“Watch this.” He turned to grin at Laurel before stepping through the threshold. He disappeared from sight, but moments later Laurel screamed when she saw his disembodied hand floating in the air. Calum laughed and gave Hagen a quick high five.
“Relax,” said Calum. “It doesn’t hurt. Watch.” He stretched his right hand through the threshold. A few seconds passed before he was rewarded with a high five from Hagen. He pulled his hand back through and discovered it was drenched. Some of the liquid clung to his travelon.
Very funny, Hagen.
Calum quickly wiped his hand on his jacket and showed Laurel. “See?”
“That doesn’t seem right,” said Laurel. “It’s definitely one talent I think I can wait on.” She jumped when her cell phone vibrated. She quickly read the text. “It’s Daniel. I’ve got to get back,” she said anxiously. She gave Calum a hug and sprinted out of the polder.
“See you in a couple of hours,” Calum called after her.
His mood suddenly lifted after seeing Laurel again, and Calum thought Hagen was due for a little payback. A wicked idea came to him.
Calum scooped up a ball of snow and packed it tightly. He wasn’t exactly sure how he’d be able to throw the snowball at Hagen, but he thought it was worth a try. When the snowball was about the size of a grapefruit, Calum thrust his hand through the threshold, snickering. He felt something knock the snowball out of his hand. After a stinging high five, he pulled his hand back through the threshold. Only this time his ring wasn’t just covered with a strange liquid.
Part Two
Finley
Chapter Ten
Fetch
Finley knew the verse would be horrifying, even before Brownshire spoke the words. Finley had made a fool of him, and Brownshire hated him for that. The punishment was decisive, swift, and deadly. Only two seconds passed before the verse registered. Finley used the first to compose his features and put on a brave face for Calum, Daniel, and Laurel. He had no idea what was in store for them and he wanted them to be strong. He used the last second to make a silent promise. His eyes cut like daggers into Brownshire’s.
I will return for you.
A blinding red light flashed and Finley was propelled backward, blown out of Devil’s Peak Mound. He exited the very fabric of the Otherworld and entered another realm. The air in the new place was heavy with the odor of melted iron. The scent burned Finley’s throat and he gagged.
The first thing Finley felt was a punch to the left side of his head. Then another hit him square in the mouth. He tasted coppery blood as it poured from his upper lip. Finley sank to the ground, fighting against the light that exploded in his eyes. Before he recovered, a kick to his back put Finley on his stomach and a series of blows found his ribcage. He rolled to his side and curled into a ball, trying to protect himself. He lay that way until a kick to his head knocked him unconscious.
When Finley woke up, he lay perfectly still, listening carefully as he tried to gauge his surroundings. He opened his eyes and everything looked wrong. The sky was green. The ground was blue sand. Finley heard waves lapping onto the shore and turned to see an orange…what? Sea, river, lake? The stench of hot iron was no longer in the air. Finley breathed deeply and massaged his throbbing head.
A rush of movement caught his eye. He turned and saw his attacker was nothing more than a young boy. This knowledge gave Finley the courage to charge at him. He was unsteady on his feet, but he still managed to catch the boy and knock him to the ground. Finley pinned him down and tried to reel in his desire to return the beating.
But, how can I? thought Finley. He’s just a kid. Maybe seven or eight years old.
Finley held the boy tightly until his thrashing subsided. “Where am I?” he screamed. The boy’s legs kicked wildly in response. Finley gave him a shake. “Answer me.”
The boy was small and quick. He twisted, rolled over, and squirmed from Finley’s grasp. As the boy crawled away, he kicked the blue sand into Finley’s eyes, temporarily blinding him. Finley blinked furiously to clear his vision, just in time to see the boy climbing up the topmost branches of a bright red tree at the edge of a forest that looked as if it was bleeding.
Surely there are other people here. There’s no way that little kid could have taken me down by himself.
Finley’s eyes swept the area, finding only a thick branch lying on the sand, resting beside two tracks that looked as if they had been made by wagon wheels. In the eerie quiet, he strained his ears for sounds of other people, but there was no one else.
