Instrument of Chaos

by Rebecca Hall

  “Because I can.” He held up a hand, twisting it this way and that as if studying it. “Such a delicate, fragile thing this body. It wouldn’t last more than a few weeks without magic and the poor thing knew it.”

  “What did you do to Nikola?” Mitch demanded. Beside him Amelie coughed and dropped to her knees, Michael’s presence was only adding to the magic in the air.

  “Exactly what he wanted me to do,” Michael replied. Behind him the mist coalesced into a chair and he reclined in it, looking for all the world as if he was doing nothing more stressful than lounging in the sun. “I read his mind.”

  “No,” Mitch gasped, feeling sick. There was no way Nikola could cope with an impression of this lunatic rattling around in his head. Just getting him close enough that they could read each other’s minds had probably been enough to trigger a seizure and now he was alone in a forest where even the trees tried to eat you.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Michael said. “I’m not nearly so cruel as my brother, I made sure to leave everything the way I found it. Better really, there wasn’t that much of his mind left, poor thing was drowning under Raphael’s presence. My brother never did understand the meaning of overkill.”

  “Nikola,” Amelie gasped.

  Mitch flinched, realising too late that Amelie hadn’t just asked Nikola to find them the path to the Heart of Faerie, she’d asked him to delay Michael.

  “Let us go,” he said, “please, if there’s still time… We won’t come back, I promise.” The day with the demon was replaying itself over and over in his head, the memory of how utterly helpless Nikola had been, of how much he’d struggled in the weeks that followed. Every nose bleed, every time he’d been sick, every time he’d passed out or had a seizure.

  And that had been in the safety of their own home. That had been with Gawain there to heal him. He was lost and alone now, angel and demon warring for control of his mind.

  “You I believe,” Michael said, leaning forward in his chair, the aura of seriousness ruined by his delighted smile and the way he swung his legs back and forth like a child.

  “Her not so much,” he cocked his head to one side, that manic smile still fixed in place. “Try harder little girl. Nikola might believe your sorrow, he’d certainly want to, but I don’t.”

  “Stop it,” Amelie tried to yell but her voice came out as more of a wheeze.

  “No,” Michael said, suddenly crouched an inch from Amelie’s nose. “You stop. I can still hear him you know, trying to justify your actions, trying to excuse them. Trying to convince himself that you really do love him while deep down inside he knows that you hate him.” He rose to his feet, drawing Amelie with him though he never once laid a hand upon her.

  “He’s my cousin,” Amelie said. “And I do love him.”

  “The two aren’t mutually exclusive little girl, just destructive. I should know.” He gestured to the curse, tendrils of mist curling around him and rapidly growing denser until he disappeared from view.

  “Michael,” Mitch yelled, stepping forward. The mist parted but Michael was gone.

  “Miss me?”

  Mitch spun and there he was again, wearing Nikola’s most infuriating grin, the one he wore when he knew that he was being difficult. Amelie staggered around to face him as well, her face streaked with tears. Mitch wasn’t sure if it was magic or will power keeping her upright anymore.

  “Shall I tell you what his first memory is?” Michael asked, swirling a crystal goblet in one hand. Mitch didn’t bother to wonder where he’d got it from and he didn’t want to know what was in it.

  “Well?” He flashed across the intervening space and cupped Amelie’s chin in his free hand. “It’s of you little girl.” He stared into her eyes, silver pupils seeming to shine all the brighter in contrast to her black ones, their natural colour obscured by contact lenses.

  Mitch started forward, he might not like Amelie very much any more but he wasn’t going to let this lunatic manhandle her, only to find that he couldn’t move. He strained against the magic restraining him, the magic that he hadn’t noticed slipping into place, the magic that he still couldn’t sense, to no avail. Here in the Heart of Faerie he was utterly blind to the one thing that could help, magic.

  Amelie shook her head, her eyes wide and Mitch saw her muscles strain as she tried to move away. It was no good, she was just as securely bound as he was but that didn’t stop her from trying.

