The Child Thief

by Brom

  “Sure thing,” Amos said. “I’ll be here. Y’know…holding down the fort.” He winked.

  While Nick refilled the water pail, Peter scrounged up a bowl of nuts and dried berries, leaving them with the injured boy. As Peter pulled the heavy door shut behind them, he tried hard not to think about Amos dying, alone, tried not to hear Nick’s accusing voice in his head. How many have died for your Lady?

  “AT MY LEAD,” the Captain shouted. The men pressed together behind him along the ledge, weapons drawn, faces set, ready to battle whatever demons lay in wait.

  “Now we shall see,” the Captain said, took a deep breath, and charged through the falls. A hard slap of water smacked across the back of his neck, knocking him into the wall, but he was through. His feet pounded down a short cavern and all at once he found himself in a green glowing world of lush flora, of leaning cliffs and golden glowing stones. He made it another dozen steps, then came to a stop on the bank of a small, placid pond. He lowered his sword and stared around the garden. The men spilled in, but they too fell silent, coming to a halt behind him.

  No horde of demons awaited, only the winged folk in all their variety, hovering or perched upon delicate flowering vines and bushes, along with dozens of docile animals: rabbits, deer, squirrels, colorful monkeys, and birds of every species, all silently watching them. The serenity, the complete peace and tranquility, so far from the hellish, demonic den they’d all expected, seemed to make the men forget why they were here.

  But the Captain didn’t forget. There was no sign of the Lady, but he had no problem finding her apple tree. It was the centerpiece of the sanctuary, seeming to float in the middle of the pond.

  “At last,” the Captain said and took the ax from his sergeant. He waded out into the pond, swimming the last few yards, and forded the small island.

  Here it is, he thought, after all these years. Here it is. He hefted the ax and it was then that he saw her, on the far bank, the Lady. She was seated upon a throne of white stones. He realized she’d been there the entire time, that he’d mistaken her for butterflies and flowers.

  The Lady stood, and when she did, the Captain saw that indeed, she was composed of butterflies, thousands of tiny white butterflies. Her thin, graceful form drifted onto the pond and stood there atop its surface, leaving only the lightest ripples beneath her. He met her eyes, her deep, cerulean eyes, and realized his mistake as they pierced into his soul. Everything seemed to become far away, as though he were watching himself in a dream. Captain, she called, her voice a sweet chorus in his head. Come with me. Let me take you home. A siren’s song, he thought. A death song. But it had him, and all he wanted to do was to follow her into the pond. Yes. My home is at the bottom of the pond. My wife and children are all waiting for me there. He felt the ax slipping from his grip.

  From somewhere impossibly far away, he heard the Reverend ranting and screeching his scriptures to the heavens, commanding the men to burn the demon’s den, to destroy all of Satan’s children. The Lady’s hold on him wavered. “NO,” she hissed, and turned onto the men. Her shape grew in stature until she towered before them at nearly twice their height. The multitude of butterflies making up her body turned from white to red to black. She spread her arms. The golden stones faded and the garden darkened. The pond itself began to glow, an eerie green mist rose from its waters. The Captain felt his skin prickle as wicked shapes boiled up along the surface and began to slither and crawl toward the men, things with thousands of teeth and long, bony fingers, things that wailed and moaned.

  “Away,” the Lady cried at the men, her voice booming off the towering cliffs. “Lest you wish my children take you into the Mist. Lest you wish to wander for an eternity with your lost brethren.”

  The men stopped, unsure, some looking to turn and run.

  “Hold your place,” the Reverend commanded. “It’s not but smoke and bluster. She has no power over God’s children!” And to prove this, he ran toward the Lady, through the mist, leaving its flailing tendrils swirling in his wake. He swung his staff and the Lady broke apart into a thousand black butterflies.

  The Captain felt himself released. He swung the ax at the apple tree, a heavy, solid blow. The blade sank into the fleshy bark and a gush of blood spurted from the wound. The Lady screamed as though he’d cut into her own flesh. He swung the ax again, biting deep into the trunk. Again the Lady wailed, not a cry of pain but one of sorrow, and the black butterflies fell from the air, dropping dead upon the surface of the pond.

