The Child Thief

  “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” Ulfger cried, his eyes full of outrage. “Get out of there! OUT! OUT!”

  Several of the children had run away, but most stood stock-still, mouths open, staring in stunned disbelief.

  Ulfger yanked one of the wooden play swords away from a boy, pointed it at Peter. “Come here,” he demanded.

  Peter had no intention of coming anywhere near Ulfger and made a run for it. Ulfger leaped after him, snatching hold of Peter’s wolf skin. Peter twisted away, leaving the pelt dangling in Ulfger’s fist. Peter made it only three strides before finding his way blocked by the courtyard wall. Ulfger pressed in and Peter realized he was trapped.

  Ulfger’s eyes flared. “Do you have any idea what you have done? Those globes are over a thousand years old!”

  Peter flinched. “I didn’t mean to.”

  Ulfger bared his teeth. “Discipline. There is no discipline. It is time Avalon wakes up. And it starts now, right here.” He jabbed the wooden sword at Peter. “You will be flogged. And you will learn to obey. You will—” Ulfger stopped. His eyes narrowed. He pointed the sword at the necklace around Peter’s neck. “How did you come by that?”

  “Huh?” Peter glanced down at the star.

  “How did you come by that?”

  “The Lady gave it to me.”

  “She gave you Mabon’s star? Why?” he said, then, in a harsh whisper, “Has she truly lost her mind?” A kind of madness entered Ulfger’s eyes. He slowly shook his head from side to side. “No, she would never do such a thing. You’re a liar. A LIAR!” he shouted. “A liar and a thief. Give it to me, NOW!”

  Peter clutched the star in his hand and shook his head.

  “You will do as you are ordered!” Ulfger reached for the necklace.

  “NO!” Peter cried, and grabbed Ulfger’s wrist, catching the shocked looks on the other children’s faces when he did.

  Ulfger’s dark eyes flashed, his lips trembled, his nose creasing into a sneer. “You dare,” he hissed. “Dare lay your nasty hands on me?” He jerked his arm away then slapped Peter, hit him so hard that Peter reeled and stumbled to the ground.

  Peter started to get up, then Ulfger’s knee stabbed into his back, knocking the wind from him, the weight of the large boy pinning him into the ground. Ulfger grabbed a handful of Peter’s hair and shoved his face into the dirt.

  “You will learn your place!” Ulfger cried and Peter felt a sharp sting across the back of his legs. Again and again hot pain bit into the back of his thighs and buttocks as Ulfger beat him with the wooden sword, the sound echoing off the courtyard wall.

  The children stared, horror-stricken.

  Peter screamed and Ulfger pressed his face harder into the ground. Peter choked on the dirt and grass.

  “ULFGER!” someone cried. “What are you doing?” It was the old elf. “Lord Ulfger, he is the Lady’s guest!”

  Ulfger pointed the play sword at Drael. “Have you forgotten your place, old man? Has everyone forgotten their damn place today?” Ulfger struck Peter another vicious blow.

  The old elf rushed forward and grabbed the sword.

  Ulfger stood up, jerking the sword out of the elf’s grasp. “Are you mad?” Ulfger’s eyes flared. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” He struck the elf in the face with the butt of the sword. The elf stumbled back, clutching his nose, and sat down hard.

  Peter glared at Ulfger. Goll had taught him there was only one way to deal with a wolf. A low animal growl came from deep in Peter’s throat, and the children backed away.

  Ulfger prepared to strike the elf again when Peter howled and charged. He leaped upon the bigger boy’s back, screeching and shrieking as he dug his claws into Ulfger’s face. Ulfger tore at Peter’s arms and spun around, trying to dislodge the wild boy. Peter bit into Ulfger’s ear and Ulfger screamed as blood spurted down his neck.

  Peter snarled and shook his head back and forth until he tore Ulfger’s ear free.

  Ulfger slung Peter from him. Peter hit the ground and came up in a roll, his eyes wild, blood smeared across his face, his fingers twisted into claws, ready for more.

  “WHAT IS GOING ON!” The Lady stood at the courtyard entrance, Tanngnost and Hiisi by her side. Several of the dinner guests came up behind them, all of them staring in wide-eyed bewilderment at the two boys: Ulfger with his hand clasped to the side of his head, blood pouring through his finger, and Peter in his loincloth with Ulfger’s ear still clamped in his mouth, blood running down his chin and chest.

