Darkest Wish

by A. C. Salter

  In that single journey from the ash, he had learned that he feared heights - or more accurately, the ground that seemed so extremely far away. And that the city of Farro feared him. A creature that has no memory. He didn’t know why, he thought he was much the same as everyone else.

  Forcing his fingers away from his blistering skin, he watched an old fairy amble along the corridor. He was pushing an acorn cart and paused beneath each glowing gem that ran along the ceiling. Then using a pole with a curved device on the end, hooked the shining stone and retrieved it from its hangings before replacing it with a brighter one from his trolley. The old fae did this while whistling a merry tune, which died on his lips the moment his gaze fell on him.

  “Is that The Dylap?” he asked the guards in a shaky voice, halting only long enough to unhook the gem above. When its replacement shone down brightly on his wrinkled face, he quickly scurried away, the guards glaring after him.

  The Dylap. That’s what they named him. Like an object or a substance of ridicule. A thing which was despised, yet remained an article of great fascination.

  The door suddenly swung open and a bearded fae stepped into the corridor, a deep frown creasing his pallid brow.

  “They’re ready,” he announced, regarding him with worry. “The Judge is awaiting your presence.”

  As he paced closer, The Dylap noticed that one of his wings was missing. In its place was a thick stump that was wrapped in a grey bandage and strapped close to his back. The fairy himself sparked an earlier unremembered image. A fae, kneeling in the mud, clutching an injured hand.

  “Bring him in,” he ordered the guards.

  As he was hastily pulled through the door, the fae without a wing offered him a sad smile. “Be truthful and try not to annoy them,” he offered, his gaze lingering on the wings on his back.

  The room was vast and circular. The tall domed ceiling reaching incredibly high and had a heavy chandelier dangling from its centre; sun gems smouldering within its gold fixings. Surrounding the richly decorated walls were rows of benches and stalls. Running around the perimeter and rising half way up the chamber so the fae that sat on them glared down from above, making him feel even smaller then he already was.

  The noise was incredible. Hundreds of voices clashing around the room, a smouldering cacophony of conversation, each competing with the next to be overheard.

  “It’s an eagle,” shouted a large red-faced fairy, meaty fist slamming into the bench in front.

  “A hawk,” argued another, his face a shade redder.

  “Neither bird is as black as the monster circling above,” came a third, “or as big. Sabesto would know.”

  “Aye, if he was here,” the first responded as he looked towards another bench, a young girl by herself, slouching at its centre. Thick goggles sitting atop her bright yellow hair. “He’s probably in his cups. Why else send her?”

  “Indeed,” agreed his companions as they turned their noses up as if detecting a foul odour. Then their next conversation was lost amongst the other babbling voices, until they noticed him enter.

  The rest of the room also saw him and fell silent. The only sound to be heard was the creaking of the oak as it swayed with the wind that rustled its leaves.

  He felt the weight of all those eyes follow his progress as he shuffled towards the centre of the chamber. The heads turning as one to follow his progress, hands gripping tightly to the bench rests, frowns deepening, lips narrowing. Their wings tightly folded behind them, twitched or partly opened, revealing colours and patterns of all shades and hues. The Dylap perceived that the fae who sat on the lower benches carried the most colours and patterns while those in the higher, more decorated seats, were pale of wing and seemed to hold themselves with an air of arrogance.

  There were many here that he recognised. Fairies that had visited him in the healer’s wing of the ash. Asking questions, seeking answers and all leaving unsatisfied. Perplexed and some even angry.

  His chain links jingled, as the guards locked him to a balustrade railing before a tall chair. A pinched-faced fairy dressed in fine silks sitting upon it. He snorted in disdain as he glowered down, staring through wire rim spectacles. The Dylap guessed that he must be the judge. Clearing his throat, the judge addressed the benches.

  “Are we all here?” he asked, his voice booming, echoing around the chamber. “Have each of the guilds sent at least one representative?”

  “They have, my lord,” answered another who sat at a desk. His finger paused above a long list of names that were scribbled onto a scroll.

  “The guilds of the builders, carvers and bridge erectors, have each brought several members. As has the bakers, weavers, potters and wood knoll squabblers. The borers, spell casters and binders have come in their entirety, while the Sisters, scavengers, hunters and collectors have brought but a few. The house of servitude has seen fit to bring two manservants and three maids to represent the higher class of each tree – to merely take note of course – and the aviary has sent…” he checked his swirling handwriting before glancing up at the girl who sat alone. “Jambilee,” he offered irritably.

  The noise in the chamber had been steadily rising since the scribe had been reeling off the names. Muffled murmurings ascending into monotone ramblings before becoming as loud as it was before.

