“Sara!” Onio knelt on his knees in front of where she sat, clutching Chloe in her arms.
She blinked, glaring, “What?”
Onio gazed at her with kind eyes, which only made her want to cry harder. Nodding, he said, “I know this is hard, Sara. I have lost many friends in battle… it never gets any easier. You need to remember, though, that much depends on the success of this mission.”
Sara shook her head in denial, looking away from his piercing, green eyes.
“Yes, Sara! In fact, the fate of all humans and Faerie folk as well, depend on what we do now. Muriel, the witch, chose wisely, when she picked you to heal Timaron. Your powers cannot be swayed by magic, like the beings you see here. The Sasquatch are not fae- we are alien beings from the planet Sasquereen and so, we are not affected by the magic in this realm, either.
Rondel, Pollo, Pike and now, I think, William are of the fae realm and vulnerable to attack. The land of faerie is overrun with evil, and the human lands have become infected as well!” He sat back on his heels.
Pollo put one small hand on the Sasquatches upper thigh. His bright, slanted eyes were huge with grief and unshed tears. “Sara, please… let’s finish this!” he whispered, adding, “I am so sorry about Nate.” The brave little sprite hung his head and sobbed.
Rondel, although still ill and shaking from the dragon’s toxic, paralyzing fumes, struggled to his feet. Watching the grief on the girls faces, he felt guilty at his own rudeness in dealing with these youngsters. Elves had long held deep resentment of human beings, in general. Once, in the dawn of time, elves reigned supreme over the planet. They watched the birth of man and thought nothing of the new species of animal that bred promiscuously, populating the world with more and more of their kind until, finally, the elves were forced to retreat to and stay, exclusively, in the land of faerie.
Many of his own people had sworn oaths against human kind and dreamed of the day when Elves reigned supreme again. Rondel had never joined their ranks, however, and although he was a warrior and renowned for his skills as a fighter, he never thought of humans as enemies. His beliefs were sorely tested, though, when the human teenagers were brought along on this critical mission.
The young people seemed indolent, pampered, weak and spoiled. They possessed no fighting skills and were woefully ignorant of the world around them. Rondel and his sister, Rowena had often smirked at them and marveled that human children reached maturity at all. Now, though, Rondel knew that his own prejudices colored his eyes and painted a false vision of the brave children within their troupe.
Nate was gone now and Sara’s hollow-eyed stare clutched at Rondel’s heart. Recalling the girl’s courage in an unfamiliar world, and her selfless desire to heal, the elf realized that he had judged her wrongly and that he was at fault in his blatant disregard for her efforts. He had known Muriel the witch for years and knew that she was a hard taskmaster. Rondel remembered the nymph’s quiet pride at her student’s accomplishments, and he cringed at his own dismissal of Sara’s skill.
In addition, he remembered how proud and astonished the dwarves had been while teaching Nate how to fight. He saw the boy grin as sweat dripped off his body, and acknowledged Nate’s dignity and good humor as his diminutive instructor’s devised ever-more painful lessons, in their enthusiasm to make him into a warrior. The young man had learned war-craft in a short span of time, at least as well as many young elves learned over the course of many years training.
Chloe needed help as well, and Rondel gave himself a mental slap. It was plain to see that Chloe was a half-breed elf, and he recalled how eagerly she had learned to use an elven bow, and how hard she had tried to please him and his sister. She needed him now, and in the days and years to come, if she were to survive as a mixed breed creature, intact and whole.
Elves often snuck into the human world with the sole purpose of seducing human women. It was done out of spite, competition, and derring-do. Young elven men sometimes staged contests to see just how many human girls they could impregnate without being caught, never realizing, or caring, how many hearts they broke, or lives they shattered in the process.
Chloe was obviously the product of one of these clandestine affairs. Unlike some elf/human hybrids, she seemed well balanced and happy, but Rondel knew he and his deceased sister had not made things any easier for the children. He vowed then, that he would act as a guardian and ally for the young human beings when (and if) they survived the next few hours.
