The Wilds (Reign and Ruin 1) (16 page)

"We need to
stop, Maggie," Lucan said as the dark settled fully over the
landscape. "There's no point walking in this pitch."

I lowered
myself gingerly onto the sand and heard Lucan settle down next to
me with a series of huffs and gruff complaints. The hours he was on
that cross must have taken its toll; I could hardly imagine the
stress his muscles must have taken to be strapped up there for so
long. I dug my fingers into the sand reflectively.

"I'm thirsty,"
I said, more to myself than Lucan.

"Sorry,
sweetheart. I wish I knew it would be this hard," I heard him
answer from the right. "At least Cirrus will have trouble seeing
you in this dark."

A wind blew
through my hair, a breeze so cold this time that it made me gasp.
It held bits of water, drops of wet that pricked my face like small
pins. I licked the sting off my lips and tasted the memory of my
father in the seaside. I tasted salt and a slight vinegar tang of
fish and chips.

"Lucan, there's
salt water in the air," I said.

The wind blew
harder, stirring up whirls of sand, and I was forced to throw my
hands in front of my face to prevent any grains from flying into my
eyes. I struggled to stand up against the wind.

"I think the
magic word was 'thirsty'." I jumped when Lucan's hand clamped down
on my arm. The faint outline of his face emerged close to mine,
looking out into the dark. "If I'm not mistaken, I think a dream
has finally found us."

The cry of a
foghorn blared out into the night and my heart leapt into my mouth
as the sound of the new world fell upon us in a tsunami wave. We
were suddenly flooded with a thick beam of yellow light that came
from somewhere above. Scrambling up and bent double in the wind, we
looked about as the beam swept around the landscape.

We were on a
beach, dangerously close to the waterline of violently crashing
waves. The sea wind raged, blowing hair around my face like a wild
nest of snakes. I squinted my eyes and saw, at the end of the
pebble-strewn coastline, a lighthouse standing sentry at the rocky
top. The shaft of light moved from its tip, revolving slowly around
the beach.

"Couldn't have
found a more comfortable dream, could we?" Lucan shouted into the
wind. The foghorn blew again and the light flickered back to where
we stood, bracing ourselves against each other. It flashed twice
and moved across the sand to the bottom of its rocky hill. "You
think it wants us to follow it?" Lucan said, amusement lining the
edges of his voice and I saw his wild grin flash up again briefly –
this is what he loved: the unknown. The danger.

"Come on, then.
Let's
please
get off this beach," I breathed, grabbing his
hand and pulling him into a run towards the hill.

Lucan and I
made our way across the beach towards the beacon until the sand
under our feet merged into a dirt path through the rocks. The slope
was easy and much to our relief the wind became mercifully gentler
as we started the ascent; although it still blew the cold into our
clothes, it at least didn't bite with sea spray.

It took us more
than a quarter of an hour to reach the top of the hill. The
lighthouse rose up before us, a tall tower of hard stone, weathered
in many places by wind and the rub of sand. It looked like it must
have stood this storm for a hundred years.

"Someone lives
here?" I asked doubtfully. "It seems like a pretty miserable place
to be." Lucan shrugged, looking around for a door knocker. On the
upper right door post was a small bell to ring when the weather was
calm; however, in the wild gale the bell swung around as if
possessed, its sound swallowed up in the wind.

On the left
door post was a faded and weather-stricken sign that read, "If bell
is broken, knock lightly."

"Knock
lightly
?" Lucan scoffed. "If the bell can't be heard, how
are they supposed to hear a light knock?"

I looked at his
large arms and secretly agreed. But I wasn't going to give him the
satisfaction.

"Looks like we
won't need your brute strength for this one," I said airily,
reaching up to the door. Lucan smiled, but I pretended not to
notice. I tapped my knuckles lightly on the splintered surface and
on the third tap the door was swung open by a pair of small,
wizened hands. Their owner peered out onto the doorstep and
gestured hastily.

"Inside,
inside, now," he encouraged, his voice cracking. "Waste any more
time and you'll bring the whole sea in behind you!"

