The Second Siege

by Henry H. Neff

  Max glowered and he began to speak, but stopped as Astaroth raised a warning finger.

  “Consider well, and let wisdom temper pride,” said the Demon. “Like your handsome friend, all of Rowan lies helpless within those walls of rock, weak as women in the pangs of labor. And thus they shall lie for many a day. While a son of the Sidh might evade the witches’ curse and make a valiant stand, even he cannot stand forever.”

  Max looked hard at Astaroth, whose face was grave and contemplative.

  “Yes, you will fall, Max, and you will do so having sacrificed many innocents at the altar of your pride. This is the second time I have stayed my hand and made a handsome offer. I’m sure you can understand that there will not be a third.”

  Max climbed painfully to his feet, clutching his side. He gazed back at the river gurgling behind him and the dark walls of rock in the distance where his family and friends lay defenseless. We need time, Max thought. Time to endure the witches’ curse, time for David to heal and use the Book, time for something—anything—to turn the tide. Max looked down at the grass and felt the cool air wash over him.

  “I need time to think,” he said at last.

  Astaroth smiled and shook his head. His silky voice fell to a whisper.

  Blow, blow, thou winter wind

  Thou art not so unkind,

  As man’s ingratitude.

  “Very well,” said the Demon, also rising to his feet. “You shall have your day and we shall hope it brings good counsel. As a token of faith, we will not cross the river till you have answered. You have until sunset, and I pray you will think carefully about all you have to lose.”

  At a gesture from the Demon, the armored ogres stood aside and made way for a horse-drawn cart pulled by two emaciated mares. A boy sat upon the driver’s seat and offered a smile in greeting.

  It was Alex Muoñz.

  The older boy had changed considerably since Max had last seen him in Marley Augur’s crypt. Alex’s skin had assumed a deathly pallor, and his eyes were faintly luminous. Witch-like tattoos covered the hands that held the reins. He looked down from his perch, proud and disdainful.

  “Hello, Max,” said Alex. “Long time.”

  Max nodded, speechless at how his former schoolmate had been transformed. He looked hardly human.

  “We’re doing things,” said Alex. “Great things—and you can be a part of it.”

  “Alex,” said Max, “I tried my best to get you out of there. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sure you did,” said Alex with a disbelieving smile, “but don’t be sorry. You did me a favor, Max, and I’m here to return it.”

  There was a triumphant, sadistic gleam in the boy’s face, and Max felt a prick of nausea in his stomach. Alex reached for a leather satchel and unclasped it to reveal a row of medieval torture implements. He plucked a small, scalpel-like blade from the grisly kit and thumbed its edge.

  “I’m not a fighter like you, Max, so I’ve been trying to make myself useful in other ways,” said Alex thoughtfully. “We all need information, and I’d like to think I have a talent for getting it. I’ve gotten a lot, you know,” he boasted, glancing from the knife to Max. “Generals . . . diplomats . . . I even convinced a prime minister to share the most amazing secrets before he died!”

  “What’s your point?” snapped Max.

  Alex climbed into the back of the cart and dragged up two hooded figures so they were propped against the side.

  “Well, as good as I am,” huffed Alex, “I can always use more practice.” He hefted up the limp, masked bundles so Max could see them better. “And right here, I’ve got two fine specimens to work on—that is, as soon as this little curse has passed and they can really appreciate my work.”

  Max braced himself as Alex yanked the hoods away.

  For a moment, he stared dumbstruck at the pair of prisoners. Max was not surprised to see Connor Lynch.

  But he had not expected Ms. Richter.

  “That’s impossible,” breathed Max, gazing at the Director, whose blinking eyes stared blankly ahead. “It’s an illusion.”

  “No,” interjected Astaroth, “she is alive, Max. This little bauble protected her from me, you see. An unexpectedly powerful trinket.”

  Max glanced at the Founder’s Ring on Astaroth’s hand.

  “Give them back,” Max whispered, half pleading. “All of them.”

  “Sorry,” said the Demon. “The ring is not for sale at any price—I’ve got rather skinny fingers and it adds a pleasing bit of heft. The prisoners, however, are available for purchase. We’ve already discussed the price. You have until sunset.”

