by Molly Ringle
“Still. We might be getting close.”
Larkin rounded the next bend in the canyon and halted in shock.
Two broad-shouldered men in the modern-day uniform of the Eidolonian police lounged there, leaning against the rocks. They smiled and sauntered over. “There you are,” said one. “We thought you might be able to use some help.”
CHAPTER 34
LARKIN COULD NOT SPEAK.
Merrick came round the bend behind him and likewise stopped. “Who the hell are you?”
“We heard what you were doing,” the first man said. “We came to guide you.”
“Keep you company,” said the second, and winked at Merrick.
Fear mounted inside Larkin. These were either Eidolonian officials, whom he dared not trust, or something not human, which could be far worse.
“Here to arrest us?” Merrick asked.
“Not at all.” The second man extended a hand. “Everyone’s quite interested in what you’re doing.”
Merrick hesitated, then shook his hand. Alarm flashed across his face, though he soon quelled it. He shot a look at Larkin.
When the first man came closer and offered his hand, Larkin cautiously shook it. And then he knew.
Fair feasters.
The palace guard had caught one on occasion, preying upon the public. When Larkin was ten years old, his father had brought him to the dungeon of the northwest tower to see one, secured in its iron chains, so that Larkin would know what they looked like. It was a frightening experience but a necessary one for anyone living in Eidolonia.
Caught unawares and unprotected, mortals would see only the glamour: a beautiful person whose charms they could not resist, and whose powers over their victim increased upon touch. With lucidity sharpening Larkin’s perception, however, it was obvious what the creature was, once it touched him. It no longer even seemed a man, only an it. Its skin felt cold and leathery, like something a week dead. The eyes were all wrong: too much dull black expanding across the white, not enough shine, like dark eggshells instead of eyeballs. The black hair and police uniform shimmered, translucent at the edges—glamour.
As Larkin stared, the fair feaster who had shaken his hand smiled, revealing a glimpse of human-sized but sharp-tipped teeth. “Shall we?” It extended an arm to Larkin as if courting him.
“As it happens,” Larkin said, “we must regretfully decline your companionship. It is most kind of you, but we are bound to perform this task alone—just the two of us.”
“Yes. We … promised we would,” Merrick added. His tongue stumbled on the lie.
Fair feasters, in contrast, rare among fae, could lie and deceive all they liked. Such lies, along with enchantments to make themselves alluring, were how they ensnared people.
“I’m sure it couldn’t matter,” the first one said. Its voice carried a hollowness, like an echo against a stone wall. “You must want our help. Our company.” It sidled closer.
“No,” Larkin said. “It’s thoughtful of you, but no. Please allow us to walk alone.”
“We’ll walk behind you,” the second said. “To stay near, in case you want us.”
There was nowhere to escape to. The canyon walls rose vertically on each side. Merrick and Larkin began moving again. The fair feasters trailed a few yards behind, traveling almost soundlessly, their feet gliding along without effort.
“We have no St. John’s wort?” Larkin whispered to Merrick.
“Didn’t think of it,” Merrick said. “Fuck.”
“Light, then. Fire. We can make that.”
“If we have to.”
Fair feasters belonged to no particular element—another way in which they were unusual among fae. They hated crowds, rarely appearing in groups of more than two even among their own kind, which Larkin supposed was fortunate, since otherwise they might have infiltrated the fadas’ feast and done away with Merrick and Larkin then. They also hated direct sunlight, fire, or other bright light—they were keeping to the shadows of the canyon. Bright light wouldn’t kill them, only hurt them, but threatening them with it would enrage them.
The sunshine-like flower of St. John’s Wort repelled fair feasters if a person carried it, even if the flower was long dried. In Larkin’s time, it had been second nature for anyone traveling alone at night to carry one of the flowers in their pocket. They grew in nearly every Eidolonian garden, free for the picking. He and Merrick had not thought of such a basic thing in their rush to collect supplies at Sal’s house. A mere oversight. If they had but collected one flower apiece for their packs, the fair feasters would never have come near them.
