Shadow Keeper, page 17
"For your death?" Instead, she could claim his well-earned end. We made a good team there, unexpectedly.
She nods. "His mission."
I wrap both hands around the wooden cup, thinking back to the first time I met him in Austin. "He was sent to take you out. Is—was he a hit man?"
She laughs low. "No. He serves the crown. My—the queen's aid would have been anxious to know I didn't survive the human world. That's what he hoped when he sent me after you—to be rid of me."
"Why?"
She shakes her head. "It is a long story. Essentially, I failed a task that was set for me. Banishing me to the human realm was punishment."
"What task?"
A noise cuts us off. I marvel at the sound of it—so far away, yet I detected it so easily. I would do Elle's bidding for this miracle goop alone.
She silently gestures at me to follow. She collects her bow and arrows, crisscrossing them over her chest as she tiptoes to the broken window.
I skirt the glass, treading quietly, able to hear each footfall—what a strange sensation. I can even hear the rustle of leaves outside the window that could be the rummaging of a woodland critter or the arrival of an Ellyllon hit squad.
The door bangs open. I jump and spin, expecting to see a team with daggers out.
Elle leaps in front of me, landing in a crouch in the middle of the room with wings flared, blocking the intruder. I amazingly hear a low growl in her chest and imagine she has her lips pulled back, ready to tear into flesh.
I don't get my feet out from under me as fast as I lurch to get behind Elle. Tangling in the quilt, I tip onto the floor with my hands first. My head knocks into the bedside table.
Elle grabs me and drags me as she backs us from the door.
"You came back!" a female voice rejoices. "You redeemed yourself." Pride rings through the words. There’s so much more depth and emotion in the crystal-clear sounds than I’m used to hearing.
When Elle ducks through the window, sitting on the ledge, with a leg on either side so she can squeeze her wings through and stretch them out, I finally see who's arrived.
A woman stands there, hands to her cheeks, shock written across her age-softened features—and confusion as we retreat. She stares at Elle whose expression has hardened, although I sense a twinge of regret in her eyes.
"Aetyl?"
We pause for a heavy moment; then Elle reaches out, grabs me, and tips backward off the ledge, pulling me out of the opening with her.
"Aetyl!" The word tears from Elle's mother's throat, cracking her voice.
We're already gone, Elle wrapping me in her embrace with sure if harsh movements. She shifts as we fly, which impresses me a bit, into an oversized owl. I cling to her soft feathers and squeeze my eyes shut.
There was heartfelt emotion in her mother's reaction to seeing her daughter. I could tell there was a lot of complex history between them though. We can't assume she won't call in the hit squad or that they were on their way anyway.
If her mother was returning from her nightly activities, others could be too. It won't be long before they find the body and my severed bindings.
We need to get out of Underhill now before we're found and both sentenced to an unmerciful death. I pray Elle's friend is near and trustworthy.
Thankfully, it isn't long, though I strain my newly repaired ears for any indication of pursuers. I'm out of practice, and the Ellyllon, if Elle is any indication, excel at stealth. So, I step back and follow Elle quickly when we land in another part of unremarkable forest.
She approaches a stump and drops to her knees. She knocks on the top of the stump three times. We wait, me anxiously checking our surroundings.
"Maldach," she hisses with the vehemence of a swear. She stands and strides off.
I hurry after her. "Where are we going?" I whisper.
"They must be out hunting."
I pale. "We're going to their hunting grounds? What ... what do they eat?"
"You don't want to know."
I did not. "Why aren't we flying? Isn't that faster?"
In response she stops and morphs into a majestic deer, though the wings give her an eerie, nightmare Pegasus vibe, and drops low on her forelegs. I take the hint and climb onto her back. She stands, folds her wings back over my thighs, and takes off at a gallop. I yelp and drop low over her neck. The wind rushes through my ears in a novel song. Twigs snap under her thundering hooves, and, in the distance, an owl hoots and bugs chitter.
