by Jules Hedger
The old man turned around, wiping his hands on a tattered bathrobe, and looked up at Lucan in relieved gratitude.
The man came up no taller than my chin and had a nose that looked like a small, shriveled zucchini. His face was something of an old plum left to wrinkle in the summer sun: dark and cracked in so many places around his eyes and mouth that I thought he must be somewhere near a hundred years old. Besides the worn bathrobe held around his waist by a length of coiled rope, he wore a pair of bright yellow galoshes and a rain cap. Tiny gray curls pushed out from under the brim and framed his face in wiry whiskers.
"By the hand of the Painter, what lost love or rescued treasure lured you here to this infernal rock?" the man asked with a voice like the crackling of cellophane. He scuffled across the narrow entry hall to the bottom of a spiral staircase. Shaking off his galoshes at the bottom of the stairs and pulling on a tiny pair of slippers left by the hat stand, he turned back around to where Lucan and I were still standing shivering by the door. "What, are you lost?" His eyes narrowed, his wrinkles going from millions to trillions. "Are you from the Council?"
"No no," I said hastily, shaking my head quickly and stepping forward. "We're not from the Council."
The man pulled off his hat and hung it up, raking his small dark hands through his short curls. He spotted my necklace and his busy fingers stilled. I sensed Lucan move close in behind me. The old man's eyes drew back to mine seriously, reverently, and the smile he gave was almost sad.
"Follow me to the kitchen," the man sighed, making his way up the winding stairs. "No doubt you can tell me your story with a cup of tea. Or a cup of brandy. Goodness knows, this storm calls for one."
We climbed up the steep stairs and through the hole into the round kitchen. The man hurried straight over to the stove and started a fire while I sat down at the small table. Lucan positioned himself next to me like a sentry, looking discreetly at all the corners and cracks of the room. When he had set the water to boil, the man scurried around the stairs to the cupboard. Pulling out three glasses, he poured some dark caramel-colored liquid in each and took a small sip. He made a face.
"My brandy has never been the same since the boy who delivered it stopped coming. Now I have to brew it myself." The man put his glass down and hurried over to the kettle, whose whistle mingled in with the wind's. Lucan's hand squeezed my shoulder and he leaned down to whisper in my ear.
"Perhaps we should just leave. I don't know how comfortable I feel in this dream," he warned. Whatever he was going to continue with was cut off by the little man thrusting a bundle of clothes at his face.
"It's no wonder you have a face like thunder, you must be freezing. Go upstairs and put some dry clothes on." The man watched Lucan move slowly to the stairs and climb up. Lucan's eyes stayed fixed on me and when his head disappeared, he stopped his ascent near the top so I could still see his feet.
"He's worried about you," the man said, smiling.
"Doubt it," I said, swilling my brandy around once. The old man took a quick sip of his before sitting down and leaning in close.
"So how is the Walk going?" he whispered. I heard Lucan's feet squeak on the stairs.
"I haven't been caught yet, if that's what you mean." I considered my drink. "Three more days."
"Three days is enough time, if you use it wisely," he said.
"So you're Team Me, then?" I asked with a small smile. I would take anyone I could get at this point. The little man put his hand over mine and looked sincerely into my eyes.
"Daughter of Palet, rightful heir to the throne, in my house. I can hardly believe it." He gave my hand a quick squeeze before removing it again. "My family has always been loyal."
"Thank you," I said.
The man frowned and gingerly touched the dreamcatcher.
"It grows warm," he said softly.
Does it? I guess I hadn't noticed but that was slightly worrying. I don't think he would have said it like that if it was good news . . .
"Don't scare her," I heard Lucan say from the bottom of the stairs. Glancing up, I felt my heart go ka-thump. The old man's eyes flickered quickly to mine and he slowly drew his hand away.
Lucan had changed into a tight, long sleeved dark green shirt and mid-calf khaki pants. He seemed all at once more civilized, yet somehow deadlier. I made fun of the Lucan on the pole with the torn-up trousers. I would never make fun of this warrior.
"Who are you?" Lucan asked. "You've not told us your name." The little man stood up from the table and made his way to the kettle.
