Pil got to his feet, panting, covered in dirt and sweat. He looked hurriedly around. Dirk was losing ground quickly in the face of Basil’s furious attacks; only Sandy’s well-placed arrows stood in her way of finishing it.
It was all Dirk could do to lift his golden hammer in defense — and even as Pil watched, Dirk missed a step. He stumbled to the ground.
“Dirk!” Pil yelled, rushing in to help his friend.
He got there just in time, clearing Basil’s leering form with a rough swipe of his sword. Sandy drove her farther back with an incredibly quick burst of arrows.
“You all right?” Pil asked, helping him up.
“Yeah — Thanks,” Dirk mumbled hoarsely as he found his feet.
“Listen, you stay back — look for the opening,” said Pil, quickly turning around.
He did not like the way Basil was looking at Sandy; they couldn’t let her gain an inch of ground, or the others would be in danger.
Pil rushed in, hoping to take advantage of her distraction. She was too quick. In an instant she pushed aside his blade and spun around, cutting deep into his chest with her nails. He stumbled slightly and made to recover, but her leg came up to slam into his side. It was astonishing how hard the Fairy’s limbs were. It didn’t feel like flesh, but a rod of solid stone that knocked him sideways, and made his sight go momentarily black.
If his stance had been sturdier, that blow might have broken ribs. Pil stumbled to his feet, but Basil had rushed her advantage and was fiercely closing in. Suddenly an arrow whizzed by her face, leaving a thin trail of blood on her cheek. She screamed high in retribution — but was cut off by a harsh swipe of Dirk’s hammer.
Had she not been so quick, that would have been the end of it; but Basil managed to spin the blow aside and leap high up into the air, floating high on the wind like a leaf stuck in time.
“HOW DARE YOU!” she screeched, her voice terrible and high. “How — dare you — you weak little Elfin — hiding in holes and thinking yourselves powerful,” she said harshly.
Floating in the wind with the sun behind her, she had the appearance of some powerful goddess, awakened in all her wrath. And, for a moment, Pil was afraid.
“I will show you true power,” she said as she floated gracefully to the ground.
No… Pil thought furiously, no — he had seen fear — he had seen it — seen the eyes of death. She was only one Fairy, only one alone against three, and Pil would not let his friends die. He could not.
“Is this how all Fairy women fight?” Pil asked, suddenly drawing her narrowed eyes. “Why not let the men have a go — or at least get a few more of you…”
The look Basil gave him then was withering. Cold fury stole over her and seemingly froze her in place. And then she pounced, without warning, quicker than he could ever have imagined — so quick that, for the smallest moment Pil stood frozen in shock.
She was on him before he could react. Pil was shocked suddenly into action, dodging her vicious attack and stumbling off to the side. She spun back on him in a tirade of fury, but Pil was ready for her this time.
It was all over in an instant. Pil spun Glass around in his hand and, ducking her outstretched claw, thrust the hilt fiercely into her stomach. She gave a gasp as the air left her body, but Pil wasn’t done; gripping her arm and using his body as leverage he flipped her high into the air and threw her. She was light as a feather, and she hit the forest floor hard. She broke upon it with a disconcerting crack.
Pil stood, breathing hard, over her limp body, the point of his sword resting on Basil’s throat.
“Do it,” came a brutal snarl from behind him.
Pil spun. It was Damian, his expression unreadable, his eyes fixed on Basil.
“Do it — end this… and I’ll take care of Sage…” he said it in a toneless whisper, his eyes turning to Sage by his feet.
“No,” said Pil without thinking. “I — we don’t have to anymore — we can… we can —”
“We can what?” Damian said, his eyes hard. “Tie them up? Leave them to die, or to escape to kill us later?”
His expression was wild, but he took a deep calming breath and went on quieter. “They deserve it. Trust me, they deserve death. They have — they would have killed us all… would have done terrible things… might still do terrible things…”
Pil couldn’t help it, he felt himself sway to Damian’s words. More than that, he swayed to the emotion behind those words. He turned to Basil, lying unconscious on the ground; she seemed beautiful and strange in sleep. He had never killed anything besides the Wretch, and that certainly had not been the same.
