No way in hell.
He was blind but saw everything in his lands—everything but me. He wouldn’t have agreed to my little game if he didn’t have to, because victory is always better than playing fair. He couldn’t see me, he couldn’t hold me, and so I was almost safe. But why was I so special? Why should a candle matter so much? I paused, reviewing. The Luidaeg gave me the candle and sent me into his lands. She said I could get there and back by the light of a candle.
Of course: we were in a child’s land, playing by children’s rules. Blind Michael would catch me if he could, because that was how the game worked, but he couldn’t stop me or see me as long as I kept my candle burning. That would make the game unfair.
“Just great,” I said. I was trapped in the realm of a mad Firstborn who obeyed the laws of children’s tales, and my only hope for escape was pinned on a candle flame. It hadn’t been able to hide Raj from the Riders, and I wasn’t counting on it to be able to hide any of the other children, either. The Luidaeg and I were going to have words when I got home.
And then there was the dream. I’ve always been a vivid dreamer, but this was different. It felt almost real, and it felt like it was important. Like it was something I needed to remember. Not that I could have forgotten the look in Karen’s eyes, even if I wanted to.
My thoughts distracted me enough that I didn’t hear the rustling until something grabbed my shoulder. That’s the kind of mistake you only get to make once, because afterward, you’re generally dead. I whirled as far as the bush allowed, ignoring the thorns raking my cheek as I pulled back my free hand to strike my attacker. Whatever it was might be disoriented enough by prey that fought back for me to get out of the brambles and run.
I started to swing and froze, staring. Quentin stared back. The brambles had forced him to his hands and knees. Mud was caked on his face and hair, making him look more like an extra from Lord of the Flies than a well-groomed courtier. Spike was on his shoulder, looking unperturbed by the situation. I guess when you’re made of thorns, a few more don’t hurt.
“Quentin.” I slowly lowered my hand. Spike gave me a wounded look, and I added, “Spike. What are you two doing here?”
It took Quentin a moment to find his voice. He just gaped, still staring, before he stammered, “T-Toby?”
“In the flesh.” I glanced down at myself and grimaced. “So to speak. How the hell did you get here?” Don’t you know you’re going to get yourself killed? Did you think for a second before you did whatever it took to follow me?
Idiots. Idiots, children, and heroes.
“I—the Luidaeg said you’d be here. She told me to look for the candlelight.” He pointed to my candle. “But I didn’t think . . .”
“Yeah, it’s a little weird from this side, too. I ask again, what are you doing here?” He’d gone to the Luidaeg. Oh, root and branch. The Luidaeg can be kind when she wants to, but her gifts are never free. What had he paid to find me?
Quentin stiffened, looking away for a moment before he turned back to me and said, “I’m here for Katie. You’re going to let me help,” in what was probably supposed to be a commanding tone.
I’ve been commanded by a lot of people in my time. Some of them were pretty good at it, and a few were even good enough to make me listen. Quentin had heritage and history on his side, but he didn’t have the practice, and when you’re trying to make me do what you want, practice is what counts. It also helps if you’re not down on your hands and knees.
I snorted. “I’m sorry, but no. Go home. It’s too dangerous.”
“I don’t care. They have Katie. I’m not going anywhere until we get her out.”
“There’s no ‘we’ here, Quentin. You have to go.”
“Why? This can’t be worse than when we went to help Jan, and I was good enough to go with you then. I’m staying. You can’t make me leave.”
How the hell was I supposed to tell him about Blind Michael? No one could have warned me about him. You can’t describe something so vast and old that it blanks out the sky; the words just aren’t there.
“Quentin, look at me,” I said, “Really look at me. This isn’t some kind of illusion—this is real. This isn’t the world you’re used to. We’re on an Islet. What does that tell you?”
“That things work differently here,” he said. Spike leaped off his shoulder, padding over to lean against my knee. I automatically started scratching under its chin. My pets have me well trained. Undaunted, Quentin said, “The Luidaeg warned me. I’m not scared.”
Of course he wasn’t scared. The fear comes later, after the hurting starts. “You need to go home.”
