Billy didn’t know if she was bluffing or not, but he couldn’t take the chance. He looked at Vester. “Go, Billy,” said the gasping Fire Power. “Run.”
“How very noble,” laughed Mrs. Black. She yanked on the rope, and Vester came lurching toward her. “Yes, Billy,” she said mockingly. “Do run. I’ve wanted to kill this one for quite some time. This will be the perfect excuse.”
Cameron laughed, too, a mad high-pitched whistle of a laugh that set Billy’s hair on end.
Billy lowered his sword. He wished it away, and it was gone in an instant. “What do you want?” he said.
Eva laughed again. “You, my dear boy. I want you.”
And with that, she thrust out her other hand, and another one of the dark lassos appeared, this one wrapping itself tightly around Billy’s neck. The thing felt greasy and heavy, like a rotten snake clinging to his throat.
That thought brought to mind the memory of Prince, a Fizzle snake who had saved Billy’s life on several occasions before finally succumbing to the evil power of Eva Black. The memory was a painful one. Disheartening. Veric was dead, Prince was gone, and now he and Vester had been captured. And what could he do? Nothing.
Eva sauntered toward Billy. Mordrecai came close behind her, the two Black Powers grinning like Venus flytraps.
The wet rope on Billy’s neck grew tighter. Was Mrs. Black bluffing about the spell cutting someone’s head off? he wondered. He doubted it. Mrs. Black wasn’t the kind of person he pictured doing much bluffing. Killing and maiming, yes. Bluffing, not so much.
Billy stood still and silent. He couldn’t fight back – not with Vester’s life at stake – and he didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of an argument that he was sure to lose. He waited.
Mrs. Black drew near to him, and he felt her breath on his cheek. It was cool, and smelled of peppermint. Hardly the breath of a monster, but he knew that he had no more dangerous enemy in the entire world.
“Touch my broach, if you please,” said Mrs. Black. She was referring to the black beetle broach she always wore. It was an Imbued Object, a trinket that could take Mrs. Black – and anyone else who touched the thing – from place to place in the twinkling of an eye. Billy didn’t know where she wanted to go, but he was sure it wouldn’t be a fun or nice place.
“Now, please,” said Mrs. Black. She twisted her hand, and the noose around Vester’s neck suddenly tightened again. Vester had time to gasp before his breath was stolen, and in the next moment Billy was horrified to see blood well up from around the noose: it was so tight it was actually cutting into his friend’s flesh.
“Stop it!” shouted Billy. “Stop it, you’re killing him.”
“No,” corrected Mrs. Black. “You are.”
Billy felt his shoulders slump in defeat. He reached out, and touched the hideous scarab beetle that was perched on Mrs. Black’s dress. She smiled as though she had just won a great victory – and perhaps she had – and then the entire world seemed to swim and sway before Billy’s eyes.
He had traveled by Earth, by Fire, by Water and by Wind. But never before had he traveled by the Power of Death. It was not an experience he enjoyed, or one he cared ever to repeat. He felt himself walking through a dark place, a land of nightmare and of doom. He took a step, and felt the crunch of small bones underfoot. He looked down, and saw that the ground all around him was covered in skeletons. Worse, many of the bones were moving. They reached for him, grasping with their fleshless hands, and Billy knew that if they stopped his travels, he would remain in this horrific place for eternity.
He ran, trying to escape, his only goal to get away from this terrifying landscape. He felt himself being pulled in one direction, and could not resist the impulse. He was a puppet on a string. Death controlled him.
He found himself in a new location. The skeletons below were gone. He was in a graveyard. But it was a graveyard that stretched for eternity in every direction. The resting place of the billions of souls who had gone the way of all the living. He walked between the tombstones that jutted up like a witch’s teeth, still moving toward… something, he knew not what.
A noise startled him, and he looked over to see a spectral body pulling itself up from beneath a nearby tombstone. It was no one that Billy could ever remember seeing, but was somehow familiar to him.
“The child,” whispered the specter. “The child has been stolen. Long live the child. Long live the White King.” And then the ghost faded from sight.