"Marius. I've been here for as long as I can remember, serving the land by rescuing lost souls on the sand." He poured out the tea for him and me but left Lucan with his brandy. "I never thought I would be alive for a Reign Walk. But here I am."
"Are we ok to weather out the storm here? Stocking up and making a plan before going back into the Wilds?" Lucan asked, throwing back his brandy. Marius poured him another measure and nodded.
"Of course. But do not take too long. The symbol is already beginning to burn."
Lucan shrugged, like he didn't care. But when Marius turned his back he reached over and grasped the flat circle of the dreamcatcher. His eyes flashed, but when Lucan looked at me his expression was impossible to work out.
Just like the man himself was impossible to work out.
Marius took another sip of his tea and allowed the silence to drift over the table. We sat for a moment and listened to the wind batter the lighthouse walls and the course of the wind blow in a short strain of a string quartet.
Chapter 15
The beacon of light swept over the beach, right to left, left to right, illuminating faces in the small circular kitchen. I could still hear the waves crashing on the shore far below me, but only saw them when their white crests reflected silver as the light touched the water. The rain had lessened but was still misting down softly. A small, solitary lantern was the only brightness in the room. Although the wind could not break through the thick stone walls of the lighthouse, the lantern still creaked like a splintering ship deck as it rocked and turned slightly.
Marius and Lucan had retreated to a corner and were whispering. I had thought about insisting they include me but to be honest, at this moment I couldn't care less. It was perhaps the first moment I had gotten to sit by myself where I wasn't dazed or confused, strangely aroused or bat-shit terrified. I felt calm and warm and knew there wasn't someone coming up the stairs to sew me up. And if I concentrated hard enough, I could pretend the murmurs behind me came from my father.
I wondered how many people stood on these shores, how many ships had been brought home by the guiding light of Marius's lighthouse. The sea outside flashed and I could only imagine being swept in on these waves; beaten by the water and the temper of the sea, struggling up the sand, clutching the land like a lost lover and wanting desperately to once more breathe air not mixed with the toxic taste of salt water.
The light nearly blinds you after what seems like days in the darkness of the ocean. How good it is to feel something beneath your feet, something that proves there isn't something more sinister waiting below; something waiting to catch your failing body in its jaws when you give up the struggle, wrap its tentacles gently around your leg and pull you slowly down to the crushing depths, the water creeping slowly into your mouth as you try to scream through the darkness . . .
"What visions are you seeing in the rain?" Marius asked suddenly.
I jumped and brought my eyes back to the merciful light and warmth of the kitchen. So much for calm. Marius was standing on the other side of the table, looking at me innocently and curiously, his owl eyes glinting in the lantern light. Lucan lounged in the corner, the shadows veiling his face.
"Oh nothing," I lied. Marius smiled.
"It's nothing to be embarrassed about. I've seen many things in the midst of the storm, not all of them pleasant. I challenge anyone to stay and guard the coast for more than a week with no company and not see visions." He
turned to Lucan. "I suppose you didn't see visions in the sand when you were posted on that stick of wood?"
Lucan stood up straight, unfolding into his full, terrifying frame.
"I had visions, alright. Visions of grasping Cirrus by the throat and squeezing until he sings." His arms flexed through the shirt and I was so incredibly relieved he was on my side.
Marius looked at both of us seriously and nodded.
"Your time will come. The Riders are on their way." I caught the warning look the Lucan shot Marius, but the phrase was already ringing bells in my head. The old man frowned and turned to me, cutting off the questions already threatening to burst from my partially opened mouth. "We cannot get you so involved, Maggie. If Cirrus were to catch you it would not do to have you know too much."
"I think it's in my own interests to know as much as I can," I replied defensively. "I've heard about the Riders before." Did I? Or was it registering from my life before Palet, the life of New York and college and pop culture? I really couldn't say. "Is there some sort of rescue party? A group fighting against the Reign Walk?"
Lucan had moved out of the shadows and was gathering food and blankets into my backpack.
"It's for your own safety, Your Majesty. Just consider it Plan B," he said.
"If Plan A doesn't work, you mean?"
