by Robert Evert
With the baby in the crook of his left arm and his right hand gripping the hilt of the black-bladed sword, Edmund took a step back, bumping into the baby’s lavish crib. The baby stopped giggling.
“She’s, she’s n-n-not, she’s not yours. She’s, she’s Molly’s! I can see it in her face.”
The Undead King flexed his hand as if to make sure it was attached properly and fought to straighten to his full height. He took another wobbly step into the nursery.
“Put her down, Edmund. I’m her father. You’re nobody to her!”
Becky pulled herself from underneath the broken rocking chair and limped out in front of Edmund, growling as the Undead King approached. Whatever power she’d had before, it was spent; now she was just a dog.
“I’ll let you and your werehound go,” said the Undead King, “but leave my daughter here.”
You’d better do something. He’s getting stronger.
“You can’t defeat me, Edmund. I have mastered death, and I have mastered life. I cannot be killed by the likes of you.”
We have to get out of here …
The Undead King took another step forward, color returning to his deathly pallid face. Becky’s guttural growls grew more insistent, but she retreated as he pressed into the middle of the room.
“Put her down!” he demanded.
Edmund thrust his sword out in front of him as though warding off impending doom, yet his hand trembled with fatigue. The baby squirmed. He fought to keep her pressed against his blood-soaked chest. He needed to sit down; he needed to sleep.
“She’s coming with me. Now get out of my way!”
The Undead King grinned.
“You’re tired, Edmund. You can barely stand, let alone fight me.” He took another step. “As great as your potential is, you cannot win. You’ve told me everything I need to know to make the alloy, and soon my life’s ambition will be complete. I don’t need you any longer. Put the baby down so she doesn’t get hurt.”
He won’t cast any spells while you’re holding her.
Do something!
“Put her down, now, before I change my mind about letting you live!” the Undead King bellowed. “Now!”
Scream for Pond. He might be able to hear from the library.
Let Pond and Abby have their lives. They have each other.
“Give me my daughter, Edmund.”
Still tucked in Edmund’s arm, the baby babbled to herself, high and bubbly.
“You’ll never have her,” Edmund said, surprised by how protective he felt of the little girl. He’d give his life up without a second thought; already she felt a part of him. “Never.”
Edmund advanced, but his legs buckled.
The Undead King laughed.
“You’re so tired, Edmund,” he said, as if soothing a fussy child to sleep. “So very, very tired. Now put my daughter down before you hurt her.”
Whether if by magic or the months of fear and running finally catching up with him, Edmund’s already dwindling energy began to slip away. His eyelid tarried closed longer and longer with each blink; the baby seemed to get heavier and heavier like a squirming sack of sugar.
“I can wait,” the Undead King said pleasantly. His elegant clothes were torn and stained with blood, yet he appeared now as he first had in the hallway—tall and lordly and very much alive.
Keep awake! Come on!
I haven’t slept for more than a day and a half.
“Put my daughter down, Edmund. Put her down and leave. You’re free to go where you like and do whatever your heart desires. But she stays with me.”
Just run out of here. Barrel into him. Knock him down. Becky can take care of him.
He glanced down at Becky, who bared her teeth at the Undead King and stood before him like a guard; however, she was no longer the great wolf-like animal with death in her eyes. Instead, she looked every bit the young dog who’d charged the troll and nearly got herself killed. Blood trickled from one nostril.
She’s hurt.
You’ll both be dead soon if you don’t get out of here. If you can get to the bedroom or the library, you could close the door and make it swell. That would buy you time. It’s your only hope.
With his remaining energy, Edmund ran several steps directly at the Undead King then, at the last moment, swerved around him, making a break for the open door. Without even appearing to move, the Undead King blocked his way.
“Give me my daughter.” He reached for the babbling child clinging to Edmund’s cloak.
Edmund brandished his sword. Becky snapped and barked.
“Get away from her,” Edmund said. “I’m warning you!”