“But she’s a person,” he found himself saying.
“No … she’s much worse than that.”
Pil turned, dazed, to Felicity; she was staring at him, eyes wide.
“It — it’s what they would do,” she said quietly. “I mean, they might still… It’s up to you, Pil — I wouldn’t think any less of you.”
Pil was lost in a sea of thoughts.
“No,” he whispered again, although he wasn’t quite sure to whom. “I mean, we ought to bring her back — back to Westleton to be questioned — they deserve a chance — no one deserves to die like that…”
Pil found himself thinking of his mother, of what she would have done.
“Pil,” Damian argued frantically, “they deserve death, trust me.” His face was hard with emotion.
“I don’t care,” said Pil turning away. “Who am I to decide whether they live or die?”
“Fine,” said Damian roughly. “I’ll do it, then.”
Pil, shocked, turned to see Damian walking over to Sage’s unconscious body; the knife he had used to free Pil was back in his hands.
“Damian — wait!” Pil shouted. But it was already too late; he was bending over her, a desperate look on his face.
And then in an instant Sage had grabbed Damian around the middle with her legs, and spun, flipping him hard onto his back. She perched herself on top of him blood in her eyes.
“NO!” Pil shouted desperately.
But he was too far. He could feel what was about to happen next. And, without thinking, he flung his sword at her. He wanted only to disarm her, but as Pil watched it flip — as if in slow motion — he knew suddenly what would happen.
The blade sank into her neck with a sickening thud, throwing her off Damian in a rush and back onto the ground, unmoving once more.
“No,” Pil breathed quietly, huffing with effort.
He hadn’t meant it; he wanted to take it back. He could think only of how she had looked to him when he had been under her spell.
Terrible, but beautiful.
“No,” he said again, more firmly. But Sage did not get up.
A terrible scream rent the air; it was like the crying of a child, raw and filled with emotion. At first, Pil thought the sound was coming from his own mind, but then a fury crept into it so intense it shook him where he stood.
Basil was awake. Her eyes were peeled wide, red like blood. She looked like she had just been stabbed with a hot knife — her eyes then shifted to Pil’s, and there was a loathing so deep he was lost in it.
“Pil, move!” shouted Felicity, not a moment too soon.
Basil had careened upwards with a snarl and snapped viciously at Pil with her sharpened teeth. Pil fell hastily aside, her bite only narrowly missing his jugular.
“You wretched — how dare you!” cried Basil, enraged as she turned sharply on him. “My sister —” She swung recklessly for Pil’s throat.
“I didn’t —” cried Pil, backing away as if her words were cutting him. But he had. He had killed her, and as she swung furiously again, he only reflexively dodged it. He wanted her to hurt him as if the pain might clean his hands of the blood.
“Pil!” shrieked Felicity. And she materialized at his side, her golden knife in her hands.
Basil’s head snapped to Felicity, her eyes wild, and with a strangled growl she savagely caugh
t her. Felicity gave a gasp of surprise as she was lifted wholly from the ground by the throat and thrown harshly to the side.
“Fel!” Pil cried, ignoring Basil and running to her.
Thankfully the knife she was holding had not stabbed her; it lay on the grass next to her hand. Pil snatched it up and turned wildly around.
“I’LL MAKE YOU WATCH —” Basil snarled as she kicked out at his head. Pil dodged but fell clumsily back across Felicity’s body. “I’LL — MAKE — YOU — WATCH — AS I KILL HER —” Basil continued shrilly; each word punctuated with a strike.
Pil raised his arms and felt the lead-like blows land with a staggering force. He was thrown to the side, the wind knocked out from him. Pil watched as Basil charged in, bearing down on Felicity.
