Wilde's Army

by Krystal Wade

  “Kate?” He slowly shifts his gaze from the ground to me. Brad has little control.

  “Fight him, Brad. Fight him with everything in you. Don’t let him win. Don’t let him take you away. You are my best friend, and I love you and want you back here. With me, with Brit, with family. Fight him for your dad. Just fight.”

  He runs to me, places both his frozen hands on my face, squeezes my cheeks. His eyes are filled with fear and intensity—Brad is in there, but not like I’ve ever seen him before. “Kate, what’s happening to me? Where am I? Wh—No. No, you will not speak to her, human.”

  “Kate,” Arland shouts from behind us.

  Dughbal looks over my shoulder, and with a snap, he disappears.

  Falling to my knees, I clutch my stomach. My hope, my heart, my resolve for the Brad situation gone.

  Arland grabs my arm then lifts me to my feet. “He is gone now. Did he hurt you?”

  Yes, he took away my sound mind. “No, but Brad is still in there; I talked to him. He doesn’t know what’s going on. He’s scared and confused and—”

  “Sir, if Darkness was here, should we not move?”

  Arland holds up his hand.

  A glance behind him reveals Ogilvie and Gavin standing with their weapons drawn, casting fearful looks into the surrounding trees. The men are alive and breathing. Closing my eyes, I see they are also both their true selves. “You found them?”

  “Yes, by the water. They did not catch any food.”

  “I know. Dug-Darkness told me.” I look pointedly at the two men behind Arland.

  “Katriona and I need a moment,” he says.

  “Yes, sir,” Gavin and Ogilvie reply together.

  Arland tightens his hand on my arm, eyes focusing hard on me, and he leads me between the horses. “What happened?”

  “Dughbal knows I’m an opponent, and he’ll do anything to stop me and steal my magic. With you I’m safe; without you I’m open to attack.” I rub my hands together, remembering my conversation with the sun god.

  Arland grips my shoulders with a wild, uncontrolled panic in his eyes. “What?”

  “When I asked Griandor how he and Dughbal came to me the other night—or why they hadn’t before—he said there are many other things you protect me from. I’m guessing he meant they can’t reach me when you’re around. Which explains why I was able to hear Griandor’s voice in my head when I nearly freed you … I mean the shifter you in the cave, and why I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “If I keep you safe, why do you believe he was able to reach you tonight?”

  “I don’t know, but what I do know is that you didn’t hear Ogilvie or Gavin calling for you, it was daemons. They probably led you far enough away from me so that he could …visit.”

  “That does not explain why he was still here when I returned. This is bad. Very bad.” He clenches his teeth and breaths heavily through his nose. “What do you think will happen if Dughbal pops up in the middle of Willow Falls, Kate?”

  Chills creep up my arms. If Dughbal can get to me with Arland a few hundred yards away, what will happen when we have to keep an even greater distance between us?

  “I have no idea how I am supposed to protect you when I am not supposed to be around you.” He lets go of my shoulders then turns to walk away.

  “We need to speak with Perth again.”

  I run and grab him by the hand, stopping his hasty march toward the sumac. “What could Perth possibly have to help us with our Dughbal problem? The more people I tell, the less power I have.”

  “While Perth is the last person I want you to tell your secrets to, he may be able to offer me a place on your security.”

  “My security?”

  “Yes, I am willing to stake my life Dufaigh will want round the clock protection for you. You are, after all, going to save this world from Darkness and marry his son. Leaving you with an unlocked door would be foolish.” He grins.

  “Oh. Well, yes I am going to marry his son and save this world from Darkness. We should talk to Perth; my future husband will definitely wish you to be on my security since you are my Coimeádaí and all.”

  We burst out laughing. Exhaustion, hunger, frustration and everything else has given way to insanity. Nothing we’ve said is funny. It’s downright disturbing, but what else can we do if not laugh at these things? We’d be miserable without humor.

  Arland leans over, gripping his stomach, face red, veins throbbing in his temple.

  My breath returns to me, and I inhale deeply, then cough out the last of my laughs. “I don’t understand any of this, but I think Gavin is right, we should leave.”

