Dead Men Walking

by Raquel Lyon

  “Well, they’re certainly making up for it now,” Connor shouted as a Voltignis man dashing towards them was struck in the back by a pink flash before he could reach cover, and he folded to the ground.

  “It’s like a war zone,” Piper said, her voice barely audible over the noise of hundreds of Voltignis citizens running screaming through the streets as magic was fired down upon them without a care as to where it struck.

  Connor beamed. “That’s exactly what it is, dude. Fun, huh?”

  Racing for the edge of town, they communicated through a mixture of eye movements and hand signals. Buildings burst apart and the ground opened up under their feet. Above their heads, the sky was a riot of colours and swirling smoke. The air shimmered with heat, and the noise from unending explosions reverberated in Piper’s ears. Swerving around crumbling walls and jumping over dead bodies strewn amongst the wreckage, she fought her way through the crowds and darted down alleyways and passages. Her nerves were on pins waiting for someone to challenge them, but all around, the Voltignis appeared too busy saving themselves to notice the strangers in their midst.

  A shudder ran through her as they ran past the pits and she saw the edges crumbling down into the shafts. If she’d still been in there, she would have been seconds away from being buried alive. She stopped suddenly by the boys’ pit and turned to her father. “Take the shield off, Dad.”

  “What?”

  “Your shield. There are still men down there.”

  “There isn’t time.”

  “He is right. We need to get to the border,” Lambert said.

  Piper stuck her hands on her hips and tilted her head. “What if it were you in there? Would you be happy for me to walk straight past and leave you to die?”

  “If it meant you got to safety.” He held her gaze a little longer than necessary.

  She looked away, embarrassed, and folded her arms as she spoke to her father. “I’m staying right here until you do it, Dad.”

  He tutted. “You are so much like your mother.”

  As Rodigan set to work, the light rain grew heavier and multiplied. Drops the size of marbles began to batter the ground and rapidly turned it to mud that oozed down into the shaft. Piper heard muffled shouts of “Help” coming from the bottom of it, but she couldn’t see the men trapped below. Soil and sludge had settled over the shield and obliterated any sign of life underneath.

  “Can you speed it up, Dad?”

  “I’m an old man,” Rodigan said, “and it is much more difficult to remove a shield than it is to create one.” He grimaced with the effort, leaning back and digging his heels into the sodden ground as he tugged on the invisible force.

  “Maybe Lambert could help you? He’s very good with shields.”

  “He is?” Distracted by her comment, Rodigan turned his head with a smile, and the mud slithered under his feet. He fell onto his back with a thump and slipped towards the pit edge. Piper scooted to her knees and reached out, screaming his name, but wasn’t quick enough to catch him as he slid into the darkness.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  PIPER PEERED INTO THE void and shouted her father’s name. He didn’t answer. She glanced over to the others’ shocked faces. Lambert was pacing towards her with a familiar tight expression. He looked down into the depths.

  “I cannot believe that, once again, your complete disregard for the details has resulted in you missing the bigger picture, and you may well have lost me my father, for good this time,” he said.

  “We haven’t lost him,” she said, praying that she was right. “We’ll get him out.”

  “Yes, you will... preferably before this becomes his grave.”

  She stared at him, tongue-tied. There was nothing she could say. Everything he’d said was true. It was her fault their father was down there, and she had to be the one to get him out.

  Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and pictured his body floating up the shaft. It was harder than she’d expected. His weight dragged on her chest as if an invisible cord were trying to pull her down with him, but she held strong and kept her focus until the tautness released with a snap and threw her backwards. When she opened her eyes again, Rodigan was lying beside her, blood oozing from a cut on his head. As she pushed herself up to see if he was okay, two men rose from the shaft and ran for the fields.

  “Someone’s got the right idea,” Connor said, watching them disappear into the long grass.

  Piper ignored him. Her dad wasn’t moving. “Dad?” She picked up his hand and stroked his forehead. “Dad?” Rodigan groaned. He was alive. Thank God. She turned to Lambert. “Do something.”

