Everafter Song

by Emily R. King

  will. We’ll leave you here to rot.”

  “All right,” the captain growls. “We have a bargain.”

  Osric tugs me away from the wall. “Back away and be ready to run,

  Captain. You and Neely both.”

  I grab a fistful of pixie dust and toss it at the wall. The glitter rains down and dissolves the bricks in patches. As the openings spread, I see the prisoners gaping at me through the disappearing wall. One of the finfolk raises his musket. Neely reaches through the slots between the cell bars, grabs him by the neck, and slams him against the irons. The guard collapses and drops the weapon.

  Redmond wedges himself in the gap in the brick wall, his shoulders

  as wide as the hole. The ceiling cracks as he wriggles out.

  I draw my sword as the other prisoners swarm the escape route. A

  guard fires a gun into the crowd of them, triggering a panic. They all shove and push to get outside first.

  Neely tries to leave at the same time as three elves, the whole lot of them becoming lodged in the opening. More prisoners shove at them

  from behind. Dust and rubble rain from the ceiling, the cracks there spreading out and down the walls. Neely wrenches himself out of the

  gap. Another gunshot goes off. Prisoners pour outside as the nearest section of the ceiling crumbles and collapses.

  A torrent of debris sends a cloud of dust pouring over us. I cough,

  my eyes streaming tears to clear my vision. Osric lies on the ground, his leg bleeding. I drop beside him and press down on the wound. He’s been shot.

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  Three finfolk patrolling nearby run at us and lift their weapons.

  Captain Redmond bashes one on the head and takes his musket. He

  bludgeons a second in the temple with the firearm stock. Jamison grapples with the third finperson and smashes the creature over the back of the head with a brick.

  “Carry him,” Captain Redmond says to Neely, who then slings

  Osric over his shoulder.

  The elf groans. Redmond leads the charge up the hill. Our assail-

  ants are first to meet him, and the giant throws a formidable punch. For all their firepower, the finfolk aren’t well trained in firearms. Their shots go wide and high. Perhaps their striking Osric was luck.

  Jamison, Redmond, Neely, Osric, and I steadily make ground uphill

  to the portal. As we reach the steps to the platform, Osric becomes limp and unconscious, and his flask falls from his pocket. I stop to grab it, and a trident pierces the ground near my hand.

  The leader of the finfolk stands behind us. Captain Redmond reels

  around as the finperson raises his pistol at me. A wind billows toward us, plastering me with the creature’s scent: rotten fish.

  “You reek of fear, human,” he snarls.

  “You don’t smell much better.”

  The boggart suddenly manifests beside the finperson. His jawbone

  juts out from under the lowered hood of his shapeless black robes. He hovers above the ground, the heavy cloth hanging past his hidden feet.

  He extends his skeletal hand from under his robes and unfurls a

  sharpened nail at the finperson. “Let them go,” he hisses.

  The finperson bares his teeth. “Begone, boggart. These are my

  captives.”

  “You may not have them.”

  The boggart’s chilling voice sends Neely up the stairway with Osric.

  Jamison hesitates, staying close to me. Redmond stands by, ready with his fists.

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  “My kind has taken possession of this land,” the finperson snaps.

  “I command you to go.”

  The boggart sweeps his gaunt hand down the finperson’s arm. Scales

  and flesh peel away to reveal his skeleton. His skin and muscle gone.

  The finperson flaps his fin to shake free of the illusion. “What have you done? Turn it back!”

  “Beware of time,” hisses the boggart. “For the tides cower to the

  days, and the moon and sun revolve around the hours. Trod carefully

  lest your eleventh hour should speedily come.”

  He sweeps his hand over the finperson’s arm again, and the grisly

  image goes away. The finperson stumbles back, clutching his scaly limb, and the boggart floats toward us.

  “Go,” he rasps.

  Jamison and I take off up the stairs, Redmond’s heavy steps sound-

  ing after us. Glancing back, I see the boggart vanish. The finperson, stil shaken by the illusion, doesn’t pursue us. Our feet pound up the stairs.

