She sat up very slowly, stiffening when the big bogan nearby turned quickly around, nostrils flaring. Jacky thought her heart would stop as he stared hungrily at her. She lifted a hand to her face and wiped away the drying, sticky saliva that was there. Her stomach did a flip as she frantically wiped the slime off her hands. The bogan grinned.
"Try and run," he said, "and I'll take off one of your legs, the Big Man be damned!"
"I … I …," Jacky began, but she couldn't get anything out except for that one syllable, and it sounded like the kind of squeak a mouse made.
"Bet you taste good," the bogan muttered as he turned away from her. "Hot damn!"
Her sitting up had brought a circle of the other creatures around them which quickly dispersed when the bogan guarding her snarled at them.
She had to wait, Jacky told herself. Wait for the right moment. They'd left her with her sneakers and the hob magics stitched into them. If she could just get a little bit of a head start, they'd never be able to catch her, would they? But the waiting was hard. Time dragged the way it always did when she was waiting for something. And then there was the bogan sitting so close to her, its body odour traversing the distance between them in sickly waves. And the other creatures snuffling about: the hag and the little feral twig creatures, the trollish thing with the clattering shells, and the other bogans. Not to mention the knowledge that one of the Big Men was on his way.
To try to keep her mind away from all of that, she studied her surroundings. This was the Civic Centre, she realized. An indoor rink that was also used for concerts. She'd gone to a zillion rock shows here. Was this the Ottawa home of the Host? Were they into rock and roll? When she looked at the creatures around her, she didn't think they'd be out of place in a heavy metal band's video.
An image popped into her mind of the bogans tying her to a spit while an announcer's voice spoke overtop, "And now, new from the Unseelie Court, here's Eating Out With Jacky." And there was the hag singing lead, with bogans on guitars and that big thing with the shells on drums, looking like some psychotic's version of a Muppet.
She shuddered and knew that she couldn't wait for the right moment. She had to make it for herself. If she stayed here much longer she was just going to wither away. It was bad enough that she kept feeling faint. If she kept that up, the next time she woke up it might well be in a stew.
She got ready to get up and run for it and damn the torpedoes. It was time for GoJackyGoJackyGoJackyGo. But then there came a commotion at the far end of the arena and all her resolve drained away in a rush. This was it. The Big Man was here for his dinner. Except it wasn't the giant. It was more bogans and they were dragging in a new captive.
Oh God, they've got Kate, she thought, then knew a moment's relief when she saw that the short brown curls on the Host's new victim belonged to a man. At least she thought it was a man. She squinted, trying to get a better look, realizing at the same time that she was passing up her best chance of GettingOutOfHere. The new captive seemed to be wearing some kind of feathered boa. Then wonder snared her completely and she couldn't move.
It was a man all right, only he didn't have a man's arms. In place of them he had two big black wings. They didn't give him the majesty of any angel, as she might have thought if someone had described a winged man to her. Instead the wings hung awkwardly from his shoulders, the feathers drooping. A kind of rough brown tunic covered his torso.
As his captors dragged him closer and the creatures already present began to howl, one of those old fairy tales she'd been trying to remember came back to her. It was the one about the seven brothers who were turned into swans. At the end of the story, after their sister had woven nettle shirts for each of them, they all turned back into men. All except the youngest. He was left with a swan's wing because his sister hadn't had time to finish one sleeve of his shirt.
This swan man was like that, she thought. Except his sister hadn't finished off either one of his sleeves. Then she had no more time to think, for the noise of the creatures became deafening as they howled and those howls rebounded from the lofty ceilings.
"Royal blood!"
"HotdamnhotdamnHOTDAMN!"
"Oh, give usss, give USSSSS!"
The bogan guarding Jacky lunged to his feet. He caught hold of one of Jacky's arms and hauled her up, dragging her with him as he went to meet the newcomers. With his free fist he batted away at the shuffling creatures that were trying to get at the swan man.
"Back off, shitheads!" he roared. "BACK OFF!"
