by Clay Held
“He’s safe,” Boeman said, his smile a pile of crooked, broken tombstones. Streaker growled. “I have him, and I could take you to him, right now. Just let me show you.”
Simon hesitated. “You sent your dog after me.” His voice was thin with anger. “He was in my dream, wasn’t he? You were, too.”
“Yes,” Boeman said. “He was. That was very special. Couldn’t you feel it? Only the rare and the special ever get such a dream.” He bowed to the dog. “Streaker is my scout. When he comes to you in your dreams, then you should feel honored.” The dog lifted its head and growled at Boeman.
Simon shook his head in confusion. “Honored?”. His voice was shaking. “It was a nightmare!”
“Only because you didn’t know why he had come, Simon.” Boeman squatted to look at him. “We have come to help. Your stand-in father has kept things from you. You’re not just one of the fair folk, lad. You’re a warlock.” His eyes glistened green and blue. “I won’t keep those secrets. I will tell you everything.” Boeman stood. “Don’t you want to know the truth? About where you come from? About your parents?”
His parents.
The firehouse buzzed with activity. Several firefighters ran out of the main truck bay. The bay doors were fully lifted, spilling light out into the street as they ran hoses across the street.
“Come with me,” Boeman said. “Simon, now...”
Simon flung the bag of salt directly at Boeman. It thudded off his chest and fell uselessly to the ground, spilling everywhere.
“Oh, well, bravo.” Boeman chuckled as the bag lay on the ground. “Salts. How very cute.” He glanced at the firefighters barking instructions back and forth at one another, getting the hoses into position, shouting for water. Molly and Zoey stood in the two large bay doors of the firehouse. Molly had found a cellphone and was talking into it while Zoey clung to her side.
“Bravery,” Boeman said, dropping his arms. “A shallow reflex best used only by those to mindless to think forward. Look at them, Simon. Look at how much they have forgotten. It’s in them, every last one. Any one of them could snuff this fire with a thought, if they could only remember the days of magic. That’s why you’re special, Simon. Like me, like Samuel, even that wandering mongrel Tamerlane. The First Secrets are still strong in us. We remember. Our blood remembers. How can you not want to know?”
Smoke billowed out of the shattered windows of the Paw. Simon kept hoping to see Nathan sprinting around the corner to his rescue, but no such luck. A small shiver rippled up the base of his neck, spreading to his ears, then up to the crown of his head. Boeman and Streaker circled around Simon. “It’s time we left, Simon.” The shiver climbed to Simon’s forehead as his vision began to blur. He started to feel like he had that afternoon, and he realized Boeman was behind it. Magic? The idea still seemed too foreign, too impossible for him to digest.
Simon felt a deep sickness twisting inside him, and he knew he was going to lose his balance. Terror seized him as he dropped to his knees, then images beginning to fill his head, bizarre and unfamiliar--black birds sitting on top of high stone walls, a young woman with blue eyes staring down at him, a worn path through a deep forest.
He struggled to lift his head, to shake the flood of images loose from his mind. Boeman’s shoes came into sight. The tingling in his head turned to a sickening spinning sensation, more images flowed into him, longer, clearer--a dark, dusty place with rows and rows of books, more books stacked so high Simon could not see where they stopped. He could smell the air in there, musty and old. In his next breath the library gave way to an image of a large, elegant room with broad, sweeping staircases curving along the sides up to a second floor where a man stood. The man leaned over the banister, looking down at the floor below. Simon tried to focus on the man’s face, but before he could see him clearly the image melted away again, and a vision of a graveyard swelled within his mind, rotten and thick. Old, decaying trees surrounded this place, and the air was thick with the smell of sickness, and that whistling again--the same four-note tune he had heard in his nightmare. Dead leaves crunched under his feet as Simon tried to back away, but no amount of effort could separate him from this image.
“Your heart goes bump in the night, child.” Boeman’s voice floated right above him. “Join us on the righteous path. Join your true teacher. We will help you remember the secrets of the First Days. We will show you the secrets of the World Next Door.”
