The Child Thief

by Brom

  The chain clanged again and the pixie hesitated, buzzing away then back, as though trying to build up her courage. Nick remembered the dead pixies he’d seen on the line with the fish. He wondered what sort of traps the men set for pixies.

  She landed back on the chain and looked at Nick. Nick nodded up and down rapidly, trying to encourage her, pleading with his eyes for her not to give up. The chain was at the very top of the nail now. She bit her lip, planted both feet on the board, and gave a mighty tug. The chain popped free, sending the pixie tumbling backward through the air. The chain swung down, hitting the door with a loud smack.

  Nick’s eyes went to the old guard, sure he’d be up and all this would be for naught. But the guard didn’t so much as stir. He just lay there, his chest steadily rising and falling. Nick thanked the stars the man was hard of hearing.

  Now that the chain was off, Nick only had to work the slat over. He stuck his fingers through the planks and slid it across an inch at a time. It fell off the clasp, landing with a thud in the soft earth. Nick pushed the door slowly open and slid out of his cell. He sat crouched in the shadows with his heart thumping. What now?

  The pixie fluttered over to him, hovered right in front of his face, gave him a long, wet raspberry, grinned as big as the moon, and flew up and away, a streak of blue light disappearing into the mist. Nick allowed himself a grin. From here on out, pixies could steal his food any time they wanted.

  Nick watched the guard, ready to rush him if he woke. But the guard did nothing more than grunt and snore. Nick peered beyond the rise; the shadowy shape of the back fortifications looked to be less than twenty yards away. It would be easy, in this fog, to slip over unseen, scale the ramparts, and be away.

  I’m done here, he thought and headed toward the wall. Done with the madness, done with Flesh-eaters, Devils, the Lady, and most of all…Peter. He stopped. The Mist was rising, its silvery luminance swirling beneath the fog, its ghostly tendrils creeping through the fortification. He could actually smell it, that dusty dankness. It brought the boy to mind, the one with the Nike high-tops, the horrible scream forever frozen on his face. Nick gritted his teeth. Can I do this? Can I go in there alone? Then he heard them, or thought he did: the faint voices of children. A chill crawled up his back. He looked toward the square, to where Peter hung from the cross, and realized he was down to two choices and he didn’t like either one of them. He kicked the mud. “Fuck,” he whispered, and started back. “Damn it, Peter. You better not let me down.”

  Nick slipped toward the guard, his footsteps silent in the soft, moist dirt. This is stupid, he thought. I should leave while I still can. He found the guard’s spear leaning against a stump, picked it up, and leveled it at the man’s chest. Do it, he told himself. You have to. If he awakes he’ll ruin any chance of escape. Now, one hard thrust. Yet Nick hesitated. He knew this man would kill him in a heartbeat. But, Nick thought, this man gave me water. And he’s just an old man that got caught up in this nightmare, same as me. Nick lowered the spear. And, if I kill him, how will he ever be able to see the stars again?

  Nick felt eyes on him and looked up—Leroy was staring at him from the open cell. Leroy didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, just watched. Nick didn’t know what Leroy would do and didn’t care. Nick carefully slipped the guard’s sword out of its scabbard and, carrying the sword in one hand and the spear in the other, moved silently away, toward the town square.

  Nick crouched in the shadow of a woodpile and tried to figure out his next move. A light thud came from behind him; he started. Leroy was there, right beside him. Nick flashed the sword around and leveled it at the boy’s throat.

  Leroy flinched, but held his place.

  Nick kept the sword on him. “What’d you want?” Nick hissed.

  “Give me the spear. I’m coming with you.”

  “No,” Nick whispered.

  “Yes,” Leroy said, raising his voice.

  Nick pressed the sword to Leroy’s throat. “Shut up.”

  Nick heard a woman’s laughter coming from the town square. He could see a few shapes through the shifting fog; one of them threw something at Peter and cackled.

  Nick looked into Leroy’s eyes. “I’m going to get Peter.”

  Leroy nodded.

  Nick cursed himself for being a fool, and handed Leroy the spear.

  THE CAPTAIN STOOD before the wooden structure and watched the flames lick the sky. He looked at Danny. “Daniel, what do you know of this?”

