Got Hope

by Michael Darling

  “Prince Luck,” Vapeman said. His host, Jons, was getting tired. The big kid swayed on his knees. I kept an eye on him and listened. “If you were to gain the throne, you would be the only Halfling. The Dubhcridhe would have a useful ally and someone more inclined to appoint Halflings to positions of responsibility. You represent our best inroad to a more secure future. That is why we are talking to you.”

  “Hear that, Siorradh? I’m an inroad,” I said.

  “Your dad will be so proud,” Siorradh replied.

  An arrow sliced through the air with that distinctive swish and plunged into the dark miasma behind Jons. I’d forgotten the archer was even there. I was about to tell the archer to stand down when something heavy splashed into the water a few yards into the wood.

  Siorradh went around Jons, hopping from log to log, giving Vapeman a wide berth.

  He came back with a furry nightmare on a stick. The thing looked like a badger had mated with a ferret and then gone on steroids to triple in size and grow a mouth half the size of its whole body. The archer’s arrow had pierced the creature’s eye, killing it instantly.

  “A badhbh-badhbh,” Siorradh said. “Stalking Jons through the trees.”

  I never would have known that thing was there.

  I looked at the archer again. “Give this man a raise in pay, Sir Siorradh.”

  The archer pulled off the hood, shaking out long tangles of auburn hair. “This woman, milord.”

  “Prince Luck, Rós of Caerwood,” Siorradh said.

  Our eyes met as she drew another arrow from her quiver and nocked it. I gave her a quick salute.

  To the vapor, I said, “Tell me how you made me feel angry, Dubhcridhe.”

  “Answers are given to members of our circle. Make a pact with us.”

  “I don’t think so. There’s a difference between curious and suspicious. I’m asking for your benefit, not mine. I have no reason to trust you. I’ve never been an angry person, but lately I feel a sudden rage sometimes. You’re causing it.”

  I’d gotten angry with one of the Tweedles present, like the first time we’d met and they’d given me the sign of the carnivorous bunny. But I’d also felt that almost blinding anger in situations where they couldn’t have influenced me. Like when I’d hit my knee on the frame of the car and Hope laughed, I’d wanted to set her hair on fire. In those times, my pride had been wounded and I’d almost lashed out. Somehow, it had to be connected.

  The voice traveled down the rat pipe. “We are Dubhcridhe. I shouldn’t have to tell you anything more. Detective.”

  Fine. The magnets in my mind rolled. Dubhcridhe. Black heart. There was more to this than some Halflings bringing an ancient cult back to life.

  I thought of other times when it had been an effort to rein in my anger. Everyone struggles with it. Road rage, for example, happens a lot. Pride is often the trigger. But I’m a Taoist at heart. Go with the flow. I was more likely to make a joke than a fist. But lately . . .

  Lately.

  Like just the past few months. The time since . . .

  What if it wasn’t a carnivorous bunny? What if the ears weren’t rabbit ears? What if they were horns?

  The horns of a deamhan.

  A deamhan with a prideful and angry heart.

  A black heart.

  A heart I’d cut out.

  And eaten.

  What have I done?

  “You’ve eaten Brón’s heart.” It came out as a whisper. I didn’t want it to be true but I knew it was. “That’s what ties us together. That’s why you said I was one of you.”

  “The deamhanheart gives us power,” the voice echoed. “It binds us. Let’s us feel the pains and sorrows we share. Let’s us call to each other. One piece of the deamhanlord’s heart and we are united.”

  I’d worried about the heart. Wondered if my enemy Caimiléir had taken it. Even asked my friends if there were cause for alarm. Nobody had thought so. We hadn’t known. I felt sick. Cold and nauseated.

  “I will not join you.” My words tasted bitter. “I’ll find Brón’s heart and destroy it.”

  “You can try. But the Dubhcridhe are many. Our cause is growing. You won’t be able to destroy Brón’s heart entirely unless you destroy all of us. Once eaten, the heart becomes a part of us.”

  “Did Caimiléir tell you what to do?”

