Chapter Twenty

The three spies are silent as they pass through the thicket of trees, listening intently for any sound, or lack of, that may be out of place. Cellu feels some relief as they enter a patch of desolate land and ashen trees. He thinks that no one in the enemy camp makes a habit of hanging around them. Like the dragons, they prefer what is pristine. He lets out a breath and, with unguarded motions, urges his friends on with a sweeping of the hand. What Cellu has not anticipated, however, is the abundance of the enchanter’s servants who frequent the despairing trees to get some reprieve from the bullying of the larger creatures.

Creatures pop out of ashy tree hollows, quietly and quickly. Twynne, who trails the others, is immediately gagged with fabrics. His limbs only begin to flail just as they are firmly bound with ropes. Hendi, just ahead, is next. More creatures gather quietly, and crowd behind Cellu, ready to attack, but Cellu looks behind before they have a chance to work up their surprise assault. Cellu sees the sea of grubby little creatures and, amid them, the eyes of his two friends; wide and frustrated.

The creatures, seeing that they have lost their opportunity to catch the centaur off guard, swarm him and try to take him down; but he is not easy to grab. His legs are longer than most of them and he can jump incredibly high and with great strength. He begins to leap into the air, pouncing down bodies before galloping away.

A moment of fear sweeps through the servants. None of them want to warn the others that Cellu was found trespassing and has escaped them. To address this fear, they hover over Hendi and Twynne, yelling and kicking wildly with gesticulations that make them feel powerful. Soon, this domination emboldens them to bring their captives to camp as offerings that they hope will be accepted with praise.

Cellu had leaped far into the tree line. His movements are so controlled by sparks of wild adrenaline that he must mindfully slow to a halt. When he tries to catch his breath, air swims so quickly into his lungs that he chokes on it and begins to cough uncontrollably. During his coughing fit the foliage in front of him blurs through his watery eyes. His eyes close tightly with one painful watery cough and when they open Pixie is standing in front of him.

“Pixie!” Cellu gasps quietly. “What are you doing here?”

“Helping,” Pixie whispers, taking Cellu’s tear-soaked hand, “Come on, we need to get Twynne and Hendi away from those filthy little creatures.”

“How did you…”

Pixie raises her leaf-like finger to her lips.

It does not matter who you are, or how often you have experienced a fairy’s uncanny ability to appear seemingly from nowhere, it is always a surprise; as if the fairy is skilled not only at blending into one’s surroundings, but into one’s thoughts, as well.

The servants have not moved very far when Ccllu and Pixie catch up with them. The crowd is bickering over who will present the captors to the enchanters. Those farther away from Twynne and Hendi nudge and push their way inwards, and empty hands struggle for the rope. This causes a fight to break out, momentarily, allowing for the servants on the outside of the mob to weasel their way in closer and secure a spot next to the prisoners.

“Now is the best time to rescue our friends,” Pixie says. “We can work with the chaos.”

“What do you propose we do…” Cellu says, turning to Pixie, but she is gone.

Pixie’s long thin body is covered in vapid shades of the surrounding hues, and her body moves with the shades, as though she is covered in a thousand mirrors that, when placed just so, reflect only what one’s eyes are already expecting. Her leaf-shaped hands and feet allow her to leave no hints of trespass, and she steps lightly and allows any breeze to take her body in a dance as she moves about with her mysterious expertise. As she gets close to the rumbling group of servants, she unties a rope that is wound around her waist. She sneaks lithely into the muddled crowd—careful not to get a punch in the face—and guides a slipknot over the lifted foot of some creature about the size of Hendi. Pixie is quickly out of the crowd and standing next to a puzzled centaur.

“We’re going to catch some fish,” Pixie says and hands the rope to Cellu. “Pull it quickly.” Cellu obeys and reels in a wiggling bewildered little creature. Pixie quickly smashes a handful of leaves into the creature’s mouth, then unties the rope from his foot. “Hold him here while I catch another fish,” she tells Cellu, and disappears again.

While Cellu waits, he stares deep into the fearful angry eyes of his captive and finds no reflection of himself, or even the trees or sky above. “It doesn’t have to be this way, you know,” he says, quietly. “You can change, I did.” The leaves in the creature’s mouth begin to rumble and Cellu is tempted to pull them out and hear what the thing has to say. But he knows by the creature’s selfish eyes to let the leaves be.