  “What do you imagine the two of you are doing in this memory?” Michael asked. If only he didn’t look so happy, his face suffused with innocent delight. Somehow, Mitch thought, it would have been easier if he’d been cold and cruel.

  “Playing?” Michael asked. “Eating with your doting parents?” He laughed and it was Nikola’s laugh and that only made Mitch strain against his restraints even harder.

  “Nothing nearly so pleasant I’m afraid. You’re yelling at him. Pushing and shoving because you want a puppy for your birthday. Screaming and screaming as his world narrows until there is only you and the knowledge that he is the cause of this, that it is all his fault. Until the only thing in the world is your voice telling him that everything is all his fault and you hate him for it.”

  He released her and Amelie fell.

  “No,” she gasped, shaking her head. “I was only four, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t understand.” She coughed, flecks of blood staining her lips.

  “He was four as well,” Michael said. He still wore Nikola’s smile, either oblivious or uncaring of how much his words hurt. “Do you think he understood?” He shook his head. “What a thing to build a life on, the knowledge that one who should have been his sister hated him and all for a puppy that he wanted more than you ever did.”

  Amelie shook her head, too breathless to speak, and Mitch saw drops of blood fall away into nothing.

  “Poor thing, it would have made him utterly miserable, his throat closing up whenever it came near, his skin welting until he wanted to crawl out of it… And he still would have loved that puppy more than you.”

  Mitch shuddered. He knew that Nikola was allergic to dogs. He’d never thought that it had been that bad though, even knowing that Nikola was growing out of it.

  “Stop it,” Amelie wheezed, raising her head to stare at him through tear-filled eyes, blood dripping from her nose.

  “Persistent aren’t you?” Michael said, falling back into the chair that appeared behind him and sprawling across it. Even that was like Nikola. The way he looked, the way he moved, even the cadence of his speech. The only thing that was wrong was his words. Nikola would never say those words.

  Perhaps he should have, Mitch thought.

  “But the game’s up,” Michael said. “You can stop pretending that you care.”

  “Shut up,” Mitch spat, unsure if he was trying to protect Amelie or just stop this thing talking in Nikola’s voice. Amelie did care, she wouldn’t be crying now if she didn’t.

  “Trying to protect your princess Mitchell?” he asked, spinning his chair to face him. “You’re forgetting that I can read your mind. You don’t disagree with me, how many times have you kept your mouth shut because you knew that opening it would start another fight? One you knew you couldn’t win and wouldn’t change anything. One you knew that Nikola had already given up on?”

  Mitch shook his head as much as he was able to, surprised to find that he actually had that much mobility.

  “Stop,” he said, forcing the word out past the lump in his throat. “You… not with his face… his body.” His eyes burned, there was something horribly wrong about hearing those words come from Nikola’s mouth.

  The magic holding him vanished and he collapsed, falling a couple of metres before catching himself. He really could fall forever here. He glared up at Michael and climbed a little higher, careful not to seem threatening but unable to bring himself to comfort Amelie.

  “He forgave you, you know,” Michael said, turning back to Amelie. “He grew up and dismissed it as the innocent
, thoughtless cruelty of a child.”

  Amelie swallowed a sob and looked up in relief, a tiny smile on her face.

  “And really, how does that compare with the calculated malice of an adult. The wilful spite of an adult. Shall I remind you? Repeat to you the words you used to condemn him? He’s in a coma now you know, and I can’t say if he’ll ever wake up. You walking away could be the last thing he ever knew.”

  “No,” Amelie gasped, choking. Mitch wondered if Michael planned to do anything more than torment then until they were killed by the magic saturating the Heart of Faerie. He’d read Nikola’s mind, he’d know exactly where to stick the knife. He even seemed to be replicating Nikola’s magic. Mitch wanted to hate him for it but they were the ones who had left Nikola alone in Deep Faerie.

  “Enough,” he said tonelessly. “Don’t share Nikola’s secrets just to spite us… her. He was better than that, you’re better than that.”

