“We can do that,” Sithias said, but he didn’t seem relieved.
“What?” Fate asked.
“I can’t shake the feeling that thossse awful people know what we’re planning,” he said, looking under the bed as if he expected to see someone hiding there.
“It’s Mugloth’s presence you’re feeling. The whole island’s rotten with his roots,” Finn said, his expression grim.
Sithias looked at Fate, his amber eyes wide with worry. “Maybe you should ussse the Wordsss of Making to sssolve this one. After the missstake we made with the Green Man surely we know what to avoid now. Don’t we?”
Fate gulped, glancing at Finn hopefully.
He shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking. But we don’t have the luxury of time to think this through. We have to consider every angle and how this could go very wrong if we aren’t careful.”
Disappointed, she dropped her gaze to the floor. “I suppose.”
He nudged her on the chin to get her to look him. “After we’ve gone out there and shown these people we’re not here to be sacrificial lambs, but the answer to their problems, we’ll look into setting things right with the Words of Making. Agreed?”
The confidence shining in his eyes lifted her spirits. “Sounds good, let’s do it.”
Sithias and Gerdie crowded near the door as Finn stepped into the hall. “Sssee you sssoon, misss?” Sithias said, dread and worry apparent on his face as he reached for Gerdie’s hand.
“Before you can say honeyed ham,” Fate said, her smile faltering when she saw his chin trembling.
“Come on, you big baby,” Gerdie said, dragging him over to the bathing room as he nervously muttered “honeyed ham” under his breath.
Fate waved goodbye, troubled by a sudden pang of anxiety as she watched them close the door.
Gripping his flute in one hand, Finn closed his eyes, allowing his awareness to trail out in front of him. He immediately sensed the presence of even more people waiting in the tavern. Their tension and impatience was palpable. He glanced back at Fate. “Ready?”
Drawing her sword, she gave him a nod. “Five by five.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind, I just always wanted to say that,” she whispered, her expression apologetic as a ravishing blush colored her cheeks.
His attention strayed to the night before when her face had been flushed just like that, but with desire. A lazy ripple ran through him. Even in the midst of danger, all he could think about was how much he wanted her. Concentrate, he scolded himself. Clear the road ahead first and then kiss the lass. He turned abruptly and led the way down the hall.
A foul, fishy odor punched them in the nose as soon as they turned the corner into the dim tavern. The room was packed with grimy, contemptuous faces staring at them from the shadows.
“Now!” someone yelled.
They both stopped, instinctively watching for a frontal attack. Something heavy dropped down, slamming them both to their knees and knocking Finn’s flute from his grip. He pushed upward, trying to gain leverage beneath the thick net of ropes enveloping them. Then the net tightened at their ankles, toppling them over, smacking them flat on their backs. Twisting round, he reached for his flute, mere inches out of reach. Exploding with fury, he thrashed, wrenching at the net and further entangling himself.
The air hammered out of him as he took a hard kick to the chest. Struggling to inhale, he strained to look in Fate’s direction, seeing her stab a dagger in someone’s calf. Blood spurted from the wound as she twisted the blade before pulling it out. Her aggressiveness was startling.
“Take those knives off ‘er!” her victim shouted as he grabbed his leg in pain.
She targeted several Achilles heels before anyone could react. The men bellowed and toppled to the floor. Grabbing another dagger, she shoved it in Finn’s grasp hilt-first. He drove it into the top of someone’s foot just as a mob descended on him, knees and fists bashing against his back, flattening him face down, squashing the breath from his lungs. He couldn’t move. The weight of six men pinned him down.
Someone drove a foot into Fate’s stomach. Black rage erupted in Finn as she curled in on herself, gasping for air. He fought with renewed frenzy to get up, but the men holding him pummeled angry fists into his head and kidneys. Pain lashed across his backside, breaking him for the moment.
