by Nina Smith
Flower turned back toward him and was surprised to find Nikifor hadn’t moved to follow her. “What do they want with Bloomin Fairies?”
Fitz spread his hands wide. “That I haven’t yet discovered. But I won’t allow it to happen.”
Scepticism warred with curiosity. Curiosity won. It always did, and usually got her in trouble. “You’ve got them to trust you?”
“Somewhat. But not enough. Please sit down, Flower.”
Flower returned to the bed and sat. She patted Nikifor on the shoulder, because he was looking a bit peaky. “We must leave,” she said. “Until we free those Freakin Fairies Nikifor remains under a very irritating curse. And until we lift that curse we cannot seek out our king and ask him to return to us and help restore Shadow to the way it should be.”
“That’s your plan?” Fitz snorted. “Fairies don’t lift curses, and your precious king will have you murdered before you reach his front door, wherever he is.”
“How dare you! You know nothing about our king!”
Fitz ran a hand over his beard. He looked tired. “Perhaps it is you who know nothing of your king. Tell me, how long since you saw him last?”
“Why would I tell you that when you’re so obviously his enemy?”
“Because you are in my home, however temporary that may be, and I ask.”
Flower crossed her legs and arms and drew into herself. She didn’t like the hard glint in his eyes, or the obstinate set of his mouth. This was a man used to doing things his own way. Probably an outlaw. Really, what had Ishtar been thinking sending them here? Flower had got along very nicely for centuries and never once been an outlaw. This whole situation was very, very frustrating. She wanted to leave, now, but his refusal to allow it was almost as unsettling as Nikifor not cooperating.
Fitz’s question was insistent. “How long, Flower?”
She sighed in exasperation. “Well, I saw him just-” No. Wait. That image, so fresh and clear and recent, escaped her. “He was around when–no, wait, I’m sure–I think–oh, why don’t you leave me alone!” She buried her face in her hands.
“Then it’s as I thought,” Fitz said.
“Forget it,” Flower said. “We’ll go in the morning. You don’t need to worry, nobody will hear from us about this village. We’ll free the Freakin Fairies on our own.”
“No you won’t.”
Flower raised her head. “You can’t stop us.”
“I can, but I won’t need to. I’m going to propose a deal with you in the morning, when you’ve had time to settle in.”
“Propose it now.”
“No.”
There was silence while the two matched wills. Flower was quite sure she could outstare, outmatch and definitely outwit any forest person any other day, but today she was just far too distracted. She’d finally made a breakthrough with her pink-haired mystery girl, only to find more questions needing answers. She desperately needed to speak to the king about it, not bandy words with a dodgy forest person. She looked away first.
Fitz shifted his attention to Nikifor and frowned. “Is he alright?”
Nikifor had gone quite white. He stared into space, muttering silently through bloodless lips. She sighed, slid off the bed and went to crouch beside him. “Nikifor.” She snapped her fingers in front of his face.
His head jerked around. He looked right at her with wide, terrified eyes. “He’s back,” he whispered. “He was gone for so long but now he’s back.”
“Snap out of it,” she said. “There’s nobody there.”
Fitz knelt in front of him. He held Nikifor’s chin in one hand and studied his eyes intently. Nikifor stared right through him. “What’s he talking about?”
Flower clenched her teeth, not wanting to answer, but there was little help for it. “He’s a vibe addict. That’s why we went to the Freakin Fairies, to get their help. They cured him before they cursed him, but the hallucinations haven’t stopped. I thought they would have by now.”
“What does he hallucinate?”
Flower clenched a fist. She didn’t want to have this conversation, not one bit. “He sees some man who torments him, as far as I can gather. He thinks the man marked him, and Ishtar too, which is obviously rubbish. The thing is, somebody hurt him a long time ago. He doesn’t remember who and all he’s got to show for it is a brand and these terrors.”
“Who hurt him?”
“I don’t know. I intend to find out.” She refrained from adding the king would help them, since that would probably pitch them into another argument.
