Reckless (Free Preview) (8 page)

Fox looked at
him with apprehension.

"No!"
she barked.

Sometimes she
knew what he was thinking even before he did.

"She will
definitely be able to help him.
 
After
all, she is her sister."

"You
can't go back to her!
 
Ever."

Will
turned
around.

"Go back
to whom?"

Jacob didn't
answer.
 
He reached for the medallion
beneath his shirt.
 
His fingers still
remembered picking the petal that he kept inside it.
 
Just as his heart remembered the one from
whom the leaf protected him.

"Go and
wake Clara," he said to Will.
 
"We're leaving.
 
All will be
well."

It was along
the way — four days, maybe more — and they had to be faster than the stone.

Fox was still
looking at him.

No, Jacob!
 
No!
her
eyes pleaded with him.

Of course she
remembered it all as well as he did, if not better.

Fear, rage, lost time.
 
"Must have been
terrible injuries
.

But this was
the only way, if he wanted to keep his brother.

11

Hentzau

The Man-Goyl
whom Hentzau found in a deserted coach station was growing a skin of
malachite.
 
Half of his face was already
grained with dark green.
 
Hentzau had let
him go, like all the others they had found, with the advice to seek refuge in
the nearest Goyl camp — before his own kind could murder him.
 
But there was no gold yet in his eyes, only
the memory that his skin had not always been made of malachite.
 
He ran away as if there were still someplace
he could run to.
 
Hentzau shuddered at
the thought that the Fairy might one day sow human flesh into his jasper skin.

Malachite, bloodstone, jasper.
 
Hentzau and his soldiers had even found the
color of the King, but of course no trace of the stone they were looking for.

Jade.

Old women wore
it as talismans around their necks, and they secretly knelt before idols carved
from the holy stone.
 
Mothers sewed it
into their children's clothes so the stone would make them fearless and protect
them.
 
But there had never been a Goyl
whose skin was made of jade.

How long would
the Dark Fairy have him search?
 
How long
would he have to look a fool in front of his soldiers, the King, and
himself?
 
What if she had invented the
dream only to separate him from Kami’en?
 
And off he'd run, ever loyal and obedient, like a dog.

Hentzau looked
down the deserted road, which vanished between the trees.
 
His soldiers were growing nervous.
 
The Goyl avoided the
Hungry
Forest
as much as the humans did.
 
The Fairy
knew that very well.
 
This was a game.
 
Yes, that's what it was.
 
Nothing but a game.
 
And he was tired of being her dog.

The moth
settled on Hentzau's chest just as he was about to give the order to mount
up.
 
It clawed itself to his gray
uniform, right above where his heart was beating, and Hentzau saw the Man-Goyl
just as clearly as the Fairy had in her dreams.

The jade ran
through his human skin like a promise.

It could not
be.

And then the deep brought
forth a King, and when there came a time of great peril for him, there also
came the Jade Goyl, born from glass and silver, and he made the King
invincible, even to death.

Old wive's
tales.
 
As a child, Hentzau had loved nothing
more than listening to them, because they gave the world meaning and a happy
ending.
 
A world that
was clearly divided into above and below and that was ruled by soft-fleshed
gods.
 
But since then he had
sliced their soft flesh and had learned that they weren't gods, just as he had
learned that the world made no sense and there were no happy endings.

But there he
was.
 
Hentzau saw him clearly, as clearly
as if he could have reached out and touched the pale green stone that had
already spilled onto the Man-Goyl's cheek.

The Jade Goyl.
 
Born from the curse of the Fairy.

Had this been
her plan all along?
 
Had she sown all
that petrified flesh only to reap him?

What do you care, Hentzau?
 
Find him!

The moth
spread its wings, and he saw the fields he had fought on just a few months
earlier.
 
Fields that
bordered the eastern boundary of the
Hungry
Forest
.
 
He was searching on the wrong side.

Hentzau
suppressed a curse and swatted the moth dead.

His soldiers
looked at him in surprise when he gave the order to ride east again, but they
were relieved he didn't lead them deeper into the forest.
 
Hentzau wiped the crushed wings from his
uniform as he swung himself into the saddle.
 
None of them had seen the moth, and they would all confirm that he had
found the Jade Goyl without the Fairy's help — just as he kept telling everyone
that it was Kami’en who was winning the war, and not the spell of his immortal
beloved.

Jade.

She had
dreamed the truth.

Or had turned a dream into truth.

12

His Own Kind

It was early
afternoon by the time they finally left the forest.
 
Dark clouds hung above fields and meadows,
patches of green, yellow, and brown that stretched to the horizon.
 
Elderberry bushes bore heavy clusters of
black berries, and Elves, their wings wet with rain, fluttered among the
wildflowers by the roadside.
 
However,
the farms they passed were all deserted, and on the fields cannons were rusting
among the unharvested wheat.

Jacob was
grateful for all the abandoned farms, for by now it would have been perfectly
obvious to anyone looking at Will what was growing in his flesh.
 
It had been raining on and off since they had
come out of the forest, and the green stone on his face shimmered like the
glaze of some sinister potter.

Jacob had
still not told Will where he was leading him, and he was glad that Will didn't
ask.
 