Lifting the net, they jerked Fate to her feet, yanking her arms behind her back to bind her wrists with rope before she could recover from being kicked in the gut. The lech they’d met earlier on the beach grabbed her by the hair and wrenched her head back. “Ooh, yer a hellcat, and a strong one too.” He kept her head locked in place, his breath rattling. He was plainly excited by her inability to get away.
Incensed by the sight, Finn fumed, his body shaking with each painful breath. The internal darkness latched onto his fury, swelling inside, filling his mind with black thoughts. He wanted to kill. He could do it by just opening his mouth. He could use the Elder race language to bring down nature’s full might on every one of them here and now, just as he had when he’d destroyed Murauda. As the murderous urge burned hot, something much stronger burst forth, dampening the fire. Love and the need to protect blasted through him, clearing his head long enough to realize that he’d be endangering Fate if he unleashed the elements while she was standing in the middle of the storm.
“Best see what else yer hidin’ under there,” the lech said.
Fate writhed against her bonds, her eyes blazing with hatred. Another man gripped her throat, digging his fingers in until she stopped resisting. Her eyes glistened with angry tears as the slimy fisherman slipped his hand slowly down over her waist to her thighs.
Finn thrashed violently, enraged that the scumbag was touching her. Fists cracked against his ribs, spine and skull. Jagged sparks filled his vision as pain spiked through his temple. He fell limp, his body riddled with the ache of so many beatings.
“Finn, stop fighting!” Fate cried out as his captors tightened the net over him. She looked at him with a silent plea in her eyes to surrender.
The fisherman threw Finn a smug smile before turning his attention back to Fate.
Swallowing back his fury, Finn held still, looking forward to the moment he could wrap his hands around the creep’s throat.
“What have we here?” the fisherman said. He unbuckled the straps around her thighs, removing the daggers and arrows. The sword came off next. He looked her over, taking his time to enjoy the view. “Need to be thorough,” he said, running his hand along the curve of her waist, then sliding upward to linger at her breast before he grabbed her crossbow.
A growl rose up in Finn, a wild snarl that came from the bowels of his being. “Get your bloody hands off her before I rip them off!” he roared, surging up from the floor, knocking the men holding onto the net off their feet. The fisherman staggered backward, his eyes wide with fear as Finn lunged at him. His hands were inches from the man’s throat when the slack net tightened, jolting him back to crash to the floor once again.
They all descended on him at once, kicking and punching from every angle. Spasms of pain shuddered through every inch of his body. The sound of Fate’s cries weakened him further as the men pummeled him. Twisting in her direction, he saw her lurch toward him. The fisherman yanked her hair and slapped her across the face, marking her cheek with a scarlet handprint.
“I’m going to kill you!” Finn shouted, his rage so heightened he no longer felt the fists pounding into muscle and bone. Strengthened by his need to protect her, he rose on his knees, his body shaking with the effort of straining against the tremendous weight of the net and the men tugging on it. Bringing one leg up, he launched himself into the ceiling, smashing into the wooden beams with those holding onto him. They fell away like crushed flies. Landing with a thud, he fixed his gaze on the fisherman and pulled back his fist, ready to bury it in the man’s face. Instead, he was the one struck, a solid blow to the back of the head that rattled
his skull and dropped him into nothing.
Fate screamed the moment she saw the chair cracking down over Finn’s head. His dead fall to the floor shot her through with the worst kind of fear. Tears scorched her eyes as her heart pounded hard against her ribcage, threatening to punch a hole through her chest. Frantic with worry, she yelled his name over and over, wanting him to wake up and show her he was alive.
“Shut up!” the fisherman shouted, gripping her head and pulling her face close.
The sickening smell of bile on his breath and the pain in her scalp ignited a searing fury that momentarily burned through her grief. She looked at him through veiled lashes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words choking in her throat.
“Hmm. Now there’s a good wench,” he said, taking a step closer, which is exactly what she wanted.
She drove her knee into his groin with the force of all her rage.
Pitching forward, he fell to his knees with his hands cupped between his legs. “You barmy shrew,” he groaned.
“Enough!” a voice yelled just as the other men lunged at her.
