An Artificial Night

“Blind Michael said the woods belonged to his consort,” I muttered, thinking of the yellow-skinned woman. She hadn’t looked very friendly. I’m normally willing to forgive first impressions, but if she was Blind Michael’s consort, I probably didn’t need to. The Luidaeg’s spell hid me from her. I doubted that made her an ally. “Let’s not go that way.” “Don’t go to the wood” was the first part of a plan. Now I just needed a way to get back into Blind Michael’s Court, rescue the kids, and get them out of his lands without being caught by any of his legion of heavily armed, extremely faithful servants. Why is nothing ever easy?

My candle burned a reassuring blue as I started toward the mountains. I found myself moving in an uneven line, always staying in easy reach of cover. It wasn’t a conscious decision, and it was still the best idea I’d had all day. The Riders couldn’t see me very well—the Luidaeg’s spell made sure of that—but they’d spotted me when I drew attention to myself. Walking straight for Blind Michael’s throne would probably count as drawing attention.

The sky was somehow managing to get darker, and a thick mist rose from the ground as true night approached. At least my candle was burning as steadily as ever, the wax still refusing to melt. That was for the best. Being trapped here without the Luidaeg’s gift to protect me would be a bad thing. A very, very bad thing.

The hours passed slowly, marked by the darkening sky. My legs ached, and my knees were burning, but I didn’t seem to have gained any ground; the mountains were as far away as they’d been when I started. I turned around, suddenly suspicious.

The forest hadn’t receded at all.

“Oh, Maeve’s bones,” I moaned. Of course the land was working against me. We were deep enough in the Summerlands that the entire Islet was like one gigantic knowe, bound to the will of its owner. Blind Michael’s word was law here, and he didn’t want me to get away.

I stomped my foot, fighting the urge to scream. Maybe it was childish, but if you can’t be childish when you are a child, what’s the point? I’d been walking for hours. My headache wasn’t going away; if anything, the long walk without water or aspirin had made it worse. It felt like little men with jackhammers were trying to rewire my brain. My knees hurt. My legs hurt. I was so thirsty that swallowing scraped the back of my throat, and all I wanted was the chance to curl up somewhere and sleep until everything was better. I forced myself to take a deep breath. There had to be a solution, somewhere. I just needed to force myself to see it.

I walked to the nearest bramble thicket and dropped to my hands and knees, crawling inside. I stopped once I was past the first row of thorns, staring. I wasn’t the first one to use this as a hiding place; someone had cut away the branches on the inside, opening a path. The cuts didn’t look fresh, and the ground was undisturbed—whoever created this hidey-hole hadn’t been back in a long time. Looking more closely, I saw that the brambles had been twisted so that they’d grow back into the main body of the briar, making the shield of thorns on the outside thicker and more secure. No one would be able to see me from the plains. Those same careful cuts made the narrow tunnel self-sustaining. It could probably go unused forever.

That decided me. Secret places in bushes and quarries are generally the property of children, and this one had likely been cultivated by some long-forgotten child who’d managed to escape the Hunt, at least for a little while. If it was at all like the hiding places I shared with Stacy and Julie when I was a kid, no adult had ever seen it: they could walk right by and never realize it was there. I crawled deeper, careful of the thorns.

The path wound inward until it met the main trunk, where it widened to become a clear bubble of open space. Whoever made the path also dug a shallow dip in the soft earth, making just enough room for a small person to sit upright. Any vague hopes for alliance were dashed when I saw that indentation judging by the way the brambles encroached on its edges, whoever created this little hiding place had been gone for a very long time. Just another casualty of Blind Michael’s lands.

I scooted into the scrape and braced myself against the trunk, relaxing slowly. I just needed a little rest and time to think before I had to start moving again. Holding my candle away from the dry wood all around me, I closed my eyes.