Chains of Gaia

by James Fahy

  Peryl stared at Robin for several silent seconds, her eyes growing large and soulful. He watched uneasily with a frown as her bottom lip actually began to quiver.

  “I'm … I’m just such a … bad egg,” she confessed, her voice hitching. “Maybe if I reach deep down … perhaps you’re right…maybe I can find the warm tingly light and power of friendship.”

  Her eyes narrowed suddenly, mouth turning up into a smile. All affectation of true emotion falling away. “Oh please,” she sneered. “Don’t come at me with the emo teenage nonsense, blondie. One cannot do soul searching, when one doesn’t have a soul.”

  She raised her hands towards him. Darkness flickered around her fingers like shadowy worms, smoky in the air. “I’m bored of talking now. Let’s play instead. I’ll even be a good sport and let you go fi–”

  Robin threw out his hand and let loose a Galestrike with all his might, not waiting for her to finish her sentence. It shot across the room with a roar, fluttering pages and throwing scrolls into the air in its wake. Peryl balked in shock and alarm, but she deftly dodged out of its way, the powerful wind ruffling her purple hair as it shot past her, slamming into the strange yellow walls. The surface cracked and splintered like eggshell behind her, shaking with the impact.

  “My my,” she grinned. “Dirty fighter. You have been learning from a nymph, haven’t you?” From her crouch, black whips of darkness flew, snaking through the air and wrapping around Robin's legs below the knee. As she stood, the shadowy coils pulled back, tugging him off his feet and onto the rug-covered floor with a heavy thud.

  Winded, Robin shook the dark mana loose, rolling to the side behind a table just as a shower of black and wicked-looking darts hailed down from above, thudding into the spot where he had been lying and burying themselves deep into the floor.

  He leapt up from behind the table, feeling his mana stone glowing as he built his next cantrip.

  Peryl had stepped to one side, away from the broken wall and in front of one of the large bookcases, rolling her neck on her shoulders. Robin made a fist, pulling his arm back in towards him, using Featherbreath to pull the bookcase forward. It scooted across the floor with a sharp squeal, slamming into the Grimm's back and then toppling down on top of her, showering her with books with an almighty crash.

  “If you want to fight, that’s fine with me!” he shouted.

  The bookcase shuddered and exploded in a flurry of splintered wood. Peryl erupting from the wreckage. She leapt clear like a feral cat, her hair in disarray and a snarl on her face. A flicked hand as she shot through the air sent a bolt of shadow hurtling across the room. Robin ducked at the last second, hearing it explode behind him, shaking the room. Several of the large candlesticks exploded, and the huge bronze dish he had seen earlier, bonged loudly like a gong.

  “Oh … I always want to fight,” she gasped, getting her breath back. “I just rarely find anyone worth fighting.”

  She raised her hand again, preparing to follow up with another strike, but Robin sent a Waterwhip flying from his palm, a long thin ribbon of white water. It snagged around the girl’s wrist and he heaved, dragging her into the air. With a flash of mana that left him dizzy, he threw her across the room, sending her flying with a crash into the long table where the Earth Shard lay, rocking in its capsule container.

  He could feel the anger rising in him, the darkness that was now forever a part of the Puck. But he was in control. The two energies had twined around each other inside him. He’d accepted his power, and he wasn’t afraid to use it anymore.

  “You’re not taking that to Eris,” he scowled. “No more apples for the teacher, Peryl. I have more mana than you do, you lunatic Grimm, I can do this all day.”

  Peryl kicked herself up off her back, standing on the table and scattering books. Her suit jacket was torn, but she was grinning wildly, as though she were having a whale of a time. She looked decidedly lunatic. “Promises, promises!” she said. “Maybe you do, but I’m better at this than you. I’ve been doing it for a long time.” She threw her arms wide and thousands of pitch black moths erupted from her, flowing out from the blackness of her clothing like a dark cloud, their wings beating and fluttering like ticker tape.

