ALLORY PASSED THE DAY in a haze of shock and fear. Fifty thousand thoughts assaulted her brain. Haphazard plans she formulated and discarded by the dozen, but she could not bring herself to act upon even one. Act? Do something useful? Right. No sparkle, no willpower and absolutely no positive progress.
Coward!
In the evening, chased out of hiding by a russet-coloured domestic feline eager to sup upon Faerie flesh – she left a decent cut upon its nose by way of retribution – Allory flew up behind the houses and borrowed somebody’s window box flowers to pilfer a bland but fortifying meal of weak, tart nectar and gummy pollen. Right. Time to plan, think and act. If she was about to use her size advantage to sneak into someone’s favourite dungeon, she had better do so in an intelligent way. That meant being rather better prepared than she was right now.
Armed with a vague bookish idea about wire being useful for picking locks, she flew back to the blacksmiths’ premises they had passed earlier. Keep to the shadows. Sneak. This was just another kind of jungle, right? A small Faerie could hide anywhere in this Human habitation. Her keen Fae gaze evaluated plant pots, trees, crannies, storage spaces, chairs, eaves, someone’s washing line … any number of places to conceal a diminutive intruder. Through an open window, she spied upon an unfamiliar sight. This could only be a Faroon family, creatures with the body of a thick snake and a Human-like torso and head with facial features far more skewed toward those of serpents. Slashes for yellow eyes, scaly grey skin and needle-sharp, venomous fangs completed the picture. This was the first time she had seen them close up – more terrifying than she had imagined from afar, perceived via those visions. The heavy tails allowed them to slither in an upright posture. This dwelling must have been purpose-built because it allowed the tall, slow-moving adult creatures to ‘stand’ at their full height of eleven to twelve feet.
Shiver. Faerie and snake-people were not the best of friends. The Faroon had hunted her people for centuries. Some Faroon. Maybe these were nice ones?
And I’m a yellow-striped green suggid.
Flying swiftly on.
Allory flitted along the row of workplaces before finding a blacksmith’s shop. The oily smoke, metallic whiff and constant roaring of the forge made her dizzy. Out back, she found a tall rubbish heap which she raided for a couple of likely-looking bits of wire. Armed and dangerous.
One Faerie army incoming. Watch out, Durc – what would she do, poke out an eyeball?
Time to raid a castle.
Zipping over a world of tiled and rush rooftops toward that brooding dark hulk of stone, Allory paused as she heard a chopped-off yell. Not the first time in this city. Landing awkwardly in a broken gutter, Allory peered over the slate edge into an alleyway below. Farther along, she spied a dark-robed, square-shouldered man in the act of wiping blood off his dagger onto a piece of sacking. Directly below her lay a body. Dark crimson pooled steadily beneath its flank, but against the odds the heap of rags stirred. A low groan assured her that the female, perhaps, was still alive but badly wounded. The bandit or robber stalked off, sticking something into a pocket beneath his robes.
Warriors strutted like that, all arrogance and capability.
Below her, the wounded person cursed and slowly sank back onto her side. Her breath bubbled horribly, as if blood flooded her lungs.
Making a decision before reason rose to swamp her good intentions, Allory spiralled down into the gloom, noticing peripherally that her translucent wings gleamed for a reason that escaped her just now. One thought. That woman needed help.
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A Scintillant might be her only hope.
Landing beside the stricken woman’s nose, she pinched her own rather more delicate nose. “Suggids, you stink … Humans, eh?” One eye cracked open a slit. This woman stank worse than anything in the alleyway around her, which was saying something. She had never imagined body odour could reach such a pitch of ripeness. “Here, let me help you. Lie still.”
“Whaaa …”
“I know. Not too many Faerie around these parts, right?”
Never in a thousand lifetimes would my kind live like this.
Reaching out, Allory touched the woman upon the forehead and concentrated. For the first time, song bubbled up within her throat as if it had always been there, ready. Natural. Eager. Could this be the Dryad’s gift to her, the release of this potent magic?
The quiet, pure notes of an ingenuous descant cut through the early evening bustle of a Human city, the cries and clangour, barking and yelping, boots stamping and merchants swearing. The simple plea for wholeness stole into being, enfolding all the other forms of distraction and seeming to spirit them away that just here, in this moment, a precious and necessary work might be accomplished.
Magic drained from her body.
Opening her eyes, Allory said, “You will be well. How do you feel?”
“Oi …”
“Give it a moment.”
Brown eyes peered at her, uncomprehending. Then, the woman lifted her hand from her side. The wound site was a mess of crimson but the skin she glimpsed beneath was whole, knitted back together without even a scar to betray the deathly wound which had nearly claimed her life. Allory watched the questions develop in those eyes. The confusion. After all, she had a few muddled questions of her own swilling about in her tiny head just now.
Appearing to gather her wits a little, the stinking woman pushed herself into a sitting position using one arm. “Oi … ya from … where?” she croaked, releasing a wave of rotting odour from her mouth that almost floored the Fae.
“Out of town. Are you feeling alright now? No pain?”
“Oi canna say. Needs food. Ya got food?”
“Ah … no?”
The woman’s throat worked. Her mouth opened in order for her to lick her dark, stained lips with an eerily twisted tongue, showing off a disastrous set of yellowed, rotting teeth. Then, an expression of dull cunning twisted that strange maw.
Allory quailed. Crone! “I – I’ll just be –”
“Come ’ere! Got ya!” Clumsy as she was, the old woman’s fingers snagged Allory’s wingtip as she tried to flit away. “Goin’ somewhere, were ya, my beauty?”
“Let me go! Ouch, you’re hurting me.”
“All’s good. ’Ere, ya’s bread and tasty victuals to old Falki, ya are.” Gripping her captive with one surprisingly strong hand, she unwound a length of emerald-patterned shawl – what was left of it – from about her shoulders and bundled Allory up against her protests. Layer after layer of cloth. “Little weasel. Doncha be fightin’ ol’ Falki, I’ll snap ya like a straw. Shut it!”
“Please! I didn’t do – don’t suffocate me. Stop!”
Her protests went unheeded.
“I healed you. Why are you treating me like this? What have I ever done to you?”
“Aw, stuff a cork in it,” the woman muttered toothlessly. “Ya helped ol’ Falki, sure. Now ya’ll feed me too. Quit the yapping. Come on. I know just the place. Stupid talkin’ parrot – shut it, oi said!”
Allory squealed and struggled as the cloth clamped against her face. It stank of stale vomit. For the longest time, she could not breathe. Of course, the occasional defiant spark she had been able to produce of late failed to materialise in the slightest, probably due to her blind panic. After being tipped up and squeezed this way and that, she realised that the woman had shoved her into a capacious pocket beneath her rough robes. The city’s sounds became even more muffled. A hand rested firmly upon the Fae lump, ensuring that she could make no substantial moves, never mind succeed in drawing her dagger to make a point – literally.
This situation left her helpless and fuming. Help someone? Heal her?
An idea of staggering brilliance. Obviously.
Suggids!
I say suggids all the time. She pictured one of the luminous green jungle slugs, infamous for their acidic secretions that smelled worse than any faeces. Clearly, my mind’s on a par developmentally …
How she hated that inner voice.
“Lady, I – please –”
“Shut it, ya!”
Thud! Even though the blow was dulled by layers of cloth, it stunned her – yet not enough to prevent Allory from sensing the instant the memories leaped from nowhere to suck her down against her will.
Oh, freaking suggid-stew, here it comes …