《Darkness & Moonlight》


 The Grove by Erin Slegaitis-Smith

    What I am saying is important to me; otherwise, there¡¯d be no point saying it. One day very soon, I¡¯ll be gone, and it will be too late. So listen, or hand me off to someone who will¡ªI need someone to hear my story¡ªsomeone to know what I could never tell the people I loved, the people who knew me . . .  anyone, really. This is my last chance. Will you stay?


    I traced the line of moonlight on the ceiling. The wooden bones of the roof stretched broad shadows across the room. The night air was stuffy and, for some reason, I was restless. I tried to lie very still to not disturb my brother. He got grumpy when someone woke him so rubbing the coarse blanket between my fingers and counting the knots in the stitching was my way to tire myself. It wasn¡¯t working. My mind was still alert. I tilted my head back to look out the window at the moon, which was too bright.


    To my surprise, Michael was standing at our window, looking out into the night. He cocked his head and slowly lowered his shoulders, slumping as if falling asleep while standing. His pale skin and dark hair made him a phantom in the moonlight. I flipped to my belly and pulled myself closer to the head of the bed.


    ¡°Michael,¡± I whispered. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    He didn¡¯t respond. So, I crawled out of bed, my bare feet hitting the cool rough floorboards, and tiptoed up to him to minimize the risk of waking our parents. I pushed the sleeves up on my nightshirt. It was Papa¡¯s, and at only eleven it was like a dress on me that I hoped to grow into one day. Looking into Michael¡¯s eyes, they were distant and glossy.


    ¡°Michael.¡± I pushed on his shoulder.


    ¡°Stop that.¡± He brushed my hand away without breaking his gaze from whatever he was staring at out the window.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Be quiet, Henry. I¡¯m listening.¡±


    ¡°To what?¡±


    ¡°I said be quiet.¡±


    I strained to hear whatever Michael was listening to, but the only sounds were the village cattle lowing at the sky and a disorderly racket from the pub two roads over. Maybe a bird or two.


    ¡°What are you listening to?¡± I asked again.


    ¡°The music.¡±


    ¡°From the pub?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°From where?¡±


    ¡°The hills,¡± he said. I tried to trace his line of sight. My eyes shifted along an invisible line that landed my gaze on the hills beyond our town. Lights danced on the hilltops, and a sense of foreboding eked its way into my bones. In these hills lay a grove we had been warned about since we were small children. Light on the hills was a sign of misfortune.


    ¡°I don¡¯t hear any music.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because you talk too much.¡± Michael started pulling himself into the window frame.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± I grabbed his arm.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to the music.¡±


    ¡°No, Michael, there is no music.¡±


    ¡°Get off.¡± He shook loose and began lowering himself down the front of the house. I gaped for a moment. It wasn¡¯t like Michael hadn¡¯t snuck out before this way, it happened far too often, but this wasn¡¯t his usual rebellious nighttime outing. Something wasn¡¯t right.


    I rushed to pull on some slacks and stuff my feet into my boots. Stopping Michael from leaving hadn¡¯t worked. All that was left was to get him back before our parents noticed we were gone. Tomorrow there would be trouble for both of us if he was caught sneaking out again. Going through the house would wake my parents, as Michael¡¯s early attempts to sneak out proved, so I lowered myself out after him.


    Michael was bigger than me at sixteen and I struggled to reach many of the handholds and footholds he had used. Michael had already made it a good way down the street when my boots hit the ground. While rushing to catch up, I tucked my nightshirt into my slacks.


    ¡°Michael, you can¡¯t go to the hills.¡± I protested.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want you, Henry,¡± Michael said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care if you want me or not. We¡¯re going home.¡± I grabbed his arm and pulled back on him, but he kept pushing forward and pulling me with him.


    How did he get so strong? All he did all day was help Papa with the mending nets. It wasn¡¯t easy work, but it wouldn¡¯t make him this strong. I had wrestled with him often enough to know. But then something glinted in his hand and I looked to see an ornate coin clutched in his fingertips. ¡°Where did you get that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve had it.¡±


    ¡°No, you haven¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I have.¡±


    ¡°The only way you would get a thing like that is by stealing it.¡±


    My brother turned on me, ripping me off the ground by my shirt collar.


    ¡°No one calls me a thief!¡± I had taken and given my fair share of black eyes with my brother, but now I was terrified by him. His brow furrowed in anger but there was an absence in his eyes I couldn¡¯t explain. It was as if he really were asleep.


    ¡°Then where do you get it?¡± I asked, pushing him away.


    ¡°It was a gift.¡±


    ¡°A gift?¡± I re-tucked my shirt.


    ¡°From someone who said I deserved it, and more like it.¡± He continued walking towards the hillside. I grabbed his sleeve again at the edge of the hills, where the road disappeared into the grass.


    ¡°Wait.¡± As his foot hit the grass, a  buzz rushed through me. It ran from my hand on his sleeve through every inch of me. Then everything changed.


    Strange creatures I had never seen before overran the hills, milling about in grass that turned a greyish blue under the moonlight. They were a variety of shapes and sizes and looked as though someone had taken a bucket of different toy parts and glued them together at random. They were slithering things, bouncing things, striding things that milled about on their bellies or limbs that dug into the soft sod of the hillside. As their chilling eyes turned on us, their otherworldly gaze chased the air right out of me. If the creatures had mouths, they stretched into sinister smiles over the creatures¡¯ alien faces upon noticing us.


    One of the creatures that looked like an old hacked-off stump slithered toward us on roots like snakes. Its large golden eyes fixed on us. It came to our toes and reached its twig-like arm up towards Michael. Its knotted finger touched the coin in his hand, and Michael smiled at it as if he knew what was going on. On the other hand, I couldn¡¯t suck in enough air; everything was too real and too wrong. It didn¡¯t make any sense, like old stories spinning to life off my mother¡¯s tongue. Maybe I was the one dreaming.


    I heard a crackling noise behind me and, out of nothing, a boy close to my brother¡¯s age came sauntering over. He was dressed in rich clothing and flipped a twisted dagger-shaped scale in his hand. Whatever creature that scale belonged to was larger than anything I would ever want to meet.


    He had the same eerie calm smile as Michael. Gold accented his brown skin around the eyes, so he wasn¡¯t just pretending to be wealthy. The creatures gathered up around his ankles, and he greeted him like an old friend. Then, turning, he spotted my brother and me.


    ¡°Good evening.¡± He walked up to us. ¡°I¡¯m Dietrich. Have we met before?¡±


    ¡°No, I think I¡¯d remember,¡± Michael spoke informally to someone from such a high station. ¡°I¡¯m Michael.¡±


    ¡°And who¡¯s this?¡± Dietrich looked at me. His eyes were glassy.


    ¡°What?¡± Michael looked back at me. ¡°Henry, when did you get here?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been with you the whole time,¡± I choked out.


    ¡°No, you haven¡¯t.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t believe it. How could Michael not remember me being with him? We were arguing only a minute ago. The stump-like thing sniffed at me and sneezed before retreating to its like beasts, and they glanced among each other with shifty eyes.


    ¡°Michael, we should leave,¡± I urged, but Michael was too fascinated with meeting Dietrich to listen.


    ¡°Been here before?¡± Michael asked.


    ¡°No, but I should have. I mean, look at this place. It¡¯s amazing, and this,¡± Deitrich scooped up a small ball-shaped creature.


    Another crackling sound rippled behind us as, this time, a girl stepped through.


    ¡°Well, hello.¡± Dietrich sidled up to her. ¡°Name¡¯s Dietrich.¡± She cast her eyes down and pulled her hands up to her chest.


    I had seen that kind of reaction among many serving class girls who were used to such ¡°hellos¡± meaning trouble. The bruises clinging to her dark collarbones were evidence of this. Their bluish-purple hue matched the small flower she clutched in her slim fingers.


    ¡°Come on.¡± Dietrich put his arm around her. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Alai,¡± she whispered.


    ¡°Now that¡¯s a fine name.¡± Dietrich patted her shoulder and scooped her like a wheat fold over to Michael and me. ¡°This is Michael, and¡ªand¡ªI¡¯m sorry, who are you again?¡±


    ¡°Henry.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± Dietrich said. ¡°This is Michael¡¯s brother Henry.¡±


    One of the stump-like creatures scuttled back to me. It looked up at me with its yellow blinking eyes. Then, it pulled something like a fig off one of its few branches and presented the fruit to me.


    ¡°Go away,¡± I tried to shoo it but the creature kept pushing the fruit towards me.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Dietrich asked. ¡°It is just trying to give you something.¡±


    ¡°If you eat spirit food, the spirit steals your humanity. Then no creature can recognize you as human, even your own family,¡± I said.


    ¡°That superstitious garbage,¡± Michael mocked. ¡°You don¡¯t really think we¡¯re in a spirit realm? Grow up already.¡±


    ¡°How do you explain all of this?¡± I pushed the stump thing away with my foot.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but it¡¯s not supernatural. Those stories are for scaring little kids into staying indoors and not taking questionable gifts from strangers. There¡¯s no such thing as spirits,¡± Michael scoffed.


    The stump thing threw its fig at me and wormed away on its roots with what I guess you could call an angry expression.


    ¡°You hurt its feelings,¡± Dietrich said.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡ªmaybe, we should just go before we upset them further.¡± I gestured back towards the town.


    ¡°You go if you want to,¡± Michael said.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go exploring!¡± Dietrich grinned. ¡°What do you say, Alai?¡±


    She simply raised a timid knuckle to her lips.


    ¡°You don¡¯t talk much, do you?¡±


    ¡°I agree with you,¡± Michael said. ¡°Let¡¯s explore.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s settled.¡± Dietrich grabbed Alai¡¯s hand and pulled her forward. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    ¡°Wait!¡± I called after them. The three of them ignored me and walked further up the hill. I followed.


    We crested the hilltop and looked down into a shallow valley. We gasped, seeing more odd creatures the size of grown men. They looked like empty husks of paper hives spiraling up into the air. Yet, aside from their ashy paper skin and being empty inside, they seemed disturbingly human, with arms and legs like ours and faces like people. There were hundreds of them trudging in circles through the wide basin.


    ¡°Woah,¡± Dietrich abandoned Alai¡¯s hand, which she appeared grateful for, and rushed over to one of the husks. It seemed to ignore him even as he peeled off a layer of its gray skin. ¡°This is so strange. It¡¯s like they¡¯re made out of paper!¡± Michael joined in with Deitrich¡¯s prodding.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to stay,¡± I said to Alai. ¡°We can go back.¡±


    ¡°No, I want to stay,¡± she said in a hushed voice.


    Dietrich turned back to us. ¡°Look at these things, Alai¡ªhey,¡± Dietrich turned to me. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    ¡°Henry?¡± I said, puzzled.


    ¡°Are you not sure what your name is?¡± he laughed.


    ¡°You already met me, not two minutes ago.¡±


    ¡°Did I? My memory is usually pretty good. I¡¯m positive that it was just Alai, Michael, and me,¡± Dietrich mused. I was moving from wary to perturbed. How could he have simply forgotten I was there? ¡°Let¡¯s keep exploring.¡±


    We moved our way through the husks. Some of the other kinds of strange creatures were following us. One looked like the meanest dog you¡¯ve ever seen with taloned bird feet instead of paws. One had a long body with purplish-blue fur. It slithered as much as it walked. Another looked like it had goat feet, a fat man¡¯s belly, and a bird head with short, floppy ears. And those stump things were always following en masse on our heels.


    We came upon a small grove. A bluish light danced inside it, bouncing off small pools of water and glass plates that seemed to float in the air. We all marveled at it for a moment.


    As we entered, the surfaces picked up our reflections. Alai touched one, and it rippled like water beneath her finger. Suddenly, an image appeared on it of another place. It was daytime in the picture, and people moved about in strange clothes through a peculiar town.


    The others were enraptured by it. I thought it was fascinating too, but I couldn¡¯t shake my nerves off long enough to enjoy it like they were. The air of this place was heavy somehow, putting me ill at ease.


    ¡°You do not smell of the tokens like the others,¡± a voice hissed. I turned around to see another strange creature. Its gray skin was wrinkled. Its body was like a lizard with a back bent sharply to the sky, its form partially concealed in a kind of cloak. ¡°Most curious. Perhaps¡ªperhaps you hold the answer.¡±


    ¡°What are you?¡± I stepped back. The creature tilted its head to the side. Tracing its line of sight to the others, I put myself in its path even as I realized there was no sure thing to do to protect them if the creature turned out to be dangerous.


    ¡°What am I? What are you? Your kind could not enter this realm without a token. So I wonder if you are some other kind.¡± There was an odd glint to the creature¡¯s eyes¡ªsomething like hope.


    ¡°What are tokens?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Things of this realm; small flowers, long jagged scales. Things to trap and ensnare. To make this pretty place a prison,¡± the creature said.


    ¡°What about some coins?¡± This creature might have answers about what this place was and how to get Michael to leave. As long as it was talking and the others occupied nearby, it couldn¡¯t hurt to ask.


    ¡°Yes, coins.¡± Its head bobbed. ¡°Or something like that.¡±


    ¡°My brother has one,¡± I gasped.


    ¡°And you touched him as you entered this place?¡± It tilted its long head.


    ¡°I did.¡± I nodded, looking back briefly to ensure the others hadn¡¯t wandered off on me. They were captured by a new scene of fast-moving things that glimmered like they were made of steel.


    ¡°I see.¡± The creature stroked its hooked jaw with its long fingers. Its wrinkled lips hooked up in something like a smile. ¡°Yes, a rare opportunity. A chance¡ªat last, a chance. I will tell you, human, that I am called Keeper. This grove is where the tales of this land and more intersect. I have seen and told many wisdoms over so many centuries. So heed me. Leave this place, now. It is the only way.¡±


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°I want to, but the others won¡¯t listen to me. What do you mean the only way?¡±


    I looked back at them again to see the scene had shifted to rolling hills of trees with pink budding flowers. The petals drifted through a breeze like silken rain.


    ¡°They will not come with you. Those tokens resemble in the physical what is captured in their hearts. This place is like a dream to them. Nothing is real. Nothing is true. That is why these fables can enrapture them.¡± Keeper gestured towards the standing pools. ¡°You, little one, see this place as it is. If you leave now, you will still be able to return without the beguiling of a token. You may grow and become stronger. Then when it is right, you can return. You can break what has made my home into a wretched curse. Go, please.¡±


    ¡°But, my brother¡ª¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Keeper barked. It scuttled towards me and grabbed my wrists in its boney fingers. ¡°You do not listen! You must go, or there is no hope for any of us. There is a creature here that has caught their scent, the Taegorak. None of your realm can survive it while beguiled. None of this realm can defeat it. This creature is what baited them here, to destroy them. Only you can stop this wretched cycle. Leave now. Train, grow, and come back to defeat this monster before it destroys all that is good between our worlds.¡±


    ¡°But why is this creature so dangerous? Why does it want to hurt us? How am I supposed to defeat it when you say no one else can?¡±


    I look back to see the others now looking at a scene that made it seem like there were flying through the air. The view swooped over mountains, and when they dipped close to a lake, the water exploded around them before they climbed back into the sky. Keeper shook my wrists.


    ¡°The Taegorak hungers, as all creatures do. It hungers not for flesh but souls, their humanity itself.¡± Keeper took a ragged breath.


