The Awakened World Boxed Set

by William Stacey

  "But the sun is up now," Angie said.

  "A demon is not a vampire, Angela. The rise and fall of the sun makes no difference. If the demon remains close, it will pick up our trail the moment we reappear."

  "Where then?"

  "There is a troll village along the shore, not far. They are friendly to me, remembering my sister and me from before the Awakening."

  Before the Awakening? It was hard to imagine, but Char must have had a life here back when she could slip between realms. Angie sat back in the canoe, examining the large trolls who rowed it. While they looked much like the trolls who had lived in the Fresno Enclave—with the same thick green skin, powerful frames, and inch-long tusks protruding up from their oversize jaws—they dressed differently. And the Fresno trolls didn't scar their skin in ritualistic patterns.

  Ephix must have noticed Angie's interest, because she called out, "Not all who live in this realm love Lord Lodin. These are Binyakka trolls, from the Moss Mountain Confederation, and they have long suffered under Lodin's rule." Ephix pointed at one of the trolls in her own canoe. "This is Garaka Dun, their leader. He speaks no English."

  The large troll must have recognized his name, because he nodded in greeting at Angie before resuming his steady rowing, his attention on the northern shoreline once more.

  "Garaka Dun and his people risk much in helping us, I'm afraid," Ephix said sadly. "But the old loyalties still hold, even after so many years."

  "And we're going to his village?"

  "Yes. Once there, I will open another portal. We will come out south of the ruins of Los Angeles and then move across country. Your old friend First Councilor Duncan Marshal has offered Elenaril's people passage through his territory to the Fresno Enclave."

  From her tone, it sounded as though Ephix believed it was the very least Marshal could have done, but Angie knew he was taking a hell of a chance. Humans distrusted the Fey, blaming them for the Awakening and the breaking of the world. Most would have preferred to shoot the elven refugees on sight. Heaviness settled in her core as she thought about traveling through the Commonwealth. Whatever safe passage Marshal might have offered the elves wouldn't be extended to Angie. As far as Marshal was concerned, she was the traitor who had attacked the Home Guard's Bunker, murdered its commanding officer, and destroyed Marshal’s precious fleet of Shrike helicopters. Once, Duncan Marshal had been like a father to her. Now, he'd hang her.

  One worry at a time, Angie. First you need to escape the Hollows. She sighed. Everyone wanted her dead these days: Sudden Bloodletter, Lodin, Marshal, Rayan Zar Davi. Her list of enemies exceeded that of her friends.

  But she did have friends, good ones.

  Her thoughts drifted to Erin and her brothers, and she hoped they were safe. Angie would miss Erin’s rendezvous. There was no way now to reach Mount Laguna before the week was up. Erin and her brothers would move on, into the Appalachian Mountains, to find a new home, a new life. She wished them well. She and Erin hadn't been close when they had served together in the Home Guard, but much had changed over the last month, and now she thought of the tall red-haired woman as a sister. She missed Erin, surprised at the depths of her friendship. Her gaze drifted to Tec, who was watching the northern shoreline, and she wondered at the strange dragon-bond that tied them to one another, stronger even than her friendship with Erin. She stared at her left palm, at the tear-shaped mark. It was cold, lifeless, as it had been since Quetzalcoatl’s death.

  The shoreline sped past as the flotilla moved west and then turned south, following the peninsula. The cliffs rose on their right, sheltering the bay and Coronado Island—or at least what would have been Coronado Island in her realm. She considered the island. Dense woods covered it, none of it burning. At least they had escaped the fire.

  And the demon.

  As the flotilla rounded the southern tip of the peninsula and moved out into the open ocean, the waves became stronger, threatening to lash the canoes against the rocks. Now the trolls began to paddle harder, putting more effort into their task. Ephix raised her voice, yelling over the waters. "Hang on, Angela. Garaka Dun says the waves will settle once we're past the cliffs."

  Angie, gripping the sides of the lurching canoe, could only nod. Her stomach was heaving, and she fought to hold its contents in. If she went into the water…

  Time lost meaning as the waves hammered them. The trolls paddled relentlessly, keeping the flotilla away from the cliffs before moving north along what should have been the southern California coastline.

