The Payment

by Michelle E Lowe

  Pierce jumped and glanced at the branch in his hands where the arrowhead had pierced it straight through.

  “Fuckin’ hell!” he shrieked.

  She already had another ready by the time he looked over. The bowstring creaked as she bent it back.

  “Flee, little fox,” she ordered.

  Clearly, she wanted to toy with him until she got bored and killed him. He wasn’t giving her the satisfaction.

  “I’m not running anymore,” he stated, tossing the branch. “You want to do me in? Then do it.”

  He stretched his arms out to show her he was serious.

  The elf lowered her weapon, pouting. “Pity. I was looking forward to playing around with you some more.”

  She raised her weapon and Pierce sucked in a breath, ready to receive the kill shot. An arrow flew past her head, ruining her shot and sending it whizzing by Pierce’s ear.

  “Shite!” he shouted, falling back on his arse.

  It happened so fast, and yet, she still saw it coming. The elf shifted her bow and used it as if it were an ancient wooden shield, catching a few arrows before they hit her. Pierce didn’t see anybody around, but she had obviously recognized the danger, for she had darted off into the forest and vanished.

  Pierce breathed frantically. He was still reeling from nearly having a bolt plunged into his chest when seven other figures emerged from the woods. That didn’t help his anxiousness. They were three men and four women. One very tall bloke had silver strands in his otherwise hickory brown hair. He was armed with a recurve bow.

  “Are you all right, Grandson?” he said to him.

  Pierce gave him a perplexed look. “Eh?”

  The man, who appeared to be a woodsman, extended his other hand to Pierce. Realizing the man was not going to harm him, Pierce grabbed hold of his forearm and allowed the stranger to pull him to his feet. Christ, he was strong. Standing face to face with him, Pierce noticed the pointy ears.

  “Are you hurt?” the elf asked him.

  “Erm, I’m fine. Sorry, did you call me ‘Grandson?’”

  “She’s nowhere to be found,” reported a tall young elf lad in his mid-teens, perhaps.

  “We shall search for her,” said the older gent. “Foster, you stay here and watch over him.”

  The youth bowed and responded in what Pierce could only assume was elven language. “Sicta nin po fai, harmach.”

  The elves scattered and vanished into the forest.

  When they were gone, Pierce stared intently at the elf called Foster.

  He stood at least six-foot-two, with blond and brown locks that reached the center of his back. He had sharp facial features. His earthy style of clothing reassembled what the other elves were wearing. He had a short-sleeved shirt that fell to his knees, with thin bands wrapped all the way up his bare, muscular arms. He had an arrow fixed in his crossbow. He slowly scanned the area. When he turned toward Pierce, he stared at him with the brightest green eyes Pierce had ever seen.

  “It’s in our best interests to let Kayden kill you,” the elf put in.

  “Who?”

  “The one who attacked you. She is a wild elf, and very elusive. So wild, in fact, that she tends to ignore our laws. I think she and you are a lot alike.”

  “What the bloody hell does that mean?"

  “She’s your distant cousin.”

  “Eh? Oh, yeah, she did mention that. What were you talking about . . . ignoring laws?”

  “It means she is able to bend rules. Old laws put in place thousands of years ago. She can take your life before your time and keep you dead.”

  He hadn’t the foggiest clue what any of that meant. “Sorry? Keep me dead? Last I checked, once you’re pushing up daisies, you continue with the gardening, chum.”

  Foster glanced up and down at him. “You’d be surprised.”

  “And best interests for everyone?”

  “If Kayden succeeds in killing you, then the witch’s plan fails.”

  “The witch. Aye, her again.”

  “Clever move on her and the Trickster’s part. Hiding you in a different time.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “You told Durothil, your grandfather.”

  “Eh? No, I didn’t. I just met the man.”

  “You will tell him, fool,” Foster explained. “After your return.”

  “Right. And you’ve been around all this time?”

  “Yes. I am sixty years old in human years, but I am only in my adolescence.”

  “How fortunate you are, mate,” Pierce grumbled.

  “Though I shall never live as long as Durothil, for he is a full-blooded elf and I am mostly elf. The human side of me makes me age faster.”

  “Yeah,” Pierce said apathetically. “What about this plan you spoke of?”

  “What about it?”

  “If it has all played out already and you’ve been alive this whole time, don’t you know the outcome?”

  “We have lived through a version of it, yes. It can still be changed, though. Every path can be altered, no matter what.”

  “Er, all right. If it’s so risky, keeping me alive, then why save me?”

  “Your grandfather does not wish you dead. You apparently have a long life ahead of you. More than one, in fact, and he doesn’t want you to be robbed of them.”

  More than one life? What am I, a bleeding cat with nine lives?

  “My grandfather, eh? On whose side?”

  “Your mother’s.”

  “Uh. So, I’m part elf?”

  “Among other things.”

  Pierce snorted. “Unbelievable. If I was to mention anything about this to anyone, they’d think I was mad in my own time—and in this one, I should add.”

  “You’ll have no memories of being here when you return. The mind cannot contain future events, only past and present ones, even if you have lived through it. Your mind will simply clear it out as if it never happened because, in hindsight, it hasn’t. Not in your time, anyway. There will perhaps be cracks in the wall, and pieces may surface, depending on how decent your memory is.”

