by James Fahy
Every so often, their rustling steps would disturb large colonies of enormous moths, the landscape vanishing behind countless luminescent wings, floating skywards in great plumes like drifts of silent smoke. The first time this happened, Robin panicked that these were the familiars of Miss Peryl. But Jackalope explained they were native to the area, and besides they were much too large and light to be the Grimm’s shadow creatures.
Dangerous as it may be, Robin found the Netherworlde beautiful.
At dawn, Karya thought she saw something suspicious circling high overhead but later declared it a false alarm. It was nothing more than swooping owls feeding on the intermittent shoals of night-moths.
They camped again for much of the daylight hours in a shady hollow and saw no Peacekeepers. Robin was beginning to wonder if Jackalope had been mistaken. Or if he was just paranoid.
It was odd, sleeping in the daytime and moving at night, but they were so tired that it was an easy enough thing to drop off in the long grass, or under shadowy trees. When night fell once more, the sky threatening snow and the first thin flakes beginning to fall out of the darkness, they packed up camp and walked on.
Eventually, at the foot of a steep, wide rise, they came upon a road. It was really nothing more than a well-beaten track, but it was the first sign of actual civilisation Robin had seen since they had left the mountains. Being a former town boy, he found this wildly reassuring. He had never been in so much wilderness before.
Karya agreed they should follow it, though they kept well off to the side of the road, hidden in the long wild grass. She didn’t want them running into strangers.
Eventually, in the grey and misty hours just before dawn, Jackalope announced that the village they were seeking was over the next rise.
“That’s the village of Worrywort alright,” Karya said as they rounded a tree-lined bend in the road. “I knew I’d been here before. Or at least I seem to remember it, if that counts for anything.” The village, in a hollow ahead, was a tiny collection of thatched buildings, surrounded by a high stone wall. Fortified against the wilderness. “It looks safe,” Jackalope said, though there was suspicion in his voice. He looked inquiringly at Karya. “Anything?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.
Whether he thought the girl was dangerous or not, Robin noticed, the tall Fae seemed to recognise her natural competence as a tracker and survivor of the wilderness. The two of them seemed to be bonding on the march. He had whispered as much to Henry, who had smirked and pointed out it was probably because they shared common hobbies: frowning and being bad-tempered.
Karya stared towards the village in silence for a long time, before shaking her head. “Not safe,” she said. “Not safe at all. There are Peacekeeper horses in the stables of the inn. I can smell them from here. And a lot of them.”
The boy cursed under his breath. “Peacekeepers! I wonder what so many of them are doing out in a tiny backwater hamlet like this? They can’t all be just looking for you lot and Miss Peryl, surely?”
“I’m tempted to pass it by and take our chances in the wild,” Karya said from their hiding spot in the undergrowth. “But starving to death isn’t going to help anyone.” She looked at Henry and Robin “You two will need real clothes, boots. Otherwise your feet will fall off, and I’m certainly not carrying either of you.”
After much discussion, they reached a decision. Jackalope agreed to be dispatched into the village with a purse full of coins, a hastily scribbled list of supplies, and strict instructions by Karya, not that he needed them, to stay out of sight and out of trouble.
Karya, Henry, and Robin stayed hidden in the trees beyond the village wall. The odd, solitary Fae walked down the path and disappeared in through the gates in the stone wall. Karya seemed to be holding her breath for the entire time he was gone. Robin couldn’t help share her nervousness. With every passing minute he expected to see the strange, moody Fae come running out of Worrywort, chased by an angry mob of Panthea, possibly brandishing pitchforks.
“What do you make of this guy, then?” Henry asked Robin in a whisper. “He’s only with us for this precious treasure he’s imagining. You think he’s on our side?”
“He’s clearly on his own side,” Karya answered before Robin could speak. She was still staring down at the village intently. “At the moment, that aligns with what we need too, so let’s not complain, eh?”
After what felt like an eternity, they saw Jackalope emerge from the village, a large sack of supplies over his shoulder. But he wasn’t walking inconspicuously; he was running full pelt. He didn’t even try to make it down the road to where they waited, but instead dived into a bush outside the gates, disappearing completely from sight with admirable skill.
