The Child Thief

by Brom

  “Why do you squirm so?” Ulfger asked. “If you are true to Avallach, the blade won’t burn you.” He touched the edge to the elf’s cheek, made the slightest nick. The cut immediately began to blacken, to sizzle, to burn away from the bone like acid. Ulfger felt the heat beneath his hand as the poison spread inside the elf, felt the gurgling as the sizzling blood bubbled up the elf’s throat, pouring from his mouth, nose, eyes. Ulfger held him, enjoying every last tremor until at last the elf was still.

  Ulfger dropped the elf, then examined the cut on his own arm. He was surprised to see that the wound wasn’t deeper, that there was no blood. It had been a strong strike. Then he noticed that the wound was shrinking, healing before his eyes. “I’m…I am truly a god!” he cried. “I am the Horned One.” He sucked in a deep breath of the night air. “Time for the child thief to meet Avallach’s true son.”

  ULFGER WALKED THE path through Devilwood without fear. He sensed the rare creature and when he did, he told it to be afraid, and the beasts fled before him. “Dread me,” he whispered. “Dread my coming!”

  He searched the wood, looking for signs or trails that might lead him the right way, but more and more he relied on his senses, closing his eyes and seeking. Finally he caught the faintest glimmer, like a spark far in the distance, and as he homed in on that spark, he began to feel them, closer and closer until he stood before Deviltree.

  “The child thief’s not here,” he snarled beneath his breath. But she is, his dark-skinned bitch. I sense her pain. A smile slowly snuck across his face. To take her from him. Cut her into pieces, leave her head upon the spit, after all that fuss to save her. Why, that would bring him to his knees. He laughed. Give him a taste of what it is to lose that which is dear.

  Ulfger pushed on the door. It was solid and locked tight. He circled the tree, but found no way in. He just needed someone to slide the bolt. He wondered if he could make one of the children do that. If he could just push them, like with the doves.

  He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, felt for them, grasping for a hold. He found the troll sleeping in the loft above. Ulfger quickly moved on. The old troll was full of tricks and unknown secrets, and Ulfger was afraid he just might touch him back. He located a girl, but she was too deep in sleep; next to her a boy, but he too was in a deep slumber. Ulfger found another boy, this one entrenched in dreams, the boy’s mind fairly danced with them, and no matter how hard Ulfger tried he couldn’t break through. He moved on, growing impatient, probing, searching until he found something else, something very intriguing: a boy by himself in a small room. This one wasn’t asleep, not by far. This one’s mind was open—wide open. Ulfger could feel the anger boiling off this boy, so much rage and hatred, both for himself and for them. The child was mad with it. And Ulfger realized this madness left him open, and so vulnerable.

  Ulfger sent a thought, pushed it into the boy’s head. Open the door. The boy didn’t respond. Open the door. Nothing. Open the door.

  Ulfger’s brow tightened with frustration. And then all at once he understood the nature of this great gift Avallach had bestowed upon him. He couldn’t control minds, after all, couldn’t make people do things they didn’t want to. He could only push them, push the workings that were already in place, such as fear, or hatred, or jealousy. He probed again and found something good, something he knew he could use.

  Murder, he thought and pushed the notion at the boy, and to his surprise, to his utter delight, it only took that nudge, that tiny whiff, and murder blossomed.

  Nick dreamed, and for once the dream was peaceful. He played in the Lady’s Garden, chasing the wild faeries while the Lady sat upon a throne and watched. A warm breeze blew lightly across a pond, it smelled of honeysuckle and spring water. The faeries giggled and flew up into a tree. Nick flew after them and perched alongside them. It was then that he realized that he’d sprouted wings, that he wasn’t any larger than a bird, and, odder than that, he was fine with this. What could be better than being a faerie in the Lady’s Garden? The Lady smiled at him, like one of her children. Nick was happy, content, and wished for nothing more.

  Nick heard someone call his name; the voice was familiar but he couldn’t place it at first, it was so far away. It was that other woman, he realized, the one he’d left behind. Nick felt a tickle in the back of his mind, something he needed to do for her, but he couldn’t be bothered to think about her, not now, he was just too busy playing.