  Pierce slipped his freezing hands into his pockets. If he knew he was going to be chased through the bloody woods by some wild elf woman, he’d have worn his coat—or, better yet, brought his gun.

  “What about you?” he asked. “What’s your story?”

  “There isn’t much to tell. I am Foster, part elf, but because I was born to an elf mother and was raised among the elves, I live my life in the way of the elves. Things would have been different if I lived with humans instead. Like your mother, Nona.”

  “Right,” he said, trying to grasp that one. “Who’s your father then, eh?”

  Without diverting his watchful gaze, Foster said, “His name was Joaquin Landcross.”

  Pierce’s mouth dropped open. He approached the elf and studied him more closely. So close, in fact, that Foster took a step back.

  He did resemble Joaquin with his long nose, the shape of his mouth, and even the dimple in his chin.

  “You’re Joaquin’s son?”

  “I was, yes.”

  “Was?” Pierce pounced on the word. “Oh, aye. We’re in the bloody future. I don’t reckon the tosser lived this long.”

  “Not even close. He died the night I was conceived.”

  The news stunned Pierce. He quickly did the math.

  “You’re sixty? Bloody hell, he dies at thirty-nine.”

  “Thirty-two,” Foster corrected. “Elf women spend seven years pregnant before giving birth.”

  Pierce wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about his brother’s death. His act of betrayal continued to play vividly in Pierce’s dreams, and the hurt he carried had lingered long after the cut across his throat had healed. Regardless, he had never wanted Joaquin to die so young.

  “How did it happen?”

  “You will find out for yourself,” Foster answered tersely. “You were there.”

  “I was there? Does that mean I, er,
that I—?”

  “No. You’re not responsible for his death.”

  Pierce sighed with great relief.

  “However, because he and my mother shared a powerful connection—the elf bloodline—my father’s energy force did not stay away long. It boomeranged back to her, where it grew.”

  Pierce wondered if the gift giving of surprises would ever end. “Are you . . . ?” He cleared his throat. “Are you saying you’re really my brother?”

  “No. I am your nephew. Your brother died many years ago.”

  “But you just bloody well said his energy force, or whatever, came back around. Basically, you’re saying Joaquin has been reborn.”

  “It doesn’t make us the same person. I have inherited some of Father’s traits, as does every child, but the man who was once your brother is no longer here.”

  “You’re aware of this, though. Do you have any memories of being him?”

  Pierce decided this was the strangest conversation he had ever had.

  “None,” Foster answered. “I only know this from my mother. She saw it the day I was born. She also told me he was a good man.”

  Pierce crossed his arms and snorted. “She must not have known him long.”

  A rustle in the woods caught his attention. Foster raised his weapon.

  Durothil emerged alone. “Kayden is no longer here,” he reported.

  “Does it mean I’m safe?” Pierce asked hopefully.

  “She is a hunter and a warrior,” Durothil explained. “She will come for you again.”

  “Bugger.”

  “At present, the best solution for you is to return to the city. It will be safer and make it more difficult for her to find you there. We’ll keep hunting for her in the meantime.”

  Pierce nodded. “Erm, listen, I don’t understand exactly what is going on. What plan does this witch have, eh?”

  “Chaplin!” Frank called from the cabin. “Where are you, you British pug?”

  His loud, boisterous voice drew Pierce’s attention away from the elves long enough for them to vanish when he swiveled his head back their way. “Dammit.”

  He climbed the embankment and went to the car.

  “What the hell happened to youze?” Frank asked, noting Pierce’s dirty clothing.

  Pierce played it cool. “While you were sleeping, mate, I was loading the bottles into the car. I thought I saw someone stalking about in the woods, so I investigated. I ended up falling down a bloody bank.”

  “Did youze find anyone?” he asked, now on edge.

  “It was just a damn deer.”

  Frank slumped with relief. “Youze went lookin’ fer a snooper without your gun? Are youze stupid?”

  “C’mon,” Pierce grunted, heading for the house. “Let’s pack up our gear and clear out. I want to get back to the city.”

  “What’s the big hurry? I haven’t eaten breakfast yet. No cawfee or nothin’.”

  “I’m not cookin’ you breakfast, if that’s what you’re implying, chum. We can stop at a diner on the way.”

  Pierce and Frank packed up their suitcases, cleaned up, and left the cabin. While traveling over the narrow, icy road, Pierce was preoccupied with his own thoughts while keeping an eye on the forest surrounding them. It wasn’t until they reached the highway that he finally took his hand off his revolver, holstered under his coat.

  “Frank.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Tell Chester to come with you to the cabin from now on. I’m not coming back.”

  Chapter Eight

  To the Children’s Delight

  Orenda scrambled a dozen eggs, made eight slices of toast, a pile of fried ham, sausage links, and cut up a bowl of fruit for the two children. She assumed it would be enough. With Hugh at the table and Jeneal in her high chair—both children enjoying the bounty given to them—Orenda worked to prepare her potion from the demon blood she had collected from the Omnia Tempora tree.