    It was like the old stories of goblins and spirit creatures had come to life. Monsters that wanted not just your life but whatever it was that made you human. With a choking sound, Keeper continued.


    ¡°All you see here is a result of it. None of us have the power to stop it. The more humanity the Taegorak consumes, the stronger it becomes, but humanity is also the key to defeating it, and now, at last, we have a chance.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t do anything about any monster. I¡¯m not a hero from a fable. No magic will make me powerful enough to defend this place from a creature you can¡¯t defeat yourself. There is nothing I could learn or do to change whatever is happening here. I can¡¯t even get my brother to listen to me.¡±


    I yanked my wrists free and stared the creature down with false bravery.


    Desperation choked Keeper¡¯s voice. ¡°Of course, you are not ready. You are too young, that is true; you do not have the skills. That¡¯s why you must go now. Go and prepare and become strong enough to save this realm and your own. Don¡¯t underestimate who you may become, the value of your humanity, or what your being here means. Realize it or not, child, you have opened a door that I thought would forever be closed¡ªhope.¡±


    ¡°This can¡¯t be,¡± I shook my head.


    ¡°Stop reasoning. This is beyond your reasoning!¡±  Keeper tugged me down so it could grab my face and look me in the eye. I gasped and pulled back, but Keeper¡¯s hands held me with a strength it hadn¡¯t used before. ¡°What you have known is only part of what can be.¡±


    Keeper released me, and I staggered back, sucking in a sharp breath as it wrung its hands.


    ¡°AIf there is something that dangerous, then that¡¯s all the more reason to get them out of here,¡± I said. ¡°Even if I believe you, there is no way I can fight that thing do what you are telling me to by myself, not with all the time in the world, and not if I somehow could learn how to defeat a monster. They can help me. Michael would be a better help than me, and Deitrich would have the influence to get us access to information and training. Alai knows how to work hard and would help too. If you need humans to save you, we¡¯d be far better off with all of us.¡±


    ¡°They will not come. These others are dreaming. If you stay with them, you will only accomplish the loss of your own life, the wasting of this opportunity!¡± Keeper¡¯s lips trembled. ¡°Never has a chance like this come, and it may never come again. It would be ideal to rescue these people, yes, but it is impossible. You cannot save them, but you may save whoever would come after by leaving now.¡±


    ¡°So be it,¡± I squared my shoulders with the sternest expression I could muster. ¡°I won¡¯t leave my brother behind just because some creature tells me to.¡±


    ¡°Impertinent child,¡± Keeper hissed. ¡°So be it.¡¯ Then so be it! Keeper warned you. A chance, Keeper is a fool. Humans are too dense to hear, always.¡± The creature howled a mournful cry. ¡°Any trouble you find was bought with your own coin.¡±


    Keeper scuttled back into the thicket, muttering angrily to itself. As the rustling leaves settled, I almost thought I heard it whimpering.


    I turned to the others to see they were laughing at a menagerie of animals dressed in clothing like people and working in a village as people would. I grabbed my brother¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Michael.¡±


    ¡°Henry! When did you get here?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s starting to get old,¡± I sighed.


    ¡°What is?¡± Michael raised a brow.


    ¡°We need to go home,¡± I said.


    ¡°Why? Haven¡¯t you looked at all of this? The grove is amazing.¡± Michael turned to look at the new scene unfolding before Deitrich and Alai. It was underwater, surrounded by colorful corals and fish. They gasped in awe.


    ¡°Yeah, so very amazing. Let¡¯s go,¡± I pulled Michael back to face me.


    ¡°What¡¯s your rush?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you think there was a reason behind all the stories? It¡¯s dangerous here.¡± I didn¡¯t know if I fully believed what Keeper had told me, but my twisting stomach tightened into a firm knot. It could have been fear or my exhaustion from staying up so late, but I couldn¡¯t shake that feeling of wrongness.


    ¡°You¡¯re such a baby,¡± Michael tsked.


    ¡°I am not,¡± I huffed. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    ¡°Henry, you are starting to annoy me.¡± Michael turned a more fiery gaze toward me. Finally, he looked more awake.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be if you listened to me!¡±


    ¡°Why do you have to bother me all the time?¡± Michael huffed.


    ¡°If you won¡¯t listen to me, Keeper will tell you.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°This lizardy creature.¡± I looked back into the hollows of the grove. ¡°Keeper!¡± It didn¡¯t come. ¡°Keeper, help me!¡± I looked back to see Michael had gone back to watching the images. ¡°Michael!¡± I shouted.


    ¡°Henry? When did you get here? Why are you yelling?¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious.¡± I grabbed his arm and started pulling him out of the grove. ¡°We¡¯re going home.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Dietrich asked. The yelling must have broken him and Alai out of their trance. Michael wrenched his arm from my grip.


    ¡°It¡¯s just my little brother,¡± Michael said.


    ¡°Oh, nice to meet you. What¡¯s your name?¡± Dietrich offered his hand with a smile.


    ¡°Henry, I told you that three hundred times. Every time you all look away from me, you forget about me. There are all sorts of strange things here. A creepy lizard said that there was some kind of monster out there that wants to eat us. We need to go back home!¡±


    They all laughed at me.


    ¡°Come on, Henry,¡± Michael said. ¡°We¡¯ve seen dozens of creatures here. None of them talk, and none of them tried to hurt us.¡±


    ¡°So you want to wait until they do?¡±


    ¡°Maybe we should listen to him,¡± Alai murmured.


    ¡°She speaks!¡± Dietrich gave a jovial slap on her back as his form of approval. ¡°All right, we can go.¡±


    ¡°What? Why?¡± Michael asked.


    ¡°If Alai is nervous, and so is Hennidy¡ª¡±


    ¡°Henry,¡± I corrected.


    ¡°Henry,¡± Dietrich continued. ¡°Then we should go. To respect them.¡±


    Alai smiled shyly at him.


    ¡°But there¡¯s so much more out there,¡± Michael said.


    ¡°Yeah, we can come back another time and explore more.¡±


    ¡°What if there isn¡¯t another time?¡±


    ¡°No, we should just go,¡± I said, aiming to keep them on track.


    ¡°Well,¡± Dietrich mused. ¡°What if we explore one more thing? Like the top of that hill?¡± Dietrich pointed to a gentle hill not far away. ¡°Would you be okay with that, Alai?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°I guess so. But I wouldn¡¯t want to stay longer.¡±


    ¡°Excellent. What about you, Benny?¡± Dietrich asked.


    ¡°Henry,¡± I grumbled. ¡°The sooner we leave, the better. Just to the top of the hill.¡±


    ¡°Then a compromise has been decided,¡± Dietrich declared.


    ¡°Let¡¯s explore,¡± Michael urged, and so we left the grove and made our way further into the hills.


    We reached the top of another dark knoll. The grass was a deep gray under the starlight, but we all gasped at the shimmering purple flowers forming wavering rivers down into the bowl of the next valley. Michael, Dietrich, and Alai laughed together and rushed into the basin. Deitrich threw himself down to roll to the bottom in fits of laughter. I followed cautiously, warily eyeing the empty space and subtle rolls of the earth among the flowers. It couldn¡¯t be that safe, that perfect, could it? Certainly not with the monster Keeper had warned me of looming somewhere.


    The others began picking handfuls of flowers and breathing in their deep herb-like aroma. I leaned down and plucked one of the blooms. There was something familiar about this unassuming flower.


    ¡°Michael.¡± I saw Michael handing flower after flower to Alai as she giggled. Deitrich was more cheery than ever, sitting among the blooms and braiding the dark stems of his plucked flowers into a crown. I crept closer and tugged Michael¡¯s arm. ¡°Michael.¡±


    ¡°Henry, when did you get here?¡± Michael asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s time to go home. We said we¡¯d go to the top of the hill. This isn¡¯t the top of the hill anymore,¡± I said.


    ¡°You go home. I¡¯m having fun.¡±


    ¡°This place is lovely, but we shouldn¡¯t be here.¡±


    ¡°Maybe you shouldn¡¯t be here,¡± Alai practically whispered. She took a deep breath of her bouquet. My eyes landed on the one flower tucked in Alai¡¯s hair, and I realized why the flower was familiar.


    ¡°Where did you get that flower?¡± I asked.


    ¡°From Michael,¡± Alai said.


    ¡°No, the one in your hair.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± She raised her hand to caress the petals. ¡°I¡¯m not sure. I¡¯ve always had it, I think.¡±


    ¡°You couldn¡¯t have. It would have died, and the bloom is still fresh,¡± I said. Alai tilted her head, considering it.


    ¡°Come on, kid,¡± Dietrich stood. ¡°Can¡¯t you just let us have some fun?¡± He placed his crown on Alai¡¯s head. She smiled, a blush rising in her brown cheeks.


    ¡°I¡¯m not trying to stop you from having fun. I¡¯m trying to make sense of what¡¯s happening. If my brother¡¯s gold piece came from something here, and Alai¡¯s flower probably came from this field, where did your token come from? Is it a scale from some creature or a dagger, or what? What does it belong to? None of you find this strange?¡±


    ¡°No. Quit worrying so much,¡± Dietrich waved me off.


    ¡°He¡¯s right, Henry,¡± Michael said. ¡°If you¡¯re scared, go home.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t go without you.¡±


    ¡°Maybe he¡¯s scared to go by himself,¡± Alai said.


    ¡°Grow up. You¡¯re not a baby anymore,¡± Michael scoffed, plopping down and sending up a puff of purple petals.


    ¡°It can¡¯t hurt to take your brother home.¡± Alai offered one of her flowers to Michael, and he considered her for a moment.


    ¡°No, he can take himself.¡±


    ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll go with him.¡± Alai took my hand. ¡°Let¡¯s go. Don¡¯t worry, Michael and Deitrich will be fine.¡± She started pulling me away.


    ¡°But¡ª¡± I began to protest.


    ¡°Shh.¡± She winked at me. ¡°Boys are like this a lot. He¡¯ll change his mind.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± Michael stood. ¡°I¡¯ll take him.¡±


    ¡°What are you all worried about?¡± Dietrich huffed. ¡°There¡¯s nothing wrong with this place. Let the baby go back by himself. He shouldn¡¯t ruin our fun. Everything is perfectly safe!¡± Dietrich threw down his token, the pointed end of the scale sinking into the earth. He stomped on top of one of the small knolls. ¡°We¡¯re in a field of flowers. What do you expect to happen? Goblins to randomly appear and kidnap you?¡±


    ¡°No, I¡ª¡±


    I gasped as the ground began to rumble. Dietrich staggered off of the knoll as it slowly began to rise. We gaped as scaly arms and legs appeared from under the sod. A long neck unfurled, revealing a triangular lizard head and toothy maw. Each long, glittering, twisted scale reverberated with a deep rumble in the creature¡¯s chest.


    ¡°The Taegorak,¡± I gasped. ¡°Run!¡±


    Finally, everyone listened, charging back up the hill as the creature shifted from an earthen hill to a jaggedly-edged, cow-barn-sized monster. We managed to scramble to the top of the hill before the Taegorak gave chase. It strode after us on claws as long as a man was tall, tearing deep gouges into the soft dirt behind us.


    It craned its long neck forward, snapping up Dietrich in its massive jaws. We shrieked but kept running. The sounds¡ªthe crunching and wet shredding that followed¡ªonly speed us forward, sending ice water into our veins. We had neared Keeper¡¯s grove by the time the hulking form reappeared.


    ¡°Keep running,¡± Michael huffed while running beside me. ¡°I¡¯ll distract it.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I cried. ¡°You can¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°Alai, take Henry. Get to safety.¡± Before I could protest, Alai yanked me forward.


    ¡°Come after me, you ugly demon!¡± Michael yelled.


    He charged westward, away from us. Tears pricked my eyes. The pounding of my feet on the sod echoed the vibrations of the booming steps of the Taegorak.


    Finally, we reached the Keeper¡¯s grove. The bright light from the mirrors that had attracted the others was shuddering and dim. My legs and lungs burned with each step. Between the Taegorak¡¯s size and speed, I knew we had no way to outrun it. Then Michael screamed¡ªso sharp, and then, so quiet. It was a dagger in my ears, in my chest.


    After a moment of our thudding feet and pounding hearts, we passed the grove, and the thundering of the creature returned. We just had to pass through the valley of husk creatures and climb one more hill to get back to where we had crossed into the foot of the grove. We barreled down into the valley. We forced our way through the husks, their papery skin crackling as we pushed them aside. As we started climbing that last hill, a crunching like charred corn husks fresh from the fire sounded on our heels.


    Suddenly, Alai¡¯s hand was ripped from mine, and she shrieked. Skidding to a halt and looking back, my breath caught seeing the Taegorak throwing her high into the air before catching her brutally in its jaws.


    I turned back towards the direction of the village and continued to run. Finally, reaching the stump creatures again. Almost home. The path¡¯s edge where Michael and I had crossed into this horrible place came into view. Too far and so close. The stump creatures began pelting me with their fruit, so that I had to dodge them and whatever else would slow or trip me. The thundering footsteps returned.


    Slipping on one of the watery fruits, I thudded to the ground. With the Taegorak closing in, the sound of it snuffling as it ran echoed around me, and the smell of its moist stinking breath engulfed me. Pulling myself to my knees and gasping from exhaustion, my eyes meet those of one of the stump creatures. It was so like the creatures from the old stories. The things from the first stories I had ever heard might be the last thing to see me while I was still alive.


    It clicked. The Keeper¡¯s words about how the creature hungered for our humanity, and the old stories my parents told of the spirit creatures in the hills. Snatching up the fruit, I took a bite, choking it down. The Taegorak skidded to a stop over me, right as the lump of bitter-sweet fruit scraped down my throat. The creature lowered its massive head spreading its jaws wide, its hot breath smelling of putrid metallic gore rolling over its long tongue.


    I put my hands up as if that would protect me and gasped, seeing my skin turning gray and breaking apart like over-dried paper. Then, with a jolt, shadows burst from every crack in my skin, forming the odd creatures we had seen dotting the grove.


    The Taegorak snapped its jaws shut, and I pinched my eyes closed, but no pain came. The ground reverberated with the creature¡¯s snarl and the crunching scrape of dirt under its talons. Its feet shook the ground as it adjusted its footing. I opened my eyes, suddenly face to face with one of its massive eyes, and scooted back with a whimper. Its oblong pupil tightened into a pin line of black in a sea of gold. It rolled its neck, curling back and opening its jaw with a gritty growl. The Taegorak¡¯s massive nostrils flared as it took in several huffs of air. It leaned its head back down, its sucking breath shredding free the loose curls of my papery skin. The Taegorak snorted at me, shaking its massive head, and lumbered away.


    Slowly, I stood on shaky legs I couldn¡¯t quite feel anymore. Then, running my fingers over the papery shell that should have been my skin, the realization hit that I had become one of the husk creatures. It didn¡¯t matter; I was still alive. There had to be some way to fix this if this crinkling form could just get me home.


    My body wobbled on unfeeling legs towards the village. My breaths no longer rasped in the empty cavity of my chest. The aching was gone. All feeling was gone.


    I reached the place where the grass met the edge of the village road, still hoping this was some horrible nightmare. Yes, of course, that is what it was. I would wake up any moment now and Michael would make fun of me for having such a dream spun from children¡¯s stories.


