by Lani Lenore
Armand had gone after his enemy with resilience, fallen into depression along the way and tried to end his miserable existence. When he could not even accomplish that–because of the living failure that he was–he’d resigned himself to chasing his enemy once again. Now, he’d come so close, and yet he was still so far away.
It was a difficult and disheartening state, but even through those trials, how could Armand have forgotten sitting by the fire?
It was while sitting before those lapping flames, hypnotized by them, that he had his most profound thoughts. Fire was good. For him, it fended the cold from both the body and the heart. What was it about the flame that was so alluring? He didn’t know, but he’d sit for hours in a chair before the wide, decorative hearth with his beast–head trophies mounted over the top of it, staring in, thinking.
On this cold day, back in a time when he was still a man, Armand thought about the night before.
He’d insisted on being personally involved in investigating the disappearances of the girls from the village–four over the past month. Armand did not know any of the girls personally, but he didn’t take kindly to anything that disrupted the people so much as these disappearances. However, even with him leading the search, there had been no trace.
The first girl had vanished nearly a month ago to the day. Thirteen years old and from a noble family. Trouble had stirred, and a search had ensued, but it was seen that nothing could be done to find the girl. It was assumed that she must have simply run away.
Two weeks later, another disappearance. Five years old this time, and from a rather poor family with four other daughters. Such a small child could not be dismissed as a simple run–away, but again, a search had turned up nothing.
Four days after that, another girl. This one had been ten, a baker’s daughter, and then the people had started to panic. They kept close watch on their girls, keeping them locked up, spewing superstitious rumors of draugrs and wights. Fathers sat awake at night with their backs against the doors of their daughters’ rooms, but even a father’s love was not enough to guard against the appeal of magic and a young girl’s curiosity, and from straight beneath such a father’s protective nose, the forth girl was taken from her room only two nights ago. This one, eleven years old and from a farming family with a father and three strong brothers keeping watch.
Armand and several men of the Guard had taken up searching and patrolling after the third girl had been taken, every night taking shifts of riding through the town and woods, looking for anything suspicious. From beneath their alert noses as well, the forth girl had been taken. They’d moved on it while the disappearance was still fresh, supposedly only a few hours after the fact. They’d searched for two days, and there had been nothing. There had not even been a clothing scrap or even a pack of wolves in the area to push the blame onto.
There was talk in the town of a ‘spiriting away’, as if the girls had simply vanished. Everyone was growing highly superstitious, suspecting one another of the dreadful deeds. Armand knew he had to put a stop to this before this ridiculous talk became too much. That still did not erase the fact that something had happened to those girls.
He sighed deeply as he sat there, staring at the flames and beginning to doze. The fire was wise. It would share its wisdom with him…
“Du bist also doch gekommen! ...I thought you would fall asleep and forget to meet me here.”
Hm? Armand opened his eyes and tilted his head to the side, looking over to the one who had addressed him. She stood there with a little smile, looking back at him expectantly. Her mass of curls was secured with ribbon and she was dressed in her pale furs and gloves.
Clara… The sight of her always lifted his spirits despite the nature of his mood. He smiled sheepishly back at her.
“Of course I remembered,” he said. Now, what was it that he hadn’t forgotten? Obviously, by the way she was dressed, they were going out…
The girl saw the loss in his eyes and let out a short sigh.
“You forgot,” she acknowledged with a nod of her eight–year–old head. She didn’t look disappointed, covering it up with the air of a princess. He didn’t like to let her down, but he couldn’t help that he’d forgotten. There were so many things on his mind just now.
“Remind me?”
“Herr Fuchs is coming to deliver my gift. The one father commissioned for my birthday. You’re supposed to come see it.”
Armand might have remembered that the girl’s birthday had been three days ago and the gift had not been finished then, but his tired mind had gotten stuck on something else in that sentence. Father…his father. Yes. How much pain did that one thought alone bring him? To look into her blue eyes and see his own eyes looking back at him? The color of their skin was the same. Their hair was the same color blond–though hers was considerably more full and curly than his. That was a place they’d differed; she must have gotten that from her mother.
Did Clara not deserve to know the truth? Did he not deserve to have her for a daughter and not a sister? But would she hate him if he told her? He forced those thoughts away.
Herr Fuchs. Augustus Fuchs, the toymaker. Yes, he remembered now. Clara had always thought the man was fascinating, and Armand would have to admit that he was quite skilled in his craft, but there was something about him that the prince couldn’t force himself to like. Then again, how many people did Armand genuinely like? He could count them on his hand.
The girl moved closer to him, peering into his face. She wore a concerned look.
“Were you out all night again?”
The question took him off guard, but he still managed to answer. “Not all night, no.”
“Did you find anything?”
