[25] The Hunt in the Forest (Paolo Uccello, 1470)
Compared to the wistful wilderness of Flanz-le-Flore's wood, where plant and animal alike might burst into spontaneous singsong when the weather was right, the forests west of Whitecrosse exuded a dark chill that bit at one's skin as much as it clutched at one's heart. No happy melody trilled the leaves of grass; the sounds here—when there was sound at all, and not oppressive silence—cut shrill and sudden, a burst of activity followed by a terrified yelp as some small creature fell prey to one larger, or a mocking and brutal birdcall, or most blood-thrummingly the snap of a twig not three feet behind you without even a ragged breath to suggest what caused it. This was Wode Reft.
Of course, even Flanz-le-Flore's forest could turn this sort of foreboding at a moment's notice, when it found you unwelcome. In Wode Reft, at least, they counted among them one familiar with the terrain.
"Just kill me and eat me and be done with it!"
Olliebollen languished on Jay's shoulder, slouching precariously to the extent that she might topple off at any moment, watching the fingers of her remaining hand trace arabesques through the threads of Jay's corduroy coat.
"Save yourself the trek. I don't mind one whit! Let me turn to mush in that monster's stomach, assuming her venom doesn't liquefy me before I get there. I don't care! It doesn't matter! More convenient for you anyhow. Besides, good luck finding faeries here with or without my help. Old King Reft's a cagey coot. His court changes shape and place every afternoon, and not even I know where to find it. If I still had the Master's help maybe, but she's long gone. Plus, if you go even more west—assuming you survive—you'll wind up in Pandelirium. I already told you there's no faeries there anymore."
Jay rarely responded to these grousings, although he did ask directions from time to time, which she grudgingly gave.
Whitecrosse—the world—contained two continents, northern and southern. North was where Whitecrosse—the country—was located. It was crescent-shaped, the Door located near one tip. If one followed the continent's curve south, cleaving close to the coast, they would travel through the three dukedoms subservient to John Coke's royal lineage: Meretryce, Mordac, and Malleus. Eventually, they would reach the southern tip, divided from California by a narrow strait. Yet if one traveled west, as Jay's party now did, they would pass through only wild lands, fae lands, forests broken by mountains alone.
The first of these lands was Wode Reft, which served as the barrier between human and fae dominions. The last man to brave it and return to tell the tale was John Coke, who journeyed to the western peninsula to slay the three great dragons and claim their hoard of treasures.
Any child, noble or peasant, knew tales of John Coke, and how treacherous these lands proved even to him. Only thanks to certain gifts (bestowed upon him by Flanz-le-Flore in gratitude for striking down the dread lizard Devereux) did he succeed in finding his path at all; even so, he first needed to best the Faerie King Reft in a duel of wits to receive safe passage. Only weeks later, sustained solely by faith in Christ, did he reach the court of the Effervescent Elf-Queen, who proved far friendlier. But now, for reasons unknown, the elves were said to have vanished; even that solemn asylum was no more.
Lalum had, taking some pains, explained much of this to Jay as he tromped across the last stretch of fallow farmland before entering Wode Reft. Jay minded not; he continued undaunted.
Undaunted—or perhaps else. Lalum dared not extrapolate the workings of his mind; she was too base for that, too ignorant. Yet something about his demeanor struck her as stiffer, more brusque than usual, exasperated grunts delivered in response even to her most bashful pleas (let alone the endless moping with which Olliebollen assailed him)—and Lalum wondered if that final encounter with the heathen princess of California altered his spirit, drove him on this desperate venture. For did Olliebollen not speak sooth? She wished to die, and so this journey was redundant... No, no! Lalum could not entertain such thinking. Of all sins, suicide alone could never be forgiven: there was nothing left to forgive. That posed another question, whether faeries possessed souls, whether they were looked upon as anything more than brute beasts in the eyes of God; did their death matter to Him? Or anyone? Archbishop Astrophicus and Princess Mayfair claimed none of their lives, human or fae, mattered, that none of them held a soul. Lalum did not know. Could not know. All she knew was that her own thoughts trended inexorably toward the base, and that any intellectual justification served only the ravenous, gluttonous hunger building in her throat for that faerie's soft, supple, sweet flesh, the nearly unquenchable desire to crush her skull between her fangs—oh, delectable deliquescence! No, no—Lalum could not succumb. Gluttony was a lesser sin, but a sin nonetheless. She could not. Could not!
(Yet was this whole journey not made with the intention to feed her? Olliebollen or some other faerie, would she not be asked to devour it anyway?)
"Didja hear me, hero?" The tart morsel in question (think not on it! Think not!) tilted her head to shout straight into Jay's ear. "There's no faeries here! Not that you can find. So why come this way at all, huh? I wish you left me with your sister. At least she was nice!"