But the next moment, another spirit hove into view. And this one Billy did recognize. It was Veric. The Green Power looked around, as though confused. He saw Billy, and reached out a hand, his broad face smiling. But the hand went right through Billy’s shoulder. Veric – or rather, Veric’s ghost – lost some of its jolly demeanor.
“So it’s happened,” the ghost said. “It’s finally happened.” Veric looked around again, and this time did not appear confused. Rather, he appeared as though he was looking at something that no one else could see. “The trees,” he whispered. He looked at Billy. “Save the trees.” Then he leaned in close, and winked. “They are so old, you see. And old things know much. They have… secrets.”
Billy wanted to ask Veric what he meant by that, but the ghost shook his head, and put a finger over his lips, as though he could say no more. Then he faded away. But Billy was not alone. There were now hordes of ghosts, streaming over the dark ground in the night-black graveyard. They appeared to be unaware of Billy, most of them staring about themselves in confusion and fear. They wandered through the graveyard, lost and frightened-seeming.
Then one of them noticed Billy. “You!” he shouted.
At first, Billy didn’t recognize the man. Then he realized it was one of the Darksiders that he had seen killed in the Battle for Powers Island. The ghost pointed at Billy, and screamed, “You!” in a voice that sounded like a foghorn over a misty sea.
All the ghosts in the infinite cemetery stopped moving. They swiveled as one, until all of the countless thousands of them were looking at him. They sighed, as though contemplating a hidden delight, or an anticipated feast.
“You,” said the Darksider again. And this time the sound was but a whisper. It still carried through the air, however, impossibly loud in the stillness of Death. And once more: “You.”
The thousands upon thousands of the dead stared sightlessly at Billy. Then stepped toward him. Closer and closer they came. They crowded around him, swinging hands that were like smoke, but still sent chills through Billy’s heart.
He became aware at the same time that his chest – the place that had been punctured by the DeathBlade – was experiencing a strange pulling sensation. He felt like he was being tugged toward… what?
The pulling grew stronger, and Billy noticed that the only place where ghosts weren’t surrounding him was in the same direction as the sudden tugging. He followed the sensation, and found himself walking between the hordes of undead, yanked along like a marionette on a tight string.
He came at last to the place where he was being pulled, and his mouth fell open in a mixture of shock and distress. It was an open grave, a shallow trench in the middle of this endless place. He read the gravestone.
“Billy,” said the gravestone. There was more writing beneath his name, but it was covered by moss and dirt and he didn’t have the courage to brush it away and see what it might say. He turned, intending to run. But just the effort of turning was almost impossible, and when he finally managed it, he found himself completely surrounded by the angry souls of the dead.
They reached out again, and this time he was dismayed to find that they had grown solid. Either that or he had grown as smoky and insubstantial as they were. He didn’t know which, and didn’t care. All that mattered was that they were pressing him, pushing him back. Back, back, and the DeathBlade wound on his chest was pulling him, too, drawing him inexorably toward the dark, open void of the grave.
He took a step back, then another. He resisted f
or all he was worth, but kept on going backward, inch by inch. At last, there was nowhere left to go. His heels hung over the edge of the pit behind him. Another step, and he would be done for.
And still the ghosts pressed him, pushed him. “You,” they whispered, their voices a deathly chorus of despair. “You, the boy. The lost boy, the stolen boy. You….”
And Billy could resist no longer. He closed his eyes, prepared to meet his end, to remain in this shadow world for eternity. He took a step back, and knew he would tumble into his grave, and become one of the ghosts, just another dim reflection of life.
Then, at the last second, something arrested his motion. Something grabbed his shirt with more force than he had thought possible.
Billy opened his eyes, and to his surprise saw Eva Black standing before him. “Not here,” she said. “You won’t die here, and take the weapons forever into Shadow.”
She drew him away from the grave. The thousands of ghosts still pressed toward him, but she waved her hand dismissively, and they shrank away from her as though she held a weapon in her hand. She was a Power dedicated to Death, and Death clearly feared her.
