Silent Hall (25 page)

“Narky!” he cried, ducking his head back into the tent. “Get your spear and get out here! Something's happening!”

By the time Narky stumbled out, the vortex of mist had expanded even further. White tendrils spiraled out from the center, enveloping the tents, the ruins, the forest. Hunter shivered. The stars had faded away.

T
here was
a box in her head, and the lock was broken. She could not remember what was inside, but she knew that as soon as she opened it, she would realize that she had known all along. She hadn't made the box herself; she was sure of that.
They
had put it there.

The box was old. How long had it been hidden there, in her head? A long, long time. A long time. Definitely before Bandu, and maybe even before Two-foot. Yes. The box had been put there when she still had a real name. A name she hadn't given herself.

Father. Father had given her a name. Maybe the name was inside the box! But she knew that couldn't be right. No, the box held something much scarier than her name.

It whispered to her, quiet words that she could not quite hear. It wanted her to open it. It had been waiting so long to be opened.

She could almost touch it, though she didn't want to. The closer she came, the more it frightened her. That muffled voice went on from inside it, asking her, begging her, commanding her to let it out of its prison. She would, she knew she would. She couldn't help it. The voice would wear her down with its unheard demands and promises. She could resist it for now, but she couldn't last forever. No, she couldn't.

Why even bother resisting? The longer the box stayed shut, the more she would fear it and the longer it could control her. She ought to rush forward and fling it open with all her might, just like that! Then it couldn't frighten her anymore. Whatever happened then, it would happen, but she would not be afraid. She really ought to. Touch it. Open it.

Still she hesitated, like a child stepping into a cold river. She
should
jump in quickly, but instead she went slowly and awfully, one toe at a time. She had to open it. She would open it. She could not bear to open it.

The box was underneath her hands now, and quiet though the voice sounded, she knew it was screaming. Her fingers felt the broken lock, rusted and crumbling and useless. She should just do it. One swift motion of the hands, and it would be over. But no, she couldn't. She could only move slowly.

She slipped her fingers under the lid and slowly, slowly lifted it.

Wicked child!
said the voice.

T
he moons were aligned
for them tonight, for the first time in oh so many years. The captain could almost taste the sweet flesh of children on her tongue. There was no better flavor than that of innocence.

Eleven steeds, eleven riders stood on the brink of the Other World, the cursed favorite. Soon the hunt would begin. Tonight they would dance in the halls of the mighty.

Raider Two began the incantation. “Let the elders feast once more upon the young,” said he.

“Let those who were abandoned seize their bounty,” spoke Raider Three.

“Let rash creators grieve their favorite children,” sang Raider Four.

“And we shall claim that which we've been forbidden!”

“And we shall steal a dream from every county!”

“And we shall suck each prayer from their gasping lungs!”

The captain raised her sickle high, and the others fell silent. “The Gateway opens,” she said now, just as she had said throughout the ages. “Eleven riders step across the boundary. Elven raiders take what should be theirs. Eleven riders revel in their suffering. Elven raiders teach their world to fear!”

She slashed the air with her sickle and the mists rose, just as they had risen a hundred years ago, and a thousand. The raiders slowly drew their nets out of the air, clutching the reins with their free hands. How they had waited for their hunt to resume!

The ring of steel met their ears. “–And get out here!” someone shouted from up ahead. “Something's happening!”

Raider Two raised an eyebrow. Who could possibly be waiting for them on the young side? The tower had only fallen twenty-two years ago – had the godserfs really forgotten their loss so soon? Or was this some new trick the Goodweathers were playing on them?

“Phaedra!” shouted another voice. “Criton, Bandu! Are you all right?”

Raider Five looked to the captain. “Sickles?” she asked.

The captain considered. The voices sounded delightfully frightened. Perhaps they were not elves but only frightened godserfs, like the ones who had built the tower. She still had fond memories of slaughtering those terrified men after their unexpected journey through the boundary. She was glad they had returned to this gate.