  But just as Ephix had promised, as the flotilla moved north, away from the cliffs, the waters calmed. Within an hour, the waves were much less turbulent, and the canoes sped along the grassy shoreline, the voyage now oddly relaxing. Angie sat back and watched the rolling hills of the coast speed past. Prince Kilyn was awake now, his face pale with grief, his expression locked stoically on the shoreline. Her heart went out to him.

  She tried to remember her real mother, but it was hard to picture anything about her. Angie had been very young when her parents and older brother had died. Sometimes she dreamed of her, and in those dreams, she could remember her face. Just for a moment, she had a fleeting image of a smiling young woman with dark hair, but the harder she tried to focus on that memory, the more her mother's face blurred and drifted away. Frustration coursed through Angie, making her feel stupid and useless, unworthy of even having a mother if she couldn't remember what she looked like. Sometimes life was too unfair.

  Thick pine forest lined the shoreline, the view breathtaking. They must be miles from Coronado Island now. Then she saw a village ahead, nestled among the trees, dozens of wooden homes with thatched roofs. A series of wooden piers extended out into the ocean. As they came closer, Angie saw hundreds of trolls, mostly women and children, standing in a crowd, watching the flotilla approach. Her relief surged. Not only could she soon stand on solid ground once more, but they'd also be able to go back to her own world.

  As their boats approached the pier, she examined the faces of the waiting trolls. Only the men scarred their bodies, not the women or children, but they all wore the same style of furs and hides. None of the trolls called out in greeting. Nor did they look particularly happy. They might have been statues. Not much of a welcome. Maybe they’re afraid we'll get them in trouble with Lodin.

  It was a reasonable fear. The last time she had been in the Hollows, he had come after her almost within minutes of her arrival, sensing her somehow.

  The trolls rowed closer to the wooden piers. Fish hung from long wooden stacks over smoldering coals. The air smelled of salt, smoke, and fish. The leader of the trolls, Garaka Dun, called out to the waiting crowd, and a tall troll woman answered him, waving in greeting. Angie relaxed. Even in Fresno, the trolls had been standoffish, preferring their own company to that of the other Fey.

  The first of the canoes reached a pier, scraping alongside the wood as the trolls jumped out and tied it to a rung. Ephix dismounted, landing lightly upon the wooden dock and looking about herself. She held her rose talisman against her chest, clearly ready to open another portal as soon as possible.

  The other canoes reached the other piers, and the trolls secured them as the elves began to disembark, but the moment her canoe scraped against the pier, everything fell apart.

  Strange Fey in dark armor burst out of the wooden huts, rushing at the disembarking elves and screaming war cries, brandishing gleaming spears and axes. A wail of anguish rose from the trolls, and the crowd scattered, fleeing in all directions.

  "Ambush!" Tec yelled, leaping onto the pier with his machete in hand.

  Ephix roared, turning into her beast form and launching herself at the closest of the armored foes, scattering a half dozen of them.

  Then forms burst out of the water beside Angie's canoe from where they had been hiding beneath the waves. Webbed hands gripped her and hauled her into the ice-cold waters. She had a momentary glimpse of fishlike faces with huge saucerlike eyes, green scaly skin, a
nd gills before she was dragged underwater. She thrashed, swallowing water, her vision blurring as her panic swelled. I'm drowning, she thought as the strange fish people carried her deeper underwater.

  Her vision went dark.

  Chapter 22

  Angie woke by degrees in a warm, soft bed, covered by thick fur blankets. She was finally getting the sleep her body craved, and it was wonderful, blissful. When the memory of the ambush—and being pulled into the water—swept through her, fear galvanized her, and she bolted upright, her heart pounding.

  She had been drowning!

  The furs fell from her naked body, and she snatched at them, pulling them against her chest. She was in a large stone chamber, the walls built from blocks of perfectly fit dark stone. The only light came from a brass candelabra on a stand next to the bed, its flames dancing. The bed was a massive canopy bed that could have slept four. Its elaborately carved posts held aloft a ceiling of decorative fabric hand-stitched to illustrate a night sky. She had never seen anything like it but suspected few ever had. Beautiful hand-carved wooden dressers, small tables, and a massive armoire sat about the chamber. Thick red curtains were opened on either side of a narrow window slit, through which she saw a red sky.

  I'm still in the Hollows. But how did I get here, and where is here?

  And where the fuck are my clothes?

