by Ben Galley
‘You’re damn right,’ said the boy with a grin.
Rhin flourished his sword. ‘I’ll take that. The accommodation is not up to my standards here,’ he said, marching to stand beside Gunderton. With a nod to the man, he raised his sword. He was still shaking, but Merion knew it wasn’t just out of fear or relief; it was also the prospect of revenge, of the blood his freedom could spill.
Merion brought up the rear as the other two surged forward, spinning like twin tornadoes of black steel and fists. He saw then how lacking his skills were. He stuck to knocking out any Fae who still twitched with the butt of his heavy knife.
Inch by inch, they carved their way clear of the prisons and tangled walkways. They ran at full pelt, stopping for nothing but murder. Horns blared and bells clanged; booming, hollow sounds that chased them through every passageway.
‘We need a way out, Mr Rhin!’ Gunderton yelled.
‘And let’s not forget our other prize,’ said Merion.
‘Sift’s head, by any chance?’ Rhin could hope.
‘If it presents itself. In any case, we need a faerie.’
Rhin knew why and said no more. On and on he led them, hurtling around corners and sprinting down corridors. They were moving so fast that Gunderton managed to barge a guard clean through a railing, sending him sailing out into thin air with nothing but a whimper. They thundered down any steps they could find, winding ever closer to the cavern floor.
‘RHIN REHN’AR!’ roared a voice. It sounded too close for comfort.
‘Sift!’ Rhin spat, skidding to a halt behind a rack of wooden cogs, stained with grease. Merion crouched by his side, listening to Rhin’s ragged breathing. His crystalline wings were drooping at the edges, and several wounds had opened up and were oozing dark purple blood. There was even a strange symbol carved in his side.
‘Are you sure you’re alright?’ he whispered, but Rhin waved him away.
‘We need to go!’ said Gunderton. They could hear the rising drone of wings and the scrabbling of tough Fae hands on rock and timber.
‘She’s up there!’ Rhin said, pointing to the floors above. His eyes were wide now and the boy heard the tremor of fear in his voice.
‘We don’t have time—’ Gunderton began, but Merion shushed him.
A faerie in black mail swung over the railing and hurled herself at them, wings a blur and sword raised. The Brother managed to seize her in mid-air and bring her down hard on the floor. Bone met stone with a loud crack and she fell quiet.
‘There we go! We can grab this one.’
‘You do not get to leave, do you hear me? You are mine, Rhin Rehn’ar! MINE!’ Sift’s voice echoed unnaturally through the cavern, driven by magick. Even Merion felt a chill run up his spine.
‘Don’t let her get to you, Rhin. Come on!’
‘This way!’ Rhin broke into a limping sprint. Gunderton hefted the unconscious faerie over his shoulder with a grunt, running alongside Merion.
They hurtled up a flight of stairs and burst into a gloomy open warehouse carved into the cavern wall. Sift and her Fae were several levels above them, behind twisted railings. Merion looked back at the Fae Queen as he ran, curious as ever.
Sift was a slender creature, tightly wrapped in black and silver. Her eyes were a fierce golden orange, burning with an expression of intense rage. There was an intricate bow in her hands, and as she drew it, her shining wings vibrated with fury. She snarled as she met the boy’s gaze.
‘HUMANS!’ Sift roared, releasing the bowstring. Merion threw himself behind a crate. The thick black arrow ricocheted off one of its iron corners, skidding across the floor.
More arrows rained down, thudding into the crates and iron caskets piled high around them. They scurried like rabbits through furrows, crouching low and constantly moving. The arrows kept falling, coming in swarms as the Fae archers found their rhythms. The rest of the guards were bounding down the wall, using their wings and strong limbs.
An arrow slammed into a crate by Merion’s elbow, shattering instead of burying itself in the grey wood. The noise made him turn. The broken arrowhead was some sort of vial, and whatever liquid it had carried was quickly beginning to smoke.
‘Rhin?’ he shouted.
‘Keep moving, Merion! And don’t breathe that in!’ Rhin yelled back at him. The boy needed no further encouragement. He ran on, hearing the smashing of other strange arrows around him.
‘Down!’ Gunderton barked, pointing at a spiral staircase. Two arrows protruded like spines from the back of their faerie. He was a lucky man.
