“What are you talking about?” She let her hand relax. She’d heard stories of Thaddeus’s magical ability. While not very impressive, it was possible he was stronger now. Certainly the black robes he wore showed that he had been somewhere civilized since his disappearance.
For a moment, the library grew dimmer, as if a shadow had passed in front of the lamps. It faded, but a curious sensation remained. Almost like an itch in her brain. She shook her head, then refocused on Thaddeus, and the room lightened.
“There are plans afoot. Plans that we,” he indicated the woman behind him, “want no part of. As a matter of fact, we will be actively working to stop them. We can only do so much on our end, however. More must be done, and that’s where you come in.”
Jocasta snorted. “Why would I trust you?”
“You don’t have a choice. There’re things coming, and they’ll be coming through Glittering Birch. If they’re not stopped, the Greenweald will be destroyed. No one will rule it because there won’t be anything to rule.”
“You expect me to march into Glittering Birch and put a stop to Jamshir’s madness?”
“It’s not Jamshir. Not this time. But no, House Whispering Pines doesn’t have the strength. Not alone.”
“You’re out of your mind,” Jocasta scoffed.
“I can’t go to Towering Oaks with what I know. Shireen, Orlando, Solomon, any of them would kill me on sight if they could. We need you to go.”
“Go away, Thaddeus. I don’t believe you. And I will never, ever ally with House Towering Oaks again. Whispering Pines will continue as I see fit. Stay out of my way, or you’ll end up waiting on the other side for Celia.”
Thaddeus sighed in frustration. “You’re a fool, Jocasta. A bigger one than even I was. Think over what I’ve said and don’t take too long doing it.”
He turned, there was a blurring of dark shadows, and he and the woman were gone.
Jocasta stared at the space for a moment, then turned back to her book. That annoying feeling in her head was gone.
Now she would have to think of a plan for Thaddeus as well. Perhaps Darius would have an idea.
Chapter 38
Celia glanced behind her at the sound of the door opening. The locked front door was now slightly ajar, a sliver of dim light showing through the crack. She could leave now, go back to Greta and tell her that she found Lyssa, that she tried to bring the girl out with her, that she had done all she could.
But had she? The girl had surprised Celia with the vehemence of her reaction when she tried to bring her into the front room and that was why she dropped her. If she went back up to the third floor she could probably find her again, and this time she’d be ready to hold on to her more tightly.
She was making up her mind to go back into the house when the noise of the locks clicking open on all the doors in the corridor sounded like cracks of thunder. Above her, on the upper floors, she could hear doors opening, one after the other.
She had no way to fight that many of the hunters at once. And there was nowhere to hide in this room. Fighting back a sob, she turned and ran for the exit, tearing open the door and running down the steps to the street below.
For a brief moment, her first thought was to find the man who shut her in there and make him sorry for his actions. She could make it so that he never did that sort of thing to anyone else, and the world would be a slightly better place for it.
Then she noticed the deserted streets and the angle of the light. It was almost dawn, one of the times the hunters would be abroad, and they’d be coming from behind her. Somehow, she had been inside the manor the entire night.
There was a cacophony of whistles and the hunters emerged, one after the other. Celia spun, froze in fear for a moment, then took off running toward the fountain. But she was too close to them this time and ducking into it wouldn’t work. She could only try to outrun them, get out of sight and find a place to hide.
The hunters were fast. She could hear their footsteps on the cobblestone street behind her and their whistles coming closer, all different tunes jumbled together and piercing through her brain, making it hard to think.
She took the first turn she came to, veering to the left, off the main street that ran from the manor, through the town, and to the gates. Glancing behind she saw one turn the corner after her. Tall, lanky and dressed in bright red, it came straight for her. The rest ran on.
That was unusual. If they weren’t chasing someone, the hunters usually strolled along almost casually, searching for victims. Now, they seemed to be in a hurry.
Her immediate concern though, was the one right behind her. Even with all their masks being the same field of solid white, she recognized it. This was the one she hit the night Lyssa was taken. It seemed that maybe, whatever they were, they could hold grudges.
“Well,” she thought, “then let’s give it a reason to hold even more of one.”
She slowed enough for the thing to gain on her more quickly, then suddenly stopped, turned and lashed out, aiming for the mask. The hunter ran right into her, adding his momentum to the force of her blow. It felt like she had punched an old tree and something in her hand gave with a pop. A jolt of pain flared, but there was a louder crack and the thing went down.
Celia backed up, hands raised. Her left was fine, but her right throbbed and it was hard to curl into a fist. She knew how to do more than punch though, and kept ready, waiting for the hunter to rise so she could hit it again.
It didn’t. It stayed where it fell, sprawled on the street, motionless. Beyond it, other hunters continued to run by, ignoring anything else.
Celia was unsure of what to do. One of them was here before her, helpless, and she could finish it off, end the threat of this one at least. But what if it was like Lyssa and had once been someone’s husband, son, or brother at some point? What if they had been a good person who was taken and turned into something evil, through no fault of their own?
