Chains of Gaia

by James Fahy

  “It is time, Fae-thing!” Strigoi said, triumphantly, circling the dragon toward the boy. “The beast is weak. The Shard is mine for the taking … but I cannot take it.”

  He grabbed Robin by the wrist, cold metal tight around his skin. Robin, even with the power of Puck flooding through him, felt the bones of his arm grate under the grasp, and he cried out in pain.

  “The Oracle told me! Only you can claim the Shard from the monster,” Strigoi hissed, his carved animal face inches from Robin's. “Even dogs have their uses. Once you have it, then I have it. Now, be an obedient dog…and fetch!”

  Without warning, Strigoi launched Robin bodily into the air, throwing him at the ailing dragon.

  Robin, yelping in pain and shock, flew across the glade, a vision of the hollow spinning before him as he hurtled toward the scourge’s head and the Shard embedded there.

  In that last moment of confusion, Robin saw Strigoi below him, standing amidst the coils of the beast, knee deep in grass and crushed flowers, his black armour glinting, his demonic wolf face grinning up at the Fae he had just thrown like bait to a shark. He was panting, his cloak tattered from the battle, his heavy sword at his side. And then the tail of the injured dragon lashed out and struck him.

  Eris’ wolf was smashed through the air, a swatted fly. He soared across the hollow, hitting the steep banks with a great thud, and rolling bonelessly back down the slope to the floor, where he lay facedown and motionless.

  Robin had no time to react to this. Puck turned his head toward the dragon, the hunger for the Shard all consuming.

  He had been flung at the creature’s face, propelled by Strigoi’s mana, but it was not the glowing prize of the Shard embedded in its forehead which Robin now saw awaiting him. It was the mouth of the dragon, open wide, deep and red. And into its immense throat, brimming with the forces of the Arcania and helpless to stop himself, Robin fell, hearing the jaws slam shut behind him with a snap, as his world was plunged into darkness.

  DUO REGIS

  Robin floated in a featureless sea of peaceful green light. Weightless, still and calm.

  He slowly began to feel his body around him, arms and legs outstretched, his white hair flowing straight upward from his head, curling and tangling softly against horns, tall antlers of white ivory which were as strong as solid oak. It was like being in the ocean, submerged in a soft warm place, bobbed along by unseen and gentle tides which flowed around and against him from every direction.

  He felt peaceful, sure of himself. He was not afraid. He was the Puck, and the silent majesty of the greatest forests, with their deep and secret places, filled every cell of his body like a resonant song.

  If I’m dead, he thought oddly to himself, then this isn’t so bad after all. It doesn’t even hurt.

  His aches and pains were gone. His damaged arm did not burn, his battered head did not smart. He simply let himself flow through the endless green light, feeling it fall across his face, dappled and warm as the sun.

  I’m not dead, he realised, with the same strange certainty one has in dreams. I’m in the drake. Somehow. Not mashed into a pulp, not in its stomach, but within it, at one with it. With the Shard, with the Arcania.

  There was no up or down here on this primordial plane, no real sense of direction at all, but almost simply because he wished for it, he felt his feet touch a solid surface, found himself standing, the gentle, strong flow of the forest heartbeat still pushing gently all around him.

  And I’m not alone, he decided with certainly.

  In the shimmering emerald glow, Robin found himself turning in this silent prismatic space. Behind him, there was another figure, on its knees, shoulders slumped, head down. Robin, through the crystal clear eyes of the Puck, regarded it solemnly.

  It was a man before him, a dryad. His clothing was, as with all dryads, an artful patchwork of the trees and woods themselves, woven moss and leaves, a great cloak of russet autumn foliage spilling around him. Atop his bowed head, there rested a silver crown, carved in the shape of many entwined leaves.

  “You are the king,” Puck said. He hadn’t been certain, before he spoke, whether his voice would carry in this strange, dreamlike space. It didn’t seem real after all. Not a physical realm, more … a meeting place for minds. But the words echoed around him. It was still Robin's voice, but it rustled like the susurrus of the forest canopy too.

