The Hound of Rowan (36 page)

“And what do you know of Elias Bram?” asked the creature quietly.

“He was the last Ascendant. He sacrificed himself at Solas so some could flee—”

The creature's lank gray strands of hair whipped around as it turned; its face was a trembling mask of stretched and tattered skin.

“Lies!”

The word shook the chamber like an earthquake. A glass beaker fell and shattered on the floor. Max shrank and shut his eyes.

“Those are lies,” the creature repeated, its voice softening to a low rumble. “Forgive my anger; the injustice of your words salts old wounds. Bram did not sacrifice himself that day. He sacrificed me. My body. My honor. My legacy.”

“You were with him?” asked Max. “
You
were at Solas?”

“I was,” the creature said, nodding. “It was I, Marley Augur, the blacksmith, who sounded the alarm when the Enemy was sighted. It was I who fulfilled my duty and ran to the breach while Bram ran to his wife. It was I who staunched the tide while Bram
lingered
….”

Augur's voice rasped; the small green lights in his eyes danced and flickered.

“I felled many, ere I was broken.” He sighed, bowing his head.

“But then, you're a hero,” breathed Max.

The towering thing shook its head violently and glared at Max.

“A hero? No, boy, I most assuredly am
not.
Heroes are remembered! Heroes are secured a place in the memories of their people. They are not left to rot, unburied,
unwept,
and
forgotten on the field
!”

Max winced as the creature's voice again rose in pitch and intensity. Peg giggled softly in the corner.

“But I was spared that day,” returned the hollow whisper. “Spared by an Enemy blessed with a wisdom and goodness that had been hidden from me. Before I fell, the Lord Astaroth saw my quality. He commanded his servants to bear my body away. I was given a seat of honor, and I have learned the errors of my old allegiance. I have a new Lord, and it is for him that Marley has begun his great work.”

Max suddenly flushed with anger.

“What ‘great work'? You're just a traitor seeking revenge!”

“You are young, boy,” said Augur calmly, arranging beakers on the table. “Do not be so hasty. Revenge is a powerful force, a force that has birthed many great things. Vengeance lends purpose; it is vengeance that has kept me alive these many years to create my masterworks.”

Max shrank against his chair as Augur leaned closer. Slowly, gently, the man swung Max's chair around.

Max cried out as he saw them against the far wall: dozens of children standing pale and ghostly in the shadows of a large alcove. Each was draped in a black shroud, swaying on unsure feet. Some appeared to be mere zombies, staring ahead with sightless eyes; others betrayed a hint of awareness as they gazed at Max.

“The children shall serve our cause, and they shall be rewarded. When Astaroth is victorious, they shall hold dominion and rule as noble lords upon this earth!”

One girl with tangled brown hair caught his eye. To Max's horror, she whispered, “Run.”

“Oh my God,” whispered Max. “
Look
at them! Look at what you're doing to them!”

“I am sparing them betrayal! I am sparing them my pain!”
roared Augur, spinning Max's chair away from the children to face the stairs again. In a spasm of anger, he seized Max's face. Max gasped—the fingers were so cold he feared his heart would stop. Augur relaxed his grip; his other arm pried the hand away.

“I have heard Bram's apple was salvaged,” Augur muttered, walking away quickly to a chest pushed against the wall. He opened the lid and reached inside. “I have heard it is prized as a trophy! That it hangs in a place of honor…”

Something heavy landed in Max's lap. It was a large apple, its wrinkled, moldy skin marbled with many veins of tarnished gold.

“This should hang in its stead,” intoned Augur. “It
will
hang in Bram's stead, and
you
will help me place it there.”

The vyes then descended on Max. Peg held her knife to Max's throat while Cyrus tied him tightly to the chair with a heavy rope.

“Wait—” said Max, straining to lift his chin away from the knife.

Augur dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

“The time for talk is past,” he said. “Astaroth shall judge what to do with you.”

“You'd better pray you're the one,” Peg hissed in Max's ear just as Cyrus gagged Max with a filthy rag. “If not, the elixir's worthless and Marley will be in no mood to save you.”