Pixie is suddenly back, and she pants heavily at Cellu’s side. Soot and ash blacken parts of her body, and twigs and dirt are matted in her green hair. She has a swollen nose with blood crusted on the rims of her nostrils.

“Are you alright?” Cellu says, his eyes smiling at Pixie’s defiant expression.

“That was a close one,” Pixie says through breaths. “I was almost discovered, and luckily for one of those nasty creatures I got the punches meant for him. But unluckily for him, he was my next fish.” Pixie hands Cellu the rope and he pulls quickly, like last time. Another creature is now at their feet. It is not as big as Twynne, but it was the largest Pixie could get her hands on. Cellu is the one to stuff foliage into this creature’s mouth so that Pixie can get the rope tied up around the two. Cellu follows Pixie’s lead and begins to smear dirt over their captives, covering the two faces and bodies with dirt and ash.

“And now we’re going to throw our fish back, aren’t we?” Cellu asks Pixie.

“You’re catching on. But stay here.” Pixie drags the bodies back to the fight. They slide somewhat easily because of their tied limbs but it is still a lot of weight for Pixie, and she has to dig her heals in as she walks backwards. Once she gets the bodies near to the crowd, she must work rapidly for her plan to succeed. She quickly gathers rocks into a pile, then she chucks them at the faces of those who have a hold of Hendi and Twynne. The fight had almost died down, but Pixie manages to start a new scrap. She sneaks towards the chaos, pulling her captors with her, and leaves them at the edge. She then must swiftly maneuver Hendi and Twynne out from the middle of the fight. She springs into the midst of the group landing in a squat between flying fists, just missing one that thrusts itself into a random face. Pixie grabs Hendi’s rope out of the armpit of a creature who is defending his body from the kicking legs of others, and she immediately pulls the roped body to the tree line, leaping back into the middle of the scene within a breath of Hendi’s release.

Twynne’s body relaxes, slightly, under a sea of thrusting bodies while he waits for Pixie to carry him off; though he still receives a few stray kicks before he is dragged away.

While Pixie is untying her two friends behind a large tree, a clear voice rises above the chaos.

“Hey! How did they get over there?”

Pixie looks at her friends, startled, then peers around the large tree. A scraggly little male wrapped in thin brown fabrics has his hand raised towards the two captors that Pixie has tied and left near the crowd. His eyes begin to shine with clarity, but luckily the others see the pause as an opportunity to get near to their supposed prisoners to claim the roped bodies. The creatures swarm around the two who lay helpless on the ground, and Pixie sighs with relief, helping her friends to their feet.

Twynne and Hendi are wounded by their captors, who had pulled at the two from all angles, not careful to mind their heads and bodies throughout the brawls. Twynne’s nose is broken and caked in blood, and his charming brown eyes have almost disappeared beneath swollen red-yellow skin. The feathery fur on Hendi’s body is covered in matted patches of blood, and his right arm curves unnaturally into the shape of an S.

Cellu had grown anxious while waiting without realizing he was moving a few steps closer to Pixie each time he let out a breath. Pixie looks up at Cellu as though she expects him to arrive just when he does.

“We need to get them back to the village,” She says, “especially Hendi, his arm’s broken, and who knows what internal wounds they may have. They need immediate attention.”

“Oh, I’m alright,” Twynne says, smiling so wildly that Cellu has to wonder if Twynne had not suffered too many kicks to the head. The three look at Hendi, as if they expect him to claim health as well, but he is quiet and gives the trees an absent stare. Beneath his undirected gaze, though, somewhere deep inside his wide black pupils, is the look of pain.

“You take them back,” Pixie says, “I’ll stay longer.” Cellu wants to interject; his plan all along was to be the one whose life is in danger, but he knows arguing is pointless; Pixie can pass through undetected, and he cannot. And they will know, now, that Cellu has not gone rouge. “Besides,” Pixie says, reading his hesitation, “if you three leave footprints headed back to the village, they’ll assume there’s no one amongst them spying. Most important, they won’t suspect a fairy might be among them because you guys wouldn’t have come spying if you had a fairy who could’ve done it more proficiently.” Pixie adds that last statement with a hint of friendly sarcasm, and exchanges an appreciative glance with Twynne. Then, with sudden irritation and a quick nod to Hendi, Pixie says, “Go! They’ll be looking for you soon.”