  There was only one door, a single wooden one banded by strips of black iron, and just as Angie stared at it, it cracked open. Angie pulled the furs tighter to her chest as a woman slipped into the chamber—No, not just a woman, she realized a moment later, a Fey. The Fey woman had long chestnut hair and brown eyes as large as small apples. Like Angie, she wore no clothing, but a thick coat of sleek fur covered her from her waist down, growing over legs that were bent backward like a goat's and tipped in hooves. From the waist up, her skin was deep brown, like polished wood. Her breasts were small, the nipples almost black. The skin around her forehead was hardened and ridged, resembling bark. Ram horns, at least two feet long, extended from her wide forehead and curled back so that the points faced behind her. Her ears were wide and triangular, like a deer’s, and rotated on their own, now pointing at Angie. Her only garment was a necklace of small blue and red feathers. She was pretty, if strange, and smiled brightly at Angie with large white teeth. Her huge brown eyes shined with glee as she practically danced into the room, her hooves clumping on the stone floor. Like most Fey, her age was indistinguishable. She could have been twenty or two hundred. She’s a satyr. They were said to be notoriously shy. They were also supposed to possess powerful nature magic.

  "Hello sleepy-sleepy. You had me so worried," the satyr said in a high-pitched voice that vibrated. "He's been waiting for you, and he doesn't like to wait. He never likes to wait. Once, a spiderkynn delegate made him wait, and he was so angry, he ripped two of his legs loose, pulled them right off. You should have seen the spiderkynn spinning about on only six legs, blue blood splashing everywhere." The satyr's smile vanished, replaced by fear. "I shouldn't like it if he ripped my legs loose." At that, she hopped in place, prancing like a pony.

  "I ... who ..."

  "Who?" she asked in surprise, her already large eyes widening even more. "Maeve, that's who." The satyr placed her palm against her own chest. "I'm Maeve." Then, before Angie could react, she pulled the furs away from Angie and placed her palm against Angie's chest, just over her heart. "And you're Angela Ritter." The satyr's palm was warm against her skin, and Angie forced herself to remain still or risk offending her. "Now we're well met, Angela Ritter." The satyr smiled as she slipped back, removing her hand. "Hurry, though. He'll be waiting, and he doesn't like to wait. Not that he'll pull your legs off. No, no, no. He's been too excited about you. I think he likes your legs. Sometimes he likes mine."

  "Maeve, where am I?"

  The satyr's smile froze, and she cocked her head to the side. Her ram horns seemed impossibly heavy for such a small frame, her neck too dainty to hold their weight. "Where? You're in Lord Lodin's tower in Wealsglad Vale, your new home."

  Lodin? Fear washed over her, turning her blood cold. Lodin had set the ambush at the troll village. The chamber seemed to darken. "My friends, are they ... are they still alive?"

  "Friends?" The satyr's mouth parted as a look of confusion swept over her features. "We're your friends now, sleepy-sleepy. And soon we'll be your subjects. It'll be wonderful, perfect, better than perfect, you'll see." A hint of fear flashed through the satyr's eyes. "Don't ... don't bring up other friends with him, okay? He doesn't like hearing about other people. It makes him unhappy, and he doesn't like being unhappy, doesn't like it if his guests aren't appreciative and focused only on him. It might make him angry. The spiderkynn delegate made him angry."

  "Maeve, how do you know English?"

  "I know English?" the satyr asked in surprise, her eyes somehow widening. "Oh, aren't I clever."

  Angie's skin tingled. There was magic at play here. She felt it all around her now, the air thick with its aura. Moisture ran down her spine. I have to get out of here. Tec, please don't be dead. I don't know what I'd do without you. Her fingers trailed over the dragon-mark on her palm, and a tingle spread up her arm. It was probably just her imagination.

  The satyr turned away and skipped back toward the door, displaying a bushy brown-and-white tail a foot long. "Let's go, sleepy-sleepy, let's go. Mustn't make him wait. No, no, no."

  "Maeve," Angie said, covering her breasts with her arm. "I can't go out like this ... without clothes."