The vye tapped a sharp nail against his head and left him. Sweat poured off Max. He strained against the ropes, but Cyrus's knots were clever and only cinched tighter. All the while, he kept an eye on Peg, who had begun appraising paintings like an art critic, occasionally plucking one off the wall. Max gave a little groan as he saw Peg select the Rembrandt and Vermeer that David had identified as likely prisons.

All the while, Marley Augur chanted slow, strange words in his deep voice.

The chamber became very still—as if every living creature and even the surrounding earth and stone bore witness to the ceremony.

Max felt a sudden flash of pain as Peg's knife reopened the wound on his palm. He had not seen her approach. She pried his fingers open, pulling the skin apart and squeezing the flesh until his hand felt cold and weak.

Peg brought a shallow bowl of Max's blood to Augur. The blacksmith's solemn chanting became louder; his fingers beckoned at the blood as if seeking to draw something from it. Max looked away as Augur dripped and stirred his blood into the cauldron. Staring at the apple in his lap, Max fought to control his breathing as he watched the firelight dance on the gold that marbled its surface.

The chanting faded into silence.

“The incantation is finished,” Augur croaked. “The elixir is complete.”

Peg grinned and tittered as she selected a large canvas and propped it before him. It was a terrifying painting—the image of a wild-eyed giant devouring the body of a man.

Marley Augur dipped a heavy-bristled brush into the cauldron. A thick, shimmering glaze was applied to the giant's face.

“You are free, Astaroth, to walk once again as Lord upon this Earth. The Old Magic of your enemies recalls you to life and releases you from your bonds!”

Augur bowed his head while Peg and Cyrus edged away.

Nothing happened.

“Put more on!” hissed Peg, but Augur spun and glowered at her.

“I will spend nothing on more of your foolish guesses!” Augur snapped. “Bring the next!”

Augur repeated the ritual with several more paintings, becoming increasingly agitated.

“So help me, Peg,” muttered Augur, a rising anger in his voice as he scraped and stirred the cauldron's remaining contents.

Max held his breath as the Vermeer was brought forward, the one with the girl reading her letter at the window. A trembling whine sounded from Cyrus's throat; the vye loped back to the staircase, almost disappearing within its shadows.

When the elixir was wasted on several more paintings, Augur's rage was hideous; he snapped their thick frames like matchsticks.

Augur stood bowed and panting while Peg propped up the Rembrandt, her face white with fear. Max's eyes swept over the familiar painting's dark and stormy surface. An angel had arrived to stop Abraham just before the old man sacrificed his son. Abraham appeared surprised; the knife fell from one hand as he covered the son's eyes with the other.

With a disdainful glance at Peg, Augur scraped the brush around the cauldron's rim and dabbed it on Abraham's face.

“Peg, you are fin—” he began.

“Wait!” shrieked Peg, backing away from Augur.
“Something's happening!”

Max squinted at the painting, trying to make out Abraham's face beneath the shiny elixir.

His breathing came to a halt; the only sound he heard was his own heartbeat.

Abraham was looking at him.

There was an ancient, knowing wisdom to the eyes—something deeply unsettling about the way they wandered over Max's face and bindings. They might have been a million years old.

Marley Augur and Peg bowed low before the painting.

“Astaroth, you are recalled to life by your loyal servants,” said the blacksmith, his voice filled with reverence. “Walk this Earth again, my Lord, and bring order with your rule.”

Max's fear boiled over as the eyes ignored Augur and continued to look at him. His hands trembled, and the hairs on his neck stood on end.

With a furious surge, Max shattered the chair and bindings that held him. Spitting out the gag, he clutched Augur's apple and bolted for the stairs. Cyrus rose from his seat and blocked Max's way.

“Solas!” Max yelled, flexing the fingers of his wounded hand and filling the chamber with a flash of blinding light.

Max leapt over the vye as it howled and doubled over. He sprinted up the steps and threw his shoulder against a stout door, but it would not budge.

“Stop him!”
roared Augur from below.

Panicked, Max saw the door was barred with a heavy crossbeam. He pushed it back just as Cyrus began to scramble up the stairs on all fours. Max shrieked and forced the door open, stumbling out into a cold, dense fog.

