Throne (25 page)

Another leap, and she realized that Jimmy was growing tired. His thick skin was growing lathered with gray sweat. The rider, her high boned face exultant, predatory and annihilatingly beautiful, kicked her heels into her mount’s flanks, and was there when they landed.

A sword came scything around at head height. Maya screamed and let go of Jimmy, fell off his back onto the road. Jimmy squealed again in sheer panic, fell into a low hunched squat, and then tumbled aside as a white van came roaring toward them. Maya backpedaled, forced herself onto her feet, and dodged aside just as the van roared by. Almost ran right into a sleek red sports car, and then sprinted, sobbing with fear, to the pavement. Music poured out of a bar directly before her. Tripped on the curb, fell to her knees, looked up and saw that the rider had already gained the sidewalk, horse mighty and breathing huge blasts of superheated air down into her face.

Numb, frozen, she watched the rider slide from her saddle, sword in hand. She was so tall, her waist narrow like a wasps, her armor gleaming a green gold that shimmered impossibly in the yellow streetlights, hugging her figure and making her an object to be worshipped, feared, loved. Red hair burning the air about her like an oil well explosion, alive in the air as if floating underwater. The woman reached down and ran her gloved fingers across Maya’s face. Traced her lower lip with her thumb, the material of her glove smoother than skin, and then laughed, the sound wild, uncontrolled, cruel beyond measure, and drew back her blade to take off her head.

Somebody was yelling. A familiar sound. A familiar voice. Maya was hypnotized. The blade reached its apex, hovered. Then a long beam of crude metal whipped in from the side and smashed the rider in the head. The blow was furious, ugly, swung from the hip with all the person’s weight behind it, and the rider fell. Not even a cry, her temple smashed, her blade falling from her hands.

Maya looked up. Kevin Jones. Of course. Impossible. A bar, music, and he was laughing, screaming, hair a wild mess of curls, staggering over the felled body. The horse was rearing onto its hind legs, and Kevin was turning as another rider bore down upon them.

Not thinking, Maya scrabbled forward, and grabbed the fallen rider’s sword. It was impossibly light. Raising it, feeling ridiculous, terrified, she stood just as the second rider whipped by, sword cutting down in an arc to slice them both in half. Laughing still, Kevin grabbed his iron bar at both ends and shoved it vertically before them. The sword clanged against it, and for a second, she was sure it would sever the bar like a stick of butter. Instead, it ricocheted off, and the rider whiplashed back, spun right out of his seat, fell to the ground, rolled violently and was back up on his feet in the blink of an eye.

“Fool,” he grated in a voice like a drunk man vomiting. A horrible voice, utterly unsuited to his beautiful figure. He whipped the sword before him, slicing the air into slivers.

“Fucker,” rejoined Kevin, grin wide. “Come get some.” Then, not waiting, he simply threw himself forward, yelling at the top of his lungs. The rider’s blade whispered out and ran him through the stomach. Kevin let out a tortured scream—but kept moving. Forced his body forward, impaling himself further, drawing himself closer to the rider, who stood, his turn to be paralyzed, eyes bulging as he stared at Kevin, who, upon getting as close as he could, wound back with both hands and swung the iron bar as hard as he could at the man’s face.

Maya turned her eyes away before it connected, but failed to block her ears. The sound was horrible, the man’s scream worse. A thud, a clatter, and then weak laughter.

“What,” asked Kevin, “Are you doing, fighting outside my favorite bar?”

Maya opened her eyes. The sword was still impaled right through him. Blood was everywhere. His face was pale, his eyes bright, gleaming feverishly. “Oh, this?” he asked, pointing at the sword in his stomach. “Why yes, it’s a sword. New look. You know.” And then he crashed down onto his knees.

A pink body dropped from the sky next to them, and Maya choked back another scream. Jimmy. A wild look and she saw more riders coming at them. Jimmy, squealing in a continuous, low level panic, grabbed Kevin, slung Maya over his shoulder, and before she could speak, crouched so low his butt touched the floor. Then, with a cry, a raw, squeal of sheer, unbelievable effort, he leaped directly up into the sky.

