Lost Hope

by Al K. Line

  “When you’ve quite finished?” the jailer interrupted with a smirk.

  I nodded to Vicky; she’d done well. She always was good at distracting the bad guys.

  Without turning, I let Wand angle himself in a way that suited him best, pointing up over my shoulder as I bent to give Vicky a hand up.

  “I recalibrated,” whispered Wand. “This place is awesome. This is where I’m from, right? This should be easy.”

  “Just get on with it,” I snapped.

  So he did. Wand practically split my hand from my arm as the sigils activated and I felt my will drawn from me like it was being sucked though a straw. My pent-up anger and frustration surged forth, compounded by Wand’s power now he’d got on the same wavelength as the realm he originated from. Sigils flared impossibly bright and white lightning forked from the tip in a ferocious display that blinded me and made Vicky and Juice scream. The walls reflected the searing light and pain engulfed me for a moment, not so much physical but merely a result of such powerful magic being used in a confined space.

  All I could think was that I was glad it wasn’t directed at me.

  Damn but I was dangerous. And Wand, he helped too.

  As I felt rather than saw the strike connect with the jailer, I turned, worried that although this felt crazy powerful it wouldn’t have an effect on someone clearly fae.

  I needn’t have been concerned.

  “Shit. Can you stop it?” I shouted above the roar of the jailer. He wasn’t being sarcastic now, he was screaming, but then he stopped.

  “Afraid not,” came Wand’s slow response, too caught up in the magic to focus on me very well.

  I felt his struggle, trying to draw the magic he’d unleashed back in, but it was taking time and even as he did his best and the combination of spells wrapped up inside the magic waned, the height of the spell hit.

  The jailer was puce, his fat face expanding like he was pumped full of air. But it wasn’t air, it was the spell, one I’d not used for over a decade as I knew what was coming.

  His silver hair blew about his head madly, faery dust sparkling then disappearing like his skull was venting energy. He flailed and screamed, his body writhing as white spears of magic connected at multiple points like it was electrifying him. And I guess in a way it was, but not with voltage, with my power as a wizard and the strength of Wand’s connection to this place. It was the wood, what he was made of, allowing him to be something extremely potent. No wonder the tree he came from was so rare; the fae would do all they could to ensure wizards didn’t own wood from the unicorn tree.

  “Duck,” I shouted, and grabbed Vicky, trying to push her down.

  I managed to get onto all fours but she resisted me, and Juice, not the brightest of sparks, merely backed up into a corner and pinned himself against the wet wall.

  Then it happened.

  His torso split through the leather, spraying innards everywhere, but it was his head that was the most ghastly. As I hit the ground I saw his head expand horrendously, the skull bubble up to twice its usual size, the pressure inside too much for the brain to take. Everything erupted in as gross a way as you can imagine. Bits of brain and bone, blood, and chunks of gristle spat everywhere with as much pressure as a tire blowing out when you’re speeding down the motorway.

  And then all was silent.

  Until Vicky screamed, “It’s in my hair. Yuck, this is so gross. Help me.”

  I smiled.

  My partner in crime, and grime, was back.

  She’d be really annoyed now.

  Cells

  “Calm down, it’s just faery bits,” I said, soothing her, making everything better.

  Vicky slapped me hard across the cheek. Wow, so ungrateful. “Faery bits! Faery bits?” she shrieked, clawing at her ponytail, unleashing her locks. She raked her fingers through her loose hair and squealed as she squashed brain between fingers already covered in grime.

  “Wow, I never see you with your hair down. It’s nice.”

  Vicky squinted, trying to vibe me. “Are you trying to be funny?”

  “Hey, it’s nice. Could do with a wash, but it suits you.”

  Vicky slapped me again. Now I had brains on me too. What’s the point of ducking if you’re gonna get covered anyway?

  Vicky shook her head manically, flinging chunks everywhere, then retied her hair. She was so dirty she looked a bit like a panda where her tears had made white patches, but she was alive.

  Ah, that would cheer her up.

