Dreams and Shadows - By C. Robert Cargill Page 0,129
and down in place, clapping excitedly. Tears flowed freely, only now streaming out of joy. “Thank you! Thank you, all of you!”
“I’d leave now,” said Coyote, “before we change our minds.”
There came a sudden rustle from a nearby thicket, and from the darkness stumbled a figure, staggering in the moonlight. With it came panting—pained moans chasing each unsure step. The night shrouded the figure with shadow, only at the last moment revealing her in the torchlight. A nixie, covered in blood, dripping from a gash across her stomach, took her last few steps before them, finally crashing into the dirt, exhausted.
The nixie looked up at Meinrad, extending an outstretched hand. “Please,” she said softly. “The boy. The Tithe Child.”
“Please what?” demanded Ruadhri, shocked at the appearance of the dying creature.
“Kill him,” the nixie pleaded. “As he killed my sisters.”
“What?!” cried Colby. “What is this?”
“It would appear your friend has killed again,” said Coyote.
“That’s impossible, I just left him,” said Mallaidh, shaking her head.
“Perhaps the nixie runs far faster than you,” said Rhiamon.
The nixie nodded. “It was him,” she coughed. “He looked like our boy, only uglier. I would know him anywhere. He dipped his hat in our blood as I ran.”
Meinrad looked sadly upon the nixie. “It would seem he has turned completely, and now dips his hat in our blood.” He then looked at Mallaidh. “Passage is revoked. The boy must die.”
“NO!” cried Mallaidh. “No! No! No!” She glanced around wildly, at once both frightened and furious. Then, without warning, she bolted, running as far and as fast as she could.
Ruadhri was the first to step away from his stone. “I must marshal our forces. Meinrad, grant me the right to raise an army.”
Meinrad nodded. “Granted. But raise no more than fifty. Then meet here and you may lead them.”
Ruadhri bowed, taking his leave. Rhiamon smiled wickedly, fading into the night. Ilsa immediately took a knee beside the dying nixie, comforting her as her spirit passed, her last breaths drawn with strained moans sounding like squeaking doors in a creaky house. Meinrad sank into the earth, becoming one with it, his presence vanishing from the circle.
Coyote turned—a satisfied smile on his lips—and walked off toward the woods. Colby rushed after him, ready to tear him limb from limb.
“I know what you did,” said Colby.
Coyote came to a stop, but did not turn around. “Do you?” he asked. “Do you, really?”
“Yes.”
“But do you know why?” asked Coyote.
“Because it is your nature.”
Coyote smiled, his copper skin rippling with wrinkles. “I see you’ve traded your youth for wisdom.”
“It’s easy to spot evil.”
Coyote’s smile dropped into a look of disappointment, the wrinkles settling sadly upon downturned lips. He turned around. “But not so wise yet as to fully grasp the world around you.”
“Wise enough to know why we’re both here.”
“And why are you here, Colby?”
“To kill you.”
“Ah, so it’s come to that, has it?” asked Coyote, a glimmer in his eye.
“Yes, it has.”
Coyote shook his head. “Perhaps I was too quick to judge your wisdom, confusing it with your swelling pride.”
“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you.”
“Apart from you having to ask for a reason?”
“Yes.”
“Because you know people only ask that when they don’t intend to kill someone.”
Colby narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have one.”
“Of course I don’t. I’m Coyote. You’ve read the stories, you know my tales. I’ve died a thousand deaths before and I’ve a thousand more to die before the end of time. This is a death hardly worth telling. What I’ve done cannot be undone by killing me, nor will you bring an end to my mischief. You will only reset the cycle anew. Perhaps next time I will be a kinder, gentler Coyote, playing pranks on children and concerning myself with finding delicious stew. Or maybe I will come back vindictive and meddlesome, eager to set nation upon nation while reveling in the bloodbath. You never know. I don’t even know who I’ll be next time around. I only know who I am now, and what I intend to do. And once you figure that out, then and only then will you know whether there is reason or not to let me live.”
“Or maybe,” said Colby, “you’re just another wily spirit, overinflating his own legend, seeding storytellers with tales of your many past lives in hopes of convincing guys like me that the devil we know is better than the devil we don’t, when in truth you have but one life to give and your only