  “She is intelligent, sir. ” Gavin runs his fingers through his short brown locks and stares at Ogilvie.

  Arland glares at the eavesdropping soldier, then turns on a softer, more concerned look for me. “Katriona, you have not had any rest since your ordeal with the shifter. We will cast the spell around us, speak with Perth, then you can sleep.”

  “They know we are here and so does he. We cannot stay.”

  Ogilvie rushes forward then places his hand on Arland’s shoulder. “Sir? To the right. We are not alone.”

  Flames burst from Arland’s bodies and mine. We turn our heads just in time to see a small group of coscarthas slinking back into the forest, their black, stringy hair swaying as they go.

  Arland draws his sword. “We have to move.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Arland points at my sword, a silent command for me to draw my weapon, then turns toward the soldiers. “Gavin, wake the others. They are under the cover of the bushes to my right.”

  “Yes, sir.” Gavin pushes through the leaves, shouting all the while at everyone to wake up.

  “Could he be any more conspicuous?” Ogilvie asks, staring after his friend.

  “Never mind him.” Arland shakes his head. “Katriona and I will untie the horses.”

  “Shall I scout the path to the river?”

  “Yes. Do you remember where we passed the coscarthas?”

  “More coscarthas?” I ask.

  They glance at me but ignore my question. Arland hadn’t mentioned passing coscarthas. We’ve been resting for a little over an hour. No one has eaten, too many of us have not slept, and already we’re on the run again.

  “Yes, sir.” Ogilvie removes his sword from its sheath, staring at the shiny metal blade with a wild-eyed look.

  “We will have to pass them to get back down to the river. If you come upon too many for us to get by, we will need to find another way down; however, if there are only a few, kill them.”

  “With pleasure.” Ogilvie smiles at his weapon like a madman, tips his head in my direction, then trots down the trail.

  Arland grabs my hand then leads me to my horse. “I want you to ride Mirain.”

  “But how will we all stay connected if I’m on her?”

  “I am not sure, but how else will we hide her—or the other two for that matter? They will be lost again if we allow them to ride off by themselves.”

  “So we potentially risk lives either way? We don’t ride the horses, they get killed by daemons? If we do ride the horses, we get killed by daemons?”

  Mirain nudges my cheek with her warm muzzle.

  “What is it, girl? Should I leave you or ride you?”

  “Unless her answer comes in the form of a yes or no, I believe you are going to need to trust me.” I hear his frustration and recognize the meaning of Arland’s words. My lesson to everyone has been trust; of all people, I should trust him.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He cups my cheek in his palm. “I have not been strong enough for you since Lann died. Your doubts in my plan are reasonable, but please—”

  “Stop, you have been more than strong enough for me, and I do trust you. It’s me I don’t trust.”

  Leaning forward, Arland sighs, clasps his hands and offers them to me as a stool.

  Staying here and arguing about who’s strong and tru
stworthy and who isn’t is not an option, so I climb onto Mirain’s bare back, then he mounts Bowen.

  She turns, facing the soldiers and children who have left the hideout and gathered around us.

  The children rub their eyes, and adults share looks of fatigue.

  A nagging sense of responsibility forces me to speak. “We have to move again. There is no food to be caught in the forest—at least not enough to feed all of us—and Darkness and his daemons have found us.”

  Without direction from me or Arland, the soldiers position the youngest children in a line then take places at the front and back.

  “Who will protect us if the two of you ride your horses?” Perth asks, instigating as usual.

  Flanna stands in the middle of the crowd; her grief still showing in the bags under her eyes, the lack of smile and the way her shoulders hunch over. My eyes meet hers, begging her to take the lead. She looks from me to Perth, to everyone else, then nods.

  Warmth fills me. I smile and pray this helps her recover who she is, her peace, her happiness.

  “I will.” Flanna steps around Cadman to take his place at the front of the line, tosses her hair over her shoulder, and glares at Perth.

  “You should remain at the back, Perth. You are a skilled swordsman; I expect if anything goes wrong, you are capable of handling yourself.”