Moments later, they saw why. A group of figures rode out of the village on black horses. There were sixteen in all. Robin counted the large parade of horses, galloping fast. Karya hissed like a cat and threw herself onto her stomach in the grass, dragging Robin and Henry with her.
Peacekeepers, Robin thought, from beneath the dappled bushes. Surely they must be. Why else would the silver-headed Fae have run from the village and hid, and what else could make Karya react this way?
But they looked like no policemen he had ever seen. From his worm’s-eye view, hidden in the shadowy undergrowth like a commando, he stared at the riders. They were all clad in black armour which was twisted into spikes and barbs at every joint. Each of them was very tall and long-limbed. Their thin bodies, garbed in shining black carapaces, looked insectile. Over their faces, each Peacekeeper wore a curious mask of sorts. It was hard to make out too much detail from this distance, but from what Robin could see, whatever obscured their heads seemed to be half-mask, half-hood. It carried no recognisable features other than cruelly slanted holes for eyes. The masks were dyed in various clashing colours, stitched together oddly and haphazardly, like patchwork scarecrow faces. The only colour in their otherwise sombre getup. The overall effect was very disquieting. Robin didn’t know what lay beneath the rough masks, but each of the figures had tall black spikes of hair which rolled down their backs like dreadlocks, some kind of porcupine-inspired headdress. They reminded him of mockeries of Mr Ker, with his tall red spikes.
“Peacekeepers!” Karya confirmed in a muttered whisper, breathing heavily through her nose. “Snakes and ashes, it’s worse than I thought!”
Robin could not tear his eyes way from the menacing figures. They looked like spindly sinister clowns with their multi-coloured masks. Haunted scarecrows or a party of masquerade carnival-goers dressed in armour as dark and sleek as treacle. Their movements atop their black horses were strangely boneless, as though they were puppets.
“How is that not the worst of it?” Henry asked her worriedly in a low whisper. She pointed.
Behind the long phalanx of Peacekeepers leaving the village in a thunder of hooves, there had emerged another rider. Like the others, he was tall and clad in black armour with odd spikes and whirling curls of metalwork protruding here and there, but unlike the strange tribal-looking hair and patchwork masks sported by his companions, this figure instead wore a black helmet, hiding his face completely. The visor was shaped like the muzzle of a wolf, its jaws wide as though snapping in attack, and from either side of this alarming visage sprouted tall pale horns, making him appear like a demon. He was broad-shouldered and wore a long flowing cloak which seemed composed of countless inky black feathers. It rippled from his shoulders and away down his back as his dark horse moved forward. An air of terrible menace rolled forth from him. Robin felt his mana stone pulse in an agitated manner under his cloak.
“Who is that?” Robin asked, trying to make himself appear smaller under the bush. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the figure.
The horses’ hooves thundered as they flew right past Jackalope’s makeshift hiding place.
Karya, Henry and Robin stayed very still. The Peacekeepers and their wolf-headed leader galloped past them, pummelling hooves throwing up clods of mud a
s they roared by. The movement of the horses made the ground vibrate under the children. The Peacekeepers' armour jangling and clattering, their awful, nightmarish sackcloth faces flapping in the breeze, empty and hollow. Robin’s stomach was a cold knot as the demon-wolf passed by, an imposing vision in barbed armour, the long tattered black cloak of feathers whipping against his back. Torn wings.
They held their breath, hugging the earth beneath the bush, and were not discovered.
Eventually, the thunder of hooves died away, just as the first red rays of the rising sun broached the horizon.
“That, Scion, was the Captain of the Ravens,” Karya said shakily. “Eris’ own bloody fist. He rules over all the army, and more besides. Ker may be the general of the Peacekeepers, but the Ravens are a separate, elite force, and he answers only to her.”
