L.O.S.T. Trilogy Box Set

by R. S. Collins

  “We have not forgotten that Nire is your mother,” she said in that awful, raspy hag-voice. Her hag-spirit kept on rattling. The other hag-spirits rattled, too. “Have you forgotten that your mother is Nire?”

  Silver and gold sparks poured out of my sword as I fought back a hot surge of fury that melted the ice in my chest. I wanted to make her vanish like I was supposed to be learning to do. Or better yet, make her explode like the sawhorse.

  “I haven’t forgotten anything,” I heard myself say. “Especially the fact that I defeated Nire the first time. I had to draw a blade on my own mother and strand her forever in time, but I did that for the world. For all witches, and for Jazz, too.”

  The hag hissed at me worse than her hag-spirit. “You should have put Nire to death. If the Erlking succeeds in freeing her, will you fight her or stand by her side? What will you choose this time, boy?”

  “He is not a boy,” said a firm voice from somewhere around my right elbow. “But he is your king.”

  Acaw the elf had appeared seemingly from nowhere. His crow-brother flapped off his shoulder, diving at all the hag-spirits close to me. The hags made signs against evil and drew back.

  “Queen Jasmina must see this message,” sang the Keeper as she shooed her charges through a group of huts and back toward the main section of oldeTowne.

  “No kidding,” I yelled after her. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might split in two. Sparks still jumped from my sword. Some of them caught the dry grass around me on fire.

  Acaw twitched his fingers and put out the small patches of blazing orange. “You must not let them get to you so easily,” he said in that elf-calm way of his.

  “Somebody wrote on my house,” I snarled down at him. “In blood. About Nire coming back.” More sparks poured out of my sword. My roof caught fire, but Acaw put that out, too.

  “I will perform magical tests on this message.” The elf maintained his irritatingly calm expression and held his hands behind his back. “And I will inform Her Majesty of its contents. Perhaps you would do better to spend some of your anger in combat?”

  “No way.” I finally lowered my sword, but it kept flaring bright silver-gold. “Jazz’ll be upset when she sees this. I need to tell her myself.”

  ***

  Chapter Two

  Sometimes, being Queen of the Witches was for the birds.

  Well, bird. A hawk, specifically.

  I flapped my hawk’s wings as I entered the final Sanctuary on my morning patrol route, headed back for L.O.S.T. Below my bird’s eye, New York of 1965 stretched in every direction, buildings rising tall and gleaming in the sun. I spread out my senses, seeking the small artisan’s village I knew to be on the mainland, a number of miles from the actual city. To my great relief, all seemed peaceful enough.

  In moments, I wheeled above the village. A few oldeFolke looked up at me, shielding their eyes against the morning light. Witches painted and spun cloth. Small children played at marbles and jacks and other simple games. Life below me seemed to hum and dance along, at its own pace, untroubled and normal.

  Yes. This was how it should be, how it always had been before Nire. This was how I hoped it would be forever. If Bren and I could find and defeat the Erlking before he brought back the Shadowmaster.

  As I wheeled to cross our many protective wards and to head back to L.O.S.T., something caught my eye. Something back toward New York City. Just a slip of movement, a brief sense of something off balance. I turned back toward the skyscrapers and flapped in the direction of New York’s impressive skyline. My heart skipped and thumped. I found myself glancing behind me as I once did when I feared Nire’s Shadows might have been pursuing, but I saw nothing.

  The Hudson flowed below me as I crossed, searching left and right, up and down. Nothing. What had I seen? A shadow that wasn’t a Shadow? A trick of light off the water? My feathers prickled. Something wasn’t right here—or had I imagined trouble? Goddess knew I had enough problems without imagining things. These days, I barely got a full night’s sleep because of duties and an eerie nightmare that plagued me, and I never had enough time with Bren.

  Integrating the newly returned Shadow witches had been unbelievably complex and seemingly endless. Always another group needing care, or disputes needing to be settled. Children needing parents. Parents needing children. Witches and oldeFolke needing to be returned to their own time periods.

