A thin laugh escapes Gad’s lips. He leans dangerously close to the clurichaun. “We know what she is,” he says coldly. “And we know you can’t afford to lose her.”
“If ya really wanna get yer ticket out of here, ya’d give her over quick, and for free,” Nibs drawls out. “Now, I was originally willing to give ya three bags’ worth, but since ya’re making me waste my time—and ya know how much I hate that—I’ll bring it down to two. One for each of ya.”
Nibs’s distended smile makes me cringe, but it seems to do the job, for I feel Az’s crushing weight finally lift.
“Here thee are, sweetheart,” Az says, grabbing me around my already creaking ribs and gingerly setting me back up on my feet. “And please do excuse my impropriety, but circumstances being what they are…”
“Sure,” I wheeze out, as Nibs pulls out two pouches of tinkling coins and hands them over to Gad. “It’s been real lovely.”
I grimace as my stomach twists viciously on itself at the small lie, garnering a sad smile from the large demon.
“I can tell thy words aren’t felt, but I appreciate thy attempt at alleviating my sin,” he says. “Mayhap, under other circumstances, our meeting would have been friendlier.”
“OK, enough,” Nibs says, thankfully batting Az away from me, “we ain’t got no time for any of yer awkward wooing, bozo. And you”—he flicks his head at me—“follow me.”
Without a hesitation, I limp after the clurichaun, Gad’s cold laugh pursuing me like an awful nightmare. Nibs may be half my size, but I struggle to keep up with him.
“Thanks for that,” I say, wheezing. “Don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come over to help me.”
Nibs suddenly stops.
“What is it?” I ask, the smoke from the draugar-making cauldron so thick around us that it makes everything hazy.
“What were you even thinking?” Nibs barks, jabbing me in the stomach with his tiny finger.
“I’m sorry,” I say, stung, “but did I miss something? Aren’t you the one taking me to Carman? If I recall correctly, last I saw her, she was intent upon killing me.”
The clurichaun snorts. “If she’d wanted you dead, ya pea-brained fatwit, ya’d be dead.”
“Why does she want me alive then?” I ask, fear and excitement making my skin tingle. If I can get him to spill the beans now, I could move onto the next part of my plan without having to even deal with the witch. Besides, Nibs isn’t a bad sort, or Arthur would never have worked with him. Surely there’s a part of him that wants to stop Carman too. “She’s got what she wanted,” I insist, “Hell open, demons everywhere…”
But Nibs clams up immediately. “Nothin’ fun, I can promise ya that,” he mutters, forcing me to get moving again. Straight, I realize with some alarm, for the army of draugar.
“Still better than that Gad guy, right?” I say, unwilling to let go of the thought that Nibs might still help me.
“That Gad guy?” Nibs repeats with barely contained anger. “Do ya know what Gadreel is known for? War! And ya go an’ get yerself captured by him! Do ya even realize what he could’ve done to ya?”
“I thought it was Lucifer who started the whole war thingy,” I say, peeved at his sudden outburst.
Nibs lets out a humorless chuckle. “Fool,” he says, pulling out a dented flask from his jacket. “Ya should’ve stayed away, instead of putting yer nose where it doesn’t belong, as usual. Better yet, ya should’ve taken that silly friend of yers and found another way to get outta here.”
I suddenly feel very tired, a weariness that’s due to more than the draining experienced after using my powers. My plan to infiltrate Carman’s ranks seems so foolish now that the adrenaline has left my body. “Can’t you just…let us go?” I ask.
His only response is to grab my arm and resume our march.
Gradually, we wend our way through the ranks of stock-still draugar, the stink of their putrefying flesh mixing with that of the cauldron’s acrid fumes. Even a couple hundred feet away from it, I can feel the waves of heat radiating from the bonfire, the Pair Dadeni probably brewing more undead soldiers for Carman’s army.