Robin had never heard Karya sound so worried before. “Even the Grimms don’t bother him. If the Grimms are the servants of Eris, then he is her consort. And the most dangerous man in the Netherworlde. I don’t know his real name, none of the Peacekeepers have those, but he is known as Strigoi.” She looked worriedly at Robin. “Trust me, we do not want to be anywhere near him. If he’d seen us…” She shook her head in disbelief. “I’d rather face a thousand Grimms.”
“What was he doing in this tiny village? If he’s so important, I mean?” Robin asked, clambering shakily to his knees. He was still whispering.
“Strigoi goes where he likes and does what he wants,” Karya said. “I don’t think anyone would dare question what he is doing out here. Not if they wanted to keep their curious heads attached to their bodies that is.” It was several long minutes more before Jackalope re-emerged cautiously from his hiding place and made his way swiftly to where the others hid.
“Peacekeepers!” he spat as he joined them under the bushes, passing the large bundles of supplies and food around. There were meats and breads wrapped in greaseproof paper and tied firmly with coarse string, and traveling boots for Robin and Henry, which they slipped into gratefully, leaving their trainers abandoned. “They nearly had me. And not just any Peacekeepers. That was Eris’ wolf!” He glared angrily at Robin and his friends. “Who are you people? To attract the attentions of not only the Grimms, but of Strigoi himself?”
“They didn’t see you? In the village? You’re sure?” Karya asked him urgently.
He shook his head. “They were at the tavern. I came out of the supply shop and nearly walked straight into them! Straight into the arms of Strigoi. I saw him once, at the camps in Dis. He is death. Even the guards are terrified of him.”
Karya nodded grimly. “We saw. Bad business. Good job hiding from them. I can see you’ve had a lot of practice. I wonder what he’s doing out here in the middle of nowhere? He hasn’t been seen outside of Dis in so long. He never leaves anymore, not in person.” She shook her head dismissively, passing Robin a pack of fresh sausages, still strung together, which he stuffed into the pack Jackalope had given him. “I wonder if Eris herself has dispatched him to oversee the Grimms’ efforts?”
“I heard talk at the stables.” Jackalope said. “Not the Peacekeepers, of course. None of them ever speak. But two Panthea. There’s an army massing, beyond the Gravis Glaciem. High up in the far North, where no one ever goes. Close to the borders. Hundreds upon hundreds of Peacekeepers. Summoned by Ker. I’m guessing he really does plan an all-out assault on the Undine.”
“They looked like mercenaries to me,” Robin said. “If they’re the law, I’d rather be an outlaw any day.”
“Well, you are,” Jackalope said to him scornfully. “All Fae-folk are outlaws. Eris’ wolf and his men hunt the resistance like dogs hunt foxes, if there even is a resistance. I think that’s just a myth we tell each other in the camps. Hopeless dreams for hopeless times.”
Karya insisted they get moving. She didn’t want to linger too long anywhere that Strigoi and his men had been.
As they made their way around the village, giving its outer wall a wide berth, so as not to be spied by anyone within, she looked from Robin to Jackalope.
“There is a resistance,” she said to the grey-headed boy as they walked. “It’s not a myth. We met one of them last year. Robin and I, and … and Woad. A Fae named Hawthorn. It’s no fun that your kind are hunted and wanted by the law, but he told us that there really is some kind of central resistance somewhere, not just a lot of frightened Fae holing up in hiding on their own.” She shrugged awkwardly. “No offence.”
“None taken.” He looked at her sidelong through narrowed eyes.
“It’s hard to tell what’s going on, really,” Karya told them all as they moved off along the road. They were following the path the Peacekeepers’ horses had run, but they were long out of sight. It seemed the most logical direction for the moment. “Eris controls the news, so we only ever hear her side of what’s going on. If a stray Fae gets captured, it’s big news and so on. Deliberately disheartening for any remaining. She’s no fool, the Dark Empress.”
“They make out that there are only a few Fae left, stragglers living in the wild like myself,” Jackalope said, sounding cautious. “What chance have any of us got?”
“But what they don’t mention but what everyone has heard, rumours that the remaining Fae are actually fairly organised,” Karya said. “A real resistance movement, not just us few who live at Erlking. Hawthorn told us there’s a secret meeting place somewhere. A safe haven for Fae refugees.”
