Page 73

Shadow turned to me. He had shed his glamour and had grown to at least twice his normal size, his snout distended and his ribs poking through his fur. His eyes flickered like embers—quite unnerving, but also helpful, in that context. He threw back his head and let loose a deathly howl.

I became aware that there had been a great many noises I hadn’t initially noticed, but did now, in the contrasting silence that followed Shadow’s howl. Skittering, scuttling noises; odd chirps and groans, like some form of prehistoric bird. I saw nothing alive—or did I? For the darkness seemed to twitch, gathering shape and then fading away. I told myself that it was just my eyes playing tricks, but I found no comfort in this.

I clambered onto Shadow’s back and wove my fingers through his fur. “Quickly,” I managed to choke out. Shadow began to run, so swiftly the uneven, half-seen topography passed in a blur. Each of his strides became a bound, and we covered untold distances. The dog paused to sniff the ground every once in a while and then we were off again, charging headlong through the impressionistic shadowscape. The sky was starry, I think, but it hurt too much to look up at it. Shadow’s paws, when they touched ground, often crunched—on what I never did see, nor cared to.

It wasn’t long before he found her.

Before us was an odd sort of pillar of rock, all protrusions and jagged edges. Atop it was something that resembled a bundle of rags, but I knew better. Shadow gave a satisfied huff that I recognized, even if it had more of a deathly rattle in it than usual.

“Your Highness,” I called, and the bundle of rags stirred. Queen Arna lifted her head and gazed down upon us, incomprehension in her face—what I could see of it. It was not only the darkness that obscured her features, but filth, her skin grey from the ashes, her hair a torn and ragged tangle that made her resemble a doll some child had taken scissors to. She also smelled dreadful, all the more so given the contrast with the uniform scent of desiccation that was all that remained in this world.

She opened her mouth and croaked something, waving her arm. At first I thought she was trying to attract our attention, as if not fully convinced we’d seen her, but then I heard that uncanny chirping sound to my left. Shadow lunged at something I never saw, and there was a louder crunch followed by a sort of whistling sound, as of air funneling through a narrow gap. The darkness twitched all around us and Shadow howled again, a terrible, unending sound that made my mind fill with images of waiting graves.

The darkness was still until the last of the echoes faded. Then there came another chirp, followed by a series of moaning gasps and dry clicking noises.

“They—” The former queen’s voice was too rasping to make out any more. I realized the truth a heartbeat later—whatever these creatures were that haunted this waste, they had surrounded the old queen, who must have clambered up the pillar to escape them.

Shadow howled once more, but the creatures seemed to be mastering their fear of him. The darkness was full of moans and scraping sounds, as of things dragging themselves forward over the sand.

“Jump down!” I hollered.

Scarcely had the words left my mouth, however, than the old queen was acting on them. She drew herself onto her hands and knees and lurched forward, unbalancing the topmost fragment of rock. She struck a protrusion as she fell, and the entire thing began to topple. It was not a pillar of rock, I realized then, but an unwieldy tower of bones. I could not imagine how the woman had made it to the top in the first place, but such questions were for another time. She half fell, half tumbled to the ground, landing in a heap at our feet. At the same moment, something horribly skinny, with jaws as long as my arm, lunged out of the dark and snapped at her hair, wrenching out a hank.

I shrieked and Shadow started back. I just managed to grab hold of the woman’s wrist and yank her half onto Shadow’s back before the dog broke into a run. The bone tower crashed behind us, spilling vertebrae and teeth that clattered after us as if giving chase.

Then we were careening back the way we had come, Shadow filling the wasteland with his howls. I barely managed to stay on his back, and Arna did not manage it at all—I was able to hook my arm through hers beneath her shoulder, but her legs dangled free, one foot intermittently striking the ground. Likely I would not have had the strength to maintain my awkward grip, but she had grown skinny as a river reed since we’d shared poisoned wine at her table, and also I was highly motivated not to drop her for fear of having to turn back.

Shadow moved more swiftly on the return journey, though I could not see what he was running towards—either the door was not visible from this side or my eyes were too stung by ash and soot to make it out. But nothing could deceive Shadow’s nose, and abruptly the smell of decay was replaced by that of forest, and I was falling forward onto snow, taking deep gasps of winter air laced with frost that had never tasted so pleasant.

