by Brom
He ordered the men forward and they followed his lead, burning and hacking the deadly plants back. Soon the vines lay writhing in their death throes upon the canyon floor, and there, before them, the circular edge of the door was revealed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Avallach’s Tree
Here. Lay him here,” Peter said and helped Nick lower Leroy to the ground.
Leroy wrapped both hands about his gut and let out a low moan, blood oozing from between his fingers. Nick wished they had some cloth, some water, anything to help.
Peter glanced ahead, north, toward the mountains. “We have to leave him,” Peter said, his tone cold and detached.
“What do you mean?” Nick asked.
“He’s slowing us down.”
“NO!” Leroy cried. “Don’t leave me. Please. I can walk. Please. Please don’t leave me.”
“We’ll come back for you later,” Peter said, but, Nick could tell by the way Peter said it, there’d be no later.
Peter pulled Nick aside. “He’s dead anyway.”
“What?”
“It’s a gut wound. A bad one. There’s nothing for it.”
“You don’t know,” Nick said. “He might make it. Maybe we can take him to the Lady.”
“Can’t you see? He won’t get halfway there.”
Leroy moaned again, the glow from the burning huts glistening off his wet brow. He bent over almost double. Nick glanced back, could just make out a handful of armed men milling about near the gate.
“Jesus Christ, Peter. He just saved your life and you’re going to leave him here…for them?”
“I’m not going to leave him for them,” Peter said coldly.
Nick looked at Peter, tying to comprehend.
Peter slid out his knife, keeping it hidden from Leroy. “A gut wound is a slow, painful way to die,” Peter whispered. “It’s best if we end this quickly. Trust me, it’s a kindness.”
Nick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “No way. No, you can’t.”
Peter’s face was set. “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be,” he warned and pushed past Nick.
Leroy saw Peter’s face and his eyes went wide. “Peter, please,” he blubbered. “Please, I can walk.”
Nick jumped in front of Peter, leveled his sword at Peter’s chest. “Stop it. Stop this right now!”
“This the way you want to do it?” Peter snarled. “Just like with Sekeu?”
“What? No.” Nick shook his head. “You don’t know what—”
Before Nick could even blink, Peter shot forward and slapped his sword aside. He landed a solid blow to Nick’s chin, knocking him to the ground. Peter was on top of him, a knee planted in his chest, the knife to his throat.
“Tell me, Nick. What happened? What happened with Sekeu? Tell me quick. Tell me the truth and I might spare you. Lie to me and I promise you a painful death.”
Nick felt the blade press into his flesh, felt warm blood roll down his neck. Peter’s eyes were wild, scary.
“You’re about to die, Nick. Talk!”
“I DIDN’T DO IT!” Nick shouted.
“Then who?”
“Ask Leroy.”
Peter set his eyes on Leroy.
Leroy looked like a trapped animal; he shook his head rapidly back and forth. “NO! Not me! I didn’t do it! It was him. The horned man!” Leroy began to sob. “The horned man made me. Made me do it. He made me!” Leroy was bawling now. “Peter, you got to believe me.”
Peter’s eyes thinned to slits, his lips pressed together, forming a tight line. He shoved Nick away and went for Leroy.
“NO!” Leroy screamed and tried to get to his feet, let out a cry of pain, clutched his stomach, and fell. Blood gushed out from beneath his hand as he crawled away from Peter, kicking and clawing at the dusty dirt.
Peter snatched him by the arm and yanked him up to his knees. “LIES! I’m sick to death of your lies. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Leroy brought his hands together as though praying. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—”
“SHUT UP!” Peter cried and struck him hard across the face. “The heads of all those boys are on your shoulders! You brought ruin to Deviltree!” Peter shoved the knife into Leroy’s chest.
Leroy’s eyes went wide, locked on Nick as though begging him to help, then rolled upward and glazed over.
“You don’t deserve this mercy,” Peter spat. He yanked the blade free and let Leroy drop to the dirt.
