by M. D. Elster
“Quickly, Mr. Fletcher,” the older woman with the head of a hedgehog exclaims, wringing her hands. “Quiet her! We can’t have this! She’ll wake the dead in all Four Kingdoms!”
“I’m doing what I can,” the fox-man replies. “But please, don’t crowd the poor girl, Mrs. Hobbs! You’ll frighten her.”
“I think it’s a little late for that,” the tall man with the head of a crane says.
“Hah!” the thin, rather short weasel-man laughs. “Perhaps the wretched thing should be scared!”
“Why? What nature of beast is this creature?” the portly man with the head of a toad asks.
“You don’t know?” the young woman with the head of a rabbit snorts as though slightly aghast at his ignorance.
“Why… she’s a human, of course,” the fox-man says.
“A human? Here? Alive? Preposterous!”
“No, Mr. Thomas,” the fox-man replies. “It is hardly preposterous, I assure you. What you see before you is a genuine human girl, in the flesh!”
As the fox-man continues to clutch me to his body, restraining my arms and covering my mouth, the other five creatures recoil from me, as though disgusted or frightened.
“Well, quickly, then! What are you waiting for?” the toad-man shrieks in a panicked voice. “If that thing is indeed a human, we can’t be found with one! Hurry up and get rid of it!”
“And just how do you suggest I do that?”
The toad-man has no answer for this. His grotesque toad mouth flaps open and shut silently as he struggles to reply. Finally, he says, “Slit her throat!”
“Yes,” the weasel-man agrees, “We have no choice. She’s a danger to us all! Better to spill her blood here and now than let it fall into the hands of others. We must kill the poor creature, and quickly! Afterwards, we can hide the body…”
Hearing this, I redouble my struggle, but the fox-man’s arms around my body are surprisingly strong. I look at his gloved hand and consider biting it. A din of chaos breaks out all around me as the creatures all begin to passionately argue over my fate.
“ALL OF YOU: STOP!” booms a voice that does not belong to anyone around the bonfire.
A cloaked figure emerges from trees. It is distinctly slender and statuesque, and moves with catlike grace towards us. Just as it draws near, the shape throws back the hood of her dark crimson cloak to reveal a woman’s head and face. She has wide-spaced eyes, high cheekbones, and a finely carved bowtie of a mouth. Her hair is jet-black and hangs just to her chin in a sleek bob, lending her a vaguely Egyptian appearance.
The creatures turn in surprise.
Oh thank God, I think. Another human to keep me company in this nightmare! But then I get a better glimpse of her person. She is no more human than the others; her hands resemble furred paws, and there are two shapes folded and resting on her back. It is difficult to tell under the cloak she is wearing, but it appears she has the head and face of a human, combined with the body of…a… winged lioness? As strange as the humans with taxidermy heads are, I find this even stranger. But at least I am not alone in my reaction. The other creatures around the bonfire appear to be equally as stunned.
“Could it be…? Is that… the Young Cwen, come down from Harpy’s Refuge?” the matronly hedgehog-woman stammers, wringing her hands.
“Indeed, my good lady,” the sphinxlike creature answers. She has a regal voice and bearing.
“Gracious! You’re all grown!” the hedgehog-woman marvels.
“Your Highness,” inquires the crane-man, “May I ask? — Why have you come down from the mountains?”
“Perhaps Mr. Fletcher can help me answer that,” the sphinx replies, and turns to the fox-headed man. “I thank you greatly, Mr. Fletcher, for braving the gates that separate our worlds and fetching this young human.”
“You are most welcome.”
“Mr. Fletcher!” the crane-man sputters upon hearing this. “You brought a human to our land? On purpose? Why in all of Harpydom would you do such a thing?”
“You heard the Young Cwen,” the fox-man says. “I did so at her request.”
The group of creatures look at the sphinx-woman with shock and dismay, but no one reproaches her; it is clear she is some kind of leader or priestess.
“Mr. Fletcher and I discussed the situation, and it seemed to us, the best course of action was to ask a human to help us, rather than simply wait for another one to turn up dead in our world,” the sphinx explains.
