by R.K. Ryals
~Peregrine Storke~
The day passed quietly, our group growing more pensive the closer we came to what used to be the Glen of Gladness. We’d traversed the meadow, entering the forest with high spirits, but the shadows in the trees soon wore on us. Eyes peered at us from the foliage. Familiar, frightening eyes.
“Bullygogs,” Elspeth whispered.
We’d all grown closer to Foster without realizing it, as if the fact that the bullygogs were crafted after him would make them less dangerous.
“Bullygogs,” Foster snorted, his head shaking.
“March now, your feet on firm ground. Die later, your feet bound by a marshy sound.”
The bullygogs’ rhyme rose through the vegetation, their hoarse tune sobering us. Even the songbirds no longer sang.
“Their tune will drag you down, down, down. In blackness, you will drown, drown, drown.”
Nimble settled on my shoulder, her small hands trembling as she grasped my tangled hair.
“For shame, for shame, you will see. They’ll show you what you regret to be.”
Elspeth scooted between Foster and I, her eyes on the trees, her spectacles fogging up as she pressed further into our group. Weasel made a strange, growling noise under his breath, and Herman peeked at us from beneath the troll’s hat.
“They have the vernacular of fools,” the worm muttered angrily.
Foster’s hand hovered above his knife. “Vernacular?” he asked.
“Language,” I answered. “Vernacular is language.”
Foster’s brows rose. “Did you read dictionaries as a child?”
I shrugged. “I preferred the thesaurus. It’s a lot more fun.”
“And that makes you much less strange,” Foster murmured, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Tears, Tears, tears … drowning in pain, pain, pain. Weeping, weeping, weeping … pouring down like rain, rain, rain.”
The forest was growing darker. It should have opened up by now, the thinning trees revealing a glade full of flowers and cascading waterfalls.
A strange mist curled along the ground, snaking around our ankles and climbing up our legs. Firm grass became softer, more pliable. The stench of decay and mold grew strong, the scent tickling our noses. Mud sucked at my feet. All noise ceased. There was the faint sound of twigs snapping and foliage shifting as the bullygogs melded into the forest, their own fear driving them away. It was what bullies did … they harassed and goaded those weaker than themselves, but ran in fear when faced with true danger. True courage belonged to the weak.
“I’m scared,” Nimble admitted.
I wanted to hug her, but was afraid I’d crush her instead.
Elspeth inhaled sharply. “We have nothing to fear,” she stated, her voice less sure than her words. “Only those who have something to be ashamed of are at a disadvantage here.”
Unease lifted the hairs on the back of my neck.
The mist climbed higher, the fog circling our heads and blinding us. There were voices in the mist, indistinguishable murmurs that grew louder and louder.
“Come,” a soothing whisper called. “Here you have no troubles.”
The voice was beautiful, the sound sweeping over me, cloaking me with a strong sense of security. It was love, deliverance, and salvation all in one sentence. Next to me, Foster exhaled, his face blank.
“Perri?” Nimble asked. She tugged on my hair. “Perri!”
Nimble’s words tickled the corner of my brain and melted away. There was only the mist and the voice … the sweet, soothing voice murmuring, “Come.” The pain from Nimble’s tugging didn’t affect me.
“You can do no wrong here,” the voice continued.
It wasn’t just one voice. It was many, the soft tones mingling into one beautiful declaration. How wonderful the words sounded! I could do no wrong here.
“Come,” it soothed.
The mud grew thinner and deeper, the water swirling to mix with the dirt, the cold feel of it climbing up my boots to my knees.
“Perri!”
I couldn’t discern the voice. Who yelled? Nimble? Elspeth? Weasel? Herman?
Foster marched next to me, his hand clenching the dagger against his chest until his knuckles were white.
Thin, brittle grass surrounded us, the stench of stagnant water, mud, and rotting vegetation sharp in my nostrils.
“No shame, no shame,” the multi-voice sang.
It drowned out the fear in my heart, and pushed away the scent of death and decay.
“Come.”
The water caressed my thighs, the sound of splashing broken by sobs. Tears, so many tears. A flash of sparkling tails and flowing green, pink, and blue hair untouched by the mud moved past us so quickly it blurred into the swamp like a beautiful phantom.