  In the dark era of Nire, I had cast my awareness into Sanctuaries with great trepidation, fearful that I would find the Shadowmaster’s mayhem and murder. Now I feared finding more people in need. My resources, Bren’s resources—even the resources of L.O.S.T. itself—were running low.

  I circled New York City for a time, using my enhanced witch’s senses to listen and watch, but I found nothing amiss. No smells out of place, no sights, no sounds. And yet … and yet a few times, I sensed I was being watched.

  By whom?

  Or what?

  Shrieking my annoyance, I once more turned for home. I would have to patrol more than twice a day. I needed to be more vigilant. We all did. Somewhere, the Erlking was hiding with his hostage, Bren’s younger brother Todd. The shapeshifter was plotting, maybe even taking action to destroy all Bren and I had rebuilt since Nire’s devastation. We suspected he might even be trying to free Nire from her prison in time.

  Unthinkable.

  But possible.

  I crossed through the wards and moved back toward L.O.S.T., once more negotiating a solid wall of magical protection. Bren and I had been working day and night to better defend the Sanctuaries, though all too often, we seemed to be working apart. I didn’t like that, but I didn’t know what to do about it. The work of rulers didn’t wait for romantic dinners and stolen moments in the peaceful glen we so liked to share.

  Feeling a little beyond fatigued even though the day was young, I settled back into my body, which I had left in my mother’s very yellow house, in her very yellow living room. When I opened my eyes, I found Bren standing before me, dressed in his brown leather breeches and a cream-colored training tunic. The form-fitting cloth showed his muscles in exquisite perfection, and his scent of pine and earth filled my senses. As usual, he needed a shave, but I couldn’t help a smile as I gazed into his warm, brown eyes.

  A kiss. Yes. That would be the way to renew my energy this morning.

  Bren didn’t smile back, and he didn’t seem much in the mood for a kiss. Instead, he rubbed the jagged scar on his cheek. It seemed brighter than usual, like he had been scrubbing at it while he waited for me to return.

  “You’re away from the training yard early,” I said, suddenly anxious. “Was I gone longer than I thought? It’s not lunch time already, is it?”

  His brown hair brushed across his nape as he shook his head. “No, it’s still early, and I haven’t been to the training yard yet. I had lessons with Dad and your mom, then got sidetracked. “

  His tone gave me a chill, and I dreaded his answer even as I asked, “What’s wrong? Who got eaten?”

  Finally, he did smile, but only a little. “Nobody. Well, maybe a goat, but I don’t know. Someone’s left us a message you need to see. It’s over at my place.”

  More chills. More worry. “What kind of message?”

  Bren quit rubbing his scar and stuck out his hand. The whole one, with all the fingers. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

  Bren’s fingers felt strong as I put my hand in his. I knew he still doubted his ability to wield a sword with his right hand, but his fears were all for naught. His strength had grown so much in just a few months, but even that couldn’t quell my fears. He led me out of the door, then off the porch.

  When we got to the road leading out of L.O.S.T.’s more modern section-the part with electricity, running water, and human-style houses-toward the general store and the more primitive oldeTowne, Bren stopped and turned to face me. He kept hold of my hand, and took my other one, too. I was aware of the smooth nubs where the wounds from his lost fingers
had healed, but they didn’t bother me.

  “Sorry I was abrupt back there.” He gripped my fingers tightly. “It’s just—this morning’s been a pain with your mom and the message and everything.”

  I nodded, hoping he would hush and kiss me.

  To my joy, he did.

  Not a long kiss, but a nice morning hello. His lips seemed so soft against mine, and his stubble tickled my chin.

  “That’s better,” I whispered.

  “Yeah,” he agreed, and kissed me one more time.

  I started smiling all over again as we walked toward oldeTowne. Closer now, arm in arm, step for step. The promise ring he had given me last Yule felt warmer and warmer on my finger. We reached the general store where I first met Bren, then cut around the hill behind it. At the top of the hill was a restaurant and our newly built great hall, where we held most community activities. It wasn’t easy blending oldeFolke and modern witches, but in L.O.S.T., we managed.

  For the most part.

  The road became a dirt path, and I knew we had crossed the imaginary boundary of oldeTowne.

