by Paul Durham
Rye reached down and stuffed both hands into an oversize boot. She removed the iron anklet Harmless had given her, placing it on the table.
“The Anklet of the Shadowbender,” Harmless said quietly.
“I’ve squandered this,” she said. “Folly and Quinn have worked so hard to unlock their gifts, and all I’ve done is stumble into one mess after another.”
“Is that really what you believe?” Harmless asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Rye said. It seemed that half her troubles were of her own making.
“Well,” Harmless said, leaning forward again. “I see something else entirely. I saw a girl save an entire village because she wasn’t afraid to break the rules to protect others. I saw a daughter reunite an entire island where a legendary village elder and her own mother could not. How? By doing the unthinkable: cutting the bonds that kept them apart, even at the risk of earning their wrath.” His gray eyes held her gaze. “And before me I now see a young woman who has picked me up more than once, by being tenacious, and clever, and yes, more than a little impulsive from time to time. But the truth is, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now without you. That you cannot deny.”
Rye bit her lip. “But the anklet was supposed to allow me to disappear into shadows, to hurdle rooftops and travel as stealthily as a fox. Like you.”
“Is that what it was meant to do?” Harmless asked, raising an eyebrow. “Do you remember my words when I gave it to you? I do, because I chose them carefully.”
Rye recalled them. “You said the anklet would allow me to bend the laws of shadow and light,” she recited.
“That’s correct. And the reason why I chose them is because of what your grandfather once said to me. They were his last words, in fact. As Grimshaw lay there, and the High Chieftain’s Crest passed from him to me in his final breath, he whispered this . . .”
Harmless’s voice was a winter breeze.
“There are no such things as heroes. After all, for every man we call a hero, is he not cursed as our enemies’ greatest villain? So don your mask, young master. Don’t be afraid to bend the laws of shadow and light. And leave it to history to brand you as it deems fit.”
Rye blinked, processing the strange words.
“It means a leader’s choices are sometimes impossible ones,” Harmless explained. “The right decision may not be best, and the best decision can be both right and wrong. So a real hero can only follow her heart.”
Rye picked up the anklet and examined its runes between her fingers.
“Was this Grimshaw’s? Did he give it to you?”
Harmless smiled. “Ah, well. Truth be told, I never saw that anklet until the day we plucked it from Leatherleaf’s Luck Bag.”
Rye’s jaw dropped.
“Same with Quinn’s stickman and Folly’s skull,” he added, with a sheepish shrug.
Rye had once suspected that Harmless might be exaggerating the charms’ powers. But for him to admit it now, after all she’d seen them accomplish, seemed too hard to comprehend.
“But you said they were great heirlooms, powerful talismans. You said they were magic.”
“I told you there were many different types of magic,” Harmless clarified. “But neither you, nor Folly nor Quinn, derived your talents from these charms. That magic, your unique abilities, they’re already within each of you. All you needed was something to believe in. And, sometimes, it’s easier to believe in a charm or a totem than it is to believe in ourselves. So maybe, in that respect, there’s some magic in them after all.”
Rye was silent, taking in Harmless’s words.
A shadow over her shoulder told her they were no longer alone, and she looked up to find Bramble standing over them.
“A messenger was sent to Longchance Keep,” he said quietly to Harmless. “He’s just returned.”
“What was Slinister’s reply?” Harmless asked.
“He and the Fork-Tongue Charmers ride to Grim Green.”
Harmless nodded. “Thank you, Bramble. If you ready the carriage, we’ll leave shortly.”
“Of course,” he said, and placed a hand on Rye’s shoulder. He gave her a wink of a pale blue eye before leaving.
“What’s happening at Grim Green?” Rye asked.
“Slinister and I will meet face-to-face in the presence of our brothers,” Harmless said, slowly rotating a platinum ring on the thumb of his injured hand as he spoke. “And if all goes well, we shall set the terms of the Reckoning.”
“What sort of terms?” Rye asked, noticing that the ring was in fact a single thick nail—one that had been hammered and twisted to suit its new purpose.
Harmless gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t fret about them now, Riley. You’ll hear them for yourself tonight.”