Besides, the behavior of the others was troubling. They were going somewhere else. Either they were leaving Dunfield or they were after a prey that one or two wouldn’t be able to take down by themselves.
“Stay there,” she said to the prone hunter and ran past him.
The rest of the hunters had a good lead on her, the nearest being a couple of hundred yards away— a small figure in pink, with spikes of blond hair. Lyssa. If she could catch her, she’d still have a chance to bring her home.
She put her head down and tried to run faster, arms pumping. No one else was out on the streets so she didn’t need to worry about dodging around anyone.
The hunters ran straight for the gates, which were still hanging drunkenly open. It didn’t appear that there had been any attempt to fix them since she came through weeks ago. There was no challenge as they passed through and ran on into the dawns light. And despite her efforts, she wasn’t even close as Lyssa slipped through.
Celia could see those that tried to flee the city, their bodies lying where they had fallen. Huge rats moved among them, and they and the hunters ignored each other.
She skidded to a halt at the gates. The bodies began just beyond, and she didn’t know what had killed them, or if it would have any effect on her.
The hunters ran on.
“Lyssa!”
The girl never turned back. She stepped on a body as she ran and kept going, as if were of no consequence at all.
Then, she flickered. For a brief moment, she vanished, then reappeared, then vanished again. The pattern repeated several times and then she was gone. All the hunters, those that were still in sight a few seconds ago, were now gone.
“What the—?” she breathed. She peered into the predawn for several minutes, but there was no movement other than the rats around the dead.
Finally, she sighed and returned to the red hunter lying in the street. She was surprised to find it where she’d left it. Her hand was throbbing, but she didn’t feel like she had hit it hard enough for it to be unconscious f
or this long.
Her approach was cautious. It could be playing possum, waiting for her to return so that it could spring up and grab her. Strangely, she wasn’t frightened. Let it jump up. She’d put it down twice now and could do it again.
Still, there was no sense in being stupid about it.
When she neared, she nudged its leg with her foot. It still felt like wood, with only a slight give, then a toughness underneath.
She remembered the noise when she punched it and moved around to see its face. There was a jagged crack running from the left temple of the mask in a diagonal down to the right cheek. It was still attached to the thing’s head by whatever mysterious method it always was.
Celia squatted down near it, studying the figure but not attempting to touch it. If it moved, she could still spring away before it could grab her, give herself room to swing.
There was no sign of life. No up and down motion of its chest, no tremors or twitches of its limbs.
She reached out and touched the mask. It was cold, colder than it should have been, as if it had been kept in ice. She touched the hunter’s arm. That was a more normal temperature. Not warm like a living body would be, but not cold either.
The masks had something to do with these things. They either made them what they were, or kept them this way, or controlled them, or… something. The masks were key, she was sure of it.
Which begged the question; what would happen if a mask was removed? Would the hunter return to be a normal person? Would they die? And what was under there?
She was going to look. There was no doubt about that. Maybe she’d wait until it was closer to full light. Then, if the thing did rouse, it wouldn’t have time to fight, and maybe the light itself would kill it.
She heard a noise and looked up the street. A few people were peering out of hiding places, watching her and whispering. She searched their faces. None of them were the man who locked her in the manor.
Turning her attention back to the hunter, she stretched out her hand, trying not to let the fact that it was shaking bother her. She grabbed the edge of the mask and tried to curl her fingers under it. The hunter gave a soft whistle, its arm jerked a fraction of an inch, then it was still again.
The mask was still stuck firmly. She tried harder, putting more strength into it, and her fingers went under further. It felt like she was forcing them into stiff mud, grainy and slimy. An unpleasant odor arose.
She pulled, the mask lifted a tiny bit and the hunter moved. It rolled away from her, almost pulling her with it until her fingers slid free.
She sprang back with a cry. Down the street, faces that were watching in fascination disappeared as suddenly as they came.
Celia rose, hands up, weight on the balls of her feet. Her fingers that she used to try to get the mask off were covered in dark brown filth and they stank. She wrinkled her nose and tried to concentrate on the hunter.
It shook its head, spun to face her and started forward, moving slowly so that it wouldn’t run into a punch like the last time. These things learned as well as held grudges, Celia thought.
Then, it stopped. There was a noise like it was sniffing the air. The mask tilted up, looking at the sky. Then it lowered to her again.
The hunter stepped backward, once, twice, and three times. Celia didn’t pursue it. Her one hand hurt and the fingers on her other that were covered in whatever was beneath the mask were starting to itch terribly. For a moment, she thought she saw something wriggle through the brown goo coating them.
With a loud whistle, the hunter turned and ran, back to the main street. Celia followed and watched it speed up the road. It leapt up the steps to the manor, the door slammed behind it, and the sun came up over the horizon.
Celia wiped her hand on her pants, but the muck was too hard to get off that way. She needed water, ice for her other hand if possible, and to rest.
Later, she would need to find out what killed the people outside the walls of Dunfield. Then she’d have to chance it and find out where those things were going. Wherever it was, it wasn’t going to be good.