All heads turned to a red-haired boy perched on top of the oak bar. The Book of Fables leaned against the wall behind him.
Fate stared at the giant book. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was a warrior of Beldereth and Finn was the destroyer of destroyers. They’d been fools for misjudging these seemingly dull-witted people. This was a fishing village. They were skilled at netting and killing large prey like the whale Sithias had seen, and even sharks. There’d been a proud display of trophy jaws hanging on the buildings. She’d forgotten the first rule of defense––never underestimate your enemy. Expect them to be as fully armed as you. And never assume you’re better. Arrogance fells even the greatest of warriors.
“Bring her here,” the boy demanded.
Someone shoved her from behind. Still in a daze, she stumbled and fell a few feet away from Finn. His face was turned the other way but she could see he was still breathing. Her relief was so great she laughed––a tearful hysterical laugh.
The fisherman, having recovered somewhat, gripped her by the arm and hauled her up. “Move,” he growled in her ear.
Tensing against his grip as he steered her over to the bar, she frowned at the boy. Who was he and why was everyone following his orders like he was king of the hill? There’d been no mention of a prepubescent tyrant in the fable.
He stood up on top of the bar, looking down his freckled nose at her. “I hear you’ve got a tiny spell book, and that you used it to hide this here giant book in the sand without liftin’ a finger.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, inwardly alarmed and baffled.
The little red-haired girl she’d seen on the boardwalk stepped forward. “It’s not nice to lie,” she said, wagging her finger with that same disturbing smile on her face. Lifting her other arm, she swung Fate’s notebook by the chain in circles.
Startled, Fate glared at her. The brat had picked her pocket earlier! A queasy uneasiness rose in her. How had they known about her notebook? They would’ve had to have been very close by when she’d hidden the Book of Fables, and she was pretty sure there was no hiding the orange pop of color on both their heads against that barren landscape.
“That’s right, little sis. Lyin’s bad,” the boy said as he gestured for one of the men to lift the girl up onto the bar. Brother and sister stared down at her with high and mighty expressions. “Yer bad for lyin’. And you need to be punished.”
Indignation erupted in Fate. “For what?” she yelled. “For wanting to do honest business and paying for our rooms?” She shot the old innkeeper a scathing look.
His fleshy chin jiggled with a quiet chuckle. His callous disregard increased the nauseating knot forming in the pit of her stomach.
“We know why yer really here,” the boy said. He took the notebook from his sister and shook it at Fate. “And ya won’t be conjurin’ any defeat against us.”
Fate gulped as cold sweat iced her back.
“Give it back, Rory!” his sister whined, pouting until he returned the notepad.
Rory kneeled, his eyes moving back and forth over Fate’s face with an eerie boldness. “Ya think yer smarter than us, don’t ya? Oh, the lovely Fate, with her fancy weapons and Words of Makin’. But ya weren’t smart enough to figure out that we’ve been watchin’ ya all this time and preparin’ for this long awaited day.”
The moment he said her name, her head buzzed with such noisome static it nearly drowned out everything else he said. At the same time some vague realization hovered on the edge of her shock and disbelief.
“Are ya comin’ round to it yet?” he asked. “No? Allow me then. Finn’s been our eyes and ears, lettin’ us know yer plans.” He smirked. “Not to mention all the hot and cold particulars between you two lovebirds.” He tilted his head, waiting for her to connect the dots.
As his meaning crystallized, her growing nausea mounted into a stabbing headache. “All of you?” she croaked, her throat tight with the humiliation of discovering these people knew every intimate facet of her relationship with Finn.
“Well, not all of us. The Holy Tree Spirit only shares the visions with me,” he said, rolling his Celtic r’s reverently.
His clarification did nothing to ease her outrage. Having this punk wise to her personal business and all their weaknesses made her blood boil. “Okay, so you think you stopped us. What now?”
Yawning like he was suddenly bored, Rory motioned to the fisherman. “Take ‘er to the Tree. I’ll be along shortly. And Gar, no defilin’ the sacrifice like last time. This one’s real special.”
