Lost Hope Page 11

  Juice stepped forward, reached out to help her up, but I pulled him back and said, “You can’t do anything. This isn’t real. Just a memory. Sasha projecting her past. Maybe it’s a ghost memory, here for anyone to see that’s connected to her. I’m not sure, but we can’t get involved.”

  “But we should try,” he said, and he reached out and tried to grab Sasha. His hand went right through her, and nobody paid him the slightest mind because this wasn’t happening now, it was ancient history playing out, maybe for all eternity.

  Juice stepped back and we watched the terrible tableaux unfold.

  A Clue, At a Price

  “This is messed up,” whispered Juice.

  I knew how he felt, I was just surprised he felt anything. “It is,” I said, sickened by the sight. Juice was such a mass of contradictions. He clearly had a caring side, but was mostly weak and like a child, yet he thought nothing of killing people in the most inhumane of ways then feeding their brains to his cat. It was hard to reconcile his many personalities, and it was easy to forget that he was dangerous if given the chance. I reminded myself to be careful. He was not to be trusted, no matter that Sasha’s degradation affected him deeply.

  Sound had gone from the scene, and I was grateful for it. It still made for terrible watching. The man, I presumed her father, towered over Sasha, ranting and raving, gesticulating wildly, pointing off into the distance. He grabbed her, lifted her easily from the ground, and shook her like she was a doll.

  Sasha cried and pleaded but didn’t try to stop him or run away to escape her punishment. Her father shouted right into her face, holding her up high, and then he threw her to the ground where she curled up in a ball and whimpered.

  He shouted some more, pointed away again, and she got to her feet reluctantly. Her dress was ripped, her face swollen from the beating, but her eyes were no longer wet. They were dry, and they were hard, and dark, and when Sasha lifted her head to look at her father there was a coldness and an inner fortitude that made me gasp. Her father took a step backward and said something to her crossly.

  Sasha shook her head and he stepped forward, his hand raised.

  But something kept her from showing fear, and she didn’t cower or try to cover herself. She smoothed her dress down then poked a finger through a hole, scowling at the tear. Sasha shouted back at him, seemingly angry more about the dress than anything else. They exchanged violent words and then something changed. Faery dust swirled around Sasha, whipping her hair violently as flowers tumbled away in the breeze, the heads ripped off, the stalks broken.

  Her father screamed but she shook her head, disobeying him, and he swung for her. Sasha lifted her tiny hand and stopped his fist with her palm. He stared at her in disbelief, and as he strained against an impossible strength his face grew red and his eyes vicious. He pulled his hand back, lifted both arms overhead, and muttered something.

  The air turned violent and dark as black clouds formed. Wind ravaged her body, tearing the dress from her, leaving her naked, shivering, and back to being a scared little child. The man moved his arms about, directing the elements, and the wind took on form like dark daggers.

  I could see the rips on her flesh where the air slashed her, and then she spun violently and clutched her side. There was blood, there was pain, and a deep wound. He did it again, and again, and again, in a sickening display of power over a young child.

  Finally, he lowered his hands, and the sky was blue and everything was peaceful. His features calmed as he bent, now the concerned father, and scooped up the battered, broken body of his child in his arms. She whimpered as she clung to him while he carried her away.

  As they departed so the spell was broken. We were left dazed and confused by what we’d seen, and I don’t know about Juice, but I couldn’t quite believe any father could act in such a way to any beautiful, innocent creature, let alone his own flesh and blood. Fae were more like us humans after all.

  “I’m gonna kill that guy,” growled Juice as he dried his eyes and sat on the crushed flowers.

  I joined him, cleaned myself up, then said, “You can’t. She already killed him.”

  Telling Tales

  “What are you on about?”

  “Sasha killed her father a very, and I mean very, long time ago.”

  “That was him, right?”

  “I guess. I don’t know the whole story, I don’t know half of it probably, but Sasha told me as much as she wanted to. She killed him.”

  “What’s the story?” asked Juice, keen to hear the gory details of how such a man was killed. And I guess he could relate, as killing family was about the only thing these two had in common. Sasha was a beautiful person inside and out, hard too, and I loved her. Juice, not so much.

  “I can’t tell you. She told me in confidence, after I saved her.”

  “You saved Sasha?”

  “Yes, and that was a long time ago too, but she was already very old by then. What we just saw, it must have been hundreds, maybe thousands of years ago. Sasha is an old faery, very powerful, one of the top ones. She’s respected, important, and dangerous. She makes her own rules, and lives by them, and you do not fuck with her. Which is why this is all so weird. Sure, she’s sexy as hell, and in our world she’s mesmerizing, but here, in Faery, she’s terrifying. At least, haha, so she tells me.”

  “Ah, come on, man, tell me the story. How’d you save her then? How’d she get captured? How’d she kill her old man?”

  “It’s private. I made a promise. She told me things about her past when I freed her, private things.”

  “I could make you tell me.”