  “No. We knew about the heart and what it could do. We knew when Caimiléir summoned the deamhanlord, he planned to destroy him once he had served his purpose. The only way to kill a deamhan permanently is to remove its heart, but you know that. We asked him to bring the heart to us.”

  I raised my hand and let flames bloom in the air. “The heart burns. So will you. I’m guessing I won’t feel quite so angry once all of you are dead.”

  “You don’t want to harm us.” The voice mocked. “We are not in your kingdom. This is the Máithrín’s realm and she doesn’t take kindly to strangers killing people in her domain.”

  Sucks that he’s right.

  “You’re plotting treason against her. Against all Eternals.”

  “Treason? We seek only for better opportunities to serve. There is no treason in that.”

  “I won’t be serving with you.”

  The rat pipe carried the threat. “You should reconsider. You will serve the Dubhcridhe, one way or another.”

  One way or another?

  “We’ve taken steps.”

  “Groovy. And?”

  “If you don’t join us, you’ll be branded as an enemy to the Máithrín. If she lets you live.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “We’ll fuel your anger. We’ll make you so angry you won’t be able to contain yourself. Your fire will rage out of control. You will turn all that you love to ash and die.”

  That scared me and my pulse jumped a notch. I’d already come close to losing control more than once. Could they push me over the edge?

  “We will meet one more time. If you do not join us, it will be the last time.”

  He was threatening me but I said, “I’ll really miss you.”

  Jons was getting dizzy. I almost went down into the pond to hold him up.

  Until something thrashed around his legs.

  Vapeman had enough time to make Jons give the carnivorous bunny sign—the deamhan bite—once more before he was yanked facedown into the pool. I let my fire flare out. Siorradh and I jumped into the water. We grabbed Jons by the arms and started hauling. Jons was a hard kid to haul because he weighed a ton.

  In part due to the thing that had wrapped itself around his chest and neck.

  We got Jons out of the swampy wood to the edge of the road as we listened to him gasp and choke. At least he kept breathing. We laid him down on his back. The creature clinging to him looked like it was made of ice, with a long central body and multiple little arms of transparent, bulbous material with points on the end. While the day was chilly, it wasn’t cold enough for anything to freeze.

  “What’s that thing?” I asked.

  “A glassworm,” Siorradh replied.

  The many arms, long and thin, pushed their way under Jons’s skin but Jons didn’t seem to notice.

  “Glassworm? Are you sure it doesn’t have a name with about thirty letters in it and several never-before-seen combinations of vowels and consonants?”

  Siorradh’s visor tilted sideways. “Its name in the Fae language is just glassworm. It was brought here from a different realm. Is your Tao helping?”

  “It’s trying,” I replied. “I may need more jokes. Will it kill him?”

  “Undoubtedly, but the process is long. The glassworm will feed on him for several weeks, reducing him to an empty husk. It will only feed while the boy lives. Glassworms need a breathing host. Once Jons is dead, the glassworm will abandon him and seek different prey.”

  Lovely.

  “The quicker we get that thing off him, the better, then,” I said. “Can we pull it off?”

  “There is a lengthy barb in the glasswor
m’s abdomen that pierces the chest of the host within seconds and wraps around the heart. Pulling the worm off will pull Jons’s heart as well.”

  Jons’s father paced behind us while I listened to my own breathing. Fáidh looked at Jons with grim detachment. Hope had her hands over her mouth and a stricken look in her eyes.

  “Is there a way to stop it?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Siorradh replied, quietly so the father wouldn’t hear. “Kill Jons quickly to prevent further suffering. Then kill the worm.”

  This is Vapeman’s fault. I have to save Jons.

  The glassworm was ten feet long, wrapped once around Jons’s chest and once around his neck. Jons looked peaceful, like he was sleeping. The glassworm must have a sedative effect.

  I called up my flame and cranked up the heat. I had to try something or Jons was a goner. The glassworm had a dark line running through it, which had to be organs and intestines, but I didn’t know what was vital.

  Start burning until something works.

  I applied the torch to the glassworm and heard a sizzle. Jons’s eyes snapped open. He screamed, arching his back as the worm tightened around him. Jons’s father shouted, “Stop” and Hope cried. I pulled back.