  “Does the boggart serve Father Time?” I ask.

  “You could say that,” Captain Redmond answers. “The boggart

  guards the portal, and portals are instantaneous conduits through time.”

  We arrive at the platform where Neely waits. Osric hangs loosely

  in his arms, his leg a bloody mess. The boggart reappears, blocking

  the entry to the portal that floats above the ground at the end of the platform. He extends his wasted hand toward me. I flinch at the daisy in his skeletal fingers.

  “What’s that for?” I ask.

  “You know.”

  A chill fires up the back of my neck. “I don’t want it.”

  Redmond huffs at me. He must think I’m being difficult for declin-

  ing a flower and slowing our exodus, but this daisy represents an apol-ogy, and I’m not ready to forgive Father Time.

  The boggart steps forward even closer. He has no breath to flow

  over my face, as he doesn’t appear to be breathing. Under his hood, I 69

  Emily R. King

  glimpse his white skull, stained teeth, a hole where his nose would be, and empty eye sockets. In those orbs of nothingness, a scene plays out like a vision. I see myself running through a shadowed woodland, darting between trees and lunging over ferns. I sprint hard, away from what or toward whom I cannot tell. I only know that I am afraid and alone.

  The image comes to me in an instant, between the tick and tock of my heart, but the fear from the vision lingers longer.

  Fate has shared a secret. A warning.

  The boggart pulls his hand back under his draping sleeve. “The

  eleventh hour is nigh, Time Bearer.”

  Before I can ask what that means, he vanishes and clears our way

  to the portal.

  “What was that about?” Jamison asks.

  “I don’t know,” I mutter. “Let’s go home.”

  My grip firm on my sword, I step up to the colorful prism and leap

  into the light.

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  Chapter Nine

  I land on a bluff. Upon first glance, I see that the portal dropped me back at the seashore, a rocky beach fringing a sunset-lit sky and sea.

  My companions arrive seconds later. The second they are through the

  portal, it vanishes. The giants remain on their feet, but Jamison drops to his knees and stays down, his head hanging.

  “Are you all right?” I ask.

  “I heard the song.”

  “The song?”

  “My mother’s song. The one I can’t completely remember. I heard

  it in the portal.” He leaves his head down and whistles the song I last heard him play on his violin.

  Gooseflesh rises up my arms. The music has a profound, stirring

  undertone, like a lullaby. My beating ticker slows to match the rhythm.

  My muscles turn soft and loose, and my mind becomes fuzzy. I fight

  off a yawn.

  Jamison stops and lifts his head. A haunted look dims his gaze. “We

  landed before I heard the ending. Did you hear the music?”

  “I heard nothing.”

  A voice calls out from close by.

  “Everley! Jamison!”

  Quinn runs toward us from up the shore
. Alick and Vevina stand

  behind the lass outside a two-story seaside manor that overlooks the

  Emily R. King

  sea. It’s the only structure in sight. This isn’t the same shoreline we left to go to the Land Under the Wave. Peculiarly, the portal returned us here, farther up the coastline, where our friends have been hiding at Jamison’s seaside manor.

  Jamison catches the lass in his arms. “This is a surprise. What’s the day?”

  Quinn rattles off the date, just one day after we left our world, and narrows her eyes at the giants. “Are these the pirates you warned us about? The ones who killed the sea hag?”

  “They are,” Jamison replies. “This is Captain Redmond and his

  comrade Neely. For the time being, they are, um, our associates.”

  Quinn pauses to examine the giants from head to toe skeptically,

  then she grabs my hand, turning me away from the water, and points

  inland. A lofty pillar shadows the eastern horizon. The skystalk is impossible to miss, even from afar.

  “Have you seen this, Evie?” she asks. “It showed up yesterday. Alick said it must be the work of a sorcerer.”