Fitz peered into Nikifor’s eyes. “I’ve seen this before.”
“Really? You’ve dealt with another vibe addict?”
“Never. I stay away from muses. No, I’ve seen–” he gestured at Nikifor “-this.”
“Well what is it? What’s wrong with him?”
Fitz took a deep breath. “You’re not going to like it.”
“There’s very little I’ve liked since I found him half-dead under a wig shop six weeks ago. I’m three hundred and eighty years old, I think I can handle whatever you have to tell me.”
Fitz took the wrist with the brand on it and covered the mark with one hand. “In ancient times in Dream, humans practiced some very powerful forms of sorcery. No human today could do it, but there is one who was there, who learned the magics, who warped and twisted them. I have seen him establish a connection with a person, mind to mind, soul to soul.” He tapped his own forehead and then Nikifor’s.
Fixed on something beyond them both, Nikifor barely noticed.
“Once he has made that connection it’s very hard to break,” Fitz continued. “I saw him attempt to use it to drain someone of all her life force in order to replenish himself, just like a vampire would drain blood.”
Flower gasped. “But that’s horrible.”
Fitz nodded, his mouth a single grim line. “I intervened before she died, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. It’s entirely possible he could use that kind of connection to stalk Nikifor, torment him as you say, and in the end destroy him.”
“But why? Who is this man?”
“Think about it, Flower. Who was there in ancient times to learn the magic?”
Flower swallowed an exasperated sigh. “No. It’s not possible.”
Fitz’s words sharpened into anger. “If you ask me, he’s messed with the pair of you. You seem like a sensible woman until someone insults your king. What I want to know is why he branded Nikifor with that star? He knows what it means. What’s he playing at?”
“Weakness is disloyalty,” Nikifor hissed between them.
Flower jumped to her feet. “You’re wrong! He’d never do something like that!”
Fitz looked at her without expression. “You’re a fool, and you’ll end up like all the other muses, wherever they are. Nikifor I can help. You go find Mudface, she’ll look after you tonight.”
Flower stomped her foot. “Trust a Bloody Fairy to send me to someone like you!” She turned on her heel and stormed from the hut.
She stopped right outside the door, feeling guilty and ashamed. She shouldn’t leave Nikifor alone in there with an enemy of the king. There was no telling what he’d do. But she didn’t relish the thought of an undignified altercation either, if it came to that, or of trying to get Nikifor to go anywhere with her while he was having an episode. Maybe it would be alright to let someone else deal with him, just this once.
She sighed and wished fervently she could just go home to Shadow City and forget any of this had ever happened. It was dark and cold. Small fires burned nearer the village. She tried to marshal her thoughts and remember anything at all about Bloomin Fairies. It had been at least a century since she’d dealt with any, and that had been little more than a brief meeting with a delegation who’d travelled to Shadow City hoping to swap a barrel of pumpkin soup for help with a nasty cabbage-eating bug problem.
A small shape detached itself from the darkness and a pair of eyes gleamed at her f
rom beneath a scraggle of black hair in the light from the doorway.
Flower gave the figure her best reassuring smile. “Hello.”
The figure moved closer and looked up at her as though searching for something. She wore so many shades of black she looked like a shadow herself.
“Are you Mudface?” Flower was disconcerted by the attention.
The girl nodded, then tugged on her hand. “Come on.”
Flower allowed herself to be led towards the fire, but when the girl stopped in front of a giant pumpkin house where fires burned in jagged eyes cut into the walls, she refused to move any further.
Mudface let go of her hand and shrugged. “You can stay out here in the dark,” she said. “Or you can come in. I made you a bed.”
Flower moved closer to the pumpkin. Nothing bad happened. It was just a big pumpkin. She ducked through the doorway.
Inside, the sparse furniture was draped with faded black cloth. A vase holding a bunch of withered flowers graced a shelf over a little mud stove. The skull of some horned animal hung over the door. A little further away was a short bed draped in black blankets. Nearby on the floor a thick fur, also draped in black blankets, looked very inviting after so many weeks of sleeping under trees in the cold.