I'm so invested in the marvel of sound, I hear the change in terrain before I smell it, which is saying a lot, because the smell is atrocious. I've worked on sewage treatment plants and backed up toilets that were less caustic. The ground softens enough that Elle's hooves make a squelching sucking noise as she drags them back out each time. And her gait slows.
The slower pace allows me to pick my head up and confirm that we're approaching a peaty bog. Water percolates around each hoof as it sinks into the springy muck. I'd jump off to lighten her load and stop her sinking in so deep if I didn't think I'd sink in myself and slow us down even further.
Although sunrise approaches, a few orbs of glowing blue light float around the bog. "What is that?"
She can't answer me in her doe form. However, she takes us toward one. I grip her neck tighter, mesmerized by the sight, curious, wanting her to get there faster. It seems warm, comforting, a soft, peaceful kind of light that flickers ever so slightly but in a way that makes me feel like it's conversing with me, instead of irking me into fixing it, soothing and entrancing—
The light disappears in the clap of hands. "Elly?"
Elle shifts back into her usual form, causing me to slide off and land in the swamp water. I groan and pull myself to my feet, trying to shake the mud off my hands. My fresh coveralls are covered and soaked in several places.
"Puc," she replies with so much unsaid behind the one word.
I look between the two. "I'm Branwyn." I wave a dirty hand.
He drags big eyes from Elle to me. A stout man with thick, meaty legs that prevent him from sinking in, Puc's face is round under an extensive beard, ears large and hairy. His mouth is wide enough to fit an entire piece of New York-style pizza without folding it in half ... or, like, a skull. I've seen this creature before, in a way. Elle took this appearance in Airmen's Cave to give me and Jaz time to get out.
He raises his eyebrows at Elle.
She shakes her head. “We need to leave.”
He observes me thoughtfully. “Human world?”
“Yes.”
This time, when he looks at me, Puc smiles in a friendly fashion. "Pwca help."
I'm not sure if he's proclaiming what he will do or what he has done. Either way, it's refreshing to hear someone say the H-word for me instead of at me. "Thanks?"
He nods. "Come." He regrows the light in his hand, and even without his request, I would have followed. That orb entices, and I realize this monster must be an excellent hunter because I follow this human-eating stranger into the bog without a second thought.
Chapter
Twenty
HELP FAKE
The beautiful crystal full of hope and solitude vanishes. I blink back to myself, that reek of fermented decomposition swarming olfactory sense first. Fog rolls around us. Puc stands before the end of a fallen log decaying into the marsh. Elle silently gestures at me to join them.
It takes me a minute to round the decaying trunk, my limbs tired from fighting the suction of the saturated clay, which has soaked my clothes through. How long have we been walking? It managed to swallow a boot without my notice and pulled my sock half off. I should just give up on footwear.
Puc steps forward, right up into the hollowed opening surrounded by roots that reach like gnarled fingers for whoever wanders too deep into the swamp—and it gulps him down in a slurping gurgle.
I cry out.
Elle shoots me an exasperated look like the one I've seen Carmen throw Daz when she acts up in public. Then she also sinks into the quicksand or quickmud—whatever.
I balance on the edge of indecision, debating running. They hadn't shown any fear. It had been intentional. Other orbs in the mist around me bob closer, intrigued by the visitor in their hunting grounds.
I fling my hands up at my idiocy. I edge closer, sip in a deep breath, pinch my nose, and close my eyes, and hop in with both feet so I can't change my mind.
There was no trick. I slide through sludge at a slow pace, understanding what toothpaste experiences, occasional bits of gravel caught in the matrix scraping along my arms. Without warning, I'm spit out and drop like a rock onto rough, solid ground. I inhale petrichor.
I have a new rule: no going underground.
I sit back on my heels and admire the small burrow, walls made of packed clod, ceiling crisscrossed with roots as beams. Directly above my head, the dirt lets out a bubbly burp. I flip it off.
Who'd have thought I prefer flying? When I stand, the roots above brush my head. I smirk at Elle, who's hunched over, making her way to sit on a rock. Puc's perched on a stump in what must be the living room, waiting for me with interest.
