The Faery Keepers (8 page)

             
After a long while, we stop again. The sound of some sort of door opening fills my ears. I’m lowered to the ground and then the slam of that same door echoes through my head. As soon as I touch the dirt I can see again. Everything is foggy at first. Like waking up after a long sleep. When things come into focus I look around me. I’m in a small room. The walls are solid wood; one of them has a door with a small window at the top, well above my height, that’s barred with red thorned brambles that look dangerous to the touch. There’s a cot along one wall. The thin mattress looks like it’s filled with straw. A brown heavy looking blanket is thrown across the foot of it. A candelabra is mounted in one wall, made of tree roots. White wax drips down it to the floor and the tapered candles it holds are alight, casting a warm glow around an otherwise cold room. I shiver uncontrollably, taking the blanket from the bed. It’s wool and very scratchy on my skin, but I don’t care.

             
I have no clue where Maggie is. This worries me more than anything at the moment. Why would they separate us?  Were we really that dangerous to them? I hope that she’s in the cell next to mine. I knew that it’s what this is. A cell. A
jail
cell. I try calling out to her. Maybe she can hear me. But all it does is echo around the room and apparently there’s a guard outside my door because they pound on it and tell me to shut it.

             
I realize th
en that I’m crying. More for the fact I’m frustrated because
the situation is hopeless than anything. What were we supposed to do? Crawl out of a hole we carve in the wall? Even then we’d have more of a chance of getting caught in the maze of the tree than escaping with our lives.  Besides, who knew how thick it was. I
am not
about to find out, either.

             
Since apparently I will get yelled at every time I
call
out, I sit back down on my mattress. All there is to do is wait, or at least that's all my mind can come up with to do. Maybe I will get lucky and Derek will come to his sen
ses and join our side. I snort at my own sarcasm
. Like that was
ever
going to happen. So I might as well forget about it. Move on to the next problem.

             
My mom.

             
Isn’t
she
going to
notice
that
I
’m
missing? She
is
, in fact, at work right now but what about wh
en she comes home tonight? She’ll freak out. She’ll
call the police or even something worse.

I c
an
guarantee that the police won’t know to look inside an apple tree. Maybe the apple orchard, but not the apple tree. Do you know how crazy that sounds?
             

             
I
am
too worked up too sleep, or else I probably would have. Not that this mat
tress is particularly comfortable
or that I
am
particularly tired, just for something to
do.
Crying d
oes
n’t count either. I
have
probably cried enough to fill up a small lake by now.

             
I hear footsteps coming from the hall in the next minute.
Maggie?
I think as
I start to get up.
Derek?
I then think, starting to shrink back. Maybe if I pretend to be asleep he’ll leave me alone.

             
I do exactly that, lay down and close my eyes.  I wish for the best as I listen to whoever it is advance. I hear sobbing, loud and heart wrenching. Anguished wails join in and I
know
I don’t know how I just do, that it’s Maggie

             
My heart races in my chest, blood pounding frantically in my ears.
What did they do to her?

             
A door close
to mine slams shut but I can still hear muffled cries.
Maggie never cries.

             
I want to scream until I have no voice left. I want to break down the stupid wall and go to her, comfort her, tell her every things going to be okay even though I know it
probably
won’t be. Can’t be ever again. I want out. I don’t care how many
stupid
Faery lives I take with me. They can burn in hell for all I care.

             
I pace around my allotted space, fuming, for about five seconds before my door swings open. In walks in two guards, one with silver hair braided down his back, a very angular set face, and a limp in his pace. The other has a sable brown mane to his shoulders, is slightly shorter and bulkier then the first, his face pinched in disgust. Their beady eyes dart around to find me flattened to the wall that holds the only light source in the room. I make a split second decision.

             
I knock the candles off their holder. They clatter to the floor with some difficulty,
after
the wax that cements them down cracks loose. The flames gutter out and we’re cast into pitch black darkness.

             
“Nice try, child.” One of them grumbles. “You have only hindered yourself.”

             
Two pairs of hands grip my arms painfully. I gave a yelp of surprise and flinch back
from
them. It’s useless though. How far can one possibly get when backed up against the wall while trapped inside a cell
inside
a ginormous tree? Escape was improbable, and having them there just made the though a reality. My spirits plummet and the fight drains out of me.

             
I must have slumped in their grasp because their hands loosened some and they marched me out of the room. I refuse to think
of it
as mine.

             
If you think they are going to walk me along without hiding where I’m at or where I’m going, you clearly haven’t been paying attention. Or you haven’t been in any hostage situations. You’re lucky.

             
I hear the door slam shut behind us, can feel my legs walking as I’m being towed along, I c
an even feel the warmth that has
to be more candles as we pass. But can I see? Of
course
not, it’s like I haven’t even left the room.