  Peter spat the ear onto the ground.

  Ulfger stared at the ear, at his ear. “Guards,” he called weakly, then, at the top of his lungs, screamed, “GUARDS!” He shoved past the Lady, into the hall. “GUARDS! GUARDS!”

  Hiisi helped the old elf to his feet.

  “Drael,” the Lady called, and put an arm around the elf. “Drael. You’re bleeding.”

  The elf clutched his nose, trying to stifle the blood. “My Lady, I’m not sure what happened. The boys had some sort of a spat. Ulfger was set to kill the boy—to truly kill him.”

  The Lady looked at Peter. “My poor child.” She went to him, wiping the blood from his face with her robe, then taking him into her arms. When Peter felt the warmth of her embrace, he began to cry.

  “We have to get him out of here,” Hiisi said. “Ulfger will have him killed.”

  The Lady didn’t answer, just held Peter. Hiisi gave Tanngnost a fretful look.

  “I can take him,” Tanngnost said. “But we must hurry.”

  They heard the distant call of guards.

  “Out the back way,” Hiisi said. “Through the gardens. I can delay the guards. My Lady, you have to let him go now.” Hiisi and Tanngnost gently pulled Peter from the Lady’s arms.

  The Lady shook her head. “No, I wish him here, with me. He’s mine. He belongs to me.”

  “He’ll be in good hands,” Hiisi said. “Peter, go with Tanngnost. He’s a grouchy old goat, but has a good heart.”

  The Lady clasped Peter’s hands in hers. Peter saw the tears in her eyes. She hugged him one last time and Peter inhaled deeply, determined to never forget her sweet scent. Then the troll took him away into the night.

  ALL THE COLOR of that long-ago memory evaporated, replaced with the endless gray, the mud, the rot. Peter tried to remember the sweet scent of the Lady but could not.

  He stood and headed north, toward the witch’s marsh, leaving behind Avallach’s head forever listening to the earth. As he made his way down the trail, through the burned-out remains of the great apple orchard, he dared to dream of a day when the Flesh-eaters—those twisted, murderous demons—would at last be driven from the land. Then the apple trees could come back, the hills would again be green, the forest alive with the song of wild faeries, and he’d be able to sit alongside the Lady once again.

  He decided to follow the dark waters of Cusith Creek, skirting along the western edge of the swamp; this would allow him to swing by Tanngnost’s hut. If there was any news, Tanngnost would know; the old troll never failed to be in everyone’s business. But there was more to it than that. Something Peter hardly recognized, and would certainly never admit. He’d come to rely on Tanngnost, his advice, his knowledge of history of the Avalon. He was the one fixture Peter could count on, the only stable element in his life over the long, tumultuous years in Avalon.

  He reached the lowlands and the ground became soft. The witch’s land had fared better than others so far, but even in the short time he’d been away, the deadly fingers of the scourge had crawled deep into her bogs. Peter moved stealthy, carefully darting from stump to stump. He didn’t want to meet the witch, not today.

  Peter heard approaching footfalls, someone coming fast. He slid out his knife and ducked down behind a clump of bulrushes.

  A tall, hunched figure came into view, strolling right down the trail, swinging a gnarled staff. “Tanngnost,” Peter said under his breath, and grinned. The troll bore a thunderous frown.

  Peter waited un
til the troll was almost upon him, then leaped out. “BOO!”

  Tanngnost swung his staff around, quicker than Peter had anticipated. Peter dove to the ground to avoid getting hit.

  “Peter! You…you…you impish little shit!”

  Peter laughed, laughed so hard he had to clutch his stomach.

  Tanngnost gave him a furious look, grunted, snorted, huffed, and smacked him soundly on the rump.

  “Oww!”

  “Someone needs to beat some respect in you. Despicable mongrel. And just what has taken you so long. Had me worried sick.” He glanced behind Peter as though looking for someone. His face softened. “It didn’t go well.”

  Peter sobered up. He shook his head.

  The troll let out a long, deep sigh. “Peter, I’m sorry. And I hate to add to your misery, but I’ve ill tidings of my own. It seems Avallach has deserted us this day. The Flesh-eaters are burning—”

  “Shhh,” Peter said. “Did you hear that?”

