by Brom
“Back in line, before I flay your hides!” the Captain yelled. “Form—”
A low thud rolled across the field, and a bright glow bloomed over by the barrels. A plume of dark smoke billowed upward and the screams of men burning alive filled the air.
The Captain’s controlled composure lit up with outrage. He gave Peter one last look that promised he would make the boy pay, then raised his sword and shouted, “FOOTMEN, TO THE CENTER! TRIPLE TIME. BEFORE ALL IS LOST!” Forgetting about Peter and his band, the Flesh-eaters disintegrated into a ragged line and ran back toward the barrels.
A cheer went up behind Peter. The Devils broke cover, yelling and shouting, exchanging high-fives and laughing like schoolboys.
“We did it,” Peter said breathlessly. He tried to see beyond the smoke and flames, searching for any sign of Sekeu and her group. There was nothing more they could do for them now other than wish them luck.
“AWAY!” Peter shouted. “To Red Rock.”
ANGRY SHOUTS CHASED after Nick as he wove his way through the tangle of roots and branches. He dared a glance back and saw the flaming hillside, black clouds mushrooming into the air, and men engulfed in fire clawing at their own flesh. At least six guards had made it through the flame and were rushing down the path after them not a hundred yards behind. Nick recalled Peter saying they were slow. Slow must mean something different in Avalon, Nick thought, because these men were covering some ground. He heard shouts and saw another group of men, at least a dozen strong, trying to cut them off.
Nick’s foot snagged on a root, he stumbled and slid to one knee. Sekeu caught up to him, yanking him back to his feet. Their eyes met for the briefest moment and Nick caught her smile, and that smile was worth more than all the praise, back slaps, and cheers he could ever receive. It told him that he’d done good—no, that he had done great, and that he was one of them now. She shoved him on his way and together they ran hard for the tree line. And there, among the screams, the confusion, the terror, Nick realized he was grinning. He was starting to like being a Devil, like it very much.
Redbone made the trees first, Leroy and Abraham darting in right behind, followed by Sekeu, then Nick. There came a sense of relief upon entering the woods, but as Nick crashed into the brambles, as the vines and thorns slowed him to barely a jog, his relief turned to dread. Too soon he heard the men crashing into the woods behind them, their large bulks bulldozing through the underbrush and gaining quickly.
The ground began to soften underfoot, turned to mud, then Nick was splashing through ankle-deep marsh, trying hard to keep up with the rest of the group. The scourge-ridden trees began to knot around them, their mossy limbs blotting out the sky above. Redbone led them onto a thin trail of firmer ground and they wove their way around treacherous pools of muckish black water.
The trail led into a ledge of crumbling clay and overhanging roots. Redbone, Abraham, and Sekeu leaped high, caught hold of the roots, and scrambled up out of the ravine, disappearing over the ridge. Leroy ran up the ledge, grabbing onto a root, but the root tore loose and he fell backward into Nick. Both boys tumbled into the knee-deep bog.
Nick tried for his feet but found his legs tangled in the thorny marsh weeds. He kicked viciously only to tangle himself further. He clawed at the muddy bank, but the greasy mud slid through his fingers. Something grabbed hold of his leg; for a horrible moment Nick thought it was some swamp creature before he realized it was Leroy. Leroy—splashing and panicking—clawed his way on top of Nick, pressing him into the mud, shoving Nick’s face below the black water as he crawled over him. Leroy planted his foot into Nick’s shoulder and kicked away. Nick got his head up in time to see Leroy catch hold of a clump of marsh grass and pull himself out of the muck.
Nick stuck his hand out. “Leroy! Hey Leroy!”
But Leroy wasn’t looking at Nick; he was staring back through the trees in the direction of the shouting men, his eyes wide with terror.
“LEROY!” Nick screamed as he tried to claw his way out of the gooey mud. “HELP!”
Leroy glanced at Nick and for a second the fear left Leroy’s face, his eyes got mean, and a nasty smirk curved his lips. He rolled to his feet and scrambled up the ravine. Sekeu was at the top of the ledge, waiting for them, and Leroy almost knocked her over as he barreled past. Sekeu stared down at Nick.
Nick could hear the shouts of the men closing in. “HEY! HELP!” he screamed, waving to Sekeu, then saw it in her face: she wasn’t going to help him.