“Warning me?” The Undead King raised an eyebrow, perhaps in mockery, perhaps in admiration. “My dear Edmund, there’s nothing you can do to me. Nothing. You butchered me with your sharp sword, and here I am. I simply cannot be killed.”
What am I going to do?
“Let’s think of the child,” he went on calmly. “What could you offer her? Where would you raise her? The ruins of Rood? What could you teach her there? Silly faerie tales of the fallen Northern Kingdom? How everything’s exactly how it seems? Now think of all the limitless things I can offer her!”
Point the sword at his head and cast your enlargement spell!
Then what? I chopped his head off and he’s still alive! Besides, I don’t have the energy to cast—
Like a striking snake, the Undead King seized Edmund’s weapon arm and twisted, tilting the sword tip away from him.
“Humans never learn.” He dug his fingers into Edmund’s muscles.
Crying out, Edmund tried to pull away, but his grip was superhuman.
Becky bit the Undead King’s knee.
“I’ve meant everything I’ve ever said to you, Edmund. I like you. You have tremendous potential, even for one of my kind. There’s great power in you, and I could help you cultivate it. I could be your teacher.” His grasp tightened, threatened to shatter bone. “But if you don’t give me my daughter, I will show you what true agony is!”
As the Undead King tugged at the now silent child, Edmund fought to wrench free, sword falling from his own contorted grip and rattling to the floor.
Becky thrashed as she bit deeper into the Undead King’s knee, but he ignored her, wounds healing almost as fast as inflicted.
The baby started crying.
“You’re hurting her!” the Undead King shouted. “Let her go!”
Pain flashed through Edmund’s weapon arm.
The baby screamed louder.
The Undead King released Edmund’s wrist, grabbed his throat, and squeezed. Edmund choked and gasped, left arm still clutching the bawling baby to his chest. The Undead King lifted Edmund off the ground. Lungs burning, eye bulging, Edmund kicked and flailed. He clawed at the Undead King’s arm. His hold on the screaming baby slackened.
“Give her to me!” the Undead King said.
She began to slip from Edmund’s grasp.
The Undead King smiled as he partly extracted the baby from his grip. “Come to me, sweetie.”
No!
Fingers tingling, Edmund reached to gouge the Undead King’s eyes, but his arm wasn’t long enough.
His body shuddered.
Then, just like when Turd tried to steal Edmund’s boots back in the pit, Edmund’s hand burst with a blue ball of fire. It hit the Undead King squarely in the face, throwing him backward, head and upper body engulfed in liquid flames. Edmund fell to the floor, gasping. He wrapped his arms around Molly’s screaming daughter.
He looked at his right hand.
How—?
Droplets of fire rained down, setting the rugs and tapestries alight. Edmund cowered over the baby, shielding her from the flames. Becky charged at the Undead King.
“Becky! No!” Edmund shouted.
Smoke and the stench of burning flesh filled the nursery as the Undead King rose to one knee, ablaze and shrieking in pain.
Do it again! Do it
again!
I don’t know—
Do it or die! Hurry!
Closing his eye and still clutching the baby, Edmund thrust his right palm toward the writhing Undead King. Nothing happened.
Get out of here!
Edmund struggled to his feet. The Undead King staggered into the doorway. Much of his clothing and skin had melted away, dripping to the polished wood floor in great sheets of dark flame. His lips were gone, as was his nose and long blond hair; sockets of white bone rimmed his clear green eyes. Thick black smoke curled around him. Becky clung to him, snarling, teeth latched on to his ankle.
“I’ll always be her father,” the fleshless skull said as its fiery body teetered against the doorframe. “I’m a part of her, and she’s a part of me. You can never be anything to her, Edmund. You’re nothing.”
Holding Molly’s daughter against his heaving chest, Edmund raised his right palm again, but the remains of the Undead King collapsed in a heap of burning flesh and bone.
Now! Run for it!
He’ll just come after us. I need to kill him!
But how?
