He blinked in the bright moonlight and stood dazed. Shops surrounded him, lining the quiet street. At first, he panicked; had something happened to her? Something so terrible he was transferred instantly to a new master?
But then, her delicate hand in his, and with a sigh, he smiled. His next thought was that she had warped them somewhere by some hidden power of hers.
Her impish laugh signified the truth though. They stood in a dream. They had entered her dream world.
“Amazing,” he breathed. “The transfer was seamless...it all feels so real...”
“Of course it does,” she quipped, doing a sprite-like dance before him.
“What are we doing here then?” he asked.
“Well...I want you to do something for me.”
He rolled his eyes but did not bother concealing his grin. “Of course you do.”
“Over there...”
She pointed to a shop where many creatures slept—fox Thebaziles, platydogs, even a tigerfly cub. But in the front-most window, several white, puffy creatures were wide awake, hopping on large, rabbit-like feet, floating a bit before landing again, round black eyes sparkling without a care in the world.
“Fluffs...” he breathed. “Are they really Fluffs? From the Lozolian moon?”
She nodded. “I have always wanted one to add to my garden. I envy them their freedom.”
“Yet you would seek to make them your captives?”
“Only one. And not a captive. He would be as free as any other creature in my wood.”
“Every creature but me, you mean.”
She laughed lightly. “Of course.”
“So...what do you expect of me?”
“I want you to take one of the Fluffs.”
He started, whirling to stare down at her. “You mean...steal? You expect me to steal a Fluff?”
She shrugged. “We’re in a dream, aren’t we?”
“Does that make it right?”
She shrugged again. “I’ve often thought of it that way and still can’t conclude. If it doesn’t harm anyone though, I suppose it’s okay...”
The pain of his hesitation began to ripple through his body. He flinched; for a dream world, it certainly felt real enough.
She smirked. “I told you I was good at what I do...”
“Indeed...” As was he. Well, no way around it. His mind plagued, dying to ask her more questions about how everything worked, whether they would truly cause no harm in committing such a crime. But the irritating pain nagged more at his weary body than his conscience tugged at his heart. Why did he ever choose to come with her tonight? No doubt when he woke, he would feel more unrested than if he had stayed up all night and took his hour sleep when she took her hour leave.
He marched groggily towards the shop, suddenly realizing the true weight of his tiredness, a string of cursings hissing beneath his breath. She giggled behind him, but he didn’t care. He cursed again. At last, he stopped before the shop. The pain lessened to a dull throbbing, and again, he could question what he prepared to do.
“Do it.”
He jumped as the command issued as a sharp hiss. Pushing back the stabbing jolt in his chest, he turned to watch her eyes, blank except for a suddenly thirsty gleam, an undeniable hunger. He narrowed his eyes, wondering. Such an expression did not befit her face. The impishness, yes. But not such a complete, consuming hunger...
“Do it!”
His own body decided for him. He yelled as the pain struck him all over, and he fell forward, straight through the window of the shop; such was one of the abilities of a djinn, passing through walls and select inanimate objects. With a final curse, he grabbed one of the Fluffs and slipped back through the window.
He jumped again, nearly dropping the creature as she stood right before him, again herself. Impish but innocent, eyes sparkled happily as she cuddled the creature, ignorant of his illegal capture, close to her heart...
He gasped, eyes springing wide open, and he sat up, panting hard.
She giggled beside him, and he looked over, glaring; pain still pulsed dully all over his body.
“So, what exactly was that? I didn’t peg you as the stealing type. Not that it wasn’t fun and all, but it doesn’t seem like the kind of idea you’d come up with...”
“The narwals made me do it,” she whispered, eyes widening as if she shared the most terrible of secrets. He smirked. A child’s game, to conjure and excuse her actions on such fanciful creatures. Narwals only lived in lakes, and the only lake he’d seen was the one near the gumnuts, too small to host a pod of narwals. But he gladly went along with the game. Though containing a seductress’ aura, Veela were often innocent virgins, naive. They protected their purity at all costs; their rage at foolish men who tried to take advantage of their purity or else their child-like naivety often got men killed. This same danger was accompanied by a child-like impishness and imagination which made them prone to telling fanciful stories and performing impish pranks.