Rondel bowed to Sara and sat close to Chloe, pulling her shaking body into a light embrace. She curled under his right arm and shuddered with grief, as Sara stared at the Sasq warrior, Onio.
“I… I just don’t think I can do this,” Sara whispered, “I honestly don’t know what you and Muriel were thinking, Pollo, when you picked me to help!”
Pollo stared, and replied, “My lady, you are very strong! Anyone with eyes can see your strength.”
Sara shook her head violently, but Onio snapped, “Sara, I agree with the sprite. You ARE strong. Your heart is full of grief and fear now, of course, but we need you to finish what you started. If nothing else, you need to fulfill your duty to those who have given their lives on this mission. My brothers and I will die, if necessary, to keep you safe while you attempt to heal the mad king!”
Sara looked down at her feet, and her shoulders slumped with defeat. There was simply no way she could do this, she was sure of it. However, so many people had died, including Nate; she knew that she had to try, for their sake. Nodding her head, Sara asked for water, and the companions rose to face the huge double doors that led into the king’s chamber.
Red, orange and black shadows danced and writhed on the walls within, and the smell of death hung thick in the air. Sara swallowed back her nausea and fear. Pollo jumped on Hissaphat’s back, and the little dwarf glared ahead with a short, evil looking iron sword in his right hand.
William had put his fiddle away and he used the hem of his sleeve to wipe away tears of grief. He put a gentle hand on Sara’s shoulder and murmured, “You are a brave, brave girl, Sara. Whatever happens, I’ll be right here by your side.”
Chloe and Rondel took up the rear. Chloe wiped her face with one of Nate’s old bandanas, smiling weakly at Sara, who smiled back. Sara studied the little Asian girl’s face and memorized her large dark eyes, and the impish grin that often lit up Sara’s world with joy.
She felt almost certain that none of them would survive this final leg of their journey… a journey that was doomed to fail because of her own incompetence. Nevertheless, she turned around and faced the doors, determined to heal the king, even if it killed her.
Onio took her hand and smiled. “My wife is human, you know. Her name is Melody and she is the bravest person I know. You remind me of her, Sara.”
Sara stared up at the tall Sasquatch and smiled, although her heart was broken. “Thanks, Onio,” she replied. “Let’s get going before I chicken out, completely.”
Nodding, Onio released her hand, and the company moved slowly toward the open doors. Stepping through the threshold, they stopped and stared. Sara recalled the visions Hestia had shown them in her enchanted woods.
There were about twenty long, banquet style tables set in four rows each, leading up to a raised platform. Gold plate and silver flatware adorned the tables, and evidence of a good meal could be seen here and there through the blood that painted everything and everyone red.
There were, at least, a hundred elves, maybe more sitting slumped over at the tables. They were all dead and had been slashed to ribbons by swords and knives. Their bodies were laced with cut marks and it looked as though none of them had put up the least resistance.
Rondel groaned, and murmured, “These are my dark brethren, and more fierce fighters you will never meet. They were glamoured, I fear… cast under a spell so they put up no fight.”
Sara gulped with fear. She would never get used to seeing dead people individually, much less en masse like this.
Looking up to the raised dais, she saw that one man huddled under a fine wool cloak, and stared down at them with a look of maniacal glee on his face. It was Timaron, the King of Unseelie.
He wore a magnificent silver crown studded with fiery gemstones the size of robin’s eggs. He was tall and had obviously once been quite handsome but now his face was skeletal and his eyes rolled madly in their sockets. He looked to be starving, and his hands quivered like birds on the armrests of his splendid throne.
“Who comes in to my court?” he demanded haughtily, but his voice croaked with disuse.
The guards who flanked him stirred with laughter, and Sara quailed. Four gigantic trolls stood to either side of the king. Trolls were ugly enough, with their eyestalks and flabby, warty skin, but these trolls were enchanted. Black shadows oozed under their thick hides, and their eyes gleamed with wrath. The hellhounds snarled and Hissaphat shrugged Pollo off his back and advanced toward the stage, hissing.
The Sasquatches growled in their native tongue and William’s fiddle wailed.
Sara stepped forward, and said, “Your highness, we have come to help you in your hour of need.”
