The Girl Who Fell

by Violet Grace

  Abby stretches out her arm, motioning for me to take her hand again. Still smiling that same mischievous smile, she tells me to stop worrying.

  Unsure how else I’m going to get down from here, I take her proffered hand. It’s warm and her grip is strong. She pulls me with a force that I don’t expect. I let out a gasp, and we’re running – running towards the edge of the building.

  As we reach the edge, a gust of wind forces our hands apart, but it’s too late to stop.

  We jump.

  Or rather, Abby jumps and I am pulled along after her. For a split second the momentum of our leap keeps me suspended in mid-air alongside Abby. Her two enormous wings flutter out behind her like a butterfly’s, reflecting the dusk light of the sky. From the enormous smile on her face to the tips of her pointed toes, she looks euphoric. In this moment, she looks so much like Tom.

  My wings. Where are my wings?

  And then it hits me.

  I’m going to die.

  I’m flailing, falling, plummeting.

  My heart’s pounding and the rushing air forces my screams of terror back down my throat. Tears stream from my eyes, instantly dried by the air. My dress is billowing up around my face and I’m hurtling towards the deadly stones below.

  I claw at the air, trying to find something to hold on to.

  Abby zooms towards me, her wings folded close to her body. Her mouth is wide with shrieks that I can’t hear. Is she trying to save me? Or finish me off? Whatever her intent, she’s too far away; she won’t reach me in time. I twist my body in panic and my mind empties of everything but one single thought.

  Tom.

  And then, finally, there’s an itch between my shoulder blades. I recognise the feeling instantly. The itching turns to burning, but it’s happening too slowly.

  Enormous poppies on tall stems rush past me as I hurtle towards the ground. Reaching, I snatch at the flower stems with both hands. I miss and lunge again. This time I clutch one, my hands tightening around the thick neck of the flower. The stem is wet and cool and soft. Tendrils sink into my skin, helping me get a grip, but I’m not slowing quickly enough and my hip and knee slam into the glass of the building, the force catapulting me outwards as the poppy stem bends under my weight.

  But it holds.

  I swing in the breeze, clinging tight, dangling just too far off the ground to jump.

  Abby reaches me just as my wings burst out of the back of my dress. I look back at them as they unfurl, just as wondrous as the last time. But there’s no peace or joy like before. Just an overwhelming sense of inadequacy.

  My wings failed me. If I hadn’t grabbed the poppy to break my fall, I’d be dead.

  ‘Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod,’ Abby says again and again. ‘Are you alright?’

  I can’t tell if she’s sorry that I almost died or sorry that I didn’t.

  I release my vice-like hold on the poppy and flutter down to the ground. My hands are red raw from the friction. The rain is harder now and my wings droop with the soggy weight before folding back into my body and disappearing.

  Abby watches me warily for a moment.

  ‘You —’ I begin, but Abby peers around, sniffing the air like a dog. ‘What?’

  She grabs my arm and yanks me, running towards an alley. Any trace of concern or guilt about almost pulling me to my death has vanished.

  ‘What are you —?’

  Abby lifts a finger to her mouth, signalling for me to hush. She stops abruptly as she nears the alley. I slam into her. Her eyes narrow slightly as she strains to listen. I hear nothing, except for the rain and a far-off crack of thunder.

  Then I hear it: a rumbling of drums. No, not drums. Marching. Hundreds, even thousands, of feet, stepping forcefully and precisely in time.

  We creep into the alley and peer around the corner, back into the street. In the distance, row after row of bodies in tight formation stretch along the street as far as I can see. The same creatures that Jules saved me from at the V&A.

  ‘Pycts,’ I whisper, trying not to gag from the putrid smell that wafts around us.

  ‘P-p-pycts?’ Abby whispers back, her voice breaking. ‘But they’re extinct.’

  ‘Evidently not.’ I can’t take my eyes off them. An entire army of walking carcasses. Spear-like wands swing in unison, clasped within bony hands with over-long fingers and talons at their ends. My stomach clenches as I remember how it felt to be touched by them.

