The Child Thief

by Brom

  “No,” Peter said, shaking his head. “No, it’s not the darkness. I won’t believe it.”

  Leroy came stumbling through the entrance, his back to them, staring at something out in the woods. His back bumped into the door and he quickly shoved it closed, fumbling to slide the heavy slat into place.

  “Where is he?” Tanngnost asked.

  Leroy jumped; the slat slid from his hands, landing on the stones with a solid thud. He spun around and glanced wildly about the room. His eyes fell on Sekeu, went to Peter, and became wide, afraid. He backed into the door. “Nick killed her!” he said.

  “Yes,” the troll said. “Where did he go?”

  “He’s in the woods,” Leroy said quickly. “I tried to stop him…but he has a sword…his sword and I don’t…didn’t.” Leroy’s eyes kept shifting back to Sekeu. “If I had a weapon I would’ve stopped him. I tried to stop him.”

  “Where in the woods?” Tanngnost pressed. “Which direction was he going?”

  “Toward Goggie Creek.”

  “Peter,” Tanngnost said. “We have to catch him now. Right now.”

  Peter didn’t answer.

  “Peter, don’t you understand? We can’t let him fall into the hands of the Flesh-eaters. He knows where Deviltree is. Knows our numbers, our plans. They’ll get him to talk. Everything’s at stake. Peter, he knows where the Haven lies!”

  Peter’s eyes fixed on Sekeu’s long black hair spilling out from beneath the blanket. He touched it, ran his fingers through it. Sekeu, how?

  Redbone brought Peter a spear. The Devils were lined up behind him. They looked anxious. “We’re ready,” Redbone said. “Peter?”

  “Just go,” Tanngnost said to the group and herded them toward the door. “Hurry, before it’s too late. Take everyone. You’ll need every pair of eyes. Danny, Cricket, you too.” He snatched spears off the wall and pushed them into their hands. “Take no chances. Remember, this isn’t Nick. This isn’t your friend. Nick’s gone from us—what’s left is a monster.” He raised his voice. “Kill him on sight. Whatever you do, don’t let him fall into the hands of the Flesh-eaters.”

  Peter heard all this as though from somewhere far away.

  The troll sat down next to Peter.

  Peter continued to stroke Sekeu’s hair as his thoughts stumbled over one another. How could I have let this happen? He pressed his hand to his temple. Because I’d been so sure. Because I saw the Lady heal him, that’s how. There’s something else going on here. It has to be something else.

  He looked at Maldiriel, at the blood, Sekeu’s blood, still wet on the fine elven blade. Peter’s brow tightened. Hadn’t Leroy said Nick had a sword in the woods? Yes, he’d made a point of saying it.

  “Tanngnost.”

  “Yes.”

  “You saw Nick kill Sekeu?”

  “Yes, well, no. I didn’t actually see him do it. But I—”

  “Did any of the kids? Did any of them see it?”

  “Yes. Leroy did.”

  “Where’s Leroy?”

  “He went with the others.”

  Peter thought of the odd way Leroy had acted. Nothing he could put his finger on, but definitely not right. “I need to talk to Nick,” Peter said and before the troll could protest, Peter snatched up the spear and ran out the door.

  THEY COME, ULFGER thought. Twenty-three, maybe twenty-four little boys and girls, all spread out, hunting the rabbit. He opened his eyes. He could see the faintest glow pushing through the tree tops as dawn’s first light touched the low clouds.

  He closed his eyes again, because he could see so much more with them shut. It seemed the longer he wore the helmet the further he could see, as though his mind and the helmet were melding, fusing, becoming one.

  Just ahead, the rabbit had stopped again. Ulfger could sense the boy’s disorientation, his fear. Beyond the rabbit, they waited at the forest’s edge, the Flesh-eaters. So many Ulfger couldn’t count them all, but he could sense their hate, their need for murder.

  He’d followed the rabbit all night, kept it on course. When the rabbit slowed down, or strayed, he merely made his presence known and the little rabbit got moving again.

  Avallach had been kind, too kind, had made it all too easy. The rabbit would lead the child thief and his brats right to the Flesh-eaters, right into their trap. And then—oh, and then. Ulfger laughed, couldn’t help himself; he felt like he would never stop laughing.