  “At least you’re alive,” I said with a smile.

  Yup. Another slap.

  Juice had sunk to his knees in the corner, content to whimper quietly, seemingly not concerned with attempting to clean himself up. I left him to it while I dealt with Vicky.

  “Is there anything you can tell me? What did the jailer say? Do you know where Sasha and George are?”

  “He said nothing, just did that grunt thing. I think they’re close. I heard shouts, but the walls muffled the sound. Why is this happening? What happened at your house?”

  “Juice, the snake,” I turned and scowled at him, “drugged us all, but then someone came and took you.”

  “So he’s in on it?”

  “Apparently not. It’s a long story, but I’m here now. Let’s get you home and finish this. Hey,” I said brightening, “don’t suppose you’ve had anyone in your bedroom lately?”

  Vicky blushed, glanced at Juice, and whispered, “Not since you. Now isn’t the time, Arthur, and I thought we agreed—”

  “No, I didn’t mean us. That won’t work. I mean I found a guy in your bedroom. Any ideas who that might be?”

  “Er, no. What was he doing? He wasn’t looking in my underwear drawer, was he? I’ve heard about weird guys with fetishes that go looking in your underwear drawer and they smell your socks and do gross stuff to frilly—”

  “No, nothing like that,” I said, hurriedly. “He was dead.”

  “Oh, that’s all right then.”

  “Sometimes, my dirty little sidekick, you are very strange.”

  Vicky grinned. “Wonder where I get it from?”

  I hauled her up and said, “Come on, let’s find the others. This is getting too weird, even for me.”

  “And I want to see the girls. I hope they went to school.”

  “They did. Ivan’s doing a great job.”

  We wandered out of the cell, heading to the last few doors to check. Juice screamed then ran to catch up. He looked frightened, and weak, and I didn’t care. Mostly, I was angry with myself for being duped so easily.

  I just blew up a bloody faery but let this freak get the better of me. It rankled.

  Juice tripped over a protruding flagstone, smacked into the wall, and howled in pain.

  I smiled. Things were looking up already.

  Lonesome Faeries

  At the last cell, Wand did the business with minimal effort and the lock melted away. I kicked the door open with my boot. Feeling heroic, I pictured myself standing there, hair hanging nicely, looking suitably menacing, legs wide as the hero came to rescue the damsels in distress.

  The damn door banged against the wall and bounced back hard, slamming into my face as I leaned forward, grinning.

  “Ow! Bollocks,” I moaned.

  Vicky tutted—she got better at it every day—looked at me despairingly, then pushed the door open cautiously.

  She gasped, then hurried inside. I followed behind, surveyed the room, and said, “Ta-da.”

  I tried not to cry, but it was no use.

  My poor girl.

  George and Sasha were restrained by the left wall. There was a single narrow slit of a window high on the wall opposite the door, everything was damp and musty, the room was freezing, and they both looked weak beyond belief.

  They were secured in small cages made of bars that shone with magical wards. Judging by the smell of burning flesh, and the state of their hands, they’d tried repeatedly over many days to break the steel. Magi
c hung like sulfur in the air.

  Strange forces hummed, potent and deadly, and yet I wanted to run to them, get them out of the cells that measured maybe four feet high by five wide if they were lucky. They wouldn’t have been able to stand or even stretch out properly. They were stuck wallowing in their own stink, dark patches on the floor indicating where they’d had to relieve themselves.

  There was an underlying smell that was all too familiar, something I’d encountered long ago, and also lately when I revisited Sasha’s past. Sweet-smelling faery poo. The pile was high, Sasha had been here for ages.

  Memories came flooding back, still fresh after the reminder when I took a trip down memory lane and saw Sasha in a place very similar to this. It was so familiar it gave me a very uneasy feeling.

  I stared, open-mouthed, trying to get my head around it, to find the connection. Maybe it was just coincidence, that this was the best way to contain a faery. Especially if you want to ensure they stay put, and degrade them as much as possible.

  “Dad?”

