Jack stood. “Well, looks like you got played, too.” He put his hands on his hips. “See, that Lawless? He’s been living on our turf in the ordinary world for years. And the human-tribe? He’s my friend, and I need to get him back.” He looked down at the crestfallen expression of the little Oddling. “You were clever, but no more trading human-tribes, okay? Those are people, with lives and families, and other people who care about them and they do not belong in the Realms, understand?”
The Advisor nodded. “Majesty is not…enraged?”
Jack shook his head. “Not at you, little one. The Lawless…that’s another matter. Let’s go find out who’s in charge.”
~*~
Jack strode forward, towards the corn-made portcullis outline. Addie followed along, her hand firmly holding his two fingers.
Inside the rectangle, he felt the structure shift. It was still made of corn, but now arched over him in darkness. He couldn’t see the building it represented, but he knew it was there. His footsteps echoed as if he were inside, his senses—all except vision—told him he was in an antechamber with a high ceiling and sturdy walls to either side.
He stretched out a hand and found the wall. Invisible, but nevertheless made of something that, while firm to the touch, still gave under his hand. Not unlike the inflatable castle’s wall, but not held up by air pressure. More like…gelatin. Maybe it’s corn syrup, he thought, when his hand came away slightly sticky.
He wiped his hand on his pants and glanced around. “If there’s a portcullis, there’s a guard. I’m here to see your leader.”
One of the corn-sheaf corners rustled. A hot, dry exhalation that sounded a little like a laugh came from it. “We are the Lawless and bend no knee.”
My kin could take a lesson from that, he thought. A more pragmatic voice had something to say about that, both because now was not the time, and the idea of a Chillsprite with its own motivation summoned enough ominous dread to give the world a collective shudder. “Then who’s in charge?” The barrier rippled again, this time with a visible strain that wasn’t limited to the corners of his eyes. “Because somebody is in a whole mess of trouble.”
He wasn’t sure whether he meant Puck, or himself.
The corn sheaf rustled and the gelatin-walls rippled. Beside Jack, his Frostling advisor slipped her childlike hand in his and squeezed nervously. She cleared her throat and spoke. “His Majesty is magnanimous in extending hospitality to the Lawless.” Her thready voice didn’t vouch much for his magnanimity, and Jack wasn’t feeling very hospitable, either.
He sighed. “I’ve had about enough of protocols. Bring me the one you call Puck, or I’m going to get pissed.”
The gatekeeper bobbed. “Puck...is a name used most liberally by the kin.”
Jack gritted his teeth. “Blue hair. Safety pins all over his clothes. Pulls a mean espresso.” His voice tightened. “He’s the only one walking around with a matching human.”
“There are many avenues of entry into Lawless territory. It will take some time.”
Jack might not be skilled at this deal-making, but he knew stalling when he saw it. “Sure. I’ll just start making a mess of the place while you all get your shit together.” He turned to the side and slammed his fist into the jelly-wall.
A rush of sound and activity erupted from the hole torn into the barrier. Jack whipped his head around from side to side as the wall, free of its moorings, flapped around him like a wet, sticky sheet. A weird, floaty lightness flopped his stomach over and between one breath and the next, he was through the barrier and fully into the nightmare world of the Lawless.
~*~
Screaming chaos battered at him. Jack felt the Frostling's grip torn away as a crush of bodies pressed between him and the Frostling. He pushed at a pair of shoulders, kicked a rump out of the way, bounced himself off something hulking that he really didn't want to piss off, and thought he saw deer antlers flashing in the darkness. What the hell? This is worse than a rave, he thought.
Fuck it. Am I not the Winter King for a goddamn reason? He jerked off his other glove and pressed his uncovered hand firmly against the next thing that shoved him. It squealed and jumped out of his way.
He continued, slapping his frigid hands against exposed flesh that sometimes felt cool and dry, sometimes warm and soft, and a few times slick with something he really didn't want to examine too closely. The Lawless Oddlings squealed and squirmed away from him, opening a path between him and his Advisor.