“NO!” His heart fell like a rock into his stomach; and then his surroundings blurred in a haze of red. In an instant, he found himself nose to nose with Basil. Her eyes widened in shock. Pil’s body had moved without his consent, his mind catching up only a second later.
Basil had stopped short. She coughed, her eyes wide and locked on his, and a mess of blood came pouring down her front.
Pil looked down in horror, his hand was covered in her blood; the knife he had forgotten he was holding protruded abnormally from Basil’s midriff.
She fell in a heap.
Pil’s mind fell with her. Images poured themselves forward unbidden: Sage and Basil looking sharp and beautiful, like living statues; Sage, with his sword careening out of her throat; the massacre at the camp, and the stench of death that mingled sickeningly with the broken bodies of his comrades; Peri Persins, his face drawn in grief, kneeling next to a young Pil attempting to explain to him that his mother was dead, that she would not be coming home …
“Pil …” Felicity’s whisper of a voice broke him slightly from his reverie. “Pil, it’s okay, she — you had to…” he could feel her standing behind him, feel her hand placed gently on his shoulder, but it felt very far away.
“I —” Pil started. His voice was hoarse as if he had not used it in days. He found himself standing stock-still, staring down at Basil’s body.
“Pil…”
Pil looked up; it was Dirk. He was standing, breathing heavily, next to Basil’s body; his eyes were soft with worry. Pil took him in and realized in a rush of fear that Dirk had been about to swipe Basil away. Basil had not needed to be killed … Dirk would have beaten her off, would have saved Felicity. But Pil hadn’t seen him standing there — had he?
Pil fell to his knees beside Basil’s body. Blood was still flooding from her front, but her eyes stared upwards, unseeing. The gold crystal necklace caught his eye; it was stained with her blood now. Pil lifted it gently from her chest and unclasped it.
“Pil, it’s — we should get going…” said Dirk awkwardly, glancing nervously around the glade. Dirk went on more softly, “we – we’ve made a lot of noise…” he was not looking at him. Pil did not blame him; what must he look like?
“Guys!” came a terrified cry.
Pil turned to it, glad of the distraction. Sandy was pointing off into the forest a look of pure terror on his face.
“Somethings coming!” he whimpered.
17
Brixton
Immediately, as though he were waiting for it, Pil leapt into action, running flat out to Sage’s body. Without thinking, he pulled out his sword, shoving deep down an overwhelming surge of self-revulsion.
Pil shoved the bloody necklace back inside his tunic. He would have to deal with that later; right now Sandy was running for his life, and something big was shaking the trees behind him. Damian had retrieved his knife and looked wildly over at Pil.
“Grab Brixton and them, and head into the forest!” Pil shouted to him and the others.
Instantly Dirk, Felicity, and Damian pelted off, running towards the three limp figures still tied to the tree. But Pil stayed where he was. Sandy was still far off, and the forest at the edge of the clearing was now rustling with an increasing intensity.
“Sandy, run!” Pil yelled unnecessarily. Sandy was already running frantically away from the looming noise. Pil ran forward; he would make sure he was the last one to escape. After all, it was his fault they were there. His fault they were in danger again.
Pil reached Sandy right as something enormous and pink erupted into the clearing. Pil only caught a glimpse of the figure as large as a tree before he turned. He grabbed Sandy’s arm and spun on his heel, pulling him unceremoniously after him into the wood. They ran until the noises behind them died into a gentle hum and then they stopped, looking around.
“Where are the others?” panted Sandy.
Pil shook his head. “They went this way.”
“Pil!”
Pil turned. Felicity was running towards them followed closely by Damian and Dirk. “Thank goodness!” she cried as she stopped short. “I thought we’d have to look for you all over again!”
Pil smiled. “Not this time.”
“What was it?” Damian asked, glancing nervously back.
Pil shrugged. “Just your average Afterdark in Lungala I expect.” He looked cautiously around. “Where’d you put Brixton and them?”
“Left them up against a tree few paces that way,” said Dirk, pointing. “Honestly should have just left them to the forest, the bleeding traitors.”
