When Brenin backed up, I spotted two items, half hidden under the young man's corpse. A cell phone and an open notebook. Brenin used his nails to tug out the notebook. The ink had smeared too much to read, but words covered the pages, as if the guy had been scribbling notes right up until...well, whatever happened.
Another step back. Off to the side lay a backpack with a crowbar and flashlight. I remembered the hole above, the boards looking as if they'd been pried off.
Urban-explorer dude came into this room. Specifically into this room, tearing through the boards to get to it. Then he wrote that on the wall--
He didn't write it. Ioan had been quiet, and his mental voice startled me.
The blood isn't his, he continued.
Blood? Oh, it's written in...
Yes. We can smell it, and Brenin can tell it's not the same as that from the body. It's also older. Significantly older. And from multiple sources.
Multiple...? Oh.
The writing was what this guy had come to see. He'd somehow known this room was down here and broken in to get a look at it.
And then surrounded himself with candles?
Beware the darkness.
He'd brought the candles. He'd come prepared.
He did, a voice said. Yet he didn't listen. Wouldn't listen.
It took a moment to realize that wasn't Ioan's voice. I looked over to see a man writing on the wall. Brenin moved closer, and I saw the man's finger...the end bloodied and raw, bone poking through as he wrote in blood.
I gave a start, and Ioan said, Liv? What do you see?
You don't? I asked.
No.
The man turned. He wasn't much older than me, dressed in old-fashioned pajamas and a bathrobe, cinched tight. He tucked his hand into his pocket.
"My apologies. That was rude. Nasty to look at, I'm sure. But I had to do something. We all did. We had to warn the others. Not that it ever worked. One can't hide from the darkness. Which never stops us from trying, does it?"
"You're talking to me, right?"
He looked around. "I don't see anyone else."
His gaze was fixed above the hound's head, where my face would be if I were standing there. The ghost was addressing what he must have seen and heard as another person.
"Tell me about the darkness," I said.
A brief, wry smile. "I don't need to, and that would waste our time, wouldn't it? The darkness is here. It is always here. It waits, and it feeds. Now it just waits. For you, apparently."
"Who am I?"
The man chuckled. "If you don't know that, I can't help you. If you're testing me again, it's a waste of time. I know only that you are the one they've been waiting for." He pursed his lips and tilted his head, as if listening. "Though apparently, you are unfashionably early."
"Bad habit. Why are you here?"
"Can't leave. Well, I could, but I avoided that particular fate." He shuddered. "The red birds. You know of them?"
"Melltithiwyd."
"Gesundheit." He smiled. "If that's what they're called, I'll stick with calling them red birds."
"You escaped them? Does that mean you were supposed to be taken by them?"
"Everyone is, if they're brought down here. Along with everyone who comes down here voluntarily." He nodded at the young man's corpse. "My job is to warn them. My self-appointed task. Most, sadly, paid me no heed. When you're mad, it's hard to put much stake in the words of a ghost telling you to run for your life. One hears such things too often to be taken seriously. Some, though, had a chance. Like him. But he wouldn't listen. Couldn't seem to hear me, which is a shame, because he came here quite determined to see ghosts. I glimpsed his journal there. He followed some tale about this place. Perhaps a story told by someone I did save? He came quite prepared against the darkness. But not against the darkness, if you know what I mean."
"Candles don't hold off that darkness. Not for long."
"I really did hope to save him. I even wrote on the wall for him, and he could see that and became quite excited. Started taking pictures with his device." The ghost sighed. "Mortal terror would have been so much more helpful."
"You said others were brought down here?"
"Food for the darkness. Souls for the...slooy-ah, is it? I heard some say that word, before they died. A couple of the old ones, talking in their old language."
I nodded. "The sluagh. You were food for the sluagh that lived here."
"For their bird things. We fed the birds and then became them--the others did, at least. Not quite certain how I escaped, but I'm grateful for it. One might argue that I deserved such a fate. I would disagree. Wasn't in my right mind. Murder is a mortal sin, but when your child is..." He shook his head. "I went too far in my vengeance. I know that. Something snapped in my head, and I am certain I will pay the price with my immortal soul, but for whatever reason, I did not pay it by becoming one of them."