Clara was not like most children. Perhaps it was her royal upbringing, but she was a sensitive child, not the sort that could hear bad news and simply go on about her business. She’d heard talk of the missing girls, though Armand and his father had tried to keep it from her so that the poor girl would not be frightened. But someone had told her, and she asked Armand about it quite often, very concerned for those missing ones. Still, he hated to see this keeping her vexed. She was not going to share in whatever fate had befallen the others.
“You don’t need to worry yourself over that,” he told her, speaking the truth, but also ashamed to admit his attempts were nothing but failures so far.
The girl did not pry further, understanding that she shouldn’t.
“Well, you should at least try to remember your promises,” she scolded lightly, ignoring her own concerns by switching her attention to another matter–but those other things still pressed on the back of her mind.
Armand smiled. It amused him at times how, in her tiny sister role, she was often the one who acted like the parent.
“Of course, miss; you do know what’s best.”
The child gave a nod of appreciation and took his hand. “We should go. He’ll be here any moment.”
Before she’d even finished or managed to urge Armand from his chair, the door of the chamber creaked open and a servant stuck his head inside.
“Princess Clara,” he addressed, smiling kindly. “You have a visitor.”
2
With Augustus Fuchs, everything was grand and stylish. Everything was magic, but very few counted it as more than well–performed illusions. He was an entertainer as much as a craftsman, and he’d won many over with his fantastic creations and interesting presentation. He was a mysterious individual, never revealing the secrets of his craft.
Most people would never have suspected the toymaker of being anything less than reputable, for he’d always been associated with finer families. Even if it was taken seriously that he was a genuine user of magic, no one would have claimed that his spectacles were anything more than a simple parlor trick or two. Harmless. He was not suspected of his misdeeds, neither was he blamed for the girls he had taken. There was hardly anyone that had ever met him who thought he was evil.
But Armand noticed something, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what that something was.
The king, the prince, the young princess, and several servants were gathered in the hall when Augustus was admitted inside. This was not the first time he’d been in the keep, but he knew it might be the last. Still, he entered as if he might have been royalty himself.
He’d made an appearance at the child’s birthday celebration, pleasing everyone with several interesting creations, such as a pair of life–size dolls that danced on their own. Still, the commissioned toy he’d intended for her had not been finished–or so he had said. It only gave him an excuse to come back when there were less people in attendance.
The man strode into the hall wearing a smile, listening to the sound that his wet boots made against the stone floor.
He was a man of small stature, admittedly unattractive, with large eyes and a wide mouth. His face was very round and small ears sat on each side of his head. Augustus had a mousy appearance, but that did not stop people from smiling at him when they saw him.
The atmosphere was the same within the palace on this day. Everyone within the room smiled to see him approach, no doubt wondering what sort of exciting new creation he was bringing. They were all happy–except one.
Augustus’s calm blue eyes focused on the one who did not seem pleased to see him, continuing to smile himself despite his inner distaste. Armand; the king’s son and heir to the throne. The toymaker would have lied in saying that he was not somewhat jealous to look on Armand–but any man would be a liar to say he didn’t feel the same. The spoilt, arrogant wastrel had everything. Was everything. The prince was tall and strong. He was skilled with a sword, a hero of the people. He was attractive, with female admirers everywhere. He once took advantage of but now hardly even glanced at anymore. He had become more reserved over the past few years, smarter and not quite as reckless.
Still, not even Armand had been able to uncover the secret of the vanishing girls. This made Augustus able to hold his smile beneath the prince’s frowning face. Clara’s adorable visage had lit up at the sight of him, and he focused on that instead.
There was a dark cape draped over his arm, and just before he stopped several feet before the throne near where the princess was standing, he pulled the cape away and twisted it in the air. He threw the material back, and it seemed to vanish into nothing. There, magically left in his hand, was a box.
Clara clapped her hands at his display, and he knelt down in a bow, holding out the box to her with one hand. Despite the way she knew she should act, her excitement led her to move forward and take the box straight from his hand. She did, however, open it with dignity.
Within the walls of the box rested a folded doll. The girl looked at it with interest, pulling it forth from the box so that she could get a better look. She set it down on the floor and stared at it a moment, seeing that the doll was curled up in a ball with its arms wrapped tightly around its legs. For a moment, she seemed unsure about trying to pry it apart, but then she saw that she didn’t have to. The doll pulled itself up on its own.
The doll stood up, took a bow, and began to dance to music that was somehow emitting from its body. It was a beautiful harlequin doll, dressed in an elaborate suit of red and purple silk with feathers around the collar and sleeves. The face beneath the jester hat was painted white with black designs–the face of a pretty young girl. The toy, two hands high, awed everyone who saw it. It was as impressive as the larger versions–the sword dancer and the ballerina–that had danced at the party.
The doll performed its dance in a small area across the floor until the music ended. Then it folded back down around itself and went back to rest.
“I’ve never made such a toy for anyone else,” the toymaker told her. “I usually only use such a curiosity in my entertaining, but this one is for you.”
The man was proud of himself for the gift, and felt that it was well worth the wait even if it was presented after the girl’s birthday.
