It was nearly eleven o’clock when Max stole from the Manse and crept down the salted steps, sticking to the shadows as he clutched David’s enchanted pack. The campus was awash in moonlight, bands of bright snow and ice fringed by dark and fragrant pine. Far off Max heard the faint, cheery notes of Nolan’s fiddle. Creeping off the path, Max stole for the cover of the orchard, weaving his way silently among the class trees until he had disappeared beneath the frail, sighing canopy that marked the border of the orchard and the wooded paths beyond. Max saw a white puff of breath billow out from behind a tree. David was waiting.
Max’s roommate, still in his pajamas with the quilt draped over his shoulders, gave a start when Max slipped round the tree to tap him on the shoulder. The small boy grinned and asked Max if he’d brought everything they’d need.
“I think so,” whispered Max, patting the bag. “I threw almost everything you own in here.”
“Good,” said David, peering up the path. “Now help me look for something—I’m sure it’s right around here.”
“What are we looking for?” asked Max.
“A coin,” replied David. “I buried it around here last year.”
“I remember,” said Max, thinking back to his first day at Rowan, when he’d spied his strange new roommate inexplicably burying a coin where a small side path diverged into the wood. He scanned the ground where David was poking about the snow and hard, cold soil. “Didn’t you bury it by a side path?” Max asked, seeing an overgrown path some twenty feet ahead.
“I did,” said David. “But the paths move. That’s why I buried the coin. There’s Old Magic in these woods, Max—can’t you feel it?”
Max shook his head and ran his fingers along an ancient beech. He felt nothing, but he knew there was something peculiar in these woods—he himself had once encountered strange lights and faint laughter. Ever since that incident, he’d been content to keep his feet firmly planted on well-trodden ways.
“Help me look,” huffed David. “I know it’s close.”
Max crouched low near his roommate and plunged his hands into the cold snow, digging through frost and leaves and dirt in a wide sweep. For ten minutes they crouched in the cold, while their fingers scrabbled numbly at the hard ground.
“Can’t you do a spell or something?” muttered Max in frustration.
“Not yet,” coughed David. “I need to save everything I can.”
“For what?” asked Max. “You haven’t even told me what we’re doing.”
“I know,” said David, grinning. “If I had, you might not have come. . . . Aha! Here it is!”
David produced a gritty coin in his remaining palm. He rubbed it clean of dirt between his thumb and forefinger, holding it up to the moonlight and peering closely at its date. Satisfied, he pulled the quilt closer about him and plunged into the woods at the exact spot where the coin had been unearthed. Max hurried after.
The woods closed behind them and the air grew colder. David said nothing, walking resolutely forward while Max crunched behind, pushing tree branches aside until it seemed they must have traveled quite far indeed. Max had no idea how far these woods extended. He imagined they should have reached the main road to town by now, but spaces at Rowan could be deceiving.
As they walked on, Max sensed a change in the woods. The air was getting warmer. The trees seemed framed in moonlight despite the dark, interlacing roof of dense branches above them. The unexpected fragrance of rose petals filled the air. Max stopped and gazed upon a broad clearing ringed by summer flowers. He kicked snow from his boots, gaping at thick green grass and fireflies that hovered lazily in the moonlight. Ancient-looking stones, cracked and weathered, were arranged in a circle. They towered above David, who walked gingerly among them with his quilt trailing like a king’s robe in the grass.
“What is this place?” breathed Max, stepping out into the clearing.
“What time is it?” asked David, ignoring Max’s question as he counted his paces across the circle of stones. Max glanced at his watch.
“Almost midnight,” he said.
“We have to hurry,” said David, letting the quilt slip from his shoulders. Max now saw that David was walking upon a smooth stone circle. It was some ten feet across, centered among the standing stones and fringed with toadstools and moss. David swept away bits of grass and dirt until the surface was clean, then stepped off the circle and pointed his small index finger at its perimeter.
A green flame, thin as a laser, burst through the stone and traced a slow, precise circle that glowed along the stone’s perimeter. This done, several additional green flames seeped through the stone in a slow dance, carving powerful runes of warding. Max watched the summoner’s circle form, slow and beautiful, as green and gold tracery flickered on the dark surface. This was no Solomon’s Circle, Max could see readily enough; this circle was for other things.
