The storm ceased sometime before sunrise. Michael had not slept. Weariness battled the urgency within him. He doubted the Order had been forced to hole up in the ground. Who knew how far they might have gone by now?
Forest creatures began to stir in the still, rain-washed air. Michael’s legs were cramping, and he pushed himself out of the hole and stood beneath the ancient canopy of the oaks. High above, branches moved despite the lack of wind. Michael could hear them rustling and see the slight movement against the higher canopy of stars. In a moment a warm, gentle breeze brushed his face.
The breeze seemed to call to him. He followed it, wandering paths that were hardly paths. They kept him close to the tree line. The sea murmured not far away. But then something changed. On the breeze came ashes and the stomach-turning smell of death.
Michael broke into a run. The sun was beginning to rise, just enough to illumine a nightmare. A settlement, in a hollow along the shore. Still burning. He could see the dead through the hazy light. On the other side of the hollow, a great white rock overlooked the little village.
Across it, huge and black, was the mark of a spider.
Michael stared at the scene. He did not tear his eyes away even when he heard the others coming up behind him; some running, some trudging. All drew to a stop as they came close. He heard gasps and quiet exclamations. A hand slipped into his—Shannon. Miracle approached on the other side, the wolf beside her. The great white creature growled, low and angry.
“Why?” Shannon asked.
“It is a warning,” Kris said from just behind Michael. “A warning to us to follow no further.”
“The villagers…” Shannon began.
“We cannot help them now,” Michael said.
He closed his eyes. Fear rose starkly before him in the shape of a spider. Could they help anyone now? Even the children— In the smoky air a warning throbbed, almost at the edge of hearing: Turn away. Turn back. You can do nothing now.
“Kris, Miracle,” Michael said. “Tell me. How great is their power?”
There was a moment’s silence. Miracle answered, “Greater than you can imagine.”
Jack heard the words Michael didn’t speak. “But we can’t turn back!” he said. “They have the little ones. We don’t have any choice.”
“Don’t we?” Michael asked. “I would go and die for them. But the rest of you—”
“Are no less heroes than you are, Michael,” Shannon said.
Michael turned and looked at the faces of his beloved clann. The last of the family. The survivors of that first attack so many years ago. Young men and young women. How could he take them into the power of the Spider?
“Christopher told us that they would take the children to Athrom,” Michael said. “The heart of darkness. It may be we have no hope.”
“You are wrong,” Miracle said. Her confidence surprised everyone. They turned to watch her speak. The white wolf moved close to her. “You forget—theirs is only the power of death. We have the power of life in our hands.”
Michael smiled. “Well… you do.”
“We all do,” Miracle said. “We do not go alone to Athrom, Michael. A greater power goes with us.”
“Years ago,” Kris of the Mountains rumbled, “your father came to Fjordland and saw a vision. A fire that burned across the world, purifying but not destroying. A fire that ended the rule of the Blackness and brought new life. It was the fire of the King—the Burning Light. The same fire is here, in Miracle. In your children. In all the Gifted. And the one who lights the fire is watching over us. I have long believed it to be true.”
“And why should we believe that?” Jack asked.
“Because you have to,” Kris answered. “For the sake of your children. For the courage to go on. The whole world may disbelieve, but we are going to challenge the ancient Blackness, and we must have light on our side. Your father saw the light of the coming King and believed. So did your mother. They were sure the King would come. Don’t let their belief die out with you.”
Shannon cast down her eyes. She remembered. Remembered the things her mother had told her in secret; remembered the name she and Thomas had invoked as the embodiment of hope. Molly Sullivan’s last words—the last her daughter ever heard from her mother—had been a prayer. Shannon still remembered them.
But to remember was one thing, to believe quite another. After all, she who had prayed the words was dead.
“Who is he?” Lilac asked quietly. “This King.”
It was Miracle who answered. “I hardly know,” she said. “I do know that he is the source of my healing Gift—that his power flows through me to give life. I feel his presence then, and I feel it around me in creation. In growing things—in everything alive. In roses. He is life. In the north, some few have always believed in him. They were too few for the Empire to bother with. My father believed in him. He told me that the King hears those who call upon him. He gives strength to the weak. He will stand by you, Clann O’Roarke, if you will stand by him.”
“He did not stand by my father,” Shannon said. “Or my mother.”
“You did not see him,” Kris said. “That does not mean he was not there.”
“But…” Shannon began. And stopped. For something was happening in their midst, and Shannon could not speak in its face.
The white wolf had begun to glow with all the colours of a sunset. His thick white and crimson fur fell away in silky layers until a giant stood before them, gazing at them with the eyes of the wild.
“Do you still doubt?” he asked with a voice like a stirring in the leaves, like a slap on the water. “I am Gwyrion of the Earth Brethren, Lord of the Wild Things. All my allegiance is to the King, the Life of Heaven and Earth. You did not see me, yet I have been with you.”
Behind Gwyrion, the village still smoldered. The black spider still defaced the rock. Shannon looked at them both. She looked at Miracle and Kris, who stood a little ways apart, believing as Thomas and Molly O’Roarke had believed. She swallowed and turned to Michael.