  It wouldn’t be so bad would it? Dying here. He’d died once before, maybe it was one of those things that got easier with practice. He only wished that he could see Nikola again, get him to safety, get him to Gawain. The healer wouldn’t let him die.

  “Better than your little princess?” He raised an eyebrow. “Hardly a high bar to clear but perhaps you’re right. He won’t forget this princess, I made sure of that. He’ll always know that you can’t be trusted. That you asked him to shatter his own mind so that you could keep your toy a little longer.”

  “Amelie,” Mitch said. He wanted her to tell him that Michael was lying, that he’d misunderstood. She wouldn’t even met his eyes.

  “You asked him to give up everything for a world beyond saving and a life he could never live. His entire world for one that would be destroyed by his sacrifice.”

  Amelie didn’t raise her head, didn’t try to argue. She didn’t even cry and the only sound was her sniffling as blood dripped from her nose. Mitch swallowed, he should go to her, try to get them both out of his hell but he couldn’t move and this time it had nothing to do with Michael’s magic. Amelie had convinced Nikola for a curse that they hadn’t been sure they could break, for a curse he was now certain that they couldn’t break. He could even understand why she’d done it but…

  Michael chuckled to himself and Amelie glared at him, pure hatred in her eyes. His body twisted strangely, limbs spaying in every direction before snapping back into place. Michael’s laughter stopped and Mitch half imagined the sound of bones clicking back into place.

  “I’ll break the curse,” Amelie spat. “Even if I have to do it over your dead body.”

  “No,” Michael said, “you won’t.” Amelie screamed and Mitch fell to his knees, desperately trying to push away the magic that was suddenly pressing against him. The mist was everywhere. Blocking his ears, pressing against his eyes, filling his nose and mouth. He coughed and strained to breath something, anything other than condensed magic.

  Through the fog he could hear Michael laughing. This was probably the most fun he’d had in eons. How long had he spent in Faerie all alone? No one had had even an inkling that he might be there and Nikola was many things but a good introduction to humanity wasn’t one of them.

  “Why are you doing this?” Mitch forced the words out and coughed. He reached out, dragging himself forward, unsure if he was trying to escape the mist or get to Michael and stop him somehow.

  “Why are you toying with us?” he spluttered. The mist seemed to be thinning, or he was delirious, it was hard to tell. “Nikola told you what’s happening in the other world. You know why we came here. You know everything about us.” He coughed, the mist was definitely thinning, he was almost certain of it.

  “You don’t look so good princess,” Michael said. It was hard to be sure with the mist muffling everything and overwhelming his senses but Mitch thought that he had moved.

  “Have you had enough?”

  With the final word the mist dissipated and Mitch gulped down a breath of something, he still wasn’t entirely sure what they were breathing. Less concentrated magic perhaps.

  “Would you like to go home now?”

  “I. Want. To. Break. The. Curse,” Amelie said, pausing to gasp for breath between each word, her lips tinged with blue.

  “Sorry princess but I won’t let you do that.” He laughed and Amelie vanished.

  “What have you done with her?” Mitch asked, relieved to find that he could though it left him breathless and light-headed. He looked around but there was no sign of Amelie.

  “See for yourself.”

  The mist thickened and Mitch flinched away but it didn’t come any closer. Instead an image took shape within it, stable this time instead of the random flickering he expected.

  Amelie lay on thick grey carpet. The view was too narrow to be sure but Mitch thought that it was their flat. She shivered and coughed silently, her hair damp with sweat and her clothes clinging to her body. Dried blood flecked her face.

  Mitch gulped, “Nikola?” he asked, hardly daring to hope that Michael might show him.

  The image dissolved, breaking into a thousand fragmented glimpses of reality, and reformed. Nikola lay on a familiar green blanket, his head resting on a thick pillow and cradled in long fingered hands. Gawain.

  “You took him home,” Mitch whispered.

  Michael nodded. “Gawain and Morrigan were not pleased,” he said, his tone actually serious. “She almost tore me apart, it was a most unpleasant experience.” He shivered and Mitch felt himself relaxing. They’d failed and there was still a good chance that he’d die here but at least Nikola was safe. Gawain would be able to help him.

