Page 91 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6

Pitch strained to listen for signs of what went on beyond the barrier, but he might as well be buried in a pine box beneath the earth. Robin’s chin jerked up, as though they were held by a collar and the chain were wrenched.

‘They see us.’ They threw back their head, and the rotation of the petals quickened. ‘Sweet mercy…they are strong.’

‘Who?’ Pitch demanded, forgoing the silence. ‘Who is it? Is it the Herlequin?’

Robin shook their head in a slow back and forth. ‘No.’ They raised their arms, extending them to either side. Long, sinewy limbs lengthened further as Pitch watched. The dryad’s fingertips touched at the foliage that grew at the boundaries of the clearing. New brambles and vines pushed from the soil, their leaves the brilliant green of new growth. Faint creaking came from the Major Oak, and the branches Pitch could see added themselves to the barrier, tangling in with the thorns and ivy.

The heart of Sherwood Forest was reinforcing itself.

‘Tell me who sees us.’ Pitch leaned his weight against the wood, pressing into it in the vain hope that perhaps, with the leshy’s attention elsewhere, he might find an escape. ‘What is going on? Fucking gods, tell me.’

‘Angels.’ Robin barely freed the single word.

‘More than one?’ Pitch pressed flattened palms against the wood.

‘There is more than one.’

‘More than one angel?’ he repeated, incredulous.

‘There are three.’ Robin spoke as though the weight of the entire forest were upon them.

‘Fuck…fuck…’ Pitch renewed his escape attempt with fresh fever, putting his shoulder into the wood. ‘Open up, you idiot.’

The oak shuddered with each of his blows, but he was no closer to getting out of the trunk than before, and now he had an ache along his collarbone and a bruise where his temple had smacked the wood in his panic. Pitch set his eye to the peephole once more.

Peri landed upon the dryad’s extended arms, while will-o’-the-wisps gathered in their hair, entwining themselves into the strands. Brownies assembled close to the fae, inside the circle of toadstools, which were now glaringly bright.

‘We shall not let them have you. Do not be afraid,’ Robin said.

That was not what he was most afraid of. ‘You need to let me out,’ Pitch shouted while Scarlet buzzed and whimpered nearby. ‘They will destroy this forest to get to me.’

Destroy every creature frantically throwing their meagre weight into fortifying the clearing. Gnomes were poking their conical heads through the earth at the perimeter, like stupidly inadequate traps ready for the footfall of any who should breach the thick walls of vine and wood. And kodami, normally happy to watch from behind the bark they so resembled, could be spotted moving about in the brambles, like clandestine snipers readying themselves.

It was insanity. Half these creatures could be picked off by a hungry falcon. They stood no chance against angels and sorcerers.

‘Did you hear me, Robin? Major?’ Pitch slammed a balled-up fist against the wood. ‘Set me free. It is me they are after. This defence is useless. It could never hope to be enough.’

‘Perhaps not.’ The Major’s voice moved through the timber. ‘Perhaps all we can offer you is time, but we offer it willingly. You are a friend of the forest, fire daemon, for all else you may be. We do not forgo a friend in their need.’

They were kind words, he supposed, but very stupid. ‘I am not the sort of creature you should befriend, you moron. Forgo me, and be fucking quick about it.’

A deep rumble menaced the clearing, the vibration coming up through the ground, tickling at Pitch’s bare feet. Twin cries of terror rose from Scarlet and the creatures out in the clearing.

‘Hold fast, hold fast now,’ Robin called, a note of desperation clinging to their words.

‘Shit.’ Pitch grabbed at the will-o’-the-wisp, who was taking prime position at the hole in the oak. He held the delicate creature as gently as his haste would allow and shoved his eye to the opening.

Across the clearing, at Robin’s back, a glow seeped through the foliage. Wide and round as a carriage wheel, brighter than a rising sun. Bone white at its heart with the tinges of a golden fire’s glow at the edges.

A golden fire, like that which burned beneath Lord Enoch’s Ophanim throne.

‘The angels have a damned halo.’ If Pitch had not leaned against the wood, he likely would have collapsed to his knees. Will Scarlet made a dolorous sound, and he glared at the tiny critter. ‘Do you even have the faintest fucking idea what a halo is?’

Scarlet’s widened, unblinking eyes managed to remain locked on Pitch, even as the creature shook its head.

He turned away, peering through his ridiculous view-finder. The answer was very simple. A halo was, for him, and for these creatures, the end.

‘Robin, get them out of here. Run, you idiot.’