  The boy shrugged, he seemed as perplexed as the rest of them.

  “We’re on the righteous path,” the Reverend pronounced loudly. “The Lord smites our foes. His great hand leads our way. Here, here is the proof!” He jabbed at the small, smoldering bodies lying about on the ground. “God has burned them with their own flame!”

  Well, someone had, anyway, the Captain thought. He sure hoped it was God, but he had a bad feeling it was something else, something that they didn’t want to run into.

  He picked up one of the discarded swords and examined it. These were finely crafted blades, odd to have been left behind, but there was plenty of oddness here. He held his torch near the soft earth. Small footprints were scattered everywhere, those of the pointy-eared folk or maybe the demon children, but it was the large bootprints that made him uneasy. He set his foot in one. The prints were substantially larger than his own.

  He leaned down to Danny. “Where to from here?”

  Danny pointed past the burning hall, to a courtyard.

  “Form ranks,” the Captain shouted. “Let’s keep moving.”

  NICK PRESSED AGAINST the side of the hut. Leroy was across the way, against another. Nick signaled for him to hold as he peered around the corner. He leaned out slowly, careful to make no sudden movements, the way Sekeu had taught him.

  There were two guards, but they were hardly guarding anyone, too interested in entertaining the two women. Nick recognized one of the women—Eva, the one who’d accused him of being a demon. He gritted his teeth, almost growled.

  Eva was pointing at Peter and whispering to the group as they huddled. Apparently, she said something humorous, for her friend let out a snort, then quickly covered her mouth. The guards were doing their best to stifle their mirth.

  Eva’s eyes widened, as though struck with divine inspiration. She plucked up one of the guards’ spears, raised the blunt end up, and pointed it at Peter’s crotch. She glanced back and forth between the guards and her friend. They all watched her, barely able to contain themselves. Eva jabbed Peter in the crotch. The group practically had a fit as they struggled not to laugh out loud.

  Nick saw Peter’s face tighten. So, you’re alive after all.

  Eva jabbed Peter in the crotch again, hard, and this time Peter moaned and the guards doubled over laughing.

  Nick nodded to Leroy, then launched himself at the guards. And he was fast. Nick was stunned to feel the fleetness of his own feet. He was on the first guard before the man even saw him. Nick bounded off the platform, swinging his sword forward with the full weight of his momentum, slicing the man’s head off at the base of the neck. The head careened through the air and hit Eva in the chest, knocking her to the ground. The spear she held clattered to the stones. Eva’s eyes flashed wide as Nick came for her, as though this time she were truly seeing a demon. She opened her mouth to scream and Nick shoved the sword down her throat, feeling only pleasure as the blade tore out the back of her skull. He planted a foot against her chest and yanked his sword free, leaving her convulsing in the dirt.

  A shrill wail filled the night. Eva’s friend had no trouble finding her voice or her feet as she ran screaming from the square. Nick saw Leroy pull his spear out from the other guard’s chest.

  They both looked to Peter. “Hurry!” Nick cried and they jumped atop the platform.

  Peter’s eyes sprung open.

  Nick held the sword above the ropes but didn’t start cutting. “Peter, you promised to take me back. Remember? Swear t
o it. Swear to it again right now or I’ll leave you here.”

  “I swear,” Peter said hoarsely, then grinned. Nick didn’t like that grin.

  They had him down in a moment, propping him against the platform. “Water,” Peter rasped, as he rubbed his wrists. Nick darted over and brought back a canteen from beside the guard’s fire. Peter guzzled the water, pouring it over his face and on the blistering welts running across his chest. They’d set the brand to him five times.

  Nick heard people shouting, could still hear Eva’s friend wailing on and on about demons and devils to the whole world. Nick leaped up, began pulling torches from their stocks and slinging them onto rooftops. The thatched roofs began to smolder then burn.

  Nick snatched up the guard’s sword and tossed it to Peter. He put an arm around Peter and pulled him to his feet. “Peter, can you walk?”

  “Let’s see,” Peter said, already sounding better.

  Leroy got his other arm and together they hurried from the square. Peter stumbled at first, but had his feet under him in short order and soon was walking—albeit a bit unsteadily—on his own.