"So, can you get us back to the human realm?" I ask without preamble, ready to be gone from this realm.
His mouth opens and stays that way. I'm not sure if he wants me to admire his teeth, which are wide and blocky and beg for a toothbrush—and floss. There's something stuck between them that could be a chunk of hair. Or am I supposed to feed him with some kind of offering?
His teeth clack shut. "Taste like Bwbach."
Well, that's an unsettling ability. "Half. My mother."
Puc waits for Elle to take over the conversation from there.
She sighs, crossing her legs on the rock. B would applaud her balance and flexibility. "Yes, I found her."
Her? Her who?
"Why no kill?"
Elle's unseeing eyes swivel to me.
Oh. Her is me.
"I have use for her. For now."
"Wow, thanks." I regroup, though. She's not saying anything new; we've always had an agreement that I stay alive as long as I keep up my end of our bargain. No pressure.
She finishes with dramatic emphasis, "In the human realm."
Puc pulls on the substantial hair sprouting from his ear. "You go back?"
She shrugs. "I can't stay here. And they'll leave me alone there—if we can keep the peace."
He points at me. "Why you need Bwbach."
She nods. "No one's going to trust an Ellyll—even half of one—after the war," she notes bitterly.
"Why not?" I interrupt. "You can glamour to look like a lowly, do-gooder, obedient Bwbach, can't you?"
She shakes her head. "I don't glamour, changing what others perceive; I alter my physical form. I'm half Pwca." She huffs when my silence indicates I'm not getting how that's relevant. "I'm only morphing what I look like. Tylwyth Teg can still smell me."
"Taste," Puc adds.
"Right." Then I do a double-take. "You're a Pwca. That's how you know Elle? You're not her dad, are you?"
Elle winces, and I mentally kick myself. That's probably a sensitive question to be blurting out without really knowing these people who eat beings like me on the regular.
"I don't know who my father is."
I appreciate how vulnerable Elle's being with me, sharing this intimate information.
"My daughter," Puc argues with meaning. He reaches out and pats Elle's hand. He doesn't seem affected by plant poison.
"That's why you'll help us—for her."
He coughs, "Ha! Always everyone help for self."
"Except Bwbachod," I disagree. Or do we? We do it to appease the magic, to avoid discomfort. That's kind of selfish in a way.
The comment wriggles deep, empowering some of my darker, buried beliefs. Even the generous perform acts of goodwill to feel virtuous, to get into Heaven, to move above others on their societal hierarchical ladder, whatever.
The only person who will ever really look after you is yourself.
I flip my usual complaint around. Instead of being annoyed about others putting themselves first, I should be emulating them. There's no one behind my back looking out for me. I have to help myself.
"What do you get out of it then?"
"He gets to kill me," Elle says pleasantly.
"What?!"
"I know he's always wanted to know what an Ellyll tastes like."
Puc coughs a laugh again and gives her hand a few more pats before pulling back. "Just bite."
"Fine. Just a bite. It needs to be convincing though if we're going to convince my people I'm dead."
"Ah, we're doing Elis's idea." So he was onto something in a way. "Why Puc? Can't you just cut your own arm or something?"
"So Puc doesn't get accused of helping us."
"Oh. That's ... actually really smart." And it means she's helping him in return for him helping her. Everyone for themself. Everyone wins.
Interesting. I'll have to think how I can incorporate that.
"I used to be a tracker. I know what they will be looking for," she reminds me.
"Uh, and that is?"
"Evidence of a fatal fight." She gives Puc a vicious smile. "Ready, old man?"
We journey with me on Elle's back and Puc in the lead, both as oversized owls, to a bow lake, formed from a curve in the river that got cut off not too far from the mouth that feeds the bog. Apparently, it’s an ideal spot because it’s just around the corner from a gate, so it would make sense for Elle to be heading there and yet within spitting distance of the Pwca's territory, so a face-off would be logical.
