by Zen Cho
The Fairy Queen, who had once seemed so invincible, put her hands to her throat. Her face turned olive green, the veins standing out upon it. “You—” she gasped. “You—”
“Do not be afraid, sister,” said Saktimuna tenderly. “Henceforth you shall have peace.”
Saktimuna’s graceful head plunged down. She plucked the Queen’s head off, quenching its light, as delicately as one might nip a flower off a stem.
The Queen’s headless body crumpled to the ground. Henrietta buried a scream in her hands.
This time it was the Queen’s magic that roared through the room. Unlike the Serpent’s magic, it was not harnessed to a directing will, nor aimed at a single target, and it spread out, altering the nature of everything it touched. The dead bodies on the floor shrank, so that they looked like broken dolls, their limbs splayed. The shadows on the walls came alive, hooting and revelling in the Queen’s death. The few pieces of furniture that had not been destroyed scampered away—Henrietta saw a table, much prized by her mother, rush past on slender deer’s legs.
Saktimuna was occupied with devouring the Queen’s remains. Henrietta averted her eyes, but she could not shut her ears to the sound of the Serpent swallowing her prey. She rose, grasping at the nearest object to steady herself.
This happened to be a chaise longue, which was creeping slowly but with determination along the wall, though it was much the worse for wear. The splintered wood pierced Henrietta’s palm. She snatched her hand away, yelping, but the twinge of pain was almost a relief, for it was real, no fever-dream brought on by magic.
The Serpent raised her head at Henrietta’s cry. The ruby red eyes looked directly at Henrietta.
“Muna,” said Henrietta, without hope. She limped backwards, step by tottering step, but her foot caught in the side of a warm body. She did not know whose it was, or whether they were dead or alive; she did not dare break Saktimuna’s gaze to look.
There was nothing of Muna in those reptilian eyes. Hatred of the creature that had consumed her friend rose in Henrietta’s throat. If only she had the right words—a formula that would reverse time and restore Muna to herself.
“Muna,” she said, “come back.”
Her voice fell thin and unconvincing on the air. She knew Muna was gone, absorbed by the Serpent.
I am pleading with a ghost, thought Henrietta.
Still she squared her shoulders, raising her head. She had shut her eyes earlier in fright, but now she was prepared, and she would meet her end with courage.
* * *
• • •
IN addressing Muna, Henrietta was seeking to raise a ghost. But in the Unseen Realm there is less of a distinction between the living and the dead than mortals tend to draw. After all, both fairies and ghosts are constituted more of spirit than of flesh.
The ghosts of Saktimuna’s other selves still had a form of existence in her mind, for among spiritkind, to be named is to be. Even a shard of a name like “Muna” had its own power—and every time Henrietta uttered it, what was left of Muna stirred.
There was not much left of her. But what there was, was deeply concerned that Henrietta should live.
Even as Saktimuna had pursued the Queen, a very small part of the Serpent’s mind, unbeknownst to the rest, was considering the possibility of dividing herself again. It seemed to the ghost that had been Muna that it would be possible for Saktimuna to split her own heart in two—to cleave herself into separate halves—so that each half would have the independent life it had enjoyed before. Though the ghost could not quite remember why, it felt this an outcome much to be desired.
But it must proceed with caution. The thing would have to be done with care if Saktimuna were not to break apart altogether, her spirit dissipating abroad.
The ghost held itself in readiness, watching for its moment. Saktimuna’s mind was as busy and confused as most minds are. Most of her conscious thought was focused on her prey, and it was possible for even such a self-destructive impulse as the ghost harboured to remain unobserved amid the noise.
When Saktimuna sprang on the Fairy Queen, taking the Queen’s power into herself, the ghost saw its chance. This was the time. With the influx of the Queen’s magic, she could tear herself in two now and be tolerably certain each part would survive.
While the Serpent’s conscious mind cast around for a new victim, the ghost fumbled for a weakness, a crack it could pry open.
It was not difficult to find the fault. After all, Saktimuna had been rent asunder before. This time she did it herself; the split was clean and it would last.
28
MUNA
MUNA CAME TO herself slowly.
She lay in a bed with clean-smelling sheets. A soothing repetitive noise filled her ears, like the sound of waves crashing against the shore. It took her a moment to realise it was snoring.
She touched her nose, wondering, and saw that her hands were a mortal’s hands: brown-skinned and short-fingered, with squarish palms and pale half-moons of fingernails. Through the gaps between her fingers she caught sight of a figure—an old woman, dozing in a chair by the bed. The snoring came from her.
Muna sat bolt upright, electrified. “Mak Genggang!”
The witch stirred, snorting. “Eh? Are you awake, then?”
Memory rushed in upon Muna: the absorption of herself and Sakti into the Serpent, Saktimuna’s rampage, Henrietta’s intervention, and the final breach. She gasped, “Henrietta—how is she? Is she safe?”
Mak Genggang leant over her, her expression inscrutable. “I should have thought you would have asked after your sister first of all. She was always your chief concern before.”
Muna blinked. “But I know what became of my sister. I devoured her.”
Then she realised what Mak Genggang meant.
