by R. L. Stine
“Conn,” he rasped out, his pulse still thundering. “What do you want here? Did you come to gloat?”
“That is no way to speak to your chief, Fieran. Especially after I treated you so mercifully. You should thank me.”
“You are not the true chief!” Fieran shouted. “You might be able to fool the others,” Fieran continued, his voice tight. “But you cannot fool me, Conn. I’m going to find out what kind of trick you used. And when I do, you will be banished. Or killed.”
“But I want you to find out how I did it, Fieran.”
Fieran caught his breath. He could hardly believe his ears. Why would Conn reveal the fact that he was guilty? This had to be some kind of trap. “Why?” he demanded.
Conn moved forward a few paces. The orange light of the fire flickered in his eyes.
“I want you to know exactly how much you’ve lost.”
“I know how much I’ve lost,” Fieran said bitterly.
“Oh, no, Fieran. I don’t think you know at all. I had to have help to pull off my little trick. I couldn’t do it alone.”
Fieran’s whole body began to tingle. “Someone helped you?” he exclaimed. “Who was it? Tell me who!”
A satisfied smile flickered across Conn’s face. “Brianna.”
The walls of the cave closed in around Fieran. He couldn’t get any air. “It’s not true,” he gasped. “I don’t believe you.”
“Oh, but I’m afraid it is true, Fieran.”
“Brianna loves me. She would never betray me.”
Conn gave a bark of laughter. The cave echoed with the harsh sound. “Brianna loves power, Fieran. Nothing or no one else. She will do anything to get it. Even if it means betraying you.”
Fieran shook his head from side to side, as if he could drive Conn’s ugly words from his head. “I don’t believe you,” he said again. “It isn’t true.”
“How else do you think I survived the fire?” Conn pressed him. He stared at Fieran with his cold blue eyes. Staring as if he could see right into Fieran’s mind.
Look away, Fieran ordered himself.
But he couldn’t. Conn’s words held him in place.
“Think, Fieran!” Conn continued softly. “My spells are not strong enough to protect me from fire. But Brianna’s are. Hers were strong enough to protect us both.”
“No!” Fieran screamed. Brianna would never do that to him. They loved each other.
Conn went on and on. “I suppose I have you to thank for my victory, Fieran. You taught Brianna her first fire spells. She might not have decided to work with fire if not for you.”
I can’t stand any more, Fieran thought. I have to make him stop. I have to make him stop.
Fieran lunged at Conn with a high, shrill shriek of anger. He wanted to feel his hands on Conn’s throat. He wanted to hear Conn’s neck crack. Hear Conn squeal in pain. He wanted to put a stop to Conn’s hateful, ugly words.
But he was exhausted. And Conn was too quick. He sidestepped Fieran and knocked him to the ground.
Blood from a cut on his forehead trickled down into his eyes. This is what Conn wanted, Fieran realized. This is why he lied to me about Brianna. He wanted me to attack him, so he would have an excuse to kill me.
Fieran could only see Conn’s knee as Conn knelt beside him. Conn grasped Fieran by the hair. He pulled Fieran’s head back until Fieran thought his neck would snap. Forcing Fieran to meet his gaze.
I won on the battlefield, Fieran thought. But I won’t win this time. This time, Conn really will kill me.
“You could be a dead man, Fieran,” Conn murmured in a chilling voice. “You know that, don’t you? I could kill you now and no one would blame me. They all know you are insane with jealousy.”
Conn released Fieran’s head so suddenly Fieran had no time to brace himself. His face smashed into the ground. His ears rang with pain. But he could still hear Conn’s voice.
“I don’t want you to die, Fieran,” Conn said. “I want you to stay alive. And every day of your life, I want you to remember all the things I’ve taken from you. I want you to remember that I have all the things you wanted.”
Fieran struggled to rise to his feet. Conn dug his fist into Fieran’s back and held him down.