    I stepped forward and then tumbled to my numb knees, my paper skin crunching as they hit the ground. I shook my head and checked if there was damage to this frail form, but there was no easy way to tell with how this body coiled in papery shreds. My form struggled to stand, to find my feet. I tried again to take that last desperately needed step towards home, only to slide to the ground again.


    I reached toward the road, and my hand met something solid I couldn¡¯t feel. A barrier kept me from going forward. I tried to speak, to scream, but whatever makes a person capable of doing so, I didn¡¯t have anymore. No sound came from me except the rustling of my limbs as I frantically probed the air, trying to find a way to slip through this invisible barrier. I wanted to cry, but no tears could come.


    The Keeper. Keeper had to know how to help me. He knew what would happen to the others. He had to know how to fix this. I wobbled back towards the grove. It just had to work. I pushed past the creatures that were now odd kin to me and climbed back to the groupings of trees where Keep¡¯s grove was.


    Reaching the grove with its floating mirrors reflecting the pine needles, leaves, and the night sky, it was so much darker. A few still held images of otherworldly things, but it was as if the grove was falling asleep with what pictures were there slowly fading into reflections of the here. I needed to get the Keeper¡¯s attention, but how without a voice? I grabbed the edge of a mirror and thrust it down. It shattered spectacularly loud. I looked into the shadows where Keeper had come from, but not even a breeze stirred in the grove. It didn¡¯t come. It never came.


    I returned to the barrier many more times in the coming days and years but never could get through. Eventually, I realized it was because the same act that saved my life had trapped me here. As the legends said, my humanity was traded for my life, so there was no way to return to the human world.


    I¡¯m almost out of time now. My memories are the last piece of me that remains, and they are slipping away more and more. I can never go back to tell my family what happened¡ªnever explain to my parents why they woke up that next morning with no sons. You are my last chance. If you ever find yourself in Gethway, find a fletcher named Wendel. See if he and his wife Addie are well. If you can, help them have a measure of peace.


    And if you are in another realm and can¡¯t go, please remember for me. Keep this story so that some part of us who died in the grove can survive. And, if you ever think to tempt the truth of your old children¡¯s stories for yourself, be wary. They might just turn out to be true.


    Thank you for reading! If you¡¯d like to get early access and exclusive stories, support us on Patreon! You are also invited to join the Discord community and stay in touch!

 Into the Brambles

    I know I¡¯m not supposed to go outside at night, Mama always said so, but he was waiting for me. My friend, the prince of shadows. Mama also told me that fairies weren¡¯t real.


    She says a lot of things. I don¡¯t always believe her.


    My bedroom door creaked as I opened it and I paused in the hallway, the sound of my breathing loud in my ears. Mama¡¯s bedroom door was closed, her snores leaking out under the door.


    I smiled and continued down the hallway, careful to avoid the squeaky spots in the wooden floor. I knew where they all were now. It was nice, knowing things Mama didn¡¯t.


    The kitchen door creaked when I opened it, and my breath stopped in my chest, but Mama didn¡¯t stir. I made my way outside and paused at the edge of the grass. Grandmama died last month. One day she was here, the next she was in the hospital, and then we had to go to her funeral where lots of people were crying. I got hugged by so many old people. At least the flowers there were pretty.


    I missed Grandmama. She believed me when I told her about the prince of princes.


    My prince! He must be waiting for me. I skipped down to the end of the garden and flung myself onto the grass. I slapped my hands over my mouth before I could laugh but a little giggle slipped out. The stars were bright and sparkling above me as I laid and looked up through the rose brambles at the end of the garden.


    I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. It was hard not to peek to see if it was working but I had to be good. The prince said I had to play all their games, or else.


    Tiny feet walked across my forehead, and I wiggled with anticipation. A second set of feet joined them, dancing across my face, stepping on my nose, my eyes, my lips. I wondered if they were leaving any tiny footprints. I should wash my face before bed.


    The feet vanished and someone tapped me on the forehead. My eyes popped open and I sat up. Sitting cross legged beside me was a boy my age and size, with shaggy black hair and eyes bluer than paint. He wore strange black clothing that was part rags and patches and part old fashioned stuff like out of my book of fairy tales.


    He smiled at me and my heart fluttered. I felt funny when he was around, but I liked it. The prince of shadows made me feel special.


    The prince stood and offered me his hand. I took it, letting him pull me to my feet. Other fairies flew through the air around him, wings like bugs¡¯ but large and pretty. Some had butterfly wings, others moths, and some had sparkly wings like a dragonfly.


    They flew so fast, I knew I¡¯d never be able to catch one. I had tried once and the prince became so angry he didn¡¯t talk to me for a week, no matter how much I¡¯d cried. I was allowed to chase the fairies but only when the prince said it was time to play.


    But the prince was smiling now. He kept hold of my hand and led me around a clump of bushes where an old shed stood. My house wasn¡¯t visible and he relaxed as soon as we were out of sight of it.


    ¡°Are you going to tell me your name tonight?¡± I asked him.


    The prince shook his head with a twinkle in his eye. ¡°Only if you can fall in love with me!¡±


    My cheeks turned red. ¡°I¡¯m too young to fall in love, Mama said so.¡±


    The prince tilted his head. ¡°No one is too young for love. Or too old.¡±


    ¡°Have you been in love before?¡±


    The prince looked up at the moon with a distant, sad smile on his lips. ¡°Oh no, it is not my fate.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s so sad,¡± I said with a frown. ¡°Why not?¡±


    His answering laugh made tingles pop up on my skin. ¡°Love is wonderful. But it is a human thing. But enough of this. Catch me, and maybe I¡¯ll tell you my name.¡±


    He spun around and leapt into the air, shrinking until he was the size of the other fairies, and darted past me. He tugged at my hair and I tried to grab him but he was too fast. Not that I wanted to catch him. I never wanted the games to end.


    I chased the prince back and forth across the garden, laughing. He laughed too, like the ringing of a bell, and almost let me catch him once. But he flapped his wings and sped away at the last moment, and I nearly crashed into the bushes before I could stop.


    I dropped to the ground, breathing hard. Chasing was one of his favourite games, probably because he always won. When we played hide and seek, I sometimes hid better than he did, and he didn¡¯t like that.


    It was okay with me if he wanted to win. So long as we got to keep playing. I wanted to play with him forever.


    When I turned around, the prince and the fairies were gone. I groaned and let my head fall back to the grass. Was it midnight already? The fairies had a bedtime too, though the prince never said what would happen if they were late. Did he have a mother who would growl if she caught him awake?


    I sat up and walked back towards the house. Tomorrow was another night. I wondered what games we would play.


    Mama was mad at me. I sat at the breakfast table, trying not to cry as she scrubbed at my nightgown. There were grass stains in it from tumbling around in the garden the night before.


    ¡°I told you, Mirabel. I told you not to go out into the garden at night and what do you do? You go outside anyway!¡±


    I sniffled and stared down at my toast. ¡°I know, I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Mama wrung my nightgown out over the sink and set it on the radiator to dry. ¡°If you were sorry, you would stay inside. What would happen if you fell into the pond? You could drown!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a good swimmer, I could get out,¡± I said.


    Mama shook her head. ¡°Not good enough. There are weeds in that pond. I would know! I went swimming there once, when I was your age. Plants wrapped around my ankle and nearly pulled me under. I would have drowned if your Grandmama hadn¡¯t pulled me out. She was so upset . . .¡±


    Mama looked so sad. I almost felt bad for going outside last night. Almost.


    Mama sat beside me and took my hand. ¡°I need you to promise me you won¡¯t sneak out again. I can¡¯t sleep at night thinking you¡¯re out there, playing by yourself. It isn¡¯t safe.¡±


    ¡°But¨C¡±


    ¡°No buts! I¡¯ll have your promise or you won¡¯t be allowed back at school again.¡±


    ¡°Mama! I need to go to school, my friends are there!¡±


    ¡°And they will still be there, but only if you promise me.¡±


    I poked my toast with a sad finger. It was cold. ¡°I promise,¡± I said, in the quietest voice I could.


    Mama squeezed my hand and leaned in. ¡°What did you say?¡±


    Tears started to fall down my cheeks. What will I do without my prince? But to not go to school, and stay locked away inside helping Mama with chores all day . . .


    ¡°I promise, Mama. I¡¯ll stay inside.¡±


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Mama released my hand and patted my head.


    ¡°That¡¯s my good girl. Now eat up.¡±


    I ate my toast through my tears, and tried not to think about my fairy friends. They would be so mad. But I knew I had to wait until Mama had forgotten before I could go back outside.


    I lasted an entire week. Pictures of the prince filled the margins of my notebooks and I got called into the principal¡¯s office twice for daydreaming. But at last Mama stopped asking me to stay inside when she tucked me in at night. I was ready.


    The prince was ready too. He waited for me at the end of the garden by the shed, arms crossed. I gasped at the sight of him.


    ¡°You don¡¯t want me to pretend to be asleep first?¡± I asked.


    He shook his head, lips tight. ¡°Where have you been?¡±


    ¡°Inside. Mama made me promise not to come outside at nighttime. She¡¯s afraid I¡¯ll drown in the pond.¡±


    The prince glanced over his shoulder, where the pond lay beyond the garden shed. Tiny waves rippled across the surface, caught by the light of the full moon.


    ¡°This pond?¡± He crossed over to it and walked across its surface as casually as he strolled over the grass. His feet left little ripples in his wake and my eyes went wide.


    ¡°Can you teach me how to do that?¡± I asked.


    The prince glanced over his shoulder, surprise flashing across his handsome face. He held out his hand to me and wiggled his fingers.


    ¡°I could try. Come with me.¡±


    I approached the edge of the pond. The water was all moonlight and shadow as the tiny waves flashed over its surface, and I gulped.


    ¡°Mama says to stay away from the pond.¡±


    The prince¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Your mother says a lot of things. She wasn¡¯t always so strict.¡±


    I placed my bare toes onto the surface of the pond but the water didn¡¯t hold my weight and my foot got wet. He wiggled his fingers again, impatiently, but he was too far away for me to reach. I took a step back and crossed my arms.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to walk on water,¡± I said.


    The prince¡¯s eyes narrowed before a smile flashed onto his face. ¡°Why not?¡± He spun in a circle and danced a few steps, droplets of water catching the moonlight as they flicked through the air. ¡°It¡¯s fun!¡±


    I eyed the water. ¡°I don¡¯t want to get wet.¡±


    The prince stopped dancing. ¡°You don¡¯t trust me. I thought we were friends.¡±


    My mouth fell open in dismay. ¡°We are friends! I do trust you. I just . . .¡±


    His lip trembled as though he was about to cry, and I reached for him. He was too far away to touch, though, so I took a step into the pond, and another, all while he watched with clear eyes. His lip no longer trembled once I stood knee deep in cold water, mud seeping between my toes.


    The prince bowed and offered his hand once again. I took it, and he pulled me out of the water. He was stronger than he looked; I don¡¯t think I could have pulled him like that.


    To my surprise, my feet landed on the surface of the water, smooth and cold as glass. His smile was full of wicked delight as his arm snaked around my waist, pulling me tight to him. He stepped backwards and lead me into a dance.


    We spun in circles, skating over the surface of the pond like it were ice. There was no music, but I didn¡¯t need any with my prince holding me. The stars reflected off the pond until we were in a bowl of moonlight, illuminated like a stage. The little fairies spun in their own dances around us like darting fireflies.


    I don¡¯t know how long we danced for, but it wasn¡¯t long enough. The prince loosened his grip on me and pulled back, a startled look on his pretty face.


    ¡°Someone is coming,¡± he said tightly.


    The little fairies vanished into the brambles, and the prince began to pull me towards them. I wiggled in his grip.


    ¡°I can¡¯t go into the brambles, I¡¯m too big! The thorns will get me.¡±


    The prince gave me an exasperated look. ¡°The thorns will do as I say. But if you truly wish to stay here . . .¡±


    The prince shrank into his tiny form and darted away. For a moment after he let go of my hand, the water supported me. Then it turned to jelly and my feet sank. I had only the briefest glimpse of my prince¡¯s light vanishing into the rose brambles before the water closed over my head.


    My arms flailed and I pulled myself towards the surface. My legs kicked, propelling me up towards the light of the moon. Before I could reach it, arms closed around me and pulled me up. My head broke the surface of the pond and I sputtered in surprise.


    Mama gripped me tight, anger and concern at war on her face.


    ¡°Mirabel! My Mirabel, what are you doing?¡±


    ¡°I was dancing, Mama. Dancing with the prince of shadows.¡±


    ¡°Dancing? Don¡¯t be ridiculous. I don¡¯t care what you think you were doing out here. You disobeyed me,¡± said mama as she pulled me towards the edge of the pond. She pushed me onto the grass and then hopped out beside me. We sat for a moment, looking at the brambles on the other side of the pond.


    ¡°You scared me, Mirabel. Do you understand that?¡±


    I looked away, down at the moonlit surface of the water. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to, mama.¡±


    ¡°Well, you did. You scare me every time you leave the house at night. This talk of princes and fairies and dancing, it stops now.¡±


    Tears blurred my view of the pond and I refused to nod.


    Mama sighed and stood.


    ¡°Come,¡± she said as she offered me her hand. ¡°Let¡¯s get your dried off and back to bed.¡±


    I took her hand. It was large and warm and familiar, but I wished I was still holding the prince¡¯s hand instead.


    My bedroom had a lock now. Mama locked me in when she puts me to bed. For my own safety, she says. She even nailed my window shut, to make sure I couldn¡¯t get out! She didn¡¯t listen when I told her I was never in any danger! This was just her being selfish. So what if it scared her? I wasn¡¯t afraid!


    The weeks passed slowly without my prince, and even my friends at school couldn¡¯t distract me. The only thing that interested me was Grandmama¡¯s boxes. Mama had cleaned up her room and piled all of Grandmama¡¯s things into my closet. She said mine was the only room that had space for them.


    That was fine with me. It meant I could look at him again.


    My prince.


    Grandmama had always been a good drawer and she had pictures saved that were very old, from when she was my age. And among the flowers and rainbows were drawings of fairies. Not silly fairies like in the movies. My fairies.


    I recognized my prince immediately. I think Mama did too, the way she got mad when she found the pictures in my bed.The prince was old, he told me that himself. But I didn¡¯t know he was as old as Grandmama. I frowned, jealousy welling up in my chest. Had he danced with Mama and Grandmama too? The prince was mine! He had said so himself.


    He belonged to me, and if I went with him into the brambles, I would belong to him, too. He would even tell me his name if I went to live with the fairies.


    The longer I was locked up, the more tempting it seemed. To live with the fairies and to dance under the moonlight forever sounded so much better than homework and chores and Mama being mad at me.


    And Mama was still very mad. I flopped back on the floor with a groan. I had done more chores in the last three weeks than I had in my entire life. I didn¡¯t know why she was punishing me.


    Why couldn¡¯t she understand?


    The wind made the tree outside my window rattle and shake and I stirred, warm under the covers of my bed. Sometimes it sounded like someone was knocking at my window but whenever I checked, there was no one there. It wouldn¡¯t be my prince; he never came up to the house.


    I sat up as the knocking came again. That didn¡¯t sound like a tree.