“The narwals, eh?”
“Hm...” She smiled, though sadly, distantly; the grey clouds washed more heavily over her eyes.
“Munya...I have only watched you these few days, but I will confess—already I love you. For that is the way of a djinn. I am sworn to be so closely bound to you anyways...but this is different than anything I’ve ever experienced. I hope you can become more than just my master. Yet in the meantime, if anything is troubling you, if you are in any danger...”
“Sh...” Her delicate finger brushed his lips; again, a desire before unknown coursed through him. “I feel the same. For that is the way of a Veela—to fall so easily in love with the first one to fall in love with and swear total allegiance to her. Because it is so difficult to find a one...too many chase solely after our external beauty alone. But I am in no danger. Thus, neither are you. So let us sleep and escape together to the world of dreams, where no sorrow or harm can befall us...”
Again taking his hand, she drew him across the arch, away from the pool, out of sight of its glaring, empty eyes. They lay together beside the gumnuts, she burrowing close to his heart. They slipped into the realm of glorious sleep...
* * *
He woke, panting, heart racing.
The dream had certainly seemed real, yet it must have been just that. Just a dream. She wasn’t the type to steal and then make up childish stories of fanciful creatures making her do things. Even in her childlikeness, she carried a calm maturity.
Besides, entering her garden the next day, the Fluff lingered no where in sight.
He sat for a long time though, before the dawn, while her gentle breath lingered on, echoing the peacefulness of her sleep. He sat staring at the garden, wondering what exactly he’d landed himself in. He was happier than he could recollect in a long, long time. Still, he wondered...was it possible she held a more powerful, stranger pull over him than he over her? Was she capable herself of such undeniable magics?
“Come.”
He jumped as she took his hand.
“Today, we must visit the unicorns again. They have something I need, something I have been seeking a long time.”
He turned towards her.
“What? What do you seek?”
She laughed, lightly but impishly; her eyes gleaming with their greedy sparkle.
“You will see...”
Then she swept him up to the sky, and once more, they danced upon the clouds, surfed upon the wind. She commanded the trees who sacrificed their leaves so they could play a little game, hopping from one immense leaf to each other, indulging in their own private game of tag. Until she commanded, sharply—
“Stop! They are here...”
The purifiers thundered towards them, a spray of water raining from their pure white bodies and silver hooves. Lightning crackled, curling like the prongs of a crown from the tips of their majestic horns. Thunder drummed beneath their hooves as the clouds gathered, releasing the torrents of the fresh rain they created...
“See there!” she shouted, shaking him harshly, jerking him in the right direction. “The one with the blue eyes? It is him—he holds the treasure I seek, the thing that I need!”
“And how are we to get it from him?” he asked, snickering, feeling a rush of adrenalin taking him as he remembered last night’s feat. He had already realized they must still lie lost in her world of dreams, for he sensed another such venture coming on.
“How?” he echoed. “How will we plan this seamless robbery?”
“Kill him,” she hissed.
He stared at her. Hard. Shadows gathered beneath her eyes which blackened, their silver clouds darkening into billowing orbs of impenetrable storms and smoke. It was as though some demon traded their eyes for hers, corrupting her fair face with a cold stare.
“Kill him,” she nearly snarled.
He flinched. The pain set in already. He must move soon—or else she must relinquish her command. But her stare, unblinking, was as the undead’s—incapable of dying, of fading, at least until their hunger had been temporarily satiated...
He stalled as long as he could, holding out against the terrifying inevitable.
Then, with a cry of rage and torment, he sprang—
His body burst into flames, and with it, that of the unicorn. But while the pure creature writhed and screamed in agony, the djinn gloried in the fire. Gloried in the relief and the ecstasy its consuming powers allowed to take hold of him with, banishing all knowing of the horrible crime he committed. The fire spurred him into a high not bestowed him in so long; the flames intensified, morphing from red to blue, heightening his pleasure and the unicorn’s pain...