“Step inside,” said David, beckoning Max over. The two stepped over the circle’s glowing threshold. The night was terribly still; even the trees seemed to be listening in breathless silence. A gleam caught Max’s eye; he now saw a silver ring on David’s finger.
“David,” said Max, realizing his roommate’s intent. “It’s too soon. He’ll hurt you again.”
“Not here,” whispered David, seizing Max’s wrist in a sudden, fierce grip. “He’ll have to come this time.” Clearing his throat and shutting his eyes, David called out into the dark. “Noble Astaroth, pray favor your petitioner with wisdom from under hill, beyond the stars, and beneath the deepest sea.”
From far, far away Max heard Old Tom’s chimes strike midnight. A warm breeze rose up in the clearing; branches shook in fits as the wind rose to a moan. Max swallowed hard as David’s fingers dug deeper into his wrist. He felt horribly exposed. His heartbeat began to patter. As he swiveled his head about in a panic, a swaying branch suddenly caught his eye.
“Connor?” Max croaked, seeing his friend’s astonished face peering at them from behind a tree.
“What are you doing?” asked Connor, his features alight with wonder. There was more movement and Max saw Cynthia, Sarah, and Lucia peek out from behind Connor.
“What are you doing?” Max hissed.
“We followed you,” said Connor proudly. “I knew you were up to something—digging around your room like a badger and all.”
“Get out of here—all of you!” pleaded Max, glancing at David’s trancelike expression. “Something terrible is coming!”
Max whirled about to scan the woods as Old Tom struck the last chime and faded to silence. The air became deathly still once again and a noxious smell seeped into the clearing. The odor was sickly sweet—a smell of corpses and brimstone and syrupy perfume. Terrified, Max shook David. His roommate’s eyes shot open. He blinked at Max, distracted, until he suddenly caught sight of their friends.
“Get in the circle,” David said softly.
From the nearby woods, a branch snapped. Max saw a faint, shimmering light bob toward them from among the trees.
“Get in the circle!” David screamed.
Sarah bolted past Connor toward the safety of the magic circle. Her decisiveness seemed to drive the others into action. They burst from the woods, running in wide-eyed terror toward the protective ring.
Something else leapt into the clearing from the other end. Max’s heart froze as he saw a grinning, masked peliqueiro, such as he had seen in Salamanca. It was dressed in scarlet, its dead eyes carved in crescent moons of merriment as it crossed the clearing quickly in pursuit.
Sarah leapt over the circle’s flickering threshold, almost crashing into Max and David. Connor came next, followed by Lucia. Cynthia lagged behind as the masked figure hurtled across the clearing, inhumanly swift. She shrieked and leapt. A gloved hand snatched at her hair, tearing out several long red strands, but she landed with a thud at Max and David’s feet. The summoner’s circle burst into bright flame, illuminating the clearing in a sudden blaze of golden light. Trembling, the six chil
dren clustered together and turned to face Astaroth.
The Demon said nothing for some time as he stood just beyond the circle’s perimeter. The mask’s black eyes looked coldly upon them; he twined Cynthia’s hairs about a finger. Pacing slowly about the circle, Astaroth patiently examined its every detail. Runes and symbols flared and hissed at his approach.
“Bene,” said the Demon with an acknowledging nod. He pivoted on his heel to survey the tall stones. “A bit of a cheat, really, but I suppose it worked. Here I am. Do you know where these stones come from, David?”
“No,” said David quietly.
“Orkney,” said Astaroth, shimmering faintly in the moonlight. He thumped his fist affectionately against the megalith. “Old stones. They have old voices. But it was the very young voice that caught my attention. . . .” Removing the peliqueiro mask, Astaroth turned to gaze at them with his malevolent white face. He glanced at David’s arm. “What does the young one require of me?” he asked sweetly. “I’ll confess I’m a bit surprised, David. After our last conversation, I didn’t think I’d hear from you again. Have you called to make amends for the murder of my servants?”
