Lessoc Fountain - a fairy-creature tale

Ch. 32 Dark Places

Pressed against the cliff that hemmed in one side of the path, Cocot counted her heartbeats. Every jagged point and gouged dip digging in her back mocked her. The rocks had all the time in the world.

She adjusted the canvas satchel strapped across her chest that held the extinguished lantern, Hector's tincture, a kitchen knife and the last bottle from Lessoc. She had forgotten her jacket, but she felt no cold. Nothing was cold to her now that Jean-Baptist had touched her neck and cheek.

Her lips reached twenty, but her legs had melded into the stone and could no longer move.

Twenty, Poppy, go!

She sprinted forward, running on her toes as light and fast as she could. The key was in her hand, sweat making her grip slippery. The violin called her on mournfully, accompanied by a quick drum. The music grew louder and faster until she reached the spot where the door was hidden.

She ripped at the vines, whispered the charm and fit the key in the lock at the same time. She twisted the key. Turned the handle. Pushed.

The door gave way and she was in the dark hallway. She shut the door quietly, wondering if she should lock it or not. It wouldn't stop the passage keeper either way. She ran backwards a few steps to see if the witch came. When nothing happened, she turned to dash full tilt to the throne hall.

Soufflé had told her to run and find Wenslar—somehow—and to not stop running. The winding corridor brightened. She slowed and finally crawled the last few feet.

The fairies were dancing, split into a dozen groups all performing the same steps. Cocot could not see either the king on the throne or Wenslar amidst the swirling mass of revelers.

She gathered her courage with a deep breath and ducked sideways behind one of the hanging tapestries. There was not much space between it and the wall, and it billowed out when she moved. The dancers didn't notice; they were too wrapped up in themselves and the intricate steps of their round.

She peeked out from the other side. Still no Wenslar. Perhaps he stood near the king at the far end of the hall. He could be anywhere. Could she try to talk to the king and make him understand? The night she first came, he had said that he wanted to keep her near him.

No. She couldn't trust him. Her mother had hidden from the king, kept the bottle of evil from his reach.

She had to find her cousin. Stooping low, she dashed to the next tapestry.

A crescendo swelled and the fairies applauded. The song was quickly replaced by another. A guard came her way, from the direction of the Fountain Passage. She pressed flat against the wall, hoping he was simply walking as usual. He continued past the tapestry, deeper into the hall towards the throne. She watched as he beckoned to one of the dancers in a group.

It was Wenslar. Her cousin listened to the guard whisper in his ear and then they walked together back towards the Fountain Passage. They went right by Cocot.

She tiptoed sideways behind the tapestry and when Wenslar appeared on the far side, she reached out to grab his loose sleeve. One quick tug and then she crammed herself in the shadows.

Wenslar turned, confused.

As the music flowed, the dancers whirled, enchanted with their graceful movements. They were spectators of their own marvelous spectacle. Wenslar scanned the wall and the tapestry. It took him a second to focus on Cocot staring up at him from the shadows.

The guard turned, annoyed. The dancers clapped in rhythm, hands high in the air. The guard was returning, curious as to what Wenslar found so interesting. Her cousin pivoted, placing his body in front of the narrow space where Cocot crouched. He spoke sharply to the guard, but his words were lost in the loud music.