  “Peter, the Flesh-eaters—”

  “Shhh, listen.” Peter took a few quick steps down the trail, cocked his head left then right. That’d been a scream, he was sure of it.

  Tanngnost followed him.

  Again, from somewhere in the swamp. Shrieking. It sounded like a boy. Peter’s blood went cold. The only boys on the island were his Devils. He took off at a full run, leaping heedlessly across bogs, and roots, and mud—knife out, eyes wild, a deadly grimace across his face.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Men-kind

  The fog swirled around them. The howls came closer.

  Nick picked up his spear and used it to push himself to his knees, trying to breathe through his burning throat, trying his best not to fall over.

  Sekeu, Abraham, Redbone, Dirk, Dash, and Leroy formed a loose ring around Cricket’s and Danny’s limp bodies.

  Howls and moans circled them, coming from all directions. Dark shapes with orange eyes shot past. He braced the end of his spear in the dirt and aimed the point outward.

  Giggling—it sounded like little girls—came from all sides of them.

  Sekeu’s eyes were wide. And for the first time, Nick caught a flash of fear even on Redbone’s face.

  The fog thinned, and there in front of them, not twenty feet away, stood a little girl with long white hair in a flowing white gown. She smiled at them and tittered.

  “Look,” she said, “little boys and girls come out to play.”

  “How precious,” someone answered. Nick glanced behind and saw another girl.

  “Precious indeed,” called a third girl, this one on his left. The girls appeared to be identical in every detail.

  “Such nice hides. Mother will surely make us new shoes.”

  “Shoesies-poosies. I want a necklace of shiny white teeth.”

  “And earrings, don’t forget earrings. One can never have enough earrings.”

  “YOU JUST TRY!” shouted Redbone, and banged his blades together. “GONNA FUCK YOU UP!”

  “Oh my, such a tiger!”

  “Little boys shouldn’t use such language.”

  “Should rinse his mouth out with a good swig of hot piss.”

  “Most certainly,” the girls agreed. And from behind them, a line of beasts crept forward out of the fog. Nick guessed there were easily fifteen, maybe even twenty more of the hyena beasts that had attacked them earlier, what Redbone had called barghest. Nick didn’t see any more of the red ones with the poisonous tails, only the larger, dog-size ones with black, bristling manes.

  The barghest circled the kids, growling, slapping the earth, and tearing at the loose leaves. Some of the larger ones lunged at them, darting in and away, getting bolder with every charge.

  The Devils kept their guard, trying to hold the beasts at bay.

  “WHAT DO WE DO?” Leroy cried, spear clutched tightly to his chest, his eyes darting in every direction. The barghest were everywhere. “WHAT DO WE DO?”

  “Why, you die, silly,” said one of the girls and all three girls laughed.

  Two large barghest rushed Nick, knocking the spear from his hands and yanking him out of the circle. Their claws bit into his arm as they dragged him away from the group and into the fog.

  Redbone let out a war cry and came for Nick, cutting and jabbing, chasing the two creatures back. Two more rushed in from behind, one slashing at Redbone’s face. Redbone ducked the blow; when he did, the other raked its claws across his thigh, tearing a gash into his pants and flesh. Redbone yowled, struck out, but the barghest were already away.

  “STAY TOGETHER!” Sekeu shouted.

  But it was all they could do to keep the claws and teeth at bay. The barghest were slowly splitting them up.

  A long howl came from somewhere in the swamp. The sound carried over the den of clacking teeth, hoots, and growls—a fearsome howl—and Nick wondered what new horror had beset them.

  A figure burst into the ring of barghest, smashed right through them like a cannonball, little more than a blur of arms and legs as he spun and jabbed. Nick caught a flash of steel, and two beasts hit the dirt, one with its gut cut wide open, the other clutching at its neck.

  “PETER!” Sekeu shouted.

  And there he was. With no more than his long knife, driving into the beasts, all teeth and wild eyes, never in one place for more than a second as he slashed and screamed, stabbed and howled. The beasts scattered before his blazing eyes and horrifying grin.

  Peter drove in, snatched up Nick’s spear, and sent it flying at the nearest girl. The girl’s eyes flashed in outrage. She moved incredibly fast, but not fast enough. The spear hit her slightly off-mark, slicing through her hair, the staff slapping her shoulder and ricocheting against her jaw. She let loose a shrill screech, clutched her face, and spun away into the fog.

