by Luke Arnold
I nodded off and woke up again countless times; hungry, angry and wishing I’d never seen this place that was too full of too many hard truths. When the rain eased up, I could hear the world outside. Birds were singing. The wind knocked branches from the trees. Then, finally, there were footsteps, slamming down the freshly thawed path.
Rick Tippity ran inside with a hooded cloak wrapped around him. He was wet, irritated and full of fury. When I’d seen him back at the drug store, he’d been wearing a thin mask of sanity. That was long gone. He was muttering to himself. Swearing. Angry at the world. Rick Tippity was an intelligent, prideful man whose plans had been thwarted, and that made him one of the most dangerous bastards around.
He wasn’t expecting company. I hadn’t covered my tracks but the rain had done that for me. Tippity searched the room, not for enemies but for victims. Like a gluttonous guest at a breakfast buffet, he surveyed the room for the ripest fruit.
A young female Sprite sat cross-legged in a group of already mutilated Imps. Her flesh was solid and dark, like burnt stone. She’d been a creature of fire, once upon a time; a Nymph that could move among flames, live in boiling springs, and spread forest fires beneath the trees to cleanse the floor of underbrush.
Tippity leaned over and examined her face in a way that made me uncomfortable. I felt like I was looking into a carnival mirror: familiar but warped, and not my best angle.
Tippity reached inside his cloak and removed a metal tool that was the love-child of an ice pick and bottle opener. He brought it up to the fire-girl’s face and I realized with horror that he was deciding on the perfect spot to make his first incision.
I tensed but I didn’t move. I wanted to stop him. Of course I did. But, as much as I hate to admit it, I was far too curious about what he was going to do.
The Warlock put the end of the object up against the woman’s eye socket, then slammed the back of it with the heel of his hand. There was a tiny cracking sound as it punctured her head. Then, he twisted. The bridge of her nose snapped away and part of her face crumbled into her head.
My brass knuckles were on my right hand.
He put the thin end of the object inside her face and pushed back against her skull till something snapped.
I had my dagger in my left hand.
He pushed down with the sharp end, inside her skull, levering the tool against her jaw. Then he pulled, hard, and her face split down the center. Her cheeks hit the floor and the rest peeled back, revealing something shiny inside.
It was a jewel. Orange-red, with spikes coming out on all sides like a sea urchin. When it caught the light, it sparkled.
Tippity reached out with one gloved hand. His fingertips slid over it—
And I was running.
I surprised him but he was quick to react. He spun around and turned the tool into a weapon, holding it like a dagger. His other hand fumbled in his pockets, surely searching for another pouch of impossible magic. I ignored the metal instrument and went to tackle him before he found what he was looking for. Better to be hit with the weapon you know than the one you don’t.
The ice-pick-bottle-opener came down on my skull and cut me open, probably down to the bone. I had to ignore it. I was already in the air with all my weight coming down on his body. I reached out, struggling to keep his other hand immobilized. We crashed through the fragile Faery statues and Rick Tippity landed on his back among the broken bodies. I crunched down on top of him with one hand around his throat and the other holding his right forearm. His hand scrambled around in his pocket, like he was going for a last-minute fiddle.
“Stop struggling,” I said.
“Get your hands off—”
I pushed down on his throat, hoping to deprive his lungs of air or his brain of blood. His dancing right arm became more desperate, but I moved my knees across his body till I had him pinned.
Things settled down. I finally had control.
Then, Rick Tippity’s crotch exploded.
It was blue and orange, all at once. A gust of hot air blasted past my face but, at the same time, my hand was suddenly covered in snow. I jumped off Tippity, fearing both burns and frostbite, while patting down the flames on my chest with my freezing left hand.
Tippity was screaming. There was steam shooting up from his body and half of his trousers were gone. Nothing looked fatal, just painful enough to stop him from running away anytime soon.
I held up my left hand and clenched my fist. I could move it, which was nice, but there wasn’t a lot of feeling in my fingertips. I blew on them and rubbed them together.
