An Artificial Night
Page 70
“What are they?”
“When you leave—and you’d better do it soon—don’t look back, no matter what you see or hear. You can take any help you find, but you can’t ask for it; it has to be offered.”
“So they’re the same as before. Got it. Anything else?” I asked sourly.
“Actually, yes.”
I sighed. “I had to ask, didn’t I?”
“I’m serious; this is important,” she said. “You have twenty-four hours, no more. If you can’t get there and back in that time, you won’t get there at all, and the Rose Road will be closed to you forever.”
“But—”
“That means more than you think it does. You can’t take the Old Road; the Blood Road would kill you; the Tidal Road is lost for anything bigger than bringing you to me. It’s this road or none, and you’d better go.” She crossed to a small wardrobe, opening it. “Lily thinks too much about appearances—you can’t go in what you’re wearing. Here.” She tossed me a sweater, a pair of black leggings and a belt with an attached sheath. “Get changed and get out.”
“Luidaeg, I—”
“Toby, do it.” Something in her expression told me not to argue.
Getting the robe off was easy. Getting the sweater on without dropping the candle or setting my hair on fire was hard, but after a few false starts, I managed to get everything in place. I straightened, shoving my knife into the sheath. “Now what?” I asked.
“Now you leave.” She pointed to the door. “Go that way. Now.”
“Are you—”
“When you reach Shadowed Hills, tell Luna to send the horse-girl to me. I’ll try to help.” She paused. “If you get yourself killed, I’ll hurt you in ways you can’t even imagine.”
“I—”
“Go!”
I backed away, stopping when my shoulders hit the wall. The Luidaeg folded her arms, glaring until I found the doorknob, fumbled it open, and backed out into the hall. The door slammed shut in my face. The hall seemed to stretch as I made my way to the front door, the shadows growing darker and harder to deny. I gripped my candle and kept walking. If I’d been the only thing at stake, I might have wavered, but it wasn’t just me. Stacy didn’t deserve to lose her daughter; Quentin didn’t deserve to lose his girlfriend. And I was going to get them back.
I was halfway down the hall when the screaming started, hitting a high, endlessly angry note, as pitiless as the sea. I shivered, but didn’t look back. I’m not Orpheus. I’m not that easy to trick.
The front door opened when I twisted the knob, and I stepped out into the cold air of the September night. I frowned, muttering, “There was sunlight inside . . .” Now time was screwing around with me, too. Just what I needed. I had twenty-four hours to get from downtown San Francisco to Pleasant Hill, break into Blind Michael’s lands, rescue Karen, and get out. All without cash or a car, when I wasn’t allowed to call for help. Right.
“Piece of cake,” I said, and started walking.
The universe doesn’t like to be mocked. I was halfway to the main road when I heard engines rev behind me. Mindful of the Luidaeg’s words, I didn’t look back; I just picked up the pace, scanning for a place to hide. Nothing was really presenting itself—the street was blank, empty of both cover and assistance. The engines got louder, and I broke into a run, forcing myself to keep my eyes fixed firmly ahead.
I made it almost two blocks before the motorcycles surrounded me, engines gunning with a sound that was suspiciously like the nickering of horses. The Riders grinned down at me from behind their visors, confident in their victory. There were three of them and just one of me, and there was nowhere left for me to run.
TWENTY-FOUR
“OH, OAK AND ASH,” I muttered, stepping backward. My candle apparently didn’t work the same way outside of Blind Michael’s lands, because it clearly wasn’t hiding me. The Riders had me surrounded, and even if I could make it to the Luidaeg’s place before they grabbed me, turning around would take me off the Rose Road. I was stuck.
Looking around, I said, “You know your timing sucks, right?”
The Riders laughed, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. They knew they had me.
That didn’t mean I had to go quietly. I drew my knife, falling into a defensive stance. “Come on, damn you,” I snapped. “I don’t have time to play. Come on!”
They were starting to look uneasy, glancing to each other and back to me. Blind Michael’s Riders weren’t used to prey that fought back. I thought about using that confusion against them, but dismissed the idea. They weren’t that confused, and I wasn’t that good.
“Come on!” I shouted. That did it. The engines revved with a sound like hoofbeats, and they were suddenly charging me. I held my ground. If I was lucky, they’d kill me.
The first Rider’s elbow hit me in the shoulder, sending me sprawling. My knife skittered out of my hand and into the gutter when I hit the ground, leaving me unarmed. I scrambled to my feet, and the second blow hit me in the side of the head, knocking me back down. I fell hard. When I tried to get up again, I couldn’t; my head was spinning, and black spots were blocking large portions of the landscape. I rolled onto my side and curled up, trying to minimize their target area while I waited to see whether my head would clear.
And a half-recognizable voice called, “Close your eyes!” from behind me. I listen to commands from the shadows, especially when I don’t have any other choice. I screwed my eyes closed, curling up even more tightly.
I didn’t see what came next. Most of the time, I’m glad of that fact. Then there are the times late at night when my mind tries to fill in the pictures that go with the sounds, and I wish I had seen what happened. It couldn’t have been as bad as the things I can imagine. It couldn’t.
Nothing could be that bad.
It began with a rising scream like a Banshee’s wail, but wilder and angrier. Then it cut off, replaced by the sound of smashing and the bloody softness of rending flesh. Screams and snarls filled the air. I lifted my head, and ducked again as a chunk of armor spun past me. Right. I couldn’t stand, and I couldn’t run;I was just going to wait quietly and hope that whatever was attacking the Riders didn’t want a side order of changeling for dessert.
