by Sienna Skyy
She stopped. She listened.
And then, under the staring moon, in the clearness of the well that formed within the fog and frost, there came:
Nothing.
She cocked her ear.
Still nothing.
Bruce hitched on the stump. “Is something supposed to happen?”
She wiped madly at her nose, which was beginning to run in the cold night air.
“Not necessarily.” She knew her words sounded strangled. “Well, er . . .”
Her eyes popped open and she began rummaging through the pockets of her jeans and sweatshirt. Her fingers closed over a small bag and then fumbled, dropping it, and the contents spilled onto the mat of leaves and pine needles.
“Dang it!”
Bruce arched forward on the stump. “Jamie, do you think you can tell me—”
“Wait,” she said sharply, throwing up a finger. She was rarely so impatient with Bruce, but tension tore at her temperament.
As silence fell between them, the forest erupted once again with the strange heh sound. Bruce and Jamie looked around.
Bruce furrowed his brow. “Weird echo. Must be from all the granite.”
Jamie’s eyes scanned the rim of the cliff above. “Yeah. Except the echo isn’t the same sound over and over again. One’s kind of like a ‘heh’ and there’s one that sounds more like a ‘ha’ or a ‘ho.’ Do you think there’s something out there? Some things out there?”
Jamie knew instinctively that there would be dangers associated with this quest. All she needed to do was call up the image of Candace’s sheet-covered body for confirmation. If something in the woods was stalking them, what defense did they have? Would the Auxilia intervene? Could they intervene? Jamie knew there was an uneasy balance between the Auxilia and the Pravus, but what if the balance had shifted? After all, no one was around to protect Candace.
Jamie realized how foolish her visions of this moment had been. In her dreams, she canted mellifluous appeals that resulted in epic, shimmering magic—magic powerful enough to whisk Bruce’s true love from harm’s way and back into his arms. When she’d acted these things out in her mind over the years, she’d never gotten her north and east crossed. And she certainly never expected an ethereal volley of hehs, has, and hos to berate her while she tried to concentrate.
Bruce stamped the leaves. “I guess there could be something out there. I doubt we really have to worry about it, though. It’s not like the place is full of lions and wildebeests.” He eyed her. “It’s cold out here.”
Jamie slapped at the items in her bundle. “I told you to bring your coat.”
“I guess I had other things on my mind. Like saving a life.” He furrowed his brow at the satchel that had absorbed her concentration. “What do you have in there, anyway?”
“A candle, some marjoram, and mint.” She shrugged. “A mushroom. Other stuff.”
“Did the clip lady tell you to bring them?”
“I came up with this on my own. I’ve done a lot of reading over the years.”
“There are books about this?”
Jamie frowned. “About this? No. I’ve had to make a lot of assumptions.”
Bruce threw up his hands. “This is insane. We’re just supposed to figure all of this out by ourselves?”
Jamie looked at her satchel, deliberately not making eye contact with Bruce. “I think that’s the way it has to be.”
Bruce let out a frustrated grunt and ran a hand through his hair. The glade fell still. And then there came another sound from off on a far hill. Animal keening. Like the howl of a wolf, only not quite so round and long. A coyote, maybe. Ordinarily Jamie might think it spooky, but under the circumstances, it didn’t faze her much. This, at least, was the call of a recognizable creature.
Taking a deep, trembling breath, she pulled herself up. She was determined to get things right, blinking away the glisten of frustration that had formed at the corners of her eyes. She made her third set of circles around Bruce and the gilded tree. North, south, west, and—wait, no. North, west, south, and . . . and. Northeastsouthwest.
Bruce stood. “Jamie, what exactly are we doing out here?”
She stopped in her tracks, turning toward Bruce, her stare as sharp as pine needles.
“Stop interrupting me!” She tried to sound forceful, but the words caught in a tremulous gulp.
He rubbed his lower back. “I’ve been sitting on that knobby stump while you run around without a compass, and somewhere some thousand-year-old monster is pawing at my fiancée, and it just occurred to me that you actually don’t have a clue what you’re doing!”
All around the crackling echoes of heh and hah and ho burst from the trees and reverberated among the cliff walls, as though they were inside a bag of microwave popcorn. It shook the very earth below them and rattled in the brook.
Jamie began to tremble. “What is that sound?”
Her voice broke on the words and she burst into tears, her knees falling weak. She sagged to the stump. Jamie tried to bridle the humiliating tears but couldn’t. A stolen glance at Bruce revealed he didn’t know whether to address the otherworldly heckling or her, the weeping woman on the stump. Either choice was probably equally disturbing to him.
Jamie strove to contain herself. “The trees, the creek, the entire dang forest is laughing at us. At me.”
She waved a hand in disgust at the maples behind the veil of fog, whose branches, which once seemed folded in skepticism, were now waving about in frenzy. “The trees are laughing at me.”
She folded her arms around herself. “You’re right, Bruce. I don’t know what I’m doing. I thought that when the time came, I’d get a little guidance. I thought a vision would come to me, or I’d have some special knowledge, or something. The . . . the tolling intuition.”