  The men fanned out across the garden and began slaying the animals, crushing the little folk beneath their boots.

  The water bubbled around the small island and the Captain caught sight of a silvery shape spiraling up from the depths. The Lady broke the surface—no spectral illusion this time—he could plainly see she was of flesh and blood, a fine-boned woman with ghostly white skin and deep animal eyes. She touched him with those eyes, those dazzlingly blue eyes, held him. She extended her arms and her voice crawled back into his head. Captain, please come home with me. Your children call for you. And suddenly he could hear them, his boys, calling his name, calling him home.

  “No,” the Captain whispered and tore his eyes from the Lady, set his foot against the tree, and tugged the ax free. He hefted it high and chopped, again, and then again. The white leaves falling down around him like snow. With each stroke the Lady’s voice weakened, was reduced to little more than pleading. He felt a hand on his boot. She was there, clinging to the bank, clawing at his boot, but she was frail, too weak to do more than shake him.

  The air filled with smoke and the crackling of fire as the men set the trellises to flame. The pond turned red as the life blood of the tree flowed into its waters. With a final blow, the tree surrendered to gravity, toppling into the pond as though in slow motion.

  The pond lost its glow, the mist died away. The Lady floated to the tree, curled herself among its branches, clutching it like a mother would a baby.

  “Her spell is broken!” the Reverend shouted triumphantly. “Bring her to me.”

  Four men swam out. They threw a net about her and pulled her from the pond, dragged her across the mud and before the Reverend.

  The Reverend spied the small star hanging about her neck. He tore it away and stomped it into the mud. He ripped off the golden clasps that held her gown, dashed them against a stone. “See to it she hides no other witchery,” he commanded.

  The men stripped her of her gown, then kicked her into the mud.

  The Lady raised her head, her wild animal eyes wide and haunted. She stared at the flame devouring the flowers and bushes, at the mutilated animals, sprites, pixies, and nymphs—and, finally, the Tree. A long, anguished howl escaped her throat. The men took a step back. She climbed to her feet, naked, covered in mud, soot, and blood. She raised her hands outward, threw back her head, and wailed, and wailed; the sound echoing off the ceiling and reverberating along every wall and ledge. The pond rippled. The ground trembled beneath the Captain’s feet, several stones dislodged from the walls and tumbled down into the garden.

  “DEMON!” the Reverend cried, and struck the Lady across her forehead with his staff. She collapsed to her knees, swaying drunkenly as blood streamed down her face. The men seized her. They lashed a rope around her neck and dragged her away, past the dead and burning carnage and out of the sanctuary.

  It was only then that the screaming of the maimed and wounded truly reached the Captain, that he became acutely aware of the acrid smell of burning flesh. He coughed and looked again at the apple tree. “Done. It is done!” The leaves of the tree began to wilt and turn gray before his eyes, the grass too. Bushes, vines, flowers, fruit, everywhere he looked it was the same: the plants were shriveling and withering away.

  As the leaves dried out, the fire spread, and the men rushed to escape. The ground rumbled again and the ledges began to crumble, a large boulder crashed down and tumbled into the pond, sending a red wave overflowing its banks. The Captain leap
ed off the small island and splashed his way to shore. A flaming tree crashed down beside him, showering him in a storm of fire and ash. He made the shore and clambered his way over the bludgeoned carcasses and through the sparks and smoke to the cavern. He took a last glance back at the garden, now truly a vision of Hell. At last, he thought as he pushed out through the falls. It is done at last.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ferry

  I have them, Ulfger thought.

  The elves had climbed up past the Hall of Kings, to the very peak of the mountain, but now there was no place left for them to flee. He could see them—down on the side of the ledge where even a billy goat wouldn’t dare venture—clinging to the rocks against the buffeting wind.

  Ulfger couldn’t get to them, not with his sword anyway, but he could feel their fear and locked on it, made them shake with it, made their teeth ache with it, could feel them weakening, slipping.