  George’s voice brought me from my reverie and I snapped into action, heedless of the consequences.

  Bad move.

  I dashed to George, nodding to Sasha as I went. Their eyes sparkled with joy at seeing me, but quickly turned to fear. It was too late. I skidded to my knees and got close to the bars of George’s cell, mindful not to touch them, but even just getting close had disastrous consequences.

  I felt every nerve in my body fire at once. I lost all control instantly, fell in a heap right where I was, and unfortunately that meant I keeled over forward and hit my already damaged face on the bars.

  What had felt excruciating before was taken to a whole other level of insanity and I truly thought I’d lose my mind. I would have torn my own skin from my body, ripped my insides out, smashed in my face to get this to stop if I’d been able to move at all.

  With my face wedged between the bars, I looked into my daughter’s eyes and even in my current state I held her gaze and heard Wand tell George, “Daddy’s getting you out of here.”

  George nodded, tears fell, and I was lost to unimaginable pain.

  The wards were powerful beyond compare, obvious now as otherwise George and Sasha wouldn’t still be incarcerated. They ate through me, devoured my body and mind, and I knew I would have done anything to get away. Anything but betray my family and friends. I did the only thing I could, and accepted it. I took in the pain and let it do as it wished. There is only so much that is possible to endure, only so hard nerves can fire, and I let them have at it.

  Never in my life had I felt such extremes of hurt, but that was all it was. Hurt. It wasn’t melting me, it was burning my skin, sure, but what’s a few blisters between friends?

  It was the time that was the worst of all, for this was faery magic and it was meant to be as nasty as possible. Just like my time in the Hangman’s realm, this stretched out for an insufferable eternity that I knew would leave me a babbling wreck.

  I couldn’t think, couldn’t act, could do nothing to stop this from chewing me up. It was then I recalled the man in Vicky’s bedroom. Had he suffered something similar to this? Was that why he did what he did? Yes, as I would have done the same if I could. That gave me hope, fortitude, and I was determined not to be a victim.

  George attempted to push me away from the bars but it was no use. As soon as she tried, her fingers blistered and her face was covered in sweat. She tried and tried but was thrown back each time, hitting the bars behind her, screaming in agony as she was caught by the magic whichever way she moved.

  Her pain was impetus enough for me to move my hand a little, and I managed to angle Wand even as my fingers froze up, spasming with pain.

  I heard the gentle tap of wood on metal as he touched the bars, and for a brief moment, as he took in what power he could from this terrible prison, the magic relented enough for me to fall back.

  I lay there, gasping, as the pain receded, leaving me with the mother of all headaches and the feeling I was being dissolved by acid.

  “Are you both okay?” I heard Vicky ask as I panted and refused to scream. They’d gone through enough without having me make it any worse.

  “Rather annoyed,” said Sasha in her sweet voice. The tone told me all I needed to know. She was gonna go ape-shit on whoever did this. It would be cruel and slow and very deadly for them.

  “I’m fine,” said George, not sounding like she meant it one iota.

  “How can we get you out of here?” Vicky asked.

  “You need to break the bars,” said Sasha.

  “How?”

  “Any way you can.” Sasha sounded forlorn. She didn’t know how, would have done whatever she could think of, and yet here they were, still trapped.

  I managed to get to my knees and tidied my hair, put Grace back on my head, and smoothed down my clothes, plucking foul wet straw from my jacket.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, grinning. “I have an idea.”

  There was a squeal from the corridor and Juice came rushing in. I readied Wand, but he said, “It was a rat.” At least he had the good grace to look sheepish.

  “What’s that vile man doing here?” asked George.

  “Don’t ask. It wasn’t my idea.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry, okay?” said Juice. “So, what’s the plan?”

  “The plan is this.” I pulled the Hangman’s noose from my jacket, the rope Juice had used to summon him in the first place, and grinned at Juice as he backed slowly out of the room.

  Not What You Think

  “Hey, hey, there’s no need for that,” protested Juice, hands up, eyes darting this way and that.