  The satyr stared at her, a look of confusion on her features, and then her eyes flashed with understanding. "I forgot," she said in an excited voice, giving Angie another bright smile. "Silly, silly, Maeve. He said you'd want to wear something." The satyr lowered her voice to a deep rumble, her face twisting into a sneer. "‘Dress her as befits the queen that she is,’ he said." The satyr clopped to the armoire, opened its doors wide, exposing dozens of beautiful robes hanging inside. "If I were a queen, I’d wear this." Maeve removed a robe and held it up for Angie's approval. "Pretty, pretty." The robe was scarlet and looked to be little more than transparent cheesecloth, and very short, perfect for nymphs—or strippers.

  "Maeve, may I please have my own clothes, the clothes I was wearing?"

  The satyr's smile slipped. "Oh no. Those are gone. He said to burn them."

  "I can't wear that."

  Fear transfixed the satyr's features, and her posture stiffened. "He'll ... he'll be angry with me if you don't. Please, please don't make him angry. I only have the two legs." The satyr's wide ears trembled.

  She's terrified, Angie realized, quickly climbing out of the bed and taking the thin robe from her. "It's okay, Maeve. Don't worry. It will be fine, I'm sure." She inspected the thin wisp of material. "I don't suppose there's any underwear?"

  "Under what?"

  She sighed. "Never mind." Angie slipped her arms through the sleeve holes, pulled the robe around her, and tied its sash around her waist. A single full-length mirror in a masterfully carved dark wood frame sat next to the armoire, and she considered her reflection in it. It was almost more revealing than being naked. Her nipples poked through the sheer fabric, and the hem just covered her hips. If she moved too quickly, she'd expose herself. Char would love it. She cast a hopeful glance inside the armoire, but the other garments were just as revealing. The Fey thought nothing of nudity, finding human sensibilities endlessly amusing. "Are there shoes?" she asked the satyr. "Slippers even?"

  Maeve shook her head, her eyes narrowing in wonder that Angie would even ask. "You're not going for a march, sleepy-sleepy, you're going to present yourself to him."

  "Of course not." She sighed, running her fingers back through her rat's nest of hair, examining herself critically in the mirror. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breathing too fast. Calm down, Angie, she told herself. Calm down and keep your eyes open. Bide your time and look for a chance to escape. "I don't suppose I can have my sword back?"

&n
bsp; Maeve stared at her in confusion for a moment, as if she were trying to understand what Angie was asking. Then her face lit up in a beaming smile, and she hopped in place, her hooves clumping again. "Yes, yes, yes. He said you'd want it, and I forgot. Silly, silly, Maeve." She skipped over to a heavy wooden footlocker near the bed, raised its lid, and pulled Nightfall and its belt free, handing the weapon to Angie.

  Angie only hesitated a moment, disbelief coursing through her. I have to walk about half-naked and can't even have shoes, but they'll give me my hexed side-sword? She quickly belted the weapon to her waist, the familiar weight of the side-sword more reassuring than any amount of clothing could have been. Then she saw metal shining in the footlocker, and her heart skipped a beat when she realized it was her family's watch. She snatched it out of the box, strapping it to her wrist.

  "Such a pretty bracelet," Maeve cooed.

  "Maeve, there was a necklace as well, a glass rose."

  The satyr watched her in confusion then shook her head, smiling. "Just the sword and pretty bracelet, sleepy-sleepy."

  Damn! She was vulnerable without that necklace. But she had been sleeping earlier, and the lamia hadn't attacked her. Was she safe here, in another realm? She took several deep breaths. "Okay then. Let's go see Lodin."

  Maeve gasped, both hands flying to her mouth. "Don't ... don't use his name. Call him my Lord Hunt Master or Forest King. Never his name."

  Angie bit her upper lip and nodded. Maeve, seemingly unable to resist being in a happy mood, grinned enthusiastically once more and, taking Angie by the hand, pulled her along to the door and then out into a stone hallway lit by torches in wall sconces.

  Never letting go of Angie’s hand, Maeve led her through the black stone passageways of Lodin's tower and then down a long flight of twisting circular stairs. Through window slits, Angie saw a red night sky, thick forests, and a garden constructed of long, twisting rows of hedges to form a maze.

  The twisting circular stairs seemed to go forever, but Angie and Maeve eventually reached the bottom of the tower and stepped out into the lower level, passing through a series of deserted chambers and hallways. Torches flickered against the marble walls and pillars, casting shadows that seemed to move. Heavy embroidered tapestries hung from the walls like curtains, and beautifully constructed wooden furniture sat against the walls.