"In which case, we wouldn't want you sharing it with your new boyfriend," he confirmed harshly over his shoulder.
Marius looked at me sadly, drawing my glare away from Lucan's back. "Lucan is right. You wouldn't have much of a choice. No secrets then."
No secrets. My mind, his mind. My thoughts, his thoughts. It should have made me feel better that there was a contingent plan. That must mean there was hope if I lost, right? So why was it making me feel so depressed? Probably because if there was a Plan B, it meant Plan A might not be so guaranteed.
"Ready to move out?" Lucan asked, handing over a very full pack. I nodded, swallowing down a feeling of sick, and stood up from the table. Marius looked at me and Lucan intently as I pulled on my jacket.
"The Wilds doesn't last for much longer. Go in the opposite direction of the sun to find a way back into the Middle Canvas. But remember, Cirrus will have others on the look-out for you. Tread carefully."
I opened my mouth to thank Marius for his hospitality, supplies and lingering feeling of doom when a series of light knocks sounded from the downstairs. All three of our faces turned quickly towards the noise. Lucan's eyes bulged and he took a step, but Marius placed his hand very gently on Lucan's arm. He rose from the table slowly, finger rising to his lips, and shuffled across the kitchen to the top of the stairs.
Glancing back at us, the look we saw was very clearly Don't make any noise. Stay upstairs.
Lucan moved his body in front of mine, his large boots silent on the wooden planks of the floor, and watched Marius descend downstairs. The rain had now completely stopped and so the creak of the front door was clear and sounded extremely loud. We heard muffled speaking, no words, and then some footsteps into the entry room.
Silence.
Lucan's large body tensed and he moved one arm behind him to grab my wrist. His grip was like a vice and I didn't know where he thought we could run. Upstairs? Every horror movie I ever saw told me that was a bad idea. I felt suddenly very dizzy and realized I had been holding my breath.
The dreamcatcher around my neck throbbed once, just barely strong enough for me to feel it, but I did. It was the first time I ever felt it move, soft as eyelashes brushing against my skin. I gasped and Lucan's head whipped quickly around. His eyes were as angry as hell, telling me to shut. Up. But a moment later we heard one pair of feet walking slowly up the stairs, heavier and less confident than Marius's. Lucan cursed quietly under his breath and tightened his fingers around my wrist.
The shiny top of a bald head appeared, closely followed by a hulking body naked from the waist up. He hovered at the top of the stairs, staring into the kitchen with a light frown on his face. He shuffled around, rocking from side to side on large feet, until his eyes alighted on me and Lucan. It took a few moments for him to register, but when it did his face split open in a wide grin.
"Painter's niece?" he asked roughly.
"Who's asking?" Lucan demanded, but the man ignored him and smiled even wider at me. He thumped his chest with his fist and shifted side to side.
"Necklace? Maggie?" He grunted and thumped his chest again. So he was stupid? Foreign? Whatever he was, his arms looked like they could crush my head like a peach. So . . . shit.
Lucan stepped forward and raised his fingers slowly. He closed them into fists, showing them plainly in silent warning. The bald man stared at Lucan's hands dumbly and his smiled faded. He knew a threat when he saw one.
Quick as lightening, the large man's hand flashed forward and grabbed Lucan's fist in his own. I watched Lucan's eyes pop wide as a sick cracking sound resounded through the air. It sent waves of nausea into the pit of my stomach as the man squeezed Lucan's fist together harder to break the bones. I started to scream as Lucan roared in agony and the large man roared back, showing toothless, purple gums. The pain forced Lucan to his knees as I screamed to the man to stop.
Hurried footsteps rushed up the stairs and a beanpole of a man ran into the room. He saw the angry man-child roaring at Lucan, who was clutching his broken fist, and sighed in exasperation.
"Timothy! For fuck's sake, can you keep the noise down?" He stepped over Lucan and slapped the man's bald head sharply. Timothy stopped roaring immediately and smiled like a little boy given a Christmas present.
Lucan rose up quickly from the floor, keeping his hand to his side, and backed up into my corner. The thin man looked at us guiltily.