"Were the other victims all like you? Here for some crime?"
"There for some crime." He pointed above, at the hospital. "And then here for it." He pointed into the room. "Spirited down to await the devouring darkness. Which is not why you're here at all, though, is it?"
"Why am I here?"
He chuckled again. "I'm hoping that's another of your tests, and you know the answer. They want you. They've been waiting for you. They need you. I don't know why. The trick, I presume, is not to give them what they want and, with that, to free me and the tormented souls in their flock." He peered at me. "That is your plan, correct? You don't wish to join them?"
"I'm not really for jumping on the bandwagon of evil. It's never as much fun as it seems."
He grinned. "Excellent. I would agree, which is perhaps why I managed to abstain. You'll defeat them, then?"
"I'm guessing if I ask for tips, I'll only get a hearty good luck and fare thee well?"
"Oh, no. I've been here a very long time. I cannot physically help you. But I have made observations that could come in handy."
"Thank you."
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
I got what I could from the ghost, and then Brenin tried leaping back up through the hole, and I had no idea what the ghost saw, but it made him laugh.
"You'll want to go that way." He pointed with his mutilated finger and then quickly switched to the other hand with a murmured apology. "That's the way I sent them. Tried to, at least. Just push up the boards."
I directed Brenin. We found a large board at the base, hanging by one nail. When Brenin nosed it up, it left a space barely big enough for me to squeeze through, but the hound managed it, wriggling.
"It'll close behind you," the ghost said. "Quite clever, if I do say so myself. I convinced one of the unfortunate souls that God wanted him to pry that off. Couldn't convince him that God actually wanted him to escape. The mad are quite difficult to reason with."
His sigh fluttered behind us as the board swung shut. "Good luck, and fare thee well. Though, I hope you realize, they mean the same thing. But I suppose an extra dose of good wishes can't hurt. Particularly under the circumstances."
--
The ghost's secret escape route was some kind of tunnel. I had no idea what it'd been used for, though the underlying smell suggested sewage. It was dry now, and Brenin was able to creep along until it joined a larger passage, allowing him to do an odd waddle-crawl, his occasional huffs suggesting he wasn't convinced this was the way out.
You didn't see another route, did you? I said.
He huffed again.
We only caught one side of that conversation, Ioan said. Care to fill me in while poor Brenin labors through?
I was telling him what the ghost had said when Brenin stopped and growled. I strained to pick up whatever he did. Again, I heard nothing, smelled nothing, saw nothing.
Ioan? I said.
I don't know. There's something, but...it's muted. Muffled. Weaker than before, and yet stronger. Which makes no sense, I know.
You detect something with a sixth sens
e.
If you call it that, yes. Though in honesty, we have sixth senses, seventh senses, and possibly eighth. One can help us find prey; another can warn us against danger, not unlike Gabriel's rather embryonic ability. Which I suppose suggests he may also have--
Brenin snorted, cutting Ioan off.
Is he telling you to stop digressing? I said. Or just objecting to the idea that the current Gwynn could have Cwn Annwn blood?
Ioan chuckled. Either is equally likely. As I was saying, we have senses for both prey and threat. This is...neither? Both? I cannot tell. Brenin? You decide whether to continue.
Brenin growled, more of a vibration than actual sound, and he twisted, as if testing the likelihood of turning around, but while it seemed possible, he decided to continue forward.
When a familiar smell hit, he snorted it out.
Seems one of the ghost's success stories wasn't so successful, I said.
Yes, I'm afraid so. That might be what we detected. Brenin?
The hound chuffed, as if in agreement.
I believe we're also picking up residual senses of the melltithiwyd, Ioan said. Which would be, in their way, both prey and threat to us.
Prey if they become a threat?
Precisely.
I spotted a body ahead. Brenin crept up on it, careful, sniffing and testing the air. Soon we were close enough for Ioan to say, It seems they devoured this poor soul, trapped in her escape.
