by A. C. Salter
“Night Watch Commander, Fenwick,” the judge shouted, glaring at the fairy that had escorted Dylap into the chamber. The fae stood from his place in the lower benches and gave a courteous nod. The single wing on his back fluttered slightly to reveal its crisp green hue.
“Yes, your Honour,” he confirmed.
“It is to my understanding that you found the body of this Dylap. Tell me why you failed to throw it back into the Twine from whence it came, when this is the decree of the King himself.”
Clearing his throat, Fenwick smiled apologetically. “Your Honour, the decree states that we must throw the dead back into the river. And it was quite…”
“Do not,” growled the judge, “assume to tell me the law of Farro, Fenwick. It states, quite clearly in the Tomb of Justice, that anything the Twine spews fourth, must be thrown back.”
Fenwick’s jaw muscle clenched along with his fist and Dylap recognised the anguish from the other fairy as he willed himself to calm. “That it does, your Honour. Although, it also says that if a fae is washed up, it must be given aid, care and shelter.”
The judge slammed his hand down on the arm of his chair, an angry response ready on his lips, yet it died when the scribe cleared his throat and affirmed that indeed, Fenwick was correct.
Dylap witnessed the vein throbbing at the judge’s temple and the hate permeating from his eyes as they settled on Fenwick’s missing wing. “And if the fae you found happened to be a split-wing?”
“I would have sliced him in two,” Fenwick said instantly. Then took a slow measured breath before continuing with a calmer voice. “But as you see, this fae is not a split-wing.”
“He may not be fae at all,” argued the judge. “Have you anything else to add from that night your watch found him?”
“Only, that tied to his body was a pouch of dust.”
“A pouch of dust?”
“Yes, your Honour, silver dust to be more precise. Silver of the highest quality and ground so fine that it almost flows like a liquid.”
Dylap stared at the one-winged fairy. Nobody had told him about the silver dust. He stared at the small pouch as Fenwick approached the judge and handed it to him. It was made from soft brown leather, stitched with a silver thread and had a dark leather drawstring tying it shut. The older fae prised his fingers into the opening and stretched the drawstring. Then dipping his hand into the pouch, withdrew the dust and let it fall through his fingers. His glower returning to Dylap.
“Why carry silver dust?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Dylap replied, “I can’t remember.”
He wished he could. He was desperate to remember something, anything. It was as if his life hadn’t started until he awoke in the mud. Like being born almost a man, with no prior knowledge of who he was.
Unsatisfied, the judge pulled the drawstring tight and dropped the heavy pouch on the scribe’s desk, before his attention returned to Fenwick.
“Regardless of whether you acted correctly or not, Dylap is here now and needs to be dealt with. Have you anything else to add?”
“No, your Honour,” Fenwick replied.
“Then be seated,” he ordered, then waited until the fairy had returned to his bench before proceeding. “As we all know, Farro exists as a fully functioning society. A Kingdom born of rules and laws. And every single fae has a place within the Royal City. To that end, if a place cannot be established among us for Dylap, then he must be returned to the Twine. Are we all agreed in that?” As his gaze passed over the members of each house and guild, the master of each spoke clearly so all could hear.
“Yes, your Honour,” they said in turn. Dylap watched them as they responded. Wondering which house, he would be assigned to. Hoping that it would be to somebody friendly, although he had yet to meet anyone who treated him with even the smallest amount of dignity. Only Fenwick of the night watch appeared to show him respect. Maybe he could be part of his watch.
“Then I won’t delay these proceedings any more. Is there any house or guild willing to take on Dylap? Willing to supply roof and gem, feed and clothe him. Any here to whom he may be apprenticed to?”
Silence was his only answer.
Worrying that he would be thrown back into the treacherous river, Dylap looked to Fenwick. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments before the watchman stared at the ground.
“With him, will come the pouch of silver as payment,” the judge added. Again, his gaze swept the chamber, the eager glances of the those in the benches darting at the pouch; brows creasing as they considered the wealth. But none spoke.
