The Nutcracker Bleeds

by Lani Lenore

  He strolled along now, musing to himself and wondering what he would do first once he was ruler over all the toys and rodents, when a noise behind him caught his attention. His slender fingers reached for the razor at his back as he turned toward whatever foolish thing had come upon him.

  In the faint light–designs of a vent, he could see a small figure.

  “Edge!”

  He recognized the cheery voice immediately. Clara… She had surprised him.

  “What on earth are you doing out here, poppet? It’s not safe for you to be wandering about.”

  Edge found an amused smile and crossed his arms before his featureless chest. From the light of the vent, he saw the doll’s inescapable delight.

  “You’re alright!” she proclaimed, her sweet voice echoing.

  “Of course,” he assured her with a chuckle. “Why would I not be?”

  Clara pushed off the heels and dashed forward, flinging her arms around him. Her solid face made a little smack against his own glass flesh.

  “Now, now, let’s not get so emotional,” Edge insisted in his strange voice, pushing her away slightly and kneeling down to look her in the face. “Daddy has work to do. He has to find that evil nutcracker, so why don’t you run along and play somewhere safe until he’s done.”

  If she could only stand to wait just a bit longer, he would certainly allow her a place beside him on his throne. Admittedly, the child had too much delicious potential to simply toss her away. The girl said nothing, and when he was certain that she had complied with his request, he rose up and began to walk away from her.

  “It won’t do you any good.”

  The sudden words stopped him. The sound of the girl’s voice had changed considerably, fading from its joyful sweetness and passing off to a flatter, much more skeptical tone. A copy of his own? Edge looked at her over his shoulder.

  “Come again?”

  “He’s with the Master now.”

  Edge was floored by this news. What was this new development?

  “He…who?” Edge asked, a threatening tone in his voice. Surely she was not speaking of the nutcracker.

  “You know who,” she told him. “I just took him there myself.”

  Edge whirled on her, his eyes wide with fury. She knew the rules! Why would she do such a thing to him? How could she?

  “Don’t be upset,” she said in a disapproving way. “The Master told me to.”

  “You could have stalled,” the dark–haired doll growled through clenched teeth.

  “I did not want to stall,” she said simply.

  Clara crossed her arms, looking at him with her nose tilted in the air. She was making the decisions now? Who had given her permission? Just who? But there was no time to contemplate this. Edge could not allow the nutcracker and the rat to fight! It was not time! Either he would have to stop it, or he would have to be directly in the middle of it.

  He trudged heatedly past the child doll, moving hastily off in the direction of the Rat King’s domain. If he did not hurry–

  “You are going to meet your death if you go,” Clara warned.

  Edge did not listen to her. He felt the weight of the razor on his back. He feared nothing.

  “You can’t go down there!” she insisted, beginning to follow him.

  “I have to go down there,” Edge started calmly, but as he went on, his voice elevated to a yell, “because I’m the only one who can do anything.”

  Clara stopped at the notion, stomping her foot into the ground so hard that it might have shattered.

  “Think about it,” she screamed back at him.

  The forcefulness of her high–pitched voice caused him to stop. He paused in his flaring anger, but he did not turn to face her.

  “The two of them are going to fight,” the child said, “and granted, the nutcracker is a worthy opponent, but I think we both know who the victor will be. Do you actually believe that you will win if you engage the Master in battle? If you would use that clever mind of yours, you would surely understand that what you’re playing at is impossible!”

  What was this? Was she his mother now? And how did he even know what a mother was? Surely he had never had one. How did he know anything that he knew? Some of it was learned as he went along, but what about the things he could do from the very first day that his eyes opened and he understood that he was alive? Who had taught him to walk or to speak? How did he know what he knew?

  And why had he never thought of this before?

  Could what she was saying be true? Had he been so clever and masterful in his plotting simply to have overlooked the tiniest of details? That he could not hope, on any level, to defeat the one who had given him life? Was he not brought to life by the hands of his father, the toymaker named Euan? Was Edge not his own being with his own rules and his own ideas? Or was Clara right? That a dirty, filthy rat was in control and he could destroy Edge just as easily as he had brought the doll to life?

  No…

  “No…”

  “I didn’t know you were planning to kill the Master. I only thought you were trying to destroy the nutcracker.” Clara’s lower lip jutted out in a pout. “I never would have worked with you. Even if it was for Anne!”

  “But, the woman,” Edge protested with little effort, feeling his mind begin to fracture. “She was what you wanted. Why is that not worth everything to you?”

  His voice had become that of a tortured youth, but straight after he’d let the words out, he could hardly believe he had done so. He did not care about her reasons. She was only a child!

  “I changed my mind, actually,” the girl answered anyway, “but I would know better than to oppose him so openly.”

  Edge clenched his fists tightly. Even when he heard them begin to crack, he did not relent. How dare she speak that way to him? And how dare she be right!

  “Bah!” he released, stepping on toward his destination.

  “You are on bad terms with him right now. You would do best to wait. Let me try to get you back in favor with him after it is over,” she called.