  ‘I guess Damius’s army is no longer just rumour,’ I say, wondering what Gladys will make of this.

  I draw breath as the front of the parade gets closer. We back into a tiny alcove. Abby pushes her hand against my body, squishing me into the doorway. I try not to breathe in the fresh waves of stench assaulting me as the rows start to move past.

  A moment later, there’s silence.

  The marching has stopped. The army has come to a halt in the road, just metres from us. They’re standing in neat lines, poised, waiting.

  I press myself further back into the alcove, keeping an eye on the pycts, willing them to leave. My heart is beating so loud I’m certain it will give us away.

  ‘We need to get back to Windsor,’ Abby whispers.

  She reaches down to her boot for her wand. Her brow furrows.

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ I whisper, panic rising in my voice. ‘Transfer us back.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘My wand. It’s gone. It must have fallen out when I was diving to save you.’

  She says this as if it’s all my fault. As if I’m responsible for falling off a tower that she pulled me off and for losing her wand.

  One of the decaying soldiers lifts his chin and sniffs the air, his snub nose crinkling up like a pig foraging for truffles. He stretches his neck to the side and looks in our direction, scanning the walls with his rat eyes.

  Abby hunches her shoulders, trying to make herself smaller.

  A second soldier starts sniffing the air. How they’ve managed to detect our scent over their own foul smell is beyond me. More and more of them scan the alley, their little red eyes peering towards us, their pointed ears twitching.

  The first creature breaks formation, snarling as he takes a step towards the alley.

  ‘Any time you want to transfer us back, Princess,’ Abby whispers.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘If you can escape from an Agency cage, transferring back to the palace should be a cinch.’

  ‘But I have no idea how I did it,’ I gulp.

  Abby lets out an irritated sigh. ‘Well, give me your wand and I’ll do it,’ she says, holding out her hand.

  ‘I … I left it at the Temple.’

  More pycts leave their marching lines and slowly fan out into the alley, sniffing the air and the ground and peering into windows. It’s only a matter of time before they’re upon us.

  I turn back to Abby in a panic. ‘What are you going to do?’

  She raises an eyebrow. ‘So it’s my job to save you, is it?’

  Gladys’s words come rushing back. Once you find the courage to accept that you’re the one you’ve been waiting for, you will find your power. The snappy little slogan is all well and good in theory, but it’s not much use to me now. And it wasn’t much use to me when I was hurtling towards the ground with no wings.

  ‘According to the legends, their magic is supposed to be weak,’ Abby whispers. ‘It’s like they cast mud instead of spells, but there are too many of them to fight. I need to find something I can use as a wand.’

  We look around the alcove but there’s nothing. Just stone and wood. From what we can see of the lane, there’s no chromium anywhere.

  ‘The station. We can find something in the station,’ says Abby. She slips into the lane, ordering me to follow her and to stay calm. ‘If they smell your fear, they will attack. Don’t look back,’ she murmurs, walking quickly but casually in the direction of London Bridge train station.

  This feels like a
bad idea but I follow anyway. I’m not about to stay here by myself. In my mind I chant, Show no fear, show no fear, show no fear.

  I get about four steps before giving in to the urge to look at the snarling creatures behind us. Incredibly, none of them has moved. They’re all looking intently in our direction, watching us like a pack of dogs, their heads cocked. The front pycts look to one another uncertainly, as if waiting for some kind of explanation.

  I look back around and continue behind Abby.

  Show no fear, show no fear, show no fear.

  For a moment, I allow myself the luxury of believing that, incredibly, impossibly, we’re pulling this off. Abby’s strategy of nonchalantly walking out into the open as if they pose no threat to us has thrown them. It’s crazy brave, but we seem to have landed on the right side of brave.

  As we reach the entrance to the London Bridge train station I let out a breath and take one last look over my shoulder at these creatures.