“No,” said David, trembling next to Max.
“Pity,” said the Demon, pacing slowly about the perimeter again. The reek of Astaroth’s presence was overpowering. Lucia gagged into her sleeve. Astaroth smiled. “You’re a poor host, David. You should have brought silver rings for all. Max can bear it, I think, but the others are not made of such stern stuff.”
“They’re not supposed to be here,” said David, glancing worriedly at his friends.
“But here they are,” said Astaroth. “And now I have seen them. I know their faces. I know their names. And I even have a token of the young lady, have I not? Mischief can be mine, you know.”
Cynthia gasped suddenly as the Demon unwound one of her hairs to stretch it taut between his delicate fingers. Crumpling to the ground, Cynthia writhed in a spasm of pain.
“Stop it,” said David, seething.
“She must ask me,” insisted the Demon, stretching the hair tighter.
“Please stop,” gasped Cynthia, fighting off tears.
“Of course,” said Astaroth, letting the hairs fall from his grasp. “Oh, don’t be angry with me,” said the Demon as Cynthia struggled to her feet. “It’s your friend here who should bear the brunt of your wrath. He has endangered you, Cynthia. It’s lucky for you that mere curiosity overwhelms me. . . .”
“Promise that you’ll never hurt her again,” commanded David, thrusting a finger at the smiling face. “Promise or I’ll hurt you.”
“My, my,” said the Demon, with a cold glitter in his dark eyes. “My lesson has turned you cruel indeed. I had hoped that little incident at the Workshop might have sated your bloodlust, but apparently I was mistaken. A cruel, conniving thing you are, David Menlo! Very well . . . your summons compels three reasonable services from me. Shall a promise to Miss Gilley be one of them?”
David hesitated. Long seconds passed while Astaroth strolled about the perimeter, looking bored. The flames about the circle began to sputter and pulse. Max looked at it doubtfully.
“How long will the circle last?” whispered Max.
“One hour,” replied his roommate.
“Don’t forget what the Codex said,” hissed Max. “Astaroth will try to stall—to distract us. He’s already doing it, David!”
David blinked and glanced at Max. Astaroth was smiling patiently, holding a delicate black scepter fashioned in the form of a viper.
“Come, David,” he chided. “You know how busy I am. This very country is poised to hoist my flag, and I’d hate to miss the ceremony. Shall Miss Gilley be spared my attentions?”
“Yes,” blurted David. “Promise never to hurt Cynthia or permit her to be hurt by any power under your control. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” said Astaroth, yawning.
“How do we use Bram’s Key to reach the Book of Origins?” asked David.
“Ah,” said Astaroth, pacing once again. “Now we come to it, do we not?”
The Demon chanted Bram’s Riddle in a lilting, amused voice. “Not much of a poet, the esteemed Elias Bram, but it seems his purpose was served. Do you know what the notches are, David?”
“Yes,” said David. “I think so.”
“And?” said the Demon, beckoning playfully.
“Coordinates,” David answered. “Coordinates for space and time.”
“Bravo,” said Astaroth with an acknowledging bow. “Three notches for place, one for time, and there the Book shall be! Do you even know what it is you’re searching for?”
“Stop stalling,” said David. “The question was how to use the Key.”
“Simple,” the Demon said. “The Key steers Bram’s steed, silly boy.”
“But YaYa’s too old,” said Max aloud, puzzling over how the sphere would fit on Rowan’s Matriarch.
“Not the ki-rin,” said Astaroth wearily. “Max, be a good boy and be quiet. You know what they say: better to keep your mouth shut and have others think you a fool than to open your mouth and prove it, no?”
Max’s cheeks grew hot. For a moment, he forgot his fear and glowered at the demon.
“Save your anger,” said Astaroth with a dismissive wave. “No broken blade will harm me, not even one wielded by you.”
“The ship!” said David suddenly. “The Kestrel ! Bram built it, didn’t he? That’s the steed from the Riddle.”
Astaroth clapped, cold and hollow, while the firelight danced upon his smooth features.
