by Brom
He spun away, brought the ax down on the next tomb, then the next, and the next, bashing them apart, kicking and scattering the bodies until the chamber was littered in rotting tapestry, robes, armor, and crumbling bones. He tripped on the leathery carcass of some ancient lord, and went sprawling into the rubble. He lay on his back, panting, a fine layer of bone dust pasted to his sweaty skin. His eyes darted wildly about until finally coming to rest on the boat. His lips began to quiver. “I’m not a coward,” he said and the tears rolled down his cheeks, cutting dark paths through the bone dust. “I’m not a coward. I did not choose to stay behind. You made me swear, Father. Have you forgotten? None cried louder for war than I!” He rolled over and crawled across the floor, raking through the bones until he reached the boat. He got a hand on the railing and pulled himself up, clinging to the side board as he glared into the face of the Horned One.
A fierce death grimace greeted Ulfger. The Horned One lay draped in a wooly elk fur, his parched, leathery skin pulled taut across his bones. Several necklaces of tusks and bronze rings hung in a tangle about his neck. The broken blade of Caliburn lay across his chest, clasped in his huge bony hands. The Horned Helm sat low on his head, dark sockets peering out from within the slanted eye slits. The dark hollows bore into Ulfger, accusing him.
“Do you hear me? Have I not proven myself? I alone still stand…still defend the Tree.”
The dark sockets mocked him with their silence.
Ulfger’s eyes fell to the sword and a sneer pushed at his face. “I am worthy, Father,” he whispered and slowly reached out until his hand hovered above the hilt. He glared at the tiny sharp spikes lining the grip, spikes that would bite into his hand and, if he were unworthy, would poison and burn him from the inside out. His hand began to shake. “I…am…worthy,” he hissed between clenched teeth and tried to force his hand upon the hilt, force himself to pick up the sword. Tears streamed down his face as his whole arm began to shake, then a wretched howl escaped his lips and he yanked his hand away, clutching it to his chest.
He slid back down to the stones, cradling his hand like a baby. “Why did you leave me behind, Father?” He heard it then, laughter, coming from all around him, echoing about the chamber. They were laughing at him, his father, the kings, all of them. He clasped his hands to his ears, and still he heard it, louder, as though they were all in his head.
He let out a weak cry and half-crawled, half-stumbled toward the large open window. He hit the ledge, fell forward, just catching himself. He hung there a moment, staring down from the dizzying heights, and thought about letting go. How sweet it would be, to be finished with all this torment. And he might have, but something caught his eye, something that made the laughter stop and his blood burn. There, far below, parading through the courtyard as though he lorded over all, was the child thief himself, leading his band of traitors and brats.
Ulfger’s knees buckled and he sat down hard on the window ledge. They’d seen the Lady. No, he thought, there’s more going on here. Somehow, they’d awakened her. Because the girl was better, there was no denying that. He’d seen her before, when she was close to death, and only the Lady could’ve saved her. He saw the baskets and sacks of fruit. “Thieves, burn forever,” he hissed. “You’ve tainted the Haven. Desecrated the heart of Avalon. And she, Modron, has aided you. Has betrayed Avallach himself.”
Ulfger stomped back to the boat. He glared into his father’s face, into those deep, dark hollows, into that fierce death grimace. Ulfger matched that grimace. “You, you favored the runt as well. Called him to stand by your side in battle, yet would deny me. Deny your only son? How is it that he is worthy when I am not? How? How, you hateful beast? Tell me! TELL ME!” Ulfger snarled and thrust his hand forward, grabbed the sword, tearing it from the Horned One’s grip. He felt its bite, the sharp jabs as the spikes pierced his palm. The marks began to burn. “GO ON!” he screamed. “Burn me! I dare you! But nothing will keep me from my duty, from avenging Avallach. NOTHING!”
The heat continued to flow into his body, but it didn’t burn. The broken blade became light in his hand as a feeling of power possessed him. He felt his chest swell as the heat pumped through his heart, his veins and muscles. “See, Father. I am worthy. Avallach honors me! ME!”