  “Sir, I have taken care of three coscarthas,” Ogilvie shouts, stepping out of the cover of the trees and underbrush with brown, dried leaves stuck to his tunic. Blood soaks through his pants leg. He knocks the leaves off, slides his sword through the loop on his belt, then looks to Arland.

  “Our path is clear to the river.”

  “Thank you, Ogilvie.” He appraises his soldier’s leg. “Were you injured by a daemon?”

  Ogilvie looks down at his injury. “No, sir. I stumbled over a branch and cut myself with my sword. It was foolish, but I am not in pain.”

  “You should be more careful next time,” Arland says. “Hold the center, between the children.”

  Ogilvie limps toward my two favorite children then takes each of them by a hand. Anna’s face is pale and her eyelids are heavy. She closes her eyes, but Marcus leans forward and inspects the gaping wound on the soldier’s leg.

  Arland turns his attention away from Ogilvie then rides Bowen along the line; everyone looks up at their Leader as he passes. “Cadman, ride Euraid next to Katriona.”

  Cadman mounts his horse then rides her next to me, his face pale and sullen.

  “Everyone stay connected as we did before. Flanna, I want you to walk as close to Mirain and Katriona as possible. Touch them if you can. I will remain at the back of the line. Perth, you should keep your hand on Bowen.” Arland stops next to Perth, but looks up at me. “You ready?”

  I nod but it’s not like I have much of a choice. As much as I hate to think it, I cannot wait to get to Willow Falls. Food and sleep are at the top of my list.

  “Do you remember the path we took to come up here?” Arland asks, his deep, fearless voice making me regret my wish for a quick arrival to Willow Falls. I could go without sleep for months just to spend time with him, to have him talk to me, look at me, smile at me. The drive in his eyes, the intense focus on protecting our people, his overall strength in frightening times—these are some of his most endearing qualities. Ones I’ll miss when we have to pretend not to like one another, when we have to lie.

  “Yes.” My stomach grumbles. Go without sleep, maybe, but not food. I need to eat. We all do.

  Please keep us safe.

  “Good. Keep your eyes open and on the lookout, follow the path, and do not stop reciting the spell.”

  Focusing my strength and love into my magic, I unfold the power from inside, embrace it as it flows through and out of me. My body warms, my hunger and exhaustion fade. “Cheilt an maireachtáil leis an dúlra.”

  Sprites swarm the air around us. They come from all directions, from all plants, from every piece of nature. Green, blue, brown, white—all the beautiful lights of life. Their wings flap so fast near me, vibrations tickle my skin. Humming fill my ears.

  Flanna places her hand on my calf, inundating my brain with everyone’s connected thoughts. Nudging my heels into Mirain, we take off at a slow pace toward the river. Senses are keen, alerts high, exhaustions forgotten. Sleep is the last thing on anyone’s mind.

  Low hanging branches snap and fall to the ground with a thud when I move them from my way. Soldiers slip and slide on the hill covered with dried leaves and vines, but no one loses connection. The spell reverberates up and down the line, spoken by small, loud and strong, confident and proud voices alike.

  ”Cheilt an maireachtáil leis an dúlra,” I repeat.

  “I have not seen any daemons, Kate. The lack of them concerns me. If Dughbal knows where we are, do you not think he would have more of them out here?” Arland asks through thoughts.

  Turning, I get a clear glimpse of him as though he’s in the sunlight and we’re treading water in my favorite swimming hole on Earth. His face reveals none of what he’s thinking. The concern Arland has for these people, the fear we’re walking into yet another trap, and worry something will happen to me display themselves as intent focus on the path ahead of us.

  “I have no idea what he’d do, but we didn’t see any on the way here either. They knew where we were then, too, remember?” I face forward, looking for danger and reciting the spell once more.

  “I do. This is different. He was here, Kate. He touched you. He could have killed you—”

  “No, he couldn’t have killed me. Not yet anyway. Griandor said if Dughbal gets stronger, it would be possible for him to kill me, but tonight and the other night, he was just an apparition.”