“We are going to face the Spider,” Shannon said. “If there is some good power in the world, then we should not go without it.”
Michael smiled at his sister. He reached out and took her hand. The clann gathered around them, leaving the others on the outskirts.
Shannon smiled, her eyes shining with tears. “Do you remember Mother’s prayer?” she asked. She did not wait for an answer. On the hill overlooking the burning clearing, under the black glare of the spider, Shannon O’Roarke dropped to her knees. Michael knelt beside her. The others slowly lowered themselves to the ground.
Shannon raised her face to the sky. Hot tears slipped through her eyelashes. “King of Ancient Days,” she began, “hear us now. Watch over our children. Hide us from evil, beneath the shadow of your wings. Fill us with the Burning Light.”
Her words caught in her throat as the memory of her mother’s voice filled her ears. “Guide our footsteps, and make us truly free.”
Behind Shannon, the long-haired giant with one gold eye and one blue lifted his own voice. It burst from his chest like the bell of a stag, clear and keening as the cry of a hawk.
“Come!” he called. “Come to your wakened lord!”
Before his voice had died away, the sky darkened with wings. Birds circled overhead in great numbers, over the clearing in the Galcic wild where the Clann O’Roarke stood. They landed on Miracle’s outstretched hands and arms, on her shoulders and head. They perched on every available part of Gwyrion’s massive body. They came to rest on the tentatively offered hands of the clann.
“Go find the children,” Gwyrion ordered. “Find them and watch over them, all of you. Send messengers back to me when you find them.”
* * *
When Archer woke again, Kieran was whispering in his ears.
“Now you know why the cat makes me cry, Archer, because you know it isn’t a cat. You can’t hear me but I have to tell you, because I’ve been wanting to tell you a
nd I was so afraid before…”
Archer opened his eyes but saw nothing through the bandages on his face. He moved his hand until it found Kieran’s, and he gripped the younger boy’s hand as hard as he could without hurting him.
“Oh, can you hear me, Archer? Oh I’m glad; I’m so glad.” Archer felt tears on his hand. Kieran was crying again. Archer had always been irritated with Kieran for crying when he was getting so old, but now he couldn’t feel irritated—only fond of his cousin, and protective.
“But good has come of it,” Kieran said, “because Moll won’t go near the cat anymore. She says it grew wings and flew back to the train and it was no cat at all. I didn’t see it grow wings, but I know it’s no cat. I wish I knew what it was. It’s like him—the Nameless One. They make me very afraid.”
“Don’t be afraid, Kieran,” Archer said. “Michael is coming after us. I know he is.”
“How can he come? There was such a storm when we left,” Kieran said.
“The rain wouldn’t stop them,” Archer answered. “The rain isn’t our enemy. Not like the fire.”
“Seamus keeps playing with the fire, and it turns his hands blacker and blacker,” Kieran said. “Moll might touch it too. I try to tell them no, but they don’t listen to me. It pulls at them so.”
“Why?” Archer groaned. “Why can’t they leave it alone?”
“The Nameless One says he can make us powerful,” Kieran said. “He says there is fire in all of us. He’s trying to make us want to wake it up.”
“He’s lying,” Archer said.
“No, he’s not.”
They were quiet for a long time, and then Archer said, “What?”
“There is fire inside me, Archer. Sometimes I can feel it. When the Nameless One plays with his fire, it makes me want to learn how. It could make us strong, Archer. It’s hard not to try it. So hard.”
Archer sought for words, but he could find none. Kieran’s confession both scared and excited him.
Kieran continued. “Maybe if we learn and become powerful, we’ll be strong enough to get away. We won’t be children anymore. We’ll be older. And strong.” His voice was quiet, and it shook a little as he spoke.
“Think of Michael,” Archer whispered. “Think of Shannon and Grandmother. If we play with the fire, it will hurt them.”
“I know,” Kieran said. “That’s why I stay away from it. I will run away from it if I can.”
Archer fell asleep again without trying to. Kieran watched his cousin and thought that he didn’t like the way Archer’s face glowed beneath his bandages. He was dreaming, Kieran knew—dreaming of deep and raging fires.
* * *
Adhemar Skraetock met the Nameless One coming back from the end of the train, where the children had the run of five or six cars.
“What were you doing?” Skraetock demanded.
“Helping you,” the Nameless One told him. He held up his tattooed palm. “We were playing with fire.”
“I wish you to leave the children to me,” Skraetock said.
“Wish as you will,” the Nameless One answered. “And I will do as I wish.”
Skraetock bridled. “You are stepping beyond your limits.”
“I have no limits,” the Nameless One said. “Not like you.”
“I am the most powerful man in the Order,” Skraetock said.
“No,” the Nameless One said. “You are the most influential man in the Order. Raw power exists that you have never dreamed of.”
“You will unleash the Blackness on us too soon,” Skraetock said.
“They cannot return soon enough.”
“You are a fool,” Skraetock said, dropping his voice. “If they come now they will eat us alive.”
“That is your mistake,” the Nameless One said. “You seek life and power. I seek only power.”
