Did you know that every single thing that I say is a lie? Not many do.
Unfortunately for me, Coo happens to come under that privileged minority—
“I cannot help unless you are straight with me, brother. What are you really here for?”
“Do I need a reason?” I shift a bunch of scrolls and rosaries off a pew and seat myself, ignoring the murmured protests coming from the rafters. “Maybe for distraction, maybe for fun, or maybe...” I let myself drop into a lower, almost conspiring octave. “Maybe for confession, if it’s all the same to you.”
The murmurs from above; rising steadily from the moment I sat, explode into a ruckus. I hear shouting; arguing, the agitated flap of wings. Not an altogether unexpected reaction, to be honest—they’re touchy; are the doves. Kind and loving to a fault; to be sure, but always so holy and proper, strutting about with the Creator’s lance lodged up their tail vents. I consider it my personal duty to show them an alternate perspective of life. Few of them appreciate my efforts, of course.
Coo; being Coo, is well-used to my manner and ways. She alone doesn’t react, smiling as though the idea intrigued rather than repulsed her. “Indeed, brother? Well, you are certainly welcome to if that is your wish,” she laid a hand on my shoulder, almost having to stand on tiptoe to do so. “Know that I would pray for you regardless, whatever course you decide,”
I shake myself free. “I’ve no use for prayer, Sister,”
“And yet you are among the few who wish it most,” Coo withdraws her arm, disappointment written on her features. “Lie to others you may; but never to yourself. What is it about faith that troubles you so? Why do you fight so hard against the Creator? Has He done you a personal wrong?”
“Wrong?” my jaws come together in a snap, turning the word into a sibilant hiss. “You ask this of me? We; who probably have reason to hate the most? Open your eyes, Sister Coo,” I grab for her wrist, anticipating the titters of outrage erupting around us. Something moves in the corner of my eye and I see two other doves step forward; feel firm talons on my shoulder forcing me away. Their features are firm, resolute. They know of my reputation but do not back away. Such is the love they have for their leader that they are willing to do whatever it takes to keep her from harm. For a fleeting moment I wonder what it must be like to feel so strongly; to love someone so much that their safety means more to you than your own.
Thankfully, it does not come to that. “Mourn... Egg,” Coo extends her arm to me, spreading her wings. “Stand down. I am in no danger. Let our guest have his say,”
More outraged ripples—I am no guest, not even in the loosest interpretation of the word. Nor are these appropriate hours for civilized guests to call. Coo is the perfect host as always. She watches me patiently, never once trying to loosen my grip. She continues to watch, even as I lower my hood with a free hand and cast it aside.
The sudden rush of wind through my hair is a welcome one. Less welcome is the knowledge that I’m compromised because of it. Tufted wolf-like ears twitch in the breeze—small enough to pass unnoticed under a hat or hood. These I could live with. Other things, however, are less easily hidden.
“How long has it been, brother?” Coo runs her fingers through my hair, scratching at the base of my ears. “Two years? Three? Sister Hind and Sister Bray have embraced their destiny. How long will you hide yourself among the humans? How long before you accept who you really are? Even Brother Jinx—”
“I’ve not fallen that far. Not yet,” I look Coo in the eyes. “My road is my own, and I will have no dealings with Outsiders, the Creator,” here I give a grudging nod to the doves around me. “Or those in-between,”
“So you will hide forever?” Coo shakes her head, looking half-amused and half-exasperated. “Admittedly, it may be easier for you than most...”
“For now,” I raise my hood again, hiding the pointy ears from view. “So long as everyone keeps their mouths shut,” The cowl casts a shadow on my features once more. “Especially me,”
It was obvious what I was referring to, of course. Coo understood me; all Wild Children did. But at the same time, I knew that they also heard the snarls, barks and whines that would be all a regular human would hear from me in place of speech. I could pass as human by pretending to be mute and keeping my ears hidden, but a single slip of the tongue would be enough to give me away. Having anyone else privy to this secret was bad enough; having it known to all the doves in the city was disastrous. On hindsight I should’ve been more careful in keeping my identity hidden, but then doves tended to find these things out for themselves anyway. It was just a matter of time.
Fortunately, doves aren’t the only ones good at uncovering secrets. I’m a dab hand at that myself; at finding things others cannot. It was how I sniffed out their hideout in the chapel, and how I make a living day to day. “If anyone says a word...”
“Petty threats and blackmail does not become you, brother,” Coo interrupted gently, shaking her head. “You know that your secret is safe with us, for as long as you’d have it so,”
“And we’d thank you kindly to stop reminding us of the fact,” another dove chimed in before she could stop him. “We’ve no treacherous Foxes among us, present company excepted. Here everyone has the right to sanctuary...” he ends with a sanctimonious shrug of a wing. “Even the Getaway Kid—even Cur,”
Yes, that happens to be my name. More on that later. Bit rubbish, of course—but I like to think I got off easy on that count; especially given alternatives like Bray and Hind.
“Brother Cur,” admonishes Coo sternly, before turning her attention back to me. “I’m sorry for his rudeness but he is of course correct—none of us here will think of revealing your secret. Will you not stay the night with us, brother? I can have Egg fix up a spare bunk, or,” She ignored the whispers of consternation passing from dove to dove above us. “You would be most welcome to have my quarters for the night if you wish. After all,” Coo peers at me with those unsettling eyes of hers. “I am most interested in hearing your confession, if you are still inclined to share it with us.”
Suddenly I feel constricted, trapped with a ring of unfriendly Dove Children watching my every move. My ears are sharp. I can hear the clack of beaks, the scrape of talons on rafters and floorboards, the rustle of restless wings. Even Doves can be pushed; even Doves have a limit to their hospitality. I’m usually pretty good at testing where that threshold is and how close I can needle someone before it’s crossed. It is time for the Getaway Kid to get away. All the same, I find I cannot resist one parting shot, one final irreverent comment. “I confess,” I tip a wink to Coo, receiving a tilt of the head in reply. “That I am thoroughly sick of each and every one of you.”
Not one of my better nights.
I still remember Walpurgis: The night of the Fall.
“Seven Donkeys. No Wolves,”
Oh, if they only knew...
Not seven that night, but eight. They overlooked me—the Mayor; Father Birch, Wolfgang, everyone. In hindsight, it was nothing surprising. Everyone tends to overlook me. Nobody notices the Getaway Kid. Nine times out of ten, it’s how I manage to Get Away.
Not this night though, or any other night since.
I remember our excursion through the town; playing follow-my-leader through deserted shops and thoroughfares. The night had cast its spell on all of us, but I like to think it had less of an effect on me—even as human that had been my defining trait; my saving grace. Though I was there at the time, it was more as an observer than participant; which was probably the one thing that saved my life.
Sneaking out was easy. My great-aunt old lady Semple was getting on in years and deaf as a post. She often forgot to bolt the doors, and certainly never heard the rattle of pebbles against our window or the voices calling us forth that faithful night.
“Happy Walpurgis, Ellis—are you coming or not?”
“Let me grab my coat,” I knew Jenny well enough of course, though I doubt she could say the same about me. We were both students in Thornback’s class, but for some reason or other never got a chance to trade more than the usual ‘hellos’ and ‘goodbyes’ of passing acquaintances. Nor were we anything alike—Jenny was a fast learner and one of Thornback’s favourites, while I considered myself lucky not to be on the receiving end of his wrath. We had nothing in common to bring us together, and quite frankly it was considered social suicide for any self-respecting ten year old boy to be seen with a girl. Usually we went our separate ways, which was just the way I liked it. Walpurgis was special, however: the one night rules and traditions don’t apply. How could I refuse?
