The Child Thief (38 page)

U
lfger passed beneath an arch with massive elk horns set into its peak, climbed the winding steps as they curved around the sheer face of the granite ledge. His thighs and his lungs burned, yet he didn’t stop until he came face to face with the Hall of Kings, high above the valley.

A domed chamber loomed before him, beckoning him, daring him to visit with the dead. He stumbled forward, catching himself in the arched doorway, the sweat pouring down his face in rivulets as he gasped to regain his breath. The stained-glass ceiling bathed the chamber in a soft emerald glow while the large oval windows provided the dead with a view of the valley below.

The bones of seven elven kings moldered within the seven stone sarcophaguses spread out in a ring before him. In their center sat a longboat. Ulfger glared at the dead kings, then slowly brought his eyes up until they were level with the boat’s deck. The boat stretched nearly twenty feet lengthwise; at the bow reared a ferocious dragon figurehead, its red ruby eyes staring out the largest window, looking ready to sail away into the low-lying clouds.

The boat had been built to be put to sea and set aflame, to take the Horned One to the Otherworld, to Avallach. But Ulfger had forbidden it. He’d made the elves bring the boat and the Horned One here. He’d not allow the Horned One to leave him, not while there were still Flesh-eaters on Avalon.

“I’m still here, Father,” Ulfger said, his voice shaky, appeasing. He inched forward. “They’ve betrayed you. Every one of them. But not
me
. I remembered my oath. I alone am worthy of your blessings.” He leaned heavily against one of the tombs, studied the face of the elven king carved in relief on its lid. He traced a shaky hand down the noble features. “Traitor,” he hissed. “All of you…
traitors!
” He sneered, raking his fingers across the eyes, scratching furiously at them, but his fingers had no effect on the cold marble gaze. Hefting his ax, Ulfger brought the blunt side down with a tremendous blow, smiting the face and cracking open the sarcophagus lid. He shoved the lid to the floor and stared into the hollow sockets of the dead king. “You dare to look at me that way?” Ulfger’s face twisted into a knot of rage. He snatched the skull from its cradle and dashed it to the stones, grinding the bones beneath his heel until there was nothing left but dust and teeth.

He spun away, brought the ax down on the next tomb, then the next, and the next, bashing them apart, kicking and scattering the bodies until the chamber was littered in rotting tapestry, robes, armor, and crumbling bones. He tripped on the leathery carcass of some ancient lord, and went sprawling into the rubble. He lay on his back, panting, a fine layer of bone dust pasted to his sweaty skin. His eyes darted wildly about until finally coming to rest on the boat. His lips began to quiver. “I’m not a coward,” he said and the tears rolled down his cheeks, cutting dark paths through the bone dust. “I’m not a coward. I did not choose to stay behind. You made me swear, Father. Have you forgotten? None cried louder for war than I!” He rolled over and crawled across the floor, raking through the bones until he reached the boat. He got a hand on the railing and pulled himself up, clinging to the side board as he glared into the face of the Horned One.

A fierce death grimace greeted Ulfger. The Horned One lay draped in a wooly elk fur, his parched, leathery skin pulled taut across his bones. Several necklaces of tusks and bronze rings hung in a tangle about his neck. The broken blade of Caliburn lay across his chest, clasped in his huge bony hands. The Horned Helm sat low on his head, dark sockets peering out from within the slanted eye slits. The dark hollows bore into Ulfger, accusing him.

“Do you hear me? Have I not proven myself? I alone still stand…still defend the Tree.”

The dark sockets mocked him with their silence.

Ulfger’s eyes fell to the sword and a sneer pushed at his face. “I
am
worthy, Father,” he whispered and slowly reached out until his hand hovered above the hilt. He glared at the tiny sharp spikes lining the grip, spikes that would bite into his hand and, if he were unworthy, would poison and burn him from the inside out. His hand began to shake. “I…
am
…worthy,” he hissed between clenched teeth and tried to force his hand upon the hilt, force himself to pick up the sword. Tears streamed down his face as his whole arm began to shake, then a wretched howl escaped his lips and he yanked his hand away, clutching it to his chest.