    Lights flickered beyond the curtain and I sprang to my feet with an excited gasp. I flung the curtain back, and there on my window sill were three tiny fairies. The green and gold of their dresses shimmering in the light given off by their fluttering wings.


    They looked scared but determined. One waved to me and motioned for me to stand back. The three fairies lined up and peered at the nails that kept my window in place. One by one, the nails twisted, squealing in the wood before lifting up and clattering to the ground.


    I wasted no time and heaved the window open. I didn¡¯t even pause to see if Mama heard. I didn¡¯t care. Crawling out of the window was scary but the chiming voices of the fairies encouraged me. Branches from the bush under my window scratched me when I landed on it but I barely felt them.


    The fairies fled ahead of me as we raced around the side of the house towards the garden. My feet made slapping sounds on the cool flagstones, too late in the season to keep the heat of day. It was almost fall, after all.


    And then I was in the grass. Wild laughter erupted from my chest, and if Mama heard, so be it. I was home.


    I reached the end of the garden and pulled up short, aghast. It looked like a tornado had passed through the brambles, tearing them up at the roots and leaving them in messy piles.


    My insides went cold. Mama. It had to be. She was destroying the fairies¡¯ home!


    I raced towards the pond, fearing the worst, but it was still there, as were the brambles on the far side.


    I fell to my knees. But where was my prince?


    A hand landed on my shoulder, and I bit off a scream. I spun, ready to apologise to Mama for being out, but it wasn¡¯t her.


    It was my prince.


    His clothing was more ragged than ever, and dark circles bit into the skin under his eyes. But he was still the most handsome boy I had ever seen. I threw myself into his arms and he hugged me back just as tight.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Mama locked me up! I couldn¡¯t get away!¡±


    My prince squeezed me before standing back. ¡°I know, I sent my fairies to spy. Your mother is a wicked woman, keeping you from me.¡±


    My heart clenched. ¡°I love my mama, but . . .¡±


    ¡°Do you love me?¡± asked my prince.


    I look up at him, blushing. ¡°Love?¡±


    ¡°Yes, love. The greatest of human emotions. Do you feel it for me?¡±


    I stepped out of his arms and looked down at my bare feet before nodding.


    The prince tilted my head up with a gentle hand. ¡°I¡¯m glad to hear it. I¡¯ve always wanted to know what love is, and I think you can teach me.¡±


    I shook my head, confused. ¡°You don¡¯t know what love is?¡±


    ¡°No fairy does. Our hearts are too wild.¡±


    Shouting sounded from the house and I froze. Mama was awake, and she sounded angry.


    The prince reached down and grabbed my hands. ¡°Come with me. The summer is almost over and without it, my power will fade. If you want to love me, you must come with me. Now.¡±


    I glanced over my shoulder. Mama was running towards us, terror etched into her lined face. ¡°Mirabel!¡± Her voice shook as she raced forward.


    I looked back to my prince. There was nothing in his cold eyes, no hope, just that pretty smile. His words echoed through my head. ¡®Our hearts are too wild.¡¯


    My eyes squeezed shut. Mama¡¯s shouts reached my ears, begging me to stop, to stay.


    I took a deep breath and reached out my hand.

 All For You by Odessa Silver

    It was going to be the perfect day. Blue skies, a warmth that buried deep into your bones; the kind of day you don¡¯t forget. Clara wouldn¡¯t.


    She stood on the shit-splattered pier, the seagulls above screeching and laughing, eyes on the tray of half-eaten chips sat precariously in her hand. I hoped one of them would dive for her. I could see it now, that look of surprise on her perfectly-sculpted face, chips flying in all directions. But no. She moved on.


    It was easy enough to blend in with the throngs of people milling around, one step behind an old couple watching the waves rolling in and out, avoiding a group of lads swearing loudly, chugging cans of cheap cider. Every one of them enjoying the summer sun and their time at the seaside, but not her.


    I moved away now, linen shirt flapping in the soft breeze, loose sand slipping in my shoes. I hated the beach, the way everyone flocked to it ready to cook themselves to an unhealthy red glow. I was only here for her. Mimicking her path, watching with care as she continued down the pier.


    Soft sandals pattered on the sea-beaten wood. Clunk, clunk, clunk. Those lithe legs were getting closer now, bronzing in the sun, brushed by the delicate fabric of her skirt. Red curls bounced against the creamy white blouse which fit her all too perfectly, and it made my stomach twist. She was just as I remembered before her funeral. Well, almost. Her hair had been ginger back then; and now it really was red.


    Silly Clara, thinking she could trick me again, trying to keep me away with lies after lies after lies. Back then she told me she didn¡¯t love me. I¡¯d seen through that. Her father hated me; she was just trying to keep the peace. Of course I¡¯d forgiven her. I wasn¡¯t cruel. I loved her after all. My Clara. Sweet and kind and a fucking liar.


    I¡¯d ignored the obviously fake documents I¡¯d been served. There was no way Clara would put a restraining order on me. No, not me. Her father had a hand in it again, always the meddler. I should have taken her away from him back then. We could have pushed him away together, escaped together, been together forever.


    But no. It wasn¡¯t to be. I¡¯d found her again after all the lies, after the fake funeral, and she¡¯d moved on. A three-bedroom house, husband who worked away, cosy little affair on the side, and her oh-so-perfect job. I¡¯d seen her side piece, a tall man with impossibly black eyes. I followed them up to the woods, winding through the villages, getting further and further from the beach. They¡¯d fucked in that car. I saw it. She didn¡¯t really try to hide it, and that¡¯s when I knew it was for me to watch. The sky had been dusky and the trees shading them from view, mostly. But she knew me, knew that I always picked the parking space closest to the exit.


    By then I¡¯d already sent her three bunches of flowers. Roses of course: her favourite. I didn¡¯t want to scare her away, especially after the funeral. We couldn¡¯t let her father intervene again. But he was old now, so maybe he just needed a push in the wrong direction. Falling down the stairs with a thump, thump, thump. Maybe he wasn¡¯t right in the head¡ªafter all who fakes a funeral and buries a person who¡¯s still alive?


    I¡¯d gone to the funeral, laughing in the face of his fake restraining order. He¡¯d spotted me, eyes glassy and unfocused. Crocodile tears, just like the rest of them. Boohoo, our daughter is dead.


    I wasn¡¯t sure if he¡¯d worked out who I was when I walked right up to him. I looked a bit different back then, dying my hair red to match Clara and wearing one of her blouses that I¡¯d stolen, a black silky one. I loved the feel of the material on my skin, and I could still smell her scent on it. She was giving me a hug from wherever she was hiding, and we were fighting her father. Her mother took one look at me and burst into tears, hissing how everything had been my fault, how I¡¯d not been in prison long enough. Stupid bint, look at your husband, not me. I was protecting Clara. You got me locked up for taking care of your daughter.


    No matter what they did though, I would always return to Clara. And here I was now, watching her every move, ready to whisk her away and live in happiness once again. But first, she needed to know I was angry at her. For the lies, for letting her father be cruel to me. I could still feel his fingers wrapped around my throat as he tried to kill me. Shame about the arthritis mate, I¡¯d managed to say with a crooked smile. Can¡¯t strangle anyone with those fucked up hands.


    From the pier, Clara moved towards the car park, stopping to dump her half-eaten chips in an overflowing bin. Her sparkling black Audi sat proudly away from all the rest. Taking my advice even now. Always take the spot near the exit, in case you needed to escape.


    I now sat on a nearby bench ready to watch everything unfold, pausing for the occasional lick at the melted ice cream now running down my hand. Chocolate, her favourite. I was getting giddy as she got closer and closer. The stage was all ready for my entrance. Button click, car door opened. I had to hide the smile forming as she slammed the door, gagging so hard she threw up, spraying half-digested chunks of potato across the car park.


    I jumped up, dumping my ice cream on the sandy floor, and approached her.


    ¡°What the fuck?¡± I heard her spit between retches.


    ¡°Are you alright there, love?¡± I bent down to pick up her fallen handbag, scooping the contents back in quick and placing it next to the car.


    Blue eyes stared up at me. They were once black, like her father¡¯s; she must be wearing contacts today.


    ¡°Thank you but I¡¯m . . .  fine. Upset stomach.¡±


    Did she recognise me? I couldn¡¯t tell. Maybe she was playing it safe. We were in public after all.


    ¡°Want me to fetch a drink? There¡¯s a co-op round the corner.¡±


    ¡°No, really I¡¯m fine.¡± There was a tightness around her face, her lips pulled back in a half-grimace. Poor thing. ¡°Thanks for the offer.¡±


    I paused. ¡°What¡¯s that smell?¡± I asked innocently.


    ¡°F¡ª¡±


    As she threw up again I wanted to reach out and hold her hair, stroking it gently as I tell her everything is going to be fine. Her car, maybe not. I mean, the fish would have been bad enough if I had bought it from the fishmonger this morning, but I¡¯d slipped three-day-rotting fish into her back window. With the sun up high, it¡¯d easily raise the inside temp into the 30s, and I expected getting the juices out was going to be great.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± she gasped out, wiping dripping spit on the back of her hand. ¡°My husband will be here soon.¡±


    Husband, or bit on the side?


    I smiled. Fine. I¡¯ll return later. Maybe this was too much all at once? With the fish, the sun, the discarded pregnancy test. I¡¯d slipped that into my pocket while putting everything back in her handbag. I hadn¡¯t seen the result yet. I¡¯d check once I returned to my car, finding out if we¡¯re going to be parents or not.


    ¡°But I want to make sure you¡¯ll be alright.¡±


    ¡°I said I¡¯m fine.¡± Clara stared at me now, eyes quickly flittering to the space beside me.


    ¡°If you say so,¡± I said, giving up for now. I didn¡¯t want to scare her. I was too excited to read the test anyway.


    I left her groaning on the floor and hurried to my car. Slipping into the front seat, ignoring the searing leather, I pulled out the test. It was one of the fancy ones like they advertised on the telly. This one also had the blue pregnant written on it.


    I really would have to wait until later to see her. She¡¯d need to go home, tell her husband, tell her other lover. They¡¯d fight, cry, stomp on out the front door, but I¡¯d be there for her. My Clara. I would never abandon you.


    I didn¡¯t want to wait. I wanted her now. Maybe I should get her a gift? The others would hate this pregnancy but I would love it, love her, love the baby.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    I jumped out¡ªpausing only to check on Clara, who was now screaming at her husband¡ªand headed into town, wandering past the packed chip shops filled with tourists queuing into the street. There were too many today, blocking the paths. Kids were screaming and running out into the road to escape their flustered mothers. Others flooded the arcade, swarming the 2p droppers, waiting for the next crash of coins of their win. I saw them now, jumping up and down in the hopes the movement would send the coins wobbling off the edge. So young, so naive.


    The crane games at the front were filled with huge plush figures as always, the children beneath them singing a choir of But I want Pikachu mummy! Everyone knew those things were rigged, and hardly worth the time.


    Although. Maybe if I turned up at Clara¡¯s house with a teddy, she¡¯d be thrilled. I could tape the pregnancy test to its hands to let her know I knew. Pushing my way through the sea of squealing children, I found an unoccupied crane game. Coin in, arm moving, I clawed at thin air a few times before it struck fabric. The stupid game still held my prize hostage. A swift kick to the side of the machine and still it sat goading me.


    ¡°Oi!¡± A security guard came over, face crumpled in a scowl. ¡°Pack it in or you¡¯re out.¡±


    ¡°I ain¡¯t doing anything.¡±


    Behind me I heard the clink of a coin hitting a machine. I spun around to find a smirking teen hogging the controller.


    ¡°Hey.¡±


    ¡°You weren¡¯t using it,¡± he said, sending the machine¡¯s arm wobbling towards my prize.


    ¡°I¡¯m standing right here.¡± He ignored me as the machine flashed and played a tune as the plush hit the prize chute. ¡°Hey, that¡¯s mine.¡±


    Scoffing, he grabbed the teddy and held on tight as I reached for it. ¡°Fuck off mate. Get your own.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t going to back down. I stamped on his foot; he yelped and loosened his grip for a split second. I took my chance, gripping it tight, and legged it out to the streets as the guard yelled after me. No little shitbag would stop me getting this teddy for Clara and our child. Everything was going to go great. I couldn¡¯t wait.


    * * *


    Night fell slowly. My anticipation was growing. I¡¯d sat down the road for a few hours, watching her house. The husband had left an hour ago for his night shift. I¡¯d given Clara a little longer; I knew she¡¯d be excited to see me too, but I had to time this right. I pulled the teddy from the passenger seat, pregnancy test taped tightly to its paws. The tape had deformed its head a little but I was sure she wouldn¡¯t mind. Not when she saw me.


    Her house was a corner plot surrounded by high fences. So nice and quaint. They wouldn¡¯t stop me. I waltzed over,  pulling her house key from my pocket ¡ªI¡¯d made a copy of that too¡ª and locked the front door. Just in case. I couldn¡¯t have her running away from me.


    I made my way around the side of the house, stopping only to reach up and unlatch the gate. With my thick boots, I stomped right through her neat flowerbeds, kicking up flowers and crushing the delicate petals. She¡¯d worked hard for this house and I¡¯d never dream of taking that away from her¡ªjust the small things. Across the miniature courtyard wound a manicured wisteria vine, weaving around a trellis that lead right up to the window I would enter from. I, her Romeo, would climb up, and she, my Juliet, would be ready for my loving embrace.


    The moon tried to betray me, holding back its light. It was out to get me like the others were. Despite its feeble attempts, I still found the wood beneath the foliage and caught hold. Up and up I climbed to the open window calling my name, begging me to rescue my Juliet.


    Shimmying through was easy enough, but the landing was far from desirable. I¡¯d fallen on my arse, legs akimbo on her bedroom floor. I pulled the teddy from my shirt where I¡¯d stuffed it for safety and placed it on her bed, facing the door for when she entered. The stairs clattered as she stormed up.


    ¡°You better not be¡ªoh.¡± She froze, blue eyes wild, terrified, empty. ¡°W-Who . . . ¡±


    I grinned. ¡°Who is this?¡± I pointed to the teddy and pat his head. ¡°The kids call it Pikachu. It¡¯s for you, both of you, see. I found the test.¡±


    The door slammed on its hinges. Perhaps this wasn¡¯t going to be as easy as I thought. I rushed to reopen it calling to her, ¡°It¡¯s alright, Clara, your father isn¡¯t here. It¡¯s just me.¡±


    ¡°Get away from me!¡±


    ¡°Clara.¡±


    ¡°Fuck off.¡± She squealed and shrieked, thundering back downstairs. ¡°I¡¯m not Clara.¡±


    Why wasn¡¯t she listening? Were her father¡¯s lies still in her head? I followed, needing her to listen. Down I followed, backing her into the kitchen.


    ¡°Come back, I just want to talk.¡± I tried to sound calm and careful but I could feel the frustration bubbling beneath the surface.


    ¡°Yes, hi, police please¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare!¡± I yelled, rushing towards her grabbing after the phone.


    She had her back to me, fingers clamped around the mobile. I had seconds to stop her. No time to play nice. I shoved her into the back door, her face slamming the glass. It was enough to send the phone bouncing on the tiles sliding towards the fridge. I snatched it up and threw it into the full kitchen sink. No police.