The cacophony of squeals rose in volume. He lost his orientation when something that moved like a rock with stubby legs lumbered by and knocked him out of the way.
As he picked himself up off the ground and shook his head to clear it, the Frostling attached herself to his leg. He glanced down, then realized it was better that way—she couldn’t get torn away from him so easily.
“Majesty must do something!”
“Like what?” Jack looked down at her. “You got any ideas?” He stumped forward, conscious of her extra weight, slight as it was, and how it could upset his balance in the madness.
Her eyes rolled fearfully. “This is a place of no laws, no order. It is not a safe place!”
You're telling me. He shook his head. “Every place has something running it.” He searched for something that looked like it might be in charge. Or even maybe the shape of something in charge. There were oddlings of all shapes and sizes, coal-black and purple-skinned, like the deepness of night dipped in the psychedelics of dream, something bright red with peach feathers along a crest slithered between darker-limbed beings. Nothing looked like it was even paying attention to him. Finally, he looked down at his hands. The only thing that might be in-charge shaped here, he thought, is me.
Fuck.
He stuck his pinkie fingers into the corners of his mouth and blew a shrill whistle that echoed through the vast chamber. The riot stopped. Jack thought he caught a flash of blue—Puck!—but when he turned, it was gone. The rest of the Lawless Oddlings just looked at him, half-frozen in mid-whatever they were doing.
~*~
“Find me the one called Puck.” He put all the authority in his voice he could muster, calling back the days where he'd socialized with Nan's crowd of financial-industry movers and shakers.
Nothing moved. Something with horns did lose its balance on top of something that looked like its prey and toppled over, but otherwise, silence and stillness greeted his command. Worry for Shane and frustration at his own ignorance finally came to a boil in the back of his throat. “Now!”
Oddlings began to move. Squeaks and squeals accompanied the flow of Oddlings as they moved out, propelled by his command. His Frostling looked up. “You bring order to this place. We will carry out your commands.”
Jack twisted his lips. “They seem to really thrive on being told what to do.”
“The Kin need order, Majesty.”
“That bothers me on many levels.”
“Yes, Majesty.”
“And you need a name. I can't keep thinking of you as 'the Advisor' or Frostling Number Two.”
“This one would not presume, Majesty.”
The darkness pressed in on Jack. The noise had receded to a dull rumble as the creatures of all shapes and sizes moved out. “Well, I'm asking you to presume. Make up a name for yourself.”
“Names are given, Majesty, not taken.”
Jack gritted his teeth. “Stupid rule. I’ve had it with stupid rules. I just want to find Shane and get out of here. It’s Christmas Eve, dammit!”
He closed his eyes as a wave of nausea swept over him.
“Majesty?”
His ears popped. He was gripping the advisor's little hand too hard and loosened his fingers. “Sorry. Dizzy.” He opened his eyes and gaped. “What the hell?” He jerked his head around. “Where the hell are we? How did we get here?” They stood in a high hall. Flying buttresses soared far above his head, sandstone walls stretched upwards to meet them.
“Majesty took u
s here, surely.”
No, not sandstone. “Corn.” He turned around. They were inside the crop circle. The corn had grown up and into itself, and he saw at once stone walls of a round bailey, punctuated with doorways leading away from either side, while at the same time seeing the inside of a corn-maze crop circle, with cornstalk sheaves marking pathways off to the side. “I will never get used to the buildings in this place.” Jack shook his head. “All I did was close my eyes. I was feeling a little claustro—” He swallowed. “Okay, maybe I did. How do we get back?”
Beside them, a handful of hay bales were stacked neatly and Jack sat down on one. He felt a breeze kick up, heard the squeal of door hinges from somewhere in the shadows, and the back of his neck prickled. He turned to see a black blot disengage from the darkness of the entrance and move closer, along with an approaching, rhythmic tapping. As the distance closed and the taps turned to clops, he realized it might be a rider on horseback. Don't assume, a little voice warned him.
The rider approached. It was, indeed, a figure on horseback, but the horse was somehow misshapen and...wrong. More wrong when it opened its mouth and talked. “Trespassers.”