Up up up. Wind plastered her hair. Maya stared down the length of his back, along its curvature, saw the ground fall away. The riders milled and reared in a frustrated knot where they had been moments ago, growing smaller, and their leap arced them high and over the roof. Down, and they landed with a bone jarring thump.

Maya slid off his shoulder. They were some fifteen stories up. Jimmy was laying Kevin on the ground, on his side. His eyes were half open. She knelt by him, tears gathering in her eyes. Wiped them angrily away.

“Kevin,” she said.

“Look, don’t worry,” he said, voice slurred. “I took enough shit back there that I actually don’t feel a thing. No joke. Just a little numb. And my feet are tingling. And,” he said, hitching a breath, “I really need to pee.”

She looked up at Jimmy, who was washing his hands over and over, shifting about and watching the skies. “What can we do?”

“Only one thing,” said Jimmy, reaching down to take Kevin back up. “Run run run. Old Man Oak might help, if we get there in time.”

Maya stood, nodded. “Okay.” She walked around Jimmy, who knelt low so she could mount him once more. “Hurry, Jimmy,” she said, “Please hurry.”

Jimmy nodded his giant head. Cradling Kevin to his chest, he walked to the edge of the building. Looked down at the ground, fifteen stories below. “Run run run,” he said, quietly. Then, “Close your eyes.” And leapt.

Maribel walked through her city. It coursed through her, was transmuted by her presence. She inhaled its air, listened to its noises, its cries. She strode, and wherever she went, she was the city’s center. She stepped carefully, placing each foot with precision, afraid that she might step too heavily and break the world. Distort things past their reckoning. She walked with her chin raised, Caladcholg by her side, the blade bare, gleaming, glittering in the myriad lights.

She could feel things change in her wake. She was the Queen of Air and Darkness. Where she passed, the city was marked. One could track her by the melted, slurred pattern left in the concrete behind her, weaving contrails codified in the pavement, visible for those with the eye to see. She felt the same fluttering anticipation and delight that she had experienced when walking down her wedding aisle to meet Antonio. That sense of delirious expectation, of great things to come. Each object strewn before her path was a source of pleasure. She passed a rectangular metal box, a glass panel revealing the free magazines contained within. Reaching out, she trailed the tips of her fingers across its dark green surface. Rust blossomed out in fractal patterns, the paint curling like ancient manuscripts, the metal buckling. She smiled. Walked on. Heard the glass pane shatter, the shards dancing on the ground.

A great beating of wings. Maribel looked up, and saw the Unseelie Host wending its way overhead, their cries and twitters falling upon her like a benediction. Hundreds of forms creating a sinuous column, flowing in an undulating cacophony through the air, passing ahead, navigating the canyons of the city without destination or care. She smiled. The forms were multivarious, but each and every one belonged to her.

Up the avenue she walked. Across the intersecting street without pausing. Without knowing why, a driver, intent on making the green light before it deliquesced to yellow, slammed on the breaks and jerked the wheel. His car shuddered and jumped as the tires sought to grip the road, failed, and then he was sliding sideways towards the intersection. Stopped just short of Maribel, who didn’t even look at him. Gained the far side, and then a second car rammed into the driver from behind, and his thoughts were consigned to oblivion.

She walked north. With each step, she claimed the city. Creatures emerged from the corners and shadows to bow down low, to brush their heads on the filthy cement, on the stained asphalt, horns and spikes and greasy locks of hair and gleaming helms, all lowered at her passing. She ignored them, accepted their obeisance.

Central Park before her, walled in by glittering skyscrapers. Traffic thick, snarled and furious. Low walls, paths leading into the verdant expanses. Maribel felt power surge within her, felt exalted, and, extending her arms behind her, took three running steps and leapt. Shadows coiled, writhed like beaten snakes and she soared into the air, trailing darkness. Over the roads she flew, a wild delight making her laugh, her laughter disturbing the people below, causing the horses attached to carriages to stomp and stamp nervously. Swept high over the walls, over the patterned gardens, the fountain, the low trees, further, faster toward the north.

She was joined. An owl, larger than a car, its great wings as black as Kubu’s lair, its flight the ghost of a sound, a stench of putrescence thick about it. Taloned claws that could lift a Rottweiler with ease, snap its back in mid-flight. A host of wizened little men no taller than her finger, riding cavorting bats, a cloud of them, crying senselessly into the night. Beneath her, the trees roiled as if disturbed by a great wind. Old trees awoke, stirred from their ancient slumber. Stirred, awoke, and found that the Unseelie Court was in ascendance.

