Fury Convergence

by Chrysoula Tzavelas

  He stared at her. His lips curled away from his teeth. “Do you think I regret burning them? They deserved every scream.”

  Branwyn raised her eyebrows. “All of them? Did Charlie deserve what you did, and all the other children?”

  Gale’s moment of rage vanished. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I can’t remember.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Branwyn. “Did you burn Imani’s house first or last?”

  “Last… a pyre for her dreams, for all her work never to be completed. I thought I was bringing peace, but she was reborn from the flames, so angry.”

  Coldly, Branwyn said, “And no wonder. Last question, Gale. How late were you?”

  He blinked at her. “Too late.”

  “How late was that? Was her body still on the ground? Her blood warm on the floor? Or had they moved her? Had they buried her? How late were you when you killed Tucker and chained Imani to hell?”

  Gale shrank back, the lightning thinning around his wrists. “That night. It was that night. The same night she died.”

  Branwyn sighed. “When I think of all the ways you could have avenged her instead… Well, carry on. Enjoy your hell while you have it. I’m going to go do for your love what you didn’t even think of, and I don’t even know Imani.”

  She walked on past him, her heart pounding and her adrenalin pumping. She didn’t know the details of how Imani died, she didn’t know why Gale had been late, and she didn’t care. Those details might matter to the Wild Hunt as they tried to untangle the mess that wretched angel had let grow like a rare bloom. But all Branwyn needed was the story around seventy children vanishing. And now that she understood the timing, Branwyn was certain that another faerie had been present when Tucker died, and their only objection to the massacre was the presence of kids.

  At the rose house, one of the tents had been reassembled while the other was a crumpled heap of fabric and poles. Branwyn eyed them, wondering if she ought to find a way to bring one. Then she shook her head and grabbed her overnight bag and the survival backpack Shatiel had fetched from the center of the house. If they only had the time, she’d take a day or two just to make sure she had her head on straight, contact Tarn for any leads she could purchase, make a suitable tent, shake any missing information out of Umbriel and see if any of the Senyaza monster hunters wanted to serve as a monster therapist instead. She’d go into Faerie with a known guide, Tarn’s William for preference.

  But none of that was going to happen. She was going to stomp into Faerie as The Artificer and hope everybody she met wanted to curry her favor rather than own her themselves. She was going to improvise. And under her veil of crankiness, she was just a bit excited about it.

  She met the others in the center of the town. Everybody else clustered on the far side of the street from where Severin was having a quiet conversation with Gale, still bound to his whipping post.

  Branwyn ignored Severin and pushed her phone into Brynn’s hands. “You have to keep that charged and answer it. Don’t let anybody worry!” Brynn scowled, and Branwyn scrubbed her hair. “Good kid.”

  She transferred her attention to Rhianna. “Any final words of wisdom from Umbriel?”

  Rhianna pursed her lips. “I don’t think he realized the haunt existed, Branwyn.”

  “Bullshit,” said Severin, joining them. “He absolutely knew something.” Branwyn, involuntarily looking, saw Gale staring at the ground in a shell-shocked kind of way.

  “I think he knew about the kids,” said Rhianna stubbornly. “And maybe even that you cared about one of the kids, if he really did want you overhearing my chat with Branwyn.”

  Severin stared at Rhianna for a long moment, then shook his head and said, “Nah, I think Shatiel’s still on top of the dead list, don’t you, cupcake?”

  Judiciously choosing her words, Rhianna said, “Anyhow, he’s ready to, uh, take decisive action against the haunt if… if we don’t hit our own deadline. One way or another.”

  Branwyn contemplated that. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

  Brightly, Rhianna said, “Probably not. On the bright side, we have incentive to do our best!”

  Branwyn bit back an acid remark and turned to the Wild Hunt. “All right. There’s three ways we can get to Faerie. We can make Gale open a door—”

  “He won’t be opening anything for a while,” said Severin.

  Branwyn gave him an impassive glance and kept going, “—or I can open a door, or we can walk into that darkness beyond the town. The important question, other than whether Gale can still wiggle his fingers, is what you experts feel would be best. Doors I open don’t tend to close quickly and I don’t know what that will do to the fabric of the haunt.”