  Max had never felt so alone. He nodded at Astaroth’s words, but his eyes never left Connor and Ms. Richter, who lay feverish and helpless in the cart. Stepping wearily to Cooper, his broken ribs sent stabs of pain down his side as he slung the Agent onto his shoulder once more and marched off toward the cliffs. When he had crossed the river, Max turned to see Astaroth’s army resume its flow from the dark gorge, as silent and steady as an oozing wound.

  22

  MIST AND SMOKE

  Max listened to the sound of the ropes and pulleys as the platform was hauled up the smooth rock wall. He turned and gazed down at the plain below, where massive trebuchets and siege works were assembled just beyond the banks of the river. Turning away, Max shut his eyes and felt exhaustion sink into his bones like a stain. The pulleys ground to a halt.

  “Are they dead, mama?” asked a voice—a boy’s.

  “I don’t think so,” replied a woman.

  Max opened his eyes and gazed at several people—refugees—standing upon the rock ledge. Their faces were fraught with worry; they looked upon Max and Cooper as though the two were ghosts. Shaking off his weariness, Max stood and dragged Cooper off the platform and onto the open ledge.

  “Where’s Miss Kraken?” Max asked.

  “With the others,” the woman replied. “They’re all very sick.”

  “Who’s in charge?” asked Max.

  “We thought it might be you,” replied the woman.

  “Where’s Dr. Rasmussen, then?” asked Max, realizing that the former Workshop leader would not have fallen victim to the witches’ curse. For all the man’s flaws, Max knew he was very smart and should be consulted. The woman told Max that Rasmussen had been holed up in the generator room, working round the clock as the others fell sick.

  Max thanked the woman and left Cooper in her care before trotting off down the dim corridors. He didn’t need a map, but merely followed the faint vibrations in the rock walls until he found the generators once again. Rasmussen was there amidst a pile of schematics, his face looking garish as he sipped a thermos of coffee by the light of a fluorescent lantern. Mum and Bella-grog were there, too, their plump bottoms side by side as the sisters knelt at the base of a disconnected generator, shining a flashlight into the dark, tight space beneath it.

  “Oh, it’s right there!” exclaimed Mum. “But my arm’s too short to reach it!”

  “And mine’s too fat,” grumbled Bellagrog, hastily slipping her sister a butcher’s knife. “Are you sure you can’t just get it for us, love? That bracelet belonged to our Nan, you know. Won’t take a moment with your nice long reach.”

  “In a minute,” grumbled Rasmussen, rubbing his temples. The man shook his head and muttered something unintelligible before making several notations on the blueprint. Max cleared his throat.

  “Dr. Rasmussen, I need your help.”

  The man’s eyes shot up, and he surveyed Max from behind his thin spectacles.

  “Max,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again. . . . How go things?”

  “Not so good,” said Max. “I’m calling a meeting. Come with me, and we’ll round up the others.”

  Rasmussen glanced at the schematic and shook his head.

  “Tell me when and where the meeting will be,” said Rasmussen. “I’m busy at the moment.”

  Max glanced at Mum and Bellagro
g, who were standing by the generator making furious gestures for Max to leave immediately.

  “The meeting is right now, and I need your help rounding up the others,” said Max, ignoring the hags. “I’m sorry to insist.”

  “Oh, very well,” snapped Rasmussen, tossing his pencil aside. Max let Rasmussen exit first, and the engineer wandered down the corridor, clearly preoccupied with whatever problem he had been solving. The hags scurried over to Max, Bellagrog’s whole being trembling with indignation.

  “Go away!” hissed the hag.

  “Why?” asked Max. “So you can murder him when he isn’t looking?”

  “Whatchoo talkin’ ’bout?” muttered Bellagrog innocently, just as a pair of brass knuckles fell out from beneath her skirt. The hag grimaced and snatched up the weapon and brandished it at Max.

  “You’re interferin’ with Shrope family business!” hissed the furious hag.

  “Shrope family business will have to wait,” muttered Max. “I need him.”

  Ignoring Bel’s threats and Mum’s pleas, Max caught up to the engineer and made his next inquiry.

