22. Chapter Twenty-Two #2
In the trees, voices carried a chattering noise, then louder.
Nicholas held up a hand, signaling the group to keep behind him.
Through the trees, the red caps danced together, singing or cursing.
He couldn’t determine if they sounded angry or joyous, or perhaps the two intermingled for them.
But there were many, over a hundred of creatures with off green leathered skin and eyes a variety of shades of gold and bronze.
They wore long red hats crusted around their scalps and over their long ears.
Fingers sharper than blades clutched spears, shields, and maces, as they danced around a fire where a familiar face hung on a spit.
Arden hummed and knocked his feet together from the spit where the red caps looped chains around him from ankle to neck. He was nonchalant about the ordeal, passing by the flames daring to lick his abdomen. If he felt pain, he didn’t show it, continuing to spin and nod along to the red caps songs.
William would never understand fae.
Nicholas faced the group and said in a low whisper, “Charmaine will stand between William and Henry, in case Evera and I need to get our hands dirty. Do not comment on their attire, especially their hats, or the smell. We know they smell awful, so do they, but they hate it if it’s brought up.
Don’t touch them. Don’t touch anything. Let Evera and I do the talking. ”
Without further explanation, Nicholas waltzed toward the camp.
Evera let Charmaine stumble off her back to be held up between Henry and William.
A series of shouts erupted from the red caps, followed by their undivided attention.
They nearly all turned in unison, gazing upon the group appearing from the tree line.
He gripped Charmaine’s arm harder. The poor girl winced, and he apologized under his breath.
He wasn’t comfortable walking up to the creatures.
There were too many of them, more than he originally thought, hiding among the bushes or sitting in tree branches.
Those once hidden meandered to the group, so they stood as one, a crowd of blood stained teeth and wild eyes.
“Good afternoon,” Nicholas declared with a curt bow of his head. “We do not mean to interrupt your supper, but have an inquiry that only you may help us with.”
He wasn’t sure how admitting only the red caps could help them was a good idea, but Nicholas said not to speak, so he kept his mouth shut. The last thing he wanted was to anger the hundreds of volatile, bloody creatures wielding weapons.
The red caps muttered amongst one another, swerving inward to chatter, clicking teeth and tongue.
They wandered around the fire toward the group, leaving Arden alone.
The fae’s fingers slipped between the chains and wiggled.
Below, roots slithered from the soil to cover the fire, successfully smothering it without the red caps ever being the wiser.
“Why should we help one such as you? The lot of you look down on us, think you’re better,” one of the red caps said from the group.
The creatures dispersed, creating a path for one to saunter out.
This red cap had more scars than the others, an eye white as milk with a long gash ripping across his face and peeling some skin from his lip.
He missed a claw on his right hand but wore the longest hat in the deepest crimson. Their leader.
“Because you know the lands of Faerie, you travel them frequently, and this particular question needs an answer from those with the correct knowledge,” Nicholas replied. “Let me introduce myself. I am Nicholas, and you are?”
“Rorbek,” said the red cap. He clicked his teeth, fangs pointed as dagger tips threatening to slice his own gums. “You need our help?”
The roots below Arden rose to catch along the chains.
One wiggled toward the lock and snuck into the keyhole.
The other roots caught the chains, preventing them from dropping.
Silently, Arden slid free without the red caps noticing, all too busy staring at the group requesting assistance rather than the meal they believed to have captured.
Nicholas smiled, showing all his teeth. “If you are incapable of answering our inquiry, we may go elsewhere.”
“We are capable,” growled Rorbek.
He realized Nicholas was goading the creatures, making it seem like he would look down on them if they didn’t answer
“But if you want answers, you play by our rules.” Rorbek said, causing the red caps to cackle. They wouldn’t be laughing if they saw Arden skipping into the woods, leaving them without supper.
“What are your rules?” asked Evera rather loudly when one of the red caps nearly glanced back at the fire pit. The creature gave her its full attention, allowing Arden to be swallowed by the dark forest entirely.
“Battle.” Rorbek smiled with all his crooked teeth and the red caps cheered behind him. “A fair one. Not against either of you.” Rorbek pointed at Nicholas, then Evera. “One of the mortals.”
