Commandment (17 page)

“She won’t respond to you.” Pythia sighed.

“Nevertheless,” Torkoth pressed the issue.

“Then take your time.” The curator granted his permission.

Torkoth entered the green chamber and sealed the door behind him. Although dubbed a pantry, the room was actually several paces across. Two crates were aligned to function as a bed, with nothing but a wool blanket serving as a mattress. Apart from that the storeroom was bare. Sarah lay on the bed, stiff as a pole. A single window overhead framed one of the twin moons; its light bleached the patient.

Torkoth knelt alongside the girl. A figurine fashioned from a length of wire teetered on the floor. A shekel balanced within the mesh. Overall, the handicraft crudely resembled a winged figure hugging a tiny disc. In the cold moonlight, the coin shined like a genuine moon. Nearby lay a mouse trap, primed with an odorous chunk of cheese.

“Sarah?” Torkoth whispered.

The gamine rolled her whole body to look at him, as if her neck was too stiff to bend.

“Where’s Cipo?”

“Resting…with the other dogs.” Torkoth smiled weakly.

“I’m sick,” she muttered matter-of-factly. Clearly the narcotics had ameliorated the pain enough to allow lucid speech.

“When did you fall stricken?”

“The headaches began in the summer, I think…they’re terrible.”

“I know.” Torkoth commiserated and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Where is she?” Sarah ratcheted her head to look about the close confines.

“Who?”

“The black-skinned devil—she’s always over your shoulder.”

“You mean the Acaanan? The woman I was traveling with before? We’ve parted company.”

“She was real?”

“Of course. Why would you surmise otherwise?”

“I thought she was a monster haunting you.”

“I think she haunts herself,” Torkoth quipped.

“Where are we? I don’t remember how we got here.”

“A friend’s house. He allowed us to rent this room.”

“Oh, then tell me a story.”

“This tongue is driftwood, it has no gift for story telling.”

A shadow fell across her eyes.

“Okay,” Torkoth relented. “What class of one?”

“I don’t know.”

Torkoth paused as if in a quandary. From his expression it wasn’t clear if the dilemma stemmed from not having a single story or having to choose from a plethora of candidates. Rain pattered against the window pane, reminiscent of applause cheering him on to entertain the girl. He nodded to her and rested his hand on hers. A mouse wiggled from a crack in the wall and sniffed its way toward the bed. Perhaps it was drawn to the juicy details of the forthcoming tale.

“Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a potter. He was a man of humble means, and as he had to support a brood of children, hunger never stayed far from their threshold. His wife had since died, so he relied on his children to shoulder many of the household chores. His eldest daughter, well into adolescence, was named Harmonia. She was charged with the daily preparation of dinner.

“It was a nondescript day in early May, and Harmonia was busy planning out the dinner meal. She realized that their supply of elderberries was running scant. Normally she would have called on her younger sister to go scout for some, but the girl was running a fever and was bed-bound. Her siblings were equally strapped with chores, so forced into double duty, Harmonia at mid-morning hustled out to forage.

“Normally, the task would’ve taken the better part of an hour, but this day was different. Stark times had descended over the entire village, and all the pantries were thin on provisions. So the local berry bushes had already been picked clean by her neighbors; Harmonia was forced to scout farther than she was accustomed to venture. She wandered far outside the normal cultivated hills into a dense forest.

“Eventually she stumbled upon a splendid bush blossoming with elderberries. She praised the find, for this supply would last the family many fortnights. So she eagerly picked the shrub bare and began the tiresome trawl home lugging the sack over her shoulder. Unfortunately she had strayed so far into the woods that she became lost. In fact, she wandered in circles for what seemed like hours. At length she stumbled upon a small clearing that contained a hillock. A hawthorn tree capped the knoll, surrounded by a circle of mushrooms.

“Winded, the girl flopped down under the tree, to rest and get her bearings. No sooner had she reclined then she became fatigued, as if the mushroom spores were actual sleeping dust, and she drifted off to sleep.

