The Lost Child

by H. P. Mallory

  Nice that she felt she could make jokes, but she was not laughing a split second later as the source of the noise barreled down the tunnel towards us. It was a monstrous giant worm of some sort!

  Perhaps the most hideous creature I had ever seen! Six sets of needle sharp teeth appeared within its vast mouth.

  “Dinnae move!” Odran yelled from behind.

  “Do not move? Are you insane?” I snapped back.

  “Troost me. It isnae real!”

  “Odran…” I began but I could already see the resolve in Bryn’s face as she turned to face the monster. Besides, we were out of time.

  The creature passed straight through us like a ghost. It had been an illusion.

  “Well,” Bryn was the first to speak, “that was terrifying.”

  “Ah fear there may be more magical traps an’ tricks oop ahead,”

  said Odran.

  “How did you know it wasn’t real?” asked the fop.

  “The lass said she couldnae sense it. An’ when Ah saw the beastie Ah thought; that is exactly what Ah would create to scare people if Ah wanted to protect the backdoor to mah fortress.”

  “But how could you be sure?” Bryn asked.

  Odran shrugged. “Ah moost confess, Ah couldnae be one hoondred percent sure. Boot Ah thought it a likely guess.”

  “A likely guess?” Bryn looked back down the tunnel. “When we get out of here Odran, remind me to thank you before I slap you.”

  “Fair enough, lass.”

  “But if it was an illusion , then it couldn’t really harm us,”

  Klassje pointed out. “What was the point?”

  “To make us panic,” I answered. “To make us desperately retreat as fast as we can in a very slippery tunnel that leads straight out into a sheer drop to nothing.”

  “Aye,” nodded Odran. “An’ perhaps also to set our nerves a-janglin’, ready for whatever might come next.”

  “Or,” Klassje joined the game, “to make us think we’re only going to face illusions and then set a real monster on us which we’ll be totally unprepared for.”

  “If you’ve all finished coming up with random scenarios for how we’re going to die,” said my hellion, testily, “then let’s just keep climbing.”

  The next illusion was a swarm of rats, rushing down the tunnel, coating the walls. Their eyes were red and beady, their coats matted and disease-ridden, and their squeaks echoed up and down the tunnel.

  “I swear I felt one of them run over my hand,” announced Klassje, when the rats had vanished.

  “Keep going.” Bryn continued upwards. The tunnel was trending upwards more steeply now, making it harder to climb but suggesting, perhaps, that we were nearing journey’s end.

  A low, throaty growl rumbled down the tunnel, a bass note that made the ice reverberate beneath my fingers.

  “Oh, what now?” sighed the frog.

  “I don’t know,” said Bryn, as the rumbling got louder, now accompanied by the sound of clawed feet, “but whatever it is, I can sense it.”

  “Then it’s alive,” Klaasje interpreted.

  Yes, this one was real, and no less terrifying than what we had already faced. A bear-like creature with black eyes and slathering jaws. Its paws were the size of dinner plates, fringed with yellow claws that dug into the ice and could rend flesh just as easily. It stormed towards Bryn, roaring like a demon, and I tensed my muscles, ready to hurl myself forward to protect her.

  But as the thing reached her, ready to rip her limb from limb, Bryn strode forward and punched the creature hard on the nose. It recoiled with a whimper like a scared dog, then sat back on its haunches, appearing quite confused; this was not what was supposed to happen.

  “Bugger off,” said Bryn. “I’m having a shitty day.”

  For a moment the creature remained, staring up at her, but then it slunk back down the tunnel with its tail between its legs.

  I looked at her, my brave tempest and sighed. Was it any wonder that I loved this woman as I did?

  “That may be the most British think I have heard you say,” I ventured, when the beast had gone.

  “Yeah,” Bryn shrugged. “Clearly I’ve been in the UK too long.”

  I wondered, then, whether she would return to the US once we located our daughter and rescued her. At the thought the both of them could end up so far from me, I must admit my stomach doubled on itself and the pain was too much to bear. I forcefully changed the focus of my thoughts.