Gar’s weathered features twisted with resentment as he seized Fate by the arm, careful to keep his delicates angled away from her knee. “So long as she behaves,” he said, shoving his face at Fate, once again polluting her air with his foul breath.
In a fit of rage, she spit at him––kind of surprised at herself since she’d always been grossed out by the act. But then again, she’d suddenly come to understand the true meaning of spitting mad.
He recoiled, swiping his arm over his eye.
Secure in knowing he wasn’t allowed to harm her, she started to smile but his fist came down hard and swift. Pain filled her skull and everything shattered into an explosion of stars.
•
The left side of Fate’s head ached. Memory nagged her for a second as she tried to pin down what was happening. Then she remembered Gar’s punch. Dirtbag. She tried to touch her sore temple but her wrist was tied, no, both wrists and her ankles. They’d roped her to a T-shaped stake in the ground. Her pulse spiked. She hadn’t thought any time had passed. But she’d obviously been out long enough for them to carry her outside and tie her up.
Raising her head slightly, she peeked at her surroundings through her hair, first seeing a tall narrow stone carved with glyphs a few yards ahead of her. There was another stone in front of it, smoother than the first with a two-inch round hole bored through the top half. There were three other pairs of standing stones, all set in a half-circle formation around the base of the oak’s massive trunk. As she focused on the tree, fear swelled in her throat and her breathing escalated into dry gasps.
Its twisting paths of black bark were seeping blood like ill-healed scabs.
“Ah, look who’s awake.”
Fate tensed against her bonds as Rory sauntered into view. He wasn’t alone. The other villagers circled round, all holding pails and beaming with excitement like they were getting ready to watch a baseball game on a sunny afternoon. Thankfully, Gar wasn’t among them.
Standing on tiptoe so he could look her in the eye, Rory hovered inches from her face.
The strong smell of fish on his breath gagged her. Was there anyone on this island who owned a breath mint? Anger burned in her gut. She’d never hated anyone as much as she did these people, especially this adolescent worm for invading her privacy. If she could still shatter bones with a shriek,
they’d be nothing more than mushy skin bags. Since she couldn’t do that, she settled for spitting in his face too.
“Now, now. Ya don’t want another knock upside the head, do ya?” he said, wiping the spittle off his pink, freckled cheek.
She didn’t feel nearly as satisfied as she had before. At least she’d gotten Gar’s goat. Rory’s calm infuriated her.
The boy squinted at the setting sun blazing bright orange across the distant horizon, lighting the ocean with blinding sparks. He walked over to one of the standing stones and peered through the hole, which cast its dark shadow on the stone behind it. “Listen up now. When the sun moves just a little lower, its light’ll shine through the hole onto this part right here.” He ran his finger over a carved symbol of a circle where one half was made deeper than the other. “When that happens, the earth below yer feet’ll start rumblin,’ and somethin’ both terrible and glorious will come burstin’ out of the ground fer ya.”
Icy fear crept up Fate’s spine, effectively dousing her anger.
Rory saw it. “Now don’t fret,” he said, confusing her with a sudden tone of compassion in his voice. “You won’t suffer. Not as Finn’s creator. It’s already been decided you’ll die quickly.”
“What do you mean?” she yelled, her confusion worsening. “What do you want with Finn?”
Rory’s blue eyes rounded. “Are you really that daft?”
She waited for him to elaborate but he’d become distracted. He was staring at the standing stones. The sun’s sinking light had descended enough to direct its rays through the hole in the stone. Her mouth went dry. The circular beam now touched the very top of the symbol on the stone behind it.
Rory turned to his sister, motioning for her to come forward. With her pail in hand, she walked up to Fate wearing the same unsettling smirk on her face. The notepad hung round her neck by a string. The other children lined up behind her with their pails. Fate’s stomach tightened with dread. They looked at her like she was subhuman––something to be poked at. She knew children could be cruel but these creepy kids scared her.
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