I remember how she looked then; with pale moonlight creating a savage cast to her features. I remember the contagious atmosphere of excitement she radiated and how it affected us. Though it was her first time and it was Wolfgang who led the revels, she was our leader in spirit—the one whom I followed, retracing our own steps from the year before.
Oh yes—I should also probably mention that none of this was really new territory for me. Unlike Jenny, I’d been able to attend both last year and the year before; though I never did make it as far as Wolfgang’s Mystery. I suppose that familiarity was what sealed our fate for most of us—in for a penny, in for a pound; led to our doom like stew frogs too stupid to notice they’re being slowly boiled alive. After all, nothing bad had come of it yet; so there wasn’t any reason to expect this year to be different, was there? We left our homes and ventured to the woods, throwing ourselves into the spirit of Walpurgis eve. Nothing was off limits. We ran, we trespassed, broke a few windows and gorged ourselves silly in the tavern pantry. Wolfgang hauled up a few casks from the wine cellar and we threw a little party there till all the beer was gone. I gave that part a miss though, since alcohol has never really been my thing anyway. To me it comes across as all bitter and strong, with bubbles that scratch your throat and foam which goes into your nose and makes you sneeze. I don’t know how Wolfgang managed it; wolves having more sensitive noses than most, but it didn’t seem to bother him much. As a matter of fact, no one seemed drunk or woozy or anything; only more giggly and restless than before—if that were even possible.
It was Ivy who first linked hands with Wolfgang, but pretty soon we all were doing it; for no other reason than because it seemed to make perfect sense at the time. It must’ve looked odd to anyone watching us though—a bunch of kids solemnly joining hands and choosing partners like dancers at a village Faire. I watched the others pair off one by one: Ivy with Wolfgang, Violet with Michael, so on and so forth—never noticing the remaining kids getting fewer and fewer even as our line slowly grew.
Then Jenny was there in front of me and offering her hand, almost as formally as the Queen Herself may have done, face and features aglow with anticipation for what was to come. “May I?”
Ordinarily I would’ve refused. But this was Walpurgis, after all.
We participated in the Church’s remodelling together, daubing paint all over the pews and walls. Under Wolfgang’s lead we shifted the altar, revealing the same cellar doors I’d seen twice before; doors leading to a Mystery I neither knew or cared for. This time, however...
Heaven help me, this time I stayed. This time, I hung back with the others to watch the doors open and brought up the rear as we passed within; my own curiosity having got the better of me. We went through the storehouses, past barrel-filled rooms and hay bales. I remember feeling as if the inside of the cellar was larger than its outside, and wondering if anyone else felt the same.
Then the mugs were passed round, and we took it in turns to fill them from the cask. It was nothing to write home about, and I didn’t see what was so special about it myself, though Wolfgang was making a big deal of it. Just the usual run of the mill beer. At first I figured it was just his little joke at our expense. I even had a sip to make sure, before setting the full tankard aside—yes it was beer all right; and not altogether to my taste. I was getting tired anyway, deciding then to leave. No one in their right mind wants to be caught in the mess we just made of the church cellar, and my gut was telling me that dawn was just on the horizon. Walpurgis Night was swiftly passing. Either the others would catch up or be caught when the adults awoke; but in any case their safety wasn’t any concern of mine.
I left them to their party, returning back the way we came. Now that I was alone, the silence all around had taken a menacing quality, and the torches we lit made my shadow flicker in various odd shapes across the walls. When I saw another shadow join the first, I thought it was just a trick of the light; but then voices convinced me otherwise. Someone was heading through the cellars that very moment. We were not alone.
Only one thing left to do: the cellar was a straight track and the newcomers would be entering through the one exit. No option but to hide, duck out of sight behind a convenient hay bale or barrel and wait till they were gone before slipping away. I heard them plodding down the stairs, heard their voices in conversation with each other and recognized them almost at once: Father Birch himself—
I thought about going back; about warning the others—I really did! But there wasn’t much time, to do that I’d have to leave my hiding place and return to the group—and who’s to say they were still sober enough to listen? Better not to take the chance at all, especially when the screams began.
At first I thought Birch must be killing them; however unlikely it seemed the only possible explanation. Then I realized that there was no way he could have reached them so soon at their leisurely pace. Something else was going on, something big. The adults had passed my hiding place without giving it another glance and continued on; my way out was clear. But I figured I should at least stay to see everything to the end, even if I’d no intention of being part of the proceedings. A maddening itch spread across my head as I followed the adults unseen, but I took no notice. It wasn’t surprising for cellars to be home to all manner of nits and lice, especially those as large as this one. The itching continued to spread, until it was almost painful when I caught up with the others. I’d stopped caring by then, of course. We had bigger problems.
I’d missed the start of the change of course; entering as I had on the heels of Birch and his crew. It wasn’t hard to put all the pieces together though. I saw Jenny—or Bray now; which was what the adults named her—tottering about with hooves where her hands should be. Saw grim looking men (was that Mister Thornback among them?) taking charge and leading them further in. That was more than enough for me. They hadn’t seen me yet, nor were they going to. I’d no idea if the others even remembered I was there, but there was a chance that one at least would—hadn’t we gone hand in hand together after all? Jenny would keep my secret or she would not, but either way I didn’t fancy sticking around to find out. Nothing she could say would make a difference if I made it home in time. Far as I knew I was still me; not some Donkey or Wolf. I’d head home and slip back into bed, with no one being the wiser.
So I fled—straight out of the cellar like a bat out of hell, just as dawn’s early light started to show over the rooftops. If things seemed a little different on my way home I didn’t notice; not right then at least. Back home and straight to bed, that was the ticket...and not a moment too soon! Aunt Semple was beginning to stir in the other room. Any moment now she’d be waking me for the morning chores—providing a foolproof alibi for every accusation...
Speak of the devil, that was her feet approaching my room (strange how they sounded louder and clearer than usual, wasn’t it?) and the familiar creak as she opened the door. “Ellis?”
“Right here, Aunt Semple!”
I should’ve realized something was wrong when she called again; should’ve noticed the note of hesitation and fear entering her voice. “Ellis? You there?”
“I’m here!” I said. At least, it was what I thought I’d said. Poor old Aunt Semple probably heard something entirely different—something that made her fling open the door like some elderly avenging angel, sweeping into the room just as I was getting out of bed.
She froze on the spot, let out a single scream and fell to the floorboards—dead.
“Aunt Semple!” I hurried over in panic, shook her by the shoulders. She gave no response, just lay there so light and frail and motionless, like some rag doll abandoned on the floor. “Aunt Semple!”
I’m not sure how long I crouched there trying to revive her before I noticed some movement from the corner of my eye—right where the little brass basin we used for a mirror stood. I turned to see what it was, and got the shock of my life:
The basin’s polished surface reflected a dark shadowy monster hovering over my aunt’s lifeless form. It was still the crack of dawn, the sun hadn’t shown nearly enough to cast light upon its features; leaving only a shape with pointed ears. This was what Aunt Semple had seen when she entered the room—not her nephew; but some nightmarish demon thing from the deepest pits of Father Birch’s hell. In that moment, I knew. I hadn’t escaped scot free after all.
Voices now; familiar ones, growing louder all the time... Knocks on our door; polite and inquiring at first, but soon becoming rapidly insistent... Panic settled into me, and I knew only one thing: they would not find me; would not bring me to account for what I had done. I ran—back out through the window and away, keeping always to the shadows.