He exited what appeared to be a tomb, darting and weaving among gravestones that rose out of the damp mist. The vye came crashing after him.

Max grunted in pain as his knee clanged into a thick length of metal jutting from a fence. Ignoring the ache, he ran on in a desperate search for the cemetery's exit. He tried to Amplify again, but nothing happened.

Suddenly, Max saw a tall gate standing open nearby. He limped through it, stopping to swing the gate shut just as he saw the huge silhouette of the vye closing in through the fog. The gate was too heavy and slow. Max abandoned it, the sound of the vye panting behind him triggering a fear so terrible that he gave a cry and churned his legs faster. A tall tree stood at the crest of a steep bank. Max made for it, racing uphill and planting his foot for a great leap.

The vye swatted his ankle out from under him, toppling him to the grass and scrambling on top of him. It tried to pin his shoulders with its great claws, while its hind legs scrabbled wildly for better purchase. Max rolled onto his side, whipping up his arm to shield his throat from the snapping, snarling jaws. The vye's teeth sheared through his sleeve and across his forearm. Max grunted and thrust his arm forward, driving back the jaws, as Cyrus tried to tunnel under Max's arm toward his face.

Unable to Amplify, Max started to give way, and the jaws snapped closer. In desperation, he jammed his other fist down the creature's throat, forcing Marley Augur's apple deep into its gullet. The vye gave a horrible yelp of pain and surprise, bucking wildly to free itself. Max held on with all his might, forcing the apple ever deeper. They rolled on the ground, locked together, until the vye convulsed violently and gave a quivering exhale. A moment later, it was still.

Max rose shakily, using his sweatshirt to staunch the bleeding and wipe away the saliva. There were several dime-sized punctures in his forearm, and his wrist and hand were bleeding freely. Max scanned the fog to see if Peg or Marley were coming. There was no movement—only a brisk wind that chilled the sweat on Max's neck. Several black birds croaked in the branches above, looking down with small, cold eyes.

“I've got to go,” Max murmured. “I've got to get help.”

He squinted at the sky: no sun, no stars, nothing to gauge the direction he was facing or even the time of day. Grimacing, he peeled off his sweatshirt and tore it into strips, tying them tightly around his arm to slow the bleeding.

The vye was sprawled out in the tall grass, its tongue swollen and purple-blue. The reality of what he had just done sent a shiver down his spine.

He peered once more in the direction of the cemetery and the haunting words he had read in Rattlerafters echoed in his mind.

The child who took up arms that day would have the greatest name in Ireland, but his life would be a short one….

Massaging his knee, he struck out in the direction opposite from the graveyard.
There must be a road nearby,
he reasoned. He trotted along in the gloom while arguing with himself.

You're doing the right thing, Max.

The damage is done—Astaroth is already awake.

You'll only get yourself killed. Think of what that would do to Dad!

This isn't the Course. This is real life.

You can send for help. Cooper or Ms. Richter can save those children!

They'll still be here—

Max slowed to a halt, doubling over as the pain in his arm flared. Wincing, he applied more pressure to the wounds. As the wounds began to clot, Max suddenly admitted to himself that soon there would be no one to rescue. The other children would surely be gone by the time Max could summon help. In his mind's eye, he saw the faces and eyes of the hopeless children. He recalled with awful clarity the emaciated girl who had begged him to run.

He turned and ran back toward the cemetery. The crows called out a shrill greeting as Max passed the tree where the vye lay. He retraced his path until he arrived at the fence he had stumbled into earlier. Rusted and bent well away from the rest was a black iron rail that tapered to a sharp point. Max shook it back and forth, twisting and kicking at its base until it snapped off in his hands.

The makeshift spear felt awkward as Max stole from gravestone to gravestone. The fog was lighter now; he could see the dark entrance to the crypt. Creeping to its open doorway, he heard the sounds of hurried movements—the yawn of a heavy door, the clink of metal and glass. He slipped quietly down the stone stairs. A few steps from the bottom, he stopped and hugged the wall.