by R.K. Ryals
~Peregrine Storke~
“Ugly, ugly, ugly, ugly, ugly, ugly, ugly …” The yell was repeated over and over again, the word echoing through the forest. Birds took flight in nearby trees, their startled cries loud.
“Ugly!”
Foster and I glanced at each other before stumbling forward, mud sucking at our feet. Rain pelted us, our hands swiping at our faces as we ran.
“Ugly!”
I tripped, my knees going down hard. It wasn’t spongy, wet earth that met my flesh, it was rock.
“Ugly!”
Foster knelt next to me, our eyes lifting to stare at a gaping hole. In the middle of the forest, standing like a cavity inside a mouth of perfectly good teeth, was a cavern.
“A cave,” Foster breathed. Vines hung over the opening, tiny black flowers covering it. They swayed as the rain cascaded over them. A cave in the middle of the forest where it didn’t belong. This wasn’t a part of Awkward.
My chest heaved. “It’s dark in there.”
There was another scream, this one different and familiar. “Perri!”
I’d know that scream anywhere. Scrambling to my feet, I yelled, “Nimble!”
Foster’s hand wrapped around the top of my arm. “It could be a trick.”
The strange echoing scream was our only answer. “Ugly! Ugly! Ugly!”
My hand covered Foster’s on my arm. “We’re running out of time,” I whispered.
“Perri! Elspeth’s in trouble …” Nimble’s voice floated from the cavern, distant and afraid. My heart pounded, blood rushing through my veins.
“Ugly! Ugly! Ugly!”
Foster inhaled. “Something tells me this is going to get ugly.”
I threw him a look.
His hand slid from my arm, but instead of falling away, his fingers threaded with mine, his palm meeting my palm. I stared at our entwined hands.
Foster squeezed. “It’s dark, remember?”
He pulled me into the cavern, the awful yell continuing to echo around us. “Ugly! Ugly! Ugly!”
At first, there was nothing except darkness, the reverberating shriek, and an eerie, uncomfortable feeling in my gut. And then there was light, a faint light floating in the distance. It illuminated the corridor, the glow dim and unforgiving. Shadows surrounded us.
“You see them?” a female voice asked.
Laughter enveloped us, the sharp sound climbing up my spine before digging into my skull. It filled me with despair.
“Well, she sure hit every ugly branch falling out of the tree,” another feminine voice answered.
Foster’s fingers tightened. This close to him, I could feel his tension, and it scared me.
“Ugly, ugly, ugly, ugly, ugly, ugly …”
The light in the distance moved, gliding toward us with excruciating slowness. Instead of stopping, Foster tugged me toward it, his fingers tight enough to cut off my circulation.
The light broke, dividing into two pieces before twirling like two lightning bugs attempting to outshine and outmaneuver the other.
“Uggggllllyyyyy!” The voice was a hiss now; a low, feminine hiss.
Light exploded, surrounding us in a brilliant glow both beautiful and terrifying. Foster swore, his body falling against the cavern wall. I fell with him. We were blind, the light too bright and painful to look into. My hand grew numb, Foster’s fingers tight against mine. Pain lanced through my head. Even with my eyes squeezed shut, the light hurt.
A cackle surrounded us. “You are right, sister. She is ugly. So ugly, she’d have to sneak up on a glass of water to get a drink.”
The other woman giggled. “A face only a mother could love.”
The sister howled with laughter. “Ugly as a mud fence.”
Cold flesh brushed my cheek, and I winced, my body leaning closer to Foster’s. He didn’t let go; his fingers painful but reassuring and unyielding.
“Who are you?” Foster cried.
“You cannot see us?” the voice asked. It was a rough voice, but sweet in a strange, earthy way. “Is the light too bright?” She laughed. There was no apology in the tone. Nothing but cruel derision.
Cold flesh brushed mine again. “So ugly …” one of the voices breathed. Her breath fanned my face.
“Is she?” Foster asked. “Could it be you that’s ugly? You hide behind the light. Why? Because you’re too ashamed to be seen?”
The woman giggled. “A chivalrous one, he is. Should we play with him?”
The other woman huffed. “Leave him! We have no time for petty human men. But the girl …” She chortled. “She’s worth something. More beauty, sister. She is worth more beauty.”
Cold hands moved over my clothes, my skin, and my hair. I thrashed, slapping at their invasive touch with my free hand even as Foster tugged me against him, his arm going around my waist. The smell of sweat, dirt, water, coffee, and cotton candy invaded my nostrils. Even as unpleasant as it was, it was the best scent I’d smelled in a long time. It was the smell of safety.
