The Stolen: An American Faerie Tale

by O'Connell, Bishop

  He raised his hands and reached desperately for power, but he found none.

  Dante drove his shoulder into the thing, knocking it clear of Edward and into the ground. As it landed, the beast yelped. Dante pulled a sword out of its belly, then rolled away.

  The thing got to its feet, but the elves had surrounded it. One by one, each lunged forward, drove a sword into the beast and withdrew the blade as it snapped its jaws, then an elf on the opposite side would attack.

  Dark purple blood soaked the monster’s flanks as attackers who kept just out of reach struck it repeatedly. When it began to stumble, Dante leapt in and drove his sword down through its neck.

  The beast fell to the ground with a thump and slowly dissolved.

  “You okay?” Dante asked once the shadow was gone.

  Edward nodded. “I thought you said nothing could follow us.”

  “Shadow-­Beast,” Dante said as he flicked his blade clean of inky gore. “It moves at the speed of light, that’s why it only took a few minutes to show up.”

  “Oh,” was all Edward could say.

  “The question is, how did the oíche get a Shadow-­Beast?” Faolan asked.

  “I don’t know,” Dante said, “but I’ll damn sure find out.” He turned to Edward. “You ready to move?”

  “Oh, I think so.” Edward said.

  “Let’s go, then,” Dante said. “Faolan, you have the lead.”

  Faolan headed off down the trail, and the others clustered around Dante and Edward.

  “Keep your eyes open, just in case they have another,” Dante said.

  Edward glanced at each member of the group, then at the forest around them. “Where are we going?”

  “Somerville,” Dante said.

  “Outside Boston? Why?”

  “It’s easier to operate safe houses outside the city. Fewer ­people mean fewer eyes,” Dante said.

  Edward nodded. “That makes sense, but doesn’t that complicate things if you have to get into the city?”

  “How so?” Dante asked.

  “Well, Boston is famous for its horrible traffic—­”

  Everyone but Edward started laughing.

  Dante smiled at him. “It’s not an issue.”

  They walked in silence for several minutes before Dante returned to their earlier conversation as if nothing had happened. “Faolan’s our guide.”

  Edward nodded as though he knew what that meant and nodded again as Dante introduced each member of the group.

  “I’m Edward Hunti—­”

  Everyone stopped and stared at him.

  “He’s going to give us his name?” Arlen asked.

  Edward closed his eyes and shook his head. “Sorry, still not used to this, you know?”

  “ ‘Edward’ will do just fine,” Dante said as he motioned for the party to continue. “You might consider taking another name for use in this line of work.”

  “Good advice,” Edward said. “If it helps, I do have a middle name I wasn’t going to share.” He laughed and felt better when they laughed with him, rather than at him.

  The group walked on, and Edward saw Dante eye him. Edward’s paranoia was becoming less irrational-­seeming with each passing moment.

  “If we’re outside of time here, so to speak,” Edward said, “can I ask a stupid question?”

  Dante lifted an eyebrow.

  “I mean, I wouldn’t want to diminish your opinion of me or anything,” Edward added with a slight smile.

  “I like him,” Quinn said. “Not many mortals have that kind of wit.”

  “Go ahead,” Dante said.

  “How far-­reaching are the fae courts?” As they walked, the landscape never seemed to change. The idea of a guide started to make sense to Edward. “I notice your names are Irish, except, of course, for you, Dante.”

  “Not my true name, but considering the situation, that’s about as far from a stupid question as you can get.”

  Edward laughed, but it was forced. “Really? I’ll try harder next time.”

  “Without going into too much,” Dante said, “the fae populate areas where they can exert the most influence. Ireland, Scotland, the Isle of Mann, Britain, and, by proxy, the United States, all of which have long histories of interaction with the fae. But the courts don’t really have any boundaries as you think of them.”

  “That’s why most of the stories come from those places,” Edward said. “So, that would mean this war could be pretty far-­reaching?”

