Chains of Gaia

by James Fahy

  The man’s moustache twitched with something that could have been amusement. “Sword, knife, garlic press. All details really. Either way, it’s not much of a basis for a relationship is it? A soul without a body?”

  “Some might argue …” the nymph replied in her dreamy sing-song voice, still intent on her book, “… that it is infinitely preferable to the other way around.”

  The man laughed again. He seemed to laugh a lot. Robin was beginning to notice that it was very little to do with his being amused. “Aha, so droll. But his body is gone, disposed of by the Grimms. Left in some dark wood somewhere I understand. Such a tragedy. The forces of Eris, they really don’t care whom they tread on do they?”

  “I really am trying to read,” she said.

  “Of course, you spent time with Eris' people, didn’t you?” he pressed, wilfully ignoring her hints. “Before coming to your senses and getting the heck out of the war like the rest of us sensible folk.”

  Calypso looked up and gave the man her full attention for the first time. Robin, from his position at the door thought she actually looked a little irritated, which was a first in his experience.

  “Out of the war?” she said. “Is that what you think? I chose the wrong side, Mr Ffoulkes. I do not hide from that fact. And now I am paying for my sins, such as I can. I stand against Eris. I train the Scion of the Arcania. I try to arm that boy against what I know, more than most, is out there waiting for him. If that is ‘out of the war’ to you, then you are an addle brained fool. As for you ‘sensible folk’, I can only assume that by that you mean those, like yourself, who neither stood with or against Eris, but who fled the Netherworlde to come and hide in the mortal world, hoping it would all blow over one day.”

  “Abstainers, my dear,” he drawled.

  “Cowards is the word I would choose,” she replied coolly. “You do not realise. There are no side-lines to stand on. There is no ‘safe quarter’ where you can hide and wait things out. Eris means dominion. Total dominion. You are with her, or, like Phorbas and myself now, you are against her.” She placed her book gently on the table before her. “There is no escape for those who will not fight. Those who busy themselves with gold and gilt and the distractions of the mortal realm. And that sir, is why I do not want a drink, and why I would certainly prefer the convivial company of a haunted knife or indeed garlic press, should it come to that, to the company of a swaggering dandy in love with his own voice, who cowers in the shadows and calls it common sense.”

  Robin had his hand over his mouth, his eyes wide. Although she had delivered this tirade in a calm and distant voice as always, she might as well have stood and slapped the man across the cheeks.

  A moment passed in the small parlour, with only the quiet popping and hissing of the fire silhouetting Ffoulkes. “You are as cold as the sea that bore you, my dear,” he stuttered eventually. His face, Robin noticed, had paled slightly.

  “And you, sir, are a flickering candle which fancies itself a towering inferno. Good evening.”

  Silence passed between them, and then, after a moment composing himself, the man bowed politely, with a great deal of unnecessary flourish, and left the room, almost barrelling into Robin on his way out.

  “Confound it, boy,” he yelped, surprised, but recovered himself quickly, fixing his charming smile back on his face. “Sorry about that, aha-ha, didn’t see you there. Such a dark and shadowy house, isn’t it? Such a scamp you are, burrowing around in the corridors after bedtime.” He actually reached out and ruffled Robin's hair as he passed him, as one might do to a small child or dog. Robin was too surprised to react.

  “Dark and shadowy house,” the man muttered to himself as he stalked off down the corridor, fussily adjusting his extravagant cuffs, his shining boots clicking on the floor smartly. “And full of cold things.”

  When he had gone, Calypso looked up from the sofa. “Good evening, my student,” she said.

  “I … I wasn’t listening,” Robin insisted. The enormity of this lie made his face redden instantly. “Well, I was … obviously,” he admitted. “But I didn’t mean to.”

  “Intention is irrelevant,” she replied lightly with little concern. “Pay no heed to that spluttering firebrand. He fancies himself a ladies’ man, and I believe I may have damaged his ego by not swooning at his handsome feet, that is all. It is nothing you need be concerned with.”

  “I think he totally fancies you,” Robin said, unable to stop the corners of his mouth turning up in amusement. Calypso didn’t look concerned with this.