  A shadow fell across the grounds. A round wood door stood in the garden. Nick heard scratching coming from behind it. Something wanted in, wanted in badly. Nick looked to the Lady; she looked frightened. A shrill cry cut across the garden, something in great pain; it rang in his head, louder, and louder—

  Nick awoke; for the first time since he’d arrived, he wasn’t covered in sweat and his stomach didn’t burn. Yet he still felt uneasy. He glanced at the round door. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something sinister was on the other side, waiting to be let in.

  There was no sign that Peter and the Devils had come back yet. He wondered how late it was. Cricket and Danny were asleep in their cages, the long day looking to have caught up with them. They’d moved Sekeu’s cage over near the fireplace. He watched her twist fitfully in her sleep; her face appeared troubled, as though she were having a bad dream. Nick glanced to Leroy’s cage—it was empty.

  Nick caught a faint sound, a squeal. It came again, a strained laugh or maybe a cry, hard to tell. Again, a faint sound, but this time Nick recognized it as a scream, something in pain. It came from the privy.

  What the hell? he thought and crawled from his cage. It was eerie with all the Devils gone. He listened, could hear the troll’s snores coming from the loft above, then the squeal, a long squeal. It sent a chill up his spine and he wondered how such a small sound could be so terrible.

  Nick crossed the floor to the privy. The door was slightly ajar and a thin, flickering light escaped through the crack. Nick laid his hand on the door and started to push it inward, when it flew open and he was face to face with Leroy. But it was as though Leroy didn’t even see him; the boy’s eyes were looking past him toward the round door.

  “He’s here,” Leroy whispered and shoved past Nick.

  Before Nick could say or do anything, another painful squeal came from the privy. He glanced in, and his eyes went wide. There, on the stone next to the toilet pit, was a single crumbled pixie wing, a strand of bloody blue flesh dangling from the end.

  The sharp squeal again, like a mouse in the teeth of a cat. It came from the toilet pit. Nick didn’t want to look, but he inched forward anyway and peered down the shaft. He saw two blue pixies tangled in the stringy black webbing, one a boy, the other a girl with a mane of wispy white hair. The girl appeared unharmed, but the boy looked dead, his body broken as though he’d been crushed, two bloody gashes on his back where his wings had been torn away.

  The girl let loose a chilling scream and the blue glow of her skin pulsated, lighting up the shaft, and Nick saw them, far down the pit among the shit and stink, hundreds of black spiders, the blue radiance glittering off their tiny, cold eyes. He could hear their clatter as they scrambled up the web. The girl screamed again and fought to free herself.

  The spiders reached the boy, swarmed over him, and the boy let out a shrill wail. “Oh, God!” Nick cried, upon realizing the boy still lived. “Oh, good God!” The spiders tore the boy from the web, pulled him down into the pit, and he disappeared beneath their black, oily bodies.

  The spiders came for the girl.

  Get her out, Nick told himself. Now! Hurry! “NO!” he said harshly. She’s too far down. There’s no way. No—way! Yet he found himself down on one knee, his hand hovering above the pit. “No! No!” he spat through clenched teeth. Then the spiders were on her. She screamed and Nick plunged his entire arm into the pit, tearing down through the gummy webbing. He grabbed the pixie and in doing so also grabbed a handful of spiders. He could feel their hard, hairy legs and
soft, soggy bodies as they writhed in his grasp, felt their hot secretions spurt into his hand as he tugged them from the web.

  A jab of pain, like a wasp sting, hit his palm, then another and another. He cried out, but didn’t let go of the girl. He sat up quick, yanking his arm and the pixie from the pit. Long, syrupy strings of web stretched and snapped as he pulled away. The spiders clung to his hand like leeches, their flat, tick-like bodies creased and wrinkled, glistening with sticky, milky goo. He dropped the girl to the stones and frantically slapped and clawed the spiders from his arm, leaping to his feet, trying to stomp them as they skittered about like crabs, darting back into the pit.

  Angry red welts dotted his hand and wrist. He wiped at his arm, trying to peel away the smelly webbing. He noticed the pixie; she too was covered in filth and webbing. Her wings trembled and her eyes were full of terror, but she looked like she might be okay.

  Nick heard Leroy’s laugh.