When he reached the newcomers, he threw Jacky at the swan man and turned to beat off the snarling, howling crowd of creatures. Jacky fell hard to her knees, feeling the painful jar of the concrete floor all the way up to her jaw at the impact. Her face struck the swan man's arm – wing? – and she choked on the feathers. A bogan hand grabbed the short spikes of her hair and pulled her head roughly back.
"Hey, Skraker!" the new bogan leader said. "This thing of yours is trying to eat our boy!"
Jacky's captor turned with an evil grin. "I'll eat you, arsebreath, if you don't give me a hand with these shitheads."
Jacky and the new captive were unceremoniously hauled off to one side where the bogan remained on guard, while the rest waded into the excited creatures that were trying to get past Skraker. There was more of the Host here now, Jacky realized. A lot more. Their numbers seemed to have tripled. The fact of her doom pressed down on her like a heavy weight once more and she leaned against the wall, fighting back tears. The noise in the arena made it impossible to think. The squabbling creatures, each more horrible than the next, just brought home her helplessness.
It was a good ten minutes before some semblance of order returned. Skraker came back to stand guard over Jacky, talking with the leader of the new patrol of bogans. They both kept an eye on the ever-growing crowd of the Unseelie Court.
"The Big Man better get here soon," Skraker said," or I'm throwing both of them out to that crew, minus a leg or two."
"Hot damn!" the other bogan said. His own patrol was now lost in the crowd out on the floor. "A taste of Royal blood – now wouldn't that be something."
Skraker shook his head. "The Big Men don't eat those. Keep 'em for trade. But I'd eat 'em, sure would. You know, Gooter, sometimes I just …"
The two bogans drifted mercifully out of Jacky's earshot. She closed her eyes, but that brought no relief. Something touched her shoulder, light as a feather … She blinked her eyes open wide to see that it was a feather, or at least the tip of a wing. She almost laughed at the weirdness of it all. But she knew that if she laughed, that'd be it. GameOver and That'sAllFolks. Because she'd never stop.
"You're a mortal," the swan man said.
Jacky pinched herself again, waiting for the pain to bring her down to earth. At this rate, between the Host and herself, she wouldn't have an unbruised spot on her body. She managed to nod and then cleared her throat.
"You … you're not?"
He shook his head. "I'm Eilian Dunlogan." The look on his face said, Don't you know me? Then a half-smile, self-mocking and bitter, touched his lips, adding, And why should you? "I'm the Laird of Dunlogan's son," he said aloud.
Jacky nodded wisely, still in the dark, though there was something familiar about the name. "I'm Jacky Rowan," she said. "What did they do to your arms?"
"Do? They did nothing. All the Lairdsblood can wear the shape of a swan or a seal. They've just used one of their damned spells to bind me between shapes. They're not stupid, though you wouldn't think it, to look at some."
"But can't you just … just fly away?"
Eilian shook his head. "These wings could never support a man's body. You see, with my wings, I can't get the nettle tunic off, and with the tunic on, I can't complete my change. It's a very clever trap, especially for such as these."
Jacky bit at her lip. This seemed a little too simple. Couldn't she just pull the tunic off? She started to move forward to do just that, when Skraker strode up behind her an
d cuffed her across the back of the head. She sprawled across Eilian, knocking the breath out of him.
"Don't you be getting no ideas, little smellsogood, or I swear I'll leave you less one arm, hot damn!"
Two black wings encircled her, trying to give what comfort they could. It was little enough, but it was something.
"And you too, you Royal shithead," Skraker warned. "I've got eyes in the back of my head and in the sides and up my arse. You can't chew snot without me seeing you – got that? The Boss'll be here soon and you can take up any complaints with him. He might spike your new little friend there, but you'll be safe enough. Until we get to the Keep. And then, oh hot damn, you better start worrying about then, for what's Dunlogan got that's worth trading you for? Royal soup's the better bargain, I'm thinking."
