Elixir

by Ruth Vincent

  “Mab, where is everyone?” she asked.

  It was true. We hadn’t seen a soul this whole time—­not a single guard or any member of the Queen’s staff. It did strike me as odd. How could it be so bustling upstairs and so silent and empty down here?

  “Don’t you think it’s weird, if it’s a dungeon, that it isn’t guarded?”

  I shook my head.

  “I had the same thought, but if it was built by fairies, it probably isn’t protected by guards—­it’s protected by magic.” I thought of the Queen’s pixie spies flitting around the palace upstairs—­and following me around in the human world. Wouldn’t she have pixies down here? Wouldn’t they be watching us right now, and reporting back to the Queen? It seemed like she should. But maybe not. If all the humans were trapped in spells that forced them to stay asleep, I guessed they didn’t need much watching.

  Still, I felt anxious. Getting into the dungeon had been too easy. Was it some sort of a trap?

  I didn’t know, so all I could do was just keep going, but the lingering anxiety in my gut persisted.

  We kept walking.

  “I worry we’re going too far. If there was another secret door in here, it’s so dark we’d never see it.”

  Eva nodded glumly.

  If we were lost, we were screwed.

  But maybe we just needed to walk farther?

  I wished to hell Obadiah had given me more directions before he left. But dwelling on that was only going to make me angrier. We pressed on.

  The Perpetual Candle on the rock wall threw its beams in a small circle, a pathetic little patch of light swallowed by darkness. But in that small circle of light I could see the rock wall illuminated. There was something black growing on it—­like some sort of fungus, darkening the stone.

  “Eva!” I whispered, tense. “Do you see that?”

  “It looks like some kind of mold,” said Eva, wrinkling her nose.

  She began to walk on, but I grabbed her hand.

  “When I was a kid, my parents took me upstate to Howe Cavern. It was similar to this. Have you ever been inside a cave before?”

  Eva nodded.

  “We went once on a school field trip once,” she said. “The tour guide kept yelling at all us kids not to touch anything.”

  “That’s just it! Why do you think they always tell you not to touch anything in a cave?”

  “Something about the oils on your hands damaging the stone?”

  “Fairies don’t have oils in their skin like that,” I said softly, fear growing in my voice. “Only humans do. This wall must have been touched by human hands.”

  “The children,” Eva said.

  I knew we were each thinking the same terrible thought—­imagining tiny hands reaching out and touching these walls, trying to grab at something, as the Goblins carried them down the passageway against their will.

  “That must mean we’re close, though,” said Eva.

  We walked very slowly now, squinting at the rock wall for some indication of a door.

  At last we saw a crack of light in the wall. It was too low to be a door. Still, it was something. We made our way towards it.

  There was a low arch in the stone, too small to be a passageway. Maybe it was an air vent? I bent down on the hard rock, peering at it. And then it hit me.

  I felt sick in my gut.

  It was a door made for children.

  “We going in?” she asked. Her eyes were wide with fear.

  “You don’t have to come with me . . .” I said, but she shook her head.

  “If you’re going, I’m going.”

  I squeezed her hand.

  My heart beat fast as I bent down on all fours on the hard rock floor, pushed the stone door aside and began to crawl through the low entrance, Eva right behind me. The rock scraped at my hands and knees. I bumped my head on the top of the arch. It was too dark to see anything.

  And then, we burst free. Eva and I both gasped. The low, cramped passageway led to a cavernous room, big as an airplane hangar—­in some kind of apocalyptic future where airplane hangars dripped with stalactites.

  They seemed to reach down from the ceiling towards us like long, bony fingers. Stalagmites snaked along the floor, the water transforming the cave into sinuous mounds and rivulets, like polished alabaster.

  It was completely quiet in the vast room, the only sounds the slow drip-­drip of the liquid that had made this place, and the nervous, ragged sound of our breathing.

  There were lights in the distance, and I could faintly make out the shape of what looked like shelves, or stories of some enormous building carved into the huge rock wall.

  We walked towards it, trying not to step on the stalagmites.

  The closer we came, the harder Eva squeezed my hand.

  And then I saw why.

  The walls were full of children.

  Chapter 22

  There were hundreds of them, lying stone-­still in translucent chrysalises, like what I had found Eva in—­but unlike Eva they didn’t twitch in their dreams. They just lay there—­absolutely silent, absolutely still.

  “Oh god,” I whispered, “please tell me they’re not . . . ?”

  “No, I don’t think they’re dead,” Eva said softly. “They’re breathing. Look.” Eva pointed inside the nearest cocoon to a little chest that rhythmically rose and fell.

  “They must just be in an enchanted sleep,” I said.

  “Like I was?” she asked.

  I nodded, but something told me this wasn’t the same. Shaking inside, I walked up to the wall of children, my stomach clenched in anger. They were all races and ages—­all ages up to puberty. Many were dressed raggedly. Some wore nothing at all. We take the ones they’re hurting, the ones they don’t want. I’d thought we were rescuing the Shadow children. But we’d been taking them to a place far worse. I felt like I was going to be sick.

  “You managed to get me out of the cocoon; maybe we can get them out?” said Eva with an optimism I didn’t feel.