  On we went, and a few minutes later, we emerged from the ice-bound tunnel into a room, carved from the living rock, lit by flaming torches. Bryn and I crawled through the small space, she leading the way, then helped the others.

  “This is just not what I expected when we came to Faery,” said Klassje, turning a judicious eye on her surroundings and the general décor of the Fir Darrig’s dungeon. “I know some super-traditional vampires in the old country—as in all gothic castles and spooky crypts—and even they would say this was a bit much.”

  “As Ah said,” replied Odran, “Faery is whit ye bring to it. An’

  the Fir Darrig brings a power o’ bad feelings. Tor Clyd is as mooch an expression o’ the Darrig itself as it is a part o’ the landscape.”

  Klassje looked about again. “Great.”

  I was looking about as well, but I had more on my mind than the Darrig’s odious taste in interior design. “Is anyone else failing to see a way out?”

  Even with the torches lit, it was a dark room and so the non-vampires of the party had not immediately noticed that no door lurked amongst the shadows. Chevalier took down one of the torches, wielding it with an unnecessary flourish. He appeared quite ridiculous, as if he thought himself the Scarlet Pimpernel rescuing English aristocrats, and walked around the room, peering into its darkest recesses and behind the statues carved into the wall.

  Statues that were in quite bad taste, I must add.

  “Not our biggest concern right now, I know,” said Klassje, trying to keep the mood light, “but what the hell is happening in that statue ?”

  Odran shook his head. “Ah dinnae know. Boot Ah wouldnae like tae be the goat in the middle.”

  The statues definitely did no t bear closer examination; they were a horror show, and for a vampire to say as much, then you know it is serious. But they were not our immediate problem.

  “There’s no way out,” said the fop. “Except the way we came in.”

  Not even the ceiling offered any exit we could use.

  But Odran held up a correcting finger. “There is nae door . That doesnae mean there is nae way oot.”

  “Well I guess someone must have go tten in here to carve these hideous things,” muttered Klassje, eyeing another statue with repugnance.

  “Ah’m guessin ’,” continued Odran, “that the Fir Darrig is verra aware o’ this loophole in his fortress defenses, an’ has put various illusions in place tae protect himself.”

  Bryn nodded. “Right. Then let’s bust them open.”

  She made straight for the wall, running full tilt.

  “Bryn…!” I began. But she went straight through the wall, the rock seemed to part like treacle, clinging to her as she forced her way through.

  “How did she know the door was there?” asked Chevalier.

  I did not bother with such questions. Bryn had always been able to surprise me, and that was one thing that had never changed. I followed her path. You had to run at it because the wall still had a fair amount of solidity to it, like pushing through silly putty, but I arrived out clean the other side, the wall snapping back into place behind me.

  Bryn was waiting.

  “How did you know?” I asked, intrigued despite myself.

  My tempest shook her head. “You were all so busy looking for doors, you didn’t ask yourselves the obvious question.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “Where did that enormous bear thing go?”

  Of course. The beast that had attacked us in the tunnel had no ot
her exit, but was nowhere to be seen in the room. And Bryn, having been in such recent contact with it, was still able to sense the trace of its mind. She had only to follow its trail.

  “It i s easy when you explain it.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “You try it, then.”

  The wall behind me shivered and I stood aside as it disgorged Klassje.

  “That’s disgusting.”

  Odran and the frog followed. “Which way now?” Bryn asked.

  All eyes turned to Odran. “Ah dinnae know why you’re askin’ me.

  Ah’ve nae been here before.”

  It seemed that we had no option but to search, which was not ideal as the longer we searched, the greater the chance of us being discovered. But we had only gone a few paces when Bryn gasped sharply and dropped to her knees, clasping both hands over her mouth.

  “Bryn!” Suddenly all the awkwardness between us vanished as I rushed to her side, holding her to me. She turned her face up to mine and I saw tears glistening in the corners of her wide, shocked eyes.