“Get back here,” Finley yelled to the boy. The tone he used ensured the boy wouldn’t even think of coming near him. “Come down,” Finley demanded. He looked up into the tree and saw the boy’s eyes, pale blue contrasting against the branches and leaves of the bright red tree. The boy hurled a black stone that sailed just past Finley’s ear.
“Suit yourself,” said Finley. Suddenly thirsty, he studied the orange water. In the Otherworld, water is always safe to drink, he thought. And, I know how to find fresh water when I’m in the Realm of Man. But this place, this is neither realm. Still there has to be drinking water. How else could the boy survive?
Finley walked to the orange lake, not knowing why or how he knew it, but feeling certain the water was safe. He scooped a handful and held it to his nose. It had no odor. He tasted a bit with the tip of his tongue. Despite the color, the taste was pleasantly sweet. Finley bent and splashed handfuls on his face, cooling the bruises surely forming from his beating.
Today had held so much hope.
Calum had finally found Finley, although it was quite by accident. Calum had come to Devil’s Peak Mound with Laurel. She was looking to claim her brother, Daniel, an Addition being held captive by the Devil’s Peak Sidhe.
Finley was there, having also been added to the clan, just six months before Daniel. Both of them had been brought to live in Devil’s Peak against their wishes. Kidnapped. The only difference between them was that Finley is Sidhe and Daniel is human.
Finley had given Laurel the Devil’s Peak token the day Daniel was taken almost seven years ago. He had always believed Laurel would figure out how to use the token and return to rescue her brother. Finley had prepared for that day by teaching Daniel all about the Sidhe and Finley’s own clan, the Tusatha. He had hoped when Daniel was free, he would find the Tusatha Mound and bring an army of Tusatha to storm Devil’s Peak and rescue him. In the end, it was just Calum and Laurel who came. They’d made it to Devil’s Peak in time to save Daniel, but time had run out for Finley.
Finley had protected Daniel, taken care of him, and he’d guessed it showed.
What had Calum said? “Finley seems older than his years.”
All that time in the mound, taking care of Daniel. And for what? I have no idea what happened to him when I was pulled here.
Finley stared out over the orange water. A golden circle about twenty feet in diameter shimmered in the center of the lake. Gentle waves rolled over Finley’s toes, but the wide flat circle was as smooth as glass. The blue sand beach was deserted except for massive black boulders looming a short distance away on Finley’s left.
Where am I? Not the Otherworld or the Realm of Man. There is only one other place I could be.
With the acknowledgment of his situation came a wave of panic that began in the pit of Finley’s stomach. It rose to his chest and constricted his throat until he couldn’t breathe. A sense of urgency throttled him. I have to get out of this place.
He ran down the beach at full speed away from the boulders that seemed to block escape in that direction. He had no idea where he was running to, but he couldn’t stop. He ran until, truly breathless, he fell to his knees. His heart pounded furiously in his ears and he felt lightheaded.
Finley slumped, landing face-first into the sand. He rolled onto his back and lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. That’s when he found there was no sun. He heard moaning, desperate and pitiful. He listened then realized the s
ound had come from his own lips. Helpless and alone, he felt no shame as he broke into great sobs.
I’m in the Underworld, he thought. The final destination for Sidhe who squandered the blessings of life by living in a constant state of evil. There is no escape. I’m stuck here eternally. There’s no reason to run or to even move.
Finley thought about lying in the sky-blue sand, staying put until he died. He wondered how long it would take with no food or shelter. And then he noticed something remarkable. Although he had been beaten and pushed himself to his utmost limit by running madly for several miles, Finley felt absolutely no pain. In fact, he was stronger now than he’d been in a long time. His only complaint was his severely parched throat.
He stood and returned to the orange lake. He rested his lips on its surface and sucked in mouthfuls of the sweet-tasting water. He splashed some onto his left temple to cleanse the gash in his head and was stunned to find it had healed completely. The area wasn’t even tender to his touch. He wondered how that was possible, distracted until a shift in the sand claimed his focus.
