Broken Wings and Wicked Things

Hell can be found between two moments. Entire lifetimes are lived, destinies are decided, worlds are built and destroyed, life is given and taken just as quickly. Between these points, no matter how short or long they may be, the fates decide what the next will bring. Nothing stops fate or her cruel touch. And she walked today through the fields of Elphame, just as she had down the streets of Whitwick, looking for me. Like the last time she reminded me of her incredible power, I would crumple under her weight again. She walked slowly while I enjoyed little slivers of peace in a world made for war. She was like that, slapping her surprise across your face just as you got comfortable. Her claws would dig at my insides like choices not yet made—and regret for those yet to come. That’s what happened when you ignored the inevitable. It needled you until you bled to death from the holes of ignorance.

It was not bliss—ignorance. It was a punishing and cruel death. It was suffering and looking back, seeing where it all went wrong and knowing you could have prevented it from happening had you acted sooner. It was foolish hope that the inevitable would spare you. Win or lose, there was nothing blissful about willful blindness.

There were few cast-iron certainties in Elphame. But one thing I knew for sure was that nothing lasted forever—not war and not peace, not life—and for some of us, not even death. Nevertheless, we still tried to hold on to the good bits for as long as we could. We each held a death grip on the moments that brought us a brief respite from the calamity that is Elphame, however fleeting they may be. It was worth the struggle to hold on. In those instances, between heaven and hell, we found reasons to get back up, to keep pushing forward, to look death in the eyes and hold on for dear life. We found the courage to stand on the frontlines, shoulder to shoulder with those we love, and motion for our enemies to take their best shot.

And that’s what fate brought our way again—enemies to face and trials to overcome. It would not be Elphame if we weren’t preparing for another war. We had not heard the last from the mortal world. With each passing day, we risked more to a realm we knew would make a final stand against us. Although I was born in Whitwick Gates, it was no longer my home. Where I’d once felt conflicted and tried to protect my people to my death, I was no longer torn between realms. I wouldn’t risk my life for those who cared nothing for me, who treated me like I was just another one of the monsters. I’d tried to save them and had been chased away with the rest of the Fae. I would not willingly bleed for them again.

The oath between man and Fae was gone, thrown away by the mortals, and I feared the results would be devastating for us all. The cost would be felt across both realms, because no one escapes the price we pay. No one is free from the suffering of war, no matter which side of the field you stand on. Like fate, war was a bitch and spared no one the grief of his touch. The graves would be dug by us all. Some would die, and some would only wish for the sweet mercy of death. Memories had that way about them, when it was all said and done, to make you regret not dying with the others rather than live with what you did to survive. I was walking proof of that.

This time, though, we’d be prepared. We wouldn’t leave it to chance or to fate. It would be a bloodbath if we waited on Whitwick to make their first move. If the mortal world stepped through the Gate, those who didn’t wither away from Fae sickness would be slaughtered. There would be no more warnings. Whatever man decided to do, we’d be ready for it. Solas wasn’t one to gamble, especially not where I was concerned. I had been the target too many times for him to sit idly by and wait on others to decide on war. He wanted plans over plans, because he didn’t win every war by waiting for the other side to choose whether standing toe to toe with him was a risk worth taking. Swift and merciless decisions won wars, not hesitation or clemency.

Blood and Bones stood before me, and it took my breath away. It didn’t matter how many times I had seen the wall surrounding the original court of Elphame. I was still taken aback by the clotted and macabre appearance of it. Centuries of spilled blood stained the walls, darkening over the years to something almost black and utterly revolting. As far as the eye could see, a dark obsidian wall flanked the border. The sight of it was enough of a warning to make all who came here rethink their life choices and turn around. It looked like it had been carved from a mountain, encircling the court from all sides. Not many had been inside the original court, and most who had attempted it under the rule of a dead woman, Solene, were what created the walkway into the once-upon-a-time hell of Elphame.

The first time I had stepped beyond the wall in search of answers, the dried blood had flaked off under my touch. I could hear the sound of it peeling away like a crusted leaf underfoot. It had made my skin crawl and my mind conjure images of my death. The memory of it had the same effect.

We walked up the crushed bone path, through the skeletons and long-rotted parts, to the notorious wall. The bones crunched under my boots, and it took everything I had not to vomit. Like the last time, the sound reminded me of my first day in Elphame and the pathway into the Golden Court. I’d never liked this place when I’d first come—but I liked it even less now. I had almost died when I had been in the basement of Blood and Bones, the day I’d come for a knife to kill the Caller of Crows. I had been stabbed, saved three Aos Si prisoners and waged a war I wasn’t ready for. Here’s hoping this visit wouldn’t be like my last. I wasn’t holding my breath, however. Nothing surprised me in Elphame.