  “Sinjin…” She gasped. “I can feel her .”

  There was no need for any further explanation; she could sense the mind of our child somewhere in this terrible place. I clasped her tightly to me and, to my shock, found that there were tears rising in my own eyes as well. I am not a man who cries; it’s nothing to do with macho nonsense either. It is simply that, after six hundred years, a person has been through everything that is likely to make him cry and, thus, becomes numb to most things. But I cried now, with the mother of my child in my arms.

  I heard Bryn’s voice, low enough that only I could hear it, whispering into my ear. “She knows me.”

  I could only imagine what Bryn was feeling. I ha d never envied the sensitives—to know what others around you were thinking and feeling seemed to me more a curse than a blessing. I imagined being sensitive to others, forced one to be empathetic towards people whom you candidly disliked. But I envied her now to have that connection to the daughter we had both feared was lost to us, and to know that our daughter remembered her, and knew the signature of her mind on the instant. The Fir Darrig might have taken the child’s body, but her heart, her soul and her mind remained with us.

  With an effort, Bryn struggled back to her feet, trying hard not to be overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions that came with the voice of her lost child’s mind.

  “I can find her.”

  We moved cautiously through the corridors of Tor Clyd; up helical staircases carved from the ancient ice; past barred dungeons from which strange and disturbing noises issued; through cavernous rooms of black rock, hung with dripping stalactites. More than once we heard footsteps and murmuring voices somewhere not far from us, though the echoes in this labyrinthine place could play tricks on you, and we flattened ourselves against the wall, clinging to the shadows until the danger had passed. Only once did we see anyone, a small cadre of Redcap guards marching past us at a T junction in the corridors—it appeared the Darrig was recruiting itself an army to serve its new Court.

  All the while, we were led by Bryn, following the irresistible tug of the mother-daughter bond. She could have walked the path blindfolded, relying almost entirely on her sensitivity, which was all the more powerful when it came to her child.

  So it was, that we closed in on a chamber.

  “That’s where she is.” Bryn’s words were barely more than a breath, for it was too much to hope the baby would be left unguarded.

  I placed a hand on her to keep her from continuing and she understood instantly; she had played her part and now it was my turn, and this was where a vampire excelled. For a moment, as I stole out into the darkness, I imagined I was back on the streets of Chester, hunting my prey. I stole from shadow to shadow, moving as if I were one of them, my feet making no sound on the floor.

  A pair of Redcaps guarded the entrance , but I was less worried about them than about what might be inside with my daughter. The Redcaps I could handle, but if the Fir Darrig or others of the Unseelie Court were about… I had fought the Darrig before and had no wish to do it again.

  The Redcaps remained oblivious as I crept as close as I dared, getting a clear look through the open door. There did not seem to be anyone else within the room and I could hear no voices. But I must confess, I found myself distracted, because there, lying in a basket in the center of the room, placed on a pedestal as if she were a religious artifact, was my daughter.

  TWELVE

  SINJIN

  The Redcaps never saw me coming and I managed to take them out with barely a sound. Still cautious, I crept into the chamber, shooting glances left and right to make sure the room was as empty as it had appeared from the outside. Could the Fir Darrig make itself invisible? Probably; the wretched thing seemed capable of doing almost everything else. And if it could not, then there was doubtless someone amongst its guests who could.

  Who knew how many Fae the Unseelie Court now numbered or what powers they possessed? They could be watching me now. But that did not matter. All that mattered was the little bundle, lying peacefully in its basket on the pedestal.

  It seemed as though it took me an eternity to close the distance.

  And when I looked down at my daughter, I found a fully formed babe looking up at me with eyes the color of my own. I could not claim to understand how the ‘theft’ from Bryn’s womb had worked—

  the child had not been ready to leave, and was, in fact, only now the right age to be born. Yet, this premature birth, that was not really a birth at all, did not seem to have affected the baby girl who lay there before my eyes.