    ¡°Look what you made me do,¡± I hissed as she cowered on the floor. ¡°I was going to be nice to you. I even brought you a present.¡± I paused. ¡°But I suppose you can still make it right again. Just forgive me for earlier. I know cleaning the car will be a nightmare, but you had to be punished.¡±


    ¡°I d-don¡¯t know who the f-fuck you are. Leave me alone.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be like that,¡± I soothed, closing in on her. ¡°You don¡¯t need to pretend now, truly. It¡¯s just you and me. I locked all the doors. Nobody can interrupt us. I know why you did it, why you pretended to be dead. But I saw all the things you were doing, letting me know you still cared. I even saw you in the woods.¡±


    I placed a hand on her head, fingertips rolling down her glossy hair.


    ¡°You sicko.¡±


    Clara sprung to her feet, pushing me away, hurrying anywhere else but here. How could she? I loved her. She loved me. We were going to be a family all together. She needed to be punished some more. To make her see.


    ¡°You told me you loved me,¡± I yelled at where she once stood. ¡°Was that a lie too? Like the funeral?¡±


    I hunted through the house for her, stepping over strewn paperwork and broken glass. She wouldn¡¯t get far from me.


    ¡°Please, give me five minutes? Don¡¯t make me hurt you again. I don¡¯t want to. I love you, Clara, I never stopped loving you. Even after everything you did. It¡¯s all your fault but I can forgive you.¡±


    I peered into the study, checking under the desk, behind the door, all for nothing. I stopped, listening for footsteps. I smiled as I heard the creak, creak, creak of the floorboards above.


    Oh, Clara. You¡¯ll regret this.


    It took only moments to reach her on the stairs, grabbing her deliciously-soft wrist. I could snap it so easily. I wanted to.


    Frozen in place, the shock robbing her of any senses, I could see the fear and fury in her eyes. She wanted to fight back. Yet here she was at my mercy.


    She screamed again and I clamped a hand over her mouth. ¡°Shush, calm down now, my sweet. I just want to talk, alright?¡± Clara nodded. I smiled. ¡°Good. Now, let¡¯s return to the bedroom.¡±


    Yes. That¡¯s right. Surrender to me.


    Step. Step. Step. We¡¯d reached the top of the stairs. Her wrist was still tight in my sweaty palm. I hovered closer, breathing her scent. I wanted to taste that ripe fruit being crushed beneath me. One little bite. What harm could that do? Pinning her tighter, I pressed myself against that lithe body of hers. She tried to wriggle free, but I wasn¡¯t letting go.


    With a muffled cry, she buried her elbow into my stomach. I gritted my teeth and tried to hold on, but she was quick. Spinning, she shoved against me with everything she had and backwards I fell, head bouncing off the stairs, body following after. Pain lanced through my skull, bright and searing as I landed in a heap at the bottom, the room spinning round and round.


    Another scream and I looked up to see something falling, hard and heavy, bang, bang, bang. My hand flew to my head as it landed with a crash, smashing into pieces and clattering down on me. I groaned in pain, pulling my bloodied hand away.


    ¡°I get it,¡± I said, trying to push everything off of me as I stood. ¡°You¡¯re mad at me. I pushed you off the cliff, you pushed me down the stairs. But we¡¯re even now right? Now we can move on?¡±


    Clara wasn¡¯t at the top of the stairs.


    Hobbling, I pushed through the pain and hurried back up.


    ¡°Come on Clara. That¡¯s enough now. Look, you¡¯ve made me bleed.¡± My hand left a bloody print on the door as I pushed it open. ¡°Time to patch me up.¡±


    I saw as Clara scrambled out of the window, red curls catching on the handle. A shriek, then nothing. I rushed to the window.


    ¡°No, no, don¡¯t hurt yourself.¡±


    Below in the darkness lay Clara, half-buried in a bush and still. No, no. You can¡¯t do this to me. I told you before only I was allowed to hurt you. I clambered up into the window, swinging my leg over. Still Clara didn¡¯t move.


    I¡¯m coming, my Juliet.


    I lowered myself quickly, feet reaching for the trellis once again. Brick. Only brick. I froze for a second as I hung limp from the windowsill, feet scrambling at nothing. Where¡¯s the trellis? I couldn¡¯t¡ª


    Sweaty fingers slipped on the sill. Air whooshed by as I plummeted. A sickening crack.


    ¡°Oh god.¡±


    Eyes open. Vision blurred. Clara pulled herself from the bush, untangling from the trellis now on the floor.


    It hurts.


    I couldn¡¯t find the strength to open my mouth.


    She did it. She must have moved the trellis.


    Footsteps stomping away from me. My love, leaving me here. She¡¯s going to get help. Of course. My love would not betray me.


    Coldness seeped in, exhaustion called to me. I¡¯m just going to sleep for a minute until she returns . . .

 Mystery at the Millenium Theatre

    Mystery at the Millennium Theatre


    By Freya Bell


    Freya Bell is a new Canadian writer residing in Alberta with her husband, cat, and dog. The head moderator of Worldsmyths, Freya has helped shape this anthology alongside her co-editors, all driven by her love of speculative fiction.


    #


    Irava stifled a yawn as she placed smelly beads of brown oil onto the workings of a piece of brass machinery built into the floor of the theatre¡¯s backstage. Harnesses dangled far above her head in the rafters, fitted with clever hooks connected to anchors that had once supported the bodies of dozens of wooden marionettes. The marionettes had always said it didn¡¯t hurt, but Irava couldn¡¯t help but flinch at an old memory of them suspended above the audience. It had been years since they had enough functioning marionettes to put on a flying show but the theatre manager liked to keep the machines in working condition, just in case any of the broken marionettes woke up.


    She yawned again and stretched, her back popping. It was late; the theatre curtains were long since drawn and the human dancers were asleep in their dormitories. Only she and Heta were still up, carrying out maintenance on the impressive machinery that made the Millennium Theatre a one-of-a-kind attraction. Sure, the Astaria a few blocks away had a team of professional illusionists that could make you feel like you had been transported to a faraway land. But that was just flashy, untouchable magic. The marionettes that lived and danced on this stage were real and tangible. They could talk to fans, shake their hands, sign autographs for them. An illusion couldn¡¯t do that.


    Irava sighed and reached for her wrench to tighten the bolts on the hoist. The crowds certainly didn¡¯t agree with her, now that more than half of the marionettes had broken down. Fewer and fewer people came to their shows, even the ones with human dancers. The Great Sleep, the marionettes called it. Sleep? It seemed more like dying to Irava, but she wasn¡¯t about to say that to them. It scared them enough as it was.


    ¡°Irava? Are you done yet?¡± Irava¡¯s head jerked up as a voice called from the other end of the backstage area.


    ¡°Yes, Heta. Just a moment,¡± she called back. Despite the oil, the bolts squeaked as she hauled back on the wrench, and the sound seemed too big for the room. The backstage was packed with backdrops, props, and bits of costume; she¡¯d have thought all that fabric would muffle the sound. Perhaps it was the loneliness of the place. Even in childhood this place had felt empty in spite of the clutter. She had been younger than the apprentice dancers when she arrived, and had spent a lot of time playing backstage. Irava could feel the weight of the silence on her shoulders like a physical thing. She chucked her wrench into her toolbox with a groan. Why was she so introspective tonight?


    ¡°Irava, are you coming?¡±


    She stifled a second groan. ¡°Yes, Heta. I¡¯ve just finished up.¡±


    Heta, always with her schedules and perfect order. No doubt the older woman was thinking of Irava¡¯s tendency to daydream. Irava couldn¡¯t help herself; her dreams were so much more real than her life here.


    Irava stood and collected her toolbox. It¡¯s not like life in the theatre was bad. She loved the marionettes. But now that Goldfeather had fallen into the Great Sleep, she had no one she liked to talk to. Heta was old and ornery, and Barnaby was on the opposite shift as her. Even when he had time, he was always running off somewhere.


    Heta was stationed at the other lift over on the opposite side of backstage, and Irava wasn¡¯t in a hurry to meet her. The Head of Maintenance took her duty over the marionettes dead seriously. Her sourness was legendary, enough to almost wrinkle Irava¡¯s uniform with a glance, but she paid it no mind. Heta always looked like that. Nevertheless, she picked up her feet as she hurried over.


    Irava has just passed midstage when a strange sound echoed out of the air vent in the wall beside her. The sound of electrical sparks and grinding metal brought her head up¡ªthe marionette cradles being activated. Irava frowned and set down her toolbox. No one should be in there at this time of night.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be there in a moment, Heta,¡± Irava shouted. ¡°I just need to check something.¡±


    Irava turned right towards the back of the theatre and made her way past props of castles and dragons and silhouettes of painted knights, still needing repainting to prepare for tomorrow¡¯s showing of Prospero¡¯s Revenge. The sound of the cradle machinery powering down echoed through the vents, and she hastened her steps.


    Several doors branched off the back wall of the theatre, leading into a labyrinth of gas-lit hallways and storage rooms. Irava took the first door on the left, past the dormitories of the human performers, past storage rooms for props and instruments. She strode to the back of the theatre, where a tall ornate door stood at the end of a wide hall. The polished dark wood of the door was carved with dancing figures of marionettes, their jointed limbs flung with wild joy.


    Irava tried the handle. Locked, as it should be. But the sound of the machinery had been clear, so someone must be in there.


    There were only a few keys. She had one, Heta had the second. Barnaby had the third key, and Master Blomstadt the fourth. No one had business in the Cradle Room at this hour. She pulled out her own key and stroked its filigree decorations. She had had to work hard to earn it, and the weight of it in her hand always brought her joy.


    The lock turned under the touch of her key, and she eased the heavy door open. Well-oiled, it made no sound as it swung into the Cradle Room.


    The room was narrow, but long. Gas lamps lit themselves as the door opened, another invention of the creator of the marionettes, Alistair Tompre. He had gone missing decades ago, and no one knew what happened to him. The lamps illuminated the strange devices lining both walls, like elongated chairs that the occupant could sit upright in while being fully supported. Forty marionettes slept there, their bodies held in place by deep red leather straps. Their hands lay on armrests set with copper inlays. They had to maintain physical contact with the copper while they rested; it revitalized them.


    If anyone had been here, they were gone now. There was no sign of movement, and the crank at the back of the room was still.


    She had seen inside one cradle once, when the brass panels had been removed to discover if they could be repaired so that the marionettes caught in the Great Sleep could wake up once again. It hadn¡¯t worked; the knowledge required was lost after their inventor¡¯s disappearance, and Master Blomstadt wasn¡¯t about to pay to bring in a University thaumaturge to study them.


    Irava reached out and adjusted a fallen strap on Champion¡¯s cradle. He had only recently been taken by the Great Sleep. She hoped his dreams were sweet, if he dreamed at all.


    Handsome Tom, Lady Moon, The Mariner, Elliott the Grin. They were the few that still woke up. Old Fisheye, Bold Eagle, Benny, Fenn. And Goldfeather. Her friends, now trapped in the Great Sleep.


    She paused in front of Goldfeather¡¯s cradle and brushed the blonde hair from her painted wooden face. They had been friends since Irava had arrived at the theatre as a small child. She¡¯d been her favourite. Heta had allowed her to wake Goldfeather outside of showtimes so they could play together. The Sleep had taken her a few months ago, and Irava tried not to mourn, but it was difficult to act like she wasn¡¯t dead. She sighed and continued down the hall.


    And stopped.


    Marilla¡¯s cradle was empty.


    Irava¡¯s thoughts scrambled. A marionette weighed twice what a full-grown man did. You couldn¡¯t just carry one away. This had to be why she¡¯d heard the machinery moving, but who could have woken her up?


    The inlays. Maybe they came on for her, some sort of¡­ stored charge woke her? There had been a thunderstorm earlier. But no, Marilla would still be in here if she had woken up: the door was locked. Someone had to have taken her.


    She should tell Heta.


    No. Wait. Heta would blame her, say she forgot to lock the door in her daydreaming. What if she was fired! Irava had nowhere else to go, no family, no skills. No, calm down. One step at a time. Marilla wasn¡¯t in her cradle. There had to be a logical explanation.


    Irava would look around, check the area before reporting to Heta. She would look like an idiot if Marilla was found just around the corner.


    She was no investigative Brownstaff, and had no powers to create tracer spells and reveal footsteps. She couldn¡¯t recreate the scene from the wall¡¯s memories. But she had determination. Marilla was a friend. She would find her.


    The door bore no signs of tampering, no tell-tale scrapes from a lockpick. The carpet was clean and unmarked, as was the crank at the back of the room used to wake the marionettes. The crank¡¯s wheels and cogs looked exactly as they had after this evening¡¯s show, though she could hardly claim to understand them.


    The marionettes slept peacefully in their cradles, bodies reclined and unmoving. Unbreathing. There was a time when she found that frightening, but now it was part of the charm of them.


    Marilla¡¯s cradle looked as it always did, polished and gleaming. The straps lay at the sides of the chair and were uncut.


    Basically, the room was pristine, with nothing out of place.


    Irava¡¯s next stop was the equipment room. Located off the back of the Cradle room near the crank, it held everything needed to keep the marionettes dancing-fit. A shelf to Irava¡¯s left held different oils; some for smoothing the action of joints, others for polishing. A pegboard hung beside it, where tools like pliers and screwdrivers rested in orderly rows. The right wall held a long table which Barnaby used to conduct repairs and fix up costumes.


    It was the back wall she was curious about. Barnaby had once mentioned it getting warm in here. It was true: the air was still, and a little on the stuffy side. The large vent, as wide as her arms, was embedded into the wall several feet off the ground. It was made of a light, silvery metal, and, like so many mundane items in the theatre, was pierced by holes that made up the image of two dancing marionettes. It should be more than sufficient to provide fresh air for a room this size, but nothing stirred beyond its grate.


    She may not have the powers of a Brownstaff, but before they even let you attempt a tracer spell, they taught you to study the situation with all your senses.


    Irava closed her eyes.


    Scents of oils and woods filled the air. The scent of a marionette. It was quiet, still. She heard no movement of fans. Maybe it had shut down, with no need for cool air so late at night.


    She opened her eyes and reached up to examine the vent by feel. A thin layer of oil covered the cool metal. Irava frowned and dragged over the chair from the table. Climbing up, the oil tracked up the right edge of the vent. She ran her fingernails under the edge and pulled.


    Something moved.


    She pulled harder. Metal grated on wood as the vent began to pull forward, then stopped. Irava tugged firmly, and something unseen deep within the wall clicked, and the section of wall swung open on silent hinges. Someone had to have oiled them, and recently.


    She smiled and paused before ducking through the secret door. The inside was dark, but light reflected from somewhere further down the tunnel. It was hard to picture someone dragging Marilla¡¯s body down here, but it had to be the only explanation. She crept forward as quietly as she could.


    The passageway led her to a round room with tunnels branching off into the darkness. Pipes and wires and things Irava couldn¡¯t identify lined the walls. Moonlight from windows high above lit the dust motes that swirled in her wake but she couldn¡¯t picture where the windows would appear on the roofline of the Millennium Theatre. The air wasn¡¯t as fresh as it should be, considering the number of vents, but moved enough to stir the loose curls on her forehead if she stood still.