  “Where would your door go?” asked Yejun, looking baffled. “If the Backworld and the world have merged here, isn’t this… sort of a very specialized part of Faerie?”

  “Faerie folds on itself. It would go somewhere,” said Branwyn firmly. “I could see it in the Geometry last night. I don’t know where the door would go though. I’d figure it out when we arrived.”

  Jen said, “It sounds awful, but I suspect setting out from the edge of town is the best option for the haunt, so as to prevent energy imbalances from being introduced. It does connect to something; I saw a flicker on the way in. But I have a feeling it will be… horrible until you escape the darkness.”

  “Yeah? That’s what I was thinking, too. Good to have confirmation. I was afraid I was losing my nerve.” Branwyn inspected the Hunt one more time, then shrugged. They weren’t all kids. Jen was actually quite a bit older than Branwyn. They didn’t need her advice, which was good, because she didn’t know what to say.

  Finally, she said, “All right, well… bye. Good luck. See you soon.” Then she turned and headed for the creek-edge of town.

  Part II

  8

  The Court of Stone

  Branwyn stood at the far edge of the bridge out of town and put her hand in front of her. She could see her fingers. It wasn’t a fog. But the light from Rhianna’s flashlight simply… went away.

  “This really leads out?” asked Rhianna.

  “Yes,” said Branwyn firmly. In a way. I’m sure it leads out one way or another.

  “Get a move on,” said Severin. “Hold hands if you must.”

  “Good idea!” said Rhianna and grabbed Branwyn’s hand.

  “What about you?” asked Branwyn, her calloused fingers curving around Rhianna’s thin ones.

  Severin raised his eyebrows. “I’ll be right behind you.” He grinned. “Better me than some of the other possibilities.”

  “You’re not the worst?” inquired Rhianna. “Suddenly so modest, Severin!”

  He chuckled, placed his hands on their backs, and shoved them into the dark.

  Branwyn stumbled forward and when she regained her balance, it was worse than she had imagined. It was death. She wasn’t walking, or falling, or breathing. She certainly wasn’t moving. She couldn’t sense the overnight bag on her shoulder, or wind on her face, or Rhianna’s hand in her own.

  This was a terrible mistake. She tried to tell herself it was temporary, that she just had to keep moving, and she’d reach… something else. She had not actually died. But how could she move without a body? Where was Rhianna?

  Without legs, she tried to move. Without breath, she tried to scream. She’d fought the Sword Belial for her name, fought against an angel’s uncloaked glory for her will. Neither had been as all-consuming as this darkness.

  She was going to stay here forever and she would have paid any price for salvation from the darkness. If only Branwyn had known, she would have found another way. Jen had said it would be horrible, but she was an immortal now. She’d only been guessing.

  Branwyn had been so sure there was something on the other side. But in the darkness, her Sight betrayed her. There was nothing to see. She was in a world that did not exist. Perhaps she no longer existed.

  Something was burning.

/>   It was her. A sharp throbbing pain joined the darkness. And it was something. She was something that could burn, that could hurt.

  The pain continued, and in its throbbing, she perceived the passage of time. That gave her thoughts structure. She still couldn’t remember how to breathe, but she no longer felt like all she would do with a breath was scream.

  She’d had a plan.

  She waited. Sometimes she contemplated walking or Rhianna. But mostly, she waited, feeling her own pulse in the beat of the burning as time crept by.

  Finally a scarlet crack appeared in the darkness, and the crack became a ruby staff. Where it was planted became the ground, and the darkness retreated around it.

  Branwyn stood in a dim spotlight, holding Rhianna’s hand, and Severin’s mark on her collarbone was burning. A tall figure in ruby armor faced her. She’d met him once before, outside the dwelling of the Queen of Stone.

  “I thought you might show up,” said Branwyn. Breathing felt so good. The burning on her collarbone faded.

  “I have an offer for you, Branwyn Lennox,” said the figure. His dark face was so beautiful, but about as expressive as a rock. “I will guide you to the Queen, and you will render unto her an equal service.”