“No shame, no shame.”
A face appeared suddenly in front of me, a face so beautiful it brought tears to my eyes. It was a woman with unblemished pale skin, mud free and flushed with pink. Slanted, black eyes stared at me, my reflection visible in her blank gaze. Startling blue hair fell over naked shoulders, her body uncovered to the waist where it disappeared into the dark water. Her hair covered her chest, her full pink lips curved.
She tilted her head, and my world disappeared.
“It feels good,” I cried, tears rushing down my cheeks, my arms wrapped around my waist. My pelvic bone dug into my skin, my ribs pressing against my flesh. I was wasting away, my body becoming as invisible as I often felt.
“You stupid, no good idiot! Are you trying to kill yourself?”
My father’s face was red, his chubby cheeks on fire. My chest burned, dried blood tingeing the corner of my mouth. Even the fear of seeing my own blood didn’t stop me from wanting to purge myself of my father’s yells, his disappointment. I wanted to drown him in the bliss of painful adrenaline. I wanted that lightheaded moment of rightness.
“What have we ever done to deserve this, Peregrine? We just wanted a normal child!”
Normal? I wasn’t normal.
The beautiful girl grabbed my face, her fingers digging into my skin. Liquid swirled around my hips, its cold fingers gripping me. Like the water back home, this water was alive. The girl forced my gaze to hers.
“Perri, Perri, quite contrary, my how your stomach grows.”
The classroom was empty, the boys’ taunts echoing against a dry erase board marred with half erased notes. The boys were a blur to me, all of them large, all of them angry. Fear curled like a snake ready to strike in my gut, causing me to tremble despite every effort not to. I didn’t speak because I knew if I did, I would cry. I didn’t want to cry. Not here in front of them.
“That fat make your boobies any bigger?” one of the boys sneered.
He pinched my chest and pain lanced down my torso into my feet.
My eyes fell closed. “Please leave me alone,” I begged.
It was lunch, and I’d left my food in the classroom. It had been a mistake entering the room alone. I knew that. Every day, Mrs. Perlman chose a few volunteers to clean her classroom during the lunch period. Anyone who stayed behind could eat after they finished sweeping the floors and clearing the board. The four seventh grade boys standing in front of me had tormented me the entire year.
“Let’s play a game …” the largest boy suggested.
Water curled against my belly, wet and slimy. The same girl stood before me, her beautiful fingers tugging my jaw. Shame washed over me, my stomach churning, the nausea breaking the spell she held over me. I pushed against her hold, hearing the frantic cries of my friends behind me. Nimble flew above, hissing as she spat furiously at the siren holding me in her grip.
“No shame, no shame.”
The words didn’t come from the siren holding me captive. This multi-voice belonged to an equally beautiful girl swimming in front of Foster, her hair pink and silky, the strands barely covering her naked breasts. Her grip was tighter than the one the blue-haired y
oung woman had on me.
“Don’t look!” I yelled.
Foster didn’t hear me. He was lost to her gaze, pain filling his features.
The girl in front of me snarled, her mouth opening to reveal a toothless grimace and blue tongue, her beauty lost in the horror of her reality. Her fingers became a vice on my face, her fingernails drawing blood.
I thrashed against her, my eyes falling closed as she dragged me backwards. Water licked at my chest.
“Release her, you fiend!” Elspeth screamed.
“Higgletooth!” Herman swore, anger making his voice tight.
“Please,” I begged.
The classroom again, a victim of a childish game. I was a human bowling pin. The boys gathered the old glass Coke bottles Mrs. Perlman liked to collect, and then they used the broom to sweep them toward me from across the room. The bottles made contact with my thigh, my stomach, and the side of my head.
Teeth grit against teeth as I dug my fingernails into the siren’s hands, my shame replaced by anger.
“Is this what you traded your humanity for?” I asked the siren.
She’d been a mermaid once in the Glen of Gladness, a beautiful mermaid, her only fault being too human. Instead of a tail, she’d had fused scale-covered legs with webbed feet, her pale cheeks sprinkled with freckles. I’d crafted the mermaids after Camilla, and they were beautiful.