  “That man, Robin Fellows, has a fancy for no one but himself,” she said. “He is a snake in love with the glitter of his own scales. But I am a nymph.” She shrugged her elegant shoulders. “It cannot be helped. Simple elemental facts though, Robin. Water and fire do not mix well. This is exactly why I avoided dinner, though he sought me out after all it seems.”

  “He’s a fire Panthea then, isn’t he?” Robin asked with interest, coming fully into the room and closing the door behind him. “I mean, I guessed from his name, and there’s that hair, and his hand was really hot when I shook it this morning, but I’ve never met one.”

  “He is indeed. And you should be careful around him,” she replied lightly.

  “Careful?” Robin frowned, wandering over to the fire. The autumn nights were chilly and the popping logs were difficult to resist. Irene had said something similar. “Is he … you know … a bad guy?”

  Calypso gave him a weary look, her head tilted to one side. “Robin Fellows, if you haven’t learned by now that the world is not that simple a place, then what hope is there for you?”

  Robin shuffled in front of the fire a little awkwardly.

  “There is no real evil in him,” she conceded. “Not intentionally anyway. But he is an opportunist and a coward. Cowards are the most dangerous of all people, Robin. They are unpredictable.” She glanced at her book absently. “I know him from old. He is also a thief. Irene will have to keep a sharp eye on him while he is here. Luckily none have eyes sharper. He calls himself a collector, but he would take anything of value if he thought it might benefit him.” She glanced up at him. “Yourself included. The man is a magpie.”

  Robin didn’t quite know what to say. He had a surreal image of being bundled into a sack and thrown in the boot of the ornate Rolls Royce, driven away at high speed and sold on for profit at some Fae-based auction.

  “Where is your knife, Robin?” she asked lightly.

  “Phorbas?” Robin answered as lightly as he could manage. He didn’t want his tutor to know he had heard the entire exchange between her and the Fire Panthea. “Upstairs, in the drawer in my room, where he always is. Woad’s up there. He’s bunking up with my while Ffoulkes and the sisters are here. Aunt Irene said it would be best.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “It would be wise to keep your knife there,” she said absently. “Out of sight. At least until after Halloween. We don’t want light-fingered collectors stealing all the treasures of Erlking now, do we?”

  “It’s of great value?” he asked.

  “To some, yes,” she replied.

  LEAVES AT THE GLASS

  Despite his concerns, the week following Robin’s birthday passed without a single incident of anyone trying to steal him, or anything else for that matter. In fact, he barely saw their strange guests at all.

  Mr Ffoulkes was cooped up with Irene much of the time, the two of them locked away in her study, or spotted pouring over maps in the library together and speaking in low voices. As for the strange sisters who had cheerlessly predicted Robin's imminent burial, they didn’t seem to venture much from their allotted rooms at all. This was something Robin was rather thankful for. On the few occasions when he happened to chance upon them in the corridors, they paid him no heed whatsoever, gliding along like ghosts and muttering to one another in low, rasping voices.

  For Robin, life at Erlking continued as normal. Water lessons with his tutor took place every other day in t
he newly-cleaned and refurbished pool room, occasionally with Karya observing critically from the side-lines.

  It was odd, practising manoeuvres and casting cantrips without the usual noisy presence of Woad to cheer him on in his energetic way. The faun, after a day or two of being under house-arrest in Robin's bedroom, appeared to have gone a little stir-crazy. Robin returned one evening with a plate of cold-cut meats and cheese for him, only to find that Woad had filled his bed with an abundance of leaves and rather damp moss, gathered from the windowsills and roof. Woad had beamed happily, clearly proud of his efforts to make the place seem homelier. Two days later, Robin was still finding the occasional snail between the sheets.

  The following day, the faun happily announced that he was keeping himself busy by helping to organise Robin’s sock collection. When Robin checked his sock drawer, he found it completely empty. Looking around the room he spotted socks tucked everywhere, draped across the mirror, stretched over the bed knobs, decoratively hung from the fireplace. There was even a pair nestled high in the wooden beams of the ceiling. “I have arranged them in order of excellence, Pinky!” Woad explained knowledgable. “Basic boring ones are easy to find, and closer to hand. The more exciting and astounding socks are higher!”