  A TWIG SNAPPED, and Nick’s eyes flew open. Faint light pushed through the tangled limbs above him. How long had he been asleep? He glanced anxiously about. Was it here? How could he have allowed himself to fall asleep with that horrible creature hunting him? Every time he’d thought he’d lost it, every time he’d stopped to catch his breath, it had appeared, its red eyes glowering at him, clawing their way into his head.

  Nick tried to get his bearings, but the fog was thick. He could barely see twenty paces in any direction—another snap, somewhere behind him. Nick slid his hand around the hilt of his knife, wishing he’d held on tighter to his sword. He stood and crept off, but the ground was soggy and the sticky mud pulled beneath his feet. Suddenly footsteps came rapidly toward him. He saw Dirk staring at him across a thicket of thorns, the boy’s eyes as wide and frightened as his own.

  Nick raised his hands. “Dirk, I didn’t do it! You got to believe—”

  Dirk leaped forward and threw his spear. Nick managed to duck the missile; the blade whisked past his head and stuck into a tree.

  “HERE! HE’S HERE!” Dirk shouted, yanking out his sword and charging through the thorns for Nick.

  Nick ran, dashed into the bushes, found a small trail, and sprinted down it as fast as he could go. Shouts came from all around him and he spied several figures in the fog, running parallel to him through the trees.

  Nick broke into a large clearing of gray, knee-high grass, and another group of Devils shot out into the clearing ahead of him. Nick cut away and darted toward a thin line of trees. He could see the burning fields through their branches and it occurred to him if he could make it out there, then maybe, maybe, the Devils wouldn’t follow.

  A spear whisked past him, so close he actually felt its wake. The Devils howled like beasts, and Nick knew how a deer must feel when chased by wolves. A shrill cry escaped his own throat—eyes wide, heart pounding, as his legs whipped through the tall grass.

  Nick closed in on the line of trees, could smell the soggy burned wood beyond. A spear slapped off his thigh, the shaft tangled in his legs. Nick went sprawling into the grass.

  PETER HEARD SHOUTS in the distance. Sounds were tricky in the thick fog. He stopped and cocked his head from side to side as he tried to locate their direction.

  He’d found what he thought were Nick’s tracks just before dawn and followed them. But the tracks had run together with those of the Devils and since then he’d been racing along, hoping to catch Nick before the Devils did. He’d also found other tracks, large, deep imprints. It would take someone of substantial weight to make such tracks. A lone Flesh-eater? That didn’t seem likely. There was only one other possibility, and he didn’t want to think of it. Whoever it was, they were tracking the boy.

  More shouts. They’re near the burning fields, Peter thought. He heard yelling, the calls echoing up and down the valley in the early morning quiet. Peter was horrified. Don’t they know where they are?

  “Avallach be merciful,” Peter pleaded, and took off at a hard run. Had not enough gone wrong?

  NICK SAT UP. They had him, fanning out, circling him. Is this how I’m going to die? he wondered. Not killed by monsters, not by some drug dealer, but at the hands of a bunch of kids, kids that had just yesterday called him their brother. Not even his fear of death was so terrible as the looks he saw on their faces, the feverish glee that ran beneath the bloodlust, a murderous joy only experienced by lynching mobs. “I DIDN’T DO IT!” Nick cried. But no one was listening, they all had murder—his murder—in their eyes.

  Dirk lea
ped for him, his sword pulled back, his eyes on Nick’s neck, his face no different than that of a boy about to score a touchdown. A spear—a thick, heavy spear—hit Dirk in the middle of his chest, driving deep into his ribs, knocking him off his feet.

  A loud cry filled the air. Flesh-eaters, a long, ragged line of them, burst from the trees. Men in armor and heavy boots came screaming into the grassy glade, brandishing swords, spears, and pike axes.

  Nick made for his feet, felt thick, powerful fingers grab his arm, yank him into the air, then slam him to the ground. All the breath left Nick’s body. A Flesh-eater shoved his face into Nick’s. The man’s lips peeled back into a mockery of a grin, exposing white gums and black teeth. His eyes, little more than slits of red, glared at Nick. “Gonna be all right, lad. Aye, we’re here to save you.”

  Nick tried to break away, then felt a jagged blade against his neck.

