Black Heart bw-3

by Christina Henry

  “I do not know why you speak of jumping, spy,” Sakarian said.

  So they spoke English but their dialect wasn’t up-to-date. Interesting.

  “I mean you’ve made a decision without knowing all the facts,” I said. “I’m not a spy for Lucifer.”

  “Then why do you have his mark upon your palm?” Sakarian challenged.

  I wondered why Batarian seemed content to sit back and let his hotheaded kid take the reins of the conversation. Was it because he wanted to observe my responses? Whatever the reason, now was not the time for telling the truth. If I said I was Lucifer’s descendant, they would definitely think the worst.

  “It was kind of an accident,” I said. This was true. I’d used Lucifer’s sword in the Maze and against Baraqiel. Somewhere along the way it had marked me.

  “You certainly seem to have a great number of accidents,” Sakarian sneered.

  “Hang around me long enough and you’ll see that’s true,” I said. “How is it that you know of Lucifer, anyway?”

  “We will ask the questions,” Batarian said.

  Just then Litarian reentered the room carrying a small woven bag. Behind him were several other faerie. The first two held a table between them, which they set before me. The other faerie silently placed dishes of food on the table.

  There were several plates of vegetables, one with some kind of meat and one that appeared to be roasted insects in sauce. I was not so hungry that I was going to eat bugs, especially if other options were available.

  I glanced at Batarian to make sure it was okay for me to eat before I dove in. He nodded, and I grabbed a plate of something that looked like a salad. There were no utensils so I used my fingers to pick up bits of some peppery greens. There were also berries, round and red like cranberries, but when I bit into one, it had none of the tartness of a cranberry. The sweet juice burst over my tongue. It tasted so delicious it was hard for me to hold back.

  My stomach twisted as the food hit it, reminding me to take it slow. If I gobbled down too much at once, I was just going to make myself sick.

  Litarian silently handed me the bag he was holding. It was filled with bitter-smelling herbs.

  “Place it on your wound,” Batarian said.

  I put the bag through the hole in my jeans and onto the swollen wound beneath. I doubted very much that this little sack of smelly stuff was going to help me, but holding the poultice against my leg allowed me to send a healing spell through it without being noticed by the others. I hoped.

  I shoveled food into my mouth with one hand and pressed the poultice against my wound with the other. I could feel the three faerie watching me like I was an alien from another planet. Which I was. I certainly was not on the Earth I knew anymore.

  I cleared the plate of greens and berries and pulled something toward me that looked like a potato. It might have been a giant bug, though, so I asked first.

  “Is this a vegetable?”

  Sakarian looked confused. “Vegetable?”

  “Is it a plant? Something that grows out of the ground?” There were some interesting gaps in their language. I could understand them not knowing modern American vernacular, but “vegetable”?

  He nodded. “That is the root of the halalia plant.”

  “Like a potato, then,” I said, digging in. It actually tasted more like a turnip, but at least it wasn’t a giant mealworm.

  “You do not eat the flesh of animals?” Batarian asked, tilting his head to one side. It was like he was trying to assemble the puzzle of me in his head.

  “I do. But I prefer when it’s cut and wrapped at the grocery store. Never mind.” All three of them had the same confused look. “Ask your questions.”

  “Will you answer honestly?” Batarian said, his gaze piercing me. He had disconcertingly blue eyes—very light, like the way Nathaniel’s used to be before he’d been changed by Puck’s legacy. I felt a little pang like homesickness.

  I chewed and swallowed a bite of the turnip-thing before answering Batarian. I wanted to get out of here, and practicing duplicity was not the best way to get them to trust me so I could achieve that. However, there was no reason to agree to answer every single thing they wanted to know. Certain information could and would be misinterpreted, especially by Sakarian, who seemed particularly suspicious of me.

  “I’ll answer as honestly as I can,” I finally said.

  “You will reveal your intentions to my lord, or else you will pay the price,” Sakarian said.