Ulfger grabbed the helmet by one of the antlers and tore it from the Horned One’s head. He placed it on his own head and stared through the slanted slits at his father, at the ravaged remains of the once mighty warlord. He heard laughter, but this time it was his own. The Horned One’s head fell against the side board and looked sadly back at him.
A wind whipped up, blowing the bone dust across the stone floor. Ulfger felt his senses awaken. What is this? he wondered, realizing he could sense the life around him: a couple of deer in the woods below, a host of faeries battening down for the evening, and…them. He could sense them, Peter and the others. Sense their spirit, their feelings, their joys, excitement, their…fears. Then he understood more, that he could touch them, not physically, but with his mind.
He grinned. “Child thief, you will pay. You will know what it is to suffer, and to lose all you love.”
PETER FELT AS though he were in a dream, as though his feet barely touched the ground as they marched back through the Lady’s Wood. He found it impossible to believe all that had happened this day, from driving the Flesh-eaters back to ridding Avalon, once and for all, of Ulfger’s poison. But it was the Lady who dominated his thoughts, ruled his heart; he could think of little else. He closed his eyes and could still smell her scent: honeysuckle and spring water.
“Peter,” Redbone called and pointed. “Look!”
Peter stopped and stared, dumbfounded. They all did.
They’d come at last to the border of Myrkvior, to Cusith Creek, back to the scourge-ridden woods. Everyone stared at the trees, at the fresh green buds that had sprouted out along a few of the gray limbs, and the occasional bloom here and there among the dead weeds.
“Tanngnost, what does it mean?” Peter asked.
Tanngnost set Sekeu carefully down. He’d carried her the whole way back. The troll might be old, but he was still a troll and, to him, she appeared to weigh nothing. Sekeu hopped over to a rock and took a seat. Peter thought it’d be a while before she’d be able to fight, but she looked on the mend and he couldn’t help but smile. Almost lost you, he thought, surprised to find himself blinking back tears. Been through too much, me and you. We’re going to finish this thing together.
Tanngnost touched one of the buds. “It means that the Lady’s back,” the troll said. “We have hope again.”
“The Lady did that?” asked Cricket.
“Yes,” Tanngnost said. “Peter has reawakened her spirit. She will tend Avallach’s Tree. If we can stop the burning, she might be able to stop the scourge.”
“And,” Peter added, “when we drive them into the Mist, when we kill them all, then she will heal all of Avalon! Right? Return it to its splendor!”
“Yes, most certainly,” the troll agreed.
“We must strike again!” Peter said, his voice brimming with excitement. “As soon as we can. We can’t allow them to burn another tree!” He looked to the old elf. “Drael, what of you? Will you meet us at Red Rock, come dawn?”
“I tell you this,” the old elf said. “The Lady’s Guard will sit on the sidelines no longer. We’ll be there, Peter. That you can count on.” Every elf nodded in agreement, their stern faces and hard eyes all the oath Peter needed.
“Good,” Peter said, clasping the elf on the arm. “Good.” He could hardly contain the urge to let out a crazy whoop. He turned to the three girls. “Will you stand with us? Can we count on Ginny’s children?”
The barghest looked to the girls.
“Will there be lots of blood?” asked the first.
“Enough noodlely guts for all?” asked the second.
“And eyeballs, don’t forget eyeballs,” put in the third.
“Oh, yes,” Peter said, and
returned their wicked smiles. “Brains too. Plenty to go around.”
“I want to go!” said one.
“Me too!” chimed in the second.
“Oh, most certainly then,” said the third. “But Peter?”
“Yes?” Peter said.
“You’ll have to ask our mother first.”
“Yes,” said the second. “Mother doesn’t like for us to play with strangers.”
“Will you come ask her for us?” asked the third, with big, imploring eyes.
“I will,” Peter said. “Right away.” He addressed Drael. “Tomorrow then, Red Rock?”
“Agreed,” Drael said, and the elves started away, back into the Lady’s Wood.
“Leroy, Danny, Cricket, Nick. You guys grab all the stock and head back to Deviltree. We’ll be there as soon as we can. Tanngnost, can you take Sekeu and go with them?”
Tanngnost looked troubled. “Most certainly, but—”
“There’s always a but, isn’t there?” Peter said.
“Peter, a word.”