"I am so sorry for Timothy. He is as stupid as a sack of turnips and doesn't know his own strength. I heard he broke his mother coming out, split her right in half." He made a tearing sound with his teeth and I inadvertently flinched. "Could wrestle an elephant without breaking a sweat. Hung like one, too but don't tell the ladies or I'll never get lucky again." He laughed and ran his fingers through the slick, black hair combed back over his head. "But you must be Maggie! It is very nice to meet you at last."
"Where's Marius?" I asked.
"Who am I?" he answered, totally ignoring my question and wiggling his dirty fingers in the air. "I am Leof, renowned trapeze artist for the Circus That Came."
"Well, you can leave anytime," Lucan growled. Leof looked at Lucan down his nose and chuckled.
"Oh, does the big man want a band aid for his paper cut? I bet you just hated looking like a little bitch in front of your stead." His laugh tinkled gleefully through the kitchen. I watched as Timothy looked blankly from Leof to Lucan, a line of drool rolling down his chin. "Speaking of . . ."
He clicked his fingers and, not missing a beat, Timothy grabbed Lucan's arm and forced it behind his back. Lucan gasped and tried to swing a punch with his good hand, but Timothy only grunted through his dumb grin and pushed him harder into the floor.
In the midst of the chaos, I thought to make a break for the stairs, but before I had escaped a few feet Leof pulled a pistol from his pocket. He was quick, like he had been doing it all his life, and I suddenly found it nearly shoved down my throat. Lucan groaned and stopped struggling as I stared down the mouth of the loaded gun.
Leof pushed the cold metal into my cheek and casually reached his hand down my shirt to pull out the dreamcatcher. His rough skin brushed my breast as he took his time finding the flat, gold circle. He lowered the gun to consider it curiously as every swear word I ever knew ran through my brain. I always thought that if someone pulled a gun at me I would face them off with cool composure and a smart comeback. Guess I thought wrong . . .
"You're not going to make any trouble, are you?" he asked softly. His breath smelled of black licorice. I shook my head. "Good. This is really nothing personal, you know. It's all part of the Reign Walk."
He backed off, letting the necklace drop f
rom his fingers, and motioned for me to walk down the stairs. I whimpered as the gun poked the back of my head and tried to stop my legs from shaking. From behind me I heard Timothy drag Lucan to his feet and follow us down.
"Mind the dead old man bleeding out on the floor."
My stomach twisted with bile as I saw poor Marius pushed into a corner, his throat slit so deep it showed white bone. His eyes stared up emptily, shocked and accusatory. I looked quickly away, because I was sure that look was meant for me. The blood had spread halfway across the tiled floor and it took us a minute to gingerly pick our way around the slow moving puddles.
Our little group started to walk down the beach. The waves broke far from our feet and seemed to grow smaller and look farther off the longer we walked. Pretty soon, it was hard to even hear them crashing on the shore and if I glanced back over my shoulder, I could barely see the speck of illumination that was the lighthouse.
The sand grew drier underfoot and blue patches appeared in a clear sky no longer obscured by storm clouds. Suddenly, the heat hit us like a furnace blast and we all had to momentarily stop our march. Leof looked around us at the desert of the Wilds.
"So, we're out," he said simply, staring into the sun. "That was a lot simpler than finding our way in."
This is all my fault. I must have gotten as far as ten feet into the Walk before being captured. Twice. At this rate, I thought, I might as well just stand still and hope I can yank the pocket watch before he sees it coming. Never mind having a plan and an army or even a trick up my sleeve. Just stand still and blindly make a grab for it. Less people would get killed that way.
And it was sunny, which meant my third day was officially over. The time didn't seem to run the same here, which was hardly fair. But as I stared up at the blazing sun, the dreamcatcher throbbed again against my chest. Three days down, Three to go.
The heat was almost suffocating and near the beginning I had to stop and be sick. All that blood and Marius's eyes. How long would it be until someone found him? Lucan was sweating in his long sleeved shirt and his hand was turning a mottled purple color. As hopeless as I felt, I couldn't help running escape plans through my head. Realistically, if there was one that actually stood a chance Lucan would have made a stab for it already. And Timothy was too much of a risk, lumbering along behind us like a small steam train.