Lucan and I
hurried inside and the man closed the door behind us, pushing it
hard against the wind trying desperately to force its way in. Lucan
reached above the man's head and gave the wood a smart shove,
effectively shutting out both the sweeping rain that had begun to
batter down and the crashing sound of the waves. The quiet fell
over us like a blanket.

The old man
turned around, wiping his hands on a tattered bathrobe, and looked
up at Lucan in relieved gratitude.

The man came up
no taller than my chin and had a nose that looked like a small,
shriveled zucchini. His face was something of an old plum left to
wrinkle in the summer sun: dark and cracked in so many places
around his eyes and mouth that I thought he must be somewhere near
a hundred years old. Besides the worn bathrobe held around his
waist by a length of coiled rope, he wore a pair of bright yellow
galoshes and a rain cap. Tiny gray curls pushed out from under the
brim and framed his face in wiry whiskers.

"By the hand of
the Painter, what lost love or rescued treasure lured you here to
this infernal rock?" the man asked with a voice like the crackling
of cellophane. He scuffled across the narrow entry hall to the
bottom of a spiral staircase. Shaking off his galoshes at the
bottom of the stairs and pulling on a tiny pair of slippers left by
the hat stand, he turned back around to where Lucan and I were
still standing shivering by the door. "What, are you lost?" His
eyes narrowed, his wrinkles going from millions to trillions. "Are
you from the Council?"

"No no," I said
hastily, shaking my head quickly and stepping forward. "We're not
from the Council."

The man pulled
off his hat and hung it up, raking his small dark hands through his
short curls. He spotted my necklace and his busy fingers stilled. I
sensed Lucan move close in behind me. The old man's eyes drew back
to mine seriously, reverently, and the smile he gave was almost
sad.

"Follow me to
the kitchen," the man sighed, making his way up the winding stairs.
"No doubt you can tell me your story with a cup of tea. Or a cup of
brandy. Goodness knows, this storm calls for one."

We climbed up
the steep stairs and through the hole into the round kitchen. The
man hurried straight over to the stove and started a fire while I
sat down at the small table. Lucan positioned himself next to me
like a sentry, looking discreetly at all the corners and cracks of
the room. When he had set the water to boil, the man scurried
around the stairs to the cupboard. Pulling out three glasses, he
poured some dark caramel-colored liquid in each and took a small
sip. He made a face.

"My brandy has
never been the same since the boy who delivered it stopped coming.
Now I have to brew it myself." The man put his glass down and
hurried over to the kettle, whose whistle mingled in with the
wind's. Lucan's hand squeezed my shoulder and he leaned down to
whisper in my ear.

"Perhaps we
should just leave. I don't know how comfortable I feel in this
dream," he warned. Whatever he was going to continue with was cut
off by the little man thrusting a bundle of clothes at his
face.

"It's no wonder
you have a face like thunder, you must be freezing. Go upstairs and
put some dry clothes on." The man watched Lucan move slowly to the
stairs and climb up. Lucan's eyes stayed fixed on me and when his
head disappeared, he stopped his ascent near the top so I could
still see his feet.

"He's worried
about you," the man said, smiling.

"Doubt it," I
said, swilling my brandy around once. The old man took a quick sip
of his before sitting down and leaning in close.

"So how is the
Walk going?" he whispered. I heard Lucan's feet squeak on the
stairs.

"I haven't been
caught yet, if that's what you mean." I considered my drink. "Three
more days."

"Three days is
enough time, if you use it wisely," he said.

"So you're Team
Me, then?" I asked with a small smile. I would take anyone I could
get at this point. The little man put his hand over mine and looked
sincerely into my eyes.

"Daughter of
Palet, rightful heir to the throne, in my
house
. I can
hardly believe it." He gave my hand a quick squeeze before removing
it again. "My family has always been loyal."

"Thank you," I
said.

The man frowned
and gingerly touched the dreamcatcher.

"It grows
warm," he said softly.

Does it?
I guess I hadn't noticed but that was slightly worrying. I don't
think he would have said it like that if it was good news . . .