  “Juice, don’t threaten me. I don’t like it. But let me give you one important lesson about me, about The Hat. Just so we know where we stand. If you were the most powerful person alive, if you were Death or the Devil himself, and you did despicable things to me, flayed me alive and made me eat my own ears, did whatever you wanted to me, I would never, ever, betray a confidence. I would not tell you what I promised to keep private. Ever. I would kill myself long before I was made to talk. I would rather die than betray a friend. Do you understand me?”

  Juice nodded. He understood. “So what now?” he asked.

  “Now we follow the only clue we have. We’re stuck in Faery, with no way of getting home, so we follow the fae.”

  “Huh?”

  I wiped my eyes again and got up. “The way the man was pointing, over there. We follow them, go to Sasha’s home. That’s where she is. That’s what this is all about. She’s been reaching out, trying to find a way to show me where she is. Well, she’s managed it, so now we go get her.”

  “What, now?” he asked, looking worried.

  “No, not right now. First I gotta pee.” So that’s what I did.

  Then we went to rescue my faery godmother. As expected, it was nothing that I could have imagined.

  A Long Short Walk

  Juice pestered me with questions, lagging behind like an old dog, but I told him nothing. It wasn’t my place to do so. I craved solitude, for him to not be here, but I was lumbered. I thought about killing him again, but decided against it even though it would have made life easier. There were still things to face back home that needed him alive, although I was sorely tempted.

  I thought about the noose still in my kitchen, which was a terrible oversight, but then recalled I’d pocketed it and taken it with me. I fumbled about and there it was, curled up tight in my jacket, feeling weightless and somehow having shrunk. Nothing as confusing as magic at times.

  We followed a trail for a while, broken flower stems, until there was no sign of their passing. I kept us going in a relatively straight line, not knowing if that was correct or not but certain I didn’t want to be traipsing around in circles for eternity.

  I glanced up only to see a faint shape in the distance rising above the land as it angled up a gentle rise. It shimmered like a mirage, palest pink against the pure sky. Tall spires and crenelated walls looking like a c
astle right out of a faery tale. Guess it was apt.

  With renewed vigor, we changed course and headed straight for it. It couldn’t be far, a few miles at most, so I picked up the pace, taking long strides, keeping an even pace, determined to get there as fast as possible without exhausting myself.

  I should have known better. We walked for hours, the castle receding until I wasn’t sure if I could see it at all or if my mind was playing tricks on me. Light clouds formed, merging land and air, until I didn’t know if I was heading to the castle or into the sky.

  On we went, hour after hour, the weather a perfect balmy day, but it was growing darker even though there was no actual sign of a sun, just shadow from an invisible light source.

  Then it was night, and we had to rest. I wanted to continue, even had the energy buoyed by my determination, but without the castle to see, I knew it was foolish. So we sank down onto soft earth and just to avoid talking to Juice I told him I was going to sleep and he should do the same. He grumbled and moaned, but in a halfhearted way. He was enjoying himself, having the adventure he craved.

  I lay there for hours listening to the sounds of Faery, a place I’d never spent much time in before. I wondered how George was, if she was okay, and I made a promise to my absent loved ones.

  Come morning I would find them, and somebody would pay for this. Pay dearly.

  Reminiscing

  I couldn’t sleep.

  My insomnia took hold once more, making me yearn for the mini-death that is sleep. I wasn’t surprised by my alertness; being in the Nolands does that to a guy. Surprisingly, it didn’t seem to bother Juice. His snoring was testament to his utter idiocy, because if he had an ounce of sense he would have been quivering and darting nefarious glances every which way. It was annoying, bordering on infuriating. Not only was the noise horrendous, but it simply wasn’t fair. How come he got to sleep and I didn’t?

  Inevitably, my thoughts turned to Sasha and our history. I’d rescued her, and then we’d spent the night talking, sharing our secrets. Our bond was instant and deeper than any I’d had before. I told her things I’d dared not tell another living soul, some so shameful I refuse to think of them even now, and she likewise, both of us surprised by the intimacy.

  Sasha told me many things about herself, most of it private, some of it common knowledge and tales I’m able to share. As I lay in the dark, I thought of the terrible tragedies that had happened in her life, and I thought of some of the good too. I thought of her past, I thought of her upbringing, and her escape from the clutches of a powerful fae father.

  As I’d just seen, but already knew, and you don’t know the half of it and never will, her father was a powerful man in Faery, and had a temper to go along with it. He ruled over a large swathe of an ever-shifting continent, with many subjects under his rule. Fae politics and governments are complex, impossibly so, and it isn’t as simple as someone being in charge, but whichever way you looked at it, he was the main man.

  He kept peace and order. Punishment for transgressions was swift and extreme, something many fae appreciated. They saw much in terms of black or white, right or wrong according to their laws and ways, and they liked the order her father brought. It had been like that for an age, as long as anyone could remember.

  They lived in a big castle, not that many fae lived anywhere but in extreme comfort. There was no money as such, no shortage of space or materials, so there were plenty of buildings much more fanciful, limited only by the imagination of the occupant, but Sasha’s home was well-regarded nonetheless. Her mother was a meek woman, dominated by the man of the house. He tried to do the same to Sasha, expected her to be subservient like her mother. If you knew Sasha, you’d know that was never going to happen.