And I have been running ever since.
That dream again. Every single night, like a piece of thrice-dammed clockwork: Walpurgis Night... Jenny... Aunt Semple... the Fall...
Would I never be free?
The lingering effects of the dream took awhile to fade, like they always do. They’d been worsening of late; becoming more and more intense—not the best of signs, all things considered. And much as I hated to admit it, this wasn’t the kind of thing that someone could handle alone.
Once again I curse Coo. Never mind that she was the one who had found me, lost and afraid on my first night in the City. Never mind that she had persuaded the others to keep our secret so far. Never mind that the chapel was possibly my one safe refuge for as long as she was alive. Such things were useless to me now, would continue to be useless for as long as she withheld the one thing I need most desperately of all.
The Elixir of Fate—my fate; my own...
I first heard rumours of its existence from the Donkeys of the City; fairy tales of Dove Children and their miraculous potion that could change our Fates and determine our destinies. I heard descriptions of its effects; idle gossip of friends-of-friends and acquaintances who had ‘crossed over’ and returned different—changed—from what they once were. I overheard speculation that our condition was not permanent; that there were options, alternatives for those who would seek redress over an unearned Fate; an unfair Destiny. At first I dismissed these stories as fools’ talk, something to occupy the downtrodden as they eke out their miserable existence. But with every new account, every fresh retelling to reach these improved ears of mine I began to wonder... Each story continued to stay the same; their essential points untouched—markedly odd for any kind of tall-telling, as I well know. Unless of course it wasn’t a legend at all...but could it be?
Gossip was useless to me. I resolved to find out.
My first port of call was, of course, the Doves. All the stories pointed there, so it made a logical place to begin. I hadn’t needed to do much probing either, to be honest. Coo and her friends were, as usual, incredibly transparent: Yes, they confirmed, such a potion did exist. Yes, it was in their keeping. Yes, they would; on occasion, administer it to poor lost souls in need...
Here lay my course. Was not my need just as great as any other’s?
Coo thought otherwise. It’s always an interrogation with the Doves, and I quickly got tired of having to explain myself to the Tribunal, like some petty criminal in court. Who were they to judge me; to argue over the things I’d done or failed to do? What gave them the right? If a Way existed, I would find it; and find it on my own terms.
So I turned to alchemists and alchemy—actually, to an apprentice; to be precise. Cut me some slack, expert brewers are rather thin on the ground these days; especially with the Church’s stance on such topics. Each day I see someone new being gibbeted for practicing the dark arts and a new marker appear in the Pauper’s Plot of the churchyard, kept safely apart from hallowed ground. Far as I figured, my compatriot (I refused to think of him as Master) had an advantage over his so-called contemporaries. Unlike them, you see, he continues to remain alive.
Being part of an influential family is a great help, of course. No one would dream of accusing Vick, or cast the slightest suspicion over his actions. Yet he is careful; is Vick—only hired me because he assumed I’m mute, reasoning that the voiceless could never betray him. I let him think what he wants, and make myself useful fetching and carrying or running errands he can’t complete on his own. He provides lodging in return for my services, separate from his actual residence of course, but I never want for food or shelter so I really shouldn’t complain. Fair enough, but those aren’t the real reasons I stay. Knowledge, information, power—these things are the real reward; and treasures well worth any price. Vick’s a typical noble; thinks anyone below his station has to be dim-witted and illiterate into the bargain. How would he react if he even guessed at the truth—that I’d been reading over his shoulder all this time, familiarizing myself with the maddening sing-song layout of grimoire and codex alike? What would he say if he knew I often borrow his best alembic and pestle at night, chasing experiments that bring me one step closer to the ultimate goal?
Tonight will be no different. I have spent my ‘apprenticeship’ studying, I am reasonably confident that I know at least as much as my would-be Master. He is a novice himself, after all. As am I, but this doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I can read the words in his books, and believe I’ve come at last to understand what each of the coded metaphors stand for. The Dragon would be mercury of course; a common staple of most alchemical work. The Storm-Struck-Tree would be iron, and as for the Maiden—blood. Once interpreted, everything else becomes easy and falls into place.
Thank you, Mister Thornback. You were right. Book learning isn’t a waste of time after all...
Like many alchemists before him, Vick sought a suspension known to laymen as the Philosopher’s Stone: an item that; if legend was to be believed, granted its owner eternal life. It was fortunate for me that he did, for our research happens to be built along the same lines—his to prolong life; mine to...
to what—change it? Control it? That was what it comes to in the end, doesn’t it?
Whatever the case, our studies lead in a similar direction—even if it did take me a considerable while to really wrap my head around it. Still, one can only learn so much from theory, after all...which is why tonight’s session will be rather different. I return Vick’s book carefully to its shelf and his instruments to their former places. Then I unlatch the window, lowering myself again into the night.
Time for a field trip...
It is Walpurgis all over again—the thrill of the breeze, the excitement in my nerves. I shimmy down the drainpipe, my feet making no sound as they hit the cobbles below. In that, at least, I share something in common with my Wild cousins. That and my ears of course, if nothing else...
“Bit later than your usual hours, isn’t it? Exactly what are you up to now?”
The voice is unexpected, though the speaker is not. He does have a habit of turning up where he’s least wanted, after all. Kind of like me, to be honest. We both know it’s pointless to hide, and so I don’t. “What I usually do—getting away,”
There is a laugh. “You are the expert on that, aren’t you?”
“That’s right. I am,” I turn around at last, look him in the eye. “Hello, Uncle Jinx,”
Jinx scowls, irritation crossing his feline features. Unlike Coo, he hates being reminded of how much older he is compared to the rest of us; and the Fate awaiting him at the end of the tunnel. Which is why, of course, I bother to mention it at every opportunity—with just the right amount of respect however: enough so he can’t respond to it as an insult. He’s more restless than usual tonight and looking for an excuse to cut loose—I can tell. Cats are like that, sometimes. Damned if I was going to give him one. “How have I wronged you, Uncle? Am I not of the Fall? Have I not as much right to the street as you?”
The Cat hisses, eyes glowing viciously in the dim light. “You hardly deserve to be,”
“That’s neither here or there,” I stare him down. “Not all of us can be blessed with claws,”
This time he really did spit, and I see a hint of those aforementioned claws as they are unsheathed. Only then do I notice the tremors and realize he’s in a bad way. “No luck with Coo? Well, that makes two of us,”
For a moment I wonder if I’ve pushed him too far, already anticipating the claws at my throat. I would not emerge the victor, should it come to that. I calculate the distance from here to the chapel; to safety in Coo’s sanctuary. Can I make it in time if he gives chase? Yes, probably...
But Jinx does not move, though his tail continues to twitch menacingly from side to side. “I paid a visit, as I think you know. Smelled your reek the moment I arrived... If it wasn’t for you keeping her awake I could’ve taken Coo’s pain as she slept and be away with no one the wiser. Strange coincidence you happened to be there just before I arrived, wasn’t it?”
“And it’s coincidence only,” I take a step backwards. “I’ve no quarrel with you, Uncle. Nor do I want one,”
“Then go, Cur.” Jinx narrows his eyes. “Never cross my path again. Just do what you do so easily,” He turns around, tail lifted in contempt. “And get away,”
Now he is gone, melting once more into the shadows of the night. Show-off...