“Cowards,” Foster accused. His chest vibrated against my cheek. “Hiding is cowardice.”
One of the women clucked her tongue. “Really?” she asked. “You’d rather face us without the light?”
There was something eerie about her question, something terrible and terrifying.
“Your wish, my dear man,” she breathed, “is my command.”
The light dimmed. The pain in my head lessened, my lashes beginning to rise.
“No! Don’t open your eyes!” Nimble’s voice rang out, her cry frantic.
It was too late.
In the dim cavern light, my gaze locked with the transfixing sight of a beautiful woman. She was tall and willowy, her body enfolded in ivory silk and lace. She had long white hair that trailed to the floor, her young face smooth and unblemished. Her eyes were colorless, her skin pale.
“Hello, dear.” She grinned, her pasty lips revealing sparkling white teeth. She was blindingly beautiful, but it was her gaze that held me. Her colorless eyes drew me in.
The attack was sudden, the emotional impact staggering. Loneliness and despair overwhelmed me, filling my heart with pain. I would have buckled under the pressure had Foster’s arms not been wrapped around me.
Loneliness, pure loneliness …
Even leaning against Foster, I was lonely … so lonely.
Foster shook me. “What have you done to her?”
The woman smiled. “Has your heart ever been broken?” she asked me.
Foster tried to cover my eyes, but an invisible force held him still, his body going rigid behind me.
“Don’t!” Nimble called to him. “There’s no way to stop it now. You’ll be frozen until they’ve finished with her.”
I could feel Foster, and yet he was so far away. So very, very far away. Images bombarded me.
“Did you really think he’d want to go out with you?”
My cheeks were stiff when I looked up at Maribeth Richardson. She was the most beautiful girl in the eighth grade, her skin clear, her breasts more developed than most of the other girls. She could have passed for a sophomore.
“I—” My breath came out ragged and heavy. There truly were no words. There was nothing I could say to make it better.
Eyes stared at me. So many eyes. In my hand, I held a red Valentine shaped like a heart, a sweet card from an avid admirer. It was signed: Yours truly, Ryan Bradley.
Ryan Bradley, the eighth grade equivalent of a male god. Popular and athletic with a smile that could change the world. He had a dimple in his cheek and brown hair the color of chocolate.
My cheeks flamed, my chest growing tight and my mouth going dry. I kept swallowing, as if the action would stop the nausea and the tears.
And then there was the laughter, so much cruel laughter.
With that, I ran, my shorter legs pumping, the mascara I’d borrowed from my mother running down my cheeks.
“So lonely,” the beauti
ful woman whispered.
My knees buckled. It didn’t matter that I’d actually had a steady boyfriend later in high school, and even a few dates after that, the memory still stung.
“Let me go,” I commanded, my voice cold. I wasn’t sure if I was talking to Foster or the woman. I’d spent years building up walls and telling myself I wasn’t alone, that I had friends. I’d spent years defeating the kind of loneliness the woman was attacking me with now.
I stared at her, my mouth twisting into a wry grin. “Do you really think you can attack me with loneliness?”
The woman’s smile slipped, her colorless eyes narrowing. The empty, desperate feeling eating at my gut didn’t ease. If anything, it grew stronger, but it was a familiar feeling. It was a feeling I had made a truce with a long time ago. I’d made a friend of the feeling, turning it into something I could live with. You couldn’t attack someone with something they’d learned to deal with.
The woman’s head lifted. “Ugly!” she cried. “Ugly as a toad!”
Foster stiffened. “What’s with all of the ugly insults?”
The phrases the women kept throwing at us were familiar ones.
Nimble’s voice rang through the cavern, the sound of it echoing off of the stone. “We’re in the Cavern of Clichés, and these are the cliques. They were changelings once.”
I gasped. “The changeling sisters, Harper and Violina.”
I’d drawn the changelings as beautiful young women, their only awkwardness their tendency to stutter and lisp when they spoke. Because of this, they sang instead. Beautiful, enchanting music, their songs accompanied by a harp and violin.
“Why?” I asked them.
The changeling sisters had been twins. They still were, their transformation having changed them into beautiful, cold young women.
“You’ll die,” one of them said suddenly. “There will come a time when you won’t be able to overcome all of us, the loneliness, the need to belong, the shame …”
I stared at her, pity swelling my heart. Had I, in an attempt to create a world where I could feel safe, created a world where everyone questioned themselves the same way I’d often questioned myself?