Chapter 26
For a brief moment, it looked as if Timaron was startled awake. His eyes grew wide… fearful, and he stared out at them as though he could not imagine where he was or who addressed him. Then he grew dim again and the trolls shuffled their feet, snickering.
“Need…,” he muttered, “who are you, human, to tell me what I need?”
“Sire, my name is Rondel, of the Stormking realm.” The elf’s voice rang out in the large room. The trolls stared at him, lifting their rubbery lips in a grimace. Rondel glared, and said, “My liege, why do trolls attend you this day? Do you not see that your court is dead?”
Timaron stared about in bewilderment. “Dead… what are you talking about? My court is here… dancing and feasting, as usual, and what trolls are you referring to, young elf? There are no trolls within my court!”
Sara watched, aghast, as the same black shadows that swarmed over the troll’s skin ran across the wide blue landscape of the king’s eyes. Timaron blinked and shook his head fitfully, as if mosquitos plagued his large, pointed ears. “Leave off your shouting, I hear you!” He gasped.
Sara stepped toward the dais. “Your highness, may I approach?” Her voice was almost drowned by the troll’s sudden snarl of aggression. Trolls were frightfully strong, but usually clumsy. These trolls, however, moved with fluid grace and in tandem, as if one mind, alone, directed their movements. Each troll took a step forward, lifting its club high in the air in order to squash the girl who approached the king.
Onio let out a shout and instantly, the trolls were skewered upon the Sasquatches spears. Rondel and Chloe shot and watched as their arrows pierced the troll’s faces. The animals did their part, as well. Hiss screamed and leapt onto a troll’s face, while the hellhounds bayed and savaged the other monsters when they fell. There was a momentary melee, and then the trolls lie dead.
Unfortunately, the evil power propelling their actions was not as easily vanquished. The companions watched, sickened, as shadows oozed from the troll’s bodies, slithering out of their eyes, noses and ears, pooling on the stone floor like black blood. The shadows shimmered for a moment, and then began to rise up in the air, coalescing into tall, shrouded figures with baleful red eyes.
The companions took a step back, staring at the dark demons who threatened their world. Sara wracked her brains trying to put a name to these horrible wraiths, but could not recall what kind of creatures they were. Frantically, she whispered, “Rondel, what are those things?”
He shook his head, and replied, “Sara, I am sorry but Muriel and I were both wrong. We thought that dark faeries had seized control of the king’s mind and soul, but these are not fae, they’re demons from the deep!”
An evil snicker arose from the shadowy forms on the dais. The four, wavering shadows laughed as one, and a voice erupted from them, “I am Beelzebub, and I am legion!”
Sara gasped. She was not a churchgoer, and frankly, she had been mad at God since her mom died but even she knew who Beelzebub was… Satan, the Devil, Old Crotch… it did not matter what you called him, he was the worst thing there was, ever, and her heart cracked in fright.
As one, the shadows swarmed down off the dais, moving toward Sara and her friends, as they stood, shivering with dread. Then, glaring, Onio hoisted his spear and swung it like a bat. The mighty, sharpened stick whistled through the air and cut one of the demons in two. The shadowy wraith howled as it disintegrated into wisps of dark mist. The other wraiths stopped, glared at the Sasq warrior and then moved toward him.
Onio’s brothers took their weapons and set to, as well, swinging their clubs and spears furiously, watching as the corporeal bodies shuddered and flew apart, like clouds in a high wind. Rondel and Chloe, after a moment’s hesitation, took an arrow in each hand and stabbed at the shadows as they tried, in vain, to re-form in to a viable shape.
Pollo looked up at Sara and squealed, “Sara, come on! This might be our only chance!”
Sara nodded and ran up the stone steps to where the king sat, dazed, on his beautiful throne. Pollo flew upward as well, although his flight was sporadic due to his damaged wings. Timaron watched the battle below him with a bemused air, as though he was enjoying a spectator sport, instead of watching his saviors wrestle for control over his very soul.
Falling to her knees in front of the king, Sara begged, “Your highness, please! You need to help us!”