“That is hardly fair. Mortals are the weakest of all of us,” Evera argued.
Henry and William shared offended glances.
“The mortal may choose a weapon of their preference. We fight in our battle circle. Whoever is cast out, or dies, will be the winner. If the mortal wins, they get answers and you leave without a fuss. If we win,” Rorbek chuckled and his gums bled, leaking over his chapped lips.
“The mortal who failed shall be our feast.”
“I accept,” Henry declared.
William paled. “What? Absolutely not.”
“The challenge has already been accepted.” Rorbek snickered. “Pick your weapon. We have many.”
Cheering and bickering, the red caps formed a circle around them. They were too focused on the battle to realize Arden escaped. A handful of them offered Henry their weapon, explaining the construction of their blades in great detail and how many lives their blades took.
“Nicholas,” William said desperately. “Do something. Henry can’t—”
“I can handle myself,” Henry interjected, earning a sharp glare.
He couldn’t believe the fool would offer himself, and felt even worse when Nicholas said, “Henry can do this.”
“Have the both of you gone mad?” he hissed and pointed at Rorbek, hefting a scythe three times his size. Rorbek swung the weapon as if it weighed less than a twig. With a wicked grin, the beast sliced through the soil, leaving a gash as if to say Henry would be next.
He couldn’t breathe. His mind played their tricks, showing him Henry’s bloodied corpse beneath Rorbek’s scythe. He wanted to scream, to snatch Henry’s hand and run. The sky overhead darkened, clouds of a storm rolling in.
In his shock, he nearly dropped Charmaine.
Evera took her from under the arms, easing her into a standing position.
The medicine had made her tired, her eyes drooping.
She did not know what was going on when he needed her.
She would side with him. There would be someone to understand his panic and save his brother from a stupid decision.
Henry settled his hands on William’s shoulders. “You don’t need to protect everyone all the time.”
“I need to protect you,” he argued, struggling to breathe. The forest caved in around them. Sweat coated his back. He felt like he was drowning. All this time, he did everything to keep his family from violence, but Henry so willfully walked towards it.
“You don’t,” Henry whispered, soothing and gentle. “Let me handle this.”
He shook his head, but Rorbek shouted, “Have you chosen a weapon?”
“I have.” Henry smiled with a confidence William found foolish. The confident died first, believing themselves capable in the face of a world too unforgiving to care.
“Off the field!” Rorbek yelled, swinging a clawed hand.
“Henry, wait.” He reached for his brother. Nicholas grabbed his arm. He yanked out of the hold, too pissed off to look at him.
“The agreement has been made. If you interfere, we’re all in trouble,” Nicholas explained.
“You should have been on my side,” he growled.
“I am.”
“You let my brother throw himself into a battle he will not win.”
“I wouldn’t let him do anything I don’t believe he can do.” Nicholas nudged him toward the sidelines where the red caps watched, waiting for an opportunity to strike.
Evera kept Charmaine close. With an annoyed huff, he stormed out of the makeshift arena.
Thunder roared overhead and lightning streaked across the sky.
A few droplets of rain fell, hitting his cheek.
Henry stood in front of Rorbek, thirsty for blood.
The look reminded him of Fearworn’s creatures, their hunger for destruction that Henry was never meant to meet.
“As I said, the first to die or be pushed from the circle loses. We start on opposite sides. When the gong rings, we attack,” Rorbek explained.
Behind him, a red cap held up a gong riddled with dents and hanging from frayed strings.
It had certainly seen better days. She stood on the sidelines, jittery with excitement.
“There are no other rules?” asked Henry, while removing his pack and satchel.
“None.”
“So be it.” Henry walked to his side where he offered his belongings to William. He didn’t want to look at his brother, too angered by his stupidity, but Henry knocked his hand and he swiped the pack to clutch against his chest.
Rorbek stood on the opposite end, smiling viciously.
The red caps chanted, their voices growing louder and louder.
Sweat trickled down William’s neck. His legs threatened to give out.
He wanted a smoke. Needed one, more like it, or a drink, the strongest they had available.
He reached for his pack, itching for a smoke, feeling utterly useless and an utter fool.