My burns weren’t so bad. There were holes in my clothes but I was wearing so many layers that the fire had barely kissed the skin. I felt my face with my good hand and found that my other eyebrow was fried. That pissed me off. Eyebrows, like toilet paper, are things you don’t miss till you reach out and realize they’re gone.
Tippity stopped moaning so I kicked him in the ribs to start him up again.
“Seems your recipe is a little unstable, Tippity. I think I should find myself another pharmacist.”
New fury filled his eyes. Before he had a chance to speak, I put a knee on his chest and knocked the wind out of him. I stayed there while I cleaned him out; from top to bottom, like the well-trained mop-boy I was.
Around his neck he wore a silver chain. The pendant on the end had sharp edges so I snapped it off and threw it away. Cloaks are known to hold all kinds of secret pockets so I ran my fingers along every part of the lining. I didn’t find any hidden compartments, just one large cavity holding a crust of stale bread.
Tippity struggled but he couldn’t push me off. He wasn’t in great shape and I wasn’t letting him get enough air to settle himself.
His right trouser pocket was gone in the fire. In the left one, I found two of those little leather pouches, just like the one that had exploded at the drug store. I gave him the full once-over, searching for blades or hidden objects against his skin. I ran my fingers behind his neck, under his arms, all the way down to his feet. I removed his boots and shook them upside down but only a few small stones fell out.
A satchel hung over his body on a long leather strap. I cut it loose and looked inside.
It was a medical kit full of powders and colored liquid. Amari had carried something similar when she was working as a nurse.
I looked through the vials and packages, searching for anything familiar. Luckily, some of the packages had labels on them because Tippity sold his drugs to civilians (unlike Amari who only needed to prepare the medicines for herself).
I found two small vials; one black, one white. The black one had a picture of a closed eye on the label. The white one had a similar sticker but the eye was open.
“Leave my… things alone… you oaf.”
Tippity was digging his nails into my leg, so I wasn’t too concerned about accidently giving him the wrong gear. I opened up the black “eye closed” bottle, grabbed a chunk of Tippity’s long, gray hair and lifted up his head. He thrashed around so much that I almost lost the bottle but eventually I got it up to his face.
When I lifted my knee off his chest he couldn’t resist taking a deep breath.
“You moron,” he spat. “You don’t have any idea about anyth—”
His eyes rolled back and his head felt twice as heavy. The mixture sure was potent. I’d been planning to put it in his mouth but the fumes had done the job on their own. I held the vial at arm’s length while I put the top on and tucked it back in the satchel.
I needed to tie Tippity up, but my curiosity demanded to be dealt with first. The glowing ball from the Fire Sprite was easy to find in the darkness. I stepped back along the path that we’d cleared during our fight, through broken bodies and splintered Fae, and got down close to the little red star.
It was the color of a campfire or stained-glass window and the light inside moved like it was liquid. It was only the size of a berry, but covered in barbs. Some of them were sharp, others had bee
n snapped off, making them shorter and easier to touch. When I scooped it up, it was warm. Almost hot. I cupped the precious jewel in my hands and the heat thawed out my frozen fingers.
This was the magic from inside the Faery: pure, precious and still beating.
How much of the creature was contained in that little capsule? Was it just the elemental power, or something more? Thought and memory, perhaps? Personality? The bodies of the Faeries were frozen but these little glowing orbs had survived. Waiting for… what?
I wrapped the little red gem in soft bark, then a piece of leather, and tucked it into the satchel. I fixed the strap, put the bag over my shoulder, and when the ruby was safe, I pulled one of the little pouches from my pocket.
The pouch itself was nothing special, just leather with wool padding on the inside. Nestled in the padding was another orb.
This glass globe was made by hands, not nature, and had been filled with a translucent, slightly pink liquid before it was sealed shut. The liquid was quite unremarkable. Some kind of acid, I imagined. Strong enough so that when the glass shattered and the acid touched the Faery-essence, the gem would dissolve and the magic would be released.