  Flame wasn’t the answer. The glassworm would kill Jons before I killed the glassworm.

  Jons sank back onto the road, quieting.

  Son of a crapper.

  I hadn’t made a mark on the glassworm. Although cold-blooded, the thing wasn’t cold, so it wasn’t temperature. It wasn’t glass, either. Glass couldn’t bend. The composition of its body couldn’t be that different from other worms.

  More than half water.

  “Fáidh? How precise is your magic?”

  Our eyes met. “You want me to heal that thing to death?” she asked.

  “Kind of. I’m thinking shoes.”

  “Shoes?” Siorradh asked.

  Fáidh and I whispered together. The plan was simple.

  “Siorradh, help me hold Jons.”

  We knelt and held Jons’s shoulders and legs. Fáidh leaned over Jons. Her hands flickered blue at first but when her power emerged in a solid layer over her skin, the light was startling. She chanted as motes of stardust drifted down to the glassworm. The dust was fine, like powdered sugar, landing on the glassworm’s skin.

  More spiky-blobby arms thrust themselves out from the glassworm, slipping into Jons’s body. Jons moaned and Hope hummed in a rising whine. We were running out of time but Fáidh couldn’t rush her spell or there would be no chance for Jons.

  Fáidh wove her spell while I held my breath. More dust drifted around Jons, landing all along the exposed areas of the glassworm’s body. The glassworm started to glow with red veins in the tips of its many arms and Jons groaned.

  “The creature is feeding,” Siorradh said.

  Faidh’s song moved to a higher key, the words of her spell shorter. Beads of sweat decorated her brow. She pulled her hands apart with the last note.

  The glassworm erupted in water, like a balloon popping. The water flew outward, commanded by Fáidh’s spell to move! Once in the air, the water stayed suspended for a second, then two, then fell to the ground, drenching Siorradh and I. Jons started convulsing and his father knelt to hold his hand.

  Fáidh knelt as well, putting her hand on Jons’s forehead and closing her eyes. She’d done the same to me once, touching my thoughts.

  Jons screamed.

  Fáidh pulled her hand back like she’d been burned. “He’s waking, but the pain is too much for him to bear.”

  “Can you help him?”

  Fáidh shook her head. “He needs more healing than I can provide alone.”

  I had Mrs. Fergus’s plant in my boot. I pulled off leaves and passed them around. “Chew these but don’t swallow.” Everyone took a leaf except Sir Siorradh.

  I didn’t ask.

  The taste of the leaf was bitter but it wouldn’t be as bitter as losing Jons. The boy continued to thrash in waves. Every time his limbs convulsed, he screamed.

  After what felt like an hour, the fibers of the leaf had broken down enough to become a green mass that I spit into my hand. I knelt again and when Jons opened his mouth to scream, I shoved the stuff in his mouth, pushing it to the back. I held his jaw shut, forcing the reflex to swallow.

  Hope spat out her leaf into my hand. “Gross,” she said.

  When Jons screamed again, I gave him Hope’s leaf. He needed a third and a fourth. After that, his breathing slowed and he stopped groaning. I checked his wounds. Fáidh’s spell had been surgically accurate. Only a few limp, sinewy bits of the glassworm remained. I slid each one out of Jons’s body, including the barb at his heart. He didn’t react.

  I stood. I didn’t know if Jons’s father had ever shed a tear in his life, but he was barely keeping it together now. He thrust out his bare hand. I took it, and it was like gripping stone fingers inside a leather glove, but it was the best handshake I’d ever felt.

  More people from the company stood a few yards up the road, not sure if they should give us space or come closer. “Stay here,” I said.

  Rós followed anyway. “I should’ve noticed something moving in the water. ‘Tis my fault Jons were attacked.”

  “It’s not your fault, Rós.” My voice sounded loud in the chill air. “I have excellent eyesight as well and I didn’t see it either. This is the fault of whoever lured Jons into the wood. Period. Do you understand?”

  It took a moment but Rós finally nodded. She still looked distraught.

  The Asaliompair were stationed up the road and asked one of the men to help me open my personal trunk. I retrieved two pendants and went back.