  “The king of the dryads. We are … within you,” Robin confirmed, quite sure of himself. He looked around, at the endless shining power of the Shard about them. And realisation dawned.

  “You were not killed by the beast, by this dragon of the forest,” the Puck said curiously, walking slowly toward the huddled figure, power flowed around him in eddying currents as he moved. “You are the beast.”

  The dryad king slowly raised his head as Robin approached. His face was old and lined, but not unkind. He wore a long mossy beard, and his faceted, insectile eyes looked tired. Wearier than any eyes Robin had ever seen.

  “I am,” he said in reply. “The Shard … the Shard has made me so. The Shard has made me the scourge of my own kingdom.”

  The king, still kneeling, opened his large cupped hands, and Robin saw that he cradled something. A shifting, prismatic nebula, flickering and blazing silently. It rolled over and over on itself, enchanting and beautiful, throwing its light up onto their faces. Power, raw and overwhelming, poured from it. Robin felt it tingle in his horns and stab hungrily into his eyes.

  “The Earth Shard,” Puck said in quiet wonder. “The heart of the forest.”

  He knew then what had happened. The beast had not come out of the shadows, emerging from the forest, attacking and killing the king of the dryads. That hadn’t been true at all. The king had taken the Shard, somehow. It had been too powerful for him to control. Its power had engulfed him.

  “You could not contain it,” Puck said, hovering his hand above the Shard, feeling its warmth as the weary king, still kneeling, held it out before him like an offering. “Too much power, even for a ruler of the forest. It consumed you…devolved you…built the forest around your body. You have become the drake.”

  The king looked up at Robin, his lined face grave. “I am dead,” he said simply. “But the Shard … it will not let me go. It has such hunger, for life. I roam the forest, taking more of it into myself. I grow, become more terrible. I take the life of the land into myself. It will not stop.”

  He blinked at Robin, his old eyes roaming over the primal force of the teenage boy standing before him in this unreal place, horned and shining like a fierce young god.

  “I know who you are,” the king said. “You are Fae. You are the Scion of the Arcania. How is it that you are you here?”

  “My enemy,” the Puck explained simply. “He threw me to the beast, to you. He knew the Shard would take me too. I think he counts on my strength to control it. To take the Shard back from you.”

  “And can you?” the king asked hopefully. He seemed so withered and weary. “Can you take it? I am so tired, Scion of the Arcania. I wish for the everafter. I wish to see my wife.”

  “Then give it to me,” Robin said calmly, the voice of the Puck rolling from him with quiet command. “There is no power I cannot bear. I cannot take it from you however. Power stolen from a king can never last. It must be given freely.”

  The king of the dryads nodded, and in that peaceful place, glimmering green and bright, he passed the Shard of the Arcania into Robin's hands.

  Robin felt the weight of it. Its energy poured up his arms like twisting roots and vines in his bloodstream. The sheer, intoxicating power of it.

  The warm and comforting green light, in this odd, unreal dimension, was beginning to fade. The king stooped, exhausted, lowering his head but looking relieved to be free of the terrible burden of the Shard. He sank back to his knees, sighing, as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

  “Thank you,” he whispered. “You have saved me, Scion. You have…releas
ed me.”

  He was sinking into shadows, the green light plummeting fast now all around Robin, so that he could barely see the spirit of the dryad king at all. The only remaining light was the Shard itself, flickering and pulsing in his hands, throwing its illumination and power back onto him in silent pulses.

  “But why?” he asked, his voice more Robin than Puck. He had to know, before this place disappeared. “Why did you take the Shard from the Labyrinth? Why did you tear out the heart of the elder trees?"

  In the near darkness, he thought he saw the king raise his head, a glimmer of faceted green eyes in the shadows.

  “I did not …” came the reply. “Not I. Do not … trust him.”

  The endless green void was gone. The Shard pulsed once more in Robin's hands, and with the hands of the Puck, he raised it before him and stared into its swirling depths. The twinkling lights at its core, fireflies in dark treetops, flickered out one by one, and then there was nothing.