Flower stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, quite sure this was unusual for a Bloomin Fairy.
Mudface stoked up the fire and stirred a pot that was heating over it. “I saved you this.” She ladled liquid from the pot into a bowl.
“Thank you.” Flower accepted the food. Vegetable soup. She was so hungry she could have sworn it was the best thing she ever tasted. She tried not to gulp it.
“Your bed there.” Mudface pointed her to the fur on the floor, then went and sat on the other bed, watching every bite she ate.
Flower finished, washed her bowl in a basin of water and set it aside, keenly aware she was still under that intense scrutiny. She sat on the bed and returned Mudface’s stare.
Mudface lifted a corner of her shirt and pointed to a livid scar on her ribs. “I was dead for a week.”
“Huh?” Flower glanced at the door and wondered if she should just make a run for it.
“You were only dead for a few hours.” Mudface pointed at her arm.
Flower glanced at the ugly fetch wound. “Oh! I understand, you were bitten by a fetch too?”
Mudface nodded. “Lord of the Gourd said I haven’t been the same since.”
Flower glanced askance at the gloomy decorations. “What were you like before?”
Mudface shrugged. “Them.”
Flower leaned forward to see her companion better. It was hard to make out much in the dim light, around all that knotted hair, but she seemed very young, perhaps not more than twenty. “Have there been many fetch attacks?”
“Only me. And now you.” Mudface tilted her head. “Will you be my friend?”
“Of course I will!” Flower smiled, this time in spite of herself. “I would be honoured.”
“Maybe one day I’ll let you read my book.” Mudface settled onto her bed, rolled herself up in black blankets and within moments was fast asleep.
Flower sat for a while watching her, mystified. She was definitely like no fairy she’d ever encountered. She was, however, infinitely better company than Fitz Falls, even with her creepy little pumpkin house.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
As though the absence had made him stronger, the Tormentor’s return tore Nikifor’s newfound clarity to shreds. He was taller. Grimmer. Every gesture more menacing. He paced up and down the room behind Fitz, ranting and raving, but didn’t come close. Even so, Nikifor could hear little of anything over the sound of his voice. He didn’t even know how he came to be kneeling in the centre of the room while Fitz walked in circles around him, mumbling under his breath and scattering white powder over the floor.
The Tormentor made a violent gesture, fist closed, a quick, downward slash. “How are you doing it?” he raged. “How does a pathetic, miserable toad like you fight me? How did you break the connection for so long? You forced my hand once before, will you do it again? Do I have to have you killed to be free of you?”
Nikifor looked at the scar on his wrist. Just a faint mark, a reminder of a past that still lay beyond his grasp. It didn’t throb or hurt. The skin didn’t melt before his eyes.
The Tormentor pointed at him. His lip curled back and he hurled his words as accusations. “Your key is gone.”
“Yes,” Nikifor said. “The key is gone.”
Then just like that, the Tormentor was gone too.
He drew in a deep, ragged breath. Fitz crouched in front of him and waved a hand in front of his eyes. “Nikifor? Are you with me?”
Nikifor focused on the deep lines furrowing the bearded face. Reality. Clarity. The moment of madness had passed, he’d defeated it because now he knew. “He was using my key,” he said. “He was using it to follow me!”
Fitz winced. “You don’t have to shout.”
“I’m sorry,” Nikifor said in a much quieter voice. “It’s the curse.”
“What is this curse, exactly?”
“They, ah, cursed me bombastic.”
Fitz shook his head and made a funny snorting noise. Nikifor could have sworn he was laughing. “Trust the Freakin Fairies.”
Nikifor studied the rough circle of salt surrounding them. “What did you do?”
“A very basic protection.” Fitz wrapped a hand around his beard and gently tugged on it. “I’m surprised it worked so quickly. You seem quite recovered.”
“The Tormentor is gone.” Nikifor whispered the words, afraid to speak louder in case the shadow heard and returned. “He was angry with me for getting rid of my key. But he’ll be back.”