    As she moved into the room, gas lamps on the walls lit themselves. The dust was not entirely undisturbed. Two sets of footprints led from the Cradle Room passageway and off to the right. They could belong to anyone, the imprints plain like a dancer¡¯s shoe. She followed them into the darkness. Vents studded the walls at irregular intervals, allowing the gas-lamp¡¯s light to illuminate her path. Peeking through, she could see into the backs of closets and storage rooms, office spaces and practise halls and into spaces she was pretty sure had no doors.


    Other narrow passageways led off, with stairs going up and down. The footsteps trailed off in different directions - whoever they belonged to, they had wandered far. Irava picked one at random, one that led upward, towards the attics.


    The tunnel twisted and grew narrower, and it wasn¡¯t until she reached a crossroads that she realized the footprints were gone. No thick layer of dust up here. She was lost. Irava spun in a circle, but the passage looked the same in both directions, with unevenly spaced gas lamps and grey brick walls.


    No choice but to continue forward. She came to a crossroads of five passageways before long, but not just any crossroads. A pair of dancing marionettes were depicted in a fine mosaic under her feet, the colours a washed-out orange under the light of the lamps. Above her were skylights showing weak moonlight and a cloudy sky.


    The clouds parted and the moon shone, banishing the orange-tinged shadows to reveal a door set back in a recess. It too bore the motif of dancing marionettes, a circle of them inlaid in gold into its dark wood.


    Irava ran her hands over the engraved metal and paused. Air stirred through cracks in the airlay, just barely, something a marionette could never detect with their wooden hands. She pressed them and they shifted, the air coming stronger from behind the panel of the door. Interesting. She pushed harder and the circle of dancers turned. She applied more pressure. Click. Mechanisms within the door came to life, and the circle of dancers spun.


    The door opened.


    More dust. Irava coughed as she pushed the door open. Every surface was covered in a thick layer of dust. The room was circular, with a dome of skylights. A desk was built into the entire circumference of the room, with papers and books strewn about. Shelving lined the walls, each shelf bearing strange trinkets and baskets of gears and wire. A single chair sat at the desk directly across from the door.


    Irava sprang back. Someone was in the chair. But they weren¡¯t breathing. A Marionette? Her heart beat. Had she found Marilla? She stepped closer, and put her shoulder on the hand of the figure.


    The head slumped forward, coming off the shoulders and rolling over. No, not a head. A skull. It smiled up at her from a nest of dust, and she screamed and jumped back.


    Heart pounding, she stood in place, fighting the urge to flee. Gods, why hadn¡¯t she told Heta? Why had she come here alone, in the middle of the night?


    Collecting her wits, she stepped forward again, hands trembling. The dead person was dressed in antiquated clothing, mouse-nibbled and filthy with the ever-present dust. A heavy gold ring rested on a boney finger, bearing the initials A.T.


    Her eyes went wide, and her fear was forgotten. It couldn¡¯t be. She took another step, and brushed the dust away from the notebook the hand was resting on. She picked it up. Inside were diagrams of marionettes. She recognized Marilla, Alonzo, Ava Maria. And there were drawings of the cradles, with tiny notations. Her heart beat faster.


    Allistair Tompre. She hadn¡¯t found Marilla. She had found the long-lost inventor of the mechanisms that the theatre was built on.


    Journal clutched to her chest like the treasure it was, she spun and headed back into the corridors. This time she had to tell Heta. And Master Blomdstadt, and Barnaby. Everyone! With these notes, the theatre was saved.


    *************


    Irava retraced her footsteps in the dust and made it back to the Cradle Room. She locked the door behind her and raced back to the hoists, footsteps echoing through the empty halls as she ran. She found the Head of Maintenance in the tool room just off backstage, putting away their tool boxes onto a tall shelving unit.


    ¡°Heta! Marilla, the Cradle Room, I just found--¡±


    ¡°Whoa!¡± Heta¡¯s hand came down on the shelf with a crack. ¡°First you disappear, leaving me to pull the hoists up by myself, and now you babble nonsense at me? Slow down, girl.¡±


    Irava took a deep breath. ¡°Marilla is missing.¡±


    Heta gaped at her. ¡°What do you mean, missing?¡±


    ¡°I mean, I thought I heard the Cradle crank so I went to investigate--¡±


    Heta turned and strode towards the Cradle Room, leaving Irava to scramble in her wake. ¡°The crank? Why didn¡¯t you come to me first?¡±


    ¡°I thought I was imagining it! So, I went to check, and Marilla was gone! The room is empty, no signs of tampering. And that¡¯s not all I found.¡± Irava paused, barely able to find the words. Heta raised an eyebrow and Irava took an excited breath. ¡°Alistair Tompre¡¯s hidden office. I found it!¡±


    Irava thrust the book into Heta¡¯s hands and bounced on her toes.  Heta flipped the pages of the book with trembling fingers and exchanged a misty-eyed glance with Irava. ¡°After all these years¡­¡±


    Irava took the book back and tucked it into her coat. ¡°Marilla is still missing. The book has waited decades for us. It can wait a few hours more. We must find out where she has been taken.¡±


    ¡°Taken. That is a frightening proposition, the idea that someone can get in there without us,¡± said Heta before sighing. ¡°Go fetch Master Blomstadt, and Barnaby and bring them to the Cradle Room. I will meet you there.¡±


    ***


    A few minutes later, Irava stood in the Cradle Room with a furious Heta and a bedraggled Master Blomstadt. The Theatre Master wasn¡¯t pleased at being woken up, but he at least agreed the matter was serious enough to warrant his attention. Barnaby slunk into the room a few minutes later, still doing his shirt up.


    The Theatre Master surveyed the empty cradle with his hands on his hips. ¡°Who was here tonight?¡± asked Blomstadt, his voice gruff.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Heta nodded at Irava. ¡°We were, sir, doing the monthlies on the theatre equipment.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡± Master Blomstadt pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°Heta, go up to the dormitories, bring everyone to the theatre. Barnaby, go around to the kitchens and round up the staff. Irava, lock the doors. No one is to leave until I¡¯ve questioned them.¡±


    Heta pointed at Marilla¡¯s empty cradle, vibrating with emotion. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t one of us go for a Brownstaff? A crime has occurred!¡±


    ¡°A Brownstaff? Honestly Heta, after how they handled the murder of the lady of Deveron? We¡¯ll report this later. For now, we are treating this as an internal matter, simply misplaced property.¡± He held up a hand to forestall Heta¡¯s indignant reply. ¡°Yes, Heta, property. That¡¯s all she is in the eyes of the law, no matter how amazing her inner workings are.¡±


    Irava coughed. ¡°If I may, sir?¡± Blomstadt waved for her to continue. ¡°I know I¡¯m not a Brownstaff, but I¡¯d still like to help investigate. Marilla is a good friend of mine. I want to find who took her.¡±


    Blomstadt hesitated a moment before nodding. ¡°Yes, of course. Wake the marionettes, they might have seen something. Try to reassure them. You know how upset they get when one of them goes into the Sleep. They might refuse to perform tomorrow night.¡±


    Heta frowned. ¡°Sir, with all due respect, Marilla is our princess. We can hardly put on Prospero¡¯s Revenge without her.¡±


    ¡°Yes, we can. One of the chorus girls has been understudying, what¡¯s her name, the little blonde one. She can do it.¡±


    ¡°Taera? She¡¯s not ready!¡± said Heta.


    ¡°Heta, please. This is a business. You can¡¯t run a theatre with no shows, and we are struggling enough as it is. Irava, you can start your investigation after I¡¯ve addressed everyone. Now go.¡±


    ***


    The Millennium Theatre had a seating capacity of over one thousand and was once considered the most beautiful theatre in all of Helpurnia. Now though, its midnight blue curtains and plush purple seats were faded, and the stars and planets that covered the ceiling needed re-guilding. Still, it had a sense of dignity, of remembered splendor. Carved marionettes danced up the wooden arms, a motif that continued through the entire theatre, from the railings on the stairs to the mantels about the fireplaces. Irava bowed her head as she found her seat.


    Ten minutes after having been informed of his star performer being missing, Master Blomstadt paced the stage, hands clasped behind his wide back, as the human staff gathered before him. Heta and Master Comard stood off to the side with healthy space between them. Their rivalry was legendary. As more marionettes fell asleep, the theatre relied more on Master Comard¡¯s human performers to fill in the gaps.


    Heta had recovered her composure. Her iron grey hair was firmly in place in her habitual bun, her green and purple uniform pristine. Master Comard waited at the edge of the stage with ill grace. Heta hadn¡¯t given him time to do his hair or put on his makeup before hauling him down, and his foul mood showed. He wore an emerald green dressing gown over a simple blue nightgown, and his long blonde hair lay loose around his shoulders. No doubt his chill gaze was why the chorus girls were sitting so quietly.


    Irava jumped when a hand touched her shoulder. Barnaby sat behind her, looking dishevelled and out of breath. His shoulder-length brown hair was mussed, and his shirt still partially unbuttoned. She raised an eyebrow at him.


    Barnaby shrugged, blushing. ¡°I had to run to get the kitchen staff up. What have I missed?¡±


    ¡°Nothing yet. Oh, shush, I think Master Blomstadt is about to speak.¡±


    The theatre manager stopped his pacing and took center stage. His solemn expression and posture invited the audience to lean in and hear his words. He had been an actor once.


    His deep voice filled the room. ¡°Thank you for gathering so quickly. Some of you have already heard, but for those who haven¡¯t, I can confirm the whispers. Marilla has been taken, a theft that happened less than an hour ago.¡±


    He held up his hand to smother the chatter and questions that sprang up from the front rows.


    ¡°I don¡¯t yet know what happened tonight, but I intend to find out. I have had the building locked. No one is to come or go until I¡¯ve had a chance to interview everyone. You will remain here while I conduct these interviews, under the watch of Master Comard. While you wait, please think of earlier tonight. Did you hear anything unusual, or see anyone who shouldn¡¯t be here? Remember, you aren¡¯t in trouble. We simply want to find out what happened to our beloved princess.¡± A blonde chorus girl snuck to find her seat from the side wings, and Blomstadt glared at her before continuing. ¡°Heta, report back with what the marionettes say, I want to know if they saw anything too. Thank you everyone for your cooperation.¡±


    Talk filled the theatre as Blomstadt walked offstage. Irava pushed herself to her feet and hurried to follow Heta backstage. She passed the chorus girls, and earned a glare from Taera. The pretty blonde was combing her fingers through her long hair with a sneer.


    ¡°You there, marionette girl. Is it true that Marilla is dead?¡± asked Taera.


    Irava rolled her eyes. ¡°You know my name, Taera. We¡¯ve worked together since we were twelve.¡± Taera sniffed and shrugged her shoulders. ¡°And she¡¯s not dead. She¡¯s just missing. But don¡¯t worry, we¡¯ll find her.¡¯


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m not worried. I¡¯m thrilled. It¡¯s about time this theatre moved into the modern age, and put these silly wooden toys away.¡±


    One of Taera¡¯s friends gasped, hand to her mouth. ¡°Taera, you can¡¯t say that! The marionettes are the only reason people come to see us!¡±


    Taera¡¯s sneer intensified. ¡°As far as I¡¯m concerned, whoever took Marilla can come and take the rest of them. Good riddance.¡±


    Irava bit back sharp words and shouldered her way past the chorus girls without comment, and made her way backstage.


    Barnaby joined her as she passed through the velvet curtains. ¡°What did Taera have to say?¡±


    ¡°That she hopes all the marionettes get taken. I can¡¯t believe her!¡±


    Barnaby flinched. ¡°I¡¯m sure she didn¡¯t say it quite like that.¡±


    Irava turned to Barnaby. ¡°Look, I know you¡¯re sweet on her.¡± He flinched again. ¡°But she¡¯s pure trouble! She wants us to be like any other theatre on the promenade, and then you and I are out of a job. She¡¯s not worth it!¡±


    Barnaby sighed, but was spared replying by Heta¡¯s famous glare. The Head of Maintenance motioned for them to follow, and they made their way back to the Cradle Room together as Irava filled them in on what she had found so far.


    Irava coughed and broke the tension. ¡°Do you think someone from the theatre could have had a hand in this?¡±


    Barnaby shook his head. ¡°I hope not. Why would they? Everyone¡­ well, almost everyone... loves the marionettes. They¡¯re the reason any of us have a job.¡±


    ¡°A rival theatre, one that only has human performers?¡±


    ¡°Who would bother?¡± Heta pointed out. ¡°Everyone knows we¡¯re just a lingering fancy. With Marilla gone we only have four marionettes left, and you¡¯ve seen how slow Elliot the Grin has been blinking. It won¡¯t be long before the Sleep claims him too.¡±


    The door to the Cradle Room loomed before them. Heta unlocked it, and walked to the end of the room, where a large crank stuck out of the wall. Irava followed her.


    She stopped dead.


    There was another empty cradle.


    ¡°Heta!¡±


    The older woman turned and gasped. ¡°Champion! But how?¡± Heta¡¯s fists clenched and her jaw tightened for a moment before she sighed and released her tension. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to be done for him now. Best we can do is to continue to investigate.¡± She stepped up onto the copper plating in the floor and pulled a pair of bracelets off a hook on the wall. The mechanisms didn¡¯t work without the bracelets; Irava had tried.


    The crank made a loud clicking sound as it activated the mechanisms hidden behind the walls. Irava stood in front of Handsome Tom¡¯s cradle and waited for her cue. The wires that led from the wall to his cradle vibrated, and Irava pulled a tiny key out from under her shirt.


    She pulled the scarf down from Handsome Tom¡¯s neck to reveal a keyhole. Red sparks fizzed up from the copper plates under his hands, and she inserted the key and turned it slowly. To her left, Barnaby was patting at his shirt and pockets. Heta hurried over to Elliot the Grin and pulled out her own key, nudging Barnaby towards the crank to continue working it. She stuck her key in Elliot¡¯s throat while the sparks still flowed and turned it five and three-quarter times.


    Handsome Tom¡¯s eyelids fluttered and Irava held her breath as his face transformed from inanimate wood to something magical. The intricate joints of his face that emulated muscles twitched and jittered as his lifeblood pumped once more.


    His glass eyes popped open, a startling milky green that would be impossible on a human. Wooden lips smiled at her and she tried to smile back as she removed the key. The marionette flexed his finely carved hands and undid the straps that held him in place. Irava undid the straps around his waist and helped him step out of the cradle.


    He yawned and stretched, joints creaking.


    ¡°Good morning Miss Irava, how are¨C,¡± His echoing voice froze as he caught the look on Irava¡¯s face. ¡°Did something happen?¡± He looked around the room. ¡°Where¡¯s Marilla?¡±


    ¡°Tom, I need to ask you some questions.¡± Irava¡¯s voice was barely audible. She took a deep breath. ¡°Marilla¡¯s missing, gone from her cradle.¡±


    The Mariner gasped and stumbled as he climbed out of his cradle. Tom looked to Heta, who stood just behind Lady Moon.


    ¡°Heta, what happened?¡±


    ¡°Tom, she¡¯s¡­ she¡¯s gone. Someone has taken her. Champion, too.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean gone? Did she fall asleep somewhere else?¡± said the Mariner.


    Tom bowed his head. He and Marilla were close. She played the princess; he played her lover. Always.


