The Sweet Far Thing

“Initiation,” Kartik shouts, coming to my side. “Call it off.”

“Brother Kartik. I’d been told you were no longer living,” a voice calls. “Mr. Fowlson, you will answer for this.”

Fowlson’s face drains of color. “Yes, m’lord.”

“Let my brother go!” I shout.

“Certainly, dear lady. Just as soon as you give us the magic.”

I glance at Tom, who is helpless under the executioner’s knife.

“I can’t do that,” I say.

Tom screams as the knife presses a bit closer. “Stop,” he says in a strangled voice.

“Please, I need your help!” I cry. “Something terrible is happening in the Winterlands. We’re all in danger. I believe those creatures mean to come into our world.”

The room breaks into polite laughter. Beside me, Fowlson laughs hardest.

“I have seen Amar in the realms!” I shout. “He was one of you once. He warned me that it was coming. ‘Beware the birth of May,’ he said.”

The laughter dies away. “What did he mean by it?”

“I don’t know,” I say, keeping an eye on my brother. Tom is starting to come around. I see it in his eyes. “I thought it meant the first of May, but that day has come and gone. It could be another day—”

Lord Denby steps out of the shadows. “I don’t know what manner of trickery this is, Miss Doyle, but it will not stand.” His finger lowers, and the cloaked figure presses the knife harder to my brother’s throat. “He will die.”

“And what if you kill him?” I say. “What bargaining power will you have then?”

“Your brother will die!” His voice thunders in the room.

It’s as if some fog has lifted, and I see clearly for the first time since this all began. I will not be intimidated, not by them. Not by anyone.

“And you will have nothing then,” I shout, sure and strong. “Nothing to shield yourselves from my power. And I will unleash it, sirs, like the hounds of hell, if you should harm one hair on his head!”

Lord Denby’s finger waits at the ready. The executioner’s knife also. For the longest moment, we all wait on the precipice.

“You’re a woman. You won’t do it.” He lowers his hand, and I don’t stop to think. I summon the magic and the knife becomes a balloon that slips from the man’s grip.

“Tom, run!” I shout.

Tom sits, confused, and Kartik makes a grab for him and pulls him away as I vibrate with the power I’ve suppressed for too long. It speeds out of me with new purpose. And no one’s eyes are wider than my brother’s as I send the walls crawling with flames. Phantoms swirl overhead, shrieking. It doesn’t matter that it’s only illusion; the men believe it.

“Stop!” Lord Denby cries, and the flames and the phantoms are gone. He stumbles to the railing. “We are reasonable men, Miss Doyle.”

“No, you’re not. And so I must speak very plainly, sir. You are never to approach my family again, or there shall be consequences. Do I make myself clear?”

“Quite,” he gasps.

“What about the realms?” Kartik calls out. “Do you forget that we have long been its guardians? Will you not come with us into the Winterlands?”

The men mumble to one another. No one comes forward for the ardous journey.

“Very well,” Lord Denby says. “I shall assemble some foot soldiers for the task.”

“Foot soldiers?” I ask.

Kartik folds his arms. “Men like Fowlson and me. Men who won’t be missed.”

“Yes, take Mr. Fowlson with you,” Lord Denby says as if suggesting a servant for hire. “He has a way with a knife. You’re a good chap, aren’t you, Folwson?”

Mr. Fowlson accepts the statement like a blow he will not return. His jaw clenches.

“As it is my choice, I shall have Mr. Fowlson. We understand one another. And he does have a way with a knife,” I say. “Untie my brother, if you please.”

Mr. Fowlson loosens Tom’s bonds. He shoulders Tom’s limp body, and we move toward the door.

“The blindfold!” a man bellows.

I throw it on the floor. “I don’t need it. If you wish to wear it, be my guest.”

“Gemma! What the devil is going on? What did you do?” Tom demands. He’s beginning to unravel, and action must be taken.

“Hold him still, will you, please?” I say to Kartik and Fowlson, who take hold of Tom’s arms.