“This key,” Fitz said. “This is what you use to inspire humans?”
“It is our connection between Shadow and Dream, yes.”
“Then why did you get rid of it? How will you continue to be a muse?”
The shame flooded back. Nikifor buried his face in his hands. “I am the worst, most miserable, most destructive muse in Shadow.”
“Hardly.”
He looked at Fitz over his hands. The words he hadn’t spoken to anyone, not even Flower–even though she knew–tore from him. “I drove my writer insane because I could not stay off the vibe. He took a gun and he shot himself in the head. I murdered him.”
Fitz, for a moment, looked grey and old. The lines around his eyes deepened. “Then perhaps you were right to throw away this key.”
“The king will not understand. He will be angry.” Nikifor dropped his hands, amazed at himself. Flower had told him when they left Shadow City he couldn’t trust anyone, but there was something about Fitz he did trust, even with muse business.
“Forget the king.” Fitz stood up and left the circle, motioning for Nikifor to stay where he was. “Tell me about this Tormentor.”
“He is tall.” Nikifor closed his eyes. If talking summoned the spectre, he did not want to see. “And always in shadow, and-” he shuddered. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Then let’s talk about this.” Fitz turned away from him and shrugged off his shirt.
Nikifor stared. There on the man’s back was a huge tattoo: a black, sharp, thick, nine-pointed star. He looked from the tattoo to his wrist. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I.” Fitz put his shirt back on and sat down. “Why would this Tormentor brand you with our symbol?”
“Our symbol? Whose symbol?”
Fitz regarded him steadily. “The Invisible Army. Surely you know who we are.”
“You are–you are–” Nikifor stiffened. “You are enemies of the king!”
“Exactly.” Fitz seemed unperturbed.
Nikifor felt just the opposite. He rose to his feet, panic welling. Flower had been right. They had to leave. “I must not be here! I must not listen to you!”
“Sit.”
He sat down again, but his hands trembled.
Flower would want him to leave. The king would want him to leave, but the shadowed, troubled look in the forest person’s eyes held him as fast as his own curiosity. The Invisible Army might all be dissidents, rebels, disloyal troublemakers, but something about Fitz Falls was so much more.
“Things have changed,” Fitz said. “Shadow is in the grip of a tyrant and you are hunted. Dark times make for strange allies, Muse. I want to know why you were branded with the symbol of the Invisible Army.”
“Weakness is disloyalty.” The words dropped from his lips automatically, a mantra repeated so often it had been seared into his soul.
“What is that? You said it before.”
“It’s what he said when he branded me.” Nikifor looked at his wrist again, fearful, but the scar remained pale pink and lifeless. “The memories comes in flashes and then go. I did something–no. No, it wasn’t that. She did something, and I did not stop her. I was punished.”
“She?” the question was soft, intrigued.
“The fairy with the long hair.” Nikifor paused, lost in his own tangled thoughts. “Hippy Ishtar. She told me it was my destiny to kill the king. But she was wrong, wasn’t she? How could she say something like that?” He looked at Fitz. “I must be kept from the king. I must not go with Flower to find him.”
“She really intends to seek out the king?”
“She fears he has met with some ill fate, along with the other muses.” Nikifor shook his head. “I don’t understand what’s going on in Shadow. I don’t understand anything.”
“In time I think you will.” Fitz stood up. “Is the Tormentor here?”
“He is gone.”
“Good. Then sleep.” Fitz pointed at the bed. “I must send a message. Tomorrow we’ll talk with Flower about the Freakin Fairies.” With that, he left.
Nikifor walked out of the circle of salt and laid on the bed. His legs hung over the end, but he was asleep in seconds.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Flower awoke from a broken and troubled sleep to find herself alone in the spooky giant pumpkin. She stretched her aching joints and looked around with concern at the black curtains, the black rug on the floor, the black blankets. The bleached skull over the door was about as cheery as a three week old pile of ash, and the dead flowers stuffed into a cracked glass vase were frankly depressing.