(Skeleton Key) Into Elurien (14 page)

“Just a moment,” my mother said, having found her voice at last. I’d never seen her speechless for so long. “Hazel Anne Walsh, you will come back to the gymnasium right now.” I was touched by her concern for my safety until she added, “No daughter of mine is going to go gallivanting about with demons and monsters and God knows what else.”

“Mom.”

She didn’t hear me. She was working up to a proper rant. “Your grandmother must be rolling in her grave. What did you get mixed up with when you went away, young lady? I can only imagine what Pastor Tulk would say about—”

“MOM,” I bellowed, and she stopped.

“Hazel Anne—”

“Loretta Jean. Please fuck off.”

Her lips disappeared in a tight line, and she stalked away. I felt bad. But only a little. I’d wanted to say that for the past decade, and it had been even more satisfying than I’d expected.

“We’re going to take care of this.” I made eye contact with everyone to make sure they were listening, and one by one they nodded.

“She can see your thoughts,” I added. “I know a lot of you didn’t believe me when I talked about magic, but my friends here are proof that I’m not crazy. I don’t want Verelle knowing about these secret weapons. So don’t move. Bar the doors until tomorrow night.”

I turned on my heel and left in as dignified a manner as I could with most of my weight on one foot. Auphel scooped me up under her good arm, erasing the last of my dignity but preserving some of my energy.

“Where to?” she asked, and I pointed toward the bookstore.

Tomie greeted me with a loud mew, then hissed at my guests and ran to hide behind a stack of thrillers. “Don’t take it personally,” I told them. “In this world, you’re terrifying.”

Jaid sniffed. “I’m terrifying in mine, too. How quickly you forget.”

Zinian smiled at his friend.

Auphel wasn’t going to fit up the narrow staircase to the apartment, so we stayed among the stacks of dusty books on the ground floor. Tomie showed his face again after a few minutes and planted himself on Jaid’s lap, purring. The felid woman scratched his back gently with her claws.

I sat in an armchair, and Zinian sat on the floor next to my legs with one hand wrapped gently around my injured ankle. I drank in the sight of him, though I could barely see him in the gloom of the shop. He leaned toward me as I ran my fingers through his hair.

“I can see everything you’re doing,” Jaid noted. “Fair warning.”

At least she seemed used to the idea of us. That was something.

I explained what had happened the night the people attacked the town hall, and the conclusions I’d drawn.

“I can’t disagree,” Zinian said, “though it troubles me that she has different powers here. This would be easier if we knew exactly what we were dealing with.”

“What’s the plan, then?” Jaid asked.

We sat in silence, thinking. The sky outside the windows began to lighten in spite of the grey clouds that had gathered in the past few hours.

“We can’t have a plan,” I said, almost to myself. They all looked at me. “If we have a plan, she’ll know it as soon as she looks at us. There’s no element of surprise with her now.”

“And we don’t have the forces for an open attack this time,” Zinian added. “We could just try to sneak up, but she’ll be alert.”

“We need someone with no knowledge of any plan to distract Verelle,” Jaid said. She scratched under her chin. “Someone who can hold her attention. It’ll make the rest of our jobs easier, and her soldiers get sluggish when she’s not focused on them. I would offer to do it, but—”

“But we want to keep you three a secret,” I finished for her. “The less she realizes about the comings and goings between our worlds, the better. It has to be someone from town. Someone who will try not to think about the fact that monsters have arrived, even though I’m sure everyone has heard by now.” I swallowed hard. “Someone who cares enough to want to keep you safe.”

Zinian’s hand tightened around my ankle, and I winced.

The idea of leaping without looking, of walking up to Verelle with a head full of nothing and trying to keep her distracted terrified me. I liked plans. I needed control. Anything else was a recipe for disaster. And yet there was nothing else for it.

I leaned over and rested my cheek against one of Zinian’s horns. “I’ll get out of your way while you make your plans. Make them good. I’ll figure out my distraction.”

“For when?” Auphel asked.

“She holds outdoor meetings for her faithful every morning,” I said. “Assuming the rain holds off, that would be a good time. She’ll be exposed then.”

I went up to the apartment and rewrapped my ankle, grabbed a granola bar and a bottle of water, then slipped the ancient, untitled copy of the
Verhumn
into my bag. Zinian met me near the top of the stairs as I started down. His wings filled the space behind him, preventing escape.