"Don't be an idiot," Jay finally said. "My sister isn't nice without a reason. She wanted something from you." He swept a small lantern over the ground, pushing aside underbrush with his bat to determine a suitable path. Due to the darkness, Lalum kept closer to him than normal, but still skittered aside to evade the dancing ray of light. She clutched to her chest the shield that once belonged to Prince Makepeace; Jay gave it to her for safekeeping, as he could not hold it, the lantern, and the bat at the same time. To be trusted with a true relic—Oh, Lalum did not deserve such a boon! For that alone she ought to respect the hero's wishes and accompany him wherever he may go, for whatever reason he may go there. Just as she rejected what Princess Mayfair commanded her to do...
Mayfair's parting, laughing words made sense now. Jay too would open the vault, the same way Mayfair wanted. What would happen then? Mayfair made only one demand: Not to let the hero know of her. Yet he would never back down due to some vague warning of unnamed danger. And how—
Lalum's endless worries, and Olliebollen's petulant rebuttal that Jay's sister was in fact a kind and appreciative woman, were both cut short by a sharp, piercing howl. Jay's head turned, alert, as he aimed the lantern through black wet tangles of leaves. The howl had been close, heart-poundingly close. Lalum gripped the shield and braced to defend if need be, while Jay's fingers went bone-white against the bat handle.
"A wolf," Olliebollen muttered. "So what?"
A sharp, snarling bark clipped the dead air, and several more followed in rapid procession. They were so close Lalum expected the leaves to part and a flurry of bared fangs to lash out, but in queer places such as fae woods one could never rely on one's senses.
"Sounds like they've got something treed," Olliebollen added matter-of-factly. "Better leave em to it and continue whichever dumb way you wanna go!"
Jay lowered his bat; he turned to find an alternative path. No sooner had he taken a step, however, than above the cacophonous yowls a voice cried out:
"Oh dear, oh no! Shoo, shoo—down doggie! Be a good doggie please? Oh, will someone please help meeeee!"
Had some other traveler gotten lost in Wode Reft? Who would be so foolish as to set foot in here other than a hero from the other world? A woman's voice, too.
Lalum's threads stitched into a gleaming tableau before the lantern: CAREFULL—A FAE TRYCK!
"Clearly," Jay said. "But if Coke got out of this place by outwitting the king—"
"That's no fae."
Olliebollen spoke simply, sharply. From a slumped, lifeless posture she rose to suddenly standing. Her dim eyes turned a lacquered sheen and the white filaments of her body expelled the slightest hint of dust: a faint glow. This bare luminescence penetrated deeper into the malefic dark than the lantern did; it was the first the faerie shined since they left the monastery.
"No," she repeated. "No fae at all."
Perhaps Jay already understood what she meant by that, or perhaps he simply didn't care, because he did not ask for clarification. She did not clarify; she herself seemed to tumble out of the world entirely, her body remaining but her soul gone, escaping to some heightened, heavenly plane beyond external stimuli, focused only on that unseen thing ahead.
She looked, regardless, alive.
Into the leafy passage Jay treaded. Lalum scuttled close, readying the shield. As the branches shifted aside, an area opened ahead, vaguely illuminated by a thing emerging out of the ground—a lantern, like Jay's, its flame threatening a full-fledged wildfire among the grotesque accumulation of vegetative matter. The light spread in a dull cone in the fringes of which shaggy, red-eyed forms lurked in constant slow-paced revolutions around the base of the tree. From time to time one would brace and leap, skittering halfway up the trunk before sliding down, leaving the bundled figure in the branches to shriek despite the obvious inability of the wolf to reach her.
A woman—though the light barely graced where she cowered. For several moments the woman continued to squeal for someone, anyone to help her, save her, oh please would someone save her, why did everyone abandon her? Completely oblivious to Jay's presence. Lalum wished he would keep to the darkness anyway; she needed to remain at his side, but she desperately sought to avoid illumination. Instead, of course, he stopped in the direct center of the light and placed his own lantern down at his foot. There he waited for someone, beast or otherwise, to notice him.
Lalum, using Makepeace's shield to cover as much as herself as she could, scampered to the fallen lantern and righted it before it chanced a blaze. By the time she lurched back into the dark nothing had acknowledged Jay's presence; the woman in the tree cried:
"Please, oh please, oh somebody please! Go away you dogs! Go! Oh, please somebody help!"
Finally, Jay said, "Hey."
The woman didn't notice. The wolves did. Their heads snapped to attention, their red eyes a bright shimmer in the lamplight. Gums parted to reveal white fangs as thick strands of slobber dropped onto and bent the grass beside their forepaws. The beasts stank of foulness and mange, their fur tangled gnarls; palpable hunger emanated from their slow and lanky movements as they circled toward their new prey.
