Thorns of Fae

by S L Mason

  I shift my attention to Wenn. “What about you? You want to die in there?”

  Wenn replies, “I’ll never die with this cap.” He lifts his chin in defiance and scratches his hip.

  “Have it your way. Forever is a long time by yourself.” I hum and the cap at my feet bursts into flames. The scent of cooking blood permeates the stairwell.

  Trannel cries out, “No, no I’ll die. The Queen told me! I was given a choice: wear the cap or die.” He slumps down on his belly and stares at the charred cinders and ash that once held his redcap of enchantment.

  I watch the enchantment fade. The gnarled edges of his face smooth into baby plump cheeks with a rosy hue. His eyes turn from hard black obsidian to blue and he grows three inches. The last change is his nose—it stops running.

  Tears clog his eyes, and the little boy before me curls into a little ball, both arms wrapped around his knees. He buries his head into the crevasse where his knees met.

  “Maw, where’s me Maw?” Ternnal calls out in thickly accented English.

  My heart twists for him. “Ternnal, what year is it?” I inquire while turning to survey the cavernous room.

  “I know not.” He sniffles, as his nose starts to run again.

  He is too young to remember, and his wording strikes me as strange. How long had he been wearing that hat?

  Wenn pulls his cap down over his ears and moves to the far side of the bubble. “Ya won’t be takin my cap, no way no how. I’ve lived a long time and I intend to keep livin. I don’t want to be a crumpled-up fool snivlin for me Maw,” he announces.

  “Have it your way. When I win I’ll be back to kill you. You have till then to decide.” I hum a protection line in the bubble to keep Ternnal safe from Wenn. I can't risk Wenn killing him for his blood. “Which way to the throne room?” I demand. Wenn huffs and sits down with his back to me.

  The little shit. I turn to survey my surroundings, and what magic lingers in the air. The only vibrations come from above—challengers. I flash under a balcony ledge to hide my presence.

  The walls are lined with arches, at least fifty of them. I spy stairs, some leading up, others down. My gut tells me no more stairs. Every other arch goes straight ahead. None give any indication of direction.

  Light flashes through the stained glass again, illuminating the outer edges. There is a color pattern, brown-green-blue. It repeats on both sides and the bottom. The top is blank. It makes sense the top represented the stairs with no arches. The sides and bottom of the window represent the walls lining the room. The stairs that are browns go down, blues ones go up, greens go straight.

  I call the wind and push some of the dust from the glass. My eyes search every square inch, till I land on the odd man out: a gold piece in a sea of none.

  I turn my back to the window to get my bearings. And count down the right side. I check over my shoulder to make sure I had it right. Number eight is my golden ticket, and I take it.

  Moving with determination, I cross the room and head down the corridor, biting my lip as I go.

  CHAPTER 24

  The hall travels on straight into more gloom with no exit that I can discern. I come to the first of many archways and peered in for a quick peek before moving on.

  Most rooms have chairs, or tables, desks and books in varying degrees of decay. One resembles a library. Note to self: check this out later. Telling myself that is the only way to pull myself away. The information stored there is as drugging as the juice I was given before bed.

  I pick up my pace down the passage—there’s no need to waste time. The hall ends in a large room.

  Voices rip around me laughing like the tinkling of bells. A gagging stench of rotten eggs permeates the air. I can hear them, but I can't see them. I wish I had my bandana to cover the smell. The sound—high, sweet and playful—whips by me. This isn’t a normal room. Why, oh why, hadn't I paid more attention? Every area of this castle is laced with ghosts and scary creatures. I could have picked any passage, but no I had to gamble on a stained-glass window.

  A high arched ceiling disappears into the deep shadows, and the walls echo my steps back at me. Small banquette-style alcoves line the walls on both sides. Threadbare, multicolored cushions wiggle with pink young still sleeping inside their clever nest. The fabric color faded away long ago, leaving only hints of greens, pinks, yellows, and blues, reminding me of a rococo design or something left over from a French king. Rotting drapes, sag from wooden rings, blocking my view into various alcoves.