I wait a few seconds—enough to give him a long enough head-start—before following. Threats aside, I need Jinx; or his eyes, at least, for what I plan next. Although my sight is better since the Change, I’m unable to see Outsiders as clearly as he can—not the whisperers, and certainly not the Bain Sidhe. Yet I would have to find her nonetheless if this night’s to be a fruitful one, and Jinx presents the only way for me to do so. So I go—without his permission or his notice. He’s not the only one who can move unseen.
We travel across the rooftops, and I hear her before I even ‘see’ her—suspicions confirmed by the way Jinx appears to swerve and change direction for no apparent reason. He has seen her and is going out of the way to avoid her, so we head our separate ways for now: he back along the Thieves’ Highway and me down to death’s door—literally...
Roof to ledge, ledge to gable, unlatch window, sidle in... I find myself in a livery room, which is what fancy folk call a stable these days. Not overly large, and none too clean either—a mixture of hay and sawdust litters the floor, and I step in something that can only be blood.
Definitely the right place.
I follow the unspeakable trail to where it ends; see the poor wretch it belongs to sprawled motionless like a puppet cut from a string. Like aunt Se—
No. Not going there. Never going there; never again...
I blink and the memory is gone, I see a Donkey once more: a girl who could’ve been my age or younger. Then again, who can really tell? She could’ve been as old as Jinx for all I know, or even as old as Coo. Either way, what did it matter? It wasn’t her life I’d come to save; it was mine. I settle down on my haunches, perched well out of sight. And there I stay; waiting, for whatever’s to come.
Maybe it was no longer than a couple of minutes, but to me they certainly felt like hours. I begin to feel a nagging suspicion. Had I left something unaccounted for? What if I’d been wrong? I’d barely been able to see the Bain Sidhe, what if—and here’s the ironic part—I was unable to see the Reaper when it arrived?
But I needn’t have worried though: the Reaper always comes, and there’s no mistaking one for anything else. Nor is there any mistaking what it’s arriving to do.
Have you ever seen a Reaper? They’re blurred, flimsy things—creatures more of shadow than flesh. It’s easy to miss one at first, but once you spot it it’s almost impossible to look away. The ‘wrongness’ of it sort of draws you in, demands your attention. Maybe that’s how they hunt their prey, who knows? My Reaper certainly took its own sweet time. I guess it thought there wasn’t a need to hurry, and it was right. The girl certainly wasn’t going anywhere, not in the state she’s in.
It glides towards her, and there is a sudden movement I fail to catch—it happens faster than I expect. From what I’d seen it swung something (a scythe?) at her, the blade of shadow-stuff emerging all shiny silver when it withdrew.
Bingo.
Maybe I shifted. Maybe I breathed too loud. Whatever the case, the thing turns its eyeless gaze directly at me, and I decide I don’t need to be around to find out what happens next. I’ve seen all that I’ve come to see. So I run; as usual. But this time is different. It is nothing like Walpurgis.
It feels like a victory.
Night Two: I’m feeling in the mood for risk today, and so I seek out Jinx.
Previous encounter notwithstanding, I feel kind of good about our chances—especially given the precautions I’ve taken. Funny how a little preparation can change a situation entirely, isn’t it?
Don’t get me wrong. I still maintain a healthy respect for Jinx—as I would for anything that has the ability to tear me limb from limb. He had been serious about me staying away, and there’s nothing to suggest this new meeting would find him in a more charitable mood. I’m well aware of that, of course. This time, however, things are going to be different. I’m not walking into disaster half-cocked. This time, I have leverage.
It is later than I would have liked, but that can hardly be helped. Searching for a suitable gift had delayed me considerably, but it’s an unavoidable detour I needed to take. Can’t go calling on one of my betters empty handed now, could I? It’s the polite thing to do, after all. I wonder if he’ll appreciate the thought I put into it; every little detail I’ve taken into consideration for our next meeting. My heart is a runaway train inside my chest, but it’s from excitement rather than fear.
Overconfidence: that’s something that seems to characterize most of my kindred. Goes to show that maybe I’m more Wild than we thought after all.
He is harder to find that you’d expect, certainly at none of his usual haunts. It is times like this when humanity can be a disadvantage. Being unable to track auras like Coo and Jinx leaves me woefully blind; hardly any better than the human cattle stumbling about in their city. Listening to whisperers is out of the question, so I’m obliged to take a less direct approach. All to the good, I suppose. With the night half over, he’ll be tired and off his guard when I do manage to find him—just another thing to take advantage of.
I find him just when I am about to retire for the night in the last place I think to look—prowling shiftily around the rich side of town. I take a moment to gauge the situation. Maybe it’s just my imagination, but it seems like there’s a guilty air about him; like that of someone doing something they shouldn’t. Interesting—that would make my business here so much easier.
“Morning, uncle—hope I find you well?”
He starts; literally jumps nearly a foot into the air. Certainly worth it to see, given that I don’t exactly have much practice surprising people. The ‘sneaking’ part I manage just fine of course, but I draw the line at such theatrics. I like to finish up and be gone without anyone knowing I’m there. Not to say that this approach doesn’t have its attractions, however... I suppose I can see why they do it.
“I thought I told you to leave me alone, Cur. You’re usually smarter than this,”
“Not smart enough, uncle. I’m in need of advice tonight, and you’re my best bet.”
“And what makes you think I’ll just give it to you?” He talks a good game, but he’s interested despite himself—I can tell. It’s in the way he stands; the subtle tilt of a head. I’ve grown better at picking out such details. Flattery has done its magic, as usual. The bait has been taken, all I have to do now is reel it in.
“I need to know how you do what you do, Jinx. Tell me about pain candy. Teach me how to steal a soul,”
Whatever he’s expecting, it definitely isn’t this. He manages to keep his cool, though his eyes widen from surprise. It is a while before he speaks, but when he does his tone is careful and measured, giving nothing away. “Just what are you planning, Cur?”
“Oh, the usual...” I shrug. “Messing around, trying to change fate—sort of like what you’ve been doing, isn’t it?”
He doesn’t rise to the barb. Curious...that means he’s more distracted than I thought. “I’m not trying to change my fate, Cur. We’re who we are, and nobody can do anything about it. Haven’t the years taught you that much?”
“I’ve never taken you for a quitter, uncle. There are ways, means. There’s a potion—”
He cuts me off, laughing. “I know about the potion, Cur. Coo’s so-called secret. If that’s what you’re after, you’re better off not wasting your time. If it was any good, don’t you think I’d have taken it by now? Trust me on this, little brother—it’s not going to work. Not for you, and not for me,”
“The potion is one way,” I refuse to be deterred. “There are others. There has to be, I just know it. I’ve a theory—it’s got something to do with the soul, I’m sure. That’s what’s been stopping us from crossing over. The Reapers and Weavers don’t have one, so they can do it whenever they wish. When we die we surrender our soul, and that’s how we get to the City Below. Now I just need to be sure.”
“Problem with that, Cur, is that you’ve got to be dead.”
“Yes. Exactly,”
“In that case, you can count me out of it,” I can see him about to do his disappearing act again. “I’ve already got enough to worry about,”
It’s time to play my winning hand. “What makes you think you had a choice?”
