An Artificial Night

THE FOREST WAS FULL OF SIGHS. There was no wind, but the branches bent against each other, whispering of pain and blood and loss. I was back in Acacia’s wood, and that was fine with me; she was the only thing in Blind Michael’s lands that I’d be sorry to leave behind. I turned, trying to get my bearings. I’d been standing in the wood when the darkness cleared, already awake. The Blood Road had been the least painful passage of the three. That was probably because it was supposed to have the most painful ending.

Something was wrong. The darkness around the trees had deepened, and the underbrush was wilting. The wood had been the one place in these lands that felt alive, and now it felt like it was dying. “Acacia?” I called. There was no answer.

Oh, root and branch. She helped me before the Ride; she stayed behind to talk to her daughter when the Ride was broken. Blind Michael must have seen her. These were his lands, and he was obviously stronger than she was. The loss of the children would have weakened him. He’d need someone—anyone—to make an example of. Acacia was no innocent, but she wasn’t guilty either; not this time.

I pulled the sword off my shoulder and started to unsheathe it, unwilling to cross the plains without a weapon in my hands. My palms slipped on the pommel, and I looked down. Blood covered my right hand, flowing from a thin cut that had opened, painlessly, across my wrist. There were no signs of clotting; it just kept bleeding.

“The Blood Road,” I said, understanding. There would be more cuts, and more still, until I bled to death where I stood. It wasn’t what I’d expected, but it wasn’t a surprise, either; I was on a time limit. I knew that already. I’d never had forever—forever isn’t something changelings get—and now time was running out. Blind Michael still had to die.

Time was short, the night was long, and everything was on his side. Everything but me, and the blood. Blood had shown me the way when it was mixed with wax and bound into a candle; why wouldn’t it help me when it was pure? “How many miles to Babylon?” I whispered, rubbing blood across my lips before I took off for the forest’s edge, running through the trees and into the mist-shrouded night. The blood knew the way, and so I trusted the blood, not questioning my steps as I ran into the gray. Before I’d run very far, I could see the distant glow of the fire burning in the clearing of Blind Michael’s village. The Riders were gathering again. Good. That meant that he’d be there for me to find.

At least the realm wasn’t actively hindering me. I stumbled on a few rocks, but that was only to be expected; I was running over ground I couldn’t see, and if I hadn’t tripped, I’d have thought that I was running into a trap.

I really need to learn to think more.

I could hear the Riders shouting when I was barely halfway across the plains. They sounded pissed, and I couldn’t blame them; from their perspective, the Luidaeg and company had interfered with their big holiday parade. Of course, their big holiday parade consisted of kidnapping and brainwashing, but what’s a little horrific torture between friends? There was nothing left to distract me and no one left to save. It was almost a relief; sometimes it’s nice to get back to basics. I’d kill Blind Michael or die trying. Kill or be killed. Live or die.

A cut had opened on my forehead, and blood ran into my eyes as I ran through the village, heading for the light. No one stopped me, not even when I burst into the clearing, screaming, “Michael!”

The whole Court was there, gathered for whatever celebration I was interrupting. It was too much at once. I stumbled, surprised, and two Riders stepped out of the crowd to grab me, pinning my arms to my sides. “Fight me, you bastard!” I kicked wildly, trying to free myself. They just laughed.

Blind Michael was sitting where I’d known he’d be, high on his throne—the small part of me that wished I’d finished the Ride always knew where he was. For that traitorous part of me, he was still my god.