A sinkhole opened in Lalum's stomach. Memories impaled her: Flanz-le-Flore's court, a pack of her subjects transformed into the same such wild dogs, their snapping jaws tearing into her flesh. Teeth gnashing straight through one of her legs, desperate attempts to swaddle herself in webbing; even so she understood they were not trying to kill her, not yet, they wanted to play with her, make her suffer. The thought forced her body into a trembling she could not still, the limb that had regrown tingled a phantom pain. For a frantic moment everything in her body told her to flee, to abandon Jay and flee while she could, but when the foremost and largest wolf lunged her legs moved almost without will and she dove in front of Jay to deflect the row of fangs with the shield.
The force of the body bounding alone knocked her back an inch, although with eight legs firmly planted even such power was possible to bear. A second wolf rushed from the side and Lalum was still recovering from the first's assault, but with a perfectly-timed swing Jay sent it back with a loud, reverberating ting. The third came from the other side and by then Lalum was able to redirect and block the attack.
Lalum was no fighter. Before her time at the monastery she never raised a hand against anyone in her life, and even afterward she was far more comfortable controlling someone with her animus than relying on her own strength. For some reason, her animus made everything natural to her; she could react so quickly, so efficiently even in the heat of battle that she was sometimes shocked at herself, as though it were someone else commandeering her body than the other way around. Using Makepeace's shield was similar. She merely needed to hold the shield vaguely in the correct direction and it infallibly deflected the attacks of the wolves. If one decided to bite at her legs instead of leaping for her throat, they surely would have been able to replicate the agonizing fate she suffered in Flanz-le-Flore's court, but instead they seemed drawn by magnetism to her most defended point. This, she supposed, was the power of a relic bestowed upon Whitecrosse by God.
The leader of the pack, taking advantage of her distraction with the lesser wolves, darted past and rushed snapping at Jay. His bat came down and drove the wolf's head into the ground, and after that the wolf stumbled back at turns whimpering and snarling. Deciding it might prefer weaker prey, it uttered a coarse bark to its fellows; the three turned and disappeared into the woods, their matted black tails whipping away from the light's edge. Altogether, the skirmish spanned a mere ten seconds, and yet Lalum's heart continued to pound long after she retreated to her safe patch of shadow. Wolves—she hoped not to encounter any others.
To Jay Waringcrane, however, the scuffle barely registered as having happened; he lowered his bat, looked up at the tree, and said "Hey" once more, somewhat louder, because the woman clinging hopelessly to her branch still failed to notice anything below. In fact, she wailed:
"Oh why, why does this have to happen to me? Why can't I do anything right? I'll starve if I don't slip and fall first—"
Her words conjured reality; a loud creak preceded a sharp screech as the woman scrabbled her hands and feet but failed to reclaim the purchase she grasped only moments prior. Her body toppled, bounced against the trunk of the tree, and plopped onto the bunched ferns with a dull thud.
She righted immediately, cleaving to the tree, waving her arms in pinwheel fashion. "WAAGH! Don't eat meeeee!" Despite the frantic pitch, her voice formed a pleasant sound, and as her head lifted and her hood fell back, she revealed a face to match.
She was... beautiful. Beautiful in a classical way, an almost sculpted perfection to her every feature that rendered her transcendent of the low, base, physical world they were all doomed to inhabit. Even in the oppressive darkness her hair gave off a platinum sheen, and her pale white skin a faint aura. Despite the multiple tousles and tangles she suffered in her fall not a stray lock marred her beauty; even the twigs and leaves nestled amid the curls complemented, rather than contradicted, her innate luster, as though such communion with nature was part and parcel of her radiance. Nor did her rough traveler's cloak obscure her; for though hidden from sight, her body's form lurked inherent beneath it, a form both vivacious and slender, a form for the admiration of all.
When teenaged and yet unmarried, Lalum spent time in Castle Whitecrosse, and often saw Queen Mallory. Once, even, Her Majesty—in one of those flights of fancy she so often had—coaxed Lalum into contest of physical prowess, which of course was a rather absurd and unladylike thing to do, but Lalum could not deny such a direct request. She remembered then, in the castle courtyard, the form of the queen's body as it danced and weaved, her nearly divine beauty fully present even under the dirt on her cheeks and the rough leather armor hanging from her chest. That sight had somehow trilled Lalum's heart, though it lasted mere moments before the queen pinned Lalum to the ground in a rather brusque fashion. Discombobulated by the unaccustomed rush of activity, Lalum remembered quitting herself from the contest in a way she later realized was much too unmannerly given their respective stations, and for months afterward Lalum's mind would trend toward that memory again and again: the beauty in her form, the feel of her hands wrapped so snugly around Lalum's body, the faux pas Lalum committed in her overhasty retreat. The queen never called on her again, which disappointed both her and her ailing father in equal measure, although perhaps for different reasons—Lalum never quite knew what to make of her feelings on the matter, and gradually she came to forget it as her life took a much different turn.
