by Cameron Jace
Axel closed his eyes and took in a lot of air as he released his fist. He opened them again and said, "Okay. I was overreacting. Now, here is what I know…"
"Make it short."
"I will," he said, looking at his phone again. Fable wondered where he needed to go so badly. It wasn't like he had a girlfriend or something. "So here it is, as brief as I can: Charmwill's True Name is of no use at the moment. Although I'm dying to know how he is Wilhelm Grimm, we don't know where Charmwill's body is, nor do we know of a spell to bring him back."
"I agree," Shew said. "What about Cerené? Shouldn't I be looking for her in Murano?"
"No," Axel said firmly. "Because you don't know what she looks like now, or if she is really in Murano. I don't think we can afford to go to Murano." Axel stopped for a moment, as if he had been hit with a snowball. "Come to think of it, I don't think any of the residents of Sorrow ever left Sorrow."
"So what are you suggesting?" Fable asked. She didn't want to think about the fact that maybe no one in Sorrow ever left, and that Loki was the only outsider. But Lucy had left it, hadn't she? "Tell us something useful."
"Like I said, the main purpose is to find the Lost Seven," Axel explained. "Each of them has his own story and own puzzle we will need to solve when we meet them. The purpose is to gather them and find the appropriate spell so they return Shew's heart to her before Carmilla gets her forked snake tongue into it."
"So?"
"So, to do any of that we still need a Dreamhunter," Axel said. "Like it or not, this adventure takes place mostly in the Dreamworld. Without a Dreamhunter, we can't do anything."
"That's why the priority is to try to resurrect Loki," Fable said. "He is the only Dreamhunter we know."
"But Loki is dead." Shew was about to cry again. "Those who are killed in dreams never wake up. That's the whole point of Loki's job."
"No, Shew. You got that wrong," Axel said. "Loki's job is to kill vampires in their dreams. Even if the same rules apply to humans and Dreamhunters, I have a solution."
"You said that before!" Fable said impatiently.
"I know." Axel pouted. "The solution is all here." He pulled out J.G.'s diary.
"How so?"
"It turns out you can resurrect someone who was killed in the Dreamworld if three conditions apply," Axel said.
"Really?" Shew tiptoed.
"Yes, really. But I'm warning you, some of the conditions are really weird."
"I don't care," Shew said. "Whatever it takes to resurrect Loki."
"The first one is easy. It demands you know of Loki's True Name," Axel said. "Which we do."
"The second?" Shew asked.
"This is really weird," Axel said. "If the deceased has been killed by his True Love in the Dreamworld." Axel scratched his head.
"That is weird," Fable said. "It's as if it's common for lovers to kill each other."
"Well, this J.G. says it's common," Axel said. "Because usually when two lovers enter the Dreamworld, they face the same things Loki and Shew faced in the last dream…"
"Only one of them can come back," Fable said absently, remembering this horrible purple ring orbiting the Dream Temple last time. "So most lovers entering the Dreamworld actually end up killing each other. That's weird."
"What's the third?" Shew asked eagerly.
"Before we get into the third," Axel said, "you must understand that J.G. insisted the two lovers be in True Love." He was facing Shew. "True, unconditional love!"
"That's why you were asking," Shew said. "Believe me, Axel"—she rested her hand on her heart again—"we are in love. True Love. I know it and can feel it in my heart. You might not understand how strong the feeling is."
"I had a few rendezvous." Axel glared at her hand on her heart then shrugged. "Anyway, J.G. says True Love is called Adage in the Dreamworld."
"Adage?" Shew looked as if she had heard this word before.
"Adage is unconditional love that knows not of boundaries or setback, nor of time, place, or race," Axel read. "No one can explain what Adage is. Lovers usually refer to an eminent feeling they can't explain themselves. However, they claim it resides in their heart, not metaphorically but physically."
Fable didn't comment. She still didn't get that True Love thing. She thought it was clichéd.
"That's what I said exactly." Shew blushed.
Axel looked at his own heart and seemed to only think it was stuffed with food.