Jinx stiffens, not so much in anger but sheer surprise. It’s clear he doesn’t expect this from me, doesn’t anticipate a challenge quite so soon. Why should he? This is behaviour completely unexpected of the Getaway Kid. I’m having my own reservations, to tell the truth. Too late for that now, we’ll have to see how everything turns out. “You know the company I keep, Jinx. I’m guessing that means you also know...” I open my hand; revealing the gift I’ve prepared for just such an occasion. “What I can do with this,”
In my hand is a ragged object; crudely shaped into a caricature of a cat—one of those toys kids (human kids) sometimes carry around; the kind they fill with beans or sawdust. From Jinx’s reaction, it’s almost as if I’ve threatened him with a loaded gun—which is kind of an apt comparison now that I think about it. I can tell he knows what it is and what it represents. The likeliness isn’t perfect of course, but fetishes don’t really have to be. In most cases, token similarity is more than enough for curse magic to work. I see anger and amazement in equal portions on his face. “You would resort to something like this?”
“I would. I could...” I stow the toy away, now that it’s fulfilled its purpose. “I wouldn’t have to though, if you decided to help me,”
With this I know I’ve crossed a terrible threshold, changed the way I am perceived forever. Jinx will know not to let his guard down around me from now on; he will know to be more careful in our future dealings together. I have ascended in his estimation from mere annoyance to threat. It is not something that can be dismissed so lightly. He lashes his tail in irritation, grinds his teeth. Then... “Fine—follow me,”
At last! At last!
We are off, setting a furious pace throughout the winding streets and rooftops. Jinx never once looks back, but all the same I get the impression he is accommodating me; however gradually. We both know I wouldn’t be able to keep up otherwise.
“Stay there. Keep quiet and watch. Not a sound,” His tone brooks no argument. Once again I hear the Bain Sidhe, growing ever louder as we approach the casement and pass within.
It is a boy this time; also dying—death such as this is nothing unusual in these parts of the City. I barely have time to get my bearings of the room and its occupant before Jinx goes to work, leaning over the poor wretch to catch his final rasping breath. He waves me over, coughs up the soul and presents it to me as if for verification. I cannot see it directly, it comes across as some sort of wispy heat shimmer in his hand; only just visible from the corner of an eye. “This is what you’re here for, isn’t it? Hold out your hands, Cur. I’ll have nothing to do with it.”
I do as he asks, watching as Jinx empties his palms into mine. But there is nothing, save only the barest puff of wind as he does so; followed by a little gulp from the boy below us. Somehow, I know that the soul has been lost; returned from whence it came. Still, I feel a need to ask. “Is it...”
“Gone,” confirms Jinx, a self-satisfied expression on his face. “And that’s where it’ll stay,”
“Can you get it out again?”
He glances at me, incredulous. “Are you crazy? Wasn’t once enough?”
“You could if you wanted to, couldn’t you?”
He hesitates; nods unwillingly. It is enough for me. I have the information I’m after, so there’s no need to push him—at least not yet. We make ourselves scarce before the Reaper appears for its prey; to help him towards wherever it is he is supposed to go—a destination neither of us are meant for and an experience far beyond our comprehension
--for now...
Our joint excursion sets the tone for the many nights that follow. We settle into a sort of pattern, a sort of unspoken arrangement; Jinx and I. He will allow me to tag along at times when he is on the prowl to learn what I can. Although he never says it outright, I think he’s getting curious despite himself—isn’t that the defining trait of a Cat, after all? Our arguments have become fewer, our periods of mutual tolerances greater. It is a start. Not a great one, but a start nonetheless.
So here we are again—perched on a rooftop on the outskirts of the City, examining a ball of pain Jinx passes into my hand. It certainly feels more tangible than the soul from our first outing; more substantial to my touch. I can almost fancy I see the vague outline of its shape and the colours within.
Almost, but not quite...
Jinx recovers the ball, tucks it under his tongue. “Why not admit that the whole thing’s pointless, Cur?” he says almost amicably. “You’ll never be able to do what I can. How will you learn to steal something you can’t even see?”
“Maybe I don’t have to,” I say this under my breath, a fleeting fancy.
He picks up on it anyway. “Wait, what?”
“The soul—it’s the key, I just know it. Losing the soul helps people to cross over, doesn’t matter if it’s a Reaper who takes it or not. They’ll be dead either way without it. So going there’s not a problem...”
“Yes, except for the part about being dead. Like I said, count me out.”
I ignore him, lost in my thoughts. “The hard part is coming back,”
Jinx stares at me in horrified fascination; the type people usually reserve for the mentally insane. “You’re serious. You’re actually being serious. You are truly crazy, Cur.”
“Oh you have no idea. Do it, Jinx. You know it was always going to come to this eventually. I’m sure you even wanted to at some point earlier on. Now I’m giving you permission to. Do it—take my soul,”
For one long moment he considers me, head tilted to one side. “One small problem—you’ll have to be dying. And then you’ll be dead,”
“Don’t worry about the first part, I’ve got that covered,” I show him the vial I prepared for this meeting; the colourless liquid inside. “Inside is a poison—what alchemists call the Draught of Living Death. It kills by messing with your senses, numbing everything so you end up dead in five minutes before you know it. There’s no antidote, no remedy except one,”
I look Jinx squarely in the eye. “If enough pain is being done to the victim; enough to keep the senses awake for five minutes, then...”
“No,” his expression of horrified fascination doesn’t change. “Just...no,”
“You said you would help me,” I remind him. “And I want to see where this goes,”
“You want me to help you die?”
“If you were paying attention, that wouldn’t be a problem. And I’ve still got your marker, in case you’re getting any ideas. If anything happens to me, you’ll never see the homunculus again,”
Most of my act is false bravado of course. Jinx is right. Any number of things may go wrong. I could have made a mistake creating the poison; he might decide to abandon me to my fate. But our greatest regret is always to do nothing, isn’t it? I’ve come too far to turn aside.
“Cheers, Jinx,”
“No!” He sweeps out an arm to stop me, to snatch the vial away. It is already too late. I can feel the cool liquid across my tongue, the slightly pleasant aftertaste of almonds. I used to like sugar almonds you know—in the time before.
Jinx is saying; no, shouting something—words that come out sounding muffled, too faint for me to hear. I dismiss them as nothing important. I dismiss the hands shaking me roughly by the shoulders; even the claws emerging from his frustration. “Take my soul, Jinx. You know what to do,”
He says something else. I do not hear it. It’s being drowned out by loud wailing—is that the Bain Sidhe already? Is she reporting my death? And then there is another shape; something big and black and formless, yet disquietingly familiar. That isn’t unusual. Haven’t I seen enough of it by now?
The Reaper surveys me silently; implacably. It is like seeing a long lost friend.
I close my eyes.
When I awake, I am sitting alone on that very rooftop. Both the Reaper and Jinx are gone.
Everything seems just the way I left it, but something is different all the same. The air seems stiller—deader—somehow, lacking its usual energy. I feel a little stiffer, but otherwise okay.
So this is what it’s like to be dead? Could be worse...
I feel like I can sit at the edge of this roof forever, just staring into nothingness and looking down on the city below me. Something in my mind insists I move on, however. This inkling is small but significant, needling at my thoughts: Go. Hurry... You don’t have much time.
On the whole, I find it’s usually in my best interests to follow such premonitions.
“Not what you expected?”