  As she grew, and became more powerful, his need to dominate became ever more extreme, trying to mold her into something she would never be. Every punishment drove a wedge deeper between them, until they became like strangers, him growing bitter and resentful, her blooming into a beautiful, intoxicating even by fae standards, and powerful faery.

  He hated it, devised terrible punishments, tricked her into doing things that left her humiliated, shamed, her heart broken, and so much more besides. But he couldn’t break her, and he never would. Nobody could, and this is why I love her so much.

  One day it all came to a head. She had been seeing a man, a handsome dude she’d fallen for big time. They were to be wed, a large ceremony prepared with all the bigwigs invited. Against her better judgment, she conceded to allow her father to give her away. It would have been hard to refuse, and her mother had begged her. And besides, once wed she would be free of her father, given her own territory, her own home. She could finally live her life, have children, and be done with him.

  Finally the big day arrived. She was happier than she’d ever been, partly because she loved her husband-to-be, partly because it was her chance to be rid of her father.

  He was buoyant, excited, and she was pleased to see a side of him that had faded long ago, eaten away by bitterness and cruelty. He led her from the castle into the field I now lay in, a place that held bad memories for her, and there awaited all the important, and not so important, fae from hundreds of miles around.

  Traditions were followed, gifts exchanged, trinkets to show their love and devotion. Before they were wed, her father stepped forward and announced that he had a spectacular gift for her husband. He was smiling, and so was the man beside her. It made Sasha happy.

  Everyone clapped as a chest was brought forward and her father opened it with a flourish. The guests gasped at the contents. It wasn’t money, but it contained numerous magical artifacts, beautiful jewelry, and riches beyond compare.

  Sasha was overwhelmed; she couldn’t believe her father’s generosity.

  And then the bottom fell out of her world.

  “Of course, you will never get to see these things again,” he said as he turned to his daughter and smiled. The happiness was gone, replaced with a sinister glee.

  Sasha didn’t understand, and said so.

  “Why, my dear, this is to teach you a lesson. You chose this man against my will, ignoring the suitors I presented you. You know our ways, how children must listen to the patriarch, how I have always had your best interests at heart.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  The guests grumbled and whispered. They knew he was a mean, cruel man, but believed he loved his daughter.

  “This man is merely someone I paid to see how fickle a child you really are. Love! Ha. That is for the weak. Fae respect tradition and form bonds with other families. We do not pick up strangers and decide to marry them. No, this is his payment for services rendered, for teaching you this valuable lesson.”

  The guests were silent as Sasha turned from her father to the man she was about to marry.

  “Is this true?” she asked him.

  “I’m so, so sorry. I do love you, have grown to love you, but yes, it’s true. I was to be paid to make you fall in love with me, to want to marry me.”

  Sasha could still have forgiven him, even after such a deception. So she asked, “And now? Do you want to marry me, or do you want what my father offers?”

  The crowd gasped as he bent his knee and took her hand, his head bowed. He shook, then raised his head to meet her gaze. “I let your father go through with this charade to teach not you, but him, a lesson. Sasha, I love you and will be your husband. No amount of riches could make me decide otherwise. Your father is a monster, would cheat and deceive his own daughter, but he has lost. We will go away and never return. Your mother will come with us and he will be alone. Everyone sees him now for what he is.”

  Sasha was joyous. From utter horror at what her father had done, she was happy, believed him. Wanted it. Her father’s trickery had backfired. Her lover had used the deceit to teach him a lesson.

  Her future husband stood and they held hands as they turned to face her father.

  But it was too late.
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  Sasha was too slow to stop it, and a faery blade, long and sharp, slit the throat of the man beside her. He bled to death before her eyes. It was the most heinous of crimes, as fae did not kill one another. To take a life that was otherwise nigh on immortal was the worst act imaginable.

  Sasha was lost to madness and a rage born of years of abuse culminating in such a cruel trick and now the murder of the man she loved.

  Without thinking, Sasha was consumed by her own magic and tore her father to pieces in front of everyone. His body was ripped to shreds and then she burned him to ashes, stomped on the dust. Finally, she sat and wept.

  Life after that was calmer. There was no more fear in the castle, and she took what had been her father’s and kept it for her own. Land, riches, all of it, but she had numerous men and women killed for the part they had played in her father’s cruelty, and many more were banished.

  What remained was stable and peaceful, and those who lived in her land respected her, something her father had never had.

  All of that was a long time ago. She was just a young woman blooming with the first blush of true adulthood, and yet the stories remained even at this time. Everyone knew Sasha, knew her strength, her power, and the story of how she won the hearts of so many was never forgotten.

  She never forgot either, and neither did I. There was much worse, so many things, but this tale was a reminder that I loved this woman and would not let her down.

  She was here. In the castle she’d been born in, grown up in, lived in for so much time it bore little meaning to humans. She was home, and I was coming to visit.

  “Wake up,” I said. “It’s time to go.”

  A Reality Check

  Several hours into our early morning walk, with Juice’s incessant chatter making me reconsider my stance on not murdering him, he asked a very important question. One I hadn’t considered.

  “Is this real?”

  “How’d you mean?”

  “I mean, is this real?”