  “What are you doing?” Hugh asked, watching her set the spell over the blood inside the vial.

  “I am preparing a control spell,” she answered honestly.

  “Why?”

  “To give to the guards outside. I have to make sure they will take care of you while I’m gone.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To London.”

  “Why?”

  “To stop a nasty witch who aims to do some very bad things.”

  “Oh,” Hugh simply replied.

  He took a bite out of his toast and chewed at it for a long while, giving Orenda the time she needed to finish her spell.

  She whispered a few more words and nodded. “There. All done.”

  Jeneal muttered sounds and her brother listened. “My sister wants to know if you’ll come back.”

  Orenda had never birthed any offspring from her own body, but she did like them enough. She had a certain connection with children, and she knew how to speak to them in a manner that allowed them to understand things, even dangerous things, without scaring them.

  “I do hope so. At least to say goodbye to you before I return to sleep. We shall see what happens in the days ahead. Now, eat up. I must prepare for my journey after I serve the soldiers their morning tea.”

  * * *

  Archie bought tickets for the first ferryboat bound for Le Havre for himself and Clover. The harbor felt more like a military base than a port. Soldiers were everywhere, and they were questioning people and searching through any large luggage trunks resembling the one they had used to smuggle Landcross. Soldiers had checked him twice for a scar across his neck, and they had questioned him before he even had a chance to purchase the damn boarding passes.

  The soldiers weren’t being aggressive or even impolite, but they were on the hunt, and they were tolerating no refusals. Archie already saw what lack of compliance accomplished. While standing in the ticket line, a man refused to allow the guards to search his luggage. He was instantly detained and his belongings searched anyway.

  Archie met up with Clover out on the dock where three more uniformed soldiers waited. They started asking him and Clover for their names and destination.

  “I’m Archie Norwich and this is my sister, Clover Norwich.”

  He waited a beat to see if their surname rang any bells. When the guards didn’t respond, he added, “We’re journeying to Le Havre.”

  They checked his and Clover’s boarding passes to confirm his claims.

  “Why?” a guard with a cleft palate demanded.

  “For a friend’s birthday.”

  “How long do you plan on staying?” another soldier said, joining in on the interrogation.

  “For the day.”

  “A day?” asked the soldier with the deformed upper lip. “You’re going to take a ferryboat trip all the way down to Le Havre only to spend a couple of hours before catching the last ferry back?”

  Archie realized his error. He and Clover should have brought some of their things to make it appear they were staying until the following day.

  “I’m a busy man, sir,” stated Archie.

  “But you have time to travel for a friend’s birthday?”

  “He’s a good friend of mine and we promised we would be there this year.”

  “Is that so? Where is your gift?”

  Archie’s blood began heating up. Soldiers had already questioned him and checked for the damn scar more than once. Not to mention, he and Landcross looked nothing alike, which was plain to see in the wanted posters the soldiers were carrying around with them.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Clover chimed in, “but what concern is it of yours?”

  Archie thought he would drop dead right there.

  “Miss?” the same guard huffed, folding his arms.

  “Are you trying to make us miss our ferry with your invasive inquiries? How does prying into our affairs help you find this . . . this Pierce Landcross fellow?”

  Clover had a point, and the others realized it, as well.

  “You
’re right, miss,” yielded another guard. “Do have a safe journey.”

  The siblings were finally allowed to board their vessel.

  Out at sea, the Royal Navy stopped their ferry and searched it, as well as the other boats around them. When they turned up nothing, the vessel and her passengers were permitted to sail on.

  Archie came alongside Clover, who was standing at the bow. “It’s just as bad as the train stations.”

  She ignored him and kept her sights set on the sea beyond. Clover was still cross with him for the night before. Archie had given it much thought since then and arrived at the conclusion that he may have acted a bit harsh.

  He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Clover.”

  She winced and moved away from him.

  “Clover, I apologize for my behavior last night. I was simply tired and hadn’t eaten for a while, and—”

  “That is no excuse to humiliate me as you did,” she snapped.

  She had used the same tone on the soldiers.

  “I didn’t mean to humiliate you. I—”

  “And Kolt!”

  “What about him?”

  “I noticed the way you glared at him in the hotel lobby. He has been nothing but a perfect gentleman, and yet you regarded him as if he were a scoundrel. I shall be lucky if he ever speaks to me again.”

  She bowed her head and wept. It wasn’t like her to cry, which indicated her strong feelings for the boy. He honestly didn’t know how to handle this. Clover was a teenage girl who, even after finding success at such a young age, was still a short-tempered adolescent.

  “I jumped to conclusions. I am not like our father, though, and you mustn’t think of me that way.”

  With a sniff, she raised her head to him. “Then why do you treat me as if I’m some stupid child sometimes? I am not a little kid anymore.”

  “I realize you’re growing up. It’s just . . . ”

  He stopped himself and sighed. He turned toward the ocean to allow the wind to blow against his face.

  “What?” she demanded. “Tell me.”

  Archie was the one to bow his head this time. “I never revealed this to you,” he confessed. “However, on the night Mother died, she made me promise to protect you and keep you from harm.”