I saw his knees tremble as he took his position, kneeling in front of the stage with Sparrow’s shining golden form poised above him.
There was no way of knowing what was under the shifting glitter of her face, but I knew in my heart that she was smiling. For my part, I could do nothing but squeeze the life out of my hands as I waited for it all to be over. The pavilion had become deathly silent, with only the faint pulsing of the portal behind the stage providing any sound at all. Even the crickets and frogs outside had gone quiet, as if the whole world sensed the grave significance of this moment.
Mr. Morningside chuckled as Sparrow, with great dignity and solemnity, took him by the chin, tilting his head upward.
“Give us a kiss, darling,” he purred.
“You’re disgusting,” she muttered. “I’m going to enjoy watching you squirm.”
“As if there was any doubt of that at all,” Mr. Morningside laughed. “Do pardon the brandy on my breath; it was a tense night, you see.”
Sparrow ignored him, but she was rattled, a slight jitter in the hand that held his chin. Then she leaned down and brought her mouth close over his, and as I saw his eyes roll back and his body go slack, I felt a pang of empathy, remembering how terribly her Judgment had hurt. Was that what I looked like when she did the same thing to me? It was awful. If I did not comprehend the circumstances, I would have believed him dead. Occasionally his body jerked this way or that, the whites of his eyes flickering, the crowd reacting to each tiny twitch.
I turned and found Chijioke in the sea of faces, pressing my lips together tightly as if I could silently apologize for what he had to witness. If he only knew what I’d done, that Mr. Morningside had every possibility of passing this test. That we had rigged the game. That I was now as complicit in his devilish schemes as the Devil himself.
The silence was the hardest to bear. Sparrow’s voice must have been screaming through his head, but we heard none of it. The shepherd watched intently from his throne, leaning forward, elbows on his knees as he, too, reacted to every spasm of Mr. Morningside’s body.
The tension grew, a thick white beam of light stretching from Sparrow’s open golden mouth to his; a high, whining sound, like a bird holding a shrill note, emanated from the light. It became so loud, so piercing, that most of us held our hands over our ears. I thought my head might explode as the beam of light intensified, too bright to look at, and the sound ripped through my brain like a razor.
“Ah!” The spell was broken at last, and Mr. Morningside’s eyes rolled back into place. He gulped for air, falling to the ground and panting.
“No!” Sparrow shouted, stomping out a tight circle. “He . . . He must be lying! He must be! Can’t you see this is some trickery? How did you do it?” she bellowed. “HOW DID YOU DO IT?”
“Enough, Sparrow, leave him be. You have had the truth from him,” the shepherd thundered, slicing his hand through the air. He no longer looked like a dowdy old farmer, but a wise and commanding elder. “We must accept Mr. Morningside’s answer, unlikely as it may be.”
I breathed a sigh of relief and watched Henry climb to his feet. He fixed his coat and cravat, giving Sparrow a shaky but cocky bow.
“A real treat, my dear. Let’s do it again sometime.”
“Then we will depart at once for Stoke.” Finch spoke up, going to his sister and leading her back up onto the dais. “This is a great gift of knowledge. We cannot punish him for sharing it with us. He has accomplished what none of us could, and surely that establishes his competency. He did not have to share this at all but he did. That, more than anything, proves his allegiance to our ancient agreement.”
The crowd seemed largely to share Finch’s sentiments. Mr. Morningside began to swagger back toward me and I took him by the wrist, squeezing hard.
“Honor our agreement,” I whispered. “Do it now. Tell me the contracts are dissolved.”
“Not right now,” he replied with a shrug. “We should be celebrating. . . .”
“I need to know that you’re going to keep your promise.”
But Mr. Morningside laughed me off. Perhaps he did not see how serious I had become, or maybe he did not care. “It’s in writing, Louisa, what more can I say to you?”
“You can say you won’t back out through a loophole,” I shot back.
“Clearly you do not know me as well as you think you do, to even imagine I would promise such a thing.” He was laughing again and it made my blood boil. I was lying and scheming for him and this was how he treated me? “A bargain was struck, Louisa. I will say no more on it.”
“No,” I said. I dropped Mr. Morningside’s wrist and turned. It lacked the conviction I wanted, and nobody noticed me moving toward the stage. “No!” I shouted it this time and the clamor died down. Mr. Morningside’s smile abruptly faded and he sneered at me.
