The Child Thief

chest like love. He heard her voice, like a song, faint and faraway. I am your forest, your earth, your eternity. I am life. I am your death. I am all things forever and always. Love me. Love me. Forever love me.

Yes, he answered. Forever.

She pulled him upward, toward the moon; it grew and grew, then, all at once, he broke the surface. He gasped, coughed, and took in a deep lungful of air.

Peter and the troll were at the steps, anxious and worried.

The Lady left Nick clinging to the bank, drifted away, disappearing beneath the dark water. Don’t go, Nick thought and reached for her; the garden blurred, wavered. He felt dizzy, could want, wish, think of nothing but the Lady. Forever.

Chapter Eighteen Caliburn

Ulfger passed beneath an arch with massive elk horns set into its peak, climbed the winding steps as they curved around the sheer face of the granite ledge. His thighs and his lungs burned, yet he didn’t stop until he came face to face with the Hall of Kings, high above the valley.

A domed chamber loomed before him, beckoning him, daring him to visit with the dead. He stumbled forward, catching himself in the arched doorway, the sweat pouring down his face in rivulets as he gasped to regain his breath. The stained-glass ceiling bathed the chamber in a soft emerald glow while the large oval windows provided the dead with a view of the valley below.

The bones of seven elven kings moldered within the seven stone sarcophaguses spread out in a ring before him. In their center sat a longboat. Ulfger glared at the dead kings, then slowly brought his eyes up until they were level with the boat’s deck. The boat stretched nearly twenty feet lengthwise; at the bow reared a ferocious dragon figurehead, its red ruby eyes staring out the largest window, looking ready to sail away into the low-lying clouds.

The boat had been built to be put to sea and set aflame, to take the Horned One to the Otherworld, to Avallach. But Ulfger had forbidden it. He’d made the elves bring the boat and the Horned One here. He’d not allow the Horned One to leave him, not while there were still Flesh-eaters on Avalon.

“I’m still here, Father,” Ulfger said, his voice shaky, appeasing. He inched forward. “They’ve betrayed you. Every one of them. But not me. I remembered my oath. I alone am worthy of your blessings.” He leaned heavily against one of the tombs, studied the face of the elven king carved in relief on its lid. He traced a shaky hand down the noble features. “Traitor,” he hissed. “All of you…traitors! ” He sneered, raking his fingers across the eyes, scratching furiously at them, but his fingers had no effect on the cold marble gaze. Hefting his ax, Ulfger brought the blunt side down with a tremendous blow, smiting the face and cracking open the sarcophagus lid. He shoved the lid to the floor and stared into the hollow sockets of the dead king. “You dare to look at me that way?” Ulfger’s face twisted into a knot of rage. He snatched the skull from its cradle and dashed it to the stones, grinding the bones beneath his heel until there was nothing left but dust and teeth.

He spun away, brought the ax down on the next tomb, then the next, and the next, bashing them apart, kicking and scattering the bodies until the chamber was littered in rotting tapestry, robes, armor, and crumbling bones. He tripped on the leathery carcass of some ancient lord, and went sprawling into the rubble. He lay on his back, panting, a fine layer of bone dust pasted to his sweaty skin. His eyes darted wildly about until finally coming to rest on the boat. His lips began to quiver. “I’m not a coward,” he said and the tears rolled down his cheeks, cutting dark paths through the bone dust. “I’m not a coward. I did not choose to stay behind. You made me swear, Father. Have you forgotten? None cried louder for war than I!” He rolled over and crawled across the floor, raking through the bones until he reached the boat. He got a hand on the railing and pulled himself up, clinging to the side board as he glared into the face of the Horned One.

A fierce death grimace greeted Ulfger. The Horned One lay draped in a wooly elk fur, his parched, leathery skin pulled taut across his bones. Several necklaces of tusks and bronze rings hung in a tangle about his neck. The broken blade of Caliburn lay across his chest, clasped in his huge bony hands. The Horned Helm sat low on his head, dark sockets peering out from within the slanted eye slits. The dark hollows bore into Ulfger, accusing him.

“Do you hear me? Have I not proven myself? I alone still stand…still defend the Tree.”

The dark sockets mocked him with their silence.

Ulfger’s eyes fell to the sword and a sneer pushed at his face. “I am worthy, Father,” he whispered and slowly reached out until his hand hovered above the hilt. He glared at the tiny sharp spikes lining the grip, spikes that would bite into his hand and, if he were unworthy, would poison and burn him from the inside out. His hand began to shake. “I…am…worthy,” he hissed between clenched teeth and tried to force his hand upon the hilt, force himself to pick up the sword. Tears streamed down his face as his whole arm began to shake, then a wretched howl escaped his lips and he yanked his hand away, clutching it to his chest.

He slid back down to the stones, cradling his hand like a baby. “Why did you leave me behind, Father?” He heard it then, laughter, coming from all around him, echoing about the chamber. They were laughing at him, his father, the kings, all of them. He clasped his hands to his ears, and still he heard it, louder, as though they were all in his head.

He let out a weak cry and half-crawled, half-stumbled toward the large open window. He hit the ledge, fell forward, just catching himself. He hung there a moment, staring down from the dizzying heights, and thought about letting go. How sweet it would be, to be finished with all this torment. And he might have, but something caught his eye, something that made the laughter stop and his blood burn. There, far below, parading through the courtyard as though he lorded over all, was the child thief himself, leading his band of traitors and brats.

Ulfger’s knees buckled and he sat down hard on the window ledge. They’d seen the Lady. No, he thought, there’s more going on here. Somehow, they’d awakened her. Because the girl was better, there was no denying that. He’d seen her before, when she was close to death, and only the Lady could’ve saved her. He saw the baskets and sacks of fruit. “Thieves, burn forever,” he hissed. “You’ve tainted the Haven. Desecrated the heart of Avalon. And she, Modron, has aided you. Has betrayed Avallach himself.”

Ulfger stomped back to the boat. He glared into his father’s face, into those deep, dark hollows, into that fierce death grimace. Ulfger matched that grimace. “You, you favored the runt as well. Called him to stand by your side in battle, yet would deny me. Deny your only son? How is it that he is worthy when I am not? How? How, you hateful beast? Tell me! TELL ME!” Ulfger snarled and thrust his hand forward, grabbed the sword, tearing it from the Horned One’s grip. He felt its bite, the sharp jabs as the spikes pierced his palm. The marks began to burn. “GO ON!” he screamed. “Burn me! I dare you! But nothing will keep me from my duty, from avenging Avallach. NOTHING!”

The heat continued to flow into his body, but it didn’t burn. The broken blade became light in his hand as a feeling of power possessed him. He felt his chest swell as the heat pumped through his heart, his veins and muscles. “See, Father. I am worthy. Avallach honors me! ME!”

Ulfger grabbed the helmet by one of the antlers and tore it from the Horned One’s head. He placed it on his own head and stared through the slanted slits at his father, at the ravaged remains of the once mighty warlord. He heard laughter, but this time it was his own. The Horned One’s head fell against the side board and looked sadly back at him.

A wind whipped up, blowing the bone dust across the stone floor. Ulfger felt his senses awaken. What is this? he wondered, realizing he could sense the life around him: a couple of deer in the woods below, a host of faeries battening down for the evening, and…them. He