“Emma?” rasped a croaking voice from the remains of the house.
She looked up, staring through her fingers as she pulled hair out of her eyes. Nan’s hunched-over figure balanced on her cane in the shadow of what little roof remained.
“Nan!” Emma jumped to her feet, running toward her grandmother. “You’re alive!”
Nan raised her head. Beneath the shawl, her face had turned loam green, eyes aglow with deathly yellow light, and her teeth were gone. Open wounds on her face leaked blood; the bones of her right hand showed through holes in the skin as she reached out.
Emma skidded to a halt on her heels, screaming her lungs empty. Nan moved toward her, cane above her head like a sword, far more nimble than the old woman was before. Emma scrambled backwards, falling on her backside. She rolled over on all fours and crawled into a run, headed for the town center. Clattering cane and crunching twigs chased close behind her. Raw, animal panic seized her as the scent of death surrounded her.
Bodies lay here and there. Guard Kavan, Guard Filner, Old Man Drinn, Marsten the Apothecary. Emma raised her hands and closed her eyes, terrified she’d see her parents or Kimber among them.
Her foot squished through something cold and slimy, taking her legs out from under her and sending her into a tumble that ended against the wall of the miller’s house. The scent of rotten apple mixed with that of burned flesh. Emma clambered upright at the same instant undead-Nan ambled around the corner and pointed the crooked cane at her. Emma grabbed the wall on either side of her, trying to press her body through the rocks. Foulness oozed through her toes, but she dare not look. She edged away until she stepped on something rubbery and cold.
Emma looked down. Her foot had found Julianna’s arm, dead and half buried under the caved-in wall of the blacksmith’s shop.
She sucked in a breath to scream again, but stopped. Her heart pounded, her breathing surged in erratic gulps. She leaned away from the horrible image of Nan, the cold of the stones seeping through her nightdress.
Her mind rose above the panic. How had Tam’s toys not burned? They’re wood.
“N-Nan.” Emma tried to sound confident. “You’re not Nan. Y-you’re the Banderwigh.” She swallowed hard, taking a step toward it. “You are not real. I’m not afraid of you.”
The old woman lowered her cane, balancing on it with both hands. The wounds and death receded, and the green tinge faded from her skin.
“Thank you, child. I needed a little help to get through that one. Tea leaves and incense can only do so much.”
Emma was not expecting this. She pointed at Nan’s face. “What lie is this?”
Nan grinned; her tooth was back. “I’m in your dream now, Emma. The creature is making you see things, but I am trying to help you. Remember when you thought I was asleep?”
“Why should I believe you?” Hands flat against the stone, Emma crept to the side.
“The village did not burn. Your parents are fine, but very worried. Your father still doesn’t believe. No matter, your mother and I can handle him.”
She’s trying to make me feel better. This can’t be the monster.
“Nan…” Emma calmed, running forward into a hug. “Nan.”
The old one patted her on the back, held her for a moment, and let go. “Listen to me, girl. Your home is warm, safe, and waiting. Don’t let him inside your head.”
Emma cringed as a bony finger tapped her on the skull three times.
When she opened her eyes, Nan was gone. She knew this was all a dream now, but still walked away from the village. There was no reason to look upon such sights. The meadow behind her house had no butterflies, fireflies, or anything flitting about but melancholy. Emma set her jaw high and folded her arms. This would not bother her.
“I’ve never tried to wake up on purpose before.” She raised a foot, hesitated a second, and stepped on her own toes. She yelped and hopped, but remained where she was. “I don’t believe this. Do you hear me? I don’t believe this.”
“Emma, help!” Tam’s voice drifted out of the woods.
She raised her foot to take a step, but hesitated, body rigid, eyes closed, fists balled. “No. That is not Tam. I am dreaming.”
“Emma, it hurts!”
Lies. Emma focused on the lie of it, filtering how badly she wanted to help Tam into anger rather than sorrow. She sank into a squat, clamping her arms around her legs. Not real. Emma let herself fall back enough to sit, and rocked.
