Page 8 of Tomb of Ancients
“Sparrow,” I said softly, drawing to a stop.
Her yellow hair had been cropped short, and she had abandoned her gray suit for what looked like a set of ancient leather armor. A clean white bandage was wrapped around her throat, and a brace hugged her arm, remnants of her encounter with Father at Coldthistle House. For all the wounds she had suffered at his hands, she now looked capable. And furious.
“Ah! The prodigal daughter is here.” She darted toward Khent with unnatural speed, shoving him out of the way withher hip. “I knew this flea-bitten mutt was lying. I’m sure he couldn’t help it; he’s barely more than a dog. Does he come to you with a whistle?”
I found myself striding toward her. Ordinarily, the sight of her—tall, golden, and immensely strong—would make me think twice about an open confrontation. The only thing that gave me pause now was the number of innocent onlookers in the ballroom.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” I told her. Off to Sparrow’s side, Khent bristled, and it did not take a keen eye to notice the way the muscles in his forearms strained against his skin, the beastly form below bursting to get out.
“We snuffed out his kind ages ago,” Sparrow said, shooting him a glare. “Shame we missed one.”
The sound Khent made put my hairs on end. It was not a growl a man could make. Any moment now, he would explode into his other form, a doglike creature, eight feet tall and with razor-sharp claws. The noble ladies in the corner might actually die from the shock of it.
“Don’t!” I cried out. “She wants to provoke you. She wants to provoke us both. We have to be better than her.”
“Unlikely,” she said, rolling her bright blue eyes. “A cur and a chambermaid.”
Sparrow drew herself up to her full height, letting her human form melt away like candle wax, revealing the blazing, golden body beneath. Her facial features became difficult to divine,her skin and bones turning into molten gold. One arm, the uninjured one, flashed as it turned into a long, pointed lance.
I expected to hear gasps from the remaining guests, but none came. My jaw set, the cold dread in my belly no longer just from Sparrow. Her presence was frightening, yes, but more was amiss. Khent seemed to notice, too, glancing around in every direction, and as he did so, the men and women waiting near the walls began to close in around us. How could it be? Why were they not afraid of her?
Sparrow laughed in the face of our confusion, as haughty and irritating as ever.
“Did you think it would all just go away?” she taunted, waving the golden lance her arm had become. “You swallowed the soul of the Dark Father. The book—all that pathetic Fae knowledge? It’s in you. Did you not receive my warnings, love? I thought the spiders were a nice touch, considering you’re mere moments away from being a sad, dead little insect, too.”
She charged, her golden skin so fantastically shiny it hurt my eyes to look at her. But I had to defend myself. I stumbled back but found that a row of guests was walking slowly to meet me. Their faces were all similar masks of fearlessness; one mustachioed gentleman even smirked. I felt the heat of Sparrow’s body as she raced toward me, but I dodged at the last second, hurling myself out of the way. She skidded to a stop, then spun gracefully, a flicker of wings sprouting from her back before they were gone, before ultimately landing in adefensive position, lance lowered across her body. The point of that weapon, glittering with lethality, had almost punctured the mustachioed man’s side.
“Stop this!” I shouted. “You’re going to kill someone!”
Sparrow laughed again and shot herself like an arrow toward me. “That’s the idea, darling!”
She was mad—madder than usual—and as she charged at me like a weapon made flesh, I heard the men and women surrounding us begin to chant. God, they were all the shepherd’s chanters, no different from the bizarre crowds I had noticed spreading across London like a pale rash.
The shepherd will guide, the shepherd provides, for him we will live and for him we will die....
They chanted it over and over again, low and rumbling, but growing louder. Sparrow bobbed her head along to the beat of their slow singing, raising her lance as if to conduct them with a baton.
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to remember that they might have any number of reasons for following the shepherd. Perhaps they truly were lost and needed something to believe in to steady their hearts and give succor. Or maybe Adjudicators like Sparrow had found a way to convert them against their will. I did not know enough, and I had no proof that these humans deserved to be harmed.
“I will not hurt them,” I told Sparrow, but she did not slow her pursuit. Her lance punched toward me, close, so closethe blade’s end ripped the shoulder of my gown. The contact startled me, and I fell to the side, rolling to avoid her weapon as it came down again, the lance burying deep into the floor. Sparrow struggled to extract it, and I used that time to roll back to my feet and join Khent at the opposite end of the ever-tightening oval. The chanting was almost hypnotic, but I forced myself to focus.
“Ideas?” he hissed. “Because they certainly will hurtus.”
His arms keep out the wind, he forgives all who sinned...
“Let me think,” I whispered back. But we both knew there was no time for thinking or for hesitating. A familiar tightness in my skull meant that Sparrow and her ring of believers were not our only problems. Like Khent, Father was ready to retaliate.
The chanting persisted, but one of the guests behind me darted forward, grabbing at my arms and trying to hold me. I wrestled against them, screaming, thrashing, but Sparrow took the opportunity to throw herself toward me, spear raised high.
“Do it,”I told Khent.
He needed no further instruction. As I fought against the human pinning my arms, I heard his fine shirt tear to pieces, his beastly form pushing through his skin. That startled Sparrow, but only for an instant, one I took advantage of, letting my mind spin with possible defenses. I no longer had my beloved little spoon, but the memory of it did give me an idea. Metal. Armor. Closing my eyes hard, I went silent, all of my thoughts bent toward altering the state of my gown. The desperation ofthe moment must have helped, for at once I felt the silk shift and grow heavy, and Sparrow’s spear scraped against a sturdy breastplate. Sparks flew up in front of my face from the impact, red and gold showering me in glittering heat. I heard the man holding my arms gasp in surprise, and I slammed down my foot on his, no longer clad in a soft leather slipper but in steel.
Twisting away from them both, I watched the crowd around us scatter toward the walls, but Sparrow remained undeterred. She spun her spear once and then leveled it across her middle, her sapphire eyes darting between the hulking form of Khent and me in my armor.
“Friends,” she called, raising her spear arm to rally them. “Followers of our great shepherd, do not be afraid! Tear the fear from your hearts as weeds from a garden. To me! With whatever you can find, to me!”
We watched as the guests—the followers—in their draped finery and beautiful suits masked by white cloaks, scrambled to find serving knives and utensils. Bottles abandoned by bewildered butlers were taken up and smashed, the sharp, wet ends glinting in the chandelier light. And then they did as Sparrow demanded, rushing toward us, screaming, their monotonous chanting abandoned for shrieks.