  One more word… he thought. One more word from her and he was going to use this instrument on his back which made him fearless.

  Clara did not back down. She followed on behind him.

  “I want you to take care of me!” Her voice did not hold a calm tone of pleading anymore, but a desperate, nearly inaudible screech common to children in their tantrums.

  Edge had heard enough. It was time for this little one to have her punishment.

  “Foolish little harpy,” he said, stopping in his tracks once again. “I thought you were different.”

  His hand was reaching to his blade without having to be told, wrapping around the handle and withdrawing it from his back. He turned back toward her. At his blood–red stare, fear emerged in her blue eyes.

  “But you’re just like the rest!”

  His proclamation echoed down the shaft, a perfect achievement of a fury–coated male tone. Edge moved forward in a flash of dark color on light skin. Clara gasped as the blade swung up into the air over her head. Edge grinned wildly as he anticipated the instant that her head and small body would shatter.

  The attractive doll slashed downward, grinning madly. He felt resistance against his arms as his blade connected–but it did not connect with Clara. Confusion set in on Edge’s face. Beneath him, Clara looked up at him and shook her head.

  The razor that had been going for its mark–the very center of Clara’s head–had stopped dead in the air before even colliding with the girl. There was nothing restricting it, and yet it would not move. He pushed on the top of the blade with all his strength to force it down on her. He pulled on it to pry it away in order to attempt the strike again. Neither worked. His weapon was stuck fast in nothing.

  “You disappoint me, Edge,” the girl said, sniffling a bit while he was still considering what had happened. “There is a secret shield around me that protects me from danger. Did you actually think that he would
leave me to run about without any sort of protection? I’m just a little girl, after all.”

  A little smile found her lips, and realization dawned inside Edge. He had miscalculated–everything. In that moment, he knew what it was like to feel fear. He was not in control. He was not in control at all. Edge’s cracked hands released the weapon that he had earned his name by wielding, not concerned if he would ever hold it again. All this he’d been through–all this!–and when he thought he was playing them, they were actually playing him? No. No!

  The long–haired doll turned and ran. He imagined the rat looking at him through Clara’s smiling eyes, then Edge imagined that oversized rodent lurking about inside his own head.

  “Bastard!” he yelled, putting his hands to his head as he ran. “Get out! Get out!”

  Though Edge had known of the rat’s presence in his mind all the while, it struck him now in this moment of weakness. He could not take this looming. This was invasive–atrocious.

  This was not at all fair.

  7

  Clara tilted her head curiously around the suspended blade in order to watch Edge as he darted away from her. What was wrong with him? He never acted this way. All the screaming and the running… It was not like him at all. Clara did not understand this, and she knew that Edge did not understand either. He did not know what was good for him.

  “I only wanted us to be together,” the child whined quietly, “but I see now that you don’t feel the same.”

  She sighed dejectedly as he vanished from her sight in the dark. Then she shrugged her tiny shoulders. The razor blade that was stuck in the air shifted. It circled around her head as if an invisible hand was holding it. It stopped in front of her, leaning back as Clara stared dead on into the direction Edge had run off into. The blade tilted back–a little more. It spun forward.

  The razor was projected, tumbling end over end as if it had been thrown–only no one had touched it. Clara stood still and quiet as the blade disappeared into the dark with the rest of the unknown. Then, echoing back to her down the shaft was the sound of breaking glass.

  8

  The trip up the lift took longer than Anne might have liked, but now that she and Olivia had finally reached the top, they could see that the way was clear, it was quiet, and the vent that would lead them into Olivia’s room was open. The woman could hardly contain the thrill she got from seeing her escape. She was tired, and she knew the girl beside her was as well, but she gripped Olivia’s hand and forced them both to jog.

  Now, she would get Olivia into bed and she would go back to her room. Then they would see what the morning brought. That was, if she could stop her crying long enough to sleep.

  “I feel sick,” Olivia said suddenly. Anne had hardly noticed that the girl had slowed down considerably.

  “No, no; we’re almost there!” Anne insisted, snapping out of her thoughts and tugging the girl’s arm.

  “No, really…I…”

  That was as far as Olivia got before a flood of dark bile burst from her mouth. The color was odd–almost like blood; like spilling darkness. Anne had never seen this before, especially not in someone healthy.

  “Oh my…” she uttered, gripping Olivia as she heaved once again, staining herself with the rancid liquid.

  Anne did not watch. She directed her sight on the vent and moved the girl toward it as quickly as she dared to. What was wrong with her? Was she dying or was this the lifting of the curse? Both were good reasons for them to get out of here, though she prayed for the second thing to be true.

  They moved on steadily. Anne would allow for nothing else. Olivia continued to be sick, spilling quite a mess along the way, slipping in it as she stepped. Anne thought that she would be sick herself. They were at the vent. They passed through. Olivia fell from Anne’s arms and passed out on the floor.

  “Olivia!”

  The nurse ran to her, lifting up the girl and examining her. She was not dead, but her heartbeat seemed very faint.

  “Olivia! Wake up! Can you hear me?”