“Think about it, Fieran.” Conn’s relentless voice filled Fieran’s head. “Think about me kissing Brianna. Think about the fact that I am the new chief. Then think how powerless you are. There’s nothing you can do to stop me. After all these years, I’ve finally won.”
Through the haze of his agony, Fieran heard Conn’s retreating footsteps. He heard the rustle of vines that meant that Conn had left him all alone.
Slowly, painfully, Fieran sat up. On his hands and knees, he crawled across the cave floor. His whole body ached with bruises. Blood from the cuts on his face dripped into his eyes, blurring his vision.
I’m not beaten yet, Fieran vowed with every painful motion. I’m going to fight back. I’m not beaten until the day I die.
But before he could fight back, he must have power. Power that could come from only one place. Conn hadn’t taken absolutely everything from him.
Fieran still had the Roman head.
He fixed his eyes upon the head and dragged himself toward the brazier. He never glanced away from it. He repeated his new vow with every painful inch he crawled across the floor.
You are going to be sorry, Conn.
When he reached the brazier, he used it to haul himself to his feet.
Give me your power, Fieran thought. I want your power. Power to defeat my enemies. Power to make me strong.
But the power of the head would not be released until the bones were bare.
Fieran pulled out the small knife he wore strapped around his waist. He sliced into the flesh beneath the head’s eye sockets. He gagged as the sickly sweet smell of rotting flesh filled his nostrils. He turned his face away.
But I cannot stop, he thought. Not if I want the power.
Fieran peeled the flesh away from the head and tossed it into the flames.
The stench of burning flesh rose up from the brazier. Fieran coughed and choked. But he didn’t stop working.
Rip! Fieran tore the right ear off with his fingers. Then he tore off the left. He tossed them both into the center of the brazier.
He seized the Roman head by the hair. He pulled the hair out in great clumps. Vomit rose in the back of his throat. Fieran swallowed it down.
He dug his fingers into the eye sockets and pulled the eyeballs out. He dropped them in the fire.
I will not stop! Fieran thought. I cannot. I will not stop until this head is nothing more than clean, white bone.
Then I will have the power I long for. I will have the power to take my revenge!
Chapter
12
The head began to pulse under Fieran’s fingers.
The empty eye sockets began to glow blood red.
A tremor ran through Fieran’s body. The power of the head terrified him.
Did tearing the flesh away release the power too quickly? Is it out of my control? Should I stop?
No! I have lost everything already. All I have left is the power of revenge.
Putrid black smoke oozed from the skull’s nose holes. Fieran put an arm across his mouth, gasping and coughing. The smoke stung his eyes so badly that it hurt to keep them open. The smell was worse than the odor of corpses on a battlefield.
The power is so strong. It has not been a day since the Roman leader died, Fieran thought. I started the process too soon.
Will I be able to use the power? Or is it stronger than I am? Will it use me?
Too late to stop, Fieran thought. He stabbed his fingers deep into the head. A searing pain shot through Fieran’s body. He was on fire. He was cold as ice. All at once.
Fieran shivered. Then he began to shake. He stared down at himself. He saw his arms jerking and twisting.
His teeth began to chatter. Fieran clenched them and felt them cut into his tongue. Th
e taste of blood filled his mouth. He spat the tip of his tongue into the brazier.
The head’s eye sockets glowed with green fire. He felt them burn into his own. Then the head’s ghastly mouth opened. Smoke belched forth into the room.
Fieran doubled over. His whole body heaved.
It is too much, he thought. I’ve released the head’s power too soon! It is too strong! It is killing me!
Fieran’s eyelids fluttered. His head spun. Blackness surrounded him.
PART TWO
Despair
Chapter
13
The New World Massachusetts Bay Colony, 1679
Christina heard another shrill scream.
She shoved herself to her feet—and saw a huge horse galloping toward her. Before she could move, the boy in the saddle reached down and pulled her up in front of him.
