The Second Siege (44 page)

Within the hour, Max had managed to gather a small council. No grim Agents or wise Mystics were assembled; instead Max sought the advice of a few trusted souls who had been unaffected by the curse. While a Moomenhoven dressed and bandaged his wounds, Max stroked Nick’s quills and quietly explained the terms Astaroth had offered. Hannah spoke first.

“The end of this age,” said Bob heavily.

“Well, what would the next age be like?” asked Hannah before shifting her attention to one of her children who had dipped its beak in Max’s bowl of chicken soup. “Honk, get away from that!” she cried. “That’s practically
cannibalism
!” Honk waddled away, looking cross.

“I don’t know what the next age would be like,” said Max, steering Honk back toward his mother. “I think that would be for Astaroth to decide.”

“Well, maybe the world’s ready for a new age,” said the goose. “Maybe it will be nice!”

“Maybe,” conceded Max, cheered a bit by her optimism. “But I don’t think we can count on that. For all we know, people will be slaves.”

“Better to die free than live a slave,” concluded Bob, the ogre’s basso voice rumbling from beneath his bandaged face.

“Inspiring credo,” muttered Rasmussen dryly, “but I’d rather live to fight another day.”

“That is a coward’s choice at the moment of truth,” said Bob.

“I see,” said Rasmussen, tapping his finger. “For one who values freedom, aren’t you rather quick to dictate others’ options? What if I don’t want to die? Why should a teenage boy make such a choice for all of us?”

Bob said nothing, but Mr. McDaniels bristled and jabbed a thick finger at Rasmussen.

“Max isn’t trying to make a decision for you,” he seethed. “He’s asking your advice! What if it were you out there instead of Connor and Ms. Richter?”

“It’s not,” said Rasmussen.

“Well, maybe it should be!” snapped Mr. McDaniels, fidgeting in his chair.

“Dad,” said Max, glancing over, “it’s okay. This is hard for everyone.”

His red-faced father said nothing but merely scooped up one of the straying goslings and let it play on his lap. Rasmussen shrugged and continued.

“Unless I’m missing something, it seems that Astaroth can acquire the Book and we can continue to live with a sliver of land to call our own. Or Astaroth can inflict a most painful death upon us and acquire the Book anyway. I’ll choose the former, thank you.”

“But can’t we
win
?” asked Max. “Does it have to be a choice between living with failure or dying with it?”

“Given that we’re holed up in a cave, accursed, and surrounded by an army that holds a valuable hostage, I’d say winning is out of the question, wouldn’t you?” muttered Rasmussen.

“Is there any chance David’s well enough to use the Book?” asked Max. “Any chance at all?”

“I don’t think so,” said Max’s father. “Poor David could barely sip that soup.”

Max’s head drooped.

“Then I’ve failed,” he muttered. “Everything we’ve done has been for nothing.”

A great black mound stirred in the corner. YaYa raised her head from the floor and turned her milky eyes on Max.

“You have
not
failed,” said the ancient ki-rin, her voice soft and soothing. “You have fought and bled and nearly died to save your people. My master did the same and still Solas fell! There are powers greater than you, Max McDaniels. And there are powers greater than Astaroth—even he cannot see all ends. Perhaps Hannah is right—perhaps the world is ready for another age. Perhaps she needs it.”

Max considered YaYa’s words, which both surprised and comforted him.

“Rowan is not what she was,” continued YaYa with a note of sorrow. “She has, perhaps, lost her way and become that which she fears. But for all her flaws, there is still love and friendship here. And where those exist, hope remains. Let the Book go. It is a wondrous thing, but it is perilous and has brought ruin upon all who have sought to possess it. Let it pass to the Enemy.”

Max closed his eyes and nodded.

“Where is it?” he asked.

“Miss Kraken left it with David before she fell ill,” said Mr. McDaniels. “Should I go get it?”

Max shook his head and climbed painfully to his feet. He wound quietly through the caverns, pausing to look in on the sick. On two cots, just past Nigel Bristow and his wife, lay Cooper and Miss Boon. The two were sleeping, their hands clasped together, while Moomenhovens scurried about with basins and cool washcloths to attend the many patients. Walking along, Max saw Sarah, Lucia, and Cynthia being cared for by their families. Max introduced himself and shared a quiet moment with the group, asking after their needs and patting Cynthia, who merely blinked at him and drifted back to sleep. Where the cavern opened into another ward, Max saw Julie Teller. He stopped a moment and glimpsed his little stack of letters peeking from the pillow beneath her head. A woman approached with her little boy in tow. Max looked up; it was the same woman and child from the ledge.

“Her fever’s going down,” said the woman, stooping to place her palm on Julie’s forehead.

“Are you Mrs. Teller?” asked Max.

“Yes indeed,” said the woman, while her beaming son hid behind her. “And we know who you are and what you’ve risked to keep us safe. I was at your mother’s funeral, Max. She would be proud.”

Max smiled and embraced her.

“I hope so,” he said, saying good-bye and crossing quickly to the ward where David lay.

David opened his eyes as Max came to stop at his cot.

“Have you come to take it away?” he asked.

“I have,” said Max, gently prying the Book of Thoth from David’s arms. “Are you angry?”