  “There, now,” the man chortled. “You should stay put if you be wanting to keep your ears attached to the sides of your head.”

  NICK SAW A spear hit Redbone. It went through the boy’s side, the point protruding out of his back. Redbone grasped the spear in both hands, screamed through clenched teeth, and collapsed to his knees.

  The Devils were spread out across the glade. They stopped in their tracks; their faces, which only seconds before were those of bloodthirsty predators, were now wild with shock and terror.

  “NOW!” commanded a tall man wearing a wide-brimmed hat, and more heavily armed men, at least thirty or forty of them, came rushing into the glade down off the east slope.

  “RUN!” screamed Redbone. “GET OUT OF HERE!”

  The Devils broke and ran, scrambling in all directions. The men gave chase. Spears flew from both sides, men and Devils alike falling to the ground. Nick saw the big blond Bear take two spears in the back. Bear didn’t fall, just kept stumbling away, weaving like a drunk, wheezing and coughing up blood until finally a man hit him in the back of the skull with an ax. Another kid, a black boy from Brooklyn whose name Nick couldn’t remember, was hit in the leg, a spear going all the way through his thigh. The boy fell to the ground and began dragging himself forward, clawing at the soft earth. Five men set to him with ax and sword.

  Another group of Flesh-eaters came running into the clearing from the west side. They slung nets weighted with rocks at the Devils, bringing many down in a tangle then stabbing them to death as they fought to free themselves.

  Nick caught sight of Danny and Cricket, they stood at the farthest end of the glade, frozen in place, their eyes wide with horror. Run! What are you waiting for?

  A Flesh-eater gave a shout, pointed at the pair, and over a dozen men started toward them. Danny turned and ran back into the trees, followed a second later by Cricket.

  PETER RACED DOWN the path. The din of battle, the screams of pain echoed eerily up the foggy valley. Those are Devils dying! his mind screamed at him. Peter leaped recklessly across a wide, rushing creek, careened down a steep path, heedless to the danger as he half-fell and half-slid down the loose stones to its bottom. He landed in a roll and was up again, running onward, determined to get to the fight before all was lost.

  Peter skidded around a clump of thick oaks, and there, down the ledge below him, were Cricket, Danny, and a Devil by the name of Trick. They were surrounded by a wide circle of Flesh-eaters. The Flesh-eaters moved in, tightening the ring. Trick was doing his best to hold them off, yelling and slashing the air with his spear. Cricket and Danny both clutched their spears, all but paralyzed with fear.

  Four Flesh-eaters rushed in at once, knocking Trick’s spear aside and running him through. Pain twisted the boy’s face and blood spurted from his mouth as he slid to the ground.

  Peter snarled, leaped forward, and launched his spear. The weapon flew true, finding its mark in the breastplate of the forward-most man, piercing the thin metal and knocking the man to the ground. Peter yanked both of his swords from their scabbards and ran all out, launching himself off the ledge and into the air from almost twenty feet above the fight. He howled and the men looked up, their eyes going wide with surprise as a screaming demon came hurtling onto them.

  Peter crashed into them feet-first, the men collapsing like bowling pins. Peter bounded up off the first man, leaving him headless. He landed on the second man and thrust his sword into his face before the man could even push his helmet from his eyes. Then he was away, cutting one man’s arm off at the elbow with one sword while thrusting the other sword into the throat of another. He leaped and spun, his twin blades weaving a dance of death and dismemberment, leaving severed arms, legs, and necks in their wake.

  When there was no more flesh to cut in front of him, Peter whirled, eyes blazing, not even bothering to wipe away the splash of black blood that ran across his face. Six men lay dead or dying at his feet, their moans music to his ears.

  Danny let out a cry as the Flesh-eaters grabbed him and closed ranks. Peter spotted Cricket halfway up the embankment. She stopped and looked back at him.

  “GET OUT OF HERE!” Peter cried.

  Cricket hesitated, then scrambled to the top of the ledge and disappeared.

  Peter glared at the eight remaining men, grinning as black blood dripped from his blades.