“Oh!” she said. “But Sakti is well, isn’t she?” Sakti’s flesh might have been divided from hers, but they were one soul still. This time the link between their minds had not been severed, so that Muna knew Sakti to be on the other side of the wall—intact, untroubled and fast asleep.
“But Henrietta is a mortal,” said Muna. “And I was trying to eat her!”
“Well, you did not succeed, if that is what you fear,” said Mak Genggang. “Saktimuna devoured no mortals. It seems she was on the verge of doing it, but according to Miss Stapleton, the Serpent was suddenly taken ill. She disappeared, leaving the two of you in her place.”
That, Muna remembered. “And Miss Stapleton? You have spoken with her?”
Mak Genggang nodded. “She is unharmed.”
Relieved of her anxiety, Muna settled back in bed and gazed at Mak Genggang. There was no trace of fear or awe in the witch’s countenance. She looked back, frowning slightly, just as she would have looked at the mortal girl Muna had once been.
A great calm happiness bubbled up inside Muna.
“We are in England still?” she said in wonder. “When did you come, mak cik?”
“I arrived this morning,” said Mak Genggang. “I should have come sooner, for Prunella asked for me when they could not wake you. But the Unseen is in a state of considerable disorder and I was delayed. You should have summoned me earlier, child. Surely you knew I would not withhold my help.”
“I did not know how,” said Muna. Her brow furrowed. “You have left Janda Baik undefended?”
Mak Genggang waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, the British will not dare touch us while I am in London at the invitation of their Sorceress Royal. What is more, I am attending upon the True Queens of the Unseen Realm. Tuan Farquhar may know little of the Unseen but he knows enough to fear the name of its rulers!”
“The True Queens?”
“That is your title now,” said Mak Genggang. “Yours and that wilful child Sakti’s. Devouring the incumbent is the traditional means by which the throne of the Unseen passes to its heir
. Your usurper—she that was Queen before—consumed your six parents in order to gain the throne, after she had exiled you. And now you have consumed her.”
It was only now that Muna became aware of the magic surging in her veins—not only Saktimuna’s magic, but also that of the former Fairy Queen and her King, whom the Serpent had consumed in her wrath. The power coursed hot under her skin. She must fairly glow with magic to anyone who had the eyes to see it.
That was what the witch had come for, of course—the magic that had protected Janda Baik. Muna did not blame her. Mak Genggang’s presence brought with it a vision of the island, extraordinarily vivid—its rich earth under the omnipresent sun, and the palms that fringed the shore. Suddenly she was overcome by the homesickness that had never really left her since she had set off down Mak Genggang’s path through the Unseen. A wonderful idea came to her.
“I could come back to Janda Baik,” said Muna. “Stand guard over it, as I did before.”
Mak Genggang did not respond as she expected. The old woman only looked thoughtful.
“It is not that we would not be grateful for your protection,” she said. “You know how we are placed. Without the magic you lent us for so many years, we shall be sadly exposed.”
Muna met her eyes. “But . . .”
“But you cannot come back,” said the witch. “And you know it.”
She was not unkind, but her tone was unyielding.
Muna had not expected the blow. Her happiness dissolved at once.
“You could not stop me,” she said, gulping down her hurt.
“Who would govern the Unseen Realm?” said Mak Genggang. “You have not seen what I saw on my journey here.”
Muna could imagine the chaos that reigned in the Hidden World following the abrupt removal of its monarch. Conspiracies, struggles for power, wars . . . the very idea wearied her. She would not have minded it as the Serpent who had been thrown out of Fairy. Then, the incessant intrigues of the Palace of the Unseen had been all she had known. But she had since spent centuries in cleaner waters.
“Sakti could be Queen,” said Muna. “It would not worry her. She does not mind power—indeed, she likes it.”
“And that means she will be just and merciful?” said Mak Genggang. “She will seek to resolve difficulties with patience, taking the winding path where it leads true, disregarding easier courses where she would come to grief? She will extend shelter to the weakest of her subjects—correct the wrongs your sister wrought?”
Muna was silent. She was remembering the imps imprisoned in the lamps in the caverns beneath the Palace of the Unseen, and the offhanded manner in which Sakti had said, Sometimes they weep.
“Sakti is not all bad,” said Muna.
“No. But all that is in her is spirit and magic and love of self,” said Mak Genggang. “The True Queen will need more than that if she is to put the Unseen Realm to rights.”
“But why must I put the Unseen to rights?” Muna protested, even as the weight of the responsibility settled upon her shoulders. “I did not spoil it.”
“Why ask such a question when you know the answer?” said Mak Genggang. “You know the rule that governs all magic. Nothing can be taken that is not paid for. Perhaps you might have evaded your duties if you had stopped at recovering the Virtu, but you could not consume the powers of your sister and her consort without incurring a debt. You owe that debt to your subjects—to the kingdom you have inherited.”
Muna bowed her head, looking at her hands on the bed sheets. They were the old Muna’s hands, but she herself was no longer the old Muna, bound to no one save Sakti.
For a time they were silent—as much as Mak Genggang had to say, she was practised, too, in silence, as all witches must be. It was Muna who broke it.
“Will you teach us?” she said.