  “See anything on your patrol?” Bren’s voice sounded a bit too casual, but I decided not to challenge the sweet peace between us by questioning him.

  “No. At least, I don’t think so. Something in the New York Sanctuary bothered me, but I made many passes and found nothing.”

  Bren laughed. “Maybe the hippie-witches brewed up something that expanded your brain.”

  “Very funny. All the wards seemed tight and undisturbed.” I squeezed his fingers. “Still, I don’t know the extent of the Erlking’s strengths or abilities. No living witch does.”

  At the mention of the villain’s name, Bren stiffened. His steps took on a new urgency. For a time he said nothing, but when he did speak, his words surprised me. “If Nire comes back, you know I’ll fight her even though she is—was—my mother, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do.” I tugged at his hand. “Why would you ask me that?”

  But even as the question left my lips, I noticed the sidelong scowls from a few klatch witches lurking nearby. In fact, more than a few had gathered along the trail that led to the store and the road to my mother’s house. We had a veritable crowd of muttering, grumbling onlookers.

  Had one of them challenged Bren’s loyalty? Hags were suspicious by nature. All oldeFolke were, really, but with reason. Many long years of misunderstanding and persecution by humans and even modern witches had left them wary.

  But there were modern witches in the growing crowd, too. What in the name of the goddess had happened here?

  “Bren,” I began as we stopped in front of his house, but the rest of my thought and words left my mind at the sight before me.

  Acaw stood beside words on the wall of Bren’s shed. Words scrawled, apparently, in blood.

  Light the fires. Nire comes!

  My mouth went dry and my throat tightened. Talking was out of the question. Even the crowd behind us had become completely silent. I had a sense of them drawing back, giving us space to converse. Wise, for if they hadn’t, I would have spelled them away no matter what the oldeFolke would have thought about magic used against them.

  Dread became my only emotion. A cold, relentless dread that started in my toes and fingers and flowed inward, chilling my heart. The once-fatal Shadow wound on my arm bit at my consciousness.

  Nire.

  The Shadowmaster was coming back.

  Light the fires …

  Light the fires … the fires to burn us all to cinders? Nire would have us all just as bloody as those words. Just as dead as the wood beneath them.

  Bren sensed my deep distress, and he put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. His warmth battled the wicked cold threatening to freeze my senses.

  “It’s goat blood,” he said quietly. “I think the fire part means Beltane.”

  Acaw cleared his throat. “I have tested and retested the blood with magic. I cannot determine who did it. The perpetrator left no energy trace and no physical evidence behind.”

  Bren swore under his breath. “Does that mean it was one of the oldeFolke? One of the hags, maybe? They’d be smart enough to cover their tracks.”

  I forced myself to swallow, and worked just as hard not to cry. “That’s possible,” I managed, though it was more whisper than conversation. “Or a smart, determined modern witch who knows much about the ways of the oldeFolke and elfling exploratory magic.”

  “Great.” Bren let me go and ran his fingers through his hair. “So, half the beings in L.O.S.T. go on our watch list?”

  “It could be the Erlking himself,” Acaw offered.

  This only made Bren swear a lot more.

  “Our wards are strong enough to stop the Erlking,” I said quickly, finally able to speak a little louder. “We would know if he tried to break in, just as we knew when Nire’s Shadows broke into Shallym last year.”

  Acaw shrugged and lowered his head in deference. Bren stopped cursing and got very quiet.

  A dull ache started in my stomach.

  Beltane. The fires … yes. It had to be Beltane. And whoever wrote the bloody words had to have been working on behalf of the Erlking. It was in his hideous nature to taunt and stir trouble.

  “Beltane is a time of power, a Greater Sabbat,” I said. “If the shapeshifter plans to work ancient, powerful spells, that would be the best time for him to try.”

  Acaw looked up again. “What should we do to prepare, Your Majesty?”

  “What can we do?” Bren’s explosion cleaved the respectful silence around us. The crowd began a low murmuring. The sound rose and fell like an echo. He glanced over his shoulder, then turned his attention back to me. “Sorry. I meant, I don’t know what else to do. Do you?”