“There is nowhere safe for our kind,” Jackalope insisted, sounding very sure of himself.
“Like Robin Hood and the Merry Men,” Robin mused, as they left the cover of a small wood and began to climb a long grassy slope.
“Who?” the Netherworlders asked in unison.
Henry sighed. “Never mind, Rob.”
“Erlking is a safe place,” Robin said to Jackalope. “Safer anyway.”
The older Fae gave him a hard look. “If that’s so, why don’t you invite all the Fae to stay? Gather the resistance, round up the stragglers? You’re supposed to be the big saviour, right? The one who apparently we’re all counting on to save the world?”
“I’m just me,” Robin shrugged, meeting his glare. “Sorry if you were expecting some kind of messiah, but I was never consulted about this.”
“You can’t save anyone,” Jackalope said dismissively, looking away. “No one could save my brother, not even me. Especially me. And you? You’re telling us all about your cosy safehouse. Why don’t we all have a lovely sleepover there? You can’t even save yourself in the snow. I may be a hornless Fae, but you?” He stared at Robin. “You’re a clueless one.”
“Enough!” Karya snapped. “You two may be the only Fae walking free north of Dis right now, and you want to be at each other’s throats? Honestly. There are more important things to worry about.”
“Robin is the Scion,” Henry said quietly, surprising Robin a little. “I don’t really understand it. I don’t think he knows what it really means either. And you…” He pointed at Jackalope. “You’re clueless about it too, so don’t act so high and mighty. Robin and I might not know much about what’s going on in the Netherworlde, but at least he’s here fighting against Eris, not … not hiding under a glowing mushroom. The only reason you’re here at all is for some stupid treasure hunt. To buy you more time to hide?”
Jackalope squared up to Henry, his eyes blazing. He was significantly taller than him, but Henry didn’t back down an inch.
“You don’t get a say, human. This is not your war,” he said through gritted teeth.
“So? Humans are dying too! And it’s my friend whose been captured by the Grimms,” Henry replied hotly. “I’m sorry you couldn’t save your brother, but we’re going to bloody well save Woad.”
Karya touched Henry’s arm. “Yes, we are,” she said decisively. “But any more of this and the Peacekeepers will hear and be back for us. Woad is no fool, Henry. He’s clever and resilient. Even with Mr Ker, he’ll be okay. For a short while at l
east. Let’s just make sure it is a short while.”
“And how are we going to do that?” Henry demanded. “I thought you couldn’t zap us back to the way station.”
“I can’t,” Karya replied calmly. Robin began to speak, but she shushed him with a raised hand. “The last tear was too chaotic. I didn’t aim for anywhere … just away. But I can feel something, some familiarity. I can’t explain it. I just recognise that we’re not too far away.”
“And we have a Peacekeeper army amassing nearby…” Robin said pointedly.
“My thoughts exactly,” Karya nodded.
Henry shrugged. “It’s better than nothing, I suppose.”
They all looked at Jackalope expectantly. “Whatever,” he muttered, scowling. “Just keep up.”
He stomped off again up the hill. Karya sighed, looking up the steep incline. “What I wouldn’t give for a flying boat…”
“Have you picked up the scent yet?” Robin asked. “Your mana-trail, or whatever it is?”
“Faintly,” she said. She stared ahead. The land still rose up and up before them, but they had put a gratifying distance between themselves and Worrywart. “It’s a long way. I didn’t realise I’d torn us so far. Phorbas’ mana is stronger than I thought. You know it’s odd. Ever since I used the knife, I’ve had a hankering for crumbly Lancashire cheese.”
Henry rolled his eyes, stepping past her into the thick bushes that crossed their path.
“Could be worse I suppose,” he said. “You could be h—”
Henry didn’t manage to finish his sentence. Something huge and dark erupted from the bush in front of him without warning. A coiled mass of shadows and muscle, barrelling into him and knocking him backwards into the others, sending them all flying onto the grass.