Peter watched the boy drink. It had been a long night and the boy looked worn out, exhausted. Good, Peter thought, a deep sleep will make things easier.

“Up ahead’s a good spot to rest,” Peter said.

Nick nodded and they moved on.

THE TWO OF them lay between a cluster of boulders on a makeshift bed of straw. Peter stared up at the overcast night sky. “I miss the stars.”

Nick yawned. “Maybe it’ll clear up soon.”

“No,” Peter said. “The Mist is eternal. The Lady protects Avalon, but at the cost of our dear moon and stars.”

“Avalon?” Nick said. “I thought that was in Britain somewhere.”

“Used to be,” Peter said.

“What’d you mean?”

“Oh, you’ll see.”

“Sure, okay,” Nick mumbled and closed his eyes.

Peter watched the boy until he was sure Nick was fast asleep, then rose, slipping silently out from the boulders. There below him a giant tree grew out from the cliff base; a single tendril of gray smoke wove its way through its craggy limbs. A solid round door was set into the trunk, thick iron spikes protruding from its planks; above the door hung a toothless human skull atop a thigh bone.

Peter rapped on the door three times; a moment later, the peephole slid open; one slanted eye peered out at him.

“I bring fresh blood,” Peter said and grinned.

PART II

Deviltree 

Chapter Four

Goll

It will all end soon, the child thief thought as he moved steadily through the forest, back toward the shore, back toward the Mist. Nick’s with the Devils now. His fate is in their hands. What will happen, will happen. He slid from shadow to shadow, stopping frequently to listen, to watch, trying to keep his mind focused on the danger and away from what he had done, what he had left to do, because thinking about it didn’t change it. Thinking about it only led to distraction, and out here, on their part of the island, distraction would get you killed.

Peter came to the edge of the thicket and scanned the beach. There, waiting for him, floated the Mist. He could hear it calling, taunting him. Grimacing, he broke cover and started forward when he caught voices. The child thief ducked back and dropped behind a thick knot of roots. Five shadows sat against a chunk of driftwood not thirty paces away—Flesh-eaters!

Fool, Peter silently cursed himself. You almost walked right into them. He’d allowed the Mist to distract him. Stupid. He reached instinctively for his sword and remembered he only carried his knife.

One of them stood, his tattered shirt fluttering in the breeze. “There they be.”

Peter followed his gaze; a line of dark figures came marching around the cove, easily forty or fifty of them. He couldn’t remember seeing so many out at once, not since the galleons first arrived. What are they up—His blood went cold; even in the dark he had no problem recognizing a tall silhouette; there was no missing the wide-brimmed hat with that ratty feather. The Captain. Peter clutched his knife.

The faintest glow of dawn touched the low clouds as the Captain tromped his way up to the others.

“Well?”

“Found some tracks, aye, but that be all. Tracks come right out of the mist, they do.”

“It’s him,” the Captain said, scanning the tree line. “The devil boy.”

“Think so, do ya?”

“Who else?”

“Ya want we should search the wood?”

The Captain shook his head wistfully. “We’ve no time this day.” He patted his sword. “But mark my word, I shall make a trophy of his head yet.”

The line of shadowy figures halted behind the Captain. Peter felt sure every eye was on him. He shuddered and managed to press himself closer to the ground, hoping they couldn’t hear the thudding of his heart. Their hunger was insatiable—every day they took more, every day they burned and murdered their way closer to the heart of Avalon. Some boldly wore the bones of the dead around their necks. How much blood will it take to make them stop? How many more children must die?

The Captain turned to the line. “Who called a halt?” he shouted. “Move your pockmarked asses. We’ve much work to do.”

The dark figures trudged on; as they passed, Peter caught sight of two large barrels being hauled along. What’s the Captain up to now? He felt his chest tighten. He glanced back the way he’d come. I should go back. Should warn them. He dug his nails into his palm. No, there’s no time. I have to bring more children. Just have to be quick, have to get back before the Captain lays all to waste.

THE CHILD THIEF slipped from the scrub even before the last Flesh-eater passed. He dashed from one piece of driftwood to the next, broke free from the last bit of cover, and sprinted toward the waves. The Mist rolled up to greet him, seemed to almost dance in anticipation like a dog awaiting a feeding.

Peter’s face tightened. All things come with a price. No one knows that better than I. He fought to clear his mind, knowing he’d never make it through the Mist otherwise, took a deep breath, and entered the swirling vapor.

The sounds from the beach died in the suffocating silence, even his own thoughts felt muffled. He stood stock-still as he searched for the Path—finding the Path, walking between the worlds, was one of his gifts. “There,” he whispered, spotting the tenuous thread of gold sparkles as it drifted across the grayness.

Peter caught up with the Path and followed, moving quickly, and sooner than he would’ve liked found himself staring at the Nike high-top. He stopped. Keep moving, he told himself. Keep moving or you’ll be as dead as the rest of them. But he heard Nick’s words: “If I’d fallen behind, would I still be out there? Wandering around, screaming your name until I died?” Peter wondered how long the boy in the high-tops had screamed his name. The boy? The child thief laughed at himself, an ugly, contemptuous laugh. The boy had had a name. Jonathan. And Jonathan was among the Sluagh now wasn’t he? Peter thought. “Well what of it?” he whispered bitterly. Whose fault is that? Am I to blame because he hadn’t listened? It’s better this way, he told himself, better to let the Mist sort them out…the weak from the strong. Peter kicked the high-top. Everything comes with a price. Everything. Some things just cost more than others.

Chimes rang from somewhere far away, then muffled laughter and children singing; the Mist began to stir.

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