“Only one? Why do I doubt that?”
Tanngnost frowned, tugged Peter over into the woods. “Peter, you needn’t go. The witch will come. The girls, they’re her eyes and ears. They are just playing a game—”
“I know,” Peter interrupted. “I have to go back to the swamp. I have to find Abraham’s body before the Flesh-eaters do. I can’t stand the thought of his head on their fort.”
Tanngnost was quiet for a moment. “Yes. Yes, of course.”
Peter started away.
“Peter.”
“What now?” Peter said with a sigh.
“What about Nick?”
“Tanngnost, when did you become such an old woman?”
The troll gave him a sour look. “You saw him,” he said defensively. “The darkness, it had him, completely.”
“The Lady touched him. She healed him. You can see it in his eyes. Stop worrying so much. All is coming together. Avallach has smiled on us.” This didn’t seem to placate the troll. “Okay, keep a close eye on him if it makes you feel better.”
“Peter?”
“What?” Peter said, exasperated.
“You were the one that brought them all together. You did that. If I didn’t know you to be such a cretin, I’d believe the Horned One’s spirit lives in you.”
Peter smiled warmly at his old friend. “Is that a tear? It is. Why, Tanngnost, you have turned into an old woman.” And Peter laughed, and when he did, all the Devils grinned, because Peter’s laugh was a most contagious thing.
“HOW MUCH FARTHER?” Danny asked, for the third time in the last ten minutes.
No one answered.
“How come I have to carry the apples?” he groaned. “They weigh a goddamn ton. Cricket’s only got mushrooms. How come she gets mushrooms? Mushrooms weigh like nothing. That’s not fair. Hey Cricket, how about we switch for a while. Huh? How about it?”
Cricket shook her head.
“Ah, c’mon. C’mon. C’mon.”
“Geezy fucking weezy, Danny,” Cricket cried. “Do you ever stop bellyaching? Here, take the goddamn mushrooms already.” She jerked the sack of apples from him and shoved the mushrooms into his gut. “Just stop whining for five flipping minutes. All right? Okay?”
Danny nodded sheepishly.
Cricket stomped away up the trail.
“Hey, Cricket?” Danny called.
Cricket didn’t answer.
“You’re a real sweetheart.”
She flipped him the bird.
Danny looked at Nick, bounced the bag of mushrooms between his hands, lifted his eyebrows, and grinned.
Nick recognized the trail; Deviltree wasn’t much farther. He’d be glad when they made it; the bag of fruit and nuts he carried wasn’t light, plus the day was fading, the shadows growing dark. Nick didn’t really care to be out in the night.
There were no signs of new buds here, nothing but endless gray. Still, he sensed a current beneath the gray. It’s the magic, he realized—the Lady had opened his eyes to the magic. The hills around him felt like a winter woodland just before spring.
The dark feelings, the heat in his stomach, were completely gone. He felt the fatigue of the long day, but his spirit was alive, as though the magic of Avalon and his body were at last in harmony. His thoughts kept drifting back to the world behind the falls, the flowers, the magical animals, the sweet smells, the hundreds of little faerie folk…the Lady. “The Lady,” he whispered; she consumed his thoughts—her cerulean eyes, her silky hair, her pale skin, so white as to almost be blue. Visions of her soothed him. He felt…what? Love? Yes, he realized, like a mother’s love.
Nick stopped dead in his tracks. A stab of guilt jabbed his chest. “Mom,” he said. He realized with horror that he’d forgotten about his own mother. She’d not just slipped his mind, he’d completely forgotten her. She seemed a distant memory, someone he’d known forever ago. It was as though the Lady had, had—what? Pushed his mother from his mind? Had taken her place somehow? He concentrated on his mother’s face and this helped clear his mind. All at once the Lady’s words came back to him, raw and bare: I am your life. I am your death. I am all things forever and always. Love me. Love me. Forever love me. A chill ran down his spine. She’s done more than healed me, he realized. She’s woven a spell. He cut his eyes left and right, felt sure someone, something, everything, was watching him. Nick realized he had to return soon, because Avalon was a seductive place. Because goddesses were obviously jealous creatures that didn’t compete for devotion, not even with mothers. Nick had no doubt that if he didn’t leave soon, he’d never leave, and after a while all the memories of his mother would be lost forever.
