Lessoc Fountain - a fairy-creature tale

Ch. 33 Darker Places

Cocot gulped air. Time leapt forward.

The skitter of broken glass sliced the silence. The corked and pine sap top of the bottle bounced to Cocot's feet. The jagged edges of the glass smoked. She kicked it away.

One of the guards screamed in pure agony. And another.

The witch laughed with joy. "To me!"

The evil's beauty was breathtaking. Even as Cocot crawled backwards, scraping at the stones to get away, what she wanted to do was stop and let its crystalline purity shred her heart to ribbons.

Like a stain, the purple-black sand blew across the stones in sinuous, glowing lines. It billowed up in scintillating clouds to cover the fairies. Each one that was overtaken contorted in pain and fell to the floor. The living darkness was spreading across the hall in streaks and waves.

Great fairies panicked and ran for the D'Enhaut Gate—the largest escape route that lay opposite the Fountain Passage. There were too many of them, though. They cried out in terror, blocked by the mass of bodies pushing to get through. The ones on the edge were enveloped in the dark sand and warped into hideous copies of themselves.

Cocot scrambled away from the streaming black dust reaching for her. The lantern! She pulled it from the bag, sobbing when she remembered the fire was dead.

The guards and any fairies with weapons stood their ground. They surrounded the witch, trying to strike her down before the evil consumed them.

The magician shouted commands at her plant creature that hung in the air above them. The long vine tentacles snaked in between the fairies to attack Wenslar and the witch.

The witch barked a mocking laugh. As green vines wrapped around her, she called up the evil. It leapt onto the plant creature like a mold, infecting the vines with rot, killing leaves and flowers.

The plant creature convulsed and dropped to the floor. Its decaying vines reached backwards for the magician. Her own magic had turned on her and when it caught her in its black grip, darkness consumed her.

Cocot spun in circles, but she couldn't escape. More fairies were falling only to change and attack each another. Biting, stabbing, clawing and screaming. The torches began to flicker and die.

The king materialized next to her, sword in hand. Nothing of the weak and tired ruler was left; he was tall and fierce. The black dust rolled away wherever he walked.

"It's my fault," she said, and bowed her head in shame. The lantern clanked on the floor when she dropped it.

"No, Poppy, the fault is mine," he said gruffly. He waved his hand over the lantern and the flame sprang to life. "It has always been mine, as coward under the hill."

"Great King of the Fairies of Intyamon and D'Enhaut!" Wenslar stepped forward from the darkness.

The king raised arms, sword out. "Well, black beast? Come and take what you want in this hall!"

Wenslar was a thing of darkness. Hatred burned in his eyes and warped his features. Blood pooled on his hand and arm from his knife and he was splattered with gore. He advanced on the king.

"Yes, Nephew, you have waited long for this moment!" the king said.

Cocot could not bear to watch. The shining black sand crawled over the floor towards her as the king moved away. She grabbed the lantern, waving it back and forth at the encroaching evil. She heard their blades clash, just as she heard the screams and howls of fairies either dying or changing. Young, old, male and female—they were tearing each other apart.