  “I would be a fool if I told you everything about me,” I said. “As you would be if you were in my position and you did so.”

  “You—” Sakarian began, but Batarian cut him off.

  “She is correct. Were I in her place, I would not reveal all. Omission is not necessarily a sin. But I expect the courtesy of truth,” Batarian said.

  “I can work with that,” I said.

  “You have admitted you are an associate of Lucifer’s,” Batarian said.

  “I told you, I’m not an associate,” I said.

  “That is difficult to believe. You carry his mark upon your body.”

  I could tell them a little, if I was careful. I wasn’t about to explain that I was a blood relative of Lucifer’s. Part of me was amazed that he’d managed to piss off a bunch of creatures in an entirely different dimension. Another part of me was not shocked in the least. Making enemies seemed to be what Lucifer did best.

  “The sword gave me the mark,” I said, pointing to the blade that still rested against the chair.

  I had a very strong impulse to snatch up the sword and swing it at somebody’s head. That was a worrisome thought. I’d had these dark impulses before, but they usually emerged in the heat of battle, when I was under stress.

  At the moment I was sitting peacefully, having a somewhat civilized conversation with three faerie. I wasn’t under any particular stress, but I was feeling frustrated. I didn’t have to tolerate these creatures. They were beneath me. I could destroy their whole village as I had destroyed the plague of vampires upon Chicago.

  I realized what I was thinking and made a conscious decision to rein it in.

  This must be the way Lucifer feels all the time, I thought with sudden insight. What must it be like to be a creature of such immense power, always under tightly wrapped control?

  I became aware that the room was silent, and that I had not been interrogated further after I’d admitted to being marked by the sword. The other three were staring at me.

  Litarian looked stoic. He seemed to be the best at concealing his thoughts. Batarian appeared intrigued. Sakarian looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be amazed or furious.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You were . . . glowing,” Batarian said.

  “And there was a crackling in the air,” Sakarian said. “Like the wind before lightning strikes.”

  Not good. All I’d been doing was thinking about destroying everything in sight and my power had risen up without my consent. If I wasn’t careful, I would turn into the monster that Beezle feared I was becoming.

  4

  “WHAT ARE YOU, MADDY BLACK?” BATARIAN ASKED.

  “I’m human,” I said.

  “No human has ever had wings,” Sakarian said.

  “I haven’t seen very many humans around here, so you’ll forgive me if I consider you an unqualified observer,” I said.

  “I have seen humans before,” Sakarian answered. “No human has ever looked like you.”

  I wondered whether there were people in this place, or if he was speaking of a time that had already passed.

  “Whatever you might have seen before, I am human,” I repeated.

  “One of your parents was. I suspect your father was Lucifer,” Batarian said.

  “Wouldn’t he love that?” I muttered. “Nope, you’re off base there. I’m not Lucifer’s daughter.”

  “Then who was your father?” Batarian persisted.

  “What do you care?” I said. “
I don’t see what my parentage has to do with anything.”

  “I wish to determine what you are so that I can decide if you are a threat to us. If you are of Lucifer’s kind, then Lucifer is in violation of the treaty, and you are a threat,” Batarian said.

  “There is no one of Lucifer’s kind,” I said. “I don’t belong to him. I don’t represent him. I told you. I just want to go home.”

  “She will tell us nothing, Father,” Sakarian announced. “She will not betray her master.”

  “No one is master of me,” I said coldly.

  Batarian gave me a long look. “Every creature has a lord.”

  “Not me, pal. I’m an American.”

  “What is an ‘American’?” Sakarian asked.

  “Do you want the long version or the short version?” I asked.

  The three of them blinked at me, looking confused.

  “Never mind,” I said, peering into a cup of something that smelled sweet with a whiff of alcohol. “Got any water?”

  “We do not drink the water here,” Sakarian answered. “It is disrespectful to the gods that live there.”

  “Gods, huh? I thought they were nothing but a bunch of mean-ass water sprites,” I said.