  “An apparition should not be able to touch you, Kate. He had his hands on your face.” Arland’s frustration rolls through our connection, shaking my insides.

  I thread my fingers through Mirain’s white mane and squeeze. “That was Brad . . . at first, but Griandor assured me if Dughbal was not an apparition, he would have killed me.”

  I move another branch from my way. Sounds of the rushing river make me radiate with relief. We made it. The ground levels out. Everyone’s thoughts relax, but we still have a long distance to travel. A left turn leads us north and on our way to Willow Falls.

  The only conversation is the continued casting of the spell, but thoughts are excited and bubbly. Anna envisions a bath, Shay a bed, Dunn chicken stew. Ogilvie thinks about—

  “Let go of me, Flanna. Now,” I say under my breath.

  “But—”

  “Just do it, now,” I repeat, this time with a greater sense of urgency.

  Flanna drops her hand from my calf, and my connection to everyone’s thoughts fades.

  I turn Mirain, draw my sword, then trot to the middle of the line. “Everyone stop.”

  Arland abandons Perth then rides next to me. “Why have you stopped?”

  Ignoring Arland, I eye Ogilvie with disgust and point my weapon at his heart. “Let go of their hands and step away, shifter.”

  The line parts and breaks away from him as if he has an infectious disease, but he holds on to Marcus’s wrist, tight. The boy struggles to get away, kicking and screaming. A smile grows on the shifter’s face, laughter rumbling in his chest. “I am no shifter, Katriona.”

  “Let him go then.” I tip my head toward Marcus.

  “Marcus does not mind standing with me, do you boy?” Ogilvie clasps his hand tighter around Marcus’s wrist, turning the child’s little fingers purple.

  He contains a scream in his closed mouth, face puffing. Tears roll down his cheeks. It’s obvious he’s in pain.

  Closing my eyes, I confirm the pulsing black bands snapping around the bright white core of light.

  “Is he a shifter?” Arland asks, drawing his sword.

  I scowl at the daemon. “He is.”

  Arland climbs from Bowen then holds the metal blade against the shifter’s neck. “Let him g
o.”

  “Why should I? You are all about to die. Starting with him seems like a fine idea.” The shifter sheds Ogilvie’s skin; it falls to the ground and lands in a heap, leaving the true form of the shifter floating in front of us.

  “The others have freed me from this pathetic being,” it says, sending my attention to what’s left of Ogilvie. “They are aware you know what I am, and they are coming for you.”

  Staring at the lump of clothes, crimson, hair, and a strangely twisted face that used to be Ogilvie, I freeze. Too shocked to react. Too afraid to save Marcus, the soldiers, or anyone for that matter, I swallow back the scream building in my chest, fight back the tears welling in my eyes.

  “Kate, that was not Ogilvie. That is not a person at all.” Arland directs his thoughts into my mind, but while I’m aware what’s on the ground isn’t Ogilvie, the resemblance is too similar.

  The shifter lurches forward, bands cracking with energy. Mirain rears, kicking her hooves at him on her way down. Shaking my shock, I jump from her back then rush toward Marcus, but he’s stuck to the bands of the shifter’s body.

  Dark, red blood drips from Marcus’s arm, and wild screams escape his mouth. Matching high-pitched cries come from a tiny voice buried in the crowd. Without looking, I know it’s Anna crying for her brother. I cannot face her; the shame I feel for this, the guilt—I should have known to check Ogilvie when he returned from scouting the path.

  Protect him.

  The shifter darts back up the hill, dragging Marcus behind.

  I rush forward, but Arland grabs my forearm, preventing me from running after the daemon.

  Marcus’s feet drag through the dirt and leaves; he screams and claws at the shifter but is not strong enough to escape.

  “This is not your fault, Katriona. Now, send the magic after him,” Arland says, pitch flat … empty.

  With every fiber of my being, with every ounce of love I can muster, I close my eyes, clench my fists, keep my feet rooted firmly to the ground then force the magic out of me. Instead of shaking from fear, fury rocks my body. Around my feet, sprites crack open the earth; explosions of flames burst from the ground.