She sniffed again, slapping madly at her nose with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “All my life I’ve been preparing for this moment. I thought I had everything ready. I was going to be the Joan of Arc of true love and lead us to victory. But now that it’s happening, I don’t have a single clue. I don’t even know where the battleground is.” She gulped a deep, thirsty breath and let it out slowly. “I am scared to death we’ll lose. That Enervata . . . and Gloria . . .”
“No,” Bruce said firmly.
She stopped, closing her lips together.
He turned and nudged her so that she shifted and he sat down next to her on the stump. “That ain’t gonna happen. There is no way. There is absolutely not going to be an ‘Enervata and Gloria.’”
He folded his arms and dipped his chin. Then he looked at Jamie and put an arm around her shoulders.
“This isn’t your fault, Jamie. You didn’t make this; you didn’t decide this. You just got roped into it. I assumed you knew what we’re supposed to do. But obviously you’re just as baffled as I am. We’ll figure it out together.”
He dabbed at her tears.
She blinked them back. “I just wish that paperclip woman would come again.”
The forest simmered to a more sedate rush of whispers and rustles.
“Well, it doesn’t look like she’s going to do that.” Bruce eyed the canyon above. “What made you come to this place, anyway?”
“That voice mail from Candace. She said to go to Maine. Beyond that, I didn’t know what to do.” She shrugged, gesturing at the sky. “Full moon at midnight. A New England forest. I guess I’ve been reading too many fantasy novels.”
Again, the forest rippled with the strange chuckles. This time Bruce and Jamie allowed for some nervous laughter of their own.
He gave her a sidelong smile. “I liked the thing about the malevolent lip. Nice touch.”
She smiled back, though hers was sheepish.
He rose and gave a hand to lift her from the stump. “Let’s head back. You couldn’t have been too far off if we landed in a forest where the trees can laugh at you. Not exactly typical.”
They retraced their steps, following the creek to
the path at the cliff wall, and picked their way up the steep incline until they were out of the sinkhole.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” Bruce said. “We’ll find a place to sleep for the night, then come back here tomorrow. In the meantime, you see if you can summon that paperclip thing.
“We’ll pull together and get Gloria back.”
10
NEW YORK
ENERVATA’S TAIL SHIFTED. “All right, canteshrikes, what have you to report?”
Rafe began. “As you requested, we monitored—”
“Not you.”
The male canteshrike paused. “Did I misspeak?”
“Let Isolde convey the report.”
“Isolde’s ability to speak has been—”
“Impaired, I know. You forget. I impaired it.”
A look of darkness came over Rafe. Enervata wondered at its source.
Isolde raised her head, though not as high as usual, and stepped before Enervata. Her eyes avoided the brothers.
Her words came just above a whisper. “The male of our lovers has—”
Enervata shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t hear you. Come closer, my dear.”
“We can’t hear you, either!” Glueg chortled from the couch, slapping his knee. “Come have a sit. We ain’t gone sick of you yet!”
Hedon leered. “A woman who can’t fend you off and can’t answer back? There’s something I’ll never go sick of!”
Sileny scuttled to the far corner of the room.
Isolde turned toward the brothers, and the intent in her eyes said that she may no longer have much voice, but she had regained enough strength to fend them off—until they bled.
Glueg belched. “The look on that one says she just might just sink her teeth into you. Course that could be a right fun turn as well, mightn’t it?”
“Enough!” Enervata snapped. “Have I indulged you swinish brothers to the extent you cannot discern when to hold your tongue?”
The brothers quieted and turned to their pint jars of honey wine for sympathy.
“Now, Isolde, you may approach me. Put your lips to my ear and tell me what you have to say.”
Isolde stepped closer, the slender taper of her waist turning sideways as she leaned her now-silvered breasts toward him.
She spoke in a melodic whisper. “The male of our lovers . . . has begun his quest.”
She paused, drawing a labored breath before continuing. “We have masked all signals at your behest.”
“Is this going to take all afternoon, Isolde?”
She rasped more quickly. “I suggest we act without delay, lest we risk our bond-recherché.”
She coughed, and as she backed from him he could see a red stain forming at her lip.
“There, now you’re no longer gray from head to toe. The effort of speech has caused you to bleed. Perhaps if you entered Canteshrike Grotto with lips so red, they may admit you back into their nights of debauchery.”
He turned from her and muttered, “Assuming your day with the brothers hasn’t cooled your lust.”
He addressed the other canteshrike. “All right, then, Rafe. You may speak now. Have you anything to add?”
Rafe shook his head. “Only that I concur with Isolde. We must act without delay to thwart this quest, hide the young man Bruce so that the other Pravus armies can’t kill him, and preserve the power of the bond-recherché until you have cultivated it.”
Enervata frowned. “Do not intervene yet. Continue to mask the signs given to him. He’ll run his quest into the ground.”
He turned to the brothers. “I take it you swine have found no indication that I have competition? Not from Kolt or any of the others?”
Hedon wiped his mouth. “No sign, master. Seems none has caught on to our little bond-recherché yet.”
“Good. All the more reason to proceed with restraint. Very well, then. You all have your assignments. Let there to be no misunderstanding. We have passed the realm where mistakes are acceptable. No more leniency. Should any of you slip in your tasks, death shall be the only punishment. Now get to your posts.”
