Page 52 of The Iron Raven

The cat peered down from the edge of the broken walkway, curling his whiskers at us all. “I am doing my best, Iron Queen,” he said in a put-upon voice. “Perhaps if you would all stop playing with fish, we would arrive a lot sooner. Just an observation.” He turned, flicked his tail, and leaped to the edge of the shattered boardwalk. “This way, if you would.”

“Ugh,” Nyx muttered as she hopped gracefully onto the walkway again. “Now I smell like a bog. It’s going to take forever for my boots to dry.”

Coaleater tossed his head, choosing to walk alongside the narrow planks instead of atop them, which was good, as his huge iron body would likely collapse the rest of the walk. Steam billowed off his skin where the water touched the superheated metal. “I could dry them for you,” he said seriously, and snorted a cloud of flame and smoke into the air. “If you don’t mind a few singed spots.”

Nyx grimaced. “I think my soggy boots will be fine.”

The swamp continued, the walkway snaking over water and through fields of cattails and dead trees, colored fireflies bobbing lazily through the air. Gradually, the marshland began to change, the trees growing larger, more twisted and gnarled. The streetlamps jutting out of the water disappeared, and curtains of moss began appearing in the branches overhead, draped like lacy green curtains over the walkway.

“We must be close to the center of the marsh by now,” Meghan mused from up ahead. “How far is it to the oracle, Grim?”

“Not far. In fact...” The cat paused, raising his head, his ears pricked to the breeze. “We are here.”

We stopped. Up ahead, the trees thinned out a little, revealing a small island in the center of a black pond. A wooden cottage sat in the middle of the island, surrounded by a pair of enormous, moss-covered trees, the roots snaking up the walls and curling over the thatched roof like grasping fingers. A pair of naked skulls sat atop the posts at the edge of the island, and a black cauldron huddled in the ashes of a large firepit just outside the door. A flickering orange glow spilled through the single round window in the wall, as inviting as the light coming from the mouth of a dragon.

“Oh,” I commented. “That’s great. This couldn’t scream ‘witch’s house’ any louder if the walls were made of gingerbread.”

Nyx frowned at me. “All the witches’ houses I knew of were made of stone. Or sometimes bones. What is this strange magic where the walls are made of bread?”

“I’ll tell you the story later.”

The wooden door creaked open. A figure emerged from the hut, standing for a moment in the doorframe. From this distance, it was hard to see it clearly; it wore a tattered green cloak or dress, but that was all I could make out. It stood in the frame a moment, gazing right at us, before it lifted an arm in a wave, turned, and went back inside.

“And we’re expected,” I went on. “This just gets better and better.” No one answered me, and I grinned. “Welp, no use standing around here. Shall we go and see what’s for dinner? Hopefully it won’t be us.”

Cautiously, we followed the winding planks toward the island in the center of the pond, hearing the boards creak under our feet. Bullfrogs croaked out in the marsh, and hanging vines dripped warm water onto our heads.

Meghan walked up to the door and raised an arm to tap on it, but a quiet voice echoed through the wood before she made contact.

“It is open, Iron Queen.”

Meghan pushed the door open. It swung back with a groan, revealing a small, cozy room, a fireplace crackling on the far wall. Crystals, bones, and other, stranger things hung on strings from the ceiling, dangling throughout the room and catching the firelight. I ducked a pair of bird feet as I stepped through the door, the tiny claws withered and dry as they spun on the twine.

A chair sat before the fireplace, its back to us. It was occupied, but all I could see was a slender hand and forearm, and the hem of a ragged green cloak. As everyone but Coaleater stepped into the room, the arm lifted in a vague greeting, accompanied by the same voice.

“I knew you were coming, Iron Queen. Come in, come in. Though, be informed, the floor will collapse if the Iron creature steps in any farther. That I have seen.”

Coaleater blew out a breath of steam and tossed his head. “I will wait outside,” he informed us, and wandered away toward the edge of the island, presumably to keep watch. The rest of us crowded inside, ducking trinkets and paraphernalia, until we were all clustered together in the small room.

The figure in the chair rose, turning to face us. My brows arched. I’d been expecting a withered hag, a hunchbacked old crone with crooked talons and dental problems. Like the previous oracle. I was not expecting a young, beautiful faery with perfectly manicured nails and long raven hair without a strand of gray in it. She stood tall, unbowed, though her gaze seemed to stare right through us at the opposite wall. It seemed rather odd, until I noticed her eyes. They had been blue once, but were now hazy and clouded over, the pupils focusing on nothing. She was blind.

“It is not polite to stare, Robin Goodfellow,” the faery said without looking at me. “My eyes may not work, but I see more than you could ever imagine.”

“I dunno about that,” I said, just to be contrary. “I can imagine a lot.”

Meghan stepped forward before I could say anything else. “You are the oracle, I presume.”

“Am I?” The faery put a hand to her eyes, peering out between her fingers. “I suppose that’s right,” she muttered. “Hard to claim otherwise. When you see these things, you are either an oracle or delirious.”

“Or both,” I put in. “Both is always an option, I’ve found.”

Meghan shot me a look that said,How is this helping?before turning back to the oracle. “We need your help, Oracle,” she went on, getting right to the point. “I will be brief, because there might not be much time. There is some sort of terrible creature plaguing the Nevernever. It radiates negative emotions, is immune to glamour, and has the power to change faeries into crueler versions of themselves. We need to know what it is, and where it might be now.”

The oracle’s already pale face went even whiter, her cloudy eyes getting huge and round. “No,” she whispered, turning violently away. “It cannot be that time. It is too soon. Too soon, too soon. Evenfall comes. All is emptiness, and darkness, and nothing.”

“What is?” Meghan stepped forward, and the oracle cringed back, hands flying to her face. “What are you talking about?”

“I do not know.”

---