  Within the hour, Max had managed to gather a small council. No grim Agents or wise Mystics were assembled; instead Max sought the advice of a few trusted souls who had been unaffected by the curse. While a Moomenhoven dressed and bandaged his wounds, Max stroked Nick’s quills and quietly explained the terms Astaroth had offered. Hannah spoke first.

  “What would it mean if Astaroth got his hands on this Book?” she asked.

  “The end of this age,” said Bob heavily.

  “Well, what would the next age be like?” asked Hannah before shifting her attention to one of her children who had dipped its beak in Max’s bowl of chicken soup. “Honk, get away from that!” she cried. “That’s practically cannibalism!” Honk waddled away, looking cross.

  “I don’t know what the next age would be like,” said Max, steering Honk back toward his mother. “I think that would be for Astaroth to decide.”

  “Well, maybe the world’s ready for a new age,” said the goose. “Maybe it will be nice!”

  “Maybe,” conceded Max, cheered a bit by her optimism. “But I don’t think we can count on that. For all we know, people will be slaves.”

  “Better to die free than live a slave,” concluded Bob, the ogre’s basso voice rumbling from beneath his bandaged face.

  “Inspiring credo,” muttered Rasmussen dryly, “but I’d rather live to fight another day.”

  “That is a coward’s choice at the moment of truth,” said Bob.

  “I see,” said Rasmussen, tapping his finger. “For one who values freedom, aren’t you rather quick to dictate others’ options? What if I don’t want to die? Why should a teenage boy make such a choice for all of us?”

  Bob said nothing, but Mr. McDaniels bristled and jabbed a thick finger at Rasmussen.

  “Max isn’t trying to make a decision for you,” he seethed. “He’s asking your advice! What if it were you out there instead of Connor and Ms. Richter?”

  “It’s not,” said Rasmussen.

  “Well, maybe it should be!” snapped Mr. McDaniels, fidgeting in his chair.

  “Dad,” said Max, glancing over, “it’s okay. This is hard for everyone.”

  His red-faced father said nothing but merely scooped up one of the straying goslings and let it play on his lap. Rasmussen shrugged and continued.

  “Unless I’m missing something, it seems that Astaroth can acquire the Book and we can continue to live with a sliver of land to call our own. Or Astaroth can inflict a most painful death upon us and acquire the Book anyway. I’ll choose the former, thank you.”

  “But can’t we win?” asked Max. “Does it have to be a choice between living with failure or dying with it?”

  “Given that we’re holed up in a cave, accursed, and surrounded by an army that holds a valuable hostage, I’d say winning is out of the question, wouldn’t you?” muttered Rasmussen.

  “Is there any chance David’s well enough to use the Book?” asked Max. “Any chance at all?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Max’s father. “Poor David could barely sip that soup.”

  Max’s head drooped.

  “Then I’ve failed,” he muttered. “Everything we’ve done has been for nothing.”

  A great black mound stirred in the corner. YaYa raised her head from the floor and turned her milky eyes on Max.

  “You have not failed,” said the ancient ki-rin, her voice soft and soothing. “You have fought and bled and nearly died to save your people. My master did the same and still Solas fell! There are powers greater than you, Max McDaniels. And there are powers greater than Astaroth—even he cannot see all ends. Perhaps Hannah is right—perhaps the world is ready for another age. Perhaps she needs it.”

  Max considered YaYa’s words, which both surprised and comforted him.

  “Rowan is not what she was,” continued YaYa with a note of sorrow. “She has, perhaps, lost her way and become that which she fears. But for all her flaws, there is still love and friendship here. And where those exist, hope remains. Let the Book go. It is a wondrous thing, but it is perilous and has brought ruin upon all who have sought to possess it. Let it pass to the Enemy.”

  Max closed his eyes and nodded.

  “Where is it?” he asked.

  “Miss Kraken left it with David before she fell ill,” said Mr. McDaniels. “Should I go get it?”