  No one answered right away.

  “Global,” Dante finally said.

  “So,” Riley said, “you think you can find the wizard helping the oíche?”

  “I think so.”

  “Are you prepared for what that means?” Sean asked.

  “Find him? You’ll rip him to pieces,” something in Edward said.

  Edward faltered a step, and Dante caught his arm.

  “You all right?” Dante asked.

  “I think—­”

  “Give us a moment,” Dante said to the other elves without looking away from Edward’s eyes.

  Edward felt the elves walk several paces away. His eyes were locked on Dante’s penetrating stare.

  Dante leaned in close. “Listen carefully,” he said. “There is evil, and there is darkness.”

  Edward swallowed.

  “It isn’t always ugly and twisted. Oftentimes it’s alluring and beautiful. The oíche and the Dusk Court are part of that evil and darkness.” Dante drew in a breath but never looked away from Edward. “Now, some wizards manage to use the darkness without it consuming them.”

  Edward felt a rush of exhilaration flood through him.

  “But they are exceedingly rare.”

  The rush vanished.

  “I like you, Edward,” Dante said, “but make no mistake. If I think for one instant you’ll betray us, or jeopardize this mission—­”

  Edward reminded himself to breathe.

  “I’ll kill you without a thought.” Dante’s tone was calm and matter-­of-­fact, as if he were reading a shopping list. He drew back. “Do we understand each other?”

  Edward just stared. The enormity of how stupid it was to use that dark power was suddenly apparent. He licked his dry lips and finally got his eyelids to blink.

  “Well?” Dante asked, hand resting on the pommel of one of his swords.

  “We do,” Edward said.

  “Good.”

  “I just want to help Caitlin,” he said. “I just—­”

  Dante’s look told him the conversation was over.

  “Let’s get moving,” Dante said to the elves, and his tone was back to normal.

  They walked in total silence after that. Apparently the other elves knew not to ask any questions. Edward chewed on his thoughts, marinating in his stupidity and arrogance.

  Time was indeed warped on the trails. Edward had no idea how much time passed. Of course, he had a sense of time passing, but he had no feeling of time as a whole. He could honestly say it might’ve been hours, or just minutes. It was an unsettling feeling. He’d never realized how much he relied on time for comfort and stability.

  Faolan pointed to a tree off to the right. “Here it is.”

  Edward looked at the tree closely, then at the others. He had no idea how someone could tell one from another.

  “Right,” Dante said. “Quinn, you and Riley go first, then Nollaig and Arlen. Edward and I will be next, followed by Padraig and Daire. Sean, you come with Faolan when he starts closing the trail. You ready for this?” he asked Edward.

  The hard look in his eyes was gone, which Edward was glad to see. Dante apparently wasn’t the sort to beleaguer a point that had been made.

  “I am, but what’s the problem?” Edward asked.

  “We d
on’t know what’s on the other side,” Faolan said. “We could be stepping into an ambush.”

  “Oh,” Edward said. “Well, that would be par for the course.”

  All the elves drew their short swords, one in each hand. The blades had the faintest hint of a purple stain. Faolan held his in a reverse grip, with the blades facing back.

  “Here.” Dante offered Edward a long knife. “You know how to use it?”

  “Sure,” Edward said, grinning a bit as he pointed at the handle. “I bash them with this part, right?”

  Dante smiled. “That’s it.”

  “I just don’t know how to use it well.” Edward turned the knife in his hand. It was amazing how light it was. It felt like it was made of glass. The blade was almost liquid silver and was decorated with symbols down its length. Edward looked at the others, then without thinking asked, “I don’t get a gun?”

  Dante cocked an eyebrow. “So you can club them with the butt?”

  “Well, I was thinking I could shoot them, too.”

  “Guns are fine when you’re fighting at a distance,” Dante said, “but up close, a blade is the best way to go.”