  “Relax,” I said, “it’s not for you. Although you bloody well deserve it. If you wear it, it protects you, but what else can it do?” I mused, now talking to the whole room.

  I turned to Sasha. “You won’t have seen, or maybe you did as your face appeared in the air, but I got dragged into the Hangman’s realm and then escaped back to Vicky’s. The rope got stuck in the portal so it wouldn’t close. Anyway, we figured it out. Actually, Steve did. Damn, where is Steve?” I mused.

  “Arthur, get on with it,” scolded Sasha with a knowing smile.

  “Sorry. Anyway, the point is, it kept a Path open. It was closing and it opened back up.”

  “How does that help us?” asked George, trying to keep the hope from her face, but wishing I’d give her something to cling to.

  “You aren’t going to like this bit,” I said cautiously.

  “Tell us anyway,” said George.

  “No, let’s leave Arthur to give us a surprise,” said Sasha, nodding to me knowingly. She knew what I intended, and didn’t want to scare George. Plus, it would hurt, a lot.

  “You were opening the Paths, weren’t you?” I asked Sasha.

  “I was. I hoped it would lead you here.”

  “And here I am. Just had a few stops along the way.”

  “I’m sorry about that. Memories came back and I couldn’t get rid of them. They affected things, warped my focus.”

  “It doesn’t matter, and it won’t matter for this. You ready?”

  “What’s happening?” asked Vicky.

  “Yeah, don’t leave us out of the loop, man,” said Juice, back in the room and by Vicky’s side. She took a step away.

  “The only loop you deserve is this one,” I grumbled, as I held up the noose. Now it was out of my pocket it had regained it’s true size, and looked like it should be just about long enough.

  “Ready?” I asked Sasha.

  “Ready.” She gripped the bars without hesitation, stifled her screams, went through pain I had endured, but knew must be so much worse for one born to this place, and the room began to swirl.

  Attempts at Madness

  It was as though the walls were screaming.

  Stone pulsed, the ground buckled, it became hard to breathe, and my body alternated between feeling impossibly heavy and so light I worried I would float away or
turn into a cloud.

  Everyone looked strange. One moment as thin as paper, the next all distended or engorged with magic, ready to erupt. Pressure built as Sasha forced herself on the very fabric of Faery and took what she needed even through the prison she occupied.

  She howled repeatedly as her grip remained tight on the bars, refusing to give in to the pain. She had to make this connection to get part of her indomitable spirit free enough to call forth a Path. Even enduring such pain she looked beautiful, her inner strength shining through as blackness forced its way into the cell and disrupted the equilibrium.

  Fighting the feeling of imminent head explosion, I looped the noose through the bars, careful not to touch them but still getting hit by the strong wards, causing nerves to flare, the pain so close to total I had to fight with every ounce of magic I had just to remain conscious.

  I grabbed the other end, passed it through the noose, securing it to the bars, then stepped back and tugged tight. Perfect.

  Next I gathered my will, felt the stillness inside the Quiet Place even as madness screamed all around me, and I pictured the rope lengthening. This was the Hangman’s rope, the rope used to summon him, and it could do many wondrous things. It was from his realm, and just like when I had been hung and escaped back through the portal, I let this rope unleash some of its potential. It lengthened.

  I ran to George’s cell, nerves frying yet again, and looped it over a bar on the top then with hands so twitchy I kept almost dropping the rope, I threaded it through the noose on Sasha’s cell mere feet away.

  Then I struggled away, waited a moment for the pain to subside, and pulled tight.

  “Do it now,” I said to Sasha, nodding.

  She smiled at me, her eyes full of love and trust, and sorrow for what had happened, that we were brought into this. So much passed between us in the moment our eyes locked that it is impossible to describe it all. But we connected, a deep understanding of each other, of our love. That this might be goodbye, that our time together could be over. There were no regrets, no apologies needed. It was just life, and it did this kind of thing.

  But we would do our best, and if defeated then it wouldn’t change a thing. We knew each other, really knew, and there was always that deep bond that could never be broken no matter what.