I turn, not at all surprised to see Jinx standing beside me; or to find that we have both been somehow magically transported to the streets below. Part of me feels miffed. This is my journey, after all. Mine, and no one else’s—hadn’t I been the one to take up alchemy? Hadn’t I been the one to make the theories and test them? What had Jinx done, other than just take me from Point A to Point B? But here he is again, regardless, no doubt to do some variant of the same. I resign myself to the idea. “Get on with it,”
“As you like,” Jinx saunters through the marketplace we find ourselves in and I follow, passing stalls laden with all manner of strange and unusual goods. “But I think you know the way,”
He’s right. I do know the way. I find myself walking through another gate; through roads, a park and a faire. Ordinarily, I would’ve been fascinated by the sights around us but for some reason I’m not interested. Not even when—and I kid you not—we pass through the open mouth of a giant slumbering dragon to emerge safely on the other side.
“Is this the same for everyone who comes here?”
“No, not usually,” Jinx twitches his mouth in an almost-smile. “Then again, your way is kind of different from everyone else’s, wasn’t it?”
As he says this, I suddenly remember snatches of everything: the poison, the falling, my...death. I remember that I am technically at Jinx’s (the other one’s) mercy; somewhere way up there he’s got my soul tucked under his tongue, wondering if it wouldn’t be better to swallow it or trade it off. The notion doesn’t trouble me as much as I thought it would. “Will I be judged now? Will I be sentenced by a Creator I don’t believe in?” Something about that strikes me as incredibly unfair. “This isn’t like you, Jinx. Are you saying you believe all of a sudden? What’s changed your mind?”
“My beliefs aren’t important,” We stop at another gate. I get the feeling that this is the final one in this stretch of our journey; that once bypassed there would be no turning back. “What does matter is that he believes—in you,”
“And who is he when he’s at home? Who is he to decide our destinies? Who is he to seal our fates?”
“I suppose you’ll find out—won’t you?” The reply doesn’t come from Jinx, who is no longer there. It comes from everywhere; the walls and floor and ceiling, the very air itself. It is like nothing I have ever heard: neither young nor old, neither human nor animal—something that simply defies description. So I won’t bother describing it. And you can’t make me; so there.
The fact remains that they are right. I’ve come so far already, and there’s no way I’m going to wait outside just because some loud scary voice tells me to. The gate swings shut behind me and I hear the unmistakable click of a lock, which is not entirely unexpected. At the moment, it is what’s ahead that’s commanding my attention: I am standing in an enormous clockwork chamber, stuffed with more gears and whatnot than I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Comparing it to the inside of the City Clock (which I had once climbed and explored for a dare) is like comparing a torch to a gaslight: essentially the same thing; looking like it was built for the same purpose, only with one being infinitely more complex. And to top it all off, there is this giant statue...thing smack in the middle of it all, looking like it is both a part of and separate from the machinery around it at the same time.
Or maybe it is an iron golem. An automaton, or whatever that means. I remember that term from Vick’s book. In any case, it is moving and I’m given to understand statues don’t usually do that. The fact that it’s huge and scary and unknowable doesn’t put me off as much as the fact that this thing will be the one to pass my judgment and spell my fate. “What happens now?”
“I think you know,” when the thing speaks again, it is in Jinx’s voice. “Why else would you have come here, otherwise? You believe you are here for something I can provide. You seek to change your Fate, but I cannot promise a better one to replace it. You represent to me a complex case, one that I haven’t seen or expected to see in eons. And your ruling, by necessity, should be an equally sophisticated one. May I have your heart, please?”
Wait...what? My heart? I’ve always been leery of strangers, and giving my heart to one is definitely out of the question, thank-you-very-much. It’s just not the kind of thing I do; even if it’s somehow possible. But I get the sense the clockwork thing is only asking to be polite. There’s no way out for me, the gate behind us is locked, and I really don’t think I’ll be able to prevent him otherwise. In simple parlance; yes, I was screwed—royally screwed.
An enormous hand reaches for me, but its fingers stop just shy of touching my chest. The movement is so sudden, so quick that I barely perceive it; would probably not have noticed had the hand not come to a stop at all. However, it has; and I peer up to see the thing looking at me; staying absolutely still. I am unable to see anything through its mask of course, but all the same I’m guessing that this—statue...angel...thing—is surprised. More than surprised: shocked. Maybe more rattled than it has been for centuries, or its entire existence. I have no idea if that is a good or bad thing. I suppose I am about to find out. It looks like it is about to speak—
But at that instant, something else happens to catch us both off guard. There is a sensation of strong winds gusting round us, which should have been impossible in an enclosed room like this one. The sound they make is deafening, too loud for me to hear anything else. I look down at my hand, only to notice it is fading like mist in the morning. Within moments it is gone, but the nothingness continues to spread—up my arm, chest and throat. The wind is dying down, enough for me to hear the statue saying something, studying me as it does so. It is saying something else. I happen to hear it just before the nothing devours whatever’s left.
“Complex case—most complex case. We’ll see each other again, Master Cur.”
Yes, well—not if I can help it....
I wake to pain: utter indescribable pain. It is everywhere—in my chest and joints. I am lying on something soft, and someone is pressing a wet rag against my shoulder. It hurts, and even the slightest touch from the cloth makes me feel like screaming, only my throat’s too sore for anything like that at present. Perhaps I had been screaming already. I certainly feel like I’d been screaming for a very long time.
“Welcome back, brother. It is good to see you are still with us,”
Two faces swim into focus overhead. One is Coo, the other is Jinx. She had been the one to speak to me, and I see she’s holding a cloth in one hand. Like always, she is genuinely glad to see me pull through the worst of it alive. Probably knows what she’s doing too, I’ll give her that.
Jinx is a totally different story. I see his expression change as soon as he realized I was awake, and feel his hands tighten over my shoulders almost immediately. “Idiot. You stupid idiot... Never,” he punctuates the statement with a squeeze. “Never, ever ask me to do something like that again. We are through, you hear me? We’re through,”
“Brother, please...” Coo intervenes between us. “Enough is enough. He is going to need his rest. And the same, I think, could be said of you,” She fixes one swivelling eye at me. “Brother Jinx brought you here to us not long ago. You were bleeding from many scratches. I think I recognized some of the marks. Did you two come to blows? He acted very strange, refused to say what happened. Are you able to tell us more?”
“Aw,” I reach out to touch Jinx on the hand resting near my coverlet. “You really do care,”
With a snort, he retrieves his arm and turns away. Coo takes his place at my bedside, looking concerned. “What were you trying to do, Brother? I know you are driven, but to do something like this—exactly what’s important enough for you to risk your own life?”
“You answer your own question, Coo,”
I start. You see, I know this voice. How can I not, when I hear it so often in my dreams? “Jenny?”
She is no longer a Donkey, but something else. Something more... I see the wings of her arms, the effervescent fire that illuminates her entire being. “It’s Bray now,”
“You have been to the City Below,” It is not a question. I do not have to ask. I know.
“Yes. And so have you,” I can’t stop staring at her, can’t stop marvelling at what she has become. So it is true. So it is possible. Fate can be changed; argued against... Reversed...
“Tell me about it, Bray. Everything you know,” I summon what’s left of my strength, latch onto her wrist. “Everything,”
She hesitates. “It will not help you. Everyone’s experience is different. There is no way to escape it. Not even for you,”
“Tell me anyway. Tell me everything. I need to know. I have to know,”
She doesn’t want to, but I make her do it anyway. I make her relate her journey through the city, of the trials and tests to follow. I make her describe the statue and its final judgement.
“I never blamed you for running away, you know. I would’ve done the same thing if I could, we all would. Nobody blames you for what happened. You’ve nothing to prove to us, nothing to redeem yourself for. All that’s in the past,”
“It’s not the past that concerns me,” I say. “It’s the future.”
