They emerged onto the terrace and into the icy teeth of the wind just as Sahib and Mem’sab turned.
“The avalanche has begun, Mem’sab,” Agansing said, eyes glinting. “It is too late to make a choice among what will fall. The children summoned us; they in their turn were summoned.”
We summoned them? For a moment Nan was aghast at the lie. But then—then something told her it was not a lie, but the truth. Somehow she and Sarah had summoned the men, or at least, Agansing. She didn’t know how, but—
That other presence within her smiled grimly; she felt it smile. Felt it tell her how it had summoned a fellow warrior with a mental trumpet call to arms.
The wind had begun to die, although eerily silent lightning still raged in the clouds above them. “It is David Alderscroft.”
Mem’sab was saying. “I don’t know what he is trying to do, but Robin Goodfellow warned him off doing so, and I tried to echo that warning. He—”
She left whatever she was going to say unsaid, and merely shrugged, the gesture more eloquent than words of what she thought about men who refused to listen to sound advice.
“Then we have to stop him,” Selim replied immediately. “By force, if need be.”
“There’s more nor that,” Nan piped up, urged by that silent presence within her that felt strangely like some kind of version of herself, only older, stronger, tougher. “If’n Robin hurts a mortal, som’thin’ bad ’appens. ‘E gets banished.”
Mem’sab’s eyes grew wide in the light from the lightning. “Oh—” she said, “Oh—that would be—”
“Not only the end to magic in the Isle, but it would open the door to a great many things that would make life very uncomfortable for the rest of us,” Sahib said grimly. “With the Guardian at the Gate gone—”
“Run,” Mem’sab said, suiting her actions to her words, as she picked up her skirts in both hands and fled down the terrace like a racing deer. “Run!”
They followed her; she ran like that girl in the Greek myth Nan had just read—Atalanta, that was her name, or something like. Nan snatched Neville down off her shoulder and cradled him in her arms as Sarah did the same with Grey; the birds would never have been able to stay on their shoulders while they ran. It was a good thing Mem’sab was wearing a white summer dress; they were able to follow her, flitting along the paths of the estate like a ghost, with Sahib like a shadow right beside her.
After a little, Nan realized where they were going; the door in the hedge that the arrogant man had ridden through.
And that was where and when it all came together. The man that had nearly ridden them down and the man that Mem’sab was angry at and the man who was about to unleash all hell on them with his foolishness were all the same man, and his name was David Alderscroft…
***
Sarah was glad that she and Nan were used to playing hard. She would never have believed that a grown-up could run like that. Mem’sab had hiked her skirts clean up over her knees, and her legs flashed through the grass in a way that should have scandalized anyone who saw it. It was just a good thing that Mem’sab never did wear the kind of dresses people called fashionable; in fact, Sarah was not entirely sure Mem’sab ever wore corsets either. She’d never have been able to run in anything fashionable.
Sahib put on a limping burst of speed and got to the door in the hedge ahead of Mem’sab and wrenched it open. They all caught up to her and piled through the door and—
And they all stopped dead in their tracks.
Sarah felt a tingle, and knew that this was her moment, at the same time as Grey said urgently, “Go! Now!”
She shoved through the adults, and saw what it was that had them paralyzed.
There was a crowd of—creatures—lined up on the bridle path, standing as a barrier between them and wherever it was that Mem’sab was leading them. They weren’t physical. They might have been the ghosts of children, once.
They weren’t now.
They glowed a leprous white, and where their eyes should have been there were only empty holes with a dull, red gleam to them, as if old, dying embers lay at the bottom. Their unnaturally long fingers were crooked into vicious claws, and in place of fingernails, they had talons. Their mouths were agape, showing feral, pointed teeth, and a craving for fear and pain emanated from them in a way calculated to make any sane person turn and flee.
Except—
Except they were the spirits of children still. And under all that, they were lost, alone, afraid.
And that was what Sarah must reach.
She put Grey on her shoulder, and felt the parrot spread her wings, as if giving her shelter.
“Sarah—” Sahib began, but Mem’sab shushed him.
“Give her backing, my brothers,” she said instead, and Sarah felt a steady, warm glow building behind her, a warmth of love and support, as Nan pushed through also and came to stand beside her. She cast a glance aside.
Nan—Nan was a warrior.
The transformation was complete. Instead of the little girl in the pinafore, what stood beside Sarah was a wild creature out of an old Celtic saga, a glowing golden fighting maiden in a short, red wool tunic with a short bronze sword and a slight smile on her face that was just the least little bit disturbing in its enthusiasm.
“I see what needs be done, sister,” Nan said, with no trace of her usual accent. “This is old magic, and I know it well. I shall sever the soul from the rider, so you can set the spirits free.”
And with no more warning than that, she leaped at the line of waiting creatures, then leaped in among them—
—and began to dance.
That was all that Sarah could call it. The creatures swarmed her, but seemed unable to touch her. With Neville making vicious stabs at weirdly transparent faces, battering them with his wings, Nan danced among them, feinting, leaping, whirling, never staying in any one place for long, until—
Strike!
The sword licked out, and there was a cry, and something with tattered wings and a terrible face separated from the seething mob, as the spirit of a small child, faded and frightened, dropped out of it.
“Come!” Sarah called, holding out her arms to it, casting her heart toward it. It fled to her, and as it neared, with a cry, Grey stood on her tiptoes and spread her wings wide, and a bright light surrounded them both. The child ghost flung itself at them, touched the light—and vanished.
The thing that had separated from it uttered a scream of mingled rage and fear, and popped like a soap bubble, just as Nan made another of those lightning strikes, and severed another “rider” from its victim.
Sarah lost track of what was going on; it took all of her strength and concentration to help Grey keep opening that “door” to the beyond and persuade the children to pass through it. But eventually, Grey settled down on her shoulder again, shook herself and uttered a soft, tired sigh. The light around them faded, and she blinked, to see that the golden warrior was gone, and there was only Nan standing on the path with Neville at her feet, looking disheveled and tired—but triumphant.
But there was no time for congratulations. There was a cold, ominous glow beyond the trees, and the clouds were swirling in a whirl over the spot, lightning firing almost continuously from them.
“Run!” Mem’sab called again. And they ran.
***
David Alderscroft was beginning to feel misgivings about all this.
It didn’t feel right. He couldn’t put his finger on why, it just didn’t. Maybe it was the strange storm that had sprung up. Wind, clouds, and more lightning than he had ever seen before, but no rain.