Rye sat up in surprise. “Hear them? I’ll be there?”
He nodded again. “You. Your mother. Lottie, too.”
Rye couldn’t believe what he was saying. “But we’re not Luck Uglies.”
“No, but you are the family of the High Chieftain.” Harmless’s jaw was tight. “And the results of the Reckoning shall affect us all.”
23
A Murder of Uglies
Rye peered out the window of the Grave Sweeper’s carriage as it bounced over uneven terrain. The O’Chanters rode in silence, Harmless’s gray eyes flickering in thoughts somewhere far away, and even Lottie sat quietly, occasionally whispering soothing words to Mona Monster as the doll bounced on her knee. Rye picked her fingernails in her lap as she struggled to spot any sign of their destination in the darkness. Abby placed a reassuring hand over Rye’s busy fingers. Abby wore her crimson cloak and tall leather boots, her black hair falling freely past her shoulders. If she shared Rye’s concerns she didn’t show it, and her mother’s slight smile gave Rye some momentary comfort.
Shadows shifted outside and flickers of light flared along their path. Soon the coach rattled to a stop. Rye heard voices and felt the weight of the coach shift. She craned her neck, and thought she could make out the lanterns of a towering fortress atop a nearby crag. Longchance Keep. A path of torches slowly snaked its way down a rocky trail, and the O’Chanters sat silently inside the carriage for a long while.
Finally, the carriage’s door opened and Bramble’s eyes met hers from under his hood. He reached up to help her down. Harmless gave her a nod and she climbed out carefully, Abby and Lottie behind her.
They were in Grim Green, amid a temporary settlement built up around a roaring bonfire. A ragged black banner hung loose from a tall spike in the still air. Torches marked a wide perimeter, a crude fence of sharpened timbers erected around a cluster of tents and a makeshift paddock. Rye could smell the horses and the sizzling spits of dozens of small cook fires. All around them men had set aside their tasks and stood warily at attention. Rye looked for familiar faces, but the shadows of their cowls betrayed few secrets.
Bramble led Rye, Abby, and Lottie to a spot at the edge of the assembly. Some of the gathered Luck Uglies nodded at Abby in recognition, and she placed her hands on Rye’s and Lottie’s shoulders and pulled them close.
Rye’s eyes darted around the clearing, her heart quickening. She felt it lurch in her chest when she recognized one face, bright and defiant, at the far side of the circle. Slinister stared back at her, the bonfire reflecting off his crystal eyes. They were Annis’s eyes, except where Annis’s twinkled with wisdom, Slinister’s flickered with menace. Behind him were the Fork-Tongue Charmers, their cheeks freshly streaked with white ash, lips blackened with soot. Rye spotted the Charmer named Lassiter at Slinister’s side, as well as the shorter figure of Hyde nearby.
Thankfully, Slinister broke off his glare at the sight of Harmless. Slinister’s jaw remained stoic, but Rye saw the slightest twitch of his lip over his knotted beard.
Harmless climbed down from the Grave Sweeper’s carriage. His thick fur cloak was wrapped tightly around him, giving great breadth to his shoulders and obscuring the injured arm. His hood was the pe
lt of a wolf, its sharp teeth low over his forehead like a crown. He marched to the center of the clearing with all the menace of a great forest predator.
The Luck Uglies remained silent. Then, from the crowd stepped a thick-chested warrior. He lowered his cowl, revealing an imposing face framed by long hair and a neatly trimmed beard the color of stout.
“High Chieftain,” he said, with a bow of his head.
“Well met, Morrow,” Harmless replied, clasping the man by the forearm. “It’s been too long. I know you’ve traveled far and swiftly to be here.”
“Of course,” Morrow said. “We heard news of the Call for a Reckoning. It’s a call none of us here have been asked to answer before, but we came without delay.”
Harmless stepped away, lowering his wolf’s head hood as he circled to look at the assembled Luck Uglies. “Yes, it’s unfortunate that so many of us are reunited for the first time under such circumstances. But let it be known that it was I who summoned the Reckoning.”