  Robin stepped back as the countless insects filled the room, more and more every second, a dense fog of confusing movement, blocking out the light. The moths plunged the room into darkness. Robin staggered blindly, beating at the moving air with his hands, as their tiny, dusty bodies battered at his face and body, a sea of living dark mana brimming in the chamber. He was completely blinded, suffocated.

  “Plus, of course,” he heard Peryl say from somewhere in the impenetrable smokescreen of moths. “I have the advantage … You’re not actually trying to hurt me.”

  Something shot out of the black cloud. Peryl was right in front of him and her fist had just lashed out, a hard punch catching Robin in the stomach. She was much stronger than she looked, and he doubled over, wheezing, as she disappeared back into the shifting, confusing darkness.

  “What … makes … you … think … that?” he gasped angrily, lashing out blindly, his questing blows meeting nothing but papery darkness, fluttering against his fingertips like black confetti. He heard her sniggering, somewhere behind him. She was circling him like a wolf in the dark. The only light he could see was the flickering of his own mana stone, a tiny pulsing light in the confusion. A sharp kick came without warning to his back, sending him sprawling forward, clattering to the floor onto a heap of unseen obstacles.

  “Because if you were,” her voice came, sounding playful. “You would have shot a needle of ice into my heart by now. But you’re not a killer, Robin Fellows. You don’t have the taste for it … not yet, anyway.”

  Robin spun on the floor, aiming himself in the direction he thought her voice was coming from. Gathering all of his mana and focus, he span a Galestorm around himself, whipping the air into a circular, roaring tornado. The storm scattered the moths, sending them swirling around and around him, caught in the powerful cyclone, forming a clear space in a moving wall of ceaseless shadowy motion.

  “Neither do you,” he argued, alone in the clear eye of his own storm. “You’re all talk, Peryl. You couldn’t kill me before, back when you took the Shard from Splinterstem. Left me hanging in a cage instead. That’s practically affectionate for you.”

  The girl stepped suddenly from the shadows, walking out of the circular wall of spinning moths, the whipping tornado of fluttering shadow and into Robin's open clear space. She had her hands on her hips.

  “You were unconscious. It was pathetic,” she argued. “Would have been like kicking a puppy. Where’s the fun in that?” She looked manic, her hair flying upwards in the wind, the gloomoths a spinning black wall at her back. Wind roared around them both as Robin scrambled to his feet, concentrating hard to keep the Galestorm going, to stop the cloud of the Grimm's mana from closing in around him again. With all his effort he kept them at bay, trapped in his cyclone, he and the Grimm at its core.

  “This is much more fun,” Peryl said, smirking, looking around. They could hear the sounds of furniture breaking, being torn to pieces in the mixture of their mana, buffeting darkness around every corner of the room destructively. “You have to admit. Besides …”

  She blew a fast cloud of darkness across the space, a billowing inky smoke, leaving her mouth like black dragon’s fire. It hit Robin full in the face, knocking him backwards. His spine slammed into an unseen table-top, sending a jolt of pain jarring up his spine.

  In this second of disorientation, Peryl had crossed the empty space, quick as a striking snake. She was suddenly right before him, her forearm held up before her and pressing against his chest, forcing him back against the table. Her other hand held a wickedly sharp knife close at his throat. The blade was very cold.

  “You enjoy sparring as much as I do … You’re just not ready to admit it yet, are you?” she whispered gleefully. “It’s nice to have a dance partner who isn’
t all left feet for once.”

  Her face was inches from his. He could see his own reflection in her wide, black eyes. The edge of the blade dug against the skin of his throat dangerously. Robin noted, rather surprisingly given the urgency of the situation, that just as in his dream, the manic girl smelled faintly of liquorice.

  “Call … off … the … wind,” she instructed firmly.

  “Call off the moths,” he counted stubbornly, glaring defiantly. He was trying to talk without moving or bobbing his adam's apple. “You’re not going to slit my throat.”

  “Are you sure?” she said in a sing song voice. “I mean, would ya bet the farm on it?” She looked him up and down. “You got taller too … huh,” she added lightly, as though they were old friends chatting over coffee.

  “Eris would slit yours,” Robin insisted, hoping this was true.