For Solas and Zephyr, coming to Blood and Bones was like going home to their childhood. Neither looked bothered by the sights. Their boots crunched the bones to dust and fazed them none. But they were war and nightmares. Walking on the backs of the dead was not unusual for the two men who were the very reason people were afraid of the dark. Seeing them banter back and forth was unnerving. Their laughter rolling over the bone graveyard was an uncomfortable combination of horror and revelry. It was no different than hearing them laugh on the battlefield. They could ignore the bodies a lot longer than I could have. I was still too new to the world of war. It still bothered me to see it. For me, coming to Blood and Bones was nothing more than memories I didn’t want, of being desperate enough to kill. And each step I took brought fresh emotions of my last trip into the basement of this awful place. But that was what it meant to lead, to win, to protect those weaker. We tainted our souls. We faced our horrors and gave ourselves new nightmares. We were always ready to look into the dark corners of the world, stepping over those in our way and planning the exits before our enemies swallowed us whole.

Within the breeze that swirled the bone dust into little funnels, I could almost hear Seth’s wings in the background, the Gargoyle’s last flight. Seth had died the last time I had come to Blood and Bones. He’d given his life for me to end the Taking of the Crows. The tingling in my thigh grew, and I glanced back once, hoping I’d see the Gargoyles, but they had been gone since the day we’d killed Solas’ sister, Solene. The Gargoyles had taken Seth’s stone body home, wherever that was. It was their custom to place his rocky statue at the gates to their home as a reminder of who died to protect their realm. Every now and again, when my nightmares became too much, I could feel a faint draft from wings I couldn’t see and knew it was him. There had been so many deaths since my arrival in Elphame, but his was one of my greatest regrets. I had been told he’d died a glorious death, but he hadn’t. There was no beauty to be found when a life as great as his was taken. War is ugly. Death is hideous. Everything else is a lie we tell when it hurts too bad to be honest with ourselves.

“Your little pet is following us.” Nix stood on my shoulder, looking behind us. His feet danced side to side as I navigated a path I didn’t want to fall on. The day Seth had died, I had skinned my hands and knees as I was thrown onto the ground. I’d needed to pick shards of bones from my skin for days. The thought of doing it again made my stomach flop and reminded me to be careful of my footing.

“I know. My thigh is tingling. Every time the Sluagh are near, my scar acts up,” I replied. I looked back and watched a small Sluagh making his way over the bone path toward me. “Why is he following me?”

“Because you claimed him,” Solas answered from a few yards ahead of us, his ear always tuned to my voice. “He hasn’t left since you leashed him. The other day, I found him in the library in front of the fireplace.”

“I let him in. It was raining,” I replied.

“He’s not your pet,” Solas called back to me.

“I told him to stay at home.” I flushed. I turned to the creature and motioned for him to pick up his pace. “If you’re coming, hurry up. I don’t like standing around out here. It makes my skin crawl.”

“So eager to be bitten again?” Solas asked and laughed. “Your landing will be worse on these rocks than at home on the grass.”

I winced at the memory and held my ribs. I chanced a look around, and although I couldn’t see the other Sluagh, they’d be wherever Solas was. I could feel them watching me from the shadows of the forest. Their eyes felt like prickly needles along my spine. The small one made his way to me and walked at my side in an awkward shuffle and drag. He walked on his two back legs and used the crook of his wings as his hands. He looked like a bat trying to walk instead of fly. It was both awkward to watch and terrifying to see. Somehow, he looked scarier without the grace found in the sky.

“What’s your name?” I asked, patting the top of his head. His head came up to my ribcage. “I can’t just call you ‘the smaller Sluagh’.”

“Sluagh do not speak, Perdi,” Solas called back and shook his head.

“How do they communicate if they can’t speak?” I asked.

“They follow Solas and communicate in their own ways,” Nix replied. “They aren’t of Elphame, so the rest of us don’t understand them.”

“I shall call you…Milo,” I finally said and smiled. “Yes, that’s a good name.”

“If he were a mortal dog, which he’s not,” Solas called out. “Again, he’s not your pet.”

“But he’s still mine,” I answered.

“Up until you lose your hand,” Solas countered. “And so that you’re aware, you can’t regrow limbs if a Sluagh decides to bite them off. Their wounds can’t be fixed by Elphame magick. Just look at your thigh. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I leaned in closer to Milo. His spicy scent filled my chest and calmed me in ways only monsters could. “You’re mine.”