Dreams and Shadows - By C. Robert Cargill Page 0,61

blisters on the surface of their skin. A few of them tore out their own beards, tangles of wiry, white hair coming out—root and all—with bloody patches of skin, meat dangling off the ends. Others pounded their skulls with clenched fists, trying to dull one pain by replacing it with another. One by one, they each stumbled back to their feet and ran away, screaming to block out the sound; any longer in the presence of these words and they would incinerate in place, leaving only a pile of ashes in their iron boots. Better to flee in terror than meet a fiery end.

Dietrich stayed the longest, kneeling stoically before a now screaming Colby, defiantly waiting for him to stumble over the scripture, turn to run away, or finally run out of breath. But he didn’t. Colby stood firm in his resolve, repeating the verses over and over again like a broken record, the words beginning to lose meaning, the repetition becoming a blur of syllables.

Dietrich stood up on wobbly legs, teetering like a dying dandelion waving in the wind, ready to burst in the face of a single strong gust. His skin was bubbling, his blisters popping, the sores were oozing pus. He snarled a low, dull, angry growl against the pain; he was a dog on a taut leash, pulling, tugging, waiting rabidly for that leash to snap. There was nothing he wanted more than to kill Colby where he stood, but even he had his limits.

His eyes swollen with blood, his face dripping, he screamed at the top of his lungs and turned to run, joining his friends in their flight. Colby was left standing alone, his friends staring at him, amazed by what they’d just seen.

“Wow!” screamed Ewan. “That was . . . that was . . .”

“That was incredible, Colby,” finished Mallaidh. She walked over and kissed him on the cheek. “Our hero.”

“Hey!” protested Ewan.

“Oh shut up.” She shrugged, furrowing her brow and frowning at Ewan playfully. “You’ll always be my hero.”

“Well, I—”

Then from out of the woods it leapt, a quick, brutal shadow pouncing upon Ewan. Steel glinted in one hand as the other grabbed him by the collar, throwing him to the ground.

“Ewan!” screamed Mallaidh.

It was Knocks. He quickly mounted Ewan and swung the knife down. Ewan flinched, pulling his shoulder away just in time for the blade to sink into the earth beside him. Bucking, Ewan tried to break free, but Knocks was stronger.

Knocks brought the knife up again.

“You killed my mother!” he screamed.

Then he crumpled from the blow of a quick kick to the back of the head, tumbling forward into the dirt.

“You get off of him!” shouted Colby.

Colby kicked him again. Knocks gripped his knife tightly but Colby slammed his foot down hard on his hand, crushing it. The changeling screamed. Then it was Colby who mounted Knocks, pounding him in the face.

“You! Will! Not! Hurt! My! Friend!”

Colby was a beast unleashed, wailing, a relentless fury on the small boy beneath him. Blood poured out of Knocks’s nose, his crooked eye beginning to swell shut.

A large hand reached in, grabbing Colby by the scruff of the neck and hoisting him up. Colby, still in a rage, swung furiously at the air in front of him.

“Colby,” said Yashar. No answer. “Colby,” he said again. “Colby!”

Colby swung his last, futile punch, dangling two feet in the air, grimacing at Yashar, still spinning in his grip. Yashar glared back at Colby. Slowly the look of defiance eroded, Colby shrinking away from Yashar’s withering stare. “I’m sorry,” he mewled. Then he pointed an accusatory finger at Knocks. “He hurt Ewan.”

Knocks leapt to his feet, leaving the knife behind, wordlessly vanishing into the woods.

Colby reached after him, yelling, “Hey!”

“Leave him,” said Yashar. “We have greater concerns than him.” Yashar set Colby back down on the ground. “I don’t know what you were thinking.”

“I told you. He was trying to kill Ewan.”

“No, I mean what you two were thinking leaving camp.”

Colby’s eyes welled up with fearful tears. “I . . . I . . . I just wanted to play with Ewan before I had to go.”

“And who told you that you had to go?” Colby looked past Yashar at Coyote, who was standing in just enough moonlight to be seen. Yashar made a slight quarter turn, looking back over his shoulder.

Coyote nodded. “The council doesn’t want him interfering with the Tithe Child. Who else would they send?”

Yashar shrugged. He knew better than to bother trusting