  “I am afraid his injuries are beyond my capabilities. Perhaps when we reach home and I have the ingredients...”

  “Rhea?”

  She shook her head. “Sorry.”

  “Well, I’m not just leaving him here.”

  “Guess that’s my cue,” Connor said, bending to loop his hands under Rodigan’s body and lift him into his arms as a beast swooped low over the group to dodge a spinning orb of luminescent light. The light smashed to the ground, sending ripples of vibration through the earth under their feet. “They’re coming this way. Quick. Move,” he added before bolting for the fields fronting the woods.

  Running as quickly as she could, Piper hurried after him and passed under the guard tower at the very moment fingers of yellow electric rays hit the top, smashing into its roof and shooting a rain of sparks down into her path. Lambert’s hand shot up and projected a protective umbrella over their heads that sizzled when the sparks mingled with the rain beating down upon it. She turned to him and smiled her thanks. At least he didn’t completely hate her.

  By the time they reached the cover of the trees, Piper was out of breath. In Connor’s arms, Rodigan let out a groan. Connor lowered him to the ground, and Rodigan pulled Connor’s head down to whisper in his ear before passing out again. Piper squatted next to them. “What did he say?” she asked, panting.

  “Not much. Mumbled something about a jewel,” Connor said, glancing back to the battle still raging behind them. “How far to the border, mate?”

  “When the leaves change from brown to green, we can breathe easier,” Lambert said.

  Piper studied the canopy of branches gently sloping down the hill. As far as her eye could see, it was brown. “I thought the trees were the border?”

  “They are,” Lambert replied. “At the other side.”

  “Well,” Connor said, scooping Rodigan into his arms again, “four passengers is beyond even my capabilities, so I guess we continue the slow way. Lead on.”

  *****

  Piper wasn’t sure how long they’d travelled before she started to see snippets of green amongst the foliage, but the sun had dipped in the sky, the light was fading, and the noise of battle had dimmed to a dull rumble. She should have felt relieved to be away from the danger of the conflict they’d left behind them, but her father’s words that she wasn’t safe anywhere in the Sixth kept replaying in her head. She wanted to ask him why, but his small interludes of consciousness had been brief and far from lucid, and yet in one of them, his thoughts had been of the jewel. The jewel the queen wanted returned to her. Piper wondered if he had it with him and was worried he’d lost it. Maybe the Voltignis had stolen it from him, and he was afraid of returning without it.

  When the trees began to thin out, she stopped to catch her breath. Ahead of her, she saw the darkened shapes of houses in the grey of the impending night—dotted at first over farmland and gradually increasing in number until they merged at the edge of a town, over which loomed one of the tallest castles Piper had ever seen.

  “Did we make it?” Piper asked Lambert as they continued walking. “Is this where you live?”

  He smiled and nodded as he looked around. “Feels good to be home. I only wish I were not returning as a fugitive.”

  Above them, a cluster of tiny lights whooshed over their heads and out towards the castle.

 
“The army have returned, and from what we witnessed earlier, I predict the streets will be alive with celebration. We will need to navigate them with care.”

  “What will they do to you if you are caught?” Piper asked.

  “That is a thought I would rather not entertain.”

  “I would help with a glamour, if I could,” Rhea said, “but I fear the fight has finally drained my magic and it will need time to recuperate.”

  “Do not concern yourself with me,” Lambert said. “Once I reach my mother’s side, I do not intend to leave it again, and I am well-practised in the art of confinement.”

  As they headed down into the valley, Piper glanced sideways at Lambert’s slack posture and lowered eyes holding a blank expression. She knew that look well. His mother was still on his mind. “I hope she’s okay,” she said.

  His eyes lifted, but he didn’t smile. “Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to find out.”

  They hit the edge of town under a darkened sky, travelling in the shadows and speaking in whispers. Windows blazed with light illuminating the evening streets, but contrary to Lambert’s preconception they were devoid of revellers. Piper was glad. To her, it seemed wrong to celebrate the loss of so many lives, even if they were the enemy.

