SAKTIMUNA CAME TO herself in a strange place. She was no longer in the familiar warm waters in which she had slept for so many years. The air was dry on her scales.
When she raised herself to look around, she knocked her head against a ceiling. Recoiling, she broke a chandelier. Shards of crystal showered down around her.
Saktimuna lowered her head, hissing, and caught sight of herself in a glass. Scarlet eyes with black vertical slits of pupils gazed back at her. They were set in an elegant spade-shaped head, covered with shining scales of a deep blue-green, the same shade as the sea where it was deepest.
The sight surprised her.
“We are not quite gone yet,” she said aloud. “It is not so bad!”
But after a moment she could not remember why she said this, or to whom it was addressed.
The puzzle did not detain her for long, for now she noticed the only other soul in the room worthy of her attention. For many years Saktimuna had longed to meet her again—had dreamt, as she lay half-slumbering beneath the waves, of setting her teeth in that very neck.
“Sister!” she hissed.
The Queen of the Djinns recoiled. The scent of terror rose from her. She stammered, “It is you! What a cheap trick, to hide from me!”
But then she drew herself up, drawing on bravado like a cloak.
“You need not think you will frighten me,” said the Queen. “I bested you before, when I was little more than an elvet. Now I have ruled over Fairy Within for centuries. Dragons do obeisance to me. Mortals shrivel to dust at my approach! Do you think you pose any challenge?”
Saktimuna said in wonder, “You have not altered in the least.”
Her sister had always been given to showing away, flaunting her powers and demanding the admiration of her friends. Saktimuna had loved her all the more for her frailty, knowing it had its source in her sister’s want of confidence—for their parents had not been kind to those of their children they did not favour.
But love had turned to bitterness long ago.
“It has been so long,” said Saktimuna. The Queen stumbled back as Saktimuna slithered towards her. The floor was cluttered with mortals and furniture, but these were no obstacle to the Serpent. She glided over them, scarcely noticing the mortals’ cries. “I should have thought you would have learnt better by now.”
“How dare you speak to me so?” cried the Queen. “I am the Queen of the Unseen Realms!”
She blasted Saktimuna with a curse, but the Serpent knocked it away. Diverted, the magic showered over the mortals scattered about the room—but they had no cause for complaint, for those that still lived died quickly.
“Not for much longer,” said Saktimuna. She struck.
But Saktimuna’s sister was still capable of surprising her. Even as she lunged, the Queen vanished. In her place was a small brown mouse, which shot across the floor.
The Serpent darted after the mouse, knocking over tables and chairs, rolling over inconsequential bodies. The mouse scuttled into an inconspicuous gap in the wall, and Saktimuna’s jaws closed on air.
Furious, she butted her head against the wall. The house trembled around her.
She would bring it down if necessary. Her sister could not hope to evade her for long.
“Papa?” chirped a small voice.
It was a yellow-haired mortal who spoke. Saktimuna glanced at her without interest before returning to her task. She could hear the mouse scurrying behind the wall, pursued by Saktimuna’s magic but just outpacing it. If it would only stop for a moment, she would have it.
“Try something smaller, my love!” cried the Fairy King. Saktimuna had not seen him before, for he was crouched behind an overturned bureau. “A wood-louse, perhaps. She will not soon find a wood-louse!”
The Queen’s consort would have been wiser to stay silent. It struck Saktimuna that perhaps what she needed was more magic. The best means she knew of gaining more magic was by taking it from others.
The Serpent’s head swung around, her tongue flickering out.
“Do not you dare—!” cried the Fairy King.
It was the last thing he ever said. Saktimuna’s head darted out. She caught the Fairy King between her jaws, lifted him in the air and swallowed him down in three gulps.
“Good heavens!” cried the yellow-haired mortal.
HENRIETTA clapped her hand over her mouth, kicking herself.
But she was too late. The Serpent turned, fixing gleaming reptilian eyes on her. There was not the smallest spark of recognition in their ruby depths.
Henrietta could scarcely believe the destruction the Serpent had wrought during her absence. Bodies were strewn upon the floor—men and women she had known all her life, some of whom would never rise again. Towards the other end of the room lay her father, slumped against the wall. Henrietta could not tell if he was dead or alive.