They catapulted towards the ground. Landing hard, the fire vanished.
Of a sudden, he realized where he was, what he had done. He stumbled in his attempt to remove himself from the unicorn’s back, but the flesh and blood was a boiling, sticky ooze. Suppressing the vomit, he wrenched himself from the creature and threw off his stinking robe, half covering the mangled corpse.
The sight made him want to heave, but he could not tear away from its atrocity. He did not care for unicorns himself, but he knew in many worlds—Fairie especially—that they were considered sacred. He did not wish to know what torture might befall him for committing such a crime. For, ironically, the one gift djinns were blessed with was that which caused pain. If their master died of natural causes, the djinn would live on, return to the cave until a new master chose them. But if tortured, the djinn would feel their master’s suffering. And if killed, the djinn’s life would end too...
“Cut a gash in the stomach.”
He gagged. Then he closed his eyes, feeling every muscle, even the tiniest ripple, repulsed at the sound of her voice, its unspeakable commands. He held very still, willing himself not to lunge at her, ending hers and his life in one, short movement...
“Slice it open; I need to get inside...”
He bent over, procured a knife, and completed the deed...
Then he ran.
He knew he couldn’t run far, but he needed to get away from that hateful scene...
It must all be a dream. He still must be dreaming. It was all a dream, just like before...
As the chains began to dig at his flesh, he stopped. Looking up, he scowled, hissing frustration. The log bridge arched before him, though the gumnuts had shut their petals tight, as if fearing and mourning the evil lingering so close to their abode. The lake glimmered darkly beyond. Of course; why should he think himself capable of escaping her presence..?
And then, the sealing declaration of the realness of his fate. The fluff, hopping amongst the gumnuts, ignorant, lost in a bliss he could not enter because of that creature’s presence, of its undeniable realness...
“Alcyb?”
He scoffed as her siren’s voice echoed closer. Its innocence returned, but he could no longer feel its warmth, purity, comfort. It was tainted, she was tainted—and he was tainted for yet loving her...
Her footsteps padded lightly against the moss, then stopped.
“Munya, what have you done...what have I done?”
He trembled, holding his head, squeezing hard as if to evaporate the swirls of memory clogging his mind, as did the call of the bird overhead, now an eerie proclamation of his mother’s warnings come to pass. But louder still in that stark quiet, the bird’s call stirred the memories, their now too-real, too-tangible strands weaving webs around his now-tortured mind, around his heart and their love, stifling, choking, dissipating all he’d thought he held so protected in his young, tender hands...
“Munya,” he forces the words, holding back the vomit pooling in the back of his throat. “Munya, you lied to me...”
“No,” her light, lilting, child-like voice breathes—he can hardly stand that voice, can it show no signs of comprehending the evil its spell ensnared him into?! “No, Alcyb, I did not lie to you. Not once. When I told you I could make all your wildest dreams come to life, that was true. When I told you we may embark on some adventures, the ends of which you might not fancy, that was true. When I told you no one whom you loved or held dear would be harmed, that was true. When I told you—”
“No! Stop!” He whirls to glare, eyes pleading her to end the madness even as he squeezes more fervently, vainly trying to force the memories away. He both loathes and yet helplessly loves. It is that love which gave him no choice but to follow her, but...even those words of hers are true. He had a choice. Always. Even if he thought all only a dream. And he hates her for being so right. She didn’t lie; every golden line slipping from her tongue like the sweetest honey was true. And yet, somehow, she deceived him. He sees too clearly now and wonders how he could see nothing before. Probably some trick of her dream world...
She tilts her head in that curious way he adores. Only now, the gesture is grotesque, like a puppet’s head drooping, waiting for him to pull the strings and launch them back into the cruel dream of them. But no more. He won’t be used like that again. Still, he wonders...
“Why, Munya? What was the point?”