"So what's the third condition?" Shew asked.
"The Fleece," Axel said. "If I had a dollar every time someone told me about Loki's Fleece…"
"How are we supposed to get it?" Shew said.
"Carmilla has it," Fable said. "Maybe we should man up and go get it from her." That was her manly side talking again. She actually preferred the cuddly and hugging side.
"No, that's not how to get Loki's Fleece," Axel said, closing J.G.'s diary. "I know who will help us get Loki's Fleece back." He reached for Loki's pack of cigarettes left on the kitchen table—Fable had been trying to avoid it all day, as she had been craving it too, but she really had something against smoking. Axel flicked a match and lit the cigarette. Shew and Fable were puzzled by this. "Are you prepared for help?" Axel said, holding the cigarette. "Because I will just leave you once it arrives."
"Leave us?" Shew said.
"Someone has been texting him all day," Fable said. "I think he has a girlfriend or something."
"Pickwick!" Axel summoned the parrot he had just befriended. Pickwick came, landing on Axel's shoulder. "I will take him with me for a small ride, if you don't mind," he told the girls.
"Do whatever you want." Fable sighed. "Just tell us what you're planning to do with this cigarette."
"I will summon the one person who can help us," Axel said, and took a drag. He coughed instantly.
"Summon?" Shew asked. "What do you mean?"
Before Axel collapsed from coughing, as he had never smoked before, the house shook again. This time, it wasn't the Whale of Sorrow. Smoke swirled all around and all of them started to cough. A few moments later, it began to clear, and something began to show in the middle of the room. Shew and Fable held to each other, as if they were staring at some ghost. It took Fable a while to realize whom she was staring at, that shape of a woman with a craned neck and a deformed body, looking like a zombie.
As Axel fled the house with Pickwick on his shoulder, Fable slid away from Shew's grip and stepped forward, staring at the summoned ghost with welcoming arms. "Babushka! You're back!"
8
The Schloss
Lucy was waiting in the Schloss.
She thought it was a perfect place to read the Queen of Sorrow's diary. She would be alone in an abandoned castle that most residents of Sorrow didn't have the heart to approach. She had made up her mind to break the Queen's rule and read the diary herself. Lucy didn't know how she dared do it, but the more her eyes itched, the more she felt confident enough to risk her life with this. What is the Queen going to do? Lucy thought with a sinister grin on her lips. If someone as powerful as Carmilla couldn't get the diary herself, Lucy had to assume the Queen had a weak spot. She didn't know what it was, but it was the kind of weakness that led her to ask someone like Lucy to go get the diary for her.
Foolishly, Lucy was going to take advantage of her.
Lucy's plan to read the diary wasn't really a plan. It was pure impulsiveness and curiosity. She'd decided she'd read the diary and learn all about the Queen's secrets, and maybe blackmail her for it later. If this was a Book of Sand you could only read once in a lifetime, what was the price you'd pay to the one girl who'd read it in this lifetime?
But Lucy wasn't doing this alone, as she hadn't been trained for such adventures. She was waiting for the one person she knew she could manipulate and use. That person was entering the castle right now.
"Axel." Lucy frowned. "What took you so long?"
Axel stepped slowly into the castle. Although he'd been here many times, the Sc
hloss hadn't been kind to either of them. It could rumble and shake any moment if it didn't like what they were doing.
"It took me some time to put Pickwick in a cage." He walked to the middle of the castle with its high ceiling, and showed her the cage covered in a blanket.
Lucy pulled the blanket right away, happy at the sight of Pickwick, who was curled into a fetal position with closed eyes.
"I think he is scared," Axel said. "I really feel awful doing this to him."
"But why?" Lucy turned and licked her lips, looking at him. She shot him with the least of the seductive gazes she had used on her boyfriends before ensnaring them. "You did this for me, didn't you?" She wrapped her arms around his neck.
Axel shrugged so loudly it echoed in the castle. His eyes, although he wanted to look at her, darted to the left and right nervously. Lucy knew his kind of schoolboy, who had probably never even kissed a girl yet.