“Nets,” the captain said. Even if these voices really were a Goodweather trick, capturing them might be a good deal more fun than a battle. The raiders could always cut them to pieces afterwards.

Two dark figures emerged from the mist, clinging to each other most wonderfully. How easy it was! Raider Five cast her net, and soon the couple was trapped underneath the silken wires. They screamed and cried out, the trapped ones, as the raiders circled round.

“Another!” shouted Raider Eight, and soon his net too had fallen, this time on a lone figure that had come running out toward them with a great jangling sound. How terrifically disorganized these runners were!

Within minutes, the raiders had caught another two figures and determined that there were no more. The glow of the nets revealed these five to be dark-skinned youths, wide-eyed and frightened.

“Godserfs!” laughed Raider Two. “Tonight, they come to us!”

“These are too old,” said Raider Nine. “Shall we quarter them?”

“Embowel them!” suggested Raider Ten.

“They're younger and stronger than the others were,” Raider Four pointed out. “We could enslave them.”

One of the godserfs was sobbing now, the little one who shared her net with the tall scaly one. The scaly male tore uselessly at the net, obviously unaware of its powers. There was a flash of light from inside. “Nothing's working!” he cried, with growing horror.

The captain laughed. “Godserfs, indeed. Leave them for now. Our hunt must not be forgotten. They will still be here when morning dawns. We can plan our games during the hunt, and play when we return.”

The raiders cheered, already thinking of wonderful games to play with their captives. What a pleasant evening this would be!

But first, the hunt. The captain gave her orders, and her raiders galloped behind her through the boundary. A delicious catch awaited them on the other side.

“
A
re they gone
?”

The dark silence seemed to answer Narky's question. No crickets chirped here. No wind rustled. A fairy couldn't have hidden here without the islanders noticing, anyway: the elves' white skin had shone in the darkness with its own ghostly light. Even so, only after a minute of listening in silence did Bandu lift her head.

“They are gone,” she exhaled. “They don't know me!”

“How would they know you?” Criton asked. “Bandu, have you been here before?”

The girl nodded. “Yes,” she said. By way of explanation, she added, “I opened the box.”

“You opened a box?” asked Hunter, from somewhere up ahead. “Is that what brought us here?”

“I don't know,” Bandu replied. “Maybe gate opens before. Maybe I open gate by mistake, because of young. I don't know.”

“If you've been here before,” asked Narky angrily, “then why the hell didn't you tell us?”

In the dark, Criton felt Bandu put her hands on her hips. “I don't know then,” she said defiantly. “I only know when I open the box. Remember is in the box.”

Narky made a frustrated sound. “Criton, can you translate? What the hell is she trying to say?”

Before Criton could say anything, Phaedra interrupted. “Where did you find the box, Bandu? At Gateway?”

“At Gateway, in my dream,” Bandu explained. “The box is in my head.”

“You made it up, you mean?” asked Narky.

“I don't make it!
They
put it there! They put in all the young, so when they send back, nobody remembers.”

“Nobody remembers…” Phaedra pondered. “I think I understand you, Bandu. You're saying you were here as a child, but the fairies locked your memories of their world in a mental box, so that they were hidden from you until now? Until you found the box in your head and opened it?”

Bandu nodded in the darkness. “Yes.”

Phaedra whistled. “Well, that explains why you can do some fairy magic, but couldn't explain why! Your memories of the fairy world were hidden from you. If they do that with all the children, it even explains why none of the sage Katinaras' writings mention his abduction. Oh, wow.”

“What?” asked Narky.

“Well,” Phaedra said, “that means that none of our lore about the fairies comes from people who have been here. The children who have come back from this world don't remember anything about their time here.”

“So what you're saying,” Narky pointed out, “is that we don't know a damn thing about this place, or about the people who just captured us.”

“Bandu does,” said Criton. “She opened the box.”

