestured the Devils to him, and they gathered around. He put a finger to his lips and whispered: “We must be sile
nt. Follow my hand signals. Stay close.”

  Nick’s heart sped up and he had to force himself to slow his breathing. How close? he wondered. His eyes darted everywhere, trying to peer through the ground fog; every rotten bush and stump suddenly looked liked a monster. Nick wrapped his hand tightly around Maldiriel’s hilt, wondering yet again what it would be like to actually face a man with a sword, hoping to God he wouldn’t have to find out.

  Peter raised a hand and they halted. He slipped up ahead, surveying the terrain before waving the Devils to follow. Silently, they pushed through a mesh of undergrowth until they could see down a steep slope into a valley. Peter signaled to stay low.

  Between the rolling waves of low-lying clouds, Nick scanned the burned and ravaged land. His blood went cold, there below them—Flesh-eaters. From where he lay, they were little more than ant-sized dots milling about near the burning trees. Nick’s mouth suddenly felt dry as he watched them moving in and out of the black smoke.

  He glanced at Peter. Peter’s face was grim as he took in every movement. Strange to see such severity on Peter’s face, Nick thought. No boyish mischief here; what Nick saw looked wild and scary—deadly.

  PETER TOOK IN a deep breath. So many. He hadn’t counted on so many—at least sixty or seventy Flesh-eaters that he could see. There’d be more, and somewhere among them—the Captain. A direct assault would be a gallant way to die, but Peter wasn’t looking for a way to die. He wanted to drive them out of Whisperwood and save Avalon. He fought to keep his despair hidden. If he lost confidence in front of the Devils, all would be lost. He now understood why Tanngnost had tried so hard to bring the clans together in one coordinated attack. And, as much as he hated to even think it, if Ulfger would bear Caliburn, they could drive the Captain and his Flesh-eaters into the Mist this very day.

  Peter realized he was grinding his teeth, and took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Now wasn’t the time for maybes and what-ifs; he must stay focused. One way or another, they had to stop these demons.

  There, the barrels. He watched the figures march back and forth between a pair of barrels and the trees. He slipped up closer, squinted. So, it must be oil after all. He nodded to himself. Then maybe there is another way.

  Peter signaled them back. They gathered in a small ravine. Peter squatted on his haunches and they followed his example.

  “We’re after the oil,” Peter said in a hushed tone. “Whisperwood isn’t a typical forest even by Avalon standards. Most of the trees are living beings, each with its own spirit. They see and hear and even whisper to one another.” And long ago, before the Flesh-eaters came, they used to sing to each other, and there was no song more beautiful. “Beneath their thick bark is flesh and blood. Those trees won’t burn by torch alone. The Flesh-eaters are brushing oil on them to set them ablaze, burning them alive.

  “They can’t have much oil left, not after all these years. They must be desperate, to be using the last of their reserves. If we knock over those barrels and dump their oil, it’ll put an end to the burning of Whisperwood.

  “We don’t have enough Devils to push through that many Flesh-eaters, so this is what we’re going to do. We’re going to draw them away from the oil with an attack by a main force and send in a small squad to knock over the barrels.

  “The Captain knows our tricks. He’ll not be easily fooled. We have to make this a real assault, or he won’t give chase. He knows we’ve the advantage in the forest, and will be reluctant to follow us into the woods. So we’ll have to take the fight to the edge of the fields. Try to draw the Flesh-eaters in. Hit and run, hit and run, avoid a full engagement at all cost. We won’t be able to do much damage and neither will they, and that’s what I want. Remember, all that matters is that we distract them long enough for the squad to dart in, get past whatever guard is left, and knock over those barrels.

  “Sekeu, you’re in charge of the squad. Redbone, Abraham, Leroy, and Nick, go with Sekeu.”

  Peter caught the anxious looks on Leroy’s and Nick’s faces. He looked them square in the eye and smiled confidently. They have to know you believe in them, or they won’t believe in themselves. But a darker voice knew this would be dangerous, that he was sending two of them after the barrels in the hopes that at least one would make it. He held little hope either would return. “You’re not to engage unless you have to. Your role is to focus on the barrels. Sekeu, Abraham, and Redbone will take care of any guards. Nick, Leroy, I’m giving you two the most important task of this whole operation. I wouldn’t pick you unless I knew you could do this. Are you with me?”

  Nick and Leroy still looked unsure, but they both nodded.