  One pendant went around Jons’s neck and one around his father’s. “These will take you to safety.” I handed the father a dry piece of the glassworm and one of the soothing leaves. “Take these with you. Tell them what happened and they’ll know what to do. And know that your service, and your son’s, has been invaluable.”

  I knelt once more and pulled the pendant off the chain. Jons vanished. Blink. The father gave me a nod with dark-bright eyes, and then he vanished too.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Fifty Leagues

  “I’m cold again and my heart won’t stop pounding,” Hope said.

  We’d ridden a league to put the glassworm behind us before taking a break to stretch our legs. I put my hand on her shoulder by way of comfort. She put her hand on top of mine, and it was icy. I flinched. “My hands are always freezing, even in summer,” she said. “The fire you made. It was beautiful. Can you make your hands warm, but not burn?”

  My brow made furrows. “I don’t know. I usually want to blow stuff up. I’ll try.”

  I let go of Hope and pulled up a speck of power, saying, “Tine.” Languid licks of orange fire caressed my hands. I’d learned that fire magic was kind of like singing. A singer can make his voice higher or lower, louder or softer, rougher or Barry White. I did the same with flame, dialing down the heat.

  Tentatively, Hope put her hands back on mine. First palm to palm, then the backs of her hands cradled in mine. I turned my hands in, pressing them together with Hope’s hands between. She said, “Mmm,” and did a happy dance with her feet. Then she put my hands around the back of her neck and I felt goosebumps rise and fall. “Add a bottle of massage oil and you’d be the most popular guy at the day spa.”

  I laughed. “Don’t tell Nat.”

  “Nope. I’m keeping you for myself.” She smiled.

  I’d dated women before who seemed to take great delight in making me guess what they wanted so they could get upset when I was wrong. Hope was the opposite.

  “We have to go,” I said. “We could find some gloves for you.”

  “I’ll be all right. I’d offer my thanks for warming me up but that would be wrong.”

  “Don’t forget it.”

  We walked up the road toward our horses, her shoulder bumping my arm. Fáidh had settled into her saddle. She looked down on Hope and
I with a blank expression. I gave a little shrug and she did the same.

  Wordlessly, we’d said, “It’s awkward seeing each other with different people. It’s just the way life is right now. We’ll help each other make the best of things.”

  At least that’s what it felt like to me.

  I helped Hope get into her saddle, then gave Peachfuzz a pat on the neck as I swung into mine to look for Sir Siorradh.

  “Do you know where we are?” I asked.

  “We’re at the forest’s edge,” he replied. “A narrow mountain pass lies ahead that extends for a few leagues. It opens onto a wide plain where many battles were fought. There are ruins, old sheltering places. Nothing of note on our maps. We should make the plain before sunset.”

  “Okay. Is the pass safe?”

  “No. It’s an excellent place for an ambush. We’ll keep our eyes open.”

  Great.

  As we rode, the afternoon sun teased us with her veils, almost burning through the clouds to give us a clear sky from time to time but always keeping a few layers swirling around instead. We never got any shafts of light hitting the road. Just ever-changing variations of lighter and darker gray.

  For a while, we caught hints of grassy meadows between the Goliath bulwarks of the pines. Then the meadows went away and finally so did the pines.

  “How high are these cliffs?” Hope asked.

  “Hard to say,” I replied. “The mists are too thick to see. We’ve probably gone up two-thousand feet in elevation since this morning. These cliffs could go up thousands of feet more.”

  “That’s a scary thought.”

  “The scale of everything is bigger here.” I’d gone hiking to all kinds of places and I had to remind myself that people accustomed to the flat landscapes of Florida often found mountains claustrophobic, as if the peaks would fall over on them.

  Hope looked miserable but didn’t complain. Instead, she forced a brightness into her eyes and an upturn to her mouth. “I’ll just deal with it. I wanted to be here.”

  “If everyone had that attitude, the world would be a better place.”

  Sir Siorradh stopped Trident and looked at the side of the road. “We have a problem.”

  My stomach was still in knots from the last problem. “What?” I asked.