Kicking furiously, I attacked the siren, my knees traveling through mud to connect with her stomach. She barely flinched.
“Damn you!” I cried.
Somewhere behind me, Elspeth gasped. It was something else I could add to my list of shame, corrupting the innocent mind of a princess.
Mud sucked at my breasts, and I kicked harder, my screams becoming shrill and desperate. I’d almost drowned once, and I wasn’t doing it again.
“Hold on!” Nimble cried.
The fairy flew backward and up, her face scrunched as she dove back toward the swamp, her fist clutching a handful of fairy dust. She released it, the purple powder filling the siren’s eyes just as a pale hand rose from the swamp and grasped Nimble. She disappeared into the mud.
I screamed. The siren in front of me released me to clutch at her eyes. Her sweet, haunting voice transformed into a piercing, unearthly yell, the harsh sound breaking the spell the other siren held over Foster.
I dove into the murky swamp, my fear of being pulled under by the sirens canceled by Nimble’s disappearance. Water closed over my head.
“Nimble!” My mind screamed what my mouth couldn’t, my fingers searching the dark waters desperately, my lungs burning.
Nothing. There was nothing.
Resurfacing, I gasped, greedily sucking in air before diving again. Bubbles broke next to me, the whisper-soft feel of fingers brushing my skin. Panic made me thrash.
Shoving away from the groping hands, I surfaced again.
Arms closed around me, and I screamed.
“Shhhh … Perri, it’s me,” Foster muttered, his arms tightening.
I tried to pull away from him. “Nimble!”
Tiny bubbles broke on top of the water, and a porcelain hand breaking surfaced. A mud-covered violet fairy dangled from the fingers.
I screamed again.
Foster released me and dove into the water. His hand grasped the porcelain wrist, his grip forcing the siren to release Nimble. The fairy fell to the water, her limp body beginning to sink. I dove in after her, my fingers capturing her before bringing her small, fragile body against my chest.
“Nimble,” I cried.
She wasn’t moving, her chest still.
Tears streaked down my face. “You can’t die,” I sobbed. “No one dies in Awkward.”
Elspeth was screaming from the edge of the swamp, mud climbing the hem of her dress as she moved into the water. I waved her away, my boots digging into the mud as I pulled Nimble free of the swamp.
Laying her lifeless body on the bank, I fell to my knees, my shoulders shaking.
Herman slid down Weasel’s arm, his glasses fogged with heat and tears. “No,” the worm breathed.
Weasel knelt in the mud next to us. “She isn’t gone,” the troll insisted. “Fairies can’t die here.”
Elspeth hiccupped. “Maybe not before.”
I shook Nimble. “Wake up!” I begged, but she didn’t move.
I bent over her, my mouth coming down to cover hers. She was so tiny, her violet-hued skin cold against my lips as I exhaled. Her chest lifted.
“Come on, Nimble,” I coaxed.
I exhaled again, my finger pumping her chest.
Herman slid next to Nimble’s face. “Let me try,” he said.
Sobs shook my frame as Herman replaced me, his green face calm.
“You’re not going to die,” the worm promised, his body sliding up Nimble’s.
A splash sounded behind us, and I pivoted to find Foster waist deep in the swamp, his face blank. He was surrounded by sirens. They were singing to him, their melodic voices weaving a hypnotic spell as their naked torsos undulated. Black eyes stared into Foster’s hazel gaze. Pain etched his features.
The sirens were coaxing him further into the water, the stagnant mud beginning to close around his chest.
There was no time to think, no time to evaluate the best course of action. There was only time to react.
I was waist deep before I’d even realized I’d gone in to save him, my legs pumping furiously through sticky mud and clinging moss. The sirens were completely mud free, whatever perfect spell had been cast over them keeping them clean and beautiful.
Foster’s steps were taking him deeper and deeper …
I dove, my body slamming into the siren opposite him. It was her stare that held him trapped, mesmerized. The force of the impact broke her spellbinding gaze.
The siren hissed, her mouth opening and her tongue darting forward. She was the blue-haired siren, her blue tongue stretching and stretching until it fell into the water. My eyes widened. It was too late by the time I realized what she was doing. Her tongue wrapped itself around my throat, pulling me backward against her.