Chapter 39
The man was broken, or near enough to make no difference. Pain and deprivation followed by kindness and relief, and Samuel didn’t have any idea that all of it was being supplied by the same person. When Darius went to him and used heat, blunt force, and sharp edges, he was masked and stayed silent. When he returned later, he would go as himself, or as Samuel knew him, anyway. As Lady Jocasta’s trusted aide, someone here in this alien place on behalf of the Greenweald, working for his benefit.
“I’m trying, Samuel,” he said, helping the man to drink some water and gently dabbing at his bloody mouth.
“What do they want? Why do they keep hurting me?”
Darius sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know. They tell me that for every day Lady Shireen delays, they get closer to sending a part of you back. I keep convincing them to give me more time, and they keep sending me back in here after a ‘session,’ as they call it. They tell me to take careful note of your condition so that I can accurately report it to the others.”
“Lady Shireen doesn’t have the authority to grant a piece of the Greenweald to them. Only Lord Jamshir can do that. And he’s—"
“I know, my friend. I know. Here, have some more water.”
Darius purposely tilted the cup slightly too far, causing the water to rush into Samuel’s swollen mouth. The man began choking and Darius quickly lowered the cup.
“Easy, Samuel. Easy. I’ll leave the cup; they say I can do that much anyway. Then I need to go.”
“No! Don’t leave me! Please! It’s so dark in here.”
“I know. But if I don’t obey they won’t let me back in here. And I need to return to Lady Shireen and try again. I only hope that…”
He let his voice trail off with a sigh.
“What?” Samuel’s voice was ragged.
“I shouldn’t—”
“Tell me!”
“I guess you have the right to know. After the last time, Lady Shireen told me not to come back. There was nothing she could do for you.”
“What?”
The lie was shocking enough that Samuel would have a hard time believing it, unless Darius went in and twisted his thoughts just so. When Samuel was left in the dark again, waiting for the masked figure to come back with his tools, that was the perfect time.
“I’m sorry, Samuel. I haven’t given up. I’ll convince her, I promise.”
He stood and turned to leave, his foot “accidently” kicking over Samuel’s water cup.
“Oh, dear. I am sorry. I’ll see if they’ll let me bring more.”
He moved away, passing through the bars and taking the light with him. Once outside the cell, he turned a corner and extinguished it. Behind him, he could hear Samuel’s sobs of misery.
“Perfect,” he muttered, and closed his eyes to let his mind reach out.
Samuel’s thoughts were a tangle. He didn’t know which way to turn. He hurt, he was thirsty and hungry, and didn’t want to believe that Shireen would betray him like that. And that was the thread in the knot that Darius needed. He encouraged that one to grow, along with the fear, turning it slightly.
Let it become anger at Shireen and the whole Greenweald. Those who would use him and then abandon him. Syrus told him how well this worked, even to someone with magical ability. To one like Samuel, it was even more effective.
There, leave him like that, on the knife edge of fear and rage. Let it build. Underneath the rest, Darius could feel the other thing he needed. Gratitude to him, wrapped up in a healthy amount of suspicion. Samuel was taking what he could from Darius, but he wasn’t stupid. Well. A few adjustments there, and the gratitude would soon become overwhelming, the suspicion would fall away.
He smiled and opened his eyes.
He’d visit again in a little while. That visit would be the tipping point. Much like Malachi had done with him, the wounds that Samuel needed to have wh
en he returned to Towering Oaks must appear to have been caused by a Soul Gaunt. To say nothing of the “message” that needed to be sent.
After that it should be child’s play to turn him the rest of the way.
♦ ♦ ♦
“Yes, what it is it?”
The voice from behind the door wasn’t Malachi’s. Darius didn’t know whose it was.
“It’s Darius,” he called through the door. “I have news of our guest.”
“Just a minute.”
There were muffled sounds from the room, then the door was opened by Melanie, one of the adepts of the House who shared a gift with him. He didn’t know her very well, only enough to nod hello in passing.
What she was doing in Malachi’s office, he had no idea. Nor did he know why that new fellow, Thaddeus he thought the name was, was there either.
“Am I interrupting?” He looked around Melanie to where Malachi was seated at his desk.
“If you were, you wouldn’t have been let in,” Malachi growled. “What do you want?”
“As I said, I have news of our guest.”
“What guest is that?” Thaddeus asked.
Darius was about to tell him that it wasn’t anything he needed to know when, to his surprise, Malachi answered.
“The aide to Shireen. We have him, and Darius here is responsible for turning him. Bringing him into the fold as an asset we can use.”
“I see.” Thaddeus’s face grew cold. “I imagine I know the tactics you’re using.”
Ah, right. This was the man that Syrus turned. He was Florian’s cousin or some such thing, from Whispering Pines, wasn’t he?
“I’m sure you can,” he replied, a grin splitting his face. “I understand you’re quite familiar with them.”
Thaddeus eyed him for a moment and Darius enjoyed the flame he saw flare up in the other man’s eyes. Good. Let him remember the pecking order.
Strangely, Malachi stayed quiet during the exchange.
“I believe I can return Samuel tomorrow. Tonight, he needs to be seen to, by you.”
Solomon's Journey Page 20
