Copper Ravens

by Jennifer Allis Provost

  Sadie gasped, her hand over her mouth. “Oh, Max,” she murmured, “you really screwed up this time.”

  Max opened his mouth, only to clamp it shut again. Looking much like the kid he had been when he used to frequent the market, he approached Mom. After a bit of coaxing, she turned toward him, shaking her head and staring at her feet.

  “I just don’t understand,” she said, over and over. “Why didn’t he just contact me?”

  “Because you would have moved heaven and earth to get him back,” Max replied. “And that wouldn’t have been safe for us, or for him.”

  “We could have kept him safe,” Mom insisted. “I could have hidden him in the old basement or the brugh—”

  “If he could have come home, he would have,” Max replied. “Ma, Dad didn’t have a lot of options, and none of them were good. It…” Max raked his hand through his hair, then he hugged her. “I’m sorry. I bet he’s sorry, too.”

  “He will be, once I get hold of him,” Mom muttered. Max smiled tightly; hopefully, we still had a father left for Mom to yell at.

  “Okay, here’s what you need to know,” Max began when he turned to the three of us, leaving Mom to collect herself. She hung back for a minute, her blue eyes narrowed, staring at the dark mass of the market. As she stood there with her wind-tossed hair, she looked like an invading queen assessing the opposing army’s weaknesses. In a way, I suppose that’s exactly what she was doing. “When I came here before, I would just hang out in the square until someone approached me.”

  “I thought you were meeting Dad!” Sadie squeaked. “It was random people?”

  “It was never the same person twice. They’d give me a sign, and I would follow them toward one of the shops—usually it was the carpet weaver, but a couple times we went to a sweet shop—and we would talk, but never for more than a few minutes.”

  “What about Dad?” I asked. “Did you ever see him?”

  “Not all the time,” Max replied. “During those last few months, I didn’t see him at all. I just got messages, which I read and burned.”

  “How did you know it was your father who wrote those messages?” Micah asked. “Baudoin’s enemies could have easily manipulated you.”

  “I know. That’s why I stopped coming.”

  And why you let the Institute take you. I didn’t say it out loud, but it was plain as day on Max’s face.

  “Then why are we coming here now?” Sadie asked, eyes darting toward a particularly chilling screech. “If you stopped hearing from Dad way back then, what makes you think he’ll be here today?”

  “This is the last place he was known to be,” Mom said quietly. She rubbed her nose, then she tossed her golden hair over her shoulder. “We know he was here, or close by, after the war ended, for at least a few years. We’ll start looking here. If we find no trace of him, we’ll look someplace else. I will find my husband, of that you can be certain.”

  Based on the fire in her eyes, I believed her. So it was my mother who led us to the gates of the Goblin Market, which were little more than pale wooden planks crudely lashed together with blackened, fraying ropes; the haphazard construction was due to the market’s need to uproot and flee at a moment’s notice. Not that they were doing anything wrong, of course.

  A set of ragged guards flanked the gates; no, “guard” wasn’t really the right term. They were more like bouncers, the scary kind you only find outside the not quite legal hangouts. What’s more, they didn’t care if we were criminals or thugs, they just wanted to ensure we weren’t there to shut them down. Being that they’d set up shop so close to the Whispering Dell, Micah could have ordered them to pull up stakes or had them apprehended and sent to Oriana for judgment. Since that wasn’t what we wanted, at least not for now, Micah swept a hand over his hair, glamouring the distinctive silver to a rich brown, and the Lord of Silver passed unnoticed into the Goblin Market.

  And what a market it was. To the left was a group of stalls that sold odd food items, and by odd I mean that some of the food was still moving, wriggling odd tentacles and limbs. To the right was a random collection of tents, stained with smoke and blood and who knows what else. The largest tent belched a thick reddish smoke whenever the flap was raised, along with a chorus of laughter and screams. While those entering the tent appeared healthy, those leaving were gray-skinned and frail, their eyes sunk deep in their skulls. What was worse, the not-yet-dead food and questionable goings-on in the tents and stalls were far from the creepiest aspects about this place.