The boy was back. He charged at Finley, a blood-red branch raised over his head like a club.
This time Finley was ready. He stood and prepared for the impact. When the club came down, Finley caught it. He pulled the boy toward him and grabbed the back of the boy’s shirt. Finley shook him, unable to control his rage. He wrenched the club free and flung it into the lake. The boy kicked Finley and swung madly with his fists, but he didn’t land any punches because Finley held him an arm’s length away.
Finley tightened his grip on the boy’s wrist and moved behind him, pulling the boy’s arm across his belly. When the boy’s other arm came up, Finley pinned it as well. He sat down on the beach and dragged the boy down with him. Finley wrapped his legs around the boy’s waist and held him there until he stopped struggling. They sat in silence as the minutes dragged on.
“I’m a lot bigger than you are,” said Finley.
“So what?” asked the boy. “I got you before. I can do it again.”
“Not really,” said Finley. “Not when I know you’re coming.”
This angered the boy and he tried unsuccessfully to twist from Finley’s grasp. Finley smiled at the toughness of the kid and wondered why he was alone in the Underworld.
“You’re wrong on both counts,” said the boy, apparently reading Finley’s thoughts.
“How can you—” Finley said, but the boy cut him off.
“How can I read your thoughts when I’m only eight?” the boy mocked. “I’m special.” He emphasized the word in disgust. “And you’re still wrong.”
Finley’s impatience flared again and he pulled the boy’s arms tighter. “How do you figure?”
“First, I’m not alone. You’re here now,” said the boy. “And second, this is not the Underworld.”
Finley’s grip loosened and the boy almost escaped before Finley pulled him back.
Where am I?
This time the boy didn’t read his thoughts because Finley had shut the door to his mind. He secured his legs around the boy, and they sat that way for what seemed like hours. Finley’s muscles ached and he was getting thirsty.
Why? he wondered. The air is cool, pleasant even, and there is no sun beating down on us. Why am I so thirsty? Finley’s mind clouded as the need for water became unbearable.
The boy laughed. “What’s it gonna be?” he asked. “Me or a nice long drink?”
Finley kept his grip firm on the boy’s arm as he stared longingly at the orange lake. The water was so sweet, so refreshing. He licked his lips and imagined slurping up the water until it was completely gone. When he could take it no more, he released the boy and ran into the lake. Without thinking, Finley plunged his entire head underwater and came up coughing. He forced himself to calm down and lowered his face to the water until just his lips rested below the surface. This time he pulled in long, deep sips of the orange water.
When he’d taken his fill, Finley suddenly remembered the boy. He spun around quickly, preparing for another assault. He saw the boy sitting on the shoreline, shaking with laughter. Finley charged at him, angry over so many things. Angry to be here, angry he didn’t know where here was, and furious that a small child had laughed at his predicament.
The boy’s eyes grew wide. He jumped to his feet and scrambled half-way up the nearest tree.
Finley screamed like a crazy person, demanding information from the boy. “Where are we? Why am I here?”
The boy climbed further up the tree and Finley chased after him. When Finley was inches from the boy’s right foot, he heard a snap. The limb on which he stood gave way and Finley crashed through the branches, striking the ground with such force that when he landed on his back, he lost his breath. Panic flooded his mind, his vision dimmed, and he passed out.
Finley was awakened by a hot gust of wind and he bolted upright. He searched for the boy but found himself alone on the edge of the forest. The wind grew stronger as if a storm was moving in. He looked to the green sky, but it was still cloudless. As he looked out over the water, he saw it. A swirling waterspout had formed in the golden area in the middle of the lake. The spout grew larger as it danced its way toward the beach. Finley heard a rustling behind him and turned to see the boy running. Not toward Finley this time. The boy ran into the heart of the forest, kicking up a spray of blue sand with every stride.
The wind blew stronger, causing Finley to sway. He was torn between his desire to run and his burning thirst. Driven by an irrational fear that the waterspout would somehow drain the lake and leave him with his unquenchable thirst, he darted to the water’s edge and splashed handfuls of water into his mouth. When the spout was only a dozen yards away, he tore himself away from the water and ran with all his might into the blood-red forest.