  But there were so many of them. And there were only a few drops of Elixir left in Obadiah’s flask.

  I could hear Obadiah’s words in my head. You can’t save them . . . Believe me, I tried.

  I knew at best I could only free one child, maybe two with Obadiah’s Elixir. But looking at this wall of silent little bodies, I couldn’t bear not to do something. I reached for the flask he had given me. Hesitantly, I took off the lid and loosed one drop.

  It fell, like the drip of a stalagmite, plopping down on the fibrous film of the nearest little girl’s cocoon.

  But it bounced off. It did nothing. The cocoon was as intact as ever.

  Once the Queen puts them in that enchanted sleep, you can’t wake them up. . .

  I punched at the cocoon, wincing as my hands touched the skin-­crawling spiderweb-­like fibers. A hard, hot lump was forming in my throat, stinging my eyes. I punched the cocoon again. I hated feeling helpless like this.

  Eva put her hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mab,” she said quietly. “Whatever spell they’re under, it must be much worse than what they did to me.”

  “It’s not right. We’ve got to help them; we’ve got to do something! If we just leave them here, they’ll . . .”

  Be killed for their life energy.

  I didn’t want to say it. But I could see in Eva’s eyes that she was thinking the same thing. All these children were going to die. And there was nothing we could do about it.

  I could see my mother’s face in my mind’s eye. Mab, someone has to make the hard choices. Someone has to do what’s best for the realm . . . the children’s energy is the only thing that is propping up what little magic we have left.

  Maybe our world wasn’t worth saving—­not if this was the cost.

  Nothing was worth this. I fough
t the tears back as I stared up at the endlessly high wall of sleeping children. There was a reason they seemed dead—­in a way, they already were.

  I turned around when I heard Eva’s voice.

  “Mab, is your Shadow sister here?”

  Her question startled me out of my despair. “My mother said that she imprisoned my Shadow as a punishment for her crimes. I don’t think she’s sleeping like the others. Maybe she’s somewhere else?”

  “It’s possible,” said Eva. “Didn’t your mother say she never saw her as being like the other children?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t like the thought of my mother treating my Shadow like her own child. Of course I was glad that my Shadow had been treated well—­at least for a few years. Still, the more I thought of my mother being kind, of treating her like her own daughter, the more I felt sorry for the Queen—­and I wanted to hate her. And yet, there was something so achingly sad in the way she’d mothered this poor child who resembled her daughter. I didn’t know what to think anymore. Mutely, I walked towards the other end of the cavernous room, where there was an opening in the wall, leading to the next passage.

  I looked over my shoulder one last time at the wall of silent children, wishing there was something—­anything—­I could do for them. But there was nothing. And I felt like crying. Eva put her hand on my shoulder and together we went forward towards the passage.

  If I ever become Queen someday, I’m putting a stop to this, I thought as we left the cavernous room. I don’t care what the consequences are. This has to end.

  It seemed especially dark now in the passage as we left the eerie glow of the children’s cocoons behind us. I could still see their faces in my mind with every dark, fumbling step. The path continued to angle further down, winding even deeper into the earth. I didn’t know how much farther it would go. How far deep into the dark earth could you get—­before hitting water or fire? I couldn’t think anymore; all I could do was keep walking, keep plodding on, hoping we were going the right way, with those silent little faces swimming before my eyes.

  I nearly jumped when I saw something up ahead. A small figure—­it was so dark in the room I couldn’t tell who it was, what gender or what species even; the body was only a hulk of dark shadow. My heart was beating fast. Was it a guard? Had whoever it was seen us, or did we have time to hide? Eva and I froze.

  Should I call out to them? Act like I had reason to be here? I was the Queen’s daughter—­maybe if I played that card, they would give me a pass. But whoever they were, they didn’t speak, so I didn’t either.

  There was no way out of the passage other than forward or back. I’d rather approach them squarely than have them running after us from behind.

  I touched Eva’s arm.

  “Stay back,” I whispered. “Let me see what this is.”

  Even in the dim light, I saw Eva looking at me like I was crazy.

  “No!” she hissed. “We should go together! We are not splitting up. Mab, that’s how bad things happen to ­people in horror movies!”

  I couldn’t help but smile.

  “If it turns out this is one of the Queen’s guards, I’ll be okay—­they don’t want to piss off my mother, so they should deal with me kindly. I promise I’ll come right back.”

  Reluctantly, Eva conceded. She walked over to the wall and pressed herself into the dark spot between two Perpetual Candles, where she couldn’t be seen.

  Nervously, I approached the figure, walking slowly, hugging the wall where the beams from the Perpetual Candles shone brightest. The passage curved slightly, and I lost sight of Eva, but the figure was now closer. Whoever it was, was about my height and build. That was good, if it came to a fight. Better than some big Goblin guard.

  And then, in the dim light, I caught sight of their face.

  It was my own face! I was staring at my own reflection. I almost laughed out loud. I had been terrified of a mirror. All my breath washed out of my body in a deep sigh of relief.

  “Eva, it’s just a mirror.” I laughed. But I didn’t hear a response. Maybe she hadn’t heard me?

