An Artificial Night

“I . . .” There was nothing I could say. Like it or not, I’d given my word. You can get there and back by candlelight, the Luidaeg said, and she’d been right; the light brought me into Blind Michael’s lands and kept me as safe as possible while I was there. It was my road home, and as long as I had it, my promises didn’t matter. As long as I didn’t let go, there was still a chance.

Wordless, I opened my hand, and I let the candle fall.

The Hunt watched, and Blind Michael watched through them. When it hit the ground, flame finally going out, he smiled. Victory, damn him forever. Victory was his. I stood as straight as I could, blinking back tears. The land wasn’t very welcoming when I was under the Luidaeg’s protection, but now, without my candle, it was terrifying.

Dimly, I realized that I wanted my mother.

“I stay,” I said.

“Yes,” said Blind Michael, “you do.” Something hit the back of my knees, knocking me to the ground. I tried to raise my head, but the world had gone dark, filled with the icy whispering of Blind Michael’s lost children. Oak and ash, what had I done?

“Here comes a candle to light you to bed,” they chanted. I could feel them closing in around me, but I couldn’t get my body to obey me and move away.

Luidaeg, forgive me . . . I thought, desperately. “Here comes a chopper to chop off your head,” rumbled Blind Michael. “Take her.”

Something heavy hit me on the base of the skull, and the world fell away.





TWENTY-SEVEN



THE WORLD WAS MADE OF MIST and filled with snatches of song. I hummed along, singing when I knew the words. There was nothing else: just the music, the mist, and me. Sometimes people moved past without speaking, but they didn’t matter. Nothing mattered as long as the music was there to keep me warm. There was a time when the world was something more than mist and half-remembered songs, but that time was long ago and far away; that time was over. I hurt when I tried to remember, and so I’d stopped trying. I just sat in the darkness and waited. What I was waiting for exactly was the part I didn’t know.

There were things to hope for, even in the misty darkness. If I was very lucky and very good, He might come. He was as big as the sky and as bright as the moon. When He walked the mists parted, and I could see the plains that stretched forever under the twilight sky. I would have done anything for Him. I would have died for Him. I think I told Him that once. I remember His hand on my hair, and His voice, as deep and wide as the ocean, rumbling, “You’re almost ready.” I cried for a long time after that. I didn’t know why. Something about promises.

Time passed. I don’t know how much, and I didn’t care; time had no real purpose. All that mattered was the mist, and the hope that soon, He would come again.

When the mists cleared enough to remind me that I had a physical shape, I realized someone was dressing me. Something was coming, something as important as the moon I could remember seeing against . . . some other sky. The thought hurt, so I put it aside; something important was coming, and that meant He would be there. Everything would be fine, as long as He was there. I smiled, letting unseen hands pull boots onto my feet. That didn’t seem polite, and so I sang, “Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross, to see a fine lady upon a white horse . . .”

“Yes, yes, of course,” said the someone, and stroked my hair, pulling it back and pinning it. The voice was almost familiar, the way the faces I sometimes saw when I slept were almost familiar. “It’s almost time to go. I’m going to get you out of here. Don’t worry.”

“. . . with rings on her fingers and bells on her toes,” I sang, closing my eyes. It hurt to watch the mist for too long. It would start dissolving if I did, showing me glimpses of a world that wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t the way the world was supposed to be; it made me want to bite and scream. Something about children and candles.

“How many miles to Babylon?” I muttered. “It’s threescore miles and ten.”

“Shhh,” said the voice. “You need to be quiet. No more rhymes. No more words.”