by Anne Bishop
Sebastian let go of Lee’s jacket and stepped back. “Four hours.”
Using his unusual gift of being able to impose his small island over another landscape, Lee brought the island to the Den’s main street. He extended one hand back and felt the bark of a tree. One step back and he was standing on the island, vanished from the sight of the Den’s citizens even though he could still see them.
Slipping one hand into his jacket pocket, he fingered the coiled braid he carried everywhere. Resonance and need rang through him, confirming what he’d already suspected. He was about to let Ephemera’s currents of power take him to an unknown landscape in order to find the woman who belonged to a discarded braid of hair.
And he hoped she was worth the risks.
Chapter Thirteen
“Iz dead.”
“Iz sleeping.”
“Iz dead.”
“Iz sleeping.”
“How you know iz sleeping?”
“Cause I poked it? See?” poke poke poke.
Michael jerked awake, coughed up more bog water, then groaned. “I’m not sleeping now, you brainless twits, and I’m not dead, either.”
Silence. Then the first one said, “We could kill it. Iz enough flesh on it to feed the clan.”
Clan. Bog. Lady of Light, have mercy on me.
Michael pushed himself up to a sitting position and carefully rubbed his eyes, which felt hot and gritty. Then he looked at the two youngsters standing in front of him—and the adults silently moving closer.
The Merry Makers were human-shaped, and a full-grown one came up as high as a human man’s chest. But they looked like they were formed from the bogs they claimed as their own: thin brown bodies with limbs that looked like animated branches; hands that had long, twiggy fingers; faces that could have been carved from gnarls of wood; hair like the moss that hung from the trees that grew on the bog’s islands.
There was a vicious strength in those thin limbs that could easily overpower a grown man, and humans lured into the bog by the lights and the music seldom found their way home.
Unless they could bargain.
“I am not familiar with this clan,” Michael said, feeling the need to step as carefully with his words as he would with his feet in order to get out of this dark place. “But I have been among your people before.” Early in his wandering, when he’d been young and foolish and lost one night—and had learned firsthand that the stories about the demons who lived in their world weren’t just stories. “We shared a night of music.”
They didn’t speak. Their large yellow eyes just stared at him.
There was no place for him to go. The Merry Makers were in front of him. A quick roll would have him back in the water, but the water offered no real escape from them—and trying to escape would be enough to condemn him.
Then one clear note sounded through the air.
Michael looked toward the sound and noticed his pack sitting close by, open.
He didn’t remember taking off the pack, but his memories of what happened after he hit the water were jumbled bits of images. At least now he understood why he’d thought trees had reached down and saved him from drowning.
The Merry Maker who stepped forward held Michael’s tin whistle in its long fingers. “Magician.” The voice was deep and harsh and yet fluid—and sounded like it belonged to the bog itself. “We have heard of you, Magician.”
There was something more primal about this one, something more dangerous. Which made Michael wonder if he was looking at this clan’s Heart of the Bog. He’d heard the name the last time he’d been among the Merry Makers. They wouldn’t explain what it meant, but he figured the name itself pretty much said it all—especially in terms of who made the decision of whether or not a human lived or died.
“Luck-bringer,” the Heart of the Bog said, watching Michael. “Ill-wisher.”
“I have never wished ill on your people,” Michael replied.
“No, you have not.” A pause. “You appear without warning, deep in our piece of the world, at a time when nothing should be able to cross over into the protected dark places.”
Protected? Michael wondered. By who?
A lovely face once again filled his mind, and he was very much afraid he knew the answer.
“Why are you here, Magician?”
His life hinged on what he said next. He knew it; they knew it. So he listened to his heart and gave the Merry Maker the same answer he had given the Destroyer. “Her darkness is my fate.”
Bodies shifted. Murmurs rose and fell until the Heart of the Bog raised one hand, commanding silence.
When the Heart of the Bog just watched him, Michael added, “Heart’s hope lies within belladonna.”
The Heart of the Bog tipped its head to one side and smiled a sweetly chilling smile. “You seek Belladonna?”
Something about the look in the Merry Maker’s eyes told him he had misunderstood the riddle. It wasn’t about the plant, it was about a person. It was the name of his dream lover, who must be a dark-hearted woman if she protected this part of the world. But he sensed she was also the key to getting away from the Merry Makers.
“Yes,” Michael said. “I seek Belladonna.”
The Heart of the Bog walked over to the pack and tucked the whistle inside before fastening the pack’s straps. “We will take you to the Justice Maker. He has powerful magics.” That chilling smile again. “Deadly magics. See-bastian will decide if you are a friend…or a meal.”
A gesture of its hand, more frightening because of the gracefulness of the movement, indicated that Michael should pick up his pack.
When he had his pack settled on his shoulders, they closed in around him. He saw no weapon in any hand, but he knew all the Merry Makers carried a knife and a slingshot—and were lethal with both. So he followed the Heart of the Bog and hoped this Justice Maker with the deadly magics was someone he could reason with.