  Leroy walked into the flickering lantern light, stopped, and peered in. Nick saw that Leroy held a sword, then realized it was Maldiriel. Leroy smiled a strange, vacant smile and walked on.

  “What the fuck?” Nick said under his breath and rushed from the privy.

  It took a second for Nick’s eyes to adjust to the darkness. Where did he go? Nick saw Leroy in front of the fireplace. He stood over Sekeu’s cage. And then, like it was nothing to him, like he was simply poking a bundle of hay, Leroy brought the sword up and shoved it down through the cage into Sekeu’s neck.

  Sekeu’s eyes flashed open; a terrible gurgle escaped her throat.

  “NO!” Nick screamed and charged, ran as hard as he could, but felt as though moving through syrup as Leroy tugged the blade free and brought it down again, and again, and again. Blood gushed from Sekeu’s neck as she flailed against the cage, struggled to escape, but she was trapped, like an animal for slaughter. The sharp blade cut into her arms, her hands, her chest, then into her face.

  Nick hit him, slammed into Leroy at a full run, knocking the bigger boy against the mantel. Maldiriel flew from Leroy’s hand, clattered across the stone. Nick snatched the sword up and came for Leroy.

  Leroy looked dazed, confused, then caught sight of Nick, saw the bloody sword in Nick’s hand, and his eyes went wide. “STAY AWAY FROM ME!” he shrieked.

  “WHAT’S GOING ON?” came a deep, booming voice, and Nick was confronted by a blinding flame. Nick stopped, blinked, then saw Tanngnost standing before him with a torch in one hand and an ax in the other; behind the troll stood Cricket and Danny, their faces ashen and horrified.

  The torchlight revealed more than Nick ever wanted to see. Blood bubbled from the slash in Sekeu’s throat as she tried to speak. A wet, sucking sound came from the wounds in her chest. She met Nick’s eyes and seemed to be begging him to help her. A clot of blood spat from her lips and she was still, her unblinking eyes frozen on his.

  Leroy raised a shaking hand and pointed an accusing finger at Nick. “He…killed…her. I saw it. Saw it all. He’s crazy. I tried to warn you. He’s fucking crazy!”

  Nick glanced at the sword in his hand—his sword, at the blood smeared across its blade and dripping onto the stones. Splat, splat, splat, like a telltale heart.

  “Nick?” Cricket called weakly.

  Nick didn’t feel his fingernails cut into his palm as he clenched his hand into a fist. Didn’t hear the inhuman growl that escaped his own throat or even realize his lips were peeled back into a snarl. He set his eyes on Leroy, took a step forward, then another, his head hung low, like that of a mad dog. “Murderer,” he said, low and harsh. “Murderer!”—the ragged words tearing loose from deep in his throat. “MURDERER!” he screamed, his face full of rage.

  “GET BACK!” the troll cried, pushing Cricket and Danny away. “He’s turned! The darkness has him!”

  Leroy scrambled behind the troll and ran for the door. Nick leaped after him, so intent on catching him he didn’t see the troll bring the ax around until the last second. Nick ducked, sliding beneath the blow. The ax hit the mantel, smashing the edge to bits.

  “DON’T LET HIM OPEN THE DOOR!” Nick screamed, his face a knot of frustration. Couldn’t they see that Leroy was heading toward the door, that he was going to let whatever was out there in?

  The troll swung again, knocking the sword from Nick’s hand and driving Nick into the wall.

  Leroy was at the door, sliding the slat free.

  Nick faked left and jumped right, causing the troll to stumble into one of the benches. Nick darted past in time to see Leroy shove the door open and flee into the night.

  Nick stopped, sure some indescribable horror was about to appear in the doorway. But the only horror coming for him was the troll with the ax. Nick caught sight of Cricket and Danny, caught their condemning looks.

  “NO!” Nick shouted, shaking his head. “IT WASN’T ME!”

  The troll didn’t even pause, just came on at a full charge.

  “IT WASN’T ME!” Nick shouted again, then ran, the troll’s heavy footsteps chasing him out the door and into the swirling night fog.

  WHEN NICK FINALLY dared to stop, he wished he hadn’t. While running, he’d been too occupied avoiding the roots and thorns, ledges and pits, to worry about anything else. But now, as he leaned heavily against the trunk of a fallen tree, as the sound of his own breathing slowed down, he began to hear the night, to hear the things in the night.