The creatures still seemed to think themselves irresistible. Clearly they did not realize what the lucidity did, and viewed Merrick and Larkin as easy marks who would fall prey to their charms any moment.
“We’ve found a safe place for the night,” one said. “We can guard you while you rest.”
“We brought things from home you’d like,” said the other. “Wine, crabapple soda, meat pies, marshberry gelato, new soft pillows. Come enjoy.”
Lies. Bizarrely chosen ones at that.
“We truly cannot stop,” Larkin said, scrambling along the riverbank. “We must press on. Do let us go without you.”
“We might as well stick with you a while,” one said. “We’re going your way.”
“Probably that woodstrider you saved,” Merrick muttered. “Went and told her friends about us.”
“Don’t be absurd. Why would a woodstrider be friends with f—with police officers?”
“It’s interesting how easily they found us, that’s all.” Merrick put a falsely bright tone in his voice, as the fair feasters had drawn near enough to hear them. If the creatures knew they had been identified for what they were, they might drop their attempt at charm and become far more aggressive.
“Hardly,” Larkin retorted. “In a canyon like this we’re as obvious as fish in a bucket. Before long we will surely be spotted by the very ones we don’t wish to see, if we cannot find our way out soon.”
“Oh yeah,” one of the fair feasters piped up. “We know who’s hunting you. Everyone knows.”
Merrick’s hand slipped as he reached for the next rock. He stumbled into Larkin and kept forward, his face rigid.
“It would only take a moment for someone to send a signal to her,” the other said, sounding friendly. “Bring her straight to you.”
Larkin quickened his pace, thinking this canyon would never end; it must indeed twist along forever in some magical perpetual loop.
“But we won’t give you to her,” the first assured. “If you keep us company. We’d rather keep you for ourselves.”
“Just for the night,” the second added. “You’ll be perfectly relaxed. You’ll love it.”
Larkin felt, for a heartbreaking moment, the tragedy of all the hundreds or thousands of mortals who had believed this lie and lost their lives for it, over the centuries. He wanted to snarl at the fair feasters, refuse them in the most insulting terms. But he and Merrick were checkmated. Reject them and they would bring Ula Kana straight down upon them.
“Can you … possibly wait until we’re in Arlanuk’s realm? Please,” Larkin tried. “It’s of vital importance that we reach it tonight.”
“Certainly, certainly. We’ll take you there,” said one.
Surely another lie. But worth trying. Arlanuk’s army, whether or not they welcomed Larkin and Merrick, wouldn’t want the fair feasters among them, and their mere number ought to repel the creatures.
If they ever reached that realm.
They kept on. But it was only a matter of minutes before the villains drew closer again and reached out to steal caresses upon Larkin’s and Merrick’s faces.
“Come on, you’re so lovely,” Larkin’s predator purred. “Take my hand. I’ll keep you steady on these rocks.”
Larkin pulled his hand away.
“You’re such a slim thing,” the other said to Merrick. “I bet I could wrap my whole arm
around your waist.”
It reached out, pulling Merrick off balance so that he slipped from a rock and crashed into the fair feaster. It threw both arms around him, staring at the skin of his neck, dry purplish tongue touching its lips.
Larkin drew the iron sword. At the same moment, Merrick whirled to face the beast holding him, his eyes and the uplifted palm of his hand both glowing as bright as the setting sun. The fair feaster’s face contorted in distress and it leaped backward, releasing Merrick.
Larkin pointed the sword at the neck of the other, who hissed and backed away. “Don’t touch us,” Larkin said.
“Bad choice,” it said.
“Very bad,” said the other. “We’ll leave you alone. But she won’t.”
The two fair feasters vaulted up the cliffs of the canyons like weightless monkeys, calling out in a high-pitched, eerie cry that echoed across the rocks.
“Well, now we’ve done it,” Merrick said.
Larkin cast a glance around, then seized Merrick’s arm. “Pines.” He pointed to the tops of the canyon walls ahead, a stretch of land newly visible after the latest bend.
“Go.” Merrick rushed forward.