“No,” said David, managing a faint smile. “Good riddance.”

“I have this terrible feeling, David,” said Max suddenly. “A terrible feeling that this is the end of the world.” His eyes filled with tears; he ran his finger along the Book’s golden cover. “I don’t want it to be the end of the world. There are so many things I haven’t seen yet.”

He began to sob quietly, clutching the Book against his chest.

“Shhh,” whispered David, shaking his head. “Don’t be sad. When one thing ends, another begins and the powerful play goes on. You are not ending. The world is not ending. Whatever comes, we will face it together. You and I.”

Max exhaled and sat still for a moment, his eyes falling on David’s night table. In the center of the table was a washbasin and, next to it, an old-fashioned clock. Dipping his hands in the basin’s cool water, Max rinsed them clean of the dirt that still caked them. As he scrubbed the mud from his fingers, it formed clouds in the water. Max watched them expand and settle into layers of silt while the seconds ticked and David drifted back to sleep. When the water was still once more, Max rose and left the room.

Many faces crowded together, peering from the rock ledge, while Max sat astride YaYa and the two made their way toward the river. On the far banks waited an army ten thousand strong. At its head was Astaroth, sitting astride a great black wolf with eyes the size of yolks.

“Have you brought it?” asked the Demon.

“I have,” said Max. “You’ll take it, release the hostages, and leave as promised.”

“Of course,” said Astaroth. “And will you be joining us?”

“No,” said Max.

“Pity.”

Max did not respond. Reaching in David’s pack, he removed the Book of Thoth and handed it to the Demon, who held it lightly by his fingertips. The army made not a sound.

Astaroth’s expression was almost reverent as he slid a nail beneath the Book’s cover, opening it delicately to peer at the very first sheets of papyrus. Max watched in silence as the Demon scoured one page after another. Astaroth suddenly glanced at Max, as though he’d forgotten he was there.

“This is very good, Max,” said the Demon. “You have fulfilled our bargain.”

At a gesture from Astaroth, Alex Muñoz whipped the thin mares forward and unhitched them from the cart. Within the cart lay Ms. Richter and Connor, bound and gagged and staring at the sky. Ms. Richter looked weak; Connor looked near death. The boy’s ruddy cheeks had sunk into sallow hollows, while his unblinking eyes were devoid of their characteristic spark and humor. Max did not know much about possession, but he feared it had taken an irreparable toll on his friend.

“Will Connor live?” asked Max coldly.

“Yes,” said Astaroth, “but he has learned that little boys should not meddle in such big affairs. Have you learned your lesson, too?”

“We’ll see,” said Max.

“That we shall.”

Astaroth gazed fondly at the Book as though it were a favorite bedtime story. After several moments, he glanced back at Max. A smile crept across the Demon’s face, and he whispered a single word. The syllable rolled off the Demon’s tongue, and the wind rose in a gentle sigh. As Max watched, Astaroth and his army began to fade. A moment later, they were gone—vanished like so much mist and smoke.

Several days later, Max sat by the lagoon and watched the slow procession of people and equipment making its way back across the Sanctuary. Before him, glittering in the sun, were the pieces of the
gae bolga,
arranged upon the tapestry Max had taken from the Sidh. As Max reached for one of the larger shards, something broke the surface of the water.

The selkie exhaled and then drew a long, slow breath while her eyes adjusted to the light.

“Long swim,” she managed at last, blinking at Max while she sputtered for air and bobbed like an enormous cork. A second later, Helga’s sleek head appeared next to her sister’s and she, too, made the adjustment to light and air. Their adjustment to the ruined Sanctuary took longer.

All the forest had been burned. The cattle herds were dead, their carcasses picked clean and bleaching on the scorched earth. Behind Max, the Warming Lodge lay in a heap of blackened timbers. Other than the creak of the procession, the Sanctuary was eerily silent. No birds chirped, no wind bent the grass, no creatures called or bellowed from the hills.

Helga was speechless, but Frigga seemed philosophical.

“It is bad,” she concluded, gliding closer to Max.

“It’s terrible,” muttered Max. “I can’t even bring myself to look at the rest of the campus. I heard the Manse is gone—torn down to its foundation.”

“Oh,” said Frigga, turning her bewhiskered head to gaze at the Sanctuary tunnel, which was no longer a proper tunnel but merely a broken wall. To Max, the opening looked naked—stripped of its majesty now that the surrounding trees had been hacked and burned away.

Frigga made a sound that might have been a sigh before turning her attention back to him.

“Where you go this year?” she demanded. “Our Max so big and important now, he don’t visit Frigga and Helga anymore?”

“No,” said Max quickly. “No, it’s not that at all. It’s just I haven’t been here much this year.” He thought back to the
Erasmus
and the Lorcas’ warm kitchen and the
Kestrel
’s flight to the far-off Sidh. He glanced at the red mark on his wrist. “I’ve traveled and seen more than I wanted to, Frigga. I’m not really sure I’m your Max anymore. . . .”

The gargantuan selkies promptly shimmied out of the water and basked in the sun on either side of him, as they had when he first arrived at Rowan. Max waxed nostalgic for a moment until an enormous flipper smacked him in the back of his head.

“That no excuse,” growled Frigga. “And you will
always
be our Max.”