That struck them all silent again. They were looking toward Bandu, he was sure of it. Now that his eyes had had some time to adjust, Criton realized that he could see the outline of the net that had caught him and Bandu. It twinkled with its own starlight, as if made somehow out of the night sky itself. When he squinted, he could see the nets that had caught the others too. No wonder he had been unable to tear these cords! How could one tear the sky?

“Bandu,” Criton asked, “do you know how to get out of these nets? I didn't see any weights on them when the fairies threw them, but now it won't budge, no matter how hard I pull. It's like it's attached to the ground!”

“Yes,” Bandu answered sadly. “If you are inside then no good. Nets move only if you pull from out there.”

Narky and Hunter both seemed to be verifying this for themselves. “Great,” said Narky, giving up first. “What now?”

Phaedra shuffled around in the darkness behind them, perhaps sitting down. “Can you tell us some of what you remember, Bandu? The more we know, the better.”

“I don't have many words,” Bandu answered slowly, “and it is many, many words to tell.”

“Don't bother trying,” Narky snapped. “We never understand you anyway, and I, at least, don't have the energy to waste making sense of you. It's bad enough being caught in a net and waiting for a crowd of Kindly Folk to come back and chop us to pieces.”

“Narky!” Phaedra scolded. “What's the matter with you?”

“Oh, I don't know,” he shouted back at her. “Maybe the fact that I'm going to die horribly! You heard them talking! They're going to torture us and kill us as soon as they come back from their hunt. We're going to die in front of a bunch of little kids, and if any of those kids survive their time in this Godforsaken place, they won't even remember us!”

“Shut up, Narky,” said Hunter.

“Make me,” Narky retorted. “You can't get out of your net any better than I can.”

“You don't know that they'll kill us,” said Hunter, sounding more defiant than hopeful. “We should be thinking about what we can do to keep them from killing us, not giving up before they even get back. You wanted to give up back in Anardis too.”

Narky did not respond, and they stood some time without speaking. Hunter made some attempt at cutting the net with his knife, to no avail.

“Bandu,” said Phaedra. “Does your magic still work in there? I heard Criton say his didn't…”

“Nets are too strong,” Bandu told her.

“Oh.” Phaedra was clearly disappointed. “But what
can
we do, then?”

“Sleep,” said Bandu. “Wait.” And she lay down.

Criton sat beside her, trying to plan an escape. He imagined the others were doing the same. If a fairy took the net off for just a moment, he might be able to… no. There were eleven fairies, with magic and weapons. They would anticipate a struggle. If they meant to kill him, kill him they would. Still, his hopeful imagination would not let him rest. His mind constructed elaborate fantasies in which he escaped, tore the fairies to shreds, and rescued Bandu and the others. He couldn't help it. To his dying breath, he would imagine himself a hero.

Bandu! She was carrying his child. Their child. How could their lives end like this? How could he die without ever seeing his son smile, or hearing his daughter laugh? He wanted this life with Bandu. Oh God of Dragons, he wanted this life!

He sat down beside Bandu and stroked her thick tangled hair. In mourning, the islanders' hair had all grown into short but aggressive mats. “I wish I could have married you,” he whispered.

She opened her eyes. “You want to marry now?”

“Yes,” he said wretchedly. “I do.”

In the dim light of their shimmering prison, he saw her smile.

“We marry,” she said. “You never want others?”

“Never.”

She sat up. “I don't want others. So now we are marry.”

“I guess we are,” he said, feeling oddly better.

“That's it?” asked Narky, butting in. “You're not going to give her anything, or swear any vows in front of Gods, or any of that?”

“I know some wedding vows,” Phaedra offered, “if you want to repeat them after me.”

“Shut up, all of you!” Criton scolded them. “This isn't your wedding!”

But Bandu just laughed.

Criton sat up straight. “I'm going to get us out of here,” he said.

The ground was soft and moist. His claws tore through it easily. Soon his hands would pass under the net, and then…

His hands did not pass under. The unbreakable cords extended even here, below the surface. The net had grown into the ground somehow! The fairies were no fools. When they returned from their hunt, the islanders would still be here. Criton sat back down with a thud, and began to weep.