  There was a cry of alarm from outside, and the sound of running feet.

  All three men stood abruptly. Batarian and Sakarian started toward the door. The king barked orders in his native language to Litarian.

  The third man silently stood and indicated that I should go with him. I stuffed something that looked and tasted roughly like bread in my mouth and followed him out of the room.

  He held my sword loosely grasped in his left hand. I could knock him out, take the sword, and get away in the chaos. There were people running everywhere, carrying weapons. Even looking the way I did, it would be easy to take advantage of the confusion.

  “I would not attempt what you are considering,” Litarian said, his English heavily accented. He seemed to have a lot more trouble with the language than either Sakarian or Batarian.

  “What am I considering?” I asked as we continued down a passageway. The walls were uniformly bland—plain wood with no decoration. Several rooms emptied off the hall, all of them with leaves hanging over the entranceway.

  “You are considering escape, as I would if I were you,” Litarian said. “However, if you run, you will be captured again, and Lord Batarian will not be so kind to you a second time.”

  “Who says I’ll be captured?” I said under my breath, but I knew Litarian was right.

  I couldn’t run far or fast enough to get away from the fae. I needed my wings, and to get my wings back, one of them had to unknot the bindings. So I was stuck playing along for the time being.

  We reached the end of a passage, and Litarian politely held the hanging leaves aside so that I could pass through. I ducked under his arm and found that we stood on a balcony. I stared down. And down, and down.

  I hadn’t realized we were in a tree house several dozen feet off the ground. My fingers curled around the railing as I twisted around to get a sense of the size of the place.

  The structure continued up for three stories, laced with a series of stairs and outer walkways. The trunk of the tree was enormous, larger than anything I’d ever seen, and its height would easily rival that of a sequoia.

  Far below, I could see the remaining buildings of the village neatly laid out. They appeared to be similar in construction to the building I’d burned down—simple, one-room huts.

  Warriors carrying weapons disappeared into the forest. Several women holding children converged upon the tree. I couldn’t see whether there was some kind of walkway below, but I assumed they were fleeing to the safety of the tree house. Despite its lofty position, I couldn’t see much of the surrounding area. The forest was too thick.

  Litarian’s hand closed around my upper arm, gently but firmly pulling me away.

  “It is not safe to be outdoors at this time,” he said.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “Are you under attack?”

  “Yes,” Litarian said briefly.

  “Another band of faerie?” I persisted. It would be useful to know more about the situation here.

  “No,” Litarian replied without elaboration. “How do you know that we are fae?”

  “I’ve seen faeries before, in my world,” I said.

  Litarian did not reply, but his forehead wrinkled slightly.

  Something about him reminded me of Gabriel. Gabriel never said two words when one would do.

  Inside my belly, my baby fluttered its wings, as if he felt the same sadness I did whenever I thought of Gabriel. My memories of my husband were getting further and further away from me. I never seemed to have time to dwell on the past. The present always required too much of my attention.

  Litarian led me to an external staircase that wrapped around the tree until it reached the next level. We followed the stairs up and then crossed the length of the building. I thought we would reenter, as the main body of the house didn’t appear to go any higher, but Litarian followed the balcony to its end and then pointed up.

  A rope ladder hung there, leading up to what looked like a small, covered platform.

  “You want me to go up there?” I asked.

  The platform didn’t appear very large or very stable. Without my wings, it didn’t seem very safe either.

  He nodded. “Someone will return for you later.”

  I was nearly overwhelmed by the desire to punch Litarian in the gut. It really burned to have to submit to someone else. But there was nothing much I could do about it at the moment. I needed my wings. I’d never escape—or make it to the portal—without them. So I gritted my teeth, grabbed one of the rungs of the ladder, and climbed.

  The platform was farther away than it looked. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I couldn’t believe how tired I felt. About halfway up I paused and glanced down. Litarian watched me impassively. Lucifer’s sword glinted in the sun.