Twynne grabs Cellu’s wrist and tugs, which gets the centaur into motion, and the two place cautious hands on Hendi to help him through the trees. If any of the three had been watching Pixie, they still would not have known the moment she vanished into the shrubbery.

Cellu, Twynne, and Hendi take heavy steps through the trees, and Twynne lets his bloodied nose drip, giving a defeated look to their passage home.

Pixie moves quickly, like a leaf carried on a strong wind, and she quickly catches up with the servants. They have walked past the patch of burnt forest and into a small clearing of living green trees that, though vibrant with foliage, stand stiff, like they are holding their breath and waiting for cleaner air.

The trees circle a group of creatures who prostrate themselves in front of a large cauldron. The cauldron steams and bubbles, and above it are six enchanters who are holding long wooden poles. They hold the tips of the poles and move them in circular motions, counterclockwise, around their portion of the cauldron while their bodies circle clockwise, in rhythm with each other; those prostrated on the ground roll their torsos like serpents. The closer the group gets to the enchanters, the more intense the enchanters’ circular motions become, as though the group Pixie is following is being drawn forward by the enchanters’ movements. As the creatures approach, the enchanters give one last rolling movement and then look up, simultaneously, at the group, expectantly.

Everyone in the group is suddenly quiet and wide-eyed with fear. Then all at once every one of them begins to talk. Those who have the best hold of the captives raise their voices the loudest and shake their victims vigorously to get the enchanter’s attentions.

A monstrous wolf-like creature with a human looking head tucked beneath a body of fur—known as a werewolf to some–who has been lying prostate, gets off the ground, brushes twigs and leaves off of himself, and walks to the group, shoving those in front out of the way.

“Were there only two?” he asks. In all their excitement, the creatures had forgotten about the centaur. The smiles on their faces are replaced with panic. “Was there more than three?” Silence. “How many did you idiots let go free?” The werewolf is met with more silence, while his violent smile spreads across his face. No answer.

He grabs one of the creatures and lifts it off the ground. “I will only ask one more time, and then I’m going to get angry.”

“Ce- Ce -Centaur, there was a Centaur, that’s all,” the creature says.

Pixie is sick at the scene. She has pity on the little thing being interrogated. The enchanters watch calmly, without expression.

The werewolf’s eyes seem to pierce into the very soul of the creature in his hand, then he looks at the others, taking in their frightened faces, slowly, savoring the moment. Then suddenly he roars, “You let the centaur escape?”

“Well, we almost had him but, but…” says a creature hidden in the crowd.

“How long ago did he escape? Why didn’t you send someone to inform us immediately!”

“We’ve brought two others,” says the hidden voice.

The werewolf roars again with a sound that smells as though it comes from deep within his bowels, and he shakes the creature that is in his hand like a rag doll. “Bring them to me, I’ll make them talk!”

The werewolf does not wait to have the captives brought to him, however. He tramples right into the group, flinging the servants out of his way, and pulls the leaves out of one of the captive’s mouth.

“We been snatched sir, we been snatched!” the captive says.

The werewolf’s face, which has held a hungry smile, now frowns fiercely. He tears the leaves out of the other captive’s mouth and rubs dirt off its face; it shakes in fear.

“What’s this!” The werewolf’s face grows red, and veins rise in his neck and forehead. “What is this!” He yells again while his body begins to shake violently. He stomps through the crowd like a bulldozer, kicking and shoving in a fearsome temper tantrum.

A few quick-thinking creatures who have been lying on the ground get up immediately after it is discovered that the real spies have escaped. The enchanters ignore the werewolf’s temper tantrum and nod to the three, one of whom is the djinn named Erl, and they take off in the direction that the group had come from to track down the spies.

Following the servants’ passage back to their home amongst the blackened trees is not difficult, and from there they easily find the footsteps of a centaur and two other creatures. Erl’s mind is divided as he observes the footsteps of his enemies. He looks up at the other two creatures.

“Let them go,” he says, “in an a few hours’ time they’ll be sorry we didn’t kill them.” He spits in the direction of the Huldu village.