“General Cramaris,” the judge suggested, raising his head towards the decorated soldier on the arm of the Prince. “Would there be room for him in the guard? Could he be an errand boy, cook, boot polisher?”
Dylap could hear the general’s teeth grinding from the place he was chained to, in the middle of the chamber and some way down from the soldier. He fancied he could feel the hatred and anger seeping from him.
“No,” Cramaris growled in a deep rumbling voice. “He has no place amongst the royal guard, the city guard nor the night watch. And if you want my advice, this creature should be run through before being thrown into the Twine.”
“Thank you General,” the judge replied, “your advice will be considered in due course. And since there are no willing houses or guilds to take the responsibility of Dylap, the Twine is where he is destined to go.”
The general smiled smugly, shoulders relaxing as he stared down. It seemed to Dylap that he wasn’t even going to get the chance to prove himself. He wondered if he could swim. Yet his memories held onto that knowledge as well as everything else. Not that it mattered. He wouldn’t be swimming if he was run through. Nobody wanted him here. That fact was clear from the hundreds of cold glares he was receiving from the crowd. What a wretched specimen he must appear to them. He was beginning to wonder if he was as bad as they thought he was. Was he dangerous? He didn’t believe so, but then, his mind hid so much from him.
“I will take him,” came a voice from the outer doors. When Dylap turned to see who had spoken, he was shocked to find a spider clinging to the door frame, its body blotting out half the daylight. “Give him to me and I will find him a place,” it said, and although the voice seemed to emanate from the many-limbed beast, its mandibles didn’t move.
“Be gone, Dewella,” the judge shouted angrily. “The Lady of the Web has no rights here. Unless of course you would come in person instead of sending one of your children.”
The spider’s legs came off the door frame as it clambered onto the floor. It stretched to its full height, which was on a level with the guards who raised spears towards it. Fangs working rapidly as they clattered against each other.
“Yet I know who he is and what he is,” the voice spoke again. It was female, sweet and seductive. The opposite of the creature that clicked in the doorway.
“And what does the Lady of the Web know of fae business?” The judge demanded, scowling at the spider. “No, it’s only trickery and treachery you mingle with. Leave now or I will have reason to burn the dead stump you call home. The spell-casters and binders are running low on ground arachnid powder. They will be more than willing to take part.”
The spider appeared to scream in the female voice that didn’t belong to it. The row of many black orbs that adorned its head shone onto Dylap before it turned and scurried out of the chamber.
Once it had vanished from view, the judge turned his attention back to the benches. “Nobody will claim responsibility for Dylap, so it has come that the judgement is passed.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “Then with the power of the Farro law,” the judge acclaimed, his arms held high, “I sentence The Dylap to be thrown back into the Twine. May the Blessed Mother take his soul, perhaps running him through beforehand, would be a mercy.”
Dylap felt numb. The cold from his manacles seeping into his bones, the chain links shaking with the nerves in his legs. It would have
been better for everyone, including himself if he hadn’t woken on the river bank. If the night watch had simply thrown him back instead of taking him to the healers so he could be returned to health, just so he could be left to die all over again. He glanced through the outer doors, speculating that he might have had a chance with the spider. No matter how grisly the beast was.
Sighing, he rested his weary head against the balustrade, resigned to the fact that he would be returned to a watery grave. Maybe there was a reason he had been in it in the first place. Had he been punished before – did he deserve death? Farro seemed to think so as the chatter began to rise, his life already forgotten as the pair of guards which had escorted him here approached, both wearing malevolent grins.
“Wait,” the Prince shouted, rising from his throne to survey the chamber.
“Is there not a fae here who would give this poor fairy a chance? Does he not deserve to live?”
Dylap raised his head, the pure white wings of the Prince opening slightly to reflect some of the daylight that seeped through the windows. His brilliance glowing around him as he descended the steps to take the chamber ground and stride towards the benches.