  “In other words,” Edward said, “let you worry about the guns.”

  Dante chuckled and patted Edward on the shoulder. “Here’s hoping you don’t even need the knife.” He nodded to Faolan. “All right, open it.”

  “Wait,” Edward said. “How is it we won’t come out the other side on top of each other? I mean, if time is distorted.”

  “He’s quick,” Faolan said.

  “It’s hard to explain,” Dante said, “but the simple version is when you open a portal on this side, it makes a bubble of time around us that closely matches the regular world without diverging from the flow of time here.”

  Edward nodded. “Since I don’t have a degree in quantum mechanics, I’ll just let it go, then.”

  The elves laughed.

  “Go ahead,” Dante said to Faolan.

  This time Edward heard the words that went with the gesture. He wasn’t familiar with the language, but it was definitely Celtic.

  Like the tree at his house, this one swelled and became distorted until its trunk opened into a doorway. Once again, all that was visible was swirling white mist. Quinn and Riley tapped blades and stepped into the portal. Nollaig and Arlen stepped through next after a pause.

  Dante turned to Edward. “You sure you’re ready?”

  “Let’s go.”

  “After you.”

  Edward drew in a deep breath, held it, then stepped into the mist.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-­ONE

  Being nearly unconscious the first time he went through the mist had spared Edward the interesting sensation he was now experiencing. Interesting, in the same way falling into a black hole would be interesting. Not comfortable, but interesting. Before he could consider it fully, Edward was standing in an alleyway, and the scents and sounds shared by all large urban areas bombarded his senses.

  Then Dante was shoving him.

  Edward fell to the ground as a long and strangely curved blade sliced through the air where he’d just been standing.

  “Kill the wizard!” someone shouted.

  That caught Edward’s attention. He rolled, and kept rolling, until he hit something. Getting to his feet, he tried to assess what was happening.

  Dante and the other elves were fighting a group of oíche and humanoid creatures straight from a nightmare. They weren’t much more than two feet tall, and they were covered in black fur. They had long, sharp claws and gold almond-­shaped eyes.

  Faolan and Sean stepped from the portal and joined the fray.

  The gateway closed and once more became a brick wall painted with a realistic image of a tree. An oíche leaping over the elves in Edward’s direction interrupted his clinical review of the scene. He drew back his hand and focused his will.

  “Tân!” A ball of fire manifested in his hand, and he hurled it at the oíche.

  Fae and fire connected in midair, the flames engulfing the small faerie. It dropped to the ground and rolled, trying to put itself out.

  The dark power welled up inside Edward again, and he pushed it back. He had to do this without the darkness.

  He concentrated and waved his hand. “Fwy!”

  The flames erupted into a massive pyre. Screams stopped as clouds of darkness and smoke drifted from the inferno.

  The magic was coursing through him, and Edward knew it was his magic. Wind rushed past, sucked into the maw of the blaze. The mental fatigue began to gnaw at him, but for now, it was still manageable.

  The magic, and therefore the fire, was not.

  Edward panicked as it continued to grow beyond his control. He struggled to pull the magic back, but his growing alarm and weariness prevented him from keeping hold of it. The magic-­fed fire spread to the walls and finally to a Dumpster.

  “No,” Edward said through gritted teeth.

  A high-­pitched, guttural cry came from the other side of the conflagration, and one of the small, furry creatures jumped through the flames at Edward. Its fur ignited as it passed through the wall of fire, but that didn’t even slow it.

  Edward didn’t have time to react. The creature hit him full in the chest and knocked him to the ground. Edward’s head smacked the asphalt and bounced. A ringing filled his ears and his hands began to burn as he struggled to get the flaming whatever it was off him.

  Snapping jaws were inches from his face. Spittle landed on his cheek as Edward struggled with arms and claws. His clothes started to burn, and the air drawn into his lungs grew hotter with each breath.

  Suddenly Edward remembered. The knife! He’d dropped it when he’d fallen.