  “Good. Sekeu, take your group and circle around to the east side of the clearing. Wait under cover until you hear us attack. We’ll come in from the west side. You know the drill: get in and out as fast as you can.

  “Danny, Cricket, you’re coming with me.” Cricket also looked nervous, but Danny looked absolutely petrified. Peter caught his hands trembling and thought the boy might start crying at any moment. He’s not ready. Peter wondered if he should leave the boy behind. No, now is not the time to play it safe.

  “Danny, Cricket, you’re going to do fine. Your role is simply to make our numbers look more impressive. Hang back, make a lot of noise, and stay well clear of the combat. Think you can do that?”

  They both agreed, but Danny still looked petrified.

  “Remember, our goal is to draw them away from the barrels. As soon as the barrels are knocked over, we all run into the forest. If anyone from either party gets separated, we meet back here. You can see this outcropping of red boulders from just about anywhere in the valley.”

  Peter stood up and let a wicked smile slide across his face. “Time to play.”

  The Devils grinned back. “Time to play.”

  Photographic Insert

  PETER

  THE WITCH

  SEKEU

  THE LADY

  THE TROLL

  ULFGER

  THE CAPTAIN

  THE REVEREND

  PETER WATCHED SEKEU and her crew slip away through the brambles and disappear into the ground fog, then led his own group down the west slope toward the burning fields. The going was slow and treacherous as they wove their way silently around the wet rocks, mud, clingy briars, and roots.

  Near the bottom of the valley, just as the land began to level out, Peter caught the distant shouts of Flesh-eaters at their labors. While trying to decide the best path forward, he heard it: a click, somewhere to their flank. Peter signaled and the Devils dropped to a crouch.

  Another pop, coming from somewhere toward their front. He heard it again, then again. He scanned the drifting grayness in front of him, searching for movement, but saw nothing. He was sure someone was heading their way, a scout or a sentry, maybe even a small troop. No, thought Peter. Not now. If they were discovered before Sekeu could get into position, all would be lost. Their only chance would be to try to make short work of any enemies before they blew their cover. Peter reached for one of his swords, then stopped, suddenly feeling cold steel against the back of his neck.

  “What have we here?” came a sharp whisper.

  Peter slowly turned, expecting to look into the eyes of his executioner. Standing behind him at spear’s length was the old elf, Drael. Drael lifted his spear and smiled. “You weren’t going to go play without me, were you?”

  Peter’s face lit up with disbelief and pleasure. “Drael, you came! By the gods, you came!” Peter couldn’t grin any wider. He leaped to his feet and embraced the old elf. “It’s good to see you again!”

  Drael clucked his tongue and five more elves materialized out of the smoky woods, each armed with three throwing spears. They’d traded their traditional green tunics for gray and had their long hair tied back, out of their slanted icy eyes.

  “I heard word you entered the Lady’s Wood seeking allies. I bring five of the Guard’s finest.” He extended his hand toward the elves.
“I just wish I could have convinced more to join with us. The elves find it hard to break an oath, even in the face of madness. I am afraid the rest of the Guard will follow Ulfger to their doom. My allegiance lies with the Lady, not a crazed Lord. I’d rather die here today, among warriors, than cower within the Lady’s Wood. What do you say, do we fight this day?”

  Peter clasped the old elf’s shoulder. “You are a true friend.”

  “And you, my friend, are a crazy devil.”

  “Then we go?”

  “Yes, Peter. We follow your lead.”

  Peter moved out and the Devils and elves fell in line. Peter had to blink back tears. Not just from seeing the face of an old friend, but because they’d come to fight with him, to follow him against such hopeless odds; this in itself was a victory. They weren’t enough, he knew, but he felt better knowing he had six elven swords at his side. He bit his lip. We must win this day.

  THE CRY CUT through the fog, a sound of pain, agony, and helplessness. A sound so human that Nick found it impossible to believe it could be a tree. Tree or not, Nick wanted to run as far from the cry as he could get. But he didn’t run; instead, he gritted his teeth and forced himself onward against every instinct, following Sekeu as they slithered on their bellies through the mud and brambles toward the clearing.

  Nick stopped to wipe a clot of mud from his mouth. He glanced back, and though Redbone was only a few paces behind, Nick could barely make him out. Sekeu had them cover themselves from head to toe in a greasy muck of mud, leaves, and bark. Now they blended into the land, all but invisible among the ash and smoke. They’d circumvented the clearing and were now creeping forward from the east side. As they neared, Nick could hear rough shouts and make out movement through the brambles.