The woman in front of her, dirtied similarly, reignited that dormant memory in full force; Lalum's heart, already set athrob from the previous activity, now pounded to an uncomfortable degree. The woman finally saw what stood before her was no mongrel beast but a young man, and responded to this information with a series of nonplussed blinks. Her mouth hung open in dullard fashion that yet did not diminish her visage, and as she slowly came to comprehend the visual stimuli she shook her head, ran her fingers through her hair to clear out the leaves caught there, and revealed long pointed ears.
"Kill her," Olliebollen said.
The words were spoken plainly, clearly, and audibly despite the faerie's small stature; they carried in the deathly stillness of the forest. Yet they may as well have bounced off the elf's face, upon which realization finally dawned, followed by innocent happiness. "You saved me! Oh thank you ever so much, wayward traveler. I'm such an idiot, I tripped and fell and dropped my lantern and then those nasty wild dogs came after me. Gosh, I can be so clumsy sometimes!" She placed a balled fist against her forehead, stuck out her tongue, and giggled. "I'm supposed to be in another place entirely. Really, I'm lost. What an idiot!"
"Kill her!" Olliebollen said.
"Maybe," said Jay.
"Oh! Right. I should introduce myself, huh?" She knocked her fist against her chest, cleared her throat, and managed a clumsy flourish. "I—! Am an ambassador from the elfin court, en route to Redcrosse."
"Whitecrosse," said Jay.
"It's Whitecrosse, is it? Thanks for that, I mix names up all the time. Speaking of, I haven't told you my name yet have I?" She blinked. "Wait, have I?"
"You have not."
"Thought so!" She paused, looked around with a sheepish smile. An uncertain interval of time passed. "Well, my name's Temporary."
"Temporary." Jay turned the word into a sigh. "I guess that tracks. What'd you say the elf queen's name was again Lalum? Evanescence?"
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"The Effervescent Elf-Queen!" said Temporary, as though excited to be able to answer a question correctly. "Ah, she's simply sublime. All her subjects adore her. Truly, who wouldn't? She's just so—effervescent!"
"She annihilated my court!" Olliebollen screamed. "And all of your degenerate race helped! Murderers! Murderers and scoundrels!" She hopped up, landed on the brim of Jay's 'Cleveland Browns' hat, kicked and danced and waved her one arm until she became unbalanced and toppled backward only for her wings to beat her upright. "Oh! Oh I've let a lot slide. I've been more patient than I should've been. With that other one—Sansaime—I most graciously allowed her to live, since she was clearly an exile from your barbaric culture and not fully party to your horrors! But you. You! An ambassador. Ambassador! Oh, isn't it hilarious? Just so funny? That the elves would need someone to fulfill such a role. Diplomacy, yes, some diplomacy those elves made to the court of Pandelirium. No wonder they've clearly assigned a numbskull to the task. Hee-hee, a-hee-hee-hee-hee-a-hee-hee-a-hee!"
The entire diatribe Temporary maintained her beatific grin. When Olliebollen's maniacal laughter subsided into a series of miserable choking sobs, Temporary tilted her head and blinked.
"That sounds so horrible. My, what a terrible time!"
This response sent Olliebollen into a fit from which frothed only semi-coherent sentences.
"Now then, I've given my name," Temporary continued. "Wait—did I? Yes, yes, of course I did. Anyway, that means you have to tell me yours now!"
"No it doesn't," said Jay.
"Awwwww."
"Fine. I'm Jay Waringcrane, hero from another world."
"Jay Waringcrane! That's a nice name." After a few seconds, the rest impacted. "Oh! From another world? You mean—like John Coke?"
"Yes."
"Hm." Temporary tapped a gloved fingertip to her lower lip. "Hm. Well! That doesn't matter really now does it? What matters is you saved my life! For that I'm extraordinarily grateful—"
She took a single step forward, perhaps part of some attempted gesture of thanks, and tripped. No mere stumble; a full forward pitch, with such speed and ferocity that Lalum tensed in terror that for some reason she was attempting to assault Jay. In a heap they hit the ground, Jay's hat twirling skyward with Olliebollen still atop it. Temporary's long and lithe body lay sprawled over Jay, her chest pressed directly into his face—a sight that shot a shiver of horror through Lalum's spine even worse than when she thought Jay was under attack.