He strode back to Gooter, chuckling. Slowly Jacky sat up. She turned in her winged embrace to look at Eilian, trying hard not to cry or let her fear show. Surprisingly, it was getting easier. She wondered if she was just getting used to her predicament – they said people could adjust to anything – or if it was because she wasn't alone anymore. She wouldn't wish this on anyone, but she couldn't help feeling better for having company. And even if Eilian did have wings, he was still worth looking at. He was handsome in a rugged sort of way, which was odd because his bones seemed very delicate. It was the warmth of his eyes, she decided, that helped most. That, and the laugh lines around his mouth.
"It … it was really bad being here by myself," she said.
Eilian nodded understandingly. "I'm glad to have met with you, Jacky Rowan, even in circumstances such as these." The wing tightened around her shoulders.
Jacky blushed. God, I'm such a mess, she thought. But then, Eilian was just as disheveled as she was.
"How did they catch you?" she asked.
Eilian sighed. "They put up a sign that said, 'Fools wanted,' so naturally I ran over to see if they could use me." He grinned at her smile, then sighed again. "No, it wasn't as bad as that, though not by much. How much do you know of Faerie?"
"Not a whole lot."
"But you know of the two Courts? How the Seelie Court grows weaker year by year, while these creatures grow ever more bold and strong?"
Jacky nodded. "Bhruic told me about that."
"Bhruic? Bhruic Dearg, the Gruagagh?" Eilian regarded her sharply, then shook his head. "Laird love a duck, I am a fool. Why, you're the reason I came south from my father's Court."
"Me? But you don't know anything about me."
"The whole of Faerie's a-buzz with word of you, Jacky. And by your name, I should have guessed who you were. You're the hope of Kinrowan, aren't you? The one who means to storm the Giants' Keep?"
Hysterical laughter started to bubble up in Jacky and it was only with a great effort that she kept it down. "Look at me," she said. "Do I look like I could storm anything?"
His warm eyes regarded her for a long moment, and then he said, "I think so, yes."
Jacky could feel another blush coming on, so she looked away and cleared her throat. "Does … ah, the Host have a weakness?"
"For flesh, mostly."
"No. I mean, something that can hurt them."
"Cold iron's best – sword or axe or knife – though it wouldn't do one much good with this lot. Faerie that dwell in the city have become acclimatized to the sting of iron over the years, though they give up something in exchange for that immunity. Their lifespans are shortened and they're no longer as hardy."
"Isn't there anything else?"
"Well, there's the wood, berries and leaves of the rowan – like your name – and the red thread stitcheries of a skillyman hob. Salt, too. Running water slows them; they can't cross it easily. And if they're chasing you, turn your coat inside out and you'll lose them for a time."
"Oh." It was starting to come back to her. "What about using the name of God?"
"That, I'm afraid," Eilian said, "is a story passed around by your church and not based on truth." Jacky looked disappointed even though she wasn't an avid churchgoer. "Faerie," he went on, "are more like mortals now than we'd like."
As they talked, Jacky had been keeping an eye on the various creatures of the Unseelie Court, particularly on the two bogans, Skraker and Gooter.
"I've got magic sneakers," she whispered when she was sure neither was paying attention.
"What?"
"My shoes – a hob made them magic."
"Ah." Eilian said with a nod. "Swiftness stitcheries."
"If I can get a bit of a head start, I'll bet I could outrun them."
And then, she thought, I'll just take off my shirt in the middle of Bank Street and turn it inside out so that the Host can't find me. No problem.
"And you want me to create a diversion for you?"
Jacky shook her head. She was still watching the two bogan leaders. They were beginning to get into an argument.
"How tight is that nettle shirt?" she asked.
Understanding gleamed in Eilian's eyes. "Too tight for wings to loosen, but not so bad for you."
Jacky bit at her lip, gauging the distance between the bogans and themselves. The argument between the bogan leaders was intensifying. She chose a moment when Skraker roared something at Gooter and then gave the other bogan a shove that sent him sprawling.
"Let's do it," she said.
Quickly she turned and grabbed hold of his shirt. The nettles stung and pricked her fingers, but she ignored that. She jumped to her feet and hauled the shirt free. Black feathers sprayed around her as though she and Eilian had just had a pillow fight.
"Go!" she cried.
