by M. E. Eadie
Chapter Sixteen: Dad
The terrible sound, a bit like a tormented cat trying to sing, pulled him roughly up from the depths of his sleep and deposited him rudely into a bewildered semiconscious state. Colin rubbed his eyes. After a few moments of confusion the sounds locked together and he recognized it -- Marcus’ bagpipes! He was about to call out for Spike as he threw back his buffalo robe and leapt to his feet, but then thought better of it. Spike had taken forever to fall asleep. He was snuggled contentedly beneath the blankets on his bed. Let him sleep. The distant drone and skirl sounded, receding down the hallway. Not bothering to get fully dressed, Colin hastily threw on a robe and hurried out of the room, bare feet on the cold stone floor.
He ran down the stairs and found himself heading towards the broken tower. Oddly enough, he wasn’t getting any closer to the sound. Whether he increased or decreased his speed the skirl and drone from the pipes were keeping a set distance from him, almost as though they were leading him on. A prickly feeling came over him, and he wondered if he was being led into a trap. He fought down the instinctual desire to call for Sergeant Peary, knowing that if he did so, he would lose the sound all together.
The damp paving stones beneath the house flew by and soon he found himself at the locked wall that separated the tower from the rest of the house, but it was open. Slipping through, he found himself approaching the circular stairwell that spiraled up into the endless heights where perspective made the stairs smaller and smaller. He paused at the foot of the staircase, hesitant to go anywhere near the red carpet that ran up the stairs like a tongue, but the sound of the bagpipes summoned him, urged him on. He couldn’t resist. The sound in the stairwell, even though he couldn’t see its source, now grew louder. He began taking the steps two at a time.
The entrances to the myriad doors seemed more obvious now, the runes on them standing out in stark contrast to the wall. Maestro had cautioned them that as they learned more, their perceptions of the world would change. They would begin to see and feel things they had not thought to exist. Colin stuck to the inside of the carpet still not trusting it. He had passed the door that led to the room with the looking glass that they had used on Halloween, and was beginning to wonder how long this would keep up when the sound of the bagpipes stopped.
At the same time, he also stopped, and found himself staring at a set of runes that encircled a hand print on the wall. It was then that he heard the whispering voice coming from behind the wall. It slithered through the pores in the rock and into his ears. Colin gave an involuntary shiver, and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. The sound created a similar sensation to the snakes in the crypt lock that had crawled into his nose and out of his mouth. The difference here was that the susurration of the voice was crawling into his mind. He reached out, placed his hand onto the print and the stones slipped to the side creating a rough gaping entrance. He took a deep breath and entered.
It was a room much like the first room they had been in, and Colin wondered if all the rooms in the tower were like this. In the unadorned chamber, in its center, stood another mirror, identical to the first, identical to the one in his aunt’s bedroom. It was from there that the voice was coming.
Colin approached the full-length, oval mirror. He recognized his image in the mirror, but it was incredibly distant, much further away than he actually was in the room. It was him, but it wasn’t him. He was a baby! As he cautiously approached, he noticed his form was getting larger, but also older--from an infant, to a child, to a teenager, to that of an adult. He stared into his own, now older eyes, noticing the depth therein and the age lines at the corners of his eyes. Was this really him? His image was mouthing words but only a distant whisper was coming out. The voice became more distinct, but it wasn’t a normal voice. It was as though all the voices of all his previous ages were speaking in concert, but he couldn’t understand what his image was saying. Then his adult image in the mirror smiled. Colin, knowing that he, himself, was not smiling, stepped back. This was much more than a reflective image of a possible self.
“Don’t go,” said the man in the mirror. “This is a surprise. I really wasn’t expecting you.” The voice was full and rich, and familiar.
“Who are you?” asked Colin not exactly sure whether he should run or not.
“I thought that would be rather obvious. I’m you, of course.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
Colin’s head was beginning to spin. Even so, he felt drawn back to the mirror. It was as though he was standing over a raging waterfall and it was exerting all its power over him, trying to drag him in. After a few moments of silence, Colin realized that the image in the mirror was waiting for him to talk. He cleared his voice. “What’s it like, being me?”
The figure shrugged. “I don’t know. What’s it like being you?”
A rising sense of irritation began to churn inside Colin; after all, you would think that his older self would have gained some knowledge, grown a bit in the direction of Grandfather Thunder, or Maestro, or…. he suddenly went cold. How could he be sure that this image of himself was actually -- him? This was the broken tower and things here had a nasty habit of becoming twisted. He remembered the costumes that had dissolved away to nothing.