  Trouble lurks on the other side, and I shiver with a with cold certainty.

  Giggling and murmuring whip past me and a line of blood forms across my arm as if I was sliced by a knife. Even in the Fae light, it looks dark blue. I rub it off with my sleeve.

  "Sarah, Sarah," The many voices whisper my name in every direction using a teasing, singsong voice, goading me. I whip my head around, only to encounter the wind howling through the open archways on the upper floors. They were probably windows once; the remnants of crystal lay on the ground where it landed after falling from its rotting frame. It sparkles in the dark Fae gloom, shooting rainbows all around me.

  Dry, cracked leaves roll across the floor skittering with the dust. My eyes pick out another set of newly disturbed dust prints. They end in an alcove hidden behind a rotting drape. My left hand runs over the leather covering my chest and closes on a handle.

  I slide the dagger from its hiding place, positioning the curve of its small handle between my fingers.

  Vibrations rise from my chest, popping the overburdened threads and freeing the drape. Like a heavy branch, it slumps to the floor and reveals two round eyes.

  “Zoe,” the whisper slips from my lips. “How did you get here? Why?” Blood pounds in my ears, screaming at me.

  Zoe presses her lips flat, shaking her blonde curls.

  I move in a flash to her side, kneeling down in front of her. Her body trembles, vibrating the bench and loosening dust motes to float in the air.

  I turn my back to the wall, eyes searching the dark for signs of trouble.

  “Sarah?” Zoe calls.

  I nod without taking my eyes from the room.

  “They took me, I stayed out too late.” Her nose flares and tears roll down her cheeks creating dirt rivers.

  “Come with me!” I pull at her hand, but she stays fast in her seat.

  “I can’t, they won’t let me leave. I’m their toy. They can do whatever they want. There is no Queen, Fae is ruled by wild,” she moans.

  Boy was that true. Everyone here runs wild and crazy for sure.

  I yank at her arm, but her body is super glued in place. “You can never leave this place, I’m the bait.” A wicked laugh escapes her lips as they pull back into a withered skull, revealing all of her teeth.

  I watched in horror as the creature that once appeared to be Zoe turns into a ghostly specter. It lifts into the air to tower over me and releases a chilling screech.

  “I’ve got you now, Fae-ling. Oh, I shall be rewarded by wild,” The wraith exclaims, and claps its hands together without issuing a sound. It dips and swirls around me, trailing scratch marks in its wake.

  I flash back to the archway I entered from only to bounce off an invisible wall and land on my ass. Awe, fuck.

  “I told you,” she says in a sing-song voice. “You can’t leave without my leave.” her chalkboard scraping shrieks rebound around the cavernous room. “Dance with us, we get so lonely. You are the first living Fae we’ve seen since Jacques tried to seat Jill on the stone throne.” She cackles.

  Jumping to my feet, I examine the room in quick succession. The snickering and bellowing whips past me anew, pulling at my hair and clothes. I sing a few bars from Queen’s One Vision, and the veil covering the phantasms falls, exposing a ballroom filled with the ghostly forms of one time Fae.

  My eyes grow three sizes to take it all in. It is nothing more than a ghost party for the dead. Swirling around the room, each Fae more decadent tha
n the last. Tugging me left and right, their vapid hands are barely able to clasp a bit of my fleshy form. They tear at me for a dance and attention.

  My heart beats through my chest and my hands become moist. I can’t leave without their leave or permission?

  That only leaves a bargain. I have to make one. What can you give the dead if you can’t give them life? Relevance, revenge? What is their deepest desire?

  “I want to dance with a prince, I’ve never done that before. Is there one here?” I inquire.

  A deep baritone voice takes up my offer. “Of course there is a prince.” The male Fae in front of me holds out his ghostly hand and I take it in my own; he becomes solid with my willing touch.

  “You give me great pleasure with this dance. I am Barron,” he announces, giving me a courtly bow and kissing the back of my hand.