“Not without Katie.” His voice seemed to echo through the brambles and out to the plains. I cringed. He didn’t have a candle; Blind Michael could see him. If we kept fighting, I might be responsible for getting him caught.
“Fine, whatever,” I hissed, “But I’m in charge here, understand? You listen to me.”
“Of course,” he said, and smiled. My giving the orders and his taking them was a familiar pattern. Hopefully this time we could skip the part where I almost get him killed.
I gave him a bleak look and shook my head, turning to crawl out of the brambles. “Follow me.”
Getting back into the open was easier for me than it was for him: sometimes size really does matter. He had to back out, while I was able to crab-walk, only touching the ground for balance. Spike rode on my shoulder, pressed flat. It crooned as we moved, obviously glad to see me. I was glad to see it, too. I knew Spike could take care of itself, and having it along meant that if something happened to me, Quentin wouldn’t be alone.
Quentin stayed close, swearing when thorns caught in his clothes and hair. I didn’t feel sorry for him. He’d followed me into Blind Michael’s lands of his own free will, and I’d send him back if I could. We’d been through too much together. I didn’t want to see him hurt again. And he’d made sure that there was nothing I could do about it. Damn it. Why are we always so stupid when it comes to our own survival? How much of that was he learning from me?
I straightened once I was clear of the thorns, leaving Quentin still struggling to get free. The night seemed even darker without the brambles making a ceiling overhead to trap the candlelight.
Quentin finally got loose. I grabbed his sleeve, hushing him. I’ll give him this much: he froze, waiting for my signal before he did anything else. I couldn’t hear anyone coming—yet. That didn’t mean they weren’t on the way. “Quentin?”
“Yeah?”
“Run.” We bolted from cover together, my shorter legs pumping madly as I fought to keep up. The forest was a smudge on the horizon, holding darkness and shadows and Blind Michael’s lady. There was nothing there with reason to be friendly, but the Riders hadn’t been willing to follow me past the trees when I hid there before. We’d be safe a little longer if we could make it that far. Having Quentin along changed everything. He had no candle to hide him and no weapons I could see; he was defenseless, and it was up to me to get him out of the way as quickly as I could. We were almost there. All we had to do was keep running.
I shouldn’t have been surprised when the Riders stepped out of the fog at the forest’s edge. I really shouldn’t have. Quentin stumbled to a stop, and I pulled up a foot behind him, barely avoiding a collision. Spike dug its claws into my shoulder and hissed, starting to make a low, almost subsonic snarling noise.
The nearest Rider leveled his sword at Quentin, ignoring me entirely. “Tag,” he said. “You’re it.”
“Toby, run,” Quentin whispered, drawing himself up to his full height. Oh, sweet Titania. He was going to try to be a hero so that I could get away. “You have to save Katie.”
I’ve never been any good at playing the damsel in distress and no matter how young I looked, I was way too old to start. “Like hell,” I snapped, shoving myself in front of him and looking up at the Rider with a brilliant smile. “Hey, asshole. Can I help you?”
The helmet swu
ng toward me. “You’re it,” he repeated, sounding somewhat unsure.
“You said that already.” I tried to ignore the Riders circling us. My small, screaming urge toward self-preservation wasn’t making it easy. Everyone has a little voice that tells them when they’re doing something stupid. I’ve gotten very good at ignoring mine over the years. Spike’s hissing was harder to ignore. Well, Spike could take care of itself. “So what now? Are we supposed to start hunting you? If that’s the case, I want your horse. My feet are tired.”
“What are you doing?” hissed Quentin. “Stop teasing them and run! I’ll hold them off!”
“Sorry, but no,” I said. If I was going to die, I wasn’t going to do it cringing. Not in the middle of my most spectacular failure yet. “You couldn’t hold off my cats. What the hell are you doing coming here unarmed, anyway?”
“But—”
“No buts. Here.” I turned, pressing my candle into his hands. The Riders saw him when he wasn’t the one holding it. Hopefully, this could change the game. “Hold this for me, okay?”