  “DEVILS, TO ME!” Peter cried.

  Big grins lit up the faces of all the Devils. They answered his call with wild screams of their own and attacked, driving the barghest back. The horde broke and fled, seeming to melt away into the fog.

  “NOW!” Peter shouted. “GET THE KIDS. WE’RE AWAY!”

  Peter and Sekeu picked up Cricket, rolling her over Peter’s shoulder. Dirk grabbed Danny’s arms, Dash his feet, and Redbone got an arm around Nick, dragging him along. They moved quickly back down the trail.

  “Peter,” a chilling whisper sliced through the fog. Nick felt the word in his very bones.

  There, just ahead, a single shadowy figure blocked their way.

  The party halted.

  “Peter,” Sekeu whispered. “Do we run?”

  “No,” he said, letting Cricket slide gently to the ground. “There’s no running from her.”

  The shadow melted away from the figure. Nick saw it was a woman, a shapely one, her skin glistening green and her hair long and dark, almost black. Her face remained in shadow, but within that shadow one eye lit up like a blazing emerald, and her full, dark lips parted into a triumphant smile, exposing a row of long, sharp, green teeth. Nick didn’t need anyone to tell him that this was the witch.

  The three little girls skipped out from behind the trees and stood in front of the witch. The barghest crept out from the swamp, flanking Nick and the Devils. But that was not all. Nick heard rustling, clicking, and crackling. The sound was approaching them from all sides. The very ground came alive; the carpet of dead leaves jittered and danced. Then Nick understood, and the hair pricked up along his arms: bugs, creepy-crawlies, thousands, maybe tens of thousands of them, big oily beetles, long segmented centipedes, scorpions, roaches, and spiders as big as his fist. They swarmed down from trees, up out of holes, skittering toward them like a living carpet of stingers, snapping pincers and clacking mandibles. They circled the party, approaching to within five feet, twisting and crawling over one another, the ground boiling with black, shiny bugs.

  The witch sauntered forward a few steps, tracing the outline of her thighs with long, black fingernails as she gently swayed from hip to hip. “Little thieves, stealing from
my swamp,” she called, her voice low and husky.

  The three little girls shook their fingers at them.

  “Naughty.”

  “Naughty.”

  “Naughty.”

  “Peter darling,” the witch cooed. “You owe me a little something.” She pulled back her hair, exposing the scar of her left eye socket. “One chance, sweet Peter. I’ll give you and your little playmates one chance. Give me one of your eyes and you can all go free. Peter dear, what say you?”

  Peter let out a wild laugh, a crazy crowing, like madness had taken him, then suddenly stopped. His face tight, hard, he locked his eyes on the witch. “I say we cut heads from necks, empty guts from stomachs, and slice arms off bodies.” He leaped forward and stomped a huge green beetle, its yellow guts squirting out from beneath his boot.

  The witch’s face twisted into a snarl, her one eye narrowed to a slit. “You will regret—”

  “HOLD THERE!” came a cry from far off down the trail. “Hold, hold I beg.”

  Nick watched a tall, stooped goat-headed beast come trotting up the trail waving a gnarled staff.

  “Excuse me, Ginny,” he said as he pushed past the witch, moving up the trail, careful not to step on any of the bugs as they skittered from in front of his large hooves. He halted between the two parties, leaning on his staff, trying to catch his breath. “So sorry to interrupt your little squabble,” he said curtly. “But there are pressing matters at stake.”

  The witch rolled her eye. “Don’t interfere, Tanngnost. I’ve no patience for your meddling. Today I will have my eye.”

  “Come and take it!” Peter snarled.

  “ENOUGH!” Tanngnost shouted, and slammed down his staff. “Whisperwood burns! While you fools try and kill one another, Avalon falls.”

  The swamp fell quiet.

  All the malevolence fell from the witch’s face. “That’s not possible.”

  “Yes, it most certainly is,” Tanngnost said. “If you’d drop your dramatic stage dressings you could see for yourself.”

  The witch frowned. “If this is one of your games, Tanngnost, it is your bones that will be stage dressings.” She raised her hands, closed her eyes, and muttered a string of curt, sharp commands. A warm breeze rose, blew through the swamp, and the fog began to clear. After a moment, Nick could see the gray clouds above and, yes, faintly, the dark stain of black smoke. Something was indeed burning.