“What do you want?” asked Colin, his voice turning cold and hard.
A mocking smile began to turn the lips of the image, but then was suppressed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re the one here.”
“The music led me here. Didn’t you hear the music?”
The figure in the mirror shrugged. “You must be hearing things.”
“No, I’m not hearing things. There was the sound of bagpipes leading me up here. The door to the tower was open and I was led to this room. Listen, you either tell me why I’m here or I’m gone!” Colin made a move to leave.
“No, wait. Yes, it was I. I made the music. I opened the locks.”
“Why?”
“You’re in danger. The Circus of the Moon isn’t everything it seems,” said the figure in the mirror sincerely, leaning forward in confidentiality, as though someone else might be listening.
“What do you mean by that?” responded Colin warily. He was getting this unctuous feeling in his stomach, and he could feel his spirit guardian wafting into the room, taking notice of his conversation.
“Did you ever wonder why Maestro and Grandfather Thunder have warned you to suppress your desire to call out your true guardian?”
He shook his head; he wasn’t about to give this image in the mirror any more information, yet he was still there, listening.
“It’s funny how you are told not to use the things that could potentially help you, but back to the Circus--just beware their true intent.”
“True intent?” Colin felt as though he was being lured out, baited; however, he couldn’t help but respond. “They are trying to help Zuhayer Horwood to come back, so they can finally get rid of him.”
The figure in the mirror shook his head, looking gravely concerned. “I don’t think so. You watch, today, Maestro is going to make some changes to the subplot the clowns have been developing. He’s going to have Frederick work in the concept of a coronation.”
“A coronation?”
“Yes, Zuhayer Horwood’s coronation. This pretenssse…”
The slippery susurration in the way his adult image sometimes pronounced his esses made Colin suddenly chary. Springing into his mind was one of Maestro’s lessons: “Things are not always as they seem.”
“…pretenssse of assisting his return to get rid of him doesn’t exactly inssstill confidence. I believe Maestro is assisting your aunt to help Zuhayer to come back to be crowned.”
“Crown him? Make him king? King of what?”
His image arched an eyebrow, and the mocking, condescending smile flickered to the surface again. “Why, King of the Faerie. Hasn’t Maestro
been teaching you anything lately? Faerie is everything, the seen and the unseen. All is not as it ssseems? Well, if all is not as it ssseems, what is it? And who do you think would like to rule over it?”
The wind guardian inside was fully awake, its awareness slipping behind his own, using him as a porthole to see the image in the mirror. Colin felt a desire to open his mouth and let it out, to smash the mirror, but fought it down. He didn’t even know what or where Faerie was, or whether it was worth ruling over.
“Why wouldn’t Maestro and Grandfather Thunder decide to be kings? Why hand it all over to Zuhayer?”
The image shook his head disappointedly. “I’m so glad I’m not you anymore. Have you ever heard the term triad, triumvirate, troika? They intend to divide Faerie into three and to rule their own slice.”
“Well,” Colin was quickly coming to the conclusion that he didn’t like his older self, “what do I have to do with it? If they decide to do this, then there’s nothing I can do to stop them, now is there?”
“You don’t know, do you?” said his adult image in the mirror pityingly. “They can’t do any of this without you, because you hold the final key.”
“The key? What are you talking about?” said Colin, getting irritated. “If you know so much and I know so little, why don’t you just tell me; after all, you are me, or you’re supposed to be me!”
“You still don’t believe. Well, that’s all right. Do you know why Sergeant Peary was assigned to be your temporary guardian spirit, other than to keep you from using your real guardian? Well, all guardian spirits have to have some type of cultural or familial relationship to their host. Peary is our great uncle, our real great uncle.”
“I know that!” said Colin.
“Then do you know Peary’s sister, Emily, had twins, twin girls, Millicent and Sarah?”
“Of course I know! Aunt Grizzelda is Millicent. My mother was her sister, Sarah! And, unfortunately, that makes Zuhayer Horwood my great grandfather. Do you have to rub it in?”
“Why does that displease you? He was a great man!” His adult image in the mirror looked confused.
Colin hesitated. Why should he feel happy about being related to a tyrant? “So,” he said, unsure as to whether the ground beneath his feet was going to shift, “what am I supposed to do … as the final key, and all?”
