The Child Thief

Sekeu’s eyes flashed open; a terrible gurgle escaped her throat.

“NO!” Nick screamed and charged, ran as hard as he could, but felt as though moving through syrup as Leroy tugged the blade free and brought it down again, and again, and again. Blood gushed from Sekeu’s neck as she flailed against the cage, struggled to escape, but she was trapped, like an animal for slaughter. The sharp blade cut into her arms, her hands, her chest, then into her face.

Nick hit him, slammed into Leroy at a full run, knocking the bigger boy against the mantel. Maldiriel flew from Leroy’s hand, clattered across the stone. Nick snatched the sword up and came for Leroy.

Leroy looked dazed, confused, then caught sight of Nick, saw the bloody sword in Nick’s hand, and his eyes went wide. “STAY AWAY FROM ME!” he shrieked.

“WHAT’S GOING ON?” came a deep, booming voice, and Nick was confronted by a blinding flame. Nick stopped, blinked, then saw Tanngnost standing before him with a torch in one hand and an ax in the other; behind the troll stood Cricket and Danny, their faces ashen and horrified.

The torchlight revealed more than Nick ever wanted to see. Blood bubbled from the slash in Sekeu’s throat as she tried to speak. A wet, sucking sound came from the wounds in her chest. She met Nick’s eyes and seemed to be begging him to help her. A clot of blood spat from her lips and she was still, her unblinking eyes frozen on his.

Leroy raised a shaking hand and pointed an accusing finger at Nick. “He…killed…her. I saw it. Saw it all. He’s crazy. I tried to warn you. He’s fucking crazy!”

Nick glanced at the sword in his hand—his sword, at the blood smeared across its blade and dripping onto the stones. Splat, splat, splat, like a telltale heart.

“Nick?” Cricket called weakly.

Nick didn’t feel his fingernails cut into his palm as he clenched his hand into a fist. Didn’t hear the inhuman growl that escaped his own throat or even realize his lips were peeled back into a snarl. He set his eyes on Leroy, took a step forward, then another, his head hung low, like that of a mad dog. “Murderer,” he said, low and harsh. “Murderer!”—the ragged words tearing loose from deep in his throat. “MURDERER!” he screamed, his face full of rage.

“GET BACK!” the troll cried, pushing Cricket and Danny away. “He’s turned! The darkness has him!”

Leroy scrambled behind the troll and ran for the door. Nick leaped after him, so intent on catching him he didn’t see the troll bring the ax around until the last second. Nick ducked, sliding beneath the blow. The ax hit the mantel, smashing the edge to bits.

“DON’T LET HIM OPEN THE DOOR!” Nick screamed, his face a knot of frustration. Couldn’t they see that Leroy was heading toward the door, that he was going to let whatever was out there in?

The troll swung again, knocking the sword from Nick’s hand and driving Nick into the wall.

Leroy was at the door, sliding the slat free.

Nick faked left and jumped right, causing the troll to stumble into one of the benches. Nick darted past in time to see Leroy shove the door open and flee into the night.

Nick stopped, sure some indescribable horror was about to appear in the doorway. But the only horror coming for him was the troll with the ax. Nick caught sight of Cricket and Danny, caught their condemning looks.

“NO!” Nick shouted, shaking his head. “IT WASN’T ME! ”

The troll didn’t even pause, just came on at a full charge.

“IT WASN’T ME!” Nick shouted again, then ran, the troll’s heavy footsteps chasing him out the door and into the swirling night fog.

WHEN NICK FINALLY dared to stop, he wished he hadn’t. While running, he’d been too occupied avoiding the roots and thorns, ledges and pits, to worry about anything else. But now, as he leaned heavily against the trunk of a fallen tree, as the sound of his own breathing slowed down, he began to hear the night, to hear the things in the night.

The woods themselves creaked and moaned and Nick thought of the way the trees in Whisperwood had talked to each other and wondered if the trees around him now were speaking. If they were telling the things with claws, and fangs, and stingers, that he was here, wondered if they were telling that other thing, that dark thing, that he was alone.

Nick strained to see within the deeper shadows. He could feel that other out there, still probing for him in the night. Nick reached for his sword and realized he’d left it behind. But he did have his knife. He pulled it out. It felt small and insubstantial in his hand.

I can’t stay out here, he thought. I have to go back. I can clear this up. Right? No, a deeper voice warned. No, you can’t. He knew what he’d seen on the troll’s face, in Cricket’s and Danny’s eyes. The troll had said he’d turned. Turned into what? A Flesh-eater, he guessed. He’d seen the way they’d been watching him. It wasn’t hard to put together. Now they believed he’d murdered Sekeu. Peter will kill me on sight.

He started forward then stopped. Where am I going? “Home,” he whispered. I’ve got to get home, back to my mom. One way or another. He shook his head. I can’t even find my way out of these goddamn woods. How am I supposed to make it all the way home? I’m screwed, he thought. Completely screwed.

He heard something in the distance, back the way he’d come; sounded like footsteps. Were they after him already? Peter and the Devils? He wasn’t going to wait around to find out. He pushed down the slope and realized he’d no idea which direction he was heading, that he could be heading back to Deviltree, for all he knew. Then it was there, just ahead, in a small clearing illuminated by the luminescent ground fog. A tall figure draped in a long, woolly cape. It wore a helmet with wide, curving antlers. It held someone—Leroy. It appeared to be talking to the boy.

The horned creature turned its head toward Nick. Its eyes glowed from deep within the visor. The eyes, those burning eyes, fixed on Nick, and when they did, a fear so crippling gripped him that he fell to his knees.

“Run little rabbit. Run.”

Nick found he could move again. Scrambling on his hands and knees, he clawed his way up the slope, stumbled to his feet, and ran.

PETER LED THE Devils homeward to Deviltree. As he jogged through the night, he tried to keep his mind focused on tomorrow, away from thoughts of Abraham. The witch had helped them find him. The boy’s decapitated body hung from a tree out in the burning field, naked, mutilated. The witch had almost been kindly to Peter in his grief. It was her land, her swamp that the Flesh-eaters had so boldly trespassed. She was ready to fight, anxious for blood. So it was all set. Tomorrow, Peter thought. Tomorrow we end it.

They crested the trail and Peter saw Deviltree below. He stopped. The door to the fort stood open, Tanngnost’s tall figure silhouetted in its frame, an ax in his hand.

What now? Peter wondered and sprinted down. As he neared, he caught sight of the troll’s anguished features and slowed to a walk.

Tanngnost tried to speak, but seemed capable of only shaking his head, yet his eyes told Peter all he needed to know. Peter tried to shove past. The old troll grabbed him. “Peter,” Tanngnost called. “Peter, wait. You should —”

Peter tore loose and pushed into the chamber, saw the blankets, the blood on the floor, on the walls. He saw Sekeu’s copper-colored hand curling out from beneath the blankets and fell to his knees. He reached for her hand, hesitated, afraid to touch her, then slowly clasped her hand in his. It was cold.

“Sekeu,” Peter whispered and started to pull the blanket back from her face. Cricket put her hand on the blanket. “No,” she said sternly.

“Peter,” Tanngnost said, his voice tender. “It was the darkness. It took Nick. I’m sorry. It just happened…so fast.”