There’s a loud rumbling, as of a gathering storm, and Nibs suddenly drops to a knee. I jump as a dark figure lands in our midst, kicking up a cloud of dust and ash. Heart hammering, I find myself unable to look away as a chiseled face framed by lustrous black hair emerges, inky eyes meeting my own.
“It took you long enough to find me, dear,” Carman says unctuously. Then her face breaks into a tight smile, and I feel myself go weak with fear. “Welcome to my Demesne.”
Chapter 8
My stomach feels like it wants to crawl out of my throat, along with my drumming heart. Too soon. I’m not ready to face her yet. All my beautiful plans seem so stupid now.
“I can smell her on you,” Carman says, taking a long whiff of my hair. “Even all the way down here.”
“W-who?” I stutter.
“Your mother.” Carman prods my chin up, forcing me to look at her. “Do you think she’ll come here to save you?”
“W-why would she?” I ask, hating how much my voice is shaking. “She’s n-not even m-my real m-mother.”
Carman bares her teeth at me. “I’m not speaking of that low-life human, but of your begetter, she who has already interfered so many times before to shield you.”
I exhale sharply, shock momentarily making me forget everything else. “What?”
I catch the hateful gleam in Carman’s eyes, before she turns it into a terrifyingly kind look. “I, too, know what it is to be rejected by my own progenitors,” she says. Her fingers gently comb my hair back. “The hurt, the confusion, the loss…the anger.”
She says this last word so softly, I can barely hear her. I remain as still as possible, afraid the smallest movement is going to trigger her, and she’ll rip my throat out.
“And when you confront them with the facts,” Carman continues, her face closing up again at some distant, hateful memory, “they pretend they always cared. That it was all for our sake.” Her cheeks dimple with another smile that makes me shiver despite the heat. “But we know better—and we’re not afraid to show them the error of their ways.”
She tenderly pats my cheek, and I catch Nibs’s shudder behind her.
“Come,” Carman says. “Let us prove to your mother she’s no longer needed.”
I glance at Nibs, sure that my panic is showing through, but there’s nothing I can do except to follow as Carman carves a way through the draugar army, straight for the far demon city walls. My thoughts are a jumbled mess I can’t seem to untangle—I have what I wanted, I’ve managed to attach myself to Carman, but what now?
I barely notice our slowing down, and it’s not until Carman finally stops and places her hand on my shoulder that I realize we’ve crossed the entire plain.
I crane my neck up, blinking blurrily at the megalithic wall towering hundreds of feet over us, its top lost in wreaths of mist. Snaking its way up its side is a narrow, rail-less staircase, guarded by a dozen demons. The men watch us come with slitted eyes, dark scales rippling with unease.
“Now pay very close attention to what I’m about to say,” Carman says as we climb the first step. “I want you to know what you’re going to help us achieve.”
Her hand cleaves the air sideways, and the nearest guard tips forward, holding his neck. We all watch as the demon gurgles his last breath at our feet, dark ichor[83] pooling around his thrashing body. Then, all at once, the other sentries throw themselves at their fallen comrade.
I jump back as one of the demons snarls, fangs glistening with yellowing saliva, before snapping his jaws shut over another guard’s arm and ripping it off. The other guard howls in pain, then pulls himself away, holding onto his severed stump, jealously eyeing the frenzy.
“Look at them, fighting each other for a piece of scrap,” Carman says contemptuously. “And to think they once fought side by side, fearful warriors in the gre
atest War of all.”
There’s a loud crack and another demon limps away, giving up. I swallow hard, feeling queasy as the fight redoubles in fury. Finally, one of the last demons standing lets out a loud yelp, and all but one of the guards pull away from the dead sentry’s remains.
“This is what this place has reduced them to,” Carman continues, as the winner crouches over the lifeless body.
The demon hooks his claws beneath the corpse’s chin and yanks the severed head back to expose his torn throat. Then, with a victorious gloat, he reaches inside the dead guard’s trachea to pull out a long, oval stone.
An ogham, I realize with a jolt.