“Your Highness, if I might interrupt, we ought to introduce ourselves to this particular human,” the fox-man says, his whiskers twitching as he glances down at me with a contemplative look. The entire group falls silent as seven pairs of eyes — one pair human, the rest animal — all turn in my direction. “She has never been to our world before. She looks confused and frightened.”
The sphinx nods in ascent.
“Can you make certain she won’t scream any more?” the hedgehog-headed woman asks, anxiously pointing to the fox-man’s hand clamped over my mouth. “I just can’t take any more hullabaloo.”
The fox-man nods and turns his attentions to me. “All right, Anaïs,” he says. “I’m going to remove my hand from your mouth now, and you’re not to scream — is that understood? We mean you no harm, and you could get all of us into quite a bit of hot water if you keep up that racket, do I make myself clear?”
With the fox-man’s hand still gripped tightly over my mouth, I twist again to peer around at the circle of faces all staring at my own with anxious expressions. Slowly, I nod. His hand relaxes, and finally drops. I rub at the sore spot where his hand was clamped, and suddenly feel very shy. No one speaks. The light of the bonfire flickers against their waiting, nightmarish faces.
“Well, good, now … welcome! We’ll tell you who we are, and then you can decide if you are willing to help us,” the fox-man finally says, breaking the silence.
“Decide?” snorts skinny weasel-man. “Let’s not get carried away here. Clearly, there is only one decision the child can make.”
“Nonsense,” the fox-man replies. “The Young Cwen has decreed that the girl has free will and she shall choose. It is the only civilized way. And if she wants to return to the humans, well, so be it. I will escort her.”
He turns back to address me.
“First, allow me to introduce the Young Cwen, daughter of Harpy the High Cwen, one of only two cwens left of the ancient bloodline that used to rule over our realm,” the fox-man says, flourishing an arm towards the sphinx. I haven’t the faintest clue what any of this means but I nod my head in acknowledgment and the fox goes on.
“As I mentioned some moments ago, I am Mr. Fenric Fletcher. At your service!”
He takes a step back and bows. Despite their animal heads, their bodies are quite human (except for the occasional tail) and they are all outfitted in very human clothing — various styles of fashion with which I am familiar. Mr. Fletcher is dressed precisely as I saw him on the previous occasion, when I glimpsed him skulking about the asylum dormitory: In a dark blue velvet jacket, complete with leather elbow patches and a gray silk cravat.
“These are my countrymen, and I assure you, they are not so bloodthirsty as they may seem — quite the opposite, in fact. It’s only that they’re a bit unnerved to see a human. In truth, we are simple commoners who want peace in our land. This is Mr. Croft,” he continues, gesturing towards the tall man with the white-feathered head of a long-necked crane. Mr. Croft wears a more subdued charcoal jacket and silk tie, a pair of well-shined shoes covered with white spats, and a monocle perched over one eye. He sniffs at me, looking bored. Mr. Fletcher continues. He waves an arm to the rabbit-woman.
“… Mrs. Ramsey…”
Mrs. Ramsey is dressed in a simple blue-and-white checked gingham dress, with a starched white collar. A kind smile appears on her surreal rabbit-face as she is being introduced, and she nods her head. Mr. Fletcher gestures to the stout toad-man.
/> “…Mr. Thomas…”
Mr. Thomas wears a black cravat and rumpled burgundy silk jacket, replete with very long tails flowing down from his jacket over black knee-britches. Like Mr. Croft, Mr. Thomas appears less than enthusiastic about my presence. His throat puffs in and out, until finally, a small burp escapes his throat. Everyone pretends not to have heard it. Mr. Fletcher waves an arm in the direction of the weasel-man.
“…Mr. Weaver…”
Mr. Weaver is quite thin, and wears green overalls, a red-and-black plaid shirt, and a hunter’s cap. He squints and scowls at me.
“And finally, Mrs. Hobbs…”
Mrs. Hobbs wears a white washerwoman’s cap and white apron tied over her denim dress and full skirts. She neither smiles nor frowns, but constantly pats at her face with a white handkerchief.