“Promise me,” she clutches my hand with a feathery arm-wing. “Promise me you’ll never do something so stupid and reckless again. I don’t want to be called here to witness the second time. I don’t want to be the one who has to watch when you...”
“So that’s what you do? That’s your fate? You watch as Wild Children die?”
“I want to hear your promise. Coo’s told me about your geas, so I want to hear you say it. Promise me you won’t endanger yourself like this again,”
Bother that Coo! I’ve got to be more careful than ever now that Bray knows the loophole around my untruths: Every single thing I say can be a lie. She’ll want to hear me promise two things; or even more than two, just to satisfy herself on that point.
“I’ve learnt my lesson, Bray. I promise I’ll never do anything so silly and reckless again, or waste time trying to change a Fate that’s beyond me. Don’t worry,”
Two promises; spoken in the same sentence—well within the boundaries of my curse. I see Jenny pondering the nuances of the words before nodding, satisfied. She is a smart one, always has been. She knows that words can be interpreted and twisted, knows that it’s foolish to trust in any kind of truth alone—even a guaranteed one. I meant what I said to her, meant every word. In that respect, they were true. Well, technically true...
“Coo told me the name they call you by now,” she glances over her shoulder at me. “It’s not a bad name, considering. It’s who you are. Promise me it’s who you’ll continue to be. Keep being the Getaway Kid, Cur. I need to hold onto that, if nothing else. I need to know that in this world, there’ll always be someone who can beat the odds, someone who can Get Away,”
Don’t worry, Bray. I intend to. I definitely intend to.
It is a while before I am recovered enough to try again. So many things have happened in between. I awake to increasingly bad news.
Jinx has been Taken; arrested on some trumped up charge because he hasn’t got the sense to leave well enough alone. Looks like I’ll have to find a new partner. I say as much to Coo, and confess to find myself surprised by the truth in her conviction. “He sacrificed himself; brother—an action nobly done. I only hope he manages to survive the consequences.”
Little by little I hear the whole story. Nothing noble about it at all, if you ask me... Far as I’m concerned it’s just another cautionary tale of where relationships get you. I used to respect Jinx, thought he knew better than to get himself involved. Now I’m not so sure.
Meanwhile, Coo has taken to visiting me in my own little garret—something nigh unheard of in the past. She gives me the latest news, and I daresay tries her best not to upbraid me for what I choose to study or the company I keep. For my part, I try not to mention my past dealings and failures. It is an unspoken agreement we are both content with.
That is, until one day...
“Have you heard, brother? Jinx is dead. They executed him the other day,”
I stay silent. There’s nothing much you can say to news like that. I’m surprised to find that the news affects me, however much I try to deny it. I thought I’d rid myself of such feelings long ago. Apparently not—I feel a hard lump in my chest, am not sure what to say. The whole thing is ridiculous. We weren’t that close, even. Jinx and I have been many things: partners, acquaintances, and associates in crime; but certainly not friends.
“...and that’s why I’ve come to see you. Can you do it?”
My ears prick up, detecting the shift in tone. Something is about to happen, something big. “Do what, exactly?”
“Cross over—I heard your conversation with Sister Bray. I know you tried once before. Can it be done again?”
“Bray made me promise...”
“I know what she made you promise,” Coo’s eyes are stern, glowering. “I also know that you can find a way around them, if you had half a mind to,”
Also true. Coo is a canny one. She knows or guesses more than she lets on. I make a note to be more careful around her in future. “Your potion—can you not...?”
“Our potion works for those who have not been Judged. I have been judged, and there is no way back for me,” she tips me a pointed look. “Or no way existing within the boundaries of men,”
I return it. “You’re speaking of...”
“Yes, Brother Cur. Alchemy—the Philosopher’s stone. It is the catalyst we require, the final piece of the puzzle you need. With it taking the place of your heart, you would be able to fool the Judge into dispensing any Fate you could wish for. Of that I am reasonably certain. With my essence within it I could make the journey alongside you, to argue Brother Jinx’s case. But I am sure you knew all that already,”
Truth be told, I didn’t. Damned if I’m going to tell her that, though. “Are we to work together?”
“We are to help one another. Bind my essence to the Stone, Brother Cur—help me make the journey. In return, I shall act as your heart in your own Hearing; with any luck this will assist you in obtaining the Fate you desire, if not the one you deserve.”
I am stricken dumb. Gods above! What an opportunity. “You’ll...be my heart?”
“Yes. I will take the place of your own; which you so insist on hiding from the Creator. My virtues your virtues; my sin your sin,”
I’m sure I licked my lips just then; the implications of what that meant were too great to ignore. “Are we agreed, then? Can you make the Stone, Brother?”
Oh gods. This is going too quickly, much too quickly for me to be comfortable with. But with the promise of such reward... “I can make the Stone, but I’ll need time to do so.”
“Time is not on our side. How long?”
“A week?” She glares at me, pointedly. I remember it is Coo I’m working with and amend my statement accordingly. “I mean, roughly three days; no longer than that,”
“Three days, then.” She takes her leave but I hardly notice, too occupied by what has just happened. Then the reality of it strikes me and I make like a fiend for my patron’s alembic, pestle and mortar. No time like the present, and no time to waste.
All that work to do...
Long story short, we pulled it off: made the Stone; performed the Ritual, drank the Potion...
So here I am again, standing in the ruins of the City Below; with a strange heaviness in my chest that was definitely not there before. Somewhere in my chest is the Philosopher’s Stone; which Coo’s essence has converted into an actual, genuine heart: My heart. Her virtues my virtues; her lack of sin also my own...
She is quiet as I retrace my footsteps through the City, and will not say much about how the Trial has gone. I choose to respect her silence, and ask no further questions.
We make our way through the market square, the park and highway. This time there is no guide to lead us, though it hardly matters. Coo is with me, and I am not alone.
I feel a flutter in her spirit as we pass the last Gate, but even its closing cannot deter me. Why should I fear, with such protection surrounding me? How could I fail, with a Dove’s virtues my own?
“Welcome back, Master Cur. I see you have returned; just as I knew you would,”
Not even the clockwork giant can faze me. “Yes, I’ve returned. I’m ready for my sentence.”
The creature looks at me, its mask face impassive. “Are you indeed? Then show me your heart,”
I hesitate, for just a moment. Then I pull the Stone from out my chest. It is different than I remember; not the unlovely chunk of metal I decanted from Vick’s crucible. Now imbued with Coo’s essence, it glows with an almost ethereal light. Here is the moment of truth. I present it to the judge, who reaches down to take it. And then—
“Sorry, Brother—but this is the only way...”
There is a flash, and I see nothing but white afterimages dancing across my vision. Barely out of my chest; the Stone implodes in my hand, winking out of existence. My hand is completely empty, but still the Statue continues to wait, its expression patient. I realize that I am betrayed.
Coo—she knew this all along; played me for a fool. I should have known better, should have seen. She had needed to travel inside me to get where she was going; I should’ve guessed separating her—and the Stone—from me would result in just such a reaction. Too late for that now.
Well done, Coo. Well done. Never thought you had it in you...
The Statue is still waiting. The door is sealed. Jinx is not here this time to pull me away. There is no other option, nothing left for me to do. The least I can do is surrender on my terms and not his.