Nauseated, I look away, but Carman grabs the back of my neck, and forces my head around.
“Watch,” she says, as the champion lets out a victorious bellow. “Do you think it fair that they be forced to spill this precious blood when all they ever dreamed of was their own freedom?”
The winner’s already eyeing the other two injured guards with cupidity, gauging their strength.
“They made their choice,” I say feebly. Besides, I want to add, you’re the one who started this fight.
Carman chuckles softly. “They never wanted to leave their home,” she says, “just to make a few alterations to the rules. Make them more…fair.”
“And killing thousands of innocents to get that back is fair?” I ask.
“There is no such thing as innocence. Not when, from the very moment we are conceived, we are prey to desires—free will or no. I know you believe my quest to be vile, an attack on humans who have not done a thing against us. But their ancestors did, and the sins of the parents now reside with their children.
“Besides, I have observed these humans you so cherish, and have found them to be but parasites who abuse their current status of superiority to destroy the very world they inhabit. I’m simply hurrying the process along.”
“How can you say that?” I ask. “Not everyone’s like that! There are plenty of people fighting to preserve—”
“Too little, too late,” Carman says. “They were given the keys to a beautiful, bountiful world, and they raped it in the name of progress, and cupidity. They failed in their guardianship.
“At least, when we Fey ruled the earth, we made sure balance was present, encouraging procreation or culling populations as needed. No exceptions.”
“Who are you to judge who deserves to live or die?” I ask. “What right did you have to decide of such matters, what justice?”
“Justice is a matter of point of view,” Carman says. “Unadulterated obedience from one’s slaves is ‘just’ in the eyes of the master, not so in that of the serf who’s been sent to jail at the former’s orders. Wouldn’t you agree?”
I’m about to contradict her, but snap my mouth shut instead. She’s no longer talking about these demons’ rebellion against Heaven, but of my imprisonment by Irene and the Order for fear of what my powers could do.
“A coup is far from the ‘little change’ you mention,” I force myself to say. “All you’re doing is imposing your vision of things upon others.”
“Such is the way the world works,” Carman says, forcing me to resume our climb up the demon city wall. “The strongest always rule, no matter the form. Even your famous democracy is but an illusion.
“It is always those with the most money—your current weapon of choice—who control the outcome of any vote to their liking, whether through purchasing voices, having them removed, or swaying the public opinion through lies and propaganda. Propaganda such that all Fey creatures are to be exterminated, for instance.”
“But getting rid of all humans isn’t the way to go,” I say.
Carman’s laugh makes my hairs stand on end. “Indeed? Perhaps, then, it is in your interest to rise to the top, so that you can make sure your vision can come to fruition instead.”
“You’re saying I should take power away from you?”
“Take, no, but there’s always room for negotiation when a relationship is mutually beneficial.”
“There is?”
Carman smiles ever so prettily. “Come, and we can discuss the terms.”
Discuss the terms. I can’t believe I’m discussing anything with a known-psycho witch who, until recently, wanted me dead. Worse, I’m finding it increasingly hard to come up with valid counter-arguments. What Carman’s saying has logic. Worser, as Gareth would say, they hold truth. But that doesn’t make her right. Does it?
“Our people,” Carman says as we reach the top of the wall, and extending both arms over the battlements.
Fear prickles down my spine at the sight. The demon city is like an ocean of grey pustules, stretching upon the land from horizon to boundless horizon. What ravages the army of draugar can cause is laughable in comparison to what even a tenth of this city’s population could wreak.
“Together, we will lead them and take back what is rightfully ours,” Carman declares.
“How?” I ask.
“You should be happy to learn that those knights of yours will be the first to fall,” Carman says, her dark eyes sparkling with loathing, “for they are the worst of sinners. Done are the days when they usurped our powers for their own gains.”
I bite down on my lip, hating how my own thoughts and feelings sound when coming out of her. If the knights hadn’t broken their pact with the Fey, if they hadn’t decided to hunt them down, Carman would never have been freed, and I wouldn’t be in Hell with her, planning for mass destruction.