  The fairy in the tall chair gave a single nod before addressing the rooms once again.

  “Silence!” he growled, spit flying from the corners of his mouth. “We will not proceed until there is order. We are fae, high-breed fae and not split-wings. You will behave as such.” The room instantly went quite once again, before he carried on. “Good, now that we are ready, please stand, in honour of his majesty, Prince Rybal Farona.”

  Two fairies who were standing to attention by large double doors, raised brass pipes to their lips and blasted three single notes. A moment later, the doors were flung open. Beyond was a long platform, carved from a single branch the same width as the chamber. Golden daylight spilled through the wavering canopy, shifting the shadows along the enormous procession of men in golden guard uniform. They were stood in two neat rows along the tree limb, facing out as a small group of fairies casually walked between them. Two guards in polished armour accompanying a young handsome fae.

  When they came through the large doors, his wings briefly fluttered, catching the sun’s rays and The Dylap saw that they were pure white. His gait was slow and casual, head held high as he surveyed the room. When his gaze swept over The Dylap, it lingered for a moment before he sauntered to the throne that sat above the judge. After he made himself comfortable in the cushioned throne he nodded towards the judge, signalling for them to proceed.

  “Thank you your majesty,” the judge said, before addressing the chamber. “Be seated.” He waited for the room to settle themselves before continuing. “We have come today to discuss the outcome of the creature that was found in the Twine, in the last moon’s quarter. The lost fae, if it is indeed a fae, that is known simply as, The Dylap.” His bony finger extended towards him accusingly.

  “Throw him back,” came a voice from the benches.

  “Let the Twine keep what it spat out,” said another, to a lot of agreement.

  The judge slammed his hand down on the chair arm. “Silence. You will have your say when the time comes.” He stared down and The Dylap felt the full force of his wrath, the blame for the outbursts and of course for ruining his day.

  “Have you a name, other than The Dylap?” the judge asked.

  “I don’t know,” The Dylap replied. His voice sounding strange as it reverberated around the bowl-shaped room. “I suppose I must have, but if I had, I can’t remember it now.”

  Scowling, the judge leaned back. “Then what should we call you? We cannot very well continue referring to you as ‘The Dylap’. Not when you have the power of speech.”

  The Dylap sucked on his tongue, struggling to think of something to have as a name. Anything. When his mind went blank he shru
gged. “Dylap?” he offered. It was what he was used to after all.

  “Very well, Dylap. Can you tell us what you are?”

  Again, Dylap shrugged.

  “Or even where you came from?”

  “No, Judge.”

  Sighing deeply, the judge rubbed his temple and turned his attention to one of the healers. “Is this correct?”

  “Yes, your Honour,” replied the healer as he stood. A fae that Dylap recognised from his time in the healing wing. The same fairy that had pestered him with question after question while poking and prodding him as if seeking the answers from his flesh alone. “The Dylap…I mean, Dylap, has no memory prior to being found by the night watch. He has total amnesia resulting in his time spent in the river.”

  “And you believe that he is speaking the truth? That he has no memories?”

  “Yes, your Honour.”

  “Then why has he the ability to speak and understand us?” asked the judge. “If his mind was lost, surely he would be no brighter than a fungus pimple.”

  “No, your Honour. The mind is a complex thing. It is possible for him to lose parts of his memories while retaining the basic knowledge to function and communicate.”

  “I see,” grumbled the judge, sounding unconvinced. “And the wings, or the…things which are placed where the wings should be. I understand that they have the ability to sting.”

  “That’s correct,” replied the healer, opening his arms. “But only if you touch them without him knowing. If he is conscious of the fact that you are there, then you can make contact without being stung.”

  “But he can sting as he pleases? Like a bee or honey hornet?”

  “He can, although the sting isn’t born of needles or poison. It’s more like that from the static left after a storm. Or indeed, a shock from a lightning moth.”

  The fae around the benches began to murmur and whisper under their breaths until the judge fixed them with a frown. Even the Prince began to converse with a large fairy by his side. The soldier was of extremely high ranking, gold thread lacing his fine uniform.

  “But apart from the…things on his back, he is normal?” continued the judge.

  “Yes, your Honour - although he does seem to have a fear of heights.”

  “Well, that only strengthens the resolve that he is not fae. No creature of flight would fear heights. So, he is a ground-dweller of sorts.” Nodding to himself the judge asked the healer to sit back down.

  “Night Watch Commander, Fenwick,” the judge shouted. And then glared 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 said.

  “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 spat 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. His shoulders relaxing as he stared down. It seemed to Dylap that he w
asn’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 retched 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, 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.