“Surely the guild of bakers could use an extra pair of hands to kneed your dough, or the builders, another body to lift? Are the numbers not dwindling in the wood knoll squabblers? Could another fairy help fill that gap?”
Hope bled back into Dylap’s veins as his champion stalked in front of the guilds. A Prince of such beauty, of such light would bring him solace. Yet with each house he passed, each bench of guilds, Dylap knew that the outcome would be the same.
“Your Majesty?” The general said after following the Prince across the chamber. “This creature doesn’t belong to Farro.”
“Yet I doubt he belongs to death. Maybe my father could find him a place in the Palace. The Alabaster Tree will always need…”
“Forgive me your Majesty,” the general cut in. “Your father would not permit it. If the King was here now, this…Dylap, would already be dead.”
The Prince considered his words and nodded. “You’re right General. But I am not my father.”
He paced along the benches, pausing at each house to gaze at the masters sat high above. Each appearing ashen-faced as they nodded respectfully, yet still they declined. That was until the Prince reached the final bench. The young girl who sat alone.
“The Aviary Guild,” the Prince said, offering the fae a smile. “But where is the master? Where is Sabesto?”
“Master Sabesto is…taken ill, your Majesty,” the girl replied, her cheeks becoming several different shades of red as she glanced away.
“That is a shame, my father always told me of his bravery in the wars. Please inform him that the King misses the hunts they used to take pleasure in.”
“I will, your Majesty.”
“And he has sent you to speak for the guild? A bird-tamer no less,” he offered, leaning closer and forcing her to lean away. The shades of red becoming crimson as she bit her lower lip.
“He has your Majesty,” she squeaked, hungry eyes roaming over his face and bright white wings.
“Jambilee, that’s your name,” the Prince continued, his voice becoming deeper and sounding a little seductive.
The fae nodded eagerly, her colourful wings fluttering, her hands wringing together. “It is, your Majesty.”
“Then for today, Jambilee, in the Chamber of Justice, you are the master of the Aviary. And so, you alone can decide whether to help this poor unfortunate fae who has found himself washed up on our shores. There must be a wealth of work to do at the Aviary. Perhaps you could find a place for him,” he almost whispered, his lips so close to Jambilee’s that if she chose to, she could kiss him.
“Yes, your Majesty,” she sighed.
The Prince’s face broke into a wide grin, perfect teeth shining through a smile that was as dazzling as his wings.
“Then it’s settled then,” he exclaimed, dropping the pouch of silver dust on the bench beside the fairy. “The Aviary will take charge of Dylap and find him a place.”
“But…” began Jambilee, lines appearing above the bridge of her nose as she realised what the Prince had said.
“Thank you, Jambilee. Farro owes you a debt of gratitude.” The Prince bowed before departing, leaving her holding the leather pouch in her lap, mouth slightly agape. Confusion creased her face as she watched him leave, yet she said nothing more.
Dylap felt an overwhelming gratefulness to the Prince. He alone had given him hope, had in fact, given him his life back. He watched him stride past, ready to thank him when his gaze fell on the general. The huge fairy glowered at him, mouth curled into a snarl.
“Your Majesty, Sabesto won’t take kindly to this creature,” he argued.
“Kindly or not, General; Sabesto will take him. It is now written in the Justice Chamber and only awaits my signature,” he said, as he scribbled onto the scroll at the scribe’s desk. “There, all done, now let us depart. I do tire of this justice business quite easily.”
Putting his white wings to the general, the Prince paced through the outer doors, his guards nimbly following. The rest of the chamber erupted in excited babbling.
When the judge finally regained control of the room, he ended the proceedings and the fae began to file out through the doors until only the judge, the scribe, Jambilee and the two soldiers who escorted him here remained.
“Sign here,” the scribe instructed the girl as she slowly approached the desk. Her face was a mask of shock as if she was coming to terms with a devastating ordeal. Although she still had a tinge of red to her cheeks. She hastily scribbled on the parchment, then began to amble towards the outer door.