  *

  Robin opened his eyes, gasping. Light flooded into his face, harsh and bright after the soft and dreamlike space of the Shard. And with the light came pain. His arm screamed, his head throbbed, and his ribs felt bruised and scraped. He was lying on his back, under some kind of tight and smothering blanket. Whatever it was, it covered half his face as well.

  Coughing and spluttering, he forced himself to sit up, shedding the heaviness above him as he realised it was not a blanket at all. It was moss and grass and soil. It had grown right over him.

  Dizzy and shaking, he tore the moss cocoon from his legs and chest, digging himself out of the ground. Everything was very quiet and still around him.

  I’m in the hollow, he thought to himself, disjointedly. I’m back.

  Looking around blearily through watering eyes, he saw that the drake, the transformed scourge that had been the dryad king, was gone. Its huge draconian body, made from the forest made solid, willed together by the power of the Shard, had crumbled. It lay around him in chunks. Boulders, swathes of moss, great lattice heaps of twigs and branches. The green lifeblood of the beast had spilled all over the once dead floor of the empty hollow and, feeding back the energy it had stolen, it had created a sweeping carpet of lush vegetation. Ivy was growing everywhere, fast enough that Robin could watch its questing, quiet fingers, curling around the rocks and wood that had made the body of the great monster, tearing it apart bit by bit. The dead leaves of the ground were covered in thick fresh moss and grass. Robin had been buried under it where he had fell.

  Staggering to his feet, he gingerly felt the top of his head. There were no horns. Evidently, Puck had retreated. But he felt…different. His vision swam. There was no quiet inner voice at the back of his head as there had always been before. Noticing its absence was like noticing the soft ticking of a clock only when it stops.

  He had accepted the Puck, had ceased to fight against his own power, tinged as it was with a dash of darkness. The conflict which he had felt raging just below the surface for months was gone. Despite his aching and bruised body, he felt strangely calm. At peace.

  Looking down, Robin saw something resting in his hand. He was gripping it so tightly his bloodied knuckles were white, but he hadn’t even realised he was holding it.

  It looked like a large jewel, as big as a fist. An emerald, rough and uncut. Deep in its shining heart, golden sunlight flowed.

  “I have the Shard,” he said, shocked by how hoarse and broken his voice sounded.

  He stared around the freshly verdant hollow, desperately seeking his friends. Where were Woad and Karya? Were they still trapped under vines? Had the creeping carpet of moss and grass, in its eagerness to spread, grown over them too? He had to find them, free them.

  He looked around. The glade, transformed utterly by the death of the drake, was unrecognisable. Even now he could hear the creaking of small saplings as they pushed their way up into the air between the mossy boulders, rustling as their new leaves opened to the sky. All around his feet, bushy grass shook and grew, and flowers folded back their petals. The whole place was in quiet, lively motion.

  Robin took a few stumbling steps, feeling dreadfully unsteady, turning in a circle and trying to get his bearings. He could see the mouth of the cave where they had first sighted the drake, although now he saw its dark opening was covered in a thick curtain of trailing creepers, even now blooming with pale buds.

  “Karya? Woad?” he yelled. “Where are you?”

  He made his unsteady way across the floor of the hollow, between the new trees and behind a fallen tangle of twigs and scree, scanning the ground for friend-shaped lumps. Where had Woad been lying? He was sure it was here. His eyes fell on a small hillock, lumpily distorted. Oh thank God! He lurched towards it, nausea spiking with each lumbering step. He dropped next to the form, vision swimming as he tore the growth from the body.

  There, lying motionless in the grass before him, looking up at the sun, like a shining, overturned beetle, was Strigoi.

  Robin’s blood ran cold. The Wolf of Eris wasn’t moving. He was either unconscious or dead, lying incongruously on the lush ground with the soft sunbeams falling on his dark cruelly-shaped armour. Tiny vines and plants twined around his legs and his still, gloved fingers.

  Strigoi’s sword had been thrown clear when the beast had launched him violently across the glade. It lay some way off, blade embedded deep in the soil. Thin curls of twining vine were creeping up the black hilt, odd white flowers opening and shivering here and there across its length. It reminded Robin of the old Arthurian legends, of the sword in the stone.