“When you leave—and you’d better do it soon—don’t look back, no matter what you see or hear. You can take any help you find, but you can’t ask for it; it has to be offered.”
“So they’re the same as before. Got it. Anything else?” I asked sourly.
“Actually, yes.”
I sighed. “I had to ask, didn’t I?”
“I’m serious; this is important,” she said. “You have twenty-four hours, no more. If you can’t get there and back in that time, you won’t get there at all, and the Rose Road will be closed to you forever.”
“But—”
“That means more than you think it does. You can’t take the Old Road; the Blood Road would kill you; the Tidal Road is lost for anything bigger than bringing you to me. It’s this road or none, and you’d better go.” She crossed to a small wardrobe, opening it. “Lily thinks too much about appearances—you can’t go in what you’re wearing. Here.” She tossed me a sweater, a pair of black leggings and a belt with an attached sheath. “Get changed and get out.”
“Luidaeg, I—”
“Toby, do it.” Something in her expression told me not to argue.
Getting the robe off was easy. Getting the sweater on without dropping the candle or setting my hair on fire was hard, but after a few false starts, I managed to get everything in place. I straightened, shoving my knife into the sheath. “Now what?” I asked.
“Now you leave.” She pointed to the door. “Go that way. Now.”
“Are you—”
“When you reach Shadowed Hills, tell Luna to send the horse-girl to me. I’ll try to help.” She paused. “If you get yourself killed, I’ll hurt you in ways you can’t even imagine.”
“I—”
“Go!”
I backed away, stopping when my shoulders hit the wall. The Luidaeg folded her arms, glaring until I found the doorknob, fumbled it open, and backed out into the hall. The door slammed shut in my face. The hall seemed to stretch as I made my way to the front door, the shadows growing darker and harder to deny. I gripped my candle and kept walking. If I’d been the only thing at stake, I might have wavered, but it wasn’t just me. Stacy didn’t deserve to lose her daughter; Quentin didn’t deserve to lose his girlfriend. And I was going to get them back.
I was halfway down the hall when the screaming started, hitting a high, endlessly angry note, as pitiless as the sea. I shivered, but didn’t look back. I’m not Orpheus. I’m not that easy to trick.
The front door opened when I twisted the knob, and I stepped out into the cold air of the September night. I frowned, muttering, “There was sunlight inside . . .” Now time was screwing around with me, too. Just what I needed. I had twenty-four hours to get from downtown San Francisco to Pleasant Hill, break into Blind Michael’s lands, rescue Karen, and get out. All without cash or a car, when I wasn’t allowed to call for help. Right.
“Piece of cake,” I said, and started walking.
The universe doesn’t like to be mocked. I was halfway to the main road when I heard engines rev behind me. Mindful of the Luidaeg’s words, I didn’t look back; I just picked up the pace, scanning for a place to hide. Nothing was really presenting itself—the street was blank, empty of both cover and assistance. The engines got louder, and I broke into a run, forcing myself to keep my eyes fixed firmly ahead.
I made it almost two blocks before the motorcycles surrounded me, engines gunning with a sound that was suspiciously like the nickering of horses. The Riders grinned down at me from behind their visors, confident in their victory. There were three of them and just one of me, and there was nowhere left for me to run.
TWENTY-FOUR
“OH, OAK AND ASH,” I muttered, stepping backward. My candle apparently didn’t work the same way outside of Blind Michael’s lands, because it clearly wasn’t hiding me. The Riders had me surrounded, and even if I could make it to the Luidaeg’s place before they grabbed me, turning around would take me off the Rose Road. I was stuck.
Looking around, I said, “You know your timing sucks, right?”
The Riders laughed, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. They knew they had me.
That didn’t mean I had to go quietly. I drew my knife, falling into a defensive stance. “Come on, damn you,” I snapped. “I don’t have time to play. Come on!”
They were starting to look uneasy, glancing to each other and back to me. Blind Michael’s Riders weren’t used to prey that fought back. I thought about using that confusion against them, but dismissed the idea. They weren’t that confused, and I wasn’t that good.
“Come on!” I shouted. That did it. The engines revved with a sound like hoofbeats, and they were suddenly charging me. I held my ground. If I was lucky, they’d kill me.
The first Rider’s elbow hit me in the shoulder, sending me sprawling. My knife skittered out of my hand and into the gutter when I hit the ground, leaving me unarmed. I scrambled to my feet, and the second blow hit me in the side of the head, knocking me back down. I fell hard. When I tried to get up again, I couldn’t; my head was spinning, and black spots were blocking large portions of the landscape. I rolled onto my side and curled up, trying to minimize their target area while I waited to see whether my head would clear.
And a half-recognizable voice called, “Close your eyes!” from behind me. I listen to commands from the shadows, especially when I don’t have any other choice. I screwed my eyes closed, curling up even more tightly.
I didn’t see what came next. Most of the time, I’m glad of that fact. Then there are the times late at night when my mind tries to fill in the pictures that go with the sounds, and I wish I had seen what happened. It couldn’t have been as bad as the things I can imagine. It couldn’t.
Nothing could be that bad.
It began with a rising scream like a Banshee’s wail, but wilder and angrier. Then it cut off, replaced by the sound of smashing and the bloody softness of rending flesh. Screams and snarls filled the air. I lifted my head, and ducked again as a chunk of armor spun past me. Right. I couldn’t stand, and I couldn’t run;I was just going to wait quietly and hope that whatever was attacking the Riders didn’t want a side order of changeling for dessert.