  I was glad she hadn’t been here. I felt utterly foolish—­I’d gotten scared of my own reflection!

  Who would put a mirror in a cave passageway? What use was a mirror in a cave with barely any light? Why have a mirror in the middle of a dungeon? It didn’t make sense. But there it was. I squinted at my own my own face for a moment in the darkness.

  God, I looked like hell! I’d had no idea what the stress of the past few weeks had done to me. My hair hung in a limp frizzle over my forehead. My skin was ashen pale, and my eyes had deep purple bags under them. I gazed into my own eyes—­they stared back at me in the dim light, hard and cold.

  I tried to smile—­but the hard-­set lips in the mirror didn’t even budge. Could I not even smile anymore?

  I moved closer to the mirror, so that I could see my full reflection in the light of the Perpetual Candle. As the beams cascaded in front of me and my whole body was revealed, I jumped back in shock.

  I was dressed in rags. Matted, dirty clothes hung off a gaunt body like strips of moss.

  But wait—­frantically I patted down my body and felt the reassuring texture of my old jeans and T-­shirt.

  I let out a scream.

  My reflection screamed too.

  We were both screaming, staring, pointing at each other. I heard Eva call out, heard her running down the passage towards me. But I didn’t dare turn around. Because I wasn’t staring at my reflection—­I was staring at my Shadow.

  Chapter 23

  Blood pounded in my ears. I’d been staring at my own face—­but it wasn’t my face. It was her face. I knew we were alike—­I should have known it was my Shadow. But I never dreamed that when I’d meet her, I’d think it was myself.

  We stared at each other in silence. I didn’t know what to say. I was so overwhelmed with feeling.

  It was so quiet I could hear Eva breathing behind me. She had stopped short, staying a ­couple of paces back, keeping a respectful distance. She must have figured out it was my Shadow. And she didn’t know how to react any more than I did.

  I wanted to do something. I reached my hand out towards the ragged girl that looked just like me. I tried to smile at her, to show her I meant her no harm.

  Did she know who I was?

  I should say something, I thought.

  But what could I say? I was the girl who’d put her in this position. Did she know that? What had she been told?

  All I could say was:

  “I came back to set you free.”

  But the girl didn’t respond. Her eyes were hollow, vacant. It was terrifying.

  Then it hit me. Of course she didn’t understand me! I was speaking to her in English. She’d left her home in the human world when she was a baby—­whatever language she’d learned, it certainly wasn’t a human one.

  So I spoke the same words in Fey.

  At that the girl started violently. She understood. Her eyes took on a light. But not a light of hope. It was a cold hard gleam of hatred.

  She opened her mouth to speak.

  All she said was one word, in a terrifying growl.

  “You!” She pointed at me.

  Then she let out a howling, hissing, garbled series of sounds.

  I jumped back.

  She made the noise again, but this time I realized it wasn’t just an expression of rage. It was words. She was speaking Fey—­but her human voice couldn’t pronounce the supernatural syllables, couldn’t speak in the Fey octaves. She was having an even harder time speaking than I had—­and these strange noises were her approximation.

  I couldn’t quite make it out.

  And then my heart clenched as I understood: “Imposter.”

  I felt the word like a punch in the gut.

  It’s not true,
I wanted to scream. I didn’t mean to. The Queen lied to both of us! But as I stared at the girl—­the girl who resembled me so perfectly it was like a reflection in a mirror—­and saw the expression of cold condemnation in her eyes, there was nothing I could say.

  She thought it was my fault.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, my eyes filling with tears. “I didn’t mean for it to happen this way.”

  I didn’t know if she understood me or not. Her eyes were full of dull suffering, past all hope or forgiveness.

  I wanted to run back upstairs to the Fairy Queen and shake her—­how could you do this to a child? And the Queen—­my mother—­said she’d done this for me?

  But we didn’t have much time. The Queen was probably pacing in her room right now, wondering how much more time I needed “alone” with Eva; she’d come after me soon, if she hadn’t already. I had to get my Shadow out of here. I had to convince her to come with me, if there was any hope of saving her. Picking up the last shreds of my courage, I met her haunted eyes.

  “Listen,” I said awkwardly, “I know you don’t trust me. And you have every right not to. But please believe me when I say—­we’re here to help you escape. The Fairy Queen lied to me too. I’m on your side. We’re going to get you out. But you need to come with us.”

  The girl looked at me like some kind of desperate, cornered animal and gave out a low hiss. Had she understood what I’d said? I couldn’t tell. I tried again.

  “Please. There isn’t much time. You need to come with us.”

  I gestured to the passageway that led away from this room, and then slowly walked towards it, stepping backwards, keeping my face to her the whole time, motioning for her to follow.

  Slowly, she took a few steps towards me, her eyes never leaving mine. The intensity of her stare was unnerving. But I tried to keep calm.

  “That’s good,” I said, trying to sound more cheerful and less terrified than I felt. “Keep coming. You’re almost there. We just have to walk to the end of the passage.”

  We turned the corner together. I could see the blaze of light from the Perpetual Candle illuminating the wall.