The air seemed as thick as treacle. Her limbs were heavy with fear, but she forced herself to walk towards the Serpent, clenching her fists to still their trembling.
This was Saktimuna, then—the Fairy Queen’s sister whose stolen heart, locked in the Virtu, had caused so much trouble. And somewhere inside the Serpent was Henrietta’s friend.
Muna would not have wanted to be this great murderous monstress, with beautiful, pitiless eyes. Perhaps she was lost forever; perhaps there was nothing Henrietta could do to bring her back. But Henrietta had to try.
“Muna,” said Henrietta. The name came out on a voiceless croak. She cleared her throat. “Muna!”
IT had been such an age since Saktimuna had last savoured fairy ichor that she had nearly forgotten its effect. It bubbled through her veins like champagne, granting exhilaration, forgetfulness of self—and a glorious infusion of power. To extract her faithless sister from her hiding place would require only a flick of the tip of her tail.
The mortal’s voice was an unwelcome intrusion into a brilliantly coloured world. Yet it would not be ignored. It persisted, as monotonous as the screeching of cicadas in the evening, repeating, “Muna, Muna!”
Saktimuna could silence the voice, but she had no wish to dilute the taste of fairy ichor with mortal blood. She gave a warning hiss, but it did not deter the mortal. Instead, a small cold hand touched her scales.
“Muna!” cried the little voice again. “These people have nothing to do with your quarrel. They don’t deserve that they should suffer for the wrongs done to you.”
It was most irritating. Now that Saktimuna looked at the mortal, she could see that a faint light of magic flickered within its frame. It would not be wholly unprofitable to devour it. She would get the matter over with quickly. Then she could deal with her treacherous sister at her leisure.
Saktimuna dived, but to her astonishment a stinging hex exploded in her face. She reared back, hissing.
FOR a moment Henrietta gaped, stunned by the success of her feint. The spell she had employed was a mere childish cantrip, of the sort Mrs. Daubeney’s young gentlewitches used to hurl at one another when they quarrelled, but it had one advantage she had not calculated on—its novelty. The cantrip was designed to give its target an itch. Evidently Saktimuna had never had an itch in her life, and she did not relish the experience.
The Serpent threw herself into outraged coils, neglectful of the people and furniture she crushed beneath her bulk. Henrietta turned and ran.
“Jade!” howled Saktimuna. “Impudent hussy! You will regret what you have done!”
Henrietta stumbled over a toppled chair, landing heavily on her wrist. The pain startled a cry out of her.
The interruption to her flight was fatal. When she rolled onto her back, she looked up into the Serpent’s glowing red gaze. There was no hope of getting away.
Henrietta shut her eyes.
Because her eyes were closed, Henrietta did not see the brown ball of fur flash across the floor, as the mouse that had been the Fairy Queen chose that moment to make its reappearance. It transformed as it went, till finally the Queen straightened to her full height, her disguise thrown off.
“Ah!” said Saktimuna. “I am pleased you have decided to join us again, sister.”
Henrietta’s eyes snapped open. The Fairy Queen stood before Saktimuna in the form in which she had first appeared that evening— a woman beautiful and strange, more than mortal. Light beamed forth from the bud on her head, setting at defiance the dark shadow of the Serpent looming over her. The Queen raised her hands.
“I have been too kind,” she said. “I should never have allowed you to live. I have not had a moment’s peace since I ousted you. But let us make an end of this now!”
But even as the Queen spoke, Henrietta felt magic flood the room, like waters breaking through a dam—fairy magic, potent with centuries of stored-up spite. It was so strong that Henrietta could scarcely endure it. Her head throbbed, her vision blurring. Her hands flew to her temples, pressing down to still their aching.
The Queen paused, blanching. Her eyes widened as she started to choke.
“You have forgotten that we learnt all the same cantions at our mothers’ knees,” said Saktimuna.
This is the Serpent’s magic, thought Henrietta, dazed. It was Saktimuna’s hex that filled the room with this overwhelming pressure, stealing the Queen’s breath and making her sway. This was the power that had lain in the Virtu all along. Little wonder the Queen had been so afraid when the Virtu was lost.