Jack glanced at his advisor. “She's with me.” Just to be safe, he scooted just a little bit forward and in front of the Frostling.
The rider dismounted and spoke. “And who might ‘me’ be?”
“ ‘Me’ is looking for one of the Lawless who made off with one of ‘me’s’ friends and would like that friend back.” Jack glanced around, waiting for more of the Lawless Oddlings he’d seen before to show up.
“ ‘Me’ smells of humanity but is not of it. Yet ‘me’ speaks carefully, so ‘me’ must surely know that none of the kin can lead a human astray who does not want to be led.”
“ ‘Me’ also knows you're all tricky bastards who take things way too literally. ‘Me’ wants his friend back, right now.”
“If ‘me’ wishes to parlay, then ‘me’ should have something in exchange.”
Jack folded his arms and cocked his hip on the edge of the hay bale. He had nothing to exchange and no army to enforce it. But maybe the Rider didn’t know that. “How about this. You give me my friend back, and I'll take him back off your hands. He's really kind of high-maintenance.”
“This offer will be considered. Perhaps ‘me’ might offer a hint of his identity in good faith?”
Names must be given, not taken. “Just call me the guy who’s really ticked off over a trade made in very bad faith.” There. That couldn't be more obvious if he was wearing the crown, a sign, and a pair of wings. Wings might come in handy right now. “I’m here to correct that.”
His back itched and he rubbed it surreptitiously against the hay bale. Beside him, the advisor squeaked. The itch persisted and he felt something peel off his back. The advisor cleared her throat and squeezed his hand. He glanced over to tell her to cut it out and caught sight of the gossamer, ragged edge of—
A wing.
In front of him, the rider dismounted and bowed. It wasn't a sign of respect. “It appears this one is in the presence of royalty. This one is honored, Winter King. This one has always had a certain...fondness for the court of Winter. It appears that Winter perhaps has an affinity for this realm as well.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.” He was proud of his ability to maintain the deadpan through the whole sentence. He was proud of himself for not running screaming around the cornfield shouting, Get it off! Get it off! Get it off! with a great big, frilly pair of wings on his back. Shane, I wish you were here--you'd be having a field day with this.
The Rider chuckled. “Secretive. You remind this one of someone once...known well. She, too, was cold and kept her secrets.” The deep hood over the rider’s head revealed nothing. But the baritone voice softened. Warmed, if only a hint. “The cold was driven back for a time, but never enough to reveal the secrets.”
Jack couldn't imagine why the ramblings had taken the exit to Insanity Boulevard, but he thought briefly of Lin and how she didn’t seem to be bothered by his cold. He shut that thought down right away, before it could manifest. Behind the Rider, the horse-thing had wandered over to a doorway leading left and began nosing at the cornstalk-sheaf side.
“Very well, Winter. Let us parley. You wish one of mine to relinquish one of yours. And in exchange?”
He had half a mind to tell the Rider what he could do with his ‘exchange,’ given the Lawless yahoos that had been tripping through Winter territories for God knew how long. A squeeze from his advisor held his tongue. He had to offer, and it had to be something to show the value he placed on his friend. And it had to be enticing enough for the Lawless to accept it. “A treaty.”
The Rider chuckled. “New to the king thing, are you?”
Jack tried to keep his face impassive and--kingly while the rider sat down on another hay bale. “A treaty with Winter these days isn't worth a hot meal on a cold day. Of all the region’s Realms, Winter is weakest. The Lawless can't spare the resources to protect your realm and ours.”
Forget looking kingly, now all he wanted was to keep from falling off the damn hay bale. Winter was the weakest realm? My fault. I've been ignoring it for five years. He fisted his hands at his sides. “We've got some fight left in us.”
“As well as craftiness.” The Rider's hood turned towards the advisor and nodded once. “It wouldn't be the first time the Lawless have been betrayed by Winter's promise.”
“Really?” Something uneasy crawled up the back of his spine. Between the wings.