“So how do I fit in?” I ask.
Carman’s smile turns feral. “That depends, dearest.”
“On what?”
“What you can do for me.”
Saint George’s balls, she really does expect me to join her! She must really be insane if she thinks I’ll so much as lift a finger to help her.
With a knowing smirk, Carman looks past me, and a jet of dark sparks curls up from her outstretched hand in some kind of signal.
My blood runs cold as a terrible shriek resounds across the valley.
“Keva!” I breathe, lunging across the walkway, all thoughts of the demon city forgotten.
I scan the wide valley below, and my eyes fall on Gwyllion’s distant shape as she swings her arm around, bladed whip slashing Keva’s bound figure, tearing another heart-wrenching cry from her.
“Stop it!” I scream.
Blazing pain shoots down my arm as Carman yanks me away from the crenellations.
“There, there,” she says soothingly, “we wouldn’t want you to fall over the wall now, would we?”
“Please,” I beg, cringing as Keva’s body jerks under a third strike.
“There can be no pity for such a mortal,” Carman replies coldly, “not after all her kind’s done to us. Unless…you can convince me otherwise.”
My knuckles go white over the stone parapet. I taste the sharp tang of blood, before I realize I’ve bitten my lip open. But the clean pain of it momentarily clears my mind, enough to feel my power rising to my need.
“When Gwyllion finishes her work, your little friend will be just another draugar,” Carman continues, hissing in pleasure.
“No.”
The word escapes my lips, barely a whisper, but I let my power rip free along with it. It bursts out of my fingertips, long bolts of blue flames arcing through the air and across the valley with blinding speed.
Gwyllion barely has the chance to turn around before the lightning strikes her, over and over again, until the ground is seared black, all trace of the old hag obliterated.
A loud, plaintive whine rises in the silence that follows. Barguest, crying for its mistress, horned head hanging low in distress.
I gasp as Carman yanks me back by the hair, pain slicing through my head at her touch.
“Not exactly what I was expecting,” Carman says, with barely-veiled jubilation, “but I believe I can finally see what Dain saw in you. And, my dear, that means it’s time for us to negotiate.”
/> Chapter 9
Every knight’s face looks tense in the moon’s pale light, eyes drawn outward to the encircling line of trees, as if awaiting an attack. But when I look down, I see that the battle’s already taken place.
The ground is gouged, the grass and flowers burned off in large patches, and everywhere my eyes settle are bodies. Those of the tapir-like creatures Mordred likes to use in his army, and those of a few knights I don’t recognize, but mostly of pixies. Lots and lots of pixies.
My throat grows tight with sudden tears.
“How many?”
The voice sounds strangled, but I recognize it at once, and the vice that was around my heart loosens.
Arthur.
I know I won’t see him, I almost never do in these visions, but at least I know he’s still alive.
“Two of ours,” Hadrian answers, his face covered in grime and blood, “Bastien and Penelope. Of theirs…” He doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t have to.
Gauvain tenses next to me, all senses alert.
“Someone’s coming!” a girl shouts from the edge of the torn field as a pale figure detaches itself from the forest’s deep shadows, carefully picking its way through the rubble and the dead.
All at once I’m moving, heading down to meet the newcomer, the knights parting before me. The pale figure stops at my sight, bows, then straightens up again, and I recognize the plain features of the albino man who used to live in Lake High’s asylum before it burned down.
“Sir Rip,” Arthur says tightly, “what news do you bring?”
“Nothing that will alleviate your present sadness, I’m afraid,” Rip van Winkle answers with a small gesture towards the ground.
“She refused to join us?” Lugh asks, his sudden appearance startling me.
Despite the battle, he looks like he always has: An alabaster statue walking amongst mortals. Only the patch that now covers his missing eye denotes he ever got close to anything life-threatening.
“More like she was prevented from doing so,” Rip answers somberly, and my heart skips a beat at the horrifying implication.
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