The Child Thief

“Trying to find higher ground,” he lied.

“There is no high ground.”

“We shall see.”

“Bring me the demon child,” the Reverend said coolly.

The Captain felt Danny press against him, the boy’s hand tighten in his grip.

“Demon child?” the Captain said, and, realizing he was almost shouting, forced himself to lower his voice. “Daniel has led us to the sorceress. Has proven himself free of any demons.” The Captain let his hand drop to the hilt of his sword. He continued to withdraw, one step, then another.

The Reverend’s eye blazed. “We’ll let God be the judge of that. Now bring me the boy.”

When the Captain didn’t comply, the Reverend nodded to Ox. The giant and a dozen men fanned out, surrounding the Captain.

The Captain looked from man to man, searching for a loyal face. He found none. These men were scared, fearing for their immortal souls—they’d do whatever the Reverend asked. There’s nothing for it, the Captain thought. If he drew his sword, both Daniel and he would be dead in an instant. He whispered to the boy, “I’ll not leave you. I promise.”

The men approached warily, keeping a keen eye on the Captain. Ox pointed his sword at the Captain’s throat while a guard pulled Danny away. “And his weapons,” Ox said. The Captain eyed him sharply as he was stripped of his sword and knife. Once the Captain was disarmed, Ox grinned and smacked the Captain twice lightly on the cheek. “Good man.”

Ox yanked the boy over to the Lady. He snatched the loose end of the rope tied about the Lady and looped it around the boy’s neck, binding them together. Danny let out a strangled cry as the giant jerked it tight. Ox slapped Danny on the side of the head. “Stop your whining, brat.”

The Captain clenched his hands into fists, fought to hold himself in check. He felt sure they’d all be dead soon. None of this should matter, but it did.

“ANGELS!” a man cried, his voice breaking with emotion. He pointed out across the water. “A city of angels.”

As the fog swirled away, towers of glittering, spiraling lights materialized out of the night.

“The Kingdom of Heaven,” the Reverend called, raising his arms out before him. He fell down to his knees, tears falling from his eyes. “God’s Kingdom has come for us at last!”

The Captain found himself questioning his own senses. Could this be Heaven? He saw lights in the sky, some hovering, some blinking, others shooting along. Were those indeed angels? He heard a horn blaring somewhere in the distance. The breeze picked up, and he caught strange, unfamiliar smells, similar to oil and turpentine mayhap, and familiar smells as well, of fish, garbage, and sewage, like the canals of Venice. Did Heaven smell of sewage? The Captain didn’t think so.

The horn again, louder, closer, but not like any horn he had ever heard before. Again, a long, continuous burst, this time much closer, much louder. Whatever it was, it was heading their way. The Captain searched through the last traces of the mist. There, a great glow coming toward them out of the night!

“A vessel,” someone shouted.

Yes, thought the Captain, he could hear the water plowing against its bow, could see two levels of lanterns along its port side; this was a vessel, a magnificent vessel.

The Reverend got up off his knees and walked toward the approaching vessel, his arms outstretched. “The Lord has come for us.”

NICK SAW THE Manhattan skyline break through the Mist, close enough he could just make out a few figures milling about the docks. The sight caused them to stop in their tracks, but only for a moment, as the land was disappearing beneath their feet. At this point, they were barely staying ahead of the tide.

“There they are!” Peter hissed, and pointed. And so they were. At least seventy Flesh-eaters clumped together on a spot of high ground.

Nick had no idea what the plan was. There was nothing they could do against that many men, and they’d all be in the harbor soon anyway. But this didn’t seem to slow Peter down; he sprinted headlong after them, leaving the rest of them racing to catch up and Tanngnost huffing and puffing not to be left behind.

A horn blast broke the silence. A ferry! Nick thought. It sounded nearby. There! He could see its lights and…oh no, it looked like it was going to crash right into the Flesh-eaters! Nick recognized it at once as one of the Staten Island ferries. The ferry appeared to be trying to turn, trying to avoid a landmass that shouldn’t even be there. The men leaped back, scrambling out of the way as the ferry slid to ground. A moment later, they were climbing up the front deck and boarding the ferry. This should prove interesting, Nick thought.

The barghest raced past, followed by the Devils and elves, all heading for the ferry. Nick realized that if he didn’t get onboard he’d be going for a late-night swim, and took off after them.

The ferry reversed its engines and the water began to boil. The stern swung about, broadsiding the bank. Peter leaped onto the railing at the rear of the boat; the rest of the Devils and elves followed suit, then the barghest. Cricket splashed through the knee-high water until Peter pulled her up. Nick got a leg on deck, heard girlish giggles, and watched the witch and her daughters crawl up the sideboard like spiders.

Tanngnost brought up the rear, his long, galloping lope splashing through the swirling tide. The troll got a hand on deck and Peter, Cutter, and Huck helped haul him onboard just as the ferry pulled away into open water.

Now what? Nick wondered, and watched the last of the island disappearing into the bay. It wasn’t sinking, but crumbling and dissolving, like stirring cocoa powder into milk. Sparkling phosphorescent vapors bubbled to the surface and evaporated into the air.

Nick thought he would’ve been glad to see the last of Avalon, but now, as an unexpected forlornness clutched him, he realized he didn’t, at least not like this. He felt he was watching the very heart of the world dying, disappearing, and sinking away forever.

PART V Ulfger

Chapter Twenty-Five God’s House

The Captain ran his hand along a girder. A ship of floating steel, he marveled. He glanced from light fixture to light fixture. Light without flame. These things were indeed miraculous, but they were not miracles. There was an explanation. These men and women were just people, not lost souls on their way to salvation, nor were they angels, despite the miraculous city or marvelous ship. He watched a balding man with sagging jowls and blotchy skin backing away, falling over his own feet as he stumbled up the narrow stairs to the second level. No, most certainly not angels.

The fore cabin had been full when they’d boarded. But once the passengers had gotten a good look at the bedraggled crew of castaways, they’d quickly scrambled to the back of the ship or upper decks. Even now the Captain could see a few horrified but curious faces peeking at them from around walls and down the stairwells. He noticed there was one passenger who had not given up her seat, an elderly woman wrapped in a fuzzy yellow afghan. She didn’t look so much horrified as simply perturbed.

The Captain walked over to the old woman. “Madam, may I?” He indicated the vacant seat next to her. She