An instantaneous, unbidden thought forced its way to the front of Lalum's mind: Bind her. Bite her. An uncontrollable sense of violence that caused her fingers to tremble. The same thought she had when she saw Jay and Viviendre together, chatting so happily, walking arm-in-arm. Let these women vanish into cocoons, their interiors slowly liquefying thanks to her venom until she could slurp the melty mush and leave only a desiccated corpse. She could do it. That was the advantage her grotesque form allowed her, no? These pretty women, the ugly one too, every nice thing they possessed could become nothing but a swirl inside her stomach—ungodly elf, dark-skinned heathen slut...! Lalum the spider spinning her web possessed a certain strength, her tepid will could be made reality if only she—if only she—
No, no, no, why must she think these things, why must these thoughts manifest? The elf fell on accident. On accident. It meant nothing. And Viviendre—best not to think of Viviendre. Lalum heard her conversation with Jay in front of the academy. She heard everything, she always knew the best corners to remain unseen. Jay made the correct decision by leaving Whitecrosse. If only he didn't determine to trudge into an even more dangerous place...
"That's it. That's it!" Olliebollen howled. "I'll take matters into my own hands. Hand. My own hand!"
As Jay and Temporary struggled to extricate themselves from one another (a struggle lasted far longer than it reasonably ought), Olliebollen rifled through the weeds, plucked a twig off the ground, and attempted to snap it by squeezing it under the pit of her stump arm and bending with the other. It bent, it bent, Olliebollen strained, and then the twig slipped out from her armpit and shot up to slap her in the face. She zipped to Lalum. "Snap this in half! Now!"
Lalum doubted helping this willful sprite would come to any good, but when Olliebollen started whapping Lalum's face with the twig and her faerie dust came off in sugar sprinkles that caused saliva to build in Lalum's mouth and a certain uncontrollable feeling to enter her fingertips, she acquiesced and snapped the twig quickly so that Olliebollen might leave her sight and eliminate any unwanted temptation.
(Oh, Lalum. Oh, Lalum, you truly have become something awful. Maybe you should simply die. True, suicides could never be forgiven. Did she deserve forgiveness for thoughts like these?)
Once the twig was in two pieces, Olliebollen zoomed back to the tangle of Jay and Temporary—Jay now kicking at Temporary since she seemed incapable of performing any motion that did not exacerbate their situation—and stuck one twig in Temporary's platinum hair behind the ear and one twig behind the other ear.
"Now die! Die you stupid elf bitch!"
Olliebollen hovered over Temporary's head and strained. She stuck out her arm, beat her wings furiously, danced from side to side, went "Nnnnnnnnnnnngh," and expelled a slight smattering of dust.
But nothing happened. The dust landed in Temporary's hair and only added a faint rainbow glitter to her aura. When Jay finally forced Temporary off him, the twigs fell out and disappeared into the bed of the forest.
"Useless," Olliebollen howled, "I'm useless!"
"I'm sorry! I'm so, so, so, so, so sorry!" Temporary, kneeling, bowed her head in supplication as Jay hurriedly brushed leaves from his clothes. "I'm simply so clumsy. I'm always getting into bad situations because of it. I'm sorry!"
She unbowed and bowed her head several times in rapid succession, wobbling back and forth on her knees, and the final time she bowed her head it wound up resting against Jay's crotch.
Jay tossed her roughly aside. "I hate this. No—no, shut up. Stop apologizing. I don't care." His eyes squinted and he shined his lantern high and low, observing the canopy and the overgrowth with suspicion. "Are we sure this isn't a fairy prank?"
"I wish. I wish," Olliebollen said, landing on Jay's hat after he returned it to its proper place. "I'd be able to tell, so don't worry about that."
Once more Jay scanned the area, then scrutinized Temporary, who—having forgotten all the things she apologized for so profusely only moments before—waved ecstatically in return.
"It's fishy," he said.
"Fishy?" Temporary tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I don't smell so bad do I?"
"Lalum, what do you think."
Lalum, perfectly content to remain unseen and avoid the indignity of introducing herself to the newcomer, begrudgingly stitched a few threads: SHOULD WE BE WARY OF HER?
As feared, Temporary manifested in a blur beside her, saying things like "Ooh! Who's this?" and "Wow! I didn't know there were such creatures in this world!" and "So pretty!" and "What a cute symbol on your underbelly!" and—and—and Lalum immediately scampered up the same tree Temporary had voided a few minutes prior, desperate to escape. Awful, awful, awful! She clamped her head within her twisted arms and tangled herself amid the bowers. Why were they all so kind? Why?
False kindness. Viviendre was kind to Jay, yet she—sought solely to twist him—corrupt him—
They said elves were like fae, and thus not to be trusted. Yet John Coke had trusted the Effervescent Elf-Queen, and Olliebollen wasn't so bad. God created the fae, after all, so could they be as wicked as claimed? Many spoke statements they claimed were universal truths, but all were equally occluded by the depth of their own perception.