She pulled him with her iron grip, dragging him toward another place that caused Billy’s heart to ache with terror. It was a crypt, a mausoleum, a bone-white structure of marble and ivory. The door was open, and beyond it was only darkness.
Mrs. Black pulled him toward that darkness, and Billy wondered if he should fear it even more than he had feared his own grave.
She pulled him in, and the darkness surrounded them. It enveloped them in its velvet grasp, and all was black.
CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH
In Which Billy is Given a Choice, and a Friend says Goodbye…
Billy opened his eyes. He felt weak, and his chest ached where he was wounded. No matter what the power of the scabbard, he could feel his strength ebbing, and knew he didn’t have much longer before Death came for him – only when it came again, he suspected it would not be denied.
He realized he couldn’t move. He looked around. He was chained to a wall made of dark stones the size of his head. A torch sputtered nearby, but the light it cast was faint, and lent no warmth to the chill of the air that surrounded him. Thick iron bars stood a few feet away, adding to the claustrophobic feel of the dungeon.
His arms were outstretched, as were his legs, each of his appendages shackled tightly to the wall. He was trapped, completely and utterly.
Billy thought of the weapons, and the sword and dagger appeared at his waist. But he could not reach them. The shield didn’t even appear at all, and he suspected it was because he was chained so closely to the wall that it had no room to appear.
He wondered why Mrs. Black hadn’t just killed him. Then she could have the weapons. Or could she? Billy had been assuming that they could be taken if he died. But maybe that was wrong. Maybe the only way to get them was if they were freely given – just as Billy had freely received the sword, the dagger, and the shield.
He tried again to reach his weapons. Couldn’t. It was, for the moment, hopeless.”
“Not much help, are they?” purred a voice.
Billy looked to his left, and out of the shadows stepped a figure dressed in a long black cloak. The person’s head was hooded, but Billy thought he recognized the voice.
“What do you want, Mordrecai?” he said. He tried to sound brave and tough, but as usual his voice broke right in the middle of the sentence and marred the effect somewhat.
“I want what every living thing wants,” said the Darksider. “Power. To rule. To own everything in my sight.”
“Not everyone wants that,” said Billy.
Mordrecai waved his hand dismissively. “Of course they do. Anyone who says otherwise is lying.”
Billy thought about arguing the point with the man, but decided it would be a waste of time. They stood in silence for a few minutes, just staring at one another. The Darksider’s gaze was curiously blank, as though there was nothing behind his eyes. No pity, no remorse, not a trace of any emotion that would mark him as human. Billy didn’t like the look, didn’t like the way it made him feel.
He remembered a word he had heard his father say once: sociopath. It was someone who would do anything to get what he or she wanted, without worrying about whether it might hurt or even kill others. Billy somehow knew that was what Mordrecai was. Even Mrs. Black had some love in her, for her son, though Billy knew it was a strange and twisted love. Billy suspected in his heart that Mordrecai had no feelings of affection or even appreciation for anyone but himself.
Mordrecai stepped closer, and bent down until he was nose to nose with Billy. The evil Power’s eyes glinted. “So small. So unimpressive.”
“You’re not so great either, bub,” said Billy. This time his voice didn’t crack, but he still felt vaguely embarrassed. Who used the word “bub” anymore?
Mordrecai smiled a bit, as though amused by Billy’s spirit. “You’re nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all. I don’t know why he loved you so much.”
Mordrecai’s gaze shifted down, to look at the sword and dagger hanging at Billy’s waist. Mordrecai reached out, and Billy thought that the man was going to try to take them away from him, but the Darksider’s hands stopped mere inches from the weapons. His hands were almost twitching, so clearly did he want to grab the sword and dagger.
But he didn’t touch them.