As if I’d want to.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my face against him. We stood like that for several minutes, not speaking, bodies pressed together.

“I can’t believe you came for me,” I murmured.

“I had no choice,” he said, and pulled his claws through my tangled hair. “I thought I was going to go insane with worry.” He kissed me, long and deep, and for a brief moment I forgot everything else. “I should never have let you come back.”

“I guess it was a good thing for Fairbrook that I did.”

“I don’t care about Fairbrook. I care about you.” He pressed his forehead to mine and looked into my eyes. “Be careful, Hazel. I promise we’ll do everything we can to finish her before she hurts you.” His thick brows gathered into a concerned frown. “You know what you want to do?”

“I have an idea.”

An idea, but not a plan.

It would have to be enough.

D
eep breaths
.

I considered the mental exercises that were supposed to help when I felt anxious. I didn’t want to close my eyes and picture serene surroundings, but I tried to clear my mind and ground myself in the quiet of the park as I sat hidden in the bushes, waiting for the appointed time.

And I tried to ignore the eerie lack of bird sounds that I’d been too distracted to notice before.

I watched a pair of soldiers soar over the pond and wondered whether the loss of so many yesterday had affected them. They’d be on high alert, surely. I hoped Verelle was going mad as she tried to figure out how the stubborn people of the school had killed her warriors.

I hoped she was terrified.

I paged though Verelle’s book, deciding that it would be my focus. I let my indignation and anger grow, followed my thoughts down rabbit holes of what might have been if not for her. The book in my hands may or may not have been divinely inspired, but it seemed a fine blueprint for a peaceful world. Of course, people would have found a way to reinterpret it to fit their own views and desires, picking and choosing passages and probably ignoring the larger message. But it would have had a chance to do good, and that was what pissed me off. I didn’t know how she’d managed it, but Verelle had rewritten a religion to suit her, warped it to create a world of oppression, inequality, and chaos. She’d used it to hurt people I loved dearly.

I’d never cared for anger. It seemed pointless, and became frightening when it got out of control. But just this once, I let it take me. Hot tears slipped down my cheeks as I thought of the deaths she’d caused, of the humans who might have been good if they’d believed they served a kind and loving Mother or been free to choose for themselves. Or maybe they would still have been assholes. Thanks to Verelle, we’d never know.

I started for the town hall building. Verelle’s faithful would be gathering now. I had to keep my eyes on the sidewalk, but kept looking back to the pages.

Focus. This is all there is.

No thoughts of Zinian and the others, no fear that they wouldn’t come up with a plan that would end her and save me. Only my anger, and the desire to reveal to the town what she really was.

The townspeople had set up folding chairs below the steps in spite of the threat of rain: two sections in neat rows with a wide aisle in the middle, like a church. I’d heard about it from the others, how she stood and spoke to her faithful, how they stared adoringly. Actually seeing it nauseated me. Verelle stood in a flowing white gown not unlike the one I’d worn to my first supper with Zinian. She looked positively angelic, but it was the two soldiers standing at the bottom of the steps who bore the wings. I hung back at the edge of the square and watched. No more soldiers flew overhead. The others would be out patrolling.

Verelle knew her own strength well enough that she felt confident sending them elsewhere. I just hoped I wasn’t wrong about her weaknesses.

Don’t think about weaknesses. This isn’t a plan. Just be angry.

I opened the book, not realizing how tightly I was gripping the pages until one pulled free of the ancient binding and fluttered away on a gust of wind.

Verelle saw me coming, but kept speaking to her people. A low chuckle rippled through the crowd, but I was still too far away to hear what she’d said.

As I reached the last row of chairs, I began to read aloud. Quietly at first, then growing louder as my anger gave me confidence. A poem from the middle, in which the centaur was a metaphor for the unity of man and beast. I didn’t remember seeing that in the newer version at all.

Verelle stopped speaking and watched me, her mouth twisted into a tight smile.

At least I have her attention.
I paged back.

“‘
And in those days the monsters roamed the land,
’” I read, voice only trembling slightly. Everyone turned to watch as I approached and stopped several paces from the bottom step. “‘
Living as animals, without understanding. The humans came among them, living in peace, sharing the words of the Mother.
’” I looked up at her and met her eyes. “What peace did you bring to the last world you nearly destroyed, Verelle?”

Even up close, it was hard to read her expression. She appeared interested, even somewhat amused, but irritated. Trying, I suspected, to decide whether to make an example of me right away or let me dig my own grave a little deeper.

