Page 93 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6

‘No, you idiot.’ Pitch snatched the wisp from the air. ‘Keep out of sight.’ He held the squirming critter, too tight no doubt. ‘And stop moving about or I shall burn you to a crisp. My flame is big enough for that at least.’

A snort of dismissal came from beneath his curled fingers.

‘Do as I say.’ Pitch let a hint of menace, an old friend of his, creep into his voice. ‘Or you shall discover that rainbows can be melted.’

Satisfied with the sudden stillness in his hand, Pitch released Scarlet and turned his attention to the dying oak. ‘Major, it is time to stop this thwarted attempt to protect me. You’ve done all you can…and I thank you for it, but you know as well as I it is not enough.’

‘Can you save them?’ The leshy’s exhaustion drained Pitch just to hear.

‘Maybe.’ A lie most likely, but the halo was not making as terrible a mark as it could. If it were an Archangel or Seraphim seeking entry, they’d have done so ten times over by now. Perhaps Iblis had been trapped too long in this world, and his halo suffered for it. ‘But not alone.’ Pitch considered the options, his thoughts calamitous. ‘The gnomes, they are tunnellers, and your roots reach far. Have the gnomes build a path for the forest folk to escape through, and you show the way. Get them out of this clearing or they will all die. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’ A hiss of air and little more, but the earth around Pitch’s feet began to stir, the niggling of roots beneath the surface.

‘Let me out, now, sir.’

The tree exhaled, the wood settling like the timbers in an old house, the cracks widening with the expansion. But nowhere near great enough space for Pitch to step through.

‘A little more, quickly.’

The wheeze of grinding wood was laboured, and the cracks widened by only the merest margin. An agonised moan drew from the timbers. Scarlet chittered and its colours trembled as it caressed the tired old oak where the stony grey had not yet trespassed.

‘Break,’ was all the Major managed, but Pitch took his meaning and ran with it. Quite literally.

He turned his shoulder, aiming for where he recalled the parts of wood meeting to close him in– a place where weakness could be exploited– and took as large a run up as possible in the confines.

Pitch hurtled forward…and through.

The wood shattered with the delicacy of fine glass. Far easier a break than he’d expected, and the sudden coming apart threw off his balance, which hardly needed any help with being off-kilter on the best of days. He was rescued by one of the gnomes, a rotund fellow of a height not common to the earth elementals, who ducked his head beneath Pitch’s thrown-out hand, providing a prop that kept him on his feet. He gave the gnome a grateful nod, then dished out instructions.

‘Gather everyone in the clearing, lead them into the oak.’ Pitch tossed the command over his shoulder, already making his way to Robin’s side, damp soil squeezing through his toes. ‘Tunnel them out of here, do you understand? No one is to remain.’

‘But Robin is here, we cannot leave them. They need us for–’

‘Whatever succour you’ve given to the forest, it’s done with now.’ Why did gnomes never just do as they were told? ‘Get the blazes out of here, damn you. Don’t test me, for it won’t end well for you.’

‘Yes, sir. Going now, sir.’

The gnome’s cries for assembly rang out. The brownies and will-o’-the-wisps gathering near Robin did not take much persuading to follow the call once Pitch levelled them with a glare. They scrambled over the spiderweb of roots that covered the ground, taking a wide berth around him, gathering the kodami as they went.

He reached Robin’s side and found a narrow crouch space in the bulge of roots. The toadstools closest to the fae were still shining with weak light, but those further out were stubby rock markers. Pitch’s eyes locked upon the huge crest-shaped hole where the halo sought to puncture the natural barricade. Robin’s vines and brambles formed a thick frame around the edges as though the destruction were a horrid, massive painting.

‘Robin, stop, let it go.’ He laid a hand on their narrow shoulder. The dryad shook like the proverbial fucking leaf, despite much of their lower half holding the grey tinge of the magick. ‘Enough. It is divine magick, you–’

‘I know what it is, daemon.’ They slipped the words through clenched teeth. ‘And those angels have no right to bring their destruction to my forest.’

‘They are not overly fond of the rights of others,’ he said bitterly. ‘They are going to destroy Sherwood, and you, if you continue to fight them. Stand down.’

‘But what of you? The ankou told us we must…’

‘Silas is not your master, and he is prone to absurd amounts of fussing.’And if he does not return to fuss again, I shall fall to endless pieces,Pitch thought. ‘The ankou would never expect you to place yourselves in such a position. He would despise what is being done to you here. Go, Robin. Keep the forest alive.’

Robin glanced at him, eyes dull, the daisy yellow fading. ‘But it is you who must live.’

Before he could dispute that, the dryad cried out, their gaze shifting to the left, to where the petrification crept along their vine-snaked arms, turning Robin’s lengthened fingers to stone.

‘Shit.’ Pitch grabbed at their shoulders. ‘Stop fighting. Let the fucking barrier down.’

A thin sliver of the halo’s light pierced the barricade.