  No more words could be found in the woman’s mouth as a wave of nausea ran over her like an unyielding tide. Her head pounded. She felt dizzy. Certainly, she was going to die. Anne vomited up dark blood, expelling the poisons from her body. Her legs rebelled against her and she hit the floor. Within, she could feel her insides wrenching.

  Anne fell over beside Olivia. They both became well–acquainted with the darkness.

  9

  Clara skipped down the tunnel. She hummed as she skipped. Her golden curls bounced. She couldn’t have been happier. Edge had tried to kill her, but he had certainly not managed it, and he had absolutely not gone in to interrupt the Master’s fight with the nutcracker.

  Everything was as it should be. Everything was right with the Master’s world.

  Her tiny feet carried her past the razorblade that had been unable to touch her, now lying flat on the floor of the shaft. She gave it little mind. The sight past that was what she wanted to see, and it was a pale, slender body dressed in purple, lying motionless on the dark ground. She hopped down low to examine it, pleased to see that the projectile blade had reached its mark.

  The neck of the doll that called itself Edge was severed, cracked cleanly at the base.

  Clara’s anxious glass eyes roved the area, finally seeing the thing that she truly wished to see. Edge’s pretty head was lying to the side. His hair had gotten a bit of a trim, but the face was not broken.

  The child picked up the head with the long ebony hair hanging from it. She cradled it in her arms like a baby, smiling happily. It was perfect. It was what she’d always wanted.

  The doll started off with it, toward a destination of her own choosing.

  “You idiot child,” a voice screeched at her. It was neither male nor female. “What have you done!”

  Clara rolled her eyes at the words. She twisted the head around in her hands, turning the face up toward her. Wide, red eyes stared at her. Pale lips were curled in a snarl.

  “It was for your own good!” she scolded the head.

  10

  Edge could hardly gather the calm to speak. She had turned against him? Cleaved his head from his body with his own weapon? Perhaps it served him right, but he never figured her for being so clever. His rage boiled over.

  “I’ll kill you for this,” he screamed at her, but she just smiled at him.

  “Nuh–huhhh,” she reminded him smartly.

  His snarl turned down into a frown with his realization. He could never destroy her while her master yet lived, and he could never defeat the Master on his own. More depressing still was that, body or not, he could not escape her. He could not… Edge’s eye ticked.

  The child giggled, the haunting sound coming at his ears from all directions. She held Edge’s dismembered head against her dress like a valued keepsake.

  “It’s unfortunate,” Clara said, beginning to skip down the shaft once again, “but don’t worry, Edge. I’ll take care of you.”

  Chapter Thirty–Eight: Wisdom in the Fire

  1

  The silence hung for several moments in the candlelit space, hovering over the long, pale floor. The wooden prince stared toward the evil magician with great emotion surging throughout him. In his rat form, the wicked being was no more intimidating than he had been in a past age, for he was still the same monster Armand had always known. The prince knew of the terrible things his enemy had done–things that could not be reversed. It was time to pay for all sins.

  There was no forgiveness. Not for either of them.

  The hideous rodent stood straight behind the table, his slick, dark body covered in a black robe. His grin spoke of his anticipation, but his hands remained flat on the table top. What would the nutcracker do? Would he allow time for chatting or would he attempt to strike without hesitation? Augustus waited patiently for the outcome.

  When he became comfortable that Armand was not going to attack him immediately–for the nutcracker had not eve
n reached for his weapons–the rat addressed him. He did so in their native tongue. Neither had been able to maintain the proper accent over all their years of speaking English, but once upon a time, they had both displayed their German heritage proudly through their speech.

  “How fine it is that we have come to stand together like this. Do you feel the same, Armand?”

  “Did you keep your promise?” the nutcracker asked, completely uninterested in anything else. He only cared about those two humans being safely back in their own world? Very well. Augustus widened his smile in amusement.

  “It has already been done. As I promised; at the first sight of you.”

  Armand said nothing to that, keeping his face firm. It was evident what he was thinking.

  “You do not believe me?” the rat asked, feigning surprise and beginning to step slowly around the table. “I saw no reason to perform some ridiculous display before you when there was no need for one. The humans have been expelled from this place, as promised.”

  The nutcracker continued to examine him, trying to balance the rat’s words with the look on his disgusting face. Finally, Armand seemed satisfied that his enemy was being truthful.

  “Good, then we can settle our own business.”

  Armand pulled the sword of glass from his back. Augustus stared down at it a moment, put off by this insistence. His wide smile faded.

  “What’s your rush? Do you anticipate death that much? You wish to kill me, but have you truly thought it through? Because you must know that either way the swing of this battle goes, you will die.”

  The wooden face of the nutcracker revealed nothing, but by that, it told everything. The outcome was certain now; that was what he’d wanted to hear. Armand had not only come here to kill Augustus, but he had come here to be killed.

  Augustus had played his cards wrong, revealing too much of the truth in hopes of turning the tide. Now Armand could guess that his magic would end at his death. Such sacrifices… Still, what he’d realized was quite interesting.