  Max shook his head and climbed painfully to his feet. He wound quietly through the caverns, pausing to look in on the sick. On two cots, just past Nigel Bristow and his wife, lay Cooper and Miss Boon. The two were sleeping, their hands clasped together, while Moomenhovens scurried about with basins and cool washcloths to attend the many patients. Walking along, Max saw Sarah, Lucia, and Cynthia being cared for by their families. Max introduced himself and shared a quiet moment with the group, asking after their needs and patting Cynthia, who merely blinked at him and drifted back to sleep. Where the cavern opened into another ward, Max saw Julie Teller. He stopped a moment and glimpsed his little stack of letters peeking from the pillow beneath her head. A woman approached with her little boy in tow. Max looked up; it was the same woman and child from the ledge.

  “Her fever’s going down,” said the woman, stooping to place her palm on Julie’s forehead.

  “Are you Mrs. Teller?” asked Max.

  “Yes indeed,” said the woman, while her beaming son hid behind her. “And we know who you are and what you’ve risked to keep us safe. I was at your mother’s funeral, Max. She would be proud.”

  Max smiled and embraced her.

  “I hope so,” he said, saying good-bye and crossing quickly to the ward where David lay.

  David opened his eyes as Max came to stop at his cot.

  “Have you come to take it away?” he asked.

  “I have,” said Max, gently prying the Book of Thoth from David’s arms. “Are you angry?”

  “No,” said David, managing a faint smile. “Good riddance.”

  “I have this terrible feeling, David,” said Max suddenly. “A terrible feeling that this is the end of the world.” His eyes filled with tears; he ran his finger along the Book’s golden cover. “I don’t want it to be the end of the world. There are so many things I haven’t seen yet.”

  He began to sob quietly, clutching the Book against his chest.

  “Shhh,” whispered David, shaking his head. “Don’t be sad. When one thing ends, another begins and the powerful play goes on. You are not ending. The world is not ending. Whatever comes, we will face it together. You and I.”

  Max exhaled and sat still for a moment, his eyes falling on David’s night table. In the center of the table was a washbasin and, next to it, an old-fashioned clock. Dipping his hands in the basin’s cool water, Max rinsed them clean of the dirt that still caked them. As he scrubbed the mud from his fingers, it formed clouds in the water. Max watched them expand and settle into layers of silt while the seco
nds ticked and David drifted back to sleep. When the water was still once more, Max rose and left the room.

  Many faces crowded together, peering from the rock ledge, while Max sat astride YaYa and the two made their way toward the river. On the far banks waited an army ten thousand strong. At its head was Astaroth, sitting astride a great black wolf with eyes the size of yolks.

  YaYa crossed the river and clambered up its shallow banks.

  “Have you brought it?” asked the Demon.

  “I have,” said Max. “You’ll take it, release the hostages, and leave as promised.”

  “Of course,” said Astaroth. “And will you be joining us?”

  “No,” said Max.

  “Pity.”

  Max did not respond. Reaching in David’s pack, he removed the Book of Thoth and handed it to the Demon, who held it lightly by his fingertips. The army made not a sound.

  Astaroth’s expression was almost reverent as he slid a nail beneath the Book’s cover, opening it delicately to peer at the very first sheets of papyrus. Max watched in silence as the Demon scoured one page after another. Astaroth suddenly glanced at Max, as though he’d forgotten he was there.

  “This is very good, Max,” said the Demon. “You have fulfilled our bargain.”

  At a gesture from Astaroth, Alex Muñoz whipped the thin mares forward and unhitched them from the cart. Within the cart lay Ms. Richter and Connor, bound and gagged and staring at the sky. Ms. Richter looked weak; Connor looked near death. The boy’s ruddy cheeks had sunk into sallow hollows, while his unblinking eyes were devoid of their characteristic spark and humor. Max did not know much about possession, but he feared it had taken an irreparable toll on his friend.

  “Will Connor live?” asked Max coldly.

  “Yes,” said Astaroth, “but he has learned that little boys should not meddle in such big affairs. Have you learned your lesson, too?”

  “We’ll see,” said Max.

  “That we shall.”

  Astaroth gazed fondly at the Book as though it were a favorite bedtime story. After several moments, he glanced back at Max. A smile crept across the Demon’s face, and he whispered a single word. The syllable rolled off the Demon’s tongue, and the wind rose in a gentle sigh. As Max watched, Astaroth and his army began to fade. A moment later, they were gone—vanished like so much mist and smoke.