He slid back down to the stones, cradling his hand like a baby. “Why did you leave me behind, Father?” He heard it then, laughter, coming from all around him, echoing about the chamber. They were laughing at him, his father, the kings, all of them. He clasped his hands to his ears, and still he heard it, louder, as though they were all in his head.

He let out a weak cry and half-crawled, half-stumbled toward the large open window. He hit the ledge, fell forward, just catching himself. He hung there a moment, staring down from the dizzying heights, and thought about letting go.
How sweet it would be, to be finished with all this torment.
And he might have, but something caught his eye, something that made the laughter stop and his blood burn. There, far below, parading through the courtyard as though he lorded over all, was the child thief himself, leading his band of traitors and brats.

Ulfger’s knees buckled and he sat down hard on the window ledge. They’d seen the Lady.
No
, he thought,
there’s more going on here
. Somehow, they’d awakened her. Because the girl was better, there was no denying that. He’d seen her before, when she was close to death, and only the Lady could’ve saved her. He saw the baskets and sacks of fruit. “Thieves, burn forever,” he hissed. “You’ve tainted the Haven. Desecrated the heart of Avalon. And she, Modron, has aided you. Has betrayed Avallach himself.”

Ulfger stomped back to the boat. He glared into his father’s face, into those deep, dark hollows, into that fierce death grimace. Ulfger matched that grimace. “You, you favored the runt as well. Called him to stand by your side in battle, yet would deny me. Deny your only son? How is it that he is worthy when I am not? How? How, you hateful beast? Tell me!
TELL ME!
” Ulfger snarled and thrust his hand forward, grabbed the sword, tearing it from the Horned One’s grip. He felt its bite, the sharp jabs as the spikes pierced his palm. The marks began to burn.
“GO ON!”
he screamed. “Burn me! I dare you! But nothing will keep me from my duty, from avenging Avallach.
NOTHING!
”

The heat continued to flow into his body, but it didn’t burn. The broken blade became light in his hand as a feeling of power possessed him. He felt his chest swell as the heat pumped through his heart, his veins and muscles. “See, Father. I am worthy. Avallach honors me!
ME!
”

Ulfger grabbed the helmet by one of the antlers and tore it from the Horned One’s head. He placed it on his own head and stared through the slanted slits at his father, at the ravaged remains of the once mighty warlord. He heard laughter, but this time it was his own. The Horned One’s head fell against the side board and looked sadly back at him.

A wind whipped up, blowing the bone dust across the stone floor. Ulfger felt his senses awaken.
What is this?
he wondered, realizing he could sense the life around him: a couple of deer in the woods below, a host of faeries battening down for the evening, and…
them
. He could sense
them,
Peter and the others. Sense their spirit, their feelings, their joys, excitement, their…
fears.
Then he understood more, that he could touch them, not physically, but with his mind.

He grinned. “Child thief, you will pay. You will know what it is to suffer, and to lose all you love.”

PETER FELT AS
though he were in a dream, as though his feet barely touched the ground as they marched back through the Lady’s Wood. He found it impossible to believe all that had happened this day, from driving the Flesh-eaters back to ridding Avalon, once and for all, of Ulfger’s poison. But it was the Lady who dominated his thoughts, ruled his heart; he could think of little else. He closed his eyes and could still smell her scent: honeysuckle and spring water.

“Peter,” Redbone called and pointed. “Look!”

Peter stopped and stared, dumbfounded. They all did.

They’d come at last to the border of Myrkvior, to Cusith Creek, back to the scourge-ridden woods. Everyone stared at the trees, at the fresh green buds that had sprouted out along a few of the gray limbs, and the occasional bloom here and there among the dead weeds.

“Tanngnost, what does it mean?” Peter asked.

Tanngnost set Sekeu carefully down. He’d carried her the whole way back. The troll might be old, but he was still a troll and, to him, she appeared to weigh nothing. Sekeu hopped over to a rock and took a seat. Peter thought it’d be a while before she’d be able to fight, but she looked on the mend and he couldn’t help but smile.
Almost lost you
, he thought, surprised to find himself blinking back tears.
Been through too much, me and you. We’re going to finish this thing together
.

Tanngnost touched one of the buds. “It means that the Lady’s back,” the troll said. “We have hope again.”

“The Lady did that?” asked Cricket.