“This...” She answers quickly, presenting a gem shimmering with bands of red, gold, and a blue as vibrant as her eyes. The crest of the Virgyn unicorns, the purifiers...
“Munya...how...why..?”
“The narwals,” she whispers. “The narwals made me do it...”
The whisper so subtle he barely catches it, like a breeze at the end of its dying breath. He senses the smallest flicker of possible...something, some feeling undefined. His eyes roam up to carefully study hers...
Their cerulean sheath is like an ocean carefully hiding unsought, unfound treasures within their depths...
No. There was nothing...
Blank and still as glass waters.
“No!” he shouts. “No more of your lies!”
He whirls away, preparing to slide down the root and out of sight—
“NO!” she shrieks at the top of her lungs, like one in gravest peril. He freezes, stumbling, though he does not turn yet, heart pounding, feet locked in place, mind jarred by the awful sound.
“THEY ARE REAL! THEY MADE ME! THE NARWALS MADE ME DO IT!”
He wants to squeeze his head now to make it stop. The hideous, torturing noise. Suddenly, he remembers too strongly his love for her. Maybe she is crazy. Maybe she is a liar and a murderer and a thief. But he only ever wanted to help her, comfort her. Maybe he still can, now—at least in this moment—quiet the screams culminating like an organ’s screeching, building chords—
All ceases and lays still. Abruptly. He turns.
“MUNYA!”
He surfs down the crimson slime. Moss-caked feet paint a trail of vivid red as he races to the bank of the river. Staring into the glass lake, still and unreadable as her eyes. Then, the slightest movement. A bubble rising to the top. In its reflection, like a crystal ball, her eyes. Wide. Unveiled terror. Accusing. Urging. Like oceans he wishes could surge back to him, drown him in their eerily strong waves again. If only he could see them, touch them, hold them...
They sink down into the blackness. She is gone. The dream is gone—and leaves only a sleepless nightmare in its stead.
There is naught to do but face that nightmare. Even as he stares into the empty orifice that is the lake—her prison—he feels it. Jolts of pain, subtle yet stinging like poison, shooting through his ankle, rippling up through his legs, his stomach, his legs, soon to consume his whole body. The only thing to do is to jump, swim after her. This creature whom he still loves yet loathes because of how she has—though unwillingly—abused his gift. At least she is truly worth saving. At least he will not regret the thought of her constant companionship once he has saved her, as he has regretted such an act so many times in the past.
He dives in, surging with the strength of his lineage through the depths, pushing back wall after wall of water as if each is comprised of the mere fluff of the clouds from which those walls once hailed. He is of the Piscean race. He is born for swimming. Nor need he worry about drowning—Veela can breathe indefinitely underwater, and so, vicariously, she grants him the shield he needs to rescue her.
He wishes he had her eyes though. The black depths cannot consume him, but he cannot see well enough to find her. His fingers ripple, grappling for some signs of heading in the right direction. Then, scraping against something sharp, he curses. Reaching out, he fingers the tree branch—no, a root. And a surface smooth and bumpy all at once. He enters a tunnel made of earth, set right beneath the forest floor. He wonders how many times he unknowingly passed over this horror, skipped over it so lightly and merrily with her. He shudders, anger and sickness flooding him, and propels himself onward—
A pain, shooting through his chest, close to his right shoulder, like someone pushing a knife slowly through, torturing the flesh, then the muscle and bone. Grasping at the wound, he realizes it does not exist. His mind grows fuzzy a few moments before it clears enough to realize—he bears her pain.
Finding new strength, he spurts forward, blanching and cursing as another of the wrenching pains spears his leg. They are torturing her; for a moment, his airways constrict as his strength falters, threatening to inhale the water he cannot breathe. So this is how her demise would come. They would torture her, and by their unbreakable bond, he too would be tortured beyond ability to help her...
No. It cannot be. It will not be. The pain continues to wrack his body, forcing him to pause, suspended grotesquely in the water like a tree writhing with the shock of lightning’s cruel grasp. But then he surges on, ever on, until the pale milky white of her glow lures him down that final stretch—
“ARGH!”