Sekeu started to leave. She stopped and Nick caught her expression change: something close to anger, but not at him, at herself maybe. She moved then, bounding back down the ravine in a single leap, snatched her sword free, and leaped into the muck, tugging Nick as she hacked away the tangle of swamp weeds. She said something to him; Nick thought it was “You better best it, Nick.” But he couldn’t make any sense of it in the confusion. Then he was free, the two of them scrambling to escape the muddy pool.
Nick made high ground first, turned to help Sekeu, and saw the spear come flying through the air right at them. Before Nick could so much as shout, the spear hit Sekeu, stabbing deep into her upper thigh, knocking her to the ground. Sekeu clutched her leg and cried out. Nick could see the point jabbing all the way through her thigh, could see her muscle tissue like a slab of raw beef. The blood filled the wound and began to gush down her leg.
Six men came racing through the trees waving their cutlasses and axes, their faces twisted into snarls.
Sekeu wrenched the spear from her leg with a scream of pain and rage and threw it hard and true. It sailed across the marsh and caught the lead man dead in the chest, knocking him into the bog.
Nick grabbed Sekeu and pulled her to one knee. Sekeu tried to stand but fell, and they both tumbled to the ground.
“GET OUT OF HERE!” Sekeu cried, and shoved Nick away.
Nick stumbled back and realized with horror that he had to leave her, after she’d come back for him, he now had to leave her—had to. RUN! his mind screamed. RUN! Yet he didn’t—couldn’t.
Three of the Flesh-eaters came bearing down upon them. Nick grasped clumsily for his sword, jerking it from its scabbard and almost dropping it. He pointed the blade at the Flesh-eaters. Suddenly, it felt like a lead weight in his trembling hand, all his training forgotten in his terror.
The forward man read this and a murderous grin lit his red eyes. He reared his ax back and came for Nick.
“Oh, God!” Nick cried. “Oh, Jesus!”
Abraham shot past Nick, coming in below the man’s swing, thrusting his sword up into the man’s rib cage. The man’s eyes went wide, the ax flew from his hands, the blunt edge of the blade slammed into Nick’s chest, jabbing into his ribs and knocking him down. Abraham made to spin away, but the man caught Abraham’s arm and the two of them landed in the bog with a loud splash.
A war cry filled the air. Redbone flew past Nick and drove into the next two Flesh-eaters feet-first, knocking the first into the second. Redbone was up in a bound, hacking the first across the face as the man tried to get up. The second was quicker, and a sweeping slash of his cutlass all but knocked Redbone’s blade from his grip. Redbone circled, driving the man back, and that’s when Sekeu—still on her knees—slashed his hamstrings. The man fell over, digging at the slimy mud as he slid into the bog.
Redbone charged forward, blocking the advance of the remaining two Flesh-eaters.
Nick clutched his chest; his hand came away wet with his own blood. I’m going to die, he thought, then heard a retching gasp, saw Abraham struggling with the Flesh-eater in the bog. The huge man clutched the boy about the neck. Abraham clawed at the man’s thick, leathery hands as he fought to keep his head above water. Nick met Abraham’s terrified eyes as he sank beneath the dark water, and Nick forgot about dying. He had to stop this man. No matter what, he had to stop him.
Nick leaped at the huge Flesh-eater, bringing his sword down with all his strength. The blade sank deep into the top of the man
’s shoulder, lodging into his collarbone. The man groaned but, to Nick’s horror, didn’t let go of Abraham. Nick tried to tug the sword loose, but it was wedged into the man’s leathery flesh, black blood oozing out around the blade. Nick could still see Abraham’s eyes, the bubbles escaping his mouth.
NO! Nick thought and felt a sudden burning flush of heat in his stomach. Venom shot up his throat like stinging vomit, flaring in his head—thundering. A sound he didn’t recognize escaped his throat, raw and animalistic.
Nick saw nothing but the man, every ounce of him focused on the back of his skull, at the shiny, lumpy black scalp. Smash it! Crush it! Turn it into pulp! Nick yanked violently at the sword, jerked it back and forth until it ripped free. Nick reared back and swung, swung with all the rage and venom burning within him. Maldiriel slammed into the man’s head just above the ear, peeling most of his scalp from the bone. Nick struck again, and again. He felt the skull crack beneath his blade, felt the flesh yield, felt the hot blood and gore splatter across his face. It felt good and Nick’s smile grew with every bite of his sword. The man slumped over and Nick’s blade caught nothing but air, sending him careening face-first into the bog. He sucked in a mouthful of muck, yanked his head up, and coughed violently. There in the bog, right in front of him, was Abraham. The boy stared up at him from beneath the dark water with dead, unblinking eyes.