Someone jabbed him. “You better keep your mouth shut.”
Nick started. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed Leroy come up behind him. The others were ahead. Nick began walking again.
“Did you hear me?” Leroy said, speaking low.
Nick ignored him.
Leroy’s face twisted into a sneer. “Hey, I’m talking to you, asshole.” He jabbed his finger into Nick’s chest. “You ever bring that bullshit about Abraham up again and I’ll kill you…fucking kill you!”
A flash of Abraham’s face, his terrified eyes as he choked to death beneath the black water came to Nick, all because Leroy hadn’t taken the two seconds to pull him out of the bog. Nick felt anger—no heat in his stomach, no pounding in his head—just good old reliable rage, it swelled up in him and all he could see was Leroy, big, stupid Leroy standing there sneering at him.
“Fuck you!” Nick spat and slammed his sack into Leroy’s chest, slammed his fist into Leroy’s face, catching the bigger boy high on the cheek, knocking him to the ground. Both Nick’s sack and Leroy’s hit the ground, spilling fruit and nuts all across the trail.
Leroy put a hand to his cheek, his eyes wide. Whatever he’d expected from Nick, this was definitely not it. His hands clenched into fists and he started for his feet.
“ENOUGH!” Sekeu cried from behind them. She stood on one leg, leaning against Tanngnost.
The troll cast hard eyes on Nick, scrutinizing him.
“He attacked me!” Leroy said. “Look at him, he’s crazy.”
Sekeu’s eyes blazed, but she wasn’t looking at Nick, her glare rested on Leroy. “You do not have the right to even talk to him. Not after what you did.”
Leroy’s mouth fell open. “What? No…you got it wrong! That bastard.” He jabbed a finger at Nick. “It’s his fault. He knocked me into the bog. He’s trying to pin this on me. Can’t you see that?” The way Leroy said it, Nick felt sure he truly believed it had happened that way.
“No,” Sekeu said, her words cold and flat. “That is not what happened.”
Leroy shook his head, his mouth worked, but he seemed unable to speak.
“You should be shamed, Leroy,” Sekeu said. “You should keep your head low.”
Chapter Nineteen
Murder
The shadows deepened and night came to the Lady’s Wood. Ulfger stood as still as a statue at the edge of the forest. He closed his eyes and opened himself to the night. He sensed the fish in the wading pool, the frogs, a lone fox, a pair of doves sharing a limb and cooing to each other. He sensed the bond between the birds, the love of lifelong mates. He pushed at them, told them to be afraid of each other, and felt the fear grip them, heard them flap away in different directions, as fast as they could fly.
Ulfger smiled and turned his attention to the elven barracks, the ornate longhouse that stood sentinel in the courtyard next to the Great Hall. The elves were back. He could sense all twenty-one of them within the wooden structure. They were not so easy to read as the animals, but he felt their excitement as they prepared for battle.
A door opened. A ray of torchlight flickered across the courtyard. Four elves came out with canteens strapped over their shoulders and headed down the path past the wading pools. Ulfger followed them to the ancient well and watched them filling the canteens. He hefted the broken blade and strolled toward them, not even bothering to hide his step. The elves caught sight of Ulfger and pulled their swords. Ulfger swung, meeting two of the swords mid-strike, smashing effortlessly through their block and cleaving both of their heads from their shoulders.
One of the remaining elves landed a blow across Ulfger’s midsection, but his armor deflected the cut. The other slashed across his upper arm, cutting deep into the muscle. Ulfger felt the heat of the wound and locked his eyes, his fiery eyes, on the elves and in that moment he found their fear, seized upon it with his mind, managed to hold them with it long enough to slam his sword onto the head of the forward elf, cleaving his skull in two, dashing the other in bits of blood and brains.
He grabbed the remaining elf around the neck, dug his fingers into flesh, and picked him up as though the elf weighed nothing. He could so easily snap the elf’s neck with one twist but instead he brought the black blade to the elf’s eye. The elf saw the poisonous edge and clawed frantically at Ulfger’s hand.