There was a physical stirring among the Luck Uglies, but no one spoke. Finally, the Luck Ugly named Morrow broke the silence.
“That news is surprising, as we were told that you fled into the forest Beyond the Shale,” he said, casting a glare toward Slinister and the Fork-Tongue Charmers. He hesitated. “And that you’d missed a Call.”
Harmless approached Morrow and met the taller man’s eyes. His jaw was hard, but his glare harder. “All true,” he said simply.
There was more rustling among the other men. They cast glances to one another.
“Although . . . ,” Harmless said, raising a finger and stepping away. He turned and faced the assembled crowd. “Those two simple statements, while correct, do not tell the whole story.”
“The code is absolute,” Slinister called out, his voice as brisk as the autumn air. The Luck Uglies turned their attention to him. “No more of the story matters.”
“I’d like to hear what he has to say, Slinister,” Morrow fired back. “After all, he is still the High Chieftain.” He looked to Harmless. “We were told that you had been found in the forest, and laid to rest in the bogs.”
Harmless shrugged. “Despite my means of transport this evening”—he gestured to the Grave Sweeper’s carriage—“news of my demise was spread . . . prematurely.”
A cold breeze cut across Grim Green, rustling the tattered folds of the black banner.
Harmless’s icy glare caught Slinister’s eyes. “But Slinister is correct in one respect. The rest of the story is of little matter now. Those of you who have been in and around Drowning already know what has transpired. And those who have traveled from far and wide need know only this. There is a division within the Luck Uglies. What started long ago as a rift between Slinister and myself has grown into an unbridgeable chasm in the brotherhood. As we gather here tonight, those who remain loyal to me and those who are loyal to Slinister would just as soon cut each other’s throats as stand side by side.”
The Fork-Tongue Charmers looked to one another, then across at the other Luck Uglies on the opposite side of the clearing.
“I could hold court here, and recite all of Slinister’s wrongdoings, to try to convince you of his treachery.” Harmless walked to Slinister, paused, and stared him hard in the eye. Slinister’s gaze was unflinching, but his hand shifted slightly, as if ready to defend himself. “But something tells me half of you would remain unconvinced. And surely Slinister could detail a litany of my offenses, for I am not without my own shortcomings.”
Harmless strode back to the center of the circle. “Or, I could exert my will,” he growled, his voice rising. “My undeniable and absolute right as High Chieftain.” His tone chilled Rye, and she saw that Harmless’s eyes had turned furious, flaring as he now stomped around the ring of Luck Uglies, glowering at each of them. “And demand that you follow my lead as you have sworn to do.”
He pushed aside his cloak and clawed open the buttons of his shirt so that the tattooed crest on his chest was visible to all he passed.
Rye saw some of the Luck Uglies avert their eyes to the ground. When Harmless spoke next the rage in his voice had shifted like the wind, and his tone was once again measured.
“But I suspect, were I to do that, I would still lose half of you. And we would be no better off than we are now.”
Harmless stood silently for a long while.
“This brotherhood does not survive on half measures. As it now stands, we are nothing more than the loose band of outlaws and mercenaries the world has always called us. If I could step aside and bestow the High Chieftain’s Crest upon an heir I would do so, if it might salvage this mess. But, alas, I have no sons”—he looked to Rye and Lottie—“only two extraordinary daughters.” Rye saw that Harmless smoldered with pride, not disappointment. “So it seems that to preserve the brotherhood, Slinister and I must resolve our differences between ourselves.”
Harmless drew a blade from the two scabbards at his back. He marched toward Slinister purposefully, and Rye tensed. Would they come to blows right now? The other Luck Uglies sensed it too and shifted uncertainly. Morrow looked as if he might step between them.
But as Harmless reached striking distance, Rye was surprised to see him throw his sword down flat on the ground at Slinister’s feet. Harmless looked up, and held Slinister’s jewel-like eyes.
“I call for a Reckoning,” he said. “Slinister and I shall reconcile our differences tomorrow night, under the light of the full moon.” Harmless pointed to the black banner. The wind had kicked up, and in its tattered folds Rye could now see the white silhouette of crossed swords and a four-leaf clover. “Whoever first raises the Ragged Clover atop the highest bell tower in Drowning shall earn the right to be called High Chieftain. And the rest shall agree to follow the victor’s lead.”
