An Artificial Night
Page 44
“Yeah, baby,” I said. “It’s me.”
That was all the confirmation she needed. Jessica came running out of the back of the room, towing Andrew along with her, and flung her arms around me. My height—or lack thereof—didn’t seem to matter; I’d said the right words. She buried her face against my shoulder, sobbing, “I was so scared.”
“I know, baby,” I said, stroking her hair with my free hand. I looked down at Andrew, who had switched his grip from Jessica’s arm to my belt. “You okay?”
“We gonna go home now?” he asked. “No more bad mans?”
I nodded. “Yeah. We’re going home. We’re all going home.” I looked up, asking Raj, “How many of you are there?”
“Many,” he said, not even trying to hide his exhaustion. “Five from my uncle’s Court, and more that I don’t know.”
“There’s at least twenty, Auntie Birdie,” Jessica whispered. “They’re real scared.”
Oh, root and branch. My bargain with Blind Michael only covered my kids; that was all he’d promised me. And there was no way in hell I could leave the others behind.
“Everyone get up and come on,” I said. “We’re getting out of here.”
Children are children whether or not they have pointed ears, and sometimes the illusion of authority is all they need. They broke away from the walls and walked toward us, sniffling and crying as they came. Jessica was right; there were more than twenty of them, a mixed bag of changelings and purebloods. They were alone, and justifiably terrified of what was going to happen. I couldn’t have left them behind if I wanted to.
“Quentin, Raj, each of you take a group of about ten,” I said, looking to the two who seemed least likely to fall apart. “I’ll take care of the rest. Spike, keep an eye out for guards, okay?” The rose goblin rattled its thorns and leaped from my shoulder, streaking out of the hall.
That was the only real precaution I could take. Offering a silent prayer to any gods who might have time to listen to a changeling who didn’t know when to quit, I turned and led our motley group out into the shadows of Blind Michael’s artificial night. If we were lucky, we’d live to see another dawn.
FIFTEEN
THE SMALLEST CHILDREN WERE THE FIRST TO TIRE. They faltered and fell, and the larger kids picked them up and carried them without needing to be told. They knew that unless we worked together, we were lost. I surveyed them grimly as we walked across the plains. Most were barefoot, and more than a few were wounded; they’d never survive any kind of real journey. I had no idea how I was going to keep them calm and moving long enough to get them home. For the moment, that could wait. My main concern had to be getting them out of the open and out of the reach of Blind Michael’s men.
Just as a precaution, I made everyone hold hands, forming clumps that led, eventually, to leaders holding onto my belt. If the candle could do anything to cover us all, it would be a blessing.
The forest seemed to reach out to meet us as we made our way across the plains. Whatever power Acacia had in her husband’s lands was working for us, thank Maeve, and as the trees grew closer, Quentin, Raj, and I urged the children to walk faster, moving them toward safety. It wasn’t until the last of them was under cover that I really started to breathe again. The hard part was still ahead of us, but we’d cleared the first hurdle.
Helen—the Hob who escaped with Raj—was one of the worst off. Her leg was sprained when the Riders took her back, and after watching her walk, I was afraid her ankle might be broken. Despite that, she’d shown a real gift for calming the smaller children, and once we were in the trees, she settled down with half a dozen of them, humming lullabies in an attempt to get them to sleep. I hoped she’d succeed, because they’d need the rest. We had a long way to go.
Quentin and Raj approached as I stood at the edge of the trees, moving up from opposite sides. Raj was walking more easily now that we were away from the hall, and some elements of natural Cait Sidhe cockiness were creeping into his gestures. Good. I didn’t know him well, but no kid deserves to be broken, especially not by a monster like Blind Michael.
“How is everyone?” I asked, looking to Quentin.
“Shaken, but holding together,” Quentin said. “Most of them seem to think they’ve already been rescued, and that this is just the break before we head home.”
“Encourage that; I’d rather they were optimistic than hysterical.” I looked to Raj. “Helen’s pretty hurt. There weren’t any healers in my group or Quentin’s—how about yours?”
“No, and I’m not sure how much farther she can go,” Raj said, expression grave. “How far are we from the exit? We may need to carry her.”
“Damn. Is she strong enough to do some basic sewing-magic?” Hobs are hearth-spirits; their magic focuses almost entirely on cleaning and patching things. They can wash and darn a sock with a wave of their hand, using stitches too small for the human eye to see.
“I think so.”
“Good. Get any clothes the other kids have to spare—socks, jackets, whatever they can afford to give up—and see if she can sew it into a litter. We’ll drag her if we have to.”
“Can’t we just use some branches?” asked Quentin.
I eyed him. “Do you want to explain that to Acacia?”
He paled. “Okay, no.”
“Good.” I looked back to Raj. “Can you keep everyone calm until we get back?”
His eyes widened, pupils narrowing in surprise. “Get back? Where are you going?”
“To get my girlfriend,” Quentin said. His voice was sharp but calm.
“Your girlfriend?” Raj glanced toward Helen, almost automatically. “Why wasn’t she with the others?”
“Because she’s human,” I said. Raj turned to stare at me, ears slicking back. “Blind Michael takes fae kids to be his Riders. He takes the mortal ones to be his horses.”
“That’s not going to happen to Katie,” Quentin said.
I shook my head. “No, it’s not. But that means we have to leave for a little while. Raj, can you watch things here?” Even though I barely knew the kid, he and Quentin were the closest thing I had to lieutenants. I couldn’t abandon the children if Raj wasn’t willing to take care of them, but I couldn’t let Quentin go after Katie alone, either.