The Pravus lieutenants began to disperse and Sileny rushed to clean the area where the brothers had been sitting.
Isolde strode in the direct path of the brothers. Enervata watched her with curiosity, thinking it odd she didn’t avoid them. And predictably, as she passed, Hedon reached for her and muttered something with a leering grin.
Isolde wheeled upon him, lashing a trident talon in a movement so quick it seemed but a flash. She then continued without pause.
Hedon gaped after her, unsure what had just occurred, until the blood pouring from his nose had reached his lips. His tongue flickered and he swiveled his eyes in confusion.
In that one quick movement, Isolde had used her talon to slice open his nostrils so that they resembled the snout of a pig.
And ironically, in his outrage, Hedon now squealed like one.
Enervata smiled.
MAINE
Bruce breathed in the autumn woodland, and it smelled like the sun.
He and Jamie strode along the same path as the night before, only this time the monochromatic silver landscape exploded with brilliant hues of fall leaves and pebbled mosaic trails. There was no sign of the fog from the previous evening.
They decided to follow a different track, abandoning the hiking trails and veering into the unsanctioned wilds. Jamie had had no more luck this morning summoning spirits than she’d had before, but Bruce encouraged her to try again later. Realizing she was going solely on intuition, he understood now that he needed to pay more attention to his own. He felt certain things were about to change, that some sort of breakthrough was coming. He hoped that wasn’t only his desperation speaking. He focused intently on the wood, looking for any sign he could decipher.
Until he fell into a crevice.
He heard Jamie give a cry above. “Bruce! Are you all right? I can’t see you! Say something!”
“Agghh.”
“Say something else.”
“I think I’m okay. I can’t see you, either. Except . . . wait.”
Pain shot from his tailbone as he rolled and fumbled to his feet, spitting dirt, and angled to a patch of sunlight. He could see the silhouette of Jamie’s head above. It seemed very far away.
“Are you hurt?”
“Not really, it’s just . . .”
He rubbed at his backside, shaking his head with a bitter chuckle. “Just my butt.”
“Can you get out?” He heard a strangle in her voice, and could tell she was making a determined effort not to laugh.
“I don’t know.”
He looked around. The fissure formed a barrel with the wall and ceiling curving upward. In the darkness, he saw no viable exit.
“It’s kind of wet and slippery down here.”
He attempted to scale the dripping wall, but he found no place for a foothold. He wouldn’t have been able to reach the roots dangling above, anyway, assuming they even proved stable enough to grab.
“Nah, I’m stuck.”
“Oh my God,” he heard Jamie say. “What should we do? Oh my God. Wait there—I’ll get the park ranger!”
“No, hang on. That’ll take too long.”
Bruce eyed the snaking fissure, lit only by occasional patties of sunshine. He could see no real end.
He tilted his head up toward Jamie. “It makes a kind of a narrow passage down here. I’m going to follow it along. See if there’s a way to get out farther down.”
“Sounds kind of dangerous.”
He took ginger steps along the slick granite. It felt like trying to walk along the edge of a very long, wet ruler. But he could manage.
He pushed his fingers off the muddy wall for support. “Can you follow along up above? Listen for my voice.”
“Okay. But if it gets dangerous, stop.”
He walked on a little.
“Bruce?”
“Yeah.”
“Keep talking.
I don’t know where you are.”
“Okay. I’m walking along. Walking, walking. Looking for a way out . . .”
He fell silent again.
“Bruce? Bruce! Come on, keep talking.”
Her voice grew muffled above.
He was running out of things to say.
Up ahead, a plant had managed to root itself in a patch of sunshine, the seed having found just enough light and soil on a dark sheath of granite. Valiant little thing. He stepped over it. It was a maidenhair fern, thin black stems invisible, giving the illusion that the emerald leaves hung suspended in air.
If Gloria were here, she’d want to know about it. She always seemed to enjoy the stupid trivial facts he shared with her. He told her everything he knew, and when his knowledge ran out, he made things up.
“You’re fading away! Where are you?” Jamie sounded like she’d put a pillow to her face as she spoke.
Bruce tilted his head back and boomed. “I’m looking for a way out! Looking for a rock to climb out on. Looking for, I don’t know, the stairway to heaven.”
That gave him an idea. Instead of maintaining an aimless monologue, he’d sing.
“There’s a lady who’s sure all that glitters is gold and she’s buying a stairway to heaven.”
Every now and then, the earth would yawn open and Bruce could see up to the brilliant sky and the trees that peered down at him. He wondered at the roots dangling from the black soil above, guessing at what kind of shrubs they anchored.
If Gloria were here, he knew exactly what he’d have told her. He’d have said those were ape crabapple. Her face would have brightened but with a fold at her lip—that ruthlessly sweet thing she did when she tried to hide a smile—and she would have cocked an eye.
“Ape crabapple,” she would have said.
And he was certain that her hair would shine blue-black in that spill of sunshine.
“Yes,” he would have told her. “Though they’re known to the scientific community as malus primaticus.”
At this, her lips might twitch, but he wouldn’t quite have her yet.