“Yes. You may have your friend when Winter returns to me my wife.” The Rider flung back his hood and Jack lost his tenuous grip on impassivity. On the body of a man--or man-shaped at least, judging by the way the robes draped--the Rider's human-fleshed neck, blue-black in hue but human skin, to be sure, merged smoothly into the sleek-furred head of a jackal.
~*~
Keep it together, man! This isn’t the first weird thing you’ve seen. He tried to still himself. But the stupid wings knocked him out of balance, and at the edges of his peripheral vision, he could see them quivering, clear as day. Through numb lips, he tried for speech. “Wh-who was this...wife of yours?” Contrary to his earlier word choice, it appeared that this Rider was the type to be able to think and act individually.
The Rider seemed to enjoy his struggle to maintain normalcy. “A snowflake, caught on the tongue, to refresh a parched mouth, and just as transient.” The Rider’s eyes flicked to his, then away again. “Winter's king must surely know that names in the realm of dreams are held in the same private regard as they are in the demesne of ice.”
Word by word, each utterance from the Rider acted as a thin string, pulling Jack up from drowning in nightmare fuel. His mind seized on the words, and built them up as a barrier against what he was seeing. This is a negotiation, remember. I made the offer, this is the counter-offer.
“I have given you the terms of exchange. Bring to me the one who was my wife and you may walk away with your friend.”
“I wouldn't put one of my own here. I'm trying to get one out!”
“We must all make sacrifices. The good of our realms must override the comforts of a single Kin.”
Jack folded his arms. “That’s not how I roll.” Now it’s my turn. “You misunderstand. The treaty I’m offering is one that forgives the trespasses of your Lawless from Winter territories for the past two years. Give me my friend back, and we wipe the slate clean and start over.”
The wings quivered. He had to keep his back muscles tensed to keep them afloat, yet he had no clue what to move to make them fold up. Figures I'd dream up wings that don't work.
His back twitched as he realized he really did dream them up, just as he'd dreamed himself into this cornfield castle. Shane, then. Dream me up Shane. He closed his eyes.
After a moment, the rider cleared his throat. “Ah, what, exactly does Winter think Winter is doing?”
Jack's eyes snapped open. “I want Shan
e back. Now.”
The Rider might have a point, though, because the whole realm of Winter had apparently exhausted itself meeting the needs of a single, selfish, unwilling denizen--namely himself. But the least he could do was return the favor. “This place is a disaster.”
The Rider growled. It was an animal growl, from the throat of the jackal's head set on human shoulders. “This place reflects a landscape of your own making, Winter King. You see chaos without because there is chaos within.”
Jack flinched. It might have been a fatal mistake if the advisor hadn't stepped in front of him. “Winter is not obliged to trade for one not of its own realm. This human you hold is not Winterkin. Winter parlays on his behalf because none wish for the human tribes to become involved.”
Jack's insides twisted, but as the Frostling draw herself up, he couldn't help feeling just a tiny bit of undeserved pride for her courage.
The Rider's canine lip curled up, showing a gleaming fang. “The other realms have the sense to avoid the Lawless because we see inside your minds.” The Rider began to pace and Jack's legs twitched with the desire to get up and join him. He settled for standing up and noted that he could look directly into the Rider's eyes, but the ears gave the Rider a slight height advantage. “Why is it, then, do you not avoid us?”
“Hah!” The laugh, sharp and bitter, burst from his throat. “I've spent years trying to avoid all of you—” The Rider's words were designed to provoke him. And they were distracting him from summoning up Shane. If this landscape could really reflect his own mind, then he could summon Shane.
The Rider growled again. “Winter! You cannot leave the Lawless demesne without exchange!”
Jack ignored him. His brow furrowed in concentration. Come on, Shane. Where are you? Behind the Rider, the horse-thing twitched, backing away from the cornstalk-sheaf pillar at the doorway. It began to twist, as if whipped by wind. The base swelled, the tassels trembled, and the sheaf split open. In a physics-defying, corn-scented explosion, Shane fell out of the rent in the stalk, coated with iridescent pollen and reeking of dive bar and sex. And inexplicably, syrup.
WinterJacked: Book One: Rude Awakening Page 29