Pixie is behind one of the trees, listening. But they say no more before they head back. She allows some distance as she trails the three back to their camp.

A troll sleeps just outside of the large opening of witchcraft. A huge one-eyed creature, a cyclops, stands above the troll with a bucket of water. The cyclops’ face twists into a smile just before he dumps the water on the troll’s head. Then, as though the water is not enough, he slams the bucket down hard onto the soaked head.

The troll grunts awake, hollers in pain, and then turns to his side and continues to sleep. The cyclops slaps him in the face.

“Wake up!” he yells, “you’re on, it’s my turn to sleep.” The troll grumbles some expletives while his eyes remain tightly shut. The cyclops grabs the troll under the arms and lifts him off the ground, shakes him, and then tosses him to the side like discarded trash; the troll stumbles to his feet.

Pixie waits for the cyclops to fall asleep, then she climbs the tree under which he lays. From the highest point of the tree, she can see the whole gathering. There are more creatures than before. Dancers and drummers now fill the area, and bystanders groan to the rhythms of the drums and the dancing. The dancing is almost beautiful and the rhythm almost lovely to listen to, but the way they deviate from a celebration of fellowship—that the rhythms and the movements were originally designed for—to a celebration of all that is vicious and cruel, makes it abhorrent. Even worse, the drumbeat is a manipulative sound that grabs hold of Pixie’s heart and begins to pump its own beat. She has a sudden fear that the beating will carry her down the tree and take her up in a dance with the others. She shakes away the thought, knowing that nothing could force her into celebrating such evil.

She then notices in the back of the gathering that a group of servants are pulling in large thin pieces of material that spread out stiffly, like large fans. Pixie realizes that they are large fans. This is what Cellu described. The creatures begin to climb the trees directly behind the cauldron, pulling the fans with them, and the cauldron begins to boil.

It’s beginning, Pixie thinks. She climbs down the tree to the sleeping cyclops and watches him for a moment as an idea forms.

“And what are your plans?” she asks, hissing quietly. The cyclops snorts at her question and is silent. Pixie leans in closer and asks again. “What are your plans?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He finally answers. His breath smells like rotten poultry—a smell that Pixie has never encountered before. She turns her head quickly as she gags.

“Oh, I already know,” Pixie says, turning back to him “but I’m not sure if you know. You’ve been lied to.”

He laughs. “Lie, they wouldn’t dare lie to me, I would bite their ugly heads off!”

“Oh, but they are lying to you,” Pixie says, letting her words roll into his ears. “The spell is going to fall over you, too. They want you out.”

A quiet growl starts from deep in his throat. “They wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, but they do dare. You know how they fear you. You are the strongest and the fiercest. They want you out.” The cyclops is silent in his sleep, as though listening. Pixie continues, “You need a plan. What’ll you do to keep the spell from harming you?”

“It’s impossible! Someone would have to volunteer to sacrifice themself. They’d have to willingly take all the spell onto themselves; it’s a fate worse than death! No one would do that!”

“I know someone who’ll do it. Is that all that’s necessary?”

“You couldn’t possibly, no one would agree to it. Even if you tricked them into it, they wouldn’t be able to withstand the torment, the moment they relent it’s all over.”

“Is that all that’s needed?”

“Everyone else in the spell’s path has to accept the sacrifice in order to be protected. That’s the easy part, but no one’ll…”

Pixie is gone before he finishes his sentence. She moves quickly back to the Huldu village.

The cyclops snaps his eyes open after a moment of paralyzing fear. He remembers the voice that spoke to him in his sleep and assumes it was an omen. He gets up and runs into the middle of the enchanters’ circle and begins to yell with rage. The drumming stops for a moment, then continues. The eyes of those who dance, and drum, and chant are directly on the angry cyclops, and their mouths curve into smiles. The enchanters continue to stir in wide circular motions without taking any notice of the cyclops.

You think you can betray me! I have friends that are higher than any of you! They told me your plans! You’re scum, you’re filthy nothings! You’ll all bow down to me!” One of the enchanters stretches a hand toward the cyclops, twirls its fingers then pulls them into a fist, and the cyclops drops to the ground, paralyzed. The enchanter carries on its circular movement. And the rest continue to smile.