  They stood a moment longer, face to face across the blade, cocooned in the whirlwind of air and shadow, rolling over and around them. He searched her eyes, and she stared into his. Robin could feel the darkness deep inside him, beating away. He knew, however much she denied it, that his humanity was doing the same inside her chest, even if it was no bigger than a grain of sand in a dark ocean. They were both breathing heavily with the effort of the fight.

  Peryl smirked at him eventually, her face thoughtful.

  “If you were going to kiss me,” she said. “That was the moment, you just missed.”

  She took a step back, taking the knife away from his throat and dropping her arm. With a lazy flick of her free hand, the countless moths dissipated, flickering away like blown smoke, bringing the room suddenly back into sickly amber light.

  Robin's hand went to his throat automatically, checking if he was cut, but it came away clean. He dropped the Galestrike, the spinning wind roaring around the chamber dying away.

  The room was utterly destroyed, furniture overturned, books and scattered chairs flooding the floor. Loose pages fluttered slowly down to the ground around them like errant yellow leaves.

  “Besides, roughhousing is great fun and all, but I’m afraid I’m just killing time really,” she admitted. “Until he got here.” She winked at Robin, turning her head to indicate the doorway he had entered by. It was open once again, and Robin stared at the figures stepping through it.

  *

  The Princess Ashe, hands bound before her, and by her side, Henry, looking shaken. The two were shoved roughly into the large chamber by a third figure, who followed them inside. Tall and broad, clad in dark armour, cloak flowing out behind him with a whispering rustle of feathers.

  “My Lord Strigoi,” Peryl said respectfully, running her fingers through her hair to neaten it. “You join us at last.”

  Henry stared wild-eyed at Robin. “He came out of nowhere, Rob!” he babbled. “Right out of the shadows! He was too quick for me!”

  Panic rose in Robin. He was already exhausted from fighting Peryl. He had used more mana than he cared to admit. Seeing the grinning wolf-face of Strigoi roughly shoving his two prisoners before him filled him with dread. There was only one way in and out of this room, and Strigoi was firmly between them and it.

  The Wolf of Eris surveyed the total carnage of Peryl’s chamber in silence, his head turning this way and that. He levelled his dark gaze at the Grimm. “You are a tiresome fool,” he said lowly. “Stop your toying with the Fae-brat. He is not your entertainment. The princess is prepared for transportation.” He pushed Henry and the princess before him, knocking them both to the ground like so much useless garbage. The princess looked utterly despondent.

  “What are you doing here?” Robin asked, trying not to pant. Peryl looked a little chastised.

  “Our dear Lord Strigoi here has come to convey the princess to Dis,” Peryl explained. “A little birdie told me he was in the forest, you see. I have eyes all over the place. Or moths, rather. The rest of the dryads, well, they’re my toys now. But I thought the great and noble Princess Ashe, this delicate little flower, would benefit from a trip to the capital.” She smiled down at the princess, who Henry was helping to her knees. “The Empress is going to be very happy to have you to visit,” she said. “And who better than the Empress' favourite lord to bring you there in style! Don’t want you slipping away on route, do we? Very little chance of that with Lord Strigoi. He has quite the firm grip.”

  Strigoi had noticed the Shard of Earth, still somehow standing on the table, encased in its capsule lantern and oddly untouched by the storm which had wrecked the rest of the room.

  “I came when you called, Hive-queen. You told me only of a prisoner. A prize for the good Lady Eris.” His masked face turned to Peryl slowly. “And yet I see you have the Earth Shard, Grimm,” he noted in his cold whisper.

  Peryl looked darkly pleased with herself. “I do indeed,” she smiled. “So, we both have gifts for our lady, Lord Strigoi. You have the princess, and I will bring her the Shard … And now, the Scion. Won't she just be elated?”

  “I should take all three,” the wolf turned his head thoughtfully towards Robin. “I am headed to Dis with this dryad prisoner of war. If the Earth Shard is won, what does it matter who brings it to the Empress? All that matters is that she gets it.”