I put the pouches in my inner jacket pocket, away from the satchel that contained the red gem. I didn’t want to blow myself up the way the Warlock had.
Tippity was still passed out. Where his trousers had been ripped open, there were burns underneath: fire and frost had hit him all at once, making a mess of the skin and probably the flesh beneath it. I would have felt sorry for him if I hadn’t seen the hole in Lance Niles’s head or the screaming Warlock in the block of ice or the way he’d smashed open the innocent face of the Faerie only moments before.
There were plenty of vines scattered around the church. Some were dry and fragile but others had some green in them. I cut a few from the Forest Sprites, shaved off the leaves, and wrapped them around Tippity’s hands and throat. Then I tied a long rope of vine around his neck like a dog collar and waited for him to wake up.
14
The journey back to Sunder was even more painful and tedious than the way out. I was grateful that the rain had hidden my tracks, but it also turned the snow to slush and made the whole path a frustrating mess. The showers came and went, never leaving long enough for anything to dry. There was no food, no shelter, and I was sore as hell. The hand that had been hit by the blast was cramping and the top of my head was a crusted scab full of wet hair.
Then, there was Tippity.
He was a whining, bitching, indignant piece of work, stumbling along on the end of his leash. Just because it was logical that he wouldn’t want to follow me, it didn’t make it any less frustrating. His wounds weren’t going to kill him. The blast hadn’t gone deep and his skin had been cooled at the same time as it was burned, so it was uncomfortable and painful but walking wouldn’t do him any damage. I told him that, when he protested, but he didn’t listen. Reason didn’t work on him at all. Or bargaining. So, I resorted to punching him in the balls. Sometimes I mixed it up; socking him in the guts or slapping him across the cheek to keep him on his toes, but it was the kicks to the bollocks that kept him moving.
We were both beyond exhausted but it turned out that the liquid in the white bottle (the one with the open eye) was quite the stimulant. I took a whiff, gave one to the Warlock, and it put a spring in our step for a good half-hour. Unfortunately, it also got him ranting like a street-side preacher after ten cups of coffee.
“You like this, don’t you? The mud and the struggle. I can tell. You pretend to be upset about what happened but really, you’re thriving. Because now this is your world. Just as simple as you are. Just as mean. Do you have any idea the path I was on? Decades of study. Of progress. I was on my way to changing the world. But your kind couldn’t hack it, could you? You’d been left behind and you couldn’t catch up so you stopped the game. But it will all happen again. I promise you. We will find another way to rise above. I already have. You’ve only seen the beginning. Before long, you’ll be back at the bottom of the—”
I yanked the leash. Tippity tripped over and landed face down in the mud. It was even more satisfying than I’d imagined.
We were back at the hunter’s cabin by sunset and I was sad to discover that the possum had moved out after clearing the place of spiders.
“Lie down,” I said, pushing Tippity towards the hammock.
“You’re giving me the good bed?”
“It’ll be easier than pinning you to the floor.”
I tied him to the hammock, wrapping the vines around his body as many times as I could. When he was all tucked up, I gathered pieces of cloth from around the room, shook them free of insects, and made myself a sad little bed of rags.
“Why do you care what I do to the Faeries?” asked the Warlock, all wrapped up like a homicidal sausage roll. “They’re already dead, and your side has a lot more to do with that than I do.”
“I’m not gonna spend my night explaining why desecrating corpses might be frowned upon. If you can’t see why it’s a problem, then you’ve got more bugs in your brain than I thought. And let’s not forget about your buddy back home. Did he piss you off so much you had to blast him with ice?”
He gave a melancholy sigh, like I’d reminded him about some beautiful, long-ago summer.
“Jerome wanted to walk down the same path as I am. He was an innovator, like me. He just… made some mistakes.”
The ice man’s screaming face pushed its way back into my mind and I tried to force it out. My brain was too packed full of nightmares already.
“Go to sleep. We’ve got more walking to do tomorrow.”