The Unseelie king started, scowling. “Who are you? Why do you bother me?” Staring around, he screamed, “Guards, take this human and put her in the dungeons… GUARDS!”
Sara started to place her hands on the king’s chest, just above his heart as she was taught, but she hesitated, in fear and revulsion. The king’s flesh undulated and jerked with the power of the shadow that held him captive. The king’s eyes blazed red and he snarled, “Who gave you leave to touch my person?”
Pollo hopped up on Timaron’s shoulder and whispering softly, he pointed his tiny stick at the monarch’s ear. The king tried to brush the sprite off, but soft, lavender light bathed the side of Timaron’s head. Suddenly, the king let out a howl of anguish as streamers of darkness billowed out of his ear canals.
Sara gritted her teeth and laid both hands on Timaron’s chest. His lungs heaved and his body writhed in anguish as the soul of the devil fought the healer for control. Timaron opened his mouth and spoke, but the voice that issued forth, harsh, guttural and thick with loathing, was not his own.
“Long, have I looked for a way to destroy my enemies, little girl,” the devil hissed. “Human beings no longer listen to my words, and the silly fae in their underworld habitat held no interest for me. But a vain, egotistical monarch with resentments in his heart almost as old as man himself, held the key to human destruction!” The king’s eyes stared blindly, as the demon’s words spilled out of his mouth like a toxic river.
“Even now, your world spins out of control. The faerie world is at war, and the planet rocks with tidal waves of destruction, as thousands of humans die.” Timaron tittered madly, but something in his expression made Sara close her ears to the torrent of bile that spewed from his unknowing mouth. The king’s pretty, blue eyes pleaded with her for release. Guilt and sorrow shaded the king’s face even as his lips spat in fury.
“Stop that, witch,” Timaron’s false voice screeched as the girl began to pray. Muriel had told her to think of the things she loved most, like trees and green grass, and the whisper of wind through the willows. Sara understood, though, that those things were the love of Muriel’s life, and, as beautiful as they were they were not what she thought of now.
Instead, Sara thought of her mom and her dad, and Chloe and Nate. For a moment, her concentration faltered as sorrow wormed its way into her consciousness, but then she focused her energy. Taking a deep breath, she sent a long, shining spear of undying love, eternal
hope and noble, human strength and kindness straight into Timaron’s heart. She did not hear when the demon screamed in fear, and she did not notice when the shadows surrounding her friends dissipated like smoke in a freshening breeze.
The king’s body jerked once and he fell back onto his throne with a sigh of exhaustion. Sara looked up, dazzled and relieved. The Sasq warriors peered about astonished, as Chloe and the elf grinned in relief. William’s fiddle stopped singing and Hissaphat sat down for a good wash. Sara caught Chloe’s eye, smiling, but then the king’s bony hand seized her cheeks in a vice-like grip. With a snarl, the demon left Timaron’s body and jumped into Sara’s mouth and down her throat. She choked, convulsing, and then sat up straight. Her gorgeous aquamarine eyes glittered with red points of fire and she growled at Pollo and Rondel as they stared at her in shock.
Suddenly, Rondel gasped and groped behind his back. Grinning fiercely, he produced Tandy’s horn and leapt up on the stone dais. “Pollo, help me, please!” he shouted.
The little sprite’s eyes were huge and he grasped the heavy horn with a cry of relief. Rondel ran behind Sara and seized her arms. Although the creature possessing the girl’s body snarled and writhed, Pollo approached anyway, carefully placing Tandy’s broken horn on her chest. He held on to the horn with one hand and clasped his own stick with the other, whispering frantically as the horn blazed white, turning the sprite’s purple glow pink.
As Rondel held Sara down and Pollo acted as healer, William helped Timaron out of his throne and down on to the floor where he stared, weeping piteously, at his dead courtiers. Onio and Chloe climbed up on the dais and gazed at where Sara laid gnashing her teeth and howling in rage and pain, while the Sasq warriors prowled the perimeter. Hissaphat and the two hellhounds sat and watched Sara with wide, knowing eyes.
The War of Odds Page 16