  The men watched him as though he was possessed. But these were seasoned fighters, not new recruits, and they spread out into a defensive formation. One man drifted too far, and Peter was on him in a heartbeat. There came a quick clang of steel as Peter knocked aside the spear point, rolled, and cut the man down at the ankle. The man collapsed, screaming and clutching his spurting stump. Peter was up and away before the next man in line could come near.

  Peter circled and they followed him with their swords and spears.

  Shouts came from down the trail. More men were coming, a lot more men. Now it was the Flesh-eaters that grinned. Peter knew he had to end this fast. He took a step forward, and when he did, the man holding Danny thrust his sword under the boy’s throat. “You move again and the boy dies.”

  Danny whimpered as blood trickled from the edge of the sword at his neck.

  “I’ll cut him. Cut him wide open, I will.”

  But there was more going on here than the men realized. Peter meant to save Danny if he could, but the darker truth was that Peter couldn’t let the men take Danny, not alive. Not under any circumstances. Danny knew where the Lady was.

  “Danny, say your prayers,” Peter said, his voice like cold steel.

  The men exchanged a nervous glance.

  Peter came at them, running all out. The men tightened their ranks and leveled their spears. But this was what Peter had wanted. At the last second, he faked left, drawing their weapons to bear, then leaped right, launching himself from a large root, bounding up, and cartwheeling over the men. He struck out with both swords, the blades scissoring into the face of the man holding Danny, cutting the entire front of the man’s face off, exposing his eye sockets, nasal cavities, and an open hole where his mouth had been. There came a horrible gargling cry; the man’s tongue flapped like a windsock. He fell away from Danny, clutching what was left of his face.

  Peter landed behind them. The men all tried to spin at once, but in different directions, crashing into one another and getting tangled in each other’s weapons. Peter shoved his swords into the backs of the men on either side of Danny and snatched the boy free. Hauling him away, pushing him up the trail. “RUN!” he screamed. “Run, for the Lady’s sake!”

  Danny took off with Peter right behind him, and made it about four paces, then tripped, taking Peter down with him. Peter got one foot back under him when something hit him on the back of the skull.

  Peter was still lucid enough to feel his face slap the hard earth, to feel the air go out of him, to see the men with their wicked grins and deadly spears circle him. Then he saw something else. There, far up on the hill, looking down, stood a tall figure in a woolly cape; a helmet with great antlers sat on its head.

  Peter smiled. Th
e Horned One had come to guide him to Otherworld.

  PART IV

  The Captain

  Chapter Twenty

  Samuel Carver

  Bedbone slipped again, jerking the rope against Nick’s neck. Nick winced as the prickly cords bit into his flesh. He fought to keep his footing and could only watch helplessly as Redbone struggled to regain his feet. There was a terrible gash in Redbone’s side; blood oozed out and ran all the way down his leg. And even though Redbone had been trying to kill him only an hour before, Nick still hated to see him suffer like this.

  Just ahead of Redbone, Danny was blubbering and wouldn’t shut up. In front of Danny was Leroy. Nick wished Leroy was the one with the wound in his side; he’d have no problem watching Leroy choke. Peter was in the lead, plodding silently forward. Nick had no idea what was going to happen to them, but whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good.

  The men strung out in a long procession both in front and behind the boys, their dark, leathery flesh glistening beneath a coat of oily sweat. Directly ahead trudged a group of pike-men with the heads of the dead Devils sitting atop their pikes. Dirk’s lifeless eyes stared at Nick as his tongue lolled back and forth to the rhythm of the march.

  Now that they were out in the open landscape and well away from the forests, the men had dropped their guard, staring at the trail with empty, soulless eyes, and dragging their spears as they tromped down the long, gray road. Nick did his best to avoid looking at them, at the thick veins running beneath their skin like worms, the bumps, scales, and horns. Apparently, the magic had twisted each man differently, and Nick found himself confronted with an endless variety of tortured bodies and the faces of men weary to their very souls.

  The air was warm and humid, especially compared to the forests. Sweat rolled down Nick’s face and into his wounds, stinging the raw flesh where the ropes cut into his neck and wrists. Nick’s tongue felt swollen. He couldn’t remember ever being so thirsty. Down here, in the flatlands, the earth was dried out. They kicked up a cloud of dust as they marched along, and soon were covered in the claylike powder. Nick tried to spit to clear his mouth of the grime, but his mouth was too dry.