I pulled the red gem out of the satchel. It was warm, even through the wrapping.
“You don’t know,” said Tippity, his voice tired and weak. “You have no idea what it was like to make magic. It was what I was born for. Why I was given these fingers and this… feeling inside. I was made for something great but your kind took it from me before I had a chance to reach my potential.” I rolled over and tried to convince myself that I didn’t regret giving him the hammock. “I’m just unlocking the power that I deserve. That’s why you’re so angry. For a moment, you thought we were equal. But now you know you’re nothing, again. Like you always were. And were always meant to be.”
I didn’t say anything else. It wasn’t long before Tippity was snoring and I let exhaustion take me too.
When I woke the next morning, Tippity was facing the floor, hanging from the vines and the twisted hammock.
“Comfortable?” I asked.
He’d flipped himself over during the night but had been too proud to call for help. While he was dangling, I gave us both a hit of the wake-up powder, and then we got moving.
Everything felt worse. The pain of the day before had settled into my bones. Every part of my body creaked and snapped like the gears of a machine left out to rust in the rain. I was heavy and tired and Tippity was angry. From the moment I tied the collar around his neck, he was trouble.
“I can go anywhere,” he said, mumbling like a madman. “But you, you’re stuck in Sunder. You’re gum on the street. A stain on the sidewalk. You’re a smear. When this city dies you’ll go down with the ship. Me and my kind, we matter everywhere.”
My belly was empty and my throat was dry and all we had was rainwater to keep us going. My hands were blistered from holding the vines. The back of my head ached but that was better than when it went numb and I got all dizzy. If I passed out, I doubted that Rick would be kind enough to use his professional expertise to patch me up.
The world was against me and my body was broken but I had one last thing to push me on. Hate. I’ve never found a better fuel. A man might cross an ocean for love but with enough hate, he’ll try to drink it. The blisters and blood only helped. I wasn’t going to stop. Not with a killer on the end of my rope. A killer who cut open miracles and took out their hearts. Who used the souls of sacred creatures to blow people to pieces and ice hi
s friends. I kept those Faery faces right in front of me. I saw them all along the path and in the trees, dried and naked and snapped open just so Rick Tippity could put their souls in his pocket.
If the hate for Tippity ever wore out, I always had myself: the stubborn soldier who sold out his mentor to impress his new friends. Hendricks trusted me enough to share his secrets and I gave them away to the army who ended the world.
I was stupid and I was proud and I’d done nothing to make up for any of it. But this guy was worse. Wasn’t he? He had to be. I’d ruined the world with ignorance and accidents but he was cutting up bodies so he could blast people on purpose.
That had to be worse. Right?
We moved too slowly and night came again. The clouds smothered the moon and when we made it back to Maple Highway we had nothing to follow but the feeling of the path beneath our feet. I was dragging Tippity along in the darkness. Whenever I turned to belt him, he would try to scratch my eyes out or dig his fingers into the wound on my scalp. But he wasn’t a brawler and I had more hate to hold onto, so his efforts gained him more bruises but nothing else.
We followed the road over a small hill and were moving down an incline when the Warlock made his most desperate break for freedom.
I felt the vine go slack. That usually meant that he’d moved closer, hoping to hit me while I was half asleep. I pulled on the vine and it flicked towards me, limp and loose. He’d cut through. Probably with his teeth, or maybe a stone he’d picked up during one of our previous scrambles.
I spun. Stopped. Listened.
I couldn’t hear his footsteps. He was being real careful. Walking slow. I stepped backwards, ears cocked.
Would he attack me? No. Not now that he was free. I had the advantage in a tussle. He was making a run for it and I had to find him. Fast.
I took out the red orb and ripped off its cover. A faint, red shimmer blinked in the darkness and the heat kissed the cold from my fingers. I took out one of Tippity’s pouches and stuffed the gem inside, beside the glass ball of acid. I raised the pouch over my head and prepared to smash it against the ground. It would make more than enough light for me to find my runaway Warlock.