  I raised my hands and fired a stripping spell at the bloody words. The goat blood caught fire, blazed, then sizzled away to nothing. My tightly coiled nerves unwound, my tears flowed, and my spell intensified. Gold light wrapped the entire shed, Acaw, Acaw’s crow-brother, Bren, and the nearest oldeFolke. It took me a full five seconds to regain control of my magic.

  When I did, I faced a spotless house, dirt-free grass, a very clean elfling, a ruffled crow-brother, a spic-and-span Bren, and a bunch of disgruntled and dispersing oldeFolke. I had never seen hag robes so sparkly black, or hag-spirits so miffed and tightly wrapped about their mistresses.

  Acaw said nothing. His crow-brother cawed disapproval.

  “Did you, ah, get the floors inside, too?” Bren asked, somehow not sounding angry at all.

  I shook my tingling hands. “Probably.”

  “Good. Then I don’t have to sweep.” He came over to where I stood and wrapped me in his strong arms.

  “We should find ways to strengthen the wards. Increase the patrols.” I started to shake. “Maybe Mother and your father can help—your father with the computer program, and Mother can patrol. And Rol—” I broke off, crying again, and buried my face in the soft cotton of Bren’s tunic. I didn’t want to feel this way, shoulder this doom. It felt too familiar. It brought back too much.

  Bren just held me. After a time, he said, “It’ll be okay. We’ll pull out all the stops. We’ll figure something out. It will be okay.”

  I wanted to believe him. Truly, I did.

  ***

  Chapter Three

  I seriously wanted to kick some ass.

  Two days had passed. Two days, and we still had no idea who left that friggin’ message in blood. Jazz had been a nervous wreck, and her mom, too. My dad was nearly a basket case. Me, I was just pissed.

  With an angry jab of my sword, I struck out at Rol, only to be knocked flat on my backside when the giant witch’s blade met mine in a powerful sweep. He whirled and parried Sherise’s blow just as fast. My brother’s girlfriend went flying and used a little of my bad language.

  “Swordplay isn’t for softlings, girl. Go take a break.” Sweat glistened on Rol’s ebony skin as he turned back to me and flicked his fin
gers in a come and get me motion. “You. Up, boy.”

  I ground my teeth. Rol only called me boy when we were training, rather than “Your Highness,” or “Your Majesty,” which suited me fine. It didn’t sound like an insult, coming from him.

  “Is he always such a total pain in the backside?” Sherise grumbled as she got up, brushing dirt off her pants. Her dark curls hung in sopping ropes, and mud covered the silver chain at her neck.

  “Actually, he’s being nice.” Small rocks bit into one palm as I shoved myself to my feet, gripping my sword in my right hand.

  Sherise snorted. “Nice? Who have you been sparring with?” She shoved her hair out of her eyes, looked skyward, then swore all over again. “I’ve got to go. I’m late for my magic lessons.”

  “Good luck. Mine sucked.” The mood I was in, it was a wonder that I didn’t make Dame Corey vanish. But during this morning’s lesson, I swore the sawhorse shimmered a little like a mirage. Dame Corey didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. But I felt like I was getting closer to making the sawhorse vanish. Well, a different sawhorse. Not the one I’d blown up. “Hope you have tons of fun.”

  “Jerk.” She slapped my butt with the flat side of her blade.

  Rol gave her leave with a nod, and for a second, we both watched her head out of the training grounds. She really was getting better with a blade after months of practice, and lots faster, but not fast enough for the training master. I obviously wasn’t fast enough either.

  My left hand ached with ghost-pains, as if the two missing fingers were still there. Before that harpy attack, I’d been left-handed and an excellent swordsman. Now I was learning all over again, and it was ticking me off how I still wasn’t quite getting the hang of it. I’d been a switch-hitter back on my baseball team, and I should have been able to pick up swordwork with my right hand a lot faster.

  Never mind eating and not dropping my knife, or typing on a computer keyboard. Everything had changed. And if the Erlking really was going to pull some dark magic crap on Beltane, I was nearly out of time.