Not real.
ime slid by in the darkness of Emma’s closed eyes. The faint sound of wind in the treetops faded without her realizing. When she looked up, she found herself hugging her knees, once more trapped in a cage that could not be opened. She stretched her legs out and braced a hand on her belly to stall her emotions. Nan was right. Nan was still alive. Emma narrowed her eyes. I will win.
The scent of ginger wafted through the air, bringing her notice to the lone table. It sat beneath the empty cage between her and Tam, something having moved it while she slept. It was close enough for either of them to reach plates of sweetbreads set at the ends. Something had gotten inside the room to bring them food. Something had gotten inside a room with no doors.
It will never let us see it. It makes us sleep to bring food.
Emma frowned at the feeling of confinement. Any sadness ran away in the face of her anger. She snarled, half-considering trying to break her way out. Her fury waned at the sound of Tam crying. Emma squatted at the edge of the hanging prison, face pressed between bars.
“Tam, stop crying. Nan is alive. I saw her in my dream.”
He raised his head, looking as though he could burst into tears at the drop of a hat. “I saw Mama, but she’s a ghost.”
“You had bad dreams. Don’t believe them. Mother and Father are alive. The village is not burning. The monster is lying to make us sad.”
Tam sniffed the air, leaning over to peer at the treats.
“No, Tam. Faerie bread is dangerous. Don’t eat it.”
“S’not faerie bread, it’s Bandy-wee bread.”
She slapped a bar for emphasis. “Don’t trust it.”
“We’ll die if we don’t eat. It smells good.” He rubbed his stomach. “It’s too big to be faerie bread. Faeries are bitty.”
“Nan’s pie is better than those stinky rolls.”
Tam smiled.
“Mother’s bread is much better than some silly monster’s baking. Like, when it’s warm and just out of the oven.”
He nodded. “Yeah.” His mirth faded to a pout at his lap.
“Don’t be sad. We won’t be here long.” Emma shifted from squatting to sitting, letting her feet dangle outside again. “Tam, you ‘member that time Old Man Drinn had too much brandy an’ he tried to get on his horse and the saddle fell off? Dumped him right in the water trough?”
“He used bad words,” muttered Tam, a trace of a smile forming.
“Or when Hadrath’s fence broke and all the pigs got loose?”
Tam giggled. “They’s runnin’ through town for days.”
Emma laughed. “One got into Marsten’s shop and started eating everything.”
“He used bad words on the pig.” He slid to the side of his cage, sticking his feet out. “An’ the pig was sick for a whole month. Its poo kept catching fire!”
“Ugh, you would remember that part.” Emma grimaced. “Da’s gonna go to Calebrin in a couple of days with Mister Valis. He said he’s gonna bring you back a real wooden sword.”
Tam’s eyes bulged. “True?”
“Yeah.” She looked up, kicking her legs back and forth.
Tam mimicked her pose: legs dangling, feet swinging, and rocked his cage back and forth until he giggled.
“The Feast of Zaravex is three weeks away. There’ll be cakes and sweets!”
He gasped, drooling. About to cheer, his happiness faded. “What if we’re still in here?”
“We won’t be. I thumped Rydh Cooper when he stepped on Stick Knight’s
horse. I’ll thump the Bandy-wee.”
Tam snickered at her forced mispronunciation.
Emma looked up at the creaking chain and kicked her legs harder. “Hey, these are like swings.”
He rocked harder, also laughing.
“Tam, you ‘member when Da tried to make us a swing?”
“Yeah,” he cheered. “You broke ‘froo it. Your bum hit the ground and you turned red.”
Emma winced at the remembered pain. “Yeah. And the branch fell on Da’s head.”
They laughed, swinging higher. The squeak of moving chains sounded like birds.
She swished her feet back and forth finding a steady rhythm, and took a great breath before she sang, “Run, rabbit, run rabbit, through fields of men.”
Tam more shouted than sang. “Grey rabbit run fast, run fast to your den.”
Emma added a twisting motion to the swing, giggling as she sang. “The hounds are a’comin’, the hunters pursue.”
“Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, or be rabbit stew,” Tam sang, before he broke into fits of laughter.
