Sacrifice: The First Book of the Fey (94 page)

Caseo laughed. “You are an amazing little man. As if I were to trust your perceptions on something as important as saving the lives of our people. Listen, little man, we’re experimenting on a new type of poison. I promise not to use the Islander poison on you. I’ll use the new poison on you when it’s finished. Then we’ll know if it works.”

“No!” Scavenger was shaking. There was no one around to help him. The other Warders were inside working, and they would side with Caseo. Even though Scavenger was shouting, no one came out of the other cabins. They probably peeked through the door, saw Scavenger fighting with Caseo, and thought it not worth interrupting.

Caseo took a step toward him. “You’d be remembered as helping all Fey.”

Scavenger backed up. “I don’t want to be remembered.”

“Come, now,” Caseo said. “Being remembered is better than being ignored while you live.”

“Maybe for you,” Scavenger said. He pulled the knife out of its sheath.

“Ah, threats, little man?” Caseo didn’t seem frightened. He came closer.

Scavenger took another step back and nearly fell down the stairs. “Just stay away from me. I don’t know why you pick on me. Just stay away from me.”

“I ‘pick’ on you, boy, because you offend me. I don’t want people like you passing yourselves off as Fey. You’re an abomination, and it’s an absolute shame that some people consider you my equal.”

“I can be your equal,” Scavenger said. Energy flowed through his body, making him bounce. His breathing was coming in shallow gasps.

“Can you, little man? I doubt it. I very much doubt it.”

“We’re all equal at two points in our lives,” Scavenger said, his grip on the hilt so tight that the metal dug into his palm. “When we’re born and when we die.”

Caseo’s smile was broad. “Not even then, boy,” he said. “Some of us have talent when we’re born—it’s just latent—and some have talent when we die.”

“But you die just the same.” Scavenger waved the knife at him. “I came for pouches. I came here to help you. Now, leave me alone, and I won’t ever bother you again.”

Caseo shook his head. “Can’t do that, boy. Until Rugar changes things, you are my assistant, like it or not. And I need your assistance. Now, be a good boy and come inside with me. It won’t take very long, and it will help all of us.”

Scavenger swiped at Caseo with the knife. “Stay away from me.”

“You won’t hurt me, boy. The penalty for attacking a Warder is death by mutilation. Another difference, since there is no penalty when a Red Cap dies.” Caseo grabbed Scavenger’s arm—the one without the knife. His flesh was hot. He had no fear in his face. “Now, we’re going inside.”

“No!” Scavenger said, and plunged the knife into Caseo’s chest. Caseo took a surprised step backward, but did not let go of Scavenger’s arm. Scavenger pulled the knife from Caseo’s chest—blood spurted, as it had when Silence had used his knife—and he hacked at Caseo’s fingers, in a panic to get them off him. Caseo let go, and the knife gouged into Scavenger’s arm. He bit back a scream of pain.

Caseo dropped to his knees, his other hand over his chest. The blood was coming in spurts. His eyes were wide with shock, his mouth open, but no sound was coming out. There was no one else outside, and no one seemed to be moving in the Warders’ cabin.

“I’m sorry,” Scavenger said. He hadn’t meant to become as bad as Caseo. He hadn’t meant anything bad at all. Now they would know who did it. The other Warders would know that a Red Cap had hurt Caseo. He had to get away.

His feet slipped in the blood on the porch. The blood was flowing down the steps and disappearing into the gray mist that was the ground. He jumped over the steps and ran for the Circle Door, repeating the chant over and over until he arrived. The Door opened for him, and he dived out, tossing the knife away as he did so.

He had planned to do this, but not after killing Caseo. He had planned to kill Rugar, and he didn’t even know where Rugar was. Now he had no way to find out.

Scavenger slipped into the woods and ran away from the skeleton pile, down the embankment to the side of the river. There he stopped to catch his breath. He was covered in blood, and the blood smelled no different from any other kind. No different at all.

SEVENTY-EIGHT

They took Titus to one of their buildings, but only the older man went inside with him. Titus was unprepared for the darkness inside the building. The older man knocked on a lamp, and a small creature stood up, extending light in all directions. He knocked on another, and another, until the room glowed.

A table and several chairs furnished the front. A fireplace stood off to the left, the fire only embers now. A woman peeked in the door and asked a question. The older man shook his head. She nodded, slipped back out, closing the door behind her.

“What’s your message, child?” the man asked in Nye.

Titus didn’t know how to speak to this man, if there wasa protocol or not. He merely bowed his head, then said, “The Rocaan wishes a meeting with you. He wants to end this war, and he believes that you two can do so together.”

“I thought the Rocaan was your religious leader.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But I should have that discussion with your King.”

Titus shook his head. “The Rocaan says the King has handled this long enough, and this is a spiritual matter.”

“Ah,” the older man said. “So we go in to see your Rocaan, and he kills us all.”