A hand pushed her shoulder into the sand, holding her down. Another hand clamped over her mouth. And a stranger’s voice said, “Stay quiet. I’m not going to hurt you. The boundaries are so thin the bonelovers can sense prey even though they can’t reach this landscape. But this place is so small, I already broke the boundaries in order to reach you, so I don’t think your access point is going to last much longer.”
The words made no sense to Caitlin, but she understood enough. Someone had come to help her, and those ant creatures—bonelovers?—were nearby. She relaxed her muscles, which was the only thing she could think to do to let him know she wasn’t going to fight him.
The hand lifted from her mouth. The other still rested on her shoulder, but now lightly enough to feel like offered comfort rather than a restraint.
She didn’t move except to turn her head enough to look at the man kneeling beside her. About her brother Michael’s age, give or take a year. A good face. Handsome even, with the black hair and those green eyes framed by lashes that were unfairly lush. And the beginnings of those crinkle lines at the corners of the eyes that gave a man’s face character and made women just look old.
When she shifted to push herself up, his hand moved from her shoulder to her arm, pulling her up to a sitting position.
She looked beyond her circle and clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle the scream. The sand all around them swarmed with bonelovers, and not too far beyond her circle…
“They found something,” the man said. “Might not be human. If there’s only a border between two landscapes, animals can cross over easily enough. Most instinctively avoid landscapes that are dangerous, but if they’re scared and running, they could end up in a landscape like this and then not be able to get back out.” He stood, then offered her a hand to help her up. “Let’s go while they’re occupied.”
Go where? Caitlin wondered, since she didn’t see horses or a buggy or any other way to outrun the bonelovers. Then again, he had gotten here. Somehow.
As she raised her hand to clasp his, she remembered the heart’s h
ope. She twisted around on her knees and began scooping a channel in the sand around the tiny plant. Couldn’t have many roots. Not a plant this size. And certainly not deep.
“What are you doing?” the man demanded. “That’s probably the only thing holding this access point intact.”
She looked over her shoulder and glared at him. “I’m not leaving it in this place.” She didn’t know how much time had passed between when she’d created the circle of sand and when the stranger found her, and she wasn’t sure she could explain to this man how often she’d awakened during those hours and felt like the presence of the heart’s hope was a sip of courage. “I’m not leaving it.”
He held up a hand to stop her. “Wait. Don’t pull it out of the ground. Don’t move. Just wait.”
He moved to the edge of the circle, studied the bonelovers mounded over the unknown prey. Then he took a step and disappeared.
“No.” The word came out as a whimper. Caitlin just stared. He’d left her. She hadn’t been willing to leave the plant behind, so he left her.
Then he was back, reappearing inside her circle as suddenly as he had disappeared.
“Here,” he said, handing her a sturdy bowl. “It’s been cleansed, so it doesn’t resonate with any earth that’s been put it in before.”
She understood the individual words, but the way he was stringing them together, the meaning escaped her. And his accent said plain as plain that he wasn’t from a part of the world she knew. But she wasn’t about to start asking questions that might have him thinking he’d be better off leaving her behind.
She worked her fingers under the tiny heart’s hope. Yes, just as she thought. Not much root. She scooped up the plant and the sand, but there was too little of it for the size of the bowl.
“Just hold it at the right depth,” the man said. He scooped up sand and poured it into the bowl while she held the plant in place. When he scooped up a shell, he looked at it, then at her. “Beach?”
Caitlin nodded. “I’m thinking it’s the one near the village’s harbor, but I can’t be sure.”
He set the shell aside and scooped up more sand. “And where would that be?”
“Are you asking the name of my village or my country?”
Now he looked puzzled. “Both.”
“I live in Raven’s Hill, and my country is called Elandar.”
There was less warmth and more wariness in his green eyes.
“That should do it,” she said, trying to sound cheerful as she pressed the sand down around the plant. On impulse, she set the shell next to the heart’s hope.
He brushed off his hands, then reached into his jacket pocket. “Is this yours?”
She looked at the coil of braided hair tied with blue ribbon that he pulled out of his pocket—and shivered. “Where did you find that? I left it…” She wasn’t about to tell him where she left it.
“It appeared near my mother’s house,” he said, looking and sounding more wary. Then he looked beyond the circle and stuffed the braid back into his pocket. “Let’s finish this discussion in a safer place.”
A bonelover was right at the edge of the circle, staring at them.
“It can see us!” Caitlin said.
“No, it can’t,” the man said with an oddly heavy emphasis. “But I think the boundaries have thinned to the point that it can hear us and it knows there’s prey close by, so we need to leave here now.” He helped her to her feet, then took a step closer to the bonelover and picked up her broken hoe handle. Stepping back, he wrapped a hand around her upper arm and led her to the spot where he had disappeared.
“This will be easier for you if you close your eyes,” he said.
What would be easier? But she closed her eyes. He moved away from her, but not so far that he released his hold on her arm.
“Imagine stepping over a log,” he said. “Lift one foot up and over.”