  Peryl's face fell into a dark scowl. “It matters to me,” she said. Robin didn’t think she would dare defy Strigoi, but he could see the sudden anger flicker in her eyes.

  Robin, still leaning back against the broken table, was trying to figure out the power play here. Clearly, Peryl didn’t know that Strigoi had been on his own hunt for the Shard, or that he had used Robin to retrieve it and to defeat the drake. The dark man would no doubt have made away with it there and then, had he not been unconscious at the time. Clearly, he now saw an opportunity to pick up his plan.

  Robin got the distinct impression that Peryl only knew that the Wolf had been in the woods. She had seen an opportunity to use him to ferry the princess south to Dis for her. She had been enjoying lording her new status over everyone. Perhaps she was realising this was not something she could do to the likes of Strigoi.

  For his part, Robin guessed, Strigoi had no doubt awoken in the hollow in a less than perfect mood and had come here on sufferance. He seemed surprised to see both Robin and the Shard here in the Hive.

  Not a one of these servants of Eris trust each other, he thought. They’re all a bunch of backstabbing conspirators. A nest of vipers. Karya had told him once that Dis and its inhabitants were less of a family tree and more of a knotted clump of thorns.

  “The swarm are bringing up the others from the cells,” Strigoi said, ignoring Peryl’s protestations. “This Fae-creature’s companions. Traitorous Panthea, one and all. They shall all be transported together … with the Shard. I will take them now. There is no discussion to be had.”

  “Then I should take them all myself,” the girl countered quickly.

  “Our Empress has set you to watch over the Hive and to war with the dryads,” Strigoi hissed dangerously. “A task you have risen to admirably. She has instructed you to be here. This is your place … know it. I shall take them to Dis … immediately.”

  Peryl’s fists were white, clenched knuckles shaking as Strigoi overruled her utterly. Robin knew why. She wanted the glory. Eris had already rewarded her richly for delivering half of the Water Shard. He could only imagine the praise heaped on the one who delivered another full Shard, along with the Scion himself and those who aided him.

  Beyond Strigoi and the doorway, Robin could see, with a sinking heart, Karya and Woad being marched up the long slender walkway to the Grimm’s chamber. Hawthorn was with them too, as was Ffoulkes, evidently scooped into the mix.

  “Why haven’t you used the Shard?” Robin asked, suddenly realising that during their battle, Peryl had not once attempted to use the power of the Earth Shard against him. It made no sense not to. Not when she was one who so craved power. It was such a monumental weapon.

  She glanced over at him, her fury at Strigoi still evident o
n her white face. “I know what it did to the dryad king,” she said. “I was there, remember? Do I look stupid? I don’t fancy ‘communing myself’ with something that’s going to cover me in forest and turn me into a monster.”

  “You’re already a monster, you mad witch!” Henry spat from his spot on the floor at Strigoi’s feet.

  The Wolf of Eris reached out swiftly and caught Henry hard across the head with the back of his hand, sending the boy crashing onto his back amid the scattered debris. “You do not speak, human animal,” he hissed. “You are not amongst equals here. You are less than an insect.”

  “Don’t hurt him!” Robin yelled, raising his hands, feeling his mana build to a cantrip. “I’ll kill you! If you harm any of them–”

  Strigoi looked up at him sharply. Without even raising his own hand against the boy, Robin felt the invisible wall of the dark creature’s will shoot out and hit him fully, slamming him back against the table, forcing his own arms down against his will. Robin couldn’t move a muscle. He strained furiously, but the grinning wolf merely regarded him with its inscrutable, frozen face, like a cat looking down at a trapped and struggling mouse.

  “If I harm any of your lackeys, Scion of the Arcania,” he whispered dangerously. “It will be because it is my pleasure and whim to do so. And if I so wish it, you will watch. If I so wish it, you will dance a merry jig while I do it, even if my mana must break every bone in your arms and legs to make this so.”

  The black eye-slits of the wolf mask glared. “Speak again to me, and the human dies. It matters nothing more to me than scraping centaur dung from my boot. Does it matter to you, I wonder?”