“Oh, God,” Nick whispered as he watched the blood pool beneath the dead boy.
Peter walked past Nick. “Let’s go.”
“You’re insane!” Nick yelled.
Peter kept walking.
“Madness,” Nick called. “That’s all I’ve found here. Does Avalon breed insanity? Is that the nature of magic, to drive everyone out of their minds?”
Peter stopped, turned, his eyes flared. “What would you have me do? You think I didn’t know about Abraham? Leroy brought this upon himself with his treachery, his lies. Now he’s destroyed everything!” Peter slammed his fist into his palm. “I’d kill him again if I could.”
“You’re blaming him?” Nick scoffed. “I saw the heads back there. How many boys have you brought here? How many have died trying to save your precious Lady?”
Peter’s face clouded. “Everything comes at a price. Or have you not learned that yet?”
“How many lives is she worth?”
“I’d give a thousand lives to save her.”
“You mean you’d give the lives of a thousand children to save her. Don’t you?”
Peter leaped at Nick, grabbed him, and shoved his knife beneath his throat.
“GO ON!” Nick cried. “Fuck, what’s one more to you? What’s one more head sitting out there on those stakes? You’re a monster, the worst kind of monster. You deceive these kids with your promises and lies, get them to believe in you, to love you—to fucking worship you. Then what? Then what do you do? You lead them to their deaths. How many, Peter? How many have died for your goddamn Lady?”
Peter’s face twisted into a knot of pain. A low sound somewhere between a moan and a growl escaped his pierced lips. He pulled the knife back and shoved Nick away.
“She owns your soul,” Nick said. “Can’t you see? The Lady has bewitched you.”
“And what is love if not bewitchment?” Peter cried. “Nick, I’d hoped her love would find you. Open your eyes to the magic around you. Hoped you’d learn that there are some things worth fighting for—worth dying for. I thought I saw something special in you. But what a fool I was to trust a boy who’d abandon his own mother. You’re blind. Blind as any of those men—to magic, to love, to loyalty. Nick, will you always be a runaway?”
Nick shook his head. “You never stop, do you? You’re still trying to play me, trying to manipulate me. It’s all a big game to you. Well save your breath, Peter. Because I’m done playing.” Nick pointed toward the coast. “The Mist is there. Take me back. Now.”
Peter laughed. “You’re the one that’s lost his mind.”
Nick glared at him.
“You’re not serious?” Peter asked. “No, forget it. I have to get to the Lady. Everything is at stake.”
“I don’t want to die for your Lady. My mother needs me.”
“Not now, Nick.”
“If it weren’t for me you’d still be hanging on that cross.”
Peter shrugged.
“You swore to me. Does your word mean nothing?”
Peter smiled wickedly, like someone who has just called checkmate. “I had my fingers crossed.”
“What? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“That’s the rules. You forgot to check.”
Nick realized that Peter was serious. “That’s bullshit! This isn’t a fucking game, Peter!”
Peter shrugged again and began walking away.
Nick watched Peter go, watched until he was almost out of sight. He looked at L
eroy, at the boy’s dead eyes staring up at him as though still begging him to help. He glanced back to the burning fort, to the Mist beyond, took a deep breath, and followed Peter.
SMOKE AND THE smell of burned leaves filled the canyon. Even cut from their stalks, the vines still twitched and coiled, but were capable of little more. The Captain stood in front of the circular mark in the stone. “Heave!” he called and the men pushed against the stone. There came a grinding and the boulder swung inward, revealing a dark passage.
The men stepped quickly back to avoid any traps, but also, the Captain knew, to avoid being chosen to enter first.
The Captain caught the Reverend still glaring at him. He feared today he might’ve overstepped, finally pressed his luck too far. He guessed there was a good chance the Reverend would have him flogged if they made it back to camp, but the Captain had no intention of allowing that to happen. It’ll all be over soon, he thought. And when it is, I intend to see you hung like a common criminal.