“What are you doing, Louisa?” he whispered.
“He told you the truth,” I pushed on. My hands were sweating profusely. The earth felt like it was moving underneath me, like I might be sick at any moment. My throat was closing in panic, but I went on, determined now to see my plan, not Henry’s, through. “He told you the truth, sir, but I did not.”
“I knew it.” Sparrow was elated, springing toward me with a throaty laugh.
“Shut up,” I spat, glaring at her. “The truth is that Mr. Morningside does not know the location of the book, but I do.”
Henry’s eyes found mine and he shook his head urgently, mouthing things at me that I could not and would not obey.
“I lied to him,” I said, and that was a lie, too. He had told me to conceal the location, to keep it to myself until he asked for it. This, at least, would somewhat exonerate him. “That’s how he passed your Judgment, Sparrow. He honestly knows no other location.”
“Why would you do this?” the shepherd murmured. He didn’t sound angry, exactly, just sad.
“Because the book is gone,” I called back. The pavilion became one massive gasp. “It’s gone, forever. Only one person has its knowledge because he devoured it. It’s in him, in his mind, in his blood, and I have delivered him to you. Tonight.”
It was no longer gasps I heard but outraged shouts. Liar! was the most popular response to shout at me. I stood still, absorbing it all, letting them curse at me and fling insults. For once, Sparrow was reduced to stunned silence.
“There,” I said, turning and pointing. I had half expected Father to flee altogether once he divined my intentions. But no, he had arrived, moving to the center back of the pavilion. All eyes raced to find him, and a ripple of fear and excitement followed his discovery. He stood looming over the others, taller and larger than them all, the ashy mist rolling off his face darker and more sinister than I remembered it. The fairy lights seemed to dim around him, as if shying away.
“Blood and thunder,” Mr. Morningside swore, diving toward me and taking my arm. “What are you trying to do, Louisa?”
“Unhand my daughter,” Father said, so softly and surely that I almost could not hear him. But all had gone quiet, for everyone wanted to hear what he would say. Under that curiosity I sensed a rising fear, and I noticed more than one person in the crowd begin to edge toward us, preparing to run for the portal.
“You were defeated.” The shepherd’s voice shook with emotion, his angels gathering around him. “Your kingdom sleeps eternal.”
“Does it?” Father laughed, taking the flour sack and the book within it and hoisting it over his head. “Night fades, slumber breaks, and now those you betrayed are waking up. My daughter is one such child, one of mine, the first and last children, and she has brought me a magnificent gift.” His gaze fell on Mr. Morningside, who had not taken his hand from my elbow and was, in fact, squeezing it hard enough to bruise. “I smell your fear, Lier-In-Wait; remove yourself from my daughter or I will tear this book in half before your very eyes.”
Mr. Morningside released my arm, taking one giant step away. I heard his noisy swallow of fear and looked to him, lip quivering with shame.
“That’s not possible!” Chijioke rushed forward from the crowd. His face was pained, his red eyes filling with moisture. “Louisa!”
“Do it, you old bastard,” Mr. Morningside jeered. “You lack the courage.”
Now the crowd broke in earnest, screams rending the air as I was pushed this way and that, the onlookers running for the way out. An empty no-man’s-land appeared before Father, a swath of carpet that no one dared to tread.
“Defend us, defend us all!” the shepherd shouted, and his Adjudicators sprang to life, each of them gliding above us on massive white wings, their golden bodies almost blinding as they charged.
“How could you do this to us?” Chijioke begged, snatching up my hand and shaking me. “How?”
“Peace, good man.” Mr. Morningside had waded back toward us through the sea of bodies streaming toward the portal. He slapped Chijioke on the shoulder and gave me a wink. “You underestimate our dear Louisa.”
“She betrayed us,” Chijioke thundered, and it tore at my heart.
“Did she?” Mr. Morningside, holding his shoulder, turned him back toward Father and the melee ensuing.