“Everyone: This is Anaïs Reynard, visiting us here from the exotic human territory known as Louisiana.” Mr. Fletcher turns back to me. “Well now, that’s the lot of us! Questions?”
“I… well… Where exactly am I?” I finally ask.
“Where are you? What sort of question is that?” Mr. Croft says, tsking and shaking his head at me. His round bird eye glares at me through his monocle with an unsettlingly dull, prehistoric air. His face is covered in feathers, his long orange-yellow beak moves side-to-side, catching the bonfire’s light like a knife as he shakes his head.
“At present, you are in the Glade of Commoners, not far from Harpy’s Cross, the centermost point in the Four Kingdoms.”
“The Four Kingdoms?”
“Yes,” says Mr. Fletcher, bending to pick up a tall stick. He draws a makeshift map in the dirt. “The Land of the Four Kings is an isle of reasonable size, and the Four Kingdoms in question are spread out thusly. They are more or less aligned with the four cardinal directions: North, South, East, West. The Glade of Commoners is the neutral territory at the center here.” He points with the stick. “The north is ruled by the Court of the Unicorn, the south is ruled by the Court of the Snake, the east is ruled by the Court of the Raven, and the west is ruled by the Court of the Lion. The kings of these four courts aren’t exactly friendly with one another; more often than not they are locked in fierce competition, and the alliance they have struck is an uneasy one at best, but so far it has brought peace back to our land.”
“It is of the utmost importance, dear girl, that this arrangement go on!” Mr. Thomas exclaims.
I blink at him stupidly. I cannot imagine what any of this has to do with me, except for the possibility that I’m the one who has imagined it all. This thought gives me pause: I’m not entirely sure this isn’t all some sort of drug-induced dream.
“Why send for me, then?” I say, trying to deduce my role in all of this.
“You are a human girl, Anaïs. We believe you are our best hope to infiltrate the courts of the Four Kings and get to the bottom of a dreadful mystery that has been recently plaguing the Four Kingdoms.”
“I still don’t understand.”
Mr. Fletcher sighs. “I’ll try to explain. Humans… well, humans are both revered and reviled here. Many, many years ago, we were forced to banish your kind back to the land you inhabit currently, and mainly because it was discovered how dangerous your kind is to our world.”
I shake my head, still not certain I comprehend. Mr. Fletcher continues.
“It is a question of human blood…” Mr. Fletcher says, “Humans were declared unsafe when it was discovered what human blood that had been bewitched by black magic could do to other creature-beings.”
“Human blood bewitched by… black magic?”
“Yes. There is a spell — or, at least, we’ve all heard the story of the existence of a spell — that can transform human blood into what we call an ‘elixir of enslavement.’ It is a very powerful potion, indeed. We were forced to banish your kind from our land.”
I mull this over.
“When I arrived at the bonfire tonight,” I say, proceeding cautiously, “I overheard some of you saying humans had been recently found in this land, and that they were…” I trail off, unwilling to repeat the word.
“Murdered?” Mr. Fletcher supplies for me. He nods his head to acknowledge the seriousness of this fact. “Yes. That’s right. Two humans — both of them young girls — were recently found in our land.”
“They were found dead,” Mr. Weaver specifies, “their throats slit, their blood drained.”
I am silent. My expression likely says it all.
“It is horrifying, Anaïs,” Mr. Fletcher agrees, noting the look on my face. “And worse, still… we have come to suspect one of our four great kings may be responsible.”
“I don’t follow,” I say, frowning.
“They are the four most powerful creatures in our world,” Mrs. Ramsey helpfully tries to explain. “They’ve split their power equally. But… if that weren’t enough for one of them… if one of the Four Kings secretly wished to be the only king, well…”
“An army of hypnotized slaves would come in handy!” Mr. Croft finishes for her.
“I see,” I say, nodding slowly. “But how am I to help?”
“If you’re willing to help, Anaïs,” Mr. Fletcher says, “you would come with me to visit each of the four courts in the four kingdoms.”