"Alright," Jay said. "That's enough of that. Come on Lalum, we're moving on."
He turned the direction he had been going before the disruption, not that any particular direction seemed more meaningful than any other. Temporary set into a flurry of activity, teetering and tottering and only by some miracle avoiding another headfirst pitch: "Wait! Oh, wait, Mr. Jay Waringcrane. You must allow me to offer you an emblem of my gratitude."
"It's fine. Really. Don't come any closer. Don't touch me."
Undaunted, even when Jay aimed his bat, Temporary careened toward him, rifling through her cloak and exposing for a brief moment a sliver of midriff when she tugged at a buttoned pocket stitched into her outfit.
"I haven't much. I'm afraid I've lost most of the supplies I set out with. But I do have something that may be of use to you. Where—where did I? Oh no. Oh no did I lose it too? No. No, no, no, no—oh here it is."
She produced something clasped within her hand, something that from her elevated vantage Lalum could not see at first. Jay looked down at what she showed him sans expression. It was Olliebollen who reacted.
"I see. I see—so it's not enough to insult me. You have to mock me too. Dangle it right in front of my nose. Lord it over me. And you won't even acknowledge me, will you? Nope. You'll just smile without saying a single meaningful word. You could at least say it to my face. You could at least do that!"
Temporary's head tilted. Her eyes moved, for the first time, from Jay to Olliebollen. And her smile faded; a glimmer of sadness crossed her otherwise inviolable eyes. "Do with it whatever you like. I wasn't... fond of keeping it anyway, although it's supposed to grant me great power. You may even free it—if you choose."
"And you think that absolves you?" said Olliebollen. "Oh yes. A single magnanimous gesture! Dwell on it during your next slaughter. This one moment is lead—all others are feathers! Is that so?"
Lalum crept around the branches carefully. The bodies below angled, the light shifted around them to form cones in a constant crisscross until the fringes of the forest swallowed all. Finally the gift came into view.
A faerie.
Small and still. Curled into a ball on Temporary's upturned palm as though asleep. Perhaps it was. It was not alike to Olliebollen in appearance; no insectoid features distorted its form. Its wings, which fluttered slightly in dreamlike motions, were feathery and white as pure snow; from its forehead extended a single pointed horn, akin to a unicorn's. More, Lalum could not discern.
"My friends back home, they insisted I take it. They always tell me: You're such a klutz! But with this you can do something important, something extremely special, something only you can do. They want me to use it in a certain place... I have a good feeling now, though. I think I'll be fine without it—maybe everything will be much more fine without it. So you take it, okay?"
Jay stared at the faerie. Blank. Unresponsive, even as the brim of his hat constantly bounced under Olliebollen's frenetic motions as she lashed Temporary with every wrathful insult in her lexicon.
Finally his head snapped up with enough force to launch Olliebollen skyward. He first stared directly into Temporary's eyes, then raised his view higher, at the canopy, where there was nothing to be seen. His arms spread wide, fanned to the sky.
"You're fucking me. You're fucking me aren't you!"
"Huh? Hm?" Temporary's typically baffled expression was merited this time. "Wha—what did I do? Did I do something wrong? I didn't mean to offend I swear! Oh, oh, I always do this, I always say something or mess something up—"
"Great traits for a diplomat!" Olliebollen spat.
Jay spiraled into a wall of vines. "I can't. I can't believe it. I thought we were done with this. I thought for sure—Alright. Alright Perfidia just make yourself known. Come on. I don't want to do this crap anymore. I know you're listening. It's been a while but our original deal is still active. Satisfaction or my money back guaranteed. And if you're gonna pull horseshit like this again, I won't be satisfied, got it? Perfidia!"
This baffling monologue was enough to knock even Olliebollen out of her vitriol. "You think the Master's behind this?"
"I embark on a quest to get a fairy. Immediately, in the middle of a forest, we meet this random elf, and she gives me exactly what I came for. No. No way. This was designed. This didn't happen naturally. You can't convince me for a second. This isn't me being paranoid. There's no possible way. Perfidia did this."
"Who's Perfidia?" Temporary asked.
Jay ignored her. Ignored Olliebollen even. He spoke to himself, pacing in circles. "She must have—Mayfair must have taken her through the Door. Then Perfidia got away somehow. Now she's back at it. Up to her old tricks. Maybe it took a few days to escape Mayfair, which is why she's only doing this now—No. Maybe she's been back the whole time. Changing things the whole time. Viviendre—"
"You're way off." The choler drained out of Olliebollen and she sagged onto Jay's hat as though depleted. "I'll tell you the honest truth. The Master has been missing from this world since that night at the monastery. I'd know. We fae are attuned to her presence, plus I made a particularly strong connection with her. Given we were working together and all, which yeah-yeah you already figured out and accused me of more times than I can count, well, there you have it! Satisfied? No Perfidia here. Not at all."