“It’s wonderful,” Clara said, but Augustus could tell that the girl only meant it half–heartedly.
She stared down at the toy at her feet, not bothering to pick it up or cradle it as he’d expected she might.
“Is there something wrong with it?” he asked, concerned.
“It’s almost like she dies when she’s done, isn’t it…”
Augustus looked down at the doll, fearing that perhaps that was in fact, a true flaw, but after only a short moment he changed his mind. No; there was something else wrong with Clara. He could see the distracted look in her eyes.
“What is the matter? Is there something troubling you?”
“I’m just a bit worried,” the girl admitted quietly, “about those missing girls. I just started thinking about them again when I saw this doll.”
Augustus smiled, taking great care to keep himself from hugging the child.
“Now, now, I’m sure they’ll be found,” he assured her. “Your brother’s involved. You’ll have to trust him to make it right.”
He’d not meant his own words of course, and said them only in hopes that Clara would begin to lose faith in her brother for not having found those girls already. Then again, it did not matter much if she lost that faith or not. All would transpire soon.
“Do you have it with you?” he asked her quietly, knowing she would understand what he meant.
Clara gave a short nod, reaching into her pocket and withdrawing a small, green marble. She rubbed it between her fingers and a light stirred inside.
“Remember that it will keep you safe,” he said. “Nothing bad will happen as long as it is there to light the darkness.”
He smiled at her, and the girl smiled back. She felt a bit better now, curtsying to thank him for the doll that she then gathered into her arms.
3
From his place near his father’s throne, Armand could not hear what Clara and the suspicious man had said, but he frowned upon it still. The man was too close; much too close to her. Armand certainly didn’t know then that this toymaker who stood before him would be the one to ruin him–that very night, in fact.
And when he would recount the events to a woman named Anne many years later, he would be too shamed by it to tell her the full truth.
4
Clara…
Within her bed, the small princess stirred, rising up in the cold of the night to peer through the darkness of her bedroom. She took a moment to rub the grogginess from her eyes, scanning the room over her thick blankets in the realm of darkness and shadow that held so many terrors for a child like her. One never knew when there was a pair of large jaws just inches from the face, ready to snap in an instant.
Had someone called her name? She was certain that she’d heard something. Or had she simply been dreaming? The girl didn’t dare call out, for how was she to know that the shadows would not be alerted and swallow her whole?
Clara…
The princess gasped slightly and sunk down further into the blankets. She’d certainly heard the voice this time, though she would admit it was not a terrifying sound. The tone was warm and welcoming, as if it wanted to give her a hug. She rose up out of the blankets a bit more.
Sitting there, she began to feel Winter’s cold fingers touching her skin. She turned her head, seeing that the window was open. Pale moonlight flowed inside, reflecting off the snow and dispelling the darkness somewhat. Her blue eyes widened, for when they rested on the window, she saw a magnificent creature sitting there. She tilted her head, forgetting about the cold and lowering the blankets to get a better look.
On the sill, looking at her with utmost interest, was a large owl. Its feathers were pure white and its eyes were a clear blue like water. It cooed gently at her, matching the way she tilted her head as if it could comprehend her child nature.
For a moment, Clara was surprised, but then she was pulling herself from the bed, stepping down onto the floor and heading cautiously to the window, to the grand
bird that awaited her there. She smiled with fascination, moving closer and stretching out her small hand to touch its awaiting feathers. They were soft and downy. Her fingers slid through them easily and the bird allowed her affection.
“Well now, where did you come from?” she asked the owl quietly, and following the moment of silence after her question, the owl spread its silent wings and flew away from the window–as if she followed, it would show her.
It flew out over the quiet, snowy landscape, and Clara moved closer to the opening to watch it leave. Looking down outside the window, she saw something else rather curious.
There was a glowing white ladder starting at her window and running all the way to the ground. She touched the side of it, finding that it was firm, and she was amazed. It looked as if it was made of stardust! Clara giggled at the astounding sight, suddenly feeling adventurous. Her eyes trailed down the ladder and into the snowy drifts below. There in that snow, looking up at her steadily, stood a majestic, white stag.
The perfect creature nodded its head to her three times, and the girl understood that it was trying to communicate, just as the owl had been doing. It had something to show her. It wanted her to follow.
Clara knew that the temperatures outside were harsh, but she had become oblivious to that. She stepped into a pair of slippers and put on her great fur coat. Without questioning further, the entranced child climbed down the ladder.
5
It had been a long night. The wind had been harsh against his face, and even with furs, nature’s breath bit to the bone. Armand was glad to be back once again in the warmth of his home this night, once again to wallow in his shame for another search and patrol which had rendered nothing.
How hard was this mystery? Why could he not solve it? Surely he was not, like so many others, beginning to believe that those girls had simply vanished into thin air. Not even in his younger days–when he’d been open to nearly anything the world could throw at him–would he have ever believed such a thing. He could not start now.