             
When my sight is given back to me what I see isn’t all that beneficial to my plans of escape.
             
I’m in a large room. Restraints have been fastened on my wrists, tying them securely together. Judging by the elaborate crown upon her brow, the Queen sits at a long wooden table at the head of the room
. She has red
hair, braided through with bluish vines. She looks to be about twenty in human years, undoubtedly beautiful if you like the exotic type I suppose. She wears a long floor length gown that’s a purple wine-like color, the bodice of which is made entirely of white chrysanthemums. Its skirt shimmers in the firelight of at least a dozen candelabras mounted at intervals around the walls. Her wings are fanned out behind her, bigger than any other
Faeries
I’ve seen so far. They don’t look like the other
Faeries
either, rainbow colors glistening in the light like an oil slick. They are completely clear veined through with shining gold swirls and spirals that look exactly like metal but far more delicate.
             
“Bow before Queen Chrysantha,” the guards hiss. Before I can make a voluntary movement I feel my spine bend in an unruly bow that has me bent double. I give a gasp of pain as my face nearly cracks on the floor.
             
They snicker beside me, clearly enjoying this.
             
I straighten.
             
The Queen scrutinizes me with her extremely light green eyes. So light they’re barely distinguishable in her pale face. Her crimson lips quirk in a leer.

             
“Tell me child, what did you do to Miruna.”

             
“I—What?” I stutter, caught off guard.

             
“Miruna. You attempted to murder her then brought her here in hop
e
you could get to me, did you not?”

             
“
NO!
” I exclaim. “I would
never
kill her.”

             
“Perhaps. But you do not deny that you do not want to kill me. Did Miruna persuade you to kill me, child? Did she promise you that you would have extraordinary abilities once you dethroned me? Speak, child.”

             
“I honestly have no idea what you are going on about.”

             
“Of course. I am sorry, but I do not believe you. Humans have the luxury of lying. We do not.”
             
“Then how can you accuse me of killing Miruna and taking your crown when
it’s not true
, you lying old bat,” I hiss.

             
Her eyes become cold. “I am not lying you ignorant little snit. Leave us,” she commands the two guards. They back out of the room bent in respectful bows, their wings flutter upon their backs. I swear
they’re
smirking.

             
“Now, you are going to tell me what you have done. If Miruna spelled you into doing this she will be dealt with accordingly. If you act on your own volition . . . well I am afraid the consequences are dire.”

             
“I didn’t do anything!” I scream. “Can’t you see that? We were
helping
her! Caesleanyx found us and knew we could see you. She was dying when we got there! If we hadn’t helped she would have
died
!”

             
“How
dare
you! Caesleanyx is a traitor, a fiend. How dare you raise your voice at me! I am the
Queen
.” Her already high pitch voice sho
o
t
s
up a few octaves on the word
queen
. “Tell the truth! How can you see us?”

             
“I don’t know,” I say.  Frustrated tears roll down my cheeks.

             
“You lie!” she trills.

             
I see a scene unfold before my eyes that is definitely not the brightly lit room before me.

             
I see a dark street with a man walking down the sidewalk. Street lights cast pools of orange-yellow light every so often. When he steps under one I recognize him immediately from a picture my mother used to keep on her dresser.

             
My father.

             
How is this possible?
He died
before I was born.

             
The surroundings aren’t familiar to me but I see storage buildings and abandoned looking warehouses
with plywood covering most of their windows
. There’s scarcely a car on the street.

             
I see it as if I’m there, walking on the far side of the street from my father but still keeping pace with him.

             
I have no clue where he was going or why he was in a shady neighborhood like this. All I know is that it’s definitely him. His hair is the exact same shade as mine. Until I’d seen the photograph I’d always wondered where I got my flaming red locks from. My mother’s hair is a light brown. I used to joke that maybe I was mixed up in the hospital. My mother didn’t like that all too much. She insisted I look just like my daddy. Now I realize how true that is.

             
A gut wrenching feeling overtakes me and I know what’s about to happen before it does. A figure steps from the shadows at the mouth of an alley between two buildings. Their face is in the dark but it’s a man. The irony of that fact doesn’t escape me. My father doesn’t notice the man and keeps walking.

             
He doesn’t know that the other man is catching up to him.

             
He doesn’t see the stranger pull a glinting switchblade from his pocket.

             
He doesn’t hear him gaining on him, brandishing the blade.

             
He does feel the blade as it’s plunged into his back, piercing straight through his heart.

             
My father gives a garbled cry of pain and surprise, his mouth gaping open in an
o
.

             
Blood stains the back of his jacket, growing larger by the second.