"I think so," he managed to say. Lucy saw he wished to wrap his arms around her waist but hesitated, so she took them and placed them there herself. "But I'm seriously breaking Charmwill and Loki's trust by doing this."
"It's worth it." Lucy neared her mouth to his. She wasn't going to kiss him, not if he owned the Treasures of Solomon. The trick was to promise him something and never give it to him, or how would she have caught Pickwick? "I'm worth it," she added with a seductive look.
"I am also breaking Fable and Shew's trust," he said, licking his lips.
"But they will all thank you when you know the Queen's secrets later," Lucy said. "Sometimes people don't know what they want. But you do."
"I do?"
"That's why I have always liked you."
"You did?"
Lucy nodded, still biting her lips. Axel's face reddened, his cheeks ballooning as he neared her, longing for a kiss. It puzzled Lucy how he just took the bait. If she had liked him then why had she treated him so badly in school? Didn't it even cross his mind? She pulled away and returned to her serious face again. "Now, we need to open the cage," she demanded. Pickwick let out a feeble sound of misery. "You will have to hold the stupid parrot still as I turn it into a Book of Sand."
Axel followed the orders immediately, trying to avoid Pickwick's blaming eyes. "We just need to do this, Picky." He faked a smile as he opened the cage. "The Queen's secrets are important to us."
Pickwick struggled against Axel's grip, trying to free himself. He also looked like he wanted to tell them something. Lucy saw but didn't care. If he was supposed to tell them something then why did Charmwill turn him into a mute parrot?
"Grip him harder, Axel," Lucy demanded. "Or we'll lose the most precious information I ever came across."
Axel did, trying to look away from Pickwick again, or his heart would melt and he'd let him go. "I wanted to ask you something," he told Lucy. "If you're so infatuated with the Queen of Sorrow, then why are you reading her diary?"
"I'm infatuated with her because I want to be like her," Lucy said. "If I have a diary that will teach me how to be like her, then I have no use for Carmilla anymore."
"That's some wicked logic," Axel murmured. Lucy knew Axel wasn't on the Queen's side by any means. He only did this because he couldn't believe Lucy Rumpelstein had called him and told him she liked him. Lucy was planning to get rid of him once she read the diary. "You know Charmwill called Pickwick the Book of Beautiful Lies, right?"
"Yes, Carmilla told me. Why?"
"I mean, anything written in here could be only lies," Axel remarked.
"Nah." Lucy cocked her head. "Carmilla told me it was one of Charmwill's tricks. He called it that so people would think they are lies." Lucy had asked the Queen of Sorrow all she needed to know this morning. "In reality, Pickwick holds the truth of all fairy tales. That's why Charmwill had him muted, I think."
"That's news to me. How are we going to turn Pickwick into a book, then?"
"The Queen told me that too." Lucy grinned. "Just hold the damn parrot tight." She looked the poor Pickwick in the eyes and said, "Tic to tic tac toc!" knocking on the parrot's beak with each syllable.
Suddenly, Pickwick's eyes turned to stone and his body contracted. His wings turned into two folds of a book, and his beak into an obsidian lock, which Lucy knocked on, using the same words to open it.
Axel stood with glaring eyes, enchanted by the magic. Instantly, he went to flip through the pages, but Lucy stopped him.
"What are you doing?" she snarled. "These are pages of sand. You can read them only once in a lifetime."
"But how are we going to find the Queen of Sorrow's diary?"
"She told me how to." Lucy pouted and snatched the Book of Beautiful Lies from him. She waved her palm over the open book and said, "Jawigi."
Axel was obviously impressed by the connection. He watched the book turn its pages, stopping at one page. Lucy neared it and read:
Carmilla Karnstein's diary, written on Hallows' Eve 1803.
Lucy's heart pounded, and she exchanged glances with Axel. "You can go now," she told him.
"What? Why?" he said. "You're not planning to read it alone. Besides, I could help with analyzing a lot of secrets. You know I am good at it."