It was already enough that Fox knew
that their destination was the only place in the world he had sworn never to
return to.

Soon the rain
was falling so mercilessly that even the vixen's fur no longer gave her any
protection.
 
Jacob's shoulder throbbed
with every movement, as if the Tailor was jabbing his needles into it again,
but with every glance at Will's face, Jacob pushed away any thought of
rest.
 
They were running out of time.

Maybe it was
the pain that made him careless.
 
He
barely noticed the abandoned farm when it appeared by the side of the road, and
Fox only caught the scent when it was already too late.
 
Eight
men,
ragged
but armed.
 
They suddenly emerged from
one of the dilapidated barns and had their rifles trained on the travelers
before Jacob could draw his pistol.
 
Two
of the men were wearing imperial tunics, and a third the gray jacket of a Goyl
soldier.
 
Plunderers
and deserters.
 
The
human debris of war.
 
Two more had
hung on their belts the same trophies imperial soldiers liked to display:
 
the fingers of their stone-skinned enemies,
in all the colors they could find.

For one brief
moment, Jacob hoped they wouldn't notice the stone.
 
Because of the rain, Will had drawn the hood
of his coat well over his face.
 
However,
one of them, a scrawny weasel of a man, noticed the infected hand as he dragged
Will from his horse, and he yanked the hood off his head.

Clara
attempted to shield him, but the one with the Goyl jacket pushed her out of the
way, and Will's face turned into that of a stranger.
 
Never before had Jacob seen in his brother's
features such a powerful desire to hurt someone.
 
Will struggled to free himself, but the
weasel punched him in the face, and when Jacob's hand went for his pistol,
their leader quickly put the muzzle of his rifle to Jacob's chest.

He was a
heavyset fellow with only three fingers on his left hand.
 
His threadbare jacket was covered with the
semi-precious stones Goyl officers wore on their collars to denote rank.
 
There was a lot of booty to be grabbed on the
battlefields once the living left the dead behind.

"Why haven't
you shot that Man-Goyl yet?" the leader asked while he searched Jacob's
pockets.
 
"Haven't you heard?
 
There are no more rewards to be had for this
lot, now that they've started negotiating with them."

He pulled out
Jacob's handkerchief but shoved it back heedlessly before a gold sovereign
could drop into his calloused hand.
 
Behind them, Fox scurried into the ruined stable.
 
Jacob could feel Clara looking at him
pleadingly, but what did she expect?
 
That he could take on eight men at once?

Threefingers
poured out the contents of Jacob's purse and gave a disappointed grunt when all
he found were a few copper coins.
 
The
others, however, were still staring at Will.
 
They were going to kill him.
 
Just
for kicks.
 
And put his fingers on their
belts.
 
Do something, Jacob!
 
But what?

Talk, play for time,
wait
for a miracle
.

"I am
taking him to someone who will give him back his skin."
 
The rain was running down his face, and the
weasel was jabbing his rifle into Will's side.
 
Keep talking, Jacob!
 
"He's my brother.
 
Let us go, and in a week's time I'll be back
with a sack of gold."

"Sure!"
 
Threefingers nodded to the others.
 
"Take them behind the barn, and shoot
this one in the head.
 
I like his
clothes."

Jacob pushed
away the two men who reached out to grab him, but a third put a knife to his
throat.
 
The man was wearing the clothes
of a peasant.
 
They hadn't always been
robbers.

"What are
you talking about?" he hissed into Jacob's ear.
 
"Nothing can give them their skin
back.
 
I shot my own son when the moonstone
started growing on his forehead!"

The blade was
pushed against his throat with such ferocity that Jacob could barely breathe.

"It's the
curse of the Dark Fairy!" he croaked.
 
"So I'm taking him to her sister.
 
She'll break it."

How they all
stared at him.
 
Fairy.
 
Just a word.
 
Five letters, which
contained all the magic and all the terror of this world.

The pressure
of the knife eased a little, but the face of the man was still contorted with
rage and helpless grief.
 
Jacob was
tempted to ask him how old his son had been.

"Nobody
just goes to see a Fairy."
 
The boy
who stammered these words was fifteen at the most.
 
"They come and get you."

"I know a
way.
 
Keep
talking, Jacob
.
 
I've been there
before."

"Really?
 
So why
aren't you dead, then?"
 
The knife
was breaking his skin.
 
"Or crazy,
like the ones who come back and then drown themselves in the nearest
pond?"

Jacob felt
Will staring at him.
 
What was he
thinking?
 
That his older brother was
telling fairy tales, just as he had done when they were young and Will couldn't
sleep?

"She will
help him," he said again, hoarse from the pressure of the knife.
 
But
before that, you'll kill us.
 
And it
still won't bring back your son.

The weasel
pushed the muzzle of his rifle into Will's blotched cheek.
 
"Going to see the Fairies?
 
Can't you see he's making fun of you,
Stains?
 
Let's just shoot them
already!"

He shoved Will
toward the barn.
 
Two of the others
grabbed Clara.
 
Now, Jacob.
 
What have you go to
lose?
 
But Threefingers suddenly spun
around and stared past the stables to the south.
 
Through the rain came the snorting of horses.