“Yes,” Tanngnost said. “Peter has reawakened her spirit. She will tend Avallach’s Tree. If we can stop the burning, she might be able to stop the scourge.”

“And,” Peter added, “when we drive them into the Mist, when we kill them all, then she will heal all of Avalon! Right? Return it to its splendor!”

“Yes, most certainly,” the troll agreed.

“We must strike again!” Peter said, his voice brimming with excitement. “As soon as we can. We can’t allow them to burn another tree!” He looked to the old elf. “Drael, what of you? Will you meet us at Red Rock, come dawn?”

“I tell you this,” the old elf said. “The Lady’s Guard will sit on the sidelines no longer. We’ll be there, Peter. That you can count on.” Every elf nodded in agreement, their stern faces and hard eyes all the oath Peter needed.

“Good,” Peter said, clasping the elf on the arm. “Good.” He could hardly contain the urge to let out a crazy whoop. He turned to the three girls. “Will you stand with us? Can we count on Ginny’s children?”

The barghest looked to the girls.

“Will there be lots of blood?” asked the first.

“Enough noodlely guts for all?” asked the second.

“And eyeballs, don’t forget eyeballs,” put in the third.

“Oh, yes,” Peter said, and returned their wicked smiles. “Brains too. Plenty to go around.”

“I want to go!” said one.

“Me too!” chimed in the second.

“Oh, most certainly then,” said the third. “But Peter?”

“Yes?” Peter said.

“You’ll have to ask our mother first.”

“Yes,” said the second. “Mother doesn’t like for us to play with strangers.”

“Will you come ask her for us?” asked the third, with big, imploring eyes.

“I will,” Peter said. “Right away.” He addressed Drael. “Tomorrow then, Red Rock?”

“Agreed,” Drael said, and the elves started away, back into the Lady’s Wood.

“Leroy, Danny, Cricket, Nick. You guys grab all the stock and head back to Deviltree. We’ll be there as soon as we can. Tanngnost, can you take Sekeu and go with them?”

Tanngnost looked troubled. “Most certainly, but—”

“There’s always a but, isn’t there?” Peter said.

“Peter, a word.”

“Only one? Why do I doubt that?”

Tanngnost frowned, tugged Peter over into the woods. “Peter, you needn’t go. The witch will come. The girls, they’re her eyes and ears. They are just playing a game—”

“I know,” Peter interrupted. “I have to go back to the swamp. I have to find Abraham’s body before the Flesh-eaters do. I can’t stand the thought of his head on their fort.”

Tanngnost was quiet for a moment. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

Peter started away.

“Peter.”

“What now?” Peter said with a sigh.

“What about Nick?”

“Tanngnost, when did you become such an old woman?”

The troll gave him a sour look. “You saw him,” he said defensively. “The darkness, it had him,
completely.
”

“The Lady touched him. She healed him. You can see it in his eyes. Stop worrying so much. All is coming together. Avallach has smiled on us.” This didn’t seem to placate the troll. “Okay, keep a close eye on him if it makes you feel better.”

“Peter?”

“What?” Peter said, exasperated.

“You were the one that brought them all together. You did that. If I didn’t know you to be such a cretin, I’d believe the Horned One’s spirit lives in you.”

Peter smiled warmly at his old friend. “Is that a tear? It is. Why, Tanngnost, you
have
turned into an old woman.” And Peter laughed, and when he did, all the Devils grinned, because Peter’s laugh was a most contagious thing.

“HOW MUCH FARTHER?”
Danny asked, for the third time in the last ten minutes.

No one answered.

“How come I have to carry the apples?” he groaned. “They weigh a goddamn ton. Cricket’s only got mushrooms. How come she gets mushrooms? Mushrooms weigh like nothing. That’s not fair. Hey Cricket, how about we switch for a while. Huh? How about it?”

Cricket shook her head.

“Ah, c’mon. C’mon. C’mon.”

“Geezy fucking weezy, Danny,” Cricket cried. “Do you ever stop bellyaching? Here, take the goddamn mushrooms already.” She jerked the sack of apples from him and shoved the mushrooms into his gut. “Just stop whining for five flipping minutes. All right? Okay?”

Danny nodded sheepishly.