12th February

It’s difficult to know precisely how long I spent in the Veil—certainly it seemed no more than an hour. But when I returned it was nearing twilight, which did not surprise me. I could see it was the same day, for a few tiny embers still lurked below the burnt wood of my campfire. The door to the Veil had vanished, and the grove was empty—the Hidden king had not bothered to wait for me, which was a relief. Most likely he assumed I was dead, but it was also possible that he simply was not interested enough in the outcome to trouble himself. After all, I had promised to return to him once I’d done away with Wendell, and what reason did he have to doubt me? He’d swallowed the story of my undying love for him.

Well! I do not think I shall be able to return to Ljosland, for I do not see him forgiving me a second time.

My exhaustion was beyond comprehension, and I could scarcely manage to build a fire. Arna lay insensible in the snow; I constructed the fire close to where she lay, left a little cup of melted snow beside her, draped her in a blanket from the tent, and hoped for the best. Then I staggered into the tent with Shadow and was asleep before my head touched my pallet.

Should I have been more concerned that Wendell’s stepmother would murder me as I slept? I don’t think so. Not only on account of her weakened state, but because she had nothing to gain by my death, and everything to lose should Wendell learn of what she had done. He had proven himself greater than she, for he could control the Veil, and she could not. I did not believe she would be in a hurry to return to the place.

Such bloodless calculations concerning my physical safety in the company of a vengeful faerie queen had not pleased Lilja and Margret when I described them before I left, but they were enough for me, and my sleep was untroubled.

My stomach woke me sometime before dawn, growling ferociously. I devoured half of Poe’s cakes and all my remaining water, then scribbled out the previous journal entry—yes, I am aware that making this a priority might sound strange. But I was in such scholarly terror of forgetting anything I had seen that I knew I would not sleep easy until I had written it down. I believe I fell asleep again with the pen in my hand. Oh, how Wendell would mock me if he knew! And yet I have so many ideas for the papers I will write about Dark Faerie, as I have decided to call it—indeed, I could write a book on the subject! That the Folk are in such terror of the place makes it inherently fascinating, and yet, now that I have ventured there, I am not convinced there is anything particularly exceptional about it. In fact, one of the O’Donnell brothers’ stories speaks of a faerie realm where it is always night, inhabited by monstrous Folk. As do several Russian tales—the names escape me at present—and one from the Welsh Marches.

Lord, I am rambling. The papers can wait—for now.

When I woke again, it was late morning, and Shadow was still asleep at my side, snoring lightly. It was a fine Ljosland day: the sun was out, setting little jewels of light amidst the snow, and the wind was still, the boughs quiescent. I found the old queen awake, but lying in a heap beneath her blanket. She had added wood to the fire at least once in the night, for it still flickered.

“We must return to the door,” I said, and explained to her about Poe and the key he’d given me. She made no reply, but pushed herself upright and sat looking very small and forlorn, as well as younger than she’d seemed to me before, at the height of her power—only a few years older than I. I couldn’t tell if she was in shock or contemplating some foolhardy plot to escape.

I returned to the tent to rouse Shadow, and was terrified to find that he would not wake immediately. I had to shake him several times, murmuring his name and rubbing at his ears in the way he liked, my voice increasingly desperate, because while I had known his time was approaching—oh, yes, I had known it, and woken in dread many a night to listen to his whistling snores at the foot of the bed—I could not accept that it would be now. But at last he gave a grunt and opened his eyes. Once he saw me, he heaved himself to his feet, as if determined to establish that he was as hale as ever, and licked my face.

I hugged him, my vision fogged with tears of relief. How I wished we were at the end of our journey! I murmured apologies and praise, rubbing Shadow’s neck. How dear he is to me. I cannot write this without feeling my eyes well again.

After I returned the tent to its former iteration and stamped the fire out, Arna allowed me to help her stand. I held out Poe’s key, and a heartbeat later we were in his grove again.

Poe was nowhere to be seen, nor was his mother, thank God, though the grove was filled with the smell of stewed apples.

“Would you care to bathe?” I asked the queen, motioning to the hot spring.