The Child Thief

Chapter Seven

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Sekeu
Nick sat on the floor with his back firmly against the wall.
His aching head felt like it would never stop ringing. He touched his
swollen lip and winced. At this point, he felt fairly confident that no one
was going to eat him, at least not this morning. He rested his head against
the stone works and watched the kids go about their madness.
Half-naked kids darted about in all directions, pushing and yelling, but
somehow, out of the chaos, fires were started, torches were lit, bowls were
brought out of cupboards, and soon the air smelled of soot and smoke. Nick
tried to count the kids, but they moved around too much. He guessed
around twenty all together, and was amazed at the ruckus they could make.
Soft morning light flickered along the stone-and-dirt floor. Nick could
see a sparse canopy of limbs through the few breaks in the roof. He scanned
the chamber: it was a bit smaller than a basketball court. His eyes returned
over and over to the hanging bodies in the far corner. They’d looked so real
in the fog, but now, in the light, it was plain to see that they were just straw
dummies. Why there should be straw dummies hanging from the rafters
was a mystery, but at this point they were the least of his concerns.
The place was a mess: cages and tarps strewn all along one wall, clothes
piled up in and on top of old barrels, candy bar wrappers, crumbled
cigarette boxes and butts among the straw and leaves, old, blackened
chewing gum worn into the stones. The only thing that was neat were the
weapons, glistening with fresh oil and hung in nice rows, along with
various types of leather armor, helmets, and pads.
Cooking smells caught Nick’s attention: a nutty, cinnamon aroma. Nick
was surprised when his stomach began to growl. How his stomach could
think of food after all that had happened was beyond him. He watched them
fill their bowls up with a soupy goop. Was that gruel? Nick wasn’t even
sure what gruel was, much less what it looked like, but he bet it looked a lot
like that stuff.
One by one the kids plopped down onto the benches on either side of a
long wooden table and began to eat. Nick still had a hard time believing

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what he was seeing: wild-haired savages slurping, smacking, yelling, and
laughing with large gobs of food in their mouths, several using their hands
instead of the big wooden spoons. All the while the little blue people flew
about trying to snatch stray berries and nuts.
Another growl came from Nick’s stomach. He really wanted a bowl of
whatever it was they were eating. But there was no way he was going to
beg to be fed, not after the way they’d treated him.
A girl walked purposely over to him. She had the wide cheekbones and
a strong jawline of a Native American Indian. Her body was lean and
sinewy. At first glance, she appeared to be around his age, but as she
neared, he noted the hard set of her face—especially the eyes, they didn’t
look like the eyes of a child—and it became tougher to guess. Her copper-
colored skin was dirty and dotted with scars, leaving no doubt she’d seen
her fair share of trouble. Her long black hair was captured in twin braids
that ran down her back. Two black wings were threaded through a broad,
beaded headband. The feathers swept downward from the sides of her head,
the tips touching the tops of each shoulder, giving her a noble bearing. She
carried a bowl and a wooden spoon.
She stopped in front of Nick and stared down at him. Her eyes were
gold like Peter’s, but large and intense. Nick dropped his gaze and stared at
the floor.
“I brought you food,” she said, and held the bowl out to him.
The nutty smell tugged at Nick but he ignored her.
“Do not be a child. Eat,” she said. Her words were stilted, spaced. Nick
could tell English wasn’t her native tongue.
Nick said nothing.
She gave him a moment longer, then turned to leave.
“Wait.” Nick forced the word out.
She looked at him, her eyes hard, uncompromising.
Nick held his hand out for the bowl.
She continued to stare at him.
“Please,” Nick said through clenched teeth.
She handed him the bowl.
Nick gave the goop a stir. It looked like chunky oatmeal. He scooped a
small clump onto the wooden spoon and gave it a nibble. He noticed a
touch of bitter beneath the sweet but it was pretty good.

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Careful of his busted lip, Nick began to eat. The gruel was warm and
felt good going down; as a matter of fact, it warmed up his whole body.
She sat down, cross-legged, in front of him. “Your name is Nick?”
Nick nodded.
“My name is Sekeu.” There was a long pause. “You should know you
did well with the red devil. Most kids are too frightened to fight back. I
believe there is a warrior in your heart. You just need skills. We will begin
training today.”
Nick stopped eating. “Training?”
“To become a warrior. To become clan. To become a—Devil.”
“What?”
“You must learn to fight. To defend yourself and your clan.” She said
this so matter-of-factly that for a moment Nick thought he might be the
crazy one.
“Clan? You mean that bunch of assholes?” Nick jabbed his thumb
toward the kids. “You think I want to join their little jerk-off club?”
The kids had pulled swords and spears down from the walls and were
practicing basic moves—leaps, thrusts, stances, and so on—while others
paired off for light sparring. In spite of himself, Nick was fascinated by
their speed and agility as they knocked each other back and forth across the
floor. How can they move like that?
“Peter has brought you here to offer you a chance,” Sekeu said sternly.
“To become clan, to become a child of Faerie. Do you have any idea
what that means? It is a chance at eternal youth, to live wild and free for a
thousand years.”
Nick stared at Sekeu. “What’re you talking about? And where is Peter?
Where the hell did that bastard go?”
Sekeu’s eyes narrowed. “Choose your words carefully, Nick. There are
those here that would kill you for calling Peter such.” Judging by her face,
Nick was pretty sure she was one of them. Nick let out a frustrated sigh.
“Peter is gone to search out more children for the clan,” she said.
“What?” Nick could hardly find the words. “You mean to kidnap more
kids.”
She gave him a sharp look. “Talk to them.” Sekeu pointed around the
chamber at the kids. “Ask them their story. Peter finds the lost, the left-
behind, the abused. Is that not why you are here? Did Peter not save you?”
“Peter tricked me.”

