Unholy Blue (27 page)

A squeal of fear.

Too many yards away, Cor was weaving around in a bizarre game of tag with the remaining Fir Bolg, who was trying to grab him. Wide-eyed with desperation, the boy dodged from side to side, slashing at the creature's hands with his switchblade. Each move took Cor farther and farther away from the shed.

Even as Bann and Gideon raced toward Cor, Shay charged again, the pipe wrench held high. Before she could reach them, the Fir Bolg slapped the switchblade out of the boy's grasp, scooped him up, and bolted for the woods, Shay on his heels.

Bann and Gideon sprinted faster, catching up with Shay. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the Black Hand passing his extra knife to Shay, then slowing long enough to scoop up Cor's fallen switchblade.

Bann ran, the other two on his heels. Desperation whipped him along. Lungs burning, he tried to chant
the Song, then gave up and concentrated on sucking in enough oxygen to power his legs through the rough terrain. Shay appeared on his left, moving along with the effortless stride of a cross-country runner. She wore an expression of dread and fury that matched Bann's own. Her camisole sagged past her naked breast—an Amazon eager for war.

Still running, Bann unzipped his jacket, shrugging out of one sleeve, then the other, then passed it to Shay. She slowed briefly to pull it on, then sped up again.

Even burdened with his captive, and with the terrain climbing steeply westward, the Fir Bolg pulled ahead, using the woods and heavy fog as cover, despite Cor's screams of fear and anger giving away their position. Each time Bann caught a glimpse of the creature, he could see Cor twisting and kicking, doing everything he could to slow down his captor. Once, he heard his son call for him. The sound tore another chunk out of Bann's heart and fed it to the beast of despair.

With a sudden lunge, the Fir Bolg darted behind a heavy stand of pines. A split second later, Cor's cries were abruptly cut off.

Even as he and Shay reached the spot where the Fir Bolg disappeared, he saw Gideon veer off into the woods and vanish around the far side of the grove. Dodging around the tree, Bann slapped aside the branches, the pine needles stabbing his hand, then skidded to a stop. Shay halted beside him.

Panting, the Fir Bolg stood in the middle of a clearing. He held Cor in front of him with a knife at the boy's throat. His fingers were tangled in Cor's hair, forcing his head back. Worse yet, other Fir Bolgs, a half-dozen
or more, and all armed to their pointy teeth, flanked him. One of them was Lebor. Bann barely caught Shay's arm in time to keep her from charging the mob.

Elbowing his way to the front, Lebor sneered. “Does your female always fight your battles for you?”

“Aye.” Bann could feel Shay's muscles tighten beneath his fingers. “But only when there is an adversary worthy of her skill.”

Lebor snorted. “That's a lot of bullshit for someone outnumbered and with his whelp held captive.”

Bann made a show of counting the Fir Bolgs. “Outnumbered? No. And my son will be free soon enough. Eh, Cor?” He mourned what this repeat of last month's horror was doing to his son's soul. Swallowing his own terror, he locked eyes with him.

A fierce pride swept through him when Cor managed a weak smile and croaked, “
Faugh a ballagh
.”

Lebor spat, scorn curling his lip. “If I hear that dumbass saying one more time out of the mouth of you Fey, I'm going to—”

“FAUGH A BALLAGH!”

With a shout as piercing as a war horn, Gideon Lir burst out of the woods behind the Fir Bolgs. The hindmost creature spun around. Too late. Blood fountained from his throat. Before he hit the ground, the Knight slashed the face of the one holding Cor, removing an eye, a nose, and most of the chin. The creature's scream was cut off when Gideon impaled him through the remaining eye with a savage thrust. The creature went down, spasming from his brain being scrambled. Cor jerked free of the twitching hands.

“Cor!” Bann charged the front line. With a grunt, he plunged his knife into the nearest Fir Bolg's chest, the iron blade punching through bone and flesh with a moist
pop
, and ripped it free, then whipped it around in time to open the throat of another creature.

The next few moments were a blur to Bann. He stabbed and slashed, desperate to get to his son, fighting the warp spasm as much as the creatures, knowing he couldn't sink into the luxury of simply losing his shit. On his left, Shay dueled another Fir Bolg, both cursing each other. Screaming, she buried her blade under his chin and up into his skull. Bann risked a look around.