  Around her, most of the houses were made of wood and mud, with wisps of smoke trailing from the rooftops. It made her feel as if she had travelled back in time. Her boots scrunched over dirt and straw, and whilst she understood why she had been made to dress the way she had, she felt sure her skirt was trailing through more than mere mud.

  She whispered in Rhea’s ear, “Does it always smell this bad?”

  “No. Sometimes it is worse,” Rhea answered as they rounded a corner, and she stopped in front of a rickety house. “Thank you.”

  “What for?”

  “Saving me. Bringing me home.”

  Piper scanned the small dwelling with a bunch of dried herbs hanging over the slatted front door. “This is your house?”

  Rhea nodded.

  “Are you going to be all right?”

  Rhea smiled as she pushed open the door. “Oh, yes. I hope everything works out for you too.”

  “So do I.”

  As Rhea closed the door behind her, the sound of a woman’s gasp and shouts of recognition and relief filtered through the walls. Over her shoulder, Piper heard Connor mutter, “Must be nice knowing you’re back where you belong.”

  “You’ll have that soon,” she said. “Have faith.”

  Conner walked away without commenting and followed Lambert, who was already navigating a bend in the road, leaving Piper staring at Rhea’s front door. She sighed and went after them.

  Around the bend, Lambert opened a gate in the middle of a fence surrounding a chocolate-box cottage. Piper imagined it would be even more beautiful in the daytime, with the sunlight illuminating the colours of the multitude of flowers adorning the borders. By a small pond in the garden, a duck quacked a greeting as Lambert walked up the path. Connor held the gate open for Piper with his foot.

  Lambert stopped a few feet along the flagged walkway, dropped his head, and began laughing.

  “What’s the matter?” Piper asked. “Are we at the wrong house?”

  A puff of air shot down his nose. “No. I have been halted by one of my own protection spells. Amusing, do you not think?” He raised his hands as if placing them against an invisible window, and a rainbow of light circled outwards. Beckoning the others forward, he stepped through the hole in its centre and closed it behind them. At the door nestled under a thickly thatched roof, he paused and took a deep breath.

  “Do you want to go in alone?” Piper asked.

  The tension in his face softened and he took her hand. “If it were not for you, I would not be here. You belong at my side.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  LAMBERT WASN’T SURE what he expected when he entered his home—something between his mother running to him with open arms and his stepfather, Prago, hunched in his chair mourning her loss, he supposed—but either one of his parents being there would have been a start. Apart from the lack of people, everything was oddly familiar.

  The same warming fire crackled in the grate, filling the whole room with a soft glow. The aroma of his mother’s favourite meal, boiled chicken, hung in the air, and a pile of potato peelings sat on the central table next to a half-consumed mug of mead. Wherever they were, they hadn’t been gone long. Maybe they were out in the paddock putting the animals to bed for the night?

  He went to the back window and peered out into the night as a hinge creaked.

  Prago backed out of his bedroom door and closed it gently before turning around. His eyes widened and he took a step back, almost stumbling as his hand flew to his heart. “Bertie? What...? Did they let you go?”

  “Um... not exactly.”

  “Then how? I am pleased, of course,” Prago said, almost as an afterthought, “but... I do not understand...”

  “It is of no importance. How is my mother?”

  Prago’s eyes flicked to the door. “Not good. Your imprisonment took quite a toll. She has not left her bed for some days now.”

  “She is bedridden?” Lambert ran over and lifted his hand to push on the door.

  Prago caught his wrist. “You must prepare yourself,” he said. “She has changed in your absence.”

  “I want to see her. Let me by.”

  Prago stepped to the side but followed closely as Lambert entered with his heart galloping.

  His mother’s eyes were closed, her hair spread lank across the pillow, her breaths coming short and shallow. Dark shadows surrounded her eyes, sunken into a face tinged with blue. They flickered open as he sat on the edge of the mattress, and a weak smile cracked her dry purple lips. “Bertie? Am I dreaming? Is it really you?” she croaked.