"Or maybe she just stopped talking to you. Or maybe your magic being crippled screws with your sixth sense."
Or maybe, Lalum thought with a deepening pit in her midsection, the issue was that the New Master was not this Perfidia person at all.
"I'm so confused," said Temporary. "You'll take it, though? My gift?"
"Of course not. Not for a moment. Not for a single, solitary instant."
Temporary continued as though he didn't speak: "And perhaps, if it wouldn't be too much trouble for you—or if we happen to be headed the same direction?—we could travel together on the way to Whitecrosse. I've got a good feeling about things now, and when I have a good feeling things always go well. If you stick with me, I guarantee everything will turn out great!" She rapped a proud fist against her forehead and stuck out her tongue.
"No. No."
"Oh?" Olliebollen flitted down to where he could see. She, like Temporary, stuck out her tongue, a tiny silver strip that gleamed in the lamplight. "I thought your goal was to get inside that vault, though? Isn't that what you wanted? Hmmmm?"
"Shut up."
"Gonna use all those relics to change the world, hm? Gonna make a paradise now? Come on! It's perfect isn't it? Nothing's stopping you!"
"Don't test me. I'll swat you."
Despite the smugness of Olliebollen's tone, the delight in another's misery, Lalum knew she was correct. Mayfair may have tipped her hand too obviously, but what did it matter? Jay embarked on this expedition for a faerie to feed her, and he found it. Then he'd open the vault—and open it for Mayfair, too. Exactly as Mayfair predicted. That was the power of this world's Master, to manipulate events and dangle puppets on strings.
Jay did not understand the true danger. He still believed the Master to be this Perfidia, with whom he made some sort of deal; he expected to comprehend the motive behind his inexorable fate. He knew nothing of the true menace underlying this seeming gift—and Lalum could not warn him. Not with Mayfair watching, not when she could enact upon them agonies at any moment. Then how? How to protect him?
An idea alighted upon her. Her legs went into motion, carrying her down the trunk of the tree silently, so as not to draw attention. Yes—if she snatched the faerie away, devoured it now, blamed her irrepressible urges on the act—Mayfair would surely know the truth behind it, would surely punish her, but only her; Jay would remain ignorant.
She crept into the underbrush, approaching the illuminated trio from the shadows. Temporary continued to hold the faerie; it did not move. With a single burst of speed Lalum might manage to snatch it. But the Master saw all. Would Mayfair not strike her down where she stood? Erase her utterly, replace her with some other Lalum, identical in every regard except dutiful and obedient to her Creator, the same way this current Lalum with its grotesque body replaced the ruined woman eking an existence in the streets of Whitecrosse, the same way that Lalum replaced the prim and proper young lady who the queen once clasped so brusquely? A procession of erased and reborn images of herself, consecutively more base and depraved, until even the final thing she clung tightly to herself, her faith—in God, in the hero, in her own capacity to perform at least some good from this debasement—until even her faith was erased utterly.
Perhaps she truly should die. Not for any blasphemous thoughts about undeserved forgiveness, but because she simply kept becoming a worse and worse version of herself.
Temporary was babbling: "It's not dead, you know. I don't know how the naturalists did it—it's something to do with this pin here, the one they inserted into the nape of the neck. Remove this, and it'll awaken."
"You describe it so casually," Olliebollen said.
"Well... It's not as though I did it."
"Your ignorance does not absolve you—cunt."
"Then remove the pin! I don't even want it. I swear!" She pushed the sleeping faerie toward Jay's face. "I swear, I really swear. Please believe me. I dislike violence."
Jay had fallen still, his eyes set dead at nothing, the black circles that enveloped them a blue sheen against the flame. Olliebollen, wings beating faster, only sometimes set a-wobble from her missing limb, zipped back and forth on either side of his face, as though trying to reconstruct a full picture from the two halves viewed severally.
Finally he spoke.
"I'm not taking the fairy. I'm definitely not going back to Whitecrosse. That's final. Temporary, if you want to repay me, then go away. Goodbye."
Without lingering for counterargument, he stormed off. Olliebollen zipped to follow him, hissing something like, "You could've at least saved the faerie anyway jerk!"
Lalum followed, leaving Temporary standing dumbfounded (or perhaps with merely her ordinary expression), when a single word shot sharply into her brain:
WHAT?!
It forced Lalum to flinch.
Why? Why is he—? This makes no sense. I gave him exactly what he wanted. How did he—how did he figure it out? And why won't he take it anyway?
Lalum attempted to stitch together a response via web spread between her fingers, but a sharp commandment cut her off.