It was easy to track the boy; he’d run so carelessly through the trees, breaking limbs and trampling saplings. His path led Finley to a small stone house. The wind howled and knocked him against the trees like a tangled kite. The front door of the house flew off and Finley fought against the wind until he made it inside. At the last second, he ducked to avoid hitting his head on the low archway.
The boy was there, watching the storm from a window in the only room of the small house. He held the end of a rope in one hand; the other end was attached to a flat cart.
“What’s happening?” asked Finley.
The boy didn’t answer but continued to stare out the window as if he were waiting for something.
Finley moved behind him. Even his closeness didn’t distract the boy from his thoughts. Finley followed his gaze, but only saw the red trees. Thrashing in the wind, they looked like paint brushes, streaking the sky with blood.
A loud noise, like the chiming of hundreds of bells, filled the air. Finley was surprised he heard it over the howling of the wind, but then he noticed the wind had stopped. The boy raced outside, dragging the cart behind him.
Whatever this place is, wherever we are, the boy has survived it. If I am to survive, I think I must follow him. Finley chased after the boy and they ran back toward the lake. The boy broke off a low hanging limb from a tree as he ran. The cart slowed the boy and Finley easily caught up to him.
“What’s happening?” Finley repeated.
“It’s moving day,” said the boy.
When they reached the edge of the forest, the boy hid behind a thick red tree trunk, casting his eyes to the shore. The edge of the blue sand was covered with frothy orange foam, a remnant of the brief but violent waterspout.
“Where are we going?” asked Finley.
“It’s not moving day for us,” said the boy. “It’s his moving day. The depereo.”
He pointed to a lifeless form lying on the blue sand. The boy watched the man for a few moments and then walked out of the forest, dragging his cart. Finley followed close behind him. When they reached the limp form, the boy raised the branch over the man’s head.
Finley lurched forward
and grabbed the branch before it made contact with the man’s skull. “What is wrong with you?”
The boy stared at Finley in disbelief. “It’s better for him if he doesn’t wake up,” he said in a tone that made it seem as if this should be obvious. The boy held his hand out for the branch, but Finley pulled it out of his reach. “Fine,” said the boy. “But if he wakes up, you’ll have to deal with him.”
The boy bent and roughly pulled a necklace from the man’s throat. He tossed it to Finley. “Hang on to his token,” he said.
The boy tilted his head as if working something out. “Must be why you’re stuck here. You didn’t have one.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Finley.
“When fae come here, they don’t go back to their clan. Ever. I take their token away to make sure of that.” The man groaned and muttered incoherently. “We need to get going before he wakes up. Give me a hand.”
They loaded the man onto the cart, and the boy dragged the cart down the beach toward the black boulders. The cart’s wheels cut deeply into the fine blue sand, leaving a pair of streaks that looked like long identical scars. Not knowing what else to do, Finley followed, walking between the tracks in the sand. When they neared the boulders, he was hit by a putrid odor. The smell of melting iron assaulted his nostrils and he nearly choked on the taste.
The boy gave Finley a strange look. He pointed to a stand of blood-red trees. “You might want to wait over there.”
Finley didn’t trust the kid, but he didn’t argue. The foul odor was overpowering; he staggered to the trees, glad to be away from the wretched boulders.
How can he tolerate the smell? Finley wondered as he watched the boy pull a necklace from the inside of his shirt. The boy walked to the first boulder and scratched it with the edge of a pendant.
The boulder split open, rumbling like thunder on a sweltering summer afternoon. The gaping hole resembled a hungry mouth full of jagged, unforgiving teeth. The man stirred and moaned. He tried to sit up, clearly disoriented. The boy pushed the cart to the edge of the opening in the boulder. He kicked a lever with his bare foot and the cart lifted. The man rolled off and into the gash in the rock. His blood chilling screams told Finley he had fully regained consciousness. Finley cringed against every one of the man’s shrieks as he begged for mercy.
The Choice Page 10