The gruesome image surrounded him, held him, choked him. A chill ran down Simon’s back as he struggled to stay conscious. Try as he might, darkness was pushing down on him, compelling him to relax, to give in and stop fighting and just lay down. He wanted more than anything to close his eyes, to escape from the sickness swelling in his stomach and find any small relief he could. “Sleep.” The Other Voice was in his head again. “Sleep will free you.” It would be fine, right? Nothing bad could happen if he just laid down in front of the tall gray man and the dog, someone would surely come and pick him up and put him in a bed, but not his bed, his bed was probably burning up at this very moment, but that was no cause for alarm, was it? If he just closed his eyes for a minute...
A low growl rumbled out of Streaker, the sound tearing violently through the dead air of Simon’s vision. He was lying on his stomach now, but he still managed to lift his head.
Streaker was before him now, surrounded by the warped trees and the moss-ridden gravestones, but this was not the same Streaker. Here he rustled with the same strange, malefic energy from Simon’s dream. His fur was longer and ragged, dotted with mange, and he had swelled to almost twice his size in the waking world. He dwarfed the tombstones as he paced between them, back and forth, never once taking his burning green eyes off of Simon.
Blackness spilled over everything, wiping every last detail from his mind’s eye, leaving only darkness. There, in the void that stretched before him, came mindless, unyielding terror.
Shouting came from the very real firefighters behind him, then the shine of the emergency lights on the firetruck began to pulse into his vision, throwing red and blue light across the graveyard, along with the street. The fire whistle blared, jolting Simon completely from his vision, yanking him out of the graveyard and reminding him of the pain and the heat of the fire blazing through his home not twenty yards away. More shouting. Simon heard Molly, and then other voices, too, closing around him. It was hard to tell over the siren wailing, but for a moment he thought he heard Sam’s voice calling out to him too.
The sudden wail of the fire whistle startled Streaker, who backed away quickly, his ears folded back and his nose pointed down as he slipped behind Boeman. His eyes flickered one last wave of bright green before fading. He reached out one last time, seemingly to help Simon to his feet.
“Run,” said the Other Voice. “Flee.”
The spell was broken. Strength and confidence returned to Simon’s legs as he scrambled to his feet, grabbing the bag of salts and sprinting towards the fire house. The firefighters had already filled the street, but Simon weaved and bobbed through the equipment and hoses, ducking under a ladder as he ran into the bay. He found Molly and Zoey at a table off to the side, in front of the lockers and spare equipment that hung on the wall.
“Sam?” Simon looked at Molly, who shook her head. “They haven’t found him yet.” She wiped tears from her eyes. “Simon, what’s going on?”
Simon looked over his shoulder into the street. Firefighters darted around the burning building while the chief barked orders into a radio. Broken glass littered the streets, and Sam was nowhere to be found. Boeman and Streaker had vanished. Nathan came around the corner from the alley, alone. He looked right at Simon, then shook his head.
The hard reality of what was happening crept over Simon.
“They really took him.” Simon turned slowly to Molly, angry tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “They have Sam.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE SILVER LEAF
Nathan flew i
nto the firehouse. “We need to get going,” he said, throwing his shoulder bag against the table and tossing Simon his slightly-burned backpack. It was heavier than when he remembered. Inside were several more changes of clothes, what looked like the entire contents of their medicine cabinet, and a silver fork.
“Do you still have the salts I gave you?” Nathan walked over to the lockers and popped the first one open. He ransacked its contents, never stopping, then slammed it shut before going to the next one. On the third locker he found a brown paper bag. He examined its contents quickly, then rolled it tightly closed and stuffed it into his pocket. He reached into another pocket and pulled out a large silver coin which he set in the locker before closing it.
“What are you doing?” Molly said, seated at the table the whole time, eyeing Nathan darkly.
“I’m looking for supplies,” Nathan said, almost frantic. “Something, something, almost...anything.” He looked at Simon. “Simon, the salts?”