  I could just make out the shape of his lips as they graze the delicate skin. Then he pulls me into his arms and we float away on an unearthly dance floor, up into the rafters.

  Barron quickly changes places with another Fae, then another and another. They shove each other out of the way for their turn.

  “Stop tearing at her or there won’t be enough left for everyone to have a turn,” wails the Banshee who’d lured me. She floats nearby, changing from a vision of Zoe to a crazed corpse in a rotting dress. Her hair sticks out around her like lightning bolts. The oculars of her skull are nothing more than black voids with a shiny silver marble suspended in the middle.

  “Don’t you like our ball? I thought this is what you wanted, a prince and a dance?” she demands while waving her arms around and spinning in a circle.

  The newest specter seizes my hand and my waist to turn me at a dizzying speed, wickedly close to the walls and minstrels’ gallery. I come close enough to catch a glimpse of the magic wake covering the arched entrance.

  “No, I don’t want to dance with a prince at a ball, God. What am I, ten? I’m not looking for a white knight I just want to get out of here,” I retort.

  She throws her head back and gives what I can only describe as a cackle. “You may not leave without my leave,” she sings it from across the room.

  “What do you want? Don’t you want to leave this place?” I yell over my latest partner.

  “I want to rage across the moors and lure men to their deaths,” she cackles on.

  “I can’t offer you that, but I can get you out of this room,” I reply cautiously, turning my head to keep an eye on the Banshee.

  “You can’t even get yourself out, how could you possibly help us?” She shouts, floating closer.

  “I didn’t say everyone, just you,” I explain, then huff as my latest partner pulls me out of a dip and twirls my bangs in my face. Puffing air from my lips, I push my hair out of the way.

  She moves in next to me, shoving my partner out of the way and taking over. “Why would I forsake my brethren on the word of a Changeling. All of Fae knows how fickle your kind can be,” she whispers low, then finishes with a cackling laugh.

  “Fickle? You’ve got it all wrong, lady. Fae are fickle, but I’m making you a deal. Give your leave and we can both leave.” I stare her down, unblinking.

  Dropping me like a rock, I get an up close and personal on the parquet floor as my face smashes into it. The taste of dust is on my tongue and in my lungs, and can only be expelled with a cough.

  “Did you hear her? She wants to make a deal to let one of us out. Who here would turn on the other? We have been trapped here for so long, how many Queens have passed? How can you possibly believe we will turn on each other for freedom?” she shouts her reply, which is followed by a deranged cackle.

  It doesn't matter what I believed, but what they believed. Divide and conquer, that is all I’m looking for.

  “I give this one-time offer.” I swallow and take a deep breath. God, I hope this works. “I will be Queen and when I am, I’ll free only one of you. What do you have to lose? If I fail, you will still be here, but if I win, one of you can leave.” I finish with my head held as high as possible. I wanted to look strong and regal, like a modern-day Cleopatra, or Elizabeth I. They ruled their countries with dignity and never backed down. Of course, Cleopatra did commit suicide, and Elizabeth died alone of old age or lead poisoning—not sure which but they ruled. In a time when only men ruled, they managed to do it.

  I’m not Fae or human, but in a world where only Fae rule, I will rule.

  I wait and try not to hold my breath or fidget. The image of Janice standing still as a statue in Deston’s rooms near the fire lights my mind and I try to emulate it. The still of the Fae in the ballroom settles over me.

  A slow muttering in the far-off corners grow and become a mumble, then a low quibbling. I desperately want to turn my head and find the source of the conversation, but I don’t want to look too eager.

  “How will you free one of us, changeling?” the demanding voice of a ghoulish Fae finds me.

  “I am almost all Fae, I bleed blue and make mushrooms. When I sit on the throne, my change will be complete. I will have all the power of a full Fae Queen to call on. Need I say more?” The ash in my mouth fills me with the bitter taste of truth.

  My humanity is almost gone; if there is any left it can’t be more than a drop. Heat pricks behind my eyes and rolls in my belly. As sure as the sun will rise on the surface, the throne will take that last drop of my humanity, leaving only Fae behind.