“Where did you get that, child?”

I wanted to turn to address the people, but I needed her full attention. I refused to look into her eyes even as I felt her in my thoughts, observing them. I hoped my anger burned her.

“I visited Elurien,” I told her. “I arrived as you left.”

One finely shaped eyebrow arched. “Was that you? I owe you thanks for opening the door.” She raised her arms. “All of my people owe you thanks!”

A few applauded uncertainly behind me.

“This isn’t the message that the people were reading when I was there,” I said, and pointed the book at her. “How old are you, Verelle? How many generations did it take you to reshape these words and the beliefs that came from them?” I stepped closer. “Was it hard to convince the priests to omit the message of peace and include one of cruelty? Or did it only take a display of your so-called divine power?”

She shrugged. Apparently bad-guy blabbermouth wasn’t her thing. Too bad for me.

“The spark is bullshit,” I continued, “but you made them believe. It’s most impressive.”

Verelle chuckled. “We all carry the spark. Every human here before me. Even you.”

A dark shape flew up to the roof of the building behind her. I didn’t let myself consciously note it.

A thought struck me. “Do you ever laugh at the perfect absurdity of it all?”

She frowned.

“You’re so concerned with humans, with convincing them that they’re the rulers of your world… but look at you. What you call a divine spark is really an accident of birth, isn’t it? Your magic is impressive, no doubt. But no goddess who intended people to live by this—” I shook the book at her “—would ever purposely give such power to someone who would use it as you have. You’re an inhuman oddity just as much as the monsters you hate so much.”

Her eyes flashed, and she bared her teeth. “How dare you? I am the pinnacle of what is human. I am eternal, undying, blessed.”

“As no natural human is,” I concluded for her. “Yet you used your power for your own selfish purposes, to gain power and create slaves.” For the benefit of the audience sitting silent behind me, I added, “You tortured innocent creatures for the sake of your own sick pleasure. Is that why your dear Mother blessed you? To bring suffering to her world?”

“Liar,” Verelle spat.

Murmurs spread through the crowd behind me as I flipped to a passage I’d once misunderstood.

“‘
Beware the liar
,’” I read, louder now. “‘
The disrupter, who seems to come in peace. Beware the true monster, fair of face and black of heart, with words of honey and claws of poison.
’ That’s you, isn’t it? When the Mother of your world first whispered words into the ears of humans, she warned them about you. Was this the first passage you had removed?”

Verelle’s pale cheeks reddened. She raised a hand. A familiar feline form prowled onto the steps behind her, but again I ignored it. And so did the soldiers, who were as focused on me as Verelle was.

“Go ahead,” I yelled, and spread my arms wide. “Shut me up. Show them how afraid you are of the truth coming out. Did you think you could have a fresh start here?”

Verelle wasn’t so pretty when rage gripped her. She screamed and lowered her hand. At the same time, a massive shape flew at me from my right and hit me hard, sending me crashing to the ground several metres away. My head hit the concrete sidewalk, sending shooting stars across my vision, but I pushed myself to my feet and stumbled to the bottom of the steps, where Auphel was slumped in a motionless heap, struck by whatever the sorceress had intended for me. Her battle axe lay useless at Verelle’s feet.

I stumbled to Auphel and rolled her onto her back. She was breathing but unconscious, eyes staring up into the clouds.

I glared up at Verelle, who stood unharmed, shock painted plainly across her face.

The soldiers roused themselves then, as Verelle realized she was under attack. Jaid leapt at one and tore his throat out, leaving him bleeding as she met the other blade to blade.

Verelle looked to the sky as though to call for her other warriors, and found a very different winged shape descending, sword drawn.

She gasped, and the anger left her face as he landed. “My angel. You’ve returned to me.”

Something caught in her voice then. I hated to think it was sadness. She had no right to feel that. Or regret. She was only allowed to be the bad guy, and I was happier without any shades of grey there.

“It’s over, Verelle,” Zinian said. “You put up a worthy fight, but for far too long.”

“Zinian,” she said, with nauseating tenderness. “I tried to make you happy.”

He snarled. “You failed.”

“Yet I heard so few complaints, my darling.”