The angels descended on him, golden arms rippling, reshaping into scythes and shields. They amassed before him, preparing to dive, shining weapons held high. Father seemed to grow larger, bolder, the swirling dark mist around him gathering like smoky armor. Sparrow gave a mighty cry and swooped down toward him, scythe slashing. He smashed his arm through her golden shield, shards of bright metal showering the last of the crowd to flee. They screamed as she did, though her cries were loudest, Father’s talons ripping across her throat as he grabbed her by the neck, then tossed her across the pavilion. She slammed into the pole nearest us, shaking the ground and the tent, her limp body sliding to the ground in a heap.
“No!” The shepherd vaulted off the stage and ran to her. He lifted her head and she moaned.
Finch was the next to give his shout of battle and charge Father, and I stumbled toward them, not wishing harm upon someone who had been so kind to me. But he was joined at once by Big Earl, whose hand had become a lance. He landed a glancing blow before Father knocked them both across the pavilion and over our heads.
Chijioke made as if to run in and fight with them, and I grabbed the back of his red coat, yanking him away. “Don’t, it isn’t worth it!”
“The book!” he cried. “We must get it back!”
“You dare send your fledglings after me,” Father shouted, taking up the bag again and brandishing it like a dagger. “You will pay, you will pay what you owe, the blood of those you love, the blood of your people, the very foundations of your kingdoms will shiver before they fall!”
Chijioke ducked as if to shield himself as Father gave an ugly laugh, pulling the flour sack away and tossing it over his shoulder. He held up the book, black, slimy, decorated with the crossed eye, and those left dazed and watching and recovering in the tent gasped. Even Mr. Morningside went rigid at my side, but then the charm faded. My Changeling powers could not withstand the potency of the pavilion, which revealed all things in their true form.
“Ooh.” Mr. Morningside stood up, nodding approvingly. Father’s face fell; he must have felt the weight of the book shift and its size adjust, for it was not the black book, it was nothing of consequence at all. “English Bards and Scotch Reviewers,” the Devil teased. “Is that from my library? Good choice.”
The book was hurled into the air, aimed directly at me. I had no time to dodge, and it hit me squarely in the gut. I doubled over with a grunt, Chijioke wrapping his arm around me in support.
“I thought you were a real shit for a moment there,” he said with a relieved laugh. “Another work of art, that.”
“Don’t gloat just yet,” I wheezed. “I had half a mind to turn on Henry, and Father is still an ancient god. . . .”
Yes, he was, and we soon learned the consequences of it. Roots exploded through the bottom of the tent, wrapping around our calves and ankles, bolting us to the ground. Father was coming toward us, stalking across the pavilion with his claws flashing and at the ready.
“You ungrateful, faithless deceiver!” he bellowed. His voice filled the entire tent, shaking it, his wrath terrible as the roots began to pull, taking us slowly into the churned earth. He would suffocate us, I thought, but my fate would surely be worse. I had believed him when he told me he was weak, and now I would pay the price for my trust. Chijioke struggled against the roots beside me. I reached into my apron, pulling out the spoon and bending it to my will. If only I could turn it into a knife for just a second, just long enough to cut free of these roots . . . But it was no use. The pavilion was fighting me, keeping me from even the most basic transformation.
Even Mr. Morningside was powerless against the pull of the earth. I could see him trying to blink forward, but when he managed it, another root lashed out, taking hold.
Father was upon us, his cloak of mist and leaves billowing out around him. His black-and-red eyes were only for me, the ugly skull face twisting into a hideous smile.
“You were going to kill me all along!” I screamed, defiant. “Now’s your big chance!”
“Yes, foolish child, and I will relish it. . . .”
The mist reached me, cold and paralyzing, wrapping around me as if to choke me while the roots took me into their annihilating embrace. Chijioke clawed at the ground, wheezing, finding no purchase and no strength against the fury of nature. Distantly I smelled smoke, and heard a soft, almost dance-like crackling. Father reared up, claws sparkling; they flashed red and purple and yellow in the fairy lights before they came for my face.
He managed only one swipe, a single talon grazing my cheek, hot blood pouring down my face. But then there came a crack, clear as lightning, and Father froze above us, then collapsed to the side in a heap.
A bronzed young man stood over the fallen body, chest heaving. He was dressed only in rags, heavily scarred, with strange tattoos covering his arms and shoulders. Was I going mad? It wasn’t possible. . . .
There was no time to wonder or speak as a gout of red flower bloomed to our left. Then came the smoke. Then the fire.
The pavilion was going up in a blaze.