I reach into my chest and pull out my heart: my real heart. It does not look like the charged Stone or any other heart I’ve ever seen. Nor does it look like the soap bubbles Bray described. If anything, it resembles the balls of pain I saw Jinx take from the wretched—dark, round and ominous. It does not shine, except where light reflected off surfaces so black it could almost be pitch. Neither light nor heavy, it feels the way a water-balloon would; resting in my palm. I’m certainly no expert, but I know well enough that it’s not the best heart to be judged in this chamber; not even close. It is mine, though; and when the statue reaches for it I have to stop myself from wrenching it away.
He places it into a tray and a set of scales. For a long time I say nothing. There is nothing I can say. I watch him at his work, calibrating levers and switching from one lens to another from time to time. It takes a very long while.
“Problems?” I speak up when I can bear it no longer. Probably unwise, but the word’s out before I can stop it.
“I crave your patience, Master Cur,” the statue replies, almost absent-mindedly. “Like I have said before, this heart,” he raises it from the scale and taps it with a finger, “Is a very complex one... Most complex indeed,”
I gasp despite myself. Not in pain; no—I could feel no pain, now that my heart was outside me. It was more from shock. The tapping motion had apparently dislodged something within the heart; suddenly I see black flakes—which I first assumed to be a tarlike substance coating it entirely—sift and fall away. Now I realize that it isn’t tar or liquid at all; just millions upon millions of floating specks joined together to give that impression. Nor were the individual particles black; now that they had been dislodged I can see that they were actually of multiple colours—bourn on lazy currents of (air? Liquid?) as the statue swirls my heart in its hand, holding it out for me so I can see as well. The final effect resembles those snow globes I sometimes see in shop windows—glass enclosing fake scenes and bits of white paper that become agitated when shook. Such things never interested me much as a rule, but this one is different. ‘Snow globe’ is just the closest I can come to describing what the experience is really like. I find I cannot tear my eyes away from the sudden dance of colours, and am disappointed when the contents settle down; coming to rest against the inner surfaces of my heart so that it appears black as pitch once more. “It’s...”
“Beautiful, yes,” says the statue, and I realize that this is just the word I’m looking for. “It is a heart that should be worn with pride, Master Cur—not locked away and coveted. You are not entirely innocent, but still you strive to do the right thing,” he taps the heart again, setting specks to dance. “...most of the time. Your heart is in the right place, and so it is a pity...” he waits until the storm settles again to continue. “A pity that you choose not to show this side of yourself to others,”
It is hard for me to digest this new information. “I’m...virtuous?”
The statue shakes its head. “Not virtuous, but...conflicted. Virtue and Sin are at war in your heart, Master Cur; as you see from the storm before you. You have a penchant for taking what some call the ‘easy way out’, if such an option is presented to you; but that does not make you evil. Yes, you have lied and cheated for the easy way, but never have you placed anyone else in danger by doing so. You would blackmail your friend,” here I see Jinx’s face appear momentarily in the storm of sparkles. “But you would never have actually followed through on your threat or seen him come to harm.”
He shook the heart again, and this time I see Mourn’s face looking back at me. “You would appear to blackmail your benefactors into sheltering you and keeping your secrets, when really you have no intention of ever doing so,”
Another shake... “You ran from the disaster of Walpurgis Night,” Now Aunt Semple’s face, looking as hale and hearty as when she had been alive. “because you were afraid what it would mean to your aunt if they caught you; because you worried that shame would be too much for her to bear. You ran not because you were afraid of what would follow, but the people your actions would affect. You worried you would be letting her down,”
“Your efforts here,” One final shake—and this time I see Jenny; not the person she became, but who she used to be. “seeking redemption; grievances redressed... Not for you alone, but for you and all those doomed with you. You wish a reversal, yes—but not just for yourself. You want for there to be an option of choice; for you and your friends to be able to choose the Destinies available to them,” he returned the heart back to its scale. “And while I cannot say I approve of many of your actions, I accept the spirit in which you made them well enough. It is a fine heart, a worthy heart in its own way—at least for those who take the time to look below the surface.”
The statue picks up my heart, weighing it in its hand. “As for you...”
“Receive my judgement, Master Cur. Go forth in the nature your combined virtues and sins make you; let this be hidden from others no more. You will return to yourself both changed and unchanged, not as what you wish to be; but something more. And you shall keep the geas that we lay upon you; to be unable to lie save for a technicality of truth itself. Already you have received a measure of your sentence in part and I see no reason to reverse this ruling. It was well done, by the way; the manner you were able to pervert your truth compulsion and make it your own.”
I itch all over. Oh no—fur is growing. I am transforming, somehow shrinking away from my clothes—which all of a sudden have become too big for my body. My fingers and toes blur together, becoming paws. More fur; covering me from head to toe even in places I cannot see. My teeth sharpen, become altogether too large for my mouth. The lower half of my face lengthens to suit them, becoming a snout. Oh gods. I’m a—
“Jackal, correct,” supplies the statue. “As you were before; only more so... As you were always meant to be,”
I shake myself; resist an overwhelming urge to scratch. It’s a pain in the neck trying to stand and walk on crooked animal paws, but somehow I’m still upright. There’s enough human left in me for that at least. “That’s it then? Slap on the wrist, new body, have a nice life? Is there nothing else?”
“Nothing of import,” the statue’s mask wrinkles. “What many of your—brethren—fail to understand is that Fate is neither a blessing nor a curse. It simply is. I do not give you a form you deserve as punishment, nor as reward—but merely because it suits you; and you have the potential to use it for something more. While you may be somewhat lacking in bravery or loyalty; your largest redeeming virtue, Master Cur, is persistence and perseverance. Thus the nature of your appearance; which I confess to have chosen to reflect the peculiar dichotomy of your being... Rather appropriate, given the advice your friend once gave you; advice I feel you’ve taken strongly to heart.”
“Go forth then, Master Jackal. Keep persisting, keep surviving. Continue to surprise us, the way you always do,”
I awake in Coo’s loft, raise an arm to wipe the sleep from my eyes. My hand feels too strange, much too bulky and clumsily. And then I remember everything: No hands; no feet—just paws.
Crap.
What was that the statue-angel said? ‘Take my Fate and make it my own?’ Easy for them to say, they weren’t stuck in my position with paws and snout and tail.
No point in complaining though, whinging never solves anything. I rifle through the Doves’ belongings for clothes, hoping to be gone before they return. It’s difficult to find any shirts or tunics; hardly surprising when you consider the wings, but I manage to locate an overlarge jerkin anyway. No sense in pants; not when you have a tail—I come to that realization after the second fruitless attempt. The shirt is adult sized, so it’ll be good enough for hiding anything that shouldn’t be seen from view. In any case, it’ll have to do. I catch sight of my reflection in a window; confirm that the jerkin does indeed go all the way to my knees. Good enough...
So this is what it feels like to be born: Changed and unchanged... I am no longer Ellis. I am no longer Cur. I am both. I am neither. I am something more. One thing I do know, though—one thing has remained a most reliable constant in this whole confounded situation:
I am still the Getaway Kid. And it is high time for me to get away.
Noises in the distance; the flap of wings—Mourn catches me halfway out of the windowsill, an unidentifiable golden blur. “Cur, is that you?” A hesitating pause... “Ellis?”
I turn to face him, well aware of how I appear; how I must seem—Wild, wary, fur shining in the setting sun’s glow. We are high up, and the ground is many stories below. “Cur?”
“Illicor,” I reply to him, enjoying how right; how familiar the name sounds on my tongue. I’m not sure what gave me the idea of combining both names. It feels right. This then; is who I am—who I’m supposed to be. Outside, the sound and smell of the City calls to me; beckons me. I am ready.
I leap.