Before her eyes, the son of Dunlogan's Laird became a black swan. Big wings, no longer useless, beat at the air, lifting him from the ground. Howls broke out all around the hall, but neither Eilian nor Jacky stayed to look. He rose high into the air out of their range, while Jacky pulled herself over the balustrade that separated the rink from the spectators' tiered seats and took off at a run.
Feets don't fail me now, she thought.
The swan flying above her made encouraging noises. Her sneakers slapped the concrete floor. She was really moving, she thought. And thank Finn for that. Behind her and following on the main floor of the arena was the horde of the Unseelie Court's creatures, their growls and snarls raised in a cacophony. But she was GettingOutOfHere and adrenaline was pumping through her. She had magic shoes and no one was going to catch her.
She was almost to the closest doorway and well ahead of their pursuers. She started to pluck at the buttons of her shirt, feeling stupid, but willing to give anything a try if it would help. Eilian cried down at her. She didn't look up, just kept running.
GoJackyGoJackyGoJackyGo!
The door was near, and she was through it. There were stairs coming up. Don't trip, she warned herself. Behind her, the Host was gaining on her. She tried to slow down as she neared the top of the stairs, didn't think she'd make it, then saw why Eilian had been calling to her. One of the Big Men was coming up the stairwell.
He wasn't as big as Gyre the Younger, but he still stood fourteen feet tall, with legs and arms like small tree trunks and a big barrel of a torso. The hair on his head was a grizzle of grey brown, his beard hung halfway down his chest. He looked up, grinning a big gap-toothed grin.
The thing with the shells back in the arena must be his little brother, Jacky thought, looking at that creepy grin. She didn't have time to think anything else. Didn't have to plan. Didn't even know she'd do what she did until she was already doing it.
As she reached the top of the stairs, she launched herself right at the giant. He tried to bat her out of the air, but she was moving too fast. She hit him hard, toppled him, then rode him down the stairs, holding on to his beard for purchase. They hit the bottom of the stairs with a jarring crash. There was a sound like something splintering, but it was a wet, splintering sound, then Jacky lost her grip and went rolling, skidding to an abrupt stop against a wall.
For a long moment she
lay there, half-stunned. She looked back, seeing the Unseelie Court swarming at the top of the stairs. Right at the bottom, the giant lay with his head cracked open, blood and greyish brain matter splattered all around his head.
All she could do was stare, her stomach doing flip-flops. Then Eilian dove down at her, startling her with a sharp call and a brush of a black feathered wing. Right, she thought. She was GettingOutOfHere. She was GoJackyGoing.
She got to her feet and started to run again, hardly realizing that the only thing that had saved her during her moment of disorientation back there was that the Unseelie Court had been just as shocked as she was by the death of one of the Big Men.
A giant, Jacky thought as she ran. Holy shit! I killed a giant!
There were doors up ahead. She reached them, coming to a stop by running into them. Hauling one open for Eilian to fly through, she slipped out after him and was stunned by the fact that it was night outside. Night! God, she'd been in there with the bogans for hours.
She undid the last button of her shirt and was tugging it off so that she could turn it inside out – and wouldn't that just add to her stylishness – when something landed on her back. She screamed, arms trapped by her shirt. Hot breath touched her neck. Tiny twig-like fingers plucked at her hair and skin. Then Eilian dove from the sky and knocked the little creature off with a swipe of his wings. Jacky took a few stumbling steps away and saw that the one twig-creature wasn't alone. There was a great deal of rustling movement in the shadows behind its fallen form.
Hardly daring to breathe, she finished taking off her shirt, backing up all the time. Eilian kept dive-bombing the creatures, keeping them from her as she turned the shirt inside out, put it back on, started to button it. She was mostly down the steps outside the Civic Centre now.
"Eilian!" she cried.
Things scurried by her, but they didn't see her. Jeez, it works, she thought. But then she realized that it probably worked on Eilian, as well. She tried to spot him, but the sky was too dark.
Jack of Kinrowan: Jack the Giant-Killer / Drink Down the Moon Page 10