It was an older woman, wearing a nightgown that looked like it came from the last years of the hospital. A cave-in had halted her progress. Dirt covered her hands and forearms, her fingers bloodied, nails ripped ragged as she'd tried to dig her way out. The saddest part was that she'd almost succeeded, clearing a hole nearly big enough to squeeze through before the melltithiwyd struck.
Like the urban explorer, she lay on her side, even more tightly wrapped in that fetal position, her dirty hands around knees drawn up tight, head tucked down as if she could avoid the pecks of the demonic birds. With the explorer, the melltithiwyd seemed to have almost sucked him dry. Here, the piranha birds had done their job more thoroughly, only tatters of flesh remaining on her extremities, the rest devoured down to bone.
Can I free them? I asked Ioan. Is that ghost right? That people like this, taken by the melltithiwyd, can be freed if I defeat the sluagh?
He hesitated.
That's a no, I take it.
It's an "I don't know."
So either the ghost has insight or just a lot of hope, and I won't know the answer until I defeat the sluagh. All right. Brenin, can you make it through that hole she cleared?
The hound grunted. Then he stepped onto the body to get to the hole, and he did so gingerly, as if trying to be as respectful as possible. He had his rear legs planted on either side as he pushed his forelegs and head through the hole. Then he lifted one back leg and felt around for better footing. When his paw landed on the woman, she moved.
I jumped. Brenin just went still, considering, and likely concluding that he'd shifted her corpse. He started to lift his paw...and something struck the bottom of it.
Brenin scrambled off the corpse. Then he stood behind her, huffing. Another huff, as if annoyed by his reaction. He nosed her feet. Nothing. Her legs were bone, and he surveyed those in a glance before his gaze rose to her midriff, covered in a thin nightgown.
He reached out one tentative paw and touched her torso. Nothing happened.
Brenin chuffed, and I could hear Ioan's murmurs, too low for me to make out words. Another chuff, and Brenin's teeth grabbed the corpse by one foot to get her out of the way. He gave a tug. A chittering sound followed. He went still, his nose working frantically. I inhaled but smelled only the stink of the long-dead corpse and the damp earth.
He tugged again. Something knocked against the woman's nightgown, rising and then falling like a cartoon heartbeat.
Go, I said. If you can get through that hole, just go. Now.
Brenin considered. Then his hind paws dug into the earthy floor as he steadied himself. Muscles bunched, he crouched, still holding the corpse by the leg. Then, with a tremendous yank, he jerked the body back. As he leapt over the corpse, it exploded, and it felt like a dozen fists slamming him square in the stomach.
As he fell, I saw the melltithiwyd bursting from the woman's rib cage, tearing through her nightgown, shrieking as they flew at the hound. And Brenin flew right back at them. Grabbed one, chomped, threw it aside. Grabbed another, chomped.
The rest attacked in a frenzy, truly like piranha, swarming, biting and ripping both the hound and their fallen comrades. Ioan shouted for Brenin to retreat, just retreat. The hound clamped down on another and threw it into the wall, and I felt the force of that throw, his head whipping, the bird flying free...and me flying with it, flying and hitting the wall, the world shattering into darkness.
--
I passed out for only a moment, coming to as my body executed what felt like a barrel-roll dive. I opened my eyes to see exactly that--the earth spinning toward me. I braced for impact, but my body changed course, as if on a bungee cord, the air whistling past as I flew upward.
I opened one eye. I was upright now, flying on a roller-coaster course, hearing the sharp flap of air hitting wings.
Melltithiwyd.
I was a melltithiwyd.
My gut seized, every fiber in me exploding in sheer panic.
Turned into a melltithiwyd. My soul consumed as I became one of the sluagh's bird slaves.
My first impulse was to kill myself. To rush at the nearest tree and splatter my brains. The very thought stopped my heart cold with its suddenness, its ferocity. I've never even contemplated suicide, and here it was, bursting into my brain as the most obvious course of action, the only course.
Except even that wouldn't work. I remembered Stacey Pasolini's words, that the melltithiwyd died over and over, only to come back. Trapped in a hell that could not be escaped.