On she flew, feeling a thrill of innocent joy at this method of transportation, at the sudden opening of the skies to her. She was the Queen of Air and Darkness, and her realm was both chthonic and astral. She was illimitable, and with Caladcholg in her hand, there were none who could challenge her.

Below, a stream. Surrounded by rough trees, it tumbled over large boulders shaped like great saurian heads, to break and scatter itself over rocks and ledges into a pool below. She descended, enjoying the rush of cool air over her fevered skin. Her hair loose, a black cloud about her head. Down she went, till the balls of her feet touched the highest rock, and she was once more a creature of the earth.

Looking up, she stared at the moon. Drank in its cold light, and then closed her eyes and extended her will. Pushed her awareness out, past the confines of her body, past these trees, into the air, along the courses of the stream, throughout the park. Her body strummed like a great string on some primordial harp, resonating with power. She raised Caladcholg, eyes still closed, and across the city she sent her summons. To all of her Court, newly awakened or long centuries walking, to the great and the low, the mighty and the meek, the cruel and the stark, she sent out her summons.

And to her came the full might of the Unseelie Court.

How long she stood there, eyes closed, chin raised, sword gleaming in the light of the moon, she couldn’t tell. Didn’t care. Shadows writhed and danced about her like flames, and she welcomed their touch. Sounds grew around her, hushed voices and snarls, yelps and cries. Deep voices, grave and fell, matched by the irreverent and the foolish, the pathetic and wheedling. At long last, she opened her eyes, and saw ranks assembled before her.

From her peak, in serried ranks they extended. Jack in Irons, taller than the trees, his club planted between his feet, fingers laced over its pommel. Armored knights on their steeds, a vision to plague the dreams of Victorian painters. Black hounds, eyes smoldering, paced about the rocks. Winged creatures with skin like toads and lugubrious faces, long fingered and cruel eyes, perched on branches and the tips of rocks. Flayed men and women, agony and pleasure burning in their gaze. Men with heads that were great bloated maggots, their mouths sphincters, ringed with teeth as large and dull as big toes. Amalgams of beast and human, animals burning with bright sentience. Dwarves and beautiful, dangerous women, their bodies draped in translucent silk, their mouths lined with fangs. Creatures in black armor, creatures naked, things fanning themselves with wings like moths, others with great leathery expanses. In the water swam young children, their laughter idiotic, their bodies naked, their eyes devoid of all humanity. The ranks extended into the trees, and Maribel feared none of them.

Silence as she gazed upon them, and they upon her. Finally, she lowered the sword, set its tip between her feet, and smiled. It was the smile of a child, wicked and full, and she called out, her voice wild, “Welcome, my children, my loves, my soldiers and brothers, my creatures and slaves. I am come once again, to rule you and guide you and break you and kill you. Once again does the Unseelie Host hold Court, and all shall lie down in our thrall. We shall feast and we shall dance, we shall kill and we shall rut, we shall break and then break anew. I am come once more, your leader, your mother, your sister, your Queen!”

The host let loose a roar that grew and grew, a chaos of sound, croaks and cries and bellows and shrieks. She bathed in it, allowed it wash over her, to build until, with a slash of her blade she silenced them, cut the sound from cacophony to silence. Looking about, she searched for a familiar figure.

“Phooka,” said the Queen of Air and Darkness, and in her voice, one could hear neither approval nor censure.

The phooka stepped forward, picking his way between the rocks and rushing water with an almost shy diffidence. “My Queen,” he said, and bowed low, horns scything through the air. Down he went onto one knee, a courtly bow, elegant and much practiced.
How many times
, she wondered,
has he bowed thusly to me?

“You played a dangerous game,” she said at last. Amused, annoyed. Hundreds of eyes watching to see the outcome of this exchange.

“It was no game, my Queen. But if it were, the stakes were the highest.”

Maribel gazed down at the phooka, who remained yet on one knee. Recalled when she first saw him, emerging from the snow laden wood, the impossible realm that had, for but a few minutes, abutted the park.

“How did you know?” she asked.