The tongue was dry and felt like leather against my skin. The siren drew it toward her mouth, and the pressure around my throat intensified. My fingers clutched frantically at the tongue. My throat and chest burned, my eyes widening as my face heated. It was impossible to breathe.
“The hell you will,” Foster roared, his anger a palpable thing.
My vision blurred, black spots dancing in front of my eyes. There was a swish and a flash of silver. Foster’s arm came down next to my head, an enraged bellow emanating from his chest. Suddenly, a screech filled the air. Blue liquid slid down my chest and into my tunic, the pressure around my neck loosening.
Foster grabbed me, his fingers tugging at the blue tongue left dangling against my skin. The blue-haired siren wailed, her once whole tongue a severed piece of flesh. Blue blood covered her lips and chin.
Her wails grew louder, the sirens drawing close, their posture defensive. Foster pulled me backward with one arm, his gaze on my neck to avoid the sight of the sirens. In his free hand, he brandished the dagger, the blade covered in blue.
“This is a strange world you’ve created,” he growled. “One moment I feel like a kid again, the next I feel like I’m back in the military.”
My body sagged against his, my chest heaving as I drew in breath after breath of stagnant air. The sound of squishing mud was replaced by Elspeth’s concerned gaze. Foster lowered me to the shore, his face appearing next to Elspeth’s.
“Nimble?” I choked.
Elspeth’s gaze fell, her lips twitching. “Herman is a very smart worm.”
It was all she said. The next words came from Nimble herself. “Don’t give up on me yet,” the fairy chirped, her tiny mud-spattered face flying in front of mine.
The sob came before I’d even realized it had escaped, the sound emulated by the swamp, the echo o
f tears ever present around us. The Swamp of Sadness.
Weasel reached for my hand, his bulky palm taking mine. He tugged me upward. “Come,” the troll commanded. “This swamp isn’t safe for you. The sirens are only dangerous to those who feel shame. It’s obvious there is shame in you and the boy. We must hurry.”
Guilt suffused me as I stood, my legs shaky as we pushed through the swamp. My palms came up to cover my ears in an attempt to drown out the sirens’ tunes. Foster clutched his blade, his jaw tense. I’d felt shame in the swamp, shame over my eating disorder and shame over the bullying I’d once received. It ate at me even now.
And yet, it wasn’t just me.
Foster had also been dragged into the murky waters. He’d felt shame, too. I’d seen the pain on his face.
I felt a sudden kinship toward the guy who’d once likened me to a rhyme about growing bellies. My gaze moved to the side of his mud-tainted face, the dirt clinging to the stubble on his clenched jaw.
Elspeth, Nimble, and Weasel surrounded us, their eyes searching the swamp. They were protecting us, keeping us away from the sirens’ gazes. Elspeth chattered cheerfully about nonsensical things—gowns, Prince Dash, and birds. Her voice rose and fell, the sound drowning out the call of the sirens. She talked until she was hoarse, her tongue stumbling over the different variety of birds that existed in Awkward.
We were all exhausted by the time we reached the edge of the Swamp of Sadness, our bodies sagging against grass that was suddenly green and plush. Healthy trees lined a lane covered in the golden light of afternoon. The sinking sun turned everything yellow, orange, and gold.
“The Lane of Loveliness,” Nimble whistled.
Elspeth no longer had a voice, her hand sweeping her neck. It was a beautiful gesture. She’d talked herself voiceless to protect us.
Weasel offered her a piece of something small and golden. “A honey drop,” he said. “Very delicious candy.”
Herman peeked at us from beneath the troll’s top hat. “We need a respite,” the worm announced, his too-large gaze traveling over the group.
Foster had been quiet during our march. I wasn’t sure how many miles we’d walked, but the sun had been high when we’d left and it sat on the horizon now.
The mud covering us had dried, making our clothes stiff and our hair stringy. My neck hurt and my chin burned. I didn’t have a mirror, but I knew by the stinging pain that my chin was covered in half-moon impressions, my neck swathed in bruises.
My lashes swept my cheeks. “Just a little rest,” I whispered.