  I swallow back the rock in my throat for a clear retort.

  The room roars to life, then screaming and gnashing of long-forgotten teeth tear around me along with the specters, each one scratching at me as they dive-bomb.

  I stand my ground, unwilling to give even an inch against their onslaught. The hum starts in my throat and grows to encompass my chest, radiating around my form. It continues out, creating a bubble of protection.

  “Tell me what you are!” I demand, pulling the full force of charisma and compulsion, bending it to my will, and then blasting it out to fill every nook and cranny.

  A keening whips around the cavernous room, bouncing off walls and cracking crystal panes, causing them to crash to the floor and shatter.

  The Banshee wails with her sheer hands covering the ghostly outline of what was once her ears.

  “I am Banshee, they are Sluagh. I will free you, but you cannot free one of them without the others. They are one and separate, a swarm of death. The leftover souls of humanity that were never buried on sacred ground.” Her ghostly form slumps to the floor, clawing through the solid surface.

  “Give me your leave!” I demand with a pounding heart, as they tear through that air around me trailing cuts across my body.

  “My Queen, you have my leave, now please make it stop. I will serve as you wish in all things. I swear my fealty to you.” She lays her head on the parquet floor in supplication.

  A reverberating boom wakes across the space like a wave working its way around an island. The Sluagh begin their onslaught anew. Now they aren’t taking turns but instead working in teams. Three and four at a time rip at me from all sides, desperate to shred my clothes and skin.

  They form a wall of screaming, soulless phantasms, each mouth open to a vacant void.

  I rumbled my protection into a driving wall, batting them out of my way heading to the closest archway.

  As I step into another corridor, a magical boom follows behind me. I turn to watch in horror as the Sluagh tear at the Banshee, ripping her ghostly parts and tossing them against the walls with a bang.

  I tried to reach through and pull her with me, but the protection wall held firm. I pound with both fists, and I wince at the terror-filled eyes of the specter before they began to chew on her various parts.

  Her lips moved and coughed out black ghostly blood. “You kept your word, my lady, I am free, of this place.” The silvery light in her marble-shaped eyes dims and fades away.

  Shuttering, I hurry down the hallway, checking the wake lines for trouble as I go.


  CHAPTER 25

  No matter how I try, to can't remove all the ghastly visions of death. My heart races with fear and loathing for the next grizzly encounter.

  My own words ring over and over in my mind. With the seat, the last of my humanity will be gone, leaving only my Fae self.

  Do I want that? Wants and desires are for people with no responsibilities.

  The hall morphs into a pipe-shaped tunnel with a pinprick of light at the end glinting off damp, moldy walls. Wake lines edge the scene. The air is laced with a flavor I haven’t encountered since Nick died, human and Red Bull.

  Hysterical laughter rings through the pipe. “Awe, good things do come to those who wait,” Nikki muses, her cheesy line.

  Whipping my head left and right, I turn before pulling Silver, and then humming my protection spell.

  “You really want to win, so why wait for me? You could have already made it to the throne, if you know where it is,” I say, trying to goad her.

  Her laughter told me all I need to know, she’s completely cracked. A manic reply booms back to me, “I’m not going to take what is mine without killing you.” She follows her words with a giggle.

  Why do they have to all sound mad? Why can’t I fight a nice normal monster? The wake lines of her illusion are as cracked as she is. Reaching out, I pull a few apart. Then, I watch as the magic disintegrates into mist, revealing a wide foyer which reminds me of Deston’s entrance hall. Nikki stands by the giant double wooden doors that are covered in scrollwork and dead flowers.

  The stale lemon verbena scent lingers in the air around us, matching the dead blossoms lining the walls.

  Nikki’s eyes roll through a thousand colors, and her lips line with a tight smile hinting at her further derangement. Her hair hangs loose and haphazard over her shoulders, arms limp at her side gripping her mercury-laced sword. The shiny liquid moves over the blade, glinting in the dim light. The only word that comes to mind is wild.