  Even though it was a bright, clear day, darkness hung like a chill blanket over the aisles and stalls. I couldn’t put my finger in it, but there was a wrongness that seeped from every hawker. The evil permeating the Goblin Market was much stronger than anything I’d felt in the dark quarter of the Whispering Dell’s village, and it made the crone at the apothecary seem like a fairy godmother.

  We are so out of our league here.

  “Why did you come here in the flesh?” Sadie whispered to Max. “Why didn’t you just dreamwalk?”

  “This is no place for dreamwalking,” Max answered, nodding toward a nearby stall. Among the dried herbs and incense was a display of tightly capped containers, some made of fine crystal, others constructed out of badly thrown clay.

  “Those are pretty,” Sadie murmured. She tried to get a closer look, but Max grabbed her.

  “Don’t get any closer,” he hissed. Sadie stared from the jars to Max, uncomprehending, but I instinctively knew what those jars were for. Souls.

  “Later,” Max grumbled when Sadie questioned what good a jarred soul would be. “The more you act like a dumb kid, the worse it’ll be for you.”

  “I am a dumb kid,” Sadie reminded him. “Remember, you and Mom kept all of this from me.”

  “With good reason,” Mom said, indicating the Goblin Market with her gaze. “Would you have rather spent your youth hiding here, or in that library you so loved?” Sadie dropped her eyes; yeah, no one likes having the truth held from them, but sometimes it’s done with good reason. “Max, where would you wait for Beau?”

  “Here.” We’d reached a fountain, so shiny and black it could have been carved from obsidian. The water, which had long since ceased flowing, was choked with slime and stank like a week-old corpse.

  “All right, Maximilien Laurent.” Mom surveyed the square; the fountain was the centerpiece of a common area, surrounded by somewhat permanent-looking shops. If the placards hadn’t all been made from bleached bones and bloody skins, it would have been a nice spot for a picnic. “Sadie and I will watch from that shop,” she declared, indicating a storefront across the way, “and Sara and Micah will take a post behind you. Once your contact approaches, go with them. We will follow.”

  With that, Mom turned on her heel and dragged Sadie toward the weaving shop, which I deduced from the shopkeeper’s resemblance to a black widow. Once they were inside, I understood why Mom had chosen that shop: it had a large front window, affording them an excellent view of nearly all entrances to the square.

  I murmured for Max to take care, and then followed Micah across the square. Instead of entering one of the shops, we took up a shadowy spot at the mouth of an alley, which was fine with me. I did not like this market, being that I was still engaged in a mental battle to keep the black magic from again reducing me to a quivering heap of self-doubt, and I wanted to be away from here as soon as possible. Once we’d found a good position, Micah’s arm snaked around my waist, while his other hand grasped the token I wore.

  “I worry that you still do not understand the meaning of this token,” he whispered, holding the leaf and acorn before my eyes.

  “It means that the oaks are your friends,” I replied, trying to focus on Max. This was not the time or place for relationship discussions. Micah, however, had other ideas.

  “By wearing my token, you proclaim to all that you are mine. My consort. My lover.” He pressed a kiss behind my ear. “My equal.”

  “But I’m n
ot your equal. I won’t be, not until I’m your wife.” He turned me around, tilting my chin up so he could look me in the eye.

  “You will be, once—”

  “An heir, I know.” I couldn’t look at him and keep my voice steady, so I stared at a point above his shoulder. “Not until then.”

  “Sara, I cannot alter the way of things. This has been our tradition for many, many generations.” I nodded since I already knew these things. Really, I understood his predicament. It didn’t mean that I had to like it. “You want to be my wife so badly?”

  At that, I met his eyes. “Yeah. I do.” Micah’s eyes widened, and I feared I’d said something wrong. Like there was even a right thing to say. “I mean, it’s just not what I’m used to. Humans get married before they have heirs. Children.” Well, it didn’t always work that way, but I decided to forgo a discussion on the ramifications of unplanned pregnancy. “I mean, if I got pregnant today, by the time I have the baby, we still wouldn’t have known each other for a year.”

  “Thirteen months,” Micah corrected.