The world came back into focus then, the burning subsiding a degree. Nick grabbed Abraham and dragged his head and shoulders up onto the muddy bank. “ABRAHAM!” Nick shouted and shook the boy. But Abraham only stared back at him with those dead eyes. “Oh, God!” Nick cried. “Oh no. Oh no. No. No!”
A cutting laugh caused Nick to look up. Ten more Flesh-eaters came out of the trees, spreading out, picking their way through the bog, and blocking off any chance of escape.
Nick found Sekeu’s eyes on Abraham, her lips tight and grim.
The two Flesh-eaters before Redbone slid back into the ranks, leaving the wild boy panting and looking unsure what to do. He glanced back at Sekeu down on one knee, swaying unsteadily, the pool of blood growing beneath her. His eyes found Abraham and his ferocious grin fell away, all that was left was pain. Redbone’s mouth tightened into a hard line. He returned his attention to the Flesh-eaters, slapping the flat of his bloody sword against his palm and growling.
The Flesh-eaters laughed until a howl echoed through the bog. This howl didn’t sound human. More howls followed, coming from all around them—from above them. Nick noticed the tree limbs shaking as shadowy shapes leaped along the branches.
The Flesh-eaters exchanged quick, fretful looks. They seemed uncertain which direction to turn, whether to fight or flee. They were spread out over the bog, vulnerable, and Nick could tell by their faces they knew it.
The swamp erupted in eerie cries and moans. The Flesh-eaters spun about, faces tight with terror. Four barghest dropped from above, landing on one Flesh-eater and knocking him to the ground, tearing into him with their jagged claws and teeth. Two men started forward to help, only to have a dozen more barghest drop onto them. What followed was a frenzy of claws and teeth, flailing arms and screams as the men’s stomachs and throats were torn open.
The remaining men turned and ran, stumbling and falling as they tried to navigate the treacherous bog. A long shriek cut across the marsh. The men stopped. There, blocking their retreat, stood the witch’s daughters, looking almost like angels with their white swirling gossamer gowns, pale skin, and long, flowing hair. Before Nick’s eyes, the girls shifted, their hands sprouting hooked claws and their faces stretching into snouts. They smiled at the men, exposing long, jagged teeth, then came for them, three white streaks bounding across the bog as though their feet never touched the ground. All three hit the first man, knocking him off his feet and tearing out his throat.
The last men panicked, running recklessly away from the girls, thrashing through the muck and quickly becoming entangled in the marsh weeds. They made for easy pickings as the barghest swarmed over them.
Still on his knees, holding Abraham, Nick watched the barghest descend into a killing frenzy. The sky darkened, the air felt charged. Nick turned and found himself looking up into the single emerald eye of the witch.
“You look lost, child,” she said, her smile revealing long, green teeth.
Chapter Seventeen
Haven
Tanngnost was waiting for Peter at Red Rock. The old troll pushed himself up to his feet and strode quickly forward, his face anxious. “Well?” he asked. “Well, tell me. Quickly, boy. Tell me. How did it go?”
Peter brushed past him, searching the small plateau. “They’re not here?”
“Who?” Tanngnost asked.
“They should’ve been here by now. They should’ve beaten us back.”
“Peter, tell me what happened?”
Peter stopped. He clutched the troll by the arm, his golden eyes full of fire. “We won the day, Tanngnost! Such glory. If only you could’ve seen it. We cut them down. Dumped their oil and burned them alive!” A devilish grin lit Peter’s face. “Their screams…such a sweet sound. This day goes to the Lady.” Peter’s smile fell away. “But there are still Devils unaccounted for.” He turned away from Tanngnost. “Spread out,” he shouted. “Keep your eyes and ears sharp.”