Their screams entwine as the spiral of the twisted, ivory horn pierces so close to her heart which weeps a gentle stream of ruby red tears. Touching his chest, at last, her torment has become his reality. Blood. But it will not stop him. His vision blurs; there is only her, floating like a withering star to the bottom of the watery abode. Her glow reflects upon the six, fish-like giants leering mercilessly at her, blazing eyes announcing their desire to spear her through again and again until those crimson tears fall no more. And something else shimmers, falling from fingers delicate and white like a whispering waterfall...
The gem. That cursed thing, and yet, his last hope for the blessing of their reunion. Ignoring the pain, pushing past it, he swims hard. Swims past her delicate, fading body—resisting the desire to touch her is so difficult, but he has to focus. If he truly wants to help her, he must focus on that cursed but beautiful thing...
The narwals roar, surging all at once. Unicorn-like horns—their deceptive purity glistening full in her natural glow—aim straight for his heart, prepared to take out that last link to their demise, that final wall standing in the way of completing their mission—
He throws the gem, and it lands in the mouth of one of the beasts, thrust open wide, ready not just to spear but devour its prey. Then he grabs her hand, shooting down with her and from harm’s way. A groan as the creature swallows, and then, an explosion of mighty rays of light, extending, consuming its brethren. The light is too great for their shadow, and they are too greatly connected as one shadow for one to exist without the others fading. That is the way of covens of six. As a djinn, he has seen enough evil to know such truths...
At last, they emerge, and he breaks the surface with her like an angelic dolphin, landing gracefully upon the earth, hugging her close as if cupping the most precious pearl in his arms. Laying her on the ground, he touches her wounds, whispering the ancient words of his people, hoping all is not too late. His breathing comes in shallow, unpredictable gasps, blurring his vision and senses, making the needed concentration difficult. But at last, it steadies, as does hers...
And she lays before him, smiling, whole, and at last, herself. It is the first time he has seen her as herself, smiling as herself, and he smiles too, releasing a great sigh. The shadow has passed at last.
She sits up, holding him close, arms wrapping like the graceful folds of a lily about his neck. He caresses her with all the tenderness of one holding a lily.
“Thank you,” she breathes, pulling back. The skies of her eyes have cleared completely, shining more brilliantly than the sapphires of the finest sultan’s chambers. “Thank you...and now, at the last, I may tell you the truth—the real truth—about all...”
“No,” he shakes his head slowly, taking her hand. “You don’t have to...”
So many other things he wishes to say, but he can’t, because which to say first? All that matters is she is alive, well, happy, and they are finally free together. They are together...
“Yes,” she nods. “I owe you that much. And I don’t mind now; the shadow is past, and it is just that—a shadow. I need not fear speaking of a shadow...
“The gem. I suppose I should start with the gem...
“I needed the gem from the unicorns, I needed to borrow it to break my spell, to shatter the narwals’ hold on me. The Veela and unicorns of Faerie are so closely bound, that if I could use that gem faceted from the diamonds of their tears, if I could activate its healing powers to cut my ties to the evil and restore my true self and my connection to them...
“I knew the narwals would not let me take it so easily though. I knew they would intervene, make me a danger to the unicorns. So I spoke with the unicorns in advance, and they agreed: if one of theirs need sacrifice themselves to save one of their beloved Veela and rid their wood of an evil which might lure hapless other innocents astray, then they would...
“I think they were willing to make such a sacrifice also because they needed a Veela anyways to keep the gem safe for when the heroes come...”
“So the heroes are coming here?” he asks hopefully.
Her nod confirms. “Yes; they are traveling across the twelve kingdoms of Fairie even now, collecting the gems which will eternally dispel that Spirit which wishes to use its powers to dominate the underworld—and in doing so upset the balance of the overworld, destroying Fairie. When the heroes’ mission is complete, enemies like the narwals will no longer be a worry...”