  A woman came quickly around a corner, saw them, and froze. Peter hissed at her. She clutched spastically at her crosses, nearly tripping over her own feet as she clambered away.

  They heard shouts and the clanging of arms from somewhere behind them. Suddenly a man in a long cape stepped out from a hut just ahead. He held a torch out, squinting into the dark. It was the mole-faced Reverend.

  “Oh, joy,” Peter said, pushing away from Nick and Leroy, standing on his own feet. “It’s playtime.”

  “What nonsense is going on here?” the Reverend snarled. He held the torch up and, when he saw the boys, his expression changed from one of irritation to that of horror. “Devils!” he gasped.

  A wicked smile slid across Peter’s face. “Devils indeed.”

  The Reverend threw the torch at them and ran. Peter batted the flame harmlessly away and leaped forward. Even with a limp, Peter caught the Reverend in three strides, dropped the man to the ground with a two-handed slash across the back of his knees. The Reverend writhed in the dirt, clutching his legs and screeching. Peter picked up the torch and moved in.

  Nick could see people gathering in the square. “There’s no time to play around, Peter,” Nick said.

  “Oh, there’s always time to play,” Peter replied, his voice cold and hard. He planted a foot on the man’s chest, holding him down while he jabbed the sword into the man’s shoulder, twisting the blade. The Reverend screamed, and when he did, Peter shoved the burning torch into the man’s mouth.

  “THERE!” someone shouted from the square. Nick saw a handful of men hobbling toward them, and it struck him that they were all amputees. Then it dawned on him that all the able-bodied men had gone with the Captain to find the Lady. Amputees or not, if these men caught up with them it would be over. “Peter,” Nick shouted. “The Lady, think of the Lady.” This brought Peter back around. He left the Reverend rolling on the ground engulfed in flame and they raced away toward the gate.

  Five men blocked their way. They were cripples as well, but they looked determined to stop the boys.

  Peter let loose a howl and charged. Nick saw their faces in the torchlight, the same faces that had cheered and jeered as he was drowning in the cage. He let loose his own howl and raced Peter for them, surprised to find not fear in his gut but only a terrible lust to make these men pay.

  Nick zeroed in on the outside Flesh-eater. The man had a peg leg and a hook for a hand. The man brought his pike to bear but was unprepared for the speed and recklessness of Nick’s assault. Nick’s movements were quick and liquid as he knocked the pike aside and slipped past the man. The man tried to turn, but before he could even get a foot around, Nick kicked the peg out from under him. The man tumbled backward and Nick felt nothing but satisfaction as he hacked into the man’s neck.

  Peter dropped one, then, together with Nick, they hit the man between them at the same time, leaving him flopping about in a pool of black blood.

  There came a cry, and both Nick and Peter spun in time to see the last man drive his sword into Leroy’s gut. Leroy stumbled back, clutching his stomach, his face twisted in agony, and fell to his knees.

  Nick leaped forward and slashed the back of the man’s neck. The man swung wildly at him, missed, and Peter dropped him from behind.

  Peter and Nick shoved the slat free of the gate, pushed the door outward. Peter took an extra second to snatch up a knife and tuck it in his belt. They got Leroy’s arms around their shoulders and fled into the night.

  THEIR TORCHLIGHT BOUNCED and glittered off the high shear walls of the box canyon, illuminating the twisting vines, making them seem to dance like a nest of snakes. The Captain cut his eyes to the man next to him. “What do you think, Beasley?”

  “I don’t rightly like it, sir.”

  “Aye, I don’t either,” the Captain agreed. “Not one bit.” He pulled at his thin mustache. “Maybe we should backtrack a ways. Send a few men up along the ridge, there. We could—”

  “What is the trouble now, Captain?” called an irritated voice from behind them. The Captain turned to see the Reverend and Ox shoving their way up through the ranks. “Why the delay?” the Reverend asked, stopped, and stared ahead into the narrow canyon. “Why, it’s a dead end.” He snatched Danny by the collar and jerked him around to face him. “This your idea of a joke, boy? Are you toying with us?”

