The Child Thief

The elves had climbed up past the Hall of Kings, to the very peak of the mountain, but now there was no place left for them to flee. He could see them—down on the side of the ledge where even a billy goat wouldn’t dare venture—clinging to the rocks against the buffeting wind.

Ulfger couldn’t get to them, not with his sword anyway, but he could feel their fear and locked on it, made them shake with it, made their teeth ache with it, could feel them weakening, slipping.

White-hot pain suddenly flashed in Ulfger’s head. He let out a cry. It came again, like someone striking his helmet. “STOP!” he bawled and clutched the helmet. He fell to one knee. A tremor rumbled beneath his feet. He saw dark smoke rising from the valley. It appeared to be coming from the Haven. Ulfger reached out with his mind, searched, but he didn’t need his helmet, he saw their torches far below—an army of Flesh-eaters marching away from the Haven. “NO!” he screamed. “No, this can’t be! What are they doing here? They can’t be here!” And all at once he understood what the pain was from. They felled the Tree. He let out a wail and began to shake. They’ve cut down Avallach’s Tree!

The mountain rumbled again, shaking so hard that Ulfger had to reach out to brace himself. He saw boulders break away and tumble down the steep cliffs. Ulfger found his feet and scrambled back down the ledge. By the time he’d reached the Hall of Kings, the flames from the Haven lit up the entire valley.

He stumbled into the chamber and came face to face with the broken tombs. Scattered bones and busted skulls greeted him, their dark sockets accusing him.

“No—NO! This is not my doing!” He kicked the skulls, tripped, and fell against the boat. He saw his father lying twisted in the hull. His father’s eyes bore into him, sad and pitying.

The mountain trembled again. Cracks appeared all along the chamber and one of the windows broke and fell away.

“See what they’ve done?” Ulfger sobbed. “See. You laughed at me, but now look for yourself. They brought ruin, Father. See?”

All at once he heard voices. A billion voices, the cries of all of those that had ever lived and died on Avalon. Their wails echoed inside the helmet until his head rung with it, pounding his skull until he thought his ears would bleed. Ulfger screamed, tore off his helmet, flung it at his father. “I DON’T WANT IT! I DON’T WANT IT!”

A section of the ceiling came crashing in, showering Ulfger with stone and glass, exposing the sky above. He climbed into the boat, falling atop the dried fleshy remains of his father. He crawled beneath the cadaver, curled up in the bottom of the boat, and began to claw at his own face. “Take me with you,” Ulfger bawled. “Father, please, please take me with you.”

A WAIL FILLED the night. It came from everywhere, from the very land itself. Nick caught up with Peter.

Another wail came, followed by a tremor beneath their feet.

“What is it?” Nick asked.

“The Lady,” Peter whispered, his face stricken, and dashed up the trail.

Nick raced after him, but Peter was running all out and soon he lost sight of him. It wasn’t hard to figure out where Peter was going, though. A red glow grew above the tree line and Nick raced toward it.

The grade steepened, Nick’s lungs felt on fire, his heart thundered in his chest, the muscles in his legs burned, yet he pushed on, running as hard as he could. He saw the sky was dancing with fireflies, but when he caught the smell of burning leaves, felt hot ash on his face, he understood those were not fireflies but sparks. Nick passed the elven hall, now little more than charred ruins, went through the courtyards, the small canyon, and up the ridge, dashing around the small brush fires.

He found Peter up to his knees in a small pond. The murky water looked red. Blood, Nick thought. It looks like blood.

It wasn’t until Nick saw the floating bodies piling up on one end of the pond like some macabre dam that he understood that the towering ledges and waterfalls were gone, had crumbled in on themselves, that he was standing where the Haven had been. Water now gushed from the rocks like geysers while the treetops burned. Then he saw it—Avallach’s Tree, its limbs curling inward like rigor mortis setting into a corpse, the white bark peeling away exposing bone-colored wood and shriveled veins.

Peter splashed about between the boulders, frantically gathering something from the bloody water. Nick walked up to the bank. Apples bobbed about the pond. Peter’s pockets and pouch were stuffed full of them. He carried as many as he could hold and still tried to gather more. They spilled from his arms every time he scooped another one up.

Peter glanced at Nick, his eyes wild, desperate. “Help me! We have to save them. Every one of them.”

Nick watched the body of a nymph drift by, half her face hacked away, one eye staring at him. Another tremor rumbled beneath them and several large boulders came crashing down not a hundred yards away. “Peter, we need to go.”

Peter seemed not to hear him.

A strong breeze whipped through the valley, blowing Nick’s hair from his eyes. Nick thought it carried an oddly familiar scent, something besides the smell of burning leaves. At first he couldn’t place it, then his eyes widened. It smelled like the city—like New York! He heard a gull cry and glanced up. Was that a star, or just ash? Nick dashed a few yards back down the trail for a better view. There, faintly—a star! The clouds drifted and he saw more.

Something fluttered by Nick’s ear. A blue glow zipped by. The pixie, he thought. She sputtered right up to his nose and boinked it. “Oww,” Nick said.

She flew a short way down to the path and lit upon the ground. She flickered on and off and waved him over. Nick followed her and bent down. He spotted the men’s boot prints, dozens of them in the soft gray mud. Then he saw what she was pointing at: a set of hoof prints. It took Nick a moment. “The troll!”

“PETER!” Nick called. Peter didn’t look up. Nick rushed up the path. “Peter!”

Peter was on his knees on the bank, holding something. Nick noticed he’d dropped the apples, they lay scattered about in the mud.

Nick shook the boy’s shoulder. “The troll and Cricket—the Devils. They went that way.” He pointed. “We might catch them if we hurry. Let’s go—hurry!”

Peter slowly looked up, his face confused. “What?”

“C’mon. We have to catch them!”

“Why?” Peter said, shaking his head, his voice flat and lifeless. “It’s over.”

“What?”

Peter held up a golden eight-point star. “See?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Her light, it’s gone out.” He cradled the star to his chest. “The Lady…she’s dead.”

Another tremor, and a cliff crumbled, sending a massive rock slide crashing into the valley. The water was now bubbling up all around them.

“We gotta get out of here!” Nick said.

Peter didn’t move, just stared at the necklace.

“Peter, get up!” Nick tugged Peter’s arm.

Peter jerked back. “It doesn’t matter!” he cried, his voice breaking. “None of it matters now. The Lady was Avalon. Without her there can never be another Avalon.” Then low, so Nick could barely hear, “I will never sit by her side…never.” Peter suddenly grabbed Nick, clutched his arm so hard that Nick winced. Peter’s eyes were wide, intense, crazy. “They died! All of them. Died for nothing!”

“Yep, I know,” Nick said. “You’re a real son of a bitch. Now that that’s settled can we get the hell out of here?”

Peter let out a wail and doubled over like he’d been stabbed in the stomach.

“Ah shit, Peter. Goddamn it, cut it out. C’mon now, get up!” Nick gave him a tug. Peter put up a weak struggle, then just quit, all the fight gone.