cowardly.
The first sumac was turning a brilliant scarlet, and Leonie picked some of the lower leaves from a climbing vine. She sent Sigge to find yellow ash leaves that had drifted to the ground near the forest’s edge. Whenever he moved out of sight, she called him back and changed his task. The boy was too curious for his own good.
Toward the middle of the small forest, she edged closer and closer to the place where Sigge had cut his foot. She thought of calling to him but he was close enough for her to see him. So she exhaled hard and walked over the old leaf debris until she stood near the base of the big beech tree.
How strange it was that there was no sign that the decaying leaves had ever been disturbed. They had that greyed look of leaves dried out where they were exposed to air and filtered light. She picked up a dead branch and stirred up the leaves, revealing the dark humus beneath them. Gingerly, she scooted more leaves about, trying to make herself come up with the courage to bend down and dig with the small trowel she had brought along. Instead, she just kept stirring, as she might a dye pot.
“Leonie!”
The hairs on her nape spiked at the terror in Sigge’s voice.
“Leonie, run!”
She whirled about. Her heart stopped cold.
The thing. Standing between her and the boy, tall as the tallest man. Grey bones hung with rotting rags, but its armor gleamed as if freshly sanded. Bloodred eyeballs fixed on her. The hand of bones raised a sword into the air.
“Run, Sigge! To the castle!” She spun back toward the path, stumbling on an old oak’s roots, and dodged behind the tree, then scrambled through hazel bushes, heading for the beck.
The thing behind her roared.
Hazel bushes snagged her clothing. She tore free and sped through a gap.
“Run!” she screamed.
“I can’t! I can’t move! Help me, Leonie!”
It roared again. In front of her. It blocked her path. She had to get to Sigge. She turned back again. Now it was behind her. Another to the side. Another and another. Her heart pounded and raced as she gasped tiny, worthless breaths.
Four of them, all around her, leaves clinging to their rags. Leonie turned in a circle, moving slowly, looking for escape. The tree—could she climb it? Could they come up after her?
She jumped to grab the lowest branch, wrapped her legs around it, and swung herself on top of the branch. She grabbed the branch above it.
In a flash, long bones wrapped around her neck and jerked, crashing her to the ground on her back, knocking her breathless. She gasped, her lungs burning, fighting for air.
The monsters closed in. She pushed to her feet.
“Leonie!”
“Run!” she gasped. “Sigge, get help!”
“You!” said the thing, pointing its fleshless finger at the boy. “You cannot speak.”
Sigge’s mouth hung open, silent, as if he couldn’t close it.
Bright stars flashed in her head, blinding pain, and she fell back to the ground, fighting as she faded.
The thing leaned down and touched its bone fingers to her forehead. Lightning sprang from the bare bones and streamed through her skull, pulsing and twisting like bright ribbons into her head.
“You,” it said. “You cannot remember.”
The monster became flesh and blood, clothed in fine silks. It was no monster that leaned over her, but the king’s courtier.
Philippe.
He smiled as he caressed her cheek. The warmth in his Frankish honey-brown eyes gleamed and lit a reddish fire that turned to malice. He wrapped his hands around her throat and squeezed.
She clung to the light in the farthest corner of her mind, for it was her life, its circles of colored bands receding and merging with red, green, dull blue, each band smaller and smaller to a pinpoint, fading into an alien blue glow.
Philippe.
CHAPTER SIX
P HILIPPE NEARED C ASTLE Brodin as the late afternoon sun slanted long rays through the trees onto the beck’s sparkling waters. The day was cool, unlike the sticky, hot day a few weeks
The first sumac was turning a brilliant scarlet, and Leonie picked some of the lower leaves from a climbing vine. She sent Sigge to find yellow ash leaves that had drifted to the ground near the forest’s edge. Whenever he moved out of sight, she called him back and changed his task. The boy was too curious for his own good.
Toward the middle of the small forest, she edged closer and closer to the place where Sigge had cut his foot. She thought of calling to him but he was close enough for her to see him. So she exhaled hard and walked over the old leaf debris until she stood near the base of the big beech tree.
How strange it was that there was no sign that the decaying leaves had ever been disturbed. They had that greyed look of leaves dried out where they were exposed to air and filtered light. She picked up a dead branch and stirred up the leaves, revealing the dark humus beneath them. Gingerly, she scooted more leaves about, trying to make herself come up with the courage to bend down and dig with the small trowel she had brought along. Instead, she just kept stirring, as she might a dye pot.
“Leonie!”
The hairs on her nape spiked at the terror in Sigge’s voice.
“Leonie, run!”
She whirled about. Her heart stopped cold.
The thing. Standing between her and the boy, tall as the tallest man. Grey bones hung with rotting rags, but its armor gleamed as if freshly sanded. Bloodred eyeballs fixed on her. The hand of bones raised a sword into the air.
“Run, Sigge! To the castle!” She spun back toward the path, stumbling on an old oak’s roots, and dodged behind the tree, then scrambled through hazel bushes, heading for the beck.
The thing behind her roared.
Hazel bushes snagged her clothing. She tore free and sped through a gap.
“Run!” she screamed.
“I can’t! I can’t move! Help me, Leonie!”
It roared again. In front of her. It blocked her path. She had to get to Sigge. She turned back again. Now it was behind her. Another to the side. Another and another. Her heart pounded and raced as she gasped tiny, worthless breaths.
Four of them, all around her, leaves clinging to their rags. Leonie turned in a circle, moving slowly, looking for escape. The tree—could she climb it? Could they come up after her?
She jumped to grab the lowest branch, wrapped her legs around it, and swung herself on top of the branch. She grabbed the branch above it.
In a flash, long bones wrapped around her neck and jerked, crashing her to the ground on her back, knocking her breathless. She gasped, her lungs burning, fighting for air.
The monsters closed in. She pushed to her feet.
“Leonie!”
“Run!” she gasped. “Sigge, get help!”
“You!” said the thing, pointing its fleshless finger at the boy. “You cannot speak.”
Sigge’s mouth hung open, silent, as if he couldn’t close it.
Bright stars flashed in her head, blinding pain, and she fell back to the ground, fighting as she faded.
The thing leaned down and touched its bone fingers to her forehead. Lightning sprang from the bare bones and streamed through her skull, pulsing and twisting like bright ribbons into her head.
“You,” it said. “You cannot remember.”
The monster became flesh and blood, clothed in fine silks. It was no monster that leaned over her, but the king’s courtier.
Philippe.
He smiled as he caressed her cheek. The warmth in his Frankish honey-brown eyes gleamed and lit a reddish fire that turned to malice. He wrapped his hands around her throat and squeezed.
She clung to the light in the farthest corner of her mind, for it was her life, its circles of colored bands receding and merging with red, green, dull blue, each band smaller and smaller to a pinpoint, fading into an alien blue glow.
Philippe.
CHAPTER SIX
P HILIPPE NEARED C ASTLE Brodin as the late afternoon sun slanted long rays through the trees onto the beck’s sparkling waters. The day was cool, unlike the sticky, hot day a few weeks
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