Larkin kept directly behind. But the banks began to climb steeply, the canyon floor rising to meet the cliff-tops as they moved upstream. The slopes were covered with scree, rocks of all sizes that slid and tumbled under one’s feet, so that Merrick and Larkin skidded backward a yard for every two yards they gained. To judge from Merrick’s heavy breathing and shaking limbs, he would not be capable of taking Larkin upon his back and flying to safety.
Nor would it help. For a rumble of thunder advanced, fast-moving smoky clouds furled across the strip of sky, and the glowing cinder gaze of Ula Kana soon swept down and found them.
Larkin caught a ragged breath. Merrick dived beneath a wide-topped boulder, and Larkin flung himself into the tiny shelter too. There was nowhere else to go. This hiding spot would shield them for seconds at best. He gripped the sword across their laps.
Their eyes met, now at close range. The world had become a roaring in Larkin’s ears. Die with forgiveness for Merrick upon his lips, or defiance against Ula Kana, or in dignified silence? How did people choose at these moments?
Lord, Lady, and Spirit, let it be lightning with which she strikes us down. At least that would be fast.
Scrabbling sounds echoed at ground level. Likely her accomplices were landing and surrounding them.
“I believe I have frightened them.” Ula Kana’s mellifluous voice rebounded in the rock walls. “That pleases me. They begin to respect my strength. You don’t have to be afraid yet, little Lava Flower and Sylph Witch. I am interested in you. I would like to learn more of what you’re doing.”
Her curiosity was probably genuine; like the fadas and many other fae, she was perhaps drawn to the novelty of human behavior. But talking to her would only gain them another few minutes, no more. Then she and the rest of her party would capture them and divest them of all their defenses. After that … Larkin did not wish to imagine what would happen. He was certain only that it would be horrible and fatal.
“Come out and talk.” Ula Kana’s voice descended closer. “I’ve heard such fascinating rumors about you. I couldn’t destroy you without pulling the truth from you first, learning what it is you’re doing in here, and how you’ve survived this long.”
The scrabbling upon the rocks grew closer still. Larkin clutched the sword tight. Merrick inhaled deeply, presumably ready to throw the last of his energy into whatever self-altering spell would help.
A gargling roar split the air, followed by shrieks, and a wall of brown and gray fur hurtled into view. Fae snarled and trilled. Wind gusted, followed by what sounded like the whoosh of fireballs.
A huge, furry brown hand reached in and scooped Larkin out by the arm. Struggling, he found himself tucked against the chest of—of a woodstrider. The world tipped sideways as the animal lowered itself to its remaining three limbs and bounded up the rocky slope.
“Idiotic apes!” Ula Kana shouted. “Leave us the humans!” She flung a fireball, but the woodstrider dodged it with agility and continued ascending the bank.
Clinging to handfuls of fur from his under-belly position, Larkin peered out and spotted the blue of Merrick’s clothing beneath another woodstrider vaulting up behind them. A dozen more were leaping through the canyon, some taking position behind boulders to fling black lumps at the fae with remarkable strength and precision. A jinn was hit, along with a storm-sylph, and both went tumbling tail-over-head in the air, yowling.
Iron. The woodstriders had learned iron repelled fae and had collected bits of it to use as ammunition.
Larkin nearly fell off when the woodstrider carrying him jumped sideways again to evade a lightning bolt, which cracked a boulder in half. From Ula Kana’s shriek a moment later, Larkin surmised she had been hit by a lump of iron—not that it would delay her for long, but every second helped.
Darkness swooped round him then. The woodstrider had leaped into a cave in the canyon wall, its mouth so narrow and well-concealed among the rocks that he had not even seen it. Grunts and jabbering noises echoed about him. The smell of hot fur and chilly rock swamped the air. The animal carrying Larkin set him down gently.
A moment later another crashed into the cave, accompanied by a flare of fire shooting past the cave mouth, and deposited Merrick on the floor too.
Fifteen or more of the creatures, of various sizes and fur patterns, clustered round. Three of them collaborated in shoving a boulder in front of the cave mouth from within. The sunlight vanished, but light still flickered in the cave, in pale green and purple, from tiny pixies and sprites.