“Little did Harmonia know that she had invaded special territory. A few nights past, on Beltane’s eve, a clutch of witches had gathered in the clearing. They cavorted and danced at midnight under the full moons. Glow worms, newts, nightingales, snails, and spiders were drawn in to the clearing as spectators. Mushrooms sprang up in the crone’s footsteps, forming a circle around the clearing. Such rituals sometimes form
fairy circles
. The rings demark a gateway into the fairy realm that lasts for a full week after it is crafted. All manner of fairies are drawn to the circle from their world, to dance or play under the umbrellas of the mushrooms. These spirits are invisible to those outside the circle. But mortals who breech a circle within its week lifespan are in store for disaster, for they are powerless to exit, forever.

“Word spread like lightning across the fairy realm about the sleeping maiden on the knoll. Oberon, king of the fairies, was himself drawn to investigate. Usually, mortals that transgressed the circle are forced to dance to death, but the fairys’ reception of Harmonia was different. Although Harmonia was no princess, Oberon was enraptured with the girl, and whisked her off to his palace behind the morning sun. Soon enough she awoke in a plush four-post bed. She imagined she was dreaming, as she was attended upon by fairy servants. Oberon presented her with a necklace, and made her part of his exclusive harem.

“Back in our world, darkness had fallen over the villiage. The potter fretted over his daughter’s absence, or the lack of dinner, it wasn’t clear which. The next morning at first light he set out hoping to learn his daughter’s route. Accompanying him was a hunter, a strapping man who was well-seasoned in the woodlands. This hunter had an uncanny ability to spy even a broken blade of grass, and was miraculously able to track her all the way to the fairy circle. The knoll was empty except for the sack of elderberries. As the potter was about to fetch the provisions, the hunter, a man by the name of Quince, stopped him short. Ever observant, he was not a little bit suspicious about the encircling mushrooms and noted the remnant footprints of the witches. He warned the potter that he, too, would be lost to the fairy realm should he cross the boundary.

“Thwarted, the two retuned to the village. Soon everyone heard of the girl’s disappearance. Quince offered to rescue the potter’s daughter if he felt assured that they could safely return from the fairy realm. There were many rumors and falsehoods circulating about such circles, and they needed reliable information. But unfortunately time was running out, for they knew that any day the mushrooms would die, and the entrance to the fey world would close tight.

“Fortunately, a local druid came forth with useful information. He claimed that there were tried and true remedies to break the circle’s magic. He outfitted Quince with a bandana of marjoram and thyme and placed iron sod in his boots.”

Torkoth paused from the narrative.

“Is that…all?” Sarah asked.

Torkoth shook his head. It wasn’t clear if he was searching for the story’s end or trying to compose himself.

“Quince hastened back to the fairy ring with a small throng. With no small amount of trepidation he stepped across the fungi arc. With that single step he disappeared from view to the collective astonishment of the witnesses.

“Quince found himself in an enchanted realm of rushing brooks, sagging oaks, and bushy dells. His entrance went unheeded by the fairies, as the accouterments he brought made him effectively invisible to them.

“The sun was setting and soon he was traveling under a drowsy sky salted with stars. Harmonia could be anywhere in the kingdom, and he had precious little time. By happenstance Quince came upon three fairies. They were sitting in a branch and peering down into a shallow pool. The rippling image of a moon reflected in the surface below them. He crouched behind a tree and threw his voice.

‘You three, who you be?’

‘I am Web,’ one trilled.

‘And I Moth.’ His partner chuckled.

‘And me be Thimble,’ the third hooted. ‘Does Aeolus, grand king of the winds, speak to us?’

‘No, ’tis I, man-in-the-moon!’ At this all three fairies looked up through the branches. But the foliage was so thick that they couldn’t see the moon in the sky.

‘Follow your spit! I’m down here, in the pool!’ the hunter whispered harshly.

“The three looked down into the waffling image of the moon in the pool.

‘Why are you diving?’ Web piped.

‘I’m not diving. I’m trapped!’

‘Why?’ Thimble asked.

‘ ’Tis the mortal girl—one that wandered through the gateway yonder. Her name is Harmonia, so called because of her siren-like voice. So wondrous was her song that it has tamed the surly sea and quieted storms with its angelic notes. I heard she was nearby so I came down to investigate, but I drew too near, and fell into this pond! Oh, woe is me!’

‘What can be done about this?’ one shrieked.

‘I fear that only Harmonia herself can help. Her effusive songs alone can buoy me back up into my post in the heavens!’