A murmur rumbled over the onlookers. Slinister looked surprised, then struggled to hide a smile.
“While you and I can set the terms of our own Reckoning,” Slinister said, “such a prize would require the consent of the brotherhood. The full moon is nearly upon us, and some of our more far-flung brothers likely will not arrive in time to weigh in.”
“Look around,” Harmless replied. “By my count we have two thirds—a full Murder of Uglies. That’s enough to approve what I propose.”
Harmless reached under his cloak and removed the platinum nail-turned-ring from his weakened hand. He held it up between his thumb and forefinger, the ring glinting in the torchlight. “Shall we vote?”
Slinister smiled darkly. He unsheathed the blade from his hip and laid it across Harmless’s on the ground. “I accept your Reckoning,” he said, and slid an identical ring from his own thumb. “And its terms.”
Slinister pitched his ring onto the swords, where it bounced off the top blade with a clank of metal. Harmless nodded and did the same.
“Cast your rings,” Harmless said, looking over his shoulder.
Nobody moved for a long while, then a solitary figure emerged from the pack. Bramble pushed his long black hair behind his ears, and his pale blue eyes bore into Slinister as he approached.
Slinister’s face darkened at the sight of him. Bramble removed his own platinum ring and tossed it onto the swords, then stepped away and stood at Harmless’s side. Another figure followed. His enormous girth stretched the limits of his belt, and the woolly beard on his chin and neck gave him the look of a lumbering bear. Rye had to shake her head to be sure the firelight wasn’t deceiving her. It was the angry poet who had once chased her across Drowning’s rooftops.
The poet tossed a platinum ring into the pile, then stepped next to Harmless and Bramble.
“Good to see you, Burbage,” Harmless said.
“Good to be seen,” the poet replied.
Slinister looked over his own shoulder and nodded. Rye saw the Fork-Tongue Charmer named Lassiter approach and add his ring to the pile. Hyde stepped forward and did the same. Soon each of the Luck Uglies and Fork-Tongue Charmers emerged from the shadows and d
ropped their rings into the ever-growing platinum mound, until finally they had all taken positions at either Harmless’s or Slinister’s side, or hovered somewhere in between.
“Look at that,” Harmless said after the last Luck Ugly had cast his ring. “It seems to be unanimous.”
“I’d have it no other way,” Slinister replied.
“May the best Luck Ugly win,” Harmless said.
“Best Fork-Tongue Charmer,” Slinister corrected.
Harmless stepped in close, and although speaking to Slinister, his words were loud enough for everyone to hear.
“You’re still a Luck Ugly, Slinister, until the day you take your last breath.” Harmless smiled, and the tips of his teeth flashed like a wolf’s canines. “Even if that day has nearly come.”
24
Men-at-Arms
The moon disappeared behind the clouds and the skies emptied in a torrent as soon as Rye and her family climbed back into the Grave Sweeper’s carriage. The rain was furious and unrelenting, and when the carriage wheels became stuck in thick mud she feared they might never make it back to the Shambles. They finally arrived to find Little Water Street flowing with river water, and hurried inside the shelter of the Dead Fish Inn. They were joined by the Luck Ugly named Morrow and the group of men who had professed loyalty to Harmless. Slinister and the Fork-Tongue Charmers had presumably returned to Longchance Keep, while those Luck Uglies who had not taken one side or the other remained hunkered down in their tents on Grim Green.
The mood around the inn was decidedly more somber as the new arrivals dried out by the fireplaces. Folly and Quinn had stayed up waiting for Rye’s return as long as they could, but had finally retired upstairs with the younger Flood children. Folly didn’t stir when Rye checked in on her, which was just as well—there would be time to explain everything in the morning. She retrieved her pack from Folly’s room and descended back down to the inn’s main floor. Abby placed a finger on her lips as she passed Rye on the stairs, Lottie asleep on her shoulder and ready to be tucked into bed.