  “No!” Danny cried. “The door is right there. I swear. I swear.”

  The Captain set his hand on the Reverend’s shoulder. “Reverend, please.”

  The Reverend glared at the Captain’s hand and the Captain promptly removed it.

  “Beg your pardon, Your Grace,” the Captain said. “But the boy tells there’s a doorway hidden beneath the vines.”

  The Reverend squinted at the wall. “Well, is there?”

  “We don’t know yet.”

  “And why not?” he snapped. “What are you waiting for? Go check.”

  “All in time, Your Grace. First we must make sure the way is safe. There’s no need to senselessly risk the lives of the men.”

  “Nonsense. God watches our path.”

  “Perhaps then the Reverend would like to lead the way?”

  The Reverend set hard eyes on him but made no move to walk into the canyon.

  “You there.” The Reverend pointed to Beasley. “And you. Go see what you can find.”

  “Reverend,” the Captain said sharply. “I refuse to allow—”

  “Captain,” the Reverend hissed through tight lips. “You tread a dangerous line.”

  The Captain sucked in a deep breath, fought the urge to slap the Reverend’s almighty sneer from his face. “My apologies, Your Grace. I simply meant to suggest that this is a dangerous path, and we should proceed cautiously.”

  The Reverend waved the Captain away. “You’ve made your concerns plain enough.”

  The men, Beasley and his shipmate John, hadn’t moved; they looked to the Captain. Good men, the Captain thought. Two men he knew he could count on to stand with him against any foe, including the Reverends and their fanatics. Loyal men like Beasley and John were fewer and fewer these days, for too many had fallen under the Reverend’s influence.

  The Reverend glared at the men. “Did you not hear me? The Lord needs you to be brave. You will move. Now!”

  The Captain read a silent curse in the men’s eyes, but they moved, because they knew very well that the Reverend wouldn’t hesitate to have them nailed to a tree if they didn’t.

  Beasley and John crept slowly into the canyon, scanning the cliffs, watching the rocks and foliage for booby traps. They looked relieved when they made it to the wall without mishap. They pushed the vines aside, uncovering what looked to be a circular incision into the stone.

  “Aye, it be here, Cap,” Beasley called back over his shoulder. “It looks to be a—”

  Something grabbed Beasley, wrapped a
round his arm, and yanked him against the wall. At first the Captain thought it was a serpent hidden among the vines, then he realized it was the vines. The thorny vines grabbed both men—slithering around their arms, legs, torsos, and necks—twisting, squeezing like boa constrictors. The men cried out and the Captain started forward, then noticed the vines along both sides of the small canyon unfurling, reaching for him. He stopped.

  Beasley’s eyes bulged and he let out a shrill wail. There came the undeniable snapping of bones as the vines bent the men’s arms and legs into impossible angles. The men screamed and screamed, their cries echoing up and down the stone walls. The vines twisted the men, ripping their bodies apart. Blood and gore squeezed from their gullets, spattering down the leaves and landing in sloppy puddles on the white stones.

  Sorcery, the Captain thought. The Lady’s hand at work.

  A panicked rumbling spread through the men, they began to knock into one another as they tried to press back down the narrow trail.

  “HOLD!” the Captain commanded. “Mark, Thomas, Anthony, all of you. STAND FAST!” The men continued to shift nervously, but held their ground.

  The Captain glared at the Reverend. The Reverend caught the Captain’s accusing stare and looked away. Watch your back, the Captain thought. First chance I get I’m going to gut you like a fish.

  “The boy,” the Reverend said bitterly. “He tricked us! Ox, take the boy, send him into the vines!”

  “No,” the Captain said, his eyes burning into the Reverend. “Don’t you blame the boy.”

  “Captain, my patience with you is at an end! I will—”

  The Captain spun away, grabbed an ax from one of the men, hefted his torch, and stomped toward the vines.

  “Captain,” the Reverend called. “You will stop.”

  The Captain ignored him; he reached the vines and shoved the flame into their leaves, driving the snapping, whipping plants away from him. He brought the ax down onto one of the thick stalks near the ground. The blade sliced deep into the vine, a spray of red liquid spurted out. Blood, the Captain thought, and was not the least surprised.