What if he knows who I am? she thought. What if he takes me back to my aunt? She will kill me. I know she will.
The boy wrapped her in his thick, black cloak. The whole world went black around her. Thick, stifling black.
“Please,” Christina gasped. “I can’t get any air. Please let me go.”
Christina felt a sudden shift in the horse’s gait. We’re in the forest now, she realized.
“Whoa!” the boy cried. The horse gave a highpitched whinny.
Christina managed to shove the cloak off her face. She stared up at the boy.
“I’m sorry if I startled you,” he said. “But I wanted to get you out of the storm. The trees give us some protection.”
Christina opened her mouth to answer, but no sound came out. So much had happened to her today. She couldn’t take it all in.
“I’d best get you to shelter,” he said. “You look worn to the bone.”
Worn to the bone, Christina thought, as she felt the horse move beneath her. A good description. Never had she felt so tired before. Her father’s funeral seemed as if it had happened weeks and weeks ago. But it was just that morning.
“I saw lights,” she managed to get out. “The lights of a farm.”
The young man holding her nodded. “That you did,” he said. “I’m somewhat acquainted with the family that owns the farm. That’s where we’re going. You’ll be safe there.”
The rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun, but the air remained cold. The boy threw his cloak over her again. This time, he left a space for her to breathe. Christina snuggled closer to him.
Aunt Jane would disapprove, she thought. She would call it shameful to sit so close to a boy—especially a boy Christina had never met.
But it felt right. Warm and cozy.
Maybe he’s my soul mate, Christina thought. Her mother used to tell her every person had a soul mate. Someone who they were meant to spend their lives with.
She wondered what this boy would think if he knew her thoughts. He would probably laugh himself sick. Or plunk her down, turn his horse around, and gallop away.
She glanced up at him—and found the boy staring down at her. His brown eyes were warm and friendly. And she liked the way his straight brown hair fell over his forehead.
His arm tightened around her waist. “Nearly there now.”
Christina sat up straight and gazed around. Then gasped. No, she thought. He can’t have brought me here. Not here.
She stared up at the weathervane on top of the barn. It was shaped like a huge black cat leaping for its prey.
“Oh, no,” she exclaimed. She could hear her voice quaking. “This is the Peterson farm!”
The young man stopped the horse. “Their name is Peterson,” he admitted. “Why should you fear them?”
Christina bit her lip nervously. Should she reveal what the villagers said about the Petersons? Would he be offended? How well did he know them?
“Um, several girls from the village have gone to be servants at the Peterson house,” Christina told him. “Not one of the girls was ever seen again. The villagers say . . . they say the Petersons used the girls for some evil purpose.”
Christina’s voice dropped down to a whisper. “ ’Tis said the Petersons practice the dark arts.”
The young man’s eyebrows rose. “The dark arts?” he echoed. He sounded shocked. “I never saw any sign of that. And I stayed with them for several days.”
Christina wanted to believe him. But she didn’t feel sure. A few days wasn’t long to keep a secret.
“My horse went lame,” the young man explained. “Mistress Peterson and her daughter aided me. They gave me a place to stay. Food to eat.”
He hesitated for a moment, considering. “It is true that they are very poor,” he said at last. “Their life is a hard one. Perhaps it was too hard for the other girls. Perhaps they ran away. They could hardly return to the village if they had. They probably would have been sent back to the farm again.”
“Perhaps it is only mean rumors,” Christina suggested. The people in the village always gossiped about the wrongdoings of others. One more reason Christina disliked living there.
“Yes,” he said, as he urged the horse forward. “Rumors. That must be what it is.” The young man smiled at Christina. His whole face lit up when he smiled. Christina felt her heart turn over.
“There,” the young man said. He pointed to a woman with a lantern near the front door. “Mistress Peterson has come outside to greet us. Nothing frightening about her, is there?”
“Why, Matthew,” the woman called out, raising the lantern. “What brings you back here?”