Lucy thought about it for a moment and sighed. "All right." She turned her eyes back to the book, took a deep breath, and turned the first page. She began reading:
9
The Queen's Diary
All Hallows' Eve,
10th Year in the Reign of King Angel Von Sorrow.
1803 AD in the Waking World.
1 Day until the Eclipse.
Dear diary,
Sitting here in my royal chamber, I am trying to force my trembling hands to keep on writing, for what I am about to carve on paper is full of sadness and sorrow and surprises I don't think anyone can truly comprehend—or believe.
All night, I have been staring at the full moon outside my castle's window. My desire was to "meditate"—a spiritual practice my husband, Angel Von Sorrow, taught me a long time ago. It means to relax and clear one's thoughts for a few minutes so that you feel at ease with yourself in spite of all the pressure surrounding you. Angel used to call it Chanta, and practiced it alone in the forest when he needed to stifle the urge of sucking someone's blood and fully transforming into a ruthless vampire like his father.
I needed to meditate so I can stand the suffering and sorrow of the words I am about to write. I will try to document my story as vividly and honestly as possible—if there is such a thing as a "true story"; we all know that we unconsciously insert our own lies and inaccurate memories in every tale we tell.
And where better to look up to when meditating but the moon. The beautiful moon of the Kingdom of Sorrow.
Dear moon, for the sake of all the secrets we share, please shine your light on me as I am confessing this. I am in desperate need of all the light I can get tonight. Please strengthen me through this diary and gift me with the bravery to finish it.
I don't know who I am writing this diary for, and I have no idea who will have possession of it in case I don't come back from what I am about to do. I am not even sure this diary is intended for anyone to read. Maybe I just need to write the words down to help me with my decision. The truth in us is usually blurry and hazy until documented on paper. Writing those words should help me see clearer and understand how I came to be who I am.
I hope I will find some wisdom and meaning in my writing. That's what diaries are for, really. The mind is a tricky collateral of realities, a forest of memories and perceptions where one's identity could be lost. Written words stick—sharper than swords that cut our souls open like a book of blood. Once you're open, there is nothing left to hide. A renowned writer in our kingdom once said, "There is nothing to writing; you only sit down and bleed."
I believe him sincerely.
In this diary, I shall capture the essence of what happened to me from the beginning. Not all grand questions will be answered, though, because this one is about me. Only me. The me I have alway
s sacrificed.
This is about the origins of things, how they came to be.
It amazes me when someone dismisses the origins of any tale. How can you judge a story, or a character in it, without learning about their beginnings? How can you judge me, the Queen of Sorrow, without knowing what I have been through?
I can feel the Schloss's walls closing in on me, suffocating me with intolerable memories, unimaginable events, and unforgivable doings. There is darkness creeping up on these walls, like a sneaking shadow that has been dimming my world eternally, year after year. I feel like I am trapped inside a whale that is never going to forgive my sins and let me go.
To tell the truth, it's not only my memories that have been cursed—it's my future as well. I am writing this now because of a heart-wrenching event that is about to happen.
An event I can't speak of now.
All I can say is that in a few hours, when the clock strikes midnight, I will have to do something horrible, unimaginable, and truly unforgivable, something that will not only paint the portrait of my fate, but the fate of the Kingdom of Sorrow.
If you were in my dilemma, what would you choose? A lesser evil to contain the damage, or a greater one to end the whole mess for once and for all?
As in all cases, let's start from the beginning: the day the world welcomed me into its web of deceit.
10
The day I was born, a single red apple grew on a juniper tree in our castle's garden.
A Blood Apple.
It was a rare fruit; the most sought after in Europe at the time. An apple of unmatched sweetness and unearthly ripeness. Some claimed it could cure the sick and enrich the poor, grant children to the sterile, and keep the soul guarded from demonic possessions. Its rarity and taste made it comparable with gold and diamonds, if they were edible. There was a well-known saying: "A Blood Apple a day keeps all Sorrow away." Few people knew why the word "sorrow" had always been capitalized in this sentence. I learned why many years later.