“Upon its accursed figurehead you shall place the Key, David Menlo. A beacon it shall be to guide you on your way. But be warned, young Sorcerer—such a place as it leads to is not for little boys. You might find my company preferable.”
“Be silent,” commanded David.
“Is that your third request?” teased Astaroth, counting upon his fingers.
Max panicked. He could not let such a chance pass; his question rang out in the night.
“What happened to my mother?”
David whirled to look at Max. For a moment, the small boy’s face contorted in anger.
Astaroth laughed.
“Aren’t we constant as the northern star?” hissed Astaroth. “I’m almost moved. A boy who pines for his mother, for she did leave him, did she not? And where is she, I wonder? Ensnared by a prophet, I fear. And to think it was the same man who led the witches to you. Peter Varga is his name, although I imagine you’ll assign him others less pleasant.”
“What does Peter have to do with anything?” demanded Max. “Where is she?”
“She is far,” said the Demon, his voice fading to a silken whisper as he leaned close to the circle’s perimeter. “Far away, Max McDaniels. You must find the Book of Thoth before ever you find her. And as for Peter, well, he has only one eye on the future, does he not? A poor man’s prophet, I fear. Cassandra would be shamed. Max, your mother sought the Sidh on a fool’s errand for which she has almost paid in full.”
“What does that mean?” asked Max, frantic. “How can I find her?”
“You shall not see your mother till you delve within Brugh na Boinne,” replied Astaroth, his black eyes crinkling. “I daresay it should be home sweet home to you, young Hound, but you cannot simply knock at the appointed hour. You must take the other way. Best hurry or she will be lost, entombed within the Sidh. Time has strange tides and it would not do to linger. . . .”
“How do we get the Book once we’ve arrived wherever it is we’re going?” interrupted David.
“Now, now,” said Astaroth, wagging a finger. “I’ve fulfilled my part of the bargain. The ancient rules have been obeyed, and I take my leave. I have errands of my own, you see, and cannot stay for pleasantries. Goodnight, children. We will surely meet again.”
Placing the mask on his head once more, the Demon walked slowly beyond the firelight of the circle, disappearing behind one of the stones and into the forest beyond.
>
“We have to hurry,” panted Max, taking a step toward the forest.
David’s hand caught him by the sleeve.
“Don’t!” he hissed. “No one leaves this circle until Old Tom chimes one o’clock. The chime will dismiss Astaroth. Until it does, we can’t be certain he’s gone. He might be out there waiting for us.”
Max froze and stared out at the dark trees. A sickly sensation hovered in his stomach. Was the Demon still lurking out there beyond the firelight? They waited in cowed silence. Sarah, Lucia, and Cynthia huddled together within the circle, not daring to move a finger toward its protective edge. Amidst quiet prayers, Connor crossed himself and shut his eyes tight.
When the chime sounded, distant and hollow, the circle’s flames began to flicker and diminish. A sudden, furious gale swept through the trees, causing them to huddle together like rabbits on a stormy plain. The wind screamed across the clearing in a rush of torn flowers and bits of tree bark. Max felt Sarah’s forehead press against his. Her hands shook uncontrollably, and Max squeezed them gently.
“He’s gone, Sarah,” said Max, mustering a smile.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “We shouldn’t have come. . . . We knew you were up to something and we didn’t want to lose you again.”
She burst into tears.
“He was whispering to me,” she bawled. “The entire time he was speaking to you I could hear his voice whispering in my ear. He was telling me to push you out of the circle—push you out while your backs were turned. He promised so many things. And I listened ! I’m so ashamed.”
Sarah sobbed uncontrollably.
“Did he speak to the rest of you?” asked Max.
Lucia and Cynthia nodded. Connor said nothing but rocked back and forth, hugging his knees.
“Connor?” asked Max.
“I’m sorry we came,” whispered the Irish boy, his voice hoarse. “It’s all my fault you had to waste a question on us.”
“You can make it up to us,” said David, taking the pack from Max’s hand and slinging it over his shoulder. “Tonight.”
“How?” asked Connor, avoiding David’s stern gaze and staring at the cold stone circle.
The Second Siege Page 27