“No. He would not do that,” Titus said. “He would like to speak with you about power, spiritual power, yours and his.”

“I see.” The older man slid a chair near Titus. “Sit, boy, and be comfortable. I won’t hurt you.”

Titus sat as he was bade. He entwined his fingers together and kept his head bowed.

“This Rocaan of yours, he is the one who leads all of you in religion, doesn’t he?”

Titus nodded.

“And he makes the poison that kills us.”

“He never meant it to kill you. He didn’t know.” Titus spoke with strong emphasis, just as the Rocaan had. His emphasis would have been strong, even if the Rocaan’s hadn’t. “Holy water has been part of our religion since the beginning. We didn’t know its properties, until an Elder discovered it by accident.”

“By accident?” The older man’s smile was cold. “How do you kill by accident?”

“He threw a bottle at your people to keep them away from him. It shattered, and they died.”

The older man’s eyes opened a little, then returned to their hooded gaze. “I see. Then he told your people, and the killing started.”

Titus swallowed. The Rocaan said he wasn’t supposed to talk back to the Fey, but he would have loved to point out that they had started the killing, not the Islanders.

“Must I see your Rocaan alone, or may I bring guards?”

“He would like you to come as you would, as long as you promise not to attack him. He says he will come with friends as well.” Titus licked his lips. “He wants to perform a Blessing to cleanse us all of hatred, but to do that, he will need to use some holy water. He promises not to turn it on you. Likewise, he says you may bring weapons if you promise not to use them against him.”

“He’s a trusting sort, is he?”

Titus nodded. “He is a good man, sir. He would not kill anyone.”

“What of all the Fey he has killed?”

Titus was so relieved that the Rocaan had thought of all the answers to these questions. Titus never would have been able to think of them himself. “He has killed none personally, sir, and he wishes the others were still with us. But he begs you to consider the circumstances, and to ask yourself whether or not you would have done the same as he did in handing out holy water.”

The Fey smiled. “What I would have done is immaterial. What he has done is the issue, and what he plans to do is even more important.”

Titus peeked through his eyelashes at the Fey. “What he plans to do is to make you acceptable to God so that this fighting might end, and we might all find a peaceable solution.”

“And what if I don’t want a peaceable solution?” the Fey asked.

Titus shrugged. “Then, sir, I guess things will remain the same.”

The Fey put his finger beneath Titus’s chin and raised the boy’s head. The older man smelled of pine trees and leather. His skin was covered with faint lines and was darker than that of a man who had worked all his life in the sun. “Can you guarantee that your Rocaan will be at this meeting?”

“Yes, sir,” Titus said. “It is his idea, and he has given his word. He never goes back on his word.”

The Fey smiled. “Then tell your leader that I will meet him. I will bring a full contingent of warriors who will have magick as well as swords. Tell him that if he does not show, I will slaughter any Islander I see. Tell him also that if he betrays me in any way, I will do the same to him.”

“Yes, sir,” Titus whispered. A shiver ran through him that he could not control. This man, this Fey, meant what he said.

“Tell him the next time he wishes to send a message to me, he will send a man, not a child. I have no more sympathy for children than I do for men. I will kill one as easily as I will kill the other.”

Titus swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

Then the Fey chucked Titus’s chin and smiled at him. “Now, tell me where this meeting will take place.”

“Two days hence in the kirk near Daisy Stream.”

“A kirk?” The Fey raised one eyebrow. “Isn’t that a religious spot?”

“Yes, sir, but he begged me to remind you that you may come armed.”

“I would prefer to meet in a place that does not hold religious significance to your people.”

“He says he understands that, sir, but he begs your forgiveness. He says if he meets you in a kirk, no one will question him, and the King will not send troops.”

The Fey’s smile faded. “Your Rocaan is a wily man.”

“No, sir,” Titus said. “He is a good man who wishes for peace before he dies.”

The Fey crossed his arms, leaned against the table, and sighed. “All right. Tell your Rocaan that I agree to his terms, and warn him that if anything is different from what you have told me, I will take revenge. Warn him that Fey adore taking revenge.” Then the Fey smiled, a cold, forbidding smile. Titus shuddered in spite of himself.

“You’re dismissed, boy. You’ll find Burden outside where you left him. He will let you out of Shadowlands.”

Titus stood. His legs wobbled beneath him.

“And, boy, be sure to tell your Rocaan everything that I have told you, because I will hold you responsible for that meeting as well as him.”

“Yes, sir.” Titus bowed his head, uncertain what the Fey meant by that comment, but it frightened him nonetheless.

“You’re dismissed, boy.”

“Thank you, sir.” Titus made himself walk to the door. He couldn’t run, couldn’t show weakness in front of these people. He pulled the door open and stepped into the grayness. The boy who had brought him was waiting with a group of other Fey by a nearby building. When the boy saw Titus, he came over.

“So,” the boy said. “He decided to spare you.”

Titus put his chin up. “I have a message to take back to Jahn.”