Simon fumbled in his pocket, drawing out the small red bag. Nathan snatched it, quickly working the drawstring. “Thanks,” he said. He worked the tiny opening of the bag, then threw a pinch of salt over his left shoulder, then another small pinch at Simon.
“Hey!” Simon stepped back. “What are you--”
“Hold still,” Nathan said, frustration in his voice. “I can’t do it if you keep fidgeting.”
“Do what?”
“Hit your shoulder, or really, over your shoulder.” Simon eyed Nathan for a moment, not sure which one of them was crazy, but he held still while Nathan tossed a small pinch over his left shoulder. A moment passed, then he turned and flung a large handful at Molly, landing most of it on her and in her face.
“Hey!” Molly jerked back. “Watch it!”
“You’ll thank me later,” Nathan said, squatting down and delicately flicking a small pinch of salt over Zoey.
“Why?” Simon brushed off his shoulder. “Why are you--”
“Plenty of time for that later, after we’re gone,” Nathan turned over another locker, pulling out a very fine silver watch. It looked like it had been a gift. Nathan considered it a moment, rolling it between his fingers, before finally returning it to the locker and slamming the door shut. “We leave tonight.”
“Leave?” Molly stood up. “Where? We can’t just up and take off.”
“We are not,” Nathan said, pointing at all four of them. “Us,” Nathan said, pointing at him and Simon. “We’re leaving. Now. Soon, you know, very quickly.” He spun towards Simon. “I grabbed what I could, I didn’t have much time. Is that enough?”
Simon ruffled through his backpack. “Uh, I guess. What about my books? My homework?”
“Don’t need them where we’re going.” Nathan pulled a small leather book from his coat pocket. “Let me check,” he said. His eyes scanning the pages at a feverish pace. “Yes, okay, good.” Nathan’s eyes rolled back, then he was thinking with his fingers and thumb again. “I think we have just enough time,” he said suddenly, snapping the leather book shut and tucking it back in his coat.
Molly jumped in. “Now wait! Simon is Sam’s son and I’m not just letting him leave with some stranger I just met!” She jabbed a finger at Nathan. “Just what is happening, and don’t keep saying it’s magic.”
Thunder rolled across Nathan’s face. “There isn’t anything other to say,” he said. “The truth is, we don’t know where Sam is, and that is a problem too big for just us.” He pointed at himself and Simon again. “We are going for help.”
“He said he took Sam,” Simon said. “He said Sam would be safe if I went with him. He said I, that I--”
“Look at me.” Nathan took Simon by the shoulders, squeezing him until it hurt. They locked eyes. “Boeman is a liar. He would steal the coins off a dead man’s eyes, and you can’t trust a single word that crosses his lips. He would take you and Sam and throw you to the Old Dominion just for a laugh. Do not trust him.”
“Old Dominion?” All Simon could think of was Sam and where he must be at that moment, locked away somewhere in a room, a specimen in a cage, Streaker prowling feverishly all around him.
A melancholy look crawled across Nathan’s face. “Not all of the Folk are good. All is not well anymore.” His voice thinned. “Boeman takes people and breaks them. He does it...” he trailed off, wiping at his eyes. He glanced quickly, quietly at Zoey.
“Why does he do it?” Molly placed one of her hands on Zoey’s back. “Why does he take children?”
Nathan never lifted his eyes from the ground. “You misunderstand,” he said. “Not only children. Usually children, you’re right about that, they’re easy to frighten.” He took a deep breath. “Adults, especially adults, have greater fears in them. He exploits that fear, turns it against them until they break.”
“Brainwashing?”
“Soul breaking,” Nathan said, his voice a whisper. “Nothing can conquer the soul quite like fear. Make somebody look at it long enough, make them see nothing but the monsters of the world, and they stop seeing all the good there is.” He looked at Zoey again. “All the goodness in the world just floating around, happy as a bird, and their eyes are locked into darkness, unable to see any of it. They wither under the weight of that darkness, until they are nothing but sad wraiths of their former selves. That fate is what it means to be truly taken, truly broken.”
“Why?” Molly said. “What does he gain from doing all that?”