“You need not worry anymore ever now,” he breaths, stepping forward, towering close above her. Placing one hand as tenderly as dew kissing new grass upon the small of her back, he draws her closer. The other hand dances on her cheek, lightly as morning’s first zephyr. The fingers trickle down to her chin, and he draws her sunshine lips towards his—
“Alcyb.”
Her voice pities. Her eyes halts. No. No, the nightmare was supposed to end here, end with the final screech of the narwals, end when he took her into his arms and bore her to the surface. No, she cannot extend it. He cannot bear another lifetime of nightmares...
“Alcyb...” She stretches up her hand. The fingertips brush his skin with a warmth false like velveteen; her touch is sincere, buts it tenderness is not—only its pity. “Alcyb, in being released from the narwals’ grasp, I realize many things. One of those things is that while I love you very dearly as a friend...nothing more can really exist between us. I would just be using you now, even as I think I used you then, out of loneliness and so you would continue to be kind to me. I think I was used to having to obey the narwals’ every whim in order to gain their favor...and it may take me a while to heal in that respect...
“But to do so, my heart must be free. The wood is free of evil—for now—and I desire that I should remain free as well. To do that, I must be free of all attachments—free to be myself, to discover who I am, before attaching to another. Do you understand?”
Her words are soft as a zephyr yet cut him like an icy wind. Her freckles, close enough to reach out and kiss him, mock him, slapping him hard across the face. He nods but does not really comprehend. He has always been attached to someone, save in ignorant sleep. It is the nature of a djinn to be attached. It is an innate desire, even when he loathed it at times...
“I’m sorry.” She smiles apologetically, like she might at a young child whose candy she has just stolen away.
He continues nodding. But he is not a child to be toyed with. He is a powerful spirit. He never realized it before, though he always knew it was so. But now, in seeing his power and boldness manifested in her rescue, he feels the power pulsing through him more vibrantly than before. And she would feel it too. He would twist tradition; if her life tied necessarily to his, then it would be tied as he wanted it to be; he would take control. He, for once in his miserable existence, would dominate the weaker. He would become her master.
He feels the same darkness which took her eyes when he slay the unicorn creep so easily into his eyes, filling him with a sudden, wondrous hunger.
“Alcyb..?”
Now she sounds like the child. Small. Frightened. Inescapably vulnerable.
She takes a step back. The movement pushes him over the edge, and he lunges.
* * *
He has slain his one thousand maidens, where he might have saved them. In
saving them, he could have achieved the highest honor known to a djinn. He could have obtained full freedom and many long years to spend that freedom.
But what glory or satisfaction in that? Only to be rejected, ridiculed, unappreciated by one thousand young, self-centered, conniving women as she?
No, instead, he takes his vengeance. He determines to slay his thousand.
At first, it is easy; the anger swaths any sense of remorse in its warm, cozy folds.
Then, anger is washed away by sadness, and he mourns the death of each maiden as if each was she.
Eventually though, a hard shell encases his heart until, more than no longer feeling any twinge of guilt from the killings, he thirsts for them. Thirsts for the game and for new ways to twist it to make the lovely virgins stumble into his wolf den. Just like in fairy tales of old, he finds fresh ways to tell them how lovely their eyes are, their laughter, their intelligence. Then, he devours them...
So now he has slain his one thousand maidens, his rite of passage into the service of Belial, High Demon Over All Devils, as his chiefest servant. But the weight of guilt does not press upon him. His conscience is as light as the rubies’ effortless, airy aura. After all, it is her shoulders upon whom the guilt should lie.
As Belial’s hordes and armies cheer, greeting their new commander, he smirks. He wonders where she is now, if she is still sane after enduring many long years of watching him torture those hapless victims. He knows she still lives; Belial granted her to him as his pet for all eternity, even as his passage now grants him all eternity. He let her live, which is why he can enter sweet sleep each night without remorse. Because no blame rests upon his shoulders.
All blame rests instead upon her, upon the One.