“Uh,” Merrick said. “Thank you. Very much.”
Larkin recovered his speech as well. “We are most indebted to you. We hope none of you were injured in the attempt. Er … do you understand us?”
The woodstriders grunted and gestured among themselves. Then the one who had rescued Larkin pulled forward another: one with white fur upon her left ankle. Larkin’s rescuer made gentle, low grunts and tapped the white-ankled one upon her chest. The one with the white ankle crouched, took Larkin’s hand, and laid it upon her neck.
Lightheaded with gratitude and shock, Larkin turned a smile upon Merrick. “And you thought it would do no good to heal a woodstrider.”
Merrick refused to look at him. “Fine. Be smug. That’s nice.”
Larkin had little opportunity to amend the words, for the woodstrider stood, still holding Larkin’s hand, drawing him to his feet. She gazed attentively at him, seeming to await further communication.
“Arlanuk,” Larkin attempted. “Do you know this name? We’re trying to reach Arlanuk.”
She grunted twice, in something like enthusiasm, and tugged on his arm, pulling him toward the tunnels leading deeper into the cave.
Rumbles from outside suggested Ula Kana was attempting to break in. Going back out into the canyon was hardly a viable option. Thus, with no other alternative, Larkin and Merrick accompanied their fur-covered saviors through a winding underground tunnel.
The subterranean den was a strange wonderland, illuminated by the gleam of tiny fae flitting around stalactites, lounging upon flowstones, and flashing above pools. Deep chasms sometimes plunged alongside their path, and in other places high caverns opened up, but for most of their way the ceiling was low enough that Larkin could touch it, and sometimes even had to crouch to pass beneath a hanging point.
It seemed unreal that they could be alive. Larkin half wondered if he had in fact been slain by Ula Kana and this was some form of afterlife. But if so, he likely would not still feel this ache in his bones and these blisters on his feet. Nor, perhaps, this mingled guilt and anger toward Merrick.
Possibly Larkin had been smug, but it was also true that Merrick was overly stubborn and irritable. It was not too much to ask that Merrick should acknowledge Larkin’s healing of the woodstrider as the deed that had clearly saved
their lives. This quest would run twice as smoothly, in fact, if he and Merrick could see eye to eye on a number of topics.
The woodstriders eventually came to a stop at a dead end. Two of them shoved at a slab of rock, which slid aside and revealed the world outside: a twilight sky hedged in by the silhouettes of pines, and red flames glowing in clay bowls set upon posts.
Shadows approached: bulky figures in cloaks that blended in with the forest. Someone spoke quiet words in the fae language. A woodstrider gurgled a few sounds in response and stroked a hand down Larkin’s arm.
“Humans?” the voice said, switching to English. It sounded like a woman. “I see. Yes, I think we know exactly which two.” The figure strode forward into the range of one of the red lights. She was a hunter, similar to Arlanuk. Almost seven feet tall, she had feet like tree roots, a face somewhere between a human woman and a mountain cat, and large branching antlers, more tree than deer. A green and brown mossy wooden shell fitted closely around her—part of her body rather than a separate piece of armor.
Two other hunters flanked her. All wore weapons strapped over their shoulders and upon their legs: long spines, curved claw-like blades, and quivers of darts with what Larkin felt sure were lethally poisoned tips.
“Come,” she said. “Arlanuk will wish to see you.”
CHAPTER 35
MERRICK’S IRRITATION GREW AS HE WAITED next to the hunters while all the woodstriders took turns petting Larkin on the arms in farewell. Merrick had thanked them too, several times, but throughout the cave walk they had virtually ignored him in favor of fawning over Larkin, even bumping into Merrick sometimes as if he wasn’t there.
He knew he should be grateful to Larkin, but couldn’t dredge up the sentiment. Their argument still clamored inside his head, exacerbated by Larkin showing him up and becoming the day’s unwitting savior.
Ugh, why was he being so petty?
Arlanuk’s realm. Rage and aggression. Right.
Merrick spritzed his lucidity and after three breaths felt less hostile.