“What are you—”
“You can get there and back by the light of the candle. Remember that.” The Riders had shifted focus, becoming less concerned with Quentin and more interested in Spike and me. The candle was working, thank Oberon. “Well, boys? Are we gonna party or what?”
“You will come with us,” their spokesman rumbled.
“That’s a good line. I’ll have to remember that.” I had them confused; they weren’t used to having children talk back without tears. I might be able to get past them if I ran now. That wouldn’t help Quentin unless I could count on the candle, and I had to be able to count on the candle. If he didn’t move, he should be all right.
“One more thing,” I said, trying to project a bravado I didn’t feel. The Rider leaned forward, and I bolted, running for the gap between the two nearest Riders as fast as I could. They turned, but not fast enough to stop me; they were used to defiance, not actual, coherent thought. I shoved past their horses and ran for the forest, not looking back. If I could reach the woods, I might survive. If I survived, there was a chance. If there was a chance, everything could still come out okay.
The hoofbeats began almost immediately. It sounded like they were all following. Good. That would give Quentin time to get away and finish what I’d started. He was a smart kid, and he did well in Tamed Lightning, and he could do it, if he was clever. He could get out. You can get there and back by the light of a candle, after all. The first spear thudded into the dust a few feet in front of me. I stumbled but kept running, forcing myself toward the forest. Blind Michael probably wanted me alive but that wouldn’t stop them from hurting me. Changelings can survive a lot of damage, and fae magic can heal almost anything. I didn’t trust them to play nice.
The second spear hit me in the back of my left thigh. The momentary pain was followed by a disturbing numbness that spread down my leg, locking my knee into place. Suddenly off-balance, I staggered and fell.
Spike jumped off my shoulder and turned to face the Riders, rattling its thorns and keening in a high, warning tone. It was a display as brave as it was stupid. They would crush my poor goblin and take me anyway. I wanted to tell Spike to run, but I was so tired all of a sudden; the numbness was spreading upward, making it hard to think, move, or breathe. Poison. Damn it, Luidaeg, is there a law that says the Firstborn can’t play fair?
The Riders formed a half circle around us, weapons at the ready, and stopped. Only a half circle? I forced my head up, and found myself looking into the trees at the forest’s edge. We’d almost made it. Oak and ash, I’d been so close . . .
I let my head fall back down, closing my eyes. I was tired. I was so very tired, and the weight of the spear jutting out of my leg seemed great enough to crush me. I heard Spike running past me into the trees, thorns rattling. Good. At least one of us was going to get out of this alive. It was making a shrill keening noise as it ran, like it was calling for help. A pity that help wasn’t coming.
The numbness had spread through most of my body before I realized the Riders weren’t moving. They had me surrounded, but none of them were coming to grab me. Why the hell not? They’d already won. All they needed to do was come and claim their prize. At least none of them was holding Quentin. The candle had spared him that much. For now.
Then I felt hands on my shoulders, and someone was lifting me. I forced my eyes open and found myself looking into a scarred, yellow-skinned face. Acacia. Blind Michael’s lady.
“You sent the goblin. Do you know my daughter?” she said. Her voice wasn’t kind, but it wasn’t cruel; just bemused. “Did she send you? Where is she?” Raising her head, she scowled at the Riders. “Go away and tell my lord that this one reached the wood. That makes her mine, not his, and I will not cede her. Run your races somewhere else.”
One by one they turned and rode away. Acacia shook her head, sighing as she watched them go. Her arms seemed too fragile to support my weight, but she held me without trouble. There was a thin mewling noise. “You may come too, if you insist,” she said. I heard the rattle of Spike’s thorns and closed my eyes again. My leg was burning, even through the numbness, and I could feel the blood soaking through my jeans and running down my thigh. Quentin; I was leaving Quentin alone. I was . . .
I did what any sensible person would have done under the circumstances. I fainted.
THIRTEEN
THE MISTS WERE HEAVIER NOW. I tried to stand and couldn’t. The earth had closed around me, covering my feet. “Hello?” I shouted, and winced as the echoes returned my voice. I spoke as an adult; the echo answered as a child. “Hello?”