She reached out a hand and wiggled her fingers, and Auphel’s back arched in a spasm. She groaned. With a flick of Verelle’s wrist, I felt it too. I gasped as electric pain radiated from my heart to the tips of my limbs, and my jaw clenched tight. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

Zinian bared his teeth and drew his sword. Verelle laughed and turned the blade aside with her magic, as though pushing away a child’s toy.

“You were always so endearingly noble about monsters,” she said. Auphel groaned as another spasm gripped her. Verelle’s expression grew cold. “Toss your sword aside, or these friends of yours die.”

Zinian looked at us, hesitating, then growled in frustration. His sword clattered to the boards and slid off into the bushes.

No.
I fought to stay conscious, to draw a breath and yell for him to attack.

Auphel lay still as Verelle’s attention turned completely on Zinian. My own pain disappeared, leaving me trembling, but intact. Verelle had found a more interesting playmate. I tried to get to my feet, but my legs collapsed under me.

“That’s better,” Verelle said to him, and smiled. “What a mess this has become. I trusted you, my angel. It broke my heart when you betrayed me, and an ancient heart is not an easy thing to harm. But now you’re here, which means you’ve found a way home. Come home with me. It will be different this time.” She tilted her head again, an innocent gesture I was already getting sick of.

Behind them, Jaid took a blade to the arm and screamed in rage. Zinian didn’t look, and I wondered whether Verelle might be soothing his emotions, making him forget us as she’d made the people of Fairbrook forget those who had been lost.

Auphel stirred, and I looked down at her. “Shhhh,” she whispered.

My throat tightened.

“Step aside now,” the ogress said softly.

I pushed away, heart in my throat. Auphel hauled herself up to a crouch and bellowed, then stumbled up the steps, wobbling drunkenly. Verelle turned and blasted her again, leaning forward with the force of her magic. Auphel fell, crashing head first to the ground with a sickening thud.

“Auphel!” I cried.

In that moment when Verelle’s attention was diverted, Zinian lunged for Auphel’s axe. Though I would have guessed that no one short of an ogre could lift it, he grabbed the handle and swung it in a massive arc. Verelle saw it coming, but momentum brought it down hard and heavy in spite of her magic.

Time seemed to slow to near-freezing as the blade came down on the back of Verelle’s neck. I half expected it to bounce off, but it sliced clean through and slammed into the wooden boards below, shattering them.

Verelle’s golden hair flew as her head rolled and bounced down the steps, coming to a stop near my feet. She looked up at me, blinking, looking quite bewildered. Her lips twitched, trying to form words and not finding the breath to make herself heard.

Auphel took a sharp breath as her eyes snapped open. My heart leapt.

“Here,” Auphel croaked. I grabbed the head by its hair and tossed it to her. Golden hairs tangled in my fingers, and I fought back my gag reflex. Auphel twisted toward it and brought one fist down, crushing Verelle’s skull.

Everything Verelle had ever been—every hate, every lust, every bit of wasted potential—turned to pale, bloody mush.

I caught my breath as I crouched beside Auphel. She was having trouble breathing, and blood flowed like tears from her eyes. I touched her hand, and her fingers curled around mine, enveloping them in her grasp.

Jaid set her sword down and leaned against a wall to catch her breath. Her enemy had disappeared. I hoped all of the others had, as well.

Zinian stumbled down the steps and placed a hand on Auphel’s face. “You in there, soldier?”

“I’m here,” she croaked. “I’d like to sleep for a month, if that’s okay.”

Zinian let out a relieved breath. “Maybe after we get you home. Heroes deserve all the rest they want.” He patted her shoulder, then stretched his arms out and winced. “That’s going to hurt later. How do you manage to carry that axe everywhere with you?”

Auphel smiled and let out a barking cough that made me stumble away. “Guess I’m as useful as you always said I was.”

I looked around. Everyone had fled, likely when the monsters appeared. I hoped some had stayed long enough to see how they’d saved us.

Jaid’s fur bristled with excitement as she came toward us.

“It worked,” she said. “You okay, Zin?”

Zinian nodded. The dark circles under his eyes and the bend of his neck revealed his deep exhaustion, but he smiled, then laughed. “It’s over.”

Jaid stepped closer and waited, tail twitching, until I looked up at her. “You did well,” she said. “For a human and a civilian. Thank you for not giving us away.”

I smiled a little, though the shock of everything that had just happened made it feel false. “Not for all of Verelle’s power would I have given you up.”

She wrinkled her nose, lifting whiskers that were now bent and broken. “I hope you wouldn’t want that.”