"Don't scare
her," I heard Lucan say from the bottom of the stairs. Glancing up,
I felt my heart go ka-thump. The old man's eyes flickered quickly
to mine and he slowly drew his hand away.

Lucan had
changed into a tight, long sleeved dark green shirt and mid-calf
khaki pants. He seemed all at once more civilized, yet somehow
deadlier. I made fun of the Lucan on the pole with the torn-up
trousers. I would never make fun of this warrior.

"Who are you?"
Lucan asked. "You've not told us your name." The little man stood
up from the table and made his way to the kettle.

"Marius. I've
been here for as long as I can remember, serving the land by
rescuing lost souls on the sand." He poured out the tea for him and
me but left Lucan with his brandy. "I never thought I would be
alive for a Reign Walk. But here I am."

"Are we ok to
weather out the storm here? Stocking up and making a plan before
going back into the Wilds?" Lucan asked, throwing back his brandy.
Marius poured him another measure and nodded.

"Of course. But
do not take too long. The symbol is already beginning to burn."

Lucan shrugged,
like he didn't care. But when Marius turned his back he reached
over and grasped the flat circle of the dreamcatcher. His eyes
flashed, but when Lucan looked at me his expression was impossible
to work out.

Just like the
man himself was impossible to work out.

Marius took
another sip of his tea and allowed the silence to drift over the
table. We sat for a moment and listened to the wind batter the
lighthouse walls and the course of the wind blow in a short strain
of a string quartet.

Chapter
15

The beacon of light swept over the beach, right
to left, left to right, illuminating faces in the small circular
kitchen. I could still hear the waves crashing on the shore far
below me, but only saw them when their white crests reflected
silver as the light touched the water. The rain had lessened but
was still misting down softly. A small, solitary lantern was the
only brightness in the room. Although the wind could not break
through the thick stone walls of the lighthouse, the lantern still
creaked like a splintering ship deck as it rocked and turned
slightly.

Marius and
Lucan had retreated to a corner and were whispering. I had thought
about insisting they include me but to be honest, at this moment I
couldn't care less. It was perhaps the first moment I had gotten to
sit by myself where I wasn't dazed or confused, strangely aroused
or bat-shit terrified. I felt calm and warm and knew there wasn't
someone coming up the stairs to sew me up. And if I concentrated
hard enough, I could pretend the murmurs behind me came from my
father.

I wondered how
many people stood on these shores, how many ships had been brought
home by the guiding light of Marius's lighthouse. The sea outside
flashed and I could only imagine being swept in on these waves;
beaten by the water and the temper of the sea, struggling up the
sand, clutching the land like a lost lover and wanting desperately
to once more breathe air not mixed with the toxic taste of salt
water.

The light
nearly blinds you after what seems like days in the darkness of the
ocean. How good it is to feel something beneath your feet,
something that proves there isn't something more sinister waiting
below; something waiting to catch your failing body in its jaws
when you give up the struggle, wrap its tentacles gently around
your leg and pull you slowly down to the crushing depths, the water
creeping slowly into your mouth as you try to scream through the
darkness . . .

"What visions
are you seeing in the rain?" Marius asked suddenly.

I jumped and
brought my eyes back to the merciful light and warmth of the
kitchen.
So much for calm.
Marius was standing on the other
side of the table, looking at me innocently and curiously, his owl
eyes glinting in the lantern light. Lucan lounged in the corner,
the shadows veiling his face.

"Oh nothing," I
lied. Marius smiled.

"It's nothing
to be embarrassed about. I've seen many things in the midst of the
storm, not all of them pleasant. I challenge anyone to stay and
guard the coast for more than a week with no company and not see
visions." He turned to Lucan. "I suppose you didn't see visions in
the sand when you were posted on that stick of wood?"

Lucan stood up
straight, unfolding into his full, terrifying frame.

"I had visions,
alright. Visions of grasping Cirrus by the throat and squeezing
until he sings." His arms flexed through the shirt and I was so
incredibly relieved he was on my side.

Marius looked
at both of us seriously and nodded.