On the far edge of the clearing, he spotted Gideon, with Cor tucked safe behind him in the trees, fighting off another creature. Each clash of their blades sent sparks into the air, the colors blazing in the gray day. Then Gideon closed in, crowding his opponent. A thrust. The Fir Bolg crumpled to the ground.

“Lir!” Bann roared. “Take Cor and flee!” At that moment, Shay stumbled against him, still slashing at the enemy even as she fell to the ground.

A movement out of the corner of his eye.

His head exploded in a burst of color. It reminded him of the sparks flying from the Black Hand's warring blade.

Then, blackness.

G
ASPING
, C
OR TRIED TO
ignore the stitch under his ribs as he flailed through the woods in Gideon's wake. It seemed like forever since the Knight had dragged him into the sheltering trees. Cor had managed to get one last glimpse of his father and Shay fighting side by side before the Knight had shoved Cor in front of him and ordered him to “run, boyo!” Every molecule in his heart had screamed at him to stay with his dad.

He ran anyway.

Clambering over a fallen log, he jerked free from the snag that had caught his pant leg, then landed on the other side, only to discover that his muscles had decided to take a break. He fell to his knees. A hand grabbed his arm and yanked him upright.

“Up you get.” Gideon scanned the area, his head cocked. Listening. Distant yelling drifted through the forest still wrapped in a cold fog. “You can rest when we've reached safety.”

“Is Dad coming soon?”

Gideon hesitated, then answered. “As soon as he and the Healer are able. For now, best foot forward.”

“I want to go back,” Cor said even as they jogged deeper into the woods. The damp cold penetrated Shay's
T-shirt and fleece and mingled with his sweat, making him shiver. Or was it the fear of what might happen to his father and Shay?

The Knight didn't answer. Instead, he continued along, taking a winding course. The minutes passed in silence. It seemed to Cor that they hiked and jogged and went uphill and downhill too many times to count. He licked his dry lips, aware of a raging thirst. “Um…Mr. Lir?”

“A simple
Gideon
is fine with me.”

“How much farther?”

“Oh, a way and a bit.”

The
way and a bit
turned out to be another hour. Cor found himself stumbling every other step. Tears prickled his eyelids when he tripped over a root again, this time sprawling on his hands and knees. White-hot pain lanced through one of his palms. “Son of a…” Choking down the rest of the curse—
in case he tells Dad I said a bad word
—as well as a sob, he sat back on his heels. Blood welled up along his palm from a stinging scrape. He blinked back hot tears, determined not to cry in front of the Black Hand.

Gideon squatted beside him. “Let me see.” He examined the cut, then pulled out a handkerchief. Folding it on the diagonal, he wrapped it around Cor's hand and tied it in place. “Bit of a battle wound, eh, lad?”

Cor nodded. With Gideon's hand on his elbow, he pulled himself to his feet and fell in behind the Knight. Their flight continued. It seemed like Cor had been walking through this stupid forest all his life. The fleece jacket was soon sodden and cold from the fog. Watching
the Knight's boot heels, he found his eyelids drooping as he stumped along. He scrubbed the back of his hand across his face. Grit scratched his cheeks. Wincing, he glanced down, then frowned at the well-used footpath beneath his shoes.
Where did this trail come from?
He opened his mouth to ask when he noticed the sound of traffic—invisible engines and wheels.
I wonder where we are
? Without warning, Gideon halted. Unable to stop in time, Cor bumped into him.

“Why did we—”

“Wait here. Keep still. Keep silent.” He motioned for Cor to crouch behind a large boulder, then slipped into the mist.

Hunkering down, Cor remembered his dad explaining to him once that newborn fawns survived in the woods because of their ability to stay quiet and motionless when their dams left them hidden in a thicket.
I am the fawn in the woods
. A voice, his own, but older, spoke the words in his head. For some reason, it made him feel…not
better
, but less afraid. “I am the fawn in the woods,” he whispered to himself.

Sighing, Cor tugged the collar up over his cold nose, then pulled his hands inside the sleeves of Shay's jacket.
I bet Shay's cold. I hope Dad gave her his jacket
. His eyelids drooped. He burrowed deeper, wishing the fleece wasn't so wet, and closed his eyes.

He dreamed that he was floating. Gravity pulled at his clothes as he rose, his feet dangling. It was the best dream ever. He floated higher and began flying along in a rhythmic up and down movement, the ground slipping along beneath him. Then the dream faded into a sweeter one of nothing.

A jolt. He blinked awake.

