Shadow Hand (Tales of Goldstone Wood Book #6)(104)

“No!” said Foxbrush, raising both his hands. “No, I’m not king of anywhere. They’ve not crowned me Eldest in my own time, and—”

“They will. And you will feel then the tie to your kingdom that binds you throughout all ages. You are King of Now and Then. You are King of Here and There. And you will destroy Cren Cru.”

She blinked and then she was gone, taking Lioness with her. Foxbrush stood in firefly light beneath the spreading fig trees. But he did not feel alone, despite the loneliness pressing in on all sides, hungry and tearing and lost. He backed away, disoriented, uncertain where to turn even to find his way back to the Eldest’s House.

A voice on the wind in the far, far distance called mournfully, Foxbrush? Where are you, Foxbrush?

He spun toward the sound. And found Daylily standing behind him.





9


THE MOMENT SUN EAGLE TOOK DAYLILY’S HAND and pulled her onto the Faerie Path, she felt the wolf attacking her from the inside. She could feel the physical rip of the great stakes to which the wolf was chained pulling up from the soil of her mind, twisting and tearing as they went. The chains themselves strained to the point of breaking. Then one of them broke.

Daylily screamed and with surprising strength pulled herself free of Sun Eagle’s hand and collapsed there in the Wood. The trees backed far away, afraid of her and of what the stone around her neck represented. But they cast their shadows long, and it was black as night, save for the gleam of the Bronze.

Sun Eagle stood over her. He said, “Get up.”

“I can’t,” she gasped, and her voice was that of the wolf. “I can’t get up! I’m still caught in these dragon-cursed chains!”

“Not you. Her!”

“No!” snarled the wolf through Daylily’s mouth. “You’ve done enough to her! It is my turn now!”

But Sun Eagle knelt and took hold of Daylily by the hair on top of her head. He yanked her face back and smacked her across the jaw, drawing blood where her teeth cut into her lip. Then he dropped her, stood, and stepped back.

Daylily slowly pushed herself upright and gazed at Sun Eagle through the tangles of her hair. “What are we?” she asked, and it was neither the wolf who spoke nor the voice of the master inside her. It was her own voice, soft and tremulous. “What have we become?”

“Strong,” said Sun Eagle. “We have become strong.”

“You killed . . . I . . . killed . . .” She ground her teeth, unable to breathe. Sun Eagle stepped to her side once more and put his hands around her, helping her to her feet. Her body shuddered through a breath, and she leaned heavily against him.

“Twelfth Night is near,” said he. “It is time you learned, Initiate. It is time you knew.”


They progressed in silence through the Wood, following the Bronze. Their wounds pained them, but they moved as though they felt nothing. The dominant force inside them did not heed pain.

They crossed into the Near World, back into Southlands, and still their Path led them on. The bronze stone around Daylily’s neck heated until it scalded the skin over her heart, but she did not try to move it. She followed her Advocate until at last, even as Foxbrush had stood with Nidawi, she stood before the Mound of her master. The Mound she had seen in nightmarish visions and hoped, upon waking, had been nothing more than a nightmare.

The Mound into which she had sent children.

Cren Cru sucked at the life of the land. And though he had no face, it seemed to Daylily as though he smiled upon her a hungry smile. And he said, using her own mouth: Mine.

“I was lost in the Wood Between,” said Sun Eagle, standing stern beside her. “I was young, and I knew nothing of immortality or the Far World. I was ignorant and weak and small. I should have died. But Dinhrod the Stone found me, and he became my Advocate. I was brought into the Circle of Twelve and given the Bronze. And now, all those who dwell in the Far World fear me.”

Fear us.

“But,” said Daylily, struggling to find words of her own, for she felt as if her mouth no longer belonged to her, nor her voice nor her heart nor the blood in her veins. “But you told me Dinhrod the Stone is dead. You were stained with his blood.”

“He died on Thirteenth Dawn,” said Sun Eagle. “Twelve days and twelve nights, we gather the firstborn and present them as tithe. On Thirteenth Dawn, the Advocates themselves contend for the right to enter the Mound and become one with the master. Dinhrod was not victorious. He was slain by his brethren, and he died in my arms. Another won the honor to enter the Mound.”

Mine.

Daylily stared across the way at the great, thorn-clad growth of Cren Cru. She saw a little door, scarcely more than a hole in the side of the hill. Through it poured an awful stench. She remembered then with dreadful clarity all those nightmares she had tried to forget, all those children whom she had helped to carry, helped to lead.

The tithe of firstborn. The spilling of blood to make new life. A home. A stronghold among the worlds. We must, we will, we need to possess!

“Twelfth Night is near, when we will make the final offering,” said Sun Eagle. “Then, come Thirteenth Dawn, I too will fight. I will battle my brother and sister Advocates for the right to pass through Cren Cru’s door.”

There was deadness in his voice. Daylily looked up at him, and in his eyes, however briefly, she thought she glimpsed . . . what was it? Desperation? Fear?