  Letting go of one of the furry arms, Edward reached for the weapon. Searing, blinding pain shot through him as the creature tore into his flesh with its claw. He screamed and tried to kick the thing off, but it wouldn’t budge. It was small, but incredibly strong.

  At last, Edward’s fingers touched cold metal. He gripped the knife and drove it repeatedly into his attacker.

  The thing shrieked but only seemed to become further enraged.

  Edward screamed and waited to die. Blood was soaking his clothes, and blisters emerged on his hands. There was a sickly sweet smell in the air, and it took him a minute to recognize it as burning human flesh. He’d smelled it before, on burn victims in the hospital.

  Edward tried to scream again but couldn’t.

  He heard a series of pops and the creature convulsed, then went limp.

  Edward tossed it to one side, suddenly aware he might survive, and sucked in cool air. The creature was motionless and charred as black blood pooled around it. A dozen paces away, Riley stood, holding his pistol. Between them, the fire was finally diminishing, now simply consuming the mundane fuels.

  “You’ve got to get up,” Faolan said. He and Riley each took an arm and pulled Edward to his feet.

  Pain unlike any he’d felt or even imagined possible brought forth the screams that he’d been unable to release moments before. After a few agonizing seconds, the pain subsided to merely excruciating, and at the far edges of his consciousness, he noted that the fight was over. He only hoped that meant they’d won.

  Edward had to focus so hard on keeping the pain back that it was hard to breathe. Around him, the urban setting seemed unaware of the battle that had just taken place.

  Dante ran over. “Come on, we’ve got to get out of here. There’s a tearmann nearby.”

  Edward felt himself being urged along and he moved as quickly as he could, gritting his teeth so hard he could feel them grinding. Tears ran down his face, leaving a trail of stinging flesh. With effort, he opened his eyes, and in the distance, he could just see the buildings of Boston’s skyline.

  “Hang in there,” Dante said near his ear. “We�
��ll help you. We can take the pain away, but you have to move.”

  Edward wanted nothing more than to just lie down and die. Let the darkness come. Let it swallow him and take away the hurt. Then he thought of Caitlin and Fiona. He’d made a promise to them. Whatever he could do, he would. He could do this. He had to do this.

  Holding the image of Caitlin in his mind so tightly he could almost smell her perfume, he increased his speed.

  Mercifully, the group slowed and led Edward down a series of stairs. A door opened and he was pushed inside. Scraping for a bit of spare concentration, he gestured his hand at the door.

  “Atgyfnerthu.” With that final exertion, everything went black.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-­TWO

  Edward considered how strange the human body and mind were. While in pain, there is only the memory of how sublime not being in pain feels. Then, when the pain finally subsides, the sufferer remembers that it hurt, but the pain itself is vague and distant. There was no pain in this darkness, this void where he now found himself. He was hesitant to respond to the distant voices calling to him. He knew answering them meant a return to pain.

  Edward didn’t think he was dead. Having worked in a hospital, he’d encountered his share of death even though he was not a practicing medical doctor. Sometimes ­people who had been revived had memories of death, and this didn’t match what they’d said. There was no light, no tunnel, and no loved ones waiting for him. There was only darkness and a lack of pain. He wasn’t sure what that said about him.

  He didn’t know what to do, but he knew it was his doing, his failure, that brought him here; burned, bleeding, and unconscious.

  I tried, I tried to do it without the darkness, he said to himself, but I wasn’t good enough. I’m not a wizard, no matter how badly I wish otherwise.

  This was already a dangerous game, and he’d only made it worse. The dark power he’d touched had easily influenced him. Worse, without it, he was completely incompetent.

  But what about the summoning?

  No, that had only been with Dante right behind him, guiding his every step. When it had mattered, when the other wizard had lashed out, Edward had failed, and because of that, Justin had escaped the circle. Now he’d stumbled again, and this vast darkness was where it got him.