The Captain held his torch before him and peered into the dark tunnel, then back at his men. “Any takers?” The men studied their feet and examined their belts and harnesses. The Captain let out a sigh and drew his sword. “Then follow me.” He ducked into the dark passage and sprinted toward the dim light ahead. This is where they will take us, he thought and steeled himself for an attack. He found no ambush, no traps, only a soft, mossy trail leading up to a steep, rushing creek.
The men filed out behind him, their torchlight setting the thick mist aglow. They marched two abreast up the path, weapons drawn, ready for whatever might challenge their right of way. But the forest was quiet, the only life the Captain caught sight of were the tiny lights darting about in the greenery.
This is too easy, the Captain thought. He didn’t like it. Where’s the resistance? What are they waiting for?
Ahead, dozens of waterfalls cascaded down the sheer mountain face, the stones so white as to almost glow, bright enough that they hardly even needed their torches. He would’ve considered it beautiful if he’d not been so aware of its bewitchment.
“Daniel, we’re here, aren’t we? This is her place?”
Danny nodded.
“Which one? Where does she hide?”
The boy hesitated.
“Daniel,” the Captain whispered. “It is the right thing to do. So many have died because of her. Free yourself of her bewitchment.”
Daniel slowly raised a hand and pointed to the smaller falls, the one farthest in.
The Captain led the men up to the falls. He could see that there was indeed an opening behind the cascading water. He looked back into the faces of his men, men who had served him well, both at sea and here, among the horrors of this demon land, men that still held on to their sanity after being plagued, twisted, and tormented, and for no other crime than landing on the wrong shore. The Captain was ready to end this nightmare, hungry to finally be able to strike back at the demon that had plagued him for an age. He could see his men were hungry too.
The Captain mounted the steps. His heart drummed in his chest. He had no idea what sorcery awaited beyond these falls, only knew it didn’t matter, because it was time for a reckoning. One way or another, they would end it here and now.
“Steady men,” he called. “On my order.”
PETER DRANK DEEP, then dunked his head in and out of the stream, letting the cool water revive him. He rolled onto his back upon the sandy bank, trying to catch his breath, trying not to feel the stinging welts on his chest, the hundred bruises and scrapes from the beatings.
How many Flesh-eaters were there? He’d tried to take count in the fort, but had only been able to see the ones that passed before him. What, forty? No. He knew that was wishful thinking. He’d grossly underestimated their number before and there were more now. At least sixty, seventy, maybe even more.
And where were they? How close to the Haven? Could Danny remember the way? The odds were good, Peter told himself, that they’d get lost. If that were so, he could gather the elves, the witch, any Devils that had survived the ambush, and together they could pick them off. It would be dangerous, but they might still have a chance to save the Lady.
He heard Nick’s words, “You lead them to their deaths…. How many have died for your goddamn Lady?” Peter frowned. Stupid kid. What did he know about any of it? Anyway, now’s not the time to worry about it—first, we save the Lady.
Nick came crashing into the clearing, red-faced and out of breath. He dropped to his knees before the stream, gasping as he drank.
Peter had to admit, the kid had kept up well. He’d hardly slowed for the boy. Nick saw him staring, and Peter looked away.
Peter gave the boy a minute to catch his breath. “Come on. Deviltree’s not much farther.”
THE ROUND DOOR to Deviltree was wedged open. Peter pushed it slowly inward and peered in, sword ready. Most of the torches had burned out, casting the hall into a sputtering gloom. Peter saw no signs of conflict. “Hello,” he called, received no answer, and entered with Nick right behind him.
Peter ran to the weapons rack. “Quick,” he said, “gather what you need and let’s be off.” He tossed aside the Flesh-eater’s sword and grabbed two blades better suited for his hands, strapped them over his shoulder, so that the swords crossed behind his back, then headed to the store bins, near the fireplace, to round up some rations. He caught sight of Sekeu’s body and stopped. She still lay beneath the blankets, just as when he had left. He stared at the twist of long black hair and felt his hands begin to tremble.
Nick came up behind him but didn’t say a word.