No one argued. Elspeth sucked on the candy, her body settling on the supple ground. The songbirds perched on her dress, their singing low and soft. Weasel leaned against a tree, his eyes falling closed. Nimble landed on his shoulder, her small frame curling up against his neck. Herman joined her.
“Thank you,” I mumbled.
Nimble grinned. “It’s the least we can do for the girl who gave us life.”
I stared at her. She’d almost lost her life because of me. I didn’t know what Herman had done to save her, but I was grateful. Sometimes it was better not to know things … it was simply best to appreciate what life handed us, no questions asked.
My hand found the sketchbook in my belt, and I pulled it free. Settling against a tree away from the group, I opened the leather cover. Mud coated the binding. Water had seeped into the cover’s interior, but there was no damage to the pages. Magic, maybe?
“That’s handy,” I whispered. “Waterproof paper.”
“It should be patented,” a male voice said.
Foster sat beside me, his long legs stretching out next to mine.
My fingers played with the pencil attached to the cover. Pulling it free, I placed it against the first empty page. Neither Foster nor I spoke. There was only the soft sound of lead against paper, the growing lines converging into something dark and dreadful; The Swamp of Sadness. In the swirling water, I drew Foster facing off with the beautiful sirens. Nimble floated on the surface, limp and unmoving. On the shore, Elspeth was screaming. Weasel was trying to walk into the mud, his large feet causing him to sink, rendering him completely helpless to follow us. Herman cursed at the sirens from his place on Weasel’s head.
“The Sirens of Shame,” Foster mumbled next to me.
The sun was almost gone now, the light too dim to draw by.
I glanced down at the page. “You felt shame?” I asked.
My question was met with silence. Foster lifted the pouch from his belt, pulling the strings before letting the ball within roll into his palm. Even in the dim light, I knew it was green. No more yellow remained. Time was running out.
“I saw some action when I was in the military,” Foster admitted suddenly. “My unit was stationed in Afghanistan. There was some trouble with insurgents, and a guy in my unit was shot. We were forced to abandon our position. We had to leave him behind.”
I glanced at him. “If he was dead—”
“He wasn’t,” Foster revealed. “He was alive. He wasn’t going to make it. We all knew that, but we shouldn’t have left him behind.”
There were no words, nothing I could have said that would have made it better. Instead, I did what I did best. I flipped the page in the sketchbook. It was too dark to draw now, even with the large full moon rising above us. It threw silver light over everything. Truth was, I didn’t really need light to draw. My fingers knew what to do.
My pencil moved over the page, forging lines only I could see. In my head, there grew a portrait of a man, pain filling his gaze, his forehead creased with anguish. It was Foster. It was his face, the way he’d looked when he’d been facing the siren. I didn’t know what leaving a comrade behind made a person feel. Guilt, I’m sure. Maybe it robbed them of humanity.
Foster may feel shame, but he wasn’t a terrible person. Terrible people felt no anguish, and they certainly felt no shame.
My eating disorder was no secret. Camilla had been one of the people to confront me when it had gone too far, but the rest …
“I’m ashamed of my weaknesses,” I said suddenly. “I’m ashamed I let myself be harassed and touched without fighting back.”
Foster grew still. “Touched?”
I wouldn’t look at him. “Seventh grade. They were bullies, all of them. They thought it was fun to corner me, t-to squeeze my breasts, to tell me how much bigger my weight made them. The touching ended with the breasts, but the abuse didn’t.”
The memory of the glass bottle hitting my head made my chest tight.
Foster let his head fall back against the tree. “You weren’t weak inside the swamp.”
I tore the picture of Foster I’d drawn out of the sketchbook and folded it carefully. My hand found his, and I forced the paper into his grip. “And you’re more human than you think you are,” I said.
With that, I curled up against the tree, my eyes on the full moon above. The moon was light. I didn’t like the dark.
“Your creations—the princess, troll, fairy, and worm …” Foster said suddenly. “I was wrong about them. They may not look like much, but they have the heart of lions.”
I fell asleep with those words echoing in my head.
Chapter 13
“That awkward moment when you realize fairytales are much more than simple stories.”