  “Woad,” Robin had said quietly, gazing around the room and mentally counting to ten slowly. “Why are there socks in the rafters?”

  “Those are the very best! More of a challenge! Imagine your feelings of achievement once you have claimed them as your prize! How happy and honoured your feet will feel.”

  With a sense of resigned dread, Robin had opened the next drawer in his dresser. It was completely empty.

  “Um, Woad,” he asked carefully. “Where is all my underwear?”

  The faun beamed from ear to ear. “Even better!” he had exclaimed. “For a treasure hunt, I have hidden that in all kinds of different rooms for you! All over the house.”

  Robin had slowly closed the drawer with a sigh, as from far below them in the kitchens, came Hestia’s distant and startled shriek.

  Henry only came up to Erlking twice in the whole week, claiming he was swamped with extra tuition. This irked Robin a little. He could do with some help finding ways to keep Woad occupied. It was a full time job. He had dismissed the idea of setting him helpful tasks like running a bath after he found a steaming hot bath happily prepared for him, complete with black water and the happily waving tentacles of Inky the baby kraken. Henry clearly had better things to do these days than faun-control, and Karya was little help. She was far more occupied sneaking around the house and desperately trying to find out what Irene’s strange guests were up to. She had become a little obsessed with spying on Ffoulkes and the sisters, or ‘the peacock and the ghouls’ as she mutteringly referred to them. Karya hated not knowing exactly what was going on at any given time.

  Jackalope remained a motionless enigma, still sleeping soundly, though Robin found the time he spent sitting in his quiet room a welcome moment of peace in the chaos of bunking with a housebound faun. In truth, Robin was trying to find ways to distract his own mind. He worried more and more about the sisters’ strange warnings, and was sure that he should be learning the Tower of Earth.

  It felt odd at Erlking. Autumn was painting the world gold and leaves were turning to crisp paper. All was peaceful and still, and yet Robin couldn’t shake the odd atmosphere hanging over the place. A sense of brooding watchfulness, as though something were brewing in the skies above. Robin couldn’t shake the feeling of waiting for something. Maybe it was just the oddness of having guests, he reasoned to himself. He certainly wasn’t the only one feeling a little weird. He was sure Woad was losing his marbles, especially when one evening he returned to his room to find the faun sitting on the window ledge peering out at the lawns and trees intently, his yellow eyes narrowed.

  “The leaves are misbehaving,” he had told Robin. “They keep moving strange. I saw a whirlwind of leaves. It crossed the grass, circled the fountain and went away again. That’s no way for leaves to behave. It shouldn’t be allowed.”

  “It’s just the wind, Woad.” He had crossed the room and peered out of the window over the faun’s blue shoulder. There was nothing unusual out there. Just the sun setting over the forest, throwing long shadows over the lawn.

  “I know wind, Pinky,” the small blue boy had replied indignantly. “I know the names of all the winds, and that’s no normal wind blowing leaves like that. There was a face of leaves at the window too, last night, when you were asleep, but it went away when I stuck my tongue out at it. Blew apart like …”

  “Like … leaves?” Robin raised his eyebrows with a smile, making a mental note not to bring Woad any more cheese for supper.

  PEPPERCORN

  Robin stood knee deep in a drift of red and golden autumn leaves, a long sweeping brush in hand. He was bundled up in a large duffel coat against the blustery September wind. The leaves of the great avenue of trees which led from the Hall itself down to the gates at the perimeter of Erlking had almost completely covered the path, creating an amber tunnel filled with crisp sunlight.

  Robin wasn’t really sure why he was down here at the bottom of the hill near the gates, doing chores. Surely clearing the leaves was Mr Drover's job? Come to think of it, he couldn’t really remember being asked to do it, or for that matter walking all the way down here. It was all very strange. But here he was nonetheless, alone with only the constant dry papery rustle of the wind in the branches before the great wrought iron gates which led out and down to the village of Barrowood. The gates were twined with straggles of dark ivy. Clumps of grey-green moss clung to the odd scarred statues atop each of the great gateposts. Although he didn’t realise it at once, Robin was not as alone here as he had imagined.