  “Not a sorcerer,” I correct. “We’ll explain later. Right now, Osric

  needs Dr. Huxley.”

  Quinn runs ahead of us to the house. Our party follows, the

  giants’ mighty steps quavering the land in unmistakable thuds. Each

  one pounds into my belly. The last time such a noise was heard in our world, the giants had come to slaughter our kind.

  The seaside manor is a shrunken version of Elderwood Manor,

  with fewer windows and floors but a similar boxy structure. Alick and Vevina are dressed in work aprons, tools and woodpiles set out around them. One segment of the house’s siding has been repaired. Broken and warped patches cover the rest. A charming, low driftwood fence encloses the home, and chest-high daisy bushes flourish by the front door.

  Alick rushes forward to meet us and quickly examines Osric’s

  injured leg. “The wound appears shallow, but we must remove the mus-

  ket ball. Bring him upstairs.”

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  Too tall and broad to squeeze through the door, Neely passes Osric

  to Jamison, who carries the elf in. Quinn goes inside, as well, to assist Alick, leaving Vevina to welcome me.

  She has cut her hair to less than a fingernail’s length all over. The style emphasizes her high cheekbones and large brown eyes and shows

  off her ebony complexion. She looks beautiful—she always does—but

  I regret the reason behind the change. She and Alick are wanted by the queen for helping me escape execution. Coming here, chopping off her hair, they’re all because of me.

  Captain Redmond brushes rubble off his velvet jacket while Neely

  stares at the front door, clearly put out that he’s unable to fit inside the house.

  Vevina drags her curious gaze away from the pirates to me. “We

  were wondering when we would see you next. I certainly wasn’t expecting this.” I have so much to tell her, but I won’t delve into details in front of the giants. “Where are Claret and Laverick? Are they coming?”

  “They stayed behind at Elderwood Manor, but they miss you.

  Claret told me so just yesterday.”

  Vevina puts on a tight smile. “You’ve no need to explain, darling.

  The Fox and the Cat and I don’t have the sort of friendship where we have to see each other often.” She removes her work apron and drapes it over the tools. “Alick and I have been doing little projects to pass the time. He likes to work with his hands, and since he can’t practice medicine at the moment, we’ve been fixing up the house. That man is

  unbearable when he’s bored.” Her complaint holds no rancor. Vevina

  and Alick get on well. Her affection for him rings through every word.

  Captain Redmond releases an impatient sigh. The sun has sunk into

  the watery horizon, and night has begun to close in. “Must we stand

  out here all evening?”

  I shoot him a look of annoyance. “Do you have somewhere they

  can stay?”

  “Come,” Vevina says. “We’ve just the place.”

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  She leads us behind the manor to a barn with sagging eaves, and slides open the tall main doors. Captain Redmond ducks inside and winces at the waft of manure. Hay bales are stacked on one side, and livestock stalls line the other. Swallows coo from the rafters. Quinn’s cat—Prince—prowls around.

  Vevina lights three lanterns, casting a soft glow across the straw

  floor. “It’s drafty but dry. I’ll bring blankets and some drinking water.”

  “This will do fine,” I say. “Thank you.”

  Captain Redmond grumbles to himself.

  Neely wanders to the lamb pen and peers down. He picks up a

  small black sheep and strokes its fleecy back. “Look, Captain,” he says, his eyes wet and shiny, “a wee lamb.”

  “Didn’t have many of those in the Land Under the Wave.”

  Redmond shrugs out of his velvet jacket and hangs it on a tack peg.

  “House woman, do you have a washbasin? Or have humans no appre-

  ciation for cleanliness?”

  Vevina arches a brow. “I’ll fetch you something to wash with from

  the house.” She tugs me to the door. “I thought giants were supposed to be brutish monsters. One’s crying like a lost child, and the other’s an entitled dandy. Aren’t these the pirates who captured you?”

  “We need their help. We wouldn’t have brought them if we didn’t.

  It’s important, Vevina.”