I’m just grateful we don’t run into any more Cyhyraeth along the route. Nevertheless, I’m also grateful to have my new hearing as I settle on the grass with the water at my back and give a countdown before they launch into it. They want to actually fight, it seems, to make the injury more natural. Sounds like playing with fire to me.
I've never attended a boxing match, wrestling match, or any kind of martial arts; all my scrappy fighting skills have been learned through trial and error. However, I have to imagine, after watching two Pwca battle, any fight in the human realm would appear mundane—even those faked for audience entertainment.
The two begin as I'd grown accustomed to viewing them. From there, the only constant—Elle's black wings—allow me to barely keep track of who is who as they quickly morph from creature to monster to animal and on and on. Boughs are broken off trees as they hurtle through. Grass gets torn up, and plants are flattened. Anyone who didn't want to be caught in the cross-fire nearby probably vacated quickly.
Both excel, reading the other before they moved, which would make for a boring spectator sport since that leaves most maneuvers resulting in misses, if it weren't for their rapid-fire transition into another attack, leaving no pauses for me to catch up and gauge who's winning. Shrinking into bugs, they make it impossible for me to see if either one made contact with the other.
After about ten minutes of growing dizzy and no blood spilling onto the verdant clearing, I call out. "Hey! Shouldn't we speed things up?"
I don't like sitting in an open area where anyone can find me. We need the stage set before the audience arrives to ensure they see what we want them to.
Plus, I'm pretty sure there's something in the water behind me watching the fight as well—or maybe watching me.
My intrusion did some good, distracting both. A spatter of blood hits the ground. Elle lands with a thump, blood leaking from somewhere. Puc thumps beside her, back in his original, squat shape.
"Who old man now?" he laughs, and she does as well between pants.
"Okay. It's done." I stand up and brush off the seat of my pants. "Let's go."
"Not quite." Elle's silver hair splays on the ground, sopping up a sanguine tinge, as she rolls her head to me. "I need to lose a few pints for them to think it was a fatal hit. And probably a body part."
"A body part?" I pale. Mechanics are prone to serious injuries. I do not enjoy them and have come close to losing a finger or toe before I learned to wear work gloves and steel-toed boots. It was a traumatic experience.
She turns back to Puc. "An eye. It's useless anyway."
Puc hesitates. "Elly sure?"
She nods.
I can feel my gorge rising already. I'm not ready. I turn away, staring at the algae and lily pads floating on the water. One of them lowers back to water level as something that had been peering out from under the leaf vanishes back underwater.
Distracted by our voyeur, I'm taken by surprise when Elle screams. It's muted. She's trying not to draw attention, but no one can take their eye being gouged out without some kind of reaction. She screams again, such anguish and pain. I slap my hands over my ears, wishing I couldn't hear for once. I bend over and lose the water I drank at Elle's treehouse.
A pair of vibrant blue eyes watch me from under a lily pad right in front of me.
I stumble back, make the mistake of pivoting, and puke again at the gory sight of Elle's face. Puc's got something clutched in his fist that's dripping through his fingertips. Holy fuck. Did he scoop out her eye with his fingers? Another wave of nausea rises.
"You stay," he tells me and wanders off.
With trepidation, I approach Elle, looking anywhere but at her. The pool of blood is indeed growing. Just what she wanted, the psychopath.
"You okay?" I ask stupidly.
"Puc's getting ... disinfectant and ... pain reliever."
I nod, not sure what to say. I swap my weight back and forth for a few seconds, glancing at whatever's in the water. I hold my question on that until Elle's not in excruciating pain—and we're far away before I know how horrifying the being is. "Should I go with him? Would that be faster?"
Elle doesn't answer, and I steel myself and glance at her. Her head has lolled to the side.
Chapter
Twenty-One
HELP CROSS OVER
Idrop next to her, frantically leaning over her mouth with my cheek to feel for breath and watch her chest. She's breathing. I check her pulse on her wrist. It's sluggish. Is that from blood loss or do Ellyllon have a different resting heart rate than humans?