Maldiriel lay on the floor near the fireplace, Sekeu’s blood still on its blade. Peter picked it up and wiped away all traces of the blood. “Nick,” Peter said, his voice tight. “Sekeu would’ve wanted you to keep this.”
Nick’s brow tightened. He looked at the blade as though it were evil.
“It’s a good blade,” Peter said. “Might make the difference to your getting home or not. It’s what Sekeu would want. For doing your best for her.” He paused. “Her blood’s on this blade. Her spirit is forever part of it now. Take it.”
Nick met Peter’s eyes. Peter could see Nick blinking back the tears. The boy nodded and took the sword, started to say something, when a scraping sound, like metal on stone, came from the back side of the chamber. They exchanged looks. Peter pointed to the far wall and the two boys spread out, swords ready.
“Over here,” Nick called.
Peter rushed around. It was Amos, the Amish kid, the one who’d been shunned by his own family. He lay on a cot with a blanket half-covering him. His leg and stomach were bandaged and he looked pale. He clutched a tin cup. It was empty, as was the pail next to him.
“Peter,” the boy rasped in a weak but elated voice. “Peter, you crazy motherfucker, you’re alive!”
Nick nabbed the pail and dashed away toward the privy.
“Amos,” Peter said, and kneeled down next to the boy, trying not to look at the bloody bandages. There was no need to ask how bad. Peter could see the boy didn’t have much time left. He heard Nick in his mind again, how many have died for your Lady?
“Amos, where’s everyone?”
“Shit if I know. I mean it’s been one thing after another. There’s been nothing but confusion after that fucking ambush.”
Nick returned with the pail, filled up Amos’s cup. Amos drank it all and Nick poured him another. Amos gave Nick a queer look, then turned to Peter. “Hey Peter, aren’t we supposed to kill this sucker?”
“No,” Peter sighed. “I’ll explain later. Just tell me what’s going on.”
“Wish I knew. We were so scattered, y’know, after the ambush. I bumped into Huck and Cutter and they carried me back here. One by one the Devils, the ones that could, drifted back. Tanngnost left, went searching for who the hell knows what. Then Drael and a handful of elves came by looking for you. Drael said that Ulfger was killing everyone he ran into. Said—”
&nbs
p; “Ulfger?” Peter interrupted. “No, you’re confused, that’s not possible.”
“No, I’m damn straight on that. Drael said Ulfger had the Horned One’s helmet and sword. That he was unstoppable.”
It came to Peter, the figure he’d seen on the hill. He’d thought it was the Horned One. Could that have been Ulfger? And Leroy? Could there have been some truth to what he’d said about a horned demon? He felt Nick’s eyes on him. No, Peter thought. No way.
Amos coughed and his face tightened. He clutched his stomach. “Sorry, man. This thing hurts like a mother. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, the elves. I’m pretty sure some of them went to warn the witch. Then…then, shit. I don’t know. It’s all a big jumble after that. Seem to remember the troll coming back, ranting and raving. Y’know the way he does. But no one seemed to have a plan or know what the fuck to do.
“Oh, hell, I almost forgot the biggest shit-bang of all. One of them elves shows back up. Says an army of Flesh-eaters are headed toward the Lady. After that they all left—Devils, troll, elves, everyone.”
“How many?” Nick asked.
“How many what?” Amos asked.
“How many Devils left?”
“Oh,” the boy’s face clouded. “If you count me, maybe nine or ten.”
Peter’s heart sank, his eyes dropped to the floor. Nick didn’t have to say a word. Peter knew what he was thinking.
“How about Cricket?” Nick asked, but looked like he was scared to know.
“The new girl?” Amos asked.
Nick nodded.
“She’s fine.”
Nick exhaled softly.
“Amos,” Peter said. “I’m sorry but we have to go too.”
“Good,” Amos said. “You’re just stinking up the joint anyhow.” He grinned at Peter.
Peter tried to grin back. “We’ll be back as soon as we can,” he said, and hated how hollow his own words sounded.