“We’re too close to the edge,” Caitlin protested. “If I take a step, I’ll be out of the circle.”
“You’ll be all right,” he said. “Take the step.”
Wasn’t much choice, so she took the step.
Her breath caught. Not sand beneath that foot. Firmer ground. Where…?
“Now the other foot,” the man said. “Now is not the time to daydream or dally.”
“Where did you hear that saying?” Caitlin muttered as she obeyed him. For a younger man, he suddenly sounded like a querulous uncle. Or how she’d imagined a querulous uncle would sound.
“From my mother. I heard it often at one point in my life.”
She smiled—and had the strange feeling that she’d almost fallen but had recovered her balance.
“Open your eyes. Give me the bowl.”
She opened her eyes, but she hugged the bowl to her chest as she looked around. Trees and dappled sunlight. The cool air of autumn. But to her left was the circle of sand from the Raven’s Hill beach and beyond that the rust-colored sand that belonged to a nightmare. “How…?”
“We’ll discuss it later. Right now…” He pulled the bowl out of her hands, then gave her the hoe handle. “Undo this access point to the beach before the bonelovers find a way to cross over. If they manage to get through to your beach, they’ll have access to everything it connects to, including your village.”
“How do I do this? I don’t know how to do this!”
He stared at her. “You really don’t know what you’ve done, do you? You don’t know what you are.”
Sorceress.
“Ask Ephemera to take your beach back where it came from. Tell Ephemera to leave nothing connected to the Eater’s landscape—not so much as a shell or grain of sand.”
She hesitated.
The man lifted the bowl. “The sand and shell are enough to create an anchor point. You can get back home.”
If I knew how this worked. “I can’t be talking to the world while you’re watching.”
“I’ll go up the path a ways. But we need to get away from this landscape as soon as you’re done.” He touched her arm lightly. “Don’t step off the island.”
As if she needed the warning.
The moment he was out of sight, she wished she could still see him. Pretending to be brave was easier when she wasn’t alone.
Just get it done, she thought as she knelt at the edge of the island. He sounds like he sees this sort of thing all the time. Why would he see this sort of thing all the time?
She shook her head and put her mind to the task. He was right; there was no time for anything except getting away from this place.
By the time there was no trace of the circle she had made, she was sweating and panting—and fighting panic as she watched a bonelover move toward the island.
“I wasn’t sure you could do it,” the man said, coming up behind her.
“You certainly sounded like you expected me to do it,” Caitlin replied testily.
“That doesn’t mean I was sure you could. Better close your eyes again.”
The bonelover was moving toward them, heading right for the path she knelt on.
She squeezed her eyes closed…
…and heard a roaring. And beneath it, closer, the lap of water.
She opened her eyes and threw her body back from the edge, knocking into the man and almost sending him tumbling.
“Easy,” he said, grabbing her to steady them both.
“Lady of Light, have mercy.” A wall of water, curved like a horseshoe, coming down from the land high above to meet the river.
“Haven’t you ever seen a waterfall?” the man asked.
“Not like that.” Even though their little bit of land was a safe distance away, the sheer sound of it made her tremble. Closer to them was another falls, its water breaking halfway down on a tumble of boulders as big as houses.
“They’re called the Guardian Falls,” the man said, crouching beside her. “The river has several names, depending on which landscape you’re in. Some call it the Wish River; others call it the
River of Prayers.” He paused and looked at her. “What do people call you?”
“Caitlin Marie. And you?”
“Lee.” He rose and moved to the edge of the island, and raised a hand in greeting as a boat sailed past.
Seeing the men on the boat return the greeting, Caitlin scrambled to her feet. “They can see us! Why can they see us?”
“Because I want them to see us. The island resonates too closely with the river. Even if the people couldn’t see it, the boats on the river would still run into it. So the people here can see it until I shift it back to the place where it actually exists.”
“You don’t seem to be drunk, so you must be daft because most of what you say makes no sense.”
“It makes sense,” Lee said. “In this part of the world, it makes sense.” He leaned against the trunk of a tree and studied her. “Caitlin Marie, I don’t know the customs of your people, so I hope you won’t take this in a way it isn’t meant.”
“Take what?” she asked, suddenly too aware that she was alone with a man she didn’t know on a small bit of land she couldn’t leave.
He smiled. “I think it’s best if I take you home to meet my mother.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Sentinel Stones,” the Heart of the Bog said, pointing to the two massive stones that rose out of the bog on either side of the “trail.”
“I never thought I’d see the likes of them out here,” Michael said quietly, awed and uneasy. He’d seen Sentinel Stones before. They were always placed outside a village in a field beside a main road. Easy enough to reach, but set back far enough that going to them would be intentional.
There was power in the Sentinel Stones, and some strange magic in the air between them. People disappeared when they walked between the stones. Sometimes they came back with wild tales of seeing different countries or of suddenly finding themselves walking the streets of a town on the other side of Elandar; more often they were never seen again.
“No,” Michael said, stopping when he realized the Heart of the Bog intended to walk between the stones. “We can’t go there.”