Mak Genggang looked startled. “Teach you? Your Majesty knows a great deal more magic than I do now.”
“I beg you will not call me that,” said Muna, disturbed. “‘Child’ will do perfectly well. But I meant, will you teach us how to rule? Sakti and I are not quite the same as Saktimuna—and even she never learnt how to be a raja.”
It was the first thing she had said that surprised the witch.
“Very well,” said Mak Genggang, after a pause. “I will teach you what I can.”
She rose, putting the back of her hand against Muna’s forehead. “But now it is time for you to rise. You seem to have suffered little harm from your adventures. Will you take a meal? You will not need mortal sustenance anymore, but it will reassure your English friends to see you. Your Miss Stapleton has been wild with worry on your behalf. She would be here all day if her family could spare her.”
Warmth rose in Muna’s cheeks.
“She is not my Miss Stapleton,” she began to say, before she realised how absurd it would sound to protest, as though she thought Mak Genggang was implying more than she could mean. She swallowed her words.
“I will come,” she said instead.
Muna had indeed never felt healthier. She was wholly refreshed, full of vigour, and ready to spring out of bed. She sat up, and for the first time noticed something odd. She threw off the sheets and gaped down at herself.
“Did not you know?” said Mak Genggang.
“No!” said Muna faintly.
Stretched out on the bed, instead of her own ordinary legs, was a serpent’s tail, covered in shining blue-green scales—evidence, if any were yet needed, that the girl Muna was gone forever.
29
One month later
The Lady Maria Wythe Academy for the Instruction of Females in Practical Thaumaturgy, England
PRUNELLA
PRUNELLA WAS GREAT with news as she clattered up the stairs. She took no notice of Damerell when she passed him in the corridor, though he started and blushed—a most unusual thing for Damerell to do. All Prunella thought of was finding Henrietta, for when one has received astonishing news, there is nothing more satisfying than imparting it to another for whom it has the same significance. On this occasion, no one but Henrietta would do.
“Henny, you will never credit what I have heard,” cried Prunella, bursting into the sitting room.
It was a neat, pretty apartment, reserved for the use of the Academy’s instructresses. Only Henrietta was there now, writing a letter. She started, dropping her pen. A look of guilt crossed her countenance.
“Oh, Prunella!” she said. “I thought you were receiving Georgiana Without Ruth.”
“So I did,” said Prunella. “She has just left.”
“All is in order? The arrangements with Threlfall, I mean?”
“Oh yes,” said Prunella. “She has agreed to dedicate a cavern for our use.”
Left to herself, Prunella would not have required any reward for her intervention with the True Queens of Fairyland that had ensured that the magic stolen by their predecessor was restored to Georgiana Without Ruth. (“It can do us no harm to have Threlfall in our debt,” Prunella had said.)
But Georgiana was punctilious about the debts she incurred. She had invited the Sorceress Royal to establish a wing of her Academy in Threlfall, where Englishwomen could study thaumaturgy in peace, untroubled by the oppressive concern of their fathers and brothers.
“Of course, the cavern has been furnished in the draconic style,” said Prunella. “It is rather bare and draughty, but Zacharias has consulted with our scholars, and they have some clever ideas for how it may be adapted for their comfort. Miss Campbell has been particularly ingenious.”
It was not the draughts that worried Henrietta.
“It is most kind of Georgiana to offer the use of her family’s ancestral lands,” she said. “But are you quite sure the scholars will be safe, set down among dragons? I say nothing against Mr. Threlfall”— Henrietta coloured as she said the name—“but he would be the first to ag
ree that not all his relations are like him!”
“No,” agreed Prunella. “Georgiana has guaranteed her family’s good behaviour, but all the same I believe Rollo has some very reprobate uncles. I am sure they will not strain themselves to curb their appetites, if the opportunity to indulge them presents itself. But it will do the scholars good to learn to fend off hungry dragons. Magic is a dangerous business; we shall do our girls no favours by coddling them!”
Henrietta was not altogether convinced. Seeing this, Prunella said, “I do not think Threlfall more dangerous than England for a magicienne. At least dragons are not more likely to devour a female magician than a male. Whereas the conduct of our English thaumaturges has scarcely been such as to inspire much confidence!”
“They are not all beyond hope,” said Henrietta softly. “We have seen that some are capable of reform.”
Prunella tossed her head. “I shall believe that when your papa relaxes his restrictions on you! How does he expect you to do all you must with only three hours a day to devote to magic?”
“Papa only desires that I should not neglect my other duties in the pursuit of magic. He is quite right. I am a daughter and a sister, as well as a magicienne.”
“Hmph!” said Prunella, who could never be brought to agree that Henrietta’s family might be reasonable in desiring some measure of her society. “But you have not heard my news, Henny. It will make you stare!”
“Do tell,” said Henrietta, dutifully preparing herself to be amazed.
“You know Mr. Midsomer told us Clarissa had gone to visit her relations on the Continent.”
There had been some discussion of whether it was desirable for Miss Midsomer to continue at the Academy, after all that had passed. Prunella had seen no reason to dismiss her: “I should much rather have her under my eye than leave her to make mischief elsewhere.”