  “Still. That’s not very long.” Something behind me caught Micah’s attention; I peeked over my shoulder and learned that it was just Max, throwing pebbles in the fountain. “And, it’s not like I know anything about babies. I was only two when Sadie was born. I don’t know how to feed one or bathe one.” It was easier saying these things when Micah wasn’t looking at me. “I wouldn’t know what to do.”

  Micah tightened his arms about me, pressing his face against my hair. “Sara, my Sara, you will be a fine mother,” he murmured. “Forgive me for not considering your customs.”

  “Forgiven.” As if I could stay mad at him, anyway. After a quick kiss, I turned sideways in his arms so we could both keep an eye on Max.

  “Humans marry before children?” he murmured, and I nodded. “Tell me how.”

  “Well, the easiest way is to go to your local Hall of Records and get a certificate. There’s usually a Peacekeeper on duty who can perform the ceremony.”

  “These ceremonies, they are complex rituals?”

  “No. You exchange rings and a few words and it’s done.” I went on, describing the basic ceremony, all the guests and food at the reception, and the huge, gaudy rings celebrities tended toward. Throughout my explanations Micah remained thoughtful, his eyes resting on Max while one hand stroked my neck, his other hand firm on my mark.

  “Very well,” Micah said when I was done. “We shall go to the Mundane realm, and I will exchange words with you.”

  “What?” I gasped.

  “I will make you a ring, too,” Micah continued, turning his eyes to mine. “A ring so large all will know that you are mine.”

  “I don’t need a huge ring,” I mumbled.

  “Then a plain band.”

  “Micah, we can’t go back to the Mundane realm,” I argued weakly. “We’re fugitives. We’ll be captured.”

  “I’ll glamour you.”

  “But—”

  “Are you going to keep arguing with me, or are you going to say yes?”

  I blinked, my last protest dying on my lips. I’d been so sure that Micah would cast me aside once he learned that I didn’t want a baby just yet; all this time, I’d thought that an heir was his fondest desire. That desire, it seemed, was for me.

  “I’ll make you a ring, too,” I whispered, pressing myself against his chest. “A heavy copper one, with oak leaves etched all around.” I twined my arms around his neck. “Or is it not proper for Micah Silverstrand to wear a copper wedding ring?”

  Before he could answer, movement caught his eye. Silently, Micah turned me around, and I saw Max conversing with another creature, their heads bent toward each other. The creature was short and stout, with waxy yellow skin that reminded me of a half-burned candle.

  “Goblin?” I whispered, and I felt Micah nod.

  “One of the enforcers,” he breathed. “Has your brother always dealt with such unsavories?”

  “Max thinks he is one of the unsavories,” I replied, shaking my head at the sight of my scrawny brother trying to act tough. Well, since no one had bothered to kill him when he was a kid, he probably wouldn’t get killed today.

  “You father’s reach must be far and strong,” Micah observed. “Like as not, the enforcers have been ordered to leave Max be.”

  “I wonder if Max realizes that,” I mused.

  “Doubtful.” Micah pressed his hand over my mouth to muffle my laughter. “Look, he’s being led away.”

  Across the market, Mom and Sadie stepped out of the shop, brushing away a few stray webs in the process. The four of us exchanged a look, then we were off after my brother.

  22

  The four of us followed Max as he wended his way through the market. After a few minutes, the first goblin had melted into the crowd, and another took its place. This little replace the bad guy routine repeated itself until a grayish creature beckoned Max into a narrow stretch between stalls. He went, all but disappearing into the shadows.

  “Max,” Mom called, the rest of us close behind her. “Maximilien, do not—”

  Then the world tilted, and everything went dark.

  I was vibrating, slow and steady. Earthquake? Slowly, stickily, my eyes opened, and I learned that the vibration was caused by Micah. His hands were on my shoulders, and he was gently shaking me awake.

  “Hey,” I mumbled. I noticed the faint shimmer in Micah’s eyes, a telltale sign of his dreamself. And, he was naked, an unexpected but not unpleasant development. “When did we go to bed?”

  “We did not. We were captured.”