Devils and elves spread about the rocks while Peter paced restlessly from one ledge to the next, scanning the tree lines for any sign of Sekeu and her small band. What’s taking them so long? he wondered and watched the black smoke billowing upward into the gray clouds. Such a victory, he thought, still not believing they’d driven the Flesh-eaters back. Peter looked at his old friend Drael. And the elves, they’d come. Had fought under my lead. We’ll not stop. We’ll strike again this very night. Raid their fort. Keep at them until every one of them is dead.
“We got trouble!” Huck called, pulling his sword out.
Peter dashed over to where Huck leaned out over a steep ledge, the Devils and elves quickly joining them. There, coming around the bend, a host of barghest marched out of the trees, heading right toward them. Barghest, here? Peter wondered. That makes no sense. Then he saw the three girls. “Witches,” Peter hissed and drew his own sword. “If they want trouble, then trouble they will get!”
“Wait,” Tanngnost said. “There, Redbone, and—”
Peter looked again. Between the trees he saw Nick, then Leroy and Redbone. They were carrying Sekeu and there was no missing the blood-soaked cloth wrapped around her leg, nor the way her head lolled listlessly from side to side. No, he thought. Not Sekeu. Not after all we’ve been through. Peter put away his sword, leaped down the rocks, and raced toward them. He ran right past the barghest without so much as a glance. He reached Sekeu and stopped.
Leroy and Redbone laid her limp form gently to the ground.
She’s so pale. Peter glanced at Redbone. “How bad?”
Redbone looked at pains to answer, but only shook his head.
“She’s dying,” one of the sisters said.
“Yes, we can smell her death. Won’t be long now,” the second added.
“Poor little dear,” the third put in dryly while twirling a strand of her long white hair about her finger.
Peter dropped down to Sekeu, clasping her hand in his. He looked at the wound. So much blood. He touched her cheek with his fingers and her eyes fluttered open.
“Sekeu,” Peter said. “Hey, hang on.”
“Abraham,” she said in a weak whisper.
Peter realized Abraham wasn’t with them.
“He fought bravely…saved me,” she said. “Nick too…he stood with me.”
Peter could see it took great effort for Sekeu to talk. “Shhh,” he said and touched her lips.
Sekeu closed her eyes. Hot tears blurred Peter’s vision.
Tanngnost came up and knelt next to Peter. He looked Sekeu over.
“Help her,” Peter pleaded. “Do something. You have ways. Your potions. Your medicines. Do something.”
Everyone fell quiet.
“Yes there is,” Peter said, his voice resolute. “There’s something to be done. Most certainly.” He took Sekeu in his arms and stood. “The Lady. The Lady can save her.”
“WE’VE BEEN SEEN,” Drael said, pointing to the green faeries zipping away into the Lady’s Wood.
“Peter,” Tanngnost said as they crossed Cusith Creek and entered the forest. “This is folly. You know it is.”
“Folly,” echoed one of the girls.
“Death and dismemberment for all,” added the next.
“A jolly good time,” said the third.
Peter ignored them, hugging Sekeu tightly to his chest and marching steadily onward.
Tanngnost looked behind at the line of Devils, elves, witches, and barghest. Quite the parade, he thought. Not since the Horned One had such a host marched together. He couldn’t help but admire Peter’s ability to bring these longtime bitter enemies together. But nothing good could come out of entering the Lady’s Wood with such a host.
Tanngnost pushed up to Peter, spoke low, so as not to be overheard. “Peter, Ulfger will try and kill you this time. You know this. Please, Peter, for the sake of Avalon, reconsider.” But one look at Peter’s hard, stubborn face told Tanngnost he was wasting his breath. When Peter sets his mind to a thing, Tanngnost thought, far be it from reason to stop him. “Even if you could see the Lady,” Tanngnost went on, “she’s too weak to help. It has been too many years since—”
Peter halted. They all did. Ulfger stood blocking the path, flanked by fifteen heavily armed elves. Ulfger wore his full battle gear: fine leather mail hung in jagged rows beneath a chest plate of dark steel, armored gloves ran up his forearms, thigh-length boots, and a cape of bear fur draped across one shoulder.
Ulfger hefted a battle ax and glared at Drael and the rogue elves. “Your treachery has cost you your place. You’re to leave at once and never step foot in these woods again.” Then Ulfger set his dark, brooding eyes on Peter. “Child thief, I’ve no such mercy for you. My patience for your games is at an end. I gave you clear warning. Your sentence is death.”