  “Hmm.” said Branwyn. She would have preferred, Oh Branwyn Lennox, we love your work, let us save you from the peril you’ve flung yourself into. Debts were annoying. But at least these days she had more to offer than bits of herself.

  Rhianna asked, “Does she have to provide the service herself?”

  The ruby knight’s gaze flicked to Rhianna. “No invitation has been extended to you.”

  Branwyn opened her mouth to argue and Rhianna squeezed her hand so hard it hurt while saying, sweetly, “That’s not an answer to my question.”

  A furrow appeared between the chiseled ebony features. “If another can provide what is agreed upon, that is the Artificer’s decision.”

  Branwyn hesitated until Rhianna nudged her, and then said, “All right. Get me out of here. Rhianna… stay close.”

  The ruby knight turned, sweeping his lance out to cut away the darkness and walking away. The path created was exactly one Branwyn wide, but she and Rhianna stayed together anyhow by the simple mechanism of angling their bodies.

  Branwyn said in a low voice, “Rhianna, I did not agree to your whole ‘you do the stupid stuff’ proposal. Stop butting in.”

  Rhianna clicked her tongue. “Bran, let the magic of ‘expense reports’ enter your life. You’re using your skills and expertise at the request of somebody in a position of power. It would be positively abusive to make you pay your own expenses, especially since you never signed that contract.”

  Branwyn frowned. “Isn’t it usually the other way around? I didn’t sign the contract, so your people don’t owe me anything?”

  With a shudder, Rhianna said, “Don’t say that to my Advisor, please. I’ve been lectured enough recently.”

  Branwyn chewed on her lip, then gave it up for now. “Are you okay? That part before our guide showed up…”

  Rhianna said, “Oh yeah, I’m fine. It didn’t take long, did it? I thought we’d have to go a lot farther.” She shifted her backpack and added, “I did get a little worried when I lost track of your hand, but that was about when the red guy showed up, so everything was fine.” She squinted at Branwyn. “It was different for you?”

  “Yeah… yeah, it was.” Branwyn shivered.

  The ruby knight halted, turning and planting the lance on the ground. “Once again, the darkness is following you, Branwyn Lennox.” His tone of voice implied this was about on the same level as not showering for a year.

  Branwyn glanced back. The darkness was, in fact, following them, and Severin was nowhere to be seen. Her mouth formed his preferred name, and his voice in her ear said

  Not yet. I haven’t even gone anywhere.

  The ruby knight stood. “Come out, darkness, so I can send you back.”

  Severin laughed derisively and moved forward out of the inky blackness between Branwyn and the knight. “Try it.”

  The ruby knight whirled his lance as once he had before, and a distortion flew out to swallow Severin. His form faded away like a bubble popping in slow motion.

  “Uh,” said Rhianna, as the knight once again turned away from them to march.

  But Branwyn couldn’t say anything or even move, because suddenly she could feel Severin all over her. His breath was in her hair, his hands were at her waist and he was closer than he’d ever been before, even when he’d cradled her in his arms. His voice, low and purring in her ear, said, Now you can say my name.

  Instead she found her voice and said, “Is this a good idea?”

  Think of it this way, cupcake. If you don’t let them know I’m right here, you’re lying to them. And carrying a concealed weapon into a Queen’s Court is so very rude.

  The ruby knight glanced back at her, that tiny furrow once again between his perfect brows.

  Branwyn sighed. “Come back, Severin.” As Severin soundlessly stepped beside her, still half in the thick darkness and grinning like a shark, she added, “He’s not that easy to get rid of these days, but he’s not going to start anything.”

  The furrow became a full-fledged frown. “This is not acceptable.”

  “Of course it is,” said Rhianna indignantly. “You invited her, and he’s a part of her now.”

  Branwyn winced. “Thanks, Rhianna. Thanks a lot. Ruby, if you could just…”

  The ruby knight stepped closer—not threateningly, but as if he needed a closer look at her. He looked at Branwyn. He looked at Severin. He looked at Branwyn again.