They took to the stairs without hesitation, curling deeper into the rock and soil until they came to a stop with a muddy squelch. They panted like dogs, all three of them. Rhin was the worst by far and that was a first. He sounded on the verge of collapse. Gunderton slid the body from his shoulder and winced.
‘More running?’ said Merion.
‘Straight across there,’ Rhin said, raising a shaking hand to point out the door over the cavern. ‘There’s an old hatch into the sewer system.’
‘Then what are we waiting for?’ said Gunderton.
Merion’s eyes flicked to Rhin, who shrugged. ‘I’m ready.’
‘Are you sure? You look awful.’
‘You don’t look so pretty yourself,’ Rhin smirked weakly at him. Then he narrowed his eyes. ‘Have you got taller?’
Merion looked to Gunderton, whose face had scrunched into a scowl. ‘Can you feel it?’ asked the Brother.
The boy nodded. The tension in his limbs was weakening, and his muscles were beginning to shake. ‘It must be the running, making me rush harder!’
‘We don’t have much time.’
‘Go!’ Merion shouted, dragging them forward. He ran beside Rhin as the arrows began to fall again. Their only cover came from the dormant cranes that had been abandoned as soon as the bells began to ring. All they could do was run, and run hard.
There was a thud and a curse as Gunderton caught an arrow in his right shoulder. But he just kept on running, even putting a bit more spice into his pace. He was soon level with Rhin and Merion, ducking and weaving alongside them.
Merion had no such luxury as a limp body for armour. Another arrow ripped though his side and clattered against a box, blood-stained. The nimerigar spell flinched for a second and the boy almost lost control as he yelped. He stumbled for a step, but Rhin was quickly his side, somehow managing to buoy him up.
‘Come on!’ Merion clamped a hand over his ribs and bared his teeth. ‘That’s the ticket!’ Rhin hissed in his ear. ‘Not far now!’
Their break out of arrow range was marked by the enraged screaming of Queen Sift. Her voice chased their every step, ricocheting off every surface of the caverns. As they reached the far wall, and ducked into a wide tunnel, it was Rhin’s turn to glance back at her. He eyed her with pure hatred, tainted perhaps by a trace of fear; just a tremble of his grey lip. Merion saw it, but held his tongue. He was here to rescue, not to talk, and they hadn’t quite achieved the rescue part yet. They would talk if they lived.
A blast of a horn sent them scarpering again, pushing aside curious workers standing gawping in the tunnel. They shouted curses on seeing humans. Some even gave chase. Rhin cut a hand from one and that sent the rest packing.
‘What’s that horn mean?’ Gunderton yelled.
‘You don’t want to know!’ Rhin snapped over his shoulder.
Merion swapped a look with the Brother. ‘I think we do!’ he shouted back, dizzy with pain.
‘Moles! Just imagine big horses with giant claws and gnashing teeth.’
Merion felt much better after hearing that.
Wordlessly, all three pushed on, running as hard as their legs could bear, their lungs aflame, knees screaming with pain, hearts rolling like war drums. It was strange, thought Merion, as his aching feet pounded the dirt. The extra depths of energy that fear and pain can dig out of you.
‘It’s this way!’ said Rhin, zipping down another corridor,
painted blue by glow-worm lanterns. They heard a strange whining snarl behind them, peppered with shouting. ‘They’re close! Keep running!’
And they did, pelting over the dirt floor of the tunnel with all they had.
A brown mole, muscles rippling through its fur, skidded around the corner of the tunnel. A Fae rider was perched on its spine, his wings drawn back, lance jabbing the air. He spied them immediately, and drove his mole into a scrabbling gallop. Its claws dug chunks from the earth with every stride.
Who knew moles could be so fast? Merion wondered amid the panic, the booming of his heart, and the sensation of the magick slowly losing its hold.
‘Take her and keep running!’ Gunderton had seen the mole and was far from impressed. He skidded to a halt, slung the faerie onto Merion’s shoulder and waved them on with his sword. ‘I’ll catch up! Find that hatch!’