  That strange, prickling feeling one gets on the back of one’s neck, when you know you are being watched rolled across him, making him shiver a little. Robin stopped brushing, his breath coming before him, soft clouds in the cold air, and he turned frowning, to stare at the gates.

  On the other side of the curled ironwork, just beyond the boundaries of Erlking, there stood a girl. She was wearing dark jeans, a slim black t-shirt emblazoned with the jagged design of a band name he didn’t recognise. She had her hands stuffed into her pockets, though the chill air didn’t seem to be bothering her bare arms. Her long purple hair was blowing about her shoulders, held down by a black wool cap, her only concession to the cold. The unexpected girl was smirking at Robin through the lattice of iron and ivy.

  “Hey, blondie,” she called. “How’s tricks?”

  Robin nearly dropped his broom. He stared at the girl in disbelief. It must have been close to sunset, the days were getting shorter as autumn rolled along, and the light was slanting and rich, painting them both the colour of honey. The stone walls either side of the gate seemed almost to glow in the light.

  “Penny?” he stammered. She blinked dark kohl-ed eyes at him a few times, shuffling from foot to foot in the cold. Orange leaves played around her feet, rustling in the silence.

  “What are you … how are you here?” he asked.

  “Wow, don’t act too pleased to see me or anything will you?” she said. “Missed your birthday, didn’t I? Sorry about that. Busy with stuff, you know how it is. Stuff and things. Especially things.”

  Robin had dropped the broom, leaving it forgotten, and walked cautiously toward the gates.

  “What do you want?” he asked. “If you’re here for the other half of the Water Shard …”

  “Pssssh!” she blew a raspberry. “As if. Don’t flatter yourself, blue eyes. I have way bigger fish to fry right now. Nah, I’m just checking in on things. You know I like to keep an eye on what’s going on.”

  “If Irene finds out you’re here …” he began.

  She laced her fingers through the gates. “As if I’m here to see old lavender drawers.” She smiled. “Wow, I feel like I’m visiting you in prison or something here. We should rig up telepho
nes on either side of the gate.”

  “Did …” Robin wasn’t sure what to say. This was all so strange. “Did you want to come in?”

  Her smile faltered a little. “You know I can’t, kiddo. But a sweet offer. You could come out? You know, if you wanted to?” She shrugged a little, as though it was none of her concern if he did or not.

  “Why have you come here, Penny?” he asked, touching the bars from his side. They were bitterly cold in the autumn air. A large fat yellow bumblebee buzzed past his hand, weaving in and out between the gates. Robin barely noticed it.

  “Oh, I haven’t really,” she said. “Not on purpose anyway. I just get dragged along.” She nodded to her left by way of explanation, and Robin followed her gaze.

  Standing further along the wide gateway, on her side of the bars, there was another ‘her’. A second Penny. This one however was dressed in a crisp charcoal suit, and her skin wasn’t just pale, it was as white as cold snow. Her eyes were black and cold as space. She was talking to someone on Robin’s side of the gate. He hadn’t noticed the other figure until now. How was that even possible?

  What was even stranger, Robin realised, waving away another bee which floated around his face, was that the person this second Penny was talking to, or Miss Peryl the Grimm to be more precise, was another Robin.

  Or rather, the Puck. He had Robin's face but pure white hair, bright green eyes and tall, silvery horns. Power and light practically flooded out of the boy, and his face was grim and serious.

  “That’s … that’s me …” Robin stammered, deeply confused. “That’s me over there.”

  “Yeah, kind of …” Penny agreed, her head tilted to one side with interest.

  “And that’s you,” he said dumbly. His hands felt numb inside his gloves.

  “Yes, Brainiac, again, kind of. That’s none of our business really though, is it? I’m pretty sure they’d both be a lot happier if we were not here at all.”

  Robin couldn’t tear his eyes away from Peryl and the Puck. Over the autumn wind and the rush of papery leaves, he couldn’t hear what they were saying.