“Jambilee?” the judge bellowed, forcing the young fae to turn. “Are you not forgetting something?” he asked, pointing an accusing finger at Dylap.
She stared at him, bewilderment dropping her mouth open before she snapped it shut. Stepping closer she glanced at Dylap and he heard her whisper curses under her breath.
He offered her an apologetic smile, realising that she had been tricked into taking responsibility for him. Yet he was thankful for her gullibility. If it wasn’t for her, his future would have been bleak.
“Would you like us to remove his manacles?” asked one of the guards as he began to unlock him from the balustrade.
Jambilee glanced at the steel cuffs, then at Dylap and then at the judge.
“I think I’ve made a grave mistake,” she pronounced, offering the elder fairy a rueful smile.
“Mistake or not,” the judge explained, “you've signed for him to be placed with the Aviary. He is now yours.”
Biting her lip, Jambilee stared desperately towards the outer doors, then up at the ceiling before settling on her feet. “Frog snot,” she hissed, shaking her head.
3
Farro
Dylap followed Jambilee through the outer door of the chamber. His arms suddenly feeling feather-light now the manacles were removed. He pulled the sleeves of the rough cotton shirt over his wrists to hide the blisters.
“Thank you,” he muttered to the girl as he stepped out onto the branch. Her colourful wings fluttering as the sun touched them, glinting off the golds and greens.
She paused to regard him, a scowl deepening the lines on her brow as she shook her head. Her mouth set firm as if she attempted to prevent herself from speaking.
“You…Dylap,” she blurted, a finger jabbing towards his chest. Her mouth was forming another word yet she didn’t put a voice to it. Appearing frustrated, she glanced up and watched the last of the Prince’s entourage leave. The finely dressed guards flew through the canopy and out of sight. “I’ve…” Jambilee’s head dropped to her chest as she pressed a fist into her temple. “We’re in a lot of trouble,” she sighed, “Sabesto won’t like this.”
“Sabesto?” Dylap broached, hoping that he pronounced the name correctly. He was still unaccustomed to speaking, yet he found that he und
erstood others well.
Jambilee put her back to him as she ventured further out onto the branch. “The master of the Aviary, my master and now yours,” she explained over her shoulder. “He won’t be happy with this arrangement and neither will the rest of the house.”
Several fairies flew above, their shadows hovering over them as they slowed to point and mumble between themselves. Others too were chattering around the entrance to the chamber they had left. Whispers that Dylap knew were about himself. Suddenly becoming aware of the rest of the fae about the huge trees, he noticed that they had all paused to stare. Bewilderment mixed with other more hostile glares. His face flushed as he attempted to ignore them, instead concentrating on the wood under his bare feet and not the endless drop beneath. He focused on the branch, the cold surface which had been worn smooth over time with the endless footfalls of others. Although he noticed that most wore boots or slippers.
“How far is the Aviary?” he asked as they came to a thick nobble that protruded up from the tree limb. Jambilee casually flew over the obstacle with only a few graceful beats from her wings. Dylap on the other hand, was forced to hug the coarse tree knuckle as he shuffled around, much to the amusement of his audience that were steadily growing.
“The other side of Farro, beyond the Palace,” she answered as she delicately landed. The sun broke through the canopy and reflected from the goggles she wore on her head. The light shining directly into his eyes as she stared at him. “So, you can’t fly at all?”
Dylap shook his head as he grasped the bottom of his spines and lifted them up for her inspection. “Whatever these are, I doubt they’re for flying. I doubt they are for anything.”
Jambilee’s lips curled up in disgust, yet when she noticed him watching, she hastily glanced away - shame reddening her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she offered. “You never chose to be what you are, whatever that is. But the fae here will treat you with disdain. That’s how they are with outsiders.”
Dylap let the spines fall from his fingers, causing laughter from a group of young fairies who had been playing on a branch on the opposite tree. They had been tossing an apple pip between themselves but had stopped to watch. “So I’ve noticed,” he said.