Merion ran ahead in an awkward trot. The faerie was impossibly heavy, and the pain in his side threatened to break his concentration, but he steeled himself. He looked back and saw Gunderton standing tall and straight, black sword held level with the mole. The rider lowered his lance, ready to pierce the man’s heart when the mole had finished mauling him. They both roared as they came together. Even the mole screeched as it leapt, spittle flying from its jaws.
Gunderton threw himself to the dirt, sword rising high like a banner above his head. The mole missed him by a whisker, its claws grasping at nothing but the tails of his cloak, teeth gnashing at thin air. Then, there came a crunch, the tearing of flesh, and a deep whine from the beast as it crumpled to the dirt, blood oozing from under it. The rider had his leg pinned, but he waved the lance in great arcs, trying to fend off Gunderton. The Brother ducked his flailing, and drove the sword through the faerie’s neck.
‘Merion! This is it!’ The faerie yanked at him. They stood at a brick wall where an old grille stuck out, old and disused, locked shut.
‘Gunderton!’ the boy shouted. ‘It’s here!’
‘He’s a big man. I’m sure he’ll be fine!’ barked Rhin. ‘You and I need to get this hatch open!’ He was sagging closer to the ground with every moment he stood unsupported. The race had almost finished him.
‘The sword!’ shouted Merion.
Rhin passed him his blade. The boy lifted it with a blood-slick hand and brought it down on the bolt of the lock. Two more hits and it was lying in pieces in the dirt. Rhin pulled at the grille but the metal stuck fast, encrusted with mould. Merion gave it a kick and still it refused to budge. It was only when they were breathless with the strain that a third pair of hands joined them.
‘Two more moles are bearing down at us,’ said Gunderton, spattered with red and purple blood. ‘Pull!’
With grunts, growls, and even a yell from Rhin, the grille cracked open, revealing a muddy tunnel leading into the darkness and curling up into the earth. Merion didn’t dare to think about how long it was. He pushed Rhin inside first, then himself, leaving Gunderton to grab the dead faerie and slam the hatch behind them. They were plunged into darkness.
‘Climb!’ Merion yelled. His wound burnt like spitting embers. Their feet scrabbled at the slippery mud, hands clawing at whatever rocks and roots they could find in their blindness. He could feel the magick pushing him to breaking point; it was like holding a breath he could not give up. His clothes were beginning to groan with the strain. He could already reach the tunnel roof if he stretched. He was tensing every muscle he had just to keep from bursting.
Rhin was slowing. Merion kept grabbing at his feet in the darkness, getting kicked in the process. Gunderton was also falling behind; the weight of their prize dragging him back. Merion could feel panic setting in. He snarled at it.
‘Ogar!’ came a shout in Fae tongue, echoing up the tunnel. They soon heard the wet slap of boots behind them.
‘Faster, Rhin!’
‘I am trying!’ wheezed the faerie, utterly spent. He was like a body inhabited by a fading ghost, animated only by the so-closeness of escape.
More shouts now. Gunderton stumbled on a smooth rock and pitched the body in the mud. It began to tumble down the slope.
‘Grab her!’ yelled Merion.
‘She’s gone!’ shouted the Brother.
‘Then we need another!’ said the boy. But he knew they did not have the time, and that hurt more than the magick and his wound combined.
‘The shade could break at any time, Merion. Move!’
Merion pushed Rhin, holding him under his arm as the tunnel began to pinch. Or was he just growing more quickly?
He didn’t have time to figure it out. The pain in his side was unbearable. He prayed he hadn’t been poisoned.
Black shifted to grey, and through the gloom they spied a faint blob of light, at the end of the slope. It was like a fisherman’s hook in their mouths, pulling them forward. Merion could feel the roof of the tunnel brushing his head, then his neck as he ducked. He held his breath and staggered on, Gunderton pawing at his back. Their clothes fell from them, stitching bursting as they grew. In their crazed dash, they overtook Rhin, and with barely half an inch to spare, they exploded through the wooden panels guarding the exit, and rolled down into a muddy culvert behind a loop of oak trees.
Rhin came flopping after them, crumpling into a heap on the bank of the puddle. He was spent. He could barely keep his eyes open, as he watched Merion and Gunderton shiver and expand. They were soon wedged against the sides of the culvert, groaning and yelping with pain.