  “House woman?” Redmond calls. “When will you bring that water?

  I’m parched.”

  Vevina harrumphs. “Is he incapable of doing anything himself?”

  “Thank you for tending to them. I promise it won’t last long.”

  “I’m only accommodating him because you said it’s important.”

  She sweeps out into the night.

  Neely sets the black lamb down in the pen and picks up a white

  one. He hums to the animal while petting its back and rocking gently.

  I stomp over to Redmond. “You could have been less rude to

  Vevina. You’re not a captain of a ship anymore, and you’re her guest.”

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  “I’ve every right to point out laziness when I see it. That house

  woman is an insolent one, I can tell.” He undoes the cuffs of his frilly shirt with short, irritated jerks. “How’s your clock heart faring, Ticker?”

  “Stop calling me by that name. I’m not a clock in your collection

  anymore. You’re in my world now.”

  He slides me a slantwise look. “Your human world is unimpres-

  sive, and your small moon is lackluster. I expected a magnificent landscape from the highly sought-after Land of the Living. You ungrateful humans have dulled the beauty my ancestors created. When giants first left the Everwoods for the Land of the Living, this was an empty tundra.

  Under Eiocha’s direction, my ancestors built mountains and islands,

  scooped out valleys, and trenched canyons. My kind still creates new and wondrous things. Your kind doesn’t appreciate all that we’ve done for them.” The captain sits on a stack of hay bales and loosens his boot buckles. “I cannot fathom Prince Killian’s fascination with humans or this human world. You would be an easy conquest.”

  My mouth goes dry. “Markham wishes to conquer us?”

  “Why are you surprised? Elves have always lorded over the rest

  of us.”

  “Queen Imelda showed no interest in dominating my kind.”

  The giant leans back against the hay bale as he pulls off a boot.

  “Queen Imelda and
Prince Killian disagree on many things. He was

  highly favored by his parents and well liked by their patrons, but the firstborn of the king inherits the throne, so Imelda is their ruler.”

  “Did Markham tell you this?”

  “Aye.”

  I sit beside the giant. “What else did he tell you?”

  Mundy pulls off his second boot, then peels off his stockings and

  stretches his big toes. “You ask a lot of questions, Ticker. I’m tired.

  Thirsty. Where is the house woman?”

  “Her name is Vevina, and she’s very clever, so I would be nice to her, or she wil make you regret it. Tel me what you know about Markham.”

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  “Rub my feet and I’ll tell you.”

  “Never in a million lives will I touch those ugly things. We got you out of prison. Answer my questions.”

  Mundy stretches his long, hairy toes. “I know much about Killian.

  Some things he told me, some I observed. The prince has a passion

  for music. He often asked crewmen to play their instruments for us in private.”

  I know this already. When Markham was Queen Aislinn’s governor

  over the penal colony, he asked Jamison to perform song after song for him on his violin. “What does that have to do with conquering my

  people?”

  Mundy makes odd faces as he massages the instep of his right foot.

  “Near the finish of the triad war, our warrior giants were on the cusp of obliterating the humans. The elves came to the humans’ aid, but they were too late. Our warriors had very nearly reclaimed their birthright.

  Only divine intervention could stop them, which, as you recall, is how the war ended. Eiocha played a song on her violin that put the giants to sleep. To this day, the warrior giants still slumber under the Creator’s spell, waiting for someone to wake them.”

  I rub my hands over my knees, suddenly restless. This is the same

  story Markham brought me to the Black Forest to share, and here I am, hearing it again. “The Creator destroyed her violin so the giants would stay asleep forever.”

  “Forever is a very long time.” He looks up at the cobwebbed rafters

  and listens to the swallows softly cooing. Across the barn, Neely sings an old sea chantey to the lamb and rocks it like a babe. “With the right materials, the same experienced hands who crafted the first violin could re-create Eiocha’s powerful instrument.”

  My ticker booms a hollow thud that throbs down my spine. “But