Sandy nodded fiercely. Pil ignored them and looked around.
The forest looked exactly the same at any given point — a maze of dense green trees and shrubbery alike, seemingly endless.
“I’m sorry, Pil. I have no idea where we are —” said Felicity nervously.
“It’s not your fault,” said Pil sadly. “It’s mine… anyway, I — I think I need a bit of a breather…” Everything that had happened came soaring back to him, perching heavily on his shoulders. He wanted to run, wanted to be alone… “I’m going for a walk,” he said, trying to keep his voice light.
“What? Pil, no — we’ve got to stick together —” Felicity started, but Dirk waved her quiet.
“We’ll wait here.”
“Dirk, I — ”
“It’s all right, Fel,” said Sandy. “We can manage.” He was looking at Pil out of the corner of his eye. Pil suddenly felt like they were all looking at him, treating him like someone ill. Maybe he was ill…
“I — yeah,” said Pil. He turned his eyes downcast and wandered quickly away from them. He suddenly wanted to run away, wanted to run and never come back. The second he was out of their sight, he left all pretense of normality behind and collapsed on the forest floor. It felt good to be alone. He wished he didn’t have to go back.
The weight of responsibility was crushing him until he felt like he had become somehow even smaller. But they still looked up to him, still wanted him to lead. He missed when Felicity and Dirk had just looked at him as a friend, an ally in a harsh world. When had that all changed? Felicity would make a better leader. She was smart; she could get them home.
Thoughts were swirling around his head, thoughts of home, of Westleton, and a normal life. He felt numb — What had he done? He had killed for no reason… in the span of a few days in Lungala he had become a monster…
Maybe he was justified. They had tried to kill him, after all, hadn’t they? Was he right, then, to kill them both in cold blood?
Pil found himself thinking of the King. The current King, King Havok, had never sentenced anyone to death, but other Kings had, and for less reason. But who was he to take a life? He was no King, just a young Elfin boy.
Pil had thought of killing, even dreamt of it. But it had always been a terrible monster, a helpless victim in danger, perhaps Dirk’s father, who had gone a step too far. But that was a fantasy. He had never thought he would actually kill a person — not two women. No, he had never had dreams that dark.
“Pil…”
Pil looked around; it was Felicity. She had a worried and timid look — like she was approaching a frightened animal. Pil sat b
ack and looked away from her concern.
“Pil, are you all right?”
“I don’t know, Fel,” said Pil quietly. “I don’t know…”
Felicity sighed and sat down next to him.
“I like your hair,” she said with a timid smile.
Pil ran his hand through his hair, slicking it back the way Harlem had his. He didn’t feel like Harlem, though. He didn’t feel strong or sure — he felt like a child who knew nothing of how to deal with the harshness of the world.
“I know it’s not — well, things aren’t going the way we thought they might —”
“Felicity,” said Pil quite calmly. “I killed two women today.” He said it with finality and immediately felt the dark void within him deepen.
“Pil,” said Felicity with concern. “It wasn’t like that — they were trying to kill us!”
"I know, I know," said Pil as his head fell in-between his hands, the shaven sides deepening the detached feeling that had taken over him. As though his body was not his own.
“Look.”
“I wonder,” came a voice from behind them both, “if I could have a word with Pil?” asked Damian as he emerged from the bushes behind them.
Felicity turned on him hotly but Pil cut her off.
“It’s fine, Fel. Go and check up on the others, all right?”
She looked at him with worry etched on her face. Pil turned away from her and listened as she got quietly up and shuffled out of the clearing. Damian took her spot with a sigh.
“You know,” said Damian quietly, his face impassive, “when Basil and Sage bought me off my old master, they made me kill the boy who was their servant before me.”
Pil’s heart stopped beating.
“That’s — that’s horrible.”
Damian nodded slowly. “Yes it was, but I didn’t feel anything as I did it — do you know why?”
Pil looked away from him. “No…”
After the Dark Page 17