  Gripping the Earth Shard tightly, Robin stooped over the wolf, staring down at his fallen enemy. He listened, and in the stillness of the forest, from within the metal mask, he heard quiet, laboured breathing.

  “Not dead then,” Robin said to himself, a little shakily. A dark part of Robin toyed with the fact that they were out in the middle of nowhere. No one was around for countless miles, and a very heavy Shard of the Arcania was in his hand. A blunt instrument of the highest order.

  Would anyone blame him? Really?

  He dismissed the idea at once. He may have a little darkness in him, but he couldn’t strike down a helpless, unconscious person, even one as loathsome as this.

  Instead, summoning his courage, he inched closer to Strigoi's head. The breathing was regular. He wasn’t hurt then, not badly. Just knocked out when the drake had caught him. Just after he had thrown Robin like a human sacrifice into its mouth.

  “Thanks for that,” Robin said coldly. He reached out tentatively and gave the prone figure a quick poke in the arm. When Strigoi failed to retaliate, he inspected the man more closely.

  A curious part of him wanted to lean forward and lift off the mask, to see face-to-face this Wolf of Eris. This powerful creature whom even the Grimms feared. Would he appear as a Grimm did? Ghastly while, old and reptilian, a pallid ghoul? Or something worse? The twisted face of a demon, hidden from view by mercy by this strange animal mask.

  A worrying thought occurred to Robin. Maybe he really was a wolf. Dark fur and bared, grinning teeth, cold, hungry yellow eyes grinning in the darkness behind the metal, drooling and waiting to bite.

  This is what happens when you stray from the forest path, he thought chillingly. You meet wolves in the shadowy places between the trees. All the better to eat you with.

  The train of thought made Robin shiver.

  He had more pressing concerns. Strigoi was powerful and dangerous. He had to find Woad and Karya, and get away from this place, far away, before their enemy awoke. They had to get the Shard back to Rowandeepling.

  A shadow fell over his crouched form, making Robin jump in alarm and spin around, his vision taking a few seconds to catch up.

  Splinterstem the dryad stood over him, looking down curiously.

  “You have it,” he said simply.

  Robin staggered to his feet, furious, glaring up at the enormous dryad. “Where the hell were you?” he yelled, com
pletely forgetting any notions of not waking the wolf. He stared at Splinterstem. “Where were you when the battle started? Eh? Woad and Karya? They didn’t think twice about fighting! Even when this nightmare turned up and started throwing me around the place? Where were you then? What? Were you hiding under a rock somewhere?”

  If the dryad was ashamed, he didn't show it. “You really must be the Scion of the Arcania,” he said, not talking his eyes from the Shard, the glittering green jewel in Robin’s hands. “You defeated the monster, the scourge is ended. You retrieved the heart of the forest.”

  “Bugger the heart of the bloody forest!” Robin snapped angrily. “You’re a coward! Hiding in the bloody trees. Is that what you really did when the king was taken, eh? Where are Woad and Karya?”

  The dryad pointed across the clearing. “They are perfectly safe. Look,” he said reassuringly.

  Robin turned, staring off in the direction the dryad was pointing, unable to make out anything but the tangle of the newly lush forest glade.

  “Where? I don’t see anything,” he said. Something itched in his mind. Something he had just said had sounded wrong.

  Wait, Robin thought. This doesn’t make sense at all. If the king was the drake, then how could Splinterstem have seen the king attacked and taken by it?

  He turned back to the dryad, confused. Splinterstem was looking down at him with his large, calm green eyes. Robin noticed he held a rock in his hand.

  The dryad brought the rock up full force. The crack against the side of Robin’s skull was sharp and hard. His legs buckled and he fell bonelessly to the ground, thudding gracelessly onto the carpet of thick moss beside Strigoi. The Shard of the Arcania tumbling from his fingers and rolling away in the grass.

  Amidst the sickening pain, as Robin’s vision disappeared down a long black tunnel, he saw the hand of the dryad stoop calmly to claim the Shard.

  FRENEMIES