“You were perfect,” I told her. “You didn’t need to change.”
She placed her hands over her ears, her sudden shriek deafening. Foster relaxed behind me, her hold on him broken. The clique’s sister shrieked with her, the sound loud and excruciating.
Nimble cried out, “Hurry! Elspeth!”
The cliques were still shrieking when we pushed past them into the cavern, Foster’s hand gripping mine as we slid over dampened stone. Our wet clothes hung on us, the fabric dripping onto the rock below.
Wings flew at us from the dimly lit corridor. They were purple wings, the fairy attached to them weeping.
The cliques followed us, their shrieks turning once more to laughter. “You won’t save her!” they cried.
The cave opened up suddenly, the interior transforming into a beautiful ballroom made out of glass. Everything was glass; the walls, floors, and even the ceiling. Our reflections were everywhere. It was the first time I’d seen myself since we’d landed in Awkward. My face was streaked with dirt, my dark blonde hair wet and hanging down my back. The blue tunic I wore clung to me, the fabric stained with siren blood and mud. My nipples pressed against the blue material, the sight heightening my embarrassment. On my chin were the half-moon impressions left by the Siren of Shame, my neck covered with green and yellow bruises from her strangling tongue.
Beside me, Foster didn’t look much better. His white tunic no longer white, his hair curling around his ears and his jaw shadowed. His face, like mine, was marred by scratches from the siren who’d held him entranced. And yet, it didn’t take away from his appeal. It seemed cruel that no matter how dirty a man seemed to get, he still managed to look decent, as if he just woke up one morning and said, “I’m going to rock the dirt look today.”
“Perri!” a distressed voice called. Weasel lumbered toward me, his face twisted with worry. Herman lounged on his hat, his big eyes sad.
Beyond them stood Elspeth. She was in the center of the ballroom, her hands clasped to her chest, a worry line forming between her eyes. Her mud spattered gown sagged, the hem scraping the floor.
“She’s changing!” Weasel insisted.
His gaze moved to the princess, our eyes following his. My lips parted. Her honey-gold hair hung down her back, the curls sporting strands of silver.
“Her hair,” Foster murmured.
Laughter surrounded us, the sudden sound of sad piano music filling the room. It was loud music, full of sorrow. It was the kind you heard at the end of operas when the hero has died. Like a waltz for the dead.
“Elspeth!” I cried.
She remained frozen, her cheeks covered in tears and her spectacles sitting at an angle. Her songbirds were missing, and she clutched at her heart.
“Awful things, broken hearts,” one of the cliques sneered. “They leave shattered pieces behind … lonely pieces.”
Loneliness … crippling loneliness.
I’d taught myself how to overcome that empty, desolate feeling in my gut, but the creatures in Awkward were never meant to feel lonely. They were never meant to feel broken.
“We can’t stop it,” Nimble sobbed.
The cliques had attacked Elspeth because her heart had been broken by Prince’s Dash’s disappearance, his enthralling obsession with Perfection. They could abuse her with the lonely, unbearable feeling. That falling feeling, the same kind that people often dreamt about. The one where hitting the ground before waking up meant death. I’d seen what a broken heart could do, had felt my own heart break after my last relationship. It was a lonely, I wish I could die feeling.
Elspeth started to dance, her feet moving with the sad music, her hands holding herself as if she were in the arms of a partner.
“We are not deadly creatures,” one of the cliques said. “If you figure out a way to release her, we will let her go.” She laughed. “But if you don’t, she will become one of us, beautiful and cold. Her prince could not deny her then.”
I stared at Elspeth, my heart hurting. How did you show someone that the pain of heartbreak would pass? How did you show someone that loneliness was often normal? That loneliness was only lethal if we let it be.
It was Foster who stepped forward, his gaze on the princess.
“Your messed up world may mean saving princes from towers instead of maidens.” He glanced at me, his gaze falling to the bruises on my neck. I’d saved him in the swamp, but then he’d gotten us away from the Beast of Belonging by tricking me into laughing. “But I think this one,” he gestured at the ballroom, “demands a prince.”
He sauntered away, his feet carrying him across the glass ballroom floor. He stopped in front of Elspeth, his finger lifting her chin. Her cold eyes met his gaze.
He inclined his head and offered her his hand. “Can I have this dance?”
It was a lonely dance in an empty, glass room filled with sad music and eerie laughter.
Chapter 18
“That awkward moment when you realize you’ve kind of fallen for a guy who’d make a better huntsman than a prince.”