  My eyes lock with those of a pyct wearing tatty overalls. His nostrils flair and his mouth opens into a snarl, revealing sharp, yellowed teeth. I momentarily forget my show-no-fear mantra and let out a full-on, freaked-out scream.

  The pyct’s snarls rise into a shrill shriek, echoing around the city.

  ‘Run!’ Abby yells, and she bolts.

  I need no encouragement, sprinting after her. I hear a thunderous beating on the cobblestones as the herd rushes towards us. We take the steps by threes and fours down into the train station, more sliding than running. They’re behind us, closing in fast. While most of them are about our size, they’re faster and look stronger. Not to mention that they outnumber us many times over.

  We reach the bottom of the stairs. Through the gloom I make out the familiar signs of dilapidation that have taken over the rest of Trinovantum. Smashed tiles and broken glass litter the floor.

  ‘Chromium. We need something with chrome plating,’ Abby says between heaving breaths. ‘Railings. Door handles. Beams. Tools. Anything you can find that might contain chromium.’

  I spin around, wildly scanning for anything that looks like metal. Some of the doors have been removed and lie smashed and broken on the floor, their handles removed, leaving scarred sockets. All that remains of the stair railings are jagged holes in the walls. Evidently, we’re not the only ones who have been to the station scavenging for chromium.

  There are people down here; children, dirty and desperate and wearing rags. They bundle up their scant belongings and run ahead, jumping off the platform and disappearing into boltholes. Doors for maintenance tunnels slam shut. Where are their parents? I find myself wondering. If we manage to get out of this alive, there is so much I need to learn about my new home.

  Abby turns sharply and sprints down the corridor. I follow her. The wall tiles are a blur. My chest heaves, my lungs burning with the exertion. But the galloping echo behind us spurs me on. The whole place is quaking, like the roof and tunnel could collapse on us at any moment.

  We reach the end of the first platform and stop.

  A dead end.

  The pycts stream onto the platform, their rumbling feet echoing in the confined space. Some topple onto the tracks, pushed by the oncoming mass of decomposing flesh. Undeterred, they simply get up and keep running towards us.

  I’m struck with feelings of awe and horror, all at once. And then I’m struck by a flying object, right on the collarbone. I look down and see a brown muddy patch on the neckline of my dress. It hurts enough to leave a bruise but it’s not going to kill me. That’s it? I think. This isn’t a fight, this is paintball.

  Then another clump of mud flies from the wand of a pyct and hits me in the side of the head, followed by one on my neck, knocking me to the ground.

  ‘Get up or you’ll be buried alive!’ Abby yells.

  I look up and see that her rose-garden dress is starting to look like a muddy compost heap.

  ‘Any time you want to jump in, Princess, feel free,’

  ‘What do I do?’ I stagger back onto my feet while blocking more mud pies with my arms.

  Abby turns to face more pycts who’ve jumped onto the tracks and are leaping and bounding towards us like wild dogs. They bound off the curved tiled walls of the tunnel, sending a wave of mud crashing down on our heads.

  ‘Do what you did at the Temple! Channel your energy!’

  ‘I don’t know how I did it!’ I scream. ‘I have no control over my magic.’

  ‘Well, about now would be a good time to get some control.’

  The pycts are closing in. Their stench mixes with the hot air of the subterranean station.

  We move back against the far wall and I realise we’re fast running out of platform. I raise my arms in front of me, trying to harness my magical energy, but nothing happens.

  Nothing. Not even the faintest tingle.

  I lift my hands again and beckon the Art. Did I just feel a tingle? I can’t be sure, but there was something.

  ‘Abby?’

  ‘A little busy right now,’ she says. Sweat is pouring off her as she ducks and dodges incoming pixie blasts. ‘How’s that control coming, Princess?’

  ‘Abby!’ I scream. ‘Behind you!’