Even as Edmund stood, swaying with fatigue and a baby girl screaming in his arms, the flames licking the Undead King began to die. White flesh knitted itself along his exposed rib cage.
Hack him to pieces!
You already tried that. He’ll keep coming back! Run!
Edmund picked up his sword and stumbled toward the smoldering body, flesh now creeping over its grinning skull.
If I can’t kill him, maybe I can do something else.
He stomped his foot onto the Undead King’s chest and swung his sword. The decapitated head rolled along the floor, even as blond hair began to sprout across its scalp. Edmund picked it up and, sheathing his sword, stumbled into the hallway. He called to Becky. She hobbled after him, a now fully formed foot in her mouth.
“Come on, Beck. We have to get out of here.”
Chapter Forty
Edmund limped out of the secret passage as fast as he could manage. Pond stood before the cedar tree where they’d laid Thorax to rest nearly two years earlier. Abby dozed uneasily in the morning light, propped against a boulder. Her hair was as white as the snow, but her face appeared less drawn than when Pond had carried her away.
“Ed!” Pond cried, running to him. “Did you find—?” He saw the baby wrapped in blankets and perched inside a makeshift sling around Edmund’s neck.
“Any sign of goblins?”
“No, not a one. Not even a single track in the snow.”
As Edmund caught his breath, a tiny hand reached up, grabbed his bottom lip, and pulled.
“Ow!” he said, lip still in the baby’s chubby hand.
She giggled wildly and let go.
“So this is Molly’s little girl.” Pond wiggled his fingers at her. “She’s beautiful. But what are we going to do about milk?”
Together they glanced at Abby sunning her face.
“Don’t even ask,” she said, her weakened voice surprisingly firm.
“She’ll be fine on the supplies we have left.”
Becky tossed the Undead King’s severed foot into the air.
“What the—?” Pond said as Becky thrashed the foot around. “Who’s is that?”
Edmund handed him a silk pillowcase that he’d taken from the Undead King’s bed.
Pond opened it, peered in, and recoiled with a startled shout. Then he looked closer, laughing. “Well, look at that!” He wiggled his fingers at the head scowling up at him. “What are you doing to do with this?”
“Make sure it never gets attached to the rest of the body.”
“What’s in the bag?” Abby whispered.
“Nothing.” Edmund hobbled over to her. “Are you okay? Can you stand? I’m so sorry for what I did, I didn’t mean to—”
“Stop it. I’ll be fine.” She nodded toward the baby. “Adorable. What’s her name?”
Edmund considered this, unable to stop smiling.
“Well, you will need a name,” he said to the giggling bundle. “Something wonderful and beautiful.”
“And strong,” Abby added, trying to reposition herself. “Nothing girlie.”
“Don’t tax yourself.” Pond wrapped a blanket around Abby’s shoulders. “Just rest.”
Edmund stroked the baby’s cheek. The baby yawned, bright green eyes dulling as they blinked.
“You’ll need something special.”
“We should probably get going,” Pond said gently.
Edmund nodded.
“I’m sorry, Mol.” He sighed, still caressing the baby’s round face. “I’m sorry for … for what I said back in Rood. I, I sh-sh-should’ve … I should’ve taken you with us.”
The baby’s eyes closed, a drool-covered forefinger in her toothless mouth.
“But I promise you, Mol … I’ll, I’ll take care of your little girl.” His bottom lip trembled. “I promise.” Edmund kissed the sleeping baby on the forehead. “I’ll take real good care of you, Peanut.”
Abby groaned as Pond lifted her from the ground.
“Peanut?” She rolled her eyes. “That’s a nickname that’ll do wonders for a girl’s self-esteem.”
Pond carried Abby piggyback style, her arms draped loosely over his shoulders.
“Your mommy was a wonderful person,” Edmund went on. “I’ll tell you all about her when you get a bit older.”
He began to cry, hugged the baby, and kissed her forehead again.
“Ed,” Pond said.