  Yes, she was really quite small.

  That seems like a supremely foolish thing to observe, as she was a baby, thus of course she would be small! Smallness is a defining characteristic of babies. And yet her tininess still surprised me. Her head was barely the size of my fist; her hands would fit between my finger and thumb. The little fingers now uncurled as she stirred, and a moment later her eyes peered up at me. At that age, I daresay she was not even capable of focusing, and yet I felt sure that she was looking directly at me.

  She smiled. Her tiny mouth curling up at the corners and a sound issuing from her that could only be called a giggle.

  I was lost.

  All this time I had spent carefully analyzing my position and coming to the logical conclusion that I was not cut out to be a father, that I would be inadequate to the task and that the baby could do without the darkness I would bring into her life. I had worked out very clearly that my being absent was what was best for this little sprog, and even now I did not think there was any hole in my reasoning. I was not good enough to be her father, I was not worthy of it, and she would be much the better growing up without me.

  But as I stared down at her now, all those thoughts ceased to matter. There was no way this child would grow up without me there. I might not be what was best for her, but I was going to be selfish because I could not walk away from her. In all my relentless logic and clear-headed reasoning, I had failed to account for the simple biological tug of a father presented with his daughter for the first time.

  I think I had imagined such would not apply to me, that Sinjin Sinclair, Master Vampire, was above such proletarian biology. How wrong I was! To see her lying there was like the first rush of love, when it comes upon you thick, fast and heady, like being drunk. It had never occurred to me that anything could be as important to me as this tiny creature.

  Fortunately, all this lengthy thought process happened in approximately four seconds, and I did not, in fact, stand around for long minutes in the chamber of Tor Clyd, waiting to be captured. Remembering myself, I reached into the basket to scoop out the precious little bundle within, holding her firm but tender against my chest. The basket would have been easier to carry, but I hoped leaving it might mean it took longer for anyone to notice she had gone, and would buy us a little extra time.

  My daughter was quiet against me, making no fuss as I stole out o
f the room again. Was it possible she recognized me? Probably not, but it was a nice thought. A more likely answer was that Bryn was in the babe’s head, calming her.

  Bryn.

  I needed to apologize. I needed to explain why I had been so distant these past few days, and I needed to tell her that it was a thing of the past. Now I had a family, a family I would not walk away from. I needed to fix things.

  But first I had to introduce her to her daughter.

  Perhaps I was a little more reckless in my urgency as I hurried back through the corridors the short distance to where the others were waiting.

  A vampire has not concept of how long he may live; perhaps I had another day; perhaps a thousand years. But however long I had stretched out before me, I knew I would never forget the look on Bryn’s face as she saw me returning, as she noted the priceless cargo in my arms, as she opened her own hands to take the bab e from me and, for the first time, gazed on the face of her infant child.

  Tears blossomed in Bryn’s eyes when she took the small babe from me. She smiled warmly and the baby cooed up at her. “She’s… she’s beautiful,” Bryn whispered.

  “She looks like you,” I responded.

  Bryn looked up at me then and smiled more broadly. “I was going to say she looks like you.”

  “Tis a lovely moment,” whispered Odran urgently. “Truly heartening. B oot Ah think we should leave the touchin’ reunions till we are oot o’ here.”

  Bryn mastered her emotions, wiping her eyes dry and nodded to Odran with resolve. Her first act as a new mother would not be to let her child down. She took a deep breath, wiped her eyes with her forearm and nodded. “Let’s go.”

  We did not have Bryn’s sensitivity to guide us out as it had guided us in, but fortunately, Odran had been paying attention as we entered and he led the way back through the cold, dark domain of the Fir Darrig.

  We passed through the magic wall in the dungeon and Odran led us down the tunnel.

  “Be verra careful goin’ down. The ice is perilous slippery an’ Ah willnae be able to keep mah footin’ if ye all cannon into me.”

  I pulled off my coat and gave it to Bryn to wrap about the baby.