  The woods themselves creaked and moaned and Nick thought of the way the trees in Whisperwood had talked to each other and wondered if the trees around him now were speaking. If they were telling the things with claws, and fangs, and stingers, that he was here, wondered if they were telling that other thing, that dark thing, that he was alone.

  Nick strained to see within the deeper shadows. He could feel that other out there, still probing for him in the night. Nick reached for his sword and realized he’d left it behind. But he did have his knife. He pulled it out. It felt small and insubstantial in his hand.

  I can’t stay out here, he thought. I have to go back. I can clear this up. Right? No, a deeper voice warned. No, you can’t. He knew what he’d seen on the troll’s face, in Cricket’s and Danny’s eyes. The troll had said he’d turned. Turned into what? A Flesh-eater, he guessed. He’d seen the way they’d been watching him. It wasn’t hard to put together. Now they believed he’d murdered Sekeu. Peter will kill me on sight.

  He started forward then stopped. Where am I going? “Home,” he whispered. I’ve got to get home, back to my mom. One way or another. He shook his head. I can’t even find my way out of these goddamn woods. How am I supposed to make it all the way home? I’m screwed, he thought. Completely screwed.

  He heard something in the distance, back the way he’d come; sounded like footsteps. Were they after him already? Peter and the Devils? He wasn’t going to wait around to find out. He pushed down the slope and realized he’d no idea which direction he was heading, that he could be heading back to Deviltree, for all he knew. Then it was there, just ahead, in a small clearing illuminated by the luminescent ground fog. A tall figure draped in a long, woolly cape. It wore a helmet with wide, curving antlers. It held someone—Leroy. It appeared to be talking to the boy.

  The horned creature turned its head toward Nick. Its eyes glowed from deep within the visor. The eyes, those burning eyes, fixed on Nick, and when they did, a fear so crippling gripped him that he fell to his knees.

  “Run little rabbit. Run.”

  Nick found he could move again. Scrambling on his hands and knees, he clawed his way up the slope, stumbled to his feet, and ran.

  PETER LED THE Devils homeward to Deviltree. As he jogged through the night, he tried to keep his mind focused on tomorrow, away from thoughts of Abraham. The witch had helped them find him. The boy’s decapitated body hung from a tree out in the burning field, naked, mutilated. The witch had almost been kindly to Peter in his grief. It was her land, her swamp that the Flesh-eaters had so boldly trespassed. She was read
y to fight, anxious for blood. So it was all set. Tomorrow, Peter thought. Tomorrow we end it.

  They crested the trail and Peter saw Deviltree below. He stopped. The door to the fort stood open, Tanngnost’s tall figure silhouetted in its frame, an ax in his hand.

  What now? Peter wondered and sprinted down. As he neared, he caught sight of the troll’s anguished features and slowed to a walk.

  Tanngnost tried to speak, but seemed capable of only shaking his head, yet his eyes told Peter all he needed to know. Peter tried to shove past. The old troll grabbed him. “Peter,” Tanngnost called. “Peter, wait. You should—”

  Peter tore loose and pushed into the chamber, saw the blankets, the blood on the floor, on the walls. He saw Sekeu’s copper-colored hand curling out from beneath the blankets and fell to his knees. He reached for her hand, hesitated, afraid to touch her, then slowly clasped her hand in his. It was cold.

  “Sekeu,” Peter whispered and started to pull the blanket back from her face. Cricket put her hand on the blanket. “No,” she said sternly.

  “Peter,” Tanngnost said, his voice tender. “It was the darkness. It took Nick. I’m sorry. It just happened…so fast.”

  “The darkness?” Peter asked, almost choking on the words. “No, that’s not possible!”

  The troll looked pained. “I know this is hard. But…I was there. I saw it with my own eyes. We all did. Nick’s out of his mind, Peter. He attacked Leroy. I’ve never seen such rage.”

  “But how?” Peter asked, his voice cracking. “How? You were there. The Lady…she healed him. She drove it from him. You saw it. Tell me you saw it!”

  “The Lady…well, she’s so weak. Maybe it didn’t hold. Maybe—” Tanngnost looked baffled. “Peter, I don’t know. I wish I had an answer.”