His image’s forehead now shone with a fervent sweat, matching a sudden intensity in its eyes. “You must call forth The Wind just before the end of the performance; you must let it defend you. When your aunt completes the last step in the hierarchy and Zuhayer returns, only you can command your guardian spirit, the real one, to banish Zuhayer forever.”
The bagpipe music suddenly droned once more into the air, but this time it came from behind the mirror. As if his nervous system hadn’t already been startled enough by this meeting, this further shock blasted his heart up into his mouth. The image in the mirror raised his hand in farewell. “I must go, you must go, and remember what I have said. Tell no one.” The image was walking backwards, getting smaller, receding in time, becoming a teen again, a child, a baby, then, nothing.
A whirlwind of emotions surged about him as he traversed the passages that led from the tower. He tried focusing on what Maestro had taught in one of his lessons: ‘That even though the world in all its tempests can surge about you, that you can be strong, stable and calm like a rock in the middle of the raging river. Through breath, through controlled breathing, this can be achieved,’
But now, if what his self had told him was true, both Maestro and Grandfather Thunder were not to be trusted. Suppressing his emotions, delaying them, he traversed the passages back to the main house and climbed the stairs to the second floor to go back to bed. Light shone from under Grizzelda’s bedroom door. He paused. She was whispering again, most likely to her mirror or her Marcus doll. As he put his ear to the door, he inadvertently placed his hand up against it. The slight pressure caused it to swing inwards. He slipped into the room.
The flickering dance of shadow and light came from a lamp placed on the floor. Aunt Grizzelda was sitting there, her legs crossed. At first she looked like a Nix, just black, unmoving. In contrast to her dark clothing, lit by the dim light, was the stark, anemic pallor of his aunt’s profile. Holding the Marcus doll to her chest, she was rocking back and forth in front of the big oval mirror, muttering something over and over again. Entranced, and yet horrified, Colin moved closer. He had to see who was in the mirror, but his angle was wrong.
At first she seemed oblivious to him, but as he was about to step into the line of sight, where he could see the front of the mirror, she was wrenched from her trance and turned on him. Colin was unnerved by the raw, savage emotion he saw in her eyes, so much so that he momentarily forgot about the mirror. Her eyes were absolutely black, the pupils dilated unnaturally wide. Her cheeks were wet with tears. He fully expected to be yelled at, and braced himself for the impact, but was surprised when Grizzelda only rose to her feet and walked calmly over to him. She stood between him and the mirror, purposely keeping him from seeing what was there.
“What did you see?” she said intensely, the hunted, wild look in her eyes intensifying.
Colin was relieved that he had seen nothing, because had he, with his aunt staring at him like this, he would have confessed.
“Nothing, I saw nothing. I … I just … wanted to see how you were.”
This seemed to catch her by surprise, because she swayed a bit, desperately gripping the fat Marcus doll tighter to her chest. Her bottom lip escaped her control and quivered a bit.
“Fine, I’m, fine,” she said tersely, but it was obvious she was not.
A tense, awkward silence filled the space between them as they both hesitated, waiting for something to fill it, for the other to say something. The latent pressure of this was too much for Colin.
“You are my aunt, I mean, my real aunt, aren’t you?” said Colin.
Grizzelda let out a quivering sigh and she slumped into the big rocker at the side of her bed. He still couldn’t see the front of the mirror. She nodded, staring at him now with wide, frightened eyes. “I haven’t talked about it with you very much, have I? I … I haven’t kept it from you, either though. You’ve always known your mother was my sister. We were twins.”
Everything began to slip into place, the library, Zuhayer, everything, except one thing, how his mother died. He heard his own voice as though it was coming from a great distance, repeating his thought, “How did she die?”
“Die?” responded Grizzelda curiously, a dark look coming over her. “She’s not dead. If she were I’d be the first one to know. I’d feel it.”
Confusion flowed into him. Someone was lying.
“Why didn’t you or Grandfather Thunder ever tell me about my parents?” he pressed, his voice involuntarily rising in volume. He had a right to know; after all, it was his life!
“We had no reason to. Look, what were we going to say? Your mom ran away, and got pregnant by that thing!” Her mouth twisted in distaste. “You know, I never found out whether she told him or not. She gave birth to you in shame, and we hid it as long as we could, but Zuhayer found out. It was impossible to keep anything from him. He would have had you killed to save face, you know. I couldn’t bring myself to burden you with this part of your history, Colin. Grandfather Thunder wanted to tell you a long time ago. I just wouldn’t let him.”
