"Lose my soul?" Baelfire asked.
Siri looked around. It was quiet so far in the Gloaming. A good sign.
As far as there were good signs, here.
She nodded. "Let's get moving." She pulled out her golden sickle from inside her jacket. It was a small thing, the blade barely bigger than her hand. But it had a sharp edge. "Do you have any weapons?"
Baelfire nodded and pulled out . . . Tom's dagger.
"Oh," Siri said, staring at it. Blast and whither it, Tome wouldn't have had that that with him when he was fighting . . . whatever attacked them. But, odds were Baelfire would need it. "That's . . . good. In this wood, that's a very good thing to have."
"Why? And why is my soul in danger? What about yours?"
"Heh, the things that walk here might kill me. But, that's all they'll do. You're another story. This is the Gloaming, the Wood of the Long Night. The people here, they call themselves Goblins. Do you have Goblins back home?"
"Uh, yeah. I think so. I've never met any."
"Let me guess: small, squat types, none too bright, live in caves? Would that be them?"
"Yeah . . . ."
"It's not these guys. They're tall and slender. With claws, fangs, and pointed ears. They can be lightning fast. Each . . . clan – tribe – company, they use all those names – has a lodge somewhere, a shelter or hall. Though they like to be able to see the stars and the moon when they rest. Roofing leaves something to be desired. They have human intelligence and their leaders are often wicked smart. And their humor is razor sharp." Literally, sometimes. "Just to warn you.
"But, they can't breed, if you know what I mean. Their unions are, uhm, sterile. Do they tell stories about changelings where you come from?" He ought to, given what Tom had told her about him.
But Baelfire just looked baffled. "I – I don't think so. I don't know what that means."
"Really? That's a surprise. If you know Rumplestiltskin . . . . Well, never mind. My Uncle Lucian could tell you all about stories that don't match up the facts . . . . Right. Changelings. Our world doesn't have magic but it has lots of stories about magic.
"Including creatures – magical beings – that steal people. It's usually children in the stories. But not always. They steal them away and . . . change them. Make them – not human. Their own kind. See?
"Well, that's what the Goblins of the Gloaming do. They ride out into the real world. At certain times. At certain seasons. The dead – the almost dead of battles – it's always battles – these are their prey. At those times, they can leave a glamour, a spell wrapped around twigs and bits of hair, something they give the seeming of the warrior who would have died.
"Then, they take that one back with them. They put him on their black altars and . . . change them.
"The black altars. They call them Altars of Night. That has a literal meaning. They feed your memories to the dark, if they catch you. Your soul – your soul's not gone. I was told once it's as if it's caught in a spider's web, able to sense, to understand, unable to move, to influence.
"You soul is still bound to you – you die without it – but, trust me, you don't act like a person with a soul."
Baelfire looked pale as that sunk in. But –
"I'm not a warrior," he said. "What does that have to do with me?"
He thought things through. Good.
"We're in their lands," Siri said. "They don't have to wait for you to be near death, here. They'll just take you. If they can."
"What about you?"
And then there was the problem with smart kids. He'd noticed her use of the second person.
"Ah," Siri paused, pretending to be looking around and getting her bearings. "I'm . . . not prey for them. Not that way. It won't do anything if they drag me up on one of those altars. Well, nothing they want to see happen.
"But – " she turned on him, "I tell you run, you run. You don't wait for me. You don't try to help me. You run fast as you can.
"And don't look back.
"There won't be anything you want to see."
Baelfire trailed her in silence for a while.
But, only a while.
Then –
"Where are we going?"
"Someplace safe. Safer. If we last till sunset – sunset back in our – in my world, I can get us back. I can only open the road in the hours of night or twilight."
"Why?"
She glanced at him, liking the hard tone in his voice. That was a demand with a world of suspicion behind it, not an idle query. He had a suspicious mind.
She liked people like that.
Though Tom would probably point out a kid Bae's age shouldn't have seen the things that would make him ask like that.
"This place and I, we have a history. Most of what I can do is bound by its rules. The Goblins won't walk in your world or mine during hours of daylight, not if they can help it.
"Oh, and your dagger – this is important. It's from this world, Goblin made. There's not a Goblin here who won't recognize the clan and hall it comes from.
"They won't like it.
"But, there's a chance – a small chance – if they catch you, they might respect that, they might take you where it came from – and that'll be a safe place. For you. Well, mostly safe.
"But, it's a slim chance. So, fight if they get you cornered. Trust me, fighting won't make a difference in what they decide to do. Hurt them. Kill them if you can." She sighed. "My brother would kill me for telling a kid to do that. But, it's you or them. So, make sure it's not you, OK?
"But, better yet, make sure it doesn't come to that. Just run."