  “Yes, Mother. I am home.”

  She pushed herself up the pillow and shakily wiped the sweat from her forehead. “Thank the gods... the queen was kind, after all.”

  Lambert could not imagine to what she was referring, and presumed the fever must be making her ramble. He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Do not exert yourself, Mother. You must rest.”

  “Knowing you are safe... has lifted my spirits.”

  “All the same...”

  “My dear, headstrong boy, you should not... have risked your life.”

  “I wanted you to be happy.”

  “Having you by my side is all the happiness I need.”

  “But my father...”

  “Your father... left many years ago. I have come to terms with the fact... that he is lost to me.”

  Her voice was stilted and rasping, and as she spoke, Lambert glanced at Prago kneeling at the other side of the bed. His head was bowed and there was obvious hurt on his face. He was a good man whose love for his mother Lambert had never questioned. He had always admired Prago’s strength of character in embarking on a relationship knowing that the love he felt would never be returned.

  “He does not have to be.”

  “Bertie, I am married... and I am dying,” his mother continued breathlessly. “I am a different woman... to the one he knew.”

  “But you would want to see him—one last time, if you could?”

  “I will... take my memories of him... to the afterlife.”

  Prago’s head shot up and he looked across to Lambert. “There was a man. In the parlour with the others. You did not come alone.”

  “Indeed, I did not, and as usual, sir, your instinct is infallible. I brought some friends back with me from the Third.” Lambert took hold of his mother’s hand and looked deep into her shocked eyes. “Mother. There is no easier way to tell you this. I found my father. He is here.” She opened her mouth but no words came out. “I know it is a shock. I was shocked myself when I found out who he was.”

  His mother clutched her chest as it rose and fell in rapid succession, and her mouth opened again.

  “Please, Mother, do not
try to speak. Conserve your energy.”

  “You found him? He is here?”

  “Yes.”

  She leaned forward and began to push the covers back, then gripped them as she sank back into the pillow.

  “Mother? Are you all right?”

  “Does he...? Does he know about me?”

  “I know he got your letter, but we have not had time to speak. We were too busy fleeing from the Voltignis.” Lambert paused to take a breath. “Father was injured. It appears to be a simple bump to the head, but he wavers in and out of consciousness.”

  Prago pushed to his feet. “I will start preparing the potion.”

  “Thank you,” Lambert said, watching him leave.

  “I want to see him,” his mother whispered.

  “And you will. As soon as he is well enough, we will both be here for you.” Lambert said, prising the sheet from her hands and smoothing it back into place.

  She reached up to run a cold finger over where his cheek had been grazed. “You are injured.”

  “It is nothing.” He smiled weakly. Unlike hers, his injuries would heal. “The past few weeks have been quite an adventure, and I have much to tell you, but as my friends and I have not eaten for two days, I would dearly love a bowl of chicken broth first.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  PIPER’S EYES FLUTTERED open as Lambert rolled towards her and his hand landed on her waist. She hadn’t slept well. With her father made comfortable and resting in Lambert’s small room, the only place left for everyone else to sleep was the floor in front of the fire. Regrettably, that meant lying on a scratchy rug under an equally coarse blanket. Both made for an uncomfortable night that had allowed her mind time to wander.

  Before she had retired for the night, a stomach full of a good meal and copious amounts of mead had contented her to a point where she’d found herself agreeing to return home without delay. It was what her father—she really should start thinking of him as Rodigan, but it was hard to break old habits—had wanted, after all, and although she was curious as to his reason, she was also inclined to agree. Only after she had settled into her makeshift bed had reality struck. Leaving this dimension behind would mean she would not only remain fatherless, but be brotherless, too—which, she realised, would be the case whether she stayed or not. When it came to family, the fact was, she had none. Her father was not her father, her brother was not her brother, and her mother had run away to Paris.