  I continued up, trying not to think about how far I would fall if I slipped. Litarian didn’t seem like the sort who would catch me unless he was ordered to do so.

  I finally reached the top of the ladder, bumping the crown of my head on the platform. There was a trapdoor just above the ladder. I pushed it open and pulled myself through, slamming the trapdoor behind me.

  The space was small. Frighteningly small.

  The platform was perhaps five feet by five feet, which meant that even with my less-than-impressive height I would not be able to stretch out. There were four beams holding up a little roof, but no walls.

  I pressed my back against the tree, feeling dangerously exposed. I’d never been afraid of heights before—how could I be, having spent so much of my life in the air? But my wings were bound and the ground below was much farther away than I liked.

  I discovered I was not immune to vertigo.

  My leg had healed completely, and my stomach was full. Sleep was what I needed now, but the idea of sleeping on this platform was terrifying. What if I rolled off the side in my sleep? The best-case scenario would be that I’d land on the roof of the tree house below, which would break my fall.

  Or, quite probably, my neck.

  The sounds of frantic activity below had ceased, and there was no noise from the forest. Even the birds and insects had gone quiet. The air was heavy, hushed with waiting. I folded my hands over my belly. My eyes drifted closed.

  I heard Gabriel’s voice in my head saying, “Things are not as they seem.”

  “Where are you?” I called, groping in the shadows. “I don’t want to be alone.”

  “You are not alone,” another voice said.

  A figure rose out of the darkness, sheathed in flame, its eyes two pools of exploding stars. “You will never be alone again.”

  The figure reached for me, hands drenched in fire. I was drawn to the flame, even as I shrank from it in terror. There was a keening cry, something metallic and alien, and my eyes opened.
/>   My clothes were soaked with sweat, and my face felt as though it had been singed by flame. My son beat a rapid tattoo in my belly. It was full dark.

  The moon had risen over the trees and shafts of white light filtered through the branches. I was surprised that I had gone to sleep. I thought my fear of falling was greater than my exhaustion.

  The alien cry echoed through the forest again. I realized it had not been part of my dream as I’d thought but had woken me from sleep. The sound was vaguely familiar. It fluttered at the corner of my brain, just out of reach. I knew what made that sound. I just couldn’t remember.

  A flock of birds suddenly rose into the air from their roost nearby, several of them flying straight at me in their panic. I flattened myself on my belly against the platform, not wanting my eyes to be pecked out by some crazed bird. The crown of my head stuck out over the edge.

  My own wings were cramping from being tied together for so long. I pressed uncomfortably into the wood, waiting for the birds to pass by, burning with jealousy at their freedom. My personality is really not well suited to being a prisoner.

  After a while the flapping and the chirping stopped. I eased forward an inch or so until I could peek over the edge. Far below, I could see the shadows moving, the silent warriors returning.

  A glad cry was raised, and torches were lit in greeting. It was difficult to tell from that distance, but several of the faeries seem to be covered in blood. None of them seemed to be seriously wounded, and no one was carrying the dead home. Either they had left the corpses behind or the attack had just been a skirmish.

  I wondered what had panicked the birds, though. The faerie seemed to slip through the woods unobtrusively. There must be another predator out there. I stared hard into the foliage, but couldn’t see anything. The forest kept its secrets.

  Now that I was awake, I was hungry again. And thirsty. No one was going to send room service to me in the middle of the night, so I was just going to have to deal with the discomfort. I pushed up to a kneeling position and carefully eased back against the tree.

  My mind buzzed with questions. What had happened in this place between Lucifer and these fae? Why was the world closed to others but I had been able to arrive? How far was I from my own home? And most important—had Nathaniel known where he was sending me, and if he did, why here? If he didn’t, then how did I end up in another dimension where Lucifer was not only known, but despised? Was it nothing but bad luck, or was I a magnet for Lucifer’s enemies? Did my blood draw me to them, ensuring that I would never have any peace?