She sang loud, her voice flooding the chamber. “Through hill and hollow, run, rabbit, run. Until the hunters and dogs are none.” His expression gave away he’d forgotten the next line, but Emma kept going. “The men, they give chase with many sharp arrows.” She slowed, lowering her voice as she drew out the last line. “Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, back to your barrow.”
His laughter echoed off the walls as they rocked back and forth, twisting and laughing as though they played in their backyard. They started another repetition of Run Rabbit, singing all the lines together. Emma let herself go, no longer Tam’s “little-mother.” With nothing in her power to do about her situation, she let herself be his sister―a child as well.
Tam’s face flashed by as the cages swayed and creaked. Giggling filled the tiny underground chamber. Blurriness crept in, making sounds seem distant and watery and framing his smiling face with a nimbus of light. Her own laughter seemed to slow down and reverberate through her mind. Nan was trying to find her. Mother was alive. Her family loved her. Emma did not notice the walls oozing blood from the mortar, the protruding roots blackening, or the approach of sleep until she fell backwards and hit damp ground.
er stomach hurt from laughing too much. Foggy eyes widened to the sight of trees reaching straight up into a clear, blue sky. The cool, soft presence of the forest floor was comfortable to lie on as the last bits of giggles worked their way out of her chest. She pulled her arms in and put a hand to her forehead. Grass tickled her legs as the wind picked up. Unable to stop smiling, she forced herself to sit up. Tam lay on his chest a few feet away, grinning in his sleep. She crawled to him, sitting at his side while shaking his shoulder.
“Tam,” she whispered, jostling him until he moved.
A leaf stuck to his lip as he pushed himself up to kneel. Emma plucked it away, dusting him off. She looked around at the woods, fearing another trick. Contagious cheer surrounded her brother, and she found herself giggling again. He pounced on her, dragging her to the grass and tickling wherever he could get a hand past her defenses. Emma squealed with glee, overjoyed that cold iron no longer separated them.
They played until they were both out of breath and wound up face-to-face and gasping for air. He seemed to have forgotten all about being taken and put in a cage. Emma did nothing to remind him of it, and rolled on her back. He cuddled against her side, arm over her chest.
“Em?”
“Yeah?”
He leaned his mouth an inch from her ear, whispering. “Are we sleepin?”
He does remember.
Wary, Emma sat up, and took hold of his hand. She gathered her feet under her and stood, lifting him by one arm. A slow turn panned the woods, yet nothing seemed different from the time she had found the village burned.
“I don’t know.”
He stuck his tongue out at the trees.
“What?”
Tam pointed. “Trees aren’t scary now.”
She had to agree. The forest was brighter, less eerie than it had been the last time she woke up out here. Having Tam with her was also a happy change. It otherwise looked like the same spot where she dreamed it had released her before. Fear that she would find the trail she’d dragged in the dirt made her hesitate for a moment, but when she looked―and did not see it―she laughed. She considered hunting for that hunk of wood again to lead the guards back here, but decided against it. Getting home faster was more important.
With a hand shielding her eyes, she squinted at the sky. It seemed like it was afternoon, so she put the sun to her back and pulled him along. They walked, Emma leading, in the direction she believed was home. A breeze whispered through the treetops, drawing her gaze upward. Birds flitted overhead, adding to her hope that they had escaped for real. Tam went to go after small rodents or giant moths, or anything else that caught his eye. Emma kept a grip on his hand, guiding him. She muttered at the sound of cotton ripping while climbing through the underbrush. She missed the dress Nan made―simple thorns never seemed to tear it, and it did not snag in the woods.
As in her dream, she found a trail that allowed them to pick up the pace until they stopped at the edge of a small stream. She crouched upon the bank, ankle deep in mud, and gathered a few handfuls to drink. Tam hovered at her side, doing the same. When she had enough, she eased one foot into the flow, gritted her teeth, and gathered her dress to keep it out of the water. With each step, her feet sank into frigid ooze and the water crept up her legs. By the time she made it halfway across, the water was past the middle of her thighs and her teeth chattered.