    Irava cleared her throat. ¡°Master Blomstadt is questioning the others and sent us here to wake you. I know it¡¯s unlikely, seeing that you were asleep, but do you remember anything?¡±


    Lady Moon shook her head, red curls swaying against the white paint on her throat. ¡°We followed our routine, same as every night. Marilla was looking forward to another showing of Prospero¡¯s Revenge, and we went to sleep by the ninth bell like always. And we all sleep so soundly, I recall nothing between falling asleep, and waking up.¡±


    The Mariner nodded in agreement and plopped his leather hat over his grey wig. Elliot looked away and covered his permanent, broken grin with a wooden hand.


    ¡°Elliot, have you got something to add?¡± asked Irava.


    Elliot shuffled his feet and stared at the ground. The Mariner nudged him. ¡°Elliot, the lady asked you a question.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ I haven¡¯t been sleeping well lately.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Elliot.¡± Heta reached out and patted his arm. ¡°That means nothing, maybe we just need to replace your copper plates.¡±


    Elliot shook his head sadly. ¡°That¡¯s what we tried for Goldfeather too, but she never woke up again, did she?¡± He sighed. ¡°But, that¡¯s unimportant. I heard voices last night as I drifted in and out of sleep. A man¡¯s voice. I couldn¡¯t hear what he said, he was too far away, but I think I heard the crank too. I think he woke Marilla up.¡±


    Irava raised her eye at Barnaby, who flushed and looked away. ¡°I talk to myself when I do maintenance, so what? I didn¡¯t do anything to Marilla.¡±


    Heta nodded. ¡°Of course, Barnaby. We don¡¯t suspect you, do we, Irava?


    Irava paused. ¡°There¡¯s still the matter of Elliot hearing a man¡¯s voice, and you¡¯ve admitted to being in here alone¡±


    Barnaby flushed bright red. ¡°It¡¯s not like that! I would never do anything to harm the marionettes. You aren¡¯t the only one that loves them, you know.¡±


    ¡°Then talk, Barnaby. Why was Elliott hearing a man¡¯s voice?¡±


    Barnaby flushed deeper, mouth working as he searched for words. He muttered something under his breath.


    ¡°What was that?¡± asked Irava in a sharp voice.


    He clenched and unclenched his fists. ¡°I was in here with Taera. That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s why I had my shirt off.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Oh!¡± said Irava, exasperated.  ¡°Barnaby! She had better corroborate this.¡±


    Barnaby winced. ¡°I hope so, too. You know what Master Comard thinks about ¡®fraternization¡¯¡±.


    Heta sniffed. ¡°He thinks, rightly, the chorus girls and the theatre staff shouldn¡¯t let themselves get so distracted!¡±


    ¡°Speaking of distracted,¡± interjected Irava, ¡°We should get back on task. Assuming Barnaby¡¯s story is true, that still leaves a mysterious person or persons working the machinery and taking marionettes.¡± She gestured up the length of the space. ¡°If it wasn¡¯t for the sound of the machinery I heard earlier, I would have assumed one of us just forgot to lock the door, and that Marilla¡¯s cradle malfunctioned and she just woke up and wandered off.¡±


    ¡°Marilla would do no such thing!¡± Tom spat with a glare. ¡°She loved performing, she loved us! She would never leave us.¡±


    Irava¡¯s face softened. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Tom, I didn¡¯t mean anything by it. You know how these old things are. Maybe there was a malfunction, maybe the cradle gave her nightmares and she didn¡¯t know what she was doing.¡±


    Tom turned away, arms crossed and face hard. ¡°The theatre is our life. None of us would do anything to jeopardize it.¡±


    Irava patted his hard arm. ¡°I know, Tom. We just have to explore every possible explanation, no matter how absurd. Is there anything else you can tell us about Marilla? Has she run into any trouble with the staff, the performers?¡±


    Tom hesitated a moment before dropping his arms. ¡°Marilla¡¯s a good person.¡±


    ¡°I know, Tom.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ The human performers annoyed her. She was always saying things about them, how clumsy they are. But they were just complaints, she barely even talked to the girls.¡±


    Irava nodded. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, Taera doesn¡¯t think much of Marilla, either.¡±


    Tom flinched at the name, but offered no explanation.


    Irava frowned at him, but turned to Heta. ¡°I think we¡¯ve learned all we can here. It¡¯s time we go into the vents.¡±


    Leading the others, Irava retraced her footsteps and found her way back to the prints in the dust. She pointed to them. ¡°See here? I followed them as far as I could, but some passages are less dusty than others, and I lost the trail. That¡¯s when I found the office and the notes. I can lead you there after we find Marilla.¡±


    Heta nodded, and they split up to cover more passageways..


    Irava continued down the leftmost passage. The floor was clean and dust free, but ten minutes of wandering the footprints reappeared. They came and went, accompanied at times by a second set of larger footprints. Whoever had taken Marilla had definitely come this way.


    The lights were more sparse here, and in the darkness she ran into an unseen set of stairs. She rubbed her bruised toes and sat on the step with a groan. But wait. Somewhere above her. Was that a voice?


    Irava stood and slowly felt her way up the staircase. Yes, two voices: a man¡¯s and a woman¡¯s. They sounded familiar, but the echo distorted them, and she couldn¡¯t quite determine to whom they belonged.


    Light shone from a large vent at the top of the tall, narrow staircase. She slowed as the voices grew louder. They were near the vent, on the other side. She crept up to it, noting that both large and small footprints disturbed the dust here.


    ¡°...Replace me! I¡¯m not about to let that filthy air breather take everything I¡¯ve built up here,¡± said the woman, her voice sharp and biting.


    ¡°Master Blomstadt would never let that happen; he knows we are the reason people come to the Millenium Theatre. Please, just let Taera go and come back to the Cradle Room!¡± The man¡¯s voice was pleading and tired.


    ¡°Silence! If you want to see your Goldfeather awake, you will help me with this.¡±


    The man moaned with frustration.


    Irava crept closer. She knew those voices, she was certain. The vent opened up onto the top of the stairs that led to the dormitories. The door into the women¡¯s rooms was on the right, the men¡¯s on the left. The staircase itself was wide and carpeted, to minimize the echoes. She almost didn¡¯t see the speakers in the faint gas-light at first. They stood perfectly still. It was their lack of breathing that finally allowed the clues to come together in her mind.


    She had found Marilla.


    The marionette stood facing her, with the silhouette of a larger male figure blocking most of Irava¡¯s view. But she¡¯d recognize that strongman costume anywhere, with the fake lion skin cape and the leather breeches. It was Champion. But hadn¡¯t he fallen into the Great Sleep?


    There was a third figure, a human girl tied up at the top of the stairs, mouth kept shut by a length of cloth. Taera! But Marilla wouldn¡¯t really hurt her, would she?


    Marilla hissed, her normally smiling face contorted with rage. Champion had his huge hand wrapped around her upper arm, and she twitched with a half-hearted attempt to escape his grasp. But Champion held strong and muttered something under his breath. Marilla shook her head and replied with bared teeth, and pointed towards Taera with her free arm. Champion made a cutting motion and began pulling her towards the vent Irava was hiding behind.


    Irava scrambled backwards, but before Champion could reach the vent, Marilla reached into her embroidered silk robe and brought out a knife. She stabbed it into the joint of Champion¡¯s arm, and he released Marilla with a surprised yelp. Marilla ran towards Taera, but Champion caught her by the back of her wig, pulling her back. Irava scrambled at the vent, trying to open it. Marilla spun and grabbed the knife out of Champion¡¯s arm and swung it at him, scoring his wooden chest. But he refused to let go. She struggled, wig ripping, and slashed at Champion again.


    Champion dodged backwards, and Marilla fell forward. He tried to catch her, but she had too much momentum, and went crashing down the stairs. Her wooden skull bounced off several steps as she tumbled head over heels. She hit the bottom with a thunderous crack and lay still.


    Irava scrambled with numb fingers at the vent. Champion approached Marilla with slow steps, the joints of his face turned down with grief. Irava pushed the vent open with a clang, and Champion looked back at her, frozen.


    ¡°Champion, wait!¡± said Irava. Her voice broke Champion¡¯s pose, and he bolted down the stairs. He hesitated at Marilla¡¯s prone form before running off towards backstage.


    Irava hurried to Taera. She tore off the cloth and Taera burst into tears.


    ¡°She was going to kill me, she said she would!¡± Taera wailed. Irava undid the ropes binding her and nearly toppled over as Taera threw herself into her arms. ¡°Thank you, thank you! You saved my life.¡±


    It was difficult to pull Taera¡¯s arms off of her, but Irava managed to wiggle out of her grasp. She took a deep, calming breath and ran her hands through her curls. ¡°I think you should be thanking Champion, not me. There¡¯s no way I would have been able to stop her myself.¡±


    Irava stood and approached Marilla as she lay crumpled at the foot of the stairs like last year¡¯s playbill. Her face was crushed and broken, and one shiny eye was missing. Her left arm was flung to the side at an unnatural angle, and the dark wood of her shattered form glistened in the light from the gas lamps. The fluids that passed as her lifeblood leaked into the carpet, staining it a vibrant mustard yellow. Irava stared, speechless with disbelief. Tears prickled her eyes, and she knelt and reverently closed the one remaining eye. Marilla may have been murderous, but with so few marionettes left in the world, it was still a tragedy.


    The sound of Marilla falling down the stairs had travelled far. Heta burst from the open vent, followed closely by Barnaby. Taera ran and threw herself into a baffled Heta¡¯s arms, who patted her back awkwardly. Irava watched as their eyes traveled from her to Marilla¡¯s body and put her hands up.


    ¡°I realize how this must look,¡± said Irava.


    Heta¡¯s face was hard as she approached. ¡°Explain.¡±


    Irava took a deep breath and told her of the unseen voices. Heta¡¯s face moved from anger to incredulity to sadness as she described the struggle between Marilla and Champion.


    ¡°...Marilla was saying something about being replaced by the human dancers. She was trying to get Champion to do something to Taera. I think¡­ I think she meant for him to kill her.¡±


    ¡°This is almost too much to take in. Taera, can you confirm this?¡± said Heta.


    Taera sniffled and nodded. ¡°Marilla¡¯s always hated the dancers. She said such horrible things to me.¡±


    Heta sighed. ¡°What a mess. We must go into the tunnels if we are to untangle it. Approach Champion slowly if you do see him. The boy has a good heart, he would hurt no one on purpose.¡±


    A sound from inside the walls¡ªfootsteps in the distance. Heta gasped. ¡°He¡¯s in the vents.¡±


    Irava led them into the network of tunnels, pausing from time to time to listen for the echoes of Champion¡¯s footsteps. They went down a different path than before and the passageway led steeply downward and turned in on itself in a spiral. Gas lamps sputtered to life as they passed and lit the ramp with orange light. The dancing marionette motif of the vent carving continued here on the walls.


    The dusty footprints opened up to a second round room, much larger than the passageways above. Rows of shelves lined the doorway, bearing marionette limbs and half-carved heads. Tables hooked up to wires that disappeared into the ceiling stood in the center of the room in a circle.


    And on the far side of the room, beside glowing tanks of yellow lifeblood, was a cringing marionette. Champion. The strongman marionette was curled up on the floor, hands covering his face.


    Heta motioned for him to step forward and Champion reluctantly stood.


    ¡°Alright Champion, slowly now. What¡¯s going on here. Who woke you? I thought you were in the Great Sleep?¡±


    The bulky marionette shuffled forward, head bowed.


    ¡°I was never asleep, Sir. Marilla woke me, made me pretend to be in the Great Sleep so I could help her.¡±


    Irava and Heta exchanged a confused glance.


    ¡°But who woke her up? What happened with her, up by the dormitory?¡± asked Irava


    ¡°She woke herself up. The copper inlays just came on sometimes, and¡­ I¡¯m so sorry Miss Irava. Marilla, oh, Marilla.¡± Champion covered his face with his hands, sobs echoing up from the barrel of his chest. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to do it! We were fighting. She was trying to get up to the dormitories. She didn¡¯t want them training to take her place. She hated them. I tried to stop her, but she attacked me. She went down, so I ran.¡±


    ¡°You ran here? Why?¡± asked Irava.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know what else to do! When Marilla first woke me up, she promised that she could fix the others, so of course I said yes. I¡¯d love to see my Goldfeather again.¡±


    Irava held up a hand. ¡°Marilla knows how to fix the marionettes? Why did she leave everyone to sleep?¡±


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t know how to, not yet. She¡¯s been looking for Master Tompre¡¯s office. He kept it hidden, even from us,¡± Champion turned and gestured at the lifeblood tanks. ¡°I came here to see if I could wake Goldfeather up myself, now that Marilla is¡­ Gods. I can¡¯t believe she fell. I never wanted that to happen!¡±


    ¡°I believe you, Champion. We all know you would never hurt anyone on purpose,¡± said Irava.


    Heta cleared her throat. ¡°What¡¯s this about Marilla waking herself up, that¡¯s what I want to hear about. Did she turn her own key?¡±


    Champion¡¯s shaggy blonde hair swayed as he shook his head. ¡°No, nothing like that. She said it was her Cradle, it didn¡¯t stay off. Marilla didn¡¯t need a key because the copper plates were always active for her. She¡¯s been wandering around this place by herself for months now, trying to find the office.¡±


    Irava cleared her throat and held up the leather notebook. ¡°About that¡­¡±


    Barnaby gasped at the sight of A.T. stamped on the cover. ¡°Is that¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen that before, it¡¯s his!¡± said Champion.


    ¡°It¡¯s true, these are Master Tompre¡¯s notes. Oh, Heta! We might be able to wake everyone else up!¡± Irava¡¯s smile faded. ¡°But first we must attend to Marilla. Move her to the maintenance room, now that we have Master Tompre¡¯s notes it may be possible to repair her. Even if she was mad with rage. But after that, we celebrate. The Millennium Theatre has a future again.¡±

 Of Full Moons and Moonshine by Marty Kesslar

    ¡°Grandpa! You promised us a story.¡±


    Patrick McGillicuddy grinned wryly at his twelve-year-old grandson, Michael. Putting an empty tankard down on the table, he said, ¡°That I did, but have you come prepared to listen?¡±


    It warmed Patrick¡¯s old heart to see the boy nodding, even if it was only once. Patrick turned to his nine-year-old granddaughter Mary and raised an eyebrow. ¡°And have you got time for your grandpa¡¯s tales?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Mary gleefully sat in a chair, her eyes shining in her excitement. ¡°Grandmum Sheila told us you had seen the fairies long ago. Can you tell us that one?¡±


    ¡°Sheila told you about the fairies, eh?¡± Patrick chuckled. ¡°I suppose I can tell you about that. Though I have a question for you two. Do you believe in the good folk?¡±


    Mary nodded but Michael only shrugged, and Patrick wondered briefly if his grandson would have reacted differently if the story were about trains or wars. The old man raised a kind eyebrow. ¡°You doubt, Michael?¡±


    The boy shrugged again as he slumped into another chair. ¡°Well, I haven¡¯t seen them.¡±


    Turning to the small table beside him, Patrick filled his tankard with his famous home-brewed moonshine. Taking a sip, he relished in the taste. It was almost the same as his father used to brew but somehow a touch better than his old man¡¯s. Throughout his long life he had never tasted anything quite like his own recipe for moonshine.