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“What would have happened last night had Peter not shown up? Where
were you going to go, eat, sleep?” Again she pointed to the other kids. “If
what they say is true, then how long before you were selling drugs, or as
they would put it, before some pimp made you his boy? Or would you have
returned home? Do you wish to go back home now?”
Home, Nick thought. He couldn’t go home. Not ever. But that didn’t
mean he wanted to be held captive on some island full of monsters, either.
“Just where is here? Just what kind of place is this?”
“Here is the isle of Avalon, the sanctuary of the Sidhe and the realm of
the Queen Modron, the Lady of the Lakes. Here is the refuge for the last of
earth’s enchanted creatures.” Sekeu’s eyes locked on his, her voice
becoming more and more intense. “Here is Devilwood, the domain of Devil
Kind, the children of the wolf mask. We are the lost, the wild, the
untamable. We are the—”
“Okay, okay,” Nick interrupted, rolling his eyes, realizing he was
getting nowhere. “Look, you can’t make me play this stupid game. You got
that? I want no part of it.”
She laughed, a cutting, cold sound. “Fool. No one will bother to make
you. You still do not understand. This is not a gift. It is something you must
earn. Peter has brought you here at great peril to himself. What you do from
here is up to you. If you wish to leave, then leave.”
“I’m not a prisoner? I can just walk out of here?”
“If that is what you really wish.”
Nick laughed and shook his head. “Are you kidding me? I’m so out of
here.”
She glared at him. “That is the problem with you runaways. You believe
you can always run from your troubles.”
“I didn’t run away,” Nick snapped.
Now she was the one shaking her head.
“Well, I did. But it wasn’t like that. Look, you don’t know anything
about me.”
But she looked like she did know, like she’d seen it all too many times
before. “One cannot be forced to become a Devil, a child of Faerie. It is a
hard enough thing if you want it with all your heart. You must take on the
challenge of your own free will or the spirit of the forest will never bind
with you.”

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“Yeah, okay. Whatever. Can you just tell me how I get out of here
already?”
She gave him a long, hard look, then pointed toward a large round door
at the far end of the chamber.
Nick sat the bowl down and got to his feet. He wiped his hands on his
pants, flipped his bangs from his face, and headed for the round door. As he
trekked across the hall, one by one, the kids stopped what they were doing
and watched him.
A black boy trotted up alongside of him. The kid was a few inches
shorter than Nick and missing his left hand just above the wrist. He
appeared younger than the others, maybe as young as ten, hard to tell for
certain. He had an honest, plain face and kindly eyes, his hair was pulled
back into two braids with long blue ribbons woven into their ends. “You
leaving already?” he asked in a slight Southern drawl.
Nick kept walking.
“Here.” The boy tried to hand Nick the spear he was carrying. Nick
pushed it away.
“Kid, it’d be murder to send you out there without a weapon of some
sorts. Now you need to listen up. You come across some of them barghest,
you be sure not to show no fear. Got that? They sense you’re afraid then
they’ll get after you for sure.”
Nick came to the door and stopped.
“Now, hear me,” the boy continued. “I’m not playing with you. You’re
gonna be a-wantin’ this.” He shoved the spear in Nick’s hands.
Nick took the spear and looked at it, positively mortified.
“Oh, yeah. And if the Flesh-eaters track you down, you just drop that
there spear and get running. Because,” he laughed, “they’ll just shove the
damn thing right up your ass.”
Nick set his hand on the door slat, but didn’t slide it over.
“Here let me help you with that,” somebody said. This voice was deeper
than that of the one-handed kid. Nick turned and found himself looking up
into the stern eyes of the tall Devil boy.
“My name’s Redbone. Sorry we won’t have the chance to get to know
each other better.” He smiled coldly and yanked the bolt over, pulling the
thick round door inward. The wooden hinges whined as the door swung
open.

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Nick immediately noticed the gouged marks on the outside of the door
—long, deep slashes running down the splintered wood.
“Don’t mind those,” Redbone said. “The barghest like to sharpen their
claws there, that’s all.”
It was gray, musty. Nick could just make out the shapes of a few gnarled
stumps and trees, but the rest of the forest fell away into a wall of shifting
mist. From somewhere far out, he heard a single howl. Nick recognized that
call, would never forget it as long as he lived. It was the same howl that the
shadowy hunched creatures, the ones with the orange eyes, had made the
night Peter brought him in from the Mist.
Nick found himself incapable of moving.
Redbone put a hand on his back, easing him forward, and started to
push the door shut behind him.
“Wait!” Nick cried, slapping a hand on the door. He turned around; they
were all staring at him.
“Yes?” Redbone asked, a smirk pushing at the corner of his mouth.
Nick’s lips began to quiver. He started to say something, but was too
mad, too afraid he would start crying.
Redbone stared at him. “Maybe you’d like to stay and make some
friends? You just might live longer with some friends watching your back.”

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