  “What now?” Mitch asked. “Do you remind me of every horrible thing I ever said or did to Nikola?”

  “Now what good would that do?” Michael asked. A chair appeared behind him and he sat, motioning Mitch towards another newly appeared chair. Mitch approached tentatively and sat down. For a chair made out of magic mist it was surprisingly hard and uncomfortable.

  “You did it to Amelie,” Mitch said, perching on the edge of his seat.

  “Amelie was never particularly empathetic,” Michael replied, “you’ve learnt from your mistakes. And I have something different planned for you.”

  “What?” Mitch asked, leaning forward carefully. Michael had made it clear that autonomous movement was a privilege, one that he could revoke at anytime if he so chose.

  “You’re going to break the curse,” Michael said. The mist swirled below them, forming a complex tapestry of sigils that stretched out as far as the eye could see in every direction, each sigil no bigger than his hand, most smaller than a drop of blood. He didn’t think Amelie could have recreated it with a lifetime of study. The only sigil that he recognised was Rhadassa, right at the centre.

  “How am I supposed to activate that?” Mitch asked. There was a limit to how far he could spread his magic, and how fine, and unless the sigils themselves channelled his magic he’d never manage the required degree of precision.

  “With the blood of an angel,” Michael said, his earlier manic smile returning.

  “How much?” Mitch asked, uneasily certain that he already knew the answer. Much like magic blood could only stretch so far.

  “Why all of it of course,” Michael said. “If it was just to break the curse my own power would suffice but to maintain Faerie and keep my brethren out requires something more and there should be somewhere free of their touch.”

  “But…” Mitch trailed off. The angel was infuriating but Mitch didn’t want to kill him. “Why?” Mitch asked. In his admittedly limited experience of angels they weren’t the most self-sacrificing of people.

  “I have watched over this realm… Faerie, since its creation, oblivious to all that passed in the other world. I do not like what this curse has done to be my brethren, nor do I want this world to end. I have no other solution, the Twisted Curse is Faerie and there is only one way Faerie can be maintained and the curse broken.”

  “But–”
Mitch began and stopped. What was he going to say? ‘Don’t break the Twisted Curse.’ He knew that the Eternity War would never end while it was in effect. The war was thought to be responsible for the extinction of the dinosaurs and had probably ground countless other planets into space dust first. Hell, it would probably do the same to Earth given enough time.

  “He couldn’t look away,” Michael said, subdued. “He remembered casting the curse and he felt guilty for it, even though it was Raphael.”

  Mitch slumped back into the uncomfortable chair. Nikola had never talked about the impressions much, just tried to suppress them, and Mitch had been so against using the knowledge in his head that he’d never asked. Perhaps he should have, Nikola had always been there when he needed someone to talk to.

  “It’s time Mitchell,” Michael said. “You cannot survive here much longer and there’s no other way to do this.”

  Mitch shook his head, Michael didn’t need his help to die, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. It should have been Amelie who stayed, he didn’t think that she’d hesitate.

  “You’ve killed an angel before.”

  “That was different,” Mitch said. Ms Saris had kidnapped Belle, had made it clear that she would never stop hunting her. And it had been Halloween, Mitch didn’t think he could even bring himself to bite someone without the bloodlust induced by the brief return to humanity.

  “True,” Michael said, leaning back in what Mitch suspected was a far more comfortable chair. “You’ll need to use my blood for something other than sustenance.”

  “That isn’t what I meant,” Mitch choked out. He coughed, his own blood dripping from his nose.

  “Why me?” he asked. “Why not Amelie?” He didn’t think he could look into his best friend’s eyes and kill him, even knowing that it wasn’t Nikola. For the first time the imitation seemed appropriate, he thought that Nikola would have made the same decision. He’d already sacrificed his mind for this, why not his life as well? And yet Mitch couldn’t escape the thought that this wasn’t just a selfless sacrifice, it was suicide as well, and Michael wanted him to help.