A sound tore Billy’s attention away from what Mordrecai was doing. It was the bars of the cell. Eva Black stood on the other side of them, but she waved her hand and they bent out, leaving a gap more than large enough for her to step through. Billy didn’t know what the bars were made of. Not iron, apparently. Iron was a thing of Earth, so though Mrs. Russet could have made normal iron bars move like this, he didn’t think that a Death Power would have the ability to do so. Which meant that the bars were a creation of Death. Billy didn’t know what they could be, exactly, but he resolved not to touch them at any cost.
Indeed, as Mrs. Black stepped between the bars, she angled her body very carefully so as not to brush against them. She even drew her black dress tightly about her, so that not so much as a single fold of fabric would chance to make contact with the bars.
“Hello, Billy,” she purred. Then she glared at Mordrecai. “What do you think you’re doing here?” she demanded.
Mordrecai’s hands dropped away from the weapons Billy wore, and his head tilted downward submissively. “Nothing, my lady,” he answered. But Billy at last saw a flicker of emotion in the man’s eyes: rage. Whoever Mordrecai was, he hated Mrs. Black. “I was simply taunting the boy.”
“You were doing nothing of the kind,” she said. “You were trying to get the weapons.” She sniffed. “You should know better.” She glared at Billy. “The weapons cannot be taken. Only given.”
Billy remembered how the scabbard had thrown Mrs. Russet across the room when she had tried to take it from him without permission. Apparently Mrs. Black believed that the weapons would do the same.
Billy heard a giggle, and Mrs. Black’s son came into view. He was walking sideways, like a crab, and Billy could see that Cameron’s clothing was stained and dirty. His hair was matted, and his face was covered with filth. Cameron stepped between the bars, still moving sideways, and giggled again.
Billy felt a pang of pity for the larger boy. He was clearly insane, driven mad by the spell he had cast at Billy during the Battle for Powers Island, the spell that had backfired on him.
Cameron reached out to touch the bars to the dungeon cell, and Billy’s fears about the bars were confirmed when Mrs. Black shouted “No!” and then slapped the boy’s hands away. “No touching, my sweet,” she said.
Cameron whimpered like a dog that’s just been whacked across the nose with a Sunday newspaper. He held the hand Mrs. Black had hit with his other one for a moment, then seemed to forget what had just happened. He looked at Billy, and at the sword and dagger that Billy wore.
“Pretties,” sai
d Cameron. He started to reach for them, but a glare from his mother stopped him.
“Yes, they are pretties, my dear,” she said. “But we can’t touch them. At least, not yet.”
She clapped her hands, and another pair of people came from deeper within the dungeon, and appeared at the cell’s bars. It was a man and a woman. The woman wore mostly red clothing, and the man wore blue jeans and a blue t-shirt with a surfing logo on it. Billy recognized the man as Nehara the Blue: he had been the Blue Councilor before the Darksiders broke the Truce and attempted to capture and either kill or “reeducate” the Dawnwalkers. Billy didn’t recognize the woman, but he felt as though he might have seen her before. She seemed familiar, though he couldn’t put his finger on where he might have seen her. Perhaps during the Battle for Powers Island.
“Go get him,” said Mrs. Black.
The man and the woman bowed, then turned back into the dungeon and quickly disappeared from Billy’s sight.
As soon as they were gone, Mrs. Black looked back at Billy. She glanced at the weapons at his waist. “So you’ve found the Dagger of Flame. And,” she added, glaring at Mordrecai, “You somehow managed to get the Sword of Earth back from the mermaid.”
Mordrecai bowed his head even lower. “I regret, milady,” he said, “that I was not able to serve you better.”
“Regret is right,” said Mrs. Black. “Fail me again, and your life won’t be worth a DeathCarrot.”
Billy almost laughed at that. Most Black spells sounded very impressive and scary. But “DeathCarrot” somehow failed to strike fear into his heart. Maybe it was something you fed to a zombie donkey or something.
Mrs. Black glared at Billy. “What are you smiling about?” she spat. Billy hadn’t even realized he was smiling, but when he saw how annoyed it made Mrs. Black, he forced his grin even wider.
“You,” he said. “You’re going to get your butt kicked when my friends come for me.”
Billy: Seeker of Powers (The Billy Saga) Page 15