  Abby turns her head and catches a glimpse of more vile creatures advancing towards us. The pycts pound us with muddy blasts from all sides, knocking us to the ground. The stinking mud piles around us, then begins to cover us. Darkness surrounds me; the air is thick and stale. I turn to see Abby raise her head. She’s seen something. A way out? She kicks desperately at the mounting mud, her feet skidding against the floor before she pushes her way forward. She scrambles free and crawls towards a doorway, towards the pycts, who seem oblivious to her. Their sole focus appears to be burying me alive in a muddy grave.

  Abby reaches the doorway and reaches out to touch the hinge hanging from the door. She turns back and smiles at me.

  ‘Time to find out what you’re made of, Princess.’ She mutters the transfer spell and is gone.

  Just like that. She abandoned me.

  And, worse, she used me as a distraction. The pycts didn’t stop her from reaching the chromium hinge because they were too busy pummelling me.

  Another pyct blast crashes down on me, blocking off my air, and I realise that outrage and self-pity are not going to help me get out of here alive.

  The weight of the mud mound squashes my lungs and is gooey and sticky on my eyelashes. I try the Art again, and this time something clicks. The briefest connection between my intent and the tingling at the tips of my fingers.

  I try again, and feel the tingle again, stronger this time. The power rises within me, but it feels different. Every other time it’s felt like a bolt of lightning – powerful but momentary, far beyond my control and over so quickly that I have no idea what happened. This time, it builds and builds, coursing through me, awaiting my direction.

  My senses go into overdrive as I lever myself to my feet and burst up and out of the muddy mound. I am everywhere. I see and hear everything with a kind of acute, crystalline clarity. For a few seconds, I remain in a fugue-like state of wonderment at my own powers. Timeless. Still. Surveying all that is before me.

  And then a group of pycts jumps at me, and with what I can only describe as calm detachment, I unleash the full force of my power.

  Reality folds in on itself and a pulse bursts around me, followed by a flash of blue light. In my state of heightened awareness, I experience everything at once, the whole scene in high definition and from every conceivable angle. Their shrieks and screams reach a shrill crescendo and then abruptly terminate.

  Every single pyct explodes in a cloud of ash that drops unceremoniously to the floor.

  Quiet settles around me; the only sound is the humming of air through the tunnel.

  I’m hot. Too hot. I’m burning from the inside out. I let out a gasp, exhaustion mixed with terror.

  I feel myself swaying, my vision blurring and my legs crumpling beneath me.

  The last
thing I hear before I hit the floor is the sound of galloping hooves.

  chapter 19

  I’m alone.

  Moonlight floods the room, casting shadows in an eerie stillness.

  Somewhere in the distance a clock chimes, but I’m not listening closely enough to count the strokes.

  I’m in the palace. I don’t know how I know, and I don’t remember getting here. But I know that I’m in the palace, in my room. And I’m clean. Someone has washed the mud off me and changed me into my night gown.

  Something has happened to me. I feel different. I am different. Power courses through me, an acute awareness. Unbidden, memories from the previous night fill my mind.

  Magic. My magic. I controlled the Art. Without a wand.

  I can still feel it: a power and sureness I’ve never had before. Something snapped and something came back together, forged stronger than before. For the first time in my life, I feel whole. The Art is no longer a series of songs in an ancient book. It’s living and breathing in me. Now I understand what Gladys was getting at: the Art is will – magnified, amplified, intensified.

  My will.

  I am the one I’ve been waiting for.

  My door creaks open, and Jules pokes her head around. She opens it wide. Brina and Callie stand behind her.

  ‘It is pleasing to see that you are awake, Your Highness,’ Jules says, and it’s clear that she really means it. ‘Inform the Luminaress,’ she orders Brina, who promptly scuttles away.

  A memory of the pycts falling to the floor as dust flashes through my mind.

  ‘I killed them.’

  ‘Your Highness?’ Jules says, stepping into my bed chamber.

  ‘The pycts.’

  ‘They’d have thought nothing of killing you,’ she says, sounding like a seasoned battle commander.

  ‘But … but … they’re dead. All dead,’ I say.