  White-hot pain suddenly flashed in Ulfger’s head. He let out a cry. It came again, like someone striking his helmet. “STOP!” he bawled and clutched the helmet. He fell to one knee. A tremor rumbled beneath his feet. He saw dark smoke rising from the valley. It appeared to be coming from the Haven. Ulfger reached out with his mind, searched, but he didn’t need his helmet, he saw their torches far below—an army of Flesh-eaters marching away from the Haven. “NO!” he screamed. “No, this can’t be! What are they doing here? They can’t be here!” And all at once he understood what the pain was from. They felled the Tree. He let out a wail and began to shake. They’ve cut down Avallach’s Tree!

  The mountain rumbled again, shaking so hard that Ulfger had to reach out to brace himself. He saw boulders break away and tumble down the steep cliffs. Ulfger found his feet and scrambled back down the ledge. By the time he’d reached the Hall of Kings, the flames from the Haven lit up the entire valley.

  He stumbled into the chamber and came face to face with the broken tombs. Scattered bones and busted skulls greeted him, their dark sockets accusing him.

  “No—NO! This is not my doing!” He kicked the skulls, tripped, and fell against the boat. He saw his father lying twisted in the hull. His father’s eyes bore into him, sad and pitying.

  The mountain trembled again. Cracks appeared all along the chamber and one of the windows broke and fell away.

  “See what they’ve done?” Ulfger sobbed. “See. You laughed at me, but now look for yourself. They brought ruin, Father. See?”

  All at once he heard voices. A billion voices, the cries of all of those that had ever lived and died on Avalon. Their wails echoed inside the helmet until his head rung with it, pounding his skull until he thought his ears would bleed. Ulfger screamed, tore off his helmet, flung it at his father. “I DON’T WANT IT! I DON’T WANT IT!”

  A section of the ceiling came crashing in, showering Ulfger with stone and glass, exposing the sky above. He climbed into the boat, falling atop the dried fleshy remains of his father. He crawled beneath the cadaver, curled up in the bottom of the boat, and began to claw at his own face. “Take me with you,” Ulfger bawled. “Father, please, please take me with you.”

  A WAIL FILLED the night. It came from everywhere, from the very land itself. Nick caught up with Peter.

  Another wail came, followed by a tremor beneath their feet.

  “What is it?” Nick asked.

  “The Lady,” Peter whispered, his face stricken, and dashed up the trail.

  Nick raced after him, but Peter was running all out and soon he lost sight of him. It wasn’t hard to figure out where Peter was going, though. A red glow grew above the tree line and Nick raced toward it.

  The grade steepened, Nick’s lungs felt on fire, his heart thundered in his chest, the muscles in his legs burned, yet he pushed on, running as hard as he could. He saw the sky was dancing with fireflies, but when he caught the smell of burning leaves, felt hot ash on his face, he understood those were not fireflies but sparks. Nick passed the elven hall, now little more than charred ruins, went through the courtyards, the small canyon, and up the ridge, dashing around the small brush fires.

  He found Peter up to his knees in a small pond. The murky water looked red. Blood, Nick thought. It looks like blood.

  It wasn’t until Nick saw the floating bodies piling up on one end of the pond like some macabre dam that he understood that the towering ledges and waterfalls were gone, had crumbled in on themselves, that he was standing where the Haven had been. Water now gushed from the rocks like geysers while the treetops burned. Then he saw it—Avallach’s Tree, its limbs curling inward like rigor mortis setting into a corpse, the white bark peeling away exposing bone-colored wood and shriveled veins.

  Peter splashed about between the boulders, frantically gathering something from the bloody water. Nick walked up to the bank. Apples bobbed about the pond. Peter’s pockets and pouch were stuffed full of them. He carried as many as he could hold and still tried to gather more. They spilled from his arms every time he scooped another one up.

  Peter glanced at Nick, his eyes wild, desperate. “Help me! We have to save them. Every one of them.”

  Nick watched the body of a nymph drift by, half her face hacked away, one eye staring at him. Another tremor rumbled beneath them and several large boulders came crashing down not a hundred yards away. “Peter, we need to go.”

  Peter seemed not to hear him.