Tam, unconcerned with being wet, flung himself headfirst and splashed about, squealing with delight from the surprise cold. Emma climbed the muck on the east side of the stream, flapping her nightgown to breeze-dry her legs.
“Come, Tam. Mama and Da are worried. We need to go home.”
He frowned, trudging out of the water. “Are we in bads?”
“No. Nan knows what happened. We didn’t do anything wrong.”
Tam grinned, letting go of her hand and darting off.
“Tam!” she yelled, running after him. “No.”
When he stopped to look at her, she ran into him and they both fell. He giggled; she gave him a cross stare. He tried to tickle her again, but she held his hands. Tam continued laughing at her stern face, until she cracked up.
“Don’t run off,” she whispered, once the giggle fit ended. “There’s wolves.”
“Goblins too,” he said. At first defiant, the thought of that scared him into a whisper. “Goblins will put us inna stew like Rabbit.”
Emma got up and dusted herself off. “There’s no goblins.”
He ground his toe into the dirt, staring down. “Jes like there’s no Bandy-wee?”
“I―”
Snap.
She whipped around at the sound of a branch cracking. Tam clung to her back. A number of whispery voices chittered in high-pitched words―no language known to them. A patch of green moved, and a four-inch long nose came around the side of a tree, attached to a potbellied body only an inch taller than her. Stubby wart-covered fingers curled around the bark. Nostrils rimmed with wiry bristles flared as it took deep breaths; saliva squeezed through rotting teeth at the flick of an unseen tongue, dripping from a hairy chin.
“Ow!” Tam yelled as she clenched his hand.
She ran, dragging him behind her. Clambering boots chased them, accompanied by snaps and grunts. Tam howled, but she kept going, dragging him several times when he tripped. Emma ignored the sharp rocks and painful roots, stumbling twice, but not falling as she dodged low-hanging vines. Something fluttered overhead, its presence hardly registering in her mind. Trees blurred by on either side. A gurgling wail, fleshy thud, and high-pitched swearing behind her brought a grin to her face, until the sudden rise of lupine howls lent her a burst of speed. The forest thinned ahead, and there were eyes in the dark.
Emma skidded
to a halt. Tam ran into her back, knocking her forward a step. A dozen wolves, including the huge one she had seen the other day, emerged with fangs bared, snarling.
She whirled at chattering behind her. Seven or eight goblins, potbellied bodies squeezed into crude-stitched leathers and brandishing crude spears, tromped out of the woods. They regarded the children with greed in their eyes. One looked at Tam and snapped its teeth at the air; it looked at him the way Father stared at steak.
Emma recoiled from the goblins, getting two steps into a run, but froze as the wolves crept closer. Gold eyes gazed at her. Tam buried his face in her chest, shaking. Emma locked stares: hungry wolves in front, hungry goblins behind.
The Banderwigh’s cage did not seem like such a bad place after all.
olves snarled. Goblins chittered, pointing spears at her and Tam. Emma had a feeling she now knew the goblin word for “yummy.” She crossed her arms over her little brother, holding him tight as she stared into the pale, yellow eyes of the largest wolf. Its gaze held no malice, only urgency.
“I don’t think the wolves want to hurt us, Tam,” she whispered, patting his back.
He squirmed around to look. The lead wolf lowered his head as if in greeting. A twig snapped under a goblin’s burlap boot. All at once, the line of wolves surged forward. Emma flinched and whimpered, eyes closed. Fur brushed past her. When she dared look, the forest in front of her was empty; the woods behind filled with awful sounds: wails, growls, and goblin cries of pain.
She bolted through the sparse patch into thick woods, until the sounds of goblin slaughter grew faint. Emma ran until her legs felt like pudding and she stumbled to a halt against a tree, gasping for air. Tam, panting, fell seated, wobbled, and went over flat on his back. He kept a hand on her leg as he tried to catch his breath. Emma gave in, and slid down the tree to sit next to him. The forest filled with the sound of snarling wolves, splintering bones, and shrieking…goblins.
Emma and the Banderwigh Page 8