“How would that help?”
“The idea is, your presence would help draw out the secret villain,” the Young Cwen says.
“Draw out? I’m… I’m…” I struggle to find an appropriate word. “Bait???”
“I promise to keep you safe, Anaïs,” Mr. Fletcher says in a firm voice.
“Your presence would test any king, Anaïs,” the Young Cwen says. “He will either be tempted to kidnap you, or he will be honorable, and do his best to host and protect you.”
“And no matter what, you’ll certainly be a distraction,” Mr. Fletcher adds. “The simple fact of you visiting the kings’ courts will help me gain access to snoop around a bit. Hopefully I can figure out which of our kings are law-abiding, and which has become corrupted.”
What have I gotten myself into, I wonder.
“Let me see if I understand you correctly… I’m to go with Mr. Fletcher here to visit each of the Four Kingdoms, hope that no one murders me, all in order to… help you spy?” I say, slowly comprehending. I look around at the faces of the animal-peasants.
Mrs. Ramsey steps closer, takes my hand in hers, and gives it a squeeze. “It would be for a very good cause, dear.”
“If one of the Four Kings has become corrupted and commissioned an assassin to steal human blood — we are all in grave danger,” Mr. Weaver says, shaking his head.
“Will you do it?” Mr. Croft asks.
I take a breath and look around the clearing, inhaling the charred scent of the bonfire. My head is swimming. The strange events of the night are suddenly catching up to me, and I am feeling overwhelmed. “I… I don’t know…” I say. “This is all very confusing… I was in a hospital. They will wonder where I’ve disappeared to… I’m not even certain how I got here.”
I pause, and throw a cautious glance at each of the creatures standing around me now. Is it possible? Could I be truly mad?
“If you help us,” Mr. Fletcher says, “I promise I will return you to the hospital exactly as you were, and I promise I will arrange it so your life will not be disrupted, and nobody will be alarmed by your absence. If I promise all that, will you help us?”
“You can get me back to the hospital, and nobody will notice I’ve been gone?”
He nods. “I promise.”
I think this over for several seconds. On instinct, I don’t care much for the Young Cwen; she seems far too eager to use me as “bait.” But for some reason, I like Mr. Fletcher. Though I can’t put my finger on it, something about him is very familiar.
“Well…” I say, trailing off with an inkling of uncertainty.
“You will help us then?” Mr. Weaver chimes in
.
Fleetingly, I think again of the trial, of the conversation I had with Dr. Waters. It seems everyone wants something of me these days, now that I have lost everything and have been stripped bare even of my memories.
But, secretly, it is a pleasure to be in these lovely woods that remind me so poignantly of my Blue Forest. The last place I want to go right now is back to the asylum, or any of my problems waiting for me there. And curiously (in spite of their original threats to cut my throat!) I am genuinely intrigued, and I want to help these creatures. I cannot explain why or how, but I know I do. At least, I’d like to try.
“Yes. All right,” I say with an air of decisiveness. “I will.”
CHAPTER 10.
We are to journey first to the east, to the Court of the Raven.
Once I have made up my mind and the details have been discussed, the group disbands, and we all leave the bonfire. I follow Mr. Fletcher to his own cottage, where he wishes to gather together some useful items before we set out on our journey.
“The first human girl was found in the woods of Raven’s kingdom, so it makes sense to start there, but I should warn you: His castle is high up in the mountains and the temperature will drop quite a bit as we make our way east,” he advises me. “We’ll need to find you something warmer than what you have on. I believe I have a spare cloak that might do.”
Mr. Fletcher’s cottage is nestled beside a small brook and charms me with its waterwheel, reminding me of my childhood home in the woods in Belgium. Inside, it is sparsely decorated and slightly masculine, but is cozy enough. The pointed lack of feminine décor puts me oddly in mind of my stepfather, a distinctly single widower. All of the animals I’ve met so far all go by “Mr.” or “Mrs.” — I wonder if these creatures make the same sorts of family units as humans do.