“Okay.” Edmund gestured for Becky to lead the way. As if spoiling for a fight, she bounded down the rocky mountainside, darting around the cedar trees and over the boulders with the Undead King’s twitching foot in her mouth.
Pond and Edmund jogged after her, trying not to jar their respective passengers.
Edmund shielded the baby from low-lying branches slapping across his chest. “Thanks for coming to my rescue back there. Both of you.”
“We’re a family,” Abby said. “We take care of each other.”
“Until the end,” Pond added.
Chapter Forty-One
After hours of hiking downhill in the freezing snow, Edmund and Pond could go no farther. They found a more or less sheltered dell deep in the forest, made a small fire, and warmed what was left of Vin’s apple cider. Abby and the baby slept under a heap of blankets while Pond and Edmund listened for goblins or wolves or anything else that might have been lurking in the northern mountains. Becky lay next to the sputtering fire, eye still swollen from the Undead King’s kick. She crunched the foot’s bones, then watched it magically heal itself, toes twitching frantically, then resumed gnawing to begin the entire process all over again.
“So how does it feel?” Pond asked, sitting with his back against a tree.
Edmund raised a weary eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you’ve rescued Molly’s beautiful daughter from a tower full of goblins, killed an enemy that even the heroes of old couldn’t, and have established your own kingdom where magic users will be accepted.” Pond’s carefree smile gave no hint of the fact they were still miles from home with hordes of goblins hunting for any humans they could find.
“He’s not dead.” Edmund spitefully swung the pillowcase, smashing its contents against a tree with a thud. “And it’s not my kingdom; it belongs to all of us. And let’s see just how welcome magic users will be. I still don’t know how that’ll turn out.” He thought for a moment, then grinned at the sleeping baby. “But I feel good. For the first time in a long while, maybe forever—I feel good.”
They watched Abby, curled up next to Molly’s daughter.
“What about you?” Edmund asked. “Are you and Abby okay? I mean, it seems you two are at least talking now.”
Pond stroked her white hair.
“Yeah, we’re fine. We’re talking, and that’s a start. But I don’t know where it’ll end up. Are you sure you don’t mind if she and I ever …”
“I love both of you. Just be happy and take good care of each other, that’s all I ask.”
Edmund kissed the baby’s forehead and made sure she was warm enough.
Pond watched Abby breathe.
“You think Abby will be okay?” he asked eventually. “She’s been through an awful lot.”
Edmund didn’t want to say what he thought. Except for her eyes, she looked more like sixty years old than somebody in her early twenties.
“She’ll be all right. Just give her time.”
They fell silent, then Pond’s voice cracked.
“She isn’t going to be okay, is she?”
Edmund paused.
“I don’t know, Pond. He only partly undid whatever he did to her. I hope she has a long, happy life, but … I don’t know.”
Pond nodded, as if he’d thought the same thing. He might have been crying. Edmund couldn’t tell.
“Will you be able to carry her?”
“To the moon and back.”
Edmund patted his shoulder.
“We won’t be going that far, but get some rest. I want to reach Tol Helen as quickly as possible. There should still be supplies Lionel had us stockpile there, and if we could find one of the toboggans, it’d make our trek to Rood easier.”
“So you’re going back?”
Edmund pulled the blanket closer to the baby’s face. The wind was picking up; snow swirled outside the dell.
“It’s home.”
“Aren’t you worried about the goblins? I mean, once they realize you’ve taken their king’s head, they could burn Rood to the ground again—or worse.”
“Not if we forge enough black-bladed swords.”
Then something in Pond’s tone registered with Edmund. He studied his pitmate rubbing Abby’s back.
“What’s wrong, Pond?”
“Nothing.”
“We’ve been through too much to lie to each other. Out with it.”
Pond shrugged. “I’d love to settle down, have a family, maybe open a business or something …”
“But? Don’t like the bustling city of Rood?”
Pond chuckled. “Rood will be a beautiful town someday. It’ll be bigger and better than even you can imagine.”
“But …?” Edmund prodded again. “You hate the snow?”