Gideon was carrying him, cradling him against his chest with Cor's legs wrapped loosely around the Knight's waist. Cor raised his head. Something delicate, but cold, touched his face. Snow.

“Awake, are you?” Gideon paused and let him down.

Nodding while he yawned, and feeling better for the nap, Cor looked around. Flakes swirled about like white confetti at a wedding. Nearby, a stone wall, higher than Cor's head, loomed out of the fog now mixed with snow. It was capped in sheets of bronze molded over the top layer and beaded with moisture. “Where are we?”

“Home.” Gideon led the way along the wall. Reaching a wooden gate near one end, he pushed it open and ushered Cor into the yard. Even as Cor walked through the gate, he could feel the burr of magic. “'Tis well warded,” the Knight said.

A few tall trees were tucked in the corners, while an odd contraption, a pair of tall posts with a wire strung between them, stood guard in the center of the yard. A lumpy burlap bag dangled from the wire.

“What's that?”

“'Tis a practice dummy.”

“Oh.” Cor eyed it as they continued toward a two-story house in a cottage-y style that reminded him of every fantasy story he'd read. He followed the Knight to the back door.

Entering the small kitchen, Cor paused in the doorway, not sure what to do about his muddy shoes. He looked down at the dirty linoleum floor, already marred with dollops of reddish clay from Gideon's boots, then at the breakfast dishes, with breakfast still on them, on the
round table tucked in the corner. With a shrug, he walked inside.

After filling a drinking glass with water, Gideon handed it to him. Cor chugged half of it down in one long gulp, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Thank you,” he said, remembering his manners. He sank down on one of the kitchen chairs near the table when the Knight waved him over, grateful to give his weary legs a rest. He took another drink.

“Hungry?” Taking a drink of water himself, Gideon leaned against the counter.

“No, sir. Not really.”

A corner of the Black Hand's mouth twitched. “An old-fashioned father, your da is.”

Not sure what that meant, Cor nodded and shifted in his seat. He looked out the kitchen window over the sink at the falling snow. “When are we going back?”

“Going back?”

“To help Dad and Shay.”

An eyebrow lifted. “You'll aid them more by staying safe here.”

Cor looked down at his mud-speckled jeans. He picked at a drying patch, peeling it off like a scab. “Please?” He already knew what the Black Hand was going to say, but he had to try. A silence filled the kitchen. After a long moment, he looked up.

Gideon was studying him. “Brave lad for one so young, Cormac Boru. And this be yours.” He dug into a pocket and pulled out Cor's switchblade.

“Oh!” Cor's heart lifted in relief and delight. He clicked it open, examined it, then closed it again, and
thrust it into his front pocket, the weight on his thigh comforting.

“You know how to use a weapon, then?”

“Dad showed me how to kill those…F-Fir Bolgs.” Saying their names left bile in his throat.

“You've fought them before.” Something, like a mix of anger and pity, flickered across the Knight's face, then vanished.

“Yes, sir.” The memory of what they had done to him made him want to pull his arms and legs inside of Shay's jacket and hide. “Me and Dad. They…” he stopped and swallowed. “They hurt Dad, and then they…they…” The rest of the words formed a dam in his throat. He looked away, eyelids burning.

Gideon pulled a chair closer and took a seat next to him. “Cormac Boru.” The Knight's voice was soft. “Look at me, lad.”

Blinking hard, Cor obeyed.
He's going to think I'm a crybaby
.

“Your da is a fine warrior. As is the Healer. They know when to stand, and better yet, when to flee to stand another day.”

Wanting to believe those words more than anything in the world, Cor nodded. He sucked in a shaky breath, then wiped his runny nose on a wet sleeve. He shivered again, the sodden fleece cold and clammy against his skin.

Gideon's black brows pinched together. “We best find some warmer clothing.” He rose. “Come.”

Wearily, Cor followed him out of the kitchen and into the living room. A fireplace, crafted from river rocks, took up most of one entire side. Rows upon rows
of bronze weapons, as well as a few iron ones, rested on pegs above the mantel. Across the room, a small desk was tucked under the stairs, while shabby furniture, consisting of a sofa covered in cracked leather and several worn armchairs, was clustered in the center of the room. Two large windows looked over a wooden porch. Through them, Cor saw that Gideon's home was tucked at the end of a cul-de-sac.
Like our home
, he thought as they climbed the stairs.