At the sound of her voice, a cold shiver shot through Christina. She knew that voice.
Mistress Peterson is the woman I heard talking to Aunt Jane today, Christina thought.
Aunt Jane paid her to kill me!
Chapter
14
Panic surged through Christina. She managed to escape from her aunt, but it hadn’t done any good. She had run straight into her enemy’s arms.
She threw her leg over the side of the horse. I can still make a run for the forest, she thought.
But the young man’s strong arms held her in place. She couldn’t get away.
“What is it?” he said. “What’s the matter?”
“Why, it’s Christina Davis,” Mistress Peterson cried. Every time the woman spoke, chills ran through Christina.
She watched Mistress Peterson approach the horse. When she rested her hand upon its flank, the horse shied away.
“Whoa, Thunder. Steady there. Whoa,” Matthew said sharply.
Even the horse knows Mistress Peterson is evil, Christina thought. I must get away from here!
Mistress Peterson raised her lantern high. It shone on Christina’s face. She lifted a hand to protect her eyes.
“So you know Christina, Matthew,” Mistress Peterson commented. “I didn’t realize.” Her voice sounded sweet, too sweet, like sugar syrup. Christina felt her stomach roil.
“I don’t really,” Matthew answered simply. “I came upon her in the road and rescued her from the storm.”
“A daring rescue,” Mistress Peterson purred. “How fortunate. And how fortunate that you brought her here. It will save me the trouble of fetching her later.”
“What do you want with me?” Christina demanded.
“You mean your aunt didn’t tell you?” Mistress Peterson said, her voice growing even sweeter. “You are to work for me. This will be your home from now on.
No! Christina thought. It can’t be true. That means I’ll be her slave. Now I’m just like those other girls from the village. The ones who never returned.
Christina thought back to the conversation between Mistress Peterson and Aunt Jane. She remembered the soft clink of coins that meant money changing hands.
She thought Aunt Jane had paid Mistress Peterson to kill her. But Mistress Peterson had paid Aunt Jane! Her aunt had sold her as if she were a cow or a sheep.
How clever of Aunt Jane, Christina thought. She got rid of me—and earned some money at the same time.
“You co
me down from off that horse, now, Christina,” Mistress Peterson said. Her voice sounded warm and welcoming. “Your journey has been a tiring one.”
Christina wasn’t fooled. She knew it was all an act for Matthew’s benefit. It was exactly the way Aunt Jane talked to Christina in front of her father. She had to be on her guard.
“Come into the house,” Mistress Peterson went on. “I’ll get my daughter, Emily.” She started toward the house, her lantern throwing wild shadows.
“You come in, also, Matthew,” Mrs. Peterson called. “I’m sure Emily would hate to miss you.” Then she vanished inside.
Dread filled Christina’s body. I don’t want to get down. I don’t want to stay here, she thought. I don’t want to be under Mistress Peterson’s control.
But Christina knew she didn’t have a choice. Her aunt sold her. She belonged to Mistress Peterson. And there wasn’t a single thing that she could do about it. At least not now.
Matthew slid off the horse. He took Christina by the waist and swung her down. He didn’t release her for a long moment.
“You mustn’t worry,” he said. He brushed a damp curl off her cheek. “Mistress Peterson will treat you fairly. Everything will be all right.”
Nothing will be all right, Christina thought. How can it be?
But she didn’t share her fears. She did the only thing she could. Her footsteps dragging, Christina followed Matthew into the house.
The place was dismal. A single lantern on a table near the front window gave the only light. The walls of the room were filthy. Blackened and stained with soot.
How can anyone stand it? Christina wondered. I’ll die if I have to live here.
Die here. Die here. I’m going to die here!
The words echoed inside Christina’s head. She fought to hold her panic down.
Matthew took her arm and led her to a wooden chair. “You’re tired,” he said. “You should sit down.”
Matthew settled himself in a chair next to her. “You needn’t worry,” Matthew said again.