  Then, he broke into a terrifyingly satisfied smile. “I see. It is good. We may proceed.” He turned and started his ponderous tread again.

  Severin’s laugh faded into impassivity. He stared at the retreating figure, then asked, “Does that count as him starting something, cupcake?”

  “No,” said Branwyn, and started walking again, hauling Rhianna after her.

  After walking a while, they reached a mirrored wall that the ruby knight passed through without a pause. Branwyn, who had walked into paintings and holes in the air, didn’t hesitate as she approached it, but Rhianna suddenly dug in her heels.

  “What is it?” asked Branwyn.

  Rhianna was staring at their reflections with wide eyes. At first, Branwyn didn’t see why: Branwyn was a little grubby, but her ponytail was freshly tied and her clothes were cleanish, while Rhianna was, if not flawless, at least an expertly put together model for cataclysm chic.

  But she glinted strangely in the mirror, as if the dim light was striking angles instead of curves, and then scattering wrong.

  “Is that because I wasn’t invited?” asked Rhianna breathlessly.

  “I don’t think so,” said Branwyn slowly. “Do you want me to find another way in?”

  “No! No… It’s probably related to Umbriel. Or maybe nightmare creek water has a future as a beauty balm. Let’s go!” Rhianna tried to plunge past Branwyn into the mirror, but Branwyn body blocked her and caught her chin.

  “Hmm.” Branwyn looked between the reflection and the real thing. “Well, mirrors are notorious for lying. You look fine. The shine on that lip gloss is perfect.”

  “Very sweet, woof woof, now I’m bored,” said Severin, looming up behind them, and once again, he shoved them both forward.

  They emerged from a plate of stained glass in the Court of Stone, stumbling across a beautifully faceted floor. There was a snap as a velvet drapery covered the screen they’d emerged from, followed by a babble of strange voices. Branwyn was at the throne end of the huge, vaulted chamber, but the giant throne itself was empty and the many stained glass screens shrouded. Meanwhile the galleries of the courtiers spilled over with expectant fae.

  “The Artificer Branwyn Lennox, and attendants,” announced the ruby knight, and stepped back to wait beside the empty throne. Silence settled across the galleries.

  O
ne courtier disengaged himself from his peers and glided over to them. He wore a patchwork suit of metal and cloth that had nothing of the make-shift or hand-me-down to it. Every piece of copper and brown fabric was layered and twisted together so they folded and unfolded, accordion-like, as he moved. His face was dark, but surprisingly unattractive unless you liked them as craggy as the Rocky Mountains. His voice, when he spoke, was smooth and low with an odd hitch.

  “Well met, Branwyn. I am Karst. So happy you’ve come. We’re all admirers of your work.”

  “Where’s the Queen?” asked Branwyn bluntly. It had never occurred to her that someone else might order the ruby knight to fetch her.

  “I will inform her of your arrival presently, but first I wanted to—” and then he stopped, his face twisting in an expression of displeasure that was no longer human. “What is that doing here, Ruby?”

  And, yes, that was Severin standing a few steps behind Branwyn, looking up at the vault and its crystalline rafters in a speculative kind of way.

  “Branwyn Lennox, and attendants,” said the ruby knight, without bothering to disguise his annoyance at the speaker.

  Karst’s eyes became slits. “We missed this episode, Artificer.” He circled her, scrutinizing her the same way the ruby knight had. Then his circle turned into a figure eight as he also orbited Severin.

  Severin looked down and gave Karst his shark smile, sticking his hands in his pockets.

  “Oh… Oh! I see! He is leashed!” Karst clapped his hands and did a brief jig, setting his entire outfit chattering. Emboldened, he moved closer to Severin, close enough for Severin to grab, and then even closer. Branwyn’s hands curled into fists and every nerve in her body thrummed with tension.

  Severin’s smile faded, his face returning to chilly impassivity. Karst’s suit brushed against him as Karst inspected him from less than six inches away. Severin didn’t even twitch.

  Then Karst sprang away, laughing. “Wonderful! What a treasure you are, Artificer.”