Belladonna

dead!"
    "Iz sleeping!"
    "How you know iz sleeping?"
    "Cause I poked it? See?" poke poke poke.
    Michael jerked awake, coughed up more bog water, then groaned. "I'm not sleeping now, you brainless twits, and I'm not dead, either."
    Silence. Then the first one said, "We could kill it. Iz enough flesh on it to feed the clan."
    Clan. Bog. Lady of Light, have mercy on me.
    Michael pushed himself up to a sitting position and carefully rubbed his eyes, which felt hot and gritty. Then he looked at the two youngsters standing in front of him — and the adults silently moving closer.
    The Merry Makers were human-shaped, and a full-grown one came up as high as a human man's chest. But they looked like they were formed from the bogs they claimed as their own: thin, brown bodies with limbs that looked like animated branches; hands that had long, twiggy fingers; faces that could have been carved from gnarls of wood; hair like the moss that hung from the trees that grew on the bog's islands.
    There was a vicious strength in those thin limbs that could easily overpower a grown man, and humans lured into the bog by the lights and the music seldom found their way home.
    Unless they could bargain.
    "I am not familiar with this clan," Michael said, feeling the need to step as carefully with his words as he would with his feet in order to get out of this dark place. "But I have been among your people before." Early in his wandering, when he'd been young and foolish and lost one night — and had learned firsthand that the stories about the demons who lived in their world weren't just stories. "We shared a night of music."
    They didn't speak. Their large yellow eyes just stared at him.
    There was no place for him to go. The Merry Makers were in front of him. A quick roll would have him back in the water, but the water offered no real escape from them — and trying to escape would be enough to condemn him.
    Then one clear note sounded through the air.
    Michael looked toward the sound and noticed his pack sitting close by, open.
    He didn't remember taking off the pack, but his memories of what happened after he hit the water were jumbled bits of images. At least now he understood why he'd thought trees had reached down and saved him from drowning.
    The Merry Maker who stepped forward held Michael's tin whistle in its long fingers. "Magician." The voice was deep and harsh and yet fluid — and sounded like it belonged to the bog itself. "We have heard of you, Magician."
    There was something more primal about this one, something more dangerous. Which made Michael wonder if he was looking at this clan's Heart of the Bog. He'd heard the name the last time he'd been among the Merry Makers. They wouldn't explain what it meant, but he figured the name itself pretty much said it all — especially in terms of who made the decision of whether or not a human lived or died.
    "Luck-bringer," the Heart of the Bog said, watching Michael. "Ill-wisher."
    "I have never wished ill on your people," Michael replied.
    "No, you have not." A pause. "You appear without warning, deep in our piece of the world, at a time when nothing should be able to cross over into the protected dark places."
    Protected? Michael wondered. By who?
    A lovely face once again filled his mind, and he was very much afraid he knew the answer.
    "Why are you here, Magician?"
    His life hinged on what he said next. He knew it; they knew it. So he listened to his heart and gave the Merry Maker the same answer he had given the Destroyer. "Her darkness is my fate."
    Bodies shifted. Murmurs rose and fell until the Heart of the Bog raised one hand, commanding silence.
    When the Heart of the Bog just watched him, Michael added, "Heart's hope lies within belladonna."
    The Heart of the Bog tipped its head to one side and smiled a sweetly chilling smile. "You seek Belladonna?"
    Something about the look in the Merry Maker's eyes told him he had misunderstood the riddle. It wasn't about the plant, it was about a person. It was the name of his dream lover, who must be a dark-hearted woman if she protected this part of the world.
    But he sensed she was also the key to getting away from the Merry Makers,
    "Yes," Michael said. "I seek Belladonna."
    The Heart of the Bog walked over to the pack and tucked the whistle inside before fastening the pack's straps. "We will take you to the Justice Maker. He has powerful magics." That chilling smile again. "Deadly magics. See-bastian will decide if you are a