“I’m here, Auntie Birdie, it’s all right.” I felt a cool hand on my forehead, and Karen whispered, “You have to wake up. It’s not safe.”
“Karen. I found you.” I knew she was there. I just couldn’t see her.
“No, you didn’t. You can’t find me yet; it’s too soon. You have to get out of here, and you have to find her. Please!”
“Find who?” I shook my head. “Sweetheart, I’m here to save you. You and the others.”
“No one came to save her, and so she had to save herself. She’s sorry, but you have to find her. It’s important. It’s very important.” She pulled her hand away. The smell of roses hung heavy in the air; not the perfect roses of Evening’s curse, but a richer, earthy midsummer scent. “You can’t find us if you don’t find her. Wake up, Aunt Birdie. Wake up . . .”
I opened my eyes and promptly wished that I hadn’t. My lower body was numb, and my head felt like it was on fire—not a good combination. If I squinted I could force the shadows above me to resolve into a canopy of branches and dead leaves . . . the woods. I was in the woods. If I was in the woods, what I remembered happening after the Riders shot me wasn’t a dream. Acacia saved me because she thought I knew her daughter. No matter what this meant, it probably wasn’t something I was going to like very much.
Spike was sitting in the middle of my chest. It gave a triumphant squeak when it realized I was awake, beginning to make the rasping, scraping noise that served it as a purr.
“Hey, Spike,” I whispered, forcing myself to smile. “You been there long, guy?” It chirped. “Right. I’ll just pretend I understood that, okay? I missed you.” Fighting my natural inertia—once at rest, I tend to stay at rest—I raised a hand and scratched the top of Spike’s head. “That’s my good Spike.”
I continued to scratch as I took slow stock of my body. My throat was burning, and it felt like I’d been sucking on sandpaper. More, my head was pounding, my back hurt, and I couldn’t feel my legs. Whatever I was lying in swayed with the motion of my hands—a hammock. I couldn’t see past my chest; for all that I knew, my body ended just past the point where Spike was sitting. That probably wasn’t the most comforting idea I could have come up with. Damn. I spent an unknown amount of time trying to twist around so that I could see myself before exhaustion overwhelmed me and I fell into an unea
sy doze.
Maybe my body got some rest out of that unplanned nap, but my mind didn’t. It kept racing, generating countless nightmare scenarios beginning with what Blind Michael would do when he learned I couldn’t run and going downhill from there. I woke to find Spike sniffling at my face, attracted by my whimpering.
“It’s okay, Spike,” I said, stroking its side. “You’ll be okay.” It whined but subsided, and I returned to my unhappy napping.
I don’t know how long that went on before footsteps in the dark heralded Acacia’s return, snapping me awake. I tried to twist toward the sound, half hopeful, half afraid, but I couldn’t even move that much. I was more than trapped; I was helpless. Spike jumped to its feet, chirping at whatever it saw in the shadows. That reaction may have been the only thing that kept me from freaking out completely. Spike is usually a pretty good judge of character. It wasn’t worried—why should I be? Unless, of course, this was the one time it happened to be wrong.
Clearing my throat, I said, “Hello?”
“Good; you’re awake.” Acacia stepped into view, the light from her lantern filling the clearing and finally letting me see without squinting. It was a small comfort—there was nothing but the trees. “I was starting to worry.” She didn’t sound it. If anything, she sounded bored.
I looked at her, taking a moment before I spoke. Except for the scar that cut down the side of her face, her skin looked almost impossibly smooth, like she’d been carved from living wood and the knife had slipped. Only one bloodline had skin like that. “You’re a Dryad.” That explained why the forest was willing to obey her: Dryads are the spirits of trees, and they’re halfway to being plants themselves. None of the Dryads I’d met had that sort of control over plants, but that didn’t make it impossible. Dryads are strange, even for fae. What I didn’t understand was what she was doing there—why would a Dryad choose to live where all the trees were dying? Especially a Dryad as powerful as Acacia appeared to be.
An Artificial Night - BK 3 Page 14
