My hands trembled as I lifted and swallowed in one gulp a small glass of the fortifying spirits Baba Yaga kept in the back of her icebox. I let the strong flavor of anise sear my throat, praying it would settle the frantic racing of my heart. Then I poured a second glass. This time I drank more slowly, sipping the fiery brew until my belly was warm and my pulse had slowed. I had not thought to see him out here in the mortal realm. And yet there he was, his cadaverous face reflected in the window of a shop as he strolled down the street. I watched, half hidden in a doorway, as people instinctively avoided him, leaning away as he passed by, as if he were a harsh wind. Or perhaps it was the carrion reek that emanated from his withered skin. Glamour can hide most terrifying things, but not the stench of decay.
I hurried home, frightened and perplexed. For what reason could Red Cap have come here? To this city? To any human city before the turn of the season? I could not help but sense the world unraveling at the borders. The Greenwood was far away, and yet, I could hear the echo of its dissatisfaction even here. My fey bones beneath the mounded flesh felt a tremor in the joints as power shifted from one hand to another. Red Cap abroad in the streets! It was the worst of many signs I had been noticing for almost a week now.
The only comfort I had was the grass green envelope in my hand that carried a new letter from my sister. I prayed for her words to bind me to the earth. As I read the letter, my eyes grew wider, my hands more steady. “We have been dropped into this cesspit for a reason,” she wrote, and with that sentence, she had given me hope that all the pieces of this unruly game of power were not yet in play. Mayhap a few still waited, hidden and quiet, while the pawns cleared a space for them on a board growing crowded with treacherous foes. I needed her to know just how treacherous they really were.
My dearest Serana,
As always we are of one mind; even the distance cannot change the concordance of our thoughts. But we tread a muddy path. These wounded birds may have been drawn to us, seeking champions in a game of power. But why us? And where do we seek for truth?
As to the girl—since handing me the bag with mandrake roots and seeing my displeasure, she has been reluctant to approach again. When I work in the garden she is a slender shadow leaning against the railing of her balcony. Sometimes I catch the sharp reek of her tobacco and sometimes the animal musk of fear. How can she possibly confront those fears with that mark on her neck? She is searching for an answer without knowing the question. As we surely do, sister, as we surely do.
It rained today, and under the shelter of an umbrella I ventured out to the street where the students gather in shops drinking bitter brews. Tucked between the shops are “parlors” where some of the children are changed into walking spells. Their ignorance astounds me. How little they realize the spells of undoing and confusion they allow to be inscribed upon their arms, their shoulders, their legs, bellies, necks. I saw a boy with wings etched on his back—did he know that he has damned himself seven years to be tortured as a bird lost in a wood? Yes, I saw a few with blessed spirals, may their lives be always turning toward the mysteries, but most were dull and stupid, a heart that will always be broken, a butterfly for a short and meaningless life, a snake that devours the will, and barbed wire, proclaiming a life of pinpricked sorrows.
But now I must reach for the courage to tell you what near-crossed my path. Hold steady your hand upon the letter and pray that it will not flame up at the mere writing of his name. From across the street, this very afternoon, I saw a monster entering the door of one of these parlors. The hand that turned the knob was black and clawed, thorns breaking the skin at the knuckles. Yes, you know that hand, for have we not always feared it? While at court, kept ourselves well clear of its vicious cuff? He sniffed and I pressed my bulk into another doorway, terrified of his gnarled face. There was a glamour of course, a mask that hid the rotted wood of his flesh. But he wore the glamour badly and I saw him clearly even though others did not.
Who summons Red Cap to the game before Solstice? Has the Queen struck a bargain with this servant of the Dark Lord? Or has he all on his own crept out of his hole to caper in the light of the human city? How has he the strength to do it? And why?
I thought I had some measure of courage and yet now I tremble to the very marrow of my bones.
What say you, Serana? Are we two strong enough to push back this darkness? Or is it beyond our strength? I suspect we should run off screaming, but now there are children clinging to us so I know your answer already. We will remain.
Have you any sense, dear sister, of what is afoot?
More precious to me you are than
ever before,
Meteora