The Fairy Queen, who had once seemed so invincible, put her hands to her throat. Her face turned olive green, the veins standing out upon it. “You—” she gasped. “You—”
“Do not be afraid, sister,” said Saktimuna tenderly. “Henceforth you shall have peace.”
Saktimuna’s graceful head plunged down. She plucked the Queen’s head off, quenching its light, as delicately as one might nip a flower off a stem.
The Queen’s headless body crumpled to the ground. Henrietta buried a scream in her hands.
This time it was the Queen’s magic that roared through the room. Unlike the Serpent’s magic, it was not harnessed to a directing will, nor aimed at a single target, and it spread out, altering the nature of everything it touched. The dead bodies on the floor shrank, so that they looked like broken dolls, their limbs splayed. The shadows on the walls came alive, hooting and revelling in the Queen’s death. The few pieces of furniture that had not been destroyed scampered away—Henrietta saw a table, much prized by her mother, rush past on slender deer’s legs.
Saktimuna was occupied with devouring the Queen’s remains. Henrietta averted her eyes, but she could not shut her ears to the sound of the Serpent swallowing her prey. She rose, grasping at the nearest object to steady herself.
This happened to be a chaise longue, which was creeping slowly but with determination along the wall, though it was much the worse for wear. The splintered wood pierced Henrietta’s palm. She snatched her hand away, yelping, but the twinge of pain was almost a relief, for it was real, no fever-dream brought on by magic.
The Serpent raised her head at Henrietta’s cry. The ruby red eyes looked directly at Henrietta.
“Muna,” said Henrietta, without hope. She limped backwards, step by tottering step, but her foot caught in the side of a warm body. She did not know whose it was, or whether they were dead or alive; she did not dare break Saktimuna’s gaze to look.
There was nothing of Muna in those reptilian eyes. Hatred of the creature that had consumed her friend rose in Henrietta’s throat. If only she had the right words—a formula that would reverse time and restore Muna to herself.
“Muna,” she said, “come back.”
Her voice fell thin and unconvincing on the air. She knew Muna was gone, absorbed by the Serpent.
I am pleading with a ghost, thought Henrietta.
Still she squared her shoulders, raising her head. She had shut her eyes earlier in fright, but now she was prepared, and she would meet her end with courage.
IN addressing Muna, Henrietta was seeking to raise a ghost. But in the Unseen Realm there is less of a distinction between the living and the dead than mortals tend to draw. After all, both fairies and ghosts are constituted more of spirit than of flesh.
The ghosts of Saktimuna’s other selves still had a form of existence in her mind, for among spiritkind, to be named is to be. Even a shard of a name like “Muna” had its own power—and every time Henrietta uttered it, what was left of Muna stirred.
There was not much left of her. But what there was, was deeply concerned that Henrietta should live.
Even as Saktimuna had pursued the Queen, a very small part of the Serpent’s mind, unbeknownst to the rest, was considering the possibility of dividing herself again. It seemed to the ghost that had been Muna that it would be possible for Saktimuna to split her own heart in two—to cleave herself into separate halves—so that each half would have the independent life it had enjoyed before. Though the ghost could not quite remember why, it felt this an outcome much to be desired.
But it must proceed with caution. The thing would have to be done with care if Saktimuna were not to break apart altogether, her spirit dissipating abroad.
The ghost held itself in readiness, watching for its moment. Saktimuna’s mind was as busy and confused as most minds are. Most of her conscious thought was focused on her prey, and it was possible for even such a self-destructive impulse as the ghost harboured to remain unobserved amid the noise.
When Saktimuna sprang on the Fairy Queen, taking the Queen’s power into herself, the ghost saw its chance. This was the time. With the influx of the Queen’s magic, she could tear herself in two now and be tolerably certain each part would survive.
While the Serpent’s conscious mind cast around for a new victim, the ghost fumbled for a weakness, a crack it could pry open.
It was not difficult to find the fault. After all, Saktimuna had been rent asunder before. This time she did it herself; the split was clean and it would last.