They stood in the narrow aisle of the empty passenger car and looked into each other’s eyes, and the Nameless One deferred his gaze first. Yet Skraetock was shaken. The younger man had not looked away out of fear, but to avoid conflict for his own reasons.
Adhemar Skraetock had lived many years and stored up great power. Never had anyone challenged it. The Emperor himself did not challenge it.
“Let me handle the children,” he said. His voice rasped.
“Very well,” the Nameless One said. He bowed and turned on his heel. In a moment, the Master of the Order of the Spider was alone.
An hour later, a guard in his employ told him about Archer. Master Skraetock nearly choked on his anger. The Nameless One was responsible for this. Skraetock had not wished the children harmed. No one could be as ruthless as the Master in tormenting those who would not join him—those like Miracle and the blind girl, Virginia Ramsey, who clung to their desperate loyalties—but these were children. Still able to be twisted.
He went to visit the boy. Archer lay on a cot with his face swathed in bandages. He was awake. The Master sat beside Archer and laid a hand on his.
“I am sorry for this accident,” Master Skraetock began, but Archer cut him off. The boy was quivering with anger.
“The Nameless One listened to you once, didn’t he?” Archer said. “I will never be like him.”
Skraetock leaned close. “Awaken the flame in yourself, Archer,” he said. “Teach the other children to do the same, and you may kill the Nameless One.”
Archer moved, trying to think on the words Skraetock had just spoken. But the words ran away from him, like sand through an hourglass: there one minute and then gone. Archer was left blinking. Had the Master said something?
“You must join us,” the Master said. “There are great things for you to do. It is your destiny, boy-who-are-a-man. It is time to leave childhood behind and take the future into your own hands. Let us teach you to awaken the flame in yourself. Join me.”
Archer made no answer. Master Skraetock slipped silently from the car—but he smiled as he went.
* * *
Feeling lost after Archer fell asleep, Kieran wandered from the car. He looked furtively around him before stepping from one car to the next, trying to avoid the black-cloaked ones who so terrified him—who frightened him because they drew him. Because he wanted so badly to be one of them, to let the fire in his veins burn free. His heart beat faster as he realized that his hands were heating up.
He broke into a run, racing toward the last car and the open air. He pushed open the door and stepped onto the platform where Archer had thrown the non-cat. He gulped in the fresh green air. It cooled him, baptized him like water. He held out his hands to the forests and said, very quietly, “Save me. Please.”
And something in the forests answered him. The tree branches bowed to him, reaching for him even as the train sped past. Deep in the woods, Kieran heard something rustling and moving. His heart leaped.
* * *
The train stopped shortly after entering Italya. The delay angered the Master, who had ordered that the journey be without pause. There was no help for it, the driver argued nervously. Something inexplicable had happened. Where there should have been open fields, the forest had grown up over the tracks.
Master Skraetock left the train and stood amidst the tangled jungle that obstructed the tracks. The fall of the guards’ axes sounded distant in his ears. The growth made him uneasy—but as he stood, his unease shifted to horrible fear. He returned to the train and sat in a dark car with his head in his hands, muttering until the fear left him and the train started again.
Christopher Ens boarded the train while it was stopped. He reported his job done. The Clann O’Roarke was destroyed, their home burned to the ground. Skraetock commanded that the matter be hidden from the children. The Nameless One demanded to know what had become of Miracle, and Christopher could not say. She was not there, he told his companion. She and the mountain man of the north were gone.
When the train pulled out again, no one noticed that Kieran was no longer aboard.
* * *
Gwyrion’s bi
rds left in a rush of wings, leaving the clann subdued in wonder as feathers drifted down through the air. The young women twisted them into their hair, and Gwyrion did the same. Kris wore one in his braided beard, while Andrew and Patrick festooned them in their clothing. The sun was climbing in the morning sky as they stood and gathered themselves for the journey.
Michael stood at the edge of the clearing, looking down on the destroyed village. The voice in the air still urged Turn back. But with Shannon’s prayer and his clann’s support, he had challenged the voice.
Miracle walked up beside him, hugging herself. He saw the strained expression on her face. Death was raw in the air, and it touched the heart of the healer.
“Couldn’t we at least bury them?” Miracle asked.
Michael shook his head. “There is no time,” he said. “I know. I want to help them too.”
They ate—the young men had slaughtered a few rabbits—and Michael held council. “How can we catch up with them?” he asked the few who gathered around a fire with him. “We can’t go on foot.”
“Take the straightest route,” Gwyrion said. “That which they also have taken. Go by the iron serpent.”
“You rule a great kingdom, Spirit of the Wild,” Kris said. “But an iron serpent I have never seen.”
Gwyrion laughed a silent wolf-laugh. “No!” he said. “The iron serpent is no subject of mine, but of man.”
Shannon smiled. “We should take a train?” she asked.
Gwyrion laughed once more. “Indeed,” he said.
“Yes, well,” Michael said. “We’ll simply find a train and hand the conductor all our money.”
There was a long silence, while Gwyrion’s quick eyes darted from face to face. Stocky spoke first.
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