‘Not painful, my backside,’ Merion growled, coming to a kneel, still inching taller even as he spoke. He frowned, and realised he was naked, with only mud for privacy. Gunderton was impassive, as ever. Rhin just lay there, gasping, letting the water from the drain above splash him.
‘The Fae blood, Gunderton,’ Merion whispered, still breathless. ‘We need it.’
The Brother took up a position to the side of the pipe, raising a wet rock in his hand. Merion scooped up Rhin with great care and carried him to the grass. The boy stared down at his broken faerie, elated by the fresh air in his lungs and the sunlight on his face, but desperately worried by the state of his friend.
The young Hark shook his head and went to slump opposite Gunderton. The man’s hand was held like a claw, ready to grasp at whatever poked its head out. Merion waited with him; one hand clutched to his scarlet ribs, the other curled into a fist.
Long minutes of silence passed. Only whispers of bells and drums could be heard echoing along the pipe. Only once did they hear a scrabble; boots on brick, slipping in the water. Even faeries could make mistakes, it seemed. Merion held his breath. Gunderton tensed, ready to bring the rock crashing down.
Nothing emerged but spitting water, leaking from the wet earth. No sound was heard but the clamour of the streets not too far away. Even the echoes of Undering died in due course.
Merion groaned as he shifted in the grass. He looked down at his side. The injury had grown with him and was now a deep tear in his skin, oozing blood. Merion felt as though he had already lost a few pints. At least the breeze was soothing.
‘Well, that’s that.’
‘Don’t dwell, Merion. You did the best you could. We’ll find another way,’ said Gunderton, sharing the boys angst. He lowered his rock. ‘I need to sit down and think about what just happened. Then I’ll deal with that wound.’
‘Never killed a mole before?’ Rhin coughed, finding a scrap of energy for some laughter. He was a different faerie in the daylight, now free of Sift once more. Her spells had broken along with the clutches of the darkness. He still looked like a corpse in motion, but Merion was cheered to see that his eyes had lost the panic they had shown in the caverns.
‘No time to waste!’ Merion ignored Gunderton’s advice and pushed himself to his feet. He edged out between the branches and bushes, taking a peek at their surroundings. They were in a copse not too far from the well. A family were picnicking, not too far away, and a dog-walker strolled in the opposite direction. He could see h
is aunt and Lurker, sitting like two obelisks on the nearby hillock.
‘This may be problematic,’ he said, covering his nakedness with a hand.
‘AUNT!’ he bellowed, before ducking back behind the leaves.
The sound of Lurker’s guffawing arrived before their hurried footsteps. ‘This isn’t funny, John Hobble,’ he called to them.
‘I’ll take that sight to the grave, your Lordship,’ said Lurker as they ducked under the leaves, clearly delighted to see them. Despite her relief, Lilain was distressed at the sight of the blood painting her nephew’s side and thigh.
‘Maker, what did you do?’ she asked, wrapping him in a blanket. There was a strip of cloth pressed against his side in five seconds flat.
‘Arrow.’
Rhin coughed. ‘You’re lucky it wasn’t poisoned.’
Lurker moved over to check Rhin’s myriad marks of torture. ‘What did that Sift do to you? You look like death.’
‘I’ll tell you once I’ve had a hot meal, a drink, and a good long sleep,’ breathed Rhin.
‘Of course,’ Merion said. ‘Whatever you need, old friend.’
‘I certainly feel a few decades older than I used to,’ Rhin moaned, as Lilain picked him up and lay him in her pack on top of a spare cloak. Before they moved off, the faerie held up a hand and coughed. Merion moved forward to shake it between finger and thumb. Rhin’s hand was now back to normal; the size of a florin, but Merion still remembered the solid boniness of it, enveloping his.
‘Thank you,’ Rhin rasped. ‘You crazy son of a Bulldog. I’d never even imagined…’
It was then that the faerie drifted off, down into a dark and dreamless sleep. Lilain patted Merion’s hand, and said it all with a look.
Well done.
Chapter XIII
OF CURSES AND VENGEANCE
8th August, 1867
Cold was the afternoon, but abuzz were the streets. Talk of Victorious and the knotted rope still floated on the chilling breeze. The unseasonal weather mirrored the mood of the city; frozen by indecision, stuck between cheering and whispering.