“It’s my life!” said Colin, reacting before thinking. It was the first time anyone had mentioned his father, and he wasn’t about to let go of that easily. If his mother was alive, he wanted to know. “Where are my parents? Why did they abandon me? Where are they?”
“My sister’s name--your mother--is Sarah … the little princess.” She said in a glazed, contemplative trance. As she finished saying this, Grizzelda’s demeanor abruptly changed, seeing Colin in her room for the first time. “What do you think you are
doing in here?” she blared, rising to her feet. She loomed imposingly over him, her bewilderment erased from her face, replaced by an accusatory attitude. “Are you acting as a spy for Maestro … or maybe Ofelia? Spies are such treacherous brutes! Or maybe Dundas, or Grandfather Thunder, or that snip of a woman, Mrs. Li, or that nosy ghost?”
With every word she advanced, driving him backward, one step at a time, toward the door; but he had had enough of his aunt’s bullying. Colin crossed his arms and willed himself into immovable stone. The knowledge that his parents were still alive gave him permanence. He had to face down his aunt, or the Nix inside her, or both.
“I’m not spying for any of them,” he surprised himself by the strength in his voice, “and I’m not going anywhere until you tell me more about my parents.”
Then she was teetering on the edge again, the pattern of her breathing coming in short panicked bursts. She clenched her chest and backed away from him, all the while looking uncertain, lost. Her retreat halted abruptly when her calves bumped up against the side of her bed. She gave an exhausted sigh and slumped heavily onto the bed. Colin saw her expression change; her features softened once again.
“Come over here, Colin.” She patted the bed, a sign for him to sit. “We’re not identical twins, Sarah and I,” she began, an invisible weight slowly easing off her shoulders, allowing her to sit straighter. “My name isn’t really Grizzelda. But of course, you’ve known that since that terrible day Marcus disappeared, haven’t you. It’s actually Millicent. Grizzelda is a name I took. It’s an ugly name, for an ugly person.”
She turned toward the bedside table just long enough to open its small built-in drawer and to pull out a badly, tarnished heart-shaped locket. Upon opening the locket, she paused for a moment to remove something from it, then held out the locket to Colin for him to see. There were two small photographs cut to fit the locket frames, one of Grizzelda and one of Silverberry!
“Sarah loved to hide away her treasures, but I had a gift, shall we say, for finding all her hiding places.”
Colin almost missed hearing this; he was so focused on the photo of Silverberry. Silverberry was Sarah! His mother was Silverberry!
“She loved colors, loved life, loved him. I can’t blame you if you hate me, because I deserve it. This isn’t the first time Maestro has come to town. They’re like us: they’re special. He’s a clown, your father, a very good one, and both of us fell in love with him. He loved Sarah, not me.” Grizzelda’s eyes were wide and staring, as though she was witnessing everything again. “I pushed her into the water, and the current took her. I felt her fear, her panic, but before I could do anything, she was pulled under. Oh, Sarah,” she keened wrapping her arms around herself and beginning to rock, “it happened so fast!”
Colin shook his head in disbelief. “But, you said she wasn’t dead! You said she was alive!”
Grizzelda looked at him suddenly a stark wildness in her eyes. “Death? What is death? I never said she stopped existing, now did I. Stop trying to understand things you don’t have a clue about.” Her face was a wall of impassable bitterness. “I took you to Grandfather Thunder. I couldn’t go back to him; he would’ve destroyed you, and me.”
“Who is my father?” asked Colin, feeling the anger of being lied to boil up inside him. As far as he was concerned, the Nix was making his aunt certifiably mad. Only a mad person would tell someone his mother was alive and then dead within the space of a few seconds.
Grizzelda’s lips became hard, two tight, white lines pressed together, but then she sighed. “He’s here, right now. You know him; you’ve been working with him. How does it feel … to have a father?” she said mockingly. “Sarah and I never had one. Horwood women have a penchant for getting involved with mad men, or men who don’t care. The rare one that cares is taken away.” She gave the Marcus doll an involuntary hug.
Colin got up and stalked to the door, unable to be in the same room as his aunt, but before he left he turned and confronted her one last time.
“Who is he?” he demanded.
For a moment, Grizzelda looked surprised and frightened, then the old mocking bitterness flooded back into her features. Using the name like a club, she bellowed his father’s name, “Frederick!” Opening her hand to reveal a small heart-shaped photo, she crushed it into the locket covering up her own photograph, then threw the necklace at Colin’s feet. “Your father’s name is Frederick! He has no last name! And neither do you!”