Panic flared again, and I flailed, my limbs sailing out as I expected to fall in another spiraling plunge toward the earth. But I just kept going. Calmly flying, surveying the earth below.
If I'd become a melltithiwyd, wouldn't I be able to control my body?
What if I was simply inside one, like I'd been inside Brenin?
At the thought of Brenin, my gut seized again. Had I just been thrown from him? Or had something happened?
Had he died? That's what I meant, of course, though I flinched at the word.
The bird dropped again, and this was more of a swoop, skimming along the roadway before winging back up for an aerial view. I closed my eyes and focused on returning to my body.
Take me back. Take me home.
Nothing happened, and panic licked again. What if I couldn't escape? The one thing worse than becoming a melltithiwyd? Being trapped inside one forever, unable to even control it. What if--?
The bird dropped onto the roof of a building. It wrapped its claws around the edge, and when it looked down, I saw talons. They were bigger than I expected. And black. The melltithiwyd's feet were white. I could see feathers as black as those talons, not soot-red like the demon-birds'.
The creature let out a croak, and I melted in relief.
A raven. I'd been flung into a raven.
Can you hear me?
No response.
Allwch chi fy nghlywed, bran? I asked.
While I suspected my Welsh wasn't quite correct, the raven should know what I meant.
But it only looked around. Then it tilted its head, and I thought maybe it heard me, so I tried again, louder, but it only launched and winged across the road. It flew to a gap between two buildings before landing on a twisted tree.
Below, I saw two figures. The raven peered down and I peered along with it, and the darkness lifted enough for me to recognize Helia and Alexios. I let out a mental sigh of relief. They seemed fine. They were crouched in that alley-like gap, Alexios peering around the corner and whispering to his mate.
T
hen the dryads went still, and the raven's head shot up. Footsteps sounded from the empty field behind the buildings. Alexios gave a quick look around, and the two dryads darted to the tree the raven was perched in. They pressed against it and melded with the bark until the dryads looked like two extra lumps in an already twisted trunk.
The raven took flight and sailed down that alley toward the field. It flew straight to four shadowy figures making their way through the field. Four cloaked figures. Four Huntsmen, it seemed. Then the raven dove between them and, under two of the hoods, I spotted faces. Very familiar faces.
DEATH BY HELL-BIRD
"I think she likes you," Ricky said, moving up beside Gabriel as the raven swooped past him twice, cawing.
Gabriel barely gave a distracted "Hmm," his gaze fixed on the bird.
"Trouble?" Ricky whispered as he patted Lloergan's head.
Gabriel gave his head a sharp shake and pulled his attention from the raven. "That's theirs, I presume."
Ricky was about to answer, but Meic--one of their Huntsman escorts--beat him to it, saying, "She is."
"Can we ask what she's seen?" Ricky said.
"She's roaming free. Ioan will be linked with Brenin. I cannot communicate directly with her, but she seems calm, and she's suggesting we walk down that passage. I'll take her word for it."
Ricky glanced at Gabriel, who was trying to hide his impatience and doing a shitty job of it. They'd been scouting for the last hour now, finding absolutely nothing.
At one point, Gabriel had said, "Is this necessary?" and Ricky knew he wasn't just asking about the surveillance. He meant the whole expedition. If Walter had taken Seanna to kill her, she was almost certainly dead. And if she wasn't? Well, Gabriel wasn't particularly concerned about that, and only mildly more concerned about the dryads. But Liv was concerned, and that's why Gabriel was here, keeping his mouth shut as well as he could manage, letting out only that one complaint before setting his jaw and resuming the search.
They walked into the passage between two brick buildings. It was a densely overgrown passage, and they had to pick their way through the undergrowth as Gabriel watched the raven, perched on a tree, watching him back.
Gabriel turned to Meic. "Do we know where Ioan is? I'm familiar with the area, and I really don't feel I'm assisting here at all. I would prefer to find Ioan and see what his hound has found. I accept all responsibility for any danger incurred in doing so."
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