That was all the confirmation she needed. Jessica came running out of the back of the room, towing Andrew along with her, and flung her arms around me. My height—or lack thereof—didn’t seem to matter; I’d said the right words. She buried her face against my shoulder, sobbing, “I was so scared.”
“I know, baby,” I said, stroking her hair with my free hand. I looked down at Andrew, who had switched his grip from Jessica’s arm to my belt. “You okay?”
“We gonna go home now?” he asked. “No more bad mans?”
I nodded. “Yeah. We’re going home. We’re all going home.” I looked up, asking Raj, “How many of you are there?”
“Many,” he said, not even trying to hide his exhaustion. “Five from my uncle’s Court, and more that I don’t know.”
“There’s at least twenty, Auntie Birdie,” Jessica whispered. “They’re real scared.”
Oh, root and branch. My bargain with Blind Michael only covered my kids; that was all he’d promised me. And there was no way in hell I could leave the others behind.
“Everyone get up and come on,” I said. “We’re getting out of here.”
Children are children whether or not they have pointed ears, and sometimes the illusion of authority is all they need. They broke away from the walls and walked toward us, sniffling and crying as they came. Jessica was right; there were more than twenty of them, a mixed bag of changelings and purebloods. They were alone, and justifiably terrified of what was going to happen. I couldn’t have left them behind if I wanted to.
“Quentin, Raj, each of you take a group of about ten,” I said, looking to the two who seemed least likely to fall apart. “I’ll take care of the rest. Spike, keep an eye out for guards, okay?” The rose goblin rattled its thorns and leaped from my shoulder, streaking out of the hall.
That was the only real precaution I could take. Offering a silent prayer to any gods who might have time to listen to a changeling who didn’t know when to quit, I turned and led our motley group out into the shadows of Blind Michael’s artificial night. If we were lucky, we’d live to see another dawn.
FIFTEEN
THE SMALLEST CHILDREN WERE THE FIRST TO TIRE. They faltered and fell, and the larger kids picked them up and carried them without needing to be told. They knew that unless we worked together, we were lost. I surveyed them grimly as we walked across the plains. Most were barefoot, and more than a few were wounded; they’d never survive any kind of real journey. I had no idea how I was going to keep them calm and moving long enough to get them home. For the moment, that could wait. My main concern had to be getting them out of the open and out of the reach of Blind Michael’s men.
Just as a precaution, I made everyone hold hands, forming clumps that led, eventually, to leaders holding onto my belt. If the candle could do anything to cover us all, it would be a blessing.
The forest seemed to reach out to meet us as we made our way across the plains. Whatever power Acacia had in her husband’s lands was working for us, thank Maeve, and as the trees grew closer, Quentin, Raj, and I urged the children to walk faster, moving them toward safety. It wasn’t until the last of them was under cover that I really started to breathe again. The hard part was still ahead of us, but we’d cleared the first hurdle.
Helen—the Hob who escaped with Raj—was one of the worst off. Her leg was sprained when the Riders took her back, and after watching her walk, I was afraid her ankle might be broken. Despite that, she’d shown a real gift for calming the smaller children, and once we were in the trees, she settled down with half a dozen of them, humming lullabies in an attempt to get them to sleep. I hoped she’d succeed, because they’d need the rest. We had a long way to go.
Quentin and Raj approached as I stood at the edge of the trees, moving up from opposite sides. Raj was walking more easily now that we were away from the hall, and some elements of natural Cait Sidhe cockiness were creeping into his gestures. Good. I didn’t know him well, but no kid deserves to be broken, especially not by a monster like Blind Michael.
“How is everyone?” I asked, looking to Quentin.
“Shaken, but holding together,” Quentin said. “Most of them seem to think they’ve already been rescued, and that this is just the break before we head home.”
“Encourage that; I’d rather they were optimistic than hysterical.” I looked to Raj. “Helen’s pretty hurt. There weren’t any healers in my group or Quentin’s—how about yours?”
“No, and I’m not sure how much farther she can go,” Raj said, expression grave. “How far are we from the exit? We may need to carry her.”
“Damn. Is she strong enough to do some basic sewing-magic?” Hobs are hearth-spirits; their magic focuses almost entirely on cleaning and patching things. They can wash and darn a sock with a wave of their hand, using stitches too small for the human eye to see.
“I think so.”
“Good. Get any clothes the other kids have to spare—socks, jackets, whatever they can afford to give up—and see if she can sew it into a litter. We’ll drag her if we have to.”
“Can’t we just use some branches?” asked Quentin.
I eyed him. “Do you want to explain that to Acacia?”
He paled. “Okay, no.”
“Good.” I looked back to Raj. “Can you keep everyone calm until we get back?”
His eyes widened, pupils narrowing in surprise. “Get back? Where are you going?”
“To get my girlfriend,” Quentin said. His voice was sharp but calm.
“Your girlfriend?” Raj glanced toward Helen, almost automatically. “Why wasn’t she with the others?”
“Because she’s human,” I said. Raj turned to stare at me, ears slicking back. “Blind Michael takes fae kids to be his Riders. He takes the mortal ones to be his horses.”
“That’s not going to happen to Katie,” Quentin said.
I shook my head. “No, it’s not. But that means we have to leave for a little while. Raj, can you watch things here?” Even though I barely knew the kid, he and Quentin were the closest thing I had to lieutenants. I couldn’t abandon the children if Raj wasn’t willing to take care of them, but I couldn’t let Quentin go after Katie alone, either.