  “Captured?” For a moment, I thought he was joking. Not that he was being funny.

  “Um, when did this happen?” I ventured. I felt like hardly any time had passed, but then I had been unconscious. “Any, who exactly captured us?”

  “We were captured by whomever Max made contact with at the fountain. That was yesterday afternoon, and it is now two hours before dawn.” Fountain, fountain… Dimly, I remembered a shiny black monstrosity, filled with stagnant, stinking water, and my brother standing before it. It felt like all of that nonsense had happened a thousand years ago. As I struggled to a sitting position, Micah put his hands on the sides of my head, his features creased with concern. “Are you well?”

  “Yeah. I guess.” I pressed my hand to my forehead; I wasn’t in any pain, but I felt like I had the hangover of the century. “My brain’s fuzzy.”

  “You are being drugged.” Micah indicated an incense burner belching sweet smoke into the room, which explained my lack of both memory and consciousness. I mumbled something about putting it out, but Micah shook his head. “No. As long as the three of you remain here, you are safe.”

  Three of us? I turned around, and saw that myself, Sadie and Max were heaped upon a ridiculously ornate bed. It seemed that Micah wasn’t the only one dreamwalking here. Then I took in the rest of the room; it was full of brightly colored cushions and drapes, bedecked with all sorts of tassels and fringe. And wouldn’t you know it, not a speck of metal in sight. “Is this a harem?”

  “More like a brothel.”

  Cold dread filled my stomach. “Micah, tell me why you’re naked.”

  “I was stripped before being escorted to a cell,” he replied, as nonchalantly as if describing checking his coat at the opera. “Nothing untoward has happened to my body.”

  Nothing untoward? “You’re in a cell?” He nodded. “Take me there. Now.”

  In the blink of an eye, our dreamselves went from the lush harem to a dank, dark cell. Crumpled against the far wall was a corpse. It twitched and I jumped; so, not quite a corpse, not yet, anyway. Whoever it was had been badly beaten, his skin covered in bruises and sticky clots of blood. Then the body twitched again, into the light, and I noticed a thatch of hair like a dandelion gone to seed; Micah had once warned me that a glamour would dissolve if its wearer fell asleep. Or was beaten to a bloody pulp.

  “Micah,” I cried, falling to
my knees before his body. “What did they do to you?” I tried to caress his bruised cheek, but my hand, insubstantial, passed through him. Then his dreamself’s arms were around me, and I buried my face in his chest.

  “I’m so sorry,” I sobbed. “You’re so hurt, all because of me and my stupid brother. You’d be better off without us.”

  “It looks worse than it is,” he soothed. “I will be fine.”

  “Fine? You’re unconscious!”

  “I needed to sleep in order to dreamwalk and find you.” He pried me away from his chest, and turned my face toward his body. “Have a look at my back.” Hesitantly I crept around his prone form, and gasped when I saw his expanse of caramel skin, marred by bruises and blood, but devoid of his mark.

  “They took it!” I shrieked. “Your silver!”

  “No, love,” he murmured, once again taking me into his arms. “I drew my silver deep into my body. Even now, it is healing me.” I eyed his body dubiously; he certainly didn’t look like he was healing. “Those who captured us were intent on the rest of you, Baudoin’s children and mate. They did not realize who I am, or that I am of metal.”

  “Still, we need to get you out of here,” I began, when Micah hushed me again.

  “Love, truly my predicament is not as dire as yours. Look.” He crouched at his body’s feet and indicated heavy shackles that chained him to the floor. “I’m chained with metal. And the door is fitted with metal hinges. When the time comes, I will merely walk out.”

  “When the time comes,” I repeated. “Where’s Mom?”

  Micah’s face darkened. “When I last looked in on her, she was being interrogated. Come, I’ll take you there.”

  We slipped through the heavy wooden door and navigated a bustling corridor; while our dreamselves could instantly reach our physical forms, once we were actively dreaming, we were limited to far more basic means of transportation. Though no awake persons could see us while we were dreamwalking, I was decidedly embarrassed to be walking alongside a naked elf.

  “You may keep looking,” Micah commented, catching me before my eyes could dart away.