That's slow and pointless. Simply think. I know what you're saying.
You... can read my mind?
If I want. There's too many minds to read them all at once.
That was reassuring, although now that Mayfair was in her mind with certainty, Lalum decided to endeavor not to think at all.
The hero dislikes feeling as though his actions are not his own, she said.
Plainly I see that now! Bah. I should have expected. The moment he saw my hand was in it, he would never do as I asked. It's always how it goes. Always!
Lalum felt as though there was little purpose to this conversation beyond Mayfair venting frustration. I apologize, Lady Mayfair.
No you don't! I see it plain as day. Even you're annoyed by me. And I suppose that means you're still not willing to do as I say and open the vault without Jay wanting it. Great. Simply stupendous.
Lalum attempted not to think about her satisfaction of the plot being foiled, but of course trying to not think about something only made her think about it. I apologize, Lady Mayfair—for what I just thought.
You know he doesn't like you right? I saw what he's been up to. He likes—her. Viviendre.
She could not know that. The hero was beyond the grasp of this world. The Master could not peer into his mind the way she did Lalum's.
Oh this is a waste of time. But guess what! It matters not. I don't need you anymore, Lalum.
Right. This would be it, then. The replacement of herself. Her mind or body altered once more—
No, what are you even thinking? That's absurd. I will not—My intention is not to enact wanton violence. I am not a wrathful Master, but a loving one. Everything I do I do for the sake of everyone in this world. Do you not understand that, Lalum? I will save them all. I will save you. I will save your sisters! Yet you accuse me of such deplorable villainy. Have you not considered that by rejecting me, you are the one bringing harm to this world and its people?
Yes. Lalum knew. She knew and yet—somehow, she was still happy seeing Jay reject the trap Mayfair set for him. Viviendre's trap as well.
Well. Do as you like. I'll save you whether you want me to or not. I shall be merciful and benevolent. You are no longer necessary. I know another way; it shall require me to convince nobody at all. Unlike Jay, none of them at the castle shall see my hand in it. Perhaps it is best he is leaving anyway; only he would be able to pierce my designs. My only regret is that my other way shall lead to violence. Perhaps great violence. Not violence by my hand directly, but I cannot absolve my hand in it. I have been given no other recourse, however. The obstinance of all involved have forced drastic measures...
Could Lalum even convince Jay to return if she wanted? What if this were all a ploy of Mayfair's, a trick to make Jay do as she wanted via her? Besides, Mayfair was not the only trouble. She remained in Whitecrosse, she who would corrupt Jay's soul with her innate foulness. No—no. Mayfair must be bluffing about this other way. She must.
Think whatever you like. I shall not speak to you again.
The voice went silent. The forest went silent—or always had. Lalum glanced around; no sign of the elf behind her; only a faint light far ahead where Jay treaded.
She hurried to return to his side.
"How odd," Olliebollen muttered once she neared. The faerie once more lazed about on Jay's shoulder, the previous excitement having finally subsided. "For a moment there, I thought I felt something. Just a glimmer—like the Master really was there. But it was different somehow. I dunno."
"It's obvious," said Jay. "I don't need your confirmation."
So Jay trudged onward. Onward: away from Whitecrosse. It wasn't about whatever quest he gave himself. Whatever lofty goal he set. Loftiness was the only point. He simply needed a reason to keep striving.
Were that only it, though. Were that only it, Lalum could keep him on his course, assist him forever, attaining nothing, but spending the journey alongside him as she desired. If that were only it. There was another reason keeping Jay from Whitecrosse, another reason he meandered so aimlessly into this endless mire. The name he'd spoken during his panic, the name that remained constantly on his mind despite all else that happened. Lalum could not pretend to be ignorant. She knew, in her heart she knew. She had followed him everywhere at the castle, had seen what he did and said.
It was funny; she ought to be overjoyed by his behavior. He was clearly rejecting her, fleeing her. Yet Lalum was not so ignorant. She understood the heart of a youth in love; she had been one herself, perhaps even still was one now. In such hearts, emotions were not always as they seemed, and what one fled one might even desire most. No, Lalum could not take his actions at face value. No matter how hard she wished. She could not entertain her delusions even a moment. She knew he would never love her. He would love even a half-formed inbred Saracen before her.
Everything Lalum did, everything she rejected, the salvation for herself and all others, she did in sullen hopelessness, in vain despair. Such was the nature of sin. Unlike Mayfair, who might justify her deeds in the name of some ultimate good, Lalum possessed nothing but an empty, unrequited feeling. A worse Lalum awaited her tomorrow. A worse the day after that. A worse, a worse, a worse...
Yet she was with him. She was with him and Viviendre was not. For as long as this moment lasted, she would treasure it; she would follow him to the end of this world.