“Power,” Nathan said slowly. “For his master, and the Old Dominion. They need foot soldiers to fight their battles, fodder for their war.”
“Master?” Simon said. It scared him--how could someone like Boeman serve another? What monster could hold his reins?
“Yes,” Nathan said. “A wicked man, if you can even still call him one.” Nathan eyed the firefighters in the street. “These men are going to have a hard time with that spellfire. Sam tried to hold it back, but it was too much for him to hold out for very long. He’s out of practice, and Boeman has strength only the old can know. He’ll be halfway back to his lair in the Volobog by now.”
“Then what happens?” Simon asked. “He’ll be...broken?”
The look on Nathan’s face was all the answer he needed. He swallowed the lump of fear in his throat and grabbed his backpack from the table. “We need to get him back,” he said, trying to sound strong, to hide the waver in his voice. “We can’t let him be broken.”
Nathan looked at Simon and laughed a small, quiet chuckle. “Brave kid. Like your old man,” he said, and Simon felt another slight twinge in his heart. Nathan must have seen it, quickly adding, “He was a good guy, your dad. You’re real dad, I mean. Sam too, yes, but, I meant Thomas...” Another deep breath. “I don’t know what all Sam has told you, but--”
“Nothing,” Simon snapped. “I’ve just...I’ve always lived with him.”
Nathan looked away. “It...I...” He looked over at Molly. “We need to get going. Ms. Molly, for Sam’s sake.” He swallowed. “Will you watch their home?”
Molly stared across the street at the green fire. “Magic?” she said, her eyes searching Nathan’s face for the truth.
Nathan produced a small seed from one of his pockets. Silently, he put it to his lips, then set it on the table. Quietly the husk split open, and tiny green roots began to poke out and dig into the table. Within moments a plant had taken full root in the table, growing to half a foot in height, when a bright purple bloom appeared. The flower blossomed and stretched towards Molly, who tightened her jaw, but did not make a noise. Then, just as quickly as it came, the flower was gone, already wilting. A moment later the entire plant had crumbled to dust and was gone.
Molly, ever the stoic, took this impossible event in stride. Slowly she nodded and asked, “Where are you going?”
Nathan considered his words for a moment. “Somewhere,” he said. “A place where we have built a home for ourselves.” He ran his hand through his hair. “A hidden place where we will find help.”
/>
Another slow nod. “How long?”
“I don’t know,” Nathan said. “Not long, I imagine. Help will either find us, or…”
Simon looked up at Nathan. “What?”
Nathan let out a deep breath. “I hate to admit it, but where we’re going, it’s curse or be cursed.” Nathan stuck his hand in one of his many pockets, drawing out a silvery white stopwatch. “Oh, hey,” he said. “Free silver. This should do.” He grabbed Simon by the shoulder. “Grab your bag. We have people to meet.”
#
They left the firehouse and quickly made their way to the edge of town, until the last row of houses smashed up against the woods, then they found the old train tracks heading south out of town. They followed the tracks for almost an hour when Nathan abruptly turned left at a fallen tree and started straight into the wilderness. Another hour passed when they finally reached the river bank. The moon was directly overhead by then, lighting their way as they went further from town into the wilderness.
Dread began to claw at Simon. He had expected to find somebody, anybody, waiting for them when they reached the river bank, but instead, they found only fog and the chirping of cicadas. Bugs ate at him. “We’re really meeting somebody out here?” he said finally, breaking the silence.
“Friends,” Nathan said. “Should be here any time.”
Simon looked over his shoulder where they had broken through the trees. The bank dropped down right to the river’s edge, where huge trees towered over them and the water. For a moment Simon feared eyes were on them, great and terrible things watching them from just out of sight. A strange mixture of fear and concern began to overwhelm him. Nathan was supposed to be a friend, and Sam had brought him in to help, but that was before the fire, before the abduction. Simon found himself relying on this complete stranger in a way he had not expected, and he had followed him into the woods without question. Had he acted foolishly. He had followed Nathan away from his home and Molly and Zoey down to the river.