  A strong breeze whipped through the valley, blowing Nick’s hair from his eyes. Nick thought it carried an oddly familiar scent, something besides the smell of burning leaves. At first he couldn’t place it, then his eyes widened. It smelled like the city—like New York! He heard a gull cry and glanced up. Was that a star, or just ash? Nick dashed a few yards back down the trail for a better view. There, faintly—a star! The clouds drifted and he saw more.

  Something fluttered by Nick’s ear. A blue glow zipped by. The pixie, he thought. She sputtered right up to his nose and boinked it. “Oww,” Nick said.

  She flew a short way down to the path and lit upon the ground. She flickered on and off and waved him over. Nick followed her and bent down. He spotted the men’s boot prints, dozens of them in the soft gray mud. Then he saw what she was pointing at: a set of hoof prints. It took Nick a moment. “The troll!”

  “PETER!” Nick called. Peter didn’t look up. Nick rushed up the path. “Peter!”

  Peter was on his knees on the bank, holding something. Nick noticed he’d dropped the apples, they lay scattered about in the mud.

  Nick shook the boy’s shoulder. “The troll and Cricket—the Devils. They went that way.” He pointed. “We might catch them if we hurry. Let’s go—hurry!”

  Peter slowly looked up, his face confused. “What?”

  “C’mon. We have to catch them!”

  “Why?” Peter said, shaking his head, his voice flat and lifeless. “It’s over.”

  “What?”

  Peter held up a golden eight-point star. “See?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Her light, it’s gone out.” He cradled the star to his chest. “The Lady…she’s dead.”

  Another tremor, and a cliff crumbled, sending a massive rock slide crashing into the valley. The water was now bubbling up all around them.

  “We gotta get out of here!” Nick said.

  Peter didn’t move, just stared at the necklace.

  “Peter, get up!” Nick tugged Peter’s arm.

  Peter jerked back. “It doesn’t matter!” he cried, his voice breaking. “None of it matters now. The Lady was Avalon. Without her there can never be another Avalon.” Then low, so Nick could barely hear, “I will never sit by her side…never.” Peter suddenly grabbed Nick, clutched his arm so hard that Nick winced. Peter’s eyes were wide, intense, crazy. “They died! All of them. Died for nothing!”

  “Yep, I know,” Nick said. “You’re a real son of a bitch. Now that that’s settled can we get the hell out of here?”

  Peter let out a wail and doubled over like he’d been stabbed
in the stomach.

  “Ah shit, Peter. Goddamn it, cut it out. C’mon now, get up!” Nick gave him a tug. Peter put up a weak struggle, then just quit, all the fight gone.

  “I can’t even remember their names,” Peter moaned.

  Nick hefted Peter to his feet, half-carrying, half-dragging him down the path as the muddy water swept around their feet. Nick could no longer see the tracks, not with all the water, but he caught sight of a blue glimmer dancing just ahead, and followed. Nick realized he could see his shadow and was shocked to find a full moon shining down on them. “Peter, the moon.”

  “The Lady’s dead, her Mist is dying,” Peter said, his voice flat.

  The earth turned spongy. Water bubbled up everywhere. Dozens of small streams formed and raced them down the trail. Nick saw a magnificent oak tilt slowly over and sink into the gray mud. Soon trees were rolling over all around them, either collapsing or simply swallowed by bubbling sinkholes.

  The trail leveled out and the streams formed into creeks, the creeks into small rivers. Nick spotted higher ground ahead, but there was a wide, fast-moving creek in their way. Nick glanced behind; only the tree tops could still be seen and those were rapidly disappearing. They had to ford the creek.

  Nick pulled Peter into the cold current. It was to their knees in no time and rising by the second. Nick fought for the shore, but the rushing water was eating away the bank as fast as they moved toward it. The water around them turned rapid as the current rushed over fallen trees and boulders, forming swirling pools of churning debris. The creek suddenly swelled, sweeping both of them from their feet. Nick struggled to keep his hold on Peter as the current took them, spun them, pulled them beneath the foaming waves. Nick wasn’t sure which way was up, yet still would not let go of Peter. His back slid across stones and his head broke the surface. A towering boulder was right before them. Nick snagged a hold, fighting to keep his grip as he held Peter’s head above the water.