    Patrick sat once more in his large armchair and ran a thumb over the worn cap of his cane. ¡°You might see the good folk if you walked through the crossroads on the full moon.¡±


    Leaping up from her chair, Mary ran to the small window. ¡°Really? It¡¯s the full moon tonight! Can we go?¡±


    Laughing, Patrick placed his tankard back on the table. ¡°Sheila would box our ears if we did something so foolish. But I can do something better.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Mary asked, turning away from the window.


    The old man lowered his voice into a theatrical whisper. ¡°I can tell you about the time I talked with the queen of fairies.¡±


    Michael rolled his eyes. ¡°Fairies are only stories you old folk come up with to keep us from having fun outside.¡±


    ¡°And if I told you that I saw them with my own eyes?¡± Patrick asked, taking another swig.


    Michael hesitated. ¡°You swear?¡±


    Nodding solemnly, he replied, ¡°By the saints above us, I swear I saw the good folk.¡±


    ¡°Oh enough of this,¡± Mary said, walking back to her chair and settled into it. ¡°Tell us the story!¡±


    Thumping his cane lightly against the floor, Patrick launched into his tale.


    ¡°When I was a young man, nearing the end of my apprenticeship years, my mum, that would be your great grandma, bid me go to my friend Ryan¡¯s house.¡±


    ¡°Was Ryan a fairy?¡± Mary whispered.


    Patrick grinned. ¡°Far from it. A more solid lad you¡¯ve never met. He didn¡¯t believe in the fairies either. Rather like Michael here.¡±


    His grandson looked ready to protest this notion but Patrick tapped his cane on the floor again. Seeing his grandson start down the path of discarding the world of wonder and beauty for the more mechanized world of logic and purpose broke Patrick¡¯s heart. Holding his grandson¡¯s eyes in his gaze, his inner resolve settled. ¡°All I ask is that you listen.¡±


    After a moment of consideration, Michael gave a slow nod.


    Smiling, Patrick continued. ¡°My mum had entrusted me with the task of giving a fresh cheese to Ryan¡¯s mum. That would be Mrs. Callahan, it would. As Mum handed me the bundle, she reminded me that while the road was fair in the day, it was perilous after dusk. But I barely heard her warning for in my youthful enthusiasm, I estimated that I could get to Mrs. Callahan¡¯s and return well before the shades of dusk fell.¡±


    ¡°But did you?¡± Mary asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m getting there, young Mary. I started off bright and early. My mother had given me my old father¡¯s hawthorn walking stick. Even though he had passed on, God bless him, we thought a little bit of his protective spirit resided in that old hawthorn stick.¡±


    Michael snorted. ¡°Really?¡±


    Patrick raised an eyebrow. ¡°Yes, we did. Whenever my mum or I had that stick, no harm befell us. Even if we fell from a cliff or slipped near a bog, we came to no harm.¡±


    ¡°Do you still have it?¡± Mary whispered in awe.


    Patrick grinned. ¡°Of course I do.¡±


    ¡°Can you show us?¡± she asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s right there,¡± he pointed to a rather worn but trusty-looking walking stick leaning against the corner of the house. Mary¡¯s eyes widened and even Michael looked at it curiously.


    ¡°Now, if you keep interrupting me, I¡¯ll never finish. So hush with your questions until I¡¯m done, eh?¡± Patrick grinned to lessen the sting of his words.


    Mary settled in her chair again and Michael¡¯s eyes wandered to the window. Patrick sighed a little as he watched his grandson.


    ¡°So, there I was,¡± he continued, ¡°walking on the road to Ryan¡¯s house with my trusty walking stick in one hand and the fresh cheese in my satchel. The journey there caused no alarm, though I must say the back of my neck prickled as I passed the old oak trees at the crossroads. You know the ones. That crossroad appeared so peaceful but I didn¡¯t trust it, so I clutched my walking stick and hurried through. It felt as though eyes watched me and I fairly flew the rest of the way.¡±


    ¡°So you didn¡¯t see the fairies then?¡± Mary asked, disappointment creeping into her voice.


    ¡°No, I didn¡¯t,¡± Patrick replied. He lowered his voice and added, ¡°But I will tell you that I felt mighty queer having those ghostly eyes staring at me. I made it to Ryan¡¯s house and it was a merry meeting. I gave Mrs. Callahan the cheese and while Ryan and I tusseled playfully as we did when we were younger, Mrs. Callahan made a plate of some bread and cheese for a small meal.¡±


    Patrick leaned in closer to Mary and Michael and said in a lower voice, ¡°But when I prepared to leave, Mrs. Callahan looked out the window, and what do you think she chanced to see?¡±


    Mary bounced a little. ¡°The sunset!¡±


    ¡°Exactly. As I put on my coat and grabbed my trusty stick, she pulled me aside. ¡®Patrick,¡¯ said she, ¡®I don¡¯t like the idea of you going out after dark like this. The perils of the crossroads are dangerous tonight for us mortal folk.¡¯


    ¡°¡®You mean the fairies are there?¡¯ I asked her.


    ¡°¡®Tis the full moon. They hold their court there and it isn¡¯t wise for mortals to be caught in their mischief.¡¯


    ¡°I stood up straight. ¡®I have my walking stick. Pperhaps I can walk around the crossroads and not use the road.¡¯


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    ¡°Ryan¡¯s mum shook her head. ¡®That is even more dangerous, for the will-o-the-wisps are likely to bring you to your doom. You must stick to the path and run through that crossroads like the hounds of hell are at your heels. Don¡¯t stop until you are far away from that crossroad.¡¯¡±


    Mary interrupted. ¡°But why is it so dangerous?¡±


    Patrick smiled wryly. ¡°It is dangerous to disturb the fairies at their sport, for they don¡¯t like being interrupted. They have the power to change me into anything they want, or to take my cows, or my mum, or make my life miserable in a hundred different ways. I know you wish to see the fairies, Mary. But listen to more of my tale.¡±


    Mary settled once more, listening intently.


    ¡°I now had my mum¡¯s warning of walking after dusk, and also Ryan¡¯s mum¡¯s warning about the crossroads. Clutching my father¡¯s walking stick tightly, I hoped his spirit was indeed with me as I walked the path towards the crossroads.


    ¡°As dusk fell around me and shadows began to linger, my nerves tightened. I¡¯d walked this path a hundred times in the day, but there¡¯s something about the darkness that gives a familiar landscape new terrors.¡±


    Michael scoffed. ¡°You were scared?¡± Patrick shifted in his chair. ¡°I was. Only a fool wouldn¡¯t be. As the night creatures started making their noises, I crested the hill and the full moon¡¯s light illuminated the crossroads before me. I watched them for a good while, making note if anything crossed them. I saw two hares dash across, but that was it. Glancing off to the surrounding countryside, I saw the little will-o-the-wisps. I knew not to follow those for they led to the bogs. There wasn¡¯t anything else for it; I had to run through the crossroads. Both Mum¡¯s words and Mrs. Callahan¡¯s words stayed close in my mind as I cautiously stepped towards the place where the two roads crossed. The full moon reigned in the sky as I inched closer. Every sense clamored that I was being watched. My heart began to race and I clutched my walking stick tight as I prepared to run.


    ¡°But before I could take a step, a woman¡¯s deep voice rang out through the clearing.


    ¡°¡®Who dares enter my domain?¡¯¡±


    Mary gasped. ¡°The fairies!¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s telling the story, eh?¡±


    Patrick tapped the cane against the floor. Mary grinned and settled in to listen some more.


    ¡°The fairy that spoke was not just any fairy. As I started to run, I tripped spectacularly and landed at the feet of the most beautiful woman I have ever beheld. I can still remember her red dress, her long, raven-black hair, and her piercing silver eyes. I felt trapped as those eyes examined me from head to toe, her lips tightening into a straight line. I scrambled to my feet and held my trusty stick in front of me, hoping against hope that my father¡¯s spirit could protect me from this strange woman.¡±


    ¡°Was she the queen of fairies?¡± Mary asked.


    Michael rolled his eyes. ¡°Well, he did say he would tell us the story of meeting the queen of fairies.¡±


    ¡°It could have been one of her ladies in waiting,¡± Mary shot back.


    ¡°It was indeed the queen of fairies. Now hush your noise,¡± Patrick interrupted. ¡°But there was another fairy with her, a cheerful fellow, though he did rather delight in making sport of me.¡±


    ¡°Who was that?¡± Mary asked.


    Patrick hesitated, wanting to reprimand Mary for interrupting once more, but then his eyes settled on Michael. Maybe, just maybe, he could bring back the childlike wonder to his grandson¡¯s eyes. Michael had always loved stories involving one particular character when he was younger. Patrick whispered the name, as if a magic spell. ¡°Robin Goodfellow.¡±


    ¡°Robin was there?¡± Michael gasped. The boy straightened in his chair, eyes widening.


    Seeing his grandson suddenly gain interest in the story gladdened Patrick¡¯s old heart. ¡°Aye, that he was. He was the one that tripped me and laughed as I tried to regain my composure. I didn¡¯t like being laughed at, so I bristled a little as the queen and Robin conversed.¡±


    ¡°First the queen asked how any mortal could be so foolish as to cross her, and Robin replied, ¡®Ah, but this young man appears to have been wanting only to pass through before I tripped him up.¡¯


    ¡°Before I could say anything in my defense, my trusty stick began to feel a bit warmer in my hands and I had a small voice in my head tell me to stay silent. I stared at the stick in wonder. I felt as if my father stood with me as dozens more fairies stood at each of the paths leading from the crossroads. I tried to keep my wits, but with being surrounded by the good folk, listening to the taunts of Robin Goodfellow and trembling at the feet of their queen, I didn¡¯t know if I would survive that night! The full moon indeed found me at a perilous place. Now, if you ever find yourself in a similar predicament, always remember this: speak as few words as possible. The good folk will take whatever you say and twist it.¡±


    Both children nodded. Patrick smiled to see that Michael began to listen more thoughtfully. ¡°So, I don¡¯t remember all the words that the fairies said, but I do remember Robin saying, ¡®And the foolish mortals always wish for things that lead to their ruin.¡¯


    ¡°¡®A wish, a wish!¡¯ the other fairies began chanting, and the queen¡¯s eyes sparkled as she turned towards me. ¡®Young mortal, do you wish something from us?¡¯ They chanted and sang, and suggested the most outlandish wishes for me to choose from. They offered me the moon, the stars, riches beyond understanding and more. They began to dance around me, and while I do like a good dance, this was the most wild dervish I had ever seen. Their howls and laughter mocked me from all sides as they whirled around me.


    ¡°I clutched the walking stick and thought of my father. My old man had always been a sturdy presence in the home. When he was alive, we always had plenty of visitors coming over for my father¡¯s moonshine and good stories. Ever since he died, Mum and I could never find the recipe and so the visitors had come less and less. I could tell Mum was getting quite lonely, and I even missed those days. The stick warmed in my hands once more and suddenly I felt a warm hand on my right shoulder. Hesitating, I reached for that warmth with my left hand. Once my hand touched the ghostly one, my father¡¯s words spilled out of my mouth.


    ¡°¡®I want the best recipe for moonshine!¡¯¡±


    Michael¡¯s eyes bugged. ¡°Your famous moonshine!¡±


    Patrick nodded. ¡°Aye, the very same. As I stated my wish for moonshine, the fairies stopped their frantic whirl and froze. A hundred pairs of eyes stared at me, though the most intense belonged to the silver eyes of the queen. After some silence, Robin Goodfellow started laughing and I turned bright red.¡±


    ¡°The queen looked rather strange as she said, ¡®You wish for the best recipe for moonshine?¡¯


    ¡°I had regained control of my tongue, at least and answered her aye.


    ¡°¡®Very well, mortal,¡¯ the queen replied. ¡®You shall receive the best recipe for moonshine. But be warned, you shall never profit a penny from it.¡¯¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Michael cried out.


    Patrick shrugged. ¡°Every wish has a cost. This was mine. That I could make the best moonshine, but I have never tried selling it. I am sure the fairies would laugh if I tried.¡± He glanced at the tankard he drank from and took another swig.


    ¡°Once the cost had been named, the fairies laughed and danced once more, and I took a cautious step. When no one stopped me, I bravely trotted along the path and, once reassured that none of the good folk would chase me, I began running. The laughter and their singing lingered in my ears as I ran the rest of the way home. My mum looked caught between reprimanding me for staying out so late and gratitude that I made it home safe. I meekly took the cuff to the ears and we both reverently put the walking stick in the corner. Without it, I¡¯m sure that I would have fared much worse at the hands of the fairy queen.¡±


    Mary and Michael turned to look at the walking stick in wonder. As they stared, Patrick¡¯s wife, Sheila, walked in.


    ¡°Telling your stories again, Patrick?¡±


    ¡°Aye, macushla,¡± Patrick said. ¡°Though this one has come to its close.¡±


    Mary turned to her grandmum. ¡°And it was the most marvelous story!¡±


    ¡°I am glad you liked it, young Mary,¡± Patrick said. He stood and filled another tankard with the moonshine. Placing it on the windowsill, he said, ¡°I leave this as an offering to them, and in proper thanks for letting me get home that night.¡±


    ¡°Can we offer something?¡± Mary asked.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Patrick said. ¡°They particularly like some oatmeal with fresh butter.¡±


    Sheila shook her head. ¡°There is no oatmeal, but I do have some cheese. Come, Mary.¡± She helped Mary find some and arrange it on the windowsill to Mary¡¯s liking.


    As Sheila and Mary fussed with the arrangement, Patrick turned to his grandson. ¡°Do you believe me?¡± he asked softly.


    Michael bit his lip, not looking at his grandpa in the eye. ¡°Did that really happen?¡±


    The old man sat so he could look in Michael¡¯s face. ¡°Cross my heart and hope to die. All I said truly happened.¡±


    A tiny bit of hope returned to the boy¡¯s eyes. ¡°And you saw Robin Goodfellow?¡±


    Patrick nodded.


    Michael hesitated, then said softly, ¡°Could I offer something to the fairies too?¡±


    Feeling his heart swelling with pride, Patrick grinned. ¡°Of course you can.¡± He then helped his grandson pour some honey into a small saucer and place it on the window.


    Sheila smiled. ¡°Come along, Mary and Michael. It¡¯s time for bed.¡±


    The two children thanked Patrick for the story and chatted excitedly as they scampered off. Sheila quickly tidied the small room.


    ¡°Patrick, do you think it is a good idea to be telling these stories?¡±


    Patrick grinned. ¡°It¡¯s time for them to be learning their family history.¡±


    Sheila chuckled. ¡°I suppose if they find themselves in a similar predicament, they¡¯ll wish for something similar.¡±


    As Sheila banked the hearth, and Patrick snuffed a candle, the old man chuckled. ¡°Well, I know if I ever am stuck in a similar position, I¡¯ll be wishing about potatoes.¡±


    Patrick and Sheila chuckled as they left the room.


    The full moon shone upon the windowsill, reflecting off the plate of cheese from Sheila, tankard of moonshine from Patrick, and saucer of honey from Michael. As a cloud crossed the moon, Robin Goodfellow arrived. Looking about, he chuckled, and grabbed the cheese off the plate. He greedily snatched the honey, then beheld the tankard with a grin. Swigging down the moonshine, he laughed merrily and stole away into the night.


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