‘We know where this mortal be!’ Web hooted. ‘We must find the king!’

‘Why?’ Quince cried from the bushes.

‘He has taken the siren on a tour of his realm. He’s with his wife Titania and his entire court!’

‘Go warn him of my predicament!’ Quince admonished. ‘Then you must bring her hither, to coax me from this pond with her song, or this world will never enjoy my pale cheek again!’

‘Oh dear!’ The three panicked.

‘I implore you, be fleet of foot!’ Quince enjoined.

‘We’ll be there before the dolphin can leap twenty waves!’ Thimble pledged. With that, the three sprites bolted from their perch and sped toward the royal entourage. Quince, ever light of foot, followed in hot pursuit.

“The royal train had camped near a bubbling waterfall. As expected, Harmonia was in the party, having achieved the status of favored royal pet, particularly in the eyes of Titania, the queen.

“The three sprites descended on the camp in frantic fashion, and soon the entire entourage was clustered around the messengers and listened to their fantastic tale.

“Meanwhile, Harmonia was reclining in her covered litter stroking her precious necklace. Suddenly, the hunter peeked in. She swallowed a cry and he quickly informed her that he was there to steal her safely back to her family. Memories of her prior life drifted back. While confusion reigned in the camp, the two snuck off.

“With his uncanny eye, Quince led Harmonia back to the fairy ring, just as the gate was closing. Together they jumped through in the nick of time and emerged back into the earthly woods.

“But right before Quince’s eyes Harmonia mottled over and withered. Before he could utter a word she blew away into dust. Only the necklace remained in her frayed clothing. Mystified, he retrieved it and headed back toward the village. To his surprise, no one seemed to recognize him. The potter’s shop was boarded up, and he learned that the children had all married and moved to the city after the death of their father. Shocked, Quince looked into a mirror, and stared at his silver-threaded beard.

“See, time flows vastly differently in the fairy realm and in our mortal world. Each day there is akin to many years here. Even Quince, who had been in the kingdom only a night had aged nearly a decade. Harmonia, who had visited the enchanted realm for days, was reduced to dust.”

“Was that a good story?” Torkoth brushed aside hair that had settled in Sarah’s eyes.

“It’s okay.” She winced from pain.

Suddenly, the gamine pivoted up, and her eyes widened into discs. She threw her arms around the Half-man and wretched on to his chest. Slimy vomit drooled unto his tunic. Torkoth seized up. At this moment the mouse trap sprung. The bar snapped the rodent’s neck in twain, and its tail jolted. Above, the watery applause at the window ebbed as the storm slackened.

Moments later Sarah settled back onto the crate. Her expressionless face didn’t acknowledge Torkoth’s presence. Seemingly stunned by her visceral eruption, it took the fighter a few seconds to compose himself.

Torkoth removed a necklace from his pocket. He held it up by splayed fingers, allowing it to dangle above her.

“Sarah, do you see this?”

She slowly nodded, and her neck muscles knotted up at the effort. Her attention wavered; with one breath she presented glistening eyes, to be replaced by a blank stare at the next.

“This is a
magical
necklace.” The tiny gemstones glimmered in the moonlight.

“Really?” Her eyes widened slightly, but the response was blunted, for pain lanced her brow.

“It is the necklace of Harmonia and all that remains of her tragic trespass into the fairy realm. You see, while it was simply a precious treasure in the land of fairies, in our world it is endowed with magical powers. It was wrought by fairy magic, and its legacy is that it must be given to a princess on her wedding day.”

“What does it do?” she begged to know.

Torkoth paused and bit his lip. A trickle of blood dribbled down his chin.

“The fairies promised that whoever wore this in our mortal realm would enjoy eternal youth. And as you know, they are always right.”

“How did you find it?” Sarah asked.

“It was given to me by a Sidhe. He said that it was lost for ages at the end of the world, and he brought it to me.”

“Why?”

“To give to you for your safekeeping—forever.” His gaze drifted up toward the glass pane—opaque with moonlight.

As